by Belle Brooks
The Wolf
Tick tock. Tick tock. The hands of time are moving fast and Morgan will soon be faced with her next challenge. The stupid bitch will fail too.
Red will run to the rusty old car stranded in the middle of a small open paddock. I have no doubt about it. It’s the only place over these forty hectares where there isn’t a bunch of trees and sheltering bushland to keep a person feeling trapped and lost. I put it there for a reason. It’s a shelter to give my Reds a false sense of safety, and I bet they believed they mustn’t have been far away from finding help at this point. They’re always wrong for thinking this. Psychology 101: Perception. Changing a person’s perception of a situation can help to change the situation they’re in. It does. But not for the right reasons in my game.
Twelve women have played, and all twelve of them have laid down on the back seat of that piece of shit. I believe Morgan will be no different and I think she’s laying across that back seat right now feeling the calmest she has since this game started. Silly bitch. You should never let your guard down.
I’ll be heading out there soon, well as soon as I can get away from here without being detected. I can’t have people knowing what it is I’m doing and ruin all my fun. Detective West is my marksman. If anyone catches me, it needs to be him.
I sit, drifting deeper into my thoughts, while the mindless chatter around me becomes distant and muffled. I can’t stop thinking about how I sent Morgan heading off in the direction of this set-up and how I know she’s probably taken the bait by now. I’d be surprised if she hadn’t, yet pleased.
If Morgan has any brains, when she reaches the car she will have realised, right before she slipped past the partly open door I left that way for her, that my rusty old broken-down heap of shit, with no wheels, has brand new windscreens and windows. This is the clue. This is the chance for her to stay away. But she’ll be blind to the fact like the rest of them. I’m holding onto a glimmer of hope she’ll see it for what it is, and prove to me she’s smarter than I’ve given her credit for, but I’m not holding my breath.
Stupid women do stupid things and this how they get killed.
Run away from the car, Morgan, if you want to exit the game here. I laugh, not realising I’m doing so, and quickly stop myself as I turn my eyes down and adjust my expression to one more sombre.
I’m coming for you, Red. I hope you’re not too comfortable because you’re about to answer my question. Who am I? Your first test is almost complete.
Morgan
I’m hugging the trunk of a tree that my arms only just fit around. My fingers are laced together and I’m staring in the direction of a car I saw just before sunset. I can no longer see it in the darkness, but I know it’s still there because I haven’t heard an engine start, or it drive away.
It sits in a small open clearing, far off in the distance, and this strikes me as strange due to the endless amount of bushland surrounding this opening, but it also leaves me wondering how far I’ve managed to trek today, and if the Wolf’s presence in the late afternoon was because he’s worried I’m getting close to finding help and getting the hell out of here. I don’t think he knows this car is out here, and I believe this will be my only chance of freedom. So, I wait. I stay quiet, and I welcome the cloak of darkness to help me find my way there with the best chance of making the distance. There must be a road on the other side to drive out on. It couldn’t have just been dropped in.
The howls of dingoes have me jolting every time they cry out. I know they’re getting closer to me because their cries are growing louder. I imagine the other wildlife these bushes contain at night will lead to a deathly attack. I need to get in that car. It’s now or never.
I’ve waited, what I believe to be hours, for this trek and as I wince, using the thick trunk as a support beam, I’m finally standing. My breathing becomes shallow and my mind is clear. I need to focus. Every step forwards I take is tentative. I don’t use the torch. I rely on my memory and shift until I’m walking at a forty-five degree angle off to the right. Two large trees block my path. It takes eight paces to get to the first one, and twenty paces to the second. I walked them out earlier as sunset was encroaching. I counted every step in my mind, three times, and by the grace of God, when I put this into practice now, I manage to pass them without a collision. I feel as though I’m hunting. My feet are slowly lifted and placed with precision. I’m doing everything I can to make as little noise as humanly possible. A dingo’s howl causes me to jump. I duck low and grit my teeth to shield the fear this causes from exploding out of my mouth. I don’t pant. Instead, I hold my breath. You can do this, Morgan. Baby steps. There’s no rush. You can escape the Wolf. I’m chanting this in my mind as I find my feet once more. I step carefully, controlling the fear trying to invade my thoughts. I’m in control.
