Three Breaths (The Game of Life Novella Series Book 3)

by Belle Brooks

  One, two, three times I nudge my head gently against a protruding rock located right beside the gap I want to squeeze through. I’m frustrated, breathless and tired. A long huff comes with me curling my body into a tight ball. Try. Just try. I do.

  First, I push the backpack to my front and then throw it through the hole. I hear it land almost immediately, so I know whatever I’m climbing into doesn’t have a significant fall on the other side. I could look—there’s enough room for me to peek my head through—but the idea of seeing what’s below causes anxiety to crawl through my veins. What if it’s a pit of spikes? Fuck! I take a deep breath and poke my head through, looking down. I see the silhouette of the pack on the ground. I don’t see anything sharp, just what appears to be leaves and dirt.

  Wasting no time, I tilt my head sideways and scrunch my shoulder to my ear, managing to pass both through the circumference, however my other shoulder jams. I’m stuck. I shuffle, pull, and rock my body. I'm still stuck. I repeat this action multiple times until I scream, curse, and manage to pop through the other side, falling backwards and landing with a huff.

  “I did it,” I breathe before relaxing my limbs and looking above me at a high roof made from compacted dirt. It takes a while until I find the energy to manoeuvre myself into a seated position.

  “What is that?” I gasp. A single red rose grows in the centre of what I quickly glimpse to be an ample open space. A spotlight illuminates its beauty … aimed to its position in the ground like a spotlight for a stage act. Does this rose mean something? Could it be connected to the thirteen roses in those pictures?

  My legs shake, and when I find my feet, I shuffle towards the rose, focused only on its petals. The wolf has created a game for me to play, and I know this rose has to be a part of it. I’m petrified of this rose, the possible symbolism it may have. I’m trembling, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m cold or if it’s because I’m frightened. Calm yourself, Morgan. Try and find calm.

  “Fears,” I breathe. “Are.” I slide my right foot across bark and leaves beneath my sole. “Stories.” I slide my left foot in the same fashion. “We.” I close my eyes briefly. “Tell.” I drag my right foot once more. “Ourselves.”

  This is not real; it’s only a story. There’s nothing to fear anymore, Morgan, because stories aren’t real, they’re fictional, and what is happening to you is fictional.

  I still. I flick my eyes in as many directions as I can without moving my head.

  “No, no, no,” I scream, then wrap my hands around my lips and smother any further screams with my palms. My eyes bulge. My heart pumps dangerously fast. I can’t take my sight from it. I can’t look away from the skull.

  "No," I murmur into my palms, flicking my eyes in every direction possible once more. Bones, so many bones, ones I believe are of human origin. Why are there so many of them littering the ground?

  Oh, fuck!

  I’m in his graveyard.

  Reid

  “You lied,” Linda and I both say simultaneously, standing behind the mango tree in my backyard.

  “I didn’t lie.” I didn’t. Linda did.

  “Reid, you did. Vactrim! Who the hell is even named Vactrim anyways? What are you hiding?”

  “I’m not hiding anything. It’s you who has something to hide. Linda, that’s Vactrim from the fucking place I get my cars detailed.”

  “It can’t be.” Linda shakes her head.

  “You said no when West asked you if you knew the man in that picture, and since then you’ve been distracted and trying to avoid that Dusty, Dodger, whatever-his-name-is fellow … What’s going on? Why are you lying?”

  “To protect you.” Her face strains as she keeps her voice to a soft projection. “The man in that picture is Winston Sampson, Falcon Sampson’s brother, just like the detective said it was. He may be older and more substantial than he was when I was in high school, and I know I only ever met him a few times since he was away with military training, but I swear it’s him.” Linda’s face scrunches, and she flares her nostrils. “Why did you … What are you …” She stops. “Reid, Falcon and Winston looked a lot alike. Both had wavy blond hair, and those piercing blue eyes you saw? Well, Falcon had them too. Like you and Cruise. You both have bright blue eyes, and you two have very similar characteristics.”

