Open the door

Thankfully there are still some thing's that can't be understood; things that have nothing to do with science , which is still too narrow minded, and religion, which is illusory.

For me, life was always black and white, and when I first took this case on I had no idea where it would lead me. It looked like just another missing person case but it took me to my innermost core and showed me such wonders that I’m eternally grateful for.

The facts of the case are simple; they always are on the first glance.

Tom Holmes had gone missing three months ago; he'd left no note and there was no indication of foul play. On the surface he appeared to be a very chilled, mellow and affable person; who knew his own mind enough to keep himself to himself. Very few people had a bad word to say about him; those who did obviously bore a grudge against him, but nothing to suggest that they would act on it. No, everyone had the same view about him -aloof but very likeable.

Digging a little deeper led to a history of mental illness and a struggle with a sense of self (something that I could, unfortunately, empathise with), but nothing that extreme.

What did seem odd were the circumstances leading up to his disappearance; Tom had taken every Friday off in May as annual leave from his job working for a local charity. On the last Monday of the month he failed to turn up at work, which was unlike him. He was always an early riser, punctual and never ill.

No one answered at his flat, nor did anyone pick up the phone. His family, such as it was, seemed to display no alarm when questioned and could offer up no explanations when his car turned up outside a church in Loxcastle (almost 20 miles away); they simply nodded as if in understanding. There was no sign of a struggle and no clue to his whereabouts. There was never any suggestion that his family would gain from either his murder or his disappearance, or indeed anyone else. He wasn't rich and no one had any vendetta against him.

I was hired by his manager at work, bizarrely enough. She seemed to value Tom as an employee and wanted to get to the bottom of what had happened.

“He'd... Tom had been with us for over nine years and kept under the radar most of that time.” Susan told me. Susan Eastell , Training and Competency Manager for the charity and his line manager. “But for the last few years he'd come up in leaps and bounds. Our own fault really; we didn't see what kind of talent he had and now I just don't want to see it all go to waste.” She seemed quite genuine, even started to fill up whilst answering the questions.

“What about his family?”

“I don't know – I couldn't read them. They didn't seem to … care... they showed concern at first, but more for my own sake than theirs.”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“They wouldn't answer any question that I put to them. I asked them where he was or what happened to him, but they didn't seem to know.”

“That's hardly surprising, if it's the truth.” I ventured.

“No... it was the way they answered – more of a passive acceptance. It didn't make sense. His mother just turned to me and said that she would know if something bad had happened to Tom. And I believed her.”

I got that same feeling when I visited Tom's mother, Helen.

“Are you religious?” was the first question she asked me when we sat down in her lounge. Everything was very neutral but not necessarily relaxing.

“No..” I answered. “I don't think so... I mean I used to be, once -but I'm not sure what I am now.” I was surprised by the frankness of the question and couldn't help but answer honestly.

“Well, that will hold you in good stead during your investigation.”

“So you know when Tom is then?”

“No.”

“You don't seem to be very upset by his disappearance, don't you miss him?” I asked her, trying to get an emotional response.

“Of course. You've no doubt read up on him; he was well liked by most people and everyone misses him.”

“That doesn't exactly answer my question.”

“He was my son and I loved him more than you could possibly know, but I didn't always understand him.”

“How do you mean?”

“He was always closer to his father than me. They used to go for long walks together, just to talk. I don't know who was teaching who.”

“And where is your husband now?”

“Fishing, I expect. He does that a lot now, it affords him time to think.”

“You sound bitter.”

“Tom has found the peace he always wanted and my husband is at the door to understanding, as he puts it. It seems that no one gave a shit about me, or what I wanted.”

“I'm sorry.” I genuinely felt for her, life had robbed her of both men in her life and all she wanted to know was why.

“Why? Even you on the pathway, presumably, probably without you ever knowing it. It seems that everyone is on their path except for me.” I shrugged, unsure of what to say. It was obvious that she had no idea what had happened so I asked the only question that was left to me.

“Which pond does your husband fish at?”

“Furners Green at Slaughley.”

“Yes – I know that pond well.”

“Of course you do.”

