by Bob Goodwin
‘Hello, James,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Would you like to make a reservation?’
James looked at him curiously for a moment. ‘You’ve come from the kitchen but you are not wearing an apron. There is nothing to indicate you have been preparing food. Your hands are clean.’
‘I’m not the only cook here, James. What’s worrying you?’
‘I need to see the Chang girl,’ he said firmly.
‘I’m not sure who you mean.’
‘Don’t, Michael, I know what’s going on here. Please be honest,’ asked James almost pleading with his hands. ‘The Chinese waitress who was here last Friday ... Her name was Chang or something very much like it.’
‘She was Thai, not Chinese.’
‘See, you do know. Give me her name?’ insisted James.
‘I’m not sure that would be a good idea.’
James lifted his T-shirt and displayed his knife. Michael took a large but slow step back from the counter. ‘There’s something going on here, Michael, and I’d hate to think that you were involved. There’s tracking, monitoring, spying and much worse. The waitress said they were dead and their heads had been cut off. Why would she talk like that? I suspect it’s all Chinese-based. They use the letters C and H, which incidentally are the middle letters of your name. I guess you’ve got secret handshakes and symbols as well. I’m onto you fuckers. So, I really think it would be in your best interests to tell me Ching Chong’s real name.’ James slid his fingers up to the knife’s handle and pulled it slowly from the scabbard.
‘Well, I don’t know anything about all that; but I really think you should turn around and look behind you.’
‘Oh, so she is actually here now.’ James turned, still holding the knife.
‘Do not move!’ commanded the police officer, his arm outstretched and pointing a yellow-handled taser at James.
‘Lie down on the floor!’ instructed the second officer. He had one hand on his holstered gun.
‘Drop that weapon!’ demanded the first.
‘Guys,’ said James with a degree of enthusiasm. He lifted both arms in a welcoming gesture. ‘Glad you’re here to sort this shit out.’ He mistakenly took a step forward with his knife held high. ‘It’s the bloody Chines...’ The taser discharged and two probes struck him in the chest. For a few seconds, James remained standing with the 50,000 volts assaulting his jerking body. Then he crashed heavily to the floor and continued shaking and twitching.
Chapter 11
Total Recall?
It was almost 9 pm when Tien had once again assembled the group of friends for a final attempt to recall the events of Monday evening. He had instructed Ryan, Rachel, Brad and Damien to spend the remainder of the afternoon and early evening quietly at their unit and not to discuss or even try to recall anymore. ‘Your mind work now by itself. Best you relax. Swim, walk, rest. Little talk. No talk of Jessica,’ he had told them. ‘Tonight, you bring same drink. You wear same clothes. Ryan bring cigarette.’
As for himself, Tien had spent two hours in self-hypnosis, working on deep relaxation and striving for control over the emotions that threatened to run riot through his mind. He feared for Jessica’s safety and far too many unspeakable images of what might have happened to her kept intruding into his consciousness. He was tormented with thoughts of having let her down and having failed her as a father.
Tien was a skilled practitioner; but as a rule, generally worked with Chinese individuals or couples, providing help with depression, anxiety, confidence and relationship problems. There were so many challenging aspects to what he was attempting; and cleansing his mind of self-doubt had proven difficult. Reluctantly, he felt he had no choice but to leave Mary to her own demons for the time being. The therapist felt they were on the verge of something significant; and it was his responsibility to focus, control and guide. Jessica’s life may be in his hands. There was no room for failure.
Tien felt it was up to him to give the police something of significance to work with, as there had been nothing of any merit thus far. Going by the indications from the earlier group session, he felt sure there was more to uncover.
He turned to the group and gestured to them with his hands, like a conductor to an orchestra.
‘Now eyes close. Relax. Waves of relaxation,’ instructed Tien. ‘We hear wave break. We breathe slowly. Wave move in. Wave go back.’ He moved to each of the four in turn and lightly stroked their foreheads. ‘Wave of relaxation, Brad.’ ‘Wave of relaxation, Rachel.’ ‘Wave of relaxation, Ryan.’ ‘Wave of relaxation, Damien.’
