The Girl on the Bus

by N. M. Brown

  Her father was lost to eternity.

  18

  On the afternoon Leighton had returned from Barstow, he stopped in at the police station. The place was busy following a botched robbery of a jeweller’s shop, so Leighton had left a message for dispatch with Lenny at reception. He heard nothing back for two days, and consequently assumed he was now of little significance to the people in the station.

  Leighton had been frying off some chopped garlic, with cubes of pancetta, to make a pasta sauce, listening to a hissing Rolling Stones vinyl album on his stereo, when he heard the dull buzz of the doorbell, one evening. He turned off the gas, turned down the music, and walked through the apartment to the front door.

  Wiping his hands on a tea towel, he partly hoped to find Vicki standing there. Despite the fact he was wrong, he did find a familiar figure standing on the doorstep.

  ‘Hi, Jonesy,’

  ‘Wendy.’ Leighton smiled warmly. ‘In you come. Now, if the boss has sent you to woo me back to work …’

  The dispatch officer laughed heartily at the idea as she entered the house. As she moved by him, Leighton noticed she was clutching a manila envelope.

  ‘I think if the boss knew I was here, we’d both be spending the night in the cells.’

  ‘Too true. Now, you grab a seat, and I’ll fix you a drink.’

  ‘It’s okay, Jonesy,’ Wendy said, as she sat on the coffee-coloured sofa, ‘I’ve got two teenagers in the car, who are itching to get to Taco Bell for supper.’

  ‘Sounds good.’ Leighton smiled to conceal his lie.

  ‘Judging by the yummy smell in here, you’ll be eating better than us.’

  ‘I’m not sure. My creations can often go either way.’

  Leighton sat opposite the woman, who bore the troubled expression of someone carrying bad news to pass on. It was an expression he knew well.

  ‘Listen, Jonesy. That note you left the other day about checking out that bus …’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Well, the Chief picked it up at reception, and went crazy. He told Lenny after your retirement you were now a member of the public, and you can’t make demands on police time. He even ripped up your note, and tossed it in the trash behind reception.’

  Leighton rolled his eyes. ‘Guess I should have shown up for his goddamn party.’

  Wendy smiled. ‘You know him too well.’

  ‘Hey, it’s fine.’ Leighton shrugged. ‘I didn’t want anyone getting into bother on account of me. I’ll get on to checking out the bus myself.’

  Wendy shook her head. ‘Don’t worry - we backroom rebels in dispatch don’t pay too much attention to the Chief. I just want you to be careful. You can’t just show up the station, without the Chief trying to run you out of town.’

  ‘Thanks, Wendy.’

  ‘Anyway, the thing is, Lenny fished out the note and brought it to me, and I did a bit of digging - off the record.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I mean it, Jonesy, you’re a charming old bastard, but this never came from me.’

  ‘You have my word,’ Leighton said, and held a hand to his heart.

  ‘This gets out, and you’ll have my family to feed, and they take some feeding.’

  Wendy leaned across and handed Leighton the manila envelope.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I spoke to Kevin Harris over at the Traffic Control Centre - our kids used to play in little league together, and I used to pick up his two, along with my own brats, so he owes me a favour or two.’

  ‘Don’t we all?’ Leighton said.

  ‘I gave him the details and locations, and he emailed me the camera views from the bus depot and the major roads through the city.’

  Leighton opened the envelope, withdrawing a bundle of black and white prints of areas of the city. Each image featured details of time and location in neat white letters on the bottom right corner.

  ‘They’re in order,’ Wendy continued. ‘If you look at the first one, taken at Escondido, you can see the bus entering the depot. The next photograph shows it leaving the depot, sixty-six seconds later.

  Leighton nodded, and then, flicked through several more pictures. ‘I don’t see it in any of the other prints.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Wendy leaned forward. ‘Your bus left that depot, but didn’t show up on any of the major routes. I don’t know where the hell it went after that, but it certainly didn’t come through Oceanside after leaving the terminal.’

