Don't Leave Me Breathless

by A Kelly

  Scipio looked up at the sky.

  Caine waited, then said, ‘You don’t have to tell me.’

  ‘Well, she’s okay. But I’m still worried she’s gonna do it again.’

  Scipio felt a tap on his shoulder. Ash, the plumber. ‘Hey Joe, hey Caine!’

  ‘Hey buddy!’

  ‘Skipped the swim this morning?’ Ash said.

  ‘Nah! Was done before 8!’ said Scipio.

  Ash smiled and disappeared to join the queue inside.

  Scipio took another sip of his flat white, with the same wince.

  ‘I know you’ll take good care of her,’ Caine said.

  ‘I love her. But can I take care of her? I don’t know.’ Scipio’s hand slipped as he put down his coffee mug. ‘Shoot!’

  ‘See! You really need to get your eyes checked, mate!’ Caine said, looking at the spill on Scipio’s shorts. ‘I’ll get some napkins.’ The vet disappeared inside.

  Scipio wiped his hand on his already sticky shorts. A man towing a wet black lab passed behind him, very close to Scipio who had just pushed his chair back.

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ Scipio said realising he was partially blocking the walkway.

  The man smiled and bent over slightly.

  ‘So, she hit you too, huh?’

  Scipio frowned. First he had problems with his vision, now he had started hearing things? He turned to look at the man who was now crossing the street. Scipio watched him kissing the blonde, female driver of a Subaru hatch. Then the young man let his dog in and finally he himself hopped into the passenger seat. Scipio was in two minds about going after him; in the end he simply watched the car leave.

  Scipio hit the brakes as hard as he could to avoid Summer’s Rav4 that was reversing fast out of the Beam House driveway. ‘Goodness, Summer!’ he mumbled to himself.

  Before he could pull over, Summer was already out of her car, marching to him.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ she cried and shook his shoulders through the open window.

  ‘Summer… Summer, calm down!’

  ‘Why didn’t you take your phone?’

  ‘I went for a swim then had coffee with Caine.’

  She let him go and drove the car back into the driveway as fast as she drove out. She ran into the Beam House. He parked and followed her in.

  ‘Summer, what’s up?’

  She showed him a photo on her mobile phone. It was of him, swimming.

  ‘He’s out there, Scipio. He knows you. He knows your routine.’

  Scipio scrolled the screen, Summer tried to stop him. But he saw the caption: A spear-throw away

  Summer hugged him, trembling.

  ‘Summer, I’m okay.’

  ‘Please don’t hit the water again… please…’

  ‘All right, okay.’

  ‘Please don’t be out of reach. Please take your mobile, always.’

  ‘Okay. I will.’ Scipio guided Summer to sit down. ‘Can I see his photo?’

  Summer paused. She looked through pictures on her mobile phone. ‘I’m sorry. This is the only photo I have of him.’

  It was their wedding. Scipio hadn’t expected to admire Summer’s husband, but the young man looked stunning in his suit. And, even though Scipio didn’t want to think it, in that photo Bobby and Summer looked like they belonged to each other.

  The man at the Letterbox had looked different, but he was Bobby. The groom in the photo was skinnier, but his eyes, the shape of his face, and his smile – were the same.

  ‘Scipio, talk to me…’ Summer said.

  ‘I saw him, Summer.’

  ‘Did he threaten you? Did he hurt you?’ She rubbed Scipio’s arms, chest and abs.

  ‘No.’

  ‘How the hell did he get here?’

  ‘We’ll go to the police!’

  ‘And say what?’

  ‘He’s been abusing you! Yes?’

  Summer closed her eyes and shook her head.

  ‘Summer, you can’t keep denying it.’

  ‘We hit each other, Scipio. We hurt each other. We choked each other.’

  So that was what she’d wanted when she put her hands on his neck, and his hands on hers.

  ‘We both consented to the things we did.’

  ‘Why did you run away then?’

  ‘I realised it was a mistake.’

  ‘There’s still no reason we can’t go to the police.’

  Summer moved away from Scipio. ‘The police haven’t found him – what does that mean? He’s outsmarted them.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I haven’t caught up with the news––’ Summer wiped the sweat off her face. ‘Scipio… my husband was supposed to be in jail. He raped a woman. He must’ve escaped. Or he could’ve been released.’

