Afterlife of Alanna Miller

by Carlton, Demelza

  Mentally, I shook myself. Maybe he had checked in on me, covertly and carefully so I'd never known he was there. After all, he'd probably had formal anti-terrorist agent training now. Maybe he was pulling Bond-girl types who were far superior to some scarred victim, a reminder of his first, near-failure of a mission.

  But I wasn't just a scarred victim. I'd taken out two of them by myself with no help from him, then gone on to make deals with people to ensure I had a financial safety net in case my mental health fell apart and I couldn't work or study. A house. Investment properties across the country. And now I was a doctor with a job. I didn't need the money the government was offering me to shut up. But I did need to know why. Surely Nathan, working for ASIO and all, would be able to explain the motivations behind the enormous bribe being pushed in my direction?

  I hit the call button.

  A snippy recorded voice told me the number was disconnected and that I should check it before dialling again.

  Shit. Well, there went his mobile number. Maybe Nathan had had to change it after some dangerous terrorist had gotten a hold of his old one and tried to use it to stalk him through the phone's GPS. Or he'd had to switch to a more covert number that no one had. Or maybe...

  Maybe I was reading too much into it.

  I decided to call his house instead. He might not still live there, but it'd been his parents' investment property, so it was a start. Maybe his sister still lived there.

  It rang and rang and no one answered. So much for needing courage.

  For three days, I kept calling, losing count of the number of times I tried and no one answered. No answering machine, no recorded message, nothing. So when I stood in my empty house with my suitcases by my side, it took almost no thought at all to dial his number one last time. It's not as if anyone would answer.

  One trill. Two. On five, I'd hang up and give up.

  "Hello?" a female voice demanded.

  Or not.

  "Chris?" I replied, crossing my fingers.

  "Yeah. Who's this?" If anything, her voice sounded suspicious. Well, that wasn't surprising. The people who'd kidnapped me had threatened to hurt her, too. She was probably as paranoid about strangers as I was.

  I took a deep breath. "My name is Caitlin. Is your brother home?"

  "No, he's not."

  "Can you ask Nathan to call me, then, please? My number is –"

  "No. I won't."

  Silence. What do you say to that?

  "Then can you tell me when he will be home, so I can call again later?" I tried.

  "No. I don't know when he'll be home and he won't talk to you when he is. He won't even remember your name, Katie. He never does. Once he's fucked a girl, he's got what he wanted from you and he'll forget your name because he doesn't care. And no, you're not different. All girls are the same to him. He only wanted you for one thing. Deal with it, Katie, and if you don't like it, don't fuck guys you don't know."

  I forced myself to stay calm. Nathan had evidently gone back to his sleazy ways once I was out of the picture and it wasn't any of my business who he slept with. James Bond, indeed. "My name isn't Katie and I'd like to discuss financial matters with Nathan. It's kind of urgent."

  "If you're pregnant, take it to the Family Court. And make sure you get a paternity test. Nathan may forget your name, but he never forgets contraception. He wouldn't get some slut like you pregnant, so go back to your low-life boyfriend and tell him to pay for his own problems. You won't get a cent out of my brother for your bastard kid."

  I couldn't seem to close my mouth. Who said things like that to someone they didn't know? And with such viciousness in her tone, like she really hated me when she had no idea who I was?

  Numbly, I tried to respond, but she took another breath and let rip with more vitriol than I thought one person could contain. She inferred that I had sexually transmissible diseases; called me a slut, a slag, a hoe and a skank; suggested that my mother was all of these things and my father was a paedophile with a penchant for incest. Then she started on her hopes for my imaginary child.

  With shaking fingers, I terminated the call. It had lasted just under six minutes and I don't think even the bitch who'd tried to kill me had insulted me quite so much.

  I remembered the fierce girl who'd wanted to protect me and her brother when I met her five years ago and tried to match her to the foul-mouthed harpy who'd spewed obscenities into my burning ear. What had happened to her in the intervening five years to turn her so bitter? Had some of my tormentors survived after all, only to target her?

