Lonely Girl

by Lynne Vincent McCarthy

  Ana drops them into the drum and watches them sink into the water. Stepping away, she follows River into the kitchen where she goes straight for her box of supplies.

  This time there’ll be no hesitating.

  TWENTY

  Ana has made the mattress up into a comfortable bed with white sheets and a fresh pillowcase but despite the explosive energy of his recent awakening he still looks more like a corpse laid out there than a living, breathing man.

  She kneels by his side with her box of supplies. With almost religious focus she reaches in and one by one lays out the items she’ll need. Long strips of soft bandages, a pack of baby wipes, scissors next to a roll of duct tape and the first-aid kit.

  Ana reaches for one of his hands but drops it when River pushes in through the partially open door above.

  ‘No!’

  He obediently stops on the landing, curiously surveying the scene below.

  ‘Go back to bed.’

  River gazes intently down at Ana. From the look on his face he has no intention of letting her exclude him again. She hadn’t intended to let him anywhere near the basement but she doesn’t have the heart, or the desire, to fight him.

  She was going to let Ruth put him down yesterday but now he seems to be getting strong again. She wanted a miracle and it seems she got one. Ironically, she has this man to thank for the gift of these unexpected days with him.

  ‘Good dog. Stay.’ Her tone makes it clear that the landing is as close as she’ll allow him to venture.

  She waits until he’s settled himself before she returns her focus to her patient. Once again she takes his hand and gently turns it in her own. She studies his fingers as if they were evidence. Like his face, his hands are not what she expected. She can feel calluses from manual work but his nails are well kept. They look more like the hands of a piano player than a suspected killer. They took quite a beating against the hard wood of the door.

  Ana takes her time, cleaning and treating his wounds, laying bandaids over the worst of the grazes, before resting his hands by his side.

  Her composure falters as she peels back the soft fabric of his T-shirt, revealing more of his bare skin. It’s not that she hasn’t undressed anyone before, the particular action is a familiar one from tending to her grandmother, but this body is different, warmer and more present under her hands, despite his injuries and his unconscious state. She’s unprepared for the intimacy of it.

  She falters even more when confronted by the marks on his torso. The evidence of what she did to him. Her fingers trace the angry bruises on his ribs, the purple so dark in places it’s almost black. She presses her fingers into the centre of the worst bruise, gently at first but then with more pressure.

  Ana shifts her focus to his face, expecting some response but there’s not even a flinch. Wherever he is right now, pain doesn’t reach him.

  Ana settles the blanket down over him and reaches for a handful of baby wipes. Her attention is briefly pulled back to River as he shifts position, trying to get comfortable on the hard wooden surface. No matter how uncomfortable it gets, she knows he won’t shift from where he is. Not while she’s still down here.

  Ana moves more quickly now. Carefully feeling her way under the blanket, she gives the man’s whole body a thorough but clinical wipe-over. She tries to imagine it’s her grandmother she’s working on, which helps, except for that one obvious and confronting difference.

  Ana puts the soiled wipes aside and returns her focus to the items by the bed. She picks up the bandages and, taking his hand in hers, wraps first one of his wrists and then the other. It’s meant to protect his skin against the tape, which she’s still unsure about using, but she hesitates for only a fraction of a second before she commits. Placing his bandaged arms together Ana methodically winds the thick tape around his wrists. It’s awkward work and she stops between each revolution to make sure she’s not cutting off his circulation. Finally his wrists are securely bound, fingers still a healthy pink, but with enough layers of tape to hold him firm.

  With his arms taken care of Ana shifts to his legs, removing a pair of pyjama pants from her box of supplies. They’re old ones of hers, the pattern geometric rather than floral, but a definite shade of faded pink. They’ll have to do for now. It’s not like anyone else will be seeing him.

  Getting his feet in is the easy part but her continuing efforts to protect his modesty become increasingly difficult and the blanket falls away. As she yanks the pants up to his hips it’s impossible to ignore the penis that’s suddenly right there in her face.

  Ana has seen penises before. She saw all shapes, colours and sizes in graphic detail during her one journey into the world of Internet porn, but that was different. The images were confronting but the screen provided a feeling of separation, even in close-up. Even her mother’s men were mostly only seen from behind a barrier of glass. More like living specimens, really. She’s never seen one in the flesh.

  Ana knows she should just move on now and bind his ankles but curiosity gets the better of her. At first she really does just look but then impulse and action come together and her hand is on him. She pauses there, feeling the warmth of him spreading under her skin. Only her eyes move, flitting to his face. When there is no response, she lets herself relax into it and her fingers tentatively start to explore.

  Her touch is feather light but even so she feels the exact moment his body starts to respond. It’s like a ripple moves through him and enters her via the connection of their skin. It’s so breathtakingly intimate, like nothing Ana has ever felt before. Her breath catches, tension spiking deep within, terrified he’ll wake up, aware of how close to the edge she is pushing. Like his, her body responds and Ana feels herself leaning into it. For a moment nothing exists except for the two of them.

  Until she sees River watching.

  Ana pulls away, her whole body burning with shame and confusion. She rests the blanket back down to cover him.

