A strange girl appears in the dead of night. She can’t speak or remember where she has been, what could her secret be?

Fantasy, horror and humour in Brexit Britain. Oh, and more than a little TG.

Thanks as always to Robyn and Chris for their input and support. Please post comments, they help me continue writing and improve as I do so.

Unseen People

Chapter 1

Ben and Molly both stared at the little screen of light on Molly’s iPhone.

“What’s your top score?” Ben asked his schoolmate. Molly just grunted. Ben looked into the darkness. The brick bus shelter gave some protection, but it did not keep out the night’s chill fully. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. He looked back to see the bright colours of his friend’s iPhone jump about.

“Nothing ever happens in Alfsdale,” he sighed. In front of them, past the road was a steep drop to the lake. Not that they could see it in the dense fog.

“Do you think we’ll ever leave here?” Again he spoke more to himself than her.

“What do you mean?” Molly surprised him; he had not realised she was listening.

“It’s just symbolic isn’t it,” he gestured at nothing in particular. Looking at his friend he realised he needed to elaborate more. “We spend every evening here, in a bus shelter, when there are no buses after seven. It’s like our lives, we’re going nowhere.”

“Kirsty’s right, you are a strange one,” Molly pressed pause. “Where would we go anyhow?” She shook her head. “We’re fourteen.” He sighed, she didn’t understand.

“We could go to New York, or Europe. I heard Iceland was amazing…” his voice trailed off and she looked at him funny.

“Iceland? Look in two years we get to go to college,” she paused, looking for the words, “Maybe even in Manchester?”

He laughed loudly, “Manchester! Do your dreams really start at the end of the tram line?” They both laughed. It all seemed so far off. Two years was like a life sentence when you were fourteen.

“What’s that?” Molly pointed down the road in the opposite direction to town.

“A light of some sort?” Ben was unsure. “Doesn’t look like a car.” They looked down the road. It looked like someone was shining a powerful torch somewhere deep in the fog. The light was being disturbed by something, something that cast shadows. The shadows moved oddly, looking like the legs of a giant spider.

“Hello!”

Ben’s heart stopped, he had not been expecting Molly to call out. There was no answer but the spider legs got closer.

“Hello!” Molly called out again, “Who is it?” She turned to Ben and in a quieter voice said, “It’ll be someone who broke down.” He thought she sounded uncertain.

Peering closer he thought he could see something behind the spider legs. What, he was not sure. A figure emerged. Through the glare they could make out arms and legs. Molly kept calling out ‘hello’ but the figure didn’t respond.

It took only minutes, but it seemed longer. The figure was a woman, a naked woman. Her hair was cut short, not in a fashionable, designed way. It looked like it had been hacked away by someone with scissors and very little time. She reminded Ben of a picture from his history book of a girl who had just been hit by napalm in Vietnam.

Her eyes were wild. Ben had the feeling that she did not quite believe she was there. Her movement was awkward, like she had only just learnt she had limbs. A few feet away from them she collapsed. As soon as her skin struck the rough ground the light behind her went out. Molly called out and ran down the road a little. For a moment he lost her in the fog. All he could see was the glow of the torch app on her phone.

“Hey you!” Her voice rang out; in the fog it echoed strangely. It sounded like it was coming from all around him. Ben looked down at the woman, everyday he dreamed of seeing a woman naked, but now he was faced with one he had no idea what e was supposed to do or say. He was not even sure she was aware of his presence.

“Hey you!” there was a pause, “Hey fuckers!” Molly’s voice rang out. He looked down at the woman, she was breathing like a hunted animal that had just been cornered. It looked to him as if she was angry with the air itself.

“Hey you!” Molly’s voice was fainter now and he could no longer see the glow of her phone torch. He wanted to run after her and bring her back. The night was black and starless. The thin arc of the new moon hidden by cloud and mist.

The woman let out a deep guttural moan. She looked up at him as if it was the first time she had seen him. She did not speak but her eyes pleaded for some sort of help. For a moment he froze, he was not used to someone depending on him.

“Oh shit,” a thought occurred to him. He pulled off his coat and draped it over her. He could feel her muscles heaving with every breath. Something about the gesture calmed her down. Slowly she sat down, her legs crossed underneath her. She pulled the coat around her, looking like a tent with a head popping out the top.

“What’s up, how’s she doing?” Ben was crouched down rubbing the woman’s back when he heard Molly’s voice. It's what he remembered his mother doing for him when he was upset or ill. He did not know why it worked, but it always did for him.

“I have no idea. She won’t speak. Did you find anything?”

“No, nothing. But it's almost impossible to see anything. They could have been standing two metres away from me.”

The woman watched them as they spoke. She looked from face to face like someone watching a very confusing game of tennis.

“Who do we call? Ambulance, police?” He considered it.