  “No, we don’t,” I scoff. It’s preposterous Linda even thinks we do. Cruise is a fucking actor for God’s sake, admired throughout the country for his good looks and charm. I’m the brother who doesn’t even come close in the attraction department.

  “Reid, you and your brother are very alike. You might not see it, but it’s true.”

  “So this leads us to what? Can this guy be two people?

  “I don’t know. Possibly. I guess. No. How?”

  “Why didn’t you just tell West that you knew who he was when he asked you? Why didn’t you confirm it was him just like West was saying?”

  She slaps my chest. “Obviously I thought you were trying to hide something and I didn’t know what it was, and I don’t trust these cops and … I just want Morgan to be found and for her to come home.”

  “Linda, Morgan has been fucking missing for nearly forty-eight hours. I don’t give a shit if it looks like I’m hiding something. You need to tell the cops everything you know. I want Morgan back, today, right now.”

  “I don’t trust these cops, Reid, and even though I know you didn’t have anything to do with it, you’ve already been set up once. Dusty said the guy who took Morgan also took the money from your safe, and from the beginning, you’ve been made to appear as the prime subject.”

  “All husbands are the prime subjects. You’ve watched enough of those bloody cop shows with Morgan to know that.” I’m mad at Linda for not being honest right from the get-go with West.

  “How would Falcon or Winston even know where you live, let alone know the combination of your safe?”

  “How would the cops know the combination to my safe? I presume whoever it is used illegal means to do so. Plus, Vactrim knows our address. It would be on my file at the car dealership. If they’re the same person, then they’d know.”

  “Morgan hadn’t seen Falcon since a few weeks after she met you.” Linda’s finger extends, and she pokes it into the air in front of me. “Why would he care what you two were doing anyway? Why would he care this long after the fact? He’s probably married with kids and living in the ’burbs somewhere.”

  “Maybe I pissed Vactrim, or fucking Winston, or whatever his name is off. You said her ex was infatuated with her … borderline obsessive, I think is the term you used the very few times his name was brought up.” I wrap my hand around Linda’s finger and lower it to her side before letting go.

  “He was a horny kid, but he understood they’d grown apart, that it was over. The last I heard about him was that he’d moved on, and so had Morgan with you.”

  “Morgan never—”

  “It just fizzled out. That’s what I understand regarding how it concluded.”

  “Fizzled out?”

  “It’s what she said months before she even started university … that it had lost its spark and she was slowly putting distance between them, and then they split. And that’s exactly what she did.”

  “Why didn’t you tell this to the cops?”

  “I was protecting you.”

  “Or yourself.”

  Linda shifts from foot to foot; she’s growing uncomfortable. “Pfft. Pull your head in. I’ve nothing to protect myself from. Morgan meeting you the week before they split was nothing but a coincidence.”

  “Linda, you need to tell West and Gleaton everything you know. They’ll go digging around searching for shit, and you have information. They’ll figure it out with or without you. They’ll also know you lied through your teeth.”

  “Fine,” she huffs.

  “Maybe this Good Samaritan brother of his isn’t such an upstanding person after all.”

  “My only question is, if Winston s
topped to fix her tyre, and Dusty said they parted ways after the job was done...”

  I'm not sure where Linda is going with this.

  "Well, from your account ..." Linda continues before she stops speaking and taps a finger to her chin. "Does this mean Winston followed Morgan after they parted ways and then rammed her car?” Linda pauses. “The car that stopped on the side of the road that night was a small sedan from the police reports. The car that hit Morgan inside the estate was bigger, with a wider tyre track.”

  “How the fuck do you know all of this stuff?”

  “I have a cop on the inside, remember?” She rolls her eyes.

  “I need you to tell me everything,” I bark.

  “The searchers found something at the site where Morgan’s car was.”

  “What?” My voice heightens on the word.

  Linda’s eyes grow wide. She drops her head and mutters, “Reid, we have eyes on us. Astin is coming our way.”

  I don’t shift my head to look over my shoulder because I can already tell Linda’s freaked out by how fast her shoulders launched upwards.

