Beneath the Surface

by Tara Marlow

  * * *

  Her eyes flew open. Where was she? She looked around frantically. Lowell. Lowell was there. He smiled at her.

  “It’s okay Jelly. You were having a nightmare.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled back. Why was Lowell in the nightmare? Was he there? She heard his voice.

  “You. I could hear your voice,” she whispered, but her voice was coarse, like she’d been screaming for hours. Her throat was dry. “Water?”

  Lowell handed her a glass from the side table.

  “Thank you,” she said, and drained the cup. “My nightmare. It’s changing.”

  “Changing how?” he asked as he refilled her water. She drank again. “There’s a woman in it now. And I still don’t know the number I’m supposed to call. I just keep looking at the phone in the closet. I don’t get it. Lowell. It’s like the nightmare is trying to tell me something.”

  “Let’s worry about it later, okay? You need to rest Jelly. Do we need to ask the doctor for a sleep aid? I mean, those dreams are getting more frequent.”

  “I just wish I knew what they were about.” They were confusing her. So many things were going on with them. She couldn’t work it out.

  “Well, you’re going home today. The detective who came to visit called again. She said to tell you she’s coming back up to Sydney.” Oh God, what did that mean?

  “Why?” she asked. “Why is she coming back? I can’t tell her anything more.”

  “Why not, Jelly? Apparently, you’re eighteen now…” he smiled at her. “Thanks for telling me that, by the way. There will be hell to pay for that, you know.” She flinched. “Shit. Sorry.”

  “I can’t tell her Lowell. I just…”

  “Why not Jelly? Who are you protecting? John? I can’t say he’s done much to protect you. Not considering…”

  “Considering what?” Something nudged at her. Something Lowell and Daniel were talking about. But it was fuzzy. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “Where’s Daniel?” she asked when she didn’t see him. She didn’t see his jacket either. She looked back at Lowell. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were hard. He blinked, and he was instantly back to smiling, jovial Lowell. What was going on?

  “He left,” he said.

  “Left to go home? Left for work?” She looked toward the door, expecting him to enter at any moment.

  “He left. Last night. Couldn’t handle seeing you in hospital. So, he left. Sorry, Jelly. Guess he wasn’t as great as we thought.” His voice remained flat. Grace knew Lowell’s poker face.

  “Suicide. Whose suicide? And who’s Kate? And married? I heard that. Is Daniel married?” Snippets of conversations came back. Things made little sense.

  “What?” Lowell’s face paled.

  “I heard you guys talking last night. I couldn’t open my eyes. It felt like they were glued shut, and I could only make out bits and pieces of your conversation. So? Who’s Kate?” Lowell looked down, sighed, then looked back at her.

  “How much did you hear?” he asked quietly. His eyes were wide with alarm. Why? What was going on?

  “Just that. Why?”

  “Doesn’t matter. We were talking while you were asleep. You were out a while.” He took a deep breath. “Kate is Daniel’s ex-girlfriend. She committed suicide a few years ago. They found out later she was being abused by her father. That’s why Daniel freaked out. He wants to save you. Wrap you in cotton wool. Protect you from the world. But you and I both know that’s not reality.” She nodded, but moving her head made her swimmy. There was something more. Maybe it was the drugs causing the confusion. She pulled herself up into a seated position. The room spun. Nausea teased, but after she stayed still a moment, it subsided.

  “And what was the marriage thing? Did I dream that?” Lowell shook his head.

  “No, we were talking about his friend Claire. She called him last night. He was telling me about how his parents had been trying to marry him off for years. I didn’t realise Daniel came from a wealthy family in the Southern Highlands. Landowners. Big ones. They were trying to marry him off to Claire to merge properties. Except Claire is gay. Daniel talked about taking you home to his parents. You know, the whole cotton wool thing. And now I know his dad is a sheep grazier, that is kind of a funny analogy. Anyway. Claire warned him about the wrath of his mother if he brought you home. His mother is a bit of a 1950s housewife, he said. Stuck in her ways.” Lowell was rambling. He never rambled. Not like this.

