Harry has been gone for two months and a half - long enough for the police to start acting like they shouldn't be hoping so much - when the man shows up at Gemma's door. It's early morning and she's trying to focus on her article but the words seem to blur together. She can't quite fully concentrate on anything these days, a part of her brain always busy thinking about Harry. Wondering if he's okay or if he's even alive; the never-ending cycle of anxiety humming continuously in the background. He's her little brother and it's in her DNA to worry about him after looking out for him most of their lives. The thought that she might never get to do it again, that he might be dead in a ditch somewhere and she'll never know, makes her feel a bit nauseous and she pushes her laptop away before getting up nervously. It's the waiting that's the worst, Gemma supposes. If only she could know for sure.
When the knock on the door comes, she shivers, filled with the sudden, and inexplicable, certainty that answering the door is going to change everything. She shakes her head, feeling rather foolish. It's not like Gemma believes in presentiment. She never has. Still, she takes the time to rinse her tea mug before answering, a part of her still trying to delay the inevitable.
She frowns a little, surprised when she opens the door to find a kind looking old man patiently waiting on her doorstep.
"Hi," Gemma says slowly, uncertain. The man seems familiar but she can't quite place him. A neighbour perhaps, she thinks before speaking again. "Can I help you, Sir?"
"Oh, I think I'm here to help you actually," the man says with a soft smile. "My name is Ernest Tomlinson," he adds, taking off his hat and tipping it towards her in a friendly gesture.
She gulps as she recognises the name, a flash of anger coursing through her. Those damned Tomlinsons and their damned house.
"What do you want?" she asks coldly, folding her arms across her chest and moving a bit to the left to fully block the entrance to her flat.
"May I come in?"
"I don't think so," Gemma replies shortly. "I'm not very comfortable with strangers in my house."
"Are we strangers? Really?" Ernest Tomlinson asks and it makes her so angry that she has to restrain herself from slamming the door in his face. She can't, not yet. Not until she knows why he's here. He might have information about Harry, after all.
"What is it that you want exactly? Is this about my brother? Because if it's about your stupid manor and the information I was helping him find, then you should know that -"
"Harry disappeared," Ernest says solemnly. "I know, I'm sorry. And yes, that is why I am here."
"What did you do to him?" she demands, taking a step forward and trying to look menacing.
"I didn't do anything to him, no one did. He's fine... in a matter of speaking."
"You better stop playing now and tell me exactly what you're doing here, and where my brother is before I-"
"I'm here because he asked me to deliver something to you a long time ago and I promised him that I would," Ernest says, holding out a thick notebook for her to take.
Gemma frowns, shaking her head. "What is that supposed to mean? A long time ago? He didn't even know you?"
"Please," Ernest Tomlinson begs, pushing the notebook into her hands, "I know this is difficult for you and I can't imagine how much you miss him, but I promised him I would give this to you."
She takes the notebook with shaky hands, looking at this old man and his pleading eyes. She's not sure what this is all supposed to mean, not sure what she's supposed to believe, but he looks sincere if nothing else.
