Two Stories
Here are two stories I've written that written around my "Changeling: The Lost" character. These follow the police officer that investigated my characters disappearance 20 years ago. They were written a couple of months apart, but I'm posting them both here at the same time.
The Investigating Officer
“Inspector Scott?”
Like some kind of drama, this woman comes stepping out of the shadows just as I'm unlocking my car door in the station car park. Let me start over.
Inspector Jonathan Scott, assigned a case in January 1991. Woman goes missing from her own home. Would have looked like a runaway case, except there was no motive, no missing clothes or money, nothing to suggest that she had run away. Then there was this business where the husband heard her scream in the middle of the night, just before she went missing. That would have made it look like a kidnapping, but there wasn't any sign that anyone else had been there, breaking in, a struggle. Not a thing.
Not a simple case, but I did my job. I contacted all her friends, family and work colleagues. I talked to neighbours, who verified the scream. I investigated the husband for reasons to make his wife disappear. I got nothing at all. I even talked to their child, which was far more chilling than you'd expect. The kid's mother had just vanished, but it looked more like she just didn't care.
Then this woman steps out of the shadows, just as I'm leaving the station, all dramatic and shadowy.
“Inspector Scott?” Soft voice, but hints of a gritty hardness. Not a typical voice, would recognise it anywhere if I heard it again. She looks rock solid, finely shaped features, chiselled even, like a sculpture. Wearing a long coat that looks like it's been pulled out of 80's fashion.
“Yeah, that's me, who are you?”
“A private investigator,” always fun dealing with these, even the competent ones think they're going to be just like Columbo or something and perform admirably dramatically badly, “I'm looking for Gemma Williams.”
“Me too, but I'm off duty now. Why don't you call the helpline and leave the information with them?”
“I can't leave this information with them,” just as I thought, always wanting to be dramatic, never talking to the helpline, “you wont find her, They have her now.” Great, now she sounds crazy, and I get to do more paperwork and chasing around.
“So, the fairies then?” I'm mocking her, except she goes pale.
“You know of the enemy?” And now I'm confused, “The child is a fetch, the mother probably witnessed the abduction and was taken.”
“What?” That didn't make any sense, “What are you talking about?”
“I'm sorry,” she looks forlorn, “I thought you understood.”
I don't really get it. I couldn't have. She wasn't talking my language. There was too much about this case that didn't make sense. Too much about it that was just strange. So many years on the job and you realise that sometimes people go missing for no reason. Sometimes they turn up again not too long afterwards, sometimes... they don't. She'll be back, I tell myself.
The Curious Officer
She'll be back. I can feel it.
Still, that woman in the car park played on my mind in ways I didn't like. I was attracted to her, not sexually, but attracted none the less. The one who had a soft yet gritty voice. The one who looked like she should have been an exhibit in an art museum. The one who dressed like she was from a decade in the past.
She said some odd things about a case I was working on, saying it was an abduction. I had no idea what she meant by the child being a fetch, or who the enemy was.
I wanted to talk to her again. I had questions. In the car park she apologised and left, and when I realised that she had said something strange I went to look for her but found nothing. It was irritating.
I had been dreaming about talking to her again, that was how strange it was. I had her in mind for at least a couple of weeks before I saw her again. Maybe it was fate, but then, it could well have been. I saw her walking down West Street and before I knew it I was in her path.
She makes a rubbish apology and excuse, and I pressure her. It sounded serious enough to bring it to me, it was serious enough that I had to talk to her again. I wasn't about to get fobbed off without answers.
Eventually she gives in, and suggests we go somewhere where she can talk. She says she's called Lime. She takes me to a back street cafe that I didn't know about, and as we enter she nods to the owner in a way that put me on guard. He's thin and pretty for a man, probably a poof, but that doesn't make him a bad guy. Either way, I think I can force my way out if I need to.
She sits me down and tells me that she shouldn't have said what she said. Said she gave away information that would put me in a lot of danger. I tell her that I am a police officer and I can take care of myself, and she gives a hollow laugh and tells me it won't work against 'Them'. I tell her to tell me what she knows about the case of Gemma Williams, and to tell me everything.
She doesn't hold back. The daughter was kidnapped by a 'True Fae' and taken into the 'Hedge' by it, the mother may have been taken too, but there's no 'Fetch' for her, unlike the child where there is one. She says that no 'Fetch' for the mother is unusual, that she might have messed up the True Fae's plans too. It could mean that she's dead already, killed by the 'True Fae' in the 'Hedge'.
I tell her that it doesn't make sense, that she's crazy and making stuff up. Then I get up to leave, except she grabs my arm and looks upset. There is the start of tears in her eyes and I apologise and say that it's all just too weird.
She tells me she can prove she's telling the truth. That there's horrible faeries who kidnap people and leave fakes in their place, and that I'm investigating a case where this has happened. I ask her how she's going to prove it, and tells me I have to promise her something.
She wants me to promise to provide her with details of disappearances for a season. She tells me that if I promise that, she'll promise that she'll let me see the truth. I had every intention of making the promise and then breaking it. When I made the promise, I knew I had to keep it. The woman sitting in front of me went from middle aged woman to weather worn, moving limestone.
