by Ingrid Fry
‘Maggie!’ Jason screamed. ‘Don’t let it take you!’
Boo barked ferociously as I took a knife from the kitchen table. She sounded a million miles away.
* * * * *
I awoke paralysed, unable to move my arms or legs. I couldn’t speak. My mouth was sewn shut. It was dark. A wave of fear and panic churned in my gut. Concentrating on my senses, I felt a rough fabric over my face, a heavy weight pressed on my torso, and sharp objects dug painfully into my ribs. It was cold and I started to shiver.
As consciousness returned more fully, my eyes perceived some colours. Through the weave of the rough fabric I could make out strobing red and blue lights. I heard the loud hee-haw, hee-haw of an approaching siren, and the crackle of police radios nearby.
Police! I tried to move. Limbs twitched. Oh, thank God, I wasn’t paralysed.
My hands were bound together tightly above my head, and my arms were numb. My ankles were similarly bound. I seemed to be suspended horizontally.
I wriggled and gyrated trying to get a sense of how I was suspended. I tried to open my mouth but it was sealed tight with tape. I inhaled as best I could given the weight on my chest. It hurt to breathe, but I could smell … chocolate. Chocolate lilies. I knew where I was! We had pots of them around our alfresco area—I was in the hammock on our deck.
What the hell was going on? Why were police here? Why was I here? I had to escape the hammock. I tried to move my arms and legs to get a swing going. My plan was to swing upside down and hope somehow, that way, I could break free. It was a bad plan because I couldn’t move. It was impossible to generate any momentum with my arms and legs bound.
I tried to scream and delivered only a high-pitched mewling. In response to my efforts, I received a sharp dig in the ribs.
I froze. The weight on my body was someone sitting on top of me—with a gun.
Footsteps in the house, voices, snippets of conversation, which waxed and waned in volume.
‘… knife as evidence …’
‘… statement taken …’
‘… he’ll be dead, with a wound like that …’
A flush of cold heat bloomed like an atom bomb in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to vomit, and gagged violently.
I remembered! I remembered Jason. I remembered the knife.
Oh my God, I’d killed him.
That’s why I was restrained. I’d gone nuts like Mum. They were going to lock me up. Tears trickled over my cheeks and dripped onto my neck.
The sliding door rattled open. The voices moved closer.
‘Nothing happened out here?’ a deep masculine voice asked.
‘No.’
I made a noise and received a responding violent dig in the ribs.
‘Who’s in the hammock?’
‘Boo, my dog. She sleeps there.’
It was Jason. I froze and held my breath.
‘Looks pretty comfy cozy on top of all those blankets. Lazy mutt wasn’t much help in this situation,’ the voice said. ‘You’ve made her too comfortable.’
Footsteps approached the hammock. ‘Who’s a spoilt little doggie?’
I felt rather than heard the rumble of a low growl.
My heart pounded in my ears like a bass drum.
‘Hey, Sarge! The inspector wants you.’
Footsteps retreated.
‘I think you’ve misjudged Boo,’ Jason’s voice said. ‘There were bite marks all over the bastards.’
The door rattled closed.
I let go of my breath.
The itchy fabric lifted away from one side of my face and a rough wet tongue gave me a big long lick—and then another lick, and one more for good measure. I smelt chicken breath. The blanket settled over my face again, and Boo removed her elbows from my ribs so I was a little more comfortable.
Noises receded and silence fell. It seemed like an eternity passed before the screen door rattled open again.
I kept quiet, not sure who was approaching. There was the flap, flap, flap of Boo’s tail, so I figured it must be friend, not foe. I hoped beyond all hope I hadn’t imagined Jason’s voice, and he was alive, not carved into tiny pieces.
‘You’re a fair dinkum legend, Boo,’ the voice I was hoping to hear said. ‘Couldn’t have done it without you. Come on girl.’
The weight lifted from my body and then the tic, tic, tic of Boo’s nails on the deck. The blanket lifted from my face, and there, silhouetted against a sky painted with a blazing pink and orange sunrise, was Jason’s gorgeous face.