  Ana moves to the bottom of the bed and pours all of her energy into taping his ankles together over the fabric of the pyjamas. She doesn’t look at him again.

  When she’s finished she throws all of her supplies back in the box and removes herself from temptation.

  *

  Ana’s mind keeps returning to the man who lies tucked away from the rest of the world, pliant and oblivious just metres below where she now sits at the kitchen table.

  She’s been going through his wallet while keeping one ear tuned to the monitor. She’s looked at everything twice now but all she’s found are the usual cards and inconsequential receipts amidst thirty-five dollars in cash. Normal things she imagines everyone has in their wallet. She now knows he had a chicken laksa for lunch three days before Rebecca’s body was found. She also knows from the date on his driver’s licence that he’ll be thirty-six on his next birthday. A spring birth for a Scorpio baby. Her mother was a Scorpio but it’s hard to tell yet if he has the same sting in his tail that she had. She would have guessed he was younger.

  He carries nothing personal, no photos, no notes, not even a shopping list.

  A soft murmur draws Ana’s attention to the monitor.

  Luke.

  The name is still hard for her to grasp.

  He’s mumbling in his sleep again. She can’t make out any words but as she listens to his voice there’s an answering movement inside her.

  Ana throws a guilty look at River, who is sound asleep in his bed. In another world.

  It’s too easy to give in, to let herself fall back down there.

  Ana closes her eyes, blocking out everything but the darkness of her own internal space and the half-formed words coming from below. Her breathing slows and deepens, matching the rhythm of the stirring inside her. Heat radiates through her body, her head light, limbs heavy, as she feels again that deep connection to him. To the man who no longer exists for anyone but her.

  An unexpected sound rips through her from such a deep place that it stops her going
any further. She whips a hand out to turn off the monitor but stops with her finger still on the switch.

  One clear word has emerged, louder than the rest.

  Becca?

  Ana’s finger shifts to the talk-back button. Pushing it, she opens the channel between them, projecting herself into the space around him, imagining she’s looking down on him from above. She leans in until her lips are almost on the receiver.

  ‘Luke?’ she whispers.

  His name feels strange on her tongue.

  Her question is met with silence. His soft murmuring has stopped but she did hear him calling for Rebecca, didn’t she?

  Ana picks up his driver’s licence and gazes into his eyes, trying to see inside him. She can no longer pretend this man is not real. Guilty or not, he now has a name, a life, maybe even people who care about him. He’s not just some vacant body for her to experiment on at will.

  What is he then? Who is he to you?

  What she wants – all she wants – is to know who he was to Rebecca. That’s what she tells herself. What she wants to believe.

  Ana slips across the room and yanks open the kitchen drawer. Hidden at the back are his mobile phone and keys. She snatches the mobile and tries to turn it on but still gets nothing.

  She looks through the window. It’s not even midday yet but the weather has turned dark again. There’s more rain coming. With the absence of people using the track the van could remain where it is for days, weeks even.

  She can do something about that.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Hard rain starts to pelt the windscreen as Ana drives along the familiar road towards town. In the gloom, the pale-skinned trees lining each side of the road seem to lean in on her even more than usual. She has to check the rearview mirror to dispel the sudden irrational fear that they’ve uprooted themselves and are following, their strange gangly forms pursuing her along the murky road.

  Ana tries to keep herself focused on the more tangible problem of the falling fuel gauge. The tank has a reserve but she has never had to test it before, having always replenished it well before it hit empty.

  *

  When she reaches the reserve carpark she turns in and does a quick full circle. As she expected, the van is still there. In summer there’s a steady stream of people using the track but once autumn sets in it’s rare to run into anyone out here. Even the diehards like her would have been put off by the fact that a woman’s body was found so close. It’s too isolated and it’s not like Swedish tourists are going to report an abandoned vehicle.

  Ana turns back onto the road and continues on the lonely drive towards town. She barely glances at Rocky’s as she passes by, intent on reaching the petrol station on the other side of the intersection.

  Hers is the only car there but it still feels strange being back out in the world. If she felt exposed before, she now feels like she has a flashing beacon on her head alerting everyone to her wrongness. She quickly fills her tank and then runs in through the rain to pay. There’s no one at the cashier’s station. While she waits she picks up a copy of the Mercury. Rebecca Marsden’s death has already been bumped over to the third page and as Ana flicks to it she is confronted by a likeness of Luke’s face staring out at her under the headline ‘Do you know this man?’ It’s an identikit sketch and not a perfect likeness but the resemblance is clear. The police now have a face, if not yet a name. In the body of the text below is an insert of a smaller photo featuring Rocky’s, along with Rebecca’s abandoned car. It’s a typical mum car, a sturdy station wagon chosen for the safe and easy transportation of multiple children.

  Before Ana can start reading the attendant comes running back from the bathroom.

  ‘Sorry, I’m on my own here.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  He notices the paper still open in her hands.

  ‘The husband did it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Didn’t you see him on the news? The guy looks shifty. Probably found out his wife was having an affair and knocked them both off.’

