Strike Me Dead

by Bob Goodwin

  ‘No, you need less. That’s the problem,’ said Timmy. James pulled a packet from his pocket and pushed out two tablets. ‘Don’t take that.’ James threw them down his throat then pushed his hands into the soft sand and arched backwards. Timmy grunted his disapproval and moved his attention to a flock of seagulls way out beyond the breakers. The birds circled and darted at the water catching small fish and squawking loudly.

  Last night, the two men had returned late to James’s unit after it was clear Carmel was quite intoxicated and would not be driving home. They reminisced for several hours, sharing their experiences of psychiatric treatment and various admissions to acute mental health units. Timmy revealed how he was living out of town on a property with an elderly couple that had taken him under their wing. He lived at the back of the residence in a large, well-equipped tin shed and was given free rent and meals in return for attending to property maintenance and looking after the vegetable gardens. In addition, the old folks threw in $50 a week for driving them here and there, and collecting their medication packs each week from the pharmacy. Keeping to his ideal of remaining stealthy, Timmy had no phone, no credit or bank cards and no identification items of any kind — well, apart from the ones he stole from time to time. The red Barina was one of two cars that belonged to his keepers who had little use for either of them these days.

  While the two men had much in common, they also had some differences. James accepted that he needed medication to keep his thinking in order, quite the opposite of Timmy, who was absolutely opposed to any. He could cite a multitude of research reports that showed how detrimental psychiatric medications were. During their conversation, he tried unsuccessfully several times to convince James he would be better off with nothing. James kept replying, as politely as he could, that the only research that mattered was what his own brain told him.

  The other issue of difference was Timmy’s stance on justice and payback. There seemed to be no end of people who had wronged him over the years and he had, so far, assembled a list of twenty names complete with addresses, full property descriptions and phone numbers. According to Timmy, all these people were really non-people who needed their program to be deleted. James recognised three names on the hit list — Dr Mark Jeffries, Detective Alistair Riley and Deborah Rogers, a psych nurse from acute admission ward. I want you to sever their heads for me, he told James who simply smiled and nodded as if this was a most reasonable request.

  Back at the beach, after thirty minutes of quiet reflection and relaxation on the warm sand, Timmy spoke.

  ‘We are all good, right?’

  ‘Sorry about before,’ said James calmly. ‘Yes we are fine. Like I told you, the meds help me. Keeps me focused. I’ll probably need another dose later.’

  ‘That’s something we can talk more about after this is all over. Now you are sure about this storm?’

  ‘Temperature is rising, the land is heating and the upper atmosphere is cool. There will be a storm. There will be lightning and most likely hail. The northern hinterland should be the main impact area.’

  ‘Bloody hell, James, how do you know this shit?’

  ‘Historical data, long-range weather forecasts, geographical factors, atmospheric conditions and guesswork.’ James looked at the sky. There was still a good deal of blue, but some large white cumulus clouds were scattered about.

  ‘And the percentage of guesswork would be?’

  ‘Varies between thirty and fifty, but that’s way better than most I can assure you. Weather is a chaotic beast. An event or series of events anywhere around the world can cause a sort of ripple effect and change everything.’

  ‘Ah yes, the butterfly effect,’ nodded Timmy.

  ‘Indeed,’ replied James. ‘You are fully prepared then?’

  ‘I believe so. I am fully prepared for the battle.’

  ‘Hmmm ... you remember how the old battle saying goes, don’t you?’

  ‘And which one might that be?’ asked Timmy. James looked up at a large cloud with a grey belly.

  ‘For want of a nail a horseshoe was lost; For want of a horseshoe a horse was lost; For want of a horse the battle was lost; For the failure of battle the kingdom was lost, and all this for the want of a horseshoe nail.’

  ‘Right then. I will be sure to check we have all our horse-shoe nails.’

  ‘Yes, be sure. The countdown is now on,’ said James. ‘There’s no turning back now.’

