Two Footsteps

by Belle Brooks

  Unrolling the material of the bandage, I try to hold it up from the dirty ground below, but it’s not working. My teeth become a vice to keep half the length at my height.

  I work the fabric over the snapped branch, piercing the middle of the length, halfway down; the threads rip easily. I don’t stop repeating this action until the bandage finally splits into two separate parts.

  I’m huffing as I attempt to wrap the wounds tightly, it’s harder than I anticipated, mainly because my legs are bleeding so badly the bandage is becoming drenched with blood. My sticky fingers are also not helping the situation, but with a determined scrunched face, I somehow manage to secure them in place, tucking the ends inside, at the back of my calf. I don’t think they’ll stay in place long, but it’s something for the interim.

  Bang!

  It’s a loud thunder clap I associate with the sound of a rifle being fired.

  Bang!

  There’s another shot fired.

  Bang …! Bang!

  He’s coming.

  A wild pig comes screeching around a bend, heading in my direction. There’s no way I’m going to be able to stand, let alone walk, to get away from this beast. I freeze as my heart gallops and I stare down the boar making ground quicker than I can draw air –– this fucker is going to ram those horns straight through my guts; there’s no doubt in my mind about it.

  Bang!

  I hear a tortured screech, followed by a wild snorting sound and then the boar lies on its side, expelling feral sounds, but not moving.

  The Wolf. He slaughtered this animal to save me. Why?

  I see him standing far off in in the distance. I know it’s the Wolf because he’s wearing all black, and he holds the rifle pointed straight in the direction of my head. I scoot backwards. It’s not far, but I’m moving, I don’t want to screech feral sounds like that boar just did. I don’t when a bullet piercing my own skin before ricocheting between my bones and organs.

  He takes two steps forwards, and I watch him like a hawk. He begins to walk, until his pace quickens to a jog. The gun still remains in target with my skull.

  “Help.” It’s a drained call. “Help. Someone help me,” I whimper whilst continuing my efforts to drag myself to some sort of protective shelter.

  The Wolf’s running. I can’t hear his footsteps as he sprints towards me. It’s like he’s weightless in his pursuit. How do his feet land so silently? I swallow hard and cry out just as he vanishes from my vision.

  Where the fuck did he go?

  The backpack is too far from me to grab it, and all I can think is I need to find somewhere to shelter immediately. But where? I can’t climb, run or walk. The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.

  “Red. You have to be faster than that.” I feel his breath race down my neck.

  He’s behind me.

  “Move,” he whispers with his cheek pressed against mine. “Move,” he says again.

  “I can’t.” I cry out.

  His touch disappears. Is he gone? I fold my eyelids closed just as I feel the barrel of his rifle press into the back of my skull. “RUN!” It’s a demanding deliverance, yet it’s not anger fuelled. He’s in control.

  I fall forwards and slide my body away from him using my forearms, that is until I pull myself up onto my knees, and begin crawling. I hear his footsteps coming up my rear and sob hard as I manage to find enough strength to stand on the balls of my feet. I’m hobbling at first, then jogging ... I run. The scream that flies from my wide mouth is the most tortured and painful scream I have ever heard in my life. It’s a scream that comes from deep down within a person’s soul, my soul. He’s destroying me, inside and out. The Wolf isn’t going to allow me any mercy. He’s taking pleasure from these games, his hunt, and I’m sure he’ll get the ultimate pleasure when he guts me like a pig and hangs my skin from his wall as a trophy.

  I can’t give up. I don’t want to be his trophy.

  Reid

  Kylee stands in the doorway to our home. Her hand is pressed against her beige blouse, right over her breast. Tears leak from her eyes and it’s obvious to anyone who sees her she’s barely keeping it together. Her face is drained of all colour and her body is trembling as she takes quick short breaths. I wish I could deliver her some news of value to help bring her some calm, but I have nothing to offer. There’s no news to share.

