by Janene Wood
There was one thing she could do, she realised, reaching into her bag for the small flask that was her boon companion these days. Not caring who might be watching, she took the depleted flask from her bag and swallowed the small quantity of vodka remaining. It wouldn’t do much to bolster her courage, but it was better than nothing. If God lived up to his side of their supposed bargain, she would have to stop doing this. She couldn't see Him condoning her daily tippling, not when she had promised herself to Him, body and soul.
It amazed Kate how quickly a person's entire life could change. How one seemingly insignificant decision – to talk to a guy in a bar, for instance – could bring one’s whole world crashing down. It wasn't as simple as that of course; a whole series of choices had led to Larissa being abducted by Boyd. But didn't that just prove how random life was? Any number of outcomes could have resulted from the choices she made today, it just so happened those decisions led to this. This nightmare.
A sudden gust of cold wind ruffled Kate's hair and clothes and a moment later was gone. She looked around to see where it had come from but there was no obvious source, although she was disconcerted to find she was no longer alone. A grey-haired man and a much younger woman stood just a few yards away, close enough for her to hear everything they said. She could have sworn they hadn't been there a minute ago.
“I know you were on your way home to your kids, Lizzy,” said the man, “but this just came up. It’s important.”
“Far be it for me to ignore the call of duty,” replied the woman acerbically. She was in her late twenties, tall and slim, with strawberry-blond hair pulled back in a neat ponytail.
Kate didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but this was too convenient a distraction to waste. She angled her body for a better view.
“Where are we, anyway?” enquired the woman, taking a long look up and down the street. “It's hot,” she complained, undoing the buttons of her unseasonal overcoat and slipping her arms out of the sleeves. Beneath it she wore tight black jeans, low-heeled boots and a black polo-neck sweater. The old man followed her example, taking off his own coat. Beneath it, he wore combat boots, khaki cargo pants and an untucked floral-print shirt.
Pretty hip for an old guy, mused Kate, trying not to appear too interested.
“Cairns,” he replied in answer to the woman's question. “North Queensland. Australia.”
“Oh, really? I’ve never been to Australia before.”
How could she not know where she was? Or be surprised to learn she was in Australia?
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” said the old man, lowering his voice so Kate had to strain to hear him. “She's important, Lizzy. She has an important task ahead of her, and she’ll need your help to do it.”
“What sort of task?” asked Lizzy.
“Nothing you can’t handle, but it will take all your strength and you’ll need trust each other implicitly. You’ll be pushed to the limit of your endurance, I'm afraid, but if you keep your goal in sight and don't give up hope, there will be a happy ending for everyone, I promise.”
The woman snorted softly. “It sounds like we're in for a real hoot of a time,” she said glibly. Seeing his fleeting look of disapproval, she added, “Look, John, it's not that I don't believe you, but I could do with less melodrama and more detail. What am I supposed to do with that?”
“I'm just asking you to remember what I told you when the time comes. I know you prefer to work alone since David died, but–”
“Don’t go there, John,” warned the woman.
“All I'm asking is for you to suck up your feelings and work with me here.”
The woman glared at her companion, but after a moment she capitulated and said, “It would be helpful if you could tell me when or where or what.”
“That would be breaking the rules,” said the old man cryptically. “Besides, I don’t know all the details.”
“So here we are, having a pointless conversation about nothing,” said the woman wearily.
“Not pointless, Lizzy. Not if you remember.”
Something in his voice made Lizzy frown. “It’s really serious then?”
“Isn't that what I’ve been telling you?” he said sardonically.
The woman had no answer to that and thoughtfully followed him as he strolled around to the front of the bench where Kate was seated, utterly engaged by their cryptic conversation. Though obviously old, the man moved with a confident gait, his lack of frailty belying his age.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked Kate politely.
“Um, no,” Kate managed to mumble, sliding across to one end of the bench.
