Vengeance Blind

by Anna Willett

  “So we just drink coffee and wait?” She couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. “What if he dies?”

  Lea smiled. It was the first time since she had arrived that Belle had seen the girl’s face so animated. “Better him than us.”

  Chapter Nine

  His actions were stiff, his voice an octave too high. The director was whispering to his assistant, his face the colour of an over-ripe plum. Guy was struggling. Everyone on the set could see it. Even his co-star couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead, she kept her head buried in a copy of the script, pretending to be going over her lines.

  As much as he tried to get into his character, every movement felt forced, every facial expression stretched and amateurish. He’d been waiting his entire adult life for this moment and because of some stupid girl, he was blowing it. No matter how hard he tried, all he could focus on was the text message he’d received just before speaking to Belle:

  Your wife’s the one who’s going to suffer and it will be your fault.

  Katrina wasn’t going away. He’d been an idiot to think he could just ignore the problem. That’s what the girl was: a problem. No, he corrected himself, she’s a fucking nightmare. And, while he was messing up every word in an important scene, Katrina was getting ready to shoot a flaming arrow into his marriage.

  Guy snatched up a bottle of water from the catering table. He wasn’t really thirsty, but standing around made him nervous. He needed to be doing something with his hands. He tossed the bottle from one hand to the other, trying to watch the director out of the corner of his eye. The conversation between him and his assistant, Andy, was winding up. Andy nodded then headed in Guy’s direction.

  “Okay. Lunch.” The director’s voice was booming but with no trace of good humour.

  “Are you okay, buddy?” Andy clapped him on the shoulder almost knocking the bottle out of Guy’s hand.

  Guy looked down into the assistant director’s face and noticed his eyes were darting around the set and appeared to be looking for a safe place to land. Andy was a good guy. He’d pushed Guy’s name, convincing the director and the studio to take a chance on an almost unknown Aussie actor over other more bankable names. Now Guy was letting him down. Worse than letting him down, he was making him look bad in front of Abraham Lions, a big name director the studio had begged to take on the mid-level action movie that was supposed to be Guy’s big break.

  “I’m just a bit distracted.” Guy twisted the cap on the bottle of water. The headache he’d woken up to thanks to his mini bar spree was ratcheting up into a blinding pain at the back of his eyes. “My wife’s still recovering from a car accident and she’s at home with a nurse.” He could see Andy was only half listening; instead, his attention was on the director’s back as the man walked towards his office.

  Andy nodded. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, that’s tough. But,” Andy turned his attention on Guy, “Abraham really wants to get this scene right and...” His eyes narrowed into squints. “...he feels like you don’t have the experience to pull it off.”

  Guy’s mouth dropped open and he stepped back. “Christ, Andy. I’m having one bad morning and he’s already saying I’m not good enough.”

  Andy made a flapping motion with his hands, signalling Guy to calm down. “I know. I know, but it’s the first morning.” He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “His last movie tanked and he’s got a lot invested in this picture. You just need to relax and show him what you can do.”

  “I’m trying. But I told you, my wife’s–”

  Andy’s face changed from sympathetic to stony. “We’ve all got stuff going on. You need to put that shit out of your mind and focus.”

  Guy could feel his throat tightening. His big opportunity was slipping away. Everything he’d fought for was turning to shit and he was whining like a baby. Suddenly his costume felt heavy as though lined with lead. He wanted to tear off the artfully cuffed leather jacket and torn shirt so his skin could breathe.

  “I will.” He was having trouble getting the words out. “It’s just nerves. I’ll be okay after lunch.” He forced his face into an expression he hoped looked confident while on the inside his heart was in his throat.

  Andy’s expression softened. “I know you will.” He gave Guy another clap on the back. “I’m going to send Warren to your dressing room in about fifteen minutes.” Guy had seen Warren on the set of his last movie. He was a sort of scene guru. He knew how to get the best out of people but didn’t have the looks or charisma to be an actor. Instead of being in front of the camera, he helped actors prepare for emotional scenes, nude scenes, and all the stuff that made them nervous. Or, in Guy’s case, pull him back from turning a simple scene into a train wreck.