I was perplexed by her outlook. It was as if she was torn in two. She was both in denial of the circumstances of her son’s disappearance but also accepted that he was gone.

I drove over to Furners Green, not wanting to waste any more time. I'd spent many happy memories with my father there and actually caught my first fish there; it'd taken four years of perseverance until I landed, what a that time seemed like a monster, but was only just a pound in weight.

Tom's father was at the third swim and almost seemed to be expecting me.

“Did your wife call ahead and warn you that I was coming?” I ventured.

“No – we're not on speaking terms at the moment. That will pass, though.” He seemed very amiable, completely at odds with the way his wife was.

“What caused the rift?” I asked.

“Oh.. It’s always been there, one way or another. Sit down, please; pull up a rod.” I did so; the first cast feeling magical.

“What can you tell me about Tom?”

“It's difficult to say; there were times when the dividing line between father and son became blurred.”

“In what way?”

“He was possessed with a wisdom beyond his years, and the older he became the more he allowed this to show. He didn't suffer fools gladly so spent most of his life alone. It was far from an easy life; although you'd be forgiven for missing the signs -he internalised everything. He paid for his knowledge though through much soul searching and he never rested until he found the answers.”

“You sound as if you admired him.”

“Yes, strange as it may seem. He was my son, but he belonged to nobody. I saw him grow, helped him where I could and soon I was learning from him.”

“Do you know where he is? What happened to him?”

“I don't know where he is, but I'm trying to understand what happened. I'm almost there, I think... at the doorway, as he put it once.”

“Your wife used the same phrase when describing you.” I ventured.

“Did she?.. Yes, I'm just trying to understand how to open it, I suppose.” He paused and cast the line out again. I followed suit and there was an immense sense of satisfaction and calm. Something I'd not felt for a long time. “What about yourself?” He asked.

I was taken aback by the question; it had been a while since anyone had asked me that. “Well, I guess I'm ok.”

“You guess... That's the problem these days – nobody knows for sure. People no longer ask with intent and no longer care about the answer. Tom cared... that was why he suffered for it. Are you religious at all?”

“Your wife asked the same question.”

“Yes... Tom and his mother rarely saw eye for eye. As he grew he saw the pitfalls inherent in religion, saw it for what it really was and loathed it. However, his mother was the religious type and was an enigma to him, but he couldn't bear to hurt her; so they barely talked. When they did, what started out as a reasoning debate would end in an emotional argument -neither side backing down.”

“Oh... yes, I suppose I can understand that. But, in answer to your question, no... I'm not religious in the slightest.  I confess that I don't really know what I am – the closest I could pin it down to is Buddhism.”

“I would say that we're on a similar path then. I never knew that there was a path until Tom showed the way. Your path is the most important thing – it is your life. You can choose to ignore it, to fight it or to walk it. The first will lead to endless recursion; the second to pain and frustration but the third will lead to understanding and peace -or that is what Tom believed.”

“And you?”

“I ignored mine for many years and kept repeating the same mistakes...  but under different guises, I guess. Now I'm becoming more aware of life happening around me.”

“What did happen to Tom?”

“I don't honestly know... but I've been expecting someone to come looking for him. Someone like you, actually. Someone that might actually understand.”

“Why?”

“So I could give them these.” He reached into his backpack and handed me three A5 notebooks.  “The handwriting is pretty illegible, but if you can translate them they're his words... maybe then you'll find the door you're looking for.”

I took the books and thanked him. “If you want to talk, I put my mobile number on the inside cover.... by the way – I think you've caught a fish!”

I sat down and read Tom's words that night, cover to cover -no sleep until I finished all three and by the end I'd never felt so refreshed. The handwriting was terrible to start with but I was determined to understand. Slowly I began to recognise words out of the meaningless jumble and then pieced whole sentences together; pretty soon I was just reading it as if I had been the one who wrote it.

Tom's initial journey felt so much like my own -we had read similar books and almost drawn the same conclusions, I had read Colin Wilson's Outsider and understood the premise but felt alienated by its preponderance on figures from literature -I'm not well-read in the slightest and found it hard going. Tom took to it like the proverbial and even managed to draw conclusions to films such as “Five Easy Pieces” with Jack Nicholson.

