Don't Leave Me Breathless

by A Kelly

  Bobby then relaxed and his expression went back to how it was in his photo – soft gaze, slightly parted lips. He studied his interviewer and said, ‘You’re on edge.’

  The interviewer, a journalist probably in her thirties, held the pages in her hands tightly. She leaned back and asked, ‘People call you a psychopath. Do you think you’re a psychopath?’

  ‘I can read anybody,’ Bobby replied and he himself leaned back, scanning his interviewer from head to toe. He smiled as if he had won some sort of debate. ‘I’m not a threat.’

  There was something in his eyes. She replayed I’m not a threat a few times.

  When she resumed the video, the interviewer asked, ‘How did you get those scars?’

  The camera abruptly zoomed to Bobby’s left hand; the crudeness of the sequence told Summer the interview might’ve gone off script.

  The camera panned back to Bobby – close-up – waiting for his response. ‘Humans search for pain,’ he said.

  Summer zoomed in on his face and played humans search for pain again and again.

  And she exhaled long.

  Earlier, her thoughts were raging like enemies in her mind, and now Pierre had just added to her enemy’s tally with this bizarre case. She believed Bobby Swinburne was innocent; one that would add to the statistics of wrongfully convicted offenders (one in twenty, they said). But her theory would’ve been neither factual nor scientific. To her, Bobby Swinburne understood pain to the point that it had become science to him. Bobby’s skilful, precise hitting of the security guard had been seen as a premeditated action, so self defence was out of the question. But Bobby, according to what she’d known so far, had no prior convictions, and it had been proven he hadn’t known or met his victim. Before the bashing, Summer believed Bobby had learned the skills to inflict such pain mentally; and he’d visualised it again and again until it turned into an instinct when danger came. How would she prove it? It was in Bobby’s eyes – and she understood because she knew pain like he did.

  Bobby Swinburne was national news and might soon become Pierre’s potentially most spectacular case. Her father would’ve been drawn to Bobby because of his lawyer instinct – Summer was sure fame was never his intention. But to Summer, the case fascinates her because of Bobby himself. His conviction aside, he was a handsome and charming man whom girls would fall for in a heartbeat, and he might not be a monster that the public painted him to be. Most of all, his eyes held so many intentions, and she wanted to know them all. Had she been sitting in that interviewer’s chair, what would he have had in store for her? Would he then understand her? Summer Rideau who was as twisted as he?

  5

  Fairy penguins

  Penguin, Tasmania, Australia

  Joseph Russo stretched on his couch then changed position from lying flat to lying on his side. In his hands was a book with several dog ears, cracks to its spine and creases on its cover. Scipio Africanus – Greater than Napoleon.

  He looked at the clock. Cornelia had promised to be home before 9. He’d been happy for her to come home later but she’d said she wanted to spend some time with him tonight. It was almost time. He would like his daughter to keep her promise. What would he say if she came home late? Would he be stern or would he keep the tone of an understanding dad? He wondered if he was still treating his sixteen-year-old daughter like a five-year-old.

  But there she was; he heard her chatting outside with her mates as car doors slammed in the background… with five minutes to spare. Joseph got up and opened the door.

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘Hi Dad!’ Cornelia said, gift boxes in her hands.

  ‘Let me get those,’ Joseph said.

  Her friend Pauline gave her one last happy birthday kiss then said to Joseph, ‘Good night, Mr Russo!’

  ‘’Night.’

  ‘See ya, Mr Russo!’ Levi, one of Cornelia’s ‘gang’, waved at him, followed by his older brother Luke who was behind the wheel.

  ‘How was it?’ asked Joseph as he lay the gift boxes on the coffee table.

  ‘Good. Justin couldn’t make it, but hey, it was still fun with just the four of us,’ she said. ‘Oh, be careful, that’s the cake, we took a piece for you.’

  ‘That’s nice. Pauline’s mum baked it, I presume?’

  Cornelia smiled. ‘Your fruit cake this morning was better, Dad. Pauline’s mum made a chocolate cake; it was a bit too rich.’

