Chapter 4
STEPHEN
He works for three hours straight, barely moving a muscle, to get his latest freelance article written and sent off to the newspaper.
That’s the thing about Stephen; he has a highly focused, super attentive mind.
Sometimes, it works to his advantage, and he can be the most organised person on the planet, complete all his jobs and goals before midday and still have enough focus and drive to start a new project.
Other times, however, it can work against him and cause him no end of stress and headaches.
During these times, he can’t focus on anything for longer than a few minutes, or he’ll get to roughly ninety percent through a project, lose focus and have to start something else.
It’s a quirk he knows drives his girlfriend insane.
A constant battle is always raging inside his head, and it often feels like he’s being pushed and pulled in opposite directions.
His diagnosed ADHD tendencies means he struggles to zone in on something, jumping from one idea to another at the drop of a hat while his OCD forces him to make everything perfect before moving on.
The political piece he’s working on is going to cause a bit of a stir, but that’s why people read his work.
He writes things that are difficult to accept and digest. He writes about topics that others would shy away from for fear of causing a tidal wave.
He says it like it is because how else is he supposed to say it?
He’s a man who sticks by his beliefs, no matter how uncomfortable they make people feel.
He closes his laptop at exactly twelve o’clock, leans back in his chair and stretches his spine.
With an afternoon of freedom in front of him, he decides to turn his attention to research instead.
He needs to find something to occupy his mind when it’s not in work mode.
He wants another case to investigate, but it can’t be merely any missing person or mystery.
He receives dozens of emails every day from people, reaching out to him for help in solving a multitude of cases, ranging from the disappearance of their children to the mystery of who keeps stealing their bins.
Stephen’s not interested in any of them.
None of the stories have jumped out at him, not like the Cherry Hollow case did. Is he chasing some illusive story that doesn’t exist? Searching for a high that may never come again? He hopes not.
After eating, Stephen rolls up his shirt sleeves and slurps his coffee, his second of the day, pulling his laptop closer from across the table.
He types various keywords into the search engine.
Oh yes, there’s plenty out there to choose from, but to him, it’s like searching for a needle in a haystack. But he’ll know when he sees it.
The mystery of the cursed lake sounds promising. Apparently, dozens of tourists disappear every year while taking boats out to row across to the large island situated at the centre. He reads on, his breath catching in his throat when he sees the words curse, bodies and witchcraft.
The article is from a year ago, but as he reaches the bottom, he realises his mistake.
It’s a goddamn clickbait article, designed to lure in pathetic readers starved for some sort of juicy piece of news that has been warped and twisted into a story, delicious enough to keep them reading to the end.
Exactly the type of articles he used to write.
Stephen tuts and scrolls to the next page of results.
A headline stands out.
Where do souls go when a person dies?
It’s an interesting concept that has always fascinated him. Death, morbid as it may be, is fascinating in its own way. He does like the idea that souls stick around, though. Not like ghosts, because there’s no such thing, but maybe some form of the human spirit remains on Earth even after death.
His phone buzzes on the table, disrupting his train of thought. Usually, he turns it over while he’s working, ensuring it’s on silent, but during lunch he’s forgotten to do that, so the noise jolts him out of his focus zone.
It’s the call he’s been avoiding.
Sighing, Stephen answers. ‘Hello, Stephen Mallow speaking.’
‘Good afternoon, Mr Mallow. This is Jenny from Westmorland General Hospital. Doctor Simmons has asked me to call you to organise a time for you to come in to talk about your test results, which you should have received by email. The first available appointment is Friday at quarter past one. Will that be suitable?’
Stephen’s heart thuds wildly in his chest. ‘Erm … sure. Fine.’
‘That’s perfect, Mr Mallow. I’ll send you a confirmation email with the details.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Mallow.’
‘Yeah … bye.’ He places the phone face down on the table after turning it to silent.
Great. Now he has to re-focus all over again.
Where was he?
A dull ache settles behind his eyes, then he feels the tickling inside his nostril. Slowly, a small drip of blood trickles down to his top lip. He takes a clean tissue from his pocket and wipes it away, tossing the tissue into the bin on his way to the coffee machine.