The Tirnano - Book 1 'FINN'

by Peter Emmerson

  She refilled her cup from the pot on the table, and leaned back in the big comfortable leather settee to watch, sipping at the hot, dark and bitter brew.

  Tom launched into his version of the story, Jeanne interjecting as necessary with additional pieces of information, filling in any gaps that the American left out, or was unaware of. John sat quietly through the entire story, sitting bolt upright as Tom reached the part about Yvonne, he rubbed his chin, “She did go off to collect her new car the last morning we saw her. We just assumed that once she’d picked it up, she took off and just kept driving.”

  “To her, she took delivery of the car just two days ago, to you she disappeared eleven years ago, somehow you are both going to have to get your heads around that.”

  “Are you saying she has no memory of the intervening years?”

  “Not only no memory, but she hasn’t lived them, she is just two days older, nothing else, and she has spent those two days with us.”

  “I don’t understand,” he buried his head in his hands and pulled a deep breath into his lungs, letting it go in a long drawn out exhalation. “So she is still thirty five?”

  “Yes.”

  His face threw up another shocked look and he muttered “Annie is twenty two, and Linda twenty six, and she has a six year old girl of her own, how is this going to work?”

  “God knows, but somehow it will; it has to.” Jeanne responded quietly. “Are you ready to meet her?”

  “As ready as I will ever be.” The Scot sat straight in his seat again, ran his fingers through his hair, knuckled his eyes, and took a deep breath.

  Jeanne thumbed Paul’s icon, “C’mon over hun, we’re in the main lobby.”

  As they waited, Jeanne asked the Scot, “Ever in the forces?”

  “Err, - yes, Coldstreams, RSM.”

  “Explain later,” she said to Tom.

  John Wilson stood and watched as the pair crossed the road, his hand went to his mouth as they came closer; “It is her,” he said in a whisper. Slumping down on the big leather Chesterfield, he stared at the back of the seat opposite.

  “Hello John,” Yvonne’s voice brought him from his trance.

  He looked up, Jeanne watched as his face crumpled, “We thought you were dead,” he sobbed, “dead … we even had a service of remembrance, and all the time you were alive … now Laura is dead, and you’re alive - how …?”

  “I don’t know John, I don’t even understand it myself, I just know that the day before yesterday, I was here, and it was eleven years ago.”

  She took the sobbing man into her arms and looked up at them, “Can we have a bit of time together?”

  “Sure, we’ll give you a chance to catch up. Then we’re heading back into Aberdeen. Got a few more tests we have to run on you this afternoon. I’d like you to come in tomorrow afternoon John, introduce you to our Boggart family, see if you can rack your memory and shed any more light on them.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there,” he said quietly.

  9.

  TIME SLIP

  Turner Institute.

  Aberdeen.

  April 2011

  “Tom, this DNA printout on the wee laddie is a pile of watsits. The lab has come back and reckons it resembles a Harp seal.”

  “Let me see.”

  As Jeanne passed him the report she said, “Its rubbish, basically what they are saying is they haven’t got a clue. If that’s the case why don’t they just come out with it?”

  Tom spent a minute reading the report, at one point he gave a little grunt of surprise, he then laid the single sheet on the desk with an incredulous hiss.

  “So, the most up to date DNA testing Lab in Europe pulls a ‘No Idea’ on us. Have we had the report back from the States yet?” Jeanne was on a serious strop.

  “Nope. But its due today,” he said, “Don’t fret, If Blue Book had got hold of this, they would probably claim he was a fish.”

  “Didn’t they close back in ‘70.”

  “If you say so.”

  “What you mean, is it still going?”

  “A rose by any other name, my dear. Isn’t ANS or your parent org. OWP, A kind of Blue Book in disguise?”

  “We weren’t set up to debunk everything, our job is to investigate. How do you know about OWP, sunshine?”

  “There were over seven hundred verified reports out of nearly thirteen thousand investigated by Blue Book, which ended up being classified as unexplained or inexplicable.” Tom said ignoring her question.

  “Okay, let’s have a think about something that’s been niggling at me for a few days now; for virtually as long as mankind had been able to daub blotches of colour on his bedroom walls we have had fantasy creatures. But these fantasy creatures have been found to follow pretty much the same shape all over the world. Long before we had jet aircraft, or in fact anything more than Shank’s pony, paintings of strange creatures were being produced by Mr and Mrs Neanderthal,” said Jeanne.

  “Right, I think I’m following you so far.”

  “What if - those paintings were recordings of actual sightings?”

  “How so?”

  “Don’t interrupt, I’m thinking - now; consider one of the most common Fantasy creatures of all, - The Dragon. From the red dragon of Wales through virtually every country in the world to China and back around again, it’s shown in an easily recognisable form and is embedded in almost everyone’s folklore.”