  ‘You sure?’ Leighton frowned.

  ‘The camera doesn’t lie, Jonesy. That bus just vanished.’

  ‘How weird?’

  ‘Yeah, talking of weird, I have two teenage mutants in a car, who will be drooling on my leather trim by now.’

  As she stood up, Wendy glanced around. ‘Hey the place looks nice, Jonesy. You expecting company and tidied up?’

  ‘No,’ Leighton chuckled. ‘I like tidy.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Wendy sighed. ‘You must be the only man on the West Coast who does.’

  Leighton walked her to the door and as she turned to leave his doorstep, he took Wendy’s hand.

  ‘Thank you for doing this.’

  Wendy brushed her other hand dismissively in the air.

  ‘I mean it,’ Leighton said softly. ‘I never made many friends at the precinct, but you’ve always been good to me.’

  ‘Ah, you’re better than you think, Jonesy. Just take care of yourself.’ She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and hurried to the car.

  After Wendy had left, Leighton did not return to the stove to complete preparing the rest of his dinner. Instead, he went to the refrigerator poured a tall glass of rum and ice, and returned to his sofa. He then spent almost an hour looking through the twelve grainy photographs. When he had finished his drink, he went to a kitchen drawer and returned with a phonebook. He sipped his rum as he flicked through the pages and stopped at the Asian Restaurant section.

  19

  Prior to the real physical experience which followed, there were three initial stages to Charlie Taylor’s terror. The first was his physical situation. He awoke to find himself weak-limbed, and lying on his back in the darkness of some man-made structure. A throbbing pain deep in his head seemed strong enough to temporarily obliterate any memory of how he had arrived at this location. The fact he had been wrapped in plastic sheeting, like a slaughtered pig, and placed in the bowels of the rumbling bus as it travelled miles into the hills was, perhaps fortunately, unknown to him.

  Despite his mind still being shrouded in the remnants of the tranquilliser, he was vaguely aware the building was large and dark, stretching perhaps twenty feet in all directions around him. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, Charlie twisted his head and stared to both sides, trying to locate some point of reference. He could distinguish large grey squares attached to the distant walls. Each of these squares seemed to feature a regular pattern of dark spots. Something about this pattern seemed familiar to Charlie, and he had to search through the fog of his mind to find the association.

  The terror rose within him when he realised that the walls were lined with sheets of egg cartons. Eleven years earlier, Charlie had played bass guitar in a couple of bands in his senior year at Oceanside High School. On Tuesday afternoons, he and the other guys would rock out in a small practice room lined with the same type of egg cartons. It seemed so remarkable to him at the time that, outside of the room, no sound could be heard, even when the guitars were screaming out within.

  The realisation that the walls of his prison had been sound-proofed triggered Charlie’s second wave of terror. He decided to get out of this place, regardless of how numb his limbs felt, but as he attempted to move his legs and arms, he found himself unable. For a moment, he wondered if he was actually paralysed – which, upon reflection, would have certainly been better – however, his hands moved freely below the wrist. Charlie shifted his trembling head enough to see his hands were attached, by orange cable ties, to the table, which felt hard and
cold beneath his sweating skin.

  It was then he began to comprehend he was not lying on some makeshift surface; it was a stainless-steel table, like those found in surgeries or industrial kitchens.

  Charlie’s final stage of terror came when, in his new stage of panic, he twisted around far enough to see what was located over each of his shoulders. There were two black tripods. One featured a large black video camera, on which a small red LED light was blinking; the other held a massive light bulb surrounded by the type of white umbrella used by photographers. As he realised the horror of his situation, Charlie began to thrash crazily against his unforgiving restraints until his face was scarlet, dripping with sweat, and his heart was hammering against his rib cage. If he hoped to have any chance of escape, he would have to calm down and try to think clearly.

  Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and expelled the air as slowly as he could. This started to have a calming effect, so he repeated the breathing exercise, focussing purely on inhaling and exhaling. After several moments, he felt his heart return to an almost regular pace. It was then he opened his eyes, and sensed someone was standing by the camera behind him.

