After the neatness of Simon’s room, Sarah’s bedroom made Firdy’s head spin. He sat on the psychedelic, flowery sheets of the bed, still unmade, and attempted to take everything in. It was the room of someone much more childlike than he had expected, though he could smell a sophisticated perfume and cut flowers, dying lavender in a vase made of an old, white wine bottle. Beneath the various scents he could smell her skin. Like fresh air, he thought. He gathered up a t-shirt that she had slept in and put it to his face. His eye rolled back in its socket.
Shaking, he put it in his pocket for the Cat. Her sense of smell, should he require it, was much more profound than his and, perversely, better too than the Dog's. She was faster, smarter and more independent. She didn't go on the lead. She was constantly honing her skills and kept her claws sharp. Should he need her before the night was out, she would make a perfect hunter and retriever.
Sarah's walls were adorned with scribblings and sketches, postcards, notes in varied handwriting, things to do, things to buy, places to go, magazine clippings, supposedly humorous articles about animals or unlikely things that had happened to 'real' people – and photographs.
Firdy squeezed his throbbing temple.
On the back of her door, underneath several jackets and an array of scarves, was an enormous poster of the play Chicago, perhaps the result of an opportunistic grab from a bus shelter.
Every surface – dressing table, desk, chest of drawers – was covered in papers, or items that held talismanic and ornamental value: matchbooks and pens, stuffed animals, an electric glow ball, a fish bowl full of marbles, a crystal figurine of a unicorn with a snapped horn.
The floor was littered with clothes, clean tops and dirty underwear forming a new layer on top of the carpet.
“How can people live like this?” he said and lay back on the bed until his vision steadied.
On the ceiling were stickers, cinema ticket stubs and glow in the dark stars.
He closed his eyes. He'd have to look at all this to gather clues, but not yet. Not yet.
When the nausea passed – the headache was constant – he switched on Sarah’s computer, a green and white Mac, hoping to access her email. He knew that there were things called cookies and that he might be able to find some useful information on her whereabouts. While he waited for the machine to boot up, he plucked a photo from the edge of the monitor. Photos would be the way forward. Sarah had plenty for him to look at.
Simon had more personality in the photo he held than he did in the flesh. Perhaps, Firdy considered, it was taken three or more years ago, before his life had changed. He was standing behind Sarah with his arms wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on her head and his eyes sparkling. Amazing what life can do to someone, Firdy thought. It had scooped out Simon's insides, blown the light out of his eyes, but kept the body running. He was an efficient machine now. An emotional void.
Sarah, beautiful, was grinning so much it looked like her face could split in two. Her slender hand gripped Simon’s forearm, keeping his protecting arm in place. Her hair was long and shining in the sun.
The photo had definitely been taken before the change; before Simon had received his first orders. Firdy tossed it onto the table amid Sarah's scruffy college notes and then turned to the photo gallery on the wall beside her bed. She was clearly popular, though she was not the centre of any group photo. Perhaps she was more reserved and more like Simon than she looked. He searched for recurring faces, pried a few from the wall, but the photos were not annotated. No names. No numbers. He suspected that he was going to have to be methodical in order to track her down, but method bored him. The Cat would speed up the search, but of course, there were risks.
He allowed his eyes to wander again over the perfect faces. Sarah on piggyback. Sarah dressed as a witch. Sarah, Simon and their father, Aubrey, standing outside the entrance to a cave. Pluck.
In this photo, Simon was standing a little to one side, smiling for the camera, not so good at pretending then. This, Firdy thought, had been taken after the change. At this point, Simon would have known that his life was about to change forever. Aubrey had his arm around Sarah's waist, squeezing her and laughing.
Wow, thought Firdy; now, that’s thought-control.