  “Sort of like a racial memory?”

  “No, you plonker. Gad, for an intelligent bloke, you are seriously thick.”

  “Thank you, I’ll take that as a back-handed Celtic compliment.”

  “What if - all our folk lore and fairy tales, all our fantasy creatures and suchlike were based on actual sightings? If the RAF hadn’t picked up the male, or the tanker hadn’t hit the female, would we have them as house guests? Or, would they simply have disappeared back to where they came from? So, instead of us having an actual couple of alien creatures, we would have had crazies claiming they had seen ‘Bigfoot’ roaming around Scotland. Or Sasquatch in the backwoods of Northern California, or Yetis in Tibet, or whatever, and wherever, you want to see them? We’re only calling them Boggarts ‘cause that’s what Wilson labelled them as. - Talking about John boy, he’s due in this afternoon, better let the front desk know to expect him.”

  “Phew, that’s some theory, who’s gonna buy that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And if what you say is true, where have they been coming from - and going to - since time began?” asked Tom with a twisted smile.

  “Going to is also a good point, maybe it’s not just one way traffic; think about the Bermuda Triangle before you scoff.”

  Tom was quiet as the concept of Jeanne’s idea began to make some sort of crazy sense in his mind, “You might be on to something, but we still have to prove it before we start shouting it from the rooftops.”

  “That my dear is what I fully intend to do.”

  She picked up the phone, tapped the keypad and spoke to the main desk.

  “Any word back from the shrinks on Yvonne?” he said as she replaced the handset.

  “She’s as sane as you or I, mind you, after hearing your theory, probably saner. The powers that be want her to sign fifty million copies of the Official Secrets Act, promise never to speak another word, and then to disappear. Not much more they can do with her, so they say.”

  “How’s she expected to integrate back into society?”

  “Not their problem, - hand washing time.”

  “So the first time-travelling case in history is classified as having never happened?”

  “Aye, would take up too much time and resources for no viable or repeatable benefit, officially being classed as a non event.”

  “What a crock of shit,” said Tom.

  “Well, I for one am not about to dump her, even if I have to find that elusive twenty-fifth hour in the day, I’ll make time to help her get sorted.”

  T
he desk phone rang. “That’ll be John.” Must have been thinking about him as he pulled up.

  “Do Do, Do Do … Do Do, Do Do” she hummed the first few notes of ‘Outer-limits,’ and picked up the receiver. Tom gave a condescending grimace. “Your turn, hey?” said Jeanne aside to Tom, “I could murder a decent coffee.”

  “Mac!”

  Damn, it’s the Boss.-- “Yes Guv.”

  “Its hit the fan, some pillock has posted pictures and video of the crash at Muchalls on YouTube, hits are climbing by the thousands. The Home Secretary is threatening to gnaw on my left nut if I don’t give him some answers. The video is pretty grainy, not that clear, but there is a full face shot of you handing over a bundle or something. It’s obviously taken from a car on the opposite carriageway, but I’m seriously miffed young lady. This is gonna take a bit of squashing. I thought you got rid of all the pictures.”

  “Sorry Guv, so did I.”

  “Just to let you know is all. Found out where our little pals come from yet?”

  “Wherever it is, it isn’t Earth.”

  “I guessed that, even before I saw a copy of the DNA, the Yank report is on its way to you, same result, Harp seal - that’s given me an idea, I remember the story of a little seal that made its way some twenty miles inland in East Sussex in December of '09? .... I'll catch you later.”

  “Bye” Jeanne said. – “oh, he’s gone. Bet you he releases an official statement backed up by irrefutable DNA evidence, and historical happenings, that our female is nothing more than a poor little lamb, sorry seal that has lost its way.”

  “Probably - see, I told you Blue Book wasn’t dead.”

  The phone rang again.

  “I’m going for coffee, can you get that? - Want one?”

  He nodded and picked up the phone.

  Thankfully he’s got a similar coffee-holic habit. That’s at least one thing in his favour. She thought, as she juggled the brimming polystyrene cups back along the corridor. The office was empty when she returned from the coffee machine with the two big cups of espresso.

  ~

  Tom came in, not with John Wilson in tow, but with a middle aged woman; she was of medium height, thickening a little around the middle. Her hair was mousy brown and cut in a nondescript bob and balancing a pair of half rims on her nose. Jeanne’s first impression was typical 'School Ma'am,' but this was dispelled instantly as the woman smiled, her face lighting up with warmth and caring, she put out her hand, taking Jeanne’s in a firm grip.

  “Hi, I’m Amy Rand.”

  “Amy is a finger signing expert sent up from London,” said Tom.

  “Hi, - Jeanne, - good to have you on board, how much you been briefed?”

  “Pretty much everything, I think.”

  “You got your ID badge yet?”

