Forgotten

by Neven Carr

  I coughed out an erratic, zany laugh. “That’s a relief. I was beginning to think you have some paranormal power or something. I mean, how do you know all this?”

  His smirk was lop-sided. “I have my means.”

  Matty Galloway came to mind. He has the skills, he had said, knows the right people.

  And I silently questioned who those right people were.

  All of a sudden, I rolled my shoulders downwards in a resigned, exhausted slump.

  “We can stop for a while,” Saul said.

  As enticing as the idea was, I shook my head. I wanted answers. A few clicks later, I heard the familiar tune of the computer shutting down. Saul flipped close its lid and swung to face me. “There’s something I’d like us to do, very soon, if possible.”

  And he told me about Alice’s house, situated halfway between Nankari and Saul’s place, just outside of Nambour. Saul wanted us to go there.

  “It’s obvious you were important to her. Maybe if we dig around a bit, something will jog your memory.”

  My memory.

  Everything always came back to that one thing. I sighed. Searching someone’s house, particularly a dead person’s, didn’t exactly press my happy buttons, but I agreed nonetheless.

  A flicker of light sparked in my mind, sheer, hazy, nothing recognizable but it glowed with promises, constructive promises of answers, destructive promises of undesirable changes and painful disappointments.

  Time to grow up, Claudia.

  “I need to call my father before we go.”

  Saul stood and handed me his phone. He then left the room. I thumbed the required buttons and waited uneasily until I heard Papa answer. “It’s me.”

  “Carino, thank goodness. Are you okay?” His voice was like a renewed breath of courage, a safety net, one that would always be there for me.

  Time to grow up, Claudia.

  “Papa,” I whispered.

  “Where are you? I will come and get you.”

  How easy was it to fall into that complete, trusting comfort, allow Papa to take over and solve all my problems without any effort on my part, just as he had so many times before?

  Time to grow up, Claudia.

  “No Papa, you don’t need to get me. I’m safe.”

  “Safe?” Papa’s voice was abnormally loud. “I am the only person who can keep you safe.”

  I sensed my childlike trust ready to crumble. “Why is that?”

  “Because, I am your Papa,” he said with such vehemence, such finality.

  I said nothing, but the constricting pain in my chest was everything.

  “Do you not know what is going on? There was a man murdered in your car. There are police everywhere. Your mother and I want you home now.”

  Somehow, I gathered the resources to remain focused. It wasn’t easy. “I’m sorry, but this is something I have to work out.”

  “I do not understand, Claudia, work out what exactly?” I flinched at the clear omission of my pet name. “Is this something that this Saul Reardon has put into your head? Who is this man? Why are you with him?”

  “Someone I hope can help me.”

  “Help you? Your family will help you.”

  I paused to muster up more courage. “I don’t think they can, not this time.”

  His unsteady, un-rhythmical breathing was deafening to my ears but his voice softened. “Carino, what is troubling you?”

  I took a deep breath. “You are, Papa.”

  Silence.

  “You knew Alice Polinski.”

  More silence.

  “Who was she? How did she know me? Know us?” There were no denials, no excuses, only more silence. Cold, burning tears pricked my eyes. “Papa, why won’t you speak to me, truthfully?”

  “I… I… cannot.”

  I could tell he was hurting, but it was small to the hurt that was rapidly consuming me. “I have to go.” He protested but I ignored him, quickly ending our conversation with a press of a button.

  I wasn’t sure how long I stood there. In time, Saul twisted the phone from my clenched fist. “What happened?”

  I was too talked out to explain. “I’ll tell you on the way to Alice Polinski’s.”

