enough to
send me back to that awful night nearly two weeks ago.
The night has changed, mutated into
something wild and ugly.
I am crouched on a plastic chair hugging my knees, rocking.
Sticky, red fluid has thickened on my cool skin and feels odd,
unreal, its unfriendly odor far too familiar. A female police
officer is sitting nearby. She is asking more questions. But this
time, I don’t answer. My head is too crowded with my own
questions.
Bright, painful lights conceal the nearby
darkness. Orders are loud, impatient, and the tireless drone of
inquisitive bystanders drowns out the once soothing hums of the
sea. Orange tape flaps intermittingly, enclosing the horrifying
scene, imprisoning me.
I sneak a morbid glance at Alice’s crumpled body. People
swarm her, buzz around her as if she’s some sort of scientific
display. I turn my head in disgust.
Slow, even footsteps become louder, then stop. I look up to
see a man. He immediately reminds me of a feral fox with his sharp,
narrow, facial features and his shrewd, murky grey eyes, vigilantly
studying, waiting. His silvery hair is slicked back, not a single
strand out of place, as perfect as his dark, creaseless
suit.
He introduces himself as Detective Inspector Weatherly. His
voice is oily, arrogant. “We need you to answer all the questions,
Miss Cabriati, not just the ones you want to.”
He is glaring at me. I attempt to glare back
but eventually my eyes drop to my tangled fingers.
“ Claudia!” It is Mel and my shoulders
immediately slump with relief.
She crouches in front of me. I notice her
clothing first, faded blue gym pants and an over-sized T-shirt.
“You have no bra on,” I whisper, suppressing a roguish giggle. But
I fail and laughter invades the dismal atmosphere like a poisonous
intruder.
Mel glances at her visibly erect nipples, then stares back
at me. “Fuck the bloody bra, Claudia. Are you all right, just tell
me you’re all right.”
I nod but it is fragile.
Mel grips my elbow and carefully helps me
up.
“ What’re you doing?” Weatherly barks.
Mel throws him a long, examining look. “Taking her home
with me… now.”
A brief and heated exchange follows, until
the detective growls and unexpectedly gives in. The next thing I
remember is Mel guiding me into a waiting taxi.
She holds me in the back seat, tightly,
gently. I can smell the sweet scent of citrus on her and find it
soothing.
“ I think I knew this woman,” I say, as I glance at the cab
driver. He appears lost in the mundane lyrics from the radio.
Nevertheless, I lean closer to Mel’s ear; speak in what I hope is a
decipherable whisper. “I think I know from where. But I can’t tell
the police ; they’d think me
crazy.”
And the thought that I possibly am, doesn’t
quite escape me.
Mel pulls me closer still. “We’ll sort it
out,” she says. “Whatever it is, we’ll sort it out.”
I lifted my
head from the steering wheel and thought of the days that followed.
Police visits, invading journalists, nosy neighbors and of course,
my family, who were totally beside themselves with worry, my father
in particular, pleading for me to return to their home.
As did Mel.
But I
couldn’t. I wanted seclusion. I wanted the comfort of my own
surroundings. And that’s what I did, successfully squirrelling away
in my home, amongst what was safe and familiar.
I straightened up further and glanced at the
dashboard clock. It only confirmed what I already knew, that time
was moving faster than I liked. I re-focused on my meeting with
this man… this….
I swore and frantically rummaged through my
green beaded bag until I found his name scrawled on a crumpled
piece of paper.
This… Saul Reardon.
I repeated
it over and over. As I did, I sensed a
quiet strength about him. And then I laughed. I had to be going
crazy. Right? I knew so little about him. Other than what Matty
Galloway, Simon’s younger cousin, had told me three days
earlier.
We had met
on the
send me back to that awful night nearly two weeks ago.
The night has changed, mutated into
something wild and ugly.
I am crouched on a plastic chair hugging my knees, rocking.
Sticky, red fluid has thickened on my cool skin and feels odd,
unreal, its unfriendly odor far too familiar. A female police
officer is sitting nearby. She is asking more questions. But this
time, I don’t answer. My head is too crowded with my own
questions.
Bright, painful lights conceal the nearby
darkness. Orders are loud, impatient, and the tireless drone of
inquisitive bystanders drowns out the once soothing hums of the
sea. Orange tape flaps intermittingly, enclosing the horrifying
scene, imprisoning me.
I sneak a morbid glance at Alice’s crumpled body. People
swarm her, buzz around her as if she’s some sort of scientific
display. I turn my head in disgust.
Slow, even footsteps become louder, then stop. I look up to
see a man. He immediately reminds me of a feral fox with his sharp,
narrow, facial features and his shrewd, murky grey eyes, vigilantly
studying, waiting. His silvery hair is slicked back, not a single
strand out of place, as perfect as his dark, creaseless
suit.
He introduces himself as Detective Inspector Weatherly. His
voice is oily, arrogant. “We need you to answer all the questions,
Miss Cabriati, not just the ones you want to.”
He is glaring at me. I attempt to glare back
but eventually my eyes drop to my tangled fingers.
“ Claudia!” It is Mel and my shoulders
immediately slump with relief.
She crouches in front of me. I notice her
clothing first, faded blue gym pants and an over-sized T-shirt.
“You have no bra on,” I whisper, suppressing a roguish giggle. But
I fail and laughter invades the dismal atmosphere like a poisonous
intruder.
Mel glances at her visibly erect nipples, then stares back
at me. “Fuck the bloody bra, Claudia. Are you all right, just tell
me you’re all right.”
I nod but it is fragile.
Mel grips my elbow and carefully helps me
up.
“ What’re you doing?” Weatherly barks.
Mel throws him a long, examining look. “Taking her home
with me… now.”
A brief and heated exchange follows, until
the detective growls and unexpectedly gives in. The next thing I
remember is Mel guiding me into a waiting taxi.
She holds me in the back seat, tightly,
gently. I can smell the sweet scent of citrus on her and find it
soothing.
“ I think I knew this woman,” I say, as I glance at the cab
driver. He appears lost in the mundane lyrics from the radio.
Nevertheless, I lean closer to Mel’s ear; speak in what I hope is a
decipherable whisper. “I think I know from where. But I can’t tell
the police ; they’d think me
crazy.”
And the thought that I possibly am, doesn’t
quite escape me.
Mel pulls me closer still. “We’ll sort it
out,” she says. “Whatever it is, we’ll sort it out.”
I lifted my
head from the steering wheel and thought of the days that followed.
Police visits, invading journalists, nosy neighbors and of course,
my family, who were totally beside themselves with worry, my father
in particular, pleading for me to return to their home.
As did Mel.
But I
couldn’t. I wanted seclusion. I wanted the comfort of my own
surroundings. And that’s what I did, successfully squirrelling away
in my home, amongst what was safe and familiar.
I straightened up further and glanced at the
dashboard clock. It only confirmed what I already knew, that time
was moving faster than I liked. I re-focused on my meeting with
this man… this….
I swore and frantically rummaged through my
green beaded bag until I found his name scrawled on a crumpled
piece of paper.
This… Saul Reardon.
I repeated
it over and over. As I did, I sensed a
quiet strength about him. And then I laughed. I had to be going
crazy. Right? I knew so little about him. Other than what Matty
Galloway, Simon’s younger cousin, had told me three days
earlier.
We had met
on the
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