by Belle Brooks
I swallow hard as I quickly spy the clock hung on the kitchen wall. 4:50 a.m. I know I’m not thinking clearly, but this is what my instinct is screaming for me to do. I need to run. Run until I find Morgan. She needs me. She’s not dead. Shirley mustn’t have heard John right.
“Give me the knife,” I whisper the moment I gently close the front door to the house. “Get into the car. I’ve got this.”
I stop. I take a deep breath, then draw my hand back with the knife held tightly in my grip. “I’m sorry, Max,” I say as I plunge the blade into the back tyre of his police car.
Hissssssss, hisssssss.
I slash all four tyres in minutes. I run towards the open driver’s door of Ronald’s car. There’s no turning back now.
I need to know if Morgan is alive, and this is the only way. Now I just have to hope the screeching tyres, and the long blow of the horn, are enough to have Max jumping out of the lounge, or even the complete neighbourhood rising. I need someone to see that note—to safeguard my children.
Morgan
My eyelids flutter open before they close again. I’m drifting in and out of consciousness. I can no longer feel the rain. Has it stopped or am I just numb to the sensation? I can’t decide so I force my eyes to open before turning them left, then right. I can hear every shallow breath I take, but not the rain.
I made it through the storm. Now I just need to get up.
Get up, Morgan. Get up, my mind screams.
I moan. But I can’t manage to move.
“Help.” There’s no sound.
Get up, Morgan.
I can’t.
My eyelids flutter and then, as they close, I moan once more.
“Mummy, mummy, where are you?” Aleeha’s sweet voice calls me, and as a ray of light fills the staircase, the staircase inside my dream house, I smile. I’m home. I won. I found my way back to my family.
“I’m coming, baby.” It’s my voice. It’s intense, but relaxed.
Each step I climb has my heart galloping with excitement. I’ve missed my daughter. I’ve missed her so much.
My hand is on Aleeha’s bedroom door handle. I can feel a pulse in my fingertips as I push the door open.
Aleeha sits on the ground. Her blue eyes shoot to mine as she gifts me the same smile she does first thing every morning. “Mummy,” she screeches, leaping from the carpet beneath her. “You’re home. Brax, Brax, Mummy’s home. She’s home.”
An aura of peace fills her room at the same time as warmth hugs my heart. Aleeha bounds into my arms and as I embrace her tight against my body, I whimper. Her hair smells like strawberries. I’ve missed the smell of her detangling spray. “I missed you, baby girl.”
Her head nestles into the space between my neck and my shoulder. I fought so hard for this moment. I never gave up. I couldn’t. I’m a mother, and mothers do everything it takes to find their way home to their children. They never say die until they have exhausted every possibility.
“Mum. Oh, Mummy.” The call of my name comes from behind me. Brax’s voice is music to my ears.
I jolt forward with the impact applied to my back. I didn’t get the chance to see Brax approach. Instead, I feel his long arms squeeze around my tummy so tight that I cry out my relief. “My babies. Oh, my babies.” Slowly, I kneel until I’m on the floor.
Two heads snuggle into me. Four arms wrap me up in a cocoon. Two hearts beat strongly against my chest.
“I thought I was never going to see you again, Mum,” Brax sobs.
“Of course, you were. Don’t be silly, buddy. You know I’d never leave you two behind.” I mess his hair before kissing the top of his head.
I hold my son and daughter for what feels like an eternity, too scared to let them go, and too happy to allow this moment to end.
“Morgan. Morgan...”
My head shoots upright. The voice of the man I’ve loved for many moons is calling for me.
“Reid.” My heart skips a beat.
“Baby. Baby...” There’s desperation in his tone.
Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp.
His feet hit the wood of the staircase. I twist my head over my shoulder and wait. My chin quivers when he comes into view.
Blue eyes, much too beautiful not to be admired whenever in sight, connect with mine. My husband races towards me. He’s more handsome than I remembered. When he falls to his knees behind the children, the meadowsweet, woodruff smell of his cologne has me inhaling deeply.