  Chapter 14

  Claudia

  December 26, 2010

  3:12 pm

  THE DRIVE TO Alice’s home was short but it gave me time to analyze the man beside me. His open-necked shirt matched the color of his eyes, further intensifying their remarkable blueness. The shirt appeared tailored, heightening the broadness of Saul’s shoulders and the brawny muscles in his arms. I imagined his long, lean legs, hidden by his jeans were just as sturdy. I concluded that he worked out often.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I felt my cheeks redden. I had just been caught checking him out. But how could I not? The man was undoubtedly attractive. I could almost hear Mel’s high-pitched voice shrill, I told you so.

  “I was just thinking what great taste in clothes you have.” I cursed myself for the ludicrous explanation.

  His eyes twinkled. “I’m glad you approve.”

  From that point, I decided it best if I kept my focus elsewhere. I grabbed my bag. Several beads captured the sunlight streaming through the windscreen causing multi-colored reflections to dance about. It was quite striking and would’ve been enough to entertain me. But I needed more. I rummaged through my bag’s many inhabitants until I discovered what I wanted. “Want a pink musk stick?”

  Saul threw me a questioning look.

  “My vice.”

  “And what does this vice do for you?”

  “Oh, just about everything. Calms my nerves, helps me think, takes away the bad things, well… almost. Cheaper than happy pills and taste much better.”

  He took one. “How could I refuse then?”

  While chewing, I scanned the car’s interior, appreciating the delightful smell of new leather. “My brother, Nate, would have serious car envy if he saw this. It’s a Wrangler Renegade, isn’t it?”

  Saul rolled a steady hand across the steering wheel as he took a sharp bend in the road. “That it is. You know something about cars?”

  “A little. My three brothers are off-road junkies. I just happen to be their ears when they’re rambling about their ambitions, particularly Nate. It’s his eventual goal to own one of these.”

  “He has good taste.”

  Several more swings of the wheel and we had apparently arrived. But all I could make out was endless bushland. Saul parked his Jeep amongst some inner roadside brush, the car’s bush muted color melding perfectly. We then continued on foot, making me wonder if we were doing something not altogether legal.

  Some things may be a slight blurring of the lines, he had said.

  Perhaps this was what he had meant.

  We trekked through the open bushland. I could hear the crunch of the dried out leaves beneath my feet, the busy buzzing of bees around the yellow flowering banksias. Tall, buttery trunks of ghost gums gave us respite from the harsh, biting sun and the unique smell of their leaves was prolific, medicinal. I breathed it in, took strength from its beauty.

  Eventually I spotted a house in the distance, sections of it still concealed by compact foliage. On closer inspection, I noticed it as one of those old wooden Queenslanders. It was perched high on a significant rise of land, giving it a noble presence. A large veranda enclosed it. We ventured towards the cleared boundary bordering the house and then stopped.

  Saul stretched his arm across me. “Wait here.”

  He disappeared but only briefly. When he returned, he beckoned me to follow. I remained close behind, wandered past several rockeries that buffered half-dead plants and other unrecognizable overgrowth. Stoned pathways were nothing more than home to uncontrollable weeds invading every crack available. I questioned Alice’s motives behind such disrepair. Or perhaps gardening just wasn’t her thing.

  Once we reached the foot of the house, Saul stopped and examined me, strangely. “
You don’t know this place, do you?”

  I studied the house in more detail. It rested on tall, unpainted timber stumps. Its cream-colored exterior was cracked and peeling, its corrugated iron roof appeared dull, parts of it covered in reddish rust. I searched for anything familiar, but could only feel sadness at what would’ve once been a very stately home. “No, should I?”

  “I don’t know.” He moved closer to the tired looking steps and went up to the equally neglected front door.

  “Won’t it be locked?”

  “Probably.”

  Before I could say another word, he had fished an object from his pocket, inserted it into the lock and jimmied the door open.

  We then entered the house of Alice Polinski.

  My initial impression was horribly creepy. I was in the residence of a person I half-believed was from a dream and one who had just been cold bloodedly murdered. Ghostly fingers slithered along my skin and I trembled.

  “Are you all right?” Saul said.

