by Anna Willett
When she pulled herself back up, she was grinning. The grin was somehow more horrible than the old woman’s body and all the gore.
“You fucking animal.” She was on her knees. Blood dribbled over her lower lip. “You can’t leave me like this.”
Smiley turned away, not wanting to listen, but she kept going.
“I’ll say you did it.” She giggled. “Those losers in the forest and Elaine. I’ll tell them you snatched the boy and it was you that killed your mother. And they’ll believe me, because–”
His hands were on her neck. There was no thought, only the movement itself. Acid burned his mouth and for a heartbeat he thought he might choke. Choke on the anger that stained his vision and obscured the sound of Mimi’s feet drumming on the kitchen floor.
Something snapped both inside him and in her throat and then she was still. Smiley’s hands cramped from the effort, but still he held her. He held her because letting go would mean seeing her as she now was: lifeless. Instead of dropping her, he pulled her close and held her, and for a while he was able to pretend they were kids again and the monsters were other people.
He touched her dark hair and smooth skin. A moment ago he felt only hatred, now it seemed like he’d lost a part of his soul. As the TV sang out from the sitting room, Smiley cradled Mimi’s head and sobbed.
Chapter Twenty-five
A wrong turn and a constant stream of thunderous road trains made the drive to Narrogin longer than expected. By the time Lucy pulled off the highway, her lower back was aching and the need for a caffeine fix was at fever pitch. Discomfort aside, the trip had been tedious and the excitement she’d felt leaving Janice’s house had waned, replaced by a feeling of trepidation. She was entering a strange town hundreds of kilometres from home and searching for a woman who was at best unpredictable.
Determined not to let old experiences stand in her way, Lucy pushed her doubts aside, but hung onto the need to be cautious. The town, however, seemed ordinary enough and in many ways similar to many old settlements in the South West. Driving through the picturesque main street gave her an idea.
Amongst the many historical buildings, the town hall stood out. Unblemished by time, the two-storey building was a stunning example of federation free classical style. It was the perfect story. Lucy pulled over and had no trouble crossing the almost deserted main street.
She grabbed her phone and took a couple of snaps. This was her cover story, the Shire of Narrogin’s decision to have the town hall demolished to make way for a leisure centre. Of course, the idea was absurd. It didn’t take a genius to work out that such a magnificent building would be heritage listed, and judging by its condition the town hall was lovingly maintained. Smiling, she slid her phone back into her handbag, satisfied she’d come up with an emotive story that would get her in almost anywhere in Narrogin.
Before getting behind the wheel, she bought a coffee from a takeaway café opposite the petrol station. The Saab’s navigation screen showed Mimi’s aunt’s place as less than a fifteen-minute drive, giving Lucy plenty of time to work on her spiel.
Sipping coffee and taking care to keep under the speed limit, she drove out of town along roads where the bitumen skirted bush and red-dirt sideroads cut glistening trails through dense white gums and powder wandoos. It was similar and yet completely different to the bushland she’d grown to love: her home, a sprawling vista of colour and birdsong that sat far away from Cold Valley’s dark lush forest.
Elaine Shaw’s house was an off-white fibro box on a wide, scrubby looking block. Lucy coasted past the house noting a dinged-up Commodore on the dirt driveway. Rather than stopping, she kept driving until she crested a shallow hill, then made a U-turn and parked in front of a mailbox and a gravel driveway.
Lucy imagined the address she sat in front of was Elaine’s nearest neighbour. Pulling her phone out of her handbag, she fired off a text to Damon. When the message failed, she tried resending it only to realise she had no signal.
She tossed the phone back in her bag, cursing herself for not calling Damon while she was in the town’s centre.
She had two options: push on alone or drive back into town and call Damon. He’d most likely want her to hold off on knocking on the aunt’s door until he arrived. Lucy eyed the lone mailbox with the number three hand-painted below the slot. The bottom edge of the number had dripped, making the three look like it was melting. The corresponding house, presumably at the end of the gravel driveway, was so overgrown with vines and native bushes that it was hidden from view. Waiting for Damon would be the safest option. While she had a tough time admitting it even to herself, a part of her wanted nothing more than to let him take care of her.
