by Lee Kerr
I manage to get up and find myself level with him again. I stretch out my arms, hoping my pleading eyes will somehow get through to him. ‘The recording has been cleared up. It makes more sense now.’
He puts a hand out, stopping me from coming any closer. ‘What?’
‘Lucy’s cell phone message, you remember? I thought that if you just listened to it one more time you might be able to help me figure some stuff out.’
He takes a deep breath, his head slowly shaking. ‘Look, I’m sorry you lost her, but I don’t know anything. You keep coming around here with your accusing stare and random questions. The police told you she probably got grabbed into a van and it’s not like she would be the first. You need to stop coming around here and laying your guilt on me.’
‘My guilt?’
‘You fucking left her alone!’ he shouts. ‘I’ve got my own problems and I’m getting real tired of hearing about yours! If you come around here again I’ll take the law into my own hands, and we both know the cops won’t bother to come looking for you now.’
‘No, wait!’ I shout, but it’s too late. He slams the door shut as I hear several bolts closing and chains scraping into their holders, sealing him in and locking me out.
I don’t want to leave, can’t face going home, and so I sit down on his step and take out my cell. I turn the volume to its highest and press play. I know that he won’t hear it from inside but I hope that this enhanced version of those last few agonising moments will help me to relive it in some way, maybe help me hear something that I keep missing. There has to be a clue, something in the background that I'm not getting. Those twenty long seconds; I listen but don’t think I’m hearing them anymore – I already know each word and every scream.
I look around his street but see nothing different to the last time. The houses all look the same with their darkened windows and a scattering of open curtains – all signs of the indecision of a rushed evacuation. I don’t even need to look at the pictures I have already taken to know that they are the same as when they were abandoned. The families fled days ago, leaving only Carlos and a brave few in the homes they have built.
Her cries for help suddenly flood my senses, and as her pleas for mercy get louder and more desperate, I feel as if she is here with me. She shouts out my name: ‘Harvey!’
I press stop, unable to hear the rest. Those last few seconds are only a memory now, the recording always stopping at that point, leaving me just on the edge of knowing the true nature of the horror that found its way into my Lucy’s world.
*****
‘Oh God, Harvey! Where are you? They’re still following me, and I couldn’t see you, and I didn’t know what to do… I ran and now I don’t know where I am… I’m knocking on doors but all the lights are off. This one has a light on but I can’t see the number. I can see them now… they’re coming! I’m on Chesterbrook Road, opposite Number 12… You need to stay back! This is my friend’s house and he’s phoning the police right – ’
I jolt upwards and I know I’m still screaming, my heart pounding quicker than I can breathe, my body drenched in sweat. I look around the room, remembering where I am and who I am. I’ve had this same dream every night since Lucy went missing. I can relive her abduction as though I was there myself; my mind does an amazing job of piecing together her recorded account and my mental memory of where it took place. Every night I feel her fear and experience her horror, but I do not know the true faces of those who approach to take her. In my version of Lucy’s nightmare it’s Carlos who advances towards her, taking short, quick strides, a determined look across his face. The other man is blank – a nobody – just a random person thrown into my nightly terrors.
I wish Lucy had described them, given me more detail to go on. If she had just told me heights, builds, features – anything that would prove it was Carlos. I picture his face now and I think of everything that would make him stand out: the thin tufts of hair that do their best to cover his scalp; the potholes in his tanned face; and his accent: he must have spoken and shown his Mexican roots. Maybe he didn’t speak and she didn’t see what I have seen and maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t him. I know she did her best. I wish the police had answered her first call, come to her rescue – sent a squad car to a respectable neighbourhood where I thought we would be safe and where order still remained.
More than any of that I wish I hadn’t left her. I thought it was the right thing to do. Cars are constantly being looted or stolen and if they can’t break in quick enough they can take the gas in just a few seconds. ‘Watch it from here,’ I had said, so that she was under the light and protection of a camera. How was I to know it wasn’t working, on a long repair list that the chain’s head office said they will no longer get to? One small video would have answered so many questions, like why she didn’t run into the store and who it was that dared to take her away from me.
I pick up my cell, pushing myself to listen to the next instalment, her final terrified message. It’s nearly 5 days old; time and fate are working together to push us further apart. I press play but then immediately stop it again, wondering why Carlos didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t seem that flustered – no more or less than when the police played him the original. He shook his head that time, wincing with the rest of us when she screamed and shaking his head when she shouted where she thought she was. I remember he looked at the detective when he paused the fuzzy recording, his eyes blank, maintaining that he had seen and heard nothing. When they played it to the end, to that last part that will haunt me forever, he finally looked my way and a tear fell down his cheek. ‘I’m sorry,’ is all he said.