I’m starting to lose hope when my legs burn excessively from the amount of weight I’m applying to each leg at each step. I’m still not able to feel anything with my outstretched hand. I’m reaching for the metal. I’m praying I will touch it soon and then my fingertips halt against something solid. Relief floods my body. It’s one explosive rush from my head to my toes as I run my hand over the surface.
What is that?
I scrunch my face at the texture below my fingertips. The surface is rough, almost flaky. Brushing my thumb back and forwards over my fingers, I close my eyes and try to identify the flaky particles stuck to my skin. What is it? Crouching low, I suck back one mouthful of air as a groan rumbles deep in my throat. I cannot make noise. I need to hold my breath. I do.
Removing the torch from the backpack I had to go back and retrieve and I’ve slung across my front proves easy. I swiftly tuck it up inside my blouse to dim its glow. I tilt it upwards to get a better look and my heart drops to my stomach as I gasp loudly. This car has no tyres. This is a fucking trap.
A drawn-out whistle has my heart beating hard in my chest. It grows more eerie the louder and closer it gets. He wants me to hear him coming. He wants me to know he tricked me and I fell for it.
I shut off the torch light and lay flat on my back against the ground, trying desperately to roll underneath the car, but I don’t fit, it’s far too low. What the fuck do I do?
Diving through the open back door I lay as still as I can across the back seat… and I pray.
Reid
“I’m heading upstairs to take a shower,” I say, after I glance at the clock and realise the time’s going just as slowly as it has been all night. It’s only a quarter past ten, and even though I’ve been pacing a track from the lounge room to the dining room table for what seems like hours, I learn it’s been mere minutes.
Detective Dyson tips her head to the side and eyes me briefly. “That’s probably a good idea.” Her glossed lips offer me a half smile before she’s back focusing on the screen of the large laptop open in front of her. In the short time she’s been here, I’ve figured she’s not much of a talker. She’s quiet, yet observant. Her hand curls around the back of her neck just below the black bob tucked behind her ears. She hunches her shoulders and squeezes her eyes tightly shut as she rotates her neck in a large circle. Tonight is going to be a long night for everyone.
I pause at the bottom of the staircase and strain to hear Maloney talking. He must be on a call. I can’t make out anything except, “He’s definitely restless. He hasn’t sat down for ages. To be honest sir, he looks like he might throw up.” If by he, he is referencing me, then Maloney’s not wrong. My stomach is knotted into a million tight pieces of rope balled together. I could vomit at any second from the nausea this is creating.
Dragging my feet up the staircase, has me looking down the dark hallway leading to Morgan’s and my bedroom. First, I pass by Brax’s room, and then Aleeha’s. Both their doors are closed since Ron and Kylee are utilising them for a place to sleep tonight. I wonder if they’re doing any sleeping, or if they’re blankly staring at the ceiling above them, lost in their own torturous thoughts. My mind won�
��t stop racing. Where is Morgan? And who the fuck has her? play on a constant loop.
Clutching the handle of our bedroom door, I take two drawn-out breaths as I pull it down and push forwards. I run my hand over the wall just inside the entrance, and fumble with the light switch. Everything looks exactly how we left it yesterday morning. The bed’s unmade, Morgan’s cotton pyjamas are thrown over her pillow, her T-shirt still inside out after taking it off and discarding it. The only thing out of place is the towel I’d thrown on the bed after the shower I took earlier today. God, how Morgan hates when I leave my wet towel on the bed. It’s one of her biggest pet peeves. I race over to it and swiftly remove it with one flick of my wrist.
