Transmission 016 // “The Arborist’s Confession”
Sir Richard Helpmann sat behind a large, ornate desk. Its dark surface gleamed like still water. At its center, a banker’s lamp rose from a solid brass base. Light pooled beneath the emerald green shade, illuminating the pages of a leather-bound journal that rested on the desk below—the crisp paper offering a sharp contrast to the deep, textured woodgrain that surrounded it.
Neville Browning stepped forward with Amelia and Marv at either side of him. Helpmann didn’t look up. He paid no mind to the meeting he’d set for four o’clock, or to the three silhouettes standing over his desk. It was as if time had no authority here. In this room, things simply unfolded as Sir Richard needed them to. He continued writing, looping each letter with a calligrapher’s precision. Every movement seemed carefully measured. Every ingredient, perfect to the pinch. The soft scratch of the fountain pen was the only sound in the room, though it was nearly drowned out by the sound of Amelia’s pulse thumping in her ears.
Finally, after what felt like an age, Helpmann placed the book to one side and looked up. Gold-rimmed reading glasses perched low on his nose, giving him a gentle look—maybe a kindly college professor, or the teller in a vintage bookshop. Amelia’s muscles loosened slightly. She let out the breath she’d been holding since she stepped through the door.
“Ah, Amelia. Marvin.” His voice was rich and warm but edged in something sharper, like honey drizzled over a barber’s blade.
“Please,” he continued, gesturing toward two dark leather chairs on the other side of the desk. The motion was smooth and practiced, but there was something detached about it—as if a thousand people had stood in this exact spot before them, and now they were simply the next in line.
Amelia and Marv eased carefully down into their seats. The leather sighed, worn soft from years of compliance. The chairs sat lower than expected, perhaps deliberately, positioned like prayer stools before an altar.
Helpmann’s mouth hinted at a smile, though it never quite blossomed. What did emerge, Amelia thought, was more ornament than expression—a placeholder where warmth ought to be. Flowers at a funeral.
He folded his hands on top of the desk, one finger idly tracing the edge of a cufflink. His cold, grey eyes found Amelia and held her gaze.
“I trust your journey from Willowbrook was pleasant?”
A muscle in her back flickered, as a chill crept up her spine. The question sounded polite—an innocuous pleasantry at the start of a meeting—but she felt it’s hidden weight immediately. She hadn’t told him where she lived. She had never once mentioned Willowbrook. Neither had Marv. The meaning came through loud and clear.
I see you. You have no secrets in this room.
Amelia shifted in her seat, trying to find some comfort.
“Yes. The journey was… uneventful,” she said, choosing each word carefully, like a first tentative step across thin ice.
“Excellent,” Helpmann purred in response. “I must say, I was intrigued by your inquiry yesterday.”
He steepled his fingers. His eyes caught the light, glinting like a blade at dawn.
“Evelyn and Benjamin Lockwood, you said? Your parents.”
The names hit Amelia in the chest like a stingray barb—precise, deep, and instantaneous. They pierced straight through the armor she’d built through years of silent reverence. Names made almost holy, stripped down to simple syllables, and spoken by a stranger with no right to hold them.
She swallowed. It felt like she was forcibly dragging a stone down her throat
“Yes,” she replied. Her voice sounded steadier than she expected, but she could feel the tremor vibrating underneath. “I think you knew them.”
“Knew them?” he mused. “Interesting. Tell me, Amelia, why do you think that I was acquainted with your parents?”
She hesitated, flicking a glance at Marv. He sat completely still in his chair. No reassurance. No reaction.
Amelia turned back to Helpmann.
“I’ve seen a photo,” she said, forcing her voice to stay even. “You were with them. At a Unity Council fundraiser. Years ago. And my mother…”
A breath.
A pause.
A choice.
“She wrote your name in a book. In code. The night they died.”
Helpmann’s smile faltered. Not much, a tide changing beneath the surface. He leaned back in the chair, his fingers beginning a slow, deliberate tap against each other. The silence between them grew heavy, and for a moment, she wondered if he would speak at all.
Finally, the words came.
“I see.”
Just that. Nothing more. He held her gaze for a heartbeat longer, then rose in a single, fluid motion. Without another word, he turned toward the window, the last dregs of daylight clawing through the blinds, before dissipating on the sharp lines of his suit.
“Yes,” he continued, “I knew them.”
