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Psychedelic colors angled through the smoke, pulsating with the thumping rhythm. Countless gyrating bodies gleamed; slick under the lurid lights. Jason felt a familiar thrill of power as he selected track after track. Rhythms dictated to the frenzied crowd as the dancers worshipped the beat with lithe bodies.
Jason had started DJ’ing to put himself through varsity. Since graduating and taking up a part time lecturing post, money was no longer the motivation. He just loved being a DJ. He thrived on the energy generated by a room full of people moving in unison to his choice of rhythm.
Even now, he could feel the music pounding through his body. Finding the next track, he cued it and let himself go. Eyes closed, his body responded to the beat. His insides soared as endorphins flooded his system. He was part of the giant organism that breathed and moved as one.
Then something inside of Jason shifted. It was as if a portion of his brain detached itself and floated high above the mindless masses.
“WHAT IS THE POINT?”
The question framed itself in Jason's mind and hung there in direct confrontation to the adrenalin pumping in his veins. The abyss from his dream cracked through the middle of the dance floor and chains appeared on all the dancers.
Knowing it was in his head, he ignored it as best he could, trying to focus on the job. Next song. I am the Beat Master. Bring the BEAT.
The thundering rhythm shuddered through his brain with agonizing intensity. Feeling as if his head was about to explode, Jason turned to his side-kick and yelled above the racket, “Take over for a while. I need a break.” The bright-eyed youth showed him a thumbs-up and took over with enthusiasm.
Avoiding the bright flames in the middle of the dance floor, Jason struggled to get out. It took a long time to weave through the teeming crowd. Their cuffed arms and legs waved in abandon, oblivious to their bondage. Like a stuck record in his head, the question repeated itself over and over— WHAT IS THE POINT? Pushing through the press of sweaty bodies, he ran and threw himself through the doorway in relief.
Fresh air, at last. Jason breathed deeply of the salt-tainted air blowing in from across the ocean. Heart pounding in his ears, he slid down the club’s outside wall, running clammy fingers through his hair. Breathe, Halloway, breathe. Get a grip man; it was just a stupid dream. His private pep talks were a peculiarity that had earned him much ridicule throughout his school career. Try as he might, it was a habit that stuck. It was as much part of him as his left pinky.
The muffled sound of weeping brought him out of his reverie. Planet Dance was built as a circular club on a corner, surrounded along the front by a six-tiered stairway. Peering through the semi-gloom, he could make out a huddled shape on the bottom step off to the right – the source of the sobbing. Long auburn tresses hid her face from his view. Jason lived by a strict code that made no room in his life for other people’s troubles. ‘I have to look after myself; and so should everyone else’ was a mantra he repeated to anyone who cared to listen.
Obeying his instincts not to get involved, he turned to go back into the club.
Go and talk to her, Jason.
His back stiffened and he halted, one foot suspended above the next step. Frustrated beyond himself, he spoke out loud, “Come on. This is ridiculous!” His foot crashed down, half missed the step shifting his weight backwards. Arms swinging wildly, he landed on his rear and rolled down the remaining four steps.
He lay on the ground for a moment feeling winded. The tear-stained face of the sobbing girl appeared upside down over him. Two deep dimples framed a set of perfectly shaped lips.
“Are you okay?” concern drew her brows together.
Forcing himself upright, Jason did a quick inventory – nothing broken, just some bruises and a dented ego. Despite his feeble protests, the girl helped him to a more comfortable position.
“Hey, aren’t you the DJ?” Her eyes lit up in recognition. “I’m Tina. Can I get you anything? I have some painkillers in my bag. I can just pop inside and fetch them—”
He caught her hand mid-sentence, and his mouth dried at the sight of thick metal cuffs encasing her thin wrists. “Please don’t worry. I’m fine. Really. My pride hurts more than anything right now.” A lop-sided grin of embarrassment tugged at his mouth. “You can call me Jason.” Indebted by her kindness, he continued against his instincts, “What about you? Are you okay?” Judging by her face, she couldn’t be a day older than eighteen. Her eyes, on the other hand…
Her shoulders sagged. Dropping wearily next to him, she took a deep breath and spilled out her story with the intensity of an emotional dam wall breaking. A boyfriend who promised eternal love and marriage if she would let him be the first. Two weeks after giving in, he dumped her like the proverbial hot potato for her so-called best friend. Not able to speak to parents, or her friend, Tina felt completely alone. Alone and violated.
