2020, March 24TuesdayGOV.UK CORONAVIRUS ALERT. New rules in force now: you must stay at home. More info and exemptions at gov.uk/coronavirus Stay at home. Protect the NHS. Save lives.

  What? Russ knows this isn’t a fake alert, everyone in the waiting room seems to have received the text at the same time. Plus, other countries have announced lockdowns already, too. Italy… what’s happening there is ghastly.

  But it’s still extremely frustrating.

  Russ has made little progress looking into those women from the funeral – “Pip” and “Abs” aren’t exactly the most solid of leads when you don’t know where to look – and now without the ability to actually go anywhere he has to rely on the internet. The one hundred per cent completely reliable internet.

  This virus couldn’t have picked a worse time – he could be doing something important, like meeting with Connor and James. They have pns at Egg Nation this weekend, but those will of course need to be scrapped due to this stay-at-home order. He’ll send James a text ter. He can always call them but he was looking forward to reconnecting with people, making friends again after he was so withdrawn.

  “Hey, Jamie,” he calls his boss over and shows her the text. “Seen this?”

  “Yeah, it’s going to be a headache,” she responds, gncing at him packing his bag.

  “Didn’t you watch the presser st night?”

  “Huh? No, I didn’t.” He’s paused now.

  “The Prime Minister was on the telly st night. Had an announcement. Basically said the same thing as in that text there, but I’ve been told it actually goes into effect on Thursday at one.” Russ nods. “Come in Thursday, at seven thirty per normal, and we’ll close at noon. I’ve already ordered the equipment we’ll need to reopen on Monday.”

  He’s surprised. “I’ll be coming in on Monday?”

  “Yes, we’re open for emergencies only, but with reduced hours. Nine ‘till three. And since only one of us will be here…” she doesn’t need to finish. Russ knows that he’ll be losing shifts, too. Probably only one or two a week, but that is going to significantly hurt. He’ll have more free time but for what? Waiting for a lead on Stef’s disappearance to bear fruit?

  *** ### *** ### ***

  2020, March 30MondayThe streets are barren. It’s only a ten minute drive to the Almsworth Veterinary Clinic, and while there can be days without traffic, there’s never no traffic. It’s unnerving. He arrives at eight thirty, half an hour before shift as usual, and is surprised to find the door locked. Has Jamie not arrived yet?

  It’s only then he remembers that he’s been given a key for however long this sts. He jogs back to the car and grabs it just as Emily, one of the vets, pulls in. He sets his stuff behind the desk, and checks his work email – there’s guidance on appropriate protections. Wash hands often, social distance, wear gloves while handling animals – most of it is fairly standard. One interesting thing is how they’re going to begin handling patients. Only the animals will be allowed inside, at this stage. No human contact, except for Emily.

  Of course it had to be Emily.

  He makes polite conversation, as one does, but she’s already grating on his nerves. Thankfully, she’s not so oblivious that she doesn’t notice, and excuses herself. That, at least, gives him the time to try and follow up whatever he can think of. The names he can remember – probably short for “Abby” and “Pippa” are near useless – but every search from Facebook, to Twitter, to LinkedIn are dead ends. And the few profiles he can find in Essex, let alone Almsworth, are barren as the road outside – or as empty as the road would have been if not for the woman with a cat carrier approaching.

  *** ### *** ### ***

  The woman returns for her cat at twelve forty-seven. Nobody else has arrived at the clinic during that time. He sits there, just twiddling his thumbs for a bit. Instagram had also turned up a bust. It’s like these women had no social media presence at all. Or maybe he’s just an idiot.

  At one, he finally takes his twenty minute break. In the staff room, he looks over Stef’s suicide note again. He’s memorised each passage now, but looking at the note, as compressed as it is, still gives him an odd sense of comfort, of closeness to Stef. He doesn’t want to stop reading, but he must. Back to his desote shift.

  He has another three days of this monotony, at least this week. Even at work he feels shackled by this lockdown.

  *** ### *** ### ***

  2020, April 18SaturdayHis pay for the fortnight came in on Thursday. It’s just over half his usual wage. That stings. Simeon at least still has full-time work, and he’s got the ability to do so remotely, but that hasn’t stopped Russ from applying for Universal Credit. He doesn’t have much hope, but it can’t hurt to try.