“Both.”

“Both? Can you do that?”

“I think you call the one number and then they tell both,” He was thinking of what he had seen on TV. Was that right? They make up a lot on TV.

“I can’t get any bars,” Molly held up her phone. She walked in the direction of town.

“They don’t mean anything,” he shrugged; he heard that on TV as well.

-----

“Inspector, there’s been a call,” Wren looked up from her desk. Mark was a middle-aged man with a neat and tidy beard and an expanding waist line. He once showed her the book he’d written on local folklore and poetry. Apart from that she knew very little about him.

“Who would call this time of night? It’s not teenagers in the high street again?”
Marks face was smiling but his eyes said he was ready for home. She thought of the bottle of wine she bought at lunchtime. It was still sitting in the boot of her car. She wouldn’t be on until late the next day. She was going to down it while watching back to back Harry Potters and eating take-away Chinese. The only takeaway in town that stayed open past ten was shit, and it was quarter past nine now.

“Two kids have found a woman up on the King’s Road. Sounds like she’s been in an accident, or maybe assaulted.”

“She didn’t say which?”

“The kids say she isn’t talking, perhaps it’s shock?” She could see Mark desperately wanted to give her the piece of paper and get back to watching Netflix. The night shift was usually slow, most people used it to read, watch telly or occasionally catch up on their paperwork.

“Okay, give it to me. Are the ambulance boys on their way?”

“They should be there now.” She nodded. Wine, cheese on toast and just one Harry Potter it was.

Her car was a Toyota Corolla. What it lacked in romance it more than made up for in reliability. Despite the frost beginning to form on the window it started first time. Her hands were cold against the steering wheel. It reminded her of when she was little and she used to ride her bike to school in bad weather. It would take ten minutes before her hands warmed up.

The Hob’s Hill road rose out of the little town and then followed the side of the hill towards Rochdale. Behind it was the lake. Alfsmere was not the most impressive lake. It always looked too dark and cold for anything to live in it.

The blue lights of the ambulance loomed out of the fog. The Toyota’s brakes screeched as she brought the car to an abrupt stop. As ever they didn’t let her down.

“What do we have?” she recognised the paramedic but did not remember his name.

“Young female, suffering hypothermia and some sort of shock.” His accent had a trace of Eastern European in it. He looked back towards the ambulance where the woman sat, her shoulders covered by a silver blanket.

“Has she spoken at all?” Wren asked. She could see her face. It looked pale. Her eyes were wild, not quiet focusing on anything in front of her.

“No, not a word. If you asked me to guess I’d say she’s on something.”

“Any guesses as to what?” she asked hopefully. He just shook his head. The flashing blue light intermittently and regularly illuminating his face. He’s good looking she thought; however the light made him look tired.

“And she had no ID?” she sighed, it didn’t look like she would be escaping into that bottle of wine anytime soon.

“She had nothing, not even clothes.”

“Any signs of assault,” she took a deep breath, “anything that would suggest sexual activity?” His eyes were sad, they both know what this looked like.

“Nothing obvious but they’ll be able to do more tests at the hospital.”

“There were witnesses?” The paramedic points to the two teenagers sitting at the bus stop. Wren looked at Ben as she walked over. She had seen him around before.

“You’re Andy Keegan’s son, aren’t you?” she asked him. Andy Keegan was a criminal defence lawyer who sometimes represented suspects she had to question. He was a good lawyer, honest and conscientious. She knew much worse.

“Ben,” he nodded.

“You and your friend found her?” she turned to the girl.

“Molly,” she introduced herself. “She found us really.” The girl pulled her coat tightly around herself. “What do you think happened to her?” They all look over at the woman who was now being given something to drink by the paramedics.

“That’s what I want to find out.” She looked at them both. There was no teenage bravado, they looked spooked.

“I need to take statements from you both but first I’ll call your parents and get them to come and pick you both up.” The two teenagers mumbled their thanks. Wren headed over to the woman.

“Hello Ms,” the woman turned her head towards Wren, there was a faraway look in her eye. At least they were a little calmer now. “Can you understand me?” The woman just continued looking at her. She didn’t move or in anyway indicate she understood what was happening. Wren decided just to keep going, “Do you know where you are?” .The woman moved her head fractionally from side to side. Wren decided to take that as a ‘no’.

She looked over at the paramedic she had spoken to before, wishing she had some support. “Can you tell me your name?”

The woman opened her mouth, but barely a sound came out. Wren knelt down and shuffled closer. She took out her note pad and carefully placed a biro in the girl’s hand

Jack the girl scribbled. It was barely readable; she could not be sure she got it right.

“Does that say ‘Jack’?” Wren looked into the woman’s eyes.

Jack nodded ever so slightly. Her mouth twitched upwards as if she was just learning to smile.

