No One Can Hear You

by Nikki Crutchley

  She sat obediently in the corner. She thanked him for the food. ‘Can you please tell me why I’m here? Are you going to kill me?’

  ‘Kill you?’ He scratched at the stubble on his chin. ‘Now that would be telling.’

  Faith felt anger and fear envelop her. ‘Where did you take Claire?’

  ‘Don’t worry, you’ll soon find out.’

  ‘Please could you just let me go?’ She felt pathetic.

  ‘Why do you keep going on at me? I don’t call the shots.’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘No, my— ’ He stopped, catching himself.

  ‘It could be between me and you,’ Faith hurried on, sensing a weakening from her captor. ‘You wouldn’t have to tell your boss, you could say I escaped or something.’

  ‘No. I don’t think so.’

  ‘You could. You really could.’ She grabbed at his hand in desperation.

  His eyes were almost black, pupil and iris bleeding into one black hole. ‘No. You’re too important. You aren’t going anywhere. Not going to be here for much longer anyway.’

  ‘Where am I going?’ she yelled, all pretence of calm vanishing.

  ‘I’m sick of your yelling. The others never yelled.’

  ‘Tough shit. I’m going to yell and fight till I get the fuck out of here.’ She got up off the bed and walked up to him, challenging him. It was a stupid idea. She’d gone too far. He grabbed her by her head and slammed her into the old freestanding wardrobe.

  The next thing she remembered was waking up the next day, her head on fire. Running her hands through her bloodied hair, she winced as she felt the raised line of stitches on the back of her head.

  ‘Faith! You down here?’ a waitress yelled from the top of the stairs. ‘Where’s that bloody Jameson’s?’

  ‘Coming!’ She ignored the broken bottle, its amber contents travelling in tributaries along the concrete floor, and retrieved another one from the shelf. She cracked the seal and took two deep swigs before wiping the lipstick off the bottle, returning the cap and heading upstairs on shaking legs, her hand rubbing hard against the scar as if trying to erase the memories.

  Chapter 15

  Zoe slept till lunchtime, helped along by the half-bottle of whisky she and Alex demolished on Pam’s deck after the funeral. Pam had force-fed her leftovers saying, ‘You’re a slip of a thing. You can’t possibly drink all of that and not poison yourself.’ Zoe had dutifully forced down a few egg-and-ham sandwiches, the thought of which now made her want to throw up.

  She opened the curtains in her bedroom. It was a beautiful day. Daffodils had popped up in Lillian’s garden and she could see Elvis on the prowl, belly low in the grass, after a sparrow. She dressed in tights and a T-shirt and stepped out the back door. She’d have to mow the lawn soon, the grass tickling her ankles. There was a plum and an apple tree to her left, and the garage to her right. At the back was a lemon and an orange tree and behind that a wire fence that lay flat on the ground, its posts rotting and finally giving away. She tramped over the wire and made her way down into the gully. It was just as bad as she remembered it: pooling swamp water and mud surrounded small islands of grass and old tree stumps. Mosquitoes and sandflies hung out in swarms, ready to attack. Zoe planned out her route to the other side and nimbly crossed the gully while waving her arms at the onslaught of bugs. Reaching the other side she climbed the steep hill, ignoring the nausea caused from her bout of energy. She stood at the top, hands on hips. Directly below the hill were a few houses, the main road to the lake was on her left and in the distance Lake Waitapu, a sparkling gem amid flat, green farmland. Undoubtedly it would be a great place for houses. She sat on the damp grass, remembering the times she’d climbed this hill to get away, come here to scream at the passing clouds when Lillian’s aloofness got too much, come here to read. She’d even smoked her first cigarette up here. It was peaceful, but heavy with memories.

  She got back to Lillian’s with one wet shoe and sock after misjudging her last jump. There was a chill in the air and after her shower she went to the linen cupboard for a throw. Pulling out a grey mohair blanket, a bottle of whisky fell on the carpet with a thump.

  What the hell is that doing there?

  She took it into the kitchen and put it on the bench. Making herself a strong coffee, she wrapped herself in the throw and sat down on the couch with her laptop. There were a few staff emails, nothing important. But there was one from Harold Paynter. She clicked it open with a shaking hand.