What’s the point?
The words of the letter he had read earlier flashed through his mind. They stood in stark contrast to Tina’s story of love. Despite a rear-end going numb from the cold concrete, Jason was helpless to stop himself, “Tina, you are a beautiful young lady. You don’t have to let anybody do anything to you that you are not comfortable with. That’s not love, that’s manipulation. You don’t have to put up with it. Take your time. Find the right chap, someone who loves you enough to wait. These young punks aren’t worth your tears.”
His brain was doing somersaults. Jason shut-up. What are you saying?
His mouth continued, “I also think you should speak to your Mom. She was young once too. She will probably understand more than you could imagine.”
His words brought fresh tears to her eyes, but her smile said tears of healing, not hurt. Grabbing his hand, she kissed him full on the lips. “Thank you, Jason. You are a very kind person. I’m going home now.”
Jason watched in amazement as the padlocks on her wrist cuffs popped open. Both wrist cuffs swung open and fell away from her, disappearing as they dropped, leaving her wrists naked and free.
Unaware of what he was seeing, Tina graced him with a dazzling dimpled smile, wiped her tears and left.
Jason sat alone on the pavement dumbstruck. What is going on? Just yesterday I was one of the young punks I just told Tina to avoid. From the onset of puberty, his raging hormones had broken many hearts and been the cause of many tears. Now he had just made a woman cry in gratitude for his advice to avoid men like himself. None of it made any sense. Cradling his forehead in his hands, he groaned. Oh, my aching head.
He sat on those cold stairs for the longest time, staring at the stars and the sea. Captured in a moment of time outside his normal self, Jason felt a nameless longing well up inside of him. An ache for his life to mean something. A longing to answer the question ‘What is the point?’ with a life that mattered. A life that had a point. It all seemed quite impossible. Jason, you’re just not that type of person. No point hankering after what you can’t be. The problem with his pep talks was that he usually listened.
Not having the heart to go back inside, he stood up and tried to rub some life back into his numb bottom. After limping across to the bouncers and arranging with them to let his side-kick finish the session, Jason headed home.
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The deep gloom of twilight crept through the streets of Queenstown. Traffic Officer Gerard van Wyk left the Traffic Department. Hat in hand, he paused briefly on the steps to scratch his head and give a friendly salute to the security guard sitting just outside the foyer. Carefully repositioning the last tenacious few strands of hair to cover his shiny pate, he replaced his hat and headed toward the parking lot.
Straining to see his car, he let out a string of curses under his breath, and yelled back to the security guard, “Samson, the damn light’s blown again. Tell the blokes inside to replace it.” Not waiting for a response, he set out in search of his car. Nig
htfall came quickly in these parts, particularly in winter.
Officer van Wyk hated the dark. Not with a childish irrational fear, but with the practical dislike of one who tended to night-blindness. He inched his way forward, both arms thrust out in front of him like a sleepwalker. Gaining confidence, he picked up the pace. Then it happened – one foot connected with a paving block and he was thrown off balance. Reeling forward, his hands struck the ground, breaking his fall. Fresh expletives exploded from his mouth.
Righting himself, he brushed his palm across his paunch sending gravel and stones flying.
“Now now Gerry, no need for bad language,” a slick oily voice slid through his insides, churning his stomach.
“Who are you and what do you want?”
“Oh, Gerry! You’re breaking my heart. Please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me so soon—”
Recognition dawned, and his insides heaved. Fighting back the urge to vomit, he spun around to face the shadowy figure.
“Claude Rochester. What do you want?”
