Retribution: Who would you kill to escape your past?

by Diane Demetre

  This time, it was Jessie who shared a kiss. Stretching up on tip-toe, she cupped his face in her hands and inclined it forward. With a tender touch, she pressed her lips to his forehead. “See you soon.” She pivoted and walked towards the glass doors of emergency.

  “Come on, Whiskey, let’s walk.” Heeling beside her master, Whiskey kept pace as he strolled across the hospital’s green front lawn and headed down the hill. “So what do you think, Whiskey girl?”

  Like any good mate, Whiskey kept her own counsel, allowing BJ to make his own decisions. Along the way they stopped for a toilet break and a quick inspection of the Methodist Church now painted in shades of garish blue, which BJ thought sacrilegious to such a magnificent piece of architecture. At the bottom of the street he chucked a U-turn, and they began the incline back up to the hospital, past the white-washed courthouse with its trading hours blazoned boldly on its side wall, and the police station, which looked pristine and unused. “I’m not sure if anyone gets into trouble here in Yass, Whiskey. It’s a pretty lazy town.”

  By the time they arrived back at the hospital lawn, dusk was stealing the heat of the day and preparing to replace it with a balmy summer’s evening. The energy of Yass shifted down a gear as townsfolk knocked off work and made for home. Settling onto the park bench where he figured patients and visitors contemplated their lives, or coming lack thereof, BJ stretched his legs in front of him, while Whiskey lay down beside his heels, head on paws. “We’ll wait here a while, girl. Jessie will be out shortly.”

  Releasing the leash, he clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back to watch the last of the cottony clouds skitter across the late afternoon sky. A deep breath filled his lungs and on its release, he registered something he’d not experienced for a long time. A sense of peace curled in his stomach, like a cat curling up in front of a blazing fireplace on a winter’s night. For the first time since losing Rachael and Tiffany, calmness took up the tiniest residence in his body.

  Maybe it was because of the nearby hospital. In war, he and some of his mates had sensed the area around an army hospital felt different. But no one really spoke about it as they didn’t want to broach the subject of departing souls and stuff like that. If he’d stopped long enough to consider an afterlife, or heaven, or hell, there’d have been no way he could have done the job he did. It all came down to who had the strongest will to live. Back then, danger was his constant companion. But now, there was no danger. He didn’t have a visible target or ops mission to execute. All he had to do was kick back and wait for Jessie. If doing that reintroduced him to a forgotten sense of peace, he’d happily sit here all night long.

  Chapter 13

  The double glass doors hissed open as she entered the hospital through the emergency entrance.

  “Can I help you?” A kindly voice drifted from behind a sickly green reception desk on the right. Squeezed into a uniform she’d obviously outgrown, a middle-aged nurse blinked up at Jessie.

  “Oh, yes. I’m here to see Ken Hilton. I’m his daughter, Jessie.”

  “Yes, dear. Your father is down this corridor in Room 11.” The nurse raised her mutton arm in the direction of the opposite corridor. “He’s probably just finishing his dinner, so you can go in.”

  “Thanks. Do you know if any of my family is here at all?”

  “I couldn’t say, dear. I’ve just come on shift myself.” She tugged her cardigan around her bulging waistline in a futile effort to cover herself.

  “Okay. Thank you.” She offered the nurse a meek smile, set her shoulders and headed for the hospital room.

  Nothing much had changed since the last time she’d visited this hospital years ago when her grandmother died. Buffed green and white linoleum floors butted into scuffed skirting boards. Overhead fluorescent lights flickered as if struggling to remain energised, mimicking the plight of the patients lingering in the beds. What a terrible place to die. She shivered and expelled the thought from her mind. The asphyxiating smell of eucalyptus disinfectant permeated everything. Its unpleasant tang stung Jessie’s mouth and nostrils. She wondered how such an invigorating, natural scent could smell so sickening. Similarly, although the corridor walls were painted in a cheery peppermint green, they held no real promise of pleasure. Pain and suffering lurked behind them, barely hidden by the hum of silence.