The Investigating Officer
“Inspector Scott?”
Like some kind of drama, this woman comes stepping out of the shadows just as I'm unlocking my car door in the station car park. Let me start over.
Inspector Jonathan Scott, assigned a case in January 1991. Woman goes missing from her own home. Would have looked like a runaway case, except there was no motive, no missing clothes or money, nothing to suggest that she had run away. Then there was this business where the husband heard her scream in the middle of the night, just before she went missing. That would have made it look like a kidnapping, but there wasn't any sign that anyone else had been there, breaking in, a struggle. Not a thing.
Not a simple case, but I did my job. I contacted all her friends, family and work colleagues. I talked to neighbours, who verified the scream. I investigated the husband for reasons to make his wife disappear. I got nothing at all. I even talked to their child, which was far more chilling than you'd expect. The kid's mother had just vanished, but it looked more like she just didn't care.
Then this woman steps out of the shadows, just as I'm leaving the station, all dramatic and shadowy.
“Inspector Scott?” Soft voice, but hints of a gritty hardness. Not a typical voice, would recognise it anywhere if I heard it again. She looks rock solid, finely shaped features, chiselled even, like a sculpture. Wearing a long coat that looks like it's been pulled out of 80's fashion.
“Yeah, that's me, who are you?”
“A private investigator,” always fun dealing with these, even the competent ones think they're going to be just like Columbo or something and perform admirably dramatically badly, “I'm looking for Gemma Williams.”
“Me too, but I'm off duty now. Why don't you call the helpline and leave the information with them?”
“I can't leave this information with them,” just as I thought, always wanting to be dramatic, never talking to the helpline, “you wont find her, They have her now.” Great, now she sounds crazy, and I get to do more paperwork and chasing around.
“So, the fairies then?” I'm mocking her, except she goes pale.
“You know of the enemy?” And now I'm confused, “The child is a fetch, the mother probably witnessed the abduction and was taken.”
“What?” That didn't make any sense, “What are you talking about?”
“I'm sorry,” she looks forlorn, “I thought you understood.”
I don't really get it. I couldn't have. She wasn't talking my language. There was too much about this case that didn't make sense. Too much about it that was just strange. So many years on the job and you realise that sometimes people go missing for no reason. Sometimes they turn up again not too long afterwards, sometimes... they don't. She'll be back, I tell myself.
The Curious Officer
She'll be back. I can feel it.
Still, that woman in the car park played on my mind in ways I didn't like. I was attracted to her, not sexually, but attracted none the less. The one who had a soft yet gritty voice. The one who looked like she should have been an exhibit in an art museum. The one who dressed like she was from a decade in the past.
She said some odd things about a case I was working on, saying it was an abduction. I had no idea what she meant by the child being a fetch, or who the enemy was.
I wanted to talk to her again. I had questions. In the car park she apologised and left, and when I realised that she had said something strange I went to look for her but found nothing. It was irritating.
I had been dreaming about talking to her again, that was how strange it was. I had her in mind for at least a couple of weeks before I saw her again. Maybe it was fate, but then, it could well have been. I saw her walking down West Street and before I knew it I was in her path.
She makes a rubbish apology and excuse, and I pressure her. It sounded serious enough to bring it to me, it was serious enough that I had to talk to her again. I wasn't about to get fobbed off without answers.
Eventually she gives in, and suggests we go somewhere where she can talk. She says she's called Lime. She takes me to a back street cafe that I didn't know about, and as we enter she nods to the owner in a way that put me on guard. He's thin and pretty for a man, probably a poof, but that doesn't make him a bad guy. Either way, I think I can force my way out if I need to.
She sits me down and tells me that she shouldn't have said what she said. Said she gave away information that would put me in a lot of danger. I tell her that I am a police officer and I can take care of myself, and she gives a hollow laugh and tells me it won't work against 'Them'. I tell her to tell me what she knows about the case of Gemma Williams, and to tell me everything.
She doesn't hold back. The daughter was kidnapped by a 'True Fae' and taken into the 'Hedge' by it, the mother may have been taken too, but there's no 'Fetch' for her, unlike the child where there is one. She says that no 'Fetch' for the mother is unusual, that she might have messed up the True Fae's plans too. It could mean that she's dead already, killed by the 'True Fae' in the 'Hedge'.
I tell her that it doesn't make sense, that she's crazy and making stuff up. Then I get up to leave, except she grabs my arm and looks upset. There is the start of tears in her eyes and I apologise and say that it's all just too weird.
She tells me she can prove she's telling the truth. That there's horrible faeries who kidnap people and leave fakes in their place, and that I'm investigating a case where this has happened. I ask her how she's going to prove it, and tells me I have to promise her something.
She wants me to promise to provide her with details of disappearances for a season. She tells me that if I promise that, she'll promise that she'll let me see the truth. I had every intention of making the promise and then breaking it. When I made the promise, I knew I had to keep it. The woman sitting in front of me went from middle aged woman to weather worn, moving limestone.