Dark Oasis

by Dulcie M. Stone

  She’d lost the battle. She hadn’t even fought it.

  The spare room would take time to furnish, even if he eventually gave his consent. This night, sharing his bed, was going to have to be lived through. Whatever that calculating brain was planning, or had already planned, she was going to have to suffer it. Her only alternative – leave. Leave now.

  To go where? To do what? To be with who? Even if there was someone to turn to, some place to go to, she’d never go alone. Rick’s child was not going to be left in the care of this family. Tonight Jake knew that.

  Going to the nursery, she switched on the dim night light, lifted Jess from the cot and set her to the breast. The cosy baby-warmth of the tiny body was comforting. If only she could stay here. But, despite the fan, their two bodies quickly overheated. Reluctantly, fearfully, she placed the baby back in the secure cot and left the room.

  In the kitchen, using only the light from the passageway, she located Jake’s almost untouched bottle of whisky, half filled a kitchen glass, and sat at the kitchen table. Around her the timbers of the midnight house ominously creaked. Though all the doors were open, from neither the bedroom nor the nursery was there a sound. Was he asleep?

  The unaccustomed whisky settled in her churning stomach. Why did she fear him so much? She didn’t know. What could he do? He wasn’t a big man, like Ryan. He wasn’t strongly muscled, like Rick. Yet she feared him. Without reason. He’d never given her reason, not physically. His toughness was mental, as he’d just proved. Again.

  Rinsing the glass, she set it to dry, returned the bottle to its place in the walk-in pantry and crept into the passageway. One last inspection of the nursery before, finally, she stepped into the large bedroom with the king-size bed. The breathless night air burned through the open window. The outside street lamp shone across Jake’s sleeping face.

  She switched off the passage light, changed, and eased onto her side of the bed. Closing her eyes against the intrusive street lamp, she willed herself to wake at two a.m. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it had to be done without the aid of an alarm clock; without the risk of waking Jake.

  “You’re here.” His hands were skilfully kneading her breasts.

  “No. No.!” But her body responded.

  He moved from breasts to stomach, moved onto her. She moved with him, as always.

  “No!” Not tonight. “No, Jake! No! Please.”

  He lifted the nightdress.

  She moved with him.

  “That’s my good girl.”

  “Please. Jake. Please don’t …”

  “Sh … sh …”

  “No!”

  Body on body, arching.

  “Don’t!” she screamed.

  His body pressed.

  She fought him off.

  His fist slammed.

  She tasted blood. The raised nightdress smothered. He held it fast. Fighting for breath, she kicked out. His fists pounded. Without sound, except the dull thump of flesh on flesh, he entered her.

  She whimpered.

  His hand clamped over her torn mouth.

  She struggled.

  Again he entered her.

  The dawn light was bloodying the summer sky, the street lamp was extinguished, and he was snoring at her side in the king-size bed. She’d been unconscious. Jess had not been fed.

  Shedding the remnants of the nightdress, she pulled on a thin gown and limped to the nursery. One small fist curled to her face, Jess was asleep; she’d sleep through to starvation. Praying the milk had not been affected, she set the baby to one bruised breast. It must not happen again.

  The baby too soon sated, she crept back to the bedroom. He was still spread-eagled, snoring, on the king-size bed. A knife from the kitchen. He’d not even wake. And she’d lose.

  She returned to the nursery.

  “Gail!” As most weekday mid-mornings, Jill Reilly was at the back door.

  There was no answer; Gail would be in the nursery feeding the baby or showering or making beds.

  Entering the unlocked door, she called again, “Gail! I’m here! I’ll make the tea!”

  Still there was only the unnatural absence of sound. No radio, no voices, no baby crying, not even the hushed hum of the kitchen fan. Nothing.

  She found Gail, unconscious and covered in congealed blood, on the nursery floor. Five minutes later Gail Campbell was being carried to the waiting ambulance, and Jill Ryan was carrying the sleeping baby to the police car which followed the ambulance.