  A thought niggled through my shock. Nathan still lived with his sister. Did that mean she'd had to deal with his increasing post traumatic stress disorder for the last five years as he struggled to do a job that only made his mental state deteriorate?

  If I wanted answers, a phone call was worse than useless. I'd need to show up in person and hope Nathan was home. Because whatever his sister said, I knew he'd never forget me, even if he wanted to. But first I had a concert to attend in Sydney. And I intended to have a blast.

  TEN

  "All passengers travelling on the Qantas flight to Perth, please proceed to Gate 21 for boarding."

  The voice over the speakers jolted me out of my doze. The concert had been so brilliant I could barely sleep last night, and now I was paying for it, but I'm sure part of it was my excitement at finally going home.

  Of course, I'd think of Nathan, given the phone call to his sister still preyed on my mind. Slut, hoe, whore...I should've told her that I'd never slept with her brother. Though I would have if we'd been together longer. I wondered if he'd changed much in the intervening time. It had been five years since I'd last seen him, after all. But if he was still pulling girls for one-night stands and his sister was fielding his calls, I suspected his body was still as chiselled as I remembered it. Who knew? Maybe more, given his tactical training and all. As for the mind within that buff body, I vacillated between the troubled, traumatised man I'd known and the well-adjusted, highly trained operative he'd probably become. Surely that training included how to deal with death, killing and witnessing all manner of horrible things. He could probably teach me a thing or two about coping with my fear of physical intimacy with anyone. Maybe he'd be willing to do that naked...

  I shook my head in an attempt to dislodge the explicit thoughts and stared at the clouds massing in the skies over the tarmac. It was definitely autumn, with a storm brewing to remind us that winter wasn't far away. From Melbourne's mad weather to Sydney storms, I'd had enough of the east coast's weird weather. What would it be like not to have four seasons in the same day, like I'd had in Melbourne? Or storms that wreaked havoc on the whole city, like they did here in Sydney? Perth had always seemed to have the best weather.

  How would Perth have changed in five years?

  I tried not to think how much I'd changed in that time, but I knew I had. Would I want to be back home, despite the differences? Or would I be better off doing my internship on the east coast? I could have chosen somewhere on the Gold Coast, near the beach. Except they got cyclones and floods and...no.

  I sat in my assigned window seat and buckled the seatbelt. It was time to go home.

  ELEVEN

  "Miss? Everything is unpacked and put away as requested. Including the computer set up in the study. We're a full service removalist and if there's anything else we can do –" he presented me with a business card "– don't hesitate to call us for anything."

  I surveyed my immaculate apartment, profoundly glad that I'd hired someone else to turn it into something that resembled a home. After Jo and I had done all the interminable packing, I was thoroughly sick of the whole moving process, so I'd called them to ask for the extra service. After all, I could afford it, even without the huge government payout. That reminded me – I still hadn't signed the paperwork. I needed to try contacting Nathan again. But he could wait until tomorrow.

  Right now, I wanted coffee. Time zones messing with me – i
t was daylight here in Perth, but it'd be dark and dinnertime in Sydney and Melbourne. A little bit of caffeine should help me stay awake for a few more hours. I plodded to the kitchen and was delighted to find the kettle plugged in and on the bench, waiting for me. I filled it with water from the tap and clicked it on before searching for the rest of what I needed for my caffeine hit. Mugs were in the cupboard over the kettle and there was a fresh carton of milk in the fridge – a nice touch, I thought as I mentally thanked my conscientious removalists – but there didn't seem to be any coffee. Not even a sachet of two-years-past-the-use-by-date decaf in my brand new kitchen. I turned the kettle off mid-boil and headed for the study to check when my online grocery order was due to be delivered. And to make sure I'd ordered coffee.

  My computer seemed unusually slow today, as I scrolled through the pile of junk mail that'd accumulated while I ignored my email in Sydney. Buy this, ON SALE, check out our new...all got deleted. Something odd had managed to dodge my spam filter, I noticed, my cursor hovering over the one from DoctorLove1986 at a generic email address. The subject line was my misspelled name.

