Eventually, they were climbing in through Lucy’s window again. They quickly changed clothes into their pyjamas and slid into bed.
Jasmine vowed that next time, she would take a book to read.
Chapter 17
The following morning, Jasmine was at a loss for what to do next. She walked around the empty house looking for inspiration. Caleb had left for work more than an hour ago. Logan had sped off in his car shortly afterwards. Breakfast had been painful. Neither of the men seemed to be talking to each other. Jasmine had tried to keep the mood and conversation light, but had failed abysmally.
Now, walking around her temporary home, she decided she needed to get out. Staying here was not going to find her father, nor would it bring her any closer to untangling the web that had encircled Avalon. She picked up her car keys and headed for the kerb.
Outside, the weather was windy and the sky hidden by grey clouds. They looked heavy with rain. It wouldn’t be long before the first drops began to fall. She walked to her car and climbed inside. As she buckled her seat beat, she noticed there was something tucked behind the left hand side window wiper. She let her seatbelt slide back into place and opened the door again. Reaching around the windshield, she picked up what appeared to be a white piece of paper.
She sat back in her seat and closed the door, making sure it and all the other doors were securely locked. The paper was folded over twice. She unfolded it and read the contents.
‘We are watching you. You don’t have much time left.’
Underneath the writing was a crudely drawn bullseye. It was drawn with a red texta pen.
The letter wasn’t like the ones Becky Storm had sent her. There was no friendly nudge to hurry up. This was a clear sign that she was in trouble. She self-consciously looked around the street. She knew it was stupid thinking she would be able to see someone watching her, but it was a natural reaction.
She stuffed the note into her handbag and started the car. The rational voice inside her head told her it was just an empty threat. No-one would really take the time and trouble to follow her around all day, every day. Surely there must be better things to do in life. She really wanted to believe that voice, but the panicked voice was screaming much louder.
She considered running back inside to the safety of the house, with the top-of-the-range security alarm, but the thought of staying there alone didn’t seem that appealing either – the alarm wouldn’t save her if someone did break in. Instead, she pulled out into the street and drove to her apartment across town. She needed something that felt homely and familiar, if not safe.
As she drove along, she put the radio on, hoping it would distract her. It worked pretty well, she found herself humming along to the latest songs to be released into the charts. Before she knew it, she was parked outside of her building.
She walked past the letterboxes and used a small key to open the one that belonged to her. It was stuffed with envelopes; she grabbed them and continued up to her apartment.
Warily, she slowly opened the front door. She prayed everything would be as she left it. She breathed a sigh of relief when nothing looked like it had moved. She did a circuit of every room, checking underneath the bed and in every cupboard to ensure she was alone. She didn’t find anyone.
She turned on the television for company and sat down on the lounge suite, shuffling through the envelopes. Most of the mail was the usual bills, credit card, electricity, telephone. There was a calling card too from the postman – she had a package waiting at the post office to be picked up. Also in amongst everything were a few catalogues. She thumbed through them, looking at the weekly specials.
At the back of the mail was a small postcard. She put the rest of the mail down to have a closer inspection. The front picture was of a beautiful beach somewhere. The stark white sand was complemented by the rich blue of the water. She guessed it was from somewhere on the Mediterranean Sea.
She turned the postcard over to see who had sent it. She read the message:
Dear Jasmine,
The weather is beautiful here, sunshine every day. I’ve heard it’s stormy there. You need to watch out for those Storms, the lightning can hit hard and unexpectedly.
Stay Safe, Uncle Felix.
She read the postcard again and tried to work out where the beach was. It wasn’t mentioned anywhere. She thought about how appropriate the words were, considering that the sky was about to open up with heavy rain. ‘Uncle Felix must be keeping up to date’, she thought to herself.
Deciding a cup of tea could cure all her problems right that very minute, she left the mail on the lounge and went to boil the kettle. As she waited for the water to heat up, her mind drifted back to the postcard.
She had been receiving the postcards from Uncle Felix for about a decade. They didn’t come very often, maybe once every few years or so. They usually came around her birthday, when they did come. She had some that showed tigers in Africa, the Beefeaters in London, a leprechaun in Ireland, even a polar bear from a zoo in Germany.
She could never really remember Uncle Felix. She once asked Gran who he was, but she said he wasn’t from Dad’s side of the family. That only left Mum’s side and as far as she knew, Mum only had the one sister who was married to an overweight man named Dan. After she found out that, she had always just thought he must have been a friend of the family. Someone close enough to assume the role of uncle.
Whoever he was, he sure had been travelling a long time and was thoughtful enough to keep sending her postcards, even into her adulthood. Even though she didn’t remember him, she liked having Uncle Felix somewhere in the world.
The kettle whistled and with a click, turned itself off – stirring Jasmine from her thoughts. She made a black tea and made sure there was enough sugar in there to challenge any dentist. She went back into the living room and sat back down on the lounge.
