Retribution: Who would you kill to escape your past?

by Diane Demetre

“They climb onto the branches of the poplar trees and because they can’t climb back down, they just leap off. No matter how high up the tree they get, they just jump off, landing with a terrible thud. That’s why we call them flying goats.”

  The herd of about twenty, cute-faced goats took turns climbing and jumping from the poplar tee. Like lemmings, they followed each other up and off, time and again. Unconcerned with breaking limbs, they grazed and played like carefree children, while Jessie snuggled into the lap of someone she never expected to find.

  “Oh God, that feels so good.” With her legs outstretched, she leaned back in the arm chair, her eyes shut and toes wiggling in delight.

  “I’m pleased you like it.”

  “Like it? I love it. You must be the best foot and ankle masseuse in the world.” Opening one eye she glanced down at him and snickered.

  “Now give me the other one before I wear out.” He reached for her other foot.

  Over the next ten minutes, Jessie relished the attention and restorative power of BJ’s hands. Beside him, Coodravale’s official hero, Whiskey, took up permanent residence in the Garden Wing. Sprawled on the carpet, she too enjoyed her newly-earned privileges.

  “Okay. I’m done. When your skin heals, I’ll give those sexy legs of yours a proper massage if you like.” He rose to his feet, leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

  “I’d like that,” she said in a husky voice.

  “Yeah, well. Don’t tempt me. It’s bad enough I can only massage your feet with all that’s on offer.”

  “Soon…” she purred, “when my skin is healed.”

  “I know. Would you like a glass of wine?” He headed to the kitchen.

  Jessie searched for a hint of judgement in his voice, but found none. “I’ll just have a sparkling water, thanks.”

  Lingering at the doorway, BJ gave her a tender smile before he turned and proceeded into the kitchen. “So, I’ve spoken to Angel, and he’s coming down in the morning. We’ll meet him at the police station at ten.” His resonant voice carried in warm waves of authority.

  “He certainly doesn’t waste any time, does he?” Feeling remarkably supple after the massage, she shuffled upright and crossed her legs underneath her, being careful not to dislodge her bandages.

  “He wants to get this started as soon as possible.” He handed her the glass and folded into the opposite armchair with a beer. “He was terrific with Rachael and Tiffany’s case.”

  She noticed a subtle shift in his mood. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I just haven’t spoken about it with anyone for a long time.”

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want.”

  “I know. But if we’re going to give us the best chance, I need to tell you.” Narrowing his eyes, he began. “We lived in Perth. Rachael and I met seven years ago. In a lot of ways, you remind me of her. Both brunettes, tall, beautiful and smart. Rachael and I had been married for three years and Tiffany was one year old when…” Jessie watched his eyes glaze over as he drifted back to the painful past. “I was in Afghanistan on a snatch and grab mission when I got the call they’d been in a car accident. DOA. Dead on arrival.” Grim-faced, he slugged back a gulp of beer. “Some drunk bastard swerved onto the wrong side of the road. Killed my wife and baby daughter.” Her heart ached for him, but she said nothing while he battled his demons. “No matter what I’d been through before, nothing compared to that. My life as I knew it was over. I left the army and spiralled into depression. Suicide looked like a bloody good option for a while there. If it hadn’t been for Ricky and Angel, I probably would have punched my own ticket.” Another hefty mouthful of beer steadied his voice. “But as they say, warriors don’t die or retire, we just keep walking into danger.” Pushing up from the armchair, he strode to his bedside table. On his return, he stopped next to Jessie and in his hand was a picture frame. “This is the photo of Rachael and Tiffany I took with me on my missions. It goes everywhere with me.”

  She looked down at an attractive, young woman with a blinding smile and long brown hair. Clinging to her neck was the prettiest little girl with golden curls and dazzling blue eyes. The same striking colour as her father’s. A lump rocketed into Jessie’s throat. With hot tears burning her eyes, she titled her head up to look at him. “Oh, BJ. It’s all so awful.”

