Chasing Innocence

by Potter, John

  ‘You killed your mother as well?’

  He shook his head. ‘I didn’t need to, cancer did that for me.’

  From somewhere, which Sarah was sure came from inside her own head, she heard a child cry out.

  ‘What did they take from you?’

  ‘My sister,’ he answered. ‘They told me she was the daughter of my father’s friend. In fact she was the child of my father’s mistress. They put us together and never said a single word, for fear we would let slip the flaw in their married illusion.’

  ‘She was your sister and they never said anything?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘What do you think? We fell asleep together and were made to be the guilty ones. She was sent back to Singapore.’ It was the first time Simon had told anyone.

  Sarah shuffled closer to him.

  ‘We are not that different, you and I.’ She climbed her hands up onto his knees and let her mouth drift up across the skin of his chest, up around his neck, trailing damp hair across his shoulders.

  ‘I wish you would let the girl go,’ she said. ‘We two are meant to be together.’

  ‘You know I can’t,’ he replied.

  ‘I will persuade you, you know, in the weeks to come.’

  EIGHTY-EIGHT

  The sound of lifting boxes and bumping wheels was temporarily quiet, replaced by the light breeze and soft staccato of waves against the hull. Adam watched the stationary figure, a cigarette glowing, his shadow made long by the workshop light. He ducked down and edged along the narrow walkway.

  He stopped at a sealed door in the bulkhead and struggled with the handle, managing to lift it out before swinging it open like any other. He moved inside, cautiously standing again and carefully moving through a kitchen to a space entirely fronted by curving glass. A darkly sleek console dominated the space. A leather chair faced a row of blank screens built into the console, a small round steering wheel and an array of neat dials and switches, a complementing leather sofa to the side. From here he had an elevated view of the quay and the service road, the warehouses looming in the middle distance.

  He walked back through the kitchen into the main area, a mosaic set into the marble floor, the illuminated dock tower visible through the glass doors. He could hear a sound, like voices, too faint to discern but definite.

  He climbed steps that rose another level through a hatch, to the bridge above and the open air. It was a near duplicate of the console he had already seen, an audience of sofas set on both sides. A canopy flapped above, but that wasn’t the sound he had heard. He went back down to the main deck and slowly down again another level, to a narrow corridor of polished wood. The sound was more distinct here, definitely voices, although too quiet to tell if one was Sarah’s. He moved towards a narrow door, pulling the knife from his pocket without even knowing he had.

  EIGHTY-NINE

  With her hands resting on Simon’s knees she was too far forward to easily reach behind her for the blade on the bed, and too far back for the one tucked between the bed frame and mattress. So she shuffled back and wriggled the shorts down over her knees and kicked them free. She felt the blade beneath her fingers as she pressed a palm behind her for balance and opened her legs wide for Simon.

  ‘I have decided you may kiss my body. You can start there,’ she said, tapping a finger against the inside of her thigh. He smiled and leaned forward as the door opened.

  She immediately registered it was Adam without giving any thought or time to why, her mind too busy calculating opportunity. At the same time Simon glanced over his shoulder at the intrusion, which blocked her view of the door with the exposed flesh of his neck. The thick mass of muscle and ligaments that shielded his carotid artery. The perfect opportunity. Without pause and in a smooth motion she rocked her weight forward and swept her hand around towards the exposed flesh.

  Simon saw the man in the doorway and was aware of Sarah’s sudden movement at the same time, reflexively ducking his head into the blow. The blade sliced across the curve of his jaw and up to the bone of his cheek, Sarah immediately cut back, left to right, with a second blow that hit hard and bit deep into the other side of his neck. Simon was only aware of her hand punching into his neck, not of what she held in her hand, just the cold intent in her eyes. He caught her arm as it came back for a third strike and clubbed the side of his fist into the side of her head. It spun her almost right around, over the edge of the bed, and unconscious before she hit the floor. A single blow that removed her as a threat, and more importantly for Simon, it meant if this was Hakan’s men come for her, they would have to get past him to get to her.

  He rolled off the bed to face the intruder, feeling something warm on his shoulder. The blade had cut through skin and muscle and the surface of the artery, but not through it. He appraised the man in the doorway, only one man. Quite a tall man, lean with dark hair and bruises on his face. He was holding a knife. He was not one of Hakan’s men, simply because Hakan would not send only one man against him. And then the man did something that took Simon by surprise, mostly because it was the very last thing he should have done.

  As the door swung open some part of Adam’s mind was already conditioning itself for what he was about to see. Seeing Sarah naked with another man was part of the inconsequential detail he stored for later processing. It was Sarah but it was not, she saw him but never took her eyes from her prey. He watched her arm strike twice, two fast pendulum blurs before she was knocked aside with no effort.

  Seeing Sarah discarded like a rag doll overcame him with a dark vengeance, a blood lust and fury that inhibited his sense of self-preservation as Simon rolled off the bed to face him. Adam now stood face to face with his nemesis. The same man he had seen in ceaseless CCTV images, the man responsible for the here and now. A giant with a crimson slash across his face and blood oozing from a deep cut on his neck, seeping over his massive shoulders and chest. Adam did not need to think, he did not need to think about not thinking, he just did it. He ran at Simon.