Great, was Jack short for Jacqueline, Jackie or a nickname? Not much to go on.

The paramedic spoke, “We need to get her to the hospital now.” She felt like she should not let Jack go but knew she needed to be looked at.

“That’s okay, but I’ll need your details as well.” She looked at the paramedic feeling awkward. “You know, in case I need to follow anything up,” she clarified. Why did she feel so embarrassed? It was a fair request.

“The name’s Ted,” the paramedic pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled something down. “You can reach me here.”

---

Five am was the only time of the day Andy Keegan got to write. By six Ben would be up and the house overwhelmed by the usual chaos. At first he had tried to write after the boy had gone to sleep, but the pull of wine and TV was usually too powerful, anyway In the evenings his brain was dull and uncooperative.

His usual companion was Jess the cat. Jess would be coming back from her hunting missions just as he was getting down to work. This morning Jess had not yet returned. Never the less, Andy refilled her drinking water and cat biscuits before settling down on the sofa with his laptop.

The short amount of time forced him to write without editing. He poured it down first, then came back. At least, that was the theory. By six forty-five he was wondering where Jess was. He kept writing a sentence and then deleting all or most of it. His mind just would not settle. With five minutes to go he stood up and went to look through the French window. He half expected to see Jess’s sleek form crossing the garden, but there was no movement at all.

Upstairs he heard the muffled electronic melody of an alarm followed by Ben rolling over in bed. He looked at his watch, he would give it another ten minutes before he went and hurried him out of bed. A few minutes later the flushing of a toilet told him he wouldn’t need to bother today.

Last night had been a strange one, his heart had leapt into his mouth when he got the phone call from the police. Thankfully nothing had happened to Ben. He thought of Ann, Ben’s mother and how quickly she had faded. Some wounds you never recovered from.

He slipped on his gardening trainers and pulled open the French windows and stepped out. It was cold and fresh. He could smell snow on the wind. He scanned the sky but could not see the dark clouds yet.

The garden was still and seemed empty. There was still no sign of Jess. Andy lifted his coffee mug up to his mouth and took a sip. Where was that cat?

---

Another alarm went off. Wren reached over to her phone. She groaned when she saw there were three missed calls, all from her boss. Her head was swimming from tiredness and the wine. She should have just left it. She had not got back from work until past one am.

“Something happened at the hospital last night, your Jane Doe tried to run away.” Wren rubbed her temples with her free hand, hoping it would ease her headache. She listened as the Inspector, Jacobs, told her to get down there right away. Then she looked at the clock on her phone. Twelve minutes past nine; so much for her morning off. She texted Jacobs back saying she was on her way, then she dragged herself into the shower.

The hot water and steam helped a little. It took an act of great will power for her to get out of the shower. She cleaned her teeth twice and made a mental note to buy Polos from the corner shop. She spent ten minutes examining her face in the mirror. She hated the bags under her eyes and how limp her hair looked. There was not much she can do about it.

The hospital was the single biggest employer in the town and the largest building. She parked a couple of streets away not wanting to have to pay the car park prices and had to walk against the wind. She could feel snowflakes against her exposed skin.

Inside the hospital was much like any other. The ceilings were strangely low and she wondered for a moment if there was a medical reason for this. At each door she stopped and squirted the antiseptic gel on her hands, massaging it in. Eventually she reached the desk she was looking for.

“I’m here to speak to the Jane Doe we brought in last night,” she flashed her ID Badge to the twenty-something black male nurse. His own badge read ‘Isaac’.

“Sure,” he typed something into his computer, “I’ll take you through.” As they walked she talked to Isaac.

“I hear you had some trouble with her in the night?”

“You could say that,” the man pulled back his sleeves, indicating scratches.

“She did that?” Wren was surprised. She remembered a slight, frightened girl not much older than twenty by her guess.

“It took four of us to subdue her,” the nurse said. “She gave one of the paramedics a nasty bruise.”

As they reach the door of a private room he held out an arm stopping her going any further. Wren was a little taken aback.

“What ever happened to her, it scared her shitless,” the nurse warned Wren. The room had just one bed. It was one of those hospital beds that could be wheeled about and raised into different positions without disturbing the patient. Jack was sitting up in bed staring through the blinds that covered most of the window. Wren followed her line of vision.

“Looks like a storm’s heading our way.” Jack looked at her but remained quiet. She seemed calm but her arms were restrained on either side of the bed.

“Do you remember me from last night?” Wren kept her voice soft, like she was speaking to a child. Now they were not fogged by whatever drug was in her system she could see that Jack’s eyes were bright green. Her skin was soft and very pale; like she had just walked off an advert for skin cream, or lived in a dark hole the last few months.

“She can’t speak,” Isaac told her. “We don’t really know why. Possibly shock. We couldn’t find anything physically wrong with her.”

