Crossings

by Ashley Capes

  Too far. Too much today; not with Dad hurt. Ben had gone too fucking far. He’d done it just to show her that he could break in anytime he liked. Back to the old bullshit. Control, control, control. Well, not again.

  She had her mobile out in a flash, dialling Lidelson Station.

  It kept ringing. What time was it? Was Karen out on a call? Maybe – but it wasn’t a twenty-four hour station either. When her call was automatically transferred to Yarsdale Station, she hung up half-way through the officer’s answer. They were half an hour away.

  Instead, she yanked open the bottom drawer and grabbed her hammer and then her keys before storming to the car. She roared out of Chambers Street and into the centre of town, bursting through the yellow light before it flashed red then skidding onto the boulevard that swept around the park. Nice houses, big yards and a quiet street.

  And right where Steph said it was – Ben’s new place.

  Two storeys and a nice cream-coloured fence with matching trim on the windows.

  Just the kind of house they used to dream about.

  “Bastard.”

  The windows were dark and the ‘For Sale’ sign had been obscured by a big slab of a ‘Sold’ sticker. Good for him. How wonderful. She pulled into the driveway and got out without cutting the engine, striding over the unfinished landscaping to the front window. “Prick.” She swung the hammer with a shout, its head crashing through the glass.

  Next window.

  More glass shattered.

  And the next one, until she’d done the whole front of the house. It didn’t take long but lights still came on in neighbouring properties.

  “There, you bastard.” A message of her own.

  Lisa leapt back into the car and tore away, security lights fading in her rear mirror.

  Chapter 10.

  Lisa lifted the corner of the bed, tucked the pale blue sheet in and stood, wiping sweat from her forehead. She’d opened the window but there was no breeze, just laughter and the clink of cutlery on breakfast plates from the pub’s rear garden. Another freaking hot day – but then, that was summer. No real choice in the matter. Hot day and night with only the ugly chill of air-conditioning to break it up.

  At least the sunsets were long.

  “She’s down here, I think.” Bruce’s voice drifted up the passage. Two pairs of footsteps.

  She straightened, sliding the bucket of cleaning gear aside. If Bruce was stupid enough to bring Ben along...

  Bruce shuffled into the room, accidently knocking a dresser with his shoe as he let Gerry in. Gerry wore jeans and a faded Cold Chisel shirt, his dark hair was a little messy – must’ve been a day off.

  He gave her a fleeting smile. “I guess you know why I’m here.”

  She nodded, taking a seat on the bed.

  Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, well, yeah. I’ll get back to it I reckon.”

  “Thanks, Bruce.” Gerry leant against the doorframe. “I just wanted to warn you that you were seen on Overlook Boulevard and Ben has already been to the station to make a report. He told Karen he knows it was you.”

  “He mention what he did?”

  “No.”

  “Broke in to my place and waited for me to get home last night. Even wrote a letter, which he left on my bed.”

  Gerry frowned, fury flashing in his eyes – there and gone. “You shouldn’t have to put up with this, Lisa. You can have him charged. Do you still have the letter?”

  “I burnt it.”

  “We could have used it to help show he broke in.”

  Lisa swore under her breath. Stupid.

  “What did it say?”

  “I didn’t read it.” She stood. “I’m not interested in anything he has to say. And you know he’s not going to be scared by an intervention order.”

  He started to speak but stopped. “Fair enough. How’s your Dad?”

  “Still at the hospital. I got a call earlier, he’s going to be okay. I’m going out again today, I just have to catch up on a few jobs first.”

  “Good. Well, I thought you’d like to know that Karen and I won’t be pursuing the matter – right away at least. I plan to drag my feet a bit on this one.” He paused. “Hope it felt good.”

  “Last night it felt amazing. Now I feel like an idiot.”

  He chuckled. “Well, don’t beat yourself up. Worry about your dad for now.”

  “Thanks, Gerry. I owe you, you know.”

  His smile widened. “Buy me coffee one day.”

