Chapter 17
Patiently Waiting
Antonio watched, bemused, as the two women sipped wistfully at their tea and stared out of the window into the pouring rain.
"Again?" He whispered to his daughter, Gianna, who was dutifully stacking crockery beside him. "Every day now, for how long? Ten days, would you say? And they just sit and wait. I mean, they don't even chat that much, you know?"
"The glasses, Papa?" Gianna prompted him, not for the first time.
"Yes, yes, the glasses." Antonio proceeded to pass them to her, one by one, so that she could arrange each one upon their shelf in the perfectly precise manner that she insisted upon. His gaze, however, remained focused upon the pair who were, at the moment, his sole customers. "They are quite obviously waiting for someone, don't you think?"
Gianna sighed to herself, perplexed that he remained so fascinated by these two young ladies. "Perhaps," she joked, whilst managing to maintain a serious expression, "I should mention to Mama that you have become mesmerised by these two beauties." Her father hurriedly busied himself with the condiments on the counter, ensuring that none had absconded since he had placed them there half an hour previously. "And perhaps they are besotted by you also, Papa!" She continued in jest, "for what other reason would they return here day after day? For your lasagne, maybe?"
"You'd have me strung up, would you?" He glared at her. "If you as much as joked about it with your mother, the way I know you are joking with me, I would be a dead man. And then you would have to take care of all this on your own," he swept his arm around expansively, "how would you cope with that, eh?"
"Probably the same way I do every day," she smirked.
At that point, the two women stood up from the table they had been sharing and proceeded to conduct their usual ritual. One of them, this time the blonde, approached the counter, probably to order more tea. The brunette, meanwhile, gathered up her umbrella and stepped out of the door where Antonio knew she would proceed to look up and down the road for between five and ten minutes before returning within. During the first couple of days that they'd graced his cafe, the weather had been fine and the two of them had sat outdoors. Since then, however, the skies had been decidedly grey and there had been rain most days, culminating in today's deluge.
The blonde woman reached the counter, a slight look of embarrassment upon her face. She obviously knows how odd this seems to us, Antonio mused. That they appeared out of nowhere one day and then virtually took up residence. Perhaps there is something that they want from me? Are they inspectors of some kind? Food Hygiene or the like. The thought crossed his mind for more than the first time but, if that was the case, they would have surely introduced themselves formally to him long before now. They are customers, he continued to remind himself, and they are quite welcome to spend as much time here, and money, as they see fit.
"Could we have more tea, please," the young woman asked, "and some of your biscotti, maybe?"
"Of course," Antonio smiled warmly at her, attempting to put her at ease, "I will bring it over to you, no problem at all. Is there..." he hesitated momentarily, "anything else that I can help you with?"
Gianna coughed loudly, not being quite close enough to kick him beneath the counter.
"No," the woman replied hurriedly, "that's all, thank you." And, with that, she scurried back to her table.
"I told you," Gianna said, through gritted teeth, "not to be nosy!"
"I know, I know," Antonio whispered as he fussed around with the tea cups, "they just look like..."
"Like what?"
"Like they need help."
"This is useless," Moira stated, as Helen draped her sodden coat over the back of her chair and reseated herself at the table.
"Well, we said we'd give it until the end of the week and we have," Helen replied. "What else can we do? All we have is a phone number that doesn't even seem to exist and an old man's scribbled note. We don't know who he is or whether he can even help us. All we know is that he was here, once. There's simply nothing else to go on." She was thankful now for her insistence that Sleet relate to her every minute detail of his encounter with Sean Perry and what he could recall of the old gentleman who had also been present that day.
"And so tomorrow we give up?" Moira asked. "And that's it?"
"No," Helen said with a steely resolve, "a week and a half sat here is plenty. We've tried, and that will have to be enough for now. Tomorrow, we'll try and get back to some kind of normality. But that doesn't mean that we're giving up. We keep our eyes and ears open, for anything out of the ordinary. And," she continued, "we trust in Sleet. I don't believe him dead, Moira, I refuse to believe it. And I know that he'll do everything in his power to return to us when he can."
Moira nodded, "but..."
"No more but's, Moira. I'm sorry, but I have to keep hoping that everything will be okay. Nobody can tell you what's going to happen tomorrow, or the day after that, so can we just take it as it comes?"