  At least he’s moved to Simeon’s room. With this lockdown sting longer than initially expected, Simeon needed an office space. As the one living in the smaller of two rooms, it made pragmatic sense, and Russ agreed. It’s been nice.

  But he can’t move on.

  After calling Connor and James, they turned out to be absolutely useless. Stef had apparently attended a party with them on the 12th, then they found the note on the 17th. It was just left on his bedside table. Beyond the signature, who was to say Stef really wrote it? He had hoped for closure, or something. Instead he’s just got more questions, and nothing he can do but hope he stumbles upon an answer during his daily jog into town and back.

  It’s fine. If Stef really is gone, then it’s not like these deys and dead ends will mean anything in the long run. And if he’s alive, he’s being kept alive for a reason. Russ sinks into the sofa with a sigh, and leans onto Simeon’s shoulder. The TV is on, just a mindless rerun of Bake Off. They’re making ginger cakes.

  Russ thinks back to Mum, when she would make the most delicious ginger cake for Christmas. Mark loved helping her bake them. You need to let Stef go, Russ. He frowns. He heard that line before, after Mum died. No, he won’t give up. Even if this virus sts another month, a year, or a decade, he will figure out what happened. God, why did he push Stef away? Was he just upset that Stef was doing the same thing he had?

  Simeon wraps both arms around him. He needs to be more guarded with his thoughts; he knows what Simeon thinks of Russ looking further into this. It’s no issue though, Russ knows he’s letting things get to him. The search for information, Covid, and especially now with the financial mess they’re probably going to have to deal with.

  Russ can only be thankful he has enough saved to sustain him for the next few months. It’s a shame though, he was pnning on doing something nice for Simeon before the world fell apart.

  *** ### *** ### ***

  2020, July 16ThursdayOne positive thing about the lockdown, Russ concedes, is the excuse to exercise like this daily. His standard jogging route is simple, but allows him to zone out for a bit. It’s nineteen degrees, so a bit warm for running, but Simeon’s in a meeting and he doesn’t want to disturb him.

  Turning off the main drag just before Saint Almsworth’s Cathedral, he runs by a cluster of shops, lights still out. There’s a Sainsbury’s here, still bustling despite the two-meter social distance requirements. It’s not as cheap as the big Tesco near Saints, of course. That’s how he justifies shopping there instead, at least.

  It’s a good thing then, Simeon has begun to counter, that the furlough has been expanded to allow for compensation of workers with part time hours. Of course, that argument is ridiculous. Just because they’re making close to their pre-lockdown income doesn’t mean they have to spend more money.

  Besides, the other insinuations that Russ shops there because it’s where Stef worked are ridiculous.

  It’s in the middle of this thought that he catches a glimpse of someone else on a run. Her hair is short, blonde, and in a style which Russ thinks is called a pixie cut. His heart skips a beat, and he stares at her from across the road. Could this be…?

  But it’s not Pip. Even with the mask on, it’s easy to tell she must be in her forties, while Pip looked about his age. He’s boiling.

  He takes a seat on a nearby bench and has a swig of water. It must be the heat getting to him, that’s the rational expnation. He thought he saw the woman that was putting pressure on Stef because he’s hot, and sweaty, and dehydrated.

  There’s that thought again. Pressure.

  He knows Stef was studying linguistics, that’s all Saints would confirm when they finally got back to him. And Stef’s word choice must have been deliberate there, is that why the note felt so off? He needs to study it, search for hidden meaning.

  Maybe there’s a clue there, because Stef never said he was killing himself, only taking the “coward’s way out.”

  *** ### *** ### ***

  2020, December 26SaturdayHe’d hoped to spend Christmas with the Rileys again this year, in memory of Stef. But of course London just so happened to go into another lockdown immediately after getting out of the first. And now, the rest of Essex has followed suit. These Tier Four restrictions, after the government had promised it would only go to Tier Three? He can’t say he’s surprised, not honestly.

  And he knows in his heart of hearts that he’s not personally being targeted, he’s not one of those anti-lockdown types. He never could be after his Dad died in September. Sure, he didn’t exactly enjoy speaking with his Dad, and never came out to him, but he has nobody except Simeon now.