  “Cry,” I whisper.

  “Why?”

  “It will seem like I’m comforting you.”

  And just as quickly as the words leave my lips, Linda bursts into tears like any Hollywood actress could. “Why haven’t they found her? I can’t do this anymore. Why haven’t they found her?” she yells through her tears.

  Slipping on sweatpants and a cotton T-shirt, I discard my sopping wet towel in the wash basket and replay the conversation between West and Linda over and over in my mind. Linda came clean after West interrupted us, and she gave him all the information she had on the photograph and the person she believed it to be, Winston Sampson. The man identified as the one who stopped and helped Morgan. The same man whose fingerprints were on the tyre in Morgan’s boot. I stood by my statement, that the man in the picture West supplied was Vactrim, the detailer at the company we use to service and clean our cars. Even though Linda and technology seem to dispute my claim, I know I’m right, and soon Detective Astin West will know I’m right, too, because he put out a call immediately for Detective Dyson to find Vactrim.

  After West made the call, he took down notes as if it was an Olympic sport, and Gleaton recorded their further conversation with Linda on his phone. I listened carefully, hoping Linda would reveal information she hadn't shared with me. She didn’t. It was the same story. She’d only met him a few times. He had distinctive blue eyes, as did his brother, and the relationship between Falcon and Morgan fizzled out long before Morgan and I began dating, even though they split only a week prior. The split went well, from Linda’s account of what Morgan had shared with her, and later, Morgan and I would relocate and get on with our lives.

  But could Winston or Morgan’s ex-boyfriend, Falcon, or the both of them be involved? It makes no sense as to why, but then again, Morgan had been very coy about revisiting her past with me for our entire marriage. We were so young and barely had a history to mention in retrospect, but is that because she knew one day her ex would kidnap her. If so, why?

  As soon as Linda and Dusty left, so did West and Gleaton. Maloney remained to hold down the fort, as he pretty much has since the start of this nightmare. John also stayed, I guess to offer me company, while Kylee, Ronald, and Shirley tended to the kids next door. The coffee John made earlier didn’t sit well after only the first few sips, and the sandwich he put together remains untouched. I can’t stomach food. I can’t stomach another moment without knowing where Morgan is.

  My phone chimes. I take three long strides to reach the bedside cupboard and retrieve it from the charger. Running my finger up the screen reveals a message.

  Natalie: I’ve just reached Rockhampton airport, and I’m climbing into a cab. I’m on my way. I’m so sorry, Reid. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

  Relief. I feel nothing but relief that my brother and my sister-in-law are here in Rockhampton. About fucking time. I still haven’t heard from Dad or Mum, but this gives me hope they are either with Natalie or not far behind.

  “Reid. Baby. Reid.” The distinctive sweet-sounding voice of my mother is music to my ears. The following sound, feet pounding down the hallway, causes me to rush to the bedroom door, swinging it wide.

  “Mum,” I call.

  “Oh my God, baby, I’m so sorry. I just saw John downstairs and he said they still haven’t found Morgan.” Mum’s arms wrap around my waist, and her head tucks against my chest as she sobs.

  “Mum, don’t cry,” I say softly.

  “Why haven’t they found her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Leading Mum to the edge of the bed, I help her to sit. Taking the box of tissues from Morgan’s beside cupboard, I hand it to her. She dabs her eyes before I even have a chance to say anything.

  “Have you slept, Mum? You look exhausted,” I say, looking at the black bags circling her tear-stained blue eyes.

  “A little. Getting a flight home was disastrous, and your father was delaying us with trying to find Cruise and Natalie. We’ve had no luck. You?”

  “No, not until just before. Natalie texted; they are on their way from the airport in a cab.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Mum cries out. A mother’s worry, love, and need to help her children is always present. I can see it in my mother’s eyes as I admire her. I’ve seen this same look in Morgan’s eyes. “Take me through everything from the beginning?”

  “Where’s Dad? Maybe we should discuss this with him present. It will save having the same conversation twice.”