  “Deal.”

  She watched him head back up the passage. He was a good guy – he didn’t come on too strong. And maybe he had more than coffee in mind, maybe he didn’t. Steph seemed to think he did. Yet Gerry had never pushed for anything. Either way...Lisa smiled to herself as she resumed tidying. Once she finished, she could finally head back onto the road and get out to Yarsdale to see Dad.

  Her phone rang, a cry muffled by her jeans pocket. It might be the hospital. She tore the mobile out.

  Pumps.

  What did he want? She hit ‘answer’. “Mr Johnson?”

  “Lisa, is that you?” He was out of breath.

  “Yes. Are you all right?”

  “It’s the roo – I’ve seen her again.”

  She bit back a sigh. “Yeah?”

  “Something’s not right though; she’s gone wild.”

  “What do you mean?”

  A shout came through the phone and then a clattering sound. More muffled noises and then the line went dead.

  Lisa frowned at the phone; that didn’t sound good. The farm was on the way to the hospital...Or she could send Gerry around. She grabbed her bag, heading down the corridor. No. She’d given him enough trouble lately and he’d obviously taken the day off. Knowing Pumps it wouldn’t be too serious, surely...maybe just drive out quickly and see for herself, before she bothered Gerry again.

  Bruce handed her an envelope from the bar and she thanked him as she rushed out the door. “Gotta run, Bruce.”

  If she was quick, she could check on Pumps and Dad, then get back in time for her shift with Robert. He wouldn’t mind if she was late but still...

  The road was quiet as usual and when she turned into Anne’s Lane she was tapping the wheel with her thumb. What if something had happened? Pumps’ old, mustard-coloured Datsun crouched in the driveway. No smoke rose from the chimney and the ever-present kitchen light was dark.

  But the door stood wide open.

  Lisa hopped from the car. “Mr Johnson?”

  Silence.

  Inside, the kitchen revealed a half-eaten breakfast – two big bites out of toast and jam, tea untouched. “Hello? Mr Johnson?” Nothing. The rest of the rooms were empty – bed unmade and radio muttering away in the lounge, fireplace cold. “It’s Lisa Thomas, are you all right?”

  Her feet creaked on the floorboards.

  “God damn it, Pumps – where are you?”

  Back outside, she leant on the gate and scanned the property; paddocks stretched in green folds. The shed. She ran over, heat from the sun bouncing off tin. The dents remained, tufts of hay peeking through. The door was closed but unchained. She dragged it open and stepped into a dim interior.

  Hay bales towered over a large shape spread across the earthen floor.

  She blinked.

  A white kangaroo.

  Its tail curved beneath long legs and the head lay tucked into its body but there it was. Had the roo stood, its bulk would have been three metres – maybe four from toe to head. Was it dead?

  She crept closer, narrowing her eyes.

  The fur was very clean. And regular. No uneven patches, just pure white. And the head appeared a little...deflated around the neck. She nudged it with her foot. The mouth was empty of teeth and both eyes had a glass-look.

 
Lisa bent and lifted the head, which sagged over her hand. “Holy shit.”

  A fake. What the hell was Pumps playing at?

  She stormed from the shed and spun on her heel. “Mr Johnson, where are you? Hello?” She shouted the last word. Only a faint echo of her own voice from across the fields. Cows chewed at the grass, utterly disinterested. She grabbed her mobile and dialled, pacing before the shed.

  Still no answer. She looked up from the phone and flinched.

  Pumps lay slumped across the tractor seat.

  “Mr Johnson!” She ran to the giant wheel and climbed up, shaking his shoulder. The skin was still warm beneath his flannelette. “Are you all right?”

  Pumps rolled aside, limbs almost liquid in their looseness. His face was pale and twisted in a grimace but he did not respond. No marks on his body. Heart attack? A .308 lay across his knees, scope catching the sun. “Shit.” She held her finger against his throat, moving it around. Where the hell was his pulse?