  “Yeah, it was issued to me down in the Smoke,” her London accent was quite pronounced, making Jeanne feel almost at home.

  “Good, last thing we want is you being dragged off to the local nick. Come on, we might as well go and meet your new pupils, pick you up a tea or coffee on the way. Do you want to chuck your stuff over there?”

  Amy laid her coat and bag on the spare chair. “Great,” she said.

  “We’ll come back and have a serious natter after you’ve seen them.”

  The little male stood up as Jeanne and Tom approached. At least he is dressed now, and looks quite presentable. Wouldn’t have been quite PC, to have met his new teacher in the buff. Nodding a greeting to the guard, she keyed the door combination and stepped confidently into the room. Amy followed, Tom waited outside, watching through the observation strip. The Boggart glanced in his direction and gave his grotesque grin, his tongue flicking out at the same time.

  “Hi,” said Jeanne, holding out her hands, palms upward. The creature touched her hands with his tongue and then looked at Amy. Jeannie could have sworn he was asking to be introduced.

  “Put your hands out the way I did.”

  Amy complied, the gruesome tongue flicked around her hands, and then he switched and looking up at her, investigated her face with it. Amy stood still and endured his ministrations. She then tapped her chest and signed the three characters of her name, saying it at the same time.

  The little male stared hard at her, raised his hand and gave three clicks. Amy tapped her chest again and repeated the sequence saying her name clearly in time with the characters. The Boggart repeated her characters perfectly and tapped her on the chest. Amy broke into a massive smile. She signed ‘good bye’ and the two women turned to leave. The creature watched them closely. On a whim Jeanne beckoned for him to follow and with Tom in the rear, the four, three humans and the little alien walked the corridor together.

  The female had been away from her room, a complete body ultrasound scan just completed. She had borne the noise and confines of the hour spent in the chamber without a murmur, collecting her baby from the doctors as she left. She was sat on the bed feeding the child when they approached. She looked up and flicked her fingers at the male; he responded with a quick movement of his index finger. They brought their heads together and reached inside each other’s mouths with their tongues, holding the pose for a moment.

  When the male stepped back, Amy opened her palms to the little female. The female touched each palm once with her tongue. Amy was then rewarded with the three letter sequence of her name and a tap on the chest. She almost staggered back in shock.

  “How’d she learn that?”

  Jeanne smiled, “I don’t know, but I’m starting to get an idea.”

  The female tapped Jeanne on the chest with her free hand and looked enquiringly at Amy.

  “Can I?”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  Amy spelled out the characters of Jeanne’s name, and said it aloud as she did so. She began to repeat it, but the female and the male both interrupted her and repeated the signings perfectly. They both simultaneously tapped Jeanne’s chest. The female looked askance towards where Tom was standing hidden behind the wall and the black glass.

  Amy asked, “What’s Dr Pinkerton’s first name?”

  “Pink,” said Jeanne, with a giggle.

  Amy made the characters and said Tom’s name out loud. The Boggarts responded exactly as they had been shown.

  “Jeez,” said Amy, “I need to sit and get my head around this.”

  She watched mesmerised as the two creatures held a conversation, their fingers creating a multitude of swiftly differing shapes, accompanied by clicks and whistles of different lengths, intensity and pitch.

  “Grief!” she exclaimed, “if each movement is a character or has a special meaning, they are communicating faster than you or I could ever talk.”

  They waited until the male made to leave the room. Tom opened the door. With a quick ‘goodbye’ to the female, Amy was the last to leave. The female repeated the symbols, with a grin-grimace and added a flurry of her own ending with a sharp click.

  She returned to the interrupted task of caring for her baby.

  ~

  “Where’s Yvonne?”

  “Back at my place, why?”

  “Front desk just reported that we are under siege,” replacing the phone Tom turned to her, his eyes wide confirming his words.

  “What?”

  “The world’s press are at the main gates, demanding to see the alien.”

  “Oh, sheoot, - any word from John Wilson?”

  “Nope, I guess he hasn’t been able to get anywhere near. Security has closed us down tight.”

  “How long has it been building?”

  “Just the last half hour, then all at once it started going mad out there.”

  Jeanne picked up the phone and keyed the ops room number, “Have we an eye at the gate? - Great, can you patch it through to my desk? - Thanks.” She pressed a keyboard combination and her swirling screensaver morphed into a live video feed from the main gate.

  The world’s press and his brother were clamouring around the out
side of the chain link gates, three armed troopers stood resolutely behind the flimsy barrier, weapons in hand. As Jeanne watched, four others tumbled from the guard-house and assumed positions alongside them.

  Three long blasts sounded on the internal comms system, followed by a metallic recorded voice; ‘Lockdown One, Lockdown One, military personnel to your Lockdown One positions, all non military personnel, remain at your place of work.’ The message repeated once more then cut off with a long blast.