But where I had given up reading at books like “The Celestine Prophecy” and the “History of Now”, Tom had delved even deeper.

Tom suffered from depression brought on from an underactive thyroid; I felt guilt over a friends suicide. I felt initially spurred by a wish to have been there to help which turned into helplessness due to the realisation that there was nothing I could've done to help. In the end I accepted her death in a way that I never could my life. There was a constant comparison to her life; the constant what-if scenario and ultimately living my life for her. None of this showed as no one ever got close enough to catch a glimmer. Life is tenuous enough as it is and very few people are strong enough for their own lives let alone two. I wanted to cast no ripples for others to find. I had accepted the way life was and did what I could to get from A-B with little residual presence.

Tom was different. He had no control over his depression and that forced him to find alternatives; not through drugs and escapism, but through coping mechanisms and understanding. He never gave up.

True, there were lulls and times when he was down and his journal became heart-rending. Life seemed to happen at once, no holds barred and constantly testing for the weaknesses to exploit -no matter how carefully constructed the armour it found that one chink and struck.

But Tom never saw it as an attack but as a way to move forward, to become stronger. He felt the pain and moved through it, allowing life to show him things. He was a deep believer in synchronicity and preferred Jung's views to Redfield.

To Tom, Redfield tried to sell a concept, cheapening the truth to fit a mystery caper; a race against time. Jung understood the hologram, the semiology. As above, so below; the world became a reflection of the individual.

It was frightening just how much I could relate to this. Tom’s writing style was direct and pulled no punches. At times it was so emotionally raw but that just made it all the more real.

In the last journal I began to see how he had been tying up loose threads; the small, inconsequential details that people just don't notice. He'd reached an understanding that few people ever attain, and upon finishing the last page I knew that there was only one place I had to go.

It was still dark when I reached Loxcastle Church but, strangely enough, the church was still open and unlocked. I half expected to find Tom's car parked outside. The church was cool inside and it took a while for my eyes to become accustomed to the dark.

The church smelt of misplaced hope and the ravages of time. I used to feel oppressed on the rare times I visited these places, now I just felt sad.

Somehow I knew where Tom had sat, on the front row, at the far right corner and I did the same. A sense of warmth and peace drifted over me and I knew that I'd chosen correctly. I closed my eyes.

My life had taken me down so many dead ends and blind alleys; and here I was in yet another. But I thought back to the initial decision to drive out here. There was no procrastination, no doubt: it had felt right and there seemed no reason to question it; despite the absurdity. Sitting in this seat flew in the face of logic, yet the feeling I was now experiencing was one I'd almost forgotten existed... Acceptance.

I don't know how many times Tom had visited this church, it didn’t matter: his total acceptance of life led to an understanding that is only just beginning to speak to me now.

I know he didn't commit suicide; that would have been abhorrent to him. No, he realised that he'd lived his life as best he could. He knew that he had a choice: to stay or move on. His decision was simple and came as a surprise only to his mother who could not understand due to her blinkered 'faith'. His father understood and, although it went against every instinct, gave his blessing.

I believe that Tom realised his truth, this true self. It's a concept that I can understand now, but only as a concept -I'm a long way to realising it in myself. I don't know whether I could make the same decision that Tom made, but I do know that he's given me more to live for. His journals, his journey has given me the keys to finding my very own door and I look forward to the day when I can finally walk through it.

Past saving

“You were never like this thirty years ago.” And that was true; thirty years was a long time.

“Well, congratulation; you’ve finally found the real me. You always said there had to be more to me, and now you know you’re right. Just like you used to be.”

Spend enough time anywhere, Len always maintained, and even Heaven would feel like Hell, especially if it was with the wrong person. The thing is, it didn’t start out like this.. or did it?

“What do you mean, used to be?” He snapped. It was supposed to be a quiet afternoon; a trip to the seaside; a walk down memory lane before they demolished the pier and eradicated the last of their happy memories.

“Well, you used to be right. Or, at least, you used to pretend you were right, and I suppose that I used to pretend as well.” Dot had taken some persuading, the news of the pier being demolished had hit her harder than he had realised. He was saddened by it, certainly, but she seemed almost inconsolable; nor did she want to talk about it; or indeed anything, which was very unlike her.