  I move quickly towards Morgan’s mother, and pull her into a tight embrace. All I can do right now is try and offer comfort. Kylee’s wispy blonde hair brushes across my lower lip creating a tickling sensation that sends shivers racing down my throat, so I pull my head back and release my embrace. I search her dark eyes that plead for me to do something, but I can’t do anything more than I currently am. I don’t know where her daughter is and I’ve no idea where to start looking to find her.

  “Reid.” Ron holds two small suitcases. He drops them just inside the entry way and then marches towards me. “Reid,” he says again in a tone that could snap through the toughest metal. He’s strong in appearance, commanding in deliverance, and calm in persona. I outstretch my hand and he takes no time placing his into mind, before I’m pulled into his embrace. “We’re here now. Let’s find my girl. Let’s find her together.”

  “Okay.” It’s a tone with no strength. “She’ll be coming home; we’ll find her.” All masculinity has evaded my voice. I’m even more frightened now Morgan’s parents have arrived. I’m not sure if it’s because their presence makes the situation more real, or if it’s because now there is a safety net here to fall into. I need to stay strong and in charge, yet all I want to do is crumble and fall apart.

  When I step back Ron says, “Reid, tell me everything that’s happened. Don’t leave a single piece of information out. I need to hear what’s occurred so far … from start to finish. Bring me up to speed.”

  I nod, leading both Kylee and Ron in the direction of Detective West who’s tapping away on a laptop he has set up at the kitchen table. West is trained for this informative shit. I’m not.

  Introductions go easy, and West is compassionate as he walks Morgan’s parents through as many details as he chooses. I hadn’t told Ron or Kylee much before they arrived, and as I listen to every piece of information unfolding, I can see the distress in Kylee’s eyes growing wilder. Her tears are flowing rapidly, and she’s almost gone through half the box of tissues I retrieved from Morgan’s library when they started hearing the circumstances of their daughter’s disappearance.

  Ron scratches the skin on the bald patch in the centre of his scalp. He does this when he’s thinking, but also when he’s nervous. I don’t know what to say to help him, so I say very little. Ron’s a huge man, and his size can be intimidating to most. Ten years he’s been working the land and he speaks his mind when it’s called for. He’s not one to hold his tongue regardless of the situation he’s found himself in. Morgan often refers to her dad as a hard man to look at, but a teddy bear on the inside. I’d have to agree. He’s not shy in tearing up and expressing his emotions if needed, but right now he’s holding it together very well and remaining incredibly calm, even when West goes over the two separate calls we have received and why the children are currently next door.

  “I’d like to see the children soon, Reid. Can I see them?” Kylee asks.

  I look to West who says, “It’s probably best we leave the visits until morning, but we’ve had a child psychologist with your grandchildren today, and they’re being very well looked after by the Peter’s. You and Ron have travelled a long way from what Reid’s shared with us … everyone just needs to take some time to rest.”

  Kylee is nodding. Ron on the other hand has a sullen expression as he stares off into space.

  “We’ve been assured by our trained psychologist that your grandchildren are very comfortable where they are staying presently. I promise you they’re being well taken care of.”

  “I see,” Kylee says. Her small shoulders are shaking with the same force as her hands,
excessively.

  When the matter of the missing money is brought to the attention of Ron, he rotates his head slowly and glares at me. There’s an abundance of anger building in his glare and I believe his instincts are burning a raging hot red in his belly. He says seven words to me, “Are you responsible for Morgan going missing?”

  “No.” I don’t break eye contact. I let Ron see my honesty for himself. I know he’ll see the truth, because Ron’s always been a human lie detector. He can pick a bullshitter from miles away.

  “I believe him,” Ron says, focusing his attention back to West. “Continue. Reid doesn’t know where the money is. Trust me, I know when that man is lying.”

  “Ronald, did you know your son-in-law and Linda had an affair recently?” West goes straight with a punch to my jugular. Fuck!

  Ron rotates his head the exact same way he did only a minute ago.

