by Cath Ferla
And the word had struck him in the heart like a knife. What kind of man hides away from his family to watch teenagers getting hurt? He had vowed to stop.
Justin had climaxed three times since the morning. He’d craved the short burst of calm that flooded his body with each orgasm. For a few precious seconds, his body bathed in warmth, Justin had relaxed and almost found sleep. And then the guilt had come creeping back and his wrist had started throbbing and the nagging pull of the DVD player again made itself known in his head.
‘Fuck off!’ Justin groaned the words into the room as he yanked his pillow out from under his head and pulled it over his face. ‘Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, fuck off.’ Tears soaked into the cotton, creating wet patches in places where there were none. He knew he should get out of the house, go walking, go to the park, go to the shops. Why didn’t he go? Why would he risk staying here?
Thirsty. He was thirsty. The jug stood on the bedside table filled to the brim with water and slices of lime. Thanks to Veronica. As Justin tossed the sheets away from his body and slid into his slippers, he remembered the earlier conversation he’d had with his wife. She’d been concerned for him, suspected something was up at work and had even mentioned the D word.
‘I’m not depressed, babe,’ he’d said, smiling with what he hoped was a show of strength. ‘I’m just tired and crampy.’
She’d laughed. ‘Like a woman on her cycle.’
‘Except with more wind.’
Justin ignored the water jug and padded down the hallway to the kitchen. The walk took him past the lounge where the television and DVD player glistened. He forced himself to walk directly to the kitchen. And there, as he poured himself an orange juice, he heard the clock in the hallway strike eleven. Justin drank steadily, his eyes fixed on the glass at his mouth, knowing that on finishing its contents he should return to his room and his bed and knowing, at the same time, that on finishing its contents he would lose his morning’s battle and he would make his excuse. If he called now he would have time to receive a delivery and watch it before the girls returned. If he called now he could settle in for the day. He would have something to do. Justin flicked a glance at the TV in the lounge room and another at the low-hanging sky outside. It was warm and comforting here and he needed to relax.
Justin returned to the bedroom and slid open the bedside drawer. He unrolled a pair of socks and shook out the red earrings. Joy Lin had taken them off in the car, claiming that her lobes hurt. He’d pocketed them quietly and taken them home as a reminder. It was okay, he thought, as he thumbed them over in his palm. It was all right, he could do this and nobody would know. This would continue to be his secret indulgence, a reward for the long hours he put in at the bank and an escape from the stresses and ordinariness of his life. He didn’t drink to excess, he didn’t smoke, he didn’t cheat, he had no other vice. As for the girls, they were foreign, from another world, another place. They were women, they were old enough, their fate had been sealed by their own choices. They were not like his daughter and they were not like Joy Lin.
Justin smiled with relief as he felt the resignation flood through his body, relaxing his muscles and his fear. He would stop but the time to stop wasn’t now. The torture in his bed this morning had been part of his process and maybe if he’d stayed, he would have made it through the day. But he’d been thirsty, not his fault. He’d gone to the kitchen and he’d heard the clock strike. And that had given him the idea. Next time he’d be stronger, but next time was not today. Today he would forgive himself and he would start again tomorrow. Justin took out his wallet. His cock tingling with excitement, he flipped out the card with the number, picked up his mobile and dialled.
女孩
Cho recognised the voice on the other end of the phone.
It was the suit from the suburbs, the guy who kidded himself that he had his addiction under control.
Cho used to find it amusing to watch Mr Holmes peruse the hardcore film selection on offer at the shop. The man could barely keep the sneer of distaste from his face. It was as though he thought he was different from the other men who rented films and bought sex paraphernalia – as though his expensive suit made him somehow less perverted.
‘I’m after an order,’ the voice said softly over the phone line.
‘What are you after?’
The man on the end of the line hesitated. Cho heard a scraping sound, like fingernails against stubble. Then, ‘The usual.’
But the pause told Cho he could put another offer on the table. ‘You ready for something a little different?’
‘Different how?’
‘We organise private appointments if you feel like something a little more… personal.’
Another pause as Cho let Justin digest the suggestion. ‘I’m not interested in ordinary sex with a prostitute.’
‘Who said anything about sex?’
Cho listened again as the man took this in. Men who were into violence and sadism rarely actually wanted to have sex. But present an opportunity for them to play rough and dirty without the threat of assault charges and it was a different story.
‘How do I organise an appointment?’
Cho smiled. ‘You don’t organise anything,’ he said, keying Justin’s address into his mobile. ‘You sit tight and we’ll do the rest.’
鬼
There weren’t any seatbelts in the back of the van. There weren’t even any seats. Justin looped his hand through a leather strap hanging from the ceiling and held on tight as the vehicle lurched its way through the stop-start afternoon traffic. There were no windows. He hoped the driver intended to deliver him to the agreed destination and was not instead taking him somewhere remote to place a bullet in his head.
The van lurched and so did Justin’s stomach. The van reeked like the blood and bone his wife liked to use in the garden. It smelled like something had died in it.