  “This just feels weird.” Again, he stopped and inspected me. It was becoming quite unsettling. “Why do you keep watching me?”

  “Looking for indications.”

  “Indications of what?”

  “Of something familiar to you.”

  I vigilantly scanned the hallway but found nothing. “How about I just tell you if something rings a bell.”

  Saul grinned. “Deal.”

  We spent the next half hour combing from one airless, musty smelling room to another. We rummaged through wobbly drawers, creaking cupboards, anything in the hope of discovering just one worthwhile clue.

  Nothing.

  Alice Polinski, whoever she was, was as nondescript in her life as she was in person. Her home betrayed very limited personal keepsakes. In fact, if I had to illustrate her personality from the contents alone, it’d have been exceptionally taxing.

  “There has to be something.” Saul was standing in one of the newly inspected bedrooms. Similar to the others, its old furnishings were sparse.

  “There are no photos,” I said. “None, anywhere. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

  “Possibly, but it doesn’t necessarily mean there weren’t any.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Take a look at the tops of all the dressers, the shelves. There was something on them and in all likelihood, only recently.”

  I crossed to the dresser. Amidst the layer of dust, lay two conspicuous dirt-free imprints, one quite large, the other smaller. The adjacent shelves, revealed similar markings. “There were books along these.” I indicated a set of aligned wall units.

  Saul gave them a quick look and agreed. He then studied the empty wall where several hooks hung in an orderly fashion. He smoothed his hands over the scuffed marks in the paintwork, stood back and studied some more. “There were things hanging here. But again, only recently. Someone’s been here before us and, for whatever reason, has removed them, particularly from this room.”

  Naturally, it begged the questions who and why.

  Saul’s eyes narrowed. “If you were as important to Alice as I believe, she would’ve hidden the most valuable things where no one would look, someplace of special significance to her, or perhaps even to you.”

  I didn’t know what Saul was talking about and told him as much.

  “Claudia, I want you to try again. Go through the entire house, more slowly this time. There has to be something here, something you recognize or something that has meaning only to you.”

  “That is one huge assumption.”

  “Please, I feel right about this.”

  I sighed and then did as he asked. To me the task seemed erroneous, especially when I had no idea of what I was searching for. After re-examining every tiny section of the place, I still came up with zilch.

  Sweat trickled down beneath my breasts, leaving small, damp patches on my top. I picked up a nearby notepad, leaned against the kitchen wall and fanned my moist face with it. As I did, I took note of the striking, natural outlook that stretched from the back section of the property. It was so picturesque, so contrary to this timeworn house.

  Still fanning myself, I moved closer to the window and looked down towards the gardens. They weren’t any better than the front yard, wild with never-ending overgrowth.

  But it was amongst this pandemonium of plant life that I saw it.

  I dropped the notepad and froze. Somewhere in my circuitous mind, a memory flickered.

  Saul appeared from behind me. “What is it?”

  I didn’t pause long enough to answer, but instead scrabbled out the back door, down another set of rickety steps and towards the object that caught my attention. I stopped in front of it, Saul close at my heels.

  There, blanched and weather worn, stood a statue of an angel about five or six feet high. Its grey, stone eyes were frozen upon a small child curled at its feet. “I’ve seen this before,” I whispered. My heart was hammering in the back of my throat.

  “Here?”

  “No.” As if in a trance, I kept my eyes fixed on the motionless shape. “My guardian angel.”

  I sensed Saul’s movement to the right of me. “What guardian angel?”

  “The cards.” My thoughts were racing, my mind full of awe. “The birthday cards. The ones I got every year on December 3, the ones I told you about. They were always signed the same, I am forever watching over you. All my love, your….”

  “Guardian angel.” Saul instantly plunged to one knee, and began tearing apart the ground covering directly in front of the statue’s feet. “We need a shovel.”

  It didn’t take me long to locate one, in a small shed beneath the house. Unlike everything else, the shovel appeared new, unused. I returned to the stone figure. Saul then used the shovel and his energy to lift the soil.