  “He’s downstairs with John and a man named Max. He said he’s a police officer.” I nod to confirm this is correct. Mum dabs her eyes with a fresh tissue she pulls from the box, the old tissue I see discarded by her feet. She holds out her arms, waiting for me to hold onto them. I do. Mum smells just like she always has—freshly washed. “We should wait until Cruise and Natalie get here, too.”

  “Sounds good.” I relax just for a short moment.

  I’m not sure how long I sit with my mother, exchanging hugs, but it seems to be a while. She takes my hand, and I brush the brown locks falling against her face behind her ear and say, “Let’s head downstairs, Mum. It’s been a long day, and we have a long night ahead. Maybe when Detective West and Gleaton return they’ll have some news as to what tonight and tomorrow will bring.” I stand, holding out my hand for her to take.

  “Are they good men?” she asks, placing her hand in mine.

  I don’t answer because I’m not sure. If I wasn't so suspicious of every one of the police currently handling Morgan's case, then maybe I’d say they are.

  When we make the bottom step, I hear West talking. He’s returned.

  “Any news?” I spit the moment he comes into my view.

  “We have some new leads, yes.” He’s nodding. I think he might even be smiling, or is he smirking? I can’t be sure.

  “Son.” Dad’s voice is raspy, as if he’s sick with a cold. I can tell because his ordinarily wide nostrils are inflamed and glowing red, and his light blue eyes are dull.

  “Are you sick, Dad?”

  “Just a cold, mate. Nothing a scotch won’t fix.” Dad and his medical scotch advice. Scotch fixes everything in his books. “Come here.” He holds out one arm.

  I don’t hesitate to stride towards him. His arm is just as hairy and long as I remember. His Cowboys jersey hangs well past the band at the top of his cargo shorts. When Dad wraps his hand around my back and places it on my opposite shoulder, I get a sense that all will be okay now. Dad’s a strong man, a man who was once a major in the army. He’s worked the land, and he’s survived a car crash that was pretty much unable to be survived. My dad is the toughest of the tough; he’s my hero.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  There’s a loud knocking coming from the front door. Detective Gleaton, who’s standing about a metre from the handle, makes the opening.

  “I’m Natalie Banks.” I hear he
r say.

  “Come in.” Gleaton steps to the side.

  “Oh my God! Poor Morgan.” Natalie drops a small overnight bag to the floor and rushes to me. Where’s all her luggage? It’s a strangling hug she delivers.

  “Hey Nat, where’s Cruise? Is he bringing in your luggage?”

  Natalie shifts until she's holding onto my hands. “Huh? He’s not here?” she says in question.

  “I’m sorry, he’s not where?” Why does she think he’s here?

  “Cruise is already here with you guys?”

  “No.” I shake my head.

  “Shit!” She curses quietly under her breath.

  “Natalie.” Mum’s voice shakes.

  “He’s supposed to be here. We fought, it was a big one, and he stormed off. He never arrived back at the hotel, and the next day he didn’t show up. I managed to track him back home to Australia. The credit card showed he purchased a flight.”

  “When was this?” West says from behind us.

  “It was Tuesday gone.”

  “When did you arrive in Australia?” West asks.

  “Six a.m. this morning.” Natalie turns her body side-on. “I stayed in our hotel to gather myself before heading back home to Australia. When I got back, I went to our apartment in the city, thinking Cruise would be there … I thought he’d be sulking, like he tends to do, and even though he hadn’t and still hasn’t returned any of my calls, I’d expected to him to be at our apartment. He wasn’t, and neither was his luggage."

  "So, none of you know where Cruise is?" West’s eyes connect with mine.

  I shake my head.

  "How did you know to come here, Natalie?" I know the tone West uses; it's the same one he used when interrogating me after Morgan first went missing, then again when the money wasn't in my safe.

  "Our neighbour, Cali. She rang the doorbell and told me to turn on the television; she must have seen me arrive home. As soon as I saw you on the news, Reid, I booked the flights to get here. Melbourne to Brisbane, Brisbane to Rockhampton.”