The relaxation phase took only five minutes. The auditory and sensory response triggers were working perfectly. Once again, a nervous Mary was keeping the immediate area clear. Aaron stood quietly nearby with his iPhone. This time, he had two small speakers attached to the device.
‘We all now here. All friends together. Brad, Rachel, Ryan, Damian ... and Jessica.’
‘We taste our drink.’ Almost in unison, they all raised their arms and sip.
‘We remember talk about Brad and broken leg when fall from bed. We laugh.’
‘Yeah, yeah, very funny,’ chuckled Brad. The others smiled.
‘Ryan lights cigarette,’ said Tien. Mary stood next to Ryan and took his drink. He lit up. ‘We hear music.’ Aaron tapped at his phone and Goyte started playing. The song continued for a full minute before Tien continued.
‘We remember. We see ... we taste ... we hear ... we feel ... we smell. Take time. Relax. Breathe deep. Breathe slow.’ He paused and allowed the group time to recreate the moment. The music continued...
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number
I guess that I don’t need that though
Now you’re just somebody that I used to know...
‘We hear music, we hear other sounds ... remember,’ continued Tien. ‘We smell cigarette, we smell other things ... remember. Man look at watch. It eight fifty-nine. We remember.’
‘Liniment. I can smell liniment,’ said Damien.
‘Me too,’ added Rachel. ‘Close by.’
‘Good we remember,’ added Tien. ‘We feel things inside. We are friends ... we remember more.’
‘I feel guilty for smoking,’ groaned Ryan. ‘I can see Jessica.’
‘What you say now, Ryan?’ asked Tien. Ryan blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘Tell us what you say to Jessica.’ The therapist waved his hand to Aaron who slowly wound the music volume down.
‘Fuck off then. See if I care!’ shouted Ryan. Tears streamed down his face.
‘The man on the grass. He stands up,’ said Brad. With his eyes closed, he turned his head towards the grassed area. ‘He has black clothes and a white collar like a priest. Shit! Jessica leaves then he leaves.’
‘The liniment. This is the guy. He goes, the smell goes,’ said Damien. Mary dropped herself onto the wooden bench seat and buried her head in her hands. Tien moved to her, placed a hand on her head and pulled her hard against his hip.
‘I remember him stand and turn around,’ said Rachel. ‘His hair is tied back in a ponytail. It’s a dark colour. Maybe black.’
Tien briefly closed his eyes, stroked his own forehead and pulled in some deep breaths. He pushed the group onward for a further fifteen minutes; there were a few more revelations. A young, fit-looking guy in a singlet sitting on a park bench staring out to sea; another man that slipped over on a discarded toasted sandwich; other schoolies who passed by, a couple of whom chose to go for a night swim. There were some very vague facial descriptions of the so-called priest but there seemed to be nothing of further significance.
‘Thank you my friends. Now you wake. Mary has herbal tea. It help us all.’
Chapter 12
Crackers & Roaches
The dark metal room was six metres long, and two-and-a-half metres wide and high. Two small air vents on the ceiling allowed for a slow circulation of the stale humid air and provided just enough l
ight to partially illuminate the surroundings. About every two seconds, there was a short metallic grating sound as an external device struggled to ventilate the chamber.
In one corner was a mattress with a couple of blankets bunched at one end and alongside it, mounted on a short wooden stool, was a nearly empty twenty-litre plastic water barrel with a fitted tap. Diagonally opposite, in the other corner, were two plastic buckets. Squatting over one was a young naked girl. She barked out a moist cough that rattled through her chest, soon followed by another. Then came the sound of urine trickling into the bucket. The girl forced herself back to her feet and noisily dragged her chained feet across the metal floor to the mattress. The anchor point for the heavy chains was at the centre of the floor, with just enough length for her to access all corners.
