Sunlit Shadow Dance

by Graham Wilson

  He realized it was the flounces of a wedding dress, as she paused for a second before coming through. White with tiny patterns of a faintest blue to turquoise that he could only just make out, they drifted in and out of view in the breeze. Then this gorgeous apparition wafted through, lightly holding her father’s arm. She was so beautiful she took his breath away, a huge lump formed in his throat and his hand brushed tears from the edges of his eyes.

  She drifted towards him like that strand of gossamer floating above air eddies, weightless with her own exhilaration. Their eyes met in an iridescent smile, with just a trace of amusement in hers at his discomfiture.

  The service had a mesmeric quality, words spoken; “I do, I promise,” finally a ring on his and her finger and the signing of the register. Her kiss was the barest brush of lips. They joined their arms to walk back down the aisle. They emerged through the crowd of well wishers, laughing, hugging and shaking hands, he unable to believe his luck.

  A man stepped forward. Dark skinned but different from his local black brothers. He thought he was coming towards him, but then he realized it was Jane he sought. As he reached them a microphone was pushed forward. Vic saw a camera on a tripod a few feet behind with its red record light running.

  Words came from the man’s mouth. “Hello, Susan Emily MacDonald. How does it feel to have married the best friend of the man you killed?

  “This is Jake SS reporting for the Truth in downtown Alice Springs.”

  Vic felt an overwhelming rage. He knew that name; he had read his by line in the newspaper on the day that Susan had vanished. He was the author of all those hateful words and still it was not enough.

  He stepped forward, tearing the microphone free with one hand and casting it aside. He felt his fists move, hearing dull thuds as they connected with the hateful face, once, twice with each hand as the man slumped forward, then he hit into his chest and body as his rage powered him on.

  He felt himself being grabbed from behind, pulled back. The man was slumped on the footpath, near the edge of the road. Buck moved across his view, picking up the camera and smashing it into the road, then grabbing this man and hauling him to his feel. Alan was by his side, a posse of two. Each held an arm and kept the man upright.

  Buck’s voice spoke. “Listen you scumbag. You are lucky we pulled Vic off before he killed you, because he surely would have. I don’t want him to end up in jail for fixing filth like you on what should be his perfect wedding day.

  “But I will give you a tip, if so much as one word of what happened today ends up in your scummy paper I will come and find you and string you upside down, hanging by your balls and dick, until your precious bits come away. Then I will take what is left of you and give it to the crocodiles, the ones that interest you so much. If you don’t believe me just try it on.”

  Alan nodded, “To be double sure you shut your filthy mouth I will be there to help him too. This man and woman who got married today are both worth a hundred of you. They have earned the right to be left in peace.”

  With that each took an arm and flung him backwards towards the road. He lay there, on his side in the gutter, with a stunned look on his face and blood oozing from cuts on his face and lips.

  Vic felt his anger slowly cool, watching from the edge of his vision as this man sat there unmoving, making no attempt to interrupt further. It almost looked like an expression of shame had come onto this man’s bleeding face. Vic decided he would not to let it spoil his day.

  Anne and David, along with other family and friends, had formed a tight knot around Jane, shielding her from view and further intrusion. This pleased Vic while he got his anger under control. Alan and Buck stayed nearby, not crowding, giving unspoken support and plenty of time to let him get himself back together.

  He felt a tug at his elbow; it was Jane’s father with a big grin on his face.

  “I always told her she needed to find a man with balls, one who would stand up and fight for her. I think you just proved you’re that one. It was the prettiest boxing exhibition I have seen, barely five seconds, eight lovely punches. Someone should put you in a ring against a pro. You could show a thing or two.”

  Vic found himself grinning back and laughing. His anger evaporated. It seemed the words had passed Jane by, not understood, no damage done. He sensed, from this guy’s demeanor, that he would tell no further stories.

  Time now to enjoy the night with his ravishingly beautiful wife!

  He eased his way back through the crowd to her and she rewarded him with a smile that melted everything inside him.

  “I belong to you, I love you and we are married,” she whispered with unadorned delight.

  Now he kissed her and savored every inch of her wonderful body as it pressed to his. Then it was David and Anne, both the big and little who joined the hug circle and then it was Jane’s mother, father and brother too, and then it was his own mother and sister and uncle, then was a hug joined by every person who was there, all except one.

  After a minute a second person detached from the group and went across to the man on the ground. She took his hand, spoke to him briefly, then pulled him to his feet, put her arm around his waist and led him away.

  Vic did not recognize this person, not from his family or friends, not anyone he had met from Susan’s side. She had grey streaked hair and looked old, perhaps fifty or sixty, but she walked with the firm manner and had the step spring of someone half that age. Curious, Vic thought.

  Gradually the people hug knot unwound and they made their way to their cars. For Susan and Vic it was only a short trip to an open place where a helicopter stood resting, waiting to whisk them off to afternoon photos and then the reception. The children would travel with Jane’s and his parents and the rest of the bridal party to join in the photos. Other guests would follow along in an hour or two.