“I love you.” His voice cracks as he folds his arms around the children and me, and I don’t know how they all manage to fit laid against me, but they do. Six arms are now wrapped around my body, and three hearts beat against my chest.
“I knew you’d come back. I knew it.” Reid tilts his head until his eyes gaze into mine. “Welcome home.”
His lips edge towards my own, and as they do, I close my eyes. His lips are as soft as pillows when they press to mine. They’re just as I remember them. He kisses me wildly, igniting a fire in my soul.
Fire.
Danger.
Bushland.
The wolf.
I need to run.
Run, Morgan. Get up.
My lips are left naked. Instant panic. My eyes spring open. Reid’s crying.
“I’m here. Don’t cry.” I’m trembling.
“Morgan. Please. Fight. Don’t leave us.” Reid’s arms reach for me as I feel a strong pull rip me away from him.
I blink.
The warmth and security that calmed me and protected me disappears as fast as my children do.
Detective West
A small wooden cabin comes into view. A soft patio light provides a visual of the front door and an old rusted table at its side.
“We’re going in,” Roland whispers through the radio. There’s no reply. Radio silence is maintained by all units as requested.
I point to the right, then to myself, then to the SERT team before circling my finger in the air. Each officer moves in the exact direction they should without me speaking a single word. I nod to Roland, who shifts to my blind spot to cover any threat, while the five remaining officers flank us.
One step in front of the other. Our feet make no sound. We’re trained to hunt predators and to deliver the element of surprise.
Three stairs leading to the patio, and a distance of about one metre stands between me and the front door. I flick my head to my right, place two fingers to my eyes, then point to three separate officers. Their mission: to stay at the bottom of the stairs with their rifles aimed at the door. They are my eyes on the ground, and they won’t hesitate to shoot if necessary. They waste no time in following my unspoken command.
One, two, three steps I take, with Roland right behind me, still covering any threat. I lift my leg and launch it straight into the wood. The door bursts open.
“What the fuck?” he yells. A tall, broad man wearing camouflage throws his arms high into the air. He shakes his head as I aim my revolver directly at his chest.
“Winston Sampson?” I’m calm.
“Yes.”
“Detective Astin West from Rockhampton CBI. Do you have a weapon on your person?”
“Yes.”
“Please disarm yourself. Slowly.”
Only one of his arms lowers past his hair that appears to be clumped with mud, before continuing by his blue eyes that shine under bright lighting. He stops when he reaches his waist. “I’m going to put my hand behind my back to get my pistol.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
His hand disappears until it slowly reappears by his hip, holding a black Glock.
“Put it on the ground, slowly,” I instruct.
Winston gingerly bends his knees, leaving one hand placed behind his head, sliding the gun across the floorboards before resuming his upright position.
“Do you have any more weapons on your person?” My voice rises a fraction.
“No.”
“Step back,” I demand.
“Search him.” I relax my grip on my weapon and some of the tension in my shoulders as Roland marches towards our suspect.
“Turn around,” Roland commands. “Hands behind your head, legs spread.”
“What is this about?” Winston says as he stands with his fingers linked behind his head and widens his stance.
Neither of us reply.
I don’t take my eyes from the pat-down taking place. Instead, I remain alert for any possible threats that might come my partner's way. Roland completes his examination upon reaching Winston’s muddy boots.
“I have rights. Am I under arrest? What have I done?”
Neither of us answer.
Roland rises, nodding in my direction. “He’s clear.”
It’s what I was waiting for him to say. Winston isn’t harbouring anything else harmful inside his clothing.
I lower my gun and place it back in the holster, knowing I’m protected by the two highly trained SERT officers at my back. They won’t lower their rifles. Instead, they’ll keep them aimed at Winston’s chest, ready to deliver a bullet if needed.
“Do you know Morgan Banks?” I stand stoically. I’m in command, and if this thing blows up, it’s all on my head. After all, it’s not normal practice for a country town detective to lead a tactical crime team in the first place. I’m just fortunate that Eli, who controls all special emergency, was in my unit when I used to run my own SERT team years ago.
