Now I See You

by Holmes, Priscilla; Holmes, Priscilla;

  The phone rang. I sat up in bed. It was just before seven and early morning light pressed through the curtains. Birds tweeted noisily. I glanced at the screen: ‘Zak Khumalo’.

  I pressed the button.

  ‘Zak, what is it?’

  His voice was tight, professional. ‘Thabisa, please get down to the station as soon as you can. We’ve got Julia McEwen here. She tells us someone has been shot.’

  24

  6 July 2006 – 2.00 a.m.

  Driving through the streets of Grahamstown at two in the morning, Julia and Sue saw no other cars, nobody was about but a few late night revellers weaving their way home from the Festival. As they cruised slowly down a tunnel of overhanging trees, peering into the backyards of houses and restaurants, there was no discernible sign of life. The heavy buildings stood out in stark relief against the night sky. It was bitterly cold.

  They hadn’t spoken much since Sue had unlocked the door to Julia’s room and let her out into the kitchen. While Sue locked up and put the outside lights off, Julia leaned against the kitchen door frame, running her eyes over Sue’s dishevelled clothes and hair. ‘Did you get the security numbers?’ she finally asked.

  ‘Of course, I’ve got his cell phone security combinations, didn’t you hear?’

  ‘I tried not to listen. Are you okay?’

  ‘It’s no use standing there looking like a disapproving maiden aunt in your bloody diamond earrings and my old dressing gown,’ Sue said defensively. ‘I’ve told you before, Julia, sex means nothing to me. I fucked him for information. I know you’re too pathetic to take risks, but I’m not, okay?’

  ‘Sue, it’s dangerous...’ Julia bit her lip but didn’t continue. She looked at Sue’s swollen mouth and flushed face. She had heard the animal noises Wilmot had made behind the locked door when he was with Sue. She was deeply worried about Sue and the desperate game she was playing.

  ‘It’s not dangerous,’ Sue said. ‘I was in control. Fucking is theatre, it’s dressing-up. A performance, a means to an end.’

  ‘What about love?’ Julia said quietly.

  ‘I don’t fuck anyone for love.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘If you love someone it’s different. That’s not fucking.’

  ‘Was it love with Sando?’

  ‘Who knows? This whole “being in love” thing doesn’t last. I haven’t got a clue what love means. Have you?’

  Julia turned away. She felt a surge of despair at Sue’s attitude. She was so tough and emotionless. Yet, sometimes, when they were together she could be so warm and funny. It seemed ridiculous to admit that, despite the whole surreal situation, she really cared about Sue. More than cared. Julia wasn’t stupid, or naive. She understood the Stockholm Syndrome, and how sometimes victims fell in love with their captors and would do anything for them. She recognised all too well that in his own way Magnus had been her captor. But she certainly had never wanted to become like him, and nor had she loved him for what he did to her. She knew how starved she had been of love, how vulnerable that had made her, but none of that was what attracted her to Sue. Sue was something different. Sure she was fucked up, but who wasn’t? Julia could look at Sue objectively and love her courage, her ability to march to her own drum, say fuck you to the world, and really mean it. She was so unlike anyone Julia had met before. Perhaps she didn’t actually love Sue, perhaps it was just her exotic, daring personality, but Julia was, against all her expectations, in the grip of something unique. A fascination, a sense of being alive. She had never felt this before.

  Images flashed through her mind of Sue; her poker straight posture, the unexpected elegance of her slim fingers, their expressiveness – their touch. Tears threatened and Julia closed her eyes for a moment, remembering Sue’s long, beautiful hands on her shoulders and the back of her neck. The new feelings she had of discovery, of life, of appetite. This was more than a captive’s admiration for her captor. Maybe it was love? The breath caught in Julia’s throat. Against all odds and in the most bizarre of all possible circumstances, Julia McEwen was falling in love. And as she fell, she was shedding her inhibitions, her reserve, the icy exterior that had helped disguise the barren pain of her life with Magnus.

  Julia shook her head, cautioned herself. This was madness. Sue was dangerous. Everything about her spelled trouble. And this thing with James Wilmot; it went beyond all the risks they had ever taken. How long could they continue like this, wildly careening towards disaster? She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. This wasn’t going to end well, but she knew she’d go along with the ride. With Sue.