He shifted his head slightly, his profile catching the light from both directions—half natural, half artificial.
“Your parents were both brilliant minds. Visionaries, you could say. The kind of people who saw the world not just as it was, but as it could be.”
His hands were clasped behind his back, fingers tightening almost imperceptibly.
“And yet, it is a dangerous thing, to see too much.”
A chill swept over Amelia’s whole body.
“What do you mean?” The question slipped out, sharper than she intended.
Helpmann turned fully, his gaze locking onto hers. His expression a blank slate.
“What I mean to say, is that their work had consequences. And those consequences have a way of reaching places one might not expect.”
He reigned the silence in again. His gaze didn’t waver.
“But the real question, my dear Amelia, is this—” his voice carried something that resembled curiosity, but a shade darker. “what exactly are you hoping to find?”
Amelia’s hands clenched together in her lap.
“I just want to know what happened to them. I want… the truth,”
“Ah.” He exhaled through his nose lightly, as if amused by a private thought. “Of course. And you believe I can give it to you.”
It wasn’t quite a question. More an invitation. Or a dare.
“Yes,” Amelia said, steadying herself against the growing tension in her chest. “They were murdered when I was young. No one knows who did it, or why. Finding your name in my mother’s book…it’s the first link I’ve ever had to that night. To them. To what happened.”
A quiet fog crept back into the room. She forced herself to stay perfectly still, though Helpmann’s gaze remained locked on her. She could almost feel the slow turning of unseen gears. An invisible scale. Something behind his eyes, weighing what had been said against what remained in the shadows.
When Helpmann spoke again, his voice softened, taking on an intimate quality. The practiced ease of a man accustomed to delivering delicate truths—hushed and gentle, almost paternal.
“As I’m sure you already know, I serve as a special advisor to your government. I have the great honour of representing His Majesty the King’s interests in the United Commonwealth. But, some years ago, I was involved in the creation of the Unity Council. At the beginning. Your parents…”
He let the weight of their memory hang in the air.
“They worked with me. We built the Council together, back when it was just an idea—before it became the organization it is today.”
Amelia’s fingers curled around the chair’s armrest, grip tightening until her knuckles turned pale. A thousand questions pressed against her ribs, but none made it past her throat. She forced herself to breathe.
“Why… why didn’t you say this yesterday? When I approached you in the library.”
Helpmann moved his gaze back to the window.
“Because, my dear, some truths require a certain modicum of discretion.”
He returned to his seat behind the desk. The green porcelain shade of the banker’s lamp diffused the light around his face to something that seemed almost otherworldly. Amelia couldn’t look away.
“The Unity Council has become so much more than any of us could have imagined. It started small. Humble. Just a handful of people who wanted to make the world a better place. We proposed new solutions—to climate change, overpopulation, the energy crisis, political stagnation. We weren’t interested in power. Only in the power of ideas.”
His eyes flicked back towards her.
“Your father understood politics—how to work the machine, how to connect us to the people that could make decisions. He was our conduit. A lightning rod, if you will. And your mother… she had a mind that could change the world. Her ideas, well, they were truly remarkable.”
His voice dipped, the faintest echo of regret layered beneath it.
“Such a shame, what happened to them.”
The knot in Amelia’s stomach tightened.
“What are you saying? What does this all mean?”
Helpmann studied her for a moment longer and then smiled, an air of calm contemplation settling over him like a second skin.
“It means that your parents were involved in matters far beyond the ordinary. Complex matters that required their unique talents. Matters that had consequences that none of us were prepared to face.”
He took a breath.
“In those early days, your parents worked alongside Marcus Thorne and I. But… there was someone else.”
“Who?” Amelia asked, despite herself.
It felt as though the walls were leaning in to listen.
“Another man. He was there from the beginning too. He worked with us… with them.”
He lowered his voice to a whisper.
“Alexander Bennett.”
The name landed like a dropped stone, sending ripples through the silence. Helpmann’s expression visibly darkened, the measured warmth in his eyes dissipating, replaced by something colder. He leaned forward, hands clasped together on the desk, bracing himself for what came next.
“For a time, Alexander and I were allies. Friends, even. We shared the same ideals, the same drive. We believed the Unity Council could be something great—a force for progress in a fractured world. But ambition, Amelia…”
His voice thinned.
