Middle Hebrides

I - Then, Wednesday

North of Inverness

If one woke up after a long, centuries-lasting slumber, they wouldn't tell whether it was another harsh autumn or spring only about to wake up. With short summers and winters bearing sometimes less than a couple of snowflakes, everything looked the same - barren cliffs hanging over lazy tides of the North Sea, cutting away bogs, marshes and short grass from reaching shore.

Despite winds howling between the rocks, she was wearing nothing but a thin skirt while holding a red balloon on the edge of a cliff. As if on a painting, the setting sun was bathing her in warm colours, embracing the silhouette in oranges and yellows. A young girl, maybe eight or ten years old, with two braids waving like lonely flags; she was standing there patiently, looking towards the horizon.

'Have you seen her today?' a man approached the girl, bearing a spare coat to hand over to her. There was no response. Only a single shake of a little head.

'We will find her sooner or later,' he said slowly and took the girl's free hand to lead her down the hill.

Angus observed the entire scene from the distance. His hair, messy from the wind and left for too long without any grooming, was hitting his cheeks like a thousand whips. And yet, he wasn't bothered about his looks. It had been too long. He embraced himself in that thin, dull-grey stormcloak, too thin for this weather, then turned back to grab some coffee from the nearby campfire.

He walked to the circle created by wagons, unevenly parked. It was the twenty-first century, yet for the people he traveled with it could be as well as two hundred years before. Nothing changed. Still the same set of rites and superstitions - as if they refused to obtain that technological comfort, in exchange for the tradition they obeyed so faithfully. And, in the midst of this forced primitivism, she was there. Standing along with other women, above a cauldron with piping hot stew. Angus embraced her from behind and kissed the back of the head.

'What is it going to be tonight?' he asked. She turned around and laughed.

'The same as usual - a soup of dreams and expectations, making you think it's some royal supper. Now go and don't disturb us,' she laid her hand, palm open, over his arm. He nodded curtly, then moved to a small kettle and filled the nearby thermos with coffee from it.

Angus sighed and walked away, passing Ivy running to the centre of the camp with her balloon. Her father was walking slowly behind her, looking at the daughter with what looked like sadness.

'Angus,' he smiled, seeing the man. 'How are you two today? Still no improvement?'

Angus shook his head and walked towards a wagon, to take a seat on one of the steps. Seeing this, Grant joined him on the short stairs.

'No. We still don't remember and somehow I doubt this will change' he sighed, then opened the thermos and poured coffee in a mug.

'The question is: do you want this to change?'

'Of course I do, Grant' he scoffed, then looked at Ivy's father. 'I'm sorry. You folk are like a family but... appearing at yours in the middle of the night...'

'...not even knowing your woman's name. I get it' he nodded.

'Bride suits her, though.'

'Yes' Grant nodded. Angus couldn't tell if it was courtesy or not, yet he carried on.

'It's as if her name defined her.'

'And yet, because you don't know it, you go with this one. Probably giving her living a different purpose,' the man shook his head. His watery eyes looked at Angus carefully, brightening with appreciation when the young man handed him the mug.

'What about you?'

'What do you mean?'

'What is your purpose here, camping in the middle of nowhere? I can't complain but this abrupt stop in the middle of the day...'

'It's for Ivy,' he said after a while,poking at where all the women were showing his daughter how to cook. 'She wanted to look for her mother again.'

Before he could ask Grant to elaborate, Angus noticed two men walking slowly towards the camp. The way they trod, too careful, showed they didn't venture outside the mainland - even if mainland still meant a bigger island - too often. Afraid of marshes, every step they took was preceded with a long thought. The black uniforms clearly indicated who they were - and Angus wasn't happy about it.

Before he could do anything, however, Graeme approached the newcomers. Despite his old age, the bald leader of the troupe ignored the harsh winds, wearing only a worn t-shirt with the Guns N'Roses logo. He exchanged a couple of words with the policemen and pointed in the direction of their wagon. Grant raised his head and sent him a curious look. Without thinking, Angus reached inside his coat, seeking a pistol. One he had to get rid of before joining the troupe. He swallowed a curse and took his hand out.

'What is they want here? Did you park your car somewhere? I'd still expect them to...' Grant laughed, then saw the tension on Angus' face.

'Angus Mackinnon?' one of them asked. Taller, no older than mid-thirties, he looked exactly like someone bored to death with rescuing stray sheep and investigating illegal bonfires lit by teenagers too young to escape the island and too old to stay home. The other one, short and plump, seemed nervous, as if it was his first assignment outside the comfort of his desk. 'Officers Adam Daigle and Ed Roach, Inverness police.'

'Maybe,' Angus sighed heavily. 'Would you like some coffee?'

The younger policeman's nod was interrupted by a brief gesture from his colleague.

'We'd love to but we need to get back before the tide rises. And I'd encourage you to do the same. It's been a couple of days already.'

'A couple of days since what?'

'Your mother's dead and you're the only heir. Took us a while to locate you... as if you wanted to distance yourself from her.'

No. This wasn't going to work. He didn't want to share more details than needed.

'I understand you want some form of ID?' Angus took out a passport from his pocket. Worn out, the pages barely stood in one place, heavy from stamps and annotations. 'What about my father? He should still be in Ireland,' he added, handing the document over.

'Do you know where exactly?'

Angus only laughed bitterly. His family, or whatever was left from it, elevated the art of disappearance to a Copperfield-like masterpiece.

'Neither do we,' the tall one glanced over the document and passed it back. 'As for the rest, they're also unavailable.'

'Did she die somewhere here?' Grant closed the thermos and stood up.

'No, in Edinburgh. She fell through a window at work. Last Friday.'

'And it took you five days to find me?' Angus shook his head. 'How did you do it anyway?'

'The cameras caught your car here a couple of months ago and it's still parked by the inn on Territorial Road. We've seen you a couple of times and... you know, we just expanded our search,' Roach replied nervously, taking off his cap and combing the ginger hair nervously with fat fingers. The look Daigle sent him clearly indicated a private follow up after they're done here. 'So, our colleagues in Edinburgh would appreciate if you come down and... do your duty. You can come with us.'

Angus laughed again, this time maniacally. People walking through the camp stopped by, looking curiously at him. Some decided to keep their distance, other - like Ore and Are, Swedish orphans, walked up slowly.

'Excuse me but you don't seem to be particularly upset with all of this?' Daigle stopped the outburst.

'Oh, if only you know...' Angus chuckled. 'My mother was a bitch. And it seems like she only wanted to drag me back home.'