by JC Grey
She’d left them to bond over the quiche, and hoped it would all work out. But either way, she’d done her best. It was up to them now. She had her own life to consider and top of the list was speaking with Mac. Then she’d turn in early and recharge her batteries for the week ahead.
On the drive home, she was about to call Mac when she realised she’d forgotten to charge her mobile before she left, leaving it as flat as a pancake. Maybe it was just as well. Verbal sparring with Mac required her to be in top form and right now she felt she could sleep around the clock. Ten minutes from the house, she thought she would have to pull off the road, crawl into the back seat and sleep it off. But the thought of her own bed just a few kilometres away made her press on.
At Sweet Springs, she dragged herself out of the car and was walking up the steps to the front door when she heard frantic barking in the distance. Paddy? The barking was coming from around the back, she thought, but it was hard to tell. Shaking with the effort, she put one foot in front of the other, unlocked the front door and walked through to the kitchen. She opened the back door and went out on to the veranda.
The barking had turned to a ferocious growling and snapping, and she scanned the lowering horizons, the energy-sapping atmosphere impossibly close. Finally the storm that had threatened for days was coming to a head.
Paddy was frantic now, yelps of pain mingling with the furious snarls. Knowing he needed her propelled Blaze into a run. Something was desperately wrong. A fat warm drop of rain splattered her face, then another. She blinked to clear her vision. There! She could make out Paddy in the gathering gloom, splashing desperately in the waterhole just a few metres from the tree-lined edge.
Panting and half blinded by the rain that continued to fall, Blaze fell to her knees on the rough leaf-strewn shore of the waterhole. Ants scuttled for cover, and, overhead, birds shrieked a warning. Perspiration and rain trickled down the neckline of her dress as she saw Paddy flounder. His head was barely above water and the barking had become just the occasional panicked yelp.
‘Paddy, swim, come on! Here!’ She called to him, patting the bank. Dogs knew instinctively how to swim, didn’t they? But she couldn’t make out his front feet – just his face slowly submerging beneath the glassy surface of the waterhole. ‘Paddy!’ she yelled. ‘This way, boy! Hurry!’
The yelps subsided. He was going under. She had no choice but to go in after him. Gripping the trunk of a tree, feeling the rough bark scratch her palm, Blaze got back to her feet, sliding off her flat sandals and dropping her keys next to them. Her summer dress was only light so shouldn’t provide much drag. The water was warm as she inched unsteadily down the bank and into the shallows. Wading slowly, she was soon out of her depth, but it was easier swimming than walking, and a second later she was reaching out for Paddy’s furry muzzle.
He was silent and unmoving as she dragged his head from the water, and she was exhausted; taking his weight was impossible.
‘Come on, Paddy, swim. Help me!’ she muttered.
Pushing off, trying to keep both their heads above the surface, she kicked out with her spare arm and both legs. Something wrapped around her foot. It felt like a chain and she kicked it away.
But the weight of the dog was taking them both under. She spat out mouthfuls of water, feeling the shoulder of her left arm burn as she tried to propel them the final metres to shore. It took forever but at long last she felt solid ground beneath her feet.
Hauling Paddy with her, she dragged them half out of the water, and it was then she saw that it was indeed a heavy metal chain, wrapped around Paddy’s legs. No wonder he hadn’t been able to swim! Too tired to unwrap the chain, all Blaze could do was push Paddy further up the bank. But he was so still, and his chest wasn’t moving.
‘Please,’ she whispered.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw slight movement in the fringe of trees.
‘Help,’ she croaked. ‘Down here. I need help!’
All the reply she got was the sudden gusty sigh of wind in the trees as the rain storm intensified. Rivulets ran down her face, and she was too weary to push them away as she contemplated Paddy’s still form. All she had to do was climb out, get to the house and call for help. It wasn’t too late, she told herself fiercely. She would phone Mac. He could be here in fifteen minutes.
But the bank of the waterhole rose steeply in this spot, and her fingers slipped helplessly in the mud as she tried to drag herself out. The water was pulling her back, back into its depths. Sliding helplessly back in up to her thighs, Blaze felt something claw deep within her belly, and she cried out.