“Thank you. Would you mind leaving us alone?” He looked relieved and exited quickly.

“Jack, can I ask you a few questions?” Jack nodded very faintly.

“Did someone do something to you?” She watched her very closely. After a moment Jack again gave the faintest of nods.

“Was it someone you know?” There was a faint little shake of the head. Well, that would have been too easy. Wren took a deep breath, she hated the next question.

“Look, there’s no nice way of asking this, did they take advantage of you? Sexually, I mean.”

Tears appeared in the corners of Jack’s eyes, but she shook her head, more clearly this time. Wren tried to get more information about the attack or abduction, but Jack seemed to be drifting off again. Eventually she gave up and asked for a full name and address. Jack looked at her again.

She rummaged around in her purse and pulled out a pen and a notebook. She placed the pen in her hand and the notebook down nearby. It took a while, her hand movements are painfully slow, but Jack eventually wrote something. When she had finished Wren picked it up. The handwriting was poor but the name, Jack Sheppard, and the address, somewhere in Hernsbridge in the west of the town.

“Thank you Jack,” she squeezed the girl’s arm. “Do you have any loved ones you want me to contact?” But Jack had returned to staring out of the window again.

She looked down at the address. Well it would have to be enough for now. Outside the room she spoke to Isaac.

“Will she get to see a specialist?” He looked down at his notes.

“She’s booked to see Dr Devi later today.”

“Can you give the doctor this,” she handed him her card with her number on, “and tell the doctor I’ll be in contact later.” Isaac nodded. “Which paramedic was hurt?”

“Tom Nowak. That’s Nowak with a ‘W’ and a ‘K’,” he watched her writing the name in her book.

---

Jack woke with a start. Snow was falling outside the window. It was hard to tell the time from the light outside. He tried to move but his arms were still restrained. Even without that he doubted he could move by much. Every part of his body hurt.

He looked at how thin his arms were. He had lost weight and a lot of muscle. He shook thinking about what could be wrong with him. He had to slow his breathing to avoid a panic attack.

What happened? He could only remember fragments. Being alone on the road, that kid with the coat. The detective woman asking him questions. From the view out of the window and the accents he heard he could tell he was somewhere in North Manchester. Funny, the last thing he remembered was being in a nightclub in the city.

The nurse came in, the one called Isaac. He smiled at Jake but his eyes looked concerned. Jack tried to speak but wasn’t surprised when only air came out.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Isaac said in his soft Caribbean accent. Jack raised his arms indicating the restraints on his wrists. Isaac smiled, he didn’t seem so bad when he smiled.

“Sure. I’ll just go check with the doctor. I am sure we can do something about them.” He turned and left. Jack went back to looking out the window. The snow was coming down more heavily now.

Isaac left the door open. Beyond it Jack could hear the sounds of the hospital. Two voices, probably nurses, discussed a patient. He could not hear much but just the music of their voices added a pleasing normality. He rested back on the bed trying to make himself comfortable.

“Hello Jack,” Isaac returned with a middle-aged Asian man, “How are you today young lady?” The middle-aged man looked down at his notes. “My name is Doctor Devi.”

“Mmmm,” was the only noise Jack could make. Did he say ‘young lady’? Jack’s head spun, aching like it was filled with flu.

“Do you mind?” The doctor showed him one of those ear thermometers. Jack nodded tensely. The doctor presses it against his ear. “Is that a little cold?”

“Mmm,” he replied, just wanting it over.

“OK, you have a temperature. We are going to need to monitor that.” He made a few marks on his clipboard. “But I think we can dispense with these,” he pointed at the restraints. Isaac came over and began removing them. Jack was struck by how much larger Isaac’s hands were than his own.

“OK Jacquie, do you think you could try standing for me?” The doctor smiled down at him. Again Jack’s head swam. When he regained control he nodded agreement. He wanted to get better soon.

“OK then, Isaac can you fetch another nurse?” Isaac came back with a small black woman somewhere in her mid-thirties. Her badge said ‘Jenny’. Between them they helped Jack off the bed. At first he was unsure and almost toppled backwards. With more help he was able to hobble a few steps away from the bed. For a few moments the two nurses let him go and he was able to stand. Slowly but surely he gained confidence. He was not sure he could walk, and he did not want to try, instead he stood there wobbling slightly. His arms were stretched out, like a tightrope walker resting halfway.

From the corner of his eye he spotted a young woman in a hospital robe similar to his own. She looked painfully thin and gaunt. Her short sandy blond hair was pressed against her skull. Everything about her was pointed, from her sharp cheekbones to her knees and elbows.

He blinked and at the same time the girl blinked her bright green eyes. He felt his face burning bright red and his head spinning. One moment he was standing there, the next he was falling backwards. The urgent cries of the medical staff seemed so far away. Somewhere, even further away, he could hear a strange song playing.