  ‘Summer! You could’ve told me!’

  Summer shook her head and huffed.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ Scipio hugged her. ‘I will protect you. Now that we know Bobby is close, surely the police are onto him.’

  ‘Yeah… where are they?’ Summer said. ‘They haven’t even found me! And why the hell didn’t my lawyer…’

  Summer gasped.

  ‘What? What’s going on with your lawyer?’

  ‘My new mobile… my lawyer didn’t know I had one.’

  ‘So Bobby has been tracking you?’

  She gasped once again. ‘His friend. Mo. Bobby used to buy drugs from him, but Mo was apparently a mobile engineer, or maybe a hacker.’

  She rummaged in a box in the kitchen and turned on what seemed to be her old mobile phone. She inserted the battery from her new phone. ‘Shit!’ she said as she scoured through her call logs.

  She played the voicemails.

  ‘Summer, Bobby is coming for you! He escaped.’

  There was an article he sent: Inmate escaped by hiding in a recycle bin.

  She could’ve shown him Bobby’s mugshot rather than the wedding photo. But somehow Scipio was thankful, he’d seen her in that wedding dress and she looked stunning.

  The voicemails continued to play:

  ‘Summer, call me. Text me, whatever. Tell me you’re okay!’

  ‘It’s me again. Why the hell are you moving to Hobart? He knows. He knows your address and your new name. Cate Washington? Geez, Summer! But the police are on his trail.’

  Scipio replayed the message. ‘Why would your lawyer think you moved to Hobart?’

  ‘That’s why the police aren’t here yet, Scipio. It’s Bobby. He must’ve created a smokescreen, making up clues that I’d moved to Hobart as Cate Washington.’

  ‘Why Kate Washington?’

  Summer leaned back, she almost didn’t want to look at Scipio.

  ‘I married my husband as Summer Washington. Cate – Cattarina, is my middle name.’

  ‘Summer – what is your real name?’

  ‘Summer Cattarina Rideau.’

  Amid the chaos in the room, he found calm in hearing her name.

  ‘Why did you change your name?’

  She glanced at him. ‘Bobby knew Pierre, my father, his lawyer. Before I met him, Bobby went to prison for bashing a security guard, leaving him permanently brain damaged. But he was freed, thanks to my father, who argued that Bobby had acted in self-defence. I didn’t want Bobby to know I was Pierre’s daughter. Then I crossed to Tassie using someone else’s ID – that was why Sandra called me Samantha.’

  ‘And Bobby knows now?’

  ‘I’m sure he was at St Therese talking to my mum. So yes, he knows. The police won’t find anything in Hobart, so they will widen their search and soon they’ll be here. It’s likely he will leave Penguin and we won’t see him for a while. Bobby would probably relish leading the game of hide and seek this time,’ she said. ‘How did you know it was Bobby?’

  ‘He saw me at Letterbox, or maybe followed me there. He passed me by, then he said, “She hit you too, huh?”’

  Summer put her palm on Scipio’s cheek.

  ‘He was w
ith a girl. Really blonde girl.’

  ‘His girlfriend, I guess.’

  ‘How did you escape from him?’

  ‘I overdosed him. Then there was a long game of cat and mouse. And the last time we met, in Darwin, I stabbed him with a broken bottle.’

  Scipio hugged Summer. ‘I can’t lose you. He won’t have you.’

  ‘I created this hell for myself, Scipio.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I came after him. I pretended that I met him by chance, at a café in Newcastle. I was fascinated by him, and … and my life was a mess. I wanted to know pain, from him, with him.’

  Scipio could understand the young man’s charm, but for Summer to deliberately involve herself with such a violent man?

  ‘Has life hurt you that badly?’ Scipio asked.

  ‘I’m weak. I’m full of anger, blame and hatred. I couldn’t handle life.’

  Her sad face – right from the beginning he’d known, it was for a burden she’d carried for a long time.

  ‘He doesn’t love me, Scipio. I don’t love him. He’s a drug addict, and he killed our neighbour’s dog! He smashed it with a steel pipe, again and again, he said. He even poisoned my guinea pigs. Molly and Milo – they were from my mum. They were what was left of my real mother.’

