Every time I go to a petrol station I experience the same emotion, it seems like a waste of time, and this petrol station stop is taking painfully long. It’s even difficult for me to watch Chantel waiting in the queue. Checked shirt man is walking back to his car; the lone car that’s parked next to us. He looks in my direction as he walks and gives me a murky smile and a wink. I look down into my lap and don’t lift my head back up until I hear him driving away. At the same time I see Chantel walking back. Opening the car door, she laughs, “Good, you haven’t escaped.”
“I bought us egg sandwiches for lunch, isn’t that eggcellent?” she says throwing the plastic boxes onto my lap.
“Don’t talk to me the rest of the way, okay?” I say.
Chantel closes the door and presses the lock button on the dashboard. She puts her phone in a holder attached to her windshield and checks her reflection in the mirror.
“I’m not going to jump out of a moving car, Chantel, you don’t need to lock the door. Also, I don’t think anyone cares what you look like here in the mountains so if you have finished admiring yourself, can we drive now?” I say.
She doesn’t reply. She drives to the exit of the service station and turns left.
“This isn’t the direction to drive back to Sydney,” I say looking out of my window at the traffic going in the opposite direction, the way we are supposed to be driving. Why are we driving left? I hear my voice screaming in my head, but the words haven’t yet formed the sound to leave my mouth. Is this why she locked the doors?
“You’re not going to like this, Zody, you’re truly not going to like this, but I have to go back to the house. One of the students, Mary, is not able to find a way home, and she called me to come and pick her up.” She glances in my direction nervously. “Don’t worry, Helena’s not at the house anymore,” she adds.
“You have to go to be fuckin kidding me!” I scream, finally finding my words. I pull the door handle repeatedly, but the door doesn’t open, maybe I would jump out of a moving car after all.
“Not everything is always about you, Zody,” Chantel says sounding like I am a party pooper. Yes, I like to disturb kidnapping circuits, sorry.
“It’s good to help people out. You saw how isolated that house is. Mary couldn’t leave because she doesn’t have a car. Apparently Kim was supposed to take her home, but she must have forgotten and just left without her,” Chantel explains.
“I don’t care how student Mary gets out of that hell hole. And why are you calling her a student anyway? Whatever, I just want you to take me home,” I hiss. I consider grabbing her steering wheel, but I picture the result would be a sad ending for the both of us.
Then, I don’t have to grab the steering wheel or call the police; red and blue sirens flash behind us. Chantel was driving too fast. I cannot believe my luck. Chantel is a good girl; she pulls the car over to the side of the road instantly. I look over my shoulder as the police officer steps out of his vehicle and walks towards our car. I’m about to be rescued.
“Good morning, ladies,” the police officer says inserting his head into the car. He has a slim face, clear blue eyes and a splatter of freckles over his nose, what police officer has a splatter of freckles? This is going to be difficult.
“Good morning, Officer,” Chantel replies sounding like an obliging school girl.
“Can I please see your license and are you aware that you are driving over the speed limit today?” he asks.
“I’m so sorry, Officer; we are just in a rush to pick up our friend,” Chantel replies apologetically, as she digs through her bag trying to find her license amongst her lollypop and the spiral notebook. The officer looks over at me and gives a small smile. Here is my moment, but how do I do this? Should I scream; I feel the words come out of my throat, but it emerges as a small sound ‘ex’.
“Okay, here is my license, Officer,” Chantel says, happily drowning out my feeble sound.
“Thank you, Chantel,” the officer says, looking at the license then at Chantel, he keeps his eyes on her, but I don’t think it is because he’s comparing her face to the face on her license.
“Look, I’m going to let you go today, without a fine, Chantel,” he says. Shit, he’s about to leave. I’m going to get out of the car and run; I can feel my body rearranging itself involuntarily in my seat – a combination of my uncomfortably full bladder and being on the cusp of rescue but feeling like I’m behind a glass wall and no one can hear me scream. I hold my breath, cross my legs tightly and grab the door handle.
