Less Than Little Time (Between Worlds Book 1)

by Sabina Green

  The source of this stress was crystal clear. I loved my job and wouldn’t change it for the world, but it was challenging and mentally draining, no doubt about it. Even the doctor hummed in agreement, looking at my uniform which I hadn’t had time to change out of. I have no idea if he could tell by the missing epaulette that I was never sworn in, that I’m not a police officer in the field, but one at a police station. What did it matter anyway? However stressful my job was, it didn’t give me cancer. Probably.

  “Could something have been done, had I come sooner?” I whispered.

  He looked down, sighed and straightened his perfectly straight collar, probably a bad habit or a nervous tic. His clothes were in perfect shape, no need for adjustments.

  “That’s hard to say,” he responded carefully, posture stiff.

  But it was a pointless line of questioning. The answer couldn’t change anything about the trouble I was in now.

  I don’t want to die, I thought. I may have said it out loud too, I couldn’t recall because my mind was suddenly covered by thick fog, impenetrable until the impatient driver started honking at me.

  But I can’t leave Ruby here alone… I grew up without a mum and it was bloody hard, I always felt as if I was missing something vital. And my daughter wouldn’t just go without one parent, she’d be an orphan!

  I didn’t doubt that my Dad would look after her. He was a great parent to me and would be a great Grandad to her, but… that wasn’t the same.

  How was I supposed to tell Dad? He’d already lost his wife, the year before last his best friend died and he had no family here, they were all back in Czechia. It would break his heart… I could hardly deal with my own stirred emotions, I couldn’t bear to see anybody else suffer, especially not Dad. I won’t tell him, I decided. At least not yet. I need to get used to the idea myself, I’d break the news to him after.

  There was another honk and I jumped. The garage door was open and a driver in a massive Jeep was waiting for me to clear his driveway. I could have done with a few more minutes to calm my scattered thoughts and racing pulse, but I backed out and drove back onto the main road. I arrived home way too early.

  “In the living room!” a voice boomed through the house as soon as I closed the main door.

  “Hi Dad,” I squeaked, my voice unnaturally high. I went through to the living room to say hello as usual, but this time it was as if my legs and arms had turned to stone.

  “Connie,” he started and put away the newspaper. “What’s wrong? You have a face like a wet weekend.”

  I searched for a lie frantically. “It’s this new case at work. Horrific stuff. It hit me really hard.”

  He burrowed back into his armchair. “Do I wanna know?”

  Most definitely not. “You wouldn’t sleep.”

  He was staring at me so intently I had to look away. I flopped down into the other armchair without thinking, but the idea of making light-hearted small talk with Dad now that a lethal battle was raging inside my body made me shiver, and I stood up again.

  “I’ll make tea. Would you like some?”

  He ignored my question. “You’re as white as a sheet. You’re not gonna faint on me, are you?”

  My throat felt tight. Could I manage not to tell him? I wanted so badly to be able to hide in his embrace and cry my troubles away. But neither of us was ready for me to fall apart. In this case, it wasn’t so much about if that happens, but when.

  “Could you pick up Ruby from kindy today?” I asked, my voice tense. “I really don’t feel well, I need to lie down.”

  He frowned. “You dizzy again?”

  “Yeah,” I breathed.

  He kept looking at me, questions in his eyes, and for a second I was afraid he wouldn’t let me leave without a good enough explanation. If I had to touch the truth even just a little bit, I’d break down. But my fear was unnecessary. Dad wasn’t one to ask a million questions and stick his nose into other people’s business. Our father-daughter relationship has always been based on mutual trust, he expected me to tell him anything important, and deal with the insignificant stuff myself.

  “I’d be happy to,” he nodded. “I’ll walk. It’ll be nice to stretch my legs a bit.”

  “Thanks.”

  I went to my modest bedroom and changed into casual clothes without really being aware of what I was doing. I was getting into bed just as the entrance door closed behind Dad, and then the firm grip of shock finally let go, to make way for grief. Tears sprang to my eyes and blurred everything around me. The duvet, the bed, the room. My future.

  Mark

  I couldn’t believe the coincidence. A person who could be more useful to our organisation than she even realised volunteered for our cause. She had essentially offered herself to us on a silver platter. What were the odds of that?

  Connie couldn’t have known that I’d been watching her Dad for over a year. I knew everything about his life, so I knew her too. It wasn’t absolutely necessary for me to meet Connie in person, but I wanted to. Frank was indispensable to our purposes, although he had no idea about his role yet. But to have his daughter on board too, that would open up a whole new horizon.

  I had no idea what I should be talking to her about at this meeting that I was so eager to invite her to. I got carried away by the surprise, her name on the list of new subscribers, and called her without thinking things through first.

  “Mark, what are you doing?” I heard Andrew say as soon as my phone call with Connie was over.

  I took a deep breath, not knowing if I should feel relieved or disappointed. Connie hadn’t promised anything concrete, on the other hand she didn’t flat out refuse to meet me either.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all under control,” I told Andrew with more confidence than I had.

  “I know who you were calling,” he wouldn’t let it go. “I know that name as well as you do. Maybe even better, because before Frank Fiala was assigned to you, I was the one watching him. I wrote his files.”

