by Andrea Drew
“Did you just try to say my name, Gyp? Did you?”
I stretched out my hand to her again and she looked at it, biting her lip. She picked up the box and pushed it back onto the bedside table, but even as she did, her eyes went towards the exit. I willed her with every ounce of energy I had left to take my hand, so I could feel human again.
She placed her young hand underneath mine, and I felt the soft, warm deliciousness nestling there. I saw her pictures, as I’d done so many times before. This was our shared secret, the unspoken agreement that we would never give to Leah, who we knew would be jealous, a power line cursing through us at electric speed. I felt Renee’s energy, the buzzing of the force field that kept her alive.
Nay’s smile wavered as I saw her at school, sitting despondent on a bottle green wooden bench, the paint peeling and chipped at the edges, her half unpacked lunch box beside her. She pulled out a biscuit and nibbled on it nervously, gazing across the playground at a gaggle of children running, chasing, screaming and climbing. Her attention was fixed on a golden haired boy, tall and laughing, who looked over at her sitting alone. He scampered over, intoning nasally “Renay-y, Renay-y, bad breath spray-y.” As he ran away, I felt her loneliness.
What’s going on?
She looked at me and rolled her drooping shoulders, twisting her neck as if sore.
Now it was my turn and I showed her my pictures, the cinema reel of Saturday night. Aware there were two of us in the picture, her presence was with me as I relived it all, her chest caving, feet shuffling, and fingers pulling at the collar of her school dress. I showed her my night out, chatting to my book club friends, meeting Connor, warming myself by the fire. She looked on as I left the restaurant, walked past the park, stumbled upon the young man in the alleyway, felt the terror of the young woman, confronting the faceless man loading his prey into the van, heard the squeal of tires, and felt the impact before collapsing.
Renee jerked her head back and touched her throat.
He hit you, Gyp, for real? He really hurt you—that's why you’re here. That man wanted you dead. The van hit you hard. She took small steps closer, stroking my shoulder.
Her voice in my head confused me. Somehow, I’d blocked the head injury part out. I remembered the rest of the night so clearly: his outline in the semi-darkness, the terror rolling off the young woman in waves as she struggled to move, and then the shock of being rammed by the van. Yet, somehow, I’d always assumed that I’d collapsed from a stroke, not brain damage from being hit by a van – a one-off act, which was ridiculous. I mean, what are the odds of a stroke just minutes after stumbling across a crime?
Yet, Nay had been able to see what I couldn’t or wouldn’t. The blows from the van left me unconscious in a deserted alleyway as he sped away. The knuckles in my right hand cracked as I pounded my fist against the mattress. The bastard ran into me, so it was no wonder it hurt like hell. My head pounded again. My brain had bled and that man had left me for dead in the shadows, driving off with his prize. God only knew where he’d taken the young woman or what he had done to her from there. I shivered and muttered words indecipherable even to me. I spoke silently to Nay using our connection, my voice echoing inside her head.
Nay, this man is dangerous. You know what he did to that girl and me. You’ve heard his voice, and you know roughly his height and build. The police know about what happened when an ambulance was called—but there’s one detective I want you to find urgently, Connor Reardon. Think of that woman’s family and just imagine what they must be feeling right now.
Nay scratched her nose and bit the nails on her right hand. She knew most adults didn’t listen to young kids. We both knew the police would more than likely laugh her off as some sort of wildly imaginative but cute preteen.
Why don’t I take mum with me? That way, they won’t write me off as a crazy, dumb kid.
She rested one hand beside me on the bed, and with the other, she stroked my cheek.
No, we don’t need to involve your mum just yet. You know she’ll panic. Trust me, I have a feeling Connor will be pleased to hear from you. Do this for me, please.
“I will, I promise I will.” She nodded, her jaw set firm.
“You okay, honey?” said Leah suddenly, straightening on the chair. At that moment, Renee and I realized she had spoken her promise out loud rather than thinking it.
My niece spun around on her back foot to face her mother, and I stared at the back of her school jumper covered in grey fluffy lint, willing her to turn back around.
Damn. I hoped she would end up at the police station and at least put it out there to establish the link with Connor. I knew it was a lot for anyone, let alone a thirteen year old, but she was strong. If anyone could give this a go, Nay could. I shook my head, pressing my lips together, feeling my throat closing up. I needed to get out of bed and get the investigation moving.
“No, Mum, of course not. I’m sad that Gyp’s so sick. She looks different, that’s all.”
I squeezed Renee’s hand, feeling the soft flesh encasing her bird-like bones and my back tingled as sweat formed. I sent her a final message.
Connor’s business card might still be in my handbag, ask for him and only him.
Leah looked at her daughter sympathetically as Renee draped an arm around her shoulder.
“You’re right, she does look different, honey,” Leah murmured, her smile wavering, as she brushed Nay’s fringe across her forehead. “The best thing we can do right now is be here and cheer her up as best we can.”
I rolled my eyes as my gaze flicked upward. If I could have spoken at that moment, I would have yelled at Leah to give me a break, she was laying pretend concern on so thick that I needed to throw up in a sick bucket. When the hell was she ever there for me? The Mother Theresa act probably helped her to feel better, an ointment for her conscience, but all I wanted to do was gaze at the ceiling. Instead, I turned on one side with my hand tucked under my aching head, and yawned.
