Rising to her feet, she slipped into her thongs and shepherded BJ across the river paddock, with Whiskey scampering behind. The smell of impending rain teased at her nostrils. The dry, cracked earth would soon be sodden. She thought of how the rain would drench her father’s grave, and she shuddered at the image. Pushing the thought away, she tramped on. Tucked in the paddock’s corner under a scattering of eucalypts, leaned a weathered wooden cross. Standing solemnly, she stared down and read aloud. “Penny, my best friend forever. Gone too soon.”
“How old were you when she died?” BJ asked.
“I was fifteen. I’d just got into the Aussie Ballet Company, and Mum called to say Penny had died in her sleep. I just cried and cried…” Staring down at the spot, she swallowed hard, but the long-awaited storm of emotion broke. Jessie erupted in howls as hot tears rained down her cheeks. “I miss her awfully…” Crumbling to her knees, she lurched forward and threw herself over Penny’s tiny grave. With her cheek resting on the cool grass, she sobbed and sobbed. Big, gut-wrenching gulps of grief rushed from her core finally finding freedom.
As she surrendered to the emotion, her mind picked through long-forgotten memories. The smell of the sweet grass reminded her of when she and Penny would roll on the lawn after her father mowed it. Overhead, the curved shape of the eucalypt leaves reminded her of Penny’s ears with their pretty, tawny points. The taste of summer honey flooded back, reminding her of how she and Penny used to share a secret spoonful together. Jessie cried and cried. Buried emotion exploded within her, renting itself free. The sound of a distant creaking barn door reminded her of the shearing shed and the times she’d go looking for Penny inside and…
Time spiralled—and she struggled to breath.
A piercing scream shattered the afternoon silence. She thought it came from somewhere else, from someone else, but it didn’t. It was her. Screaming and screaming, hysterically screaming. BJ crouched on the ground beside her, but his voice drifted in from afar, trying to soothe her. But nothing could sooth her now. She tugged at her hair and screamed, unable to stop, unwilling to stop. From the homestead she saw her mother and brother running in panic towards her. Dad. Where was her father? He was the one who saved me. Where’s Dad? She sprang to her feet like a wild cat and bolted.
“Jessie, stop,” BJ hollered. “Whiskey. Go with Jessie.” At his command and gesture, Whiskey galloped beside her, keeping pace.
“Jessica, what’s wrong?” Joanna ran, trying to intercept her daughter.
“Jess, Jess, come back.” Richard out-stepped his mother, gaining speed.
Her lungs burning, Jessie rounded the upper corner of the paddock. She must escape. Circling back, she leaped up the stairs of the rear courtyard. She could cut through the house and be out the front door before… Skidding on her heels, she reared like a wild brumby, Whiskey beside her.
“What on earth is the matter, you wretched girl?”
Shrieking like a beaten dog, she stumbled and fell at the feet of Frank Hilton.
With a ferocious growl, Whiskey leaped in front of her prostrate body, bailing up Frank with a series of fierce barks.
“Get this bloody dog off me,” he ordered, as BJ slid in to kneel beside Jessie.
“I suggest you control yourself, Frank. Any quick move of your part will simply make things worse.” A long beat ensued. “Whiskey. Release.” The faithful Border collie snarled once more for good measure and then retreated to rest by her master. “Jessie, are you all right?”
In a weak voice, she whispered, “Get me out of here. I don’t want to see anyone. Please.” She closed her eyes, feigning unconsciousness.
“Jess, are you okay?” Panting, Richard looked over BJ’s shoulder.
“Brad, whatever is the matter?” Joanna kneeled on the other side of her daughter, patting her hand.
“She’s fainted. I’ll get her inside.” He bundled Jessie in his arms and stood up.
“What happened, Frank?” Joanna turned on her brother-in-law in a savage attack.
“Nothing. I was just walking down the stairs, and she ran up like a wild thing, screamed and fainted.”
“People don’t faint for no reason, Frank. What did you do?”