Still wrestling with how to proceed, she didn’t notice the Commodore until it raced past her window. Twisting in her seat, she managed to spot the car as it disappeared around the bend at the end of the road, but wasn’t able to get a clear look at the driver.
Her heart kicked up a notch and for a moment she was sure she’d been discovered – sure that someone in town or maybe from the house with the drippy number three had tipped Mimi or her aunt off and now the women were on the run.
It was ridiculous and almost as soon as the thought came to her mind she dismissed it as paranoia. But paranoid or not, someone had driven past in a hurry.
“Damn it.” She cursed herself for the second time in five minutes. Why hadn’t she thought to record the car’s plate number? For all she knew, it was registered to Mimi Shaw. “I’m getting rusty.”
A good excuse, but not very convincing. The truth was much simpler and infinitely more painful. She was scared. After what had happened in Night Town, she’d lost her edge. The idea of rushing headlong into danger used to make her senses come alive. Now it made her blood run cold. Maybe that was the real reason she’d shied away from crime reporting. She ran her fingers through her hair, then reached for her bag. She wanted a cigarette and for a second she forgot she no longer carried them.
“Shit.” She thumped her palm on the steering wheel as tears stung her eyes.
In the end, it was the tears that decided it. She could sit in her car crying, then drive back to town and buy a packet of cigarettes while she waited for Damon or she could get her act together and knock on Elaine’s door.
A few minutes later, she exited the car and crossed the road, grateful for the cool afternoon breeze on her face. She’d decided to leave the car near the neighbour’s house so if something did happen there’d be more chance that someone would find her. Nothing’s going to happen. The Commodore probably belonged to Elaine, who’d gone into town to buy groceries.
Feeling calmer but still on edge, Lucy walked over the crest of the hill and up the dirt driveway that led to Elaine’s house. Up close the place looked shabbier, almost dilapidated. Before stepping onto the recessed porch, Lucy pulled out her wallet and extracted her media card. If Elaine was home, Lucy intended to steer the interview in the right direction by asking the woman if any family in town might be adverse to the demolition of the town hall.
The TV was on. Lucy could hear it through the thin walls. Taking the noise as a good sign, one that indicated someone was home, Lucy rolled her shoulders back and knocked on the door. After a short pause without a response, she knocked again.
The only sounds from inside the house came from the television, its volume turned up loud enough to be heard on the porch. It occurred to Lucy that Elaine might be going deaf. That would explain why the woman hadn’t heard the door. Determined to get a response, she used the side of her fist and pounded on the door hard enough to rattle the old-fashioned door knob.
With no response, Lucy stepped to the left and cupped her hands to the window. The room was made hazy by a yellowing lace curtain, but she was able to make out a dark coloured sofa with what looked like a plate sitting on the armrest, as well as a TV and a few side tables filled with clutter. Apart from the furnishings, the room sat empty.
Convinced it had been El
aine she’d seen driving away, she stepped back from the window and let out a breath. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed, but either way her plan would need to be put on hold.
She thought about checking the other windows and maybe taking a look around the back, but decided to do what she should have done ten minutes ago and drive back to town and call Damon. While she waited for him to arrive, she could drive around and see if she could spot Elaine’s car. Maybe she could park somewhere and watch to see who got in the Commodore.
She turned and headed for the street, the idea of going back to town now seeming like a much better option. The safe option. She plunged her hand in her jeans pocket and found the penknife with the little green beads. She was doing the smart thing by waiting for Damon. Being reckless wouldn’t help me find Clem. Thinking of the little boy in the woolly jumper brought her to a sudden stop.