  ‘May I ask you a question?’ she said.

  ‘Depends what it is.’

  ‘Why do you have sex with so many men?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Hasn’t it got to mean something? It’s not like just having a coffee with someone, is it? Do you enjoy it?’

  ‘Enjoy?’ Sue paused and considered. ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Is it because you like men or despise them?’

  ‘Why not both?’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be more cautious?’ Julia asked. ‘It’s dangerous to take risks like this. One of these days you might meet someone brutal who doesn’t take kindly to being messed around. You could end up in hospital with a broken nose, or worse. I don’t want to have to identify your body on a mortuary slab one day.’ As she spoke, Julia remembered Magnus. His brutal behaviour. The scientific precision with which he aimed his blows, inflicted wounds that only showed when she stripped off her clothes and stood in front of a mirror examining deep purple bruises on her belly, the lacerations on her lower back, her buttocks, the top of her thighs. The pain of rape, dry, searing, over and over.

  ‘Cautious?’ Sue threw the word back at her with a laugh. ‘You’ve got to be joking! It’s more likely to be the other way round. At least I know how to look after myself.’

  Julia stared at Sue for a moment, and then said quietly: ‘Anything could happen. It’s more dangerous to play with people’s feelings than to rob a bank.’

  ‘I don’t care. What would you know anyway? I’m not a frightened little princess like you, Julia, scared to take risks.’ Sue laughed again. But her laughter was hollow and unconvincing.

  Julia ignored this. She put her hand on Sue’s arm.

  ‘I care about you,’ she said softly. ‘I really do.’

  Sue stared at Julia. For a moment she looked bewildered. Then she turned away.

  ‘Right, let’s do it,’ she said briskly.

  ‘Whatever we do tonight, it won’t be as dangerous as what you did with that man,’ Julia said as they dressed in black trousers and zipped up their hoodies.

  Sue ignored her. She tucked her hair under her beanie, checking carefully that no tell-tale blonde strands had escaped.

  The process was becoming familiar. Julia could transform herself into a man quickly and efficiently. When they stepped out of the door neither of them looked like a woman. It was amazing what beanies, black trousers and hoodies could achieve. The hoodies bulked out their torsos, the narrow black pants disguised their slim legs.

  Sue watched Julia approvingly. ‘You’re getting good at this,’ she said.

  The two women stood side by side and looked in the mirror. ‘Here comes trouble,’ Sue laughed and Julia joined her, feeling the adrenaline kick into her bloodstream. They stacked their backpacks with tools and their weapons, then hoisted them onto their shoulders.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Sue.

  Julia nodded. They walked out into the cold night air.

  ‘I love nights like this,’ Sue said. ‘When it’s dark you can do anything, be anyone. You’re invisible. Invincible.’ She paused for a moment, then continued: ‘I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean that, about you being pathetic; too scared to take risks. Considering everything you’re quite amazing.’

  ‘I know you didn’t,’ Julia said.

  The Bank of the Eastern Cape stood in a quiet, tree
-lined street. Sue turned off the engine a little way down the street; they sat in darkness, lowered the car windows and listened. Somewhere, back along the road in one of the houses they had passed, a dog was barking. Then it fell silent. All Julia could hear was the urgent pulsing of her own blood.

  They left the car, shrugged on their backpacks, crossed the street, walking through patches of shadow and moonlight, and approached the heavy, dark wood doors of the bank. No locks visible. Sue motioned Julia to follow as she moved to the right of the building. They crouched against the wall for a few moments while their eyes got used to the darkness, their breath misting in the cool air. Julia looked up. If there were any security lights they hadn’t come on. The clouds were thickening, a few stars glinting in the gaps.

  They moved around the building cautiously, then recoiled immediately, pressing themselves back against the cold wall. A guardhouse stood in front of them, a figure sitting inside. They waited for a few minutes. There was no sign of life. Then Sue moved quickly to the right, keeping low, her knees bent, her head and shoulders hunched forward. Julia waited, pressing herself against the wall, listening. Sue crept back. She touched Julia’s shoulder, breathing: ‘He’s sleeping... just follow me, we’ll get past without waking him. Keep close.’