  “Yes. It is.” Still holding the frame, he kneeled down beside her. “But then you turned up and things changed again. I’ve anguished over Rachael and Tiffany for so long. I won’t ever forget them or replace them. But I know I have to start a new life. I’m hoping it will be with you, if you can put up with a broken soldier?”

  She cupped his handsome face in her hands. “You’re not a broken soldier. You’re my warrior hero.” Pressing a kiss to his lips, she prayed he would find the healing he needed. Her physical abrasions were easy to mend, whereas his emotional wounds were deeper and longer lasting. She hoped, not irreparable. “We don’t have to tell my family any of this, you know.”

  “At the moment, I’d rather keep it like that. Thanks for understanding.” He rose and returned the frame to his bedside table drawer. “I’m getting another beer. Do you want another drink?”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

  With another chilled bottle of Crown lager in hand, he returned in a lighter mood. “You’ve haven’t had much fun either, Jessie. There’s all this crap with Skip Norton and the eventual court case, whenever that’ll be. Then there’s your father’s funeral on Tuesday. How are you holding up?”

  “To be truthful, I haven’t had much time to think about it. There’s been one thing after the other and just when I think everything is settling down, wham! Something else turns up.” She took a beat. “The most terrifying thing though was being trapped alone in the cave and wondering when Skip would turn up. That constant fear of someone lurking in the shadows, touching me, whispering horrible things to me and my not being able to escape. It reminded me too much of my nightmares. Out of everything that’s happened, that sense of helplessness and hopelessness has been the worst. To be at the mercy of someone else is…” Her skin cringed at the recent memory. She rubbed her neck as best she could with bandaged hands.

  “It sends sheer dread through your heart, you’re boxed in and your destiny is in the hands of the enemy.” The fierce intensity and haunting recall with which he spoke dampened her anxiety. It was good to speak with someone who understood. “But remember, you conquered your fear and got out. It’s over now.” He stroked a stray tendril off her face, hooking it behind her ear.

  “Yes, it is. Thank God. I’m just pleased Skip won’t be frightening other women like that again.”

  “Angel will see to that.”

  She hesitated, twisting her lips.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m concerned about Mum.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “When Dad took out a loan to buy Coodravale, it included an extra one hundred thousand dollars, which he then loaned to Uncle Frank. Mum found their loan agreement when she was going through Dad’s papers. It seems Uncle Frank hasn’t paid back the loan after all these years. She’s really worried he’s not going to pay. Now with Dad gone, she’s going to need as much money as possible to keep on top of things around here.”

  He scowled. “So what’s she going to do?”

  “She’s going to discuss it while they’re here and get it sorted out. But she didn’t seem very confident about it. I know you think Mum is made of tough stuff and I guess, in some ways, she is, but she’d come to depend on Dad for so many things. You know, she gave up her career as a ballerina when she accidentally fell pregnant with me.”

  “So is that why she barks at you at times?”

  “Up until I talked to her today, I always thought she resented me for ruining her career.”

  “And?”

  “She said she never resented me or regretted choosing family over career. I’ve been carrying around this guilt about ruining her life, but in
the end her giving up her ballet career wasn’t my fault at all. She wanted me more than ballet. ”

  “Well, there you go. I knew you two would get it sorted out.”

  Talking in a softer voice, she held his gaze. “But I’m not my mother, BJ. My career has to come first until I achieve my goal. You understand that, don’t you?”

  He reached out and traced his thumb tenderly along her cheek. “Of course I do. You’re the career warrior she never wanted to be.”

  She moaned, a half-smile tipping her lips. “Oh, God. That means you and I are both warriors…”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that. That’s what attracted me to you in the first place. We just better make sure we’re on the same side and not get in each other’s way.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” She raised her sparkling water.

  “Cheers.” Chiming his bottle to her glass, he winked. “Now, since we’re sitting on the property Banjo Patterson once owned, why don’t I read you some of the old boy’s poetry?

  “Seriously?” She giggled.