  “What is it, Lowell? What aren’t you saying?” She looked right at him, but it hurt to focus. She blinked. Blinked again.

  “You okay, Jelly?” He got up from his chair and walked toward the door, peered out down the hallway.

  “I’m fine. Just hurts to focus,” she said. “Tell me.”

  “We can talk about it when we get home. If they release you, that is. They may not with that banged up head of yours.”

  “I don’t want to be here. What if my father comes and finds me?” Lowell held her eyes. He slowly shook his head.

  “He won’t, Jelly. He’s in jail and he won’t be getting out soon. The bail hearing is tomorrow. That’s why the detective is coming up. It’s something to do with John’s arrest.”

  Shit. He’d blame her. He had dangerous friends. And who knew who was after them. She grabbed the covers and pulled them to the side.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Have to get out of here. They’ll come for me,” Lowell stopped her.

  “No, Jelly.” Lowell looked at her in disbelief.

  “Why not? Why is now any different?”

  “Because it is. Things have changed, Jelly. He’s not getting out. You’re safe here.”

  No, she wasn’t. Her father warned of this. If he was caught, she had to run. They’d come for her. They’d find her. She had to leave. Because if she was in hospital, there would be a record of it. Of her. And they’d find her. Lowell gently took the covers from her and told her to lie back. The nausea rose fiercely this time.

  “Going to be sick,” she said, and he quickly handed her a container where she spilled the contents of her stomach. Lowell reached over and pressed a call button behind her to ask for help.

  She buried her head into the pillows while words echoed in her head:

  Bad things will happen if the truth comes out. Bad things will happen if the truth comes out. Bad things will happen if the truth comes out.

  But who said those words and what did they mean?

  26

  Grace woke in a fog. The wind howled outside, rain pounding the window. She’d had another nightmare. The details were fuzzy, but it was a feeling of dread she couldn’t shake.

  “Jelly? You okay?” Lowell whispered groggily from the dark lounge room.

  “Bad dream. Sorry.” She rolled over tentatively, aware of her broken ribs. The pain killers were wearing off. She tucked her hand under her pillow and stared out the window. She could see the shapes of the trees moving in unison. Winter was over. The world was reawakening with spring flowers, but tonight’s wind would blow the buds away.

  Lowell’s apartment seemed bitterly cold, so she pulled the bedcovers closer. The minutes ticked by. She tried to piece the dream together. It still had elements of her normal nightmare, but something was missing. Something she couldn’t work out.

  Zoe. She remembered her father calling her Zoe. Her mother’s name. Grace looked like her mother with her blonde hair. It’d probably been a shock for him to see her that way. She hadn’t been blonde since… well, she couldn’t remember when. Plus, he was clearly high. She turned slowly onto her other side, tried to close her eyes, but the pain was too intense laying like that, so she gave up and turned back to stare out the window.

  “Want to talk about it?” Lowell whispered. She’d been home two days and Lowell was hovering like a mother hen. She texted Daniel but hadn’t received an answer. That was odd. He usually responded quickly.

  “No, it’s okay. Sorry to wake you.”

>   “You sure?” he asked. She hesitated. “I’m getting up, anyway. Can’t sleep.” She knew she was the reason. Maybe talking about it would help. Staring out the window wasn’t resolving anything. Whatever she couldn’t remember was not going away.

  She heard the couch creak under his weight. He gasped when his feet touched the cold floor. When the bathroom door closed, Grace tossed away her bedcovers, then eased out of bed. She still had trouble moving too quickly. Nausea still plagued her. Standing slowly, she layered up with a jumper and walked out to the kitchen to make coffee. She stared at the clock on the stove. 5.12 a.m. Shit. Way too early.

  “Okay, good. Kettle is on. Now, what’s going on?” He grabbed the milk from the fridge while the kettle boiled.