  ‘Ah good, you’re awake,’ said an excited voice from the darkness. ‘Now, we can get started…’

  20

  The evening sun was setting as Leighton pulled his car off the road, and parked on the communal lot of the Oceanside complex. The location was essentially a two-storey condominium of eight beach side homes.

  As he wrenched on the parking brake, Leighton glanced around. His car looked conspicuously grubby, as it sat uncomfortably amongst the porches and BMWs. This made Leighton smile proudly. He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and checked the address. When he had picked her up the previous week, Vicki had been already waiting in the car park, and so he avoided having to approach the formidable white block of homes. This time was different. Having checked the property number, he stuffed the paper back in his jacket, walked to the trunk of his car, opened it, and took out two white paper bags.

  Leighton traversed the path to the apartment, and pressed the doorbell, shifting from foot to foot as he nervously waited.

  After a few minutes, the door opened.

  ‘Hi,’ Vicki said looking genuinely surprised.

  Leighton thought she looked tired, and maybe something else, too.

  ‘Hey,’ he greeted her. ‘I’m sorry for just showing up like this. I wanted to apologise. I tried calling for a couple of days…’

  ‘It’s not a great time, Detective. I get it.’ She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I get it - I was stupid okay?”

  Leighton’s expression became uncharacteristically soft. ‘Hey, it’s fine,’ he said, ‘I just wanted see you – to say I’m sorry about Monday.’

  Vicki looked at him for a moment, then sighed.

  ‘It’s okay, come on in.’

  She walked ahead, leaving Leighton to close the large door behind him.

  Vicki didn’t turn around as she led him along a small hallway to a large open plan room with patio doors opening to a beach front balcony. Leighton’s eyes widened at the impressive view of the orange sky above the pounding ocean.

  ‘Have a seat.’ Vicki waved a hand towards the two red sofas.

  ‘I brought you this.’ Leighton held up one of the bags.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘That stuff you said you liked from Thai Garden – fried Tofu and spring rolls. Is that right?’

  ‘Wow.’ Vicki’s eyes widened. ‘That was really thoughtful of you…’

  This simple act was too much for Vicki, who was unable to hold back the tears that began forming beneath her eyes.

  ‘My father died,’ she said quietly. Her shoulders slumped, and the tears began pouring over her face.

  ‘Oh, hey, I’m sorry.’ Leighton dropped the bags, moved over to Vicki, and held her. ‘I’ll go.’

  For a few moments, she stayed there, sobbing against the comforting man, letting her hot tears wet his shirt.

  ‘I’ll go,’ he said softly again as her heaving slowed and began to subside.

  ‘No,’ she said, pushing back from him, and wiping at her face. ‘It’s okay. You’re just the first person I’ve told.’

  ‘Do you want to speak about it?’

  Vicki wiped at her red eyes with her sleeve. ‘I guess.’

  ‘Where is your mother?’

  ‘Still in the city – she has the US MaxFac Conference this week. She said she’ll aim to stop by next Friday.’

  ‘But, what about the funeral?’

  ‘There won’t be one. My dad was a member of the Natural Burial Foundation. He paid nine hundred to bucks to get buried wrapped in banana leaves in an undisclosed location.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ll feel much like this.’ Leighton looked at the bags on the floor.

  ‘Actually, I’m starving. Not eaten for a couple of days. I’ll get us some plates.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Yeah, looks like you’ve brought enough for a small army there.’

  Leighton blushed. ‘They had a few types; I didn’t know which one you’d prefer.’

  Vicki smiled, though her face was still wet from crying.

  ‘It’s only the tub of sauce that’s different. You could have got one box of fried tofu and a couple of extra sauces. How many boxes did you get?’

  ‘Four.’ Leighton looked shamefully at his feet.

  ‘Then, you’re definitely eating, too!’

