*
When Ana wakes it’s the pounding in her head she notices first, even before she notices River is no longer by her side.
She looks around in a panic and spots him lying on the hard sand down by the shore. How the hell did he make it all the way down there?
‘River?’
Nothing. Not even a twitch of an ear.
Dread instantly has her but she knows his hearing isn’t what it used to be. The wind is coming in off the ocean. Her voice isn’t reaching him, that’s all.
Pain pierces her head as she forces herself to stand and make her way down to the water. She doesn’t call to him again. She waits until she’s close enough to see the reassuring rise and fall of his breathing.
‘Hey, boy, what you doing down here?’
River lifts his head and flips his tail as she sits down beside him.
He’s fine, just taking some time out in a peaceful setting, like she was, although she hadn’t intended to sleep. She doesn’t even remember laying her head down. Maybe she passed out. They say not to sleep when you have a suspected concussion but it didn’t seem to do Luke any harm.
By the movement of the sun Ana guesses she’s probably been out for two or more hours. It’s definitely past midday.
She vaguely remembers dreaming. She was running through the forest. She fell. Her body shattering, face opened up. She puts a hand to her cheek feeling for the crack but all she feels is a disturbing numbness. How can something be painful and numb at the same time?
River sits up beside her. Ana brushes the sand off the side of his head and then holds him lightly to make sure he doesn’t fall as he stands and limps a few steps, sniffing around along the water line. The tide is coming in and it’s colder than when they arrived, despite the sunshine.
Ana’s eyes stray to the far reaches of the beach, the same stretch she and River would happily walk together for hours on end just a few years ago. His coat flecked with sand, that exhausted kelpie grin plastered on his face. There’s only a small echo of that River left now, and even that will be gone soon too. Not yet though. They still have this time. She’s glad she brought him here. It’s not good for an animal to be cooped up inside. It’s not good for her. She needed time to think, away from the house, away from him …
Here on the edge of her world she can almost convince herself that none of them back there exist. Not Luke, not Rebecca, not Mike Marsden. If she had only driven past Rocky’s a few minutes later that first day she saw them they wouldn’t exist for her now. A woman would still be dead but that would have been the beginning and end of the story for Ana.
It has to be possible to get out of this, without having to expose herself and without anyone else getting hurt. She had a plan and it’s still a good one.
It’s going to be tricky to time everything right. She’ll need the cover of darkness to get him out of her house – but with his current refusal to eat or drink it’s hard to tell when it will happen. She’ll have to take a punt on his loss of consciousness coinciding with nightfall or close enough. Tomorrow night, or if not then, the night after.
Or the one after that?
The problem with her plan is she’s afraid to drug him now. She’s afraid to get too close, to touch him again. Not the man who attacked her, she could happily smash him, wipe the smugness off his face, but that other … She knows it’s ridiculous to separate them in her head, they are the same person after all. And yet they’re not. She’s afraid that if she meets him again, she won’t be able to let him go.
That way lies the madness she’s been trying to avoid.
Ana glances back to the top of the beach. It’s not that far but she’s not looking forward to the return to the car. She had to carry River most of the way down to the beach because of his difficulty walking in the soft sand so she knows it couldn’t have been easy for him getting down to the water on his own. It won’t be easy getting him back either. The way she feels she’s not even sure she can get herself there.
THIRTY
It’s dark outside when Ana cautiously descends into the basement. This time Luke is standing by the mattress, waiting for her. She can see he’s holding one hand behind his back, hiding something. The weapon he’s been fashioning to surprise her with no doubt. No matter, Ana has something for him too. She steps forward and places the bottle of orange juice she’s holding inside the chalk line before rising to face him.
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said before, and you’re right, it’s the police who need to decide if you’re innocent or guilty.’
She’s going for the direct approach. It’s a risk but one she hoped he might respond to if he wants to get out of here enough. She waits but Luke just stands there contemplating the bottle on the ground between them.
Ana’s confidence falters, not helped by the fact that the last tray she left with him is still sitting there on the concrete, untouched.
Finally he looks up and meets her gaze. The bruise on her face has come out over the last few hours and Ana hasn’t tried to hide it, or how ragged she feels. She looks exhausted and a bit mad but then so does he. Reality has clearly hit them both hard.
She takes a deep breath and goes on. ‘Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to drink all of that and then settle down for a nice long sleep. When you wake up you’ll be back in your own life and all this will be like a bad dream for both of us.’
Luke takes a step forward and Ana stops herself flinching back. She knows he can’t reach her where she’s standing but it’s still a challenge facing him after their last encounter.
She watches as he picks up the bottle and looks at it before glancing back at her.
‘You’ll take me to the police?’
Ana nods. ‘I’ll leave you somewhere they can find you, yes.’
Luke half smiles. He doesn’t look so keen on that idea now.
‘If you haven’t done anything wrong then you’ve got nothing to fear.’
‘Would you drink it?’ he suddenly asks. ‘If this situation were reversed?’