  They crept forward, tiptoeing past the guardhouse, past the slumped figure of a uniformed guard, his head resting on his arms. They could hear his snores as they slid past.

  They moved carefully along the back wall of the building, feeling their way with their fingertips. About halfway along, they located a discreet door, its security panel set in a grid.

  Sue inserted James Wilmot’s access card and the door clicked open. They stepped forward cautiously, flashing their torch lights in short bursts to light the way. They were inside the bank. Sue moved swiftly to a flashing monitor pad and punched in the numbers she had extracted from Wilmot’s cell. The bleeping stopped. She turned, grinned at Julia and gave her the thumbs-up.

  They were in a spacious, dark-toned foyer. A marble staircase to the side led down steeply and they followed it down three flights, emerging into a large area with a heavily barred security gate at the end. It was completely dark. The flashlight illuminated a computer pad to the side of the grid. Sue tapped in the code and the steel gate opened. They were in the vault. It was a huge, echoing place. Banks of safety deposit boxes ran down both sides, and an untidy stack of crates, cartons and old computer screens were pushed against the back wall.

  Sue swung off her backpack and lowered it between her feet. They stood for a moment, silent, their backs flattened against the cold brick wall, listening. Then Sue stepped forward, opened her backpack and fished out a chain with a key dangling on the end. ‘It’s box 2805,’ she said. They shone their torches over the walls, scanning the numbers.

  ‘Oh shit,’ Sue said. ‘They’re not in sequence.’

  ‘When did Sando give you the number?’

  ‘Months ago.’

  Sue scoured the numbers down each side of the walls. Nothing matched.

  ‘Maybe it’s an old box,’ Julia said, ‘not opened for ages?’

  ‘If that’s the case...’ Sue darted forward and began tearing at the crates and boxes at the back of the vault. Julia joined her and together they pulled away crates and computer screens.

  ‘Gotcha!’ Box 2805, rusty, covered with cobwebs, on the bottom row. Sue struggled to unlock it. She finally stood up, holding a dusty envelope. As she walked towards the backpack near the security gate, she froze.

  ‘Oh God,’ she breathed, ‘someone’s coming.’

  Instinctively, Julia dived behind the debris at the back of the vault, lying flat, frozen still as the footsteps got closer. Sue stood motionless, staring at the shadow moving down the steps towards her. Julia saw her reach for her gun, then hesitate, realising that it was still in her backpack.

  A flashlight shone, lighting up the muzzle of a pistol. James Wilmot. Pointing his pistol right at Sue’s chest. He was red, panting and out of control.

  ‘Don’t move. Don’t you dare fucking move,’ he yelled.

  She saw him looking at Sue’s black tracksuit, webbed belt and empty holster. Roaring with frustration, he stuck the pistol in his belt, dropped the torch on the floor and came for Sue. He grabbed her arms, pulling her round towards him. He yanked the beanie off her head and her hair tumbled out to frame her face.

  ‘I knew it!’ he shouted, stabbing his finger into her face. ‘Bitch!’ Fucking bitch! You took me for a fool.’

  Sue jerked away from him and dived for her backpack. Her gun. She wasn’t going to make it – it was too far away. Julia lay motionless, watching as Wilmot lurched forward and punched Sue between the shoulder blades, knocking the breath out of her. Sue gasped, fell, scrambling for the backpack. He was right behind her. He seized her ankles, sliding her back towards him, grabbing her face, squeezing it, forcing her head to the side. Then he pulled her up by her hair. She cried out. He hit her hard across the face with the palm, then the back of his hand. Then he grabbed her by the throat and started squeezing.

  ‘It was all a game, wasn’t it? A fucking game,’ he yelled. ‘You little cunt. And you thought I was stupid enough to fall for it? Bloody, cock-teasing whore!’ He was panting, triumphant, and totally unaware of anyone else being in the vault.

  Julia lay silently, patiently – waiting. She needed perfect timing for maximum surprise.