“Are you okay there, miss?” the officer asks, looking in my direction. I loosen my grip on the handle and pretend I’m rubbing my palm on it.
“Zody’s fine; she has anxiety attacks, she will calm down in a moment,” Chantel replies and places her hand on my knee giving it a little squeeze. I follow the officer’s eyes to Chantel’s hand on my knee. His eyes linger there.
“Well, you ladies, you enjoy the rest of your drive to pick up your friend, I don’t want to have to stop you again,” he says, but I know he’s not honest.
The officer hands Chantel her license, stands up straight, and adjusts his belt. Chantel and I both watch.
I hear the officer’s boots crunch on the gravel as he makes his way back to his car.
“Well, he was nice,” Chantel states matter of factly as she starts the car.
Resigned to the fact that I have become trapped in a world of absurdity, I run my finger over the edge of the plastic box that holds the egg sandwich inside. I contemplate opening the box. Chantel begins to talk, and that annoys me because I told her not to speak to me. I look at her, but she isn’t talking to me, she is looking ahead and speaking. Yes, this girl has lost her mind. Then I notice she is talking to her phone, adjusting it momentarily so the audience she is speaking to can see her face better.
“Happy Saturday, everyone!” she exclaims cheerfully.
“I am driving back home from the Blue Mountains today from a little getaway I went on with friends this weekend. I’m wearing a blue floral blouse, and I have left my hair untied today,” Chantel says, not keeping her eyes on the road.
I stare at her, not quite believing what I am witnessing even though I often speak to my audience. I have a rule of never doing live feeds while I am driving, but maybe this is my chance to send an SOS, well… second chance; this time there’s no chance of being swayed by a splatter of freckles. I should turn the phone in my direction and scream that I have been kidnapped. I push that idea aside because Chantel’s followers are probably as daft as she is.
I stare out the window as Chantel wraps up her conversation, she turns on her indicator, and we drive left off the highway. I need to concentrate now. When we were driving to the house yesterday, I was in higher spirits, I felt in control, and it wasn’t important for me to know where we were driving. Now I soak up the surroundings. We drive along a narrow road, and I hope Chantel doesn’t decide to have another vanity conversation because we wouldn’t survive it. On either side of this road we are driving along there is a mix of small trees, some with twisted black trunks that were unlucky to not escape a bush fire. They stand next to trees with white trunks, maybe the white trees didn’t survive the fire either, and they have just healed faster.
“You aren’t her first obsession,” Chantel says.
I look at her to make sure she is speaking to me.
“Before you, there was a blogger, Sammy, a muscular blogger of health and fitness. She wrote a book and Helena went to all her book talks.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
“I think that Helena may have got close to doing to her what she did to you, she never achieved it though, and maybe Helena came across you before she executed her plan. She began to talk to me about what she planned to do to her and then I didn’t hear her name anymore, but your name started popping up. You were much more interesting to her; she’s more invested in photography than health and fitness, she doesn’t actually exercise.”
“Why do you even still talk to her, with everything you know?” I ask.
“Don’t tell anyone but she pays me to help her, how do you think anyone can survive on a sales assistant salary, not everyone can be a successful photographer like you are. And I wasn’t lying to you when I told you I had an interest in photography, so maybe I was slightly jealous of you as well.”
I don’t answer her; she doesn’t deserve a reply.
“I’ve told you too much,” Chantel says as if I’m asking for more juicy details.
We drive past a tall barbed wire fence; beyond it is a manicured lawn that leads to a decrepit house surrounded by a large veranda.
“Where did the two of you meet?” I ask as the view of the house rolls past.
“In a hospital, many years ago,” she says.
Chantel turns left onto an even narrower road, and soon we are driving on the potholed way that I thought I had felt and seen the last of this morning.
“Are you going to stay in the car, or are you going to come with me to get Mary?” Chantel asks.
“Why isn’t she waiting for you in front of the house?”