  Even Amy, one of Mark’s old friends, has stopped talking to him. She thinks he’s obsessed with Stefan, as if. What would she know? She stopped coming around when Mark had his little episode, meanwhile he had to sit there and take Dad’s abuse. He wouldn’t expect a poshie to understand, but checking in by email every so often doesn’t make you a friend, Amy.

  But he really did want to see the Rileys again.

  Petra reminded him so much of Jenny’s kid, Ada. He hasn’t seen much of them tely. Not since the lockdowns began. But he’s certain she wouldn’t get what he’s doing with trying to find Stef. She moved on pretty quick with Mark, what’s she going to think about another kid she’d never actually met?

  He tried venting to Simeon once, but he shut him down basically immediately. He said the same thing Amy said, that he was obsessed, and needed to move on.

  No. You don’t move on from the people you care about, not until you’ve found the truth. Not until you can get closure. Stef taught him that, and he’s going to be damned before he gives up on his st memory of the man.

  He still loves Simeon, he wouldn’t have made it through these lockdowns without him, but there’s just things Simeon doesn’t understand; things his new online friends do. Granted, some of them are a bit weird but they’re not bad people. Plus, they agree with him that the suicide note is strange.

  Well, the cleaned-up version that he showed them. He’d never share the original, that’s private.

  At least this lockdown starts over winter break. He’d already taken his annual leave to spend time in London, he’ll just have to spend it at home.

  *** ### *** ### ***

  2021, April 20TuesdayHe’s been back at work full-time for a while now. He’s thankful, getting out of the house has become more and more valuable. Simeon’s been promoted to manager up from assistant manager. Good for him. He’s still working from home though, part of this new normal.

  Unfortunately, like all days, the workday has to end. He debates swinging by the pub for the evening, but he’s just too exhausted to think. He pulls into the garage and enters his childhood home with all the intent of heating up some leftover bolognese and chatting with his mates on Consensus.

  But an email has come through. It’s from the missing persons unit.

  Mr. Vogel

  We wish to inform you that our inquiry into the disappearance of Stefan Riley is now on hold. All evidence we have recovered suggests Mr. Riley has indeed taken his own life. While his file will remain open pending any further developments, the Uttlesford Policing District is now considering this matter cold, with a provisional decration of suicide.

  We appreciate your understanding in this matter.

  Kind regards,

  Sarah O’Dougherty

  Police Constable EB158

  Uttlesford Community Policing Team

  Essex Police

  It’s precisely what he doesn’t need to hear. The police have given up. He is the only one left who can find Stef and bring him back. He screams at the computer, stands up, and kicks his chair.

  Simeon comes out of their room looking concerned.

  “What’s happened, Russ?”

  “It’s the bloody police! They’ve given up!” He’s furious and isn’t bothering to hide it. “They think Stef just up and killed himself one day like my bloody brother did.”

  Simeon looks at him silently for a few moments, clearly measuring what to say. “I think…” he begins, “I think they might be right, Russ.”

  Russell can hardly believe his ears. There is no way that Stefan killed himself. Just the very idea of it makes him sick. And for Simeon to say that! Simeon! He’s seen the note, he should know it’s full of weird phrases that just seem out of pce if Stef had pnned a suicide. “You’re having me on. There is no way you can read the same note I did and believe that.”

  “Russ, listen to me. You need to let this go, it’s driving you mental. You don’t need to look for a conspiracy everywhere you go. From what I read of the note, he was depressed and felt like he’d wasted time with his obsession – the same kind of obsession you’ve got, right? He saw your dead brother once, and realised Mark was actually dead after what, five years? That broke him.” Simeon is reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. Russ sps it away.

  “Then what was all that talk about being put under pressure? They were pressuring him to write that note, Simeon, and –”

  “Sorry, what talk about being put under pressure? Who’s they?”

  “It’s in the note, here, see.” Russ brings up the note he transcribed. Sure, it’s not copied verbatim, but the meaning is still the same. “‘There’s nothing I can do to stop the pressure I’m being put under.’ It’s right there, Simeon. Clear as day.”

  “Bring up the original note, Russ.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.” Simeon sounds pissed, what kind of…

  There’s nothing I can do to stop the pressure. Oh.

  “Okay, so the words aren’t identical but Stefan was a linguist, right? He knew how to add subtext to words. It’s pretty fucking clear to me that this is what he meant.” There’s a fire in his stomach now, he doesn’t know why Simeon won’t just support him.