---

The night was sweaty and the air thick. Jack danced energetically surrounded by his mates. His trainers would be ruined in the morning thanks to all the beer being spilt and the general grime on the floor. 42nd Street student nights were amongst the cheapest in the city. They were also the perfect place to cop-off, or so he had been told.

The crowd cheered as the Stone Roses’ ‘I am the Resurrection’ began playing. It was Manchester after all. From the corner of his eye he spotted a girl watching him. She looked unusual, with her hair died green. Her cheekbones look like they could cut glass. As the song reached its climax the woman headed over. She walked like a cat who had spotted a trapped mouse.

“Hey, how are you?” he leaned towards her. It did not really matter what he said, the music was too loud. A large guy in a rugby shirt bumped into his back pushing him close to the green haired woman. He was mortified, but she placed her hands on his hips. She began to move him, making him dance. She crushed her body into his then pulled back.

The music changed, this time ‘Groove is in the Heart’ by Deee-Lite. The lights were flashing and his head was swimming. The girl stood on tiptoes and whispered something in his ear. He couldn’t quite make out what but then the room seemed to disappear. His whole body felt like it was falling backwards...

---

Jack woke up in his hospital bed. The room was dark and silent. Next to the bed was a tray with food on it, nothing touched. Outside the window he can see it had stopped snowing. The lights of the parking lot reflected off a thick covering of snow. It must have fallen for hours. In the distance he could see the flickering lights of town and behind them the dark silhouette of Hob’s Hill.

Slowly, with his eyes closed, be began exploring his body. His face felt smooth, like before he had begun shaving. His shoulders felt slimmer, although he couldn’t be sure. Similarly his arms lacked muscle and definition. All this could be incidental he told himself. He had heard the doctors saying he had been inactive for a long time. Perhaps he had been in a coma or something? That would explain everything right?

The next part was more telling. They were only small, at least in his admittedly restricted experience, but there was no mistaking breasts. They felt soft and pliable. He gave a small, soundless gasp when he tried to squash them. His headspun What had happened? Who had done this?

It took him ten or more minutes to compose himself. He had one last place to check. Again he kept his eyes screwedshut, slipping his hands down underneath the sheets. There it was, or more to the point, there it wasn’t.

He lay there rigid with shock. How had this happened? Was it even possible? Had that green haired girl slipped something into his drink? His mind reeled with the possibilities. Forced surgery perhaps? But why would anyone do that outside of a cheap horror flick?

Eventually it all began to overpower him. His body, whatever shape it was in, had little or no reserve of energy. His head began to swim with tiredness. Maybe he had imagined it all. The weight on his chest said no but his brain refused to accept it.

Yes, that was it. This must be some crazy sort of a dream. He looked out at the black silhouette of the hill above the town. Something about it fascinated him. He didn’t even remember closing his eyes, but in moments sleep came.

---

The pub was loud and noisy, Ash was hanging beside the quiz machine as he watched his friend Mitchell hammer away at buttons.

“What’s the capital of Peru?” Mitchell looked at him expectantly.

“Huh?” Ash had been miles away. He pushed his dark brown fringe out of his eyes.

“Come on you lanky beanpole, help me. The capital of Peru, is it Santiago, Lima or Mexico City?” As he spoke Mitchell’s face was lit up by the light from the machine.

“Well it isn’t Mexico City is it?” He took a gulp of his beer; Mitchell just looked blankly at him. “Because Mexico City is in Mexico.” He cursed silently as he spilled a little beer on his shirt. That was his best shirt.

“Oh,” Mitchell looked a little hurt, “I thought it might be a trick question.”

Ash sighed, “No, it’s not a trick question, the answer is Lima.”

“Really?” Mitchell hits a button, after a pause the machine flashed and made a sound that indicated success. “Good call mate, where do you know this stuff from?”

Ash shrugged, “School I guess.”

“So you were paying attention during geography then? I thought you were too busy with that little Wilson girl.” Mitchell paused a moment to look at the new question in the screen, “The one who wore the short skirts.”

He hadn’t thought of Sally Wilson in what, two, three years? Not since they left high school.

“What happened to the girls?” Ash looked away from Mitchell as if he had spotted something fascinating by the entrance to the poolroom. He played with his bottle of beer, peeling away the label.

“Girls? You mean Sally Wilson? I think she works for Asda over Oldham way.”

“No, not her. You said your sister and her mates would be here,” Ash looked at his friend, an edge of annoyance in his voice.

“Oh yeah, by ‘mates’ do you mean Alana?” The Quiz Machine hid Mitchell’s face, but Ash could tell he was smiling. “They might be along later.”

