The Titan Code

10. The Sound of Silence

NEEDLESS to say Alex was mad when I told him. He ranted on about safety, unecessay risks, valuing my own life, jepordising the entire plan blah blah.

I know it was stupid and dangerous but I found out two very useful things- a car reg number and physical details of a meeting. Okay, so I don't know where the meeting is exactly but we have opportnities to narrow that down, now.

"I appreciate your concern but it worked out fine," I insist as I cut through his rant.

"It didn't work out fine, it was pure luck that it was fine but a blatant disregard for any consideration might ruin this entire thing!" he snaps.

"Who the hell are you?" I snap back, feeling my stubborn independence flare up. "Don't you tell me I'm going to ruin everything, you don't know that! I did what I had to do."

How dare he tell me what I am and what I've done? He knows nothing about me, nothing at all and to suggest I'm recklessly endangering everything is bloody ignorant.

"Look, Ella," he says after a pause with a sudden restraint on his heated tone, "I'm sorry for shouting. I don't mean to blame you. I just..."

He trails off for a moment as if he's unsure if he should say something.

"You just what?" I'm not feeling too forgving right now.

I can hear his sigh. "I've known people ignore the facts of a situation and they've regretted those consequences since. I'm not saying you're being selfish or anything, I just don't want you doing something rash and paying a high price for it."

What?

What is he on about? That sounds like his hang-up and he is definitely referring to something very personal in a vague, guarded way. Is this why he's so serious, because him or someone he knows has made bad choices with worse results?

I feel the fire ease off somewhat.

"Alex, I'm sorry I went rogue on you. I just followed he only solid lead I knew we had," I say with as much candour as possible.

He breathes heavily a few times as if he's calming himself down.

"I didn't mean to go in on you," he says eventually, "this whole thing has just brought up old memories."

Probably a normal person would very gently and subtly ask what had happened but an elegant discretion in words isn't in my skillset. I don't really know the guy so I can't ask his deepest horrors.

"Oh," comes the lame response.

The phone line crackles and I feel that's probably down to me.

"Did... did you hear anything tonight?" I say in a falsely bright tone, making it apparent I'm changing tack.

"Erm... no," Alex replies after a definite pause. "They were just smoking again and talking about the football."

Another dead end, then.

"Well, sometime tomorrow I'll get searching online and see what I can find. See you later," I finish and we hang up.

*

I feel distinctly awkward now that I've clearly dodged Alex's trauma and probably he knows that, too. I don't know when I became such a sad sack but apparently I am socially inept when I need to be normal.

Another day of drudgery at work ensues but today is hard; I've had non-stop enquiries and emails to answer, so much data inputting to catch up on I think my fingers might bleed and the dreaded Director's meeting to handle, which honestly I hate more than being embroiled in a trans-universe Grecian experiment.

It's nine o'clock in the evening before I even stop to sit down as I'm so stressed from today and I've not even had time to think about searching online for any clues. I can't say that I care too much either.

I can't be expected to spend every spare moment on this.

Yet as I lie in bed I decide to do something I never thought I'd do. I search online for Alex.

Alex Johnson is a fairly common name, by the looks of it, and he doesn't have Facebook that I can see. So I try Twitter... nothing. I check Instagram... nothing.

I know not everyone has social media and I myself realise it's normally just a vaccuous waste of time, but it seems odd that he has nothing.

So I Google him instead.

Yes it's a bit weird but I know nothing about this man and I'm working with him.

Mostly the results are just links to social media and phone numbers, but nestled right at the bottom on my search results is a local newspaper article from eight years ago.

It's just text, no images.

Local Lad Raises Hundreds for Charity

Local architectural student, Alex Johnson, has raised over eight hundred pounds for cancer charity Macmillan Cancer Care by joining in at the 5K Race in the park.

Alex, 20, has approached fellow students, professors and members of the public to sponsor him to run the 5K dressed as the Eiffel Tower.

"I want to give back to Macmillan," Alex said, "they cared so well for my Mum when she was really sick and I want to do my bit to help that continue. I feel really passionate about giving back after a loss and I know my mum would want me to do everything I can to help others."

Alex's mum, Joyce, died last May after a long battle with bowel and ovarian cancer. She is survived by husband Kevin, twenty-three year old Connor and Alex.

Alex plans to graduate University and continue his charitable support.

I stare at the screen.

There's no photographs so I can't be one hundred percent sure but this is quite possibly him.

He said he's an architect and it's from the right area, Kent. This person seems a million miles away from the Alex I've met however he has cracks in his exterior showing a different person underneath.

I feel like a pit has settled in my stomach. Is this why he's so determined to solve this, because he feels driven to do good deeds?

I'm not sure I should've searched for him, it feels like I've stumbled upon his diary and now I've read it I don't know what to think.

A personal tragedy really changes a person and maybe his way of moving on is by trying to help others. Maybe he has some level of regret which drives him, or possibly that he feels so lost and empty he just floats along and grasps any excuse for redemption.

My head is whirling. What do I do, slip in a casual reference to his family and see what turns up? I might be awkward but I'm not a lunatic. That would be cold.

So when it's time to travel I'm actually relieved when I get to shoot off in the opposite direction to Alex; no talk or hanging around, straight to task and we don't have to speak until the debriefing afterwards.

The cold March air cuts through to the bone as I head along the exposed carriageway embankment. I'm not in the mood for heroics or exploration so a simple sign would be pretty great.

My mind keeps whirring over that article from eight years ago. From it I can see Alex has an older brother and a dad, that he was popular and confident enough to ask people for sponsorship money, and that he had a sense of humour from running a 5K in fancy dress.

I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts that I almost miss the biggest help from these few nights.

I do a double-take as I suddenly pay attention to the white metal sign. My breathing quickens in time with my pulse.

Welcome to Hetfield