  Dear Ms Haywood

  Regarding our conversation on Tuesday, the Board and I accept your resignation as of immediately. We are sorry that you were not an adequate fit for St Clement’s but wish you well in the future.

  Sincerely,

  Harold Paynter

  There was nothing in the email that showed any hard feelings and she knew that Paynter and the Board, all white, upper-class males, were happy to see the back of her. So that was it. She was officially without a job.

  She walked down the hall to Lillian’s bedroom and wrenched the ranch slider open, dismantling spiders’ webs and forcing a couple of moths to take flight. There was no seating on the deck so she sat down on the carpet by Lillian’s bed and leaned against the bedside table. She closed her eyes and let the sun warm her. It was often the only room to get sun in the afternoon so she used to come in here when Lillian worked on weekends or in the school holidays. She’d read books and drink hot chocolate propped up against the bedside table with a pillow. She dragged Lillian’s triangle pillow off the bed.

  Surely this isn’t the same one. She wedged her hand between the mattress and the base. The weight of the mattress on her hand was heavy and comforting, anchoring her in place when all she really wanted to do was run. Except there was nowhere to run to. Even though Lillian was never there for her, she realised this was one place she felt almost content.

  Lillian’s bedroom. How ironic.

  The bed was stripped of all its sheets and duvet and Zoe wondered who’d done it. Pam? Or even Lillian? The police? There was a tear in the mattress, a bit of cotton-candy stuffing protruding from it. She stuck her finger in the hole, which looked as though it had been purposely cut. It was at least fifteen centimetres long but had been cut on the seam so wasn’t that noticeable. Jammed among the springs and stuffing something brushed her finger. She inserted her thumb and forefinger and pulled out a thin notebook. She flicked through it. It was Lillian’s handwriting, a work of art almost, sloping and looping.

  Something is going on and I need to write everything down. There are things I keep forgetting. It’s been happening for a while, people’s names, losing my keys and wallet. It’s a shadow of a memory right on the tip of the proverbial tongue, they’re hiding just out of reach and it’s beginning to get frustrating. Some days are better than others. I must go to the doctor once I’ve resolved what the hell is happening and who’s involved.

  One entry date towards the start had 25 July 1985. Lillian had clearly got the date wrong and didn’t realise or didn’t care.

  Saw Megan today. She seemed to think something was going on. Tania disappeared a few months back. I told her I’d look into it.

  There wasn’t another diary entry until Monday, just over a week ago.

  Message from Megan on my cell phone. I’m kicking myself that I missed the call. Went to pick her up at the bar but there was no sign of her. They said she’d gone home. I’ve left the message on my phone just in case anything happens to me.

  Zoe frowned and continued reading.

  There have been more. I know there have. I need to help these girls. Went to see Sergeant Vincent today. Played him the message from my phone. He said he’d look into it.

  Zoe put the notebook down. What the hell was this? Vincent had spoken about Lillian acting oddly. Was this part of it? Lillian had talked herself into believing something bad had hap
pened not only to this Megan woman and Tania, but other women as well? She flicked through the notebook but didn’t bother reading more as Lillian started to repeat herself.

  Zoe wondered where Lillian’s mobile could be. She hadn’t come across it the last couple of days. Walking into the lounge she stared down at the answering machine on Lillian’s desk and pressed play. There was only one message on it. It was a Doctor Meade calling, telling Lillian she had results from her tests and for her not to lose hope. The date of the message was the same day Lillian killed herself.

  Zoe retrieved her mobile from her room and rang Alex. He picked up on the third ring.

  ‘Hey, sorry, I know you’re probably busy, but do you have Lillian’s mobile number?’

  ‘Ah, yeah. What on earth do you need that for?’

  Zoe didn’t even know where to begin. ‘Long story. Can I have it?’ She knew she sounded brusque but didn’t care.

  ‘I’ll text it through to you now. You OK?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine. We drank too much last night.’

  ‘We sure did.’

  ‘Thanks, Alex.

  ‘No problem. Just ring if you need anything else.’

  Within seconds the text came through.

