by Belle Brooks
As a pack, we enter through the doorway.
Maloney and Prospect eye us from the table. Bottles of water rest in its centre, like the two officers sitting there knew this would be the next step.
My head spins as my eyes connect with Maloney’s. Did he case the place like West said to do? Did he check on my kids? Unease settles into my stomach as I look to the copper who’s been with me this entire time. Could Maloney be behind Morgan’s disappearance? How could he be though? He’s not left my side.
I clear my throat. “Max, do the kids have any idea of what’s transpired this morning?”
Maloney shakes his head. “No, they have no clue.” His eyes study mine. There’s a long pause. “I checked on your children and Shirley as soon as I got here, and they’re okay. She’s keeping them well occupied.”
I nod, feeling a subtle sense of relief. The fewer people I have to worry about right now, the better it is for me.
“Sit,” West says, hunched over the table. His palms are flat against the surface, his knuckles a ghost white between the patches of red. “I need you all to listen. I will not be updating anyone from here on out. This is what we know.”
He shifts his attention to the clock hung on the wall, and then rebounds his sight back to me. “The clock is ticking, and Detective Gleaton and I need to get back to the station because we have multiple tactical crime squads, coming in from Brisbane. They will land within the next thirty minutes.”
“A team?” I pull out a seat and drop down.
“Yes. Specialist search-and-capture teams. We’ll have the bodies to find Morgan; we just need a rough location.”
Mum sits beside me, her hand tightly grasping mine. A dull ache radiates through my fingers from the pressure of her grip.
Dad places his hand on my upper shoulder as he pulls out the seat beside me and sits. I don’t have to look to know it’s my dad there because I can hear every rattled breath he’s taking. Support.
Scanning my eyes down the line across from me, I see Linda, John, Maloney, and Prospect. Where’s Natalie? I tilt my head forwards, only to find Natalie chewing on her fingernail, sitting beside Dad.
West stands upright and then moves to the chair at the head of the table. He doesn’t sit. Instead, he holds onto the backrest.
“Morgan has made contact. She has a mobile that has a low battery. We’re tracking the GPS. The moment that phone dies we can no longer track her location. We know this is our best chance of pinpointing exactly where she is.”
“Did she tell you anything that gives you an idea where to look?” Kylee dabs a tissue against her cheek.
“That isn’t information you need to know. What you do need to know is that your daughter is alive, and contact was made. She's doing her best to help us.”
“Okay.” Kylee’s voice is soft.
“Detective Dyson has been able to confirm that Vactrim and Winston are the same people. We are in the process of locating him too,” West continues.
“It’s Falcon. He has her.” I glare at West.
He shakes his head. “He can’t.”
I narrow my eyes and clench my jaw. “Bullshit.”
“Falcon Sampson is deceased. He’s been dead for the last six years.”
My chin falls open, exposing my teeth.
“What?” Linda’s shocked expression matches my own.
Disbelief, anger, and confusion flood me like an angry sea, crashing hard into the shore. My hands curl into fists and my need to punch someone, anyone, grows to the point where I leap from the chair.
“Sit down,” West barks.
I do.
“I received a call from our coroner this morning before we went to the hospital. He went on an extensive search of the death records for Falcon. It was quicker for him to do it than to wait for Births, Deaths and Marriages. At first, it seemed to be a maze of dead ends, but he located them.”
I look into West’s eyes. They are drooped and glassy.
“Reid.” He pauses, letting his head drop as he pinches the breach of his nose. “Falcon committed suicide. He left a note that records show had Morgan’s name in it. We don’t have that note, and our system doesn’t seem to contain a copy of that note either. But the Coroner’s report specifically discusses a letter retrieved and reviewed in finalising Falcon’s cause of death. Morgan’s name, along with others, was listed in his findings.”
My mouth gapes open, as do my eyes.