  “Thanks, mate.” Guy swallowed and looked down at his hands. “I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

  When Andy spoke, his voice was friendly and relaxed again. “No problem, buddy. I know you’ll do a great job.” Despite the encouragement, they both knew this was Andy’s way of giving Guy one last chance before the director contacted the studio and asked to have him replaced.

  In his dressing room, Guy peeled off the jacket and draped it over the costume stand. The shirt he wore looked lightweight, but was in fact made of some sort of coarse material that clung to his skin like a rash. The buttons were fake; the only way to remove it was by pulling it over his head, but with heavy make-up coating his face he couldn’t risk staining the white fabric.

  Trying to ignore the way his skin burned, he stared at the dressing table in the corner. Not wanting to have to look at it, he’d put his phone in the drawer. But out of sight out of mind hadn’t worked so far. And, after Katrina’s last message, he had to know if she’d contacted his wife.

  Guy pulled open the drawer and snatched up the phone. To his relief there were no new messages. But that didn’t mean Katrina hadn’t contacted Belle. For all he knew she was speaking to her right now. His head was aching, the pain buzzing in his ears like static. Katrina had said Belle would be the one to suffer. It hadn’t occurred to him before that she meant anything but emotional suffering. But now, thousands of kilometres from home, Guy wondered if the girl was capable of more than threats and nasty text messages.

  Not really sure where his thoughts were going, he called his wife. When the call went straight to voicemail, Guy spat out a stream of curses and kicked the dresser, sending it clattering against the wall. The dressing rooms were small wooden cubicles, hastily knocked together structures that offered little in the way of privacy. He had to get his emotions under control before every person on the set was talking about him.

  Breathing heavily from the minor exertion, he closed his eyes and held the phone to his forehead, willing himself to think, to be calm. Warren would be knocking on his door in a few minutes. He had to act now or he wouldn’t get another chance for hours.

  Arthur. Guy’s shoulders relaxed. Belle didn’t like their neighbour, but Guy suspected that was more about her own hang-ups than anything the man had done. Besides, there was no one else even close that he could ask to check on his wife.

  Guy called Arthur, but just like Belle’s phone it went straight to voicemail. “Shit.” He spat out the word and tossed the mobile on the dressing table.

  He ran his fingers through his hair and they came away stained. The hair and make-up crew had dyed his hair before shooting started, turning his blonde to black in twenty minutes. He caught sight of himself in the mirror over the dressing table and blinked back his surprise. With his teeth gritted and the dark hair, he hardly recognised himself.

  He’d never planned on cheating. And for the first year he hadn’t looked at another woman, but then everything changed. A wrap on the door halted his thoughts. Without waiting for him to answer, Warren pulled open the thin wooden door.

  “We’re wrapping up.” Warren’s round face was pale and there was a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin.

  “What? Why?” Guy tried to stop himse
lf but he had to know. “Is it because of me?”

  Warren shook his head. “No.” His voice was flat, impatient. “Why do actors think everything is about them?”

  Guy let the man’s insult roll over him. “Then why?”

  “Abraham’s had a heart attack. They’re waiting for the paramedics.” He raised his plump shoulders and his neck disappeared. “That’s it. Everyone goes home.”

  Guy felt the air go out of his lungs and suddenly the room was too small. “For how long?”

  Warren didn’t answer straight away. His brown eyes narrowed. “He’s conscious or at least he was five minutes ago. Thanks for asking.”

  Guy opened his mouth to defend himself, but Warren cut him off. “Go back to the hotel. Andy will call you later.”

  Chapter Ten

  Listening to the oldies station seemed fitting when driving a vintage Holden. Belle was having a good day. Maybe the best day she’d experienced since she’d quit drinking. The craving was still there, sitting at the edge of her thoughts like a waiting tiger. But today the tiger was drowsy and Belle’s mind was free to enjoy the drive.