  Scipio hugged her shivering body. Any man who was capable of killing a dog wouldn’t hesitate to kill another man. And Summer had warned him.

  23

  Scooter

  The Penguin Police seemed to have doubled its force, though there were only three extra policemen from New South Wales going about their business in this 45-square-km town. The three were a lead detective by the name of Varro; his partner, Smith; and another constable nicknamed Sponge Bob. How a team of three, with one of them called Sponge Bob, could win against Bobby, Scipio didn’t know.

  They had found Summer Rideau a couple of days ago. They had also tracked Bobby’s real movements around the northwest of Tasmania – albeit too late. They now had surveillance on Summer and Scipio. They asked questions and speculated that Bobby was hiding around the Central Plateau.

  ‘You know Mr Swinburne better than anyone, Ms Rideau. What would you do if you were him?’

  ‘He’s changed, Detective. He’s not the Bobby I knew. But one thing is for sure, as long as you’re here, he won’t show up.’

  Scipio sensed Summer didn’t really want the police to catch Bobby. He asked her again if she loved Bobby. Summer, looking him in the eye, swore she didn’t. He believed her, but she clearly didn’t have the heart to hand the man over.

  A week later the three New South Wales policemen left Penguin to lead a search around the Central Plateau. They assured Scipio and Summer that Tasmania Police would arrest Bobby on the spot if he ever set foot in Penguin again.

  Two missed calls from Caine. Scipio should've been at the shelter an hour ago, but his right-hand man Chris had to deal with an emergency, leaving Scipio to open up shop.

  Caine called again, right in the middle of deliveries.

  Before Caine said anything, Scipio rapped out his response: ‘Hey, man. I know I’m late. I was on the way there but had to turn back. Chris’s Shelley is in labour so it’s not a free day for me after all.’

  ‘All right, all right! Chill out, Russo!’ Caine said. ‘I wasn’t ringing you about that.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘What did you say? Shelley’s in labour? That’s early, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah. Chris is freakin’ out.’

  ‘Poor boy! Hope everything’s okay,’ Caine said. ‘Hey, I’ve got good news for you.’

  Scipio needed some good news.

  ‘I’ve got a springer, a beautiful girl. I won’t put her up for adoption until you see her.’

  He wasn’t sure if this was the news he wanted to hear.

  Caine continued, ‘Mind you, I think the dog prefers women. She’s timid around blokes. So, she might not warm up to you straight away. Summer has met her. She loves her. I mean… the lady loves the dog, and vice versa.’

  ‘What? Summer was there?’

  ‘She thought you were here. But she said she’d find you at the shop.’

  ‘Was she okay? Did she say anything else?’ Scipio spoke like a rapper again.

  ‘Chill out, mate! What’s up? You’re sounding so edgy.’

  Scipio frowned at the thought of a four-legged creature circling him, seeking attention, while Summer was currently occupying 99% of his headspace. ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘Oh… no…’

  ‘Hey! Canine ageism is a crime!’

  ‘You know what I mean. I’m not ready to go through another heartbreak.’

  ‘She’s healthy! She has many years ahead of her.’

  Scipio could sense the vet was thinking hard about what to say next: ‘Come on, give her a chance, take her to the shop. See if you two like each other.’ Caine spoke with a tone that maintained both compassion and persuasion – and Scipio knew the vet was well aware of its effectiveness. ‘Her name is Scooter. She doesn’t really respond to that; maybe it’s just because of the way I’m calling her. I guess you can rename her. She used to be a little girl’s dog. Like all girls, she grew up, and now she’s leaving for uni. Her single mum just couldn’t keep a dog right now.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ Scipio said unenthusiastically.

  ‘That’s all I ask. So, when are you coming?’

  ‘Tomor—’ Suddenly the front door burst open and there was Chris looking… edgy. ‘Tomorrow. Hey, Caine, I’ve gotta go.’

  ‘Ta da…’ Chris said with a mixture of glee, fretfulness and plain silliness.

  ‘What the hell? Did the midwife kick you out or something? What did you do?’

  ‘False alarm, man. Shelley’s with her mum now. It wasn't the midwife, it was the missus herself who wanted me out. So here I am.’

  ‘You don’t have to be here, go home.’