“Ambition can be a dangerous thing. It started slowly. A shift. Small enough that no one noticed. At least, not at first. Over time he became fixated. Not on building a better future, but on consolidating power.”
“What kind of power?”
“The power to exert control over others. The kind of power that corrupts… consumes. Alexander was brilliant—yes. But brilliance without restraint is wildfire. And that wildfire spread. The speed of it, the ferocity, it was devastating. Your parents saw it first. They tried to stop it.”
Amelia’s mouth tightened.
Marv saw it. He leaned forward in his seat.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice cutting through the silence.
Helpmann’s gaze lingered on Amelia, before moving across to Marv, studying them both, as though deciding how much he could say.
“They paid the price. As did I. As did we all. Afterwards, Bennett vanished without a trace. We never found proof he was responsible. But his disappearance? Well, the timing was—“
“Convenient,” Amelia finished.
“Indeed.” Helpmann nodded in agreement. “Bennett hasn’t been seen in more than a decade. Most assume he’s dead, but he’s not. He’s alive. Somewhere. A ghost in the machine. Hiding in plain sight, somewhere we’d never think to look.”
Amelia tensed her shoulders. She felt like the floor was moving under her feet.
Alexander Bennett.
The name felt like it didn’t belong in her head. Like a parasite, or a slow-acting poison.
“If you’re so sure he’s alive, why haven’t you found him?” She asked, the frustration in her voice cutting through before she could stop it.
Helpmann’s eyes met hers.
“I’ve searched for Bennett. Believe me, I have. I’ve used everything at my disposal. But we’ve found nothing in ten years. Not a footprint. Not a shadow. Not a trace.”
“So why bring him up? If he’s gone, like you say, then he’s nothing but ancient history. He can’t get me any closer to the truth, and neither can you by the sound of it.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Amelia…” Helpmann’s voice softened. “Your arrival here changes everything. You have something that I don’t. That nobody else does.”
“Me?” She scoffed, skepticism burning through the frustration. “What could I possibly have that you don’t?”
“You knew your parents. Their world—the world they shared with Alexander. You may see things I’ve missed. Threads I didn’t pull or couldn’t follow. You have a unique perspective on this matter. Your memories… well, they could unlock this mystery once and for all.”
Amelia blinked and shook her head.
“B-but, I was just a kid. I never met Bennett. I’d never heard his name until five minutes ago. He could walk past me on the street and I’d never know.”
“Ah, but the human brain is an extraordinary thing, Amelia. Even as a child, you absorbed everything around you—every conversation, every glance, every hesitation. It’s all in there somewhere.” He pointed to her head. “The mind… it keeps things. Stores them, knowing you might need them later. Especially in times of great stress or trauma. I believe you may be the key to finding Bennett and not even realize it.”
Her breath faltered. The words landed, thick and suffocating. Something shifted inside her—a ripple disturbing waters she had worked hard to still. Images flickered at the edges of her mind. Fragments of dreams that hadn’t felt like dreams at all.
“You’ve also demonstrated resourcefulness beyond your years,” Helpmann continued, his voice laced with a hint of admiration. “You and young Marvin—you found me, with nothing more than a surname to go on. That is very impressive, I must say. And it tells me something about your abilities.”
Marv straightened, casting a glance at Amelia, but she barely registered it. Her focus was locked on Helpmann, every muscle drawn tight.
“With that kind of determination—that instinct—paired with the memories you have buried deep in your mind…”
He paused, letting the words settle into her bones.
“I believe you could find Alexander Bennett, and finally bring him to justice.”
Amelia’s thoughts tumbled into one another.
What if he’s right? My dreams—the nightmares—it feels like there’s something there. Something buried. Maybe… they’re trying to tell me something. What if I….
Could I find him? Could I really?
Is this… is this guy Bennett really out there? Is he even real?…
And did he kill my parents?
She swallowed.
“How?…”
“By retracing your parents’ steps. By revisiting the places they worked, the people they knew. Sometimes, context brings clarity. A sound, a scent, a small detail that seems inconsequential to anyone else.” He leaned forward just slightly. “These fragments may bring something back. Something important.”
“Where would we even start?”
“That, my dear, is where I might be of service. I worked with Bennett. We weren’t close—not like he and your parents—but I know enough. And there are still records. Footprints he left behind before he vanished.” He steepled his fingers again, the movement measured and deliberate. “I can point you in the right direction. All you would have to do is look around, observe, and see what—if anything—surfaces.”
