Lost Treasure - Chapter 1 ‘It’s on the news again,’ said Margaret as she painfully switched on the television with arthritic hands and turned down the sound. The face of a young, smiling boy filled the screen for a few seconds before going back to the newscaster. ‘Don’t worry, love. They’ll get bored soon enough,’ replied her husband Jack from the kitchen. ‘I really hope you’re right, Jack. I don’t know how much longer I can do this,’ she said, switching off the television and slowly rising from her antique armchair. It was getting much harder for Margaret to pull herself up these days and she knew she’d need to start using a walking stick soon. Jack came into the living room carrying a tray laden with food. Margaret marvelled at how well he still looked compared to her. They were both in their seventies now, but Jack could still pass for a young sixty year old. He still had a full head of hair, but it had long since turned silver and the glint in his dashing blue eyes was still there. Jack’s eyes had been the thing that had attracted her all those years ago. He’d been a dashing salesman with a silver tongue who’d come to her father’s house to try and sell cleaning products. It had been love at first sight for both of them. ‘What is it today?’ asked Margaret pointing to the old plastic tray. They’d bought it on their last holiday in Spain ten years ago, but it was only used for special occasions. There was a picture of a matador holding out his red cape and a bull running towards it, painted on it. They’d both loved it. ‘Spaghetti bolognaise and rice pudding,’ he replied holding out the tray. ‘I hope he likes it.’ Margaret shuffled over to the door and held it open for Jack. As he made his way into the hallway and over to another closed door, Margaret followed whilst digging a key out of the pocket of her long white cardigan. ‘Do you think he’s still sleeping?’ she asked apprehensively. ‘Probably,’ replied Jack. ‘There was more than enough tranquiliser in his lunch.’ Margaret remained holding the key for some time while tentatively looking between her husband and the locked door. ‘I’ll tell you what, love. I’ll open the door and check on the boy while you hold the tray. If he’s awake and tries anything, I’ll be ready. How about that?’ Jack held the tray out for his wife. With a slight nod, Margaret took the tray and gave the key to Jack. As he handed over the tray, he felt it tremble in his wife’s hands. Taking a deep breath, Jack placed the key in the lock and turned it. There was a reassuring click. Taking the handle, he braced himself against the door and slowly opened it, making sure he didn’t leave any space between the door and the wall. The small room beyond was completely silent with only a dull light breaking through the thin, blue curtains. Jack entered the room and headed over to the small bed where a still figure lay. ‘It’s okay, Margaret. He’s still asleep,’ said Jack, leaning over the sleeping form. Margaret entered the room as quickly as she could and placed the tray on the bedside table. She then turned on the lamp, revealing the face of the boy. ‘I still can’t believe how much he looks like him,’ she said, watching the sleeping boy. ‘I know,’ replied Jack. ‘I just hope he understands why we had to do this.’ ‘When he’s ready, I’m sure he will,’ Margaret gave her husband a reassuring smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. ‘He’ll be waking up soon. We should go,’ said Jack, taking his wife’s hand and helping her shuffle out of the room. He then locked the door behind them and helped Margaret back into the living room and back onto her armchair. ‘Can I get you anything, love?’ he asked. ‘Just some water please.’ As Jack made his way to the kitchen, the doorbell rang. ‘I’ll get it,’ he said as Margaret made to get up and went to answer the door. ‘Can I help you?’ asked Jack as he opened the door to find a burly policeman standing on the doorstep. Jack was taken aback by the large birth mark covering almost half the policeman’s face. ‘Hello sir,’ said the policeman. ‘I’m carrying out door to door enquiries into the disappearance of a thirteen year old boy, Vincent Travers.’ He looked at his notepad as he said the name. ‘The boy from the news?’ asked Jack, hoping he sounded sincere whilst trying not to stare at the officer’s birth mark. ‘Yes sir,’ replied the officer. ‘I only have a few questions if you can spare a few moments.’ ‘Of course. Anything to help.’ Beads of sweat started to form on his forehead. ‘Thank you, sir. Can you tell me if you were home on the night of the first of April, Mr…?’ asked the policeman, looking at his notepad. ‘High. Jack High. I was,’ replied Jack. ‘I’m not really fit enough to get out and about much these days.’ The officer wrote something in his notebook before continuing. ‘Did you see anything or anyone suspicious hanging about that day?’ ‘Not that I can recall.’ ‘Is everything alright, Jack?’ shouted Margaret from the living room. ‘Everything’s fine, dear,’ replied Jack. ‘My wife,’ he explained to the officer. ‘She’s not able to get up and about much these days either so I look after things for her.’ ‘Will she have seen anything?’ asked the officer. ‘Unlikely,’ replied Jack. ‘Our living room window looks out to our back garden. She spends the majority of her time in there watching the television.’ The policeman gave a knowing nod and again, wrote in his notebook. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr High,’ said the policeman. ‘If you do think of anything else you might have forgotten, please contact your local office.’ ‘I will,’ assured Jack closing the door as quickly as possible as the officer left. ‘Who was that?’ asked Margaret as Jack entered the living room, wiping sweat from his face. ‘That was the police,’ he replied. ‘They were making door to door enquiries, looking for the boy.’ ‘What?’ Margaret made to get up. ‘It’s alright, dear,’ reassured Jack, placing a wrinkled hand on her bony shoulder. ‘I told him neither of us saw anything suspicious. It sounds as if they’re still treating it as a disappearance.’ ‘Are you sure? What if they suspect us?’ Tears started forming in Margaret’s grey eyes. ‘Why would they suspect us?’ asked Jack. ‘We’re just an innocent, elderly couple. How could we possibly kidnap a thirteen year old boy? Surely he’d easily overpower us?’ ‘I hope you’re right. I can’t lose him again.’ Margaret wept. Jack sat down on the arm of the chair and held his wife as she shuddered under the weight of her grief. Silent tears formed in his eyes and he wiped them away before she could see. From across the hallway a dull thudding could be heard. ‘Please let me out,’ pleaded a weak voice as the thudding continued. Holding his wife closer, Jack whispered, ‘It’s all going to be alright, love.’