  “Why not?” He moved to the mantle. With leather-bound Volume One of the Complete Works of Banjo Paterson in his hands, he returned to the armchair. “Let’s see.” Flicking through the pages, a playful smirk tugged at his mouth.

  Jessie regarded him, her chin resting in the cup of her bandaged hand. Despite everything that had happened, her ending up with BJ was a wonderful reward. On first impressions, some people might think they were mismatched, but they’d be wrong. She and BJ had endured much to reach their goals. Strong-willed and focused, they shared a certain compatible, yet flammable, energy that empowered them as individuals and, she hoped, as a long term couple. With his support, Jessie was more determined than ever to reach the pinnacle in her profession and be the Company’s principal dancer next year. And now having healed years of unspoken feelings with her mother and brother, she felt an emotional weight lift from her shoulders.

  “This has got to be it.” BJ launched from his chair and took centre stage in front of the fireplace. With the book splayed open in the palms of his hands, he cleared his throat. Flashing a theatrical smile, he read aloud. “The Billy-Goat Overland.” He added a wink.

  “Come all ye lads of the droving days, ye gentlemen unafraid, I'll tell you all of the greatest trip that ever a drover made,

  For we rolled our swags, and we packed our bags, and taking our lives in hand,

  We started away with a thousand goats, on the billy-goat overland.

  There wasn't a fence that'd hold the mob, or keep 'em from their desires;

  They skipped along the top of the posts and cake-walked on the wires…”

  And as he continued reading, she cheered from the sidelines.

  Chapter 37

  I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  “What’s a person supposed to do to get a drink in this place?” I’ll die of bloody thirst in here before these cops bring me a glass of water. Smug bastards. Two nights I’ve been stuck in this cell with their shitty food, and I still haven’t been appointed a lawyer. It’s all the hero’s fault. Him and his stupid dog. I hate dogs. If it wasn’t for them, my dancer would still be there, waiting for me…forever. Even though the cops arrested me, they wouldn’t have been able to pin anything on me. Not without a body. But no! The hero sticks his nose in— again and rescues her. That’s what the cops told me. Now I’m fucked!

  “What is it you want this time?”

  He reminds me of that big, lumbering idiot, Salvatore Bacci. Another one who thinks he’s hot shit. “If it’s not too much to ask, Sergeant, can I have some water?”

  “Sure.”

  Prick. “When’s my lawyer coming?”

  “I don’t know. But when he or she gets here, you’ll be the first to know. I’ll get your water.”

  She? Now that would brighten my day. Not that she’d be as graceful or as beautiful as my dancer, but still…She might be able to get me off with just a slap on the wrist. Once I tell her about my childhood and how my mother used to beat me and lock me in the cupboard under the stairs, she might take pity on me. A woman lawyer… I get hard just thinking about it, but I don’t dare touch myself.

  Chapter 38

  BJ strode into the Yass police station with Jessie by his side. Like most country town police stations, there was limited activity. Bulletin boards advertised the local police benefit, CWA meetings and the Yass Primary School fete, all with dates long since passed. On the counter, three mugs of stale, half-drunk coffee and the crumbed remnants of a muffin on a chipped saucer indicated Monday mornings were typically slow. In BJ’s opinion, being a copper in rural Australia looked like an uneventful job. He suspected the kidnapping case of Jessie Hilton must have added much needed excitement and the opportunity for the police to exercise their arrest and capture skills. They’ll dine out on that story for years.

  Dressed in a grey Armani pin-striped business suit, lilac shirt and purple tie, Angel rose to greet them. “You certainly know how to attract trouble, don’t you?” Gripping his mate’s hand, Angel pumped a few times as BJ shrugged, grinning sheepishly. Switching his attention, Angel looked at Jessie. “And how are you after this ordeal?”

  “I’m actually doing fine, Angel. Thank you so much for handling all this.”

  “My pleasure.” He clasped her bandaged hand cautiously in both of his. “Why don’t we go to the café down the street and grab a coffee so we can talk.” He turned to the officer at the desk. “I’ll be back in about an hour or so, Sergeant Clark.”

