Chapter Eighteen: The Old Notebook

Their memories obliviates upon regaining their consciousness, perceiving nothing but a tombstone of a person’s name Harold James Wagers, Born July 13, 1919- Died ─August 13, 1975. Flowers overfill in his tombstone and some people leaving gradually as well. Two of them merely left unattended in the middle of the rainy day. Mr. Filch raises Mrs. Finnegan’s umbrella to cover their faces under the rain.

Its forty-two minutes past before four in the afternoon, all people rushing to seek a cover for their selves for a while as the rain pouring continuously. The roads and some blighted grounds conquer by the overflowing water perhaps for few more hours it will cause flashfloods. Mrs. Finnegan and Mr. Filch returns back to Mr. Wager’s old house. Some of his things vacated and some shall be owned by a boy named John Enrico Newton. Through curiosity, Mr. Filch pulls out a drawer from wooden table and found out some sort of Mr. Wager’s belongings. He envisions an old brown dusty notebook with a piece of ribbon emerging from its below surface. He called Mrs. Finnegan’s attention for something might useful to them.

“Ma’am, I found something here…” Mr. Filch calls out as he holding the notebook.

“What is that Mr. Filch?” Mrs. Finnegan rushes to his position.

“It’s an old notebook, and it says “The personal property of Mr. Wagers for his beloved”, this might belongs to you, ma’am” he flips the cover page of the notebook.

Mr. Filch handed the notebook over to her and she flips the pages carefully. Many things noted in this notebook mostly about life, experiences, travels, favourites and above all the information about a boy named Enrico. In page twenty three, it stated about Enrico’s arrival at the door of a certain parish in Romania.

July 13, 1956

At one minute before midnight when the church’s clock chimed up. Father Alexander Flaviore discovered a little angel in the middle of the cold night, crying in the very entrance of the church. This child wrapped in a simple cloth made of linen and he’s shivering due to cold breeze of the night.

Father Alexander called my attention and begged me to take care of this child since I’m in charge of the small business owned by the Jesuits priests and they have also built a little house for me. Thus, in return for their kindness I adopted this child and loved him like as my own. I gave my deepest love just like I did to the only love of my life that I’ve lost forever.

Enrico is the only hope I have left in the rest of my life and when I heard that my old friend Nicholas is in need of a bodyguard I let him to explore the world perhaps there’ll be a time she could meet my lost family.

Page 23

“Enrico? Is that the boy you’ve introduced to us?” Mrs. Finnegan asks.

“Yes, ma’am I remember but oh─ dear we’ve lost the boy ma’am. We’ve lost him.” Mr. Filch alerts as he recalling Enrico’s presence with them.

“Wait, hang on, what’s this page on about?” she places her index finger at page 24.

July 17, 1956

I once again felt the guilt and remorse, leaving the love of my life. I was a fool, a coward, I’m afraid if I showed myself unto her, there’ll be another life expired because of me. I’ve haunted in regret of leaving her, because of Finnegan’s threat unto me. He’s vile and savage. He threatened me to kill her or any of her family members. I worried that Jane will be in grave danger or even the fruit of her womb. I’m not sure if it belongs to me.

My friend Mr. Charlie Ferguson confessed about what happened to Sir John Clearwater. He confessed that his death wasn’t a cause of a disease but instead a cause of poison from his scotch he drank at night before his death. He said unto me “Harold, I’m a former police investigator. I’ve resigned from my previous job to live a normal life together with my family.

As I’ve visited my old friend John Clearwater. He refused to marry his daughter to Finnegan, but a week later, he surprisingly changed his mind and supported Finnegan’s desire to marry his daughter. The night before his death, Finnegan offered a type of drink that I never tasted before. I suspected that the scotch was mixed by other alcohol drink which the smell was odd. I secretly spilled the drink into a bunch of flowers, in few moments the flowers eventually perished.

To avoid suspicion, I prudently fetched a scotch and spilled into my goblet whilst they’re in the middle of serious conversation. I literally noticed that John kept on saying “this drink is magnificent. It tastes different” that night I decided to leave early. In the early morning, I’ve heard news on the radio that a noble English veteran died in his house at Harrogate, because of cardiac arrest, and later I found out that the veteran died mentioned in the news was my old friend Jon Clearwater…

Page 24

Mrs. Finnegan’s eyes burst into tears as she reading Mr. Wagers’ journal. She never completes her reading as she closing it immediately. She rouses up from her seat, blabbering into overflowing tears, insisting Mr. Filch to search Mr. Ferguson so that she could clarify everything to him. Mr. Wager’s notebook helped them out to restore their memory at once and finally regained their purpose of visiting Romania.

Both of them withdraw from the house, going somewhere to search Mr. Ferguson. They saunter, carefully checking, inspecting every households, corners, alleys, and even in some unfamiliar buildings until they halts in a church. A far distance, two o’clock from their location, they perceive massive crowd convening altogether in a single spot.

A bad feeling squinched against their hearts and minds, as a black butter fly landing on Mr. Filch’s right shoulder. Their heartbeats pounding increasingly, their soaking sweats bathing their entire bodies, even though cover by their long thick sheath like overcoat. Despite of the cold breezes that roaring in the middle of almost fading rain. The mix anxiety and fear of suspicion consume their emotional and mental at state.

They rush up, running towards the gathering crowd in the middle of a bad weather. They halt, blending themselves into the crowd, finding a perfect spot to view what they looking at. Until, they can’t believe their eyes upon witnessing shockingly of what they seeing. They spot an old man lying in the ground with an opening eyes and mouth. The right corner of his mouth contains spilling blood and in the other side are bunch of maggots.

“Mr. Ferguson? Mr. Ferguson…Mister…” Mrs. Finnegan screams into the congesting crowd as they approaching him.

“My… friend…? My…Charlie…!” Mr. Filch do likewise.

Their teary eyes witness Mr. Ferguson’s shocking fatal situation, each of them screaming for help repeatedly. The rain gradually fading and the nightfall nearly to conquer the dimming light of the rainy afternoon. Congesting, murmuring, chitchatting and some few crying, the crowd shows sympathy for someone’s sudden death. The paramedics arrive under an emergency ambulance. They carry Mr. Ferguson immediately and place him in a wheels-bed, pulling upward and pushing him inside the ambulance. Mrs. Finnegan and Mr. Filch accompany him into the ambulance and the crowd left attended with a great question in their minds.