“Anything for a quiet life, I suppose.” He muttered. “How ironic.”

“What did you say?” She snapped suddenly.

“Steady on, old girl. What’s the matter?”

“Go to hell!”  I can’t, he thought, already there.. and what was worse, he knew that she felt the same. Neither of them wanted to end up this way, but it had still happened; slowly, inexorably: minute by damned minute. This trip might well have been a mistake, but what was one more? Unless this was the final one.

“Seriously, Dot, what’s wrong? You know I don’t mean it.”

There were still times when Len’s truth surprised her, where his real caring nature shone through, like it always used to. Not only did it make it easier to love him, but she knew that she could tell him anything, well.. almost. Now is where she would put it to the test.

“Do you remember Justin? He used to work at Wentworth’s with me for a while.”

Len shifted a little, uncomfortable with the way the conversation had suddenly turned.

“Yes, I vaguely remember him –or at least you mentioning him.” He lied.

“I found out that he passed away a couple of days ago. On Facebook, I mean… I found out that on Facebook that he passed. The funeral was yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“I went.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It wasn’t that she had gone without him; he had never stopped her living her own life. He had tried to make her happy, even if it meant that she did things on her own; but it was the fact that she hadn’t even told him. She’d never had any reason to be secretive before.

“I don’t know. I didn’t know whether I could go through with it myself, to be honest. I didn’t know… what I felt.”

“What do you mean, Dorothy?”

“Why is it that you only call me Dorothy in that tone of voice? You used to whisper my name during love making.”

“Don’t change the subject, what else haven’t you been telling me?”

“But I’m not changing the subject, don’t you see? As above, so below; one of your favourite sayings. Look at the detail to see the root of the bigger problem. We’re growing apart, Leonard. We’re not talking anymore, not like we used to. We bicker, but not talk… Justin and I.. well, we had an affair.. of sorts.”

“For God’s sake, why tell me now?”

“Don’t blaspheme!”

“Jesus Fucking Christ, your timing is as impeccable as ever.”

“Please, Leonard, don’t blaspheme.”

“Leonard, eh? Touché, old girl, touché. You know, I’ve often wondered why you got more religious the longer we’ve been together. What am I, the anti-christ?”

“Hardly… you’ve always encouraged me to find my own truth; the same way you have. You’ve never told me what to believe, and I suppose I’m grateful. But where you’ve found solace and truth and peace of mind, I’ve seen only emptiness.”

“You never did understand that life is what you make it; you only get out what you put it. You’ve never invested in your Self.”

“Well, neither did you…”

“I gave you your freedom. I’ve allowed you to be what you wanted; to have what you wanted.”

“Have you..”

“well… except that.”

“At least the church gives me a sense of purpose, tells me who I am.”

“I’m sorry that you need such a scaffold; I had hoped that you’d find the strength to do that on your own.”

“I must be a great disappointment to you.” Dot turned to look out at sea.

“Do you have to be so daft? I married you, didn’t I? Despite not believing in it; doesn’t that count for something? I’m still with you… I still love you; doesn’t that say something?”

“I don’t know any more.” She replied.

He took a deep breath, watched the gulls cawl and hackle at each other. “Are you going to tell me about him then?” He asked. “About what happened?”

“He was only there as a temp; six months. He was ten years younger than me but always looked at me with.. I don’t know… there was a wistfulness  in his gaze; something alive for me. I wasn’t unhappy, you mustn’t think that. At least, I don’t think so. You’ve always been distant… I know that you always loved me; but I don’t think you’ve ever been in love with me. You don’t put as much effort into the relationship anymore.”

“It’s always been about what you want, though Dot.” He interjected. “And I’ve never denied you anything; but, equally, I learned long ago that you’d never be completely satisfied. Early on you defined our relationship as being best because of the way I made you feel; not about me per se; but it was always about what you got out of it, or what I did for you. So I supposed he was different then.”

“He courted me, would you believe? Gently though, allowed me to time to make up my own mind. Strangely he didn’t want anything from me, just to give me love, and loving. We were together only for four months; on and off.. mostly off.”