“Falcon’s mother possessed the original copy of Falcon’s letter. It was handed back to her when the investigation was closed. She has since passed away, so we believe his brother will have it now.”
“Vactrim,” I say.
“The one and the same,” West replies.
“Okay.” My voice shakes.
“We also need to find your brother.”
“My brother wouldn’t—”
“Your brother hasn’t been located. He’s a ghost in the wind at this point. Cruise has made no contact with anyone from the television network he's employed by, with Natalie, you, or your parents. Nobody knows where he is. He landed back in Australia, and from the airport he seems to have disappeared. Let us do our job, and Reid, stay with Maloney.”
“Okay.” Do I even have a choice?
“I’ll keep trying to get a hold of him,” Natalie says quietly, softly.
West nods in Natalie’s direction before saying, “Let’s go, Eric.”
There’s a clearing of a throat that has me swivelling my arse until my head twists towards the front door. The same tall, broad shouldered, muscular man who turned up at the house with Linda yesterday now stands in the doorway holding a parcel.
“Dusty.” Linda runs straight to him.
“Hey, babe. I came as soon as I could,” he says, catching Linda by the waist. He tucks her close to him. “Morgan rang. That’s wonderful news to get, babe.”
Dusty knows Morgan rang too?
“You might want to check this out. A delivery guy just handed me this package. It’s addressed to Reid and there’s no return address on the back. I checked. The driver is out on the street in his van, waiting. I said you might have questions.” Dusty reveals a white post satchel from behind his back.
West walks towards him.
“Could be something, right?” He holds the parcel out. West takes a step back.
“No. You put it on the table. The fewer hands touching this without gloves on the better. If it’s from Morgan’s abductor, we might get a print from the packaging.”
“Sure,” Dusty says before he takes long strides and places the satchel on the table.
“Max, can you get me a knife?” West flicks his eyes from the package to Maloney.
“Yes.” Maloney’s response is immediate, and as fast as he’s gone, he returns, holding a steak knife. “Do you want me to open it?” His eyebrows raise.
“No. Put the knife on the table. I will. I’ll need gloves. I don’t want to risk any evidence being unnecessarily tainted at this point. They’re in my car.” West doesn’t walk towards the front door to go to his car. Instead, he stalks the package. “Someone get me some gloves,” he snaps as Prospect appears from behind him holding a pair of cream latex gloves. How does he do that?
“Thanks.” West slides them on, pinging the band at his wrist before he picks up the knife and gently slices the blade along the top of the bag.
“What’s in there?” Mum’s voice shakes as much as my hands do.
West doesn’t reply.
West places a small cardboard box on the table. “Evidence bag,” he mumbles.
Prospect appears again, holding a clear bag with the word evidence written on its front.
“Thank you.” West slides the postal satchel inside, then Prospect seals the top.
Taking up the knife once more, West slices between the two folds taped together at the top of the box. He shifts his head until it blocks my view.
“Three evidence bags,” he says, closing the folds back together.
“What is it?” My heart thrums in my chest.
“A wedding ring.” West doesn’t look at me when he says this.
“Morgan’s?”
“You can tell me in a minute, once I've bagged it.” West turns his back to me.
I don't see what he puts into two of the bags, but in the last one he places the small box that had contained the ring.
West's arm stretches out. A bag dangles from his fingertips, and I snatch it from his grip within a second.
A thin gold band is resting at the bottom. I turn the ring on its side and look for the dent and scratch I know to be there, a dent and scratch caused by a plastic racket in a tetherball game we had set-up in our backyard last year. I close my eyes and watch the final parts of my hope flutter away like ducks heading south for the winter. “It’s hers.”
“What’s in the other bag?” John croaks.
“A thin ticket of paper.” Prospect eyes me even though it wasn’t me who asked.
“What does it say?” John holds out his trembling hand, like he wants Prospect to pass the item to him.
“Death. Now we part,” West answers.
“What does that mean?” Kylee cries.
