Retribution: Who would you kill to escape your past?

by Diane Demetre

  “But you told me about your brother, Tony. You told me you were an SAS sniper. Why not tell me about Rachael and Tiffany?”

  An electrical storm erupted in BJ’s mind, sending shock waves in all directions. His gut lurched like a landslide. He dragged a hand across his mouth and tried to swallow the words, but they won their freedom, fleeing desperately from his mouth. “Because you keep thanking me and telling me I’m some kind of hero, but it’s not true. What hero lets their younger brother drown? What hero can’t protect his wife and baby daughter?”

  “But, none of it was your fault…”

  BJ cringed as he watched the emotion he never wanted to see spread across Jessie’s face. The same expression he’d seen on the faces of other people when they discovered his tragic past. Pity. He hated that people felt sorry for him. Most of all, he hated to see it on Jessie’s face now. He turned away, but he could still feel it burning into his back. “When the accident happened, I resigned my command and moved to Melbourne.”

  “Resigned your command?” Her voice sounded reedy and thin.

  He swivelled around but stopped himself from snapping to attention. “Lance Corporal Jordan. Leader of a special black ops unit responsible for some of the biggest snatch and grabs…”

  “Stop,” she cried, her voice breaking. She rubbed the heels of her hands across her forehead. “I don’t care about your military past or that you were in the SAS. I care about you, as a man.”

  “Don’t you see? The only thing I did right was in the military. There I had control. Everything else I fucked up. Watching you get wasted on booze reminds me of what I couldn’t control all those years ago and look what happened to Rachael and Tiffany. I’m sorry, Jessie, but I made you a promise, and I don’t want anything bad happening to you. I’m trying to protect you.”

  She slumped into an armchair. She held her head in her hands, leaned forward and moaned. “I really don’t think I can go in for dinner tonight.” Lifting her gaze, she asked, “Will you tell Mum we’re not coming?”

  “Are you all right?” He moved towards her, concerned by the glassy look in her eyes.

  “I’ll be fine. You go tell Mum. I’ll grab a shower and then we can talk some more when you come back.”

  Tension coiled in BJ’s gut. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She lolled back and closed her eyes. “Yes. Yes. I’m fine.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you in a couple of minutes.” BJ paced out of the Garden Wing and commanded Whiskey to his side. “I don’t think that went very well, girl.” Man and dog set off at a brisk pace. “The timing sucked.”

  Unintentionally, he knocked too hard on the main house’s front door. A startled Joanna answered. “Whatever is the matter, Brad? Where’s Jessica?” She peered from side to side, looking for her daughter.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs Hilton. Jessie’s not feeling too well, she’s very tired. So she’s asked me to send her apologies. She won’t be coming to dinner.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame. But you will join us won’t you, Brad?” She opened the door further to welcome him inside.

  “Actually no thanks, Mrs Hilton. I think I’ll take a rain check too. Just stay in and watch some TV, I think. Grab a sandwich or something. Keep Jessie company.” He tried for a nonchalant demeanour, but didn’t quite succeed. A familiar sinking feeling churned in his gut, telling him to get out, fast.

  “I understand, Brad. It’s very kind of you to look out for Jessica this way. I cannot thank you enough…”

  “No need to thank me, Mrs Hilton. I’ll see you in the morning then. Good night.” With a curt nod, he turned and paced away as Joanna called her good night after him. He didn’t care if she thought he was rude. His sixth sense was screaming danger. His initial concern of leaving Jessie alone, even for a few minutes escalated to high alert.

  No longer in sight of Joanna, and with Whiskey by his side, he sprinted back to the Garden Wing. He slammed through the French doors. “Jessie. Jessie,” he called, racing from room to room. She was gone. Shit. Shit. Shit. He bolted to the wardrobe and tore open his kit, grabbed and checked his torch, shoved his hunting knife into the back of his jeans and threw on his military vest. Racing into Jessie’s room, he scrounged around her bed, locating what he needed—her pyjama pants. Using two fingers as a pincer, he picked them up and strode into the kitchen. He opened and slammed drawers until he found a zip lock plastic bag into which he dropped her pants, then went back outside to where Whiskey waited. His lungs locked solid as if someone had poured concrete into them. It was a familiar feeling. One he’d learned to ignore.