  “Mate, that’s a huge stretch and you know it.”

  “No! You of all people should know it’s not! How many times have I tried to get it through your thick fucking skull that Stef would never do something like this? Christ, sometimes I can’t tell if you’re doing this on purpose to be a cunt or if you actually believe that there’s nothing funny about his disappearance.”

  “Hey, that’s not fair and you–” Russ doesn’t want to hear it.

  “Not fair? Not fair? What’s not bloody fair is the fact that my best mate – my first crush – was taken away after I refused to believe him about my dead brother. Sure, he was wrong, but I should’ve been there for him, supporting him. Not telling him not to speak to me because the ghost he saw just had to be Mark of all people.

  “What’s not bloody fair is that my entire family is dead, and you’re supposed to look out for me. But you can’t, because it just so happens to be Stef that I’m looking for. Well, you can take your jealous arse and get out of my house. Find somewhere else. We are done.”

  Simeon stands there, stunned. Russ isn’t.

  He knew they were going to break up at some point, but he thought Simeon would be the one to initiate it. He’d been distant tely. Seemed to be preparing for something. But Russ isn’t regretting a word.

  “Okay, Russ. Fine.” Simeon seems to be holding back tears, the nerve of him. Trying to downpy the significance of the police just giving up, then pying the victim? Pathetic.

  *** ### *** ### ***

  #venting

  For All Those Worries You Need To Get Off Your Chest

  > Russtic Vista has joined the chat!

  Russtic Vista

  Hey guys

  Broke up with G today

  Fucker still doesn’t see anything weird about S’s note

  He’s moving out this weekend

  Charlie Hustle

  Don’t worry about it, man. We’ve all seen the note, there’s definitely something odd thereIf he doesn’t see the obvious, that’s his problemSoyabean56yea Russtic

  but honestly he should come around eventually

  go easy on him ok?

  Russtic Vista

  He needs to apologise to me first @Soyabean56

  Soyabean56

  yea mate that goes without saying

  you’ll find S eventually don’t worry

  Russtic Vista

  Thanks buddy

  I appreciate it

  *** ### *** ### ***

  2021, October 13WednesdayIt’s been two years since Stef was st seen. Strictly speaking, he was st seen on the twelfth, but this is the day he went missing. He has a single candle lit, just like when he mourned Mark’s disappearance with Jenny. He doesn’t speak to her anymore.

  The argument they had was nasty, and it hurt worse than when Simeon dumped him. He’s still gd little Ada wasn’t there that evening, there are a lot of things he said that he now regrets, even if he stands by them.

  Unlike when Mark died, there wasn’t even a memento to hold onto for Stef. Not that he had access to Mark’s broken iPod, st he heard about it his Dad had given it to Shahida. Dad hated remembering. The old fool lost himself in religion and drink back when Mum died and got worse when Mark did too. He still has the scar on his shoulder.

  The house sold back in June, and you can do a lot with ￡150,000. He still works part-time, though. It doesn’t make sense to burn through everything at once. He knows he still has limited resources, in theory, but it will all be worth it if he can rescue Stef from whoever pressured him into going into hiding.

  After the candle finally burns out, he visits Stef’s file on the Essex Police website. Last updated 20/04/2021. He isn’t surprised. He knows they’ve given up. He still punches the wall of his ft.

  Shit, he’s going to need to get that fixed. He looks at his knuckles; and a pster, too.

  After cleaning and bandaging the cut, he goes back to shut the computer down and watch some mindless content on the telly before he notices something odd.

  There are three missing persons reports from the st week, all of whom are from Almsworth.

  No, there are three reports about students at Saints, there are five from Almsworth!

  Yet over the past few months it seems to average out to only one, maybe two people a week. He feels nauseated. He looks back to October two thousand and twenty… and there are six residents of Almsworth reported missing that first week of October.

  He finds the pattern holds in twenty nineteen, when Stef disappeared. In twenty eighteen, seventeen, and even twenty sixteen. Many of them were students at Saints, too. Most of them, in fact.

  This isn’t just noise. It’s a pattern.

  He considers bringing this to the police: how could they have missed this? Multiple students going missing at the end of September and beginning of October each year is not a coincidence. There is no way on God’s green earth.