  ‘Right…’

  ‘And you sang happy birthday better than anyone at the restaurant.’

  Joseph hugged Cornelia. ‘Well, you’re not officially 16 yet. You were born–– ’

  ‘––at 10.22p.m,’ Joseph and Cornelia said at the same time.

  Cornelia looked at her watch then pondered. ‘Dad, let’s say hello to the penguins!’

  Joseph smiled. ‘Let’s.’

  They drove to the Burnie beach. It was the heart of summer. The sun had just set and it was still light enough to see the view.

  ‘When was the last time I was here? Look how small and low this peep hole is now!’ Cornelia put her face on one of the openings at the Little Penguin Observation Centre, her favourite viewing spot when Joseph used to take her every weekend.

  His little girl had grown up indeed.

  ‘Oh look! Those two are fighting!’ Cornelia said, looking at the penguins through a pair of low-light binoculars.

  They checked out a few other viewing spots looking for foxes and stray dogs, ready to report them if they found any. As the wind picked up, they slowly made their way back to the car. Cornelia said: ‘Dad, I want to tell you something.’

  That she loved him? It wasn’t that kind of something. A boyfriend? Who was it? Joseph’s heart pounded. He hoped it wasn’t Levi or Justin. He guessed Luke was all right – still, Cornelia could’ve done better.

  ‘I’m thinking about enrolling in Theatre Arts.’

  Joseph beamed.

  ‘In Melbourne,’ Cornelia added.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Come on, Dad. You know there aren’t many options for me here in Tassie.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So… can I go?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Next year.’

  Joseph took Cornelia’s hand. ‘I’m happy you’ve chosen theatre.’

  ‘So, I can go?’

  Joseph smiled. ‘Of course!’

  ‘Thanks, Dad!’ Cornelia jumped, hugged and kissed him.

  ‘Promise me you won’t grow up too fast.’

  ‘I’ve grown up!’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Actually no.’

  Joseph took a deep breath. ‘Well… boyfriend, and everything that comes with it.’

  Cornelia cocked her head. ‘I’m committed. I’ll study hard, and––’ She stopped walking and gazed at the beach. ‘Actually, I will fall in love at some stage, Dad.’

  Joseph nodded.

  ‘But I’ll be careful,’ she added. ‘How about you?’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘When I’m out of the house… aren’t you going to be lonely?’

  Joseph frowned. ‘Don’t think so. Caine’s still around. Chris won’t stop getting on my nerves,’ he said about his assistant at his pet supply shop Sergeant Scipio. ‘He’s a good lad. But you know what I mean. And I’ve got tons of animals to take care of.’

  He was deliberately misinterpreting her concern. It hurt even to think of being with someone, loving someone. His girl didn’t know he’d hurt her mother. The memories of Emily screaming when he tried to make love to her were engrained in him – especially those times when she had really bled. He didn’t think he’d entered her deep, and he’d adopted the ‘gentlest’ positions possible, but there was no way around his so-called manly endowment. The doctor at the hospital said he’d bruised his wife’s cervix – and it’d happened more than once. He could not possibly start that again with any woman! Besides, having his own wife reject him (with such hatred and condemning eyes) had made him feel like
a monster. Sometimes these days even smelling a woman’s perfume would make him panic. He couldn’t do that to himself again.

  Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Cornelia looked at Joseph. ‘I’m okay if you find someone.’

  Joseph looked down at the sandy pavement to escape Cornelia’s eyes. ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘That sounds like a lame way to avoid the subject.’

  ‘I’m not looking.’ He started walking.

  Cornelia caught him up. ‘Don’t sabotage your own happiness.’

  ‘What?’ Joseph laughed. ‘I’m not sabotaging my happiness!’

  ‘Hmm… you really are not interested in finding love again. You’re a penguin in your past life, huh?’ Cornelia said. ‘Well, maybe not a fairy penguin because they don’t mate for life. Maybe a gentoo?’

  ‘Did that Penguins and Albatrosses book I gave you tell you that?’