“Well, Gypsy, we’re going to head off, I’m afraid. I know you’re in good hands here and getting the best care available. We’ll be back to see you in a couple of days.” Leah picked up her handbag and faced the door, her mind already through it before she’d left.
My gaze was intense, refusing to break the connection with Renee as she followed her mother.
I hoped she’d come through and do what I’d asked of her. Maybe later, she could tell me all about her adventure at the police station.
With that, they were gone.
*****
3
The bell rang out and as the children spilled out of the classroom, Renee dragged herself out to the peg on the corridor wall where her bag hung, waiting to be taken home.
Today was the day, and she wasn’t looking forward to it. She had promised Gyp she would tell the police everything she knew. Her head dropped and she swallowed hard. She wondered if her aunt had powers that could undo things so Renee didn’t have to know everything, but somehow she doubted it.
Renee wondered if this was what being electrified felt like. The sour taste in her mouth, the ache in the back of her throat and the weight in her chest suggested that just might be what was happening.
Usually, as she headed out into the sunshine, she savored the rays warming her face, but today, she wished time would speed up, as she opened the squeaky school gate and headed out along Louis Street.
The cop shop was on the way home off Laine Road. She knew the route home by heart, walking past the police building each day, each grudging footstep bringing her closer to the duty she had felt weighing her down all day.
She could already see the condescending smiles. With her, most adults adopted a patronizing tone as if talking to the village idiot. Renee got it. She knew she was “just a child” no matter how much she instinctively understood. From an early age, she could detect emotional nuances, other people’s delight and distress. However, experience had taught her not to let on that she understood completel
y their problems and conflicts when talking to adults, or she would suffer the consequences of rude jibes and condescending pats on the head. There were some things they were keen to hold on to, like the idea that only they understood rivalries and petty jealousies, and they became very upset when a child understood and thought exactly as they did.
Gyp was the best, not just because they got along so well, but also because she was the only one who spoke to Renee as an adult. Of course, the subject of Gyp’s abilities came up in those conversations, especially when Renee started manifesting these skills as a child. Bringing her head close to her blonde head, her aunt had confided in her, sharing her experiences and passing on what little information she had about her grandmother, Renee’s great grandmother, and how hard it must have been for her, too. Renee’s eyes filled with tears, and she wiped them away quickly, imagining her great grandmother beside her and Gypsy, and guiding them both on. Somehow, the idea of ancestors shaping their destiny reassured her.
She didn’t remember a time when they’d agreed not to tell her mum about their little secret; it was implied. Then again, since Dad left, Mum spent most of her time worrying about bills and money, grey smears growing under her eyes from exhaustion. Renee heard her sobs late at night, the cries seeping through the walls. She didn’t want to burden her mother more than necessary, and lately, Gyp had been the sounding board she needed.
Renee stopped abruptly at the entranceway and her stomach curled with even greater intensity. She’d never really paid attention to the local police station, but today, she looked with glazed eyes at the stone steps with the brightly lit blue police sign with white text above, announcing her destination.
With a sigh and a heave of her shoulders, Renee climbed to the glass door. She pushed it open and headed into the hushed lobby. Fluorescent lights, blue plastic chairs nailed to the linoleum waiting room floor, notices hanging by a thread on the board and a desk immediately in front of her, complete with one-way mirrors, only added to her fear that all eyes were on her. She patted her hair and pulled her jacket tighter.
She plonked her school bag on the ground, where it landed with a loud whack, and she waited, her feet tapping on the linoleum. A door to the right of the mirrored wall opened and a young man emerged, his dark hair thick. He wore a light blue uniform. He stood looking at her, the question across his face before he asked it.
“Can I help you?”
In the mirror, Renee saw herself flush crimson as the floor rushed up to meet her. She prayed she wouldn’t faint.
“Er…Officer, is Connor Reardon here? I want to report a crime.”
“Okay, and what would be the nature of this crime?”
“Well, an attack. An…ah…” Renee began.
“Does your mum and dad know about this?”
She twisted the sleeve of her school jumper, her gaze jumping from the officer to the exit behind her. She’d told Gyp she wouldn’t be taken seriously, but her aunt had been determined. This was a really stupid idea.
“Well, you see, it’s…confidential.”
The officer looked down at her, his mouth set in an unwavering line. “Confidential?”
“I’d rather not tell Mum about it just yet.”
The police constable pressed his lips together. “I see. Just a minute, I’m just going to get some more information. Won’t be long.” He disappeared out of the same door he’d come in, going to the mysterious offices beyond.
What?
Renee wondered what he thought of her. Eventually, the sliding doors granted entry to a man who stood behind her forming a queue. He looked as though he belonged here.
This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come. What on earth was Gyp thinking?
Gypsy and an unknown woman lying helpless or dead somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Was this really worth it?
Sighing, Renee picked up her bag, toying with the idea of sprinting to the street below, when a different man emerged from the mysterious back office to plant his body at the front desk.