  Oh, this should be good, I thought, figuring I'd open it. Would it be a Nigerian prince professing his undying love, an expert physician telling me I needed a penis enlargement or just some dating site desperate for more people to join their paid service?

  When I read the first line, my jaw dropped.

  TWELVE

  I'd never have done it if it weren't for you. I wanted you back. I wanted answers. And I wanted vengeance.

  She'd slipped me a business card saying she could give me what I wanted. She said she knew who'd hurt you and she could help me.

  I couldn't help it. I called her, wanting it to be true and she told me...she said she could help me get close enough to take a knife and carve my name into their skin, just as they'd done to you. God help me, it was like she was offering me everything I wanted, because the thought of killing your kidnappers and carving them up, the visceral, primitive pleasure of exacting my revenge with nothing but a knife in my hand...shit, you did the cadaver labs with me. You know I'm good with a scalpel when I'm not distracted by the female med students.

  She said she didn't want to say much over the phone, so could we meet somewhere in person? She named a bar and a time and I was happy to agree. I didn't care if they found me – I wanted them to.

  I was so stupid.

  I texted my boss, telling him I'd made contact and was going to try and find out more from the girl. No reply.

  I went. I ordered a beer and waited. I didn't even know what she looked like, so when this stunning little brunette came up to me and full-on kissed me, I was surprised. Hey, you know me, though – I ran with it, even when she grabbed my arse. She didn't taste of alcohol, either – mint, maybe, like she'd just brushed her teeth or had one of those super-strong breath mints. Funny the things you remember.

  She introduced herself as Laura, the woman I was waiting for, and she offered to buy me a drink. So I gulped down the rest of my beer – and it tasted a bit like soap, like the detergent hadn't been washed out of the glass properly. I didn't think anything of it at the time, and the beer she brought back tasted fine, so we got to talking.

  She didn't say much, for all she wanted to talk. She asked me all sorts of personal questions – what kind of women I liked and what I was like in bed. Hey, she's not the first woman to come on to me in a bar and I found it kind of hot. Okay, very hot. She was hot.

  You're not even here and I can feel you glaring at me. I get turned on by dominant women, okay? Or I used to. And ones who are confident about showing their bodies, and she was...well, hot.

  I got sick of talking about me, so I pushed her about you. Asked her what she knew and whether she could really tell me who did it. Who hurt you.

  She said yes, she did know and she could lead me to them. For a price.

  I'd have sold my soul for you, I swear, so everything I owned wasn't too high a price. I would've paid it.

  But when she reached under the table and grabbed my dick through my pants, she gave me the shock of my life. She said all she wanted was a night with me. All night...doing whatever she wanted. Shit, the way her fingers knew what they were doing, I wasn't going to refuse. It was cheap to me – one hot night for all my vengeful dreams to come true.

  I finished up my drink, grabbed her hand and took her to my car. You know, I think the dregs of the second beer tasted like soap, too, now I think about it. Anyway, at the car, I asked her where to, but she just kept looking at the car like she was impressed. And then she lifted that tight little dress over her head, opened the back door and stood there in nothing but her high heels and told me to lie down on the back seat of my car. The chick didn't have any underwear – so hot.

  As soon as I was down, she didn't waste any time. She climbed into the car, shut the door behind her and sat on my face. She started giving orders, but I didn't pay much attention. When a naked girl sits on your face, it's pretty self-explanatory when you know what you're doing.

  I know, I know. You don't want to hear this. You never did.

  But it's the last thing I remember. This girl's pussy in my face and then...nothing. I mean, it was dark in the car and all, but not dark enough for me not to notice whether I was conscious or not.

  I woke up with my head against something hard and it wasn't dark anymore. My mouth tasted like I'd been licking a furry cat, not some girl who'd had every hair waxed off, and my head was pounding.