  “I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. It’s the same nightmare. Lots of blood, thorny bushes, running. There’s a woman in it.” She scrunched her eyes, trying to remember. “No. Two women. One stands at the front door now. My mum, I think? She’s calling to me. Telling me to come home, that I’ll be safe with her. The other woman comes later in the dream. We’re walking down a dark street at night. The streetlights are on and she’s pulling me along by my wrist.” She fell into a daze, reliving the dream.

  “I try to pull away, but she keeps pulling me back to her. Like, she’s wrenching my arm. I don’t know who it is. But this dream is different. Then it switches again. I’m now on the floor of our old apartment. My Dad is there. He’s drunk or high. He’s just laid into me. I can feel the pain from the blows.” She tried to take herself out of the dream, but it kept pulling her back in. “There was something about this dream, though. It felt too real. More like a memory. I don’t know...” Grace shook her head, feeling a rush of pain. She braced herself on the counter while she fought the dizzy spell.

  “Go sit. I’ll finish the coffee.” Relieved, she walked into the lounge room and curled up on Lowell’s outstretched sofa bed. Minutes later, Lowell handed her a cup of hot coffee. She breathed it in like it was her lifeline.

  “You’re limited to two cups. Doctor’s orders.” She rolled her eyes. She doubted the doctor said anything about her coffee habit. Lowell was probably still on his reduction plan to get her off the stuff.

  “Thanks, nag.” She balanced their coffees while Lowell crawled into the bed with her and pulled the covers up around them. When he was settled, she handed him his cup.

  “Okay, keep going…” He looked at her strangely. Was it… cautionary? Ignoring it, she continued back to the dream.

  “This is what I know. I was at the apartment to get my birth certificate. He beat me when I was there. But in the dream, I was on the floor, crumpled like a rag doll. He was standing over me, kicking me in the ribs, screaming at me, and calling me a whore. I was… I was crying, trying to protect myself, covering my head. The next part is where it gets a little fuzzy, but the feeling. God, it feels so real.” Lowell sat straighter. What? Was what she was saying just too weird? Yeah, probably. She stared into her cup, gathering her thoughts.

  “He was on top of me. I remember his hands. They were rough, scratchy. He... oh...” She stopped. Lowell waited. She slowed her mind a little, remembered the details.

  “His hands, they ripped at me. He was screaming at me. Calling me Zoe. I could see the spit flying out of his mouth. And his eyes, God, they were manic. He gripped his hand around my throat. I couldn’t breathe. He was so rough. He was… he was pulling my pants down, ripping at my undies, as if he was about to...” She stopped talking suddenly. She looked at Lowell’s face. She couldn’t read his expression. She looked down. His hand squeezed the coffee cup so tight she wondered if it would shatter. She looked into his eyes again and now saw his rage.

  “Lowell...” she whispered. “It’s real, isn’t it?” Lowell still said nothing.

  “He almost…” Her voice quivered. She couldn’t finish the sentence. It was too much. Too real. Blood left her face, and she shivered. Lowell pulled her into his arms. “How did I not remember that?”

  Lowell remained silent, allowing her to finish. Suddenly, she stiffened in his arms.

  “You were there!” She screamed and pulled away. She ignored the pain shooting through her.

  “Oh my God, Lowell. You and Daniel. You were there. How were you there? You were waiting in the truck. How did you know which apartment to go to? Oh my God, I feel sick.” She dashed into the bathroom, feeling both dizzy and nauseous, but focused only on making it to the sink. When she was done vomiting, Lowell brought a damp towel to her. She mumbled thanks, wiped her mouth, and then turned the tap on, rinsing the remnants away. Lowell watched her carefully as they walked back to the lounge room. She looked around the room in a daze before crawling back to the open couch. Lowell handed her a glass of water from the kitchen.

  “You saved me. Saved me from being raped by my father! Wait, Daniel. He pulled him off me. But you called the police. Oh, my God, Lowell.”

  “Grace...” he began. She knew it was real when he called her Grace. He only called her that when he was super serious. He moved next to her. When she looked up at him, she saw the truth in his eyes. She started shaking and sobs soon overtook her.

