by Leah Ashton
As if she cared what this piece of shit thought or said about her.
“I did, actually,” Lou said. “I wanted more from him than he was willing to give.”
The train swayed around a curve, and Nate’s shoulder pressed against hers for a long moment.
Carey rolled his eyes and looked at Nate. “I know what that’s like,” he said. “This one,” he nodded at Fiona, who was staring again at the floor. “Wanted to get married, but I didn’t. Then she fell pregnant and I stuck around. Supported her. You know?” He shook his head, just as Fiona lifted hers so she could look at him. “And what do I get for that? One day she just packs everything up and leaves. Gets the police involved, like she thinks I’d hurt her. And she knows I’d never hurt her or the kids …”
There was a long pause as Carey turned his attention to Fiona, as if drawn by the hatred in her gaze. His look was just as hateful, but it was a totally different flavour of hate. Fiona hated Carey for all he must have put her through, and for what he was doing to her now. But Carey’s hate wasn’t really about Fiona. The same hatred defined everything he did – the exact same hate was in his gaze when he looked at Lou.
He was fuelled by hate and the sense of entitlement that underpinned it.
Lou predicted his next words long before he said them.
“She knows I’d never hurt her or the kids,” he repeated, “for no reason.”
For no reason.
And with those simple words, he’d justified every violent action of his entire relationship, and most likely his entire life.
Carey’s threatened to shoot a hostage if we call him back before Fremantle station.
Keep him calm, keep him talking. If he’s calm and talking, he’s not shooting people.
A fat fucking lot of good Oscar’s directions had done Nate when Carey called Lou a slut. He’d seen red.
A very specific shade of red: Carey’s blood red, splattered all over the clear glass windows after Nate had smashed his face in.
But now, Nate pressed his knee against Lou’s, and not because the train had taken a curve or anything.
They’d been having a bit of a conversation with their knees and shoulders these last few minutes: First Lou trying to calm him down when he’d wanted to leap across the train … again. But how stupid would he have to be to launch himself at an armed arsehole a second time?
To do it once had been incredibly stupid. Incredibly negligent given he was the mostly highly trained person in this carriage, and he could’ve easily pushed Carey over the edge.
He’d never acted so impulsively on a job before. He was a tactical operator: everything he did was carefully planned and executed. To behave the way he had was unacceptable.
And yet he’d almost done it again, until the touch of Lou’s leg against his had pulled him back together. Grounded him.
Later he’d bumped her shoulder to tell her … what? To thank her for going along with this conversation? Or to tell her that she hadn’t been wrong at all to want more all those years ago?
It was more the second option, Nate suspected.
She’d just been wrong to want it with him.
But just now, he’d needed to touch her because he’d needed to do what she’d done for him: ground her. Keep her focused on this tightrope of a reality they currently stood upon, and not be distracted by ancient memories that could have them all falling to their deaths.
And, look, all of these things were really not appropriate to be concerning himself with on a moving train with an angry gunman and seven hostages. He shouldn’t be thinking about Lou, or their past, her past, or anything except keeping the shithead calm.
He needed to get them all to Fremantle station safely, and then E-SWAT could end this.
Would end this.
Yet it still burned to just sit here and let Carey talk shit. Shit that definitely hurt Fiona, who sat beside Carey in a mass of fear and fury; and also hurt Lou.
But just sit here, he did. He swallowed and committed to what he needed to do.
“That sucks she left, mate,” Nate said. “What happened after that?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Fiona’s jaw drop open, and her eyes widen with shock and hurt.
I’m sorry, he thought, this is negotiation 101: empathy and open-ended questions.
But he couldn’t even look at her. He needed Carey to believe this.
Carey’s forehead wrinkled. “Why do you give a fuck?”
Nate shrugged. “You must have your reasons for being here today,” he said. “I’m curious.”
“You want to know why I’m going to shoot you?”
Another whimper from the lady with the book, seated only metres away to his left. The other four hostages had been absolutely silent since Subiaco station until now.
Shhh, Nate thought. Let Carey focus on me, not you.
Carey’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. He loved all of this: the control, the fear.
“You haven’t shot anybody,” Nate said. “You haven’t hurt any of us.”
Downplay the hostage taker’s actions so far. Focus on the positives.
“You don’t think I’ll do it?” Carey said, leaping to his feet and raising the gun again. Nate stared at the Glock pointed straight at his head.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He was no negotiator, and he scrambled for what he remembered from long-ago basic training, and Oscar’s half heard guidance in his ear from earlier, which he’d been unable to concentrate on with Carey talking and pointing a gun at him and all.
Nate’s pulse thumped in his ears. He needed to get this right.
“I think you want to see your kids, and I think you know if you shoot me now that might not happen,” he said.
Carey shrugged. “I’d have six more hostages just in here,” he said. “Plus, the other two carriages. Still heaps of leverage.”
But his gun fell back to his side. He didn’t sit though, instead he walked away – over to the other hostages.
