She focuses on the immediate issue. Innocent or guilty, when he wakes up he’s unlikely to understand that she’s keeping him there for his own good. How does a woman keep a man who is clearly much stronger than her captive? It’s not as simple as just locking him in.
*
Wheels spin as Ana pushes through the wide aisles of Bunnings Warehouse. She’s driven out to the massive store on the highway near the airport, where it’s less likely she’ll run into anyone she knows. She doesn’t have time for such a big detour but the grey nomads recognising her from the pharmacy spooked her. She’s not quite as anonymous or invisible as she thought.
She moves quickly, dropping items in her trolley, grabbing anything she thinks might be useful. Plastic plates, plastic mugs and plastic spoons … a padlock large enough to fit the basement door. She doesn’t know yet how long she might have to keep him but she needs to be prepared.
She pauses in front of a bank of ropes and chains but can’t go there yet. Instead she settles on a big three-pack special of heavy duct tape. That should be enough to secure him for now.
Rounding another aisle she abruptly stops. In front of her is a large pink and blue display of baby paraphernalia. It’s the boxes of baby monitors that have caught her attention. She moves closer and picks one up. It’s perfect.
‘The sleep deprivation’s a killer, isn’t it?’
Ana nearly jumps out of her skin. The voice is perky and perfectly suited to the little man whose face beams at her from above the impossibly neat collar of his crisp red polo shirt.
Ana straightens her clothes, suddenly conscious of how dishevelled and grubby she looks.
‘Boy or girl?’
Ana’s confused for a moment but then gets it.
‘Boy.’ Her voice is too loud. Too emphatic. ‘He’s at home. I left him. I mean, I left him with my …’
Shut up. You’re talking too much.
‘What’s his name?’
Ana’s mind is spectacularly blank. All she can see is the man’s name tag – Cranston. Who the hell would do that to a kid?
‘I don’t … we’re not sure yet.’
‘We called our firstborn “Old Boy” for the first month. Kid sounded like he had emphysema.’
He chuckles at the memory and gestures at the box she’s still holding.
‘I see you have an eye for the best. That baby is your Mercedes of monitors utilising DECT technology.’
Ana looks back at him blankly.
‘Digital Enhanced Cordless Telecommunications. My wife and I used this one so I can personally recommend it. Clear as a bell and operates on a frequency reserved for voice technologies. It’s also encrypted, so you get a layer of security you don’t have in older models.’ He pauses there, clearly expecting a reaction. ‘Means the neighbours won’t hear the baby crying when they pick up their cordless phone.’
Ana finally realises she needs to give the man a little something back.
‘I don’t have neighbours.’
‘Lucky for you. I’d say mine was a cow but I love cows.’ He takes the box from her hands and turns it over. ‘Look, there’s even a talk-back feature so you can chat to the little guy from another room.’
‘It’s perfect.’ Ana’s smile is bright, if a little forced.
She’s disconcerted when he stands there mirroring her smile back to her. He glances curiously into her trolley and Ana quickly grabs the box from his hands.
‘Thanks for your help. He’ll be waking up soon. I’ve gotta get back.’
She wheels her trolley towards the cashier stations. There’s only one in operation and Ana can’t believe she recognises the face of the girl staffing it. She’s pretty sure she’s seen her with Kristy. Ana slows her pace and considers a detour but she can feel the girl already looking in her direction.
Her perky new friend, Cranston, comes to her rescue, stepping up to the second register. Smile at high beam, ready for another round. Ana wills him not to say anything more about her ‘baby’ as she wheels her trolley over but he seems satisfied with silence now he’s made his sale. Ana glances at the girl as she digs into her bag for her purse but she looks just as bored and vacant as Ana remembers her.
SEVENTEEN
Ana steps up to the basement door. She leans her head against the wood, listening for sounds of movement inside. She’s left him longer than she intended and the prospect of opening the door and descending back into the strangeness of her current reality is daunting.
She can’t hear a thing but it’s a heavy old door and that could simply mean it’s reasonably soundproof. The pills should keep him out for a while longer yet but that’s purely guesswork. There’s no way to know for sure what she might be walking into. Ana runs her hand over the rough wood, fingers seeking out an old keyhole indent. A way to see in without being seen.
On closer inspection it’s completely plugged up with old paint. From a nearby workbench she chooses a large screwdriver and inserts it into the hole, twisting to make a peephole. She has to use a bit of force and as the old paint and debris clears, the screwdriver penetrates all the way to the hilt, handle thumping into wood, catching her skin. She pulls back, swallowing the pain in expectation of some response from the other side of the door.
Nothing stirs.
Leaning back in, she brings her eye to the peephole but can’t see a thing.
At first she’s confused, until it hits her that she turned the light off on her way out of the basement, leaving him in the dark.
A stupid move in retrospect, given the light switch is on the other side of the door.
*
Ana is still cursing her stupidity as she steps up onto the old wooden stepladder next to the wardrobe in her bedroom. What she’s looking for is pushed right to the back, encased as it’s always been in its homemade fabric sleeve.