  A two-storey brick building located on the city’s outskirts, Belleville Base Hospital had two surgeries, an intensive care block, a maternity unit, a variety of specialist departments, consultants’ suites, and an adjacent nurses’ home. Though its post war reputation was excellent, the high turn over of staff was cause for concern. Too isolated, too insular, too far removed from the rapidly escalating innovations of modern medicine, it was cautiously limited to unsophisticated medical procedures.

  However, there was no question. Ambulances transporting emergency patients did not go to the small private hospital where Jessica Campbell had been born, but to The Base. Where assault was evident, as it was in this case, police investigation was mandatory.

  Once assured that both mother and baby were in safe hands, Jill telephoned her solicitor husband.

  “You did what?” At the other end of the line, Mick Reilly’s voice sounded an alarm.

  “I told you! She’s been attacked. She’s been sexually assaulted. She’s in terrible shape.”

  “Why did you call Emergency? Why not Jake? Did you call Jake?”

  “They’re phoning him. She’s been raped! I had to call Emergency!”

  The line was quiet.

  “Mick? What’s wrong?”

  “Jake isn’t with you?”

  “Not yet. They’re phoning him. I had to get the baby out of there!” “You did the right thing.”

  Could Jake have beaten his wife? Not possible. On the rare times Gail talked about him, she praised him. He was a good provider and a loving father. Loneliness was not uncommon in new wives. Replacing the receiver, she started back to Emergency.

  “Mrs Reilly. Have you a moment?” Clive McDermott, Belleville’s chief detective, intercepted her. “You may remember me. I sometimes work with Mick. We need to talk.”

  “I’m going to check on Mrs Campbell.”

  “There’s no further news, I’m afraid.”

  “But the baby …”

  “The baby’s being well cared for. If you don’t mind, I need to talk with you.” Ushering her to an unoccupied office, he took his place behind the desk, waited until she was seated opposite, and flipped open his notebook. “I’m told you sounded the alarm?”

  “That’s right. Gail and I … I can’t. Not yet. It’s the shock.”

  “A coffee perhaps?”

  “I told the police.”

  “You need to tell me, Mrs Reilly. In your own words.”

  She repeated what she’d told the uniformed police. She’d been visiting for morning tea, and found her friend unconscious on the nursery floor.

  “That’s it?” Snapping the notebook’s covers, he replaced it in his pocket.

  “I phoned Mick,” she added. “He’s getting in touch with her family.”

  “Well done,” he beamed. “Would you like an escort home?”

  “Thank you, no. I’ll wait. Gail will want help with the baby.”

  “Not to worry.” He opened the door to the passage. “The family will care for the babe. They’ll be here shortly.”

  “I’ll stay anyway. We’ve become friends.”

  “So you said, Mrs Reilly.”

  “She’ll need her friends, Detective.”

  “She’ll need her family.”

  “I’ll wait with her anyway. I’d like to think …”

  “The nurses are with her, Mrs Reilly.”

  “I should …” The protest died. “Will you tell the family? Call me. If she wants me?”

&nbs
p; He ushered her into the passageway. “Quite right. Leave it to her family. It’s for the best. Now, about that car home …”

  “I’ll call Mick.”

  “As you please.” He strode quickly away.

  She fronted the reception desk. “I’m enquiring about Mrs Campbell and the baby. How are they?”

  “Mrs Campbell?”

  “Mrs Jake Campbell. She was admitted half an hour ago.”

  The receptionist consulted her notes. “I’m sorry. Are you sure?”

  “Gail Campbell. Of course I’m sure. It was an emergency admission. Look again. There’s been some mix-up.”

  The receptionist fussily re-checked. “I’m sorry. There’s no record.”

  “What about the baby? Jessica. She’s …”

  “I’m sorry. Are you sure they were admitted here? It could have been Belleville Private.”

  “I saw them bring her in!”

  “Sorry.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Gail …” The voice was familiar. “The infant is in good hands.