  Standing in the middle of the room Zoe rang the number and waited. She didn’t hear anything immediately so walked down the hall and that’s when she heard a faint chirp. She walked into Lillian’s bedroom. She closed her eyes, making her ears work harder. She made her way towards the wardrobe. Opening it the sound grew louder. She dropped to the carpeted floor and started rummaging around in the shoes there, lifting them up and tipping them upside down. At the very back she picked up an old pair of Reeboks, tipping them both up and the mobile landed on the floor with a thump.

  She ended the call on her phone and picked up Lillian’s. It wasn’t password-protected so she found the calling history and played messages. She listened to the automated message telling her there were no new messages and to press One for played messages. Holding her breath, she pressed One and a woman’s voice came through the speaker. Scared. Confused.

  ‘Lillian, it’s Megan. I’m at work. Something’s wrong. Can you come? There’s this guy. You know him. It’s—’ There was a male voice, indistinct, and the line went dead.

  What happened to this Megan woman? Was she really in danger?

  Zoe walked back into the lounge and dropped onto the couch. Elvis opened one golden-green eye, his purring cutting into the silence. Zoe scratched him behind the ears. ‘What was she up to, eh?’ she asked him. ‘Did she even know herself?’ Elvis yawned in response.

  She couldn’t leave it. Lillian may have been crazy, but what if this was something serious? Sergeant Vincent had been lovely to her since she’d arrived. She’d go chat to him. She just hoped she didn’t sound like a raving lunatic. Like mother, like daughter?

  Chapter 16

  The police station was a red-brick building at the north end of Crawton, located just on the outskirts of town but close enough to the lake where boaties and swimmers kept them busy all year round. The young constable at the front desk asked Zoe to wait when she said she wanted to talk to Max Vincent, and disappeared through a door.

  Max appeared a couple of minutes later wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. ‘Zoe. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Sorry, I interrupted your lunch?’

  ‘More like afternoon tea now,’ he said, looking at the clock on the wall. ‘Some idiots out on the lake drinking way too much and causing a scene. Anyway, come on through.’

  He took her through a plain open-plan work space. Five desks each with a computer and a pile of manilla folders on top. The grey carpet was hard underneath her feet. He ushered her into his office on the other side of the room. ‘How did the funeral go yesterday? I had hoped to be there, but things got a bit busy. We go for days, sometimes weeks, without a thing happening and then it’s all on.’

  ‘It was fine,’ Zoe said, wondering how to respond to a question like that.

  ‘Take a seat.’ He squeezed his bulk behind his desk. ‘What can I do for you?’ He screwed up a paper bag with the remnants of a sandwich and put it in the bin under his desk.

  Zoe suddenly felt ridiculous. The hidden notebook and Megan’s message all seemed a bit silly in the harsh light of the police station, but she had to say something. She smoothed back her hair with both hands. ‘I just came across a notebook of Lillian’s.’ She didn’t bother mentioning it had been hidden — she didn’t need to sound crazier than necessary. ‘She writes about two women. Megan and Tania. There was also a message on her mobile from Megan saying something was happening and could Lillian pick her up. Lillian wrote down that she went to pick her up but couldn’t find her. They said she’d gone home. Whoever “they” are. Anyway, she mentioned she’d already spoken to you about this?’

  ‘Yeah, Lillian came in last Monday. I’m not familiar with Tania, but Megan Harper works — worked — over at the Crawton Tavern on the other side of town. Bit of a dive.’

  ‘I remember it.’ Zoe and Alex had spent a couple of Saturday nights in the tavern, the only place that would consider selling alcohol to minors. ‘Do you think Megan’s in trouble?’

  ‘That girl’s always in trouble. Been done for drink driving and drugs and God knows what else.’

  ‘Lillian mentioned another girl, Tania. No last name. She seemed to think they’d both been “taken”.’

  Vincent sat in silence. ‘Name doesn’t ring a bell, sorry. What would you like me to do?’

  Zoe laughed. ‘I actually have no idea.’

  ‘Look, I know Megan was in pretty heavy debt to a few people. My guess is she’s done a runner.’

  ‘So this has been a bit of a wild-goose chase?’

  ‘That’s fine. Good to check these things out.’

  ‘I talked to Alex. About Lillian. It sounds like she possibly had Alzheimer’s.’

  ‘Wouldn’t be surprised. There’s probably no harm in seeing her doctor if you want some answers. This is a tough thing to have to come to terms with. Maybe she could talk to you about it.’