She pulls Irena’s shotgun from its vintage floral covering and tests the feel of it in her hands, fingers caressing the familiar surface of the soft wood.
It’s one of the only things of her grandmother’s Ana has kept close. Once a year she takes it down and cleans it inside and out, checking first for rust and then giving the beautiful old wood an oil and polish. It probably isn’t strictly necessary but the house has been getting increasingly damp in winter and she likes the ritual of it. One of her clearest memories is how fondly her grandmother tended to her gun.
Irena always insisted she kept it for shooting ferals – the four-legged variety, not the human – but in all their years together she never saw her shoot anything living. Nevertheless, she made sure Ana knew how to load and fire it. Target practice in the backyard was serious business but Ana could tell how much Irena enjoyed it by the simple fact that she fired round for round with Ana even though she never missed her target. She was particularly proud of how quickly she could reload and shoot.
Out of the corner of her eye Ana tracks the movement of her own reflection in the glass of the window. In a smooth arc she brings the shotgun up, pulling the trigger. It hasn’t been loaded for years but if it had been, her reflection at least would be quite dead now; a perfect kill shot right between the eyes.
As Ana studies her reflection it hits her that if not for the intervention of the man she would literally be dead as a doornail by now – the empty vessels that used to be her and River lying side by side on the kitchen floor waiting for god knows how long to be discovered. Until this minute she hadn’t given a thought as to who might find them. Logically it would have to be Lenny, after she didn’t show up for work for a few days. She files a mental note to remember to shut the curtains so he can’t see in. Hopefully he’ll just call the police and not try to be a hero.
Ana knows she’s stalling, wary of what might be waiting for her in the dark of the basement, but she needs this time to prepare herself.
She feels a sense of detachment from it all. It’s an odd feeling, like a part of her is already dead on the kitchen floor and this other part, the unfamiliar stranger she’s
been glimpsing lately in her reflection, is now playing out these unexpected days of another life. Ana is caught right in the middle, identifying with neither one nor the other. It’s like somewhere along the line she was split in two and poor dead Ana has no choice but to go along for the ride. If she’s honest with herself she’s always felt her there. That other Ana. Locked away and, just like the man, waking up. Does it actually matter what she does now?
Ana hears the click-clack of River’s paws on the floorboards and the sound of him lapping up water. She feels a twinge of guilt but pushes it away. Returning to the stepladder she reaches up again, pulling a small box down from the very back of the wardrobe. Inside is a single shotgun shell. She hesitates for only a moment before loading it into the chamber.
Ana carries the gun through the house and out to the garage where she once again faces the basement door. She feels a little silly but for all she knows he could be right there on the other side, waiting for her in the dark. She keeps an awkward grip on the shotgun as she slides the bolt back and flings the door open. In a blink she has the gun raised but there’s no monster rushing at her from the dark. The only thing that assaults her is the damp and pungent smell of the place. Like something disturbing is growing down there. Plunging her hand into the gloom she quickly finds the light switch and flicks it on.
A shock of panic shoots through her entire body.
He’s not there. The mattress is empty. The blanket dumped on the ground beside it.
The shotgun in her hands doesn’t feel so silly now. The circle of light cast from the globe is only marginally more reassuring than the darkness Ana was facing a moment ago. He could be watching her right now.
He’ll see your face. He’ll know who you are.
Ana waits for what feels like forever but there isn’t a single sound to reveal where he might be hidden. This is a silence she can’t read.
‘Hello?’ she calls, projecting down into the shadows.
She tries to feel his presence but still gets nothing. He could be anywhere.
Clutching tighter onto the shotgun she steps onto the landing and starts to creep her way down the stairs.
‘I’ve got a gun and I know how to use it.’ She winces at the cliché while chastising herself for warning him.
The silence is heavy, her breathing too loud.
She peers beyond the edges of the light until her eyes start to adjust. If she didn’t know better she might be tempted to think she had actually woken up from the dream now and the limp hand she can see jutting from a pile of fallen junk is just a trick of the light.
Keeping her distance, Ana skirts over to the nearest pillar, its solidness lending an illusion of security. She can see his upper body now, his legs lost behind a bank of boxes. She can’t tell if he’s breathing or not.
Ana moves close enough to nudge his shoulder with the barrel of the shotgun but gets no response. She’s extra wary now, having been grabbed by him once before, but if he wanted to take her by surprise there are plenty of spots he could have chosen to hide, things he could have fashioned into a weapon. If he was conscious for long he would have realised that, even in the dark. There’s no logical reason to suspect him of playing dead again now.
Keeping hold of the shotgun, she reaches for his wrist and fumbles her way through searching for a pulse. With the heightened pumping of her own blood it takes a moment for her to feel it but she’s relieved to find a slow steady beat.
She can’t just leave him lying there on the concrete. Ana rests the shotgun against the pillar and gets straight into dragging him back onto the mattress where she once again settles the blanket over him. She immediately backs off but he remains still.
The white bandage stands out against his dark hair. The face below is so pale. He looks closer to death than to life. Ana is suddenly not sure what scares her more now. The thought of him waking up or the fear that he won’t. She has no idea how hurt he really is. What if he never wakes again? What if he dies?