  “He’s never done that before,” she rasped. Lowell pulled her into his arms, and she felt his breathing hitch as he cried with her. They held each other for a long time.

  “But how...” she pulled away from him. “Did I call for you? I couldn’t have.” Her eyes bore into his, willing him to tell her the truth of what happened. She had to know everything now. He got up and returned with the box of tissues from the bathroom. He held one out to her without saying a word.

  “Snot. Gross.” She took a tissue, blew her nose. He walked into the kitchen and made more coffee, then settled in again next to her.

  “Thanks,” she said, taking a sip from her mug. She waited for him to answer.

  “We were waiting in the truck, as planned, but you were taking too long,” he said, pulling the blanket up around them. “We went to see if you were okay.” Grace held his gaze. She needed to face whatever he told her. But before he could continue, more of the day came back to her.

  “I remember him screaming at me. His fists were hard, like rocks. He kept saying: ‘What did you do?’ And he kept saying my mother’s name, Zoe. Over and over. But I have no clue why he said that, or what she ever did to him.” It was all rushing back to her now.

  “I went to get my birth certificate. I looked for it in his bedroom. The drawer fell out. I thought I’d never get it back in. I thought the place was empty, but he must have come back. It was too quiet for him to be home. And, God did the place stink. Wait. You know that part. You were there. Anyway, when he saw me, he just… lunged for me. His eyes. They were, I don’t know, bloodshot, but his pupils were like pinpricks. He was high. Probably for days. He left a half-drunk bottle of beer… I should have known. He’s a mean drunk, but he’s terrifying when he’s high.”

  “The smell. I remember it hit me as soon as I walked through the door. Vomit. Urine. And something else.”

  “Meth,” said Lowell.

  “Yeah. I wondered,” she said, the memories flooding back. “He dragged me around the room by my hair. I begged him to let me go, but he threw me. He screamed at me and, yeah, that’s when I got a whack to the head. I heard a crack, but I may have hit the table as I went down. I’m not sure.” Grace continued talking, infusing pieces from that day with pieces of her past that she’d never considered before.

  “The nightmares have been more frequent lately. But it’s hazy. What’s real and what’s the nightmare? I mean, there are things I don’t remember from when I was young. There are also things I questioned back then, but I was too little to speak up. Like, why was it okay to lock a seven-year-old in the house for three days while he went out partying? I dream about running through thorns, scratchy bushes. In every nightmare, I’m running through bushes. I think that was real. I remember my arm dislocating when he pulled at it while we were running. I don’t th
ink I was going fast enough. But I was young then. Like, five? And that woman, walking me down a street at night, holding my wrist? I was pulling away. She was real too, I think. I remember being locked in a room by her. I think she came later. Maybe when I was seven or eight?”

  “Wait,” she said, repositioning herself to get comfortable. “What happened to me after…” Grace couldn’t even finish the sentence. She inched her way off the couch and started pacing. She knew she was all over the place. Her memories. Her words. But now her anger was building, too. She felt like a dam had burst in her mind and she couldn’t control the flood.

  “You were unconscious when we found you. When I called emergency, they sent both police and an ambulance. They took you to the hospital...” She opened her mouth to say something, but he added quickly, “They did some routine tests, nothing invasive.”

  “You were unconscious for a while. They were concerned. Your father had seriously used you as his punching bag.”

  “Yes. I remember waking to find my ribs were taped.”

  “They asked us about that. They said there were old injuries,” she nodded. That sounded about right. “Daniel and I were questioned by the police at the hospital.”

  Grace stopped moving. Her face went grey.

  “When the police arrived, John was out cold on the floor. Daniel decked him, but we didn’t tell the police that. Anyway, John’s pants were still down around his ankles. When the police went to rouse him, he came up swinging. Took a swipe at a police officer. One cop went around taking photos while another collected evidence. There was a lot of blood.” Grace sat back down. Lowell brought the bedcovers up around her.