Off-balance and with her stores of energy utterly depleted, she flailed for purchase. But the bank was too far away and receding.
The pain came again, a violent, sickening drag and she cried out hoarsely. If she rested for a moment, she’d feel better, she thought. She would try again later. It was easier just to float, staring up at the turbulent sky, letting the waves of pain roll through her, while the silent green waterhole pulled her gently down, down, down.
It was raining in earnest by the time Mac pulled up abruptly behind Blaze’s ute, which stood almost dangerously close to the front porch as though she’d only just braked in time. His boots hit the dirt before his own truck had come to a complete standstill, and he peered in the driver’s door of the other vehicle, which hung wide open, Blaze’s bag sitting on the passenger seat.
‘Blaze!’ He called out, looking around and trying to temper his concern. Maybe she’d heard the phone ringing inside and had rushed in. He jogged up the steps and through the open front door.
‘Blaze! Where are you, honey?’
Moving through to the kitchen and out the open French doors, he squinted through the driving rain, but he couldn’t see any movement.
‘Where are you?’ he muttered.
He checked the other downstairs rooms, the upper levels and the barn before retracing his steps to her car. Something was wrong, he knew it. He could taste the dread in his throat. Pulling her bag out, he upended it on the bonnet of the ute, hoping to find a personal organiser which might reveal something – anything – useful.
Her mobile spilled out, the battery flat.
He felt the car hood beneath his fingers; still warm. She hadn’t been back long. But where had she gone? From a distance the sky let off a warning rumble as rain continued to fall.
Back inside, he checked upstairs again to no avail and was in the new attic suite when he heard something. Opening the window that would become the door to the balcony, he scanned the landscape. The sound came again, the yelp of an animal in distress. It was coming from the waterhole.
His long legs eating up the distance, Mac raced downstairs and out towards the waterhole. He broke through the fringe of branches, and slid to a halt by a pair of slender flat sandals in a style Blaze favoured.
The whimpering sound came again, and there was Paddy just metres away, lying half in, half out of the water. Mac’s mouth became grim as he saw the animal’s legs were chained together. ‘It’s all right, mate,’ he told the distressed dog as he dragged him clear.
‘Blaze! Blaze!’ He scanned the width and length of the waterhole, and there, just a little further along, he saw a flash of red fabric caught among the tree branches.
‘Blaze! Oh God. Blaze! Hang on.’
He dropped his phone beside her shoes and launched himself down the bank into the still water. It dragged at his boots, at his jeans, but he didn’t notice as he arrowed in on the woman lying so still, half-hidden among the foliage of the trees that swept low to the waterline. Her hair flared out, damp and dark, around her face. The water around her was tinged with pink.
‘Blaze.’ His throat felt tight with fear as he reached her. He thought her lips moved, but her eyes didn’t open as he freed her from the clutch of the tree branches and hoisted her into his arms. It was slow, unsteady progress as he carried her limp form back to the place where he could climb out. The bank was slipper
y, and he had to lay her down next to Paddy before he could climb out and lift her completely clear of the water.
Under the canopy of trees, Mac knelt down by Blaze’s side. Under his fingers he felt the flutter of a pulse. Her lips moved, framing one word: Paddy. She looked deathly pale and her eyes remained closed.
‘He’s all right,’ Mac told her, his voice shaking as he took one of her cold hands in his. ‘He’s fine.’ Due to the patchy mobile reception, it took him a couple of attempts to get Ryan on the line. ‘Get an ambulance to Sweet Springs,’ he told him when the cop’s voice at last came on the line. ‘And a vet, too.’ He looked over at the dog, which was trying to scramble further up the bank, still chained. ‘Something’s happened. I think you should take a look.’
‘What is it?’ Ryan wanted to know. ‘Who’s hurt?’
‘Blaze Gillespie and her dog. I don’t know what happened but they’re both in a bad way.’ He shut the phone off as Blaze whimpered. Her lashes fluttered and her hand gripped his. He saw her body stiffen.