I felt like I’d died, and he was the angel sent to take me through the pearly gates. Even if I was going to hell, I would’ve willingly gone with him—no big deal, we’d kind of been there already.
Super serious mode would describe Jason’s expression. Concerned eyebrows knitted over worried hawk eyes, his mouth a soft thin line. He caressed my face. ‘Maggie, you’re back. I can tell you’re okay by your eyes. ‘I’m going to take the tape off your mouth. I’ll do it slowly, but it may hurt a bit. Shall I start?’
I nodded.
The tape was stuck fast, and it felt like getting a slow wax as it came off.
‘Oh, thank God!’ I said. Words tumbled out. ‘What a relief … Jason I thought you were dead … that I’d killed you … what on earth … why was I—’
My words were cut short by Jason’s mouth as he tenderly kissed them away.
‘Let’s get you inside and get some food and coffee into you, then we’ll talk.’
He removed the tape from around my wrists and brought my arms down. They were completely numb as he tried to rub life back into them. I continued to rub my wrists and arms as Jason freed my ankles.
‘Duck tape,’ I said.
He smiled. ‘Duct tape. Seeing you tied like this is giving me ideas.’
‘Save ‘em for some other time, Mister Grey. I think I may have lost the use of my arms and legs forever,’ I said as he pulled me out of the hammock. ‘Ow!’
My limbs were so stiff I could barely walk; hands and feet burned with pins and needles. Staggering, Jason caught me, scooped me into his arms. He slid the door open with one foot and carried me into the house. He didn’t miss a beat. My superman seemed fine.
‘It’s like getting married,’ he said, ‘carrying you over the threshold.’
‘Maybe one day we will.’
My arms were around his neck, my face against his chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady, and I did indeed feel as happy as a bride. A bride’s happiness usually lasts longer than about sixty seconds though.
‘Where shall I put you, Mags?’
‘Is anyone else here?’
‘No, everyone’s gone. What would you like first? Food? Bath?’
‘What the hell happened? Tell me.’
‘We’ll talk later. You’re so cold. I think a hot bath, then food, and then talk, or go to bed and talk after. In fact, I’ve already drawn you a bath m’lady.’
‘With crayons or pastels?
‘Ha, ha.’
‘Sounds good,’ I said, as my teeth started to chatter.
‘I need you to close your eyes tight now, and remember everything is going to be fine.’
‘Why?’
‘Do it.’
I disobeyed him. As he carried me to the bathroom, negotiating around upturned tables, chairs and books, the devastation of our home was revealed. A toppled bookshelf had disgorged its contents across the lounge room. A pool of blood three feet across congealed near the heater duct. Micro venetians hung in shreds across windows. Streaks, blobs and splashes of blood adorned the walls like a Pro Hart painting. Head shaped indentations decorated cupboards and doors.
Our beautiful things were scattered far and wide. A toy dog Dad had given me hung upside down from a light fitting, knives, forks, spoons and kitchen utensils were strewn the length and breadth of the house, a toaster hung off a battered floor lamp, and a selection of large kitchen knives were impaled into the walls.
So much for the honeymoon.
I squeezed my eyes tight shut for the rest of the journey and hoped we didn’t have to move a corpse out of the way when we arrived at our destination.
Jason set me down. ‘You can open your eyes now. If you did indeed actually close them.’
‘I did in the end.’
The bathroom had somehow avoided the action and was in perfect condition. Thank heavens.
‘Can you stand?’
‘Yep.’
‘Skin a rabbit,’ he said.
I raised my arms and he took off my top.
‘I have a strong feeling of déjà vu,’ I said.
‘Me too.’
He knelt on the floor, undid my jeans, and pulled them to my ankles.
‘Step.’ I dutifully lifted my feet clear. He slid my undies to my ankles and kissed me gently on the belly holding my hips with his hands.
‘Step again. Now in you go,’ he said, helping me into the bath.
‘Are you coming in too?’