"Of course," Moira said, reaching out to enclose the other woman's hand with her own, "I'm sorry. It's just all so frustrating. I feel useless."
"Well, I know you're not that," Helen laughed, "you're a career woman, aren't you? I tell you what. Tomorrow you can begin your formal training with me in the pub. We'll soon have you pulling pints like a pro!"
This brought a smile to Moira's lips, but she withdrew her hand hurriedly as the young waitress approached them with yet another tray of tea and biscuits.
"And you'll ask them?" She said, once they were alone again, rolling her eyes towards the rear of the establishment, "before we leave."
Helen nodded. "I will. I think we've done the right thing, to trust no one. But we know that one of the waitresses here was given the note to hand to Sleet. Before we go, we will try and find out if they know anything. But once we do, I really don't think we should ever come back here. I'm in no hurry to wake up with a raging headache in the pitch darkness of an old airplane hangar again. So we play it safe, and stick together, yeah?"
"Fine with me."
They sat there for a further hour, during which a young family visited, presumably seeking a temporary respite from the awful weather. Equipped with all of the paraphernalia required for the care and transportation of small children, they blustered noisily into the cafe, consciously seating themselves in the furthest corner and eventually placated their offspring with milkshakes and pastries. Once they had departed, Helen proceeded to rummage through her handbag and eventually drew out her purse. "I'll settle up," she said, "and I'll find out what they know at the same time, okay?"
Moira's attention, however, was firmly focused elsewhere. Her gaze, simultaneously full of hope and dread, darted anxiously from the cafe's door to lock with Helen's own. A surreptitious nod of her head implied that Helen should look around very carefully. She took the hint and bent once more to her bag, intent on giving the impression that she was searching through it, whilst she stole a furtive glance in the direction of the newcomer who had just entered.
During the time they had spent here the cafe had never been particularly busy. They obviously had their regulars and, at times, a number of tables became occupied. Helen and Moira had observed all of the customers studiously. Upon occasion, their hopes would be raised by the appearance of a male senior citizen but, upon inspection, they turned out either not to fit the brief description or to be in the company of others. And none of them had been sporting the trilby which Sleet's old man had worn.
This one was though, and he was alone. White of hair and bespectacled, he wore a long grey overcoat and carried a walking stick. The two women did their best to feign complete disinterest as he made his way to the counter and proceeded to place an order with the proprietor. "Just relax," Helen instructed, "do nothing for now."
Moira gulped and nodded. This was surely the man they had been waiting for. He had to be. And they had so very nearly walked out for good. They could have missed him by all of five minutes!
The gentleman made his way to a window table on the opposite side of the cafe and, once seated, proceeded to examine the rivulets of rain running down the outside of the pane. Before long he was presented with a tall coffee pot which he left standing whilst he unfurled his damp newspaper and began to study it's contents.
"Okay," Helen said, decisively, "follow my lead. We may need to tread very carefully."
Moira nodded her consent once more and followed Helen across the floor of the cafe until they came to stand before the table at which the old gent was seated.
"Excuse me," Helen began, "could we please have a word with you, Sir?"
Without looking up, he reached into his pocket, harrumphing as he did so. "Charity is it?" he asked with a sigh, "a deserving one, I suppose?"
"No," Helen interjected, before he started to brandish small change at her, "it's something else. We just wanted a moment of your time, to ask a few questions."
"I'm sorry," he said, returning to his newspaper, "I don't do surveys, I'm afraid."
"It's not a survey either," she said, frustration creeping into her voice.
"It's about Sleet James," Moira interjected, unable to keep her peace any longer.
The newspaper dropped to the table and, for the first time, he raised his head to stare at them over the rim of his spectacles. His gaze lingered on Moira and then passed to Helen, whereupon his eyes opened wide. "You!" he exclaimed.
"You know who I am?" Helen asked in amazement.
He went to stand up."I c..can't help you," he stammered, "and I need to go, now. There's somewhere I need to be."
"Please," Moira entreated, "all we want to do is talk. We know that you lost someone, and now we have too. All we want to do is understand what has happened, and to know that he's safe."
With that, he settled back into his chair with a deep sigh. "So," he said, "he's gone then?"