‘It’s going to be okay, honey. They’re sending an ambulance for you. Where does it hurt?’ He ran his hands over the back of her head, then her arms and legs, searching for cuts that would account for the blood he’d seen in the water, but came up with nothing. Maybe it was Paddy’s but the dog didn’t appear to have a wound either.
She whimpered again, and he tore his shirt from his back, wrapping it around her damp shoulders. Her skin was cool and clammy, face the colour of milk. ‘Where did you cut yourself, baby? Tell me.’ Mac saw her free hand hover over her belly, and when he curved his hand over hers, she cried out. The cry turned into a scream as her body arched off the ground in agony. The dark brown lashes fluttered but still her eyes remained stubbornly and tightly closed as though afraid to face . . . something.
Desperately, he ran his hands across the gauzy fabric of the red dress, then down to her hips. She was whimpering continuously now. It sounded like, ‘Please, please no.’ Knowing he shouldn’t but unable to stop himself, Mac hauled her into his arms, holding her close, his mouth pressed to her hair, whispering assurances. It was then he saw the blood on the ground beneath her.
Teeth clenched, he found a dry patch of ground and eased down with her head on his shoulder, pushing the dress up to her thighs. Blood smeared the length of them, drenching the bikini briefs she wore. As he watched, he saw her belly contract, her fingernails dig into the ground as she shuddered and cried out. And he knew.
‘Please, no,’ she muttered brokenly. ‘Make it stop, Mac.’ Against him she twisted half into the foetal position. His hands covered hers as they slid between her legs in an instinctive, futile attempt to stop the bleeding.
As the rain fell in a steady damp curtain all around, all Mac could do was hold her, whisper useless reassurances, and pray that the ambulance arrived before it was too late.
Blaze knew before she opened her eyes that she was in hospital.
The smell of antiseptic was overlaid with something floral. She felt a little floaty and could easily have sunk back into the nothingness that was so much better than the dragging, cramping pain, but she’d always been a sucker for flowers. Perhaps Mac had brought her more pansies.
Turning her head towards the scent, she saw it was a striking blue hyacinth in a pot. Not the kind of flowers a man gave a woman he was involved with. She closed her eyes and turned her head towards the window. She could hear the steady fall of rain, the ping as it hit the gutters, the gush as it overflowed. And she could hear breathing that wasn’t her own.
With some effort, she forced open her eyes again to meet the eyes of the tall, dark man who stood in front of the window, staring at her.
‘Mac,’ she whispered, her mouth curving in a sleepy smile, glad that he was here. He was so tall, so handsome, she thought. More a man than any she’d known before. ‘Why are you all the way over there?’ she whispered. But he didn’t come any closer, making her frown. Why was he standing there, so distant?
‘Mac?’ Her voice wavered.
‘I’ll get someone for you.’ His voice was cool and remote as he pushed away from the wall.
‘Mac?’ She tried to reach for him as he rounded the bed on his way to the door, but her body was too slow to obey. The door opened and shut and he was gone.
Alone with her thoughts, she couldn’t stop the on-rush of reality. Fragments of events at the waterhole spun unchecked through her mind: the tidal wave of cramps and that awful clawing sensation. In shock, she put her hands on her belly, but instinctively she knew the baby was gone.
Numb with grief for the tiny life extinguished almost before it had begun, she stared for long moments at the door, hoping beyond hope that Mac would return. When it was clear he wasn’t coming back, she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep when the nurse came in.
She didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to talk. She just wanted Mac with her, strong and indomitable, a shield against the devastation that threatened to consume her. Eventually, when she did sleep, she dreamt she was running endlessly, searching and calling for an elusive child that she could never quite find.
The next time she woke, the room was empty, the blind up and the sky beyond washed clean of colour. Instantly, she put her hands on her belly, knowing even as she did so that it was over. Before she’d even had a chance to accept it as reality, it was gone. Like a dream that fled with morning’s approach.
Dry-eyed, she stared around the clinical hospital room. The hyacinth had moved to the table at the end of the bed to make room for a spray of blush-pink peonies. Awkwardly, she reached out for the card, saw that they were from Rowdy and Marianne, and that they were thinking of her. Did they know, she wondered?