“Nothing, Joanna. You know Jessie has always been highly strung. Even as a child…”
“Do not say another word, Frank Hilton.” Joanna hissed like a viper. “Let’s take her inside, Brad.”
In his strong arms, Jessie rested. A miasma of mixed memories and emotions tumbled in her mind. She needed time to think this through. She needed to be sure.
Chapter 45
“Okay, Jessie they’re gone.” BJ sat on the bed beside her and waited.
Opening her eyes, she cast him a feeble smile. “Thanks.”
“Your mum is sick with worry. She’s calling Dr Bruen to come out.”
“Oh, no. She mustn’t.” She scrambled to sit up in bed.
Grasping her shoulders, he pressed her back onto the pillows. “Well, since you didn’t ‘come to’,” he gestured air italics with his fingers, “Your mother thinks there’s something seriously wrong with you. So, she called Dr Bruen. I’m under strict instructions to tell her as soon as you wake up.”
She rolled her eyes and her shoulders slumped.
“So what happened down at Penny’s grave?”
“I’m not sure. One minute I was crying over Penny’s death all those years ago, and the next I’m screaming and running, trying to get away.”
“Get away from what?”
“It’s pretty foggy, but it had to do with the old shearing shed…”
He watched as her eyes glaze over. Then her lips clamped shut. Having witnessed some of his military mates return home with post-traumatic stress disorder, there was little doubt in his mind that Jessie had suffered some trauma in her childhood. The recurring nightmares, the sudden illness and death of her father, the stalking and kidnapping—all these unexpected and stressful events contributed to her unlocking something. He was sure of it. In her mind, she’d compartmentalised some past traumatic event and buried it away. Now, the secret was digging itself out, whether she wanted to face it or not.
“Jessie, look at me.”
With a nervous twitch, she returned her focus to him.
“Do you remember anything else?” Careful not to push too hard, he kept his questioning light.
“It’s all so blurry. I know Dad was there, but…” Again, she drifted. A frown drew lines across her forehead as she searched for something more.
“Listen. Why don’t you rest? I’ll tell your mother you’re okay and there’s no need for the doctor.”
“Thanks. I am awfully tired.” Without any further encouragement, she rolled over and closed her eyes.
Despite his negotiating skills, BJ had barely been able to convince Joanna to call off Dr Bruen. Giving her a believable reason for Jessie’s panic attack had been hard and taken repeated assurances. Eventually, he’d convinced her it was the recent stress of everything Jessie had been through which caused her extreme anxiety. She just needed lots of rest and sleep for a couple of days. If she was no better tomorrow, he promised he’d drive her in to see the doctor. A deal of sorts had been struck, which now left him to his thoughts as he and Whiskey strolled around the gardens.
A persistent riddle gnawed at his brain. There was something else, something painful, something secret. He knew pain, intimately—the physical, emotional and mental torment of trauma, of unspeakable, body-breaking, mind-numbing pain. He knew how it looked, how it felt and what damage it could inflict, short term and long term. Witnessing Jessie’s emotional pain escalate over these past weeks, he sensed a war of subterfuge was at play here. He needed to identify the real enemy.
BJ’s mind raced over all the details he knew for sure. At dinner on Monday night, Frank’s behaviour about Ken’s request to have Father Conlon preside at his funeral struck BJ as suspicious. This was further compounded by neither Frank nor the priest going anywhere near each o
ther yesterday at the funeral, perhaps indicating some past antagonism. Jessie had said her father and Uncle Frank didn’t get on. There was a big argument one Christmas between them when she was a kid. Not long after that, her father burned down the shearing shed. Then there’s the matter of Frank borrowing money from his brother and still owing one hundred thousand dollars. Yet no one in his family even knew about this loan. What was the money for? Earlier today, BJ witnessed Frank’s predatory behaviour when he made sexual advances towards Joanna. Interwoven in all this were Jessie’s ongoing nightmares which had haunted her since she was young. When Jessie regressed into her past trauma and hurtled headlong into Frank, she collapsed at his feet in shock. But he showed no concern or compassion. In fact, he said she was always a highly strung child. A highly strung child... The hairs on BJ’s arms and neck bristled. Could what he was thinking be true? The pieces of the puzzle certainly seemed to fit. He checked in with his gut instinct. That powerful sixth sense he’d depended on to stay alive in combat confirmed that as vile as it was, BJ was right. He drew breath.