Helen pulled out a chair and sat down beside him. "I've seen the note that you left for him," she said, "but he didn't go willingly. He was taken. And we believe that we were used as hostages, to ensure his compliance. But we're quite vague about that, I'm afraid."
"It's too dangerous," he whispered, "you don't know what you're getting yourselves into. It really would be better if..."
"You mean the creatures?" Moira cut in. "We know about them. Helen has seen one and I, well I think I may have too, but not when I was quite myself."
Helen shot her a warning glance. The last thing she wanted was for the old man to get spooked by a sudden rush of superfluous information. Better to take things one step at a time. "Sit down, Moira," she suggested. Helen then tried a different tack with him. "How do you know me?" she asked.
He appeared to struggle with the question, but seemed to reach some kind of inner resolution. "The public house," he said, "I've seen you coming in and out of there with him."
She absorbed this information, mindful that her response needed to be couched in a non accusatory manner. "You've been....observing us, then?"
"I have," he admitted, "but only so that I could find a way to get my message to him. There was never anything underhand about it, I can assure you of that."
"Okay," Helen said, "I can accept that. But how did you find out about Sleet in the first place? What exactly drew you to him?"
"It's a very long story," he started, "but, to cut it short for you, I am a scientist, a physicist actually. These creatures travel to our world via portals - tunnels if you will. I discovered them many years ago. I'm afraid that I may have inadvertently created them, actually. Anyway, I have maintained the ability to locate them, to record where and when they appear. And that is how I came across your Mr James. He appeared to have a similar fascination to them as myself."
"Err," Moira could restrain herself no longer, "did you say 'they travel to our world'?"
"I did," he replied, "you surely don't believe them to be beasts of the Earth, do you? If my theory is correct, they are not even creatures of our Universe."
Helen took a moment to digest this mind-bending information. "Then to where exactly has Sleet been taken?"
The old gentleman looked perplexed. "How on Earth do you expect me to determine that? There is no way of extrapolating the necessary data in order to determine precisely..."
"Let me rephrase the question," Helen said gently as she laid a hand upon his arm, "where do you suppose he might be?"
He looked away from them, his eyes losing their focus and becoming moist with the promise of tears. "Forgive me," he said, "but the answer to that question is one that I have striven to discover for many years now. My Greta...she assisted me in my work, my experiments. And then, suddenly, she was gone. Completely vanished! I believe that something claimed her from the other side of the spatial anomaly that we had constructed. It had reached a stable condition and if something on the other side was able to manipulate it the way we were beginning to..."
"Something could come through." Moira completed.
He nodded morosely. "And they have been coming through ever since, I believe. Rarely at first, once I had discovered how to identify their appearance, sometimes only a couple of events in a single year. But these last few months the occurrences have increased exponentially, and that's what led me to venture out and see them for myself. Upon each occasion, though," he continued, pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee, "the portals had ceased to exist before I could reach their location, but I saw those beasts more than once. I was mindful to keep out of sight, of course - they don't appear to be the kind of animal you would want to tangle with. And they are not easy to follow, either, especially when they take to the skies."
"But one of them led you to Sleet?" Helen asked.
"Straight to him, yes, as if he were a...a homing beacon. So I huddled there, in the bushes, whilst he battled the monster. At one point it had certainly gotten the better of him and I regret not attempting to assist him in his moment of need, but what use would I have been?" He shrugged his shoulders. "But he overcame the creature somehow and, in his exhausted state, it was not difficult, even for an old man, to follow him home. And so I have monitored his whereabouts ever since, in the vain hope that he might possibly be able to help bring my poor lost daughter home."
"Because there is a way back, right?" Moira struggled to contain her distress, "no matter where they are?"
He could only shrug his shoulders as he faced the girls through watery eyes. "Theoretically, I believe so. But after so many years hope wears very thin, you know. Your Mr James is my last chance. But I'm afraid that it may be as much to do with being allowed to return as it is with actually doing so."
Helen nodded. "The creatures. They had been hunting him, but he was convinced in the end that they wanted him alive. That they needed him to submit to their will. What can that mean?"
The old man's focus had shifted once more to the window, however, and the dreary scene beyond.
"Sir?" Helen prompted.
"It's not safe," he whispered, "I've said too much already. There are those who would make much of what we have discussed; attempt to gain by it. I cannot fall into their hands again, must not."