  “That true?” He’s angry.

  “No sir. Not an affair. A few moments of passionate kissing. I didn’t sleep with her. I was drunk, so was Linda. Nothing more happened.”

  He studies me. I know he’s trying to see through me as if I was created from glass.

  ‘You’re a dumb arse,” he says.

  “I know.” I don’t break eye contact even though right now I’d like nothing more than to look away from Morgan’s father.

  “We all make mistakes. I believe you didn’t do anything else. I also believe Linda wouldn’t. Those two girls have been friends a really long time ... since teenagers. You fucked up, Reid.”

  “I know. I did.”

  “Reid.” Kylee is dabbing her cheeks with a tissue when I shift my attention to her. “You’ve hurt my girl.”

  “I know.”

  “Does Morgan know about this?” Kylee asks.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

  “Men are bloody pigs. Ron, he has taken a leaf out of your book by the sounds of this.” Kylee glares at Ron.

  “No need to bring that up here and now woman. I’ll talk to Reid about that at a later time.”

  “You better talk some sense into him is all I’m saying.” She throws the used tissue to the table and slides another out of the box beside her.

  “We all make mistakes. It’s owning them that makes a real man.” Ron says.

  I nod.

  State Emergency Service officers are taking up most of the lawn in front of the house. I’m standing less than a metre from them, right beside Maloney. I want to ask questions. I want to know if they have found anything, but I’ve been forbidden to ask. West said I was lucky to even be allowed to stand this close to them just before he walked in their direction.

  Maloney told me early this afternoon they were coming. He also informed me they’ve been searching through rough terrain most of the day looking for Morgan. Some of the men and women glance briefly in my direction, but most seem to be avoiding any eye contact. I wonder how many of them think I did it and they are wasting their time even being here.

  Their orange coveralls are filthy, and their faces wear worn-out expressions. There of different ages, sizes, sexes, heights and races, but they’ve all got one thing in common, and that is they’re trying to find Morgan.

  “One last area to search today, the area Morgan’s car was found last night, just inside the Norman Gardens Estate. Now our officers combed this land throughout the night and this morning … it’s still taped off and restricted, but I want it combed through again before night fall.” West pauses. “Anything, I don’t care if it’s a cigarette butt. I want it bagged and tagged. Thank you for your duty,” West concludes, before turning and walking away from the gathered state volunteers.

  I begged, pleaded and made every attempt to be allowed to search this area with the SES, but it fell on deaf ears. All West kept saying was, “If another call comes through you need to be here. You need to help me, help you.” It’s killing me not to be out searching for Morgan. I feel useless waiting inside the house doing nothing.

  Maloney stays beside me as I witness the orange jumpsuits climb back into the many SES vehicles. One petite lady pauses and offers me a slight wave … I oblige with one in return. Another taller, stockier man with a trimmed beard nods his head slightly in my direction and I offer a strained half smile in return. One man looks sullen, excessively worried even, and I turn my eyes away from him. It’s like he already knows this isn’t going to end well. I couldn’t consider his bright blue eyes for even a second longer. Why is he searching if he shows a face of doubt?

  I jump when a car door closes loudly and as I search for the location, I’m staring at a large man who is wearing what appears to be a brand-new set of coveralls. His glare is ice cold. I want to tell him to take a picture because it will last longer, but I don’t, I just turn my attention away from him. Another man stops and turns in my direction. He’s smiling at me, almost as if he’s happy to be here. It’s the only thing running through my mind as I make connection with his eyes. Do I know him? Is that why he’s smiling? I think about how familiar he seems as he runs his hand over his pickled face with one hand, and the other he brushes over his short blond hair. His smile disappears when he puffs out his cheeks and then releases the air that expanded them. Maybe I do know him. I nudge Maloney.

  “Yes.”

  The guy turns his back to me, before casually making his way to one of the vehicles closest to the footpath. He leaps into the passenger side and before I see his face again, the door is closed. Why was his uniform much cleaner than most of the others? Were more searchers added?