She turned and looked back at the house. The two front windows looked dark, like vacant eyes staring back at her. The TV was on, but no one was home. That on its own wasn’t so unusual. Elaine would have to be at least sixty-five; she might be a bit forgetful. So she’d gone out and left the TV on, no big deal. Lucy hitched her handbag over her shoulder and stuffed the media card in her pocket along with the penknife.
“No big deal.” She drew the words out, trying to figure out what it was about the empty sitting room that bothered her.
As she stared at the house, the off-white walls now darker under gathering clouds, it seemed the windows looked less vacant and more sinister. Something was off. She could almost feel it in her bones, but what that something was eluded her.
With a glance up at the disappearing blue sky, she turned to leave and that’s when it hit her. Elaine’s side tables. Lucy spun around so fast she almost lost her footing on the loose dirt. It was the glimpse of blue from behind the gathering clouds that made everything clear. She’d been so focused on the TV being left on that she’d almost overlooked something so obvious: the peanut butter jar with the blue lid sitting amongst the clutter on Elaine’s side table. It was identical to the ones Sadie had been looking at only two days ago.
Rushing back to the porch, Lucy’s heart was thumping while her mind wrestled with the implications of what she’d seen. It was a jar, nothing more. Probably one of millions sold Australia wide, but it was a link. A tenuous one, yet something she couldn’t ignore. And I almost missed it because I was scared.
This time when she stepped onto the porch she did so carefully and mindful of the creak of the aging wood beneath her feet. If Mimi was in the house, she probably would have heard Lucy pounding on the door. But with any luck, Mimi would believe Lucy had given up and walked away. Or she’s watching me and getting ready to attack.
With shaking limbs, Lucy cupped her hands and peered in the window. Everything was as it had been only minutes ago. The room still sat empty. The TV was still blasting, but the jar was gone.
For a second, she doubted her own eyes. Had she seen the jar or was it something her mind conjured up? I know what I saw. She was jumpy, scared even. Maybe she was suffering from post-traumatic stress because all the symptoms were there: anxiety, flashbacks, shaky hands, and avoidance; she’d sat in the car for almost ten minutes in tears at the thought of approaching a strange house on her own. Despite the self-awareness, Lucy knew the peanut butter jar was real and not a figment of her tumultuous mind.
Now the jar was gone. Lucy pulled back from the window and bit her lip. There was someone in the house. In the few minutes she’d been on the driveway someone had taken the jar.
What now? She could run away and wait for help, but what if Clem was in the house? Every minute he was with Mimi was dangerous. Lucy rubbed her hands together looking from the deserted road, back to the house. If she drove away, Mimi might bolt and they’d never find Clem. If that happened, how could she face Sadie? How could she live with herself?
There was really only one option. If she didn’t act, Clem might be lost forever. Lucy could see no other alternative but to try and find a way inside Elaine Shaw’s house.
Chapter Twenty-six
With no sign of Lucy, Damon pulled out his phone and tossed his jacket on the bed. It was almost 3:30 p.m., two hours since he’d last spoken to her. She’d mentioned visiting Sadie’s friend but may have decided to stop for coffee or chase another lead. Lucy was single-minded when it came to research. If she was onto something, she’d most likely lost track of the time.
Still holding the phone, he dropped onto the bed and fired off a text:
Finally made it out of the police station. Call me.
With nothing else to do but wait, he pulled off his boots, laid back on the slightly lumpy bed and closed his eyes. While the idea of sleep seemed impossible, his mind felt fatigued and a series of pictures bombarded his thoughts. Images of the outbuilding and the clump of hair that had been stuck to the jagged stone wall. Flashes of the sitting room and bloodstains washed into dark swirls on paintwork danced behind his eyelids.
Using a well-practiced technique, he focused his thoughts on a specific image. A bus stop bench, its wood splintered and aging, the once green paint now little more than flaking specks. In his mind the now defunct bus stop was bathed in sunlight and surrounded by flowering Geraldton wax bushes. The forgotten pew sat on the side of the two-lane road just before the turn off for Lake Clifton, and for Damon the sad little bench was an oasis. It was a sign that told him each time he passed it he was almost home. Seconds after having this thought, he found sleep.