Walking over the bedding, she sat with her back against the wall and without looking, reached down and grabbed a biscuit packet that crunched and collapsed as she squeezed it in her hand. A cockroach escaped from the packaging and ran up her arm. A quick grunt was all she could muster as she flicked it away with her other hand, sending it off somewhere into the blankets. She removed the last dry cracker and bit into it. There was no crunch but she ate it regardless.
As she had done countless times, she took up the slack chain and banged it as hard as she could against the wall. The clanging echoed and resounded almost unbearably through the room. She counted twenty hits then waited and listened. Between each grating sound of the ventilation system was silence. A silence she had come to hate. ‘Help me, help me,’ she cried. It was a hoarse, feeble voice that no one would hear. She repeated the process four more times then let herself fall sideways onto the mattress in exhaustion. Jessica cried softly.
Chapter 13
The Psych Ward
‘Hey, big fella! It’s your bestest mate, Garth. Are you going to breakfast this morning?’ The loud inquisition was accompanied by a shake of the shoulder. ‘Come on. You can’t spend your life horizontal.’
James rolled onto his back, groaned and partly opened his eyes.
‘What day is it?’ he grunted through a dry mouth.
‘It’s the twenty-third. It’s Sunday. Santa comes tomorrow night.’ The rotund male nurse was loud but quite cheerful. James thought he looked familiar and friendly but had no idea why.
‘My head is not in a good place. I feel spaced out.’
‘Antipsychotics can do that. And you’ve had enough of them to knock out a rhino. Sorry about that.’
‘Was I bad?’
‘In a word, rotten! I think you’re on Santa’s naughty list.’
‘I think I was tasered.’
‘Yeah. Shocking!’ laughed Garth. James grunted and pushed out an insincere smile.
‘What drugs have you jokers been giving me?’
‘Pretty much all of them. Let’s see ... Midazolam, Haloperidol.’ The nurse folded out his fingers one at a time. ‘Diazepam, Risperidone and a bit of Benztropine. And oh yes, you’ve started some Lithium and had an injection of Paliperidone. So, you going to brekky or what?’
‘Bloody hell. That’s just plain wrong,’ said James rubbing his temples. ‘Yeah, I’ll be coming for breakfast, give me five. I’m starving.’
The dining area was part of the same room as the sitting room-cum-lounge. It was a very open space to promote visibility and easy monitoring of the clientele. Each of the five square tables had four plastic chairs. Only six of the twenty seats were occupied. James shuffled in, barefooted and still in his striped pyjamas. He dropped himself onto the closest available seat.
‘Generally, we prefer our patients to be dressed for meals,’ announced Garth as he slid a breakfast tray in front of James. ‘But I’m prepared to give you a little leeway, seeing as it’s nearly Christmas ’n all.’ James gulped downed a plastic cup of juice then spread butter and vegemite roughly over his toast.
‘Thanks, mate.’ He bit into his toast. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘We try to get most people either discharged or on leave for Christmas,’ replied Garth.
‘Except for the troublemakers, that is,’ said James.
‘Yeah, but you do seem way better this morning. Two days ago, you wanted to chop my head off and make Chinese soup from it.’ James looked up at the large man and continued pushing toast into his mouth. ‘You were paranoid and quite convinced you were being followed. For some reason, the letters C and H were unusually significant. Words like Chinese, chopped, chopping and chasing were all you could think about. And you were pretty hung up on that missing girl, Jessica Chang. What do you reckon now about all this stuff?’
‘Huh.’ James shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t remember much. It’s all a bit like a dream.’
‘A bloody nightmare I should think.’
A second nurse moved over, pushing a medicine trolley. She picked up a plastic medicine cup and placed it in front of James. ‘If you could please, Sunshine.’ She tipped water into his cup. He took a quick glance at the tablet then threw it in his mouth.
‘Well Garth, is he going to give us grief today?’
They both looked down at James, heads tilted and eyes widened. James looked back and deliberately shoved more toast in his mouth before responding.
‘No, he’s not. Your heads are quite safe.’ He smiled through a mouthful of food.