The man sat down at the other end, leaving a space in the middle for the woman. Once they were both seated, he leaned forward and held his hand out to Kate. “Kate, my name's John and this is my friend, Elizabeth.”
Kate accepted his hand automatically, too preoccupied trying to figure out how he knew her name to wonder at the wisdom of talking to strangers, despite the situation with Larissa.
“Call me Lizzy,” smiled the woman kindly. Kate liked her immediately; she had a forthright manner that reminded Kate of her mother.
“We're here to help you, Kate, in any way we can,” said John cryptically.
“I'm what's known in certain circles as a Seeker,” explained Lizzy. “I have a talent for finding things...usually things people don't want found. Although...” she grinned playfully, trying to put Kate at ease, “it also comes in handy when I lose my car keys.”
Kate looked from Lizzy to John and back again. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
“What is it you need help finding, Kate?” prompted Lizzy gently.
The question brought Kate back to the terrible reality of her situation. “Not a what,” she said, swallowing. “A who. My friend Larissa. We think she was abducted by this creep she met at the pub.”
“The pub?” Blinking in consternation, Lizzy looked at Kate more closely. “Exactly how old are you, Kate?” She shook her head, taking back the question. “Never mind; tell me about your friend.”
“Her name is Larissa French and she's sixteen. She's about 5'6”, with long, auburn hair and she's wearing a short black skirt, green top and brown sandals. The creep said his name was Boyd, but that might have been a lie. We think he slipped something into her drink and then forced her to go with him to his car. I almost caught up to them, but they had too much of a head start.”
Kate was surprisingly dry-eyed as she recounted the events leading up to the present moment. Numbness had replaced the terrible anger that prompted her desperate prayer in the bathroom – not that she regretted making it. And of course, the ever-present finger of guilt continued to point at her, for not looking out for her friend.
“None of this is your fault, Kate,” said the woman, reading her disconsolate expression. “We're going to find them and make sure Larissa is safe. Do you know what sort of car Boyd was driving?”
“It was a Holden, I think...a white Holden.”
“That's good,” said Lizzy. “What would be even better is if you have something on you that belongs to Larissa...or if not, something she handled recently, in the last few hours.”
Kate thought immediately of the empty flask in her handbag, but was reluctant to bring it out. She could tell Lizzy already thought less of her for being out so late, at a pub, without adult supervision. If she knew what she was really like, perhaps she would think twice about helping her. “Here,” she said, pulling a lipstick from her jeans pocket. “I borrowed this from Larissa before we went out tonight.”
“This will do perfectly,” said Lizzy, standing abruptly. She held out a hand and helped Kate to her feet. “Listen to me, Kate; I'm very good at what I do. My best advice to you is to go home and get some sleep. Tell Larissa's family not to worry. We’ll find her and keep her safe.”
Handing her coat wordlessly to John, Lizzy paused for a moment to scan the row of parked cars lining the kerb. Selecting the vehicle
four spaces away from where Kate was still standing, she headed unerringly toward it, calling over her shoulder to John, “Come on, old man! We don't have all night!”
John hurried after her but halfway there, reversed direction and returned to the forlorn figure standing at the bus stop. “Have faith, Kate,” he said, squeezing her hand. “It’s what sets us apart from those condemned to eternal darkness. And remember, your Father loves you. Always.”
He gave her one last smile of encouragement before hurrying to catch up with Lizzy. Neither John nor Lizzy seemed surprised to find the car unlocked and the key in the ignition. The engine turned over on the first attempt and for the first time since Larissa vanished, Kate felt her heart quicken with the first faint fluttering of hope.
Part 4 – London
Awakening
Tuesday, 27 November 1979
A soft stream of sunlight snaked through the narrow gap in the drawn damask curtains, flooding Kate’s peaceful countenance with warmth. The colour had returned to her cheeks with the dawn but still she slept on, her eyelids twitching restlessly under the spell of her latest dream. It was an old dream, but one that haunted her periodically, despite her best efforts to banish the memory of that day forever.