“No. I don’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t know her.” Winston’s hands remain pressed against the back of his skull. His legs are still parted from the search.
“She’s a local woman who’s gone missing. She’s also a wife of a client whose car you detail.”
“I don’t know her.” His lips are pursed.
“I don’t believe you. Morgan’s also the ex-girlfriend of your brother Falcon Sampson.”
His eyes widen. “Morgan. As in, Falcon’s high school girlfriend, Morgan? Morgan?”
“Yes,” I say.
“I know her then.” He exhales. “I haven’t seen her for a very long time though, not since Falcon finished school. She’s missing?”
“Since Thursday night. Where were you Thursday night between the hours of five and eight?”
He lifts his chin slightly and turns his eyes to look towards the ceiling. He stays in this position for almost a minute before he returns his attention back to me. “Thursday was the night we got that storm. It’s what had me delayed in going hunting.” He pauses. “I was at work. I left work late, and then I came home. I would have been driving home in that timeframe.”
“You didn’t stop on your way to get petrol or meet up with anyone?” He’s lying, but I need to give him a chance to rearrange his thoughts before I slap on the cuffs and get his arse hauled down to the station.
He shakes his head. “No. No, not Thursday night.” His eyes narrow when he stops speaking. “Actually, yes, I did. I stopped to help some lady fix a tyre ... an SUV, it was.”
“Morgan’s tyre?”
His lips part. His eyes bulge. “Nah. Mate, you’ve got this wrong. That was Morgan?”
“Yes.”
“I had no clue. Shit, it’s been more than ten years since I’ve seen her. Fuck! Hang on. No, no, no, you ain’t pinning this shit on me.” He’s immediately agitated. He drops his arms to his sides. “Mate. No. I didn’t take that woman.” He points to my chest. “I’ve been out fucking Whoop Whoop since early Friday morning. Search my shit. I had nothing to do with any lady going missing, let alone someone who dated my brother. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Winston Sampson, this is a warrant to search your house, land, and vehicles.” Roland holds the warrant out in front of him, and Winston takes it gently from his pinched fingers.
“Search away.” Winston’s shoulders slump as Roland retrieves the handcuffs from his belt.
“Come on. You don’t need to cuff me. By now you must know who I used to be and what I used to do. There’s no need for the cuffs. I’m not going to bolt. I’ll tell you what you want to know. Search. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Ex-military, and a runner for the mafia,” I prod.
He drops his head. “I’m not proud of my past. Look, I live out here away from society and keep to myself. I-I … That life is well and truly behind me.”
“Vactrim Blight?” I keep my statements short and to the point, letting him talk, giving him a moment to slip up.
He lifts his head and grins. “Yeah. That’s me. It’s easier than people finding out who I used to be, you know. Even though my work for the underworld wasn’t disclosed, people still find ways to figure out who Winston Sampson was. Bloody mafia groupies hunt you down, even aeons later.”
I shake my head towards Roland, who instantly slaps the handcuffs around his wrists.
“Come on. Seriously?” Winston sighs.
“Groupies?” I continue my questioning.
He nods. “Women who want to marry you. Men who want to be you. Take your pick.”
The radio is in my hand. “Team red, begin searching from the lake outwards. Team yellow and green, begin your search in surrounding property. Team blue, search the vehicles and house.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Team red, understood.
“Team green, beginning search.
“Team yellow, beginning search.
“Team blue, coming in.”
“Shit.” Winston cocks his eyebrows. “I knew you’d have me well and truly surrounded.” He shakes his head. “I come back early because Luna radios me to tell me there’s been a fire, possibly near my land, and I'm confronted with this bullshit. Fuck my life,” he mutters.
“Fire?” My shoulders stiffen.
“Punk kids do it all the time. Come into the bush and start spot fires that get out of hand. You guys should be thanking us. We put most of them out ourselves, as quick as they start. Someone has to stop a massive bushfire.”