“Gerry-boy, you’re forgetting your manners, aren’t you? No ‘how are you?’ Tut-tut. Never mind. I can be as rude as you. I need some information.” He thrust a rumpled bit of paper into Gerard’s hand. “I need to know who the vehicle with this number plate belongs to, and where they live.”
Gerard took a deep breath, straightened up as tall as he could and made to give the paper back. “Look Claude. What you are suggesting is illegal. I could lose my job for doing it, and I’m not prepared to.”
Claude’s fist closed round his hand and the paper. Gerard felt his bones grind, and bit back a wince.
Claude’s voice sunk to a vicious whisper, “Oh, and you think you won’t lose your job if the ‘Power’s That Be’ find out about an incident involving some mysteriously missing weed, that happened, oh… six years ago?”
“I was desperate and stupid, and I’ve regretted it everyday since. I have a family now. Why are you doing this to me?”
“Gerry, I’ll be frank. You are a worm. You are so unimportant that if I stepped on you by accident I wouldn’t even notice. Lucky for you – you have one redeeming thing that keeps you alive. Access to what I need. Now stop whining or your family will pay. I’ll see to it.”
Gerard’s head sunk in defeat. Putting the paper in his pocket, he asked “How can I reach you with the information?”
“Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”
“Officer van Wyk, is everything okay?” Samson had returned from telling the blokes to fix the light.
Fighting the desire to scream, Gerard forced a calm reply, “No problem, Samson. I was just leaving.”
Claude gave a last disdainful snort; and with his eyes dripping hate, he turned and disappeared into the darkness.
Flexing his throbbing hand, Gerard swore. With a heavy heart, he found his car and dropped into the front seat. He sat there for a long while with his head in his hands, wondering if he would ever be free.
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“I’ll just leave you all to catch up.” The young nurse gave them a bright smile, and left the room gratefully. The awkwardness was so thick, it was difficult to breathe. Rebecca looked from one strange elderly face to the other, wondering if she had truly ever known them. Mom and Dad? These people looked old enough to be her grandparents. Not that she could remember having any of those either.
Gently taking her hand, Doreen spoke first, “How are you feeling love? You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
“My shoulder is the worst. The rest is bearable.” Rebecca desperately searched for something else to say. Inane chit-chat was simply impossible, and she burst out, “I’m so sorry, but I don’t know who you are. I don’t know how I got here. I can’t remember… anything.”
Doreen caught Pete’s eye across the hospital bed, and he shook his head ever so slightly. Turning to Rebecca, he spoke with tender compassion, “The doctor said you may suffer temporary amnesia from the accident. He also said that nothing was permanently damaged, and given time and rest you will be as good as new.”
“I can’t remember my name.” A single tear trailed down her check and dripped onto the stiff hospital sheet.
Pete reached up, and with infinite tenderness wiped away the dampness. “It’s okay love. Don’t worry about it tonight. Get some rest; we’ll be back in the morning. The doc said if your vitals remain stable through the night, we can take you home tomorrow.” Laying a warm hand on her forehead, he prayed simply “Lord Jesus would you give your daughter peace that will guard her heart and mind in You.”
She lay awake for a long time after they had left. Home. Peace. The words warmed her inside and settled into the very pit of her being. Breathing deeply, she snuggled deeper into her pillow, carefully avoiding pressure on her right shoulder. Drifting into that fuzzy state halfway between waking and sleeping, a strange thing occurred to her. Why didn’t they tell me my name? Puzzlement bubbled to the surface of her consciousness. Never once did they even call me by my name. Suspicion sprouted in her mind. A great weariness grew with it. Feeling so much older than her years, she closed her eyes with a whimper.
In her mind’s eye, Rebecca saw two paths. One was the path of suspicion; the other the path of peace. In that moment, she knew that she could choose, that she had to choose.
Desperate not to lose her newfound contentment, she whispered, “I choose peace.” Nothing visibly changed as the words left her mouth, but the suspicion inside her shriveled up and died. Feeling as if she’d won a huge battle, Rebecca drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.