‘Yes, but I need to make a phone call first. I’ll be back.’ He lit a candle and dimmed the lights.
I lowered myself into the steaming bath and the scent of lavender enveloped me. Bless him. He’d put essential oils into the water.
The scent reminded me of the Maestro.
* * * * *
Jason eventually returned, stripped off, and slid into the bath behind me. He encircled me with his arms and legs and I leaned back against his chest.
Nuzzling my ear, he said, ‘You okay, Mags?’
‘If I hold myself in this moment, I am so okay.’
‘It’s the secret to life, if only it were that easy.’
Jason moved his hands over my hair and onto my shoulders. He massaged them, and I felt the tightness in my muscles give way. My arms surrendered their pain as he worked his way downward. He entwined his hands with mine and lifted my fingers to his mouth kissing them gently.
I turned to face him, trying not to send water cascading over the side of the bath. We surveyed each other in the candlelight. Jason’s body was patch worked with dark striations, blotches and shadows. A dark ridge ran from the top of his right shoulder to underneath his armpit. I reached out to touch him and he caught my wrist in his strong grip, holding my hand away from his body.
‘What is that? You’re injured … black and blue.’
‘I’m getting better, just a bit delicate at the moment.’
‘You need to go to hospital.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re not fine, I can tell, even in this dim light. I’m taking you to the hospital.’
I pushed myself back from him and held on to the sides of the bath trying to stand. He seized both my wrists.
‘I’ll be fine. I don’t need to go.’
I felt more upset by the moment.
‘But look at you,’ I said, trying to break free of his grip. ‘Ow! You’re hurting.’ He wasn’t, but I needed to get free to call a doctor. ‘Let go!’
‘Sit back down! I. Do. Not. Need. A. Doctor,’ he said, in a tone so low and forceful I acquiesced, plopping back into the water and creating a small tidal wave in the process.
Still holding my wrists, he pulled me towards him, creating more waves. His eyes were burning, and he kissed me passionately, still holding my arms away from him. He pushed me backwards, and his mouth was on my breasts.
‘Let me touch you! I need to touch you,’ I pleaded.
He shook his head in the negative and pushed me backwards until I was under the water again, with his body on top of me. My arms were held fast in his grip as his mouth devoured every part of my body, until finally, we were one, in a tidal wave of passion and bath water.
What a way to stay in the moment. Bliss coursed into every cell of my body. Every ache and pain vanished, along with most of the bath water.
I opened my eyes and stared at the bathroom floor; the water on it shimmered like a lake in moonlight.
I gazed at Jason who laid with his head on my chest. Narrowing my eyes, I attempted to clarify the impression before me. The muscles on his back gleamed with oil and water, accentuating three dark streaks running across them. The marks ran the width of his back and the edges were dissolving, flowing down into the bath. What was that? I touched the trickle pooling dark on the white porcelain and put my hand to my nose. The metallic pungency of iron filled my nostrils. Blood!
‘Jason, you’re bleeding. Get up!’
‘Can’t,’ he murmured. ‘Too tired.’
I shook him. ‘Move. Get up!’
He was a dead weight and I was terrified he would be dead, if I didn’t get him to hospital. I attempted to slide out from under him, pushing up and sliding my legs free. Jason flipped onto his back in the process, and his body lay rimmed in a pool of red, his face white.
I extricated myself from the bath and turned the lights to full brightness. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t a good idea. The full force of the image of Jason hit me like a tram. My head spun, and I clutched at the sink to stop myself falling.
‘Keep it together, keep it together!’ I slapped myself hard across the face and brought me back to myself. There was blood everywhere. Don’t faint, breathe. Don’t faint, breathe. I repeated it in my mind like a mantra.
The pristine bathroom had obviously felt left out of the carnage that’d occurred in the rest of the house, and had decided to do something about it.
Jason’s body was drenched in red.
Tomato passata? Maybe it was. I had a bottle in the pantry. I reckoned you’d need fifteen of them to create this scene. It was blood, you idiot. No, it was paint—Dulux Symphony Red—I had a colour swatch for that. White bath with Shiraz pooled at the bottom? We had plenty of Shiraz.