  Chapter 52

  The 2nd Confession

  James cast a sideways glance through the metal grille. He could see the outline of the priest. He guessed him to be an older, experienced man.

  ‘Bless me Father for I have sinned yet again and it has been only a week since my last confession.’

  ‘May the Lord be in your heart and help you to confess your sins with true sorrow.’

  ‘I have continued to have revengeful thoughts against others who have wronged me. They continue to seek sanction from God for their misdeeds and I wish for them to see the error of their ways. These thoughts fill my mind and at times I can see nothing else. I feel their stance is truly blasphemous. I need guidance.’

  ‘Are you the young man who was mixed up with some sort of cult?’

  ‘I am Father.’

  ‘I remember our conversation. I have been praying for you.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ replied James.

  ‘What is the nature of your revengeful thoughts?’

  ‘I wish them harm. Sometimes to the extent of wishing they were dead. At times, I visualise that I am the instrument of their death. They show disrespect to God and they demand God sanction their evil work.’

  ‘Are you in danger?’

  ‘I believe I have everything under control, Father.’

  ‘Have you contacted the authorities?’

  ‘Yes, they show little interest.’

  ‘You must pray, my son. Pray to God to help you see a way through.’

  ‘I do pray with absolute sincerity.’

  ‘Then let God’s light shine on them. It is not for us to serve punishment, this is in God’s hands.’

  ‘I will, Father. I will allow God’s light through. Thank you.’

  ‘Is there anything further?’

  ‘I have received contact from a long-lost friend who has, for better or worse, changed his life and estranged himself from his family and from the Lord.’

  ‘Can you encourage him back to God?’

  ‘Of that, I am unsure. He is quite headstrong.’

  ‘God is forgiving and loving. If you can return him to the faith, you will be rewarded.’

  ‘Thank you, Father. I will try.’

  ‘Is there more?’

  ‘I have lied to my mother. To avoid upsetting her about matters that are irrelevant.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Sexual thoughts from my previous confession have persisted. That is all for now, Father.’

  ‘Before I give you penance, I think we should pray together.’

  ‘Thank you, yes I would like that.’

  ‘Our Father who art in heaven; hallowed be thy name...’

  Chapter 53

  Going Bush

  Jason Hunter and his two colleagues, Lisa and Daniel, had so far spent the last two hours painstakingly working their way through the bush at 101 Rifle Range Road and found nothing of real significance. It was a largely undeveloped 42-hectare property with an old homestead, a couple of large tin sheds and plenty of natural bushland that made progress slow and difficult. The place was one of three that were on his list for a second visit. This address and the other two all seemed unoccupied and somewhat run-down.

  Jason had contacted the police soon after he had the phone call from Tien; and he was initially hopeful he would get police assistance with his search, however, the police already had two other fresh and credible leads and many officers had been dispersed in several directions. There was one report of a bunch of you
ng kids drinking and misbehaving in the national park at Noosa. One of them went by the name Jessica and fitted the description of the Chang girl. The other was a notification by an anonymous caller regarding a well-known sexual predator who had been seen pushing what looked like a blood-soaked blue dress into a wheelie bin. Hunter had been advised that should he find anything of interest, he should re-contact and the matter would be reviewed.

  The team of three investigators had made five attempts to re-contact the caller, Dale Harding, but so far had only managed to leave five messages on a generic voicemail.

  ‘Okay, let’s get a trace on that phone number,’ shouted Jason as he pushed himself between two low acacia bushes and into a small clearing. ‘Daniel, phone Keith in Brisbane. Let’s call in a favour. And guys, we’ll take five right here and have a rethink.’

  Daniel and Lisa had been keeping fifteen to twenty metres either side of Hunter as they moved in a line through the bush. The three sat down amid a few tall grass spears and large flat rocks. Jason and Lisa sucked their water bottles while Daniel pushed buttons on his phone.

  ‘I’m trying,’ said Daniel, somewhat frustrated. ‘Reception out here is a bit hit-and-miss.’