It was hot. Oh, so hot. And humid. The air was heavy and moist like a sponge. Even the effort of breathing brought sweat to her brow. Every so often it would trickle down the side of her face, drip onto the wide, flat rock upon which she lay, and then evaporate into the steamy air. Not a breath of breeze disturbed the trees overhead, although at this time of year it was only a temporary lull. Thunderheads were building on the horizon and by late afternoon the rain would come bucketing down. During the wet season, it could be predicted almost to the minute.
Lounging with a favourite book beneath the canopy of the giant Tulip tree, the long branches of which stretched out over the waterhole, Kate’s fair skin had tanned to a golden brown. Glowing with good health, she was a far cry from the pasty-faced, hollow-eyed specimen she had been upon her arrival ten months ago.
The only sound to mar the utter stillness of the afternoon was the distant caw of a faraway crow – until the sound of a splash six feet below reached Kate’s ear, giving her a split-second to prepare herself for the shock of icy water thrown up from out of the waterhole.
Marc was bored and wanted to play.
Smiling, Kate closed her book and pondered her response. Should she dive right in or make him come to her? Either way, the result would be the same. It always ended the same electrifying way when they were alone together. How could such a powerful attraction be contained within two such frail human bodies? It defied the laws of physics.
Kate stood on the rock overlooking the waterhole and watched as Marc’s eyes devoured her. Out here in the wilderness, where time stood still and the outside world simply didn't exist, it was what she lived for. Her pulse raced in sweet anticipation, and she dived down into the cool, clear depths...then they were touching, locked together...their hands exploring, caressing, their lips joined...
Later, they lay together on a rocky outcrop they had long since discovered was just wide enough for the two of them. Kate basked in the nearness of him and the certainty of their intertwined fates. She had known Marc for only ten short months, but knew that no amount of time would change the way she felt about him. They were two halves of one whole and she knew that life without him would be a pale replica of what it was meant to be.
Cool, clear water lapped gently at Kate's side. Smiling slyly, she reached out one hand to scoop up a palmful of water. Giggling like a schoolgirl, she let it fly through the air, then rolled off the ledge before Marc had a chance to react. But before she had swum more than a few body lengths, he had dived in and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her below the surface and pressing his body and lips hard against hers. The familiar urgent desire rose up from deep inside and she moaned involuntarily. Wrapping her legs around him, they drifted upward, one body and one heart, joined for all eternity.
It was late afternoon by the time they were dressed and on their way back to the village. The air was cooler now and a full moon had risen in the east. Dark clouds blanketed the sun, gathering ever closer, but they hoped to make it back before the rain set in. There was to be a feast tonight to mark the end of Ramadan. An veritable herd of livestock had been slow-roasting upon a bed of hot coals deep beneath the ground since dawn, and they wanted to be there when the pit was breached. They were leaving in two weeks; this would be one more precious memory to take with them on their lifelong journey together.
Hand in hand, they retraced their steps to the Tigrinya village of Adi Sehul. The return trek was more arduous than the outward journey as it was mostly uphill and they were weary from sun, swimming and sex. They passed the time telling jokes, although Kate could only remember one for every three of his. She laughed aloud at his best one yet, and he stopped suddenly in the middle of the track, a curious look on his face.
Tilting her head, she frowned at him. “What?”
His reply never came. Out of nowhere, a sound, like the crack of a whip, reverberated in the still African afternoon. A flurry of birds flew out of the nearby trees, screeching and flapping riotously. Kate looked up and around but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, not dreaming that her life had already splintered into a million tiny shards.
Turning back to Marc with a puzzled expression, she was shocked to see him lying on the ground with a red stain on his chest. Eyes wide in horror, she screamed his name and dropped to her knees. Already his face was as pale as the chalky dust beneath her feet, but his deep-set brown eyes were wide open and fixated on her in silent pleading. He tried to speak, but the only sound that emerged was the terrible gurgle of lungs rapidly filling with liquid. A trickle of blood slid from the corner of his lips and his eyelids slowly drooped shut.