  He had seen Brian do something similar on the beach. It was no more than three strides across the room and having made the first two he slid to the floor and stabbed hard as Simon tried to hop sideways. The knife sliced through the towel and into the muscle and sinew of Simon’s thigh, the blade glancing off bone. He wrenched it out and plunged it in again and this time slashed, hoping to cut something important as Simon’s fist slammed into the side of his head.

  The blow knocked Adam sprawling across the floor, almost shutting down all his cognitive processes. He looked up unfocused at a dark shape that filled his vision and got bigger. Hands laced through his hair and lifted him to his feet. A rising fist powered into him just below his chest and the join of his ribcage, compacting his diaphragm and paralysing his lungs. He gasped and then another punch. This one was like concrete slammed into him. The pain was instant and so deep it felt like Simon could wrap his fingers around his spine. Nothing had ever hit him so hard and nothing ever would again. Something inside him tore and he reeled backwards against the door frame, sliding to the floor. He looked down at himself, blinking and making out the familiar profile of his body. Hardly a blemish on the T-shirt but he knew inside he was broken.

  Simon took a hesitant step closer to the man crumpled in the doorway, no longer a threat. He assessed his own injuries. Blood flowed freely from the wounds in his leg. He pulled the knife free and dropped it to the floor, then dropped to one knee, struggling to orientate himself, leaning forward with a fist on the floor, shaking his head as if trying to clear a fogged mind. He could feel the blood on his neck now, touched a finger to the cut, now torn wider, could see his own blood spurting across the room like a sprinkler in summer.

  Adam coughed, more a spasm than a real cough, feeling something wet on his chin. He looked down and this time saw blood. He was sure it was not Simon’s, could see the big man’s eyes on him. He was leaning on one thick arm like some great Athenian mort
ally perplexed, his blood pulsing over the dresser and walls. Adam coughed again and again, his breaths short and gasping, the infrequent drum of his heart. White filled his vision like snow on a cold vista, not even sure now he was breathing. He felt nothing any more, had no sense of fear or regret.

  A small shadow rose from the far corner amid the haze and then a sound like a wounded animal, demented and woeful. A wail and a battle cry and utter sorrow. The shadow climbed across the bed and descended on Simon, fists pummelling an oblivious torso. As Adam’s eyes failed, Simon slumped to the floor. And then as Adam’s heart stopped beating he contented himself that he had saved Sarah. The sorrow in her cry was for him. And then his love and loyalty for Sarah, along with all the things he ever hoped for them both, died with him.

  Sarah had no strength with which to do anything but lay prone on Simon, staring at Adam’s body. She knew it was Adam but her mind struggled to place him there. He should not be here! Everything had been about him safe at home. She kept blinking and expecting to see someone else. Each time she opened her eyes it was still him. He was bruised and bloodied but there was a peace in his face that she envied. Why was he here? It consumed her thoughts, running on repeat with time and urgency suspended.

  Then a sound outside swiped her back to reality. Andrea! She pushed herself off Simon and tried stepping over the wide swathes of blood on the floor, but it was everywhere. She caught her reflection in a mirror, a naked red devil. She pulled her jeans and shirt from a drawer, trying to avoid looking at the door and Adam. She heard another loud sound, like a door banging somewhere near.

  NINETY

  It took Andrea several minutes to find the perfect hiding place because at first she did not notice it for that very reason. There had been lots of possibilities but they were too obvious. She even briefly contemplated the narrow spaces beneath the engines but could only imagine what would happen if they fell on her.

  So she wandered to the cabinet attached to the wall and idly opened it, finding inside a space she was not expecting. She was not sure what was meant to be inside, maybe something big with flashing lights. Instead it was empty save for a coil of tubing protruding from the back. She would be able to sit sideways inside with her knees pulled up. So that is what she did.

  At first the metal protested as she got comfortable, or as comfortable as she could. When she pulled the doors closed they made a click that made her think she might be locked in. Realising, as she repeatedly pushed it open and pulled it closed, the click was what kept it closed, although it was difficult to really know because when she did it all went very dark.

  When she thought about it, it was amazing she could even get in the cabinet. She never would have a few days before, not even with wild promises. Now she was getting used to the unusual. And then her mind started to wander. How long would she have to wait? How would her dad know where to look? He might not look in the right place, or she might not hear him and would never be found. The thought of that almost had her climbing back out. But she stopped herself. Her dad would call out. He wouldn’t just look.

  Her thoughts drifted and settled on the persistent niggling question. That face in the picture in Simon’s house. She was now very sure it belonged to a man who sometimes came to church. He had a voice like a movie star and talked to them all and sang. She remembered him because he made her mum laugh, and that was not an easy thing to do.

