Jack’s mind was racing out of control. He had to get her out of there. Someone was after them, and Franklin had disappeared.
He grabbed Emily’s wrist to take her pulse, then checked himself. Idiot. If she’s groaning, she’s still alive.
Bracing himself on the nearest desk, he got up slowly. Got to get her out of here, he told himself. Then his head exploded.
Jack’s legs crumpled underneath him, and he fell to the floor beside Emily. His brain had switched into psychedelic mode, and his head felt like it had been run over. As he faded towards unconsciousness, he felt hands gripping his upper arms and dragging him along the floor.
What was happening? There was some kind of slamming or banging noise, and then he was being propped up in a sitting position against a wall. Then everything faded to black.
Sharp slaps to his face brought him around. He had no sense of where he was, or how long he’d blacked out for. Rough hands grabbed him again and manhandled him along a wall into the corner of a room.
He tried hard to bring his breathing under control. It didn’t work — and his head was throbbing so badly he almost hoped they would knock him out. It felt like he was about to vomit.
‘So, Mister Taxi-driver’, a harsh voice suddenly sneered at him, ‘what gives? Who’s paying you?’
Jack mumbled an incoherent response, hoping they might leave him alone for a bit. After listening to a few more of his garbled replies, one of the men kicked him in the stomach.
He lurched sideways, gasping for breath, and tried hard not to throw up. The beam from a strong torch hit his eyes, and flashes of hallucinogenic light flooded his brain. He closed his eyes, then opened them a fraction, trying to get some sense of his surroundings. He was groggy and confused, with thoughts scurrying around in his head too fast for him to keep up with them. There were two men standing over him. It was difficult to tell, but they might have been the two heavies who’d chased him across the northern suburbs.
As his senses started to function again, he looked around trying to work out where he was. It didn’t help much.
Large colourful things dangled from the ceiling, and giant red letters adorned the far wall. Tiny chairs and tables were scattered around the room. A bank of windows on one side of the room let in eerie shafts of pale-yellow light mingled with forbidding shadows.
Was he hallucinating? It was hard to make sense of these bizarre images.
Then he worked it out: he was in one of the classrooms at the school. They’d dragged him across the road, and had somehow managed to break in. A ridiculous thought slipped into his head: where was that aggro teacher when he needed her?
‘Let’s try again. Who’s paying you?’
‘No one’, he slurred back.
One of the men slapped him hard.
‘Wrong answer, dickhead. Try again.’ Jack was petrified: they might be about to torture him.
‘Don’t know what you’re on about … Just a cabbie …’
The closer man slapped him again, but this time Jack saw it coming, and was able to ride the blow. It was difficult to move quickly while slumped in a corner, but he still managed to take some of the sting out of it.
‘So how come you’re breaking into the office, hey?’
‘Franklin. Old mate. We were at a meeting, he wanted me to hold the torch. Don’t know what’s going on …’ Words tumbled out of him, interspersed with short, staccato breaths.
‘The union bloke?’
‘Yeah, him.’
‘So what were you after?’
‘Don’t know …’
This time it was another kick, just below his ribs. He wasn’t able to avoid it. Nor was he able to stop himself throwing up.
He groaned and wriggled, and did his best to wipe the vomit from the front of his shirt. Gagging violently, he spat out the last of his stomach contents, and another wave of nausea hit him. He wouldn’t be able to handle much more of this treatment.
‘He … attacked Emily. Had to pull him off. Just trying to find out what he’s up to … fucking snake. Probably ripping you off …’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Dempsey. Tenants guy. Red-headed …’
There was a brief silence. Jack’s head rolled around as he fought against the pain, nausea, and exhaustion spreading through his body.
‘Keep going.’
‘It’s Emily … Don’t even live in the flats. Got dragged into this shit … nothing to do with me. Just a cabbie … Tried to get Dempsey off her back, so he gets his mates to bash me. Knew Franklin a bit years ago …’
‘And we thought you were going to do the right thing.’ The man closest to him snorted, then coughed — a sharp, raspy smoker’s cough. ‘How is Mister Lanscombe, by the way?’
‘Don’t understand …’ Jack wheezed. He was fading into a woozy, semi-conscious haze. He struggled to think straight.
‘Aagh! Fuck!’ Jack screamed as the man jammed a lit cigarette into his wrist.
‘You’ve run out of chances.’
‘Jesus!’ he screamed again, as this time the butt was pressed against his exposed neck. ‘Leave me alone!’
‘Time you worked out how things are, Jack. You tell us you’re not going to give evidence, then you break into the office with the union bloke. Can you see how that looks?’
Jack gagged again, and tried to wriggle into a better position.
‘Don’t worry, those burns’ll heal. Next one’s in your eye. Which one would you like? Right or left?’
‘Not giving evidence, no way’, Jack mumbled. ‘Just trying to nail that arsehole, tried to rape Emily. He’s spying on them, just trying to sort him …’
‘Can’t do any better than that? Hold his head.’
‘No!’ Jack screamed. The other man grabbed at his throat as Jack thrashed around feebly. He forced Jack’s head back against the wall.