  We’ve initiated bottle feeding. She’s doing fine.”

  She opened her eyes.

  “They called me in.” Doctor Jim Walker’s smug face at the bedside. “You’re in Belleville Private. It’s for the best.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “My dear child.” His limp hand closed over hers. “I know you’ve had a very bad time. There’s really nothing to be done.”

  She was falling away. Distantly, people were talking.

  For two full weeks and three days nurses attended her, Doctor Jim Walker examined her and unfamiliar voices momentarily roused her. She responded to no interrogation about the assault.

  On the fourth day of the third week, she heard the voice she’d been waiting for. “Gail …? I know you can hear me.”

  He’d come for her, she could leave. “Rick …?”

  “No Gail. It’s Ryan.”

  “You came back.”

  “Gail! It’s me – Ryan! Wake up! For God’s sake, wake up!”

  She opened her eyes. Blonde hair sun-bleached, blue eyes bloodshot, tanned face bloated. “Ryan.”

  “I told you. It’s me.”

  “Where’s Rick? Rick was here.”

  “Stop it! You know where Rick is! Pull yourself together!”

  “He was here. I heard him.”

  “You heard me.”

  She turned away.

  “I’ve talked to Jake. He’s really sorry. He’s promised it will not happen again. You must try to get better. You need to go home.”

  She had no home.

  “He promised it won’t happen again.”

  “Go away, Ryan.”

  “I need to hear it from you, Gail. What happened?”

  “You know what happened.”

  “Jake says the door was left unlocked. Anybody could have got in. When you go home, he’ll see you’re better protected.”

  She closed her eyes. It was to be her word against Jake’s.

  On the following nights, Ryan visited on his way to the Farmer’s Club. Always sober, always considerate, sometimes he brought magazines, sometimes he read to her; as Rick had done only a few months ago. An eternity ago.

  She accepted what he offered, friendship and reassurance. Jake remained absent, and Amy. She didn’t question why.

  Eventually eating solid foods, she was able to sit out in the armchair by the window overlooking the garden. She frequently nursed Jess. The hospital routine and the experienced care of the nurses had been good for the baby. Steadily gaining weight, she was alert and happy and playing and progressing as she should. A beautiful child, she showed no sign of birth trauma impairment.

  The Daily News was on her breakfast tray, the headlines blared another drowning in the deceptive river’s treacherous undercurrent. She flipped idly through the awkwardly large pages, political news, a by-election for city council, sports news, births and deaths and funerals and ads, social news of people Jake talked about. Nothing interesting. A Base Hospital Board meeting. Belleville Club’s Annual meeting. A Rotary Club fund raiser. A farewell thank you – ‘Garden Street to throw party for transferring police. In an unexpected move, Belleville Police Station announces a shake-up of police personnel.’ Transferring police, two uniformed constables and a detective sergeant. Not even mildly interesting.

  Until Ryan’s evening visit.

  The paper was on the bed tray, open. He closed it. “Don’t read it, Gail. You’ll only upset yourself.”

  “Jake’s on the Hospital Board. I know that.”

  He threw the newspaper into the waste basket.

  “It’s not important, Ryan. He hasn’t come to visit.”

  “He’s been advised not to visit. He does come to see Jess. She’s going so well.”

  “Who advised him not to visit me, Ryan?”

  “Mother says it was Doctor Walker.”

  “She hasn’t come either.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he smiled. “You’ve got me.”

  If Jake had wanted to visit, he’d have done it. Doctor Walker’s advice wouldn’t deter him. So who had the influence to compel Jake to stay away? Were other people, police or friends, protecting her from him? If they were, they were in the shadows. Her only visitor, other than Doctor Walker and Detective McDermott, had been Ryan.

  He was preparing to leave, when she asked, “What would happen if I told the truth?”

  “I thought we’d settled that.”

  “Is that why you keep coming, Ryan? To make sure I don’t talk?”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say!”

  “What’s really going on?”

  “Leave it alone, Gail. Please …”

  “You saw me. You now what he did!”