  Ana shakes her head. She places the paper on the counter and notices phone chargers on the wall behind him. She was thinking she’d have to pick one up in town but the less time she spends out in the open the better.

  ‘They should dredge the river. Betcha that’s where they’ll find the boyfriend.’

  ‘I also need a charger for my phone.’

  ‘Yeah? What kind?’

  Ana can’t stop the guilty flush that spreads up her face.

  ‘It’s an iPhone.’

  ‘Which model?’

  ‘It’s old.’

  ‘Got it on you?’

  Ana reluctantly reaches into her back pocket. She’s wary about handing it over but there’s no need to worry. The attendant takes one look at it and selects the right charger.

  ‘I dropped it,’ Ana says. ‘On the road. That’s why it’s cracked.’

  ‘Uh-huh, shit happens. Need one for the car too?’

  Ana shakes her head and hands him her debit card but then looks out at her car and thinks again. They might not know who Luke is yet but mobile phones can be traced, records can be checked, and she can’t be too careful. She doesn’t want anyone tracing it to her house and finding her little secret in the basement.

  ‘Actually, I’ll just have the one for the car.’

  The attendant swaps them over.

  ‘Three-for-two special on chocolate bars. Flake, Bounty, Twix?’

  He asks a variation on the same question every time Ana buys petrol, even though she’s never once taken him up on the offer. Today she’d happily buy anything he offered. She flashes him a smile and picks up a Flake and a couple of Bounty bars.

  *

  As soon as she’s back in the car Ana rips the charger from its packaging and plugs it into the cigarette lighter socket. She starts the engine and waits for it but nothing happens. The cracked screen remains blank.

  A car pulls in behind her and Ana drops the phone onto the passenger seat while she shifts into one of the parking bays. She sits there with the engine running, her focus now returning to the newspaper.

  Despite the attendant’s theory there is still no primary suspect. Not the husband and not even the ‘unidentified man’, who several patrons of Rocky’s remember seeing, along with Rebecca Marsden. For now, they’re simply calling him a person of interest but Ana assumes they have to say that with the whole ‘innocent until proven guilty’ thing. What is apparent with this new revelation is a definite shift in the way the media is reporting on Rebecca. She’s no longer ‘happily married mother of three’, now she’s a woman who had a secret life. The question mark over her morals has brought a distinct change of tone. The words ‘she was asking for it’ aren’t on the page but the implication is there nevertheless. According to unnamed sources she had recently become something of a regular at Rocky’s, sometimes drinking on her own, sometimes in the company of the unidentified man who the victim was seen to be on ‘friendly terms’ with.

  So Ana wasn’t the only one who saw them.

  Ana glances across the intersection to where Rocky’s sits, its squat ugly form looking even less inviting in the rain. All those nights Rebecca should have been at her course in the city she went there instead.

  The image Ana holds in her head of the two of them in the back of the van, the veracity of which she’s questioned ever since Rebecca’s body was found, finally settles. Rebecca wasn’t forced, she was there of her own volition.

  The phone on the passenger seat vibrates once and lights up. It’s alive.

  Ana snatches it up and discovers twenty-seven missed calls from someone called Carla. Who the hell is Carla? His girlfriend? Sister? Whoever she is she’s insistent.

  The touch screen on the phone still works despite the damage and Ana navigates her way around it until she finds the contacts icon. She scrolls straight to the Rs but sees no Rebecca. On a hunch she scrolls back to the Bs. There’s no Becca listed either but it does
n’t really matter. A number in his phone won’t tell her anything she doesn’t already know.

  Ana is startled as the phone starts vibrating in her hand. She’s suddenly face to face with Carla of the twenty-seven missed calls. Through the cracks on the screen Ana sees the smiling face of an attractive woman, a woman who has her face pressed close to that of a clean-shaven Luke. A nice, normal looking couple. They look good together. Happy. Not exactly what Ana was expecting.

  So she’s his girlfriend? His ex? It’s hard for Ana to imagine him with anyone but Rebecca. This Carla looks like she could be the possessive type, the type who would go through her boyfriend’s phone.

  The photograph disappears as the vibrating stops and is replaced by another message. Twenty-eight missed calls from Carla.

  Ana finds the photo app and opens it to see more couple selfies, noting that it’s always her hand holding the phone, never his. She compares the photos to the identikit sketch. The sketch artist has made his eyes and lips narrower – he’s sketched the killer version of the man described to him, but it’s unmistakably him.

  Ana glances up to see the attendant watching her through the glass. She turns off the phone and pulls out, driving on towards town.

  *

  A short time later Ana is standing on the road opposite the local police station. Once again she feels that beacon flashing on her head but she calms herself. She’s not some nutter with questionable desires for a man bound with duct tape in her basement, she’s a concerned citizen doing her duty. She steps out across the road and makes it all the way to the door before she stops.

  She stands there studying the scene behind the glass.

  It’s not at all how it is in her memory, which immediately makes her breathe easier and makes it possible for her to walk right in. The same young cop she saw leaving the building last time she was here is now manning the reception desk. He looks bored and manages to raise only marginal interest as he watches her approach.