  ‘Keep on with it. You seem to have the best signal of all of us. I’m prepared to give this another hour, if we come up empty-handed, we give it away.’

  ‘We still need to check those other two places,’ said Lisa. ‘Today, if possible.’

  ‘We do. I’ve got to tell ya, I’m getting a feeling we may be being played here,’ sighed Jason.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Maybe. Three credible reports in one day,’ he shook his head. ‘A little odd given there’ve only been two other partly believable contacts over the past week.’

  After five minutes, the group, armed with machetes, pushed forward. Daniel was still struggling to get a call away. Above, dark clouds were gathering.

  Chapter 54

  Starbucks

  Claymore parked well away from the busy Mooloolaba beachfront area and decided a long brisk walk would be good. Walks and runs had generally been a helpful way of stimulating his mind, aiding problem-solving and achieving the level of focus he needed; and today, there were a few matters he had not quite got his head around.

  He quickened his pace as he pondered the earlier phone call from his brother. The call from James was brief and to the point, requesting he meet him at four o’clock at Starbucks Mooloolaba as “a matter of urgency” had arose. “You are not going to believe this,” he had said just before hanging up. Perhaps this is part of his paranoid delusion, thought Claymore. Is he on the verge of yet another breakdown? Or maybe he has located another evil spirit? That would be something impressive. Or has he at last finally decided to be more responsible and lend more of a hand to care for his father? Claymore thought through the possibilities, the first alternative seeming the most likely especially given his recent hospitalisation. The other issue that was a bit of a puzzle was the unexpected arrival of James late on Saturday night...

  Claymore had just checked on his father, Morgan, who was now settled and snoring away. He flicked off the bedroom light and returned to the lounge. No sooner had he dropped into the recliner in front of the TV than there was a knock on the door. It was not a loud knock but a rapid, continual one. He jumped up and peered through the peephole. There was James, wide-eyed and flicking his head from side to side, checking the surroundings. Begrudgingly, he opened the door.

  ‘James what’s going...’ Claymore was cut off.

  ‘I need to borrow your car,’ said James loudly. He grabbed his brother firmly on both shoulders. ‘It’s an emergency.’

  ‘Okay,’ replied Claymore in softer tones with a finger over his lips. ‘Keep it down.’

  ‘There’s trouble. I may have been followed. Please.’ James was still loud. He looked pleadingly into his brother’s eyes. ‘Time is critical. I can explain later.’

  In the background, there was a loud grunting sound. Morgan was being woken.

  ‘Stay there,’ Claymore directed. ‘Don’t come inside, father has only just settled.’ A moment later, he had the keys for his Kombi. He tossed them to James.

  ‘Thanks, I’ll return the car tomorrow,’ said James.

  ‘It’s okay, we have the old four-wheel drive anyway.’

  James nodded, turned and was gone. Claymore stood staring through the dimly lit surroundings and into the darkness beyond. He heard his Kombi van motor start.

  Claymore Finn nodded to himself — psychotic for sure, that must be it, he thought. He sat at a vacant table at Starbucks and waited.

  Chapter 55

  Cuckoo’s Nest

  It was nearly four o’clock when Daniel’s phone rang. It was Jason’s police friend, Keith. He gestured to Jason who nodded then called Lisa over. They both stood by while Daniel completed the call.

  ‘That phone number belongs to a Beverley Winstanley,’ announced Daniel. ‘She lives at Maroochydore.’

  ‘Of course she does. Fuck!’ Jason slapped his big hand against his thigh. ‘While you have a decent signal, do me a quick favour and just humour me by doing a Google on the name Dale Harding.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I’m disliking this more and more every second.’

  ‘I’ll be happy to be out of this bush,’ said Lisa. ‘If I see another King Brown I may well just do the bolt.’

  ‘You’re not going to like this, boss,’ said Daniel, looking at his screen. ‘There are plenty of Dale Hardings. The most popular one happens to be one of the main characters from the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.’