  But he can’t trust the police. They’ve already shown themselves incompetent at best, possibly in on it at worst? He doesn’t believe that, not really, but there’s enough doubt that he resolves to hold out until he has proof, either that they can be trusted or something so overwhelming that he can shove in their face, or maybe give to the press.

  Christ alive, this is massive! Maybe he should consider applying to enrol next year? Intake has already ended for the two thousand and twenty-one to twenty twenty-two academic year, but if he can get into something believable, like vet school, maybe he can avoid alerting whoever at Saints is doing this that he’s onto them.

  He opens up his Consensus chat, and rushes to alert his mates of this breakthrough.

  *** ### *** ### ***

  2022, February 17ThursdayThe Royal College of Saint Almsworth has a central spire at what used to be the heart of the university grounds. It’s a ghastly thing, although not as ugly as the monstrosity Thompson Building or the ostentatious entrance to the Aaron Holt Memorial Tennis Court.

  Aaron Holt, one of those other missing boys. By all accounts he was a troublemaker, but kept getting out of it thanks to considerable donations and palm greasing from his wealthy father.

  All of those missing boys were troublemakers, apparently. Except Stef.

  He’s been asking around campus, like he does every day he has off. A lot of students don’t remember or know of these boys. Many of them, especially women, don’t even give him the time of day.

  But it’s cold in February.

  That’s why he’s sitting in Café One, at the top of that horrid central spire, looking out across the grounds. He’s staring out the window, nursing a coffee and with a cheap sandwich and some sausage rolls for what he supposes can pass for lunch today.

  The campus is mostly quiet. He can see students bustling across the grounds, but it’s between csses right now and everyone is either indoors or trying to get there. Even in the heated café, he can still see his breath begin to condense whenever the door opens.

  Gazing across Saints is a nice change of pace, he reflects. It’s a very nicely designed university. He can see the lecture theatre the students have affectionately named the Anthill just blocking his view of the ke. Frankly, it looks more like something much more crass than an anthill to Russ’ eye.

  His eye wanders down towards the computer science building, which he can barely make out behind the medical school buildings. He averts his gaze. His application was rejected, somewhat understandably, but it still upsets him. This was a chance to be closer to where Stef was, and possibly find some more clues – he’d even take rumours at this point.

  The Student Union Bar, just on the edge of campus, looks a lot more homely. He figures it must have been an independent pub before Saints absorbed it. Certainly it looked much older, just like that rge hall behind it, just past campus’ edge. It looks stately, with vines growing on a trellis on the outside, covering the lower windows.

  His attention is turned to the front doors of the dorm, where two figures emerge. One of them, a tall bck woman and the other one – no!

  He rubs his eyes to make sure they’re not pying tricks on him and mentally chides himself for not bringing binocurs. That’s Pip. In the flesh. He’s found her!

  The woman next to her is far too tall to be Abs, but that doesn’t matter. Just one of them is more concrete a lead than he’s had in more than two full years. He keeps a watchful eye on them as he finishes his lunch, quickly, and then bursts out of Café One as fast as he dares.

  But of course, a woman in a mask bumps into him on the stairs, causing him to nearly fall over. “Oi!” he yells with a sneer, “Watch where you’re going!”

  Without waiting for a response, he rushes off. Unfortunately, by the time he gets to the bottom of the stairwell, csses are out. People are rushing this way and that to get to the library, to get home, to get to their next css. Anywhere to get out of this damn cold.

  But it’s okay. He finally has something to go off of.

  *** ### *** ### ***

  2022, July 23SaturdayIt’s very hot, and very dry. Not as hot as the beginning of the week, where an honest to God heatwave terrorised much of the UK, but the power of the sun is still threatening to sap all of Russ’ energy before he’s even parked at Saints.

  It’s well into the summer hols, now. Most students have gone back home to their families as everyone in campus housing has been kicked out by now. The only exceptions are those students with a houseshare, and curiously, the women’s and non-binary student dormitory Dorley Hall.

  The Hall has got a lot of attention recently thanks to that feminist nut Professor Katherine Frost raising a stink about transgender students being allowed to board there. This was a point of discord on his otherwise friendly Consensus chat.