Then it’s better he does it down here where you can deal with it.
If no one knows about it, who’s to say anything at all has happened here?
EIGHTEEN
The cardboard box of hardware supplies sits on the kitchen table, the baby monitor on top. Ana removes it from its packaging now and sets up both units on the bench to charge before returning to the table.
Ana reaches in for the duct tape but pauses there. This is it, the action that will push her beyond simply reacting and into the realm of premeditation. A locked door is defensible – a practical measure to keep herself and River safe, just one in a series of questionable decisions made out of fear. This is harder to justify, even to herself. It’s one thing to restrain a dangerous man – a potential killer – but can she do that to someone who is wounded?
Should she?
*
It takes the better part of the next hour for Ana to get everything out of the basement and up to the garage. She leaves the two largest and most cumbersome things until last, in retrospect probably not her smartest move, but there’s plenty of competition for the dumbest move she’s made over the past twenty-four hours. The ugly-arsed, gilt-edged mirror that freaked her out earlier almost comes tumbling back down the stairs. A lucky save stops the man from getting yet another injury but almost wrenches Ana’s good arm from its socket. She curses herself for having put it down there in the first place but her tastes are far more utilitarian than her grandmother’s. For all the old woman’s straight edges she loved the odd bit of ostentatious bling. Purely for her own pleasure of course, nothing was ever for show.
The other item is the bed base that goes with the mattress. Her mother’s old bed is in pieces but the bedhead is heavy Tasmanian oak and awkward for one exhausted person to carry. Ana makes a hell of a racket dragging the thing up the stairs but is finally done. The basement is now clear except for the mattress on which the man lies.
Beside the mattress a fresh bottle of juice sits waiting. Ana has changed the globe above for a brighter one. The shadows are still there but they don’t seem as ominous. She compromised in the end and tied just his ankles together with the soft belt from her dressing gown in case he woke up while her attention was focused elsewhere. As it turned out he hasn’t moved a muscle for the whole time she’s been up and down. She also angled his head to one side so she could keep watch for any sign of change, but all that did in the end was leave her with the creepy sensation that he was looking directly at her.
Ana couldn’t avoid catching a quick glimpse of herself in the mirror when she was moving it. She knows she’s a mess, her face and clothes streaked with dirt and sweat, reeking with the aggressive smell of her fear. Her right arm is a throbbing lump of flesh at the end of her shoulder. She’s hollow with tiredness but there’s one final thing she has to do before she can rest.
She’s found the perfect spot for the compact receiver of the baby monitor in a recess between the ceiling and the top of the pillar closest to the mattress. If the perky little shop assistant wasn’t exaggerating to make his sale, it should be close enough. She positions it now and then switches on the parent unit. It gives out a nasty bit of feedback that fades as she moves away, putting space between the two units. The scraping sound of her own boots on the concrete comes through the monitor in her hands, and Ana is so focused on that she almost misses the low groan that comes from the man on the mattress.
She peers back to check on him as she inches closer to the stairs. He hasn’t moved. His face is still angled towards her. Still watching her. Ana is thoroughly spooked now.
‘I’m not afraid of you.’
It sounds weak. Not what she intended at all.
She places the monitor on the stairs and moves closer, close enough that if he was awake he could reach out and grab her. Rather than let the fear overwhelm her she pushes hard up against it. She sits down. Right by his side. Then carefully lowers herself until she is lying on the very edge of the mattress.
Ana�
�s body is a plank, every muscle tensed, but she forces herself to stay there, staring up at the ceiling, quieting her breathing until all she can hear is his breath close to her ear. Slowly she counts from one to ten, trying not to rush. On ten, she lets her head fall to the side and lies there studying the man’s face.
He wears his sleeping face, his mouth relaxed and slightly open. Utterly vulnerable. Utterly hypnotic.
She’s never been with a man like this before. Never felt the presence of another life existing parallel to hers. Even though she is afraid she leans closer, until his features fill her vision. So close she can see the blue veins through the fine pale skin of his eyelids as they unexpectedly flick open.
Ana is so shocked she can’t move. Time seems to stand still as pale green eyes gaze straight back into hers.
Eventually she has to blink and the moment is gone, his eyes once again closed.
Ana pulls away, unsure if it really happened or if she imagined it. He still seems to be out cold. His breathing is shallow but steady. Tentatively, she reaches back in to lift one of his eyelids but if he had been conscious a moment ago, there’s no one home now.
Ana levers herself back up and returns to the stairs where she grabs the monitor. A second groan from the man has her bolting like a scared rabbit, collecting the shotgun she’s left on the stairs as she goes. She doesn’t look back. She just gets the hell out of there.
With a secure door once again between them, Ana throws herself down to look through the peephole. The edges are rough but her view is clear enough. The hanging globe illuminates the stretch of bare concrete below, in the middle of which the mattress takes centre stage. The man lies completely still, almost perfectly spotlit by the globe above.
Ana’s fingers are all thumbs as she attaches a shiny new padlock to the bolt and slips the key into her pocket.
Lonely Girl Page 11