Something about him seemed less intimidating, almost friendly. Maybe it was his blond hair, rounded shoulders. His squinting eyes lit up with an inner glow, and he had a tentative smile and laugh lines around his eyes. When he dropped his pen, saying, “Oops,” that sealed the deal. She decided she would take the plunge and tell him everything. She just hoped Gypsy was right and that he would prove himself trustworthy.
“I hear you need to report something confidentially, is that right? The constable said you asked for me by name,” he said and leaned forward with a smile.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Why don’t we talk in the room over here then? How does that sound?” He glanced at the official looking person waiting patiently behind her, and gestured behind him with a pointed finger signaling that another officer would be out in a minute.
“Um, okay, I guess we could do that.”
Renee read the tag pinned to his shirt – Det. Constable Reardon - and followed him through a gate to her left. At the threshold to the dimmer room, she stood unmoving. The lights were doing their best, but the blue, windowless room with scuffed skirting, shabby chairs, and rickety table had an air of desolation. Renee pictured her mother with the phone to her ear in the hallway at home, greyish pallor spreading as she learned that her daughter was at the police station. She imagined the conversation: that she was assisting with their enquiries into an abduction and possible murder. Considering Leah’s fragile state since Dad’s departure, this would be the catalyst that would drop Leah from hanging over the precipice to a terrifying freefall into the abyss.
“Excuse me? Is everything all right?” Connor asked, his head up.
“Ah…yes, sorry.” Returning to reality, Renee shuffled across to the plastic seat at the wobbly table.
Detective Reardon leaned back in his chair as he rested his pen and paper on the table
“Were you referred to me? How can I help?” He said it with kindness in his voice and Renee nodded.
“Yes, I was. My Aunt Gypsy told me to come and find you. She met you last Saturday night at dinner. She’s sick and is in the hospital, she’s hurt.”
His eyes were wide and unblinking.
“Gypsy Shields? I remember her, what happened?”
“She’s in the hospital. She had a bleed on the brain. On the way home from the restaurant, someone drove into her and then left.”
“Oh, I see.” He rubbed his chin, leaning back in his chair. “How badly is she hurt?”
Renee fiddled with the hem on her school uniform, wishing she was back in the sanctuary of the quiet classroom. She didn’t want to think about her aunt lying in the hospital after surgery. It was too much.
“She can’t talk right now and can only move one side. The nurses said she had a brain bleed and she has nasty, purple-black bruises. She was walking home when she heard something down a dark alley. At first, she thought it was a couple of cats fighting, and as she got closer, she thought maybe it was a man and woman…” she blushed, “…you know. Then she realized it was a man standing over a woman, who was trying to scream but her mouth was covered over and she was tied up. Gyp was so terrified that she couldn’t move, but later, when she tried to stop him, he ran her over with his van.”
Detective Reardon gripped the pen tightly, bouncing his foot on the floor. His gaze darted toward the window.
“I see. You’re aware of her abilities then? She shared them with you?” Detective Reardon asked, with his eyebrows raised.
Here we go, she thought; the laughter or the embarrassed strained silence, or even a sudden intense interest in floor particles.
“Well…yes, I guess so.” She raised her head ever so slightly, the curtain of her hair shielding her.
The frown was still deeply etched into his forehead as he met her gaze. Maybe, just maybe, he was a friend, an ally who would know what to do.
“It’s okay, truly.” His tone was gentle. “We need to find out who did this. Thank you for
finding me. I appreciate it and so does your aunt.”
Renee felt a prickle of tears at her eyes. To force them back, she focused on the table, taking deep breaths. “Yes, Gypsy and I have an understanding.” There, she’d said it. It hung heavy in the air, a balloon rising slowly towards the flickering light.
He tapped his fingertips together, forming a steeple. “You mean like telepathy? It’s okay, Gypsy explained to me what she does. I’m not going to laugh at you or her, far from it.”
“Well, she hates that word. She says there are too many wackos about. She does what she does to help people, not for money. It might seem funny, but she can tune into people pretty well.”
In that instant, she saw the safety of talking to him so clearly. He wasn’t doubled over in laughter, pointing fingers as he howled at the ridiculousness of what she’d put to him. He was rubbing at his chin again, looking at her intently.
“This is a pretty serious incident. I’ll take down your and your aunt’s details and get moving on this straight away. At the moment, we’re getting a lot of calls to the Crime Stopper line. Some more pressing than others. This might be what we need to solve the case.”
Renee smiled slowly, standing up on wobbly legs. He’d help them, just like Gypsy said. No wonder she liked him. Of course, Renee was a child, and wasn’t supposed to be aware of adult mechanisms, but there it was. His kindly concern was probably tied in with his interest in her aunt.
“So, can I tell Gypsy you’ll come by to see her? She was pretty insistent that I tell you about this.”
“Of course you can. Which hospital is she in?”
She parroted off the hospital ward and bed number, Renee’s home address and the phone number. Renee hoped he’d interview her aunt in the hospital when her Mum was there so she could explain things in a more public place, rather than Mum having a meltdown from the worry. She still wondered if he might be humoring her and would turn out to be a no show, but she hoped not.