Contest #4: Chapter 2

     "Dear Journal,

     Regulus Black has disappeared once more. But this time, he has taken a chunk of me with him. I don't understand it, it doesn't make any logical sense. It had my name.

     My name.

     Why would he have something that I don't even.... All I can think about is the toy plane and the signature. He had said an 'old friend' had given him the toy... But, I did not know him at all until the winter holidays. Was it all in my head? Had I finally snapped? 

     I can't let this be just a figment of my imagination."

     Shivering, I slipped my journal closed. It was still rather early in the morning, the morning dew barely dripping off of the blades of grass that I was perched in. 

     I wasn't entirely sure of why I had pulled myself out of bed at four in the morning. But, as I wandered the dark streets, I found myself sitting in my spot near the pond, shivering as I jotted down my daily journal. 

     Regulus had been my only thought for the last nine and a half hours ever since the toy. How could he not be? I guess I assumed that if I waited by the pond for him to show up, he eventually would. However, it was almost seven now, and I knew my Mother would start to fret if she woke to find me gone with no note.

     Sighing, I sent the sunrise a small frown, picking my body up from the damp grass. He was not going to show. I was wrong to think he would. 

     Trudging back to my flat, I scratched the back of my neck, feeling deflated. I wasn't ready to give up yet, no, I was just beginning to crack open the mystery.

     Or, at least, I thought I was. 

     As the door clicked shut behind me, my Mother called from the kitchen, balancing a large, mixing bowl   against her hip while she stirred. "And, where have you been?" She rose a brow, lip puckering out smartly in annoyance. 

     "Just out taking a small stroll, Mother," I sighed, pulling off my light jumper, thinking about Regulus once again, "When we used to live here," I paused as Mother crumpled her brow, turning the corner to lay some pancake batter on the skillet.

     "What about it, Gideon?" She prodded as I let the subject drop for a little while, debating ways to tread lightly around the fact that she considers me highly insane. 

     Sighing, I lowered myself down into my chair at the table, rubbing my forehead. "Did... did I have very many neighborhood friends on this street?" 

     She lowered her eyes, flipping the frying cakes as she thought back to the time period. "Why have you been so interested in the past lately, Gid?" Mother chuckled a little, raising a brow at me while I prodded her, wanting to the answer.

     Waving her spatula around as she thought back all those years ago, she murmured a little and crumpled her brow in confusion. "You know," Mother hummed to herself, tapping her chin, "I honestly cannot remember, I can only remember moving in and moving out." 

     That sparked my curiosity.

     Sure, it wasn't uncommon that I couldn't be able to remember anything from the ages of one to seven,  obviously it was strange, but not uncommon. Yet, for my mother not to remember anything as well? It gave me a bad feeling that I couldn't seem to shake. "You can't remember?" 

     "Well, hun, you have to remember that it was such a long time ago, and, I've pretty much attempted to erase every memory I have about your father from my mind," she laughed a little with her words, but the way her eyes watered as she talked about Father made me even more so curious and concerned.

     There was a period of awkward silence that erupted between the two of us as she served the freshly prepared pancakes.

     Furrowing my brow, I poured thick syrup over the breakfast, "Do you still have photographs from when we first lived here? A scrapbook, or something?" 

     Mother set aside her fork, smiling softly at me, "You know, this is the first time in a long time that you have been so intrigued with a subject. I am sure that they are up in the attic, hun," she stirred her cup of coffee and shot me an intrigued eye. "Why are you suddenly craving to know more about when you were little? Did something happen?" 

     "Erh," I stuttered out, trying to keep myself from looking her directly in the eye. I couldn't possibly mention Regulus Black again. Last time she practically shut me down, sending me to my room without another word. "I'm just curious... that's all."

     "Curiosity killed the cat, you know," she commented, peering over the rim of her mug at me.

     For some reason, I honestly had never felt more threatened by a phrase before in my life.

     After cleaning up breakfast, I snuck away to the top floor, pulling down the latch in the ceiling that would lead me up to the attic. During the move, Mother had locked away all the old scrapbooks, not wanting to see the man in the photos that she had once loved.

     I hadn't seen him since the day he left.

     The attic was cluttered and everything was covered in a thick layer of powdery dust, illuminating how little we came up stairs. Sifting through the crates, I read the labels on the sides, trying to figure out how far back I needed to go to find what I was looking for.

     1961-1968

     The crate was old and wooden with a thick, iron lock tightly clasping the lid shut. Furrowing my brow, I stuck my head out the trap door, hanging slightly upside down as I called for my mother, "Mum, do you have a key to unlock this chest?"

     She didn't respond right away, but her answer made my heart lower a little: "I doubt it hun," she paused, "I don't even remember locking any of those pictures away. How silly," she mused, then added: "I'm sure you can pry it open with some tools up there, if you must!"

     "Fine," I sighed, brushing myself off and sparing the tired looking attic a curious eye. Was there really anything in here that would break the lock? I doubted it. I almost doubted it as much as I doubted the possibility of the chest holding any real information about Regulus Black being in my past. 

     Mulling through clustered, abandoned drawers, I finally found a crowbar. Sizing it up, I shrugged my shoulders and swung the blunt end down on top of the lock, but it only ricocheted pathetically. I prepared myself for a new tactic, sight zeroing in on the loose latch that could possibly fit in the crevice of the crowbar, and, with the right leverage, just may give way. 

     I was never a particularly strong boy, but what I lacked in strength I made up for in intellect; at least, that is what my mother used to tell me. 

     Grunting a little against the strain, I jammed the loose latch between the two jutting pieces of crowbar and yanked down on the opposite end, getting the weak iron to give a little, but, I needed more force. I rolled up my sleeves and took a deep breath, lifting one foot and taking a large, forceful pounce onto the bar.

     With an unnervingly loud 'pop', the iron gave, splintering off into two, irreplaceable pieces. "That did the trick," I murmured to myself, moving the crowbar to the side so I could lift the chest's lid. Hidden inside were old, faded pictures laid under a thin, wool blanket - probably a feeble attempt to keep the photographs in good shape.

      Grabbing a scrapbook that was labeled 'Gideon Wylkes', I sat down on the dust covered floor, flipping quickly through the pages to find a picture of a little boy with black hair, pale skin, and startlingly grey eyes. 

     I got about halfway through, thoughts about giving up circling inside my brain, when I spotted it. The picture was faded, but quite obvious as to whom it was of. In the center of the picture was a five year old version of me, cradling a brand new toy plane against my chest. And, beside me, a pompous boy around the age of six, flaunting a large grin that seemed too mature for someone that small. 

     Prying the picture from the book, I flipped it over in hopes of an inscription telling where and when the picture was taken, but there was nothing to be read.

     It was blank.

     I took the picture from the book and stuck it safely into my front pocket, being sure not to crumple it. I feared that I wouldn't see the Regulus boy again, but, I guess fate was playing a rather cosmic joke on me.

     "Gideon, dear," my mother's voice called up to me as I began to descend from the clustered attic floor and into the main house, "There seems to be... uh, well, a boy for you? Is he a friend from school, dear?"     

     Jumping down the last couple of rungs, I pounded down the flights of stairs, rounding the corner so quick I had almost trampled my mother in the process. "I'll be outside, Mother," I addressed her, grabbing my light jumper and sliding it over my head as I raced for the front door.

     She wished me fun and went upstairs while I cracked open the door, coming face to face with the mysterious boy who was rocking back and forth on the heels of his patent leather shoes. 

     "We need to talk," he sighed, motioning out towards the park, "But, we need to be alone."