The room falls silent.
Does this mean her captor has found Morgan before the police could?
My world shatters around me, only this time I know there won’t be a second chance. If this fucker has found my wife and killed her, then I’ll hunt him like a rabid dog and tear him limb from limb, even if it takes me the rest of my life.
Morgan, I will avenge your death.
Morgan
Goodbye. It’s the last thing I said to my husband, and as I sit tucked up between the rock and the boulder I ventured away from earlier, I can’t help wondering if that was the last time I’ll ever get to say goodbye to Reid.
The fear lacing his tone was palpable. The few words he’d spoken screamed his torture. I want to take his pain away as much as I want to diminish my own. A tear springs to my eye, then rolls down my cheek. I jet my tongue out of the corner of my mouth and catch it. I’m so thirsty that this single tear is better than no liquid at all.
My mouth is bone dry. My tongue is rough like sandpaper. My lips sting and bleed. I’d give anything for a drink.
A powerful and painful growl vibrates in my stomach, telling me I’ve not eaten for days. I don’t feel hungry at all. Instead, I feel sick.
Bugs wiggle below the surface of my skin. I know they’re not there, even though my mind tries to convince me they are. I can visualise them moving in rows. I scratch at my skin. I bite at my wrists. I gnaw on my fingers.
I’m inside my own living hell.
My sight changes between hazy, spotty, and clear, and with these variations, my mind changes too. One minute I’m coming up with extravagant plans of escape, and the next I’m focused on the percentage marker that indicates how much battery power is left on the phone, willing it not to drain.
Darkness often threatens to sweep me away to a place where I’m unable to think, feel, or be aware. I fight it, but soon enough, I know I'll fail. It’s only a matter of time.
The need to sleep is causing my gritty eyes to sting, and keeping them from closing becomes more difficult each time a rush of tiredness whizzes around my brain. I’m too scared to rest, so I continue fighting to stay awake, but after what feels like the hundredth time, I’m not strong enough to make it through the brain-numbing sensation. With the last flutter of my eyelids, I moan. “Shit.”
I’m walking down the long hallway separating each office space from the other. When I reach the end of the corridor, I’ll enter my door. Each step I take gets quicker as excitement bubbles deep down in my gut, but I’m not sure why I’m feeling so damn excited.
The corridor suddenly fills with blinding light; it’s so powerful that I shield my eyes and tuck my chin to my chest.
“Hello,” I whisper, unsure of what’s happening.
There’s no answer.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Linda twirls her finger into her red hair as she smacks gum loudly and smiles in my direction. The light has disappeared, and I’m now sitting at my desk at work. I feel irritable. Stressed. Overwhelmed.
“What’s wrong?” Linda tilts her head to the side.
“So busy,” I moan.
“Tell me about it. It’s been a crazy week all around. I wish I never came back from Canberra now. How are you holding up?”
“I’m pissed about the entire situation, to be honest. I knew that we were going to sink into hot water with George Anderson’s account, yet I still took part.”
“Union Sully said death threats came in today.”
I nod. “It was a major blunder, and I’m not sure how the company will fix this.”
“Don’t even worry about it. You played such a small part that it will have no bearing on you.”
“Hmmm,” I groan.
“Maybe we should both go to Canberra until the heat dies down.”
“About that.” I twist my chair until my shoulders are square in front of Linda. “Do you think Reid is acting weird?”
Linda shrugs. “I haven’t seen him since I got back.”
“Was he acting weird in Canberra?”
“Wouldn’t know. I only saw him briefly. We had a drink. I told him about the boring-as-fuck conference I sat through, and he told me about the riveting one he’d enjoyed.”
“That sounds about right with you two.”
“Things got worse with him and you? Is he still being short-tempered? An arsehole?”
“Yep.” I roll my eyes. A horrible itch circles my wrist. I scratch at it manically.