  She hesitated at Room 11. The courage with which she’d endured the past week’s events vanished, leaving her hostage to her fears. She didn’t want her father to die, but she was powerless to stop it. Rooted to the spot, she glanced down at her hand, willing it to the doorknob. Bit by bit the handle rotated, and she edged her head into the room. Backlit by the fading afternoon light, a human shape reclined against a tower of pillows in the far bed as a nurse prattled on about what a good job he did eating his dinner. “Come in. Come in. Are you here to see Mr Hilton?” The nurse waved Jessie into the room.

  “Yes. I’m his daughter.” She rubbed her clammy hands on her thighs as she moved towards the bed.

  “Well, he’s just finished his dinner. So I’ll leave you alone for a visit.” Collecting the dinner tray, the nurse bundled out of the room as Jessie lowered herself onto a cold aluminium chair. Whoever was lying in the bed did not resemble her father. Frail and withered, the patient barely supported the layers of bed linen weighting his body. Gone were the rugged, square features of a robust man in his sixties, replaced instead by gaunt hollows and hawkish nose, Ken Hilton’s face was a grotesque caricature of the man she called father. A piping-hot lump formed in her throat.

  “Dad, it’s me. Jessie. Can you hear me?”

  His head juddered as he turned to where the voice originated. With wiry, grey strands of hair sticking out from his balding pate and tattered eyebrows, he was a man forlorn. A man cast adrift from life.

  “Oh, Dad. What has happened to you?” The lump of emotion hiccupped in her throat.

  “Jessie. Is that you?” Through twisted lips, a timid, raspy voice drifted towards her.

  “Yes, Dad. It’s me. How are you feeling?” Her warm hands reached under the bed covers and found his cold skeletal fingers. Dragging his hand on top, she clutched at it, stroking the decaying skin.

  “I’m not so bad,” he drawled. Still clear, his hazel eyes drilled into his daughter’s as his lips tried to form the words he spoke. Spittle seeped from the corner of his mouth. Looking around, Jessie grabbed a tissue from a nearby box and dabbed her father’s mouth.

  “I came home to see you.” She blinked back the pooling tears, noticing her father’s eyes peer at her as if through a haze of confusion.

  “I’m sorry, Jessie. I’m so sorry.”

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Dad. Everything is going to be fine.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Tiny convulsions rattled her father’s chest.

  “It’s okay, Dad.” She reached over and dabbed more spittle. Oh God, my father is dying. He’s dying. The realisation of what was happening rose from the soles of her feet, leeching into her body. A dam of memories burst. As a little girl, she and her father had huddled together after returning from a freezing winter’s day in the paddocks. With steaming mugs of hot chocolate in hand and their chilled feet propped up in front of the open fireplace at the homestead, they’d warmed themselves from their soles all the way through. But now the heat surging up her body was not comforting or pleasurable. It was the burning fire of truth, of the inevitability of death. Desperate, unprepared and unwilling to let him go, she sat speechless, clinging to his hand as he nodded to sleep.

  “Hi, Jess.” A voice whispered close to her ear, as stale cigarette smoke wafted under her nose. Turning around, she saw another familial face she’d not seen for almost a year.

  “Richard.” Delighted, she sprang to her feet and hugged her younger brother. Not that they’d been close as siblings, but somehow with her father so ill, she took comfort in his presence at the hospital. “Look at you.” She thrust him back at arm’s length, assessing him
. “You’ve grown up even more.”

  “Cut it out, Jess. I’m nearly twenty-three, you know.” He wriggled from her grip with a pout.

  “I know you are. But that doesn’t mean your older sister can’t give you a hug.” Ignoring his reluctance, she captured him once more and squeezed.

  “Stop it.” Shrugging her off, he moved to the foot of the bed. “So you came.” The bitterness in his voice sliced the air. Richard had inherited their mother’s ability to parry a happy reunion with one verbal thrust.

  Jessie pressed a finger to her lips as she slipped in beside him. “Keep your voice down. Of course I came. When Mum called saying Dad had a stroke I came as quickly as I could.”

  “And what about your precious ballet company? What are they going to do without the great Jessie Hilton?”