Justin ran through his plan again in his mind. He’d decided this would be the last time for all of this. After disconnecting the phone call he’d destroyed the magazines he kept stashed in the ceiling at home, thrown them on the coals of the Weber and filled the backyard with acrid black smoke. He’d chucked the remaining films in the glove box. He planned to dispose of them in a city dumpster. He would rid himself of this obsession because he had no choice, because he loved his daughter, and if she ever learned of his secret life it would destroy him. So this would be his last time. A celebration, a final climax. After this he would no longer need the images. He would have the memory of his own experience, his own participation. It was not so much more terrible, he reasoned. It was simply a means to an end.
‘You ready, boss?’ The driver stared at him through the rear-vision mirror and Justin felt his stomach heave, this time with excitement.
‘We’re here?’
The driver nodded. ‘You pay me now.’
Justin felt in his pocket for his wallet. Fuck! His wallet! On the floor. Justin grabbed at the black square of leather and his fingers touched something sticky. He brought them to his face and examined them. The substance was dark. Like old blood.
The door slid open and Justin saw the footpath shiny with rain. An open doorway stood opposite the van, a set of concrete stairs leading to the floor above. Justin followed the driver up the stairs to a landing and left to a door marked with the number 14. The driver unlocked the door with a key attached to a chain around his neck. ‘You have one hour,’ he said with a grin. ‘No rules.’
Justin stared back at the man. How hardcore did this organisation think he was? Hardcore enough to watch their recorded material, he reasoned. But watching someone in fear was different from inflicting pain and suffering himself. He didn’t plan to seriously hurt the woman behind that door. He planned to slap her around a bit, do some things he could never do with his wife, fill his brain with fantasy material for the boring months and years left of his marriage, and then leave. He’d put all this revolting stuff behind him.
The dri
ver was still talking as he pushed open the door. ‘Have a good time, get your money’s worth.’
And then Justin was in the room.
A Persian rug in shades of blue and red reached almost to the walls, exposing centimetres of unpolished floorboards at each side. Grey foam sheeting, rippled to resemble giant cardboard egg containers, covered the walls instead of wallpaper, soundproofing the room from the street below. The girl sat in one corner, dressed in cut-off denim shorts and a black singlet, knees bunched towards her chest, arms behind her, hair cascading down either side of a perfectly proportioned face. She regarded Justin purposefully. Justin felt her eyes on him as he took in the faded green armchair against one wall and the plastic-covered mattress on the floor opposite the door.
Justin moved to the armchair and perched tentatively on the edge. He sat silently, watching the girl watch him. He admired the fact that she, the captive, had the courage to stare him directly in the eye. It seemed she wasn’t afraid of him and he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t sure how this made him feel, but he certainly didn’t feel turned on.
‘What’s your name?’ It seemed an obvious place to start and Justin tried to ignore the insipid tone of his voice.
She said nothing, the faint trace of a smile on her lips.
He shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the chair. He knew this was not how it was supposed to go. He’d entered the room with a licence to everything, and here he was, attempting to make conversation. He should get up and move on her now, pummel her a bit with his fists, flip her face into the plastic sheeting, pull off those denims and take her from behind. This was his fantasy and what he had seen happen a hundred times before on screen. This was his opportunity. What had happened to his balls?
‘You have a name?’ he tried again, desperate to close the silence between them.
‘What does it matter?’ Her voice contained an accent but also a giggle, as though she thought the whole thing a joke. She was right, he reasoned. In this room, names didn’t matter. Knowing her name would make the whole thing harder, it would make her seem real, give her an identity. That was the last way he needed to see her if he was going to go through with this.
Justin examined the girl closer. She stared right back at him and stretched out her bare legs, crossing one foot over the other. Her skin was flawless, the creamy colour of a weak latte, her lips wide and pink. She had short, muscular legs but a long torso. Small breasts, each one just a handful. He admired her toned arms, the soft arc of her muscles.
‘Let’s call you Joy Lin.’ The words were out of his mouth before his brain caught up. Where did that come from? Revulsion washed through him. So he had a thing for young girls then. Girls like his daughter’s friend. Girls like his daughter. This would not do at all. What the fuck had happened to him?
‘You’re not fat like the others.’
Justin looked up. The girl had spoken in a strong, clear voice. No fear there.
‘What?’
‘You’re not fat like the other men. And you’re not old and you’re not ugly.’
Justin turned her words over in his head. ‘Are you trying to pay me a compliment?’
The girl shook her head. ‘I’m wondering why you’re here.’
‘You know why.’ He should stop this now. Get up and get down to business. See how much she had to say then. It was very different, here in this dingy room in this rotting building at the rear end of the city. The idea of the plastic mattress cover revolted him and, as for the girl, who knew how many men she’d been with and what kind of diseases she’d picked up.
‘What about your wife?’
There was that too. The girl was staring at Justin’s hands. His wedding ring. It was different also, actually doing it. Different from watching DVDs at home in bed with a homemade lunch beside him. Justin had never actually cheated on Veronica in seventeen years. Now, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.
‘I guess you have a wife and maybe some children. You have a family.’
