Forgotten by Neven Carr Page B

beach, across from my complex. He had heard what had
happened and wanted to help. I was unsure how he could,
until he passed me the paper with Saul
Reardon’s name and number .
     
    “ I don’t understand,” I say, staring at
the paper and then at him.
    Matty looks like an ad for the grunge look in low-hanging
shorts and a black T-shirt that bears the words - ‘Stop following me. I am not a shoplifter.’
Several piercings decorate his long, narrow face.
    “ I know Simon would’ve wanted me to help,” he says. For a
brief moment, there is a pained sadness in his sleepy, hazel eyes
and my own hurting heart reaches out to him. I know how much he had
respected Simon, loved him, even though they were so dissimilar in
just about every way possible. I squeeze Matty’s hand and
smile.
    He smiles back.
“Anyway,” he continues, “the only thing I thought of was this.” He
nods towards the paper. “I don’t know how much trouble you’re in,
Claudia, maybe none, maybe shitloads. But what I do know is if you
need someone, see this man.”
    I say nothing.
    Matty hooks a thumb in his pocket, scrapes
back his long, dark hair. To me it looks as if it needs a good
wash. “Few years back,” he says, “I got myself in a heap of
shit.”
    Somehow, this doesn’t surprise me. “Did Simon
know?”
    He shakes his head. “Simon had already done enough for me…
didn’t want to disappoint him… you know?” His voice is a little
rickety. “Well, this man helped me instead. He’s totally cool at
what he does.”
    “ Which is what exactly?”
    “ He just, well… helps people in trouble.”
    “ Like a private investigator?”
    “ Nah, just the opposite, not something he wants advertised
if you know what I mean.”
    I have absolutely no idea what he means, and
I am convinced this shows on my face.
    “ I was pretty screwed up, Claudia. Saul Reardon, he
was like amazing. Don’t know
how he does it but he does. He has the skills, knows the right
people. More importantly, he just cares. He saved me literally. And
he can save you too.” He stops and his eyes waken wide. “I mean,
that’s of course if you need saving.”
    “ We all need saving at some
point.”
    I reflect upon how close to the truth my
thoughts are. After all, hadn’t I intentionally concealed
information from the police, the fact that the murdered woman knew
me, the curious yet familiar name she used, the birthday card; its
mysterious predecessors? Hadn’t I stated to Weatherly that I had no
knowledge as to her identity, even though I knew this to be
false?
    Hadn’t I even considered the idea that the wrong person was
shot?
    “ He is someone you can trust,” Matty says.
    And I believe him.
     
    The perpetual bustle of passing cars jolted
me back to reality. Recalling Matty had done little to change my
mounting insecurity.
    I pictured
the forthcoming meeting with Saul Reardon. I played out the likely
conversation. I could even visualize the expressions on his face,
shifting from mild bewilderment to complete disbelief, perhaps even
amusement when I finally revealed the truth.
    I cringed at the thought, anxiety swelling
larger than the late afternoon traffic. Visions of my home began to
spread through my chaotic mind, visions of soft, feather doonas and
thick, downy pillows where heads can sink forever.
    It didn’t
tell me what I should do. It simply gave me the time to do it
myself. In a flash, I leaned forward and turned the ignition
key.
    I was being
truthful when I said people needed saving at some point in their
life. I was being truthful when I said that this man could possibly
help.
    Nevertheless, I had changed my mind.
    I set the course for home.
     
    ***
     
    “Claudia, wake up.” The voice was deep and
masculine.
    “Leave me alone,” I grunted and pulled the
snuggly doona over my head.
    “Like hell, I will.”
    I heard a swish, felt the cool
air-conditioned air swiftly nip my skin.
    “ You are getting up!” boomed the same insistent