The Last Guests

by J. P. Pomare

  ‘Thank you both so much for agreeing to come on the show to speak with me, I’m sure it’s been a rocky couple of weeks for you.’ There was no warning that the interview had started but when she pauses and raises those neatly manicured eyebrows, I realise this is the first question.

  My racing mind searches for a way to describe what we have been through but defers to the cliché. ‘It’s been a rollercoaster.’ Did I mumble? Annunciate, Lina. The lights are a little too bright, too hot. My heart is already thrashing in my chest.

  ‘Yeah, we’ve been through a lot,’ Cain adds, ‘but we’re just glad to make it out the other side relatively unscathed.’ He is much more eloquent. High pressure makes a diamond of him and coal of me.

  ‘You say relatively but of course it’s impossible not to look at you and see that scar healing above your left eye.’ She turns her head slightly to encourage Cain to show where a knock had split open his brow. He does exactly what she wants, showing it, touching it with his forefinger.

  ‘I’m a big boy,’ he says with a smile. ‘It’ll heal just fine. But it was a very scary night for us.’

  ‘What was it like, Lina, that night? Knowing Cain was incapacitated? Tell us what went through your head.’

  I swallow, count to four before I answer. ‘It was terrifying. I was certain at times I was going to die and I thought Cain was already dead.’ I can feel tears starting, but I sniff them back. ‘Cain has always been there, he’s my rock and I knew I needed to do everything in my power to help him, to help us.’

  ‘You must have felt pure relief when you discovered Cain was okay?’

  I find myself nodding. ‘Relief, yes. And just an overwhelming sense of love. But it didn’t last very long.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Don’t mention the fear of a second man, I tell myself. ‘I knew for certain that there was only one intruder in the house that night, but until the police arrived I still felt like he had one last trick to torment us with. I wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible and away from the cameras,’ I say. ‘Then when the police arrived and the paramedics said Cain was going to be okay, that was when I let myself feel relieved.’

  She turns back to Cain. ‘And you’ve been through …’ she pauses, skews her head searching for the right word, ‘… trauma before, haven’t you?’

  Cain nods before answering. The nest of snakes in my stomach quivers, threatening to wake.

  ‘Yeah, I mean Afghanistan was scary for different reasons, but nothing prepared me for the helplessness and the …’ he’s thinking now for the word.

  ‘Impotence?’ she says. He stares at her, I feel the intensity of it, radiating more heat than the lights. Of course she means ineffective but it’s enough to throw him for a moment.

  ‘Ah yeah, I suppose that’s one way of putting it,’ he says, his composure coming back. ‘In my time with the military, I felt I had agency, I felt like my fate was in my hands and I was never taken prisoner. I never feared dying, not even when I was hurt. I always had faith in those people around me and my own abilities. I’d not really thought I was going to die until I woke in that house with my hands bound. And the scariest part is I couldn’t do anything to help Lina. All I’ve ever wanted was to be a good husband, to start a family and keep my loved ones safe. I failed.’ He exhales, his eyes finding his palms in his lap.

  ‘Lina saved you.’

  He looks up now, puffs out his cheeks with the hint of a smile. ‘That’s right. She did. She’s a hero.’

  I reach over and take Cain’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. It’s the lines he’d spoken with the PR consultant but when he delivers them, I feel warmth blooming in my chest.

  ‘She is a hero. Now, Cain, you’ve also spent a little time recently with the police. Photos emerged of officers removing what appeared to be computer equipment.’

  I feel his hand in mine, the dampness is from my own hands. He’s calm and still. He squeezes, and he might as well be whispering in my ear, I’ve got this, don’t worry.

  ‘That’s right, Lisa. As we own the property that the cameras were in, I thought it right to volunteer my computer and hard drives to eliminate myself as a suspect in the ongoing investigation into the cameras.’

  I squeeze his hand again, it’s the perfect answer, just how we’d practised.

  ‘But, of course,’ Lisa continues, ‘the rumour mill was sent into overdrive when a taxi driver came forward saying Lina stopped his car, that she was terrified and you were seen running after her down the street.’