The walk to the bathroom has untameable worry growing heavily in my chest. This is how I felt last night when Morgan still hadn’t come home. An hour later, the police were inside my house, downstairs, talking with me. Not long after, I raced off in anger to find Morgan, but all I’d uncovered was her SUV.
Twenty-four hours has almost past, and apart from some fucked up calls from a mechanical voice and then one with a British accent, it doesn’t appear like anyone has any leads on Morgan’s whereabouts. Isn’t it if they haven’t found someone in the first twenty-four hours, the chance of their survival decreases? Or is it the first forty-eight? I can’t be sure. This is a question for Maloney.
Hanging the towel on the rack above Morgan’s, I reach into the open shower and turn over the taps before shedding my clothes and stepping in. Lukewarm water runs over my skin as I rest my forehead against the wall behind the shower’s spout. The feeling of the soft sprays against my shoulders calms my senses for a moment, but it doesn’t last long because Morgan’s face displays like a stilled image in my mind. She’s more than beautiful — she’s angelic.
I roll my head from side to side as my throat constricts and then burns from the sadness I’m trying to rein in. Where is the money? Why is this happening to us? I can’t figure out the answer to either of these questions.
I don’t bother to use the liquid soap to wash myself. I don’t do anything but ask myself a million questions that right now nobody has answers to. This is bullshit. I reef the taps off, and step out, being mindful to stand on the bathmat I always miss standing on. This also pisses Morgan off. Maybe if I don’t make the floor all wet and slippery, and maybe if I don’t do all the things she nags at me about, she’ll come home.
Morgan’s towel is embroidered with her name, pink lettering on white towelling. Taking it into my possession, I still with it rested below my nostrils. It smells clean, freshly washed, and not at all like Morgan. I hate this.
I chuck on a tight-fitted black T-shirt and long cotton pyjama bottoms, and remake the bed, taking extra care to do it neatly like Morgan would have liked me to do more often. “It’s tightly tucked edges … and the top needs to be turned down for God sake. How hard is this to master, Reid?” A small crinkle would invade her forehead as she glared at me from her side of the bed. “The pillows, just stack them neatly.” Morgan’s little quirks. Once I thought of these nit-picking things as Type A bullshit, but now I see how it’s as important to me in this moment as it was to Morgan every day. Why did I give her such a hard time about all these tiny unimportant things? If that’s how she liked the bedding, I should have just fucking made it that way. You’re a prick, Reid.
I sigh. It’s a deep heavy sound, and the result of dread. I’m now dreading I’ll never see Morgan perform these little rituals for the rest of my life and that scares me.
The open blind catches my attention and when I move towards it, I stare out of the window into the darkness of the night, feeling dazed, lost and alone.
“Morgan,” I whisper.
The glare of the television screen as Maloney flicks through multiple channels annoys me.
“Just pick something already,” I groan.
“Mate, I’m trying to find the local news station. I just received a message from Detective West to turn on the television and to have you come sit down.”
“What for?”
“There’s about to be a breaking news story regarding Morgan’s disappearance.”
My mouth forms an oversized ‘O’, even though no sound projects with it.
“There we go. It should be on in a moment.” He lays the remote on the glass coffee table and leans back into the navy corner lounge.
I don’t get comfortable. Instead I sit on the edge of the seat and wait nervously. My legs jiggle as I push from the balls of my feet. I just can’t seem to stop moving.
“Breaking News.” Big white letters across a red banner appears on the screen. The tune that accompanies breaking new headlines plays. I swallow excessively as vomit is seduced from my stomach to the back of my tongue. I think I’m going to throw up.
“We interrupt this programming to bring you the latest headlines and breaking news stories throughout Rockhampton, Gladstone, Mackay and the Keppel Bay Region.”
