Forgotten

by Neven Carr

I felt immediate relief. However, unpleasant Milo was, I didn’t believe he could be accountable for something so horrible. So where was he? “You called Weatherly.” It was almost an accusation.

  “There’s a dead body laboriously laid out in your bedroom. Even I’m not so far above the law that I can conceal that. But Ethan gave it his once over before Weatherly arrived.”

  “So where were you?”

  Saul looked offended. “Where do you think? With you of course. You had passed out. I couldn’t wake you. Tony immediately got Dr. Camparo.”

  I felt annoyed but I didn’t know why. “Seems to be becoming a habit, this constant rescuing me from dead bodies.”

  Saul winced, landed his hands on his hips, paced a bit. I swallowed hard, felt a dull throbbing in my hands, looked down and saw my contorted fingers. An errant salt-tinged breeze rushed past, hot with impatience.

  “One more thing before I go,” Saul muttered, already half-turned. “You said Nate had keys to your car.”

  Saul knew this already.

  “So who had keys to this place? Nate again?”

  Of course, he did. But then so did my parents, as did Mel. I passed this onto Saul, fully twigging onto his question. Like my car, there were no signs of a break-in. Someone had to have the keys to both the car and the unit. I stared blankly at Saul. Either one or more people in my family had to be involved.

  I felt nothing. Maybe the wind swept all my feelings away. Saul gave me a sad, lingering look and then disappeared through the slider. I wallowed for a while in my semi-state of nothingness. Until I could bear it no longer. I then forced my thoughts on my anti-social brother.

  Why would he text me and then not show up? Was he the involved family member? Or at the very least, one of them? My instincts said no. Milo wouldn’t hurt me… not intentionally at least.

  Trust your instincts, both Saul and Papa had said.

  I’m trying, I mouthed to the empty, friendless balcony.

  What about Papa? Papa knew most aspects of Simon’s murder scene. It wouldn’t have been complicated to duplicate it. But to do so, would be unimaginable. The suffering I had endured following Simon’s death was indescribable. If it were at all possible, the pain my father suffered watching me, would’ve almost equaled it.

  No, Papa couldn’t have done this.

  No one who loved me would.

  I visualized Danny Souza in my bedroom. A clan member of long ago. Did that then mean my father could be next? I wrapped my arms around me as if I were cold. Perhaps, I was. Perhaps, I was simply trying to hold on to what little reality I had left.

  I thought of Simon, to those precious, few minutes I had with him. Whether he had been real, or just a fleeting apparition, he was trying to tell me something.

  Ask the question.

  I tried to recall Simon’s casual, loving face, that husky voice of his, both still so achingly familiar. But the pain became too intense, too frightening. I immediately pulled up the well-rehearsed barriers from the last year and stopped.

  And sighed. And decided I was tired of the same old fight.

  It was time to end it.

  I bolted upright and searched for Saul. He was bent over on the kitchen bench, with his forearms crossed, talking to Ethan. He caught my eye and threw me a long, wan look. I searched the room for an undetectable route but found none. I recognized my bag containing my wallet and phone on the table where the police stood nearby. I decided the importance of them was inconsequential.

  I turned, spanned the small balcony and found my opportunity. I glanced at Saul. He was now speaking on his mobile. Ethan was nowhere in sight. I double-checked that everyone else, including Weatherly, was attending to something other than me. I only needed a few short minutes.

  I made my way to the front end of the balcony. A concrete rendered wall, tapering lower towards the balcony end, bordered my neighbor, Mr. O’Flanaghan. It was only a few feet tall and quite climbable. Once over, I hurried to the slider. I tapped on the door several times before a baffled Mr. O’Flanaghan appeared.

  He slid the door open. “Claudia,” he remarked. “What is going on?”

  “I need your help,” I pleaded. “I need it now.”

  Chapter 24

  Claudia

  December 27, 2010

  12:15 pm

  ONCE I HIT the back street, I ran.

  Not caring in which direction I went.