  “Why that spot?” I asked.

  “Just a hunch.” He didn’t once slow his pace as he spoke. “I am forever watching over you. I figured this is where the angel is doing exactly that.”

  He figured right. Within moments, the clanking when metal hits metal sounded. I immediately knelt down helping to finger the dirt away. My head was giddy with a rush of anticipation. My heart however, was thrashing with dread. What would we find? Something rewarding, something valuable or something that would only further complicate my already muddled life.

  The metal sound belonged to a large hinged door, possibly three or four feet in length, half that in width. There were signs of rust, a little corrosion around its rugged edges, but other than that, it seemed solid.

  Saul wiped the beads of sweat from his brow, leaving behind a dirty smudge, and then grabbed hold of the ringed handle with both hands. He pulled the door until it rested back upon its hinges.

  And that’s when we saw it.

  A wooden box with a series of words fastidiously engraved along its crest. Any giddy anticipation had collapsed, as I read the words repeatedly.

  My darling Claudia. Age 0 months to 12 months.

  Immediate instincts told me it was another person, another Claudia, not me.

  But….

  I looked across at Saul who was watching me. Even in my current state of disbelief, I couldn’t help but be conscious of his open concern. He leaned back on one knee.

  I hesitated. Exposing the contents of the box could unbolt a new channel of existence for me. The only question remaining was did I want it to?

  We could uncover some pretty unpleasant things, Saul had warned, so you need to be prepared for it.

  “You and me, right to the end. Okay?” he said.

  I took a breath. “Okay.”

  We lifted the box and placed it on the ground. What took us aback was the sight of more boxes in the concrete lined void. We continued to haul them out one by one. There were eight in total, each inscribed with My darling Claudia, the only notable differences being the ages; each box typified another year with the final box, reading Age 7 years – 8years.

  Disregarding a surge of un
rest, I unfastened the first box. Lying as innocently as its pastel pink color was a small photo album, my name skillfully embroidered in lime green across its fabric cover. My unsteady fingers slowly picked it up. Beneath it, I noticed baby clothes, rattles, booties, soft, plush toys.

  My attention though, sprang back to the album and the contents it was about to confess. The need to know had now mushroomed, superseding any earlier uncertainties. Saul moved closer. Feeling his presence gave me strength.

  I opened the first page.

  There was Alice Polinski, the woman in my dreams, waiflike, pretty, fair-haired, wearing a huge grin as she gazed upon the tiny baby nestled in her arms. It was titled Claudia and Me - Day 1.

  I quickly flicked through more pages. Each of them paraded images of me, my first smile, my first wave, my first step. On and on it went, my first year of life depicted in pictures. I couldn’t ignore the apparent absence of my parents, of my brother Milo or any other family members.

  There existed just us.

  Alice Polinski and me.

  I closed my eyes in numbed silence, desperately trying to come to grips with what was in my lap. I then scurried to wrench open the other seven boxes encountering more albums, more clothing, more toys, each box chronologically displaying a period of my life.

  My life until the age of over seven.

  A time I had no recollection of, not even now, not even with all the evidence before me. Only a short time ago, I had the impression that my life as I knew it was about to change; little did I know just how accurate I was. My hands began trembling as I swung to the man beside me. “Saul,” I whispered. “Who am I?”

  He offered a look of genuine sympathy, coupled it with his strong arms around me. By then, I could no longer fight back the tears. My body shook as they streamed down my face. He didn’t say a word; just held me close, occasionally stroking my hair.

  I don’t know how much time passed with the two of us huddled together amongst the shards of what was once a regal garden, watched by the eyes of the guardian angel, my guardian angel. The sweet sounding rustling of the surrounding trees, their aromatic odor did little to pacify me. Instead, the sturdy, rhythmic echo of Saul’s heart calmed me, encouraged my tears to eventually stop.