  ‘I’d rather be here, boss.’

  ‘Well, okay…’ Scipio said. ‘Could you help me with these deliveries then?’

  ‘Sure. Prefer this kind of labour anyway,’ he joked.

  Chris wasn’t a big guy, but he had bee-like efficiency and Mondrian geometric flair that would turn stacks of stuff into nicely presented merchandise. Scipio liked the space to look like a nice, tidy shop, not a warehouse. Chris was dedicated, so much that he’d worked without pay for a month when Sergeant Scipio had been on the verge of bankruptcy, many years ago now.

  Scipio watched Chris arranging a pile of 15kg bags of chewy dog food along the shelf; on the packaging was a photo of a bouncy-eared Welsh springer. Piper had been an English springer mix, but that picture was enough to remind him of his old confidant: eyes looking into him when he pressed his aching head or when Cornelia cried, tail wagging excessively when he put on his wetsuit, and snout rubbing his leg when she wanted attention…

  ‘Hey, Chris… I’m just gonna pop out for a bit.’

  ‘What’s your excuse this time? Work’s getting a bit too much… or you’re getting lonely?’ He winked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re seeing Summer, aren’tcha?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Huh… my mistake then.’

  ‘I’m going to see Caine. He’s got a springy up for adoption.’

  ‘Ahhh…,’ Chris said. ‘That’s why you're looking edgy.’

  What was up with people being edgy today?

  At the shelter, Scipio found Caine playing with Kamon, a stray Siamese cat whose hind leg had been clipped by a car last week. He was teasing the cat with a feather rope mouse. The doctor was more animated than the cat itself.

  ‘There’s my man!’ Caine said. ‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to wait till tomorrow.’ He struggled to pull himself up from his squatting position. ‘My bones are crumbling. Come!’

  And there she was inside cage 17. A beautiful springer spaniel who looked a lot like Piper: liver and white, long wavy ears and a
docked tail.

  ‘Hello there,’ Scipio said. The dog moved a couple of steps back with her barely-there tail curving between her legs. ‘Oh, yeah… she’s afraid of me.’

  ‘You’ve got a male voice.’

  ‘What do you mean? Haven’t you?’

  ‘Well, my voice is like Robin Williams’; I could be Mrs Doubtfire,’ he said. ‘Yours is like… Pavarotti.’

  ‘No, it’s not!’ protested Scipio.

  ‘You can’t impersonate anyone.’

  ‘I don’t sound like Pavarotti. People said my voice was more like Michael Ball’s.’

  ‘Who the hell is Michael Ball?’

  Scipio rolled his eyes and turned to pat Scooter. Scooter jerked her head to evade Scipio’s touch. Then she crawled into the corner of the cage.

  ‘She did that to me, too, at first. But I’ve grown on her; my Mrs Doubtfire voice helps, I suppose,’ he said. ‘She likes Mary, though.’

  ‘Who likes Mary?’ Mary interjected upon her stealthy entrance.

  ‘Oops, she did it again!’ Caine shook his head. ‘I’m talking about the springer.’

  ‘Ah, yeah, she likes me,’ said Mary as she looked at Scooter, then disappeared.

  ‘That’s when I figured she prefers women,’ Caine said stroking Scooter’s neck. ‘So, what do you think?’

  Scipio faced the vet, who gave him his best puppy-dog expression.

  ‘She liked Summer, too, mind you.’

  Scooter’s eyes were fixed on Caine’s mouth as if she was waiting for a command.

  ‘As soon as Summer entered, the dog came to her and sat upright,’ said Caine – chin up, chest straight, mimicking how Scooter would’ve posed, ‘next to Summer’s feet, looking so regal. You should’ve seen her…’

  Scipio reluctantly took Scooter with him. She was obedient but she wasn’t so keen on the leash.

  Chris was over the moon when he saw Scooter.

  ‘Congrats, man!’ he said.

  ‘Well, I haven’t decided yet.’

  ‘Why? How could you say no to her!’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  Scipio let Scooter roam freely around the shop. She was well-behaved, docile most of the time, lying with her head down under the printer table.

  ‘Scooter!’ Scipio called. She lifted her head briefly then lay down again. ‘Oh dear… what am I gonna do with you!’