  ‘No, I read it elsewhere, that book was, geez… was I nine or ten?’ said Cornelia. ‘Oh, hey, maybe you were an albatross!’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Or a shingleback skink!’ Cornelia guffawed. The native Australian lizard – heavily armoured and mostly monogamous. ‘Seriously, Dad, if someone comes along, and you feel right about her, don’t turn away.’

  ‘How old are you again?’ said Joseph.

  She looked at her watch. ‘Officially 16! And five minutes.’

  ‘I’m fine on my own.’

  ‘At least get a dog. Like Pipee.’

  ‘Pipee was one of a kind,’ Joseph whispered. ‘I’ll be fine, Cornelia. Seriously.’

  The stopped under a street lamp. Joseph reached out to her and she leaned into him.

  ‘Let’s take a selfie,’ she said and pointed her phone camera at them. ‘Best dad ever!!’

  He smiled. At least for tonight, and the next 364 days, she would be near and he could keep her safe.

  6

  Pierre

  Sydney, New South Wales, Australia

  Summer wished she could take off her top and scratch her back right here, right now. But no one at the international arrivals hall at Sydney Airport would want to see that. After ten long years, her scars still itched and burnt whenever she sweated.

  ‘Summer!’

  Pierre, the man responsible for the scars, stood among the crowd like a real father would; all smiles, a bit teary, waving gently.

  It had been three years since she’d seen him (the last time they’d met was in Paris). He had lost a lot of weight. Perhaps criminal law – or more likely Bobby Swinburne’s case – had been punishing.

  ‘Pierre,’ Summer said as they hugged. He went to kiss her, but she quickly let go.

  ‘Good to be back?’ he asked, wiping his tears.

  ‘I don’t know! I haven’t set foot in Sydney for years now. I will miss DC, for sure.’ Damn her back was now even itchier. ‘Mum’s not coming?’

  ‘She’s with Auntie Jean.’

  ‘Did you two have a row?’

  ‘She just wanted to be with Auntie Jean.’

  Summer shook her head.

  ‘I have to come back tomorrow to pick up Molly and Milo from quarantine.’

  ‘I see. I’ll drive you.’

  ‘Nah. Can I borrow your car?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said. He opened his mouth as if to start a sentence, but he simply said ‘sure’ again. She’d been certain he’d insist he’d drive her.

  ‘I want to see Jake.’

  Pierre frowned. ‘You’ve had a 24-hour flight, don’t you want to rest for a bit?’

  ‘I want to see Jake.’

  Pierre nodded.

  ‘Can we stop by the florist?’

  He nodded again.

  With a bunch of white roses in her hand, Summer knelt at Jake’s grave. There were already two bouquets there, relatively fresh; one was from her parents with a note: You are always loved, the other was from Sofia: Jakey, forever my hero. Sofia, the only girl Jake had kissed on the lips. The two hadn’t always been a couple, but they had always been together at heart. When Sofia had almost been assaulted by a man she’d met on Tinder and was too scared to go back to her family, Jake was there for her, despite going through gruelling rounds of chemo at the time.

  Too young, Summer thought, and cried. Her gentle Jake, who had made their mum wait in labour for 12 hours after Summer was born. Her gentle Jake, who’d rather sit at the park sketching birds than go to karate with her.

  Maybe it was better that Leukemia had taken her brother so soon. Jake could not take pain. Summer had given him her bone marrow, twice. But he wasn’t one who liked to receive. Despite the transplants, he kept relapsing. Because nature was fair. Jake wasn’t meant to suffer.

  Summer took Sam out of her bag. ‘See? I kept him for you.’

  Tuxedo Sam had been the only penguin toy at the Penguin market they both thought had the right colour, size, and expression. They’d both wanted the toy, but Summer let Jake have it.

  Summer stood up, tucking Sam back inside her bag. ‘You don’t want to say anything?’ She turned to Pierre.

  He just looked at her and walked away. He was crying.

  After passing a kiss to the base of Jake’s headstone, Summer followed Pierre to the car. She wanted to put her hand on his shoulder and say she didn’t blame him. But she did blame him – not for Jake’s death, but for the sorrow that lingered. Yet she’d made peace with it. And she didn’t want to tell him that.