‘I don’t have time for this.’ She’d hit close to the bone this time. He needed to show her who was boss. Justin pushed himself off the chair and moved towards her. She flinched back into the corner as Justin’s hand brushed her leg and his fist closed around her ankle. But in the next moment she had collected herself and Justin felt her leg slacken beneath his grip.
‘I’m looking for my sister,’ she said.
Justin released her ankle, as much from surprise as from anything else.
‘There’s a photo in the pocket of my shorts,’ she said. ‘Take it.’
Justin recoiled.
‘I’m here because of my sister,’ the girl said, thrusting a hip forwards so that Justin could see the pocket. ‘Please take the photo and have a look.’
Fuck it. Justin leaned towards the girl, slipped two fingers into the front pocket of her shorts. He pulled out a grimy photo, laminated, passport size. This wasn’t the deal, this wasn’t what he’d paid for. He didn’t want to know this girl’s personal story, he didn’t want to hear about her sister and he certainly didn’t want to look at the girl in the picture.
But the woman in front of him was persistent. ‘She came out here and she did this job,’ she said. ‘If you have been with other women then maybe you’ve met her, maybe you know something about whether she’s all right.’
Justin shook his head, pleased to realise he had an easy escape route. ‘I haven’t been with other women.’
The girl smiled as though she didn’t believe him. ‘So I am the first one?’
Justin hoped the blush he felt spreading to his cheeks didn’t show. ‘I don’t know your sister,’ he said, desperate to shut the conversation down.
‘Just take a look.’
Justin sighed and looked down at the photo. Anything to shut her up.
The passport-sized face smiling back at him belonged to a teenager. She was pretty, the way they all were, with black hair hanging down to her shoulders and large eyes. She looked vaguely familiar, but he guessed that was probably due to the similarity she bore to the girl in the room beside him.
Then he noticed the gap between the girl’s front teeth.
He fought hard against vomit.
He did know this girl. He knew her intimately. He had watched her last moments because they were recorded on digital video.
He’d watched this girl die in a snuff film.
The rain that had begun to fall in Katoomba accompanied them all the way home. Jin Tao’s wipers worked at full throttle as he turned into Hopetoun Street. Sophie stared out the side window and admired the sheen on her suburb as it soaked in the afternoon wet. Then, out of the grey, a flash of colour.
‘Stop!’ Sophie’s voice rang out just as Jin Tao slammed his foot on the brakes.
‘Shit!’
Sophie lurched forwards, her seatbelt jamming taut against her belly. The car screeched and came to a jolting stop in front of a man in a hooded orange anorak. He stood in front of them, arms raised as though he’d hoped to stop the moving vehicle with his fingers.
Sophie recognised him immediately. She rammed open the door, her heart in her throat. Brad.
‘What the fuck, man?’ Jin Tao reached him first. ‘Did you even look where you were going or do you have some kind of death wish?’
‘Are you all right?’ Sophie had her arm on Brad’s shoulder.
He spun to face her. ‘Sophie.’ His voice was little more than a whisper.
‘Are you all right?’ she repeated.
Brad took a deep breath and nodded. Yes. Then, with a smile and a gentle shake of the head, he said, ‘What’s your friend trying to do, kill me?’
Sophie threw a look at Jin Tao. He had his head bent low, examining the front of the car.
‘We didn’t see you. I yelled for him to stop.’
‘Then I think I probably owe you my life.’
‘Did we hit you?’
Brad held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. ‘This close,’ he said, more to Jin Ta
o. From the set of his jaw, Sophie could tell Jin Tao was seething. She had only one task now – to calm the situation before Jin Tao turned irate. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, I remember.’ Jin Tao’s acid tone told Sophie that she was too late. He stepped closer to Brad, closing the space between them. ‘You’re Sophie’s mate from the restaurant?’
Brad nodded. ‘The tea guy.’
‘The tea guy. Yeah.’
A small pause as the two men eyeballed each other. Jin Tao spoke first. ‘Didn’t anyone ever teach you to look both ways before crossing the road?’
Brad pointed to Jin Tao’s car. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you to use your lights in the rain? Improves visibility.’
Jin Tao’s face darkened. Sophie dropped her eyes. Brad had a point. How come Jin Tao hadn’t seen him?
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked again, to cut the silence.
Brad turned to her, a smile on his face. ‘Let’s just say I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I’d drop by and say hi.’
In the neighbourhood? But you’re never in my neighbourhood.
‘So you’re going to come in for a cup of tea?’ asked Sophie, ignoring the groan from Jin Tao.
Brad shrugged. ‘I’m on my way back to work. Got to defend my territory.’
‘Meaning?’
Brad shrugged, ‘Politics,’ he said. ‘Our storage room shares a door with the Sichuan place and so they think we should let them use it. Even in Australia I can’t get a break from people taking over my space.’ He turned to Jin Tao. ‘No hard feelings, okay?’
Jin Tao rolled his eyes. ‘Whatever, man.’
They watched Brad slouch off in the rain. Sophie couldn’t help feeling that he’d let them off easy. They’d nearly knocked him flat.