  “Come on.” No response, no trickle of life sliding beneath his skin.

  Lisa stepped back and swallowed, hard. Everywhere she turned, another dead body. She lifted her phone, dialling the police. Should have called Gerry after all.

  Chapter 11.

  “It’s not your fault, darl,” Dad said. A warmer tinge to his cheeks made him appear better but he still wasn’t the same. He sat up in bed, noon sunlight from open curtains near-blinding on the white walls caused him to squint each time he leant for his cup of water. Just how much he understood as to how he’d ended up in the hospital wasn’t clear.

  She didn’t mention all the dead bodies she’d been finding over the last few days – and she still had to talk to that detective up from the city. Gerry had let her leave Pumps’ farm after only a few questions so she could make visiting hours. Thankfully, because if she found one more dead body...But that wasn’t fair to Clint or Pumps. What had happened to them? And Pumps...was it really his heart?

  What was the rifle for?

  “Dad, I feel responsible. I should have helped you more.”

  He narrowed his eyes a little. “Don’t be silly. You’ve got a life to live.”

  “So do you.”

  He waved away her words.

  Maybe now was the time. She opened her mouth, to ask about making an appointment for a home, but let it close. How could she even suggest it? “I could move in with you.” She blurted it out.

  Now he smiled. “That really what you were going to say?”

  “No. But I mean it.”

  He looked away. “I’ve thought about it, you know. I’m having a lot of trouble remembering things. Even rang a place and spoke to one of the ladies there. She seemed nice enough. They’ve got rooms that overlook the river.”

  “Dad.”

  His lips were pressed into a tight line. “It’s not getting better, sweetie.”

  She took his hand. “There’s medication we can try, isn’t there? We’ll go see Dr Albert; he can prescribe something.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, we should try them first, anyway.”

  “They aren’t cheap, I’m going to bet.”

  “It’s fine. We’ll find a way.”

  He nodded, blinking hard as he squeezed her hand.

  A nurse bustled in with a tray of food – the best thing on it looked to be the crimson-coloured jelly. “How are you feeling today, Mr Thomas?”

  “Not too bad.” He squinted at her nametag. “Nurse Peterson.”

  “You can call me Mel, you know.” She arranged the tray and smiled at Lisa. “He’s doing quite well.”

  “That’s good. So, do you think he’ll be able to go home?”

  “I don’t know but I’ll make sure Doctor Bagnato calls you.” Mel glanced at the clock. “I’ll have to boot you out in a few minutes.”

  “I understand, thank you.”

  “Eat it all, Mr Thomas,” Mel said from the door.

  He grinned. “I’ll try but it isn’t exactly steak and crème brûlée, you’ve got here.”

  “In a public hospital? Good luck.” She chuckled as she left.

  “I’d better go too.” Lisa stood. “I’ll be back tomorrow, hopefully to take you home.”

  “Got my fingers crossed.”

  She slipped into the hall and sucked in a huge breath before heading down the white corridor.

  *

  Headlights cut into the darkness and Lisa slouched in the passenger seat, the hum of the ute barely audible over the slurping of Robert’s juice. She glanced at him. “Inhaling that one, are you?”

  He lowered the bottle with a snort. “It keeps me alert. And the straw’s too thin.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Just concentrate on your side of the road.”

  “I am.” She focused on the gravel beside the highway, pale in the headlights. Hopefully the roo wasn’t hurt too badly. A spinal or hind-leg injury and it was probably too late. They’d have to put the kangaroo down. Every call brought the same tension – Robert would have to be the one to get the .22 from the toolbox.

  Handling a gun was still...difficult. Not because she couldn’t – Granddad taught her – but not since the time they hit a deer in his old truck, coming home late one night after a netball match in Yarsdale. He’d told her to stay in the cab but she had to see.

  The deer lay broken, bleeding on the side of the road, eyes vacant – steam rising from blood in the night air.

  “Running blind,” he said, his blue eyes hard.