“Geez, Zody, just tell me, are you coming into the house with me? Or are you staying in the car?” She’s annoyed at me.
I look up at the two-storey house as Chantel parks the car right in front of the steps.
“I’m staying in the car,” I say pressing my legs together, yes I can hold off going to the toilet a little longer, or maybe I can go outside the house. There’s a hedge to the side of the house I could wee next too. There isn’t anyone here, no one would see me.
“Okay wait, I’m coming with you, you do not leave me for a second though, this house scares the shit out of me, I’m sure you understand.” Okay I’m telling my capturer how I feel, I think there’s a name for when that happens.
Before I put a foot onto the first of the four steps that lead up to the porch of the house, I deliberate on how I came to be in this position. I have returned, bursting to go to the toilet, to the house that I was bound in. I would happily go back to a few days ago counting minutes I have wasted on unproductive tasks.
“Zody, hurry up!” Chantel calls, already at the front door.
Helena
“The bride has asked if I could stay back for a few more hours to photograph her wedding reception,” I say.
I hear Archer moan on the other end of the phone.
“Come on, Archer, it’s Saturday, and you can look after Marla, take her to play in the sand pit at the park.”
“Yes today is Saturday and tomorrow is Sunday and the next day is Monday, and I have work to do as well.” I listen to him complaining.
“Stop your whining, Archer, I’ve been supporting you for years, and now it’s my turn, I will only be a few hours longer,” I say and hang up when he doesn’t reply. I put my phone in my pocket next to hers and turn to sit down next to John on the sofa.
“Did you check the furniture for spiders before you sat down?” I ask.
“No.”
“Well, get up then unless you want to get bitten on the arse, you don’t sit on a sofa without checking it for funnel-webs first.” I lift up the brown cushions and replace them once I am satisfied there aren’t any spiders hiding there.
“Mind if I smoke?” John asks sitting down next to me.
“Yes, I do,” I reply, shuffling so that we don’t touch arms. “I used to live in this house when I was a small girl; it’s my house.”
“Okay, I said I wouldn’t smoke, I’m following your house rules,” he says.
“I’m just saying that I grew up here and I know this area of the bush very well, listen to me, John, this might be useful information for this assignment. You can even take your camera when you go into the bush as long as it doesn’t slow you down. Although I’m not sure how you will survive out there if you don’t check where you sit for spiders. Be aware if you do happen to get bitten, you will not be able to call anyone for help; there’s no phone reception.”
He shrugs.
I take out Zody’s phone and reread the message she had received earlier that changed this game for all of us.
Hi Zody,
What’s up girl?! You photographed my wedding in Bali last June. To cut to the chase, I now work in the Paizale Art Gallery in Sydney. I just saw the wedding photos you posted online and want to feature them in an exhibition. They look so raw and edgy, were they taken with your phone? What a concept! Get back to me by tomorrow afternoon; I want to get the exhibition started ASAP, a lot of well known local buyers will be interested in attending your show.
Call me,
Candice
I close the message and put the phone away in disgust. I can’t believe that this is the result of my plan. I take the amazing rare photographs and Zody takes the credit!
“Is that a door I can hear closing?” John asks.
“Yes, they must be here.” We move to the other end of the porch where we can’t be overheard. “Now, remember, when Zody runs you will follow her down that track but first we will give her some time to get away, we don’t want to catch her straight away, let’s scare her a little. You will enjoy the assignment more if you chase but don’t catch her, take a photo of her running if you want, but don’t show anyone afterwards,” I instruct.
He nods.
My hands have begun to shake, I can’t imagine why. I have already captured this extinct photographer twice and now she’s coming back again! She might be a good business woman and a so-so photographer, but she’s not very smart.
The back door slides open.
“Where is the person you’re supposed to be picking up?” Zody asks. Her voice sounds broken.
“I don’t know; she was supposed to be waiting for me here at the back of the house,” Chantel says.