  I ran without pausing, allowing the tepid breezes to cool my hot, moist skin, allowing every rhythmic beat of my feet to take me further and further away from Zephyr. In time, a throb began to ravage my calves but I didn’t stop. Pain began to seep into my over-taxed lungs but still I ran. It felt liberating, cleansing, damn good.

  Eventually, after much time, my doggedness began to subside; my lungs were screaming for stillness and my legs crying for rest. I stopped, bent over, my hands on my knees and concentrated on several, long deep breaths. When I straightened, I slugged water from the bottle that Mr. O’Flanaghan had given me. I then inspected my surroundings.

  I wasn’t sure how long I’d been running, or the exact distance I’d covered, but judging by the small, weatherworn houses, an older, less expensive section of the township, it was clear I’d traveled a fair way.

  I trekked past the almost identical homes, many appearing as if they hadn’t seen a paintbrush in decades. Rusty old cars laced the makeshift driveways along with other discarded items. Dogs barked, children squealed, all looking as unkempt as the dispirited fences surrounding them.

  In one such place, a man, burly, brusque, beer in hand roared to the playing children to keep the noise down. He caught sight of me staring. He waved his arms around and bellowed, “What are you looking at, bitch?”

  I dropped my head and pressed forward until any dwellings thinned to near non-existence, until I stumbled upon a section of overgrown shrubbery. In the distance, I spotted a tiny wooden building. As I approached it, I noticed it was abandoned, and judging by its pitiable condition, I was guessing for some time.

  Nearby, a neglected bench sat beneath some less than healthy bougainvillea. However, the shade the plant created was more than adequate. I sat down cautiously at first, in case the bench collapsed. I took another sip of the now warmed water and breathed a deep sigh.

  I took a moment to bathe in the faint, earthy smells of the dry bushland, the charming songs of the magpies and the peaceful sights of solitude. It felt so good, I began second-guessing what I had really come to do.

  To let go of Simon… finally.

  The terror of unleashing those long-sealed memories of him began to weigh heavily on me. And I could sense my itching feet prepare to run again.

  We could uncover some pretty unpleasant things, Saul had said. So you need to deal with it…no running, no hiding.

  Just the thought of Saul conjured up many pleasant, long forgotten feelings in me. I wasn’t stupid, though. Those feelings could’ve been nothing more than my confused reactions to someone providing an empathetic ear during a troubled period. Combine it with a body that for so long had lacked a man’s touch and the science was simple. Whatever it was, I knew I didn’t want to disappoint him.

  No running, no hiding… no more.

  Before fear could change my mind, I quickly drew up my legs and wrapped my arms around them, resting my chin on my knees. I shoved aside the nagging panic and closed my eyes. I then traveled back to the surreal scene I had with Simon in my unit. In doing so, I allowed the darkness of him, the part closeted deep within my conscious to break free.

  A thousand repressed images scattered through my head. Visions of our first kiss, our first fight, the first time we made love, each one vying for a spot that had been off limits for over fourteen months. It was so hard, so painful. Many times, my survival instincts threatened to kick in… to re-draw those barriers yet again. But I kicked back.

  This time, I had to.

  Through it all, I wept. I stopped. I wept some more.

  And there
in those isolated ruins, in the wilderness of my own desolate mind, there was no one to hear me, no one to comfort me, no one to take my pain as their own. I felt it, I bore it, I held it.

  Alone.

  Time passed. Much time. Until my tears ran dry, my throat felt scalded and I was left feeling spent, almost crushed. I slumped back, my eyes still sealed, drawing in the countrified air.

  Healing.

  I wasn’t so naïve as to think that freeing up some imprisoned memories, shedding some tears was automatically going to make everything better. The residual pain was huge. But to my surprise, I discovered it to be bearable. I began opening my eyes.

  I had once heard that a person could be born many times in their life, not just their initial physical birth, but also a mental resurgence, a resurrection of a life half-dead. Whilst I was never one to examine such philosophies, as I saw my new world for the first time, I silently gave merit to some of its less extremist ideas.