  “Why? Couldn’t she hear the car?”

  He pointed to a small hole in the deer’s side. “Someone’s been out shooting.”

  After that night, no more practice with paper targets on the giant oak; she hadn’t fired a gun since.

  “So how’s your dad?” Robert switched the radio on but turned it down.

  “He’s okay – I’m hoping to bring him home tomorrow.”

  “What’ll you do? Is it dementia?”

  “I don’t know yet. But I made an appointment with Dr Albert. We’ll see what it is and then maybe see if medication helps, I guess.”

  Robert slowed. A van appeared in the lights – a figure leaning against it. Painted purple, it had mag wheels and surf stickers on the back. “Great, it’s a couple of kids,” she said.

  “Maybe not – how many kids would stick around after hitting a roo, let alone call it in?”

  “Some would, but I think you’re right.”

  Robert parked the ute behind the van then cut the engine. “Let’s see how bad it is.”

  She followed him out into the blast of headlights. On the shoulder beside the bitumen lay a young roo, a big grey. A clean hole at the shoulder bled onto the gravel. It looked more like a bullet hole rather than an accident.

  “What’s going on?” Robert bent by the kangaroo then glanced up at the guy leaning against the van. “He’s not alive. And you didn’t hit him.”

  The driver shrugged as he looked away. Was he familiar? Lanky, sullen face – it looked like Steve – Ben’s friend. “Steve?”

  Robert turned from the kangaroo. “You know this guy?”

  “He’s one of Ben’s friends.”

  “You think wasting our time is funny?” Robert glared at Steve.

  Steve snorted. “Just shut-up, mate.”

  Robert shot to his feet but a figure leapt from the trees, swinging something at his legs. The blow toppled him and Steve pounced. His fist thumped into Robert’s face when he tried to rise. Steve and the other shape hauled Robert to his feet. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”

  The other one was Fathead. He held a bat in one hand and his broad face was pale but he didn’t release the groaning Robert.

  “What the hell are you two doing?” she shouted.

  Hands gripped her sh
oulders. The warm stench of beer on a man’s breath brushed her neck. A familiar scent – for all the wrong reasons. She thrashed her way free and spun.

  Ben stood before her, his face twisted in rage. The pink scar stood out on his cheek. He pointed a shaking finger at her. “Where’s your cop buddy now, huh?”

  “You piece of shit,” she spat. “Stop it. Now!”

  He stepped close, clawing at her arm. She fought and he swung an open hand. Her vision blacked out momentarily and a ringing in her ears followed. She stumbled, but Ben pulled her close, shaking her.

  Robert was shouting and Ben snarled across the headlights. “Shut him up.”

  A thump and Steve sniggered.

  Ben’s thumbs bit into her arms. “What are you doing, smashing my windows then telling the pigs to ignore me? Well? What’s that about, Lisa?” He shook her again. “Did you even read the letter?”

  Lisa slammed her heel onto his foot.

  He fell back with a shout. She charged Steve, swinging at him. He ducked away and Robert fell to the ground. Hands gripped her again, flinging her against the ute. She bounced off the hood and thumped onto the gravel with a grunt.

  The same hands hauled her up and then a rock cracked into her head – or so it seemed. Purple vans, headlights, trees and roads spun, but she didn’t fall.

  “Ben, stop!”

  Lisa frowned. Was that Fathead?

  “You keep out of this, James – you hear me? You’ve done your job.”

  “She’s hurt. Let’s just get out of here.”

  Another voice. Steve maybe. “You said she’d be alone, Ben.”

  “Well, she isn’t, is she? Get the others.” He dragged her over to the kangaroo – shoving her to her knees.

  She coughed, spitting blood. It hit the stones with a splat. “What do you want?”

  Ben said nothing but Steve soon appeared with something in his arms. He dumped the shape – a wallaby, it’s head lolling to the side as it settled. A fox was next, then another wallaby and even a black snake. All limp and lifeless, blood glistening in the headlights.