“Whose Luna?”
“A hermit that lives a few properties over. She’s been livin’ out here longer than the lot of us. She knows this bush like the back of her hand. Every nook and cranny.”
“Where did she say this fire was?”
“You tell me. That’s what I was about to do—check it out. Luna said there was a fire. That’s it.”
I place the radio to my mouth. “Team red, you need to look for an area where a fire has been burning or is still burning. Any smoke you see, head in that direction. Morgan might have lit it for us to find her.”
“Shit,” Winston exhales. “Poor Morgan. You think she’s out there in the bush somewhere?”
I look Winston up and down but don’t answer. “I have questions.”
“You let me have a smoke out on the veranda, and I’ll tell ya whatever ya want to know.”
I swing my arm outwards. “After you.”
Winston sits on the rusted chair beside the table. Rubbing his wrists now absent from the handcuffs I removed, with a lit cigarette hanging from his bottom lip.
I bring the lighter to the end of my own cigarette, cupping my hand to contain the flame. I keep my eyes fixed on Winston, watching his every move. “Falcon—”
“God rest his soul.” He interrupts.
“Your brother took his own life?” I place the lighter on the table and take a long draw from my smoke.
“Yes. Falcon was a such a troubled, lost, loner boy, but nobody should be trapped inside themselves like he was. Driven to make it all stop in the end.”
“So you saw it coming?”
“Nope, I didn’t. But I probably wasn’t around enough to notice. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish I’d been home more to take care of him.” He takes a long draw from his smoke. “Ten-year age gap didn’t help. I was in training for the army, and he was in Melbourne. I always knew he was troubled—hell, so did Mum, but he seemed happy enough with his best mate by his side and
Morgan on his arm.”
“Best friend?”
“Thick as thieves they were, him and Logan.”
“Logan?”
“Logan Raffety. It was Falcon, Morgan, and Logan against the world back then. They went everywhere together. Did everything together. Then when Morgan went off to university, and they busted up, he still had Logan.”
“Do you see Logan? Is he from around here?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. He’s still back home in Melbourne where we all grew up. He’s a police officer actually, so he won’t be hard for you pigs—I mean, cops, to find.”
I shift my eyes to Roland who is leaning against a single rail, writing into his notepad. He nods to indicate he’ll arrange someone to look into Logan Raffety.
“Do you have the copy of the note Falcon left before his death?”
Winston ashes his cigarette. “Nah, I don’t. I put it in the coffin with Mum, and it burned with her. Falcon’s death broke mum’s heart. She kept that note on her dresser, never far from her side, every day after the coppers returned it. She couldn’t stand the thought of him hanging himself as he did. She was the one who found him.”
“Your mother’s death entitled you to ownership of the land and cabin.””
“Yeah, it did. She had dementia, you know. You’d think she’d have forgotten Falcon and the circumstances of his death, like she’d forgotten everything else, but she didn’t. It was the only memory she clung on to. It tortured mum. It’s one of the reasons I came here—to take care of her. I decided to stay after she was gone. Live a quiet existence.” He closes his eyes momentarily. “Mum died here in this cabin. She loved the wilderness. She was happy, happy in this home, right to the end.”
“Was Morgan’s name in the suicide note, like our records indicate?”
“I wouldn’t know. I never read it. Couldn’t bring myself to try and understand a single word. I harboured a lot of guilt over his passing. Do you think Morgan going missing has something to do with Falcon taking his life, his death?”
“It was our strongest lead. You were our strongest lead.”
He flicks his wrist. “Nah. Nope. It had nothing to do with me. And anybody who knew Falcon would never wish harm upon Morgan. Not me, not a soul. There’d be no one harbouring any ill wishes toward her because of his death. Falcon was mentally disturbed.” He places his finger to his temple and taps. “He had problems up in his head, extensive problems. He was wired wrong, I think, and for a long time he never shared what he was going through with his family, just his best mate. Lucky for us, Logan kept giving us updates about how he was travelling.”