Moira glanced at Helen, an eyebrow raised, obviously questioning the mental stability of the elderly scientist.
Helen persevered, however. "Then where can we meet in private?" she asked? "We can't let this go. Not now, when you've already told us so much."
"And put you in danger also, I fear!"
They both continued to stare at him, each determined in her own way.
He stole another hurried glance through the rain splattered window before turning back to them with a sigh. "Very well," he conceded, "I will tell you where, but you must promise to be careful, yes?"
Moira reached into her bag, immediately locating an envelope and continuing to hunt for a pen.
"Don't write it down!" He hissed, "that's not being careful!"
He reached out and drew Helen closer to him so that he could whisper into her ear. He then sat back in his chair once more."Tomorrow, at twelve. Midday, yes?"
Helen nodded her consent.
"And tell no one! I am already feeling sorry that I've told you these things. I have gone too far, I fear." He stood then, collected his walking stick and, without another word, made his way between the two of them, heading for the door. He didn't look back.
“I don’t believe it!” Moira said, once he had departed.
“I know,” Helen smiled, “it’s about time our luck changed.” She patted Moira on the arm and then proceeded towards the servery in order to pay for the food and drink they had consumed during their final day of the vigil.
Moira waited, feeling buoyed by a sense of achievement and spurred on now to see this thing through. She grasped Helen excitedly as the other woman returned and, arm in arm, they stepped out into the pouring rain.
Antonio sighed wistfully as the two young ladies departed. “So, they found who they were waiting for after all. The old gent who visits here every so often.” He chuckled to himself, “if I’d have known all along that it was an older man they were after...”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Papa,” Gianna snorted, “they’ve been here over a week and the most exciting thing you’ve given them is bruschetta!”
He was still musing to himself, however, his daughter’s caustic remarks going straight over his head. “I wonder what it was all about though, don’t you?”
“Ours is not to reason why..” she said as she swung around the end of the counter in order to clear the recently vacated tables.
"I suppose," he mumbled, as the dishwasher began beeping in the background, summoning him to yet another routine chore. Yet I hope, he thought, that they found what they needed and that, even if only in the tiniest way, we have been of some help to them. He shook his head then, to clear it of idle thoughts and ambled into the kitchen to answer the call of insistent machinery.
"Again?" He whispered to his daughter, Gianna, who was dutifully stacking crockery beside him. "Every day now, for how long? Ten days, would you say? And they just sit and wait. I mean, they don't even chat that much, you know?"
"The glasses, Papa?" Gianna prompted him, not for the first time.
"Yes, yes, the glasses." Antonio proceeded to pass them to her, one by one, so that she could arrange each one upon their shelf in the perfectly precise manner that she insisted upon. His gaze, however, remained focused upon the pair who were, at the moment, his sole customers. "They are quite obviously waiting for someone, don't you think?"
Gianna sighed to herself, perplexed that he remained so fascinated by these two young ladies. "Perhaps," she joked, whilst managing to maintain a serious expression, "I should mention to Mama that you have become mesmerised by these two beauties." Her father hurriedly busied himself with the condiments on the counter, ensuring that none had absconded since he had placed them there half an hour previously. "And perhaps they are besotted by you also, Papa!" She continued in jest, "for what other reason would they return here day after day? For your lasagne, maybe?"
"You'd have me strung up, would you?" He glared at her. "If you as much as joked about it with your mother, the way I know you are joking with me, I would be a dead man. And then you would have to take care of all this on your own," he swept his arm around expansively, "how would you cope with that, eh?"
"Probably the same way I do every day," she smirked.
At that point, the two women stood up from the table they had been sharing and proceeded to conduct their usual ritual. One of them, this time the blonde, approached the counter, probably to order more tea. The brunette, meanwhile, gathered up her umbrella and stepped out of the door where Antonio knew she would proceed to look up and down the road for between five and ten minutes before returning within. During the first couple of days that they'd graced his cafe, the weather had been fine and the two of them had sat outdoors. Since then, however, the skies had been decidedly grey and there had been rain most days, culminating in today's deluge.
The blonde woman reached the counter, a slight look of embarrassment upon her face. She obviously knows how odd this seems to us, Antonio mused. That they appeared out of nowhere one day and then virtually took up residence. Perhaps there is something that they want from me? Are they inspectors of some kind? Food Hygiene or the like. The thought crossed his mind for more than the first time but, if that was the case, they would have surely introduced themselves formally to him long before now. They are customers, he continued to remind himself, and they are quite welcome to spend as much time here, and money, as they see fit.