  The cemetery was behind them now. She truly felt sorry for Pierre. He loved her slightly more than he’d loved Jake, and for the first time she saw Pierre’s guilt for it.

  ‘What are you working on?’ Summer broke the silence.

  Pierre cleared his throat. ‘Cases?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Nothing special. Litigation, fraud …’

  ‘Any pro-bono?’

  ‘A homeless man – he got into a fight with a convenience shop owner.’

  ‘Nothing like Bobby Swinburne?’

  Joseph shook his head. ‘Stop your fascination with him.’

  ‘Do you believe he’s a psychopath?’

  ‘He was never diagnosed.’

  ‘Come on, Pierre, personally!’

  ‘No. Borderline personality disorder, maybe. He could decide when to cry or intimidate at the right time.’

  ‘Do you believe he’s innocent?’

  ‘How many times have you asked me that?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘It was self-defence,’ said Joseph. ‘Is Bobby Swinburne a good man? No. Is he a violent man? Yes. But at the time he smacked that poor security guard’s neck, it was self-defence, hence he was innocent of causing serious injury intentionally.’

  She believed that too. And so had the jury, eventually. After being convicted, followed by Pierre’s two years’ effort to overturn it, Bobby Swinburne had walked out a free man last year.

  ‘I heard your assessment with the Admission Board went well?’ said Pierre.

  She sighed. ‘I could start work tonight if that’s what you want.’

  ‘That’s not––’

  ‘Yes, Pierre, I’m a qualified New South Wales Legal Practitioner now.’ She leaned sideways, her elbow against the door, her head rested on her fist. ‘Maybe we should negotiate pay now,’ she said lightly.

  ‘I won’t be able to pay the rates those DC bosses paid you, that’s for sure.’

  She had simply wanted to tease Pierre, she hadn’t expected him to answer her seriously.

  Pierre continued, ‘I mean, as a firm we won’t be able to afford it, at least for now. But I’ve made arrangements. You’ll be well taken care of.’

  She had earned money and had her own savings, didn’t he know that?

  He then asked: ‘Do you want to see your office?’

  Summer had left behind her international law career in Washington DC to work with Pierre. Clean slate. Father-daughter team, unstoppable. But she detested his eagerness right now. Earlier he’d suggested a rest when she’d wanted
to go to Jake’s grave, now he wanted to show her the office?

  ‘No. I want to see Mum.’

  Pierre clutched the steering wheel. ‘Not today.’

  ‘Come on, it’s only a couple of hours’ drive.’

  ‘I’m tired.’

  ‘I’ll drive.’

  ‘Don’t do this to me, Summer.’

  ‘What are you hiding?’

  Pierre looked at her. ‘Nothing.’ He paused. Then, with determination, he said: ‘All right, let’s go and see Mum.’

  For the next two hours they travelled without saying anything, until Summer noticed something on the side of the empty country road.

  ‘Stop!’ she shouted. ‘Pierre! Stop!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Pull over!’

  She scrambled out of the car, then ran along the grassy field parallel to the road. About 50 metres back, she found the white blob she’d noticed from the car. A kookaburra. The bird was in trouble.

  ‘Hey buddy,’ she said and cautiously covered the bird with her jacket. It didn’t put much of a fight when she picked it up. Inside her head she named him Jake. She ran back to the car.

  Pierre frowned. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I think it has a broken wing.’

  ‘I think it’s dead!’

  ‘No. It’s still warm. I presume Dr Blake still practices? Is it still next to Auntie Jean’s?’

  Pierre didn’t answer.

  ‘Pierre?’

  ‘Can you call me Dad just once?’

  ‘Pierre?’

  ‘Leave the bird.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘We’re not going to Auntie Jean’s. Leave the bird and get back in.’

  She hung on to the bird and sat quietly. Pierre sighed and continued driving.

  What was he hiding? Or about to reveal? It crossed her mind that Pierre could be taking her to the Oakhampton cemetery. Her mum had asked to be buried there. Her heart raced. Could he really have hidden her mum’s death from her? And if, in fact, her mum had died, how dare he separate her from Jake!