  “Sh … you mustn’t upset yourself. Let it rest.”

  “What would happen if I went to the Press?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all would happen. Haven’t you worked that out yet? Nothing’s been done about the beating you took. No one’s been accused. Nothing will be done.”

  “Is that why I’ve had no visitors? Not that I have any friends, anyway.”

  “Of course you have. Jill Reilly’s been a good friend.”

  “I thought she was a friend. She never comes here.”

  “If it wasn’t for her, you’d …” His eyes widened. “You don’t know!”

  “What? What else don’t I know?”

  For the first time, she heard that Jill had found her and possibly saved her life. Jake’s story of a door left carelessly unlocked and an opportunistic assault had never been officially doubted. There’d been no reason to, not in Belleville at picking time. After the initial unsuccessful investigation, the police who wanted to believe Jake believed him. Those few police who continued to demand a more thorough investigation were transferred. Detective McDermott had believed Jake. Doctor Walker had testified to Gail’s history of hysteria and unreliability. But Ryan had guessed the truth.

  She had to ask, “Will you speak up for me, Ryan?”

  “I’m here, Gail. That’s the best I can do.”

  “Do you believe he won’t do it again?”

  “I have to leave …”

  She held him back. “He’s as good as admitted it!”

  “He said he’s sorry.” Ryan was confused. “He’s sorry he didn’t better protect you. He loves you, Gail. He’s not like Rick was. He said …”

  Of course. Jake playing brother against brother. Resurrecting memories better left alone. Using words as skilfully as he used people. “It’s okay, Ryan,” she released him. “I’ll leave it alone. I’ll be good.”

  He kissed her lightly on the forehead; a brother’s kiss. “See you tomorrow.”

  Of course. Jake had promised, “It will not happen again.” Each listener would hear what they wanted to hear. Ryan had heard an admission of guilt, the detective a promise to better protect his wife. Amy would have heard … How could she begin to guess what Amy wou
ld have heard?

  She retrieved the newspaper article from the waste bin, smoothed it out, re-read the brief report. A farewell thank you. ‘Garden Street to throw party for transferring police.’ The transferring police were a uniformed constable and a detective sergeant. Lower ranks, lower than the detective she’d talked to; the only official she’d talked to. Been allowed to talk to?

  She demanded to see Jake.

  The late sun was cooking the room, the drawn blind claustrophobic. Leaving the bed, she raised the blind. The lawns were dry as dead bones. Everybody was praying for rain. Nobody talked about anything else. The harvest had been a bonanza, the sun had done its work. So now it was up to it to go away while the rain did its work. It wasn’t going to happen. Not this year, not according to the nurses, practised forecasters.

  Because the wicker chair was minimally cooler than the bed, she arranged it opposite the visitor’s chair, arranged herself facing the open door, and waited.

  There were no warning footsteps, no forewarning voice, no sense of his presence. The doorway was empty, then it was not. As always after not seeing him for a time, her heart skipped a beat. No, it’s not Rick.

  “You’re looking well.” He placed a bouquet of roses on the locker, and retreated to the visitor’s chair. One tailored knee dangled comfortably over the other, widespread hands rested on the chair’s arms. He was relaxed, attentive, open, and inviting conversation.

  “Thank you for the flowers.”

  “You want to talk?” His head cocked to one side.

  “Why you haven’t been before?” Heart pumping, she looked away.

  “Guess.” His laugh was harsh and dry and without amusement.

  “You’re right,” she flushed. “I’d have sent you away.”

  “Are you waiting for me to apologise, Gail? Is this what I’m supposed to be here for?”

  “Your mother hasn’t visited either.”

  His response was indirect. “Then I shall apologise. Although apologies will never be enough.”

  The admission was an unsettling flip. But then no one was listening. Unless he was merely apologising for his mother’s absence.

  “I didn’t want to come.” He might have been talking about the weather. “Now I’m here, if you want to leave me, I’ll not stop you.”