  “Take your time. That creep in there won’t be going anywhere, anytime soon.” The Sergeant nodded to the closed door behind which BJ assumed were the lockup cells.

  “I still can’t believe it. Inoffensive, bungling Skip, a stalker and kidnapper…” Jessie shook her head.

  “I’ve had a good read of his file and it seems Skip Norton has been a sick boy for a long time. Family and community services had been called in on a number of occasions when he was at primary school. They suspected his mother was abusing him, but it couldn’t be proven. No mention of a father. So it’s likely even if he was being abused, he would stay silent. Kids normally don’t tell on their parents particularly if it means they’ll be taken away from the only family they’ve ever known—no matter what horrors are being perpetrated on them at home.”

  “That’s so sad,” said Jessie in a quiet voice.

  “In my experience, most murderers, rapists and violent offenders are made. It is sad, but everyone has the choice not to play out what’s happened to them. Despite Skip’s upbringing, he had no right to threaten or kidnap you.”

  “I know, but I can’t help feeling a little sorry for him.” Jessie’s gaze travelled to the door separating her from her perpetrator.

  “In your case, the State will accuse him of coercion, stalking and intimidation, false imprisonment, assault and battery. There’s a lot to get through before we go to trial but for now, it’s time for coffee.” Guiding her in front of him, Angel stepped in stride with BJ. Sneaking a glance at him, he said, “She’s one hell of a young lady.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” His beaming grin said it all.

  “What is this I see? You and Jessie?”

  As BJ nodded, he was surprised at how much pleasure it gave him to admit it. “Yeah, me and Jessie.”

  “About time. I’m happy for you. And from the little I’ve seen so far, she’s a good match. Determined, disciplined and passionate about what she does—a mirror image of you, my friend.” He clapped BJ on the shoulder.

  “Yeah. We’ll see. As we used to say in the forces, the easy day was yesterday. Being with Jessie will not be an easy day…”

  “But you don’t like taking it easy. Need I say more?” He laughed as they followed her onto the footpath.

  With the mid-morning sun slanting through the trees, the rosiness of the day matched BJ’s spirits. He tilted his face to the sun’s warmt
h and breathed in his new life. Listening to Angel and Jessie chat about mundane things like the weather, his drive to Yass and the town’s history, he was gripped by the promise of a brighter future. For the first time in years, he thought life was good. The cheery ringing of the café’s doorbell signalled their arrival. He scanned the room looking for the table he always chose in any venue—the one closest to the quickest escape route, where he could sit with his back to the wall so he could see the movements of the other patrons. The disappointment at his table of choice already being taken, instantly turned to delight.

  “Buddy, over here.” In a matter of a few fast-moving steps, Ricky Alvarez clasped him in a tight bear hug, slapping his back. “I leave you alone for a few days and look at the trouble you get yourself into.”

  “Ricky, what are you doing here?” He held his mate at arm’s length, pleased to see him.

  “What? You expect me to stay in Melbourne when all the action is happening out here in the sophisticated, trend-setting town of Yass? Give me a break.”

  BJ hugged his best mate, laughing heartily with him.

  “Jessie…” A high-pitched voice called from behind Ricky. BJ turned and watched Jasmine throw her arms around Jessie’s neck.

  “Jasmine…Ouch, not too hard.” Jessie winced, and Jasmine hugged her with a little less fervour.

  As the girls glided to the table chatting, the three men ordered.

  “It’s on the house,” said the middle-aged man behind the counter. “It’s the least we can do what with everything Jessie and her family have been through.”

  “Thanks,” said BJ, popping a twenty dollar note into the tip jar with a wink.

  Once coffees and an assortment of muffins, chocolate brownies and custard tarts landed on the table, the conversation settled.

  “So what’s the plan?” Ricky stirred a dollop of foam into his coffee and reached for a brownie.

  “Well, Dad’s funeral is tomorrow morning…” Jessie declined Ricky’s offer from the pastry platter.