‘They reckon the smell of it burning is almost as bad as the pain, you know.’ His tone was almost conversational now.
Jack whimpered, shaking with terror, as he begged them to lay off. ‘Please! Anything … don’t know anything … caught in the middle. Franklin made me help him …’
His desperate pleas faded as he confronted the thought of extreme, unbearable pain — maybe even death. What more could he tell them? If he mentioned the Supreme Court stuff he’d be signing his own death warrant anyway.
Would they really put it in his eye? None of this seemed real — but the terrible pain surging through every part of his body was real enough. How had he landed himself in this situation?’
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Someone was banging on the window of the classroom door.
‘Fuck!’ his interrogator hissed. ‘Who’s that?’
They dropped Jack and crashed their way across the classroom, sending small tables and chairs flying in all directions. The tall man wrenched the door open, and a dark figure lurched right into them.
‘Jack! What’re these guys …?’
Oh Jesus. That’s all I fucking need. Jack’s heart sank. It wasn’t the cops. It wasn’t the school caretaker. It was just crazy Phil. He must’ve camped out inside the school instead of hanging around at the flat. It was hard to think of anyone more useless in his current situation.
His captors didn’t know that, though. They collided with Phil and crashed with him to the floor in a writhing, tangled mess of arms and legs.
‘Hey, he’s got a knife! Come on, get moving! We’re done here anyway’, the tall man said. He stood up, lashed out at Phil’s legs with his foot, stepped over him, and was gone. The other man followed.
Jack couldn’t believe his eyes. Had Phil somehow managed to save him?
A half-hearted attempt to stand up didn’t work, and Jack collapsed back against the wall and tried to take stock of the situation. Was Emily sti
ll lying there? Where had Franklin gone? Was anyone else lurking out there in the darkness?
He rolled sideways until he was able to get on his hands and knees. By bracing himself against the side of a small bench, he was able to ease himself into an upright position, keeping close to the bench in case he crumpled. He had to get out of there — that was obvious. But Emily might be badly injured. Should he just call an ambulance? Carry her out? Go for help?
Then the most important question of all hit him: could he walk? His head was thumping, he felt horribly sick, and he suspected he had a couple of broken ribs.
Phil was still lying on the floor. Jack picked his way through the tangled mess of chairs and tables, doing his best not to stumble. He pushed his way past Phil, who was trying to get up.
‘Thanks, Phil, owe you one …’, Jack mumbled as he scrambled towards the door.
‘Jesus, Jack. What’re you doing in my spot anyway? I’d get out of here quick if I was you, mate …’
Jack hobbled down the corridor and out the main door into the extension of Drummond Street. There was no sign of the two men. He now had only one thought in his head: Emily.
Having eased his way through the gap in the Auspart office window with some difficulty, he allowed a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the near-total darkness. The pain from the cigarette burns was forgotten.
‘Emily? Emily? Can you hear me?’ There was no response.
With weak rays of light creeping through at the front of the office, he could see where Emily should be, so he worked his way around the mess to the spot where she’d been lying. She was still there.
If he got down on both knees he was worried he mightn’t be able to get up again, so he lowered himself next to her limp body, putting his left knee on the floor, with his other leg cocked at right angles. He felt around for Emily’s head, and moved closer until he was almost touching her. He could feel faint breathing. At least she’s still alive.
When he lifted his hand up from the floor, he realised it was wet and sticky. Shit. Is that blood? He couldn’t see well enough to tell, so he touched his index finger to the tip of his tongue and recognised the familiar metallic taste. Now he had another problem: Emily might bleed to death.
Can I lift her up? Maybe should just call an ambulance? Should I carry her outside?
He grasped Emily’s limp body around the hips and eased himself up into a standing position. For fuck’s sake, don’t drop her, don’t drop her, he told himself over and over. He slung Emily over his left shoulder in something like the fireman’s hold, and staggered towards the front of the office. Using his thighs to manoeuvre, he walked very slowly to make sure he didn’t bang into anything and drop her.
He got to the spot where he thought the front door should be, and groped around for a handle. His legs were on fire, and his head still throbbed unmercifully, but he was now thinking a bit more clearly.
With Emily balanced precariously on his shoulder, and held only by his left arm, Jack felt around the door handle for a lock, wondering how he had ended up in this crazy situation. I’m totally the wrong bloke for this shit.
Praying it wasn’t some kind of deadlock, he eventually found a latch, which he turned sharply. He let out a deep ‘Aah!’ of relief as the door opened, and he stepped out into Drummond Street.
He spotted a bench a few metres further along on the footpath, staggered over to it, and lowered Emily’s still motionless body onto the end of the seat. Then he collapsed next to her.
After taking a few deep breaths, Jack called an ambulance. His hands shook as he tapped out the numbers. He scanned the street for signs of the heavies, but it was deserted.
Less than five minutes later, he heard the hee-haw of a siren, and then saw flashing red-and-blue lights turn into Drummond Street from Elgin Street. Almost unconscious, he was able to have a brief exchange with one of the paramedics as they strapped Emily into a stretcher.
‘I’m okay, I’m alright’, Jack kept mumbling, but it was obvious he wasn’t. ‘She got hit in there somehow …’ He pointed in the direction of the Auspart office.