  He gives a small laugh, it comes across as genuine if a little dismissive. ‘I think we’ve quashed this rumour too but we all know how people love to talk.’

  ‘People do love to talk, so what would you say about those who sight the coroner’s report into Daniel Moore’s injuries? Some have pointed out that there were no bruises on his knuckles, despite your report to the police that he punched you. That’s how you sustained the injuries, is it not?’

  He tucks his free hand in under his elbow, as if hiding his own knuckles which bear scratches and bruises from the boxing bag. ‘I thought he did, but maybe he used his elbows, or knees, or the gun. I was drugged so everything is foggy. I just remember getting hit. It’s unsurprising though, Lisa. We’ve heard all sorts of bizarre rumours and conspiracy theories. From a plot by the government to install surveillance in all homes, to theories about the military spying on civilians with me working as some undercover agent.’ That crooked smile, it reaches his eyes. He’s doing so well. ‘I’d like to think I was Jason Bourne, but I’m just an ordinary guy caught up in this mess.’

  ‘Right. But people have good reason to produce their own answers when so many questions still remain.’

  ‘Here’s the fact at the heart of the issue – that man, Daniel Moore, showed Lina the footage on the phone, as you can see in the video that was released this week. We know he knew about the cameras, so it follows that he likely installed them. Everything else is frankly rumour.’

  Again he hits it out of the park.

  ‘So you’re saying it didn’t happen, you didn’t chase her down the road? The taxi driver lied?’

  ‘I’m saying this is a combination of different rumours and possibly mistaken identity. There was a morning we snuck away early to the police station so we wouldn’t be spotted by the media outside our house. Maybe that’s where this rumour came from but I’ve been cleared of any wrongdoing. I volunteered myself and my home to a search to help the police.’

  I’ve never thought of him as a good liar, but we had rehearsed these answers so much maybe he believes it.

  ‘The police have released a statement clearing you of any suspicion but some viewers at home would perhaps say that you only handed over your hardware because you knew there was nothing on it. What would you say to them?’

  We never prepared for this question. ‘Honestly, Lisa, I would tell them to get a life. Get off reddit, or Twitter or wherever else conspiracy theorists loiter, and they might gain some perspective.’ He’s getting frustrated.

  ‘Strong words,’ she says.

  A small shake of the head. ‘Well, you know, I’ve had a gutful of it. Imagine if this happened to you? Imagine being beaten half to death, being traumatised and taunted in your own home then you come out the other side of it and have to deal with the crazies online that want to turn this into some fantasy, or some sort of political issue. We see it online everywhere, grist for the journalists’ mill, the different takes from talking heads.’ He pauses now, brings his voice down a notch. ‘I’m just looking forward to the next big story. Something else to focus on because we’re not the story. The cameras are the story, the footage is the story. Daniel Moore is the story. Not us.’

  ‘Yes, but you can see why this story attracts particular interest from the public? In fact the international media has been following it closely with CNN, the BBC, Fox News, Al Jazeera all running follow-up stories this week alone.’

  ‘With all due respect,
Lisa, you are the media. They’re only responding to your interview last week with the guests who stayed at our home. You made headlines.’ He gives a small laugh. ‘You paid us to come here now to keep the story going. If people want the truth of the matter it’s already out there.’ He shrugs. He’s gone off script now.

  ‘It’s of public interest, Cain. People want to know they are safe when they stay in other people’s properties. That’s the role of a journalist, to seek out the truth and present it to the public.’

  ‘That’s a fair point to make but keep in mind this is one WeStay.’

  ‘Two,’ Lisa says. I see Cain’s surprise, his dark eyebrows rising.

  ‘Two?’

  ‘Police have now confirmed cameras were once installed in a second property in New Zealand. A WeStay in Auckland.’

  He nods, realising now it’s the Hillview property. He knows I was right. ‘Well, maybe there is something to fear then. I don’t have any answer for that.’

