Strike Me Dead

by Bob Goodwin

  Ryan had been zigzagging from the water’s edge to the sand hills and beachside parks as he headed north up the beach. He studied the ocean, scanning the rolling surf then switched focus to the sand hills, the low shrubs and the intermittent grassy parks and gardens. Soon enough he hoped to see Brad coming the opposite way; but even more, he was desperately hoping Jessica would suddenly materialise and with that all his anxieties would evaporate. The friends would be back together and Jessica’s family could get their stalled life back in order.

  This was his third walk up this stretch of the beach, but this time Ryan and his mates were being more thorough and taking their time, even negotiating their way over the rocky outcrops between beaches. The boys had spent plenty of time with the police piecing together Jessica’s movements over the days prior to her disappearance. So far there was absolutely no evidence to suggest anything sinister had happened. While the police were taking it very seriously, they seemed to think she may have taken up with other school leavers and may even have left the Maroochydore area.

  Officers had continued to go door-to-door, handing out photographs and asking questions. Notices had been placed in various public places and the local TV and radio stations had made several announcements.

  Ryan kicked a broken shell and clenched his teeth. He was aware that the main reason guiding their opinion was his last words with Jessica.

  One thing Ryan could clearly remember was those last words to his girlfriend. She had been on at him for smoking; and after he had consumed a few too many Jim Beams, she nagged at him just one too many times. He blew a huge cloud of smoke into her face. That was it.

  ‘Jesus fucking Christ, Ryan! I just can’t be around you when you’re like this,’ said Jessica.

  Then he opened his stupid mouth.

  ‘Fuck off then. See if I care!’

  Every time he thought of those last seven words, he not only felt like a total idiot, he felt sick to the depths of his stomach. So off she strode into the night, looking like a million dollars in her sapphire blue mini skirt, gold purse hanging off her arm and her shiny black hair bouncing across her back and shoulders. Ryan kept drinking with Brad, Damien, Rachel and some others and any further recollection became muddled and patchy. That was the last time he saw Jessica. That was the last time anyone saw Jessica.

  A group of three young girls approached from the opposite direction. They were laughing and kicking water at one another as they splashed their way through the last shallow remnants of the receding waves. Ryan eagerly approached them and showed them a picture of Jess on his phone. He talked, pointed and gestured while searching their eyes for a glimmer of recognition. He took a small photo from his board shorts and handed it to them. They looked again but shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders. Yet again he was disappointed. Troubling thoughts filled his mind. Why has she not contacted her family? Why is her mobile switched off? Jess called her mum every day up to Monday. This is all my fault. Stupid smokes. Stupid drink. Stupid me.

  Chapter 4 — 1965

  Communion

  Morgan Finn lit the church candles, genuflecting as he passed the altar. At only ten years of age, he was an accomplished altar boy and carried out his tasks with absolute dedication. Thus far, he had not been given the responsibility of Cross Bearer and had to be content with carrying the candles. Further duties awaited him but first he must be faultless. He had already checked the crucifix, the wine goblets and the candle holders to be absolutely sure they were polished to perfection. The service would begin in less than ten minutes.

  He briefly ducked out to the vestry and checked his appearance in the long mirror. Morgan brushed away some loose cotton from his shoulder but apart from that his cassock and cotta were in perfect order. He checked his black leather shoes. They shone enough for him to see his outline in the reflection. He felt sure he was fully prepared; but nevertheless, he still had a light sweat forming on his forehead.

  The many words of Father Bates were burnt forever into his brain...

  ‘You are a servant of our Lord God, who is perfect in every way. I demand nothing less from you. You will learn. Punishment is your reward for failure. Embrace it. Accept it. Demand it!’

  Morgan, like many, referred to the seventy-year-old as ‘Father’. But for him, the term meant a little more. Not that Father Bates was his biological father, but the priest was having have a special relationship with Morgan’s mother, Margaret Finn. The clergyman had been in the parish for years; and while everyone knew about the relationship, it was something never spoken about publicly. The community was only too happy to have such an experienced and knowledgeable priest at the helm.

