Lonely Girl

by Lynne Vincent McCarthy

  Finding her feet, she hunches back down, threading her arms under his from behind. Hugging him close she yanks him, one lurching step at a time, channelling every bit of adrenaline-fuelled strength she has until finally she reaches the passenger side door. Without pause she flings open the door with one hand and hauls him the rest of the way up into the passenger seat.

  Hokey country music fills the air as the vehicle pulls alongside. Ana leans heavily into the door, shutting it with her body as she peers over the roof of her car, trying not to heave with exertion.

  Peering back at her from an old campervan are a couple of grey nomads. In their seventies at least.

  ‘You right there, love?’

  Ana’s mind is in turmoil but she tries to keep it from showing on her face. Part of her wants to beg for their help, the other wants to hide the evidence.

  ‘He got out to be sick and passed out right in the middle of the road!’

  Ana has surprised herself, expertly channelling the weary ire of the woman in the pharmacy.

  She sees their eyes flick to the man and she moves quickly, scooping up his jacket from the ground and hurrying around to the driver’s side of her car, shielding him with her body.

  ‘Does it to me all the time. We go to parties and … and …’ she trails off, her initial inspiration faltering.

  The couple smile back in unsure silence.

  ‘At least this time he didn’t throw up on my shoes …’ Ana laughs weakly.

  She notices blood on her top and shifts the jacket to hide it. She needn’t have bothered as the old man is focused on her face, his eyes narrow, like he’s trying to work something out.

  ‘Chemist girl, right?’

  She stares back at him, shocked to the core that he knows her.

  He taps the side of his head, pleased with himself.

  ‘Never forgotten a face.’

  The old woman peers around him, stern eyes raking over Ana before looking past her to the man in her passenger seat who, with exemplary timing, falls sideways, slumping down into the driver’s seat.

  ‘I better get him home.’ The crack in Ana’s voice almost betrays her as she slips into her car, pushing her ‘boyfriend’ upright.

  She waits but the old couple aren’t going anywhere fast. They’re waiting for her.

  Ana turns the key in the ignition and for a terrifying few seconds it seems like the car won’t start. She’s cursing herself for leaving the fucking headlights on without the engine when it finally turns over. She doesn’t have to force the grateful smile she sends the old couple as she drives off.

  Her eyes flick to the rearview mirror, watching the campervan following close behind. She can’t see them through their windscreen but she can feel their keen old eyes on the back of her head. She forces herself to drive at a snail’s pace until finally they overtake. With a jaunty toot of the horn they disappear down the road.

  Ana brakes hard, her arm automatically planking out across the man’s body to stop him pitching forward, just as she does for River. She pushes him back without looking at him and slowly releases the breath she’s been holding. With it returns the full force of her panic.

  She turns to face the man by her side. A trickle of blood makes its way down his unconscious face.

  Ana grips tightly onto the steering wheel, trying to centre herself. It’s then she hears birdsong. She peers up at the sky. It’s getting light. Whatever she’s going to do with him she needs to do it now.

  Ana looks back at the man. The steady trickle of blood is now dripping from his face down onto the fabric of the car seat. Now that he’s in her car he somehow feels even more like her responsibility. She reminds herself that he’s not her boyfriend, not some blank canvas onto whom she can project a story. He’s simply an unwanted complication in a story that in a few hours is supposed to be over.

  She could turn around, find somewhere to leave him, somewhere closer to a hospital, but by the time she makes it into Hobart it’ll be light already.

  While she sits there deliberating, the early morning birdsong is joined by another sound. An old ute suddenly speeds towards her, the driver lifting a hand in greeting as he passes.

  Ahead is the safety of her house. She can’t see it yet but she feels it there, hidden amongst the trees.

  Calling to her.

  THIRTEEN

  Ana is so focused on getting off the road and out of sight that she doesn’t question the wisdom of what she’s doing until she has the garage unlocked and is dragging the double doors open. It’s been years since the garage was used as anything other than a laundry and the rusty old hinges protest all the way. She forces her mind to stay on task, hurrying to get the car in and shut the prying eyes of the world out. Safely inside, Ana leans heavily into the old wood, using her body weight to slam the double bolts down into the concrete floor. She rests there, panic swamping her again as the gravity of her situation hits in full force. It’s River’s high-pitched bark that gets her moving again.

  ‘No!’

  He stands on the threshold between the house and the garage, curiously surveying the scene in front of him, head tilting with interest as he spots their visitor.

  Ana allows him no window of opportunity. She hurries around the car, giving him a quick squeeze as she manoeuvres his resistant body back into the kitchen. He senses what she’s doing but can’t put up much of a fight with one leg out of action. Once she has him out of the way she yanks the connecting door shut.

  He barks once more in protest and then starts scratching at the other side.

  Ana ignores it and turns back to her car, staring in at the unconscious man. At least his head seems to have stopped bleeding.

  She can still feel the white heat that took over when she brought the flashlight down. She hasn’t felt that since she was a little girl. That feeling of wanting to hurt someone.

  What does that say about you?

