by Russell Judd
My mind torments my body. The address 10 Beveridge Place grips onto my thoughts choking my mind and not allowing my body to find peace for the night. I start to picture what the address may look like; how exposed it is. Is it one or two storeys? Is he as paranoid as his other piece of shit brethren? Will there be cameras and dogs? Unless I satisfy my curiosity I know I’m not going to get any sleep. I grab my tablet and bring it to life. The harsh white glow of the screen stings my eyes, as I wait for google maps to load up. When it does I gently tap in his address, the page slowly loads. The little red bubble hovers above the address, it’s at the end of a cul-de-sac. It’s a single storey east facing house, built in the 1950’s or 1960’s, weather board exterior, a garage at the back and fully fenced. Conveniently to the left of the property is a park scattered with shrubs and trees perfect for concealment in low light. It also provides access to the adjacent street, and this could be useful. The area is mainly occupied by middle income New Zealanders. The aerial view shows the section to be approximately 600 square meters and the house looks to be about four bedrooms. The pictures also look a bit outdated, so it may pay to get a closer look. I put the tablet down as my curiosity has been quenched for now. I shut my eyes and drift off to sleep.
A dull thud launches my mind into reality. This alien noise is followed almost instantly by an even louder thud. My heart begins to quicken almost as if it is trying make its escape through my throat. I can feel the moisture building on my forehead. I try and move my arm to wipe the beads of sweat but a familiar voice silences my effort, “I told you I’m going to fucken get you. I told you I know all about you”. The voice gets closer. Sensing the impending panic, I tense every muscle in my body, my fists clench followed by my biceps. My body explodes forward as my lungs scream out for fresh air. I feel the beads of sweat propelled forward as the invisible weight on my chest vanishes. I frantically search the room, again the room is empty. Why am I letting this happen to me? I wonder. I get out of bed and go straight into the shower. The cool water washes away my vulnerability. It’s time to end this! He’s not getting away with this, I’m not letting myself become a victim.
I slide on my running shoes and tighten the laces. My voice of reason asks me what I’m doing. Are you really going through with this? I answer my thoughts with the last knot of my shoe and anger consumes my body again.
I slip out of the house and let the darkness engulf my being.
The cool air stings my lungs as I jog down the street. It takes me about ten minutes to make my way into the park next to Stabbys.
I position myself against one of the fences and pretend to stretch out my leg so I have a good view of the house. The lights in the front room are on and I can see movement inside.
A few more minutes pass and daylight begins to chase the night away. I suppose I don’t want to linger too long in the park stretching. Suddenly the front door flies open and the sound of the door hitting the frame echoes across the park. Stabby struts down the steps and walks towards the car parked in the driveway. His car is a Subaru legacy which doesn’t surprise me. As it’s usually the car of choice for his pedigree and the sole reason id never buy one.
He jumps in the driver’s seat and reverses down the driveway. He then floors it down the street, purposely bringing the car into boost guarantying he wakes every one up in the neighbourhood with his immature blow off valve.
That wasn’t exactly eventful. I finish up with my stretches and carry on jogging through the park. I’m definitely going to have to do this every morning until I figure out his routine. As I think to myself while jogging away the same Subaru comes hurtling towards me. My heart stops for a moment. Shit, is he going to recognise me? I don’t make any eye contact or show any signs that I’m interested in his pre-pubescent display of douche bag-ness. I just keep looking forward and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. The sound of that boxer engine winding up as he screams pass me confirms that I haven’t been recognised. My heart starts to beat again and repositions itself securely in my chest. I continue on into the distance and wonder, thinking to myself, what’s my next move?
I get to work later that morning and I am greeted by the usual mundane boredoms that court section entails. Knowing that I won’t have any emails of interest, I still aimlessly log on and check them. As usual there is nothing of importance so I decide to have a flick through the pages of stuff.co.nz. The guys are bringing in the monkeys from prison so I’ve got a bit of time to sit back and relax before they start their de-evolution into demanding little five year olds.
One of the main head line on Stuff catches my attention.
“Flesh burning plant strikes”
A Christchurch man hopes his close encounter with a giant ‘‘flesh burning’’ plant will serve as fair warning to other unsuspecting home gardeners clearing their grounds. His skin reaction, phyto-photodermatitis, was caused by a brush with the giant hogweed. It can grow up to five metres high and is listed on Biosecurity New Zealand’s unwanted organisms list – making it illegal to sell, grow or distribute. It is also listed by Landcare Research as poisonous to children. Furocoumarins in the sap leave the skin highly sensitive to ultraviolet light, triggering swelling and severe blistering that may lead to permanent scarring. Contact with the eyes can cause temporary and sometimes permanent blindness.
The grey matter starts to tick over. The picture of the plant looks very familiar, I know I’ve seen this plant around, I just can’t remember where.
Suddenly my thoughts are interrupted by a cell phone vibrating on the desk. Terry looks at it, “This yours Nate?” Holding the phone in the air. “Yep looks like it, who’s it from?”
“Ahh Maree” Terry replies.
I don’t get a lot of text messages so I didn’t really think twice about asking that and having them look at it. Suddenly the school yard onslaught begins, “ohhh who’s Maree?” Terry teases. “Dave’s girlfriend” I reply trying to brush it off. We’ve known each other for years. Terry hands me my phone and looks at me a little strangely.
Chapter Seventeen