"Could we have more tea, please," the young woman asked, "and some of your biscotti, maybe?"
"Of course," Antonio smiled warmly at her, attempting to put her at ease, "I will bring it over to you, no problem at all. Is there..." he hesitated momentarily, "anything else that I can help you with?"
Gianna coughed loudly, not being quite close enough to kick him beneath the counter.
"No," the woman replied hurriedly, "that's all, thank you." And, with that, she scurried back to her table.
"I told you," Gianna said, through gritted teeth, "not to be nosy!"
"I know, I know," Antonio whispered as he fussed around with the tea cups, "they just look like..."
"Like what?"
"Like they need help."
"This is useless," Moira stated, as Helen draped her sodden coat over the back of her chair and reseated herself at the table.
"Well, we said we'd give it until the end of the week and we have," Helen replied. "What else can we do? All we have is a phone number that doesn't even seem to exist and an old man's scribbled note. We don't know who he is or whether he can even help us. All we know is that he was here, once. There's simply nothing else to go on." She was thankful now for her insistence that Sleet relate to her every minute detail of his encounter with Sean Perry and what he could recall of the old gentleman who had also been present that day.
"And so tomorrow we give up?" Moira asked. "And that's it?"
"No," Helen said with a steely resolve, "a week and a half sat here is plenty. We've tried, and that will have to be enough for now. Tomorrow, we'll try and get back to some kind of normality. But that doesn't mean that we're giving up. We keep our eyes and ears open, for anything out of the ordinary. And," she continued, "we trust in Sleet. I don't believe him dead, Moira, I refuse to believe it. And I know that he'll do everything in his power to return to us when he can."
Moira nodded, "but..."
"No more but's, Moira. I'm sorry, but I have to keep hoping that everything will be okay. Nobody can tell you what's going to happen tomorrow, or the day after that, so can we just take it as it comes?"
"Of course," Moira said, reaching out to enclose the other woman's hand with her own, "I'm sorry. It's just all so frustrating. I feel useless."
"Well, I know you're not that," Helen laughed, "you're a career woman, aren't you? I tell you what. Tomorrow you can begin your formal training with me in the pub. We'll soon have you pulling pints like a pro!"
This brought a smile to Moira's lips, but she withdrew her hand hurriedly as the young waitress approached them with yet another tray of tea and biscuits.
"And you'll ask them?" She said, once they were alone again, rolling her eyes towards the rear of the establishment, "before we leave."
Helen nodded. "I will. I think we've done the right thing, to trust no one. But we know that one of the waitresses here was given the note to hand to Sleet. Before we go, we will try and find out if they know anything. But once we do, I really don't think we should ever come back here. I'm in no hurry to wake up with a raging headache in the pitch darkness of an old airplane hangar again. So we play it safe, and stick together, yeah?"
"Fine with me."
They sat there for a further hour, during which a young family visited, presumably seeking a temporary respite from the awful weather. Equipped with all of the paraphernalia required for the care and transportation of small children, they blustered noisily into the cafe, consciously seating themselves in the furthest corner and eventually placated their offspring with milkshakes and pastries. Once they had departed, Helen proceeded to rummage through her handbag and eventually drew out her purse. "I'll settle up," she said, "and I'll find out what they know at the same time, okay?"
Moira's attention, however, was firmly focused elsewhere. Her gaze, simultaneously full of hope and dread, darted anxiously from the cafe's door to lock with Helen's own. A surreptitious nod of her head implied that Helen should look around very carefully. She took the hint and bent once more to her bag, intent on giving the impression that she was searching through it, whilst she stole a furtive glance in the direction of the newcomer who had just entered.
During the time they had spent here the cafe had never been particularly busy. They obviously had their regulars and, at times, a number of tables became occupied. Helen and Moira had observed all of the customers studiously. Upon occasion, their hopes would be raised by the appearance of a male senior citizen but, upon inspection, they turned out either not to fit the brief description or to be in the company of others. And none of them had been sporting the trilby which Sleet's old man had worn.