“Wait, wait, wait… wait just wait a minute.” Marv cut in, his voice high and edged with disbelief. “This guy, Bennett, he sounds dangerous. You make him sound like a, like a…. supervillain. And you want us to show up places where he might hang out and just start asking questions? I mean, I don’t know what you’re taking in your tea Mister Helpmann but, in my book, that sounds like a pretty insane plan.”
He looked across to Amelia for backup, but none arrived.
Helpmann let a smirk escape from the side of his mouth. He turned fully to Marv, his demeanor unshaken.
“I understand your concern, Marvin. I do. But I’m not asking you to confront Alexander Bennett. That would indeed be quite unwise. What I’m suggesting is a little reconnaissance. Nothing more.”
Helpmann pulled his eyes back to Amelia.
“I can show you where to dig. And I believe that, together, you have the tools to unearth the truths that have been hidden away for so long.”
Marv’s expression hardened, but he didn’t say anything else.
Helpmann held out a hand toward him.
“However, Mister Dumile is correct. Bennett is a man who has shown, when pressed, that he will do anything to protect his interests. I won’t lie to you. This task isn’t completely without danger. It is, however, a matter of weighing risk against reward. I cannot tell you if the risk is worth it. Only you can decide that. But you would have my full support. Every one of my resources would be at your disposal.”
He gave a reassuring smile.
“And of course, Mr. Browning will be close at hand, should you find yourselves in need of assistance.”
Amelia nodded backwards towards Browning.
“If Bennett is as bad as you say, what can he do?”
Helpmann’s eyes carried a gleam of amusement.
“Oh, believe me, Mister Browning is more than capable. He was, in his day, one of the finest officers in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. Admittedly, some rust has probably tainted the chassis due to the passage of time, but the engine is still strong. There is no one I trust more to ensure your safety.”
Marv sat stiffly, his gaze locked on Amelia. He didn’t look happy, but he gave her a faint nod.
Your call.
Not agreement. Not encouragement. Just unwavering support.
Amelia’s jaw tightened under the weight of the decision in front of her.
“And if we do this… if Marv and I find something—what then?”
“Then we have a chance… to finish what your parents started all those years ago.”
Wood creaked as Helpmann pulled opened a drawer. He retrieved a small, cream-colored envelope and placed it on the desk with the faintest push of his fingers.
“This is where you would start.”
Amelia hesitated. The envelope sat between them for a long moment.
Then, she reached for it, and slipped it into her bag. Helpmann’s gaze tracked her movements. She thought she saw his lip curl, but she couldn’t be sure.
“When—if—you choose to go forward,” he continued, “you must exercise great caution. Tell no one. Not a single word. There are forces out there that won’t take kindly to our mission. Not least Bennett himself.”
Amelia nodded, her grip on the strap of her bag tightening.
“I believe in you, Amelia,” he said, his voice calm and certain. “More than you realize.”
He turned, his gaze landing on Neville Browning, who had been standing so quietly by the door it was easy to forget he was there.
“Neville will see you out.”
And then, he reached for his journal and picked up his pen, leaving no doubt that the conversation was over.
Amelia rose from the chair, her legs felt unsteady beneath her. Neville Browning led them through the door and it clicked shut behind them. They walked back through the black-and-white corridor, the eyes in the paintings staring down at them solemnly—watching them leave.
At the elevator door, Browning hesitated, his finger hovering over the button.
“If you choose to pursue this, please understand that Sir Richard is placing great trust in you both. This matter is of the utmost importance to him, and it can’t be taken lightly. Have a good evening. And, we’ll be in touch.”
As the words left his lips, the elevator doors slid shut.
Marv leaned back, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his usual swagger subdued by something quieter.
“Well,” he muttered. “That wasn’t ominous at all.”
Amelia let out a long breath, eyes drifting shut for half a second, fingers still wrapped around the strap of her bag. The envelope felt heavier now, as if she was carrying a piece of the room with her.
She opened her eyes, fixing them on the numbers ticking down toward the ground floor.
“This is just the beginning,” she said, more to herself than to him.
Marv crinkled his forehead and flashed her an uneasy look.
“Yeah. And something tells me it’s gonna get a whole lot weirder from here.”
