Chapter Four

I set down the newspaper down and headed for the door, inhaling deeply as I did so. Savory scents drifted from the kitchen; Monica was putting her considerable culinary talents to use again, concocting some delicious wonder for dinner. After years of waiting for the right opportunity to move from England, Fortune had finally smiled upon us. The significantly upgraded kitchen, with its new appliances and sprawling counter spaces, was just one of the perks of our new Australian home.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust properly to the nighttime darkness when I opened the door and another moment to make certain that I wasn't seeing things. A wan, hollow-faced man with startling black eyes stood before me, his body draped oppressively in thick, heavy clothing in spite of the boiling summer heat.

"Good evening, Dr. Granger. Evidently, you have not received any of my correspondence, as it has taken me quite a while to locate you. Regrettable, though understandable, for one cannot be too careful these days."

His words were as strange as his appearance, and in confusion, I replied, "I am very sorry, sir, but I'm afraid you've got the wrong man. There is no Dr. Granger here."

His eyes narrowed, though no other thoughts were evident upon his guarded visage.

"You are not David Granger? Is your wife not Jane Anderson?"

"No, indeed not," I affirmed. I was inexplicably glad that I was not this David Granger, whoever he was. Something about this stranger was disturbing, and I had the vague feeling that David would have objected to his presence. "Perhaps the man you seek used to live here; my wife Monica and I have only lived here for the past few months, though I can assure you that I've never dealt with anyone by the name of Granger when I bought the place."

"It is certainly very odd," the dark-robed stranger agreed. I realized he was now assessing me in a rude, impertinent fashion, his eyes gazing frankly into mine with unwarranted familiarity. A flash of unnaturally intense heat overcame me. Bristling, I glared at him, intending to put an end to the intrusion, but he himself had already jerked his eyes away, brows furrowed and nonplussed.

Before I could ponder the meaning of that, my wife joined us. "Wendell, who is it?" Her voice carried before her as she entered from the kitchen. She took in our black apparition and raised her eyebrows.

"He is looking for someone who doesn't live here," I explained.

Monica inspected him shrewdly. "Well, it would be a shame for you to have come all this way for nothing. Come have a bite with us before you leave. If you're lucky, the temperature may drop down a few degrees." She eyed our guest's insulating layers pointedly.

I gaped at my wife, scanning her face for an indication of why she might have invited a complete stranger to dine with us. "Monica, dear, perhaps..."

"Oh, relax. It's just dinner. If he really wanted to kill us, we'd all be dead by now. Why have this great big house if we're only going to keep it to ourselves? Besides, look at him, he is exhausted and distressed."

Exhausted and distressed? I was sure he wasn't anything besides sour and unfriendly. But I gave our guest another look, and only then did I observe the stress lines creeping from the corners of tired eyes, the unhealthy hue of sallow skin, and a bandage upon his left hand. Leave it to Monica to see everything where others saw nothing.

The man bowed his head and murmured, "No, madam, your offer is kind, but it will not be necessary. I have imposed on you enough."

"Stay," I insisted, guilt and curiosity intermingling to bring me into agreement with my wife. He had the appearance of a bloke who had fallen on hard times, to say the least. I was willing to overlook our rough beginning. "You must have journeyed from somewhere far away, if your clothes are speaking the truth. Have something to eat, and perhaps if you tell us about this David Granger, we could help you locate him."

The stranger considered us wearily, the simple decision appearing to weigh greatly upon him. He looked from my wife back to me again, then closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. I did not understand this display of undue reluctance, but this only served to pique my interest in him.

Finally, he acquiesced. "I thank you both for your hospitality."

Several minutes later found us all seated around the table. "At least tell us your name," I prompted as we began tucking in.

"Douglas," he said simply. He chewed absently, oblivious to the excellent casserole.

"All right, Mr. Douglas, what is your occupation? And what brings you here to Australia looking for Mr. Granger?" Monica encouraged. I let her take the reins. She was always better at teasing information out of prickly types.

Mr. Douglas set his fork down with precise, careful movements, a preoccupied expression clouding his features. "I am a teacher," he responded slowly. "David Granger and his wife, Jane Anderson, have a daughter who was, until recently, a pupil at my school."

"Ah," Monica murmured. We both listened attentively.

"A number of months ago, the daughter went missing," he continued mechanically, eyes fixed upon his plate, "along with two of her friends. They were last seen at a wedding where... violent intruders appeared and incited a chaotic riot."

"Oh, how awful!" my wife gasped.

"Well, that's a truly asinine thing to do," I remarked, "especially given the fact that these people had a girl in boarding school!"

Mr. Douglas actually smirked, though it did not reach his eyes. "Yes, most unfortunate."

"So, you are looking for them in order to tell them that their daughter is missing? What horrible news to receive," said Monica with a shudder.

"Correct, hence my erroneous call here," the man replied. "However," he began in a changed tone as he finally met our gazes, "the nature of the news I bear has changed greatly, as I am now seeking them in order to inform them that their daughter has been found."

"Oh, good," Monica sighed.

"What had become of her?" I inquired.

"She...and her friends...had gone to great lengths to conceal themselves in an encampment in the forest. It took us a long while to determine their whereabouts." As he explained the details, his eyes became progressively more somber and his voice quieter. "They had realized immediately that it was they who had been the target at the wedding..."

"So, they hid in the woods?" I asked, frowning. "Didn't you say they were just students? Could they not be protected by the authorities?"

A bitter look crossed his face. "We are currently without the rule of law where we are."

I endeavored to think of some lawless places from whence this man, Douglas, might have come. "The Middle East?" I ventured. "Though why on earth would this Granger fellow send his daughter to boarding school in such a hostile environment?"

Mr. Douglas paused, and Monica quickly filled the silence. "Perhaps he would rather not say where he's from, dear," she said sympathetically. "Maybe he himself is in some sort of danger, if it's truly such a horrible place that everyone has to fend for themselves."

"So, you found her in the forest and brought her back to the school? Was she injured?" I asked in an attempt to steer Mr. Douglas back into his narrative again.

"No...," he replied, voice suddenly strained. "I...left her there. I left all of them, that is."

"WHAT?!" both my wife and I choked out.

"I ascertained that she was well. But it was impossible, given the circumstances, to remove her. There is a reason why she and her friends wander through the wilderness, related to why they were attacked in the first place. They must fulfill a certain objective before they may return." The man's eyes were shadowed.

"That is just... barbaric!" Monica exclaimed, appalled.

"But what I don't understand is this," I cut in. "This is a hell of a lot of effort you're putting in, Mr. Douglas, to find these parents, only to tell them that their daughter was lost and is, er... still lost. Why bother telling them at all? I'd imagine it would distress them unnecessarily. Perhaps you should just wait until she's definitely safe again."

"I would have thought the reason was quite obvious!" said Monica as she lightly speared at her vegetables. "He's in love with her."

"Pah," I scoffed, turning to Mr. Douglas.