  Besides being a great fundraiser and organiser, Father Bates was a stern, rigid man and not someone to be trifled with, so any thought of confrontation was far from anyone’s mind.

  The priest entered the sanctuary. He slowed his movement slightly as he walked past Morgan, looking the boy up and down. The seventy-year-old’s tongue protruded slightly and rested on his top lip. There was a slight nod and a half-smile. Morgan forced an unsure smile in return.

  The service began. The congregation filled the church. Morgan didn’t really notice; he was so totally focused on the words of Father Bates. He needed to move at the right moment and perform his tasks with precision.

  At the last service, he had failed to hold the Father’s prayer book high enough to allow easy reading of the selected prayers; and in the preceding week, he had not laid out the priest’s garments neatly enough. On both occasions, he had demanded that he be punished. Father Bates always apologised in advance and said that he was simply an instrument of the Lord as he set about inflicting the necessary “reward”.

  Morgan was aware that at times his mother had required similar attention. In her case, it was not so much her deeds but her liberal use of blasphemous words that had forced the priest into doing God’s work. The young boy had lost count of the number of times he had been woken up by his mother shouting out her demands to be punished.

  The Opening Prayer, the first two readings, one from the Old Testament and one from the New had been completed. Father now delivered the homily. The congregation was, as usual, enthralled. It warned of the decline in social mores and the rise of promiscuity with references to Jean Shrimpton’s wearing of a mini skirt to the recent Melbourne Cup and the destructive influence of emerging rock bands like the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. It was a powerful presentation that also demanded that everyone do God’s work and fear the devil. Waving hands and clenching fists amplified his message. No doubt the collection plates would be heavy today. His verbal barrage finished with the quieter words ‘Let us pray’.

  Morgan promptly moved into position with the book and the Prayer of the Faithful began. A slight nod from the priest indicated that Morgan had held the book correctly. A slight sense of relief moved through him but there was more to be done: bells to ring, candles to carry, water and wine cruets to prepare, priests’ hands to wash and cleaning up.

  The Consecration was about to begin. Morgan rang the bells for the first time. Perfect. Not too loud, not too long.

  The sound of quiet mumbling, the slight moving of bodies and the occasional creaking of wood in the old pews moved through the church as the collection plates made their journey. Father Bates would be most pleased, as the plates were indeed full to overflowing. Everything seemed to work out better when he was happy. Morgan hoped today was one of those times.

  The priest raised the Host. Morgan rang the bells. Good, he thought. A moment later, Father raised the chalice and Morgan rang the bells for the third and final time. Was that a second too long? He wasn’t sure but a feeling of uneasiness had descended upon him.

  It was twenty-five minutes later when the service was over and the congregation had dispersed that Father Bates loomed tall over Morgan.

  ‘Deeds and words are all we have. If we fail in either, we fail the Lord,’ pronounced the priest. T
hen he raised his voice significantly, ‘I pray I be struck down here in this sanctuary if I am no longer needed to do God’s work!’ He raised his arms to the heavens and waited a moment then continued. ‘You see,’ his tone softened. ‘I am sanctioned by the Lord. Now, I believe you have something to say?’

  Sweat rolled down Morgan’s cheeks. He trembled then replied. ‘My punishment is my reward. Father, please help me do better.’ The boy began removing his clothes. The priest’s tongue lightly caressed his top lip.

  Chapter 5

  Vertical Push-ups

  It had been a struggle for the past six days but so far James had managed to keep his concerns under wraps, at least when his mother was around. Nevertheless, they had been eating away at him through every waking minute. He was very aware of what his mother was thinking and he knew her tactics very well. As recently as yesterday, she had made another not-too-subtle attempt to get a bite.

  ‘Seeing you have the afternoon off, why not try a bit of fishing. The tide is just right. I hear the bream have been biting well on prawns. Fish for dinner would be lovely.’