“No!” she screamed. “Open your eyes! Marc, look at me!” There was no response and Kate felt suddenly, acutely alone. She patted his cheek in an effort to rouse him, and when it had no effect, shook him bodily. He remained unconscious.
Useless, inane questions filled her head: How could this have happened? Who would do such a stupid, senseless thing – and why? What on earth am I going to do if he dies? But even as she asked the questions, she knew the answers weren't going to help Marc. She choked back a sob of hopelessness. “Pull yourself together!” she scolded aloud, surprising herself with her vehemence. “Marc would never give up on you so easily.”
With an Herculean effort Kate fended off the mind-numbing despair that threatened to overwhelm her and turned her attention to the wound. There was so much blood! With trembling fingers, she lifted Marc’s shirt out of the way and placed her hands over the hole in his chest in an effort to stem the flow of blood. It just oozed through her fingers.
The bleeding had to be stopped or Marc would die; those were the facts. She had to save him, and in so doing, save herself. It's up to you, she told herself firmly, there's no one else. Closing her eyes, she tried to centre herself and find an oasis of calm inside her tumultuous mind, but fingers of panic kept clawing maniacally at her concentration. Although she had used her gift many times since failing to save Sam, in none of those instances had she had such a personal stake in the outcome. She wasn’t at all sure she was up to it. What if she failed? Failure would be the final straw. Losing Marc would break her.
In this state of mind, it would be easier to cross the ocean in a leaky bathtub than to reach the source of her gift. In frustration and desperation, she screamed aloud for help, but knew as she did so that it was a waste of valuable energy. The village was still more than a mile away, and unless someone had heard the rifle shot and came to investigate, it was unlikely help would arrive in time.
She had to stop messing around and do something! Swiftly, she peeled off her t-shirt, leaving her clad only in her bikini top. Those few blissful hours at the waterhole seemed so long ago now, almost as if she had dreamed them. Bunching her s
hirt into a thick wad, she held it against the wound and applied pressure. It stemmed the flow of blood but he had already lost so much! She felt desperately for the pulse in his neck but was shaking too hard to find it. Damn it! The panic she had so far managed to keep at bay was becoming more insistent.
In an attempt to calm herself, she took a series of deep, slow breaths. She didn’t bother praying; that was a waste of time. Gradually, a stillness enveloped her. Her panic receded and a certainty of purpose guided her hands and thoughts. She would have to work fast, but deep in her bones she knew she could do it. It was in her DNA.
Tossing her shirt aside, she placed her hands directly over the wound. Concentrating fiercely, she drew energy from throughout her body and focused it, pushing it into him like liquid through a syringe. Her awareness flowed into him too, showing her just how close he was to death. If she had waited a minute longer, it would have been too late.
It was a frustratingly slow process, but the traumatised flesh gradually responded, pulling together and repairing the ragged path of the bullet. It was the sweetest moment of her life when she felt Marc’s heart fill with blood and start beating again. Still, she continued to infuse him with everything she had, until she barely had enough strength to sustain her own bodily functions. She was almost spent and only moments away from collapsing.
Finally, she withdrew, weak as a baby, and so, so tired…
Tears trickled slowly down Kate’s cheeks as she gradually wakened. The memory of their last day together was deeply distressing, even now, more than four years after the event. It was the cruelest of practical jokes for fate to bring them together, only to tear them apart so heartlessly. Until that terrible afternoon, when she turned and found Marc lying on the ground, with his life literally seeping out of him, she had been happier and more hopeful than since before her mother’s death. The certainty she felt, that she had found the one person on earth whom she could love and trust enough to spend the rest of her life with had effectively nullified the pain of the past – or so it had seemed for the few months they were together. The crack of the rifle shot had been like a starter’s gun in reverse, signaling the end of the life she had clawed back from despair, not once but twice.