He no longer noticed the glorious yellow rose and purple agapanthus blossoms at his side. He no longer heard the chattering birdsong or smelled the dusty sweetness of summer. A small muscle flinched in his jaw and a fine film of sweat sheened his skin. He had been wrong at Yass Hospital when he thought danger was no longer his companion. He thought it was over when they arrested Skip Norton. But his gut had squirmed even then, telling him otherwise. There was something else going on, someone else. And now he knew. In long deliberate strides and with the stealth of an assassin, BJ moved to the Jeep. Unlocking the rear door, he opened the floor tray and lifted out his rifle case. Gripping it with unshakeable resolve, he carried it to the river to prepare for his mission.
Chapter 46
As soon as BJ left her bedroom, Jessie threw off the covers and sprang out of bed. She peeked into the living room to check she was alone. After a quick double check at the French doors to ensure he’d gone, she returned to the living room. She had to sort this out. And the only way she was going to solve this was to keep moving. She did her best thinking when she moved. Frowning, she paced from one end of the living room to the other, mulling over everything. What the hell is going on with me? What happened down at Penny’s grave? The terror she felt had virtually lifted her off her feet. Fragmented recollections caught in her mind, but none of them pieced together for a clear, unified image. She wished Jasmine was here. Her best friend seemed to get a handle on things better than she did. What would Jasmine say?
“What happened all those years ago that you’re so scared of, Jessie?”
I don’t know. But now I think it has something to do with my recurring nightmares…
“What about your nightmares?”
There’s always a man in the dark, reaching out to me, touching me, licking my cheek and telling me ugly secrets.
“Where does this happen, Jessie? Can you see where the place is?”
No. But I have a feeling it’s somewhere I know.
“Can you see who the man is?”
I’m not sure. I can’t see him clearly.
“For God’s sake, Jessie, stop putting up with this crap. Don’t run away. Turn around and look.” It was as if Jasmine was in the room with her, demanding she make a stand.
Determined to face whatever lurked in her past, Jessie thrust her chest forward and gulped a lungful of air. If she could escape Skip Norton, she could be free of this haunting. Mustering up all her grit, she spun around. Unexpectedly, she caught sight of BJ and Whiskey through the kitchen window. From a faded past, a Technicolor memory sharpened into total recall. She remembered. And she knew where they were going.
Chapter 47
BJ spied Frank stalking around the rear courtyard. His eyes were downcast and his brow furrowed as if in deep concentration. From behind one of the flowering citrus trees which bordered the private quadrangle, BJ watched him for a few moments.
“I knew I shouldn’t have come back here for Ken’s funeral,” hissed Frank, believing he was alone. “What with the priest and all this shit with the money. Everyone needs to leave the past where it belongs.” He stopped his private tirade and scowled at his feet. “Bloody ants.” He ground his boot viciously on the flagstones. “Too many people punching above their weight around here,” and he returned to his frantic pacing.
Stepping out silently from his hiding place, BJ approached him, a casual smile edging his lips. “Excuse me, Frank. Joanna would like to see you.”
Frank’s eyes narrowed. “What? Now?”
“Yes. She’s waiting down by the river and would like you to join her for an afternoon drink.” BJ ladled syrup onto his voice, while his stomach churned.
“A drink you say? Well that sounds promising.” Frank puffed his chest and preened. Full of self-importance, he strode down the steps to join BJ on the grass.
“Yes. I’ll walk you down to where’s she waiting. She’s set the table in a different spot to usual.” He kept his expression neutral and delighted in watching Frank relax as they strolled away from the homestead. “Lovely afternoon isn’t it?”
“Yes. It is. I wonder what Joanna wants to see me about?” He adjusted his trousers’ waist as his lips pulled into a smarmy smirk.