  ‘And you, Lina. I hate to bring this up, but it’s something that I’d be loath to overlook, given the way stress and trauma can affect addiction.’ The snakes all squirm inside, sliding up toward my throat. I try not to react. If I speak now, could I stop it? ‘But do you have any comment to make about the fact you were recently stood down from your work with the ambulance service?’ There it is. The gut punch. Cain’s head turns sharply. All the oxygen leaves the room. It’s obvious to anyone this is news to him. Turning my head, I see the question in his eyes, Is it true?

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t have anything to say about that.’ I’m shaking my head.

  ‘Nothing? Because your mother had her own issues with alcoholism, didn’t she?’

  A flush creeps up my neck. ‘No, it’s got nothing to do with what happened to us at Tarawera. It’s an ongoing issue. So …’ I shrug. ‘Can we move on please?’

  She’s leering; a moment, a dozen heartbeats. Brain, pharynx, larynx, lymph nodes, lungs, heart, spleen …

  ‘You don’t want to say anything about it.’

  ‘I’m not going to make any further comment. This is an ongoing issue with my employer, one which is based on a misunderstanding.’

  ‘We’ll move on then, shall we? What makes you think Daniel Moore targeted you?’

  Cain goes to speak but she raises her hand. ‘This question is for you, Lina.’

  I look around, see the man behind the camera, his eye closed, the woman with headphones holding the boom mic over us, the producer nearby. I see them all staring at me and I turn back to Lisa. Does she know? Is the photo out there?

  ‘I believe what the police believe.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘He chose us at random. He had a fake WeStay profile, our house was available and in a remote destination. He set the cameras up, watched and waited until he felt it was the right moment. The cameras were streaming to others online but I believe, I know, that Daniel acted alone.’ I think about the image. The message on the back. This is what he wants – me to kill the rumour about a second man.

  ‘Daniel?’ she says.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You called him Daniel. It’s just most people are using his full name.’

  Again, I look around. I see the scepticism on the producer’s face. I know I’ve made a mistake.

  ‘Sorry, I wasn’t really thinking.’ My shrug is quick, and suspicious. Cain’s posture changes. Still rigid, only now he raises a hand to his chin and scratches gently at his jawline.

  ‘Can we maybe end it there?’ he says.

  ‘Just one or two more questions,’ Lisa says, smiling. ‘Because I’m led to believe you both have some much more exciting news.’

  The baby stuff is coming up now. The PR agent insisted we talk about it, connect with viewers, end on a high.

  ‘That’s right,’ I say, my hand coming to my navel. ‘We’re very excited because early next year we are having our first baby.’

  ‘How wonderful.’

  Peephole

  Live Cam Premium

  Stream: 045A

  Viewers: 056

  He rolls his chair through the front door and places the keys on the coffee table along with his wallet and phone. The bag sitting across his lap he drops in the bedroom as seen on camera 2 – 44 viewers. He moves closer to the mirror and assesses himself, combing his fingers through his groomed beard, before running a hand back over his dark crew cut. He finds a pack of cigarettes in his bag and rolls his chair out to the balcony, grabbing his phone off the table on the way. He can be seen on camera 1, through the glass, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag while he looks down at the phone in his hand.

  THIRTY-THREE

  THE CAR RIDE home is tense, there are no words, no sound other than the voices on the radio and the hum of the tyres. When we are parked in the driveway, we sit as if bracing to step out into a storm, wide-eyed, waiting for the other to do something. Finally he speaks. ‘Why didn’t you tell me what happened at work?’

  I shake my head, still reeling. Filled to the brim with an anxious energy that, if I opened my mouth, would bubble out like toxic gas. The radio is quietly playing a song now and when it finishes the news starts. It’s dark outside the windows, I find my gaze lingering on the front of our house. He asks again. I turn to him, my head already shaking. ‘I don’t know, Cain. I couldn’t tell you. Not with everything else.’

  … the psychologist was apprehended at the train station in Melbourne …

  I tune out the news story.

