Episode 3 - A futile attempt

The narrow road that leads me to Portstone is covered by lush green woods on either side.

I open the window to let the pure air breath energy into me. Air is odourless and achromatic on its own. But the blooming yellow hue of sunlight acts as an exquisite drapery for it. The warmth of the sun paves a way for fragrant winds unlike the polluted and pungent smell in the city.

I would like to relish in this feeling. Probably forever.

But every passing second makes me more and more worried about Lisa. And that too to much greater extent when I try to contact mom again and again, to no avail. Her number is still unreachable.

I hit the acceleration to reach Portstone bridge post haste.

Portstone is a city covered by water on three of its edges. The coast areas are mostly rural or semi urban. There are some factories but neither of them manufactures products that can carnage the royal serenity of Portstone's atmosphere.

Even the sky here looks more Azure than the city skies.

VICTOR HEIGHTS.

I put my foot on the brakes and the truck came to halt near the building which my mom mentioned in the conversation during her shifting. Apparently it doesn't even look close to "decent-enough" as mentioned by my mom.

To be more precise, it looked like a Junkie's hideout.

Torn plastered walls with noticeably naked cracks are omnipresent on the anemic looking building that doesn't seem to have been painted in years. This place reeks of foul filthiness.

My legs are still sore from all that driving. Yet I continue to make my way for Room 109 i.e the landlord's room.

I knock on the door a few times. No response. I knock again, this time in an obdurate manner. Still no response. I could have gone straight for the bell...if the place had one. There were no switches for doorbells on any of the rooms.

My left hand slides through the air on my next attempt at knocking the door. It falls down to land on something soft and springy. My gaze is at the moment fixed on a cute blonde girl in front of me. I think her age is probably the same as mine, I am 18 so she must be somewhere between 18-20. Her velvety long hairs reach her neck. And I haven't seen such pretty eyelashes in a long time.

I could have gone on and on about her cuteness but a strange frown forming on her face made me turn my gaze away and then I found that...

My hands have landed on her boobs and they were comfortably idle there for at least a minute.

"So...tell me"

"Huh"

"Are you gonna keep your hands there forever, PERVERT!!!?"

I take my hands back. They feel a little disappointed for being separated by such a nice pillow. And why the fuck am I blaming my immortality on my hands?

"Sorry, that was an accident."

"Wait here. Would you? Let me grab that butcher knife and practice swinging it in the air while I open the door for you and accidentally hitting you with it. That would be quite a mistake, wouldn't it..."

Bloody Hell! She's seriously leaving to fetch that knife.

"Wait!!!" I grab her hands and she slaps them away. I apologise again.

"Please. I am sorry. That won't happen next time."

I don't think she has abdicated her anger at me. But she seems to be getting exasperated by my presence so she switches the topic anyway.

"So, Mr.Pervert, what do you need from me?"

She crosses her arms and waits for my reply.

"I am not...nevermind. Do you have the keys to the apartment of Ada Corley?"

"The lady who came here last month with a girl? Her name was Lisa if I recall correctly."

"Yes. That's her. Lisa is my sister. I went to her apartment but it was locked."

"Maybe she's out. I honestly am not the kind of landlord you see in movies. I don't keep tabs on tenants here."

She doesn't even look like a landlord but I don't think, with the solid first impression, I had given her, she'd like me asking such questions.

"But. I did try to knock on her door thrice. Twice on the day before yesterday and once yesterday. But she never opened it."

"Do you want something from her?"

"Yes. She hasn't given all the deposit. I wanted to ask her about the remaining amount. Though I knew it'd be futile. Everyone of them cucks me on deposits and I have to face the wrath of dad."

"Can you give me the keys to her apartment?"

"No"

Now I am a bit provoked by that curt reply.

"Don't look at me like that. It's not like she has gone missing or something. And her contract isn't past it's due date either. That's a necessary condition to let family members enter the room."

"But she's missing maybe..."

"W-What do you mean?"