  “Whiskey, we trained hard so we could fight easy. This is it, girl.” He opened the plastic bag so the scent of Jessie’s pyjamas wafted under Whiskey’s nose. He fused his focus with his dog. “Find Jessie, Whiskey. Find Jessie.”

  Chapter 27

  “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me.” Still fuzzy from too much wine, Jessie wandered down the property to the river, talking aloud. She needed fresh air to clear her head. Although she had no torch, she moved with confidence. Night was falling, but a sliver of daylight still skirted the landscape with a faint periphery glow. “How could he not tell me something as important as that?” Stopping in her tracks, she rubbed her temples. She needed water and lots of it. BJ’s right. I’ve got to stop drinking like this. I only ever do it when I come home.

  Gazing up towards the ranges, her scalp prickled. It was the witching hour where day and night honoured a short truce just before the day relinquished dominion to the night. She dug her fingers into her trapezius muscles and rotated her neck. Stretching her arms wide, she sighed. As the enormity of BJ’s loss dawned on her, she crumbled to her haunches. She settled back on the ground and tucked her knees under her chin, encircling her legs with her arms. Poor BJ. He’s off at war, doing his duty and his wife and daughter are killed in a car accident. He’s putting his life on the line and everything back home is taken away from him. No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it. Some secrets are just too painful. The longer she pondered his tragedy, the more disappointed she became with the way she’d behaved this evening. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, maybe she was just as self-absorbed as she judged her mother to be.

  “Shit, it’s getting really dark now. I better get back.” Springing to her feet, she brushed off her skirt and turned back to the homestead. She could just make out the veranda lights peeping through the trees. “I certainly have some apologising to do.” Striding off with a swing of her arms, she began to formulate an acceptable apology.

  “Jessie.” Off to her left a familiar voice whispered her name.

  Her head snapped in its direction, thoughts racing. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me.” Barely a few feet away, a gangly figure grew up from the ground like a ghost from a grave.

  “I can’t see you very clearly.” She squinted trying to sharpen her focus, but her mind couldn’t place who it was.

  “It’s me. I’ve come for you, Jessie.” Out of the dark he appeared, looming over her, a white cloth in his hand. Clamping the wet, smelly fabric over her mouth and nose, he pressed hard, as his other arm gripped her tight. She opened her mouth to call out, but it was too late. She squirmed, gulping for air. Her limbs slackened, the panic subsided and everything went black.

  Chapter 28

  I’ve got her. I’ve got her. What a stroke of luck. I thought I’d have to stake out that bloody place for days to get an opportunity like that. Obviously, the big hero left her alone for just a few minutes, and bingo! She walked right into my arms. Serves him right. He’s lost her now. She’s mine…forever.

  Look at her, my dancer, sound asleep on the back seat. How pretty she is. Light as a feather she was to carry. Nothing to her. Renting this four wheel drive from one of those country idiots was a brain storm—as was cutting the fence wire on the neighbouring paddock to the homestead so I could drive along the lower river bank. Stroke of genius. That’s what I am…a bloody genius. My mot
her used to say there’s no great genius without a touch of madness. When she was mad and laid into me with the rose bush switch, she used to make me recite it over and over again. It was a tough lesson. But I learned my mother was a genius. And now, so am I.

  Look at her breathing like a little lamb, asleep on the back seat. I’ve prepared a special place just up there, over the ridge, where no one will find us. It’ll take us a little while to get there, but I know the way. You don’t have to worry. It’s a special place I made for us. It’s so romantic. I hope you like it. There’s not a person around for miles. We’ll be all alone to get to know each other better without any interruptions. Now, you just stay asleep on the back seat for a while longer, my pretty dancer. I promised I would come to get you. We’ll be there soon. I’ve waited a long time to make you mine. I’m so excited, but I don’t dare touch myself. I’ll leave that to you. Soon I’ll carry you across the threshold.