This one was though, and he was alone. White of hair and bespectacled, he wore a long grey overcoat and carried a walking stick. The two women did their best to feign complete disinterest as he made his way to the counter and proceeded to place an order with the proprietor. "Just relax," Helen instructed, "do nothing for now."
Moira gulped and nodded. This was surely the man they had been waiting for. He had to be. And they had so very nearly walked out for good. They could have missed him by all of five minutes!
The gentleman made his way to a window table on the opposite side of the cafe and, once seated, proceeded to examine the rivulets of rain running down the outside of the pane. Before long he was presented with a tall coffee pot which he left standing whilst he unfurled his damp newspaper and began to study it's contents.
"Okay," Helen said, decisively, "follow my lead. We may need to tread very carefully."
Moira nodded her consent once more and followed Helen across the floor of the cafe until they came to stand before the table at which the old gent was seated.
"Excuse me," Helen began, "could we please have a word with you, Sir?"
Without looking up, he reached into his pocket, harrumphing as he did so. "Charity is it?" he asked with a sigh, "a deserving one, I suppose?"
"No," Helen interjected, before he started to brandish small change at her, "it's something else. We just wanted a moment of your time, to ask a few questions."
"I'm sorry," he said, returning to his newspaper, "I don't do surveys, I'm afraid."
"It's not a survey either," she said, frustration creeping into her voice.
"It's about Sleet James," Moira interjected, unable to keep her peace any longer.
The newspaper dropped to the table and, for the first time, he raised his head to stare at them over the rim of his spectacles. His gaze lingered on Moira and then passed to Helen, whereupon his eyes opened wide. "You!" he exclaimed.
"You know who I am?" Helen asked in amazement.
He went to stand up."I c..can't help you," he stammered, "and I need to go, now. There's somewhere I need to be."
"Please," Moira entreated, "all we want to do is talk. We know that you lost someone, and now we have too. All we want to do is understand what has happened, and to know that he's safe."
With that, he settled back into his chair with a deep sigh. "So," he said, "he's gone then?"
Helen pulled out a chair and sat down beside him. "I've seen the note that you left for him," she said, "but he didn't go willingly. He was taken. And we believe that we were used as hostages, to ensure his compliance. But we're quite vague about that, I'm afraid."
"It's too dangerous," he whispered, "you don't know what you're getting yourselves into. It really would be better if..."
"You mean the creatures?" Moira cut in. "We know about them. Helen has seen one and I, well I think I may have too, but not when I was quite myself."
Helen shot her a warning glance. The last thing she wanted was for the old man to get spooked by a sudden rush of superfluous information. Better to take things one step at a time. "Sit down, Moira," she suggested. Helen then tried a different tack with him. "How do you know me?" she asked.
He appeared to struggle with the question, but seemed to reach some kind of inner resolution. "The public house," he said, "I've seen you coming in and out of there with him."
She absorbed this information, mindful that her response needed to be couched in a non accusatory manner. "You've been....observing us, then?"
"I have," he admitted, "but only so that I could find a way to get my message to him. There was never anything underhand about it, I can assure you of that."
"Okay," Helen said, "I can accept that. But how did you find out about Sleet in the first place? What exactly drew you to him?"
"It's a very long story," he started, "but, to cut it short for you, I am a scientist, a physicist actually. These creatures travel to our world via portals - tunnels if you will. I discovered them many years ago. I'm afraid that I may have inadvertently created them, actually. Anyway, I have maintained the ability to locate them, to record where and when they appear. And that is how I came across your Mr James. He appeared to have a similar fascination to them as myself."
"Err," Moira could restrain herself no longer, "did you say 'they travel to our world'?"
"I did," he replied, "you surely don't believe them to be beasts of the Earth, do you? If my theory is correct, they are not even creatures of our Universe."
Helen took a moment to digest this mind-bending information. "Then to where exactly has Sleet been taken?"
The old gentleman looked perplexed. "How on Earth do you expect me to determine that? There is no way of extrapolating the necessary data in order to determine precisely..."
"Let me rephrase the question," Helen said gently as she laid a hand upon his arm, "where do you suppose he might be?"
He looked away from them, his eyes losing their focus and becoming moist with the promise of tears. "Forgive me," he said, "but the answer to that question is one that I have striven to discover for many years now. My Greta...she assisted me in my work, my experiments. And then, suddenly, she was gone. Completely vanished! I believe that something claimed her from the other side of the spatial anomaly that we had constructed. It had reached a stable condition and if something on the other side was able to manipulate it the way we were beginning to..."