And where was Mac? He’d been here. And he’d been with her there, by the waterhole, holding her, crying with her. Or had that just been the dream?
A nurse bustled in, her eyes brightening when she saw Blaze was awake. ‘Good, about time we opened our eyes. Now we must want to pee about now, I’d say. No, don’t get up.’
‘I want to,’ Blaze said hoarsely. She pushed herself into a sitting position despite the tut-tutting of the nurse, and let the woman help her across to the small adjoining bathroom, where she saw to her immediate needs. Fresh pads had been placed thoughtfully on the counter and she used one, and wished she was up to a shower. But she was feeling tired again already, so she gave herself a cursory wash, trying to ignore the white face and shadowed eyes reflected in the mirror.
When she went back into the room, the nurse had changed the sheets and was plumping the pillows. With efficient kindness, she helped Blaze back into bed, pressed a glass of apple juice into her hand and held out a couple of tablets. ‘For the discomfort,’ she told Blaze. ‘Now,’ she said, after Blaze had dutifully swallowed them. ‘You know what happened, don’t you?’
Blaze nodded and looked away towards the window.
‘Now, we mustn’t think we’re to blame. The doctor’s looked you over, and you’re in tip-top health. A little underweight in my book, but perfectly healthy. We’ll keep you in one more night just to be sure there’s no infection. The bleeding should be over within a week or two, and in a month you can try again if you feel ready.’
When Blaze didn’t respond, she sighed and patted her hand. ‘Is there someone you’d like me to call for you?’
Blaze thought of Mac and shook her head. What could she say to him?
‘We have a counsellor you can see,’ the nurse continued.
When Blaze shook her head again, she sighed. ‘Maybe later, then. Now, are you up to seeing the nice policeman who’s waiting to speak to you? And then we’ll see about feeding you.’
Startled, Blaze went to ask what he wanted, but the nurse was already opening the door and ushering in a tall, serious-looking man of about her own age with brown curling hair and grey-blue eyes. A uniformed female police officer stood by the door.
‘Ms Gillespie.’ The man shook her limp hand. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant
Ryan, and this is Constable Mayhew.’ He nodded in the direction of the policewoman. ‘How are you feeling?’
Blaze just nodded and he sat down in the visitor chair by the bed. ‘Do you remember what happened yesterday?’
‘Yesterday?’ Blaze frowned.
‘Yes, when you . . .’ He studied her face. ‘You were out of it for a while. It’s now two-thirty on Monday afternoon.’
Blaze lifted a hand to her head. ‘I remember feeling tired as I was driving home from town to Sweet Springs. My property.’ Closing her eyes, she tried to remember, but everything was blurry and mixed up.
She opened her eyes. ‘Why are you here? I don’t understand.’ She thought of Paddy, felt her eyes mist. ‘You don’t think I did something to —’
Ryan raised a hand. ‘No, of course not. And before we go on, can I say how sorry we are for your loss.’
Blaze stared at the wall.
‘What happened when you got home?’ Ryan asked.
‘It’s all a bit vague. I was feeling pretty worn out. And I drove home, and something happened.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘I heard Paddy kicking up a fuss, the dog. He was barking, snarling, and I found him at the waterhole, trying to stay afloat. I tried to reach him in time, but I was so tired, and he was so heavy.’
‘What happened then?’ the policeman prompted.
‘There was metal around his legs, a chain, dragging him down. He was so heavy and I couldn’t save him. I got him out, but he was . . .’ She looked away from the inquisitive eyes of the detective. ‘I was too late.’
Ryan looked startled, and shook his head. ‘No, Ms Gillespie, your dog’s fine. He’s recovering at the vet’s. Rowdy Parsons reports he’s doing well, wanted you to know.’
‘Paddy?’ Blaze stared at him with astonishment. ‘He’s all right?’
‘Why, yes.’ The policeman smiled at her, but his eyes were still cautious and curious. ‘Your dog is going to be right as rain.’