She couldn’t get the postcard out of her mind. The message was just odd. Usually, the postcards had more words on them; something about what Uncle Felix was up to, how he was, best wishes for her etc. This one had been short, almost curt. She picked it up and read it again. She couldn’t make any more sense of it, but did notice the reference to storms had a capital S. How anyone could make such a blatant mistake in punctuation was beyond her. It annoyed her when people didn’t have a proper command of the English language.
The postcard got her curious. Without having anything better to do with her time, she went to her bedroom closet and found her memory box. Inside were all the other postcards Uncle Felix had sent her through the years. She dug them all out and went back to the lounge.
She flicked through them – seven postcards in all. She laid them down on the lounge in a row, picture side up. There was a wide range there; it looked like Uncle Felix had travelled widely. She turned them all over so the writing on each one could be read.
Each message was very light-hearted. Some wished her a happy birthday, told her that he was thinking of her. Then he might describe something he’d seen at that particular place. They were a pleasant read. She thought back to when she had received each one. She had always been so excited to see it, wondering where he was in the world and what great adventures he must be having.
The first one she received was dated 6th December 1996. She remembered being confused when she received it. She hadn’t received a postcard before, let alone one from overseas and written by a long-lost uncle. Gran hadn’t been much help, nor had Gramps. They had told her she should just be grateful that someone was thinking about her.
Sometimes at night, when she was younger and had been thinking of how much she missed her parents; she would think of Uncle Felix.
She had imagined him coming to visit and taking her travelling with him. She wouldn’t have to feel sad or lonely anymore. They would have so much fun that she wouldn’t need to think of them. These daydreams would usually occur every time she received a new postcard.
It was nice to imagine, but Uncle Felix nev
er came to visit. He hadn’t come and taken her pain away. Instead, she got older and although she never thought her heart would repair itself – it eventually did. Piece by piece, it was put back together again so the pain was dulled.
Uncle Felix was definitely an intrigue in her life. When she entered her twenties, she thought the postcards would just stop coming. She was older now and doubted whether – even if he were still travelling – he would keep up the tradition. She had hoped not though. Uncle Felix was good to have imaginary conversations with from time to time. A small part of her still hoped he would come and take her away.
Jasmine shuffled all the postcards back together and went back to her memory box. She tipped the contents of the small box onto her bed. She had put a few special mementos in there. All collected after the fire of course. She had lost her previous memory box and all its contents.
She picked up each item in turn; they conjured up the memories about why the object had been special for her. There was a part of her first corsage, which reminded her of her high school formal. Then there was her nametag from her first ever job – as a waitress at Billy’s Burger Barn. The last thing she picked up was a small teddy bear. It was the only thing she owned that had survived the fire. The only reason was that she had been clutching it as she had fled her bed that night.
The teddy bear had been permanently attached to her for most of her childhood. Her parents had given it to her when she was just three years old and had accidentally scalded herself in the kitchen. Even though they had told her not to touch, she had gone ahead and touched the oven anyway.
The teddy was bought in the hospital gift shop. She remembered when she first got it, it had smelled just like the hospital. She hated the smell, but it soon faded and became her favourite thing in the world. Even when she got older, she wouldn’t part with it. She didn’t care what anyone thought, or if she was too old for teddies. He was her best friend.
She found herself smiling at the bear. He was so worn now that it was almost pathetic just to keep him, even if he was living in a small box. She wouldn’t part with him though – not for all the money in the world.
While she was sitting there holding the bear, a thought occurred to her. The name of the teddy had been chosen by the doctor that was treating her burns. He had named the bear after himself and told her that when her hand hurt, the teddy would make it better because he was a doctor too. His name had been Dr Salvatore Felix.
She let go of the bear and picked up the postcards again. She couldn’t believe what a coincidence it was to name a teddy bear Felix and then start receiving postcards from an unknown Uncle Felix.
Definitely not out of the question, but a coincidence never the less. With her suspicions growing, she read each postcard, paying particular attention to the words and what they might reveal. Most were just the usual postcard spiel about having a nice time. But some were just odd – he sometimes referred to things that Jasmine was sure he couldn’t have known about.
In one card, the one she had received just prior to her eighteenth birthday, he had referred to her new grey-blue car that she had bought second hand. In another card, he mentioned her university graduation and how proud he was of her.
She had never replied to any of Uncle Felix’s postcards, as she didn’t even have an address for him. Gran and Gramps never corresponded with him because they didn’t have any idea who he was either. She could not work out how he had known about these things when he was off living La Dolce Vita in some Mexican village.
Her next thoughts surprised her, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t have an Uncle Felix. She never even knew anyone named Felix, besides the doctor and her teddy bear. She thought she was going crazy, but there would be no other explanation for it. She may be grasping at straws, but she had to entertain the idea.