He didn’t say a word, and neither did the hostages. He just walked up the aisle between their seats, stood for a second beside each of them: the office guy, the lady with the book, and the teenagers, and then slowly, slowly walked back. Again, pausing hostage by hostage. The carriage was perfectly silent, except for the creak and sway of the train and the heavy, muffled sound of Carey’s boots on the carpet.
Carey was revelling in their fear, loving how they all kept their heads bowed, their bodies curled into the smallest possible targets, holding their breath while he paused beside them.
Wondering if they were going to die.
Carey’s smile was disgusting. Everything about the man was disgusting.
And yet Nate just had to sit still, and let this piece of shit cultivate fear.
Finally, Carey stood before Nate again. Nate didn’t bow his head.
Neither did Lou beside him.
Another station slid by. Mosman Park, with a row of towering pines behind the couple of benches on the platform. Only a few kilometres until Fremantle now.
Nate kept an eye on the gun, still held casually against Carey’s thigh. He knew exactly what Carey was going to do now, but he wasn’t going to stop him. Carey’s free hand had formed into a fist, and he rubbed his fisted knuckles against the black denim of his jeans.
If he was lucky, this would be his opportunity. This would be his chance to grab that gun and end this now.
But he played dumb, trying to relax his face into something neutral. Not give away a hint of what he was thinking, or what he was capable of.
The punch came as expected, and he didn’t block it. Instead, as Carey’s fist connected with his cheek, he turned and flicked his head away from the punch so it passed through him, rather than hitting him solid.
Still hurt like fuck, but years of boxing training weren’t wasted.
As he collapsed away from the punch, and reached for his face as if to protect himself from more blows, his gaze flew to that gun.
>
It was so close.
But he wasn’t close enough. Carey had punched him once, and stepped away.
He couldn’t take the risk.
Nate gritted his teeth in frustration.
“Knew those were gym muscles, big guy,” Carey spat. “Piss weak, you are. But hope it’s clear now. I have hurt someone, and if you fucking pretend to give a shit about me again, I’m hurting her next.” Carey jerked his head in Lou’s direction. “Fists or bullets next time, big guy?” Carey taunted, his attention back on Nate. “Let’s wait and see.”
Then he sat back in his seat, far too close to Fiona, his legs spread wide, his finger caressing the Glock’s trigger.
Behind him, they passed another station: Victoria Street.
North Fremantle was next, then Fremantle.
They were almost there.
“No one fucking say another word, you got that?” Carey announced to the carriage.
Nate straightened back up in his seat, sliding his hand away from his face, and wiping the blood from where his cheek had split open onto the grey of his trousers.
“And while I’m at it - don’t move either.” Carey paused, then said to Lou, “That means you, too, nosy bitch. No kissing him better, no nothing.”
Lou didn’t move. But she did press her leg hard against his.
Even through the layers of linen and denim, her touch was warm and electric.
Grounding.
Two stops to go.
Chapter Six
The sound of Carey’s fist smashing against Nate’s face had made Lou feel sick. Flesh and bone hitting flesh and bone was a brutal, primal noise.
It had taken everything in her not to leap to her feet to retaliate.
But common sense had held her still. She knew perfectly well Nate could defend himself. And Carey had telegraphed that punch. No doubt Nate could’ve blocked it, but he hadn’t.
He’d had a strategy. She wished she knew what it was, of course. But it was a strategy.
Maybe as simple as having Carey underestimate Nate. Let him feel cocky, feel invincible.
But … for what purpose?
With Fremantle station now only minutes away, Lou hated how she had no idea what was going to happen next. Did Nate have a plan? Was he going to make a move before they got there? Or when they did? Or wait for the E-SWAT team?
Had E-SWAT used his comms to explain their tactics? Was there a grand plan that Nate was part of with Lou remaining a clueless bystander?
Look, she didn’t have an issue with the E-SWAT team doing their job. She didn’t have any experience in this type of situation, and the last thing she wanted to be was a liability. She didn’t need to be part of the – hopefully – peaceful end to all of this, as getting everyone out of here safe was what mattered. Her ego didn’t need to give her a starring role.
But. It was infuriating being ignorant. It was infuriating being unable to help.
All she could do was sit here next to Nate while blood stained his shirt and the train rattled and screeched along the tracks, the air thick with fear and tension.
And at the back of her mind, wonder what she was going to do if Carey didn’t surrender at the end of the line. Which – to be honest – seemed unlikely.
Would she hold it together this time? Or would she fail when it most mattered, just like she had a fortnight ago? When the stakes had been at their highest, and she’d known exactly what she’d needed to do … but hadn’t done it.
She hadn’t done it, and someone could’ve died because of her indecision. She could’ve died.
And that time all she’d had to deal with was a knife, not a gun.
Carey held that gun firmly now. No longer was he holding it casually, like he had at times throughout this journey. His finger rested on the trigger, and he surveyed the carriage with a regular sweep of his gaze as if searching for a potential threat.
The train rumbled past North Fremantle station. Almost there.
Carey straightened in his seat. No more manspreading, no more sprawled posture. His shoulders were straight, and he was bouncing one leg rapidly up and down on the spot. He was a ball of tension, but also of …
Lou attempted to interpret Carey’s expression surreptitiously. The gleam in his eyes and the slight curve to his lips were certainly not about fear. He wanted to get to the station. He wanted what was going to come next.