  Nice try, Mother, James thought. If only I could make you understand the real truth. Just because someone has paranoid schizophrenia doesn’t mean there isn’t a genuine reason for being paranoid.

  Just another thirty-three hours and it would be a week since his mother gave him “strike one”. The strike would then expire and he would have more breathing space. The chances of seeing Jeffries and ending up in the loony bin would be diminished.

  Today, however, was a new day. The sun was shining. The sky was cloudless and James had a plan. He backed his Suzuki mini-van out of the garage and headed off to the Kawana gym.

  When he arrived, half of the walking machines were being used by fit, skinny girls, an overweight middle-aged man struggled on one of the exercise bikes and a few muscly guys were pumping iron. James took care moving around the members with his vacuum cleaner, giving them his trademark cheesy smile. Today he threw in ‘Have a great Christmas’ or ‘Happy Holidays’. The latter he thought was little American; but it was becoming more popular in Australia, so he thought he’d throw it out there and see what response he got. It was all positive.

  ‘Hey, Jimmy!’

  James turned his head and held his smile despite disliking the mutation of his name. It was Frank, one of the regular muscle-building fanatics.

  ‘Hey, Frank. What’s up?’

  Frank pushed through his last bench press, set the bar back on the mountings and sat up. ‘Having a get-together tonight, but I hear storms are forecast. You’re the bloody oracle, mate. What do you reckon?’

  ‘Any storm activity will be 50 to a 100 Ks from here.’

  ‘Sweet. Thanks.’

  ‘No problem. Have fun.’ James smiled through his dislike and set about the last of the vacuuming.

  Raelene, the gym manager was doing a set of vertical push-ups with head down and legs perfectly straight up by the wall. James stopped near her.

  ‘Now, you do know that you are putting shoes marks on my clean wall, don’t you?’

  Rae grinned slightly but couldn’t speak as she pushed through her third set of twenty reps. James smiled as he watched her finish the last five. For a forty-year-old, she was extremely fit and strong, but not beefed up. James liked that. Raelene had interviewed him a year and a half ago for the cleaning contract and he felt that they had hit it off right from the start. They had quickly become great friends, meeting socially from time to time and often going for early morning jogs. He knew she was someone he could trust and confide in, and today that was exactly what he needed. Rae let her legs fall to the floor then sprang up to her feet like it was nothing at all.

  ‘What’s up?’ She panted.

  ‘I’ll be finished my work in half an hour. If you have a few spare minutes, I could do with a bit of chat with a good friend.’

  ‘And that surely is me. Not a problem. Are you okay?’

  ‘Sure, I’m fine but I just need to go over some things with you.’

  ‘Cool. How’s your injury coming on?’

  James looked down at the stretch support covering his right knee. ‘Oh, that’s fine. Progressing nicely. Thanks.’

  ‘No worries. Talk to you when you’re all done then.’

  James nodded a thank you, gave a big smile and set off for the bathrooms.

  Chapter 6

  Recall

  Ryan, Brad, Damian and Rachel gathered at a sheltered beachside table with the Chang family. The group of seven had spent the past three hours searching the beaches, parks, surf clubs and shopping precincts. They gained no new information for their efforts but at least they had spoken to a lot of people and handed out over three hundred photos of Jessica, each with contact details on the back.

  The mood of the group was somewhat sombre and no one had spoken for several minutes. Mary Chang was sobbing softly while her husband, Tien tried to comfort her. Jessica’s younger brother, Aaron sat quietly, a little away from his parents, tapping away on his phone and avoiding any eye contact.

  The nearby Mooloolaba beach was busy with holiday-makers. The surf was close to perfect for families but a little small for the die-hard surfers. Lifeguards were on patrol but conditions were very safe and the red and yellow flags were well spaced, allowing the hundreds of beach-goers plenty of room for their towels, umbrellas and assorted beach paraphernalia. Across the road, the multitude of food and coffee outlets were getting busy with the early lunch arrivals. The outdoor tables were the most sought after and were filling quickly.