‘You’d better come with us, sport. We’ll put you in the back. Keep an eye on her.’ No doubt the paramedic was experienced at dealing with situations like this. Jack blacked out at that point. He had nothing left.
17.
Jack woke up on a hospital trolley. He did his best to take a look around and determine where he was, but he couldn’t move much because he was strapped in. How long had he been asleep? The last thing he could remember was the ambulance arriving. He still seemed to have his own clothes on, which was something, but the smell of vomit lingering on his shirt wasn’t pleasant.
Memories of the calamity at the Auspart office trickled back into his mind as he lay there trying to come to terms with what had happened.
Shit! Emily? Where are you? What have they done …?
The realisation that he had the mother of all headaches hit him. It felt like a thousand hangovers rolled into one. He groaned feverishly, and tried to wriggle out of the restraining straps. It didn’t work.
More flashes of memory came back to him as he struggled to adjust to this latest turn of events. The filing cabinet — Franklin — where did Franklin get to? — Emily’s limp body lying in a pool of blood — what’s happened to her? — the two men hitting him …
‘Help! Someone get me out of this fucking thing!’ Jack screamed as loudly as he could. He was in a corridor, and although he was unable to turn his head to check behind him, he suspected there was no one else around.
For Christ’s sake, am I a prisoner or something? Jack muttered to himself.
He lay there for a few more minutes trying hard not to focus on all the different sources of pain in his body. Then the double doors at the far end of the corridor swung open, and a young man in hospital greens bowled towards him, whistling cheerily as he walked.
‘Hey, mate! Get me out of this, will you?’ Jack called to him.
‘You’re awake!’ he replied, as if this was a pleasant surprise.
‘Course I’m fucking … sorry, hey, what time is it?’
‘About three, I think.’
‘Three what?’
‘Three in the morning.’
‘Shit. How long’ve I been out for?’
‘Not sure — few hours maybe.’
‘What about the girl I was with?’
‘Don’t know much. Induced coma, I think. Pretty nasty head injury.’
‘Fuck.’ Jack’s heart started racing. ‘Where is she? Got to see her. Can you untie me?’
‘Suppose so. You want to check yourself out? They decided to keep you here for a bit, just in case …’ He sounded hopeful: maybe one less patient to look after would make for an easier shift. The nurse leaned over and unclipped the straps. Jack eased his way into a sitting position, grimacing with pain at each small movement.
‘What’s happened to Emily? Girl with the head injury …’
‘Like I said, I don’t really know. They reckon she was hit on the head with something, looks like maybe it fell on her … Not sure. One of the ambos told me he went in for a quick look, saw one of them huge old-time computer box things — think they’re called servers, aren’t they? It was lying there with some big shelves, fallen over, and there was blood on the floor. That’s all I know.’
‘Know where she is now?’
‘No. Front desk might know. You know, Casualty … Out those doors, turn left, follow your nose. Look for the screaming junkies and crying babies.’
‘Thanks, mate.’
Jack stepped down from the trolley and leaned against it until he was sure he could stand up. He found his shoes under the trolley and slipped them on. He felt absolutely vile. His mouth tasted of bile, his head was splitting, and the pains in his chest and abdomen were getting worse. Yet his mind was beginning
to clear.
He hobbled along the corridor, leaning on the wall most of the way, and eventually came to an open area dominated by a long, curved reception desk. It looked like a waiting room, as there were people sitting around listlessly on plastic seats. The whole place smelled of Dettol.
He approached the desk and edged his way between a couple with a small child and a scrawny, unshaven man who was shaking and wriggling. A man in the waiting area let out a violent noise halfway between a groan and a scream, but no one took any notice.
‘Excuse me’, Jack said to a squat, heavily built woman with dark, crinkly hair sitting behind the counter. ‘Can you tell me where Emily’s gone? The girl with the head … you know, Emily. Um, Emily Bryant?’
The woman ignored him, and continued flicking through the file in front of her.
‘Hey! Emily Bryant! Where is she …?’ Jack’s pain and frustration were mingling into an explosive cocktail.
She made a deliberate show of still ignoring him, then finally looked up and replied in a tone dripping with acid: ‘Could you please take a seat and wait your turn? This family’s little girl has a serious virus. I am attending to them, and you’ll just have to wait …’
‘Yeah, and Emily’s in a coma! Don’t need you to do anything, just tell me where they’ve taken her!’ he shouted back at her.
‘Sir, if you don’t sit down, I will call security and get them to remove …’ She let him imagine the rest of the sentence, glaring up at him with angry eyes and wrinkled brow.
As Jack was about to concede defeat, another woman walked into the area behind the desk.
‘Problem, Rosemary?’ she asked calmly.
‘This gentleman refuses to take a seat. I’m going to have to call security …’
‘Just trying to find out where Emily Bryant is’, Jack said. ‘Came in here a few hours ago, in an ambulance … I was with her, been on a trolley …’ He lapsed into silence, thankful he had been able to state his case to someone who was listening.
The second woman thought for a moment, then looked back at him. She had a pleasant, open face and long, straight blonde hair.
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