  Again she shushed him. “Dad is sick. Is this all you can do? Bitch, whinge and complain. I take it back, Richard. You haven’t grown up at all.” Fixing her brother with a withering glare, she returned to sit on the bedside chair. Once more, she grasped her father’s hand, willing him to stir. Remaining at the end of the bed, Richard pursed his lips and folded his arms in a sulk.

  “Has Mum gone home?” she asked.

  “Yes, she left about an hour ago. I was just outside having a cigarette.”

  “I noticed. Still can’t give them up, I see?” She cocked a disapproving eyebrow.

  “Maybe I don’t want to give them up.” He cocked one right back at her.

  “Oh, well. It’s your choice. You usually do what you want, anyway.” Having made her point, Jessie’s attention returned to her father who opened his bleary eyes. Glancing back at Richard, she added, “If you want to go, I’ll sit with Dad for a while longer and then come home.”

  “Okay. I’ll let Mum know you’ll be on your way.”

  “And tell her I have a friend with me, so if she could put us in the Garden Wing that would be best.”

  “A friend? Who?” For the first time, his face lit with interest.

  “Just a friend. I’ll introduce everyone when we get back to Coodravale later. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he whined, obviously peeved at her refusal to divulge anything further. Strolling to the other side of the bed, he bent down and kissed Ken Hilton’s cheek. “See you tomorrow, Dad.” As he straightened to leave, Jessie noticed her brother’s misty eyes. Despite his resentment at being trapped at home, Richard adored his father. “See you at home later, Jess.” In a lame effort of farewell, he lifted a hand and left.

  Although his eyes remained closed, Ken Hilton’s mouth twitched. Unsure whether he was awake or asleep, Jessie decided to take advantage of this private moment with her father. “I’m doing well at the Company, Dad. I might even make principal dancer next year, you know. And it’s all because you and Mum supported me for all those years while I chased my dream. I can’t thank you enough for that. I’ll always be grateful…” Gentle sobs fell from her lips. “I know you loved Richard more than me. That’s all right. Fathers and sons are like that. I tried to make you love me. Horse riding, target practice, orienteering—but in the end, I wasn’t a boy. I was a girl who wanted to dance. Like Mum. But I loved you, Dad. I loved you…” She couldn’t stop the flow of hot, childhood tears any longer. This might be the last opportunity she had to tell her father how much she loved him. “Oh, Dad, why didn’t you love me?” Great heaving sobs erupted as she buried her face into the bed.

  “I did, Jessie.” Ken Hilton’s anguished voice floated above her head. “I did. I just didn’t know what to do. I am so proud of you, Jessie. So proud.” Tears trickled down his cheeks, while his body remained inert.

  “Oh, Dad. I love you.” She wrapped her arms around his limp shoulders and squeezed tenderly. “I love you.”

  “I love you too. I am so proud of you. I’m sorry, Jessie.”

  She straightened, peering down into her father’s distorted face. Employing fresh tissues, she swiped the tears away and finished with another dab at her father’s dribbling mouth. A crooked smile creased his face as he managed a stilted nod. “Go home and help your mother. She needs you.”

  “I will, Dad. I’ll see you in the morning. Okay?”

  “Sure. I’ll be here.”

  “Good. See you then.” Clutching his hand, she managed a weak smile. Not one of hope, but of sympathy.

  Behind her, the door opened. “Hello, Ken. It’s Father Conlon. May I come in?”

  On hearing their old priest’s voice, Jessie drew a surprised breath and turned to see him hovering in the doorway. “Of course, Father. Come in. It’s me, Ken’s daughter, Jessie.”

  “My, my Jessie. How you’ve grown up.” He walked towards her and clasped her hands in his. “It’s been a long time…”

  “Yes, Father. It has.” She lowered her eyes. The last time she or her family had attended church was when she was a little girl. Although she recalled many happy memories of her church days, she couldn’t remember why they stopped going. It had something to do with her father. Jessie lifted her gaze. She noticed the passage of the last two decades had layered the priest’s face with a network of fine lines, but had not lessened the intensity of his green eyes. Even as a girl, she’d felt he could see right into her heart.

  “How are you feeling, today?” The priest moved to the other side of the bed and leaned closer to Ken.