Later didn’t happen. After half an hour Ash became fed up of watching his friend lose money to the Quiz Machine and went and waited at the bar. He’d first seen Alana in the same pub two months ago. She wasn’t like Mitchell’s sister and the other girls, who were all hair and noise. She was quiet, not in a mousey way; you could tell she was listening. Two weeks ago they had sat next to each other when the football was on. He had meant to ask for her number then but had lost his nerve. There were too many people around that knew him. Since then he hadn’t seen her. As last orders were called he decided to leave, he didn’t fancy walking home with Mitchell and the others. He’d take the towpath and kick a few cans into the water.

The towpath was quiet at that time of the night. Despite the risk of slipping on ice Ash liked walking along this way. The cold air kept his mind clear. Normally when he was in college or working at Alabama Fried Chicken he would feel foggy and slow, like he could physically feel his life ticking away. On a night like this however he felt exhilaration, like anything in life was possible.

Snowflakes fell on his face. One landed on his nose. He used his tongue to lick it off. He pulled his hood up further so he could enjoy the soft and warm feel of the lining. Behind him he could hear the noise of the pub. It disappeared slowly as he got further away and within ten minutes he couldn't hear anything at all, not even the road.

As he came to a little bridge the street lamp above him started to blink on and off. It hummed loudly and Ash wondered what was wrong? As he came to the opening of the bridge it went off altogether.

For two or three minutes he just stood there in the darkness. The only light came from over the bushes where he could see the faint glow of the city beyond it.

As suddenly as it turned off the light came on again, no longer buzzing or flickering. He nearly jumped out of his skin. Standing in the shadows under the bridge was a small figure. From its size and general shape Ash got the impression in was a little girl of maybe six to eight years old.

Ash composed himself, "Are you OK? Did you get lost?"

The figure seemed to shake her head.

"You shouldn't be out this late at night," he stepped closer to her, "Look at you,” he still couldn’t quite make her out, “Do you even have a coat? Does your mummy know you are out like this? Does she live near by?" There were no answers to his questions.

The shadow shook her head. She kept her face pointing to the floor as if incredibly shy. Ash kneeled down to try and see the girl's face better. “Hey, can you understand me?”

"Now!" barked the girl. Her voice frightened Ash, there was something animalistic about it.

He didn't have much time to think as someone came from behind and pulled a thin cloth bag over his head.

Ash screamed, but it was muted by the fabric of the bag. Somehow its thin material seemed to eat sound. Every time he took a breath the fabric was sucked down his throat. Through the bag he could just make out the little figure standing over him. He wanted to leap up and grab her, but from behind two small but powerful hands griped his wrists.

He tried to struggle but it was like he was caught in a vice. He continued to struggle but all it achieved was to hurt his arms and tire him out. He could feel his breathing, deep and shallow. What the fuck was happening? He started to panic again as he felt rope begin to bind his wrists.

“Who are you?” he called out, “Why are you doing this?”

“We are your friends,” The voice was a little girl’s, but behind it he could detect the trace of animal fury he had noticed before, “We want to play.”

As he passed out he thought of Alana and how different things could have been if he’d only asked her out.

---

Wren was in the office early. She was trying to track down the address Jack gave her on her street map but couldn’t find a Churchill Street anywhere in Hernsbridge. Every time she Googled it she got a link to black and white photos of Hernsbridge on local history blogs. She looked at the writing on the note. Jack’s handwriting was erratic to say the least; perhaps she had read it wrongly? She tried to unfocused her eyes, to see what Jack meant. She heard a light cough behind her. Turning she saw Mark waiting patiently.

“Can I help?” She was a little annoyed at the intrusion.

“I’ve found something on the Jane Doe,” he paused, looking unsure, “it’s a little strange though.”

“What is it?” This felt like pulling teeth. He handed her a printout and a photo.

“What am I looking at?”

“Well, you asked me to look into missing person cases that might be our girl. At first I drew a blank so I started looking further and further back. I sort of got carried away, then I found this,” he pointed at the document he gave her, “from 1998.”

She looked at what he had handed to her. Stupid really, the girl she met would have only been, what, three, maybe four at a push in 1998. But her eyes lingered on the photo. It was an old one, and she had long hair, but it was her. Or maybe a sister or a twin? They would have to be near identical.

She read the text; Jacqueline ’Jack' Sheppard, age 21. Went missing climbing on the hills with friends. Her friends lost sight of her when a mist descended suddenly, no body was ever found. Even the address checked out.

“This can’t be her. Not unless she was cryogenically frozen,” She turned the piece of paper over, half expecting to see ‘April Fool’ written there.

“I know,” Mark scratched the back of his head, “But if it isn’t, it is one hell of a coincidence.” They both stood in silence looking at the piece of paper. Mark was the first to break the silence.