Rivulets of rosé trickled down the sides of the bath, with sections smudged into crazy finger paintings. The scene overwhelmed me, and I knew I was standing there doing nothing, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Jason groaned and extended a hand. I grasped his hand, slippery with blood and hauled him to a sitting position. He sat head slumped on his knees. The three long gashes on his back oozed a fresh flow of blood.
‘Jason, who did this?’
‘You did,’ he murmured.
I pretended I hadn’t heard those words, otherwise I would have remained there, paralysed.
‘I’m calling an ambulance.’ I headed towards the door, wading through pools of blood-tinged water.
Mobile phone. Where the hell was my phone? Exiting the ensuite, I faced the ruin of our house. Where was Boo? There was broken glass everywhere. I had no shoes on. Shoes, where were my shoes?
‘Boo! Boo!’ I screamed. Boo was always good at finding shoes. If there was a stray one anywhere, she’d parade around with it, waving it under our noses. She’d only give it back for a trade, which for her was one of her favourite biscuits.
‘Boo! Biscuit! Find shoes, Boo. Find the phone, Boo!’
Where the hell was she when I needed her? Maybe she was dead or dying somewhere too.
A shoe was wedged under a chair; I pulled it free. It felt sticky and was covered in congealed blood, inside and out. It wasn’t a shoe I recognised. It was a man’s shoe. Not Jason’s, but.
I couldn’t be choosy, so slipped my foot into the huge black shoe feeling the gooiness between my toes. I shuffle-hopped clumsily on one shoed foot towards the kitchen, and there was the landline—in pieces on the floor.
I uttered a string of expletives, feeling the situation warranted it.
Standing balanced on one foot, I became aware of the silence in the house. It was magnified by the ticking of the clock on the wall. The ticking became louder, each tick a drumbeat, measuring out wasted seconds, each tick a drumbeat, measuring out wasted drops of Jason’s blood.
Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock!
Drip! Drop! Drip! Drop!
I knew it was a countdown to death, and all I could do was stand there and listen to it pound in my brain. The sound was so loud it filled the house.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
BANG! The front door flew open, and I screamed as a huge hulk of a man stepped into the dark hallway. He turned towards me and stared.
I would have stared too, confronted by a house that looked like a war zone, in the middle of which stood a stark naked, pale skinned, blood streaked woman standing on one leg and wearing a big black shoe.
The man moved towards me and I screamed like a banshee.
‘Maggie, it’s me! Ashley! His voice was barely audible over my noise.
‘Ashley? Oh, Ash!’
His boots crunched over the glass as he raced towards me, taking off his coat on the run.
‘Holy Mother of God,’ he said, as he wrapped me in his coat and picked me up, the shoe still dangling from my foot. ‘Bloody hell, Maggie, were you … are you … what the hell happened? You’re hurt!’
‘Don’t worry ‘bout me. It’s Jason. Get an ambulance! He may be dead already.’
The sound of crunching glass came from behind us. A force knocked Ashley off his feet, sending him sprawling face first onto the floor. He threw me out of his arms, mid fall, with such force that I landed in a tipped over couch on the other side of the room.
The attacker clutched a wooden rolling pin ready to smash down on Ashley’s skull. I realised who it was. ‘Jason, no! It’s Ashley!’
Ashley rolled over in the nick of time and seized Jason’s arm. ‘Freaking hell!’ he said as he gazed at the bloodied, naked figure standing above him. ‘Get that thing away from me—and the rolling pin!’
Jason’s knees buckled and he collapsed on top of Ashley.
‘Sorry, mate … thought … someone … after Mags …’ Jason mumbled, before passing out.
Ashley now fitted the scene, covered in blood and with a body on top of him. He gently rolled Jason to the side and stood.
Jason opened his eyes. ‘I’m all right, Ash. I’m fine.’ He sat up and brushed broken glass off his hands. ‘Where’s Maggie?’