  Ana pushes the thought away. She did what any other lone woman would do. She defended herself. Which is exactly what she needs to do now. When her mind is clear again, she’ll know what to do. Until then, she just needs to do enough to keep herself and River safe. One step at a time …

  She takes the first of those steps now over to a door in the corner of the garage. Like the garage doors it doesn’t want to be opened but Ana gives it a good shove and it swings in to reveal stairs disappearing down into darkness under the house.

  Ana reaches in and flicks on the light switch. Dust swirls around a single hanging globe that illuminates a concrete floor below. An involuntary shudder travels up through Ana’s body as she scans the shadows at the edge of the light’s reach. She hasn’t ventured into the basement since her grandmother died, which feels like a lifetime ago now. In the years since, the basement, and everything in it, has ceased to exist. Just like the unused parts of the house above.

  Ana glances back to check on the man. With his head resting against the window he looks like he could simply have fallen asleep in the midst of a long drive and she, his caring girlfriend, not wanting to wake him, has simply left him there to emerge in his own time.

  Ana shakes herself out of the fantasy, reminding herself of what she knows about him.

  What you think you know.

  She steps through the doorway onto the landing and silently counts the stairs as she descends. Six take her down to a second landing and then another six take her the rest of the way down. Twelve steps in all until she’s standing on the concrete, spotlit under the globe. Four solid support pillars break up the space, which unlike the house above is a mess of discarded furniture and boxes, all pushed into the shadows beyond the pillars.

  Back when the house became hers, Ana couldn’t bring herself to throw anything out so she just shifted it all down here. Everything from her childhood, along with all tangible evidence of her mother and grandmother, the remnants of their lives hidden away like an enormous second grave. Over the years there have been regular council clean-ups when she could
have got rid of it all but she couldn’t bear the thought of strangers going through her family’s things. Neither could she bear the thought of going through them all herself.

  Her eyes strain now to penetrate the darkness in the corners of the space. Even though she knows nothing sinister lurks there she still feels uneasy. Why is it that basements never fail to induce fear? Is it simply because of what’s possible? What could be hidden away in the subterranean layers of a person’s ordinary life?

  Her eyes find the back of an old wheelchair pushed in behind one of the pillars and the stern judgment of her grandmother comes straight down on her. The old woman would not be happy with her now.

  Beyond the wheelchair she can just make out an old double bed mattress pushed up against the wall. As she starts towards it she’s completely freaked out by a flash of movement but quickly realises it’s her own reflection caught in a mirror leaning against some boxes. Even so, her heart is battering the inside of her chest as she darts in and drags the mattress out of the darkness.

  She lets it drop at the bottom of the stairs, causing a miniature dust storm to erupt.

  Ana starts up the stairs but then changes her mind, darting back down to pull the wheelchair out from behind the pillar. She drags the cumbersome thing with her up to the garage and then over to the car.

  The sound of River’s scratching is more frantic now as Ana hoists the man from the passenger seat into the chair, one arm encircling his chest to stop him slumping forward. At least she has experience with this part but even so the last person to sit in the chair was just skin and bones, whereas he seems heavier than he did out on the road.

  Ana has heard stories about people being capable of enormous feats of strength when there is no other option, lifting huge weights they could never normally shift. Whether or not she had other options is not something Ana has the time or the desire to linger on now. Tonight’s effort, on top of having to carry River so far through the forest recently, has left her depleted but she can’t stop until she knows she and River are safe.

  Getting him down those stairs is not going to be easy. The stiff old wheels squeal in protest as she pushes him over to the basement door, the sound grating through her already fraught nerves. She’s interrupted by a victorious yelp from River who has succeeded in opening the door to the kitchen.

  ‘Stay!’

  River stops dead, even though her command was barely above a whisper. Whilst his back half is still technically in the house, his face wears the guilty look he gets when caught doing the wrong thing. But there’s something else. River isn’t so sure about this Ana. He looks confused, like she’s suddenly a stranger to him.

  All Ana has to do is stare him down to prompt his retreat back into the kitchen as she moves across and firmly shuts the door.

  Is that what she is now? A stranger to him? To herself? She feels bad about her harshness but the last thing she needs is for him to follow her and fall down the stairs. She’ll make it up to him later.

  Ana returns to the man, positioning the wheelchair on the landing and awkwardly tilting it back in preparation for the first step, but that’s as far as she gets with her misguided plan to wheel him down. There is no way she can take his weight and the chair’s without them both ending up in a broken heap at the bottom of the stairs. She’s going to have to drag him.

  Grabbing him under the arms she hefts him up and in one furious burst yanks him backwards. Her foot blindly searches for the first step, his head cushioned against her body. She finds the next step and then keeps going, pulling him with her, his heavy boots banging onto each and every step until they’re on solid ground. With a final massive pull she settles him onto the mattress.

  Ana crouches there, struggling to get her breath back. Chill prickles attack her skin through the heat of her sweat. It’s cold down here, the sandstone walls moist with rising damp, the clinging odour of mould in the air.

  She does a quick scout around until she finds an old paint-covered tarpaulin. It will keep him warm for now. As she drapes it over his body her eyes stray back to his face.

