BEGIN REPORT:
FILE 009: SHADOW
It's 2.35am. I'm in Halifax. I'm parked up down a side street and it's pissing it down with rain. Fuck sake. Why am I in Halifax? Why not? I mean I've been all over the place. It's how I keep them away from me. I keep moving. A while back someone asked me why I didn't leave the country if I was so terrified. What a stupid question to ask. If I leave the country then how am I meant to find Eleanor again?
Well, after the incident with the video tape, she found me.
I'd spent the next few days following the disaster with the video tape considering my next options. I cursed myself for rewinding the video as well because I didn't get to see the end. There had been more answers on it and those answers had gone up in flames.
I had nowhere else left to turn. KingVeritas was gone, Freya and her family were gone, the bunker was gone, and I had no idea who the mysterious letter writer was. I had considered what the writer had wanted me to do. There were no further clues. I was essentially at a dead end.
That was until a received a phone call.
The call had come from a woman - a vicar - living in a small village in the north of England: Little Ashbury. She hadn't said much at the time, instead requesting to meet me as soon as possible. I asked her why and how she had gotten my number. She told me that Eleanor had given it to her and that my daughter had been found on the edge of the woods. She gave me a location to meet her and asked me not to call the police.
Now, you can probably imagine what was going through my head at the time. Firstly I was elated that Eleanor was still alive and I felt vindicated for never giving up that hope, and secondly, I was concerned how she had found herself miles away from Bluebell Hill. And I didn't have to be warned off calling the police. At this point I wasn't trusting anyone.
Even this vicar.
The vicar, Joan Stark, had sent me evidence of Eleanor. She'd forwarded a photo she had taken of her, promised me that she was safe and being cared for and was currently tucked up in bed sleeping. But when I'd received the photo I had gotten a chill up my spine. Something wasn't right. She was a little older than when I had last seen her, and it was undoubtedly still my little girl, but she was pale. Haunted even. A shadow of her former self.
So I jumped in my car and made the long trip to the countryside and to Little Ashbury to meet this mysterious Reverend Joan Stark.
I suppose a visit to Little Ashbury might be a good idea now. At least I'd have somewhere safe to stay. But I need to get moving. If I don't then someone is going to notice me sat here being creepy in my car in the early hours. My story of my visit to Little Ashbury is going to have to wait until next time. I'm so tired. I need to sleep.
END REPORT
Copyright © 2022 by Jim Allenby
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