  Chapter 29

  The light from BJ’s torch shone in a wide arc in front of Whiskey as she set off. He hoped she knew this game well enough to play it in the dark. In the daylight, finding the ball was an easy task. But now at night, and with Jessie’s life at stake, Whiskey was in new territory. She’d not trained before with finding a human being. Still he had no other option, but to put his trust in his dog. Working as a team, he patrolled behind her as she smelled the air. Adding to the difficulty was the saturation of scent. Jessie had left a trail of scent everywhere on the property—easy for Whiskey to follow, but difficult to discern whether it was the most recent. He dare not call out Jessie’s name in case he drew unwanted attention from the Hilton family to the situation.

  Man and dog zig-zagged down the property in the direction in which Whiskey was most interested. Now and again, the dog alerted with a sharp prop and plonk of her bottom. While she waited, he investigated the spot for signs of struggle or a fall. Once satisfied the spot held no significance, they moved on. As they crested the knoll, Whiskey became more excited, running ahead, sniffing the air with loud snorts.

  “Jessie, are you there?” he called, shining the torch into the darkness. Whiskey’s short, sharp bark told him to hurry up. The dog alerted, remaining fixed in her trained position. Illuminating the ground, he kneeled, and his heart clutched. Signs of struggle raked the grassy earth. Two sets of fresh footprints, one small and one larger. Fuck. She’s been taken. With no drag marks cutting through the grass, either Jessie had got away or someone had overpowered her.

  BJ rewarded Whiskey with a quick ear rub and a treat. Wasting no time, he removed a tracking card from his vest pocket and marked the spot. Once more he opened the plastic bag to refresh Whiskey’s nose. “Come on, girl. Find Jessie. Find Jessie.”

  Head lifted, the dog galloped down towards the river bank. After a few metres, she wavered, trying to pick up the scent. Then she took off to her right. Within moments, she alerted with a bark. BJ palmed the treat as he dropped to his knees. His gut twisted. Tyre tracks. Powering to his feet, he switched off his torch and stared off into the night. Straining his eyes, he scanned in all directions. Nothing. But before he returned to marking the spot, he glimpsed red lights in the distance on the road leading up to the ridge. It looked like vehicle brake lights. But where were the head lights or tail lights? They’re not on because he doesn’t want to be seen.

  “Whiskey. Heel.” With his dog running beside him, BJ sprinted back to the homestead, loaded Whiskey into the Jeep and leaped in. He gunned the car down the driveway, sending a spray of gravel into the air and prayed no kangaroos played tag with him tonight. Driving on instinct, he headed in the direction of the brake lights disappearing over the ridge. With the Jeep’s headlights on high beam, he hoped it would give him the advantage of speed, but he knew as soon as the other vehicle topped the ridge, the driver would flick his lights on for a swift escape. Left and right he swerved, taking the country road curves as fast as he dared. Whiskey dropped to her belly on the back seat for balance. “Hang in there, girl.”

  Despite the breakneck speed, the Jeep didn’t seem to make up any distance. The fiery red from the other vehicle’s brake lights snuffed out. Pushing further, BJ prayed their guiding glow would return. Surely there was another curve the bastard had to take. Surely. But they were gone. Into the night, BJ powered on, in the direction his instinct led. As fury gripped him, so too did the sinister fingers of guilt. Predict rather than prevent. That’s what I’ve been trained to do. I’m a fool. I shouldn’t have left her alone. I shouldn’t have left Tony or Rachael and Tiffany alone. My fault. It’s all my fault…

  Chapter 30

  Cold, damp and hard—wherever she was, it wasn’t her bed. Scattered thoughts whirled in her head as she searched for recent memories. A pungent smell lingered in her nose wakening her further. It reminded her of science class. What was it? Chloroform? Crunched on her side, her body cried for movement, and she strained to focus on her surroundings. But she couldn’t. She was groggy and dazed and there was no light by which to see. Exhausted, she heaved her hand in front of her face, but she couldn’t see that either. It was as if it wasn’t there. Absolute, petrifying blackness. A nightmare. It was another nightmare. But she knew it wasn’t. Now fully conscious, Jessie pieced together the memories—the argument with BJ over her drinking, his telling her about Rachael and Tiffany, her walking down to the river to clear her head, and then…Oh, God.