I told her about the incident yesterday except the thing that happened with me in the parking lot. If I would have said that she'd have labelled me as pervert as well as a Lunatic. Now the protagonist of a story can't have that many flaws.

"Still. I can't give you the keys. Why don't you register a complaint with the cops? And ask for a permit. I can give you the keys if you'd bring that."

"That's reasonable. I was considering leaving anyway if I couldn't find mom here."

I begin to head for the exit, when she calls me from back.

"By the way, my name is Lucy."

I wave her goodbye and exit the building.

I take a quick glance behind me. I had a feeling that someone was keeping an eye on me. I shouldn't have reacted so reflexively if it wasn't the case. Being a skeptical person, I have developed a sixth sense about certain things like that. I can't say my observation and deduction skills are as par excellent as Sherlock Holmes but I can boast about it being something akin to Watson who has spent enough time with Holmes to know a certain thing or two.

Perhaps it's some kid or a person who was curious about my knocking. Besides the landlord...I mean the landlady's shouts were loud enough after that accident. I stare at my hands to remember the sensation.

Shrug!!!

No. I need to head to the police station. I slap myself on cheeks to hinder any more lame thoughts like that.

Portstone Police Station isn't a fancy cop parlour you would expect in a city affluent with its economy. Still it was at least presentable, with navy blue walls - the colour of authority.

"May I help you?" The lady at the front desk asks me.

Janet D'Silva. That's the name patched on a label near her breast pocket.

"I want to register a missing person's report"

And then I tell her everything. She has a dumbfounded expression on her face.

"This place is famous for missing people but this is the first time..." she murmurs to herself.

"Ms. Silva"

"It's gonna be Mrs soon" she says and shows me a pretty ring on the third finger of her right hand.

"Congratulations"

I say and notice a strange tattoo on her wrists. I am not the kind of person to find a tattoo, a peculiar thing to see. But I do know that most people usually go for a certain kind of pattern.

Dragon

Wolf

Scorpio

Name of lovers

Skull

And sometimes - The Pentagram or Satan himself

But the aberrant thing about her tatoo was - it didn't adhere to any form of pattern or convictions. It looked like the number 9 but the circling end was looped inside a few times. I couldn't think of any religion that might conceive such a symbol and neither have I seen that kinda thing on some hillbilly rapper (I used rappers as an example because they are the ones who shames the name of fashion by making weird things trendy).

"Mam, what's that..."

Before I can finish my sentence she cuts me off in an abnormal tone which is quite different from her tone earlier and withdraws her hand, so that the view of tattoo is obsolete from my field of vision.

"I have registered the complainant. Detective isn't here now. He's busy currently."

"Does this police station have only one detective?"

"Yes. Nothing major happens here."

Then why did you have that concerned look when I told you about my mother and sister's possible-disappearance?

But I think it's better to keep my mouth shut for now.

"Can I see the detective later?"

"Yes. You can meet him in the evening. Have a good day?"

I was about to ask her about that tattoo again. Just remembering that thing in fragments is trying to gorge my brain. Something is odd about that. I don't know why I have this uneasy feeling about it, but it's possible I have seen it somewhere. Well she shot down any attempt that I could have made. I take my leave.

As I approach the car and put my hand on the knob, the wind increases its pace. There's a sudden surge of intensive resonance in the air. Something correlative to a sheet of paper oscillates in the air and suddenly shoots down on my face.

The collision isn't hard but it obstructs my view. I peel the paper off and would have thrown it when the headline catches my eyes -

"YET ANOTHER 10 YEAR OLD GOES MISSING. PORTSTONE IS NOT A PLACE FOR YOUNG GIRLS TO GROWN UP IN."

The fuck. I am actually intrigued to read the article when I see the date. The paper is at least 5 years old. Well Journalists do have the tendency to make mountains out of a molehill. I am about to throw the paper in the dustbin near my truck when I see a woman, probably in her 30s, staring hard at me.

I raise my hands and make it go up and down on my face. But she doesn't even blink. Creepy. But before I can ask anything she says something in a slow but hearable voice that halts all my plans to a standstill.

"You'll never see Lisa Again"