“This is ridiculous, I’m going back to the car, I don’t know why I listened to you,” Zody says.
“Looking for someone?” I ask as I step out from behind the wall.
Zody takes a step toward the sliding door.
“Don’t go back in the house; I will have to tie you up again if you do,” I threaten.
Zody looks at Chantel. “Did you know?” she asks.
Chantel says nothing.
“Zody, you need to calm down, we need to talk,” I say.
At that moment John appears from around the corner of the porch.
I see the fear in her eyes like never before. “Zody, you know I never wanted to hurt you before, this time is the same. As you know, I have your phone.” I let her glimpse the phone before pushing it back into my pocket.
“It seems that what I had hoped to achieve through this elaborate set-up hasn’t gone according to plan.” I perform a sweeping motion with my hand to demonstrate how big my plan was.
“It seems a past client of yours by the name of Candice works in an art gallery and has sent us a text. She has seen the photos I took at the wedding today. She wants to exhibit them in the gallery ASAP. Apparently, there will be many high-profile buyers coming to the exhibition. I want you to write and tell Candice the truth – that the photos were taken by me. Naturally, you will exclude the part where you were tied up,” I explain.
“So what’s it going to be?” I demand when Zody doesn’t reply. She stands still and looks at me, digesting what I am saying. Then finally she shakes her head.
“I’m leaving, I’m not scared of you, Helena, I am not one of your goons. What you are is beyond fucked up. Chantel, please let’s go to the car.” Her voice is bordering on begging.
John touches Chantel’s arm.
“Or give me your phone!” Zody demands.
“Sorry, Zody… again,” Chantel says.
Zody takes a step forward; she looks at me like she knows I will stop her. I move out of the way so that she can pass. She heads down the sandstone steps onto the paved path. She looks left then right. Whatever choice she makes will be wrong, it’s all wild bush for miles, with tracks that look like they le
ad somewhere but don’t.
She decides to make a right turn onto the track. I look over at John and mouth ‘not yet’. He lets go of Chantel’s arm.
“Why are you still doing this?” Chantel asks.
“I’m doing another assignment,” John explains.
“It’s not an assignment,” Chantel whispers.
John looks at me as if asking for permission to begin the game.
“Okay… go,” I say, imitating the movement of a racing flag with my hand.
“What if she gets lost?” Chantel asks.
“What better plan is there than her getting lost in the bush? Although she won’t be alone long out there, either John will catch her or I might join her for the bush walk soon.
Zody
I turn right because if I walk along this path, I know there will be an exit, a passage that leads to the car park at the front of the house.
I keep staring straight ahead, and I don’t look back at the freak parade standing on the porch. I am surprised that my arm wasn’t grabbed and pulled back as I passed Helena, but as I walk, I feel an uneasy sense that a rough hand is about to grip my shoulder and I will be dragged back kicking and screaming to the house.
I am increasing my pace and think I should go faster, but I do not run; if I run it will enrage my predator, and she’ll give chase. I don’t have my phone, I shouldn’t walk too far; the thought of becoming lost almost makes me turn back to the house. I weigh up my options, the message Helena showed me from Candice, such an excellent opportunity, selling artwork in a renowned gallery like the Paizale would give me a hefty advance towards my future security, sufficient enough to pack up and move overseas for a year at least and get away from this fucked up lunatic. I have enough international work to support me for some time. Well… I did. But if I pretend Helena’s photos (which probably do not measure up to the quality of my own) are mine, I won’t be able to go to the police. The police will investigate what went down at this house; they will interview all the witnesses and the fact that Helena took the photos will be revealed, and the gallery show will not go ahead for me. Yes, the right thing to do would be to march straight back to Helena and tell her she can take credit for the photos, get my phone back, and call the police immediately. But that isn’t likely to happen; I picture her messaging Candice at the gallery and telling her they are not my photos. If she is believed, my reputation would be ruined, and I would never have the opportunity to present in any gallery ever.
No Reception Page 10