“There a relative,” he pointed at a line near the bottom of the paper, “the mother. She’s still with us. I checked”

“What would I say to her?” Wren said, mostly to herself. Mark just shrugged.

“Maybe ask if she had any other relatives who have gone missing.”

It made no sense. There seemed no point in getting some elderly woman’s hopes up over nothing. She looked at the photograph. It was black and white but still the resemblance was uncanny. It could have been taken just a couple of days ago.

After a while Mark disappeared muttering something about telling him what she finds out. She just stared at the photo unable to see any difference between it and the girl in the hospital. Eventually she picked up the phone and dialled the number Mark had given her.

“Hello, am I speaking to Mrs Sheppard?” She waited, hearing cracking on the line.

“Who is this?” the voice was elderly but clear.

“Mrs Sheppard? This is Inspector Donnelly of Alfsdale police. Can you confirm who I am speaking to?”

“It’s Ms Rees now dear, I haven’t gone by Sheppard for years. That was my married name.”

“My apologies Ms Rees. I believe you registered your daughter, Jacqueline as missing in 1998?” There was silence on the phone. When she spoke again Ms Rees’s voice was even quieter. Wren can almost feel the pain.

“Is it the body? Has someone found the body?”

---

Tom grasped the styrofoam cup of coffee close in his hands. He waited as its warmth revived his fingers, protecting him against the night. Tully came over and sat next to him.

“Cold night, huh?” she said sipping her tea. He looked up at the stars in the sky.

“It seems like the snow has stopped, for now at least.” Bad weather always brought more work for the paramedics. Alfsdale’s proximity to the M6 and other motorways made it a centre for trucking companies. Many of their drivers were overworked, on tight schedules and eager to get home to their families.

From the cab of their ambulance they could hear the radio crackling. As yet there were no calls.

“Perhaps everyone decided to stay in,” Tully mused. As if in answer to her the radio crackles into life.

“We have a call from Kingsway. Is there anyone near?”

“That’s us,” Tully sighs. Tom was always impressed with how well the petite South Asian woman handled the large ambulance. She could weave in between the traffic at speeds that turned his knuckles white. The roads were mostly empty but it still impressed him how she took such tight corners without tipping the whole vehicle over.

The house was a small semi-detached on the edge of what used to be a council estate and was now mostly privately owned. Tom knocked on the door while Tully waited a little back from him. He watched as a light turned on inside, and a distorted silhouette getting larger as it came closer.

“We had an emergency call? Mrs Beck?” Tom says. For a moment he was worried this was another crank call.

“You were quick,” the woman composes herself, “Our Bryony was attacked.”

“Can you show us where she is?” Tom had an image of a drunken fight in his head. He prayed glass wasn’t involved.

“She’s in the kitchen drinking hot cocoa.” The woman did not wait for his reply, she turned and walked down the hall.

The kitchen was small and the colour of old tea. On the walls were kids finger paintings. A youngish woman, probably in her late teens sat at the table. Her hair was dyed silver, almost grey. It matched the grey of her jumper-dress. The mug she holds seemed too big for her hands.

“Are you okay?” Tully asked her. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“Some pervert tried to grab me,” Bryony’s words sounded tough but her voice shook.

“Are you hurt?” Tully took a seat next to the girl.

“My ankle,” the girl said simply, “and I got a bump on the head.” As Tully checked Bryony for concussion Mrs Beck busied herself making them all tea.

“Do you think it might have something to do with that business they had over in Hayward?” she whispered to Tom.

He knew she meant the taxi drivers who kidnapped and raped young women. The taxi drivers had mostly been South Asian and the victims mostly white. It had caused a great deal of tension across the borough.

“It doesn’t sound like them. They waited till they got the girls in their taxis. This sounds too random for that.” I hope not, he thought, glancing at Tully. Their ambulance had been bricked several times that year.

“Bryony seems fine, just a little mild concussion,” Tully came over to join them. “You should come in if she gets a headache or if things get worse. Apart from that she just needs rest.”

“Thank you,” Mrs Beck handed her a mug.

“Have you reported this to the police?” Tom asked. She snorted, she didn’t think much of that idea.

“What happened?” Tully turned to Bryony, who took a sip of her cocoa.

“Someone grabbed me from behind.” She shuddered. “He had a powerful grip but I kicked him in the balls.” She said the last bit with some pride.

“Where were you?” Tom asked.

“I was coming back from the King’s Head. I took the lane behind the golf course.” Tom knew it well. He had cycled down the muddy little lane on his mountain bike many times.

“Dark this time of night?” suggested Tully.

“The lights from the golf course are enough.”

“Do you think somebody followed you from the pub?” Tom wondered if he should report this.

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “You get some funny sorts.”

After they had finished their tea they made their way out. As they reached the front door Tom turned to Mrs Beck.