  The world facing me appeared different, sharper, more vibrant. And extraordinarily, so did I. It was as if someone had just changed my normal screen setting to high definition. I laughed, either at the wonder of it, or at the fact that I had at last reached the frontier of my insanity.

  Either way, I felt this remarkable sense of altered calm. It was as if a white flag had been drawn, declaring one battle over.

  I wasn’t sure how long I would feel this way, but not wanting to tempt fate, I immediately set to work. I honed in on Simon once more, and was pleased to discover that this time I could so without sinking into a quivering mess.

  Ask the question, he kept repeating.

  But what question? I grimaced at the thought of separating one question from the amount that plagued me on a daily basis. But my mind whirred on, eventually wondering what had generated the whole Simon experience in the first place.

  I went back to when Saul and I had first arrived at Zephyr. We had entered the unit. I failed to notice its orderly state. My attention was on Saul. He was admiring my home. I, in turn, was admiring him. There was that brief interlude where I thought we had exchanged something, something more intimate. But he had moved away.

  Did the question lie there?

  I could certainly think of many, but none that would warrant Simon’s urgency.

  I pressed on.

  I had noticed the unusual cleanliness of the kitchen, the bathroom. For a second, it reminded me of a movie I’d once seen where the psychopathic husband arranged things, like towels, in perfect order. I shuddered that someone similar to him could be at work here. I then wondered why anyone would go to so much effort to duplicate a scene from so long ago. Was Saul right when he assumed it was designed to send me over the edge? Did someone hate me that much?

  Naturally, it disturbed me. What disturbed me more was the sheer accuracy of the crime, right down to the exact color of the rose petals, the lateral position of the body, the uplifted arms and the overlapping hands.

  And that’s when it hit me.

  The question.

  A question that had only one answer.

  I leaned back, stunned, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. More importantly, if my theory was right then the implications were enormous.

  Shit.

  I had to tell Saul. I stood up and collected the water bottle off the ground. I scanned the mangled scrub beyond, to the cloudless sky above. A faint breeze appeared, brushing my skin, its feather like touch lingering for a time, whispering noiseless words. It could’ve just been the mental zone I was in, but I had a strong sense that it was Simon.

  I used the opportunity to make a promise to my invisible guest, a very important promise. One that I was determined to keep no matter what.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  The extraordinary presence hovered for a while before eventually vanishing amidst the playful gusts. I heaved a soulful sigh, knowing I had one more thing to do.

  I wriggled my spread out fingers, allowed the white diamond on my engagement ring to seize the light for the last time. Fiery sparkles exploded from it and I smiled. It was so striking, so perfect. With a tight lump in my throat, I pulled it off. I carefully placed the ring into the back pocket of my skirt and zipped it closed.

  I was now ready to return.

  ***

  I made my way out of the bougainvillea enclosure and back onto the road.

  With sudden dread, I realized I was a long way from nowhere; no mobile phone; no wallet, nothing to help me with a quick return. At this stage, there was little else to do except walk.

  I glanced at my watch, something I hadn’t done since I had left. I was shocked to discover that it was almost four-thirty. I had been gone for well over four hours. With the sun beating a kinder heat, I hiked down the empty road. Just as I approached the outskirts of civilization, an aged utility appeared, headed in my direction. It pulled up beside me.

  A thickly bearded man called out to me from his down-turned window. He was wearing a grubby looking cap twisted sideways on his head. His crinkled skin depicted someone who spent long, unprotected hours in the sun. “Are yer Claudia Cabriati?” he asked, in a deep, abrasive voice.

  Naturally, I had no idea who the man was or how to respond. He must have spotted my indecision.

  “I’s bin lookin’ for yer, or should I say Saul Reardon has. He’s bin mighty worried, lady.”

  I squinted, still reluctant to venture too close. “I guess he would’ve been a little concerned.”

  The man scoffed. “A little concerned? Hell, lady, he has had at least a half dozen folks on the streets scoutin’ for yer.”

  I was puzzled and rightly so. “Why would Saul have done that? I just needed some time out.”