  She tossed a strand of blonde hair over her shoulder and turned onto the side road that led to the bridge. When Guy called from Sydney, he was upbeat, almost dizzy with excitement. His audition had gone well and he thought he stood a good chance at the part of a lifetime. Now if he just gets the job, I can stop worrying.

  The last time she’d managed to write something was over a year ago. She had money, the last book was still selling, and the movie rights were a major boost to her bank balance, but it wouldn’t last forever. Not the way Guy liked to spend. She thought of his thirty-two pairs of designer sunglasses and his sleek sports car and her fingers clenched on the steering wheel. He wanted a lifestyle she could no longer provide, not if she couldn’t get past the worst case of writer’s block she’d ever experienced.

  She’d promised herself she wouldn’t worry about money, not when things were going well for her husband, and she was happily, if not productively, sober. Yet even as she rolled back her shoulders and tried to enjoy the beauty of the autumn morning, a flat cynical voice whispered in her ear. If she couldn’t give Guy the lifestyle he craved, he’d find it elsewhere. No. She pulled herself back from the destructive thoughts. Her husband loved her and she loved him. Whatever happened, they’d work it out.

  The streets were almost deserted. The only other vehicle she’d seen was an old four-wheel drive, but as they passed a side street, even that disappeared. With the windows down, the sharp salty tang in the air told her she was nearing the ocean. She loved her swimming pool, but the sea was calling. She planned on swimming for a good half an hour before lazing on the beach in a little spot she loved just past Falcon.

  The road stretched out like a dark carpet, cutting through the tangle of trees as sun dappled the windscreen. Belle tapped her fingers on the wheel, keeping up the beat while singing along with a 1950s crooner. She rolled through a deserted intersection and let rip with the chorus.

  “You took the part that once was my heart so why not take all of–”

  An explosion rocked the car and Belle’s face whacked the side window in a thunderous rain of glass and steel and screaming rubber...

  Belle gulped in a breath and her head jerked up. Her eyelids were sticky, like they were glued shut. She’d had countless dreams about the accident, but never one so vivid. Still panting and with the sound of bone snapping still in her ears, she rubbed her palms into the corners or her eyes and managed to get them open. Her surroundings were a haze of shadowy colour, but she could feel the softness of the sofa beneath her. The last thing that came to mind was letting Lea help her onto the sofa so she could drink her coffee; after that, the edges of her recollection were frayed.

  Reaching out, she patted her hand on the cushions, searching for her glasses. Had she taken them off? Being without her spectacles or contacts always left her feeling just short of panicked. Her fingers found the plastic frames wedged into the back of the sofa.

  With her glasses on, she could see how late it was. Gloomy light tinged purple by the setting sun stalked through the blinds. She sat up and reached for her phone, only remembering she had left it in the bedroom when her hand landed on her empty pocket. That’s not right. I didn’t leave it. Lea took it.

  Everything came rushing back: the man hiding in the trees, Arthur pounding on the door, and Lea hitting him with a tin of pineapples. Belle swivelled her head around, searching for the caregiver. Was it possible the police had come and gone while she slept? Almost as soon as the idea popped into her mind she dismissed it as ridiculous. The front door was less than eight metres away from the sofa. There was no way police or paramedics could have come into the house without waking her.

  Belle was about to call out when a sound came from the other side of the sofa; a huff of air, like a dog snuffling the dirt. She stopped moving and listened, and again heard a grunt then shuffling.

  “Lea,” Belle called, her voice cracking on the last vowel. She forced herself to wait, counting to five before calling out again.

  Belle reached three when the snuffling turned into a muffled cry. “Lea?” She put more force into the word this time.

  Belle’s back was to the archway, making her have to twist at the waist and angle her head to see if the girl was coming. The area leading to the kitchen sat in shadows. Apart from the sounds coming from the other side of the sofa there was only silence. It was then that it occurred to her that Arthur might have done something to Lea.