  Chapter 30 – In the Gutter

  Jacob pulled himself to a sitting position on the edge of the gutter and sat there waiting for the pain to ease. Long minutes passed. His whole face and body was hurting, but it was a small hurt compared to the hurt to his pride. Five minutes before he was feeling so pleased with himself that he had finally run the witch-bitch, Susan, to ground. He had thought of hiring a camera man to capture the day but in the end decided not to as he did not want to share his glory with any other.

  It was a simple shoot, he knew exactly where they would be when they came out of church, making their way through the gathered people, and walking down the steps to the outside. So he put his camera on a tripod and filmed them as they came out the back door, following their slow progress unnoticed as they made their way through wedding guests, handshaking and kissing friends. Then he focused the camera on the bottom of the steps with a wide enough view to capture them coming down. While the camera continued to record he stepped forward holding a microphone connected to a recorder in his pocket.

  Susan looked different to when he had last seen her, much fuller of body and face and more womanly, hair done differently. She was stunning in her floating white dress with little blue-green flowers within the fabric. Despite the changed appearance it was unmistakably her, her blue eyes and an aura that was just her. He knew for certain he had found her.

  Seeing her bedecked as a beautiful bride seemed a fitting way to end it, the ultimate betrayer image; the perfect deception story undone.

  As he had said her name he expected to see a look of fear and horror come into her eyes at being caught out. Instead all that came was a blank, bemused look. He knew in that instant she really had no idea what it was all about, there was no guilt or anxiety. Good actor though Susan had been he knew she was not good enough to hide this. Instead here was a person filled to the brim and overflowing from happiness who showed a kindly face towards an unknown stranger, someone who had said something she did not understand. She would try to help him out of innate generosity.

  The image was not right; in fact it was totally wrong. As he saw it all his certainly about her
guilt crumbled to dust and instead he felt ashamed at what he had done.

  In the second of watching her face he forgot about the man standing beside her, the elusive Vic through whom he had finally found her.

  So he felt surprise as this man loomed into his central vision, tearing the microphone free and throwing it away. Then there was further surprise as the flying fists connected with his face and body. He felt his head jerked back and forward with each impact and felt his face mashing under hard knuckles. Normally he was quick on his feet and had grown up in a tough place where self-defence was a required survival skill He knew he should protect himself or get out of the way. But surprise rendered him immobile in those seconds and he just stood there and let the blows fall.

  He felt burning pain in his chest and belly as more blows fell there; this guy had fists like sledgehammers despite his modest size. Then, before he could move, those two human gorillas, not so much big as strong, stepped in. Hard faces in his space and hard hands on his arms, they had told him they would finish it if he spoke another word of what he had found out.

  He knew he would never tell the rest of this story but it was not from their threats. It was a thing inside his brain called his conscience which had told him he had got this story awfully wrong, that to mislead further would be the greater wrong. It had never occurred to him before that he had a thing inside him called “knowledge of right and wrong”, instilled as a child in the church with his mother. This part of his mind now said, Enough!

  He felt mortified as he lay there. It was a blow to his manhood and his pride. He knew he could have stood up for himself and fought back. But they were right. She deserved to be left alone. Even if they had not smashed his camera he could not use this, not if he had any shred of remaining decency.

  This girl was a victim not a monster. He could harm her no further. He glimpsed it in Beck’s face that day, but ignored it to still pursue her.

  So he, after visiting all the coastal towns around Brisbane, Gold Coast, Sunshine Coast, searching for a Jane with two small children, had finally found her trail in the caravan park in Caloundra, where the manager had confirmed her identity and told him that the man was Vic.

  At that point Jacob knew how to find him, Vic the helicopter pilot. He guessed they had gone to Alice Springs. So he came here to look.

  At first nobody in Alice had known anything about Vic’s wedding plans amongst his wide group of former mates. Jacob kept clear of the immediate family and close friends lest they warn Vic. Instead he focused on friends of friends knowing that some secrets would pop out. Only last week he cracked it, finding out from a friend of a friend that Vic was indeed getting married this Saturday at his sister’s regular church in the main street of Alice.

  So he had paid a visit to the church. The office lady asked pleasantly how she could help. He told her he was assisting with accommodation for guests coming to this Saturday’s wedding of Vic Campbell. They had mislaid their wedding invitation and needed to know the time of the wedding. As he was walking by, down the main street, he decided to pop in and ask.

  She answered. “It is at 3 pm.”

  So he made his plan to be there. First he had thought of setting up to catch Susan on the way to church, but there would be lots of people standing around and it might be hard to get to her. In the end he decided that it was best to let the ceremony proceed and catch her on the way out. That way the element of surprise would be greatest. And, with everyone inside, he could set up in the perfect position.

  Tomorrow he planned to have his story and pictures syndicated to the front pages of the London and Australian tabloids. It would be huge, the picture of the wedding girl in the white dress alongside the evil monster who murdered her lover and fed him to the crocodiles. He would tie the two pictures together with his picture her face and her shocked answer when he asked his first question.