  “Beats me, lady. I’s just doin’ what I’s been asked. Now are yer gettin’ in so I can get yer back?” He stretched his bulky body over to the passenger side, grabbed the handle and flung open the door. Once again, I hesitated. Once again, the man noticed.

  “Listen, lady, I’s not hangin’ here all day while yer makes up yer mind. Alls I know is I’s instructions, find yer, get yer back. I mean, if it weren’t for that fella back there, who told me he saw some chick wanderin’ up this way several hours ago, I wouldn’t even have come this far.”

  I bet I knew which fella he was referring to.

  The man paused as if considering something. “I tells yer what; I’ll just give Reardon a call and put it on speaker. So yer can hears the conversation, okay?”

  Seemed a fair compromise. I watched him finger a number into his car phone. Before long, I heard the voice I had come to know so well, a voice that clearly indicated stress.

  “Reardon.”

  “Hey, mate, its Jacko. I haves her.”

  “Is she okay?”

  Jacko’s eyes rolled over me once. “Looks pretty good to me.”

  Silence… then, “Did she say what happened?”

  “Yeah, somethin’ about needin’ time out.”

  More silence, and then a modified tone; not a good one.

  “Ok, Jacko, we’re still parked behind Zephyr. Just bring her there. And can’t thank you enough, really appreciate it.”

  Jacko gave me a sideways glance, “No worries. For yer anytime.” And with that, he signaled off. His head turned towards me, brows raised, a sneer hanging of the corner of his mouth. “Well, lady, yer gettin’ in now? Or ifs yer prefer yer can sits in the back.”

  It took only a cursory peek to make out the disheveled rummage in the rear of the truck; crab pots, buckets, fishing lines and a pungent, very off fish odor. I returned to Jacko, heaved my body into the huge vehicle and strapped myself in. Jacko U-turned and began heading back.

  “Were you serious about the people looking for me?” I was trying to make conversation.

  Jacko grunted, pulled a lone cigarette from the pocket of his shirt. He sloped to one side, grabbed the car lighter and lit it. “Don’t jokes about things like that. Lots of them good people, yer know, spendin’ their afternoon, lookin’
for yer.”

  I shook my head in dismay. Jacko had his smoking arm leaning on the opened window, the breeze sending a constant stream of cooling air and nicotine into the vehicle. I tried not to cough.

  He threw me a fleeting look. “From what I can gather, lady, he must have bin pretty worried to do it. He don’t ask this from us for no good reason. Whatever yer cause for yer ‘time out,’ I’s hoping it’s a jolly good one.”

  I had thought so. Now I wasn’t so certain. I studied Jacko. I was curious as to his commitment… their commitment. “Do you do this because Saul Reardon has done something for you in the past?”

  Jacko laughed, sucked in a long drawl of his cigarette. “Done somethin’? Mores than just done somethin’. But in answer to yer question, of course, we all do. There’s nothin’ too big or too small. If I’s do this for the rest of my years, I still wouldn’t feel I’s repaid him.” His eyes darted from the road to me several times. “It’s his… I don’t know how to put it into words… his compassion… yer know?”

  I was beginning to.

  “And he keeps his promise to helps yer, sticks with yer until it’s sorted.” He cast me a glance. If I wasn’t mistaken, quite a derogatory one. “As long as yer sticks with him back.”

  “I had to have some time on my own,” I said, annoyed that I felt the need to re-explain myself to this relative stranger.

  He watched me for a time. “Lady, what yer did was your business, not mine to judge. But that man don’t need the unnecessary grief. He makes the likes of us his sorta personal project, gives it his all, if yer know what I mean.”

  I did.

  “Alls yer needed to do was to let him know. It was the least he deserved.”

  I knew Jacko was right. But, at the time, I hadn’t considered the consequences. Now, I just felt plain wretched for causing the entire ruckus.

  We traveled in silence the rest of the way. I thought about Jacko’s comment about the likes of us being Saul’s personal project. I couldn’t help wondering if that’s all I was to Saul. A project, where any warm feelings I sensed from him were nothing more than his legendary compassion.