  “I realise that.”

  “We got pretty damn far for some rookie to mess everything up. Think about what’s at stake.”

  I raised my hands in surrender. “I’ll be careful.”

  He was looking at me with piercing eyes. “You’re not… thinking about backing out, are you?”

  “What? Where did that come from?”

  “A new person who hasn’t been checked joining the group is a risk. If she sniffs out something she doesn’t like, she could turn us in. She works for the police, for God’s sake! They’d raid all the branches, not just ours, and we’d be finished. Ten years of planning ruined!”

  “You know that’s not what I want!” I defended myself. “I want us to succeed just as much as you do!”

  “Yeah, but if the plan fails, “ he growled, “there is a certain advantage to be gained.”

  I clenched my fists so tight my knuckles cracked. How dare he accuse me of something like that? We were both just as passionate about our cause! “I’m certainly not interested in this advantage, as you call it.”

  Andrew nodded and turned back to his computer screen. His hand was moving the mouse randomly around and his eyes were staring at one spot, he clearly wasn’t focused on his work. It wasn’t even a minute before he spoke again. “She’s not important to us. Don’t drag her into anything!”

  “She’s Frank’s weakness, so she’s very important,” I replied. “And she could be useful to us.”

  “I don’t see how?” he said, although he knew exactly what I was talking about. Surprisingly enough he hadn’t yet cited the one rule of our group I was obviously going to break. The Association had everything and nothing to do with it, but of course now that wasn’t what we were talking about anymore.

  “It’ll be useful to get to know Connie a little better. I’ll check her out and if anything tricky comes up
, I’ll back off.”

  His face was like thunder, but in the end he agreed. “Alright then.”

  His worries eventually turned out to be unnecessary. When I called Connie the next day, she didn’t pick up the phone nor did she react to the voice message I left.

  “It’s for the best,” Andrew snarled and shrugged his shoulders, as if a huge weight was just lifted off of them. “We only need Frank and he never needs to know about us. Things will get moving regardless.”

  I wasn’t about to give up so easily.

  Connie

  “Mummy, I’m hungry,” a tiny voice whispered into my ear.

  I struggled to open my eyes. I’d spent the whole night threshing through nightmares, waking up soaked in sweat, and then breaking down into a quiet, desperate sobbing. Finally, just before dawn, I was tired enough to fall out of consciousness.

  “Come in here for a cuddle, sweetie,” I croaked and lifted the duvet.

  Ruby happily climbed onto the bed and her tiny body snuggled close to mine. I smelled fresh peach soap, Dad must have given her a bath last night. I should have felt guilty about avoiding my family and hiding in my bedroom yesterday evening, but in all honesty, I just felt empty and devoid of emotion.

  “Do you know that I love you?” I whispered into my daughter’s ear. Then mentally added: more than my own life.

  I opened my eyes just in time to see her nod. She smiled and put her hand on my cheek, the way I’d often done it to her. There was so much love and affection in that gesture that it made my chest clench in pain.

  “Your eyes are tiny,” she giggled at the slits through which I was looking at her.

  “But I can still see how pretty you are,” I assured her and Ruby beamed. She had big blue eyes, blond hair and dimples, a walking ad for the poster child. “You said you were hungry?”

  “I want corn flakes,” she blurted out, then remembered her manners: “Please.”

  I didn’t want to stop being a Mum. I yearned so much to be able to guide her through life and make sure she’d be a good, upstanding person.

  “Come on then,” I told her. We went to the kitchen together and while I was getting dishes and corn flakes from a shelf, Ruby bounced over to the living room.

  “Hello Grampa!” she exclaimed happily and started chattering.

  I felt Dad’s eyes on me, as if he was saying: Look at the state of you!

  I served my daughter breakfast and made a strong hot cup of coffee for myself while trying to avoid any opportunity for a conversation. It wasn’t unusual for me to be so upset by a case at work that I spent the evenings sitting with Dad, either in shocked silence, or using rather foul language. Sometimes I even shed some tears, when the cases involved children or animals, my weak spot. He knew what it was like to work in the system; you had to be tough to mentally survive it. But to cry all night and look like death the next morning? That was new.

  I managed to make a snack for myself and Ruby, prepare her school bag and dress her, although she protested that she wanted to keep playing dominoes with Grampa. Not so surprisingly, I’d forgotten to wash my uniform, so I just ironed the one from the day before, to make it look like it had not actually been lying crumpled on the floor all night. In the end I’d managed all my usual morning duties and still had some time before going to work.

  “Connie,” Dad grumbled behind me. I hadn’t even noticed him sneaking into the kitchen. “You’re still feeling off, aren’t you? Why don’t you take the day off?”

  The idea was tempting, not having to worry about work stuff. But staying at home would mean being under the microscope, not to mention deep contemplations about my terrifyingly short future.

  “I can’t. We’re short-staffed today as it is.”

  “You’re pushing yourself too much.” He sighed and looked at me with puppy eyes. “I know it’s my fault.”

  “Dad please, don’t start again, it’s ridiculous.”