  It just had not worked out that way. He knew that this was a better and more decent result though his journalist career would go up in smoke if he did not submit the story as promised to all those who eagerly awaited it.

  Part of him felt a strange relief he had not succeeded in his final assault on this girl, there was justice in him being thwarted. Another part of him felt mortified as his inglorious treatment and thrashing, now he looked like any black drunk sitting in the gutter. He felt as if he should get up and crawl away to some obscure location to sleep off the pain and shame, the way any other black drunk would do.

  But yet he stayed transfixed, watching the unfolding scene. The family and friends closed around the married couple, enfolding them in friendly protection, the mood of the guests lifted again if a bit more subdued.

  Jacob decided they were right; it was their time in the sun to enjoy, a special occasion which no one else could take away.

  But yet he was still a journalist and he needed a story. He wondered if he could do an, “I was wrong, they are really decent people” story, and tell of his road to Damascus conversion.

  No it would not wash. It would reveal their location to others of his kind. These people would keep his previous version running. His stepping aside would hand this story to them on a plate. He knew the new identity of this girl, Jane Bennet. Once that got out hiding was not a realistic option for her. She could not keep running, nor could Vic vanish easily again either.

  He noticed that something had changed in the wedding group. They had all formed into a tight circle, arms around each other with the bride and groom in the centre, an enormous group hug.

  There was such a sense of solidarity in these people and Jacob found himself profoundly moved, he knew he was not welcome, but part of him felt an urge to join them. It reminded him of family gatherings of his childhood and the community of his home. He felt a wistful nostalgia for that time and place, its simple innocent goodness.

  As he watched a grey haired lady detached from the edge of the group, she did not seem as if she quite belonged but yet had been moved to express her shared pleasure with them by joining her arms to these other bodies.

  Now she moved purposefully towards him. He feared she would ask him to join in and he could not do that. Instead she spoke to him. “I do not really know them, yet I wanted to wish them well, particularly the girl, Jane. She and I are fellow travelers.

  “But then I saw you sitting here, alone and lonely with your cut face. So I thought I would come and talk to you. You do not know me but I know of you. I have read some of your stories, true in parts, untrue and unkind in others. But at least you are a searcher for the truth. It seems that this story that you planned to tell has got away and will stay untold.

  “Perhaps I can give you another. It is time I stopped running from my own past. I am Cathy, one of the four Lost Girls.”

  Chapter 31 – Cathy’s Tale

  Jacob allowed himself to be led away by this strange looking girl. His mind had barely comprehended what she had said, but she had a power in her eyes and face that impelled him to action.

  It was funny how he had first thought her old. It was her grey hair, streaked and appearing thin and worn. And her clothes, appearing ragged and in the style of what an old woman would wear. But closer inspection gave the lie to her other appearances.

  She was actually quite youthful, something approaching his own age. Despite her raggedy demeanor she was distinctly pretty, a pert button nose and sweet soft mouth. But most of all she had a look.

  He struggled to place where he seen that look before. It was hauntingly familiar. At last it came to him. It was the look of Susan on that first day in court, a day when she should have been pleading for her deliverance and freedom. Rather she made a guilty plea with something like gloating mischief on her face. It was a look of sparkling vitality that she could not hide. In that moment he had hated her cocky joy in that place. It made him angry and in response he was determined to break it, to make her pay for what she had done. In that moment he had made himself the judge of her actions and had decided that his words wou
ld be the tool of justice.

  Now he understood she had been the actress playing a deliberate role to turn the crowd against her own self, mocking the gravity of the court and refusing to bow to fear. So, despite her central role on a day of horrors, an ineffable part of her soul’s defiance had bubbled out into a look. This lady had it too, a willingness to look horror in the face and smile, unbowed.

  In that second, as he saw this similarity, he knew what was missing from today. It was what had crumbled his desire to pursue her, Susan. The thing he hated in her was gone, gone was her defiance of the world. But, in losing it she had lost most of herself; her soul was missing. What remained now in her body shell was a simple kind person who had lost their devil spirit and with it their life’s fire. He knew of his hand in that loss and from thence came his shame. He had in part destroyed her essence, broken an essential part of her humanity and being.

  But this other woman who stood beside him, holding his hand in hers, still had that life force, the yin and yang of a full soul. With it came courage to look at the worst of the world and spit in its face. So he would go with her and hear her story. The story mattered, but it was the power in the life force in her soul that drew him in, he fed now on its power.

  He looked carefully at this woman and she turned her face to him. If you put aside the raggedy hair and outdated clothes, she really was seriously beautiful. Their eyes connected and he felt a jolt, it was not lust. It was two souls sharing knowledge and pain, their own and others.

  He said, “What did you say your name was again. My mind was inside my head until now and I did not properly hear what you were saying.”

  She said, “Today most people call me Kate James, my few friends call me Cathy. But my true name is Fiona Rodgers. As I said before, I am one of the ‘Lost Girls’ in this story you and others have been writing. Today I came here to show my solidarity with this other Lost Girl, Susan, now called Jane.