It wasn’t fear building for Carey as they approached Fremantle station.
It was anticipation.
Lou swallowed, and dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand.
She just needed to keep it together. She just needed to remain calm, and rational, and that way she’d be of most help to Nate, and the E-SWAT team – and to every single hostage on this train.
She closed her eyes for a second, her fingernails pressing harder into the skin of her palm – as if she was trying to make this all feel more real. As if she needed to feel more in this moment, a moment that couldn’t feel any more real, or any more significant.
Her eyes popped open to find Carey looking straight at her.
He didn’t say a word, but over his shoulder the familiar icons of Fremantle appeared: The mammoth container ships with their rainbow of building-block like containers; and the elegant, towering reach of the giraffe-like cranes that stretched to the perfect clear sky above the deep blue depths of the harbour.
They’d arrived.
Lou kept eye contact with Carey as the train slowed – knowing it was probably dumb, but unable to allow herself to submit to him – to submit even to his gaze. Around them, the passing landscape eventually ground to a halt, and the train’s wheels gave a high-pitched squeal as they grabbed hard onto the tracks.
Then, it was silent.
The platform was behind Lou, and in front of her was nothing but Carey, Fiona, and a couple of empty sets of tracks.
She couldn’t see a soul.
But of course, they were there.
Somewhere, an E-SWAT team lurked. And more police. A negotiator. Probably a sniper or two. Medics.
Carey knew it too. He smirked, or maybe leered – Lou couldn’t be sure – everything the man did was just ugly to her.
Her phone rang.
Carey had left it on the seat beside him, but he maintained eye contact for too many more long seconds before finally reaching for his phone – and then Lou was able to take the breath she’d had absolutely no idea she’d been holding.
“Where’s my kids?” he barked, immediately.
Lou’s gaze flicked to the other hostages. They’d all shifted slightly, and no longer appeared to be attempting to hide in their seats. They all looked ready to leap to their feet, probably partly a product of the tempting proximity of the platform and freedom – but more likely mostly about being ready to do something once whatever was going to happen, happened. Run, duck, hide … who knew? But something.
Because something was definitely going to happen. Soon. The air crackled with it.
“Bullshit,” Carey snapped. “They should be here by now.”
He glared at Fiona, who shook her head. “Think about it, Brent,” she said, her voice soothing, “we’ve only been on the train twenty minutes. No way they’ve got them both out of class, and into—”
The smash of the Glock against the side of her head silenced her – and the next sound she made was the force of her head smacking into the carriage window behind her.
She didn’t move at all after that.
Nate grabbed Lou’s hand before she’d even realised she was starting to stand.
“Don’t,” he whispered urgently.
But Carey didn’t hear him, he was too busy yelling into the phone.
“Stop fucking trying to reason with me, all right? I’m not a fucking idiot. You’re probably lying anyway. How do I know you even have my kids?” He stood up and walked all the way up to the empty end of the carriage as the negotiator presumably talked to him.
Suddenly, Carey went still,
as if he was considering something.
Then he walked up to the doors between their carriage and the one at the rear of the train and slammed his palm against the button to open them.
Nothing happened.
“You’ve locked me in?” Carey laughed. “Well then sure, yeah, why fucking not. I’ll let those two carriages go if you get Rex on the phone. No skin off my nose. He’ll set you straight. And there’ll still be plenty of hostages left here to make my point, don’t you think?”
Carey pivoted away from the door and walked back over to where Lou and Nate sat.
“But don’t open the doors to this carriage, all right? I’m not stupid, I’m not giving you a free shot at me.”
He must’ve meant by removing the barrier of the door. Lou was no expert in glazing or knew much about the capabilities of sniper rifles, but she did know it would be difficult to get an accurate shot through toughened glass.
Across the carriage, Fiona groaned, and her eyes fluttered open. She reached one hand up to feel the back of her head, and then to skim the already purpling bruise on her cheek, smearing the beads of blood that had formed where the Glock had grazed her skin.
Carey completely ignored her and continued to pace up and down the carriage, muttering away to the negotiator.
“Now, don’t try anything, you got that? You try to be clever and a hostage dies. Understand?”
Lou watched Carey, now standing beside book lady. Was it deliberate? Standing close to a hostage to make it more difficult for a sniper?
But also – would they even take a shot?
Lethal force had to be justified, after all, you’ve got a hell of a lot of talking to do after using it, so you’d better be bloody sure you’re shooting with good reason – or you could be up for murder.
Had Carey done enough to justify a sniper bullet? He’d hit Nate, he’d hit Fiona. But they’d be okay. He hadn’t shot anyone. No one had been killed.
Besides, E-SWAT didn’t have any vision of the carriage, or two-way comms with Nate. They didn’t know exactly what Carey had been doing. Being armed in a way to cause fear was absolutely an offence – but it was punishable by a prison sentence, not death. Exactly the same applied to the offence of threats to kill.