  He’d never been anything but a logger and a carpenter. He’d learned the trade–just like his dad, grandad and great grandad–as a teen in Czechia and then, thirty years ago, when he emigrated to Australia, his experience and skills got him a job and a long-term visa. He was the best and the most reliable employee in the company, and his bosses indulged and pampered him accordingly.

  He was a big, tough guy, very strong, but he had a light touch when working with machines and wood. He loved his job and it was impossible to imagine him not doing it. He took time off very reluctantly, and even in hard times–including losing his wife–his job provided relief and an escape from reality.

  That reality hasn’t always been rainbow and sunshine. Despite the idyllic first years with my mum, his life had been anything but easy. He was often overwhelmed by guilt which, in my opinion, was misplaced. Mum had gone to the bank the day that somebody else had chosen to go and rob it, and unfortunately, they were armed. Things got out of control, but while all the other innocent bystanders managed to escape, Mum, holding me in her arms, was stumbling on abandoned backpacks and handbags and fallen chairs. By some miracle I survived without harm, but she lost her life during that gunfight. Dad couldn’t take it. Naturally I thought that the fact that she wasn’t here anymore was much more my fault than his.

  His friends suddenly saw this cheerful, kind-hearted man turning bitter and bad-tempered. Dad dealt with his loss and pain by taking on even more work. He might have started sleeping at work too, if it weren’t for his best friend’s wife who decided to intervene.

  “You go to work to grieve your wife’s death and neglect your daughter, who’s still alive. It makes no sense, Frank. I’m happy to keep babysitting–Connie’s a darling–but she’s grieving too and she needs you.”

  Dad took her words to heart and created more balance between work and his family. After that I never again felt like I came second, although there was no doubt he loved his job.

  Everything changed almost eighteen months ago, when he witnessed a nasty accident at the sawmill. The next two weeks he kept turning up for his shifts before the shock of what he’d gone through fully caught up with him. He took a few days off to pull himself together, but it didn’t take long for him to realise that he’s not fighting shock so much as post traumatic stress disorder.

  After that he couldn’t keep working there and was let go. A few months worth of severance was a very small compensation for the suffering, nightmares, and inability to keep any other job. He couldn’t keep paying rent, so I suggested he cancelled his lease and moved in with me. I meant my offer seriously, however I didn’t think he would take me up on it. It surprised me when he did and that’s when I realized how serious his mental health problems were. Because Frank Fiala never relied on others and always took care of himself, alone, thank you very much.

  He wasn’t materialistic, so after selling all his furniture and basic kitchen equipment, he only needed three medium-sized travel bags for his personal items. I let him have my guest room as well as, on his insistence, some of my responsibilities. He didn’t have his own income, so he couldn’t help me out financially, as if I’d ever ask that of him. So he at least made sure I had as little work around the house and garden as possible. He did the shopping, cleaned and cooked, cut bushes and mowed the lawn, took Ruby to and from kindy, and when I had weekend shifts, he played with her and looked after her better than any babysitter. And Ruby loved her Grampa.

  “If I was good for anything, I’d find a job and you wouldn’t have to keep looking after me,” he mumbled miserably. I thought that the three of us had a pretty good system going, but Dad sometimes muttered about being a burden.

  “I thought that it’s you who’s looking after me,” I said. My mental state didn’t allow me to magic up any positive energy whatsoever, but I was still able to honestly say: “You’re helping me so much, with everything. Most evenings I can just sit back and wind down. And I couldn’t do
that after Ruby was born, not until you started living with us. I know you’ve been through a lot Dad, and you need time, so don’t punish yourself for it. Try to take it easy.”

  “But you’ve also…”

  A wave of emotions tumbled towards me and feared I’d start crying right in front of him. I quickly grabbed my keys and bag and went to the door. There was no way I could tell him in this vulnerable moment that soon, he wouldn’t have any choice but to pull himself together, find a job, and look after his granddaughter, because in six months his daughter won’t be alive.

  Usually I hugged and kissed Ruby before going to work, but today I couldn’t. I just called out a cowardly “Okay, bye!” from the hallway and ran to the car.

  Tears got the better of me when I reached the police station. I treated myself to a few minutes alone in the car, but even then I had no privacy. First, my tears were interrupted by a vibrating phone, a familiar number flashing on the screen. Mark from the Animals and Environment Protection Association. I’d completely forgotten about him. He hung up on the first try and left a message on the second. I had absolutely no desire to listen to it.

  The area behind my car was also busy. After I saw yet another policeman walk past me, I blew my nose loudly, dried my eyes for the last time, and faced my “normal” life.

  Frank

  I bent over Ruby, put her hands into the right position, and with a light swing, showed her how to cast a fishing rod. The sinker hit the water not far away from us, and she had her eyes fixed in that direction.

  “What’s next, Grampa?” she whispered.

  When I was leading her over here, yawning like there’s no tomorrow, I explained the sunrise is the best time to go fishing. We stumbled through several Whys which reminded me so much of Connie at that age, and Ruby never asked about the same thing twice. With a serious expression she accepted the fact that fishing is not just about knowledge and experience, but also patience and the ability to do everything in silence, so as not to disturb one’s catch. She was quiet and careful. Smart thing.