  Now she lay somewhere dank and cold, in pitch blackness. Her inability to see prevented any chance of escape. Even if she began to crawl, feeling her way, she might tumble down a precipice or a staircase. She didn’t even know whether she was lying on the ground or on something man-made. All she knew was it was rock-solid, cold and a little uneven. He’s left me here, alone, to die. The thought scared her even more than her captor returning.

  She rolled carefully onto her back. Stretching her body, she used her hands and feet to check that she wasn’t about to roll off wherever she lay. Once assured she was safe, she relaxed a little. Deep, controlled breaths cleared her mind and nose of whatever drug he’d used. With no idea how long she’d been unconscious, she existed in an abyss of unknown time. She struggled not to panic. As she stared into nothing, her sense of what was up and what was down destabilized. The subtle illusion of losing her balance teased her inner ear, increasing the fear. Rolling over, she managed to get onto her hands and knees and correct her equilibrium. Head lolling forward, she froze— humiliated, helpless and hopeless, overcome with despair. Minutes slipped by or was it hours?

  A faint glow leaked into the space from the right—a torch. Its beam became brighter on approach, until it shone in Jessie’s face, blinding her. She dropped her head to protect her eyes and relief washed over her. At least now there was some light by which to see, to plan an escape. She watched his feet walk past and stop to her left. Hearing the flick of a lighter, she waited, looking beneath her. She was on a narrow ledge of compacted, red earth, not quite a metre from the floor below. Soft, filtered light filled the void, encouraging her to lift her head. With eyes now adjusted to the light level, she examined her prison. Her heart sank. He’d interned her in a limestone cave. Invisible fingers of doom clutched her heart. How am I ever going to get out of here?

  Off to her right, she assumed the tunnel through which he’d entered led to the outside world. That was where hope lay. Around her, stalagmites, stalactites, columns and flow stone decorated the small cavern, which under normal circumstances would have been breathtakingly beautiful. Nevertheless, the nature of this cave spelled disaster for Jessie. Razor-sharp edges promised serious consequences for any misjudged movement. For the first time, she realised she was shoeless. He must have removed them as an extra precaution to impede her escape. A high cavernous ceiling stretched upward, curving back to the ground encasing her in a giant egg-shaped vault. Dread backwashed her throat as she registered her plight.

  Beneath Wee Jasper Valley tunnelled mazes of caves. Only a few operated as tourist caves, while others were w
ild, unexplored and unvisited, perhaps even undiscovered. And she was in one of them. Alone with a madman. With his back to her, he finished lighting the dozen or so candles on the grand floor-standing candelabra. In their luminescent glow, the red, orange and yellow tones of the cave intensified, filling the grotto with a romantic atmosphere. It was like a scene from “Phantom of the Opera” when the villain took Christine to his underground lair, proclaiming his love. She shuddered at the thought. This will be my underground tomb.

  “I’m sorry, Jessie. I didn’t want it to come to this, but you left me no other option.”

  She knew the voice well. But it lacked its usual deference—instead replaced by a condescending, smug tone of superiority.

  Composing herself, she assumed a Japanese sit pose; her back ruler-straight, hands in lap and chin high. Her captor turned to face her. Fusing him in an unwavering gaze, she admonished him in a school teacher tone. “Well, Skip. I don’t know what all this is about, but I suggest you return me to Coodravale, and we’ll just call it a silly little game.”

  Skip Norton’s diabolical laugh sent shivers over her skin. This was not the young, timid man she’d come to know. Locking her with obvious evil intent, he hissed. “This is not a silly little game, Jessie.”

  She swallowed hard. “Skip, why aren’t you stuttering? What’s happened to you?”

  He gave a sarcastic snort. “The stutter was an act. As was the poor Skip Norton, downtrodden young waiter working for bombastic restaurant owner, Salvatore Bacci. All an act.” He spat vehemently at his feet.

  “But you were so kind, so sweet. I really cared for you. Why would you do this to me, of all people?”