  “Reid.” Maloney says.

  “Huh.”

  “You nudged me. What’s wrong?”

  “I swear everyone I glance at I think is a suspect, that they’ve taken Morgan.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That guy who just climbed in to the ute. I swear I knew him.”

  “Clean coveralls. Light hair …?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He's one of the local news reporters, Reid. He often helps out like that so he has up-to-date information when reporting to the public.”

  “Oh. Tell me, Maloney, will you ever be able to find the person who took Morgan?”

  “We will. It’s our job. We’re trained for this.”

  Nightfall approaches fast. I can no longer see the sun drifting slowly behind the mountains, or the sky colouration merging from blues to oranges and then pinks. It’s dark now. I’m standing on the front porch, under the light smoking a cigarette Maloney gave me the moment I asked for one. I’ve never smoked a day in my life… until now. I needed something, and when I asked for one of these cancer sticks about half an hour ago, it seemed like the best idea. It tastes like absolute shit.

  I still can’t get a hold of my dad, even though I’ve tried. I spoke to him at six p.m. which was over an hour ago. I asked about the lawyer, and what’s happening with that. The only answer I got was he’d been contacted. My parents spoke to me from the airport where they were awaiting a chance to board any flight that could get them closer to home. So far, there’s none departing until tomorrow afternoon that have seats available. From what I understand from the conversation, Cruise and his wife Natalie are not with my parents, instead they are doing some type of tour. Dad said he had no idea where they were, and Cruise still wasn’t answering the phone. Dad said they haven’t been contactable since Monday. I’m worried about this, but Dad is not. “They’re doing a tour, Reid, one we elected not to accompany them on. We were aware contact would be difficult. Cruise loves all that hiking and shit, and so does Natalie. They could be God knows where.”

  I can’t help wondering if they too are in trouble. Is Morgan’s abduction a payback against something I’ve done? And if so what? Is this game playing monster trying to achieve a direct attack on my family? Is anyone safe? I don’t know what to think.

  “Hey, the children are doing fine. I just went over and spoke to your neighbours. Shirley said to tell you not to worry; they’ve eaten and are watch
ing a movie.”

  “Thanks,” I say, looking at the bottom of the three front stairs where Maloney stands out of uniform in jeans and a white T-shirt. “What movie?”

  “Shrek, I believe it was.”

  “Good. They like that one. Hey, any news from the searchers?”

  Maloney shakes his head. “I’ve heard nothing.” He pauses, tilting his head off centre. “Reid. The money.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you have any idea where it is?”

  “Nope. I’ve said it at least a hundred times. I put it in the safe after I picked it up on Wednesday and I didn’t go back into the safe again. Your guess is as good as mine. What I can tell you though is Morgan is the only other person who has access to the safe and nobody else.”

  “I believe you don’t know where it is,” Maloney says when he takes the three stairs. “Hang in there, mate.” He pats my back before walking through the open front door.

  At least someone believes me.

  Morgan’s parents are inside with Linda and they are talking with a new detective, Detective Lynette Dyson. She arrived about thirty minutes ago when West and Gleaton left. Apparently, they will both return in the morning to do a press conference that has been organised at the house. I’m under strict instructions not to leave the premises for any reason. I’m also not allowed to visit my children right now, nor am I to let anyone apart from immediate family who have been cleared by officers, into the house. I’m a prime suspect. Maloney didn’t keep that information from me. In fact, he’s answering any questions I have for him when he can. I’m glad he’s the one stationed to stay here at the house with me … well, him and Senior Constable Eric Prospect, the lanky redhead officer who came in with him earlier this morning. He’s also one of the officers who conducted the search downstairs and then this evening upstairs. I couldn’t care what they look at as long as they find Morgan and soon. Because if they don’t, I’ll sneak out of here and find her myself. They can’t hold me if they don’t know where I am. I can leave here without them seeing me. I know there’s a way.