The plot thickens... Like custard. Yes, it's him again.
A short time later a young man was seen running down the main street near the twisted remains of the gates, his long coat flapping behind him. He burst into the transport office where, flinging the door open so that it slammed against the wall. The adolescent lad manning the desk was somewhat more easily fazed than Emily Stadhart with whom he had job shared until that morning and he stared at the newcomer with unconcealed astonishment.
"Tell me, boy, is a landcrawler due to depart today?" Quinton Harrington demanded, pacing about the office.
"It left this morning, sir" replied the lad. "It’s already gone."
"Dammit." his lips were a narrow, ugly line.
Quinton Harrington leant right over the desk. "Was a woman called Emily Stadhart onboard?"
"I can’t tell you that, sir, our passenger lists are private."
"I will ask you again. Was Emily Stadhart onboard?" his voice rose.
The youth was shaking. Quinton Harrington’s face was terrible; an angry, porcelain mask. His eyes seemed to glow from within.
"I’m sorry, sir, I can’t..." he said firmly.
He reached out, grabbed the youth by his shirt and lifted him bodily out of his seat. The lad tried to free himself but Quinton’s long, white fingers had a grip like metal claws and he was unable to prise them away.
"Was Emily Stadhart onboard? Tell me, dammit" he shouted hysterically, shaking the lad backwards and forwards so that his swinging legs knocked over the chair. He was looking straight at Quinton’s pinched, livid face with its flared nostrils and tension lines around the eyes and he saw his eyes flare suddenly, turning the face in which they were set a sinister metallic green. They glowed brighter and brighter until it seemed he was pinnioned in the beam of a set of blinding headlights. He struggled harder and harder as he realised that his captor just didn’t appear to be human and made an incoherent noise of terror. "WAS EMILY STADHART ONBOARD?"
"Yes." he whispered. The light dimmed in Quinton Harrington’s eyes. He let go of the lad’s shirt front and he dropped into a quaking heap next to the chair. The youth saw Quinton Harrington storm from the office, coat flowing out behind him. He inched his fingers across the desk to raise the alarm.