I think of his face; it seemed genuine enough. The look he gave me earlier, when he had to kick me out once and for all, also seemed honest. He was angry, frustrated, and probably felt harassed by my constant calls. Maybe he wasn’t involved, maybe he doesn’t know anything. He said he was in the basement most of that evening, which is totally believable. That basement was searched twice – I watched them do it and then I searched it again. I looked and looked, turning over every corner of his home until the detective came down and told me I had been there for over an hour. All the other officers were gone and Carlos was patiently waiting in his living room, waiting for me to finally leave him alone. He didn’t say much as I left, he just apologised for my loss and gave me a pat on the back, wishing me luck for my future, whatever that looked like.
The detective, Marius was his name, calmly led me out of the house. He told me they had gone door to door knocking but hadn’t had any success: they didn’t find many people home and none of the houses had been disturbed. He offered to escort me home but I declined in favour of searching the neighbourhood myself. I grabbed a torch from my car and shone it through every window as I checked every lock on any door I could find. I’m sure Carlos was watching me as I prowled around his neighbourhood until the early hours. I’m sure he woke up to see my car still there, my curled-up body asleep in the back, just in case she came running past in the night.
He knocked on my window early the next morning and quickly told me that I should go home just in case she was there. We swapped cell phone numbers and he assured me that if he remembered any new details, or if he saw anything suspicious, he would call me straight away. He never offered anything else, didn’t ask me to relive my story. I never expected him to be my counsellor but he didn’t seem at all bothered by what had happened directly outside his home, as if it was just a normal occurrence in these strangest of times.
That morning I thought he might have brought me some coffee, at least offered to witness my torment. I would have told him what I knew, about a trip to the store that couldn’t be avoided, even that late at night. How I had seen a few dodgy guys in there, which meant it made more sense for me to go in while Lucy waited outside. I didn’t leave her in the car – I’m not that irresponsible. But I did leave her – the love of my life – alone in the dark of the night in a place that clearly wasn’t safe at a tim
e when bad things could happen, and were happening.
I thought that if he listened to all that then I would get to the point where I confessed what I had done – my worst decision: leaving her alone – but he never did ask, so I didn’t tell. I didn’t even tell the detective. I was too ashamed; realising now that we should have stuck together, even if it meant the car was stolen.
I wondered what Carlos would say in return, if he would tell me that anyone would have done the same thing in my position. He would take the empty mug from me and offer me the chance to freshen up at his place, making sure I knew that he was comfortable for me to be there. I would use his bathroom and he would shout up that in these times you have to work together to survive.
He didn’t do any of that; instead, he left me to drive away, never really knowing what he thought. I think of him, I think of Lucy, and then I think of my guilt.
I jolt forward, throwing the bed covers off me as I search for my notebook. I’m shaking as I rip through the pages, desperately trying to find everything I wrote down last night. I quickly find the page and scan to the end, to just before I describe him slamming the door, to the last words he speaks before making the threat, the only real opinion he expresses throughout: ‘you fucking left her!’
I read the words again and again, my mind beyond any doubt as to what he said. He told me something I haven’t told anyone else, a confession that had never left my lips, that I did leave her, and that only someone who was there would know how I failed to look after her as I should have. As I put last night’s clothes back on I wonder how he could have known that without me telling him, and how he now cannot be guilty.
*****
‘Carlos! Let me in! I know she’s in there!’
He doesn’t answer; none of the curtains move and the door holds firm. I think about how far I am prepared to go to get into his place. Breaking and entering no longer bothers me, and the thought of him taking the law into his own hands doesn’t scare me. What worries me is if she isn’t in there. What if I get into his place and she is nowhere to be seen? What if she’s already suffered some horrible fate, all because I couldn’t rescue her quick enough?
A bedroom window suddenly opens and Carlos looks down at me. ‘I told you what I would do if you turned up here again!’ He leans out of the window, holding a bowl with both hands. He tries to pour its contents over me.
I move out of the way as the liquid splashes all around me, catching my shoes and trousers, the scent of gasoline charging up my nose. I look back up to see him holding a flaming torch in a bottle.
‘Leave now or you’ll burn right here on my porch. I swear to God I’ll do it.’
I don’t move at first, somehow figuring that I’ll be able to outrun a flaming rag, or maybe I’ll be able to rip off the burning clothes before the flames get to my skin. Whatever the answer, I know that I cannot leave her. ‘She’s in there, you bastard! I’m going to get in and I’m going to find her.’
‘You’ve really lost your fucking mind!’ he shouts back.
I ignore him, looking around for something to smash his windows with. He’s willing to burn me until I become a cindering corpse on his lawn, so I figure it’s fair game to break my way in to his place. No one will stop me; no sense of moral order will hold me back. I grab a metal bin and tip the trash onto the ground. The smell immediately hits me and makes me want to vomit. Waste has been piled up over weeks and the baking heat has long since turned it to mush and liquid. The remains trickle their way down the path until they reach the road. I cover my mouth as I drag the bin up the path until I find the strength to pick it up by both handles. I hold it over my head as I take aim at the living room window, flaming torches landing all around me as though we’re in some sort of siege battle.
‘You think that’s going to get you in?’ he shouts, as he lights another rag.