Shadowed steps leading down and the sound of breathing and sand under his boots. There was always the sand, only this time it was shifting underfoot seemingly of its own accord.
The stairwell was narrow, only room for one, and with his rifle and belt he felt as if the walls were closing in on him. He could taste the desert in his mouth, dry and coarse. Behind him Aidan was speaking, but all Damon could do was keep moving into the dingy room. And then they were side by side and shapes were advancing on them. Black figures moving like bats.
The rifle jumped in his hands and Damon was firing, ploughing down the silhouettes and watching them implode like paper sacks. He knew what came next; even in his dreams it stayed the same. A woman appeared, but he wasn’t sure how he knew she was a woman.
“Gun!” He’d screamed the word. He always screamed the word.
Blasts of light as Aidan fired and the woman went down, her rifle skittering across the dirt floor. Smoke heavy in the air and Aidan’s face pale under his helmet.
The woman’s eyes were open, dark pupil-less eyes staring accusingly at them as her arm dropped and the baby rolled onto the dirt.
“I didn’t see the baby.” Aidan’s voice was a scream in Damon’s ears, his eyes wide with shock.
But all Damon could take in was the dead baby, its tiny body limp and naked. He opened his mouth to cry out and the woman leapt at him, moving crab-like with her mouth a gaping black hole growing bigger and bigger.
With his fingers twisting the sheets, Damon woke with a start. Late afternoon light fell in sharp lines across the bed. Disoriented for a second, he blinked in the motel room with its dinged-up bar fridge and half open bathroom door. It had been almost a year since he’d dreamed of Aidan and the Afghan border. His rational mind told him the dream was brought on by the things he’d seen at the Plick house, but rationality didn’t dispel the sense of terror or the cold sweat that covered his face.
He sat up and his gaze happened to land on Lucy’s red case. Instinctively, he touched the empty space on the bed beside him. Reaching for his phone, he noted it was past four o’clock and she hadn’t replied to his text. With the dream fading, he moved into the bathroom and doused his face with cold water.
Clearer now, he peered through the blinds and checked out the parking lot, hoping Lucy had returned while he was asleep. Apart from his Jeep there was only one other car in the lot, a green four-wheel-drive that he suspected belonged to the manager.
Left over tension from the nightmare turned into cold fear. Lucy wouldn’t disappear without a word, not willingly. He snatched up his phone and tried her number only to have the call go to voicemail. The familiarity of the situation wasn’t lost on him. They’d been here before little more than a year ago when they were searching for Tim. He’d nearly lost her that night. Now, after their relationship had become something he’d never thought he’d find, he couldn’t contemplate the idea of anything happening to her.
With forced calm, he called Sadie and asked for her friend’s details. She was immediately concerned and gave him Janice Cutter’s address.
“Is there anything else I can do to help?” Sadie’s worry touched him. Despite everything that was going on in her life, she was still able to think of Lucy’s safety.
“Yes.” Damon was pulling his boots on. “If Lucy calls you, let me know on this number.” Two minutes later he was pounding on Brock’s door. Five minutes after that they were on their way to Janice’s house.
* * *
When Damon and Brock showed up on Janice’s porch, she flung the door open before they could knock.
“Sadie called me.” She stepped aside and motioned them in. “She said to expect you.” She continued to talk as she sidled past the men and led them into the kitchen.
“I showed her this yearbook.” Janice pointed to a book on the circular kitchen table. “You see, I recognised the woman from the fête and found her class photo.”
“What time did Lucy drop by?” Damon worked to keep the urgency out of his voice. He wanted to be moving and doing something to track Lucy down, but knew that rushing the woman might force her to miss something.
Janice raised a hand and touched her throat. “It was around one o’clock. She’s such a lovely young woman. I hope everything’s all right.” Her brown eyes danced between Damon and Brock. “I mean, have I put her in danger by giving her that address?”
Damon spoke slowly. “What address?”