“I know.” The silence struck her, it was as if the sea itself had stood still. She had never dreamed that he knew. All that time. “Well… obviously, I didn’t know the details, but I certainly suspected.”

“But why did you never say anything? Oh.. of course.”

She was quiet for a bit. The world carried on as normal; the sun played hide and seek with the clouds as children ran along the pier behind them. The smells of candyfloss, donuts and fish & chips would soon be nothing more than a tidal memory; an eddy on the minds of the lucky few who would remember.

“It wasn’t love that we felt.” She finally said. “At least I don’t think it was. We loved each other in the moment and then went our separate ways. The irony was that he was married as well; happily too, as I was led to believe, and with two daughters; and that was where the real rub was. He knew what I so desperately wanted and that was probably why he never slept with me. We enjoyed each other but never went all the way; even with him I was denied.

“What made it worse was the way he spoke about you… I mean, obviously we talked, but the more I explained about you and us, the more admiration he showed for you. How you’d given me flow; freedom and choice. And I suppose that’s true, otherwise I would never have met him.

“Of course, he moved away when his contract was up. We knew that we’d never keep in contact, and our last meeting was very much the same as our first… I swore that I’d never tell you; that I’d keep our secret to the grave.”

“And you have, pet.”

“Yes, I suppose I have.”

“And what do you feel now?” He asked.

“I don’t know. I never wanted to hurt you. I guess I felt empty when he left. It was about that time when you were researching hermeticism and I picked up the Bible, and just thought ‘why not?’ At least someone will love me.” She sobbed now, gently, like a lost soul might weep.

“I’ve always loved you, but –in hindsight- maybe not the way that you needed it. You want love like a child; constant attention. The only reason you want a baby so much is so it can take you away from the emptiness you’ve always felt. But it’s only ever a passing felling; you have to do that yourself.”

“But why? You’ve never really told me why you don’t want children. You must tell me, Len, I can’t go on not knowing. I can’t have them now anyway; please tell me.”

He looked at her then, his eyes full of compassion. Part of him wanted to say no, but that would have been unbearably cruel. He sighed.

“Once, when I was a boy of no more than thirteen, I went to a ghastly wedding.” He said, looking out to sea again. “It was with a bunch of family I didn’t know or care for; cousins, distant something or rathers. The reception was being held at some awful, run-down hotel when they didn’t seem to care about customer service or value for money. It was dingy and expensive.

“Anyway, I was claustrophobic –even back then- so I went outside. There was a veranda overlooking the Downs and a few younger children were playing, making lots of noise. I didn’t take too much notice; the view was so stunning.

“One of the children had a kind of motorised bird that flapped its wings when you threw it. This boy was deaf and had some form of mental retardation; I don’t know what kind –we were more ignorant about that kind of thing, back then. I was taller than most of the other kids, and he wanted me to throw this damnable bird, this flappy toy, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He kept tugging at my sleeve.

“My cousin, Bobby, was there and he was enjoying it; really winding me up; so I picked up this bloody bird and threw it as hard as I could out of spite, see? I never wanted to get involved but he wouldn’t leave me alone!” He could feel the tears now, a memory he’d hoped was forgotten was still just as painful. “The wind… I didn’t bank on the bloody wind taking it, did I? I mean, how could I have known?” My God, it was still so raw, it could have happened yesterday. Was it still happening now?

“What happened, Len? Please tell me, it’s ok. Let it out, it can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Oh.. and how do you know? You want to know what happened? I killed that poor lad, just as if I’d put a gun to his head; it was my fault. I threw that bird, that fucking bird.” People were staring at him; look at the old fool blubbing, well.. let them! “That bird, flew so very high on to the roof. I bet it had never flown that high in its life, and now it was stuck out of reach, never to fly again. There was no way I could get to it, nor did I have any inclination to, but the boy was having none of it. He wanted me to go and get it; after all, I was the one who had lost it. But there was no way I was getting involved; I hadn’t wanted to throw it in the first place, had i? So I tried walking away, but he wouldn’t let me; he tried stopping me… kids… we can be so cruel; all he wanted was his damn bird… He tried to grab me, tried dragging me back; he didn’t seem to understand that I didn’t want to know…  but he soon did though.”