‘Oh, my God! Now he’s just a bloody comedian,’ continued the medication nurse. ‘Charles fucking Manson becomes Jerry fucking Seinfeld. What the fuck next?’
‘Thanks Deb,’ said Garth. ‘Still full of charm and wisdom I see.’
Deb scowled and moved off with her trolley. James just stared as she served up more medication to two young women a couple of tables away.
‘Don’t mind her,’ said Garth. ‘She means well.’
‘Reassuring. Hey mate, got any more toast?’
‘Just over there on the meal trolley. Contrary to popular opinion, I am not the damn waiter.’
Chapter 14
January 1968 (continued)
Bangers and Mash
Morgan had spent the last few days in perfect splendor. Running through the scrub with their dog Toby, swimming in the creek, catching tadpoles, riding the billy cart down the gravel driveway and climbing trees pretending to be a secret army sniper had been delightful. So far, he had taken out Father Bates five times. But best of all, there had been no altar boy tasks, no mistakes to make and no punishment-rewards to endure.
Morgan initially felt a little reluctant to be taught new skills by the priest, as he half expected there may be dire consequences for not learning properly or not remembering what he was taught; but his worries, thus far, had proved to be unfounded and he now found himself to be quite good at swinging an axe, carting wood and setting a good warm fire.
As for his Mum, well their one-week rural retreat didn’t seem to be going so well for her. Every night so far, in fact sometimes more than once, she had required, and even begged for, punishment from Father Bates. It seemed her blasphemous tongue was out of control and it puzzled Morgan as to why she seemed incapable of learning. Perhaps she is possessed by a demon, he thought. The matter rarely entered his mind through the day as he ran, played and fantasised; but once he was settled into bed, he felt troubled by the shouts, screams, moans and grunts. At times, Father Bates had seemed angry towards her and even blamed her for not being a good partner. The whole thing was clearly not normal, but he knew better than to ask questions.
It was on the sixth night at 7.30 pm, after the group of three had sat down to a dinner of sausages and mash with onion gravy, that Morgan noticed something unusual. The dining area was dimly lit with two candles, apparently, this was supposed to be romantic or something, but Morgan didn’t really care for it. The narrow road outside the property generally had little use and serviced only five other well-spaced acreage allotments beyond the Finn place, so it was a little unusual to see the headlights of other vehicles beam through the louvres.
As the third one rounded the bend, the lights shone through the dining room, and as before, lit up Father Bates’ head like a beacon for a few seconds. Morgan inadvertently stared while he drifted off in thought for a moment, then half-smiled before getting back to the remainder of his meal and mopping up some more of the gravy with a slice of bread.
‘What’s the problem, child?’ The priest half-smiled back.
‘Can we stay on for another week? I like it here,’ said Morgan immediately without missing a beat.
‘God’s work awaits us,’ came the stern reply.
‘Just another few days?’
‘We return in two days,’ he snapped.
‘Please.’
‘I have spoken!’ There was a pause before the priest spoke again in a much softer tone. ‘Lad, I am considering giving you more responsibilities during the service. After the washing up is done, you and I will go for a leisurely walk in the moonlight and we will talk more about it.’
Margaret Finn smiled to her son while placing a hand on the priest’s shoulder. ‘That’s nice. And don’t worry, we will be back here again, Morgan. Just be patient. You go clean your teeth now then get ready for your walk. I’ll do the washing up.’
The boy had a large piece of gravy-soaked bread on his fork and was about to push it into his mouth. A shiver shot up his spine, his mouth shut and the bread fell from the fork to the plate. He stood, left the table and headed to the bathroom.
It was three hours later, after his walk with Father Bates that he lay in bed wide awake, trembling and regretting his outspokenness at dinner. Muddled and confused thoughts filled his mind. But then there was a distraction.
‘Oh, do it to me. Oh Jesus! Fuck me hard. I’ve been a very bad girl!’ squealed Margaret. The bedhead was striking against the wall time after time. Morgan put the pillow over his head, but it did little to muffle the noise and he could feel the vibrations. Then he heard Father Bates.
