The Tracker

Jake sat staring into space. The rain drops made hollow thudding noises as they landed on the car windscreen. His eyes followed the droplets’ travelling down the misty glass, each one following the same route as the last. Sometimes though, they would deviate at random junctions, and form new water trails.

This trance like state was perfectly normal for Jake, while he was doing his job as a private investigator. It was important for him to sink into the mind of whoever he was tracking, and try to feel how they felt. This would give him clues as to what they would do next, and usually lead to their discovery.

He had built quite a reputation for himself over the years. Long gone were the days of finding lost dogs, or following cheating husbands or wives on their way to meet secret lovers. Although lucrative, this kind of work bored him. It was too easy. Since then he had managed to convince the authorities of his true talents by finding escaped criminals, quickly and efficiently, thus keeping potential embarrassing situations from the spying media.

Apart from this success, his immediate luck wasn’t going too well: Being mugged the previous night, losing his wallet, phone, even his car keys, then having to hot wire his own car had really pissed him off. Luckily he hadn’t lost his notebook, which contained information about the escaped psychiatric patient that he was trying to find. The patient’s name was Charles Tailor.

Mr Tailor had lived with his mother until a tragic accident had sent his mind into turmoil, creating multiple personalities, some of which were very destructive. Tailor’s hospital report explained that his mind had created these different personas to protect him from the truth, giving him the capability to hide away in the deepest recesses of his complex mind.

Jake knew from experience that this guy’s mother would be the best place to start his search. It would be likely that Tailor would be drawn back to a familiar place like this, and even if he wasn’t there, his mother could possibly give some clues as to where he may go next.

Pulling up outside the country cottage, he parked, got out, and stood looking at the house. It was an idyllic picture post card setting. The country lane was quiet, and the cottage was decorated with ivy and honeysuckle. To the side of the house ran a stream. Jake walked along the lane a bit, and stood on a small bridge admiring the flowing water below him. The bridge itself looked as though it had seen better days, and the side of it appeared to have been repaired at some point. Regardless of this, it was a beautiful and calming place.

“Lovely,” Jake thought, “but this won’t find that madman, and I have work to do.”
Walking up to the front door, he pressed the doorbell. There was a short delay, and then the door creaked open. An elderly lady stood in the door way. Her tired face showed no expression as she looked him in the eye.

“Mrs Tailor?” Jake asked.

“You’d better come in,” the old women said as she turned and walked back into the house.

“Tea?” she asked, as she made her way to the kitchen.

Jake followed her along the short hall.

“Yes please,” he replied.
Mrs Tailor poured hot water into a teapot, arranged two cups, and then turned to face him with her arms crossed.

Jake took a deep breath and prepared to start his questioning.

“This is a very delicate and slightly embarrassing situation Mrs Tailor, but, your son has escaped from the hospital.”

Mrs Tailor turned, lifted the teapot, and started pouring the tea.

“I know,” she replied, continuing to fill the cups.

Jake looked confused.

“Sorry, but I didn’t realise that they had already contacted you,” he said thinking for a moment, “but that would explain why you didn’t ask me who I was when you answered the door I suppose.”

She turned and passed him one of the cups.

“Let’s go and sit down in the lounge,” she said, sipping her tea, and walking out of the kitchen, “It’s more comfortable in there.”
As she made her way into the other room and sat in an arm chair, Jake followed closely behind, and made himself comfortable on the settee opposite her.

“Now, if you could just tell me about your son please Mrs Tailor. Some of the memories may be painful for you, but if I’m to find Charles, it is vital that you tell me anything that could help.”

“Very well,” she started to explain, sipping her tea, and then resting it down on a small table besides her, “my son has been in that place for a long time, twenty years to be exact. I had to stop visiting in the end because I never really knew who I was talking to. My son disappeared a long time ago into his mind, and it was too painful to watch.”

“Where did his problems actually start?” Jake asked, leaning forward slightly, “that’s if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Of course not,” she replied, “Charles and his older brother went to the pub one night. The pub is still there now you know, up at the end of the lane. It’s called The Jolly Farmer. They had consumed a lot of alcohol, celebrating Charles’s twenty first birthday.”

The old lady paused for a moment shaking her head.

“Take you're time Mrs Tailor,” Jake said trying to comfort her, “I know this must be difficult for you.”

Mrs Tailor took a deep breath and continued.

“At closing time, even though it was only a twenty minute walk along the lane, Charles’s decided to hot wire a car which was parked in the pub car park and drive it home. Unfortunately he lost control as he approached the house, swerving and smashing through the side of the bridge outside. The car ended up in the stream besides the house. Charles tried in vain to save his brother’s life, but to no avail, he was dead. Charles never forgave himself for that, and very soon had to be taken away into hospital for his own protection.”

Jake was now leaning even further forward, mesmerised by the story.

“That’s awful!” he said, shaking his head, “what was his brother’s name?”

The old women slowly pulled herself up out of her arm chair, and sat back down next to him on the settee.

“Jake,” she said, taking his hand, “His name was Jake Tailor. He had a crazy idea about being a private investigator. That was your brother darling, and that’s why you came back here! Can you remember? Try and think!”

As he slowly slumped back into the settee, confused, his mind started recalling memories: Him driving that car that fateful night, and his brother Jake trying in vain to stop him; smashing through the bridge, and landing in the stream. Even the more recent memories started to become clearer: Wandering out of the hospital through that door that had been accidently left open, with no wallet, phone, or anything apart from his notebook that he carried everywhere, then breaking into that car and hot wiring it.

“Do you remember darling?” she said, staring at the confused man, “do you remember that YOU are Charles: Charles Tailor? It was your brother who was Jake, not you!”

At that moment there was a knock on the window, and a face peered in.

“Now, you sit there darling, and I’ll go and let those nice policeman in. They will take you back to the hospital. You’ll be safe there, won’t you, hmmm?”

As she stood up and walked out into the hall to open the front door, Charles just sat there. He sat staring into space. This trance like state was perfectly normal for Charles when he was trying to forget; trying to forget the truth; trying to forget who he was, and hide away in the deepest recesses of his complex mind.