Ana has no reply. Not one she wants to offer him anyway.
‘Seriously, how do I know I’m not gonna wake up being buried alive somewhere? Or if I’m gonna wake up at all?’
Ana visibly balks, her mind instantly flashing to her dream, to the image of Luke’s hand rising from his grave in her backyard.
‘I am not a psychopath!’
‘But how do I know that?’
He’s right, how does he?
‘For all I know, you’re the killer!’
Ana stays silent. This is not going how she hoped.
‘You said it yourself, I have no idea what you’re capable of.’
‘You’re just going to have to trust me.’
It sounds so naïve and again Luke smiles. Then he simply hands her back the bottle.
‘Thanks but I’ve seen that movie and I know how it ends.’
Ana is thrown but she stays staunch, refusing to take the bottle from him.
‘Please, believe me, I want this to be over as much as you do.’
‘Then you drink it. Spend a few hours down here with me unconscious and helpless. After that I might trust you enough to reconsider.’
Ana stares back at him. They both know that is not going to happen.
*
The monitor sits on the bedside table. Ana heard him moving quietly about during the past few hours but there’s been nothing from him for a while now. She assumes he’s finally fallen asleep. Shame the same isn’t true for her. The pain in her head has settled into a dull ache but her usually pristine bed is a shambles of twisted sheets, her body just as hard to settle as her mind.
The bed she didn’t even bother to make this morning. How much things can change in such a short period of time.
Ana reaches a hand across to River, who half opens his eyes in response to her touch before drifting back to sleep. He wouldn’t get up onto the mattress when she came to bed, even though it’s now
on the floor. He just stood looking at her until she made a separate bed for him beside hers and that’s where he stayed. She’s trying not to take it personally but it’s hard not to feel abandoned.
As she continues to lie there Ana’s mind returns to Rebecca, to the murder the police are unable to solve because of her. The case is front and centre in the media again, at least in Tasmania. There’s suddenly no more mention of the betrayed husband. It’s all about Luke Mullen now, the hunt for this man who seems to have disappeared into thin air, his presence snuffed out along with Rebecca’s. There are questions around his involvement in her life and her death and of course a big question around where he is now. They’ll be searching the area for him. If she was smart she would have moved the van before she reported it. It’s all a bit too close to home.
So was bringing him here in the first place.
Luke is right about one thing, she is not very good at this.
He was never going to let himself be drugged willingly and she can’t believe she reduced herself to begging him.
Ana continues to rest there, one arm connected to River, as the pulse in her head quietly throbs. Luke is strong, there’s no doubt about that, but he can’t hold off eating and drinking forever. When he finally weakens she’ll be able to do what she should have done in the first place.
Either that or bury him in the garden.
It’s not funny, not even a little bit, but she still can’t stop herself from laughing, even when it hurts her head. River rouses, drawn by her laughter. She settles him with one hand while holding on to her throbbing head with the other until her sudden inappropriate mirth disappears.
*
‘Ana?’
Luke’s voice calls out through the darkness.
River’s ears prick up and he raises his head. Quiet sounds of movement come from the monitor. He looks up at Ana but she’s completely out of it. Her hand is resting on the edge of his bed and he nudges it, licking her fingers, but she doesn’t respond. He tries to stand but his sore leg gives way and he sits back down heavily, panting with the effort and the pain. His eyes return to the monitor, which gives out high-pitched feedback.
‘Are you there?’
River once again looks at Ana but her eyes remain closed.
‘I don’t know if you can hear me …’ His voice is intimate, right there in the room with them. ‘I’m sorry about your face … I didn’t want to hurt you. And I didn’t mean what I said earlier. I don’t think you’re a psychopath. I think you made a mistake and got scared … I get that. I really do. I’m scared too.’
Ana’s eyes open but she can’t lift her head. She peers across the room.
‘I want to be able to trust you, I do …’
A blurry Luke stands silhouetted in the doorway, haloed by the light of the hallway … His face is half in shadow just as it was the first time she saw him, hiding behind the tree.
‘You’re right … I know Becca. Or I did. She’s not that easy to forget … But please believe me, I have no idea how she died … I want to find out though. Can you help me do that?’
Ana lifts her head off the pillow, trying to focus.
The doorway is just an empty rectangle of light.
‘Ana?’
She sits bolt upright, still half-asleep and consumed by the fear that he is somehow there in the room with her. Her eyes seek out every dark corner before she glances across at River, who lies undisturbed, fast asleep in his makeshift bed. Beyond the bedroom door, the house is still and silent. Nothing moves. The monitor gives back nothing now either, but the memory of his voice in her head lingers.
In a single move Ana slips silently out of bed and dashes across the room, grabbing hold of the shotgun which she left leaning by the door. She steps out into the hallway, squinting against the light. The kitchen is a dark unknown at the end of the hall but she has to pass through it to get to the basement, to prove to herself that he can’t be in the house. She slows at the doorway, then hurries across the floorboards for the bright light of the garage.