“What did you do? What did you do to that poor boy?”

“See; you’re just the same. The poor boy…he was a menace. What I want to know, and what I’ve often wondered about afterwards, is where were his fucking parents? Why weren’t they looking after him? They were probably enjoying the free booze, getting pissed.”

“What did you do?” She persisted, quietly.

“Nothing.. pushed him away; that’s all.. and then walked away. Thankfully he didn’t follow. He fell to the ground, but I didn’t bother going to help him; to me the matter was over, but for him it had only just begun.

“I wanted food; I was hungry. Even back then I comfort ate, and by the time I’d laden up my plate I’d almost forgotten about it all… almost.  Then Bobby ran over to me, distraught. The boy.. he kept saying; The boy.. sobbing. I ran out with him. The boy hadn’t forgotten about that damned bird, after all. Seems it was his favourite toy and he wanted it back, so he tried climbing up the side of the building. Those old hotels; they all have the fancy walls with lots of hand-holds, and this boy tried scaling them. Obviously he fell; no one looking after him, no one caring and he paid the price.

“He didn’t fall far but the way his little body was twisted he must have snapped his neck. At least it was quick… But then, like the ultimate irony, that fucking bird came flapping back down because of a stray gust of wind. It landed on his body but he would never play with it again. That poor, poor boy.”

“But it wasn’t your fault, Len. How can you continue to blame yourself?”

“No one blamed me. Not even his parents. All the witnesses saw him hassle me, none of them remembered me pushing him down, but all saw me try to reason with him. The parents looked almost relieved that their torment was over. What they must have endured over the years, and the one time they turned their back something happened.

“I was inconsolable for weeks afterwards; I still saw his face accusing me. The parents let me keep the bird, they didn’t ask why; perhaps they understood.”

“No..; that’s.. you mean, that’s why you keep that mangy toy in the corner? I thought it might have been your favourite toy as a child; I never dreamed..”

“I swore that I would never put myself in that position again. I despised those parents; all the parents that turned a blind eye to that poor child. I despised myself for the same, and I knew that I could never bring a child into such a life.”

“But you wouldn’t have done. You would have been different. Oh, Len.”

“Really? I caused the death of that boy; I was the catalyst. I don’t know whether I could’ve gotten that bird or talked the boy down from getting it; but I didn’t want to know. I hated children, Dot… don’t you see? I despised them. Now? I don’t know; I pity them; they don’t stand a chance and things have gotten so much worse.

“Don’t you see? Our child.. had we… it wouldn’t have stood a chance. Between us, you would’ve smothered it before it could even get out of the crib and I would have abandoned it. Together I’m sure that we make a whole, but I couldn’t have subjected an innocent soul to that kind of torment. Far better to bear it myself.”

“But you haven’t, have you? I’ve had to bear it as well. This is why you’re always so distant.. why you’ve striven so hard to find meaning; and you’re just as empty as me. Oh, you put on these graces, tart it up in language to dazzle me but you’re still the same thirteen year old boy.”

“Yes.. yes..” He nodded, ashamed, but also relieved to finally have disclosed what he felt. “You’re right, of course.”

Dot smiled despite everything, or perhaps because of everything. Despite the pain, the recriminations, she actually laughed.

“That must be the first time you’ve ever said that… and meant it.” She said, still smiling.

“Do you think people can change, Dot? Do you think that we can? Or are we like this damn pier; just a skeleton; we weather the storms and high tides until its deemed we’re too unsafe and have no functional value. What do you think? Are we still of value to each other?”

“Justin dying has made sense of a few things, clarified them. I don’t think either of us have ever lived for the moment. We’ve both sought sanctuary elsewhere; escaping what we think is the inevitability of other peoples failings; but it needn’t be that way. What have we got to be scared of anymore? We’ve been scared to love because of what we might have to lose, but what have we really gained?

“I want more, Leonard. I want more from you, damn you. I want more love from you; I want to love you more.”

“Ha – that’s the first time I’ve heard you swear, m’love. Maybe there’s hope for you yet…For us. Do you think that we can change?”

“I fucking well hope so.”