  Sue tried to wriggle away from Wilmot. She swung her foot upwards into his crotch. It didn’t stop him. He kept up the pressure, muttering obscenities, pushing harder and harder onto Sue’s neck. Julia heard hoarse gasps as Sue fought for breath. Then Wilmot shifted, and for a moment, he had his back to Julia. As he moved the torch rolled on the floor, lighting the vault walls with jumping yellow shadows.

  She had to strike. Now.

  Julia stood up, raced forward, and leapt onto Wilmot’s back. She pulled his head towards her, tearing at his hair, clawing at his eyes, pummelling him with her fists. He shouted in shock, and let go of Sue. She tumbled across the floor into the darkness near the security door. Wilmot twisted and turned his body, desperately trying to dislodge Julia. But she hung on, kicking him, screaming at him, digging her fingers into his eye sockets. Finally he managed to heave her off his back. He grabbed for the gun stuck in his belt. Julia landed lightly on her toes, twisting to face him, pulling at the gun, wrestling with him, trying to force it out of his hands. Wilmot swore, kicked out at her. She jumped to one side, kicked back, smashing her foot into his knee.

  ‘Fuck you!’ He bellowed with pain, moved forward, pushing the gun against her, grappling with her, his foul breath and spittle spraying her face.

  His gun went off.

  Julia felt as if she’d been kicked in the chest by an elephant. The blast shredded her eardrums. For a moment everything was quiet. Wide-eyed, she watched Wilmot stumble backwards. He clutched his chest; fell on both knees, blood gushing past his fingers, pouring down the front of his shirt. He groaned as he fell against the safety deposit boxes, staring down at himself in disbelief. He looked up at Julia for a long moment. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to tell her something. Then his body jerked, crumpled back and lay still.

  ‘Oh God... oh my God...’ she whispered. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Sue’s hoarse voice broke through the fog settling in Julia’s mind and she looked around wildly, seeking a way out of the horror. She was frozen with shock. Shadows spiked the walls as the torch rolled, lighting up the bloody scene. She felt less than human. She could smell her own fear and wretchedness. She had to get out of the place, breathe some clean fresh air. Somewhere in the back of her skull a voice was shouting, ‘You’ve killed a man... You’ve killed a man...’

  ‘Let’s get out of here.’ She almost choked on the words.

  ‘The envelope... don’t forget the envelope...’ Sue said. She could hardly stand. Julia supported her. She looked over at Wilmot.

  �
�We can’t just leave him.’

  ‘We have to.’

  Trying not to look at Wilmot’s body and the pool of blood spreading over the floor, Julia half-dragged Sue up the stairs, through the foyer and through the security door. Sue stumbled; Julia had to stop and haul her along as they crossed the cobbles and made their way to the car. The guardhouse was empty, but Julia couldn’t see the guard anywhere. She opened the passenger door, pushed Sue inside and got into the driver’s seat. They had left the keys in the ignition to make escape quicker.

  As Julia started the engine, there was a shout. Somebody was running towards them. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, Julia saw the guard, powering along the street, almost at the boot of the car.

  ‘Stop! Stop!’ he yelled.

  He reached them, banged his hand on the boot. Julia rammed the car into gear and moved forward. He wrenched open the back door of the Toyota. He half made it into the car, but she picked up speed, jerked the wheel hard to the right, and as they swerved across the road, the car skidding, screeching and tilting on two wheels, the guard lost his grip and went tumbling out of the car and across the road like a rag doll thrown down by an angry child.

  Julia drove at manic speed through the quiet streets, then forced herself to slow down, heart thumping in her chest. She pulled into a parking space and killed the engine. A security company van raced past them. Julia slid down; her head level with Sue’s where she lay silent on the passenger seat. She checked the mirror, and then quickly gunned the engine into life. She swerved into a side street and took two more turns. When she was finally sure they were not being followed, she drove sedately back to Graham Street, straight into the garage and activated the door. It slid down, sealing them from the night.

  It was only then that she started shaking. She looked down at her hands and saw the blood on them. She tried to wipe it off but it was deep under her nails and in the creases of her knuckles. If she thought about her bloodied hands and James Wilmot’s face, she would collapse. She tried to concentrate on taking one breath at a time. One minute at a time. Like a soldier going into battle.