Uncle Felix and her father were the same person. It had to be. He had sent the cards as some fictional character, hoping to stay a part of his daughter’s life in any way that he could. Maybe he counted on the fact she would work it out – put two and two together and come to the truth. She hoped her father hadn’t expected her to work it out much sooner. The more she thought about it, the more she was sure she was right.
She wondered why he had chosen her and not Lucy. As far as she knew, her sister had never received a postcard from Uncle Felix. In fact, Lucy had been quite jealous of when the postcards had arrived.
After she had received one and caught Lucy in a bad mood, she had been told they were “Stupid postcards from stupid Uncle Felix.”
She put all the contents back in the memory box and replaced it in the closet. This time, she hid it under some clothes. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt the need to protect the items now more than ever.
She hurried back into the living room and picked up the last postcard. Goosebumps rose on her arms as she read it yet again. The capital S in ‘Storms’ wasn’t a grammatical error; it was referring to a name. Her father was telling her to watch out for the Storms’ – either Becky or more likely, Cynthia Storm. He was warning her to be careful, that it’s possible they will strike when she least expects it.
She couldn’t stay in the apartment any longer. She wanted to share the news with Caleb. Not only because she was excited about the fact she may be holding a tangible link to her father, but also because
she wanted someone else to confirm her theory was plausible. In other words, she needed backup.
She grabbed the mail, postcards and keys and almost ran down the stairs to the car. She didn’t stop to make small talk with the neighbours that she passed, nor did she stop to check if any more notes had turned up on her windscreen. Instead, she jumped into her car and drove as quickly as possible to the newspaper office.
The receptionist was on the phone. She didn’t bother to wait for her to finish discussing her plans for the night. She went straight past and made a beeline for Caleb’s desk in the back. He was also on the phone, leaning so far back in his chair that Jasmine hoped he wouldn’t fall backwards. She waved at him as she approached and waited as patiently as she could for him to finish his conversation.
Unlike the receptionist’s, his telephone call seemed to be a legitimate business call. From what Jasmine could make out from the one-sided discussion, it sounded like the current Mayor of Avalon wasn’t much better than the last one. He was apparently cheating on his wife and there were pictures floating around to prove it.
Not the kind of story you would expect from a respected newspaper, but news is news. People want to hear about the salacious gossip just as much as the latest interest rate rise – a sad fact, but true. It took people’s minds off the things that they really didn’t want to think about, let them escape into someone else’s much more interesting life for just a moment.
At last, Caleb hung up the phone and wrote a few notes. By now, Jasmine was bursting with the news – the drive over had seemed to take an eternity. She pulled over a chair from an empty desk and sat down.
“So, what’s up?” Caleb put his pen down and gave her his full attention.
“My father really is alive,” she blurted out.
“What? How do you know?”
“He’s been sending me postcards ever since he supposedly died. They were from an Uncle Felix – which always confused me because I don’t have one – but I’ve worked out that it’s actually Dad. All these years he has been writing to me and I didn’t realise.”
“Are you sure? Really sure? You’re not just getting your hopes up because you want it to be true?”
“I’m positive – it’s him. I got another postcard today at home. It warned me about the Storms and told me to be careful.”
“Your father’s writing to you about the weather?”
“No, the Storms, as in Cynthia. Not only does she serve up poison for breakfast, she’s one of the investors in Avalon Laboratories.”
“How did he know about what you’re doing? If he’s meant to be dead, I can’t imagine he would be skulk
ing around Avalon watching you.”
“That I don’t know.”
“Could your grandparents know about him? Maybe talking to him? Or Lucy?”
“I honestly don’t think so. I doubt whether Gran and Gramps would keep something that major from us. And Lucy and I had a good heart-to-heart discussion yesterday. I’m positive she doesn’t know about him.”
“Makes you wonder though. Someone might just be yanking your chain.”
Jasmine was getting annoyed. She had been so happy just moments before about her discovery. She didn’t need a wet blanket – she wanted confirmation that she was right. “It’s him Caleb, there is no question about it.”
“Did the postcard say where he was?”
“No, there was a picture of a white sandy beach on the front, but no place description on the back. He obviously knows how to contact me; maybe he’ll send another one soon with some more details.”
“You said it went to your home letterbox?” He waited for her to nod in agreement. “Someone must have given him your address. There has to be someone feeding him information. Otherwise, he would be sending them to your grandparents still. You’ve got to find out who his contact is.”
“I have no idea where to start and have no clues to begin to search with. What does it matter anyway? Now that I’ve worked it out, he’ll know it’s safe to contact me. He might even phone me one day.”
“If you knew his contact, then you could make all that happen sooner.”
“It’s going to happen – I have faith in that. Just knowing he is alive is enough for now. It gives me hope.”
“I guess it could be worse – you could be in Becky’s situation. Good old wife-beating father dead, a shrew of a mother.”
“Exactly. I’m really excited about this, Caleb.”
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