I ignore him and throw it with everything I have. The metal container hits the glass, causing it to shatter but not break, and then it hits the ground. I run forward, hoping to see something inside, but I soon realise how hopeless my attack has been. ‘Bars,’ I say out loud.
‘That’s right, you fucker!’ Carlos shouts, looking down at me, ready to launch another flaming torch at me. ‘I’ve been preparing to defend my home. I’m not running away like all those other scared people. I’m staying right here and I’ll protect it from whatever comes this way. You’re not the first to try to get in here and you won’t be the last.’
I stare up at him, wondering how I can get in, if not physically then through his mind. ‘Let her go and I’ll stop being one of them. I’ll take her with no questions asked and we will both leave you alone, I promise.’
‘Why won’t you listen to me? She’s not in here!’
I watch him for a moment and then drop to my knees. ‘She has to be.’
He lights what I think will be the final rag. I’m out of options and I cannot be without her. If it hits me then fate will consume me and I will pass freely to the next life. It feels like it’s the only place I haven’t looked, and so I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable.
The consuming pain never comes; instead, I hear sirens from what I hope is a police car getting closer. I open my eyes and watch as two cars come tearing down the empty street. Their rapid approach changes everything, as we look at each other and he hides his weapon, and I step away from the stinking pile of waste.
They pull up at the house, the only obviously inhabited place left on this street, and I walk towards them. I want to tell them everything, my words flowing out of my mouth quicker than I can organise them. They start shouting back at me but I don’t listen properly. I keep pointing to the house, telling them in every possible way I can that she is definitely in there. My Lucy is alive, she is trapped and we can all save her. They don’t seem to want to listen; one of them smacks his night-stick across the back of my legs. I immediately fall to the ground and feel my arms being pinned around my back. Two of the officers press their knees into my body as they put cuffs on me.
‘You need to calm down,’ one of them shouts while making sure I’m restrained. I watch as they fuss around me whilst the others head to the house. I hear one of them on his radio, telling despatch that it’s only civil unrest – only one individual this time and he has been easily detained.
‘It’s not civil unrest, it’s kidnap!’ I shout back, hoping they will listen, or the person on the other end of the radio will hear my plea and at least ask them to investigate. ‘My partner, Lucy, has been kidnapped and I can prove that this guy did it!’
‘You need to calm down, I’ve told you once already,’ the cop shouts. He’s the one with his knee still pressing against my back. My wrists are cuffed tight and pushed up, the extra pain an obvious incentive for me to shut up.
I decide to follow his instructions and I stop shouting in favour of looking around. I see the officers are now near the house, talking to Carlos, who has made it to his front door. I watch and listen as he shouts at them. Their hands are held out and their guns are drawn. They clearly are not taking any prisoners right now and I’m relieved that they are willing to treat him as badly as they have me. He doesn’t seem to want to listen any more than I did. He shouts that I have been coming here every day, harassing him and leaving him no choice but to defend his property. The cops both nod, and even though they still look defensive, they know they cannot charge him for protecting his home against looters. The raft of new congressional orders was intended to simplify the work of the police and army, so that they can focus on keeping civil order. It’s obvious they don’t have the resources to arrest and charge every crime now committed, so defence of your own property with any force is now accepted as a matter of survival in every remaining state.
‘I can prove she’s in there,’ I say to the guy holding me. I speak quietly, calmly, knowing the only way I can save Lucy is by conducting another search of the property. ‘Don’t let him go back inside. Don’t give him a chance to hide her away ag
ain.’ I arch my body around, twisting like a snake until I'm able to look into his eyes. ‘Please, you have to help me.’
He takes a moment to look at me, examining my body, studying my clothes and my mannerisms, clearly trying to judge whether I am a mental person or a genuine citizen in need. ‘Okay, where’s this evidence?’
I look around for my backpack and nod towards it. ‘There’s a journal in there.’
He looks down at me, his eyes surrounded by rings of fire that have been weeks in the making. He looks exhausted, his stubble unkempt; I don’t think he was planning to look like this. ‘We have new orders and unless a crime is in progress that will cause immediate civil unrest then we are instructed to leave it alone.’
‘My girlfriend is in there, taken and trapped by that man. Since when wouldn’t that be a crime?’
He nods slowly, quietly, clearly torn between doing what is right usually and what is right at this moment. ‘She isn’t the first and she won’t be the last. Your evidence needs to be immediate and very compelling for us to stay here any longer.’
‘Just get my journal,’ I say.
He finally lets go so he can walk the few paces to get my backpack, but as I watch his feet move I see someone else pick it up. I look over to see it’s the detective, Marius, holding up my backpack and looking directly at my only ally.
‘You don’t give up, do you?’ Marius says as he walks towards me.
‘This guy says he has evidence of the kidnap of his girlfriend, who is allegedly being held in this house,’ the officer says.
He picks me up so that I can see Marius, or perhaps so he can look at me properly, even though he doesn’t seem willing to acknowledge the allegation. ‘We’ve been through this and we’ve searched this house, and yet you are still here,’ he says.