  And then some nasty bloke said, "Good morning, sunshine." Real close.

  Fuck, that did it. I woke up fast. Passing out while giving a girl head was bad enough, but with some bloke around? I like my virginal arse just like it is, thanks. There. I bet you're surprised at that. I bet you thought I'd do anything in bed, but my arse is sacred. I have standards, you know.

  Anyway, the sunshine bloke. My eyes snapped open and I was sitting in the back seat of my own car, my head up against the window as we drove down the freeway. I still had my clothes on – even my wallet and phone in my back pocket.

  But I had a hangover from hell after just two beers. That meant someone must have spiked my drink, I figured. No way I would've passed out with no memory without drugs. I remember there are all sorts of drugs you can slip into a drink and some of them are damn near undetectable – just a slight difference in taste or colour, but in a pint of beer with a pair of perfect tits in front of me, and I wasn't going to notice much else.

  "Oi, sunshine. The lady says you don't even give good head. Passed out before she was finished with you. What kind of man can't please his woman?"

  I glared at the guy but even that made my head hurt and I had to close my eyes. The headache was blinding. Whatever drugs they used on me, I hope they're banned.

  "Are you sure you didn't get the sister instead?" He sniggered. "What was her name? Alanna?"

  "Alanna's the dead one," the woman said. Laura. She was the one driving. "If you mean the one who's still alive, his little sister, that's Chris. No, this one has a dick. Bit small, but I still found it."

  "I wanted the little sister. What am I supposed to do with a bloke? I like women," the bloke whined.

  "No!" My shout hurt my ears, but I didn't care. "Leave my sister alone!"

  "Aww, that's not what she said. She begged for it. Never had a decent cock before and she'll never have better now. I don't bang dead girls."

  God, I was slow. Maybe it was the drugs making me stupid. She'd promised to bring me to the man who killed you and she had. Was this the prick who did it? I wish I could've asked you.

  I wanted to kill him there and then, but I needed to know for sure. "Did you kill my sister?"

  "Nope," he drawled. "Helped dump her body on the beach, though." He lit a cigarette, sucked on it and blew a cloud of smoke out the window. "Is your little sister as much fun to fuck as the other one? I mean, you fucked 'em both, right?"

  I leaped forward to punch his lights out, but it was like
I'd been tied to the seat – I went nowhere. I glanced down and realised it was a seatbelt. I fumbled for the button to release it. It didn't matter if he could lead me to the others – I wanted to kill him here and now.

  "If you do what you're told, there's no need for anyone else to get hurt. Right, Nathan? If you cooperate, your little sister will be safe." Laura glanced in the rear view mirror and her eyes met mine for a moment before hers were back on the road. It was like a warning – she'd keep up her end of the deal if I kept up mine. And Chris would be safe.

  I nodded.

  The bloke sniggered again and said he was going to call me Chris anyway, just in case.

  She told him to be quiet, and parked the car. We were on the Terrace, in front of a tiny old church surrounded by high rises. She said something about picking up a friend, but I wasn't listening. I was trying to work out whether to get out of the car and run or whether I should stick around to do what I was here for. I reached for the door handle, hoping they didn't see me, and clicked the lever to open it, but the bloody door wouldn't open. I yanked on it again, not caring if they saw or heard, but the door still wouldn't open. I was child-locked into the back seat of my own car. At least I had my phone. I could call someone.

  I whipped it out and noticed my boss had messaged me last night while I was still unconscious, probably. He told me to stay with the contact, to cooperate and use condoms, like he'd expected me to sleep with her. I let go of the door. That left vengeance as the only item on the table. No backing down now.

  "Who's the best looking woman here?" the bloke said suddenly. He pointed with his cigarette, out his open window. "I say that one's an eight, maybe eight and a half out of ten."

  I glanced at the tall blonde he must have been looking at. She was an eight, but not my type.

  "C'mon, pick one!" he growled and he clicked the safety off my gun as he pointed it at me. My weapon, the one that was normally locked in the glove box.