  Then she heard the scream. It was the most frightening noise Andrea had ever heard. It felt to her like it came from somewhere close but distant at the same time. It cut through her resolve like a sharp knife, a sound demented and sorrowful, all her fears at night and of the day in one horrifying second that propelled her out of the hiding place with a sob, tumbling onto the floor, wild with fear, scrabbling through the workshop, feet and hands sliding, aware only that she needed to get away.

  She tripped up the large steps on to the main deck, looking for an exit, seeing the steps down to the platform. She almost jumped straight down, scraping her arms as she stumbled. Then she despaired at the stacks of plastic-wrapped boxes and the impossible height of the quay. Panic pushed her to climb from stack to stack, to the top of the highest stack and to consider she might be able to jump to the quay.

  She almost made it, landing hard on her knees on the rough concrete. She bounced into the boxes that closely lined the edge and with no hold slowly lost ground, desperately scrabbling with her hands for something to hold on to. She slipped over the edge with a desperate whimper, hitting the platform shoulder first, the momentum rolling her over the edge and into the water with hardly a splash.

  Andrea did not panic straight away because she was a good swimmer. She was proud of that because her dad had taught her, managing to pull herself to the surface several times despite her shoulder being really painful. The water though pulled at her from all directions as it slapped backwards and forwards between the boat and pilings, and mostly it pulled her down. Already she was exhausted beyond anything she had ever known, splashing towards the boat and pulled back under, struggling to the surface a little further away. Not sure each time whether she would ever breathe again. With no strength left in her body she desperately gulped for air too early and slipped for the last time beneath the surface.

  NINETY-ONE

  The constable pulled a chair around between the mother and stepfather, the mother now on the far right of the table pouring loathing across the room at her husband. He remained much the same. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were animated, but otherwise the same.

  Ferreira was angry with herself. Not from the drama being played opposite, but from only now realising what Boer had seen in pictures of Andrea, the similarity to Sarah. Ferreira’s realisation came from the girl upstairs and a child’s lack of comprehension. Andrea’s eyes carried something more. An awareness beyond her age, as if she already knew some of life’s burden. The burden of trying to support her father with only a browbeaten stepfather to help. The anger Ferreira felt took the edge off the guilt, for what she was about to say. She had calculated the odds though and was fairly certain she would be close to the truth, despite it being entirely speculative.

  ‘So can you tell me, Mr Smith, about your affair?’

  She sensed the mother go still to her right and the constable set herself again. Kevin’s head snapped up and his eyes flared and then immediately back to passive, staring back at the table. ‘I don’t see…how did? How has that got anything to do with this?’

  ‘Tell me, Kevin. It might be important.’

  ‘There’s not much to tell. I met an old friend by chance and we got to talking and didn’t stop. It was an antidote for the way Beth and I have become. It wasn’t even an affair really. We met a few times for coffee, had a few phone conversations and then one afternoon we ended up in a hotel. It was a real wake-up call for me. The act of being unfaithful really brought home how much I had to lose, how Beth and I were caught in the endless cycle of getting more for ourselves and not enjoying what we had. Our children were growing up right in front of us and we were missing it.’

  He swallowed hard and started again. ‘It was only then I found out Beth was already seeing someone, a…’ He pulled his gaze from Ferreira and looked across at his wife. What he saw froze him. Ferreira did not turn at first but the shock on his face told her something was wrong, and then she turned and looked at the mother.

  She had expected her to be convulsed with anger at the confession but instead she was pushing back into her chair, had backed herself against the wall with a wide-eyed fear pulling at the muscles of her face. As if her Satan was climbing from the table and crawling towards her.

  The stepfather finished the sentence, eyes still fixed on the mother. ‘It was only then that I found out Beth was already having an affair, with an American evangelist at her church.’

  Ferreira only really heard American, one word that branched out through everything she had lived and experienced through the last three days. Every conversation w
ith Boer and restless hours in bed working through the details. A mental rolodex of recollections and images, puzzling and random facts all suddenly sliding into place, each now connected and illuminated in her mind like lights across every limb of a giant tree.

  ‘An American, a tall blond American?’ she said, breathlessly to herself, repeating it out loud. ‘A tall blond American?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kevin answered. ‘Hair like snow and a voice like he’s from the movies. Really knows how to thump out a sermon.’ He was still unaware of the context, looking from his wife to Ferreira. ‘How do you know all this stuff?’

  Ferreira was too shocked to say anything. She just stared stunned at the mother who looked like she might topple sideways or dissolve into the wall at any moment.

  NINETY-TWO

  Andrea gulped more water, reaching for the lights and the surface, drifting away and down. Her hair snagged on something painful that jerked her sideways, then the material of her top was pulled and she felt herself lifted, coughing and spluttering into the air and then from the water. She heard a shocked male voice and then felt herself carried up steps and carefully laid on the quay. A concerned face peered down at her as she retched onto the concrete, gasping for breath and retching more. After a few minutes she could breathe more easily. Her shoulder really hurt now and her lungs felt like the rest of her body, raw and all used up. She sat up, pushing wet hair from her face, looking at her rescuer. She had never seen the man before.