  “Not too bad, Father.”

  “That’s good to hear.” A serene expression graced Father Conlon’s face as he patted Ken’s shoulder. Both men stared at each other for a moment, as if conversing in a silent language. Jessie frowned as she watched them, wishing she knew what they were saying.

  “Jessie, will you give me a minute with Father Conlon?”

  “Sure, Dad. I’ll wait outside.” She exited the room and sat on a chair in the corridor. Tilting her head back on the wall, she closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. Father Conlon being here worried her. Priests are normally called when the chance of survival is low. She prayed this was not the case with her father. Despite their strained relationship over the years, she didn’t want him to die. She wanted him to get better. If he dies, how would she, her mother and Richard cope? Another whirlpool of worry swirled in her mind, and she began to understand her mother’s distress during last week’s phone conversation. Jessie stared at her restless hands, deciding which cuticle to attack. Three of them were already inflamed from her constant picking and gnawing. It was a terrible habit and one she scolded herself for continually. But whenever she felt anxious, she started to pick at herself. Father Conlon’s reappearance beside her saved the intended finger.

  “Do you mind if I sit with you a moment, Jessie?”

  “Of course not. Please.”

  The priest folded into the other aluminium chair. “Your father loves you very much, Jessie. And he wants me to tell you that despite everything, he has only ever tried to protect you.”

  Her brow creased. “Is Dad going to die, Father?”

  “That I couldn’t say, but he wanted me to make sure you knew how much he loved you.”

  “Thank you.” She reached for the comfort of his hands.

  “Although your father stopped being a practicing Catholic many years ago, he has been a good man. May I say, one of the best. I know for a fact, he has always had your best interest at heart.” The priest nailed her in a steady gaze. She had the impression he was going to say more. Instead, a long pause separated them. “Now, you go in and say good-bye. I’ll sit with your father a while longer when you leave.”

  “Thanks, Father.” Jessie crept back into the room and touched her father’s arm. “I’m going now, Dad. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. She saw her father’s lips move but couldn’t hear him, but a voice in her head said, Goodbye, Jessie.

  Chapter 14

  A gentle touch on his shoulder stirred BJ from his contemplation as Jessie slid in beside him on the park bench.

  “How did it go?” He straightened,
turning to face her.

  “Actually it went better than I thought. Dad looks terrible, but he at least knew me. All the same, it’s very sad to see how much he’s deteriorated, but he seemed in brighter spirits when I left.”

  “Well that’s good then. Maybe he’ll improve enough to go home. They do some really good stuff with medicine now.”

  “We’ll have to wait and see how he goes.” She shrugged, but still seemed pessimistic. “My brother Richard was there, but he’s gone on ahead. And the family priest Father Conlon who I haven’t seen in years arrived. Anyway, we better get started. It takes another hour to get to Coodravale.”

  “Okay.” With Whiskey at his heel, he walked with Jessie to the car. He noticed her nose and eyes reddened from crying. But he’d been right. She was tough. By the look of her, she hadn’t collapsed under the pressure, but used it to strengthen her resolve.

  “We turn right on the main street and head the other way out of town. I’ll direct you from there,” she said as they buckled in. “Just be careful of the kangaroos. They come out around dusk. You don’t want to hit one of them, trust me.”

  “I hear you. Slow and steady it is.” He flashed a shrewd smile as she snuggled back into the seat. Something stirred in his stomach. Hunger, he must be hungry. Or maybe it was pleasure? He’d spent so long in pain he’d forgotten what pleasure felt like. Thumbing back through his memories, he couldn’t quite capture the full extent of it, but he sensed happiness lingering on the edge of his consciousness. A glimpse of a happier past he seldom unwrapped. A promise of a future he might one day deserve.

  As they drove out of Yass, familiarity swirled in his gut, reminding him of when he was a young teenager, visiting his uncle’s farm. Kerb and channel gave way to a simple sealed road, lined with wisps of spinifex grasses whispering to each other as the Jeep drove past. A watercolour wash of deep violet blue bathed the sky foretelling the night to come. He exhaled a breath of escape, pleased to shrug off city life.