  Once she’s looking at him she can’t stop.

  She sees him in pieces: the long dark eyelashes, more like a woman’s than a man’s, longer even than her own. The shadow of growth across his jaw. The tiny indent in his left earlobe from an old piercing. The vein pulsing loudly at the base of his neck.

  Don’t let yourself be seduced by how he looks. Ted Bundy was handsome. So was that other man, the one who had sex with dead people and ate them.

  The man’s boots are sticking out from under the tarpaulin and Ana moves to the end of the mattress to pull them off.

  One of his socks has a hole through which a single naked toe protrudes. It’s such an ordinary sight it gives her pause.

  She stares down at it for a long moment until she reaches out and tucks his toe back in.

  *

  Daylight bleeds in through the slats of the garage doors as Ana emerges from the basement with his boots. She freezes in the doorway when she feels the first wave of nausea roll over her. She leans hard into the door, trying to ward it off, but as the second wave hits she pitches forward and projectile vomits across the concrete. It’s nothing but yellow-tinged liquid, which Ana notes with disgust is the exact same shade as the neon sign outside of Rocky’s.

  What the hell do you think you’re doing? You should have just left him out there on the road.

  She crouches there, paralysed for a moment, before gagging and spitting up the residue of the bile burning the back of her throat. Then she reaches behind and yanks the basement door firmly shut.

  As she slides the heavy bolt across to lock the man in, River once again starts barking from the other side of the kitchen door. This time she listens. She’s neglected his needs for long enough. She brings him out, leading the way to the garage doors, unbolting and pushing one ajar. Just enough for River to slip out. Through the gap she watches him hobble over to the closest patch of grass where he awkwardly squats, not having the strength to cock his leg. It’s a long piss, which only makes Ana feel worse for leaving him shut in the house for so long.

  When it looks like he’s done she calls him back but he continues to limp and sniff his stilted but dignified way further up the driveway.

  It’s not unlike River to selectively hear. He’s always been stubborn and she can’t blame him for feeling put out now. She’s just happy he’s up and moving around again; even the events of the last few hours can’t rob her of that. It hits her now that he looks a lot better today. His curiosity is certainly back in full force.

  A cool breeze teases Ana’s face and she takes a step outside, giving her whole body to it. Her right arm, the one that wielded the torch, is a dead weight hanging from her shoulder. She rubs it, trying to bring it back to life. She’s going to need both her arms later.

  She peers up at the sky. The sun is low, still hiding behind the trees. The gulf of a whole day stretches out between now and nightfall. Even then she’ll have to wait and smuggle him back out in the early hours when the roads are quiet. An anonymous call to the police should be sufficient. She doesn’t need the fact that she’s let a potential killer go free on her conscience.

  He saw her face and could possibly give a description but it was dark. With his head injury, along with the fact that he’d been drinking, who knows what he’ll remember. He has no idea where he is and Ana intends to keep it that way.

  ‘River. Come.’

  This time he comes immediately, meeting her at the door and slipping in past her.

  Ana takes one last look out into the world before she once again shuts it out.

  FOURTEEN

  Ana hunches over the sink, drinking straight from the tap. When she’s drunk her fill she remains there, head bowed, trying to order her scattered thoughts.

  River is back in his bed and she can feel his eyes on her.

  She straightens up and glances at the clock, it’s after seven am. Time to call Ruth i
f she doesn’t want her knocking on her door.

  Ana starts towards the phone but before she reaches it sudden panic surges through her. The pills! She sprints back to the garage. River drags himself up, following on her heels, watching her dive into the passenger side of the car. After some scrambling she finds the bag of pills pushed down between the two front seats. She shoves them in her pocket and returns to the kitchen. This time she heads straight for the phone. She picks it up and dials, relieved to hear Ruth’s voicemail.

  ‘Hello, it’s Ana Saltzman,’ she says, forcing a lightness to her tone. ‘Just letting you know there’s no need for you to drop by. The medication is working better now and River seems –’ She stops when she feels him nudge her fingers for a pat and looks down to see those soft brown eyes looking back at her. ‘He’s good today so I think we’ll wait and see how he goes … um … I’ll stay in touch.’

  Ana hangs up but keeps hold of the handset while she strokes River’s head. She’s not technically lying; he does seem better. Maybe Ruth really did get it wrong this time. Maybe his remission hasn’t passed. Maybe he just hurt his leg when he fell in the hole and all he needed was rest and lots of sleep to heal and recover.

  The dinner plate by his bed, still full of yesterday’s steak, tells another story but Ana avoids looking at that. The main thing is he’s not in pain. Once the current situation is taken care of and they’re back in their normal routine she can re-evaluate and get Ruth to check him over again.

  Ana dials again and waits. When she hears Lenny pick up she is momentarily rendered speechless, until she remembers he has a trick message that makes you think he’s answering when he’s not. It gets her every time, until she hears the beep chime in her ear.

  ‘Lenny, it’s me … I’m sorry but I can’t make it in to work. River’s unwell again and I just …’

  She glances back at River, who’s still staring up at her, head tilting on that angle he adopts when he’s trying to understand something.