  Half pushing with her good leg and at the same time using her arms to gain purchase on the top of the sofa, Belle looked over the cushion. Arthur still lay bound, but now on his back and staring up at her. When their eyes met Belle felt a spike of panic and sank again into the sofa.

  If he’d managed to break free, why would he be on his back draped in cord and wearing the gag? If Arthur was still bound, where was Lea? Where are the police?

  Belle scanned the room and spotted her wheelchair parked near the window. She couldn’t just sit and wait, not with Arthur bound and gagged a few metres away. Besides, she needed to pee.

  “Shit.” She mumbled out the word and edged her legs over the side of the sofa.

  With no sign of Lea, Belle would have to reach the chair on her own steam. The surgery to repair her torn ligaments and tendons was healing nicely, at least in the surgeon’s opinion, but her snapped patella was still wired together and would remain so for another month. The three metres to her chair would be the furthest she’d gone alone since the accident. Just the thought of putting weight on her knee set off a shiver of anticipatory pain.

  Before standing she called Lea one more time, but the girl didn’t answer. Still mumbling a string of curses, Belle pushed herself up and balanced on her good leg. Her right leg, weak from lack of use, trembled under the strain.

  “I can do it,” she told herself. There’s air in my lungs, enough to make it to the end of the pool.

  The first hop was the hardest. When her right foot left the floor, she felt a split second of terror, certain when she landed the leg would give out and send her sprawling onto the rug. But her right leg held, wobbled, but stayed under her.

  Balancing on the edge of the sofa, Belle continued to hop, counting as she moved and using the furniture to keep her steady. Behind her, Arthur’s grunts and cries grew louder.

  Her short hair clung to the nape of her neck in damp wisps. The chair sat only a hop away, but her leg shook as though ready to give out. With nothing between her and the wheelchair, Belle took the final jump and as she landed her right leg bowed. Without thinking she put her injured leg down to stop herself from falling.

  The pain was like nothing she’d ever felt, even eclipsing the memory of the accident itself. She shrieked out a tortured sound that echoed in the sitting room, more like the wails of an injured animal than anything human. Unsure how she managed to remain standing, much less moving, she grabbed the cha
ir and hop-shuffled into it as tears dripped down her cheeks.

  As an exhausted huff of air left her lungs, she felt a stir of anger. Anger at Guy for leaving her when she needed him, but mostly at Lea. It was her job to be here when she needed her. While it wasn’t the girl’s fault that Arthur had turned up and tried to get into the house, Belle couldn’t help thinking everything had started to go wrong when the carer arrived. And Lea’s brand of care was sketchy at best.

  Belle dragged her hand across her streaming nose and wheeled towards the bedroom. When she rounded the sofa, she hesitated. Arthur’s head twisted in her direction and his jaw worked, as though trying to speak around the gag. She felt a stab of guilt and pulled to a stop.

  “I’m sorry, Arthur. I don’t like this any more than you do, but…” She pushed her glasses up on her nose, trying to find the words to justify what Lea had done to him. “You were out of control… dangerous.” She lowered her voice and leaned forward slightly. “You scared me.”

  His eyes, brown and watery, moved between Belle’s face and the archway. Belle pulled back, not sure if she saw anger or fear in the man’s jittery gaze. He rattled off a stream of incoherent words and then let his head drop back on the floor.

  “I’m going to call the police again.” As she spoke, Belle pushed her wheels towards the archway. “We need to get this sorted out.”

  There was no sign of Lea in the bedroom. Belle raised herself a few inches out of the chair and snapped on the light. With the long shadows chased away, she headed straight to the bathroom and used the toilet, thankful she’d thought to buy a disabled toilet chair to go over the bowl. It made using the toilet easier, if not effortless.

  Back in the bedroom, she grabbed her water bottle from the nightstand and took a long drink, then dropped the bottle in her lap. Her mouth felt papery and coated as though she had slept too heavily. With her knee throbbing, she thought of taking a couple of her painkillers, but her mind was still cloudy from sleep so she settled on two paracetamol.