“You look pale. You’re sweating, but you’re shaking, and scratching. Why is your office so cold? How high have you cranked the air?”
“I am?” I run my trembling hand across my brow, and it’s damp. “I hadn’t realised. Maybe this major fuck-up is messing with my head even more than I realised. Or it could be hormones.” I know why it’s happening. I need more of my pain pills. I need a fix. I need the drugs that are controlling my life.
This seems to be something I’m experiencing more and more as the weeks pass. I need to stop taking all these pills. I don’t even have pain. I’m not suffering from anxiety, and opiates? What the hell am I thinking?
Snap, snap.
I look to Linda, who snaps her fingers once more. “Earth to Morgan.”
“Huh?”
“You just spaced out.”
“I did.”
She bobs her head. “Maybe you’re coming down with something?”
“Yeah, that’s probably it.”
“I better run.” Linda’s lips stretch across her face before she turns on her heel, and I watch her clear the doorway and shuffle past the window.
“Thank fuck she’s gone.”
My bag is tucked under the drawers at my desk. I lean down and search for its strap and then reef it onto my lap. The long zipper peels back with ease, and without looking at the labels on the little orange bottles, I clutch two. Using my teeth to pry open the lids has me pouring pills into my cupped palms. I throw my head back, drop six tablets into my mouth, and chase them down with the bottle of water I retrieve from my desk.
Get a grip, Morgan.
“Conference room now.” I only see a flash of Brett when he says this.
Before I even stand, the room fills with the same blinding light I experienced before, only this time the light fades to complete darkness. I run, my hands in mid-air, trying to locate my desk. Nothing.
“Hello?” I call with a rattle to my voice.
There’s no answer.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Each beat of my heart is so loud it echoes around my head. “Hello?”
“Red, do you want to play my game?” There’s an eerie laugh. “You need to be punished. What did you do, Morgan?”
“Nothing.” I walk, trying and navigate the pitch black with my outstretched arms.
“You will pay for what you
’ve done.” His voice is familiar, deep.
There’s whistling.
I step forward and press all my weight on my front foot as I think to run, but before I get the chance, my ankle is ripped out from under me and I face plant the ground with a loud huff expelling from my chest.
“You’re the thirteenth bitch to play my game.”
“What game?” It’s barely audible.
“The Game of Life.”
Pressure is applied to my neck. My face heats as I struggle to claim any air.
“Who are you?” I choke as my eyes become saucers.
“I’m your worst nightmare.”
Booming laughter.
My eyes shoot open. My arms wrap around something hard.
I heave. I cough. I gasp.
“Help.” It’s a weak deliverance.
Every breath I take becomes slower and steadier. The colours, grey, green, brown, and blue, all blur together into a giant mass until eventually they even out and I see trees, leaves, the sky, and then a rock wall.
It was a dream. I slept.
Oh fuck. Is the wolf close?
Reid
“Reid, son, you need to calm down.” Dad clamps my balled hand in front of my face. “This doesn’t mean anything. The lunatic is messing with you, just like he’s been doing the entire time. He’s playing a game. It’s what you’ve told me.” Dad pauses. His blue eyes are wide and staring into mine. “You spoke to Morgan; you know she’s still alive. Don’t let this wedding ring façade mess with your head.”
I nod, grinding my back teeth together, and huff, frantic.
“Your father is right.” Gleaton takes Dad’s place in holding my fist. “We are going to find her. Just relax.”
I breath slower, more drawn out.
“You’ve done everything we’ve asked of you. Now, do one more thing for us. Stay here with Max and your family and let us bring your wife home. Don’t try and call her; we need to preserve the battery. We will call you as soon as we know anything.”
My eyes sting. Tears threaten to pour from them as my throat burns from anger, sadness, and despair.
“Okay,” I mouth.
Gleaton pushes against my hand until it’s lowered to my thigh. His eyes are glazed, and heavy bags swell below them. “You’ll know as soon as we have her.”