Dusting flour over the dough, Rebecca set to work kneading. It was a mindless job, really. Her gaze drifted to endless hills and valleys that stretched beyond the farmhouse. It was beautiful, in a remote, uninhabited sort of way. Squinting her eyes slightly, she could just make out the road cresting the farthest hilltop. Butterflies tingled in her gut as she thought out loud, “One day I’ll be on that hilltop, looking back to bid this place farewell.” The restlessness inside her had grown lately.
A whisper of acrid smoke tickled her nostrils. “Oh no! Not again,” she ran to retrieve a batch of now-blackened scones. Quite beside herself, she stood in the middle of the huge kitchen, holding Rochester’s charcoaled teatime snack. A single tear rolled down her floury cheek.
“Rebecca, something’s bur—” Hazel’s warning stopped mid-sentence. “What is it with you lately?” Hazel’s kind brown face wrinkled in concern. “Never mind Beckie,” She took the offending scones and dumped them in the bin. “I’ll take care of the Baas’s tea. You finish up those tarts for dinner.” Gracing Hazel with a grateful smile, Rebecca returned to her dough.
Chapter 4 - Movements
Hazel’s chief responsibility was making sure that the extravagant farmhouse was spotless. Edward Rochester was a stern taskmaster, who expected everything to be just so. With Mrs. Rochester gone, Hazel practically ran the household.
Between the farm hands, Rochester’s two sons, and four Border Collies, her job was never done. Despite this never-ending battle, Hazel always found time for those in need of her special brand of comfort. She was a born Mother. She mothered everything and everyone, without prejudice – even Rochester himself to an extent. This produced a sour reaction from the old man, though Hazel believed that he secretly enjoyed being made a fuss of.
Hazel’s hands worked with the ease of familiarity, as she began trussing a chicken for roasting. Concern for Rebecca gnawed at her insides. Doubling up as cook and housekeeper added enormously to her workload. To make matters worse, Claude was being twice as painful as normal. Stomping around the house, demanding to be waited on hand and foot – Hazel was beginning to fray at the edges.
When her hands shifted to the spices and began opening tops and shaking, her mind drifted back in time. She vividly remembered the first day Rebecca had come to work on the farm. She’d arrived in the morning; 21, but looking not a day older than 18, and
her pale blue eyes had been bright with unshed tears of fear. Hazel had taken her under her wing and quickly became the mother the poor girl had never had.
“Hazel! Are you down here?”
The shout echoed through the kitchen, shattering her tender memories. Fear, anger and exhaustion boiled through her veins. Slamming the bottle of spice down, she yelled, “JA3! WHAT DO YOU WANT NOW?” Kenneth walked through the door, wide-eyed with shock.
“Oh, it’s you. I’m sorry Baas.” Embarrassment heated her ebony cheeks.
“Are you okay?” He sat himself on the opposite side of the huge oak table that formed the hub of the kitchen. With a concerned face he asked, “You’re worried about Rebecca, aren’t you?”
Hazel secured the chicken on a rotisserie, turned the dials for heat and time, wiped her hands and sat down opposite Kenneth. The old stool protested loudly –Hazel was not a small woman.
She sat unspeaking for a moment, sifting through thoughts and feelings. Then she looked at Kenneth, weighing him up, wondering if he would understand what she was about to say. “When I think about her, I worry. When I pray for her, my Jesus gives me peace. It’s like my heart knows that she is better off wherever she is now, but my head refuses to believe it.” Her nose wrinkled up and she shrugged.
Kenneth looked puzzled. “I don’t know this Jesus you talk about. With everything inside me, I hope you are right about him.” Swallowing hard, he continued, “I think I know why Rebecca is gone, and I think it’s got something to do with Claude.”
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Gerard had been deliberately slow with his paperwork all week, which forced him to stay late and catch up. The Traffic Department was deserted, except for Gerard and the computer in front of him.
Pulling the twisted bit of paper from his pocket, he fed the information into the system and waited. Thousands of microscopic components leapt to do his bidding, searching bravely through millions of records. The phone rang and without thinking twice, he answered it.
Shackles: The truth will set you free Page 3