The basement door is just as she left it. Unless he can walk through doors she’s quite safe.
That doesn’t mean he wasn’t talking to you.
Ana approaches the door and leans down to the peephole. What she sees has her heart in her throat again.
The concrete below is completely bare. No mattress. No Luke.
She’s caught in a moment of déjà vu. She’s been here before but this time there is nowhere for him to hide. He’s in there. He has to be. She can see the chain still padlocked to the pillar, snaking its way across the concrete until it disappears into the shadows.
Even though she knows it’s irrational a part of her fears that if she were to follow the chain she’d find nothing at the end of it. That the basement is not only empty but has always been empty. It’s just her sleep-addled mind playing tricks on her but even so the feeling persists.
Ana retrieves the keys from their hiding spot on the workbench and, quietly as she can, opens the door. She stands at the top of the stairs peering down, the shotgun once again clutched across her body.
Cold air drifts up from below, entering her skin through the light fabric of her nightdress. A shiver runs right through her but she inches her way down a few steps until she can just make out a corner of the mattress. He’s moved it behind one of the pillars, beyond the reach of the light. She still can’t see him though.
She takes another step and then forces herself all the way until she feels the cold concrete under her feet. She stops there. Ears straining to penetrate the vacuum of silence until finally she hears it. His soft even breathing.
Calmer now, Ana checks the position of the baby monitor. She expects it to have been tampered with but it’s still resting in the recess at the top of the pillar closest to the door. It’s much further away from Luke now that he’s moved the mattress but it has always been within his reach, if he knows it’s there.
If he was speaking to her Ana has no way of knowing if it was minutes ago when she woke, or hours ago with his words somehow registering through the fog of her sleep.
Did he even say any of those things?
She hears Luke shift on the bed and feels the fear prickling her skin again. She looks down at the shotgun in her arms and puts it aside, resting it against the stairs.
In a sudden impulsive move she quietly crosses the space, consciously pushing against her fear, until she’s standing directly over the mattress. He could grab her but the keys are on the other side of the door. It would be a pointless exercise.
Luke lies in darkness, his back to her. Challenging herself, Ana leans in closer. Slowly she reaches out until she’s almost touching his bare shoulder, until she can feel the heat of his skin radiating up into the palm of her hand. Her breath held, she remains poised there on the edge of danger. She can’t see his face but she imagines his eyes are open. That he knows she’s there. Has been aware of her presence since she entered and is now simply waiting for her to make her move.
Breathing more calmly now, Ana withdraws her hand but as she backs off the glint of something sticking out from under his pillow catches her eye. She can just see the dome of the plastic spoon. Leaning back in, she slips it out, revealing the sharpened edge of the shiv just as she imagined it. She could take it with her – probably should – but she leaves it lying there in clear view on the edge of the mattress.
She’s already slipped back up the stairs and is padlocking the door when she hears it again. Her name.
She leans down and peers through the peephole. At first there’s nothing, just the same emptiness she saw before, but then she sees him step into the edge of her vision. He stands there peering up. He might not be able to see her through the barrier of the door but he knows she’s there. If he was closer, he’d see her eye staring at him but the light from the hanging globe only reaches to the top step when the door is closed. From where he stands the door remains impenetrable.
She’s convinced now
that he was awake the whole time she was down there. That he’s as drawn to this dangerous game as she is.
There’s a connection between them, twisted perhaps, but it’s there. Something growing out of the darkness. The distance between them closing with each encounter. She can feel it now even through the hard wood of the door – the heat sparking between them – and she knows he feels it too. Maybe not his conscious self but deep inside in that place where words are meaningless.
He’s still staring up at her and Ana has to drag herself away. She promises herself she won’t touch him again.
Not without his consent.
She told him she didn’t want more from him than what they already had. From the minute she brought it up, he wanted it. It was all he could think of. Her. Them. Wanting more.
This was her pattern, she said, she’d done it before and would probably do it again. She’d never leave her husband and kids, not for anyone. Not for him.
He believed she meant it but still she wouldn’t let him go. When she told him it had to end, she said she couldn’t be the one to walk away. He had to do it.
It was a sickness, she said. He was her sickness. An infection she knew she had to purge.
THIRTY-ONE
It’s morning when Ana opens her eyes again. She’s stretched out on her back, gazing up at the ceiling, and is immediately conscious of waking up alone, of the absence of River’s weight on the mattress beside her. The steadiness of his breathing tells her he’s still asleep in his new spot on the floor alongside her bed. The curtain floats up into the room, bringing a waft of cool air across her face, calming the bruised and swollen skin, the tightness of her cheek.
Her head doesn’t feel so bad now but there’s a deep ache in her body and she knows it won’t be easy getting out of bed. It takes an enormous effort simply to shift onto her side, traumatised muscles flexing and splintering under her skin. She notices she’s naked, which surprises her. She’s sure that when she drifted off to sleep for the second time she was still wearing her nightdress.
Lonely Girl Page 19