  ‘James fucking Champion!’ roared Hunter, surprising his two companions. ‘Let’s get out of here. We have two other places to check and we’ve been fucked over.’ A slow thunderous rumble began in the distance. It became louder and rolled on overhead then trailed away.

  ‘Looks like we might be getting wet,’ said Daniel. Jason Hunter just grunted. The team turned back.

  Chapter 56

  Driving Rain

  James placed his tumbler of lemonade back on the table.

  ‘Delicious, Father, as always. Thank you.’

  ‘Huh,’ nodded Morgan.

  ‘Unfortunately, I have some disturbing news. You probably don’t know that Claymore has a very young girl, an evil spirit, locked away in Damnation; but he can’t bring himself to take her to Salvation,’ said James calmly. ‘You may have seen her on the news — Jessica Chang. She may just die anyway. She is quite unwell.’

  Morgan scrawled the words “NOT TRUE” in bold blue crayon on his butcher’s paper.

  ‘Arghh ... nah ... grrurg,’ he spat.

  ‘It is true. Jessica Chang is chained up and gravely ill.’

  James looked across the dining table. Morgan Finn was slightly flushed in his cheeks. His teeth were clenched through parted lips and saliva oozed from his mouth and down his chin where it hung and bounced before dripping into a small saliva pool on the dark timber. Both arms were in spasm and he had trouble controlling their movement. In front of him were his thick crayons and sheets of butcher’s paper attached to a large clipboard. He made some moist growling sounds. Suddenly his knee jerked up under the table making a loud bang.

  ‘You know you do remind me a lot of Walt when you do that,’ said James. ‘I mean no disrespect. It just struck me as an odd coincidence that’s all.’ After considerable difficulty, Morgan managed to grab another crayon.

  ‘Don’t bother, Father. I know you want Claymore back here,’ said James. Morgan stopped writing. ‘And I know you want that right now. I am sure he will meet with us later, but not here. He will meet us at the old house.’ Once again there were grimaces and grunts from his father.

  ‘Do not stress yourself. All is well. And what’s more I have an enormous surprise. Let’s call it a gift. Just for you. There is someone else in Damnation. I plucked him off the street, completely unseen, and
put him in there.’ James waited a moment. Morgan Finn went quiet. The tension in his muscles eased a little.

  ‘His name is Graham Lawson.’ Morgan erupted again, spasms returned, his head arched back and he let out a long, sustained high-pitched shrill. James smiled. Soon enough the crayon was back on paper. “HE MUST DIE”.

  ‘Indeed, he shall.’

  “I MUST C.”

  ‘Yes, you must.’ James stood and moved to the back of his father’s chair. He leaned over his shoulder and held out his phone. He pushed a few buttons. ‘Look, there he is. Graham Lawson. In good shape too; he does a lot of running.’ He flicked over another picture. ‘Ah ... here’s a better one. Chained to the floor. Not running anywhere now. And here’s one of the girl I was telling you about.’ Morgan let out another long squeal. ‘We should go now, Father.’ James slipped his phone back in his pocket and then grabbed the keys for Morgan’s old Land Cruiser. Morgan had written some more.

  “LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON. THANK YOU.”

  ‘Peas in a pod,’ replied James with a forced smile. ‘This will be a great day.’

  * * *

  Apart from the usual random grunts and moist gagging sounds, the drive to Kings Wood was uneventful. The old car rattled along, but despite its age and thanks to Claymore, it was a well-maintained and reliable vehicle. As they bounced along the driveway of 72 Grasslands Road, a few heavy drops of rain began striking the windscreen.

  Once inside the house, Morgan made his way to the table. James placed his writing materials in front of him. His father seemed quite relaxed and obviously was enjoying being back at the old place. After a moment and with little difficulty, he wrote “I MUST C THE SPIRIT LEAVE HIM”.

  ‘Yes, Father. First, I will call Claymore.’ Morgan nodded. James waited as a loud clap of thunder settled then made the call.

  ‘Hello Claymore.’

  ‘Where are you? You are supposed to be here,’ came the annoyed reply.