  Vicki went to through to a dimly lit kitchen and returned with two glossy white plates. She knelt on the floor, and divided the crispy tofu and a portion of noodles between the two of them.

  ‘I must confess, I’ve never tasted tofu before.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.’

  ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘Just try it.’

  Vicki handed him a plate, and went back to the kitchen, returning with two chilled bottles of imported beer. Sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Leighton she watched as he took his first tentative bite.

  He looked upwards as he chewed and despite his reservations, he found he liked it.

  ‘Well?’ Vicki asked.

  ‘Pretty good. Kind of like calamari, only softer.’

  ‘See, I knew you were a gentleman of taste.’

  Leighton picked up his cool bottle and held it out to her. Toasting before sipping was a sacred ritual amongst all officers. Station houses were full of urban legends of officers who fell in the line of duty after they had forgotten to toast in a bar the previous evening.

  ‘Cheers,’ Leighton said.

  Vicki clicked her green bottle against Leighton’s, and they both took a gulp.

  They ate in comfortable silence, but when Leighton noticed Vicki beginning to stare into the distance, he recognised a look he had often seen in his bathroom mirror.

  ‘You know you can tell me about him, if you want?’

  Vicki look startled for a second, then smiled. ‘How did you…’

  ‘It’s a retired cop slash grieving father thing.’ Leighton focussed his attention on selection a piece of food, but was intently hoping Vicki would trust him.

  ‘There’s not much to tell.’ She sighed. ‘I still don’t feel it yet. It’s weird - because he’s been kind of distant for most of my adult life. Maybe I had less to lose.’

  ‘Loss is loss.’

  ‘I guess. Though, it sounds like something my dad would learn on his hippy retreats.’

  Leighton looked at Vicki for a moment. Now, it was his turn to do some trusting – something he found difficult.

  ‘You know, I never saw much of my daughter, once she hit high school,’ he chuckled wryly. ‘It was as if one minute, were making ant farms in the backyard, the next, she was sneaking out her bedroom window at midnight. It felt like I was suddenly cut out; I wanted to be involved, to keep her safe, but I guess, for her, it was
suffocating. After her mother and I separated, I found myself trying to be mom and dad … and failing at both.’

  ‘But, you loved her.’

  ‘Yes, I did - with all my heart, but …’ Leighton looked at the floor.

  ‘But?’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s what she would have thought.’

  ‘Why?’ Vicki asked, as she shuffled slightly closer.

  Leighton smiled and shrugged. ‘That last year, our conversations were almost always just arguments. Did I love her? Yes. Was I proud of my baby girl? Hell, yes.’ Leighton’s voice cracked. ‘But, I didn’t know how to shoehorn these things into everyday conversation. It’s not easy, to set boundaries and show love, and hold down a job and muddle through life at the same time.’

  ‘I know, but some manage it.’ Vicki said defiantly.

  ‘That’s true, but some people win the state lottery. Doesn’t mean we all can. Look, I just mean, you maybe shouldn’t judge your father by what he didn’t say.’

  ‘So, you think my father loved me?’ As Vicki spoke, she met Leighton’s gaze.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure he loved you, very much.’

  ‘Maybe, but he never said so. I mean, he called me “sweetheart,” but never anything sincere.’

  ‘That might be true.’ Leighton conceded. ‘But, did you always tell your father how you felt?’

  Vicki reluctantly shook her head, and chewed on her bottom lip.

  ‘We don’t always say what we feel. That’s the messed-up thing about humans.’

  There was a moment of silence, in which they both felt the rich comfort of each other’s presence.

  ‘No, I guess not. So, you want a fresh beer?’ Vicki held up her empty bottle.

  ‘I’m good here, thanks.’ Leighton smiled, and patted his stomach.

  ‘Mind if I do?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  Vicki leapt up, leaving Leighton dipping some more fried food into a circular tub of chilli sauce. When she returned, she held two more beers. Ignoring Leighton’s protests, she handed him one, and flopped on to the sofa beside him.