  ‘And you called him Daniel? It just seems odd, Lina.’

  ‘I froze up. Forgot his last name.’ It’s a lame excuse but it seems to do the trick because now he says, ‘Oh well. Twenty grand, and we did what we went there to do. Nothing we can do about it now. I actually feel kind of relieved. Like we can move on at last.’

  Inside, Cain goes to the bedroom to call Axel.

  I climb the stairs to listen in.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ he’s saying, his voice quiet. ‘It just seemed like an ambush at times. The same thing happened with the Skelton stuff. They just seemed to know.’

  A pause.

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘She barely touched upon it and didn’t mention Skelton, we’ve got nothing to worry about.’

  Another pause as he listens.

  I press the door open, and he turns to me. The unmistakeable look of guilt etched in his eyes. He’s still listening to Axel.

  ‘Hey, I’ll have to call you back,’ he says into the phone.

  ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about?’ I say.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You said, “We’ve got nothing to worry about.” What did you mean by that?’

  ‘Oh nothing just …’ He pauses, swallows.

  I feel heat in my chest. ‘I need to be able to trust you, Cain. This isn’t helping.’

  ‘That’s rich, Lina. I just learnt from a reporter that you’ve been stood down from work.’

  ‘You know I’ve never touched drugs, Cain.’

  The tiny muscle at his jaw bulges; he tilts his head back. ‘I don’t like to talk about what happened to us in Afghanistan, Lina. I don’t like who I was, who we were, what we did. It changes you.’

  They trained us to kill but they can’t untrain us, I think of those words in the leaked letter Skelton wrote his mother.

  ‘I know but that’s not good enough right now, Cain. Trust me, please.’

  ‘The psychologist – ’

  ‘I don’t care what the psychologist said. Tell me what that phone call was about.’

  He closes his eyes hard, like a man battling a migraine. ‘Skelton killed that family, but he did it to protect me.’

  ‘Protect you from what?’

  His eyes are still squeezed closed. ‘It was an accident. We were so highly strung, so paranoid after the attack. When we got to that village, we were looking for any threat. I rushed a house and it looked like a man was reaching for a gun but he wasn’t. I had already pulled the trigge
r.’

  The nightmares. It’s the first thing that comes to me. What if they’re not from the blast that almost killed him but from this? ‘You killed him?’

  He opens his eyes now, his nostrils flare. He gives the smallest nod. ‘It changes you,’ he says. The sadness in his eyes. He’s talking about me now. I should have been the one to save you. He didn’t want me to live with the weight of a death on my mind. The guilt that comes on so suddenly, so fresh and raw like it happened yesterday. He lives with it too.

  ‘You were at war,’ I say. ‘You can’t blame yourself for the rest of your life, or live in fear of it coming out.’

  ‘It wasn’t the first unlawful killing or the last. Loads of blokes killed civvies. But this one was investigated.’

  ‘It won’t come out now, Cain. And if it did you could always just explain.’

  ‘Don’t be naïve, Lina. Axel was going to testify with me, that it was all Skelton. Instead of us both going down, Axel and I decided it would just be Trent. Then Trent took his life.’

  The nightmares, the guilt. He’s got a secret that could ruin his life and so he gambles and drinks, he has nightmares and snaps at people at the gym.

  ‘It’s not your fault, Cain. You can’t carry all that around alone.’

  ‘It comes and goes, the guilt, the grief, but I manage it. It’s mostly the fear that the secret will get out, that my world, our world, will come crashing down. I want to control it but I can’t. And now the stakes are much higher, with the baby coming.’

  It’s like he’s plucked the thoughts right out of my head.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  DAYS LATER, CAIN watches the interview when it airs but I can’t bring myself to sit through it. I know it will only confirm all my anxieties, that everything I said and did in that studio would be manipulated, the drama scaled up. I go for a run instead.

  When I get back, Cain wears an unreadable expression. ‘They’d edited out what I said about the media, I should have guessed. Except a couple of snippets to make me seem a touch unhinged.’