  Many of his friends there agreed with Frost, that transgender women weren’t actually women and that they needed to be “saved” or something. Russ, and a few others, vehemently disagreed. No self-respecting man would do that to himself, they argued, and if they really care about what they look like that much to the point where they actively try to change it? Well, that’s no different than a woman caring about her appearance so much that she wears make-up.

  So the official stance of the Rangers’ Clubhouse Consensus Server is that trans women are indeed women, and feminazis infighting doesn’t exactly hurt their cause. Which brings him to Dorley Hall, just another one of those so-called “safe spaces” designed to exclude men.

  He’s sure that Pippa lives here, he’s seen her on campus from the Student Union Bar just st week walking right up the path. And he’s verified – this pce is run by a charitable trust for students, so she either lives here, works here, or both.

  He walks up to the door, and knocks. There’s no answer.

  He knocks again. Still no answer.

  He rattles the door handle, it’s locked.

  But then, he sees a shape shifting behind the frosted gss, and a woman finally answers the door.

  “Yes?” she asks curtly.

  “Yes, hi, I’m looking for either a resident or employee here called Pip? Maybe one called Abs?”

  “Does ‘Pip’ have a st name?”

  “Well, that’s what I want to know.”

  “Then I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

  “Please!” Russ doesn’t beg. Real men don’t beg. “I’m trying to find my buddy, Stefan Riley?”

  The woman’s face hardens. “This is a female and non-binary dormitory. We do not house any guys here.” She is being extremely rude. “If we know precisely who you want to speak with, we can bring them down to speak with you. But right now, you are trespassing on private property. Leave now, or I can have the police called.”

  The absolute nerve of her! All he wants to do is ask some simple questions to a woman who knew Stef, and she’s threatening to have him arrested? He’s no American, not like Charlie, but freedom of bloody speech, dy!

  Before she can act on her threats, he turns and walks back to his car. It’s all the way across campus. Maybe he should give Frost some ammunition against them, how they threatened a guy for just asking questions. Anonymously, of course. It wouldn’t look good if the Dorley people connected it to him.

  *** ### *** ### ***

  2022, September 28WednesdayToday’s a good day, as it always is when Misha’s working with him. He’s good looking, smart, and is critically a West Ham United fan. Thank God he was able to knock some sense into the poor bloke; when he’d first moved to Essex he was a fan of Manchester bloody United!

  He’s pretty sure Misha still supports Man U in private, but so long as it’s not openly, they have no problems with each other. Sadly, Emily is still working here. It’s just as well that things are busier than usual today, but not excessively so. He has to lock up tonight, and he’ll probably stop by the chippie for supper.

  Russ is back full-time now. He’s spent a good portion of his money in the st year or so – not enough to hurt, but enough to make a dent. He’s thankful that Jamie allowed him to switch back so readily; he supposes she must be one of the good ones.

  He continues working, responding to emails, answering the phone to book appointments, and dealing with the occasional walk-in. All with a mask and behind some plexigss still – you can never be too careful with Covid – but there’s nothing that brings him more joy than helping these animals, even if he’s only getting them a time to see the real vet, as Emily constantly calls herself, to his chagrin.

  Soon enough, five o’clock rolls around. Emily is still seeing a dog, right now, a German Shepherd called Moxy. He gets up, flips the sign on the door from open to closed, and engages Moxy’s owner in pleasant conversation. He seems to be a decent d, and Russ can always appreciate a man who takes care of his pets.

  Eventually, it’s time to go, and Russ and Emily both log their overtime in the new timesheet app. He bids her a perfectly pleasant farewell, and she just mutters something in return. Hag. He shakes his head, frowns, and stops off to eat.

  He notices a group of people get out of a car after he’s ordered. They’re ughing, joking, and seem to be having a good time. Students, he guesses. Term’s starting next week. He should be prepping for studying about this time too, damn diversity quotas.

  He’s so lost in thought eating his fish and chips with his mushy peas that it’s dark by the time he’s ready to go home, but he’s still fairly sure he’ll be up another few hours yet. That is until he arrives at his ft – which seems a lot hazier than usual and smells kind of strange – and a wave of exhaustion overcomes him.

  He barely has the energy to kick off his shoes and stumble to his bed before he’s out like a light.

  As he begins to snore, a shadow in his lounge starts to shift.