  Zoe nodded. ‘So there’s nothing to Lillian’s ramblings then?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘I feel like an idiot to have taken up your time.’

  ‘Not a bother.’

  ‘It’s just these notes were so harried, she seemed so worried. And positive that something had happened to these girls.’

  ‘Tell me about it. She made quite a scene when I’d told her what we’d found about Megan.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Vincent looked uncertain for a second before typing something into his computer. ‘I have CCTV footage. After we talked last Monday she came back in on Tuesday to check if I’d found anything. Do you want to see? It might be hard to witness.’

  ‘Of Lillian? I’ll take a look.’ Zoe leaned forward, not sure what to expect.

  Vincent turned his screen around to face Zoe. The camera was placed above the desk of the police station and pointed towards the front door. There was no sound. Lillian came in. It was strange to see her moving about, alive and well. But she did look frail. Max led her over to a chair in the reception area. They spoke for about a minute. Lillian nodded. Then her face changed from understanding to anger. She stood and picked up one of the plastic chairs and threw it with surprising force. She marched over to the counter, grabbed files and pieces of paper and hurled them across the floor. Her face was contorted, her mouth moving quickly. Max slowly edged towards her and looked to be comforting her, but she pushed him away. Then seconds later she held a hand to her head. Max returned his hand to her shoulder, looking to offer her some comfort. This time she took it.

  ‘As you can see she got quite angry with me and what I had to say, she told me I wasn’t doing my job properly, that Megan was in danger. Then sh
e forgot why she was there. All in the space of ten seconds. It was quite disarming.’

  He turned the screen back towards him. ‘I drove her home after that. She must’ve apologised half a dozen times between here and her place. I told her not to worry, that she was being a good friend, but that Megan had left Crawton of her own accord.’

  Zoe didn’t know what to say. It had been shocking to see Lillian go from frail old lady, to one on a rampage, and then to crumple into confusion.

  ‘I’m sorry, Zoe. This must be hard.’

  Zoe was amazed at how much it had affected her. ‘Thanks for your time, Sergeant. Max.’

  ‘No problem.’

  He showed her out and Zoe headed straight to the medical centre down the road.

  *

  After she got home from the doctor’s it was almost five o’clock. Zoe poured herself a whisky and took it into her bedroom. Dr Meade had been very gracious. She’d held back her appointments and talked to Zoe about Lillian. She said she had given Lillian a thorough medical history, a physical and a neurological exam plus blood tests and brain imaging to rule out other possibilities. ‘I’ve been Lillian’s doctor for over a decade. She told me about her symptoms last year, but it’s likely things could’ve been happening for a lot longer than that.’

  ‘So people have said. Do you know what made her finally come to you?’

  ‘She mentioned something happening with her neighbour.’

  ‘With Pam?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Maybe. She didn’t mention a name. Something to do with a neighbour dropping a letter off. Lillian wasn’t sure who this person was. She spoke to me about feeling scared and confused.’

  ‘I guess you’ve heard she took her life.’

  ‘I did. I’m so very sorry.’ She paused. ‘There was some hope. I just wish she’d given me the chance to help her.’

  Zoe placed her glass on top of her old bedside table. She opened the bottom drawer and, despite the way she was feeling, grinned. The summer before their last year at high school Alex, eager to show off his carpentry skills, had built Zoe a hidden compartment there. Two-centimetre-square strips had been attached to either side of the inside of the drawer and he’d cut a piece of ply to fit on top. There was a small hole at the back where she could hook her finger and remove the entire piece of ply. She did this now after removing fifteen-year-old dog-eared Cleo and Girlfriend magazines that hid the false bottom. Inside was a quarter-full plastic hip flask of vodka. She grimaced at the memory of the potent liquid bought from the liquor shop just out of town on the way to the lake. If the right person was on, they didn’t blink an eye selling to fifteen- and sixteen-year olds. She picked up the packet of Pall Mall cigarettes and the plastic orange lighter. The hiding place was for the benefit of Lillian. But thinking about it, Lillian didn’t care enough to go snooping through her things, unlike Pam who once found a packet of cigarettes and a porno magazine in Alex’s wardrobe and made him mow the lawns and wash the car every fortnight for six months. Thus the reason for the hidey drawer — Alex had built himself an identical one.