  ‘So you last see my daughter near surf club Mooloolaba,’ said Tien, breaking the silence. His English was clear despite his strong Chinese accent.

  Brad, Damian and Rachel looked at Ryan as if he was the one who should respond.

  ‘Yeah, just over there,’ said Ryan, pointing at the surf club. ‘Just to the left of the entrance near those wooden bench seats.’

  ‘I like we try something please. A memory exercise. Sometimes things we see, smell, hear and taste we not easy remember. We try and maybe we find some clue. Some small thing that help find lovely Jessica. Then we can talk to police again. Yes?’ Tien nodded at the four friends. They looked at one another and nodded back.

  ‘We all go over there now. Aaron, you go stand where Jessica stand please.’ Aaron raised his head, somewhat puzzled upon hearing his name. Tien stood with his wife and they moved the twenty-five metres towards the surf club entrance. The others followed. No sooner were they clear of their table than a large family group pounced onto it and marked their territory with towels, hats and Eskies.

  After a few minutes, Tien had arranged everyone into the positions they were in on Monday evening. Aaron was acting as Jessica for the time being. The first ten minutes were solely spent on relaxation and the clearing of the mind. He used the sounds of the waves combined with deep breathing exercises to set his subjects at ease.

  ‘Hear the wave. See the wave in your mind. It run over your feet. Nice. Calm. Cool.’ He spoke slowly and evenly. ‘You see wave, go up beach, you breathe in. You see it go back, you breathe out. Easy. Relax. Peace.’ Tien repeated the process several times, watching the four friends closely.

  ‘Now I touch you lightly. This remind you of this moment when relaxed and calm.’ He moved around them in turn, stroking them lightly on the foreheads and repeating his words like a priest giving communion.

  ‘We think back now to time when here with Jessica.’

  Tien asked them all to think back to what they were all wearing, including Jessica, what drinks they had in their hands, what they had in their pockets and what were the topics of conversation. He was methodically asking each in turn and taking plenty of time. Some minor discrepancies in shoewear were discussed and clarified. Brad insisted he was drinking a blue vodka mix in a bottle but Rachel said he had switched to cans of premixed rum by then. With a very slight raising of his voice, Tien cut this discussion
off, ‘No worry. We move on and later we sort out this.’

  ‘You all now close eyes and listen to me,’ announced Tien. ‘You must think hard, but let your mind go loose at same time.’

  ‘Me too?’ asked Aaron.

  ‘Aaron no. You just looking please.’

  The group had attracted the attention of a few passersby. They had all instinctively dropped their heads slightly; and with their eyes closed, it looked like a group prayer session was in progress. Mary Chang had assumed the useful role of redirecting people who may have otherwise walked straight through the prayer group. Tien continued.

  ‘Think now about what you hear. You hear wave on beach? Maybe splash? You hear the wind in tree? You hear footstep. You hear talk, laugh, maybe shout or music sound, some singing sound. Take time. You think.’

  There was nearly a minute of silence and although the group had their eyes shut, Tien started beckoning with his hands for a response. Rachel finally spoke.

  ‘There was music coming from the surf club,’ she declared. ‘That hit song...’

  ‘It was Gotye!’ declared Damian surprising himself.

  ‘Somebody That I Used to Know!’ added Brad. ‘That song was playing when Ryan blew smoke in Jessica’s face.’

  Ryan grabbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. A tear ran down both cheeks.

  ‘We remember something. That very good,’ said Tien. ‘Keep eyes closed now. We think more. Our mind, our body, we take back to Jessica. We remember more. We speak soft. We be still.’

  * * *

  Tien continued with the recall group. A small crowd of a dozen onlookers had stopped to check out the unusual scene. They remained more or less quiet without interfering. Mary Chang was keeping them hushed and a couple of metres back. The surrounding noises of vehicles, waves and assorted voices were not dissimilar to the sounds on the night Jessica had disappeared; so Tien had instructed his subjects to accept this as it would have been on that night.