“You should report this. Other young women might not be as lucky.”

“The way I figure it,” she crossed her arms, “after our Bryony finished with him I don’t think he’ll be trying it again soon.”

---

Marge was not a close friend, she was married to a colleague, Jeremy who made up part of her pub quiz team. She did however run the local Hearts for Heroes charity shop on the high street.

“Thanks for letting me in,” Wren spoke through the scarf wrapped around her neck and lower face.

“No worries. Who was this for?” Wren could see that part of the deal was exchanging a favour for gossip.

“A girl, she was found on the Hob’s Hill road last night. She hasn’t been fully identified so we need some clothes for her,” Wren looked through the racks not knowing quite what to buy.

“Not that taxi business again?”

“We don’t think so, not the same MO.” She wanted to keep control of this conversation, there were too many dark places it could go. “We don’t really know what happened yet.”

Maybe it was Jack’s short hair but Wren thought she’d be a tomboy. She picked out a couple of pairs of jeans she thought would fit, two t-shirts, a blouse and a couple of small jumpers. They were easily covered by the petty cash Jacobs had given her.

“Do you need any underwear?” Marge asked her. Wren looked at the grey and fading assortment of bras and pants in a big tub.

“Er, no thanks. I’ll just stop off at C&A.”

---

She was surprised to see Jack sat up when she arrived. The girl was sitting on the edge of the bed playing cards with the nurse from earlier. Isaac was sitting in a plastic chair, his legs spread wide in a relaxed pose. Jack smiled when she saw her. Wren thought how much the smile changed her face. She was quite pretty.

“How did you sleep?” Wren asked. Jack held up a small notebook.

‘Hello,’ read the first page. She flicked through a couple of pages. Wren waited patiently as Jack wrote something. ‘Fine thank you. Isaac found this for me.’ She looked at Isaac who shrugged and smiled.

“Good plan.” Isaac nodded his thanks and Wren turned back to the girl, “I brought some clothes for you.” She held up a plastic bag. She had disposed of the charity bag and put everything in the C&A one. Jack showed her a page with ‘Thanks’ written on it, but her expression was wary.

“I thought you might be up to walk to the canteen?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” the young man said. He moved slowly but purposefully up from the seat. Turning to Jack he spoke.

“My shift finished an hour ago.” He stretched and turned to leave. Wren noted the disappointed look on the girl’s face. Recovering well?

“I’ll be back to check on you at the start of my next shift, if that’s okay,” Isaac’s smile was bright and wide. Jack nodded. She turned and looked at Wren with suspicion.

Wren put the bag on the bed; Jack cautiously peered in.

“Come on,” Wren said with forced cheerfulness. Jack sat on the bed looking up at her. Her expression reminded Wren of a kid on her first day of school. “Look, do you want to stay in that,” she indicated what Jack was wearing, “with your arse sticking out all day?” Jack blushed red and then slowly nodded agreement.

Her movements were slow and painful, more like those of the old and infirm than a twenty something woman. Wren watched as she ran a hand slowly through her hair.

“I could get a hairdresser to come in if you like?” Wren asked, the girl just nodded and smiled weakly.

“You seem close to Isaac,” Wren played a hunch. The girl shrugged her bony shoulders but couldn’t look her in the eye.

It felt to Wren like she was dressing an oversized toddler but she was pleased with the purchases. The jeans legs were a little too long, pooling around Jack’s feet, and the jumper sleeves covered her hands so they both need a little turning up, but she had seen worse.

Wren was a little jealous of how good Jack looked, even in cheap clothes. Jack walked tentatively leaning on Wren. She weighs nothing, Wren thought. What happened to her?

---

Jack knew something was wrong. On route to the canteen he kept trying to form the words to tell Wren that he had some how ended up in the wrong body. That he wasn’t supposed to be female, however, every time he tried to formulate the words they slipped through his fingers. It was like he was trying to construct his sentences out of alpha-spaghetti.

After getting out of the elevator Jack saw something he thought would explain it all. A maintenance man was changing the sign on the men’s toilet. Jack grabbed Wren’s arm as tightly as he could, pointing forward.

“What is it?” The detective asked.

Jack pointed again, this time with more force.

“Do you know this man?” Wren looked at the maintenance man, who for his part looked confused.

Jack shook his head. It made him slightly dizzy to do so. He could feel the fog descending it felt a little like being drunk.

“Do you want your notebook?” Jack nodded. Wren passed her the notebook.

Jack tried to compose the words he needed on the paper. He forced himself to focus, like a drunk trying to get his key in the door.

He wrote slowly and with great effort. At times he needed to think just to remember the shape of letters and words. Eventually he finished and looked down at what he had written:

‘I need the toilet.’

As Wren read it Jack let out a silent scream.