BJ’s tactical training prevented him from slamming Frank’s face into the ground right there and then. Avoid exposure. Exploit the enemy’s vulnerabilities. “She didn’t say.”
After a few more minutes of walking and listening to Frank’s narcissistic comments, he slowed, with Whiskey heeled beside him. Under the shade of a dozen or so coolabah trees, and hidden from view by a nearby knoll where the wombats lived, they stopped.
“Where’s Joanna?” Frank looked around, confused.
“She’s not coming, Frank.”
“What do you mean? What game are you playing at?”
BJ locked him in an intimidating glare and growled. “Don’t speak unless you can improve the silence.”
“How dare…”
Frank hit the ground before he saw it coming. Grovelling over, he peered up. Terror had taken up residence on his face, exactly as BJ had planned. Frank’s hand rubbed his reddening cheek where the fist had connected. BJ had purposely kept his touch light. He could have easily broken his jaw, but he didn’t want to pre-empt himself. Grabbing Frank by his shirt collar, BJ hauled him to his feet. “You know, Frank? Silence here at Coodravale has its own sound.” With him cowering beside him, BJ rough-walked him to a nearby tree. “Listen.” He cocked his ear as demonstration. “The silence is broken only by the baying of the sheep, the warble of the magpies and the rushing of the river. Can you hear it, Frank?”
Panic-stricken, Frank nodded. His left cheek inflamed into a rosy rouge stain, adding the only colour to his whitening face.
“Do you know where we are, Frank?”
Frank looked down at his feet and shuddered.
“That’s right. This is where the old shearing shed stood. Whiskey. Defend.” On her master’s command, Whiskey bailed up Frank with an impressive display of threatening snarls and teeth-baring. “Don’t make a move or she may do you some serious damage.” BJ pivoted and strolled to a fallen log, on top of which was coiled a length of rope. His rifle case lay next to it. “So I’ve been thinking, and I’m certain I’ve solved the mystery.” Selecting the rope, he returned, twisting and untwisting it in his hands. “Whiskey. Release.” As the Border collie stood down, Frank virtually collapsed into his arms.
Pushing him hard against the tree, BJ roped him upright. With the cord biting into Frank’s wrists tied behind the tree, he tightened its remaining lengths around his hostage’s waist. “Now, Frank, before we begin, let me tell you what I think. I think you’re one sick motherfucker.” BJ watched Frank’s expression infuriate, but he was smart enough, or scared enough not to speak. “I also think your brother and Father Conlon knew, or at least suspected what went on here, right on this spot.” Despite his valiant effort at
indifference, Frank couldn’t hide his fear. “This is the spot where the old shearing shed stood. The shearing shed which Ken burned down after you and he had an argument. The shearing shed in which Jessie would look for her cat, Penny.” BJ’s gaze raked his hostage up and down, his disgust palpable. Only when Frank averted his gaze did he stride back to his rifle. With deliberate intent, he lowered himself onto the log and prepared his weapon.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m loading my weapon.” Without missing a beat, BJ flicked a cool, calculated glance from under heavy lids. “I’m going to shoot you, Frank.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No. I’m not crazy. I’m an ex-SAS sniper.” He straightened—rifle in hand, revenge in his heart. For him, the Coodravale silence was broken only by the internal surge of blood pulsing through his veins. Within and without, the ordinary world melted away. This was his world now, his special world. “So, Frank, I’m giving you a chance. A chance to confess what went on in the shearing shed…with Jessie.”
Frank struggled lamely against the ropes, only tightening their grip with every movement. “You’re mad. I knew it from the moment I met you. You’re stark, raving mad.” As he lurched against his restraints, he yelled wildly for help.
Smack! The bullet smashed into the tree just above Frank’s head. Poleaxed by terror, he blinked, his eyes round as saucers. BJ was no longer a perceived threat. He’d smashed into Frank Hilton’s reality like a sledgehammer, and now he had his full and undivided attention.
Retribution: Who would you kill to escape your past? Page 24