A picture of Morgan takes up half of the television screen. Her hair is tied to the side and pinned. Her big browns eyes are wide and filled with joy. Her lips are pulled into a smile. She looks so happy, so content. I notice the soft pink dress she’s wearing is the one she wore when Cruise and Natalie got married last year. “How did you get that picture?” I didn’t give it to them.
“Linda,” Maloney says softly. “She went through your albums and picked it out before she left to go home tonight.”
I nod.
“Local Rockhampton woman, Morgan Banks, mother of two, and wife to local architect Reid Banks, has been reported missing. She was last seen leaving her place of work, Tactor Finance and Appraisals, early yesterday evening. Morgan is reported to be around 168 centimetres tall. She has a slim athletic build with long brown hair and brown eyes. It’s been reported Morgan was wearing a pink blouse and black business skirt at the time of her disappearance. Police are urging anyone with information to the whereabouts of Morgan Banks, to come forward and call either the Police Link or Crime Stoppers on the numbers displayed at the bottom of your screen. Today, local SES volunteers have searched bushland around the fourth access road between Rockhampton and Yeppoon, but police are yet to report if this search has led to any more information.”
Morgan’s photograph fades and is replaced with that of the courthouse building.
“In other news, Brendon Carter Johnston will appear in the Rockhampton Magistrates Court tomorrow morning for his alleged involvement in the stabbing of local teenager Christopher Keelage. The family of the victim are expected to be present for his plea entry.”
Maloney must mute the volume because the presenter’s lips are moving, yet there’s no sound.
“You know, I never dreamt in my entire life, I’d be seeing my wife’s photo as a missing person. I don’t understand why this is happening?”
“Bad things happen to good people all over the world, every day of the week, Reid. We’ll find her.”
“Alive?” I close my eyes.
“It’s the outcome we are hoping for. They really are doing everything to help your wife.”
“I know.” I pause. “Do you think it’s someone we know?” I say, turning my attention to Maloney.
“I’d say there’s a high chance it is, but it could also be someone Morgan’s never met before.”
“I just need for her to be alive.”
“We know. All evidence so far is pointing to the fact that she is Reid.”
“He’ll call again, right? That bastard who has her?”
“I have no doubt he will.”
Morgan
The whistling stops, and no matter how hard I try to slow my breathing, I can’t. Terror is building at such a rapid rate it has me panicking, and with this increased panic, I begin to hyperventilate. The hairs on my neck are standing upright. My palms are slick with moisture. My legs are shaking to a fast tempo and my mind is racing.
Please leave me alone. I can’t take anymore.
A beam of light shine
s straight above me. I follow its path out the front windscreen and this can only mean one thing –– his location is at the rear end of the car.
I take one large breath and hold it. I think of Aleeha and Brax running around the house –– laughing, fighting, being kids, and I play these images over and over, trying to make my mind believe that’s where I am right now, at home, not here with him. I don’t need to be frightened. I don’t need to be frightened, I mouth in a chant. Fear can only become powerful if I give it my power. Fear can only become powerful if I give it my power. I mouth these words too. My dad used to say this to me when I had nightmares or I was frightened when young. It’s his voice I hear clearly now. It’s his hands wrapping around me in protection. My dad will calm me. My dad will save me.
The light disappears. I keep my eyes wide and try to pant small breaths. All that surrounds me is the darkness. Maybe, he doesn’t know I’m in here.
The light returns and then disappears quickly. I welcome the darkness once more. Lots of flashing light turns into flickering then vanishes, leaving me blinded in the dark. It’s deathly quiet. I dart my eyes up, down, left and right, repeatedly, trying to keep my mind busy.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I press both hands over my mouth to muzzle the scream lingering at the back of my throat.
Fuck!
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Every small whimper is contained, my hands pressing harder against my lips.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Don’t move Morgan. Don’t fucking move.
Each beat of my heart is happening at such an erratic pace, it becomes deafening. I will it to slow down. I beg it to believe there is no threat … no danger. It hammers even faster and the more my fear takes over, the more my panic consumes my every thought.