"Something could come through." Moira completed.
He nodded morosely. "And they have been coming through ever since, I believe. Rarely at first, once I had discovered how to identify their appearance, sometimes only a couple of events in a single year. But these last few months the occurrences have increased exponentially, and that's what led me to venture out and see them for myself. Upon each occasion, though," he continued, pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee, "the portals had ceased to exist before I could reach their location, but I saw those beasts more than once. I was mindful to keep out of sight, of course - they don't appear to be the kind of animal you would want to tangle with. And they are not easy to follow, either, especially when they take to the skies."
"But one of them led you to Sleet?" Helen asked.
"Straight to him, yes, as if he were a...a homing beacon. So I huddled there, in the bushes, whilst he battled the monster. At one point it had certainly gotten the better of him and I regret not attempting to assist him in his moment of need, but what use would I have been?" He shrugged his shoulders. "But he overcame the creature somehow and, in his exhausted state, it was not difficult, even for an old man, to follow him home. And so I have monitored his whereabouts ever since, in the vain hope that he might possibly be able to help bring my poor lost daughter home."
"Because there is a way back, right?" Moira struggled to contain her distress, "no matter where they are?"
He could only shrug his shoulders as he faced the girls through watery eyes. "Theoretically, I believe so. But after so many years hope wears very thin, you know. Your Mr James is my last chance. But I'm afraid that it may be as much to do with being allowed to return as it is with actually doing so."
Helen nodded. "The creatures. They had been hunting him, but he was convinced in the end that they wanted him alive. That they needed him to submit to their will. What can that mean?"
The old man's focus had shifted once more to the window, however, and the dreary scene beyond.
"Sir?" Helen prompted.
"It's not safe," he whispered, "I've said too much already. There are those who would make much of what we have discussed; attempt to gain by it. I cannot fall into their hands again, must not."
Moira glanced at Helen, an eyebrow raised, obviously questioning the mental stability of the elderly scientist.
Helen persevered, however. "Then where can we meet in private?" she asked? "We can't let this go. Not now, when you've already told us so much."
"And put you in danger also, I fear!"
They both continued to stare at him, each determined in her own way.
He stole another hurried glance through the rain splattered window before turning back to them with a sigh. "Very well," he conceded, "I will tell you where, but you must promise to be careful, yes?"
Moira reached into her bag, immediately locating an envelope and continuing to hunt for a pen.
"Don't write it down!" He hissed, "that's not being careful!"
He reached out and drew Helen closer to him so that he could whisper into her ear. He then sat back in his chair once more."Tomorrow, at twelve. Midday, yes?"
Helen nodded her consent.
"And tell no one! I am already feeling sorry that I've told you these things. I have gone too far, I fear." He stood then, collected his walking stick and, without another word, made his way between the two of them, heading for the door. He didn't look back.
“I don’t believe it!” Moira said, once he had departed.
“I know,” Helen smiled, “it’s about time our luck changed.” She patted Moira on the arm and then proceeded towards the servery in order to pay for the food and drink they had consumed during their final day of the vigil.
Moira waited, feeling buoyed by a sense of achievement and spurred on now to see this thing through. She grasped Helen excitedly as the other woman returned and, arm in arm, they stepped out into the pouring rain.
Antonio sighed wistfully as the two young ladies departed. “So, they found who they were waiting for after all. The old gent who visits here every so often.” He chuckled to himself, “if I’d have known all along that it was an older man they were after...”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Papa,” Gianna snorted, “they’ve been here over a week and the most exciting thing you’ve given them is bruschetta!”
He was still musing to himself, however, his daughter’s caustic remarks going straight over his head. “I wonder what it was all about though, don’t you?”
“Ours is not to reason why..” she said as she swung around the end of the counter in order to clear the recently vacated tables.
"I suppose," he mumbled, as the dishwasher began beeping in the background, summoning him to yet another routine chore. Yet I hope, he thought, that they found what they needed and that, even if only in the tiniest way, we have been of some help to them. He shook his head then, to clear it of idle thoughts and ambled into the kitchen to answer the call of insistent machinery.