Nightmares of Caitlin Lockyer (Nightmares Trilogy)

by Carlton, Demelza

  The message was clear – no one's safe, no matter how far away. Yet Dad said she'd turn up. Alanna always did, because she was so good, so perfect, a fighter to the last...

  Mum and Dad refused to capitulate. Their business model was too good. There was too much money to be made in doing the right thing to give in to terrorists. The kidnappers would realise they had no choice but to release Alanna.

  When are terrorists ever reasonable?

  I got sick of the positive fucking spin. Endless repetition of, "Alanna will appear. She always does."

  She did. The call came to my mobile, to come and identify her. I didn't tell Chris. I didn't call Mum or Dad, far away and far from concerned. I stood and stared at the corpse of my sister as the images seared themselves into every layer of my consciousness, never to leave me. Leaving only ashes and a smouldering desire for revenge. I'd resolved to make the bastards who took my twin pay in tears of blood.

  The most terrifying thing is losing those you love.

  Mum and Dad did mourn. We all did. We just didn't do enough.

  One sister gone, I dreaded losing Chris next. I was the only man home – it was my job to protect them and I'd already failed. I couldn't fail again. Time to get fucking proactive. The ASIO team started asking questions so I started with them. I was going to help, whether they paid me or not. In the end, they gave in just to stop me from interfering in their operation.

  Gotta catch 'em all.

  Almost. God, almost. So close and so fucking frustrating. My hands tightened on Alanna's steering wheel. Mine now.

  What if they got to Caitlin while I wasn't there?

  I decided to go to the gym. I wanted to punch things.

  I'd never worked so hard with a speedball. I lost count and didn't stop 'til I couldn't see, there was so much sweat streaming down my face. I mopped my face with a towel and moved on to weights.

  Lifting Caitlin so often meant I wasn't completely out of practice, so I was pleased not to need to drop the weight down much. I did a few extra sets, just to make up for the time I'd been away.

  I refilled my water bottle, nodding to some of the familiar faces I hadn't seen in a while. Mine wasn't a social gym – all the battles were personal, except when you worked with a personal trainer. The guys who grunted and sobbed as they did bicep curls with a barely loaded barbell didn't last long in my gym. They soon found somewhere else to train.

  I finished up with intervals on the treadmill, starting out easy and then turning up the gradient. I ran 'til I ran out of water before heading home for a shower. Chris had already left the house by then, thank God. Showered and freshly dressed, I watched TV until it was time to go back to Caitlin's.

  We had Japanese for dinner and Caitlin cried when she couldn't handle the chopsticks. I threw them out and fed her sushi with my fingers until she laughed again. Of course, that didn't happen until my eyes were streaming from finishing up the wasabi in one mouthful. She could've warned me.

  She let me ditch the pyjamas, but not my shorts. I wasn't complaining. I still got to sleep with her.

  And the next night. And the one after that.

  I wished I hadn't spent so much time at the gym that first session, because everything fucking hurt like I'd been in a fight and lost. It got better, though. After three days, I upped the weights. It felt damn good. The gym had to replace the speedball and my six-pack was starting to return.

  For two days and nights, I rinsed and repeated – gym, shower, clothes, TV, back to Caitlin's.

  I could hear the child practising the piano again each day as I climbed out of the car. The same song, over and over, but it sounded smoother and more like music now. Everything coming together to turn something rough and awkward into something pleasurable.

  Maybe tonight... I thought as I walked stiffly up the steps to Caitlin's front door.

  84

  Caitlin smiled when she saw me. She let me in and offered me a drink. I took it and drank deeply, my bicep burning with fatigue as I lifted my arm.

  "What'd you do today?" I asked, wondering.

  "Writing down more memories. Getting reacquainted with some of my music..." Caitlin trailed off vaguely and my attention wavered until I realised she was looking at me expectantly.

  "Sorry?" I asked, embarrassed at being caught out for not listening.

  "I think I need to give a press interview," Caitlin said, looking frightened at the thought.

  "Why?" I asked. "We've avoided the press as much as possible, with the help of the police, because you didn't want any publicity. Besides, what about the ones still left, who hurt you? What if they see the interview and come after you?"

  "After that night in the night club, where everyone recognised me, what's the point of me trying to hide? They already know what I look like. I won't be able to fade into my life again." She sounded near tears and I thought I understood why. "And... I owe it to you. Every request I've had for an interview wants the fairytale story, the one with a hero in it. And no one knows who you are and what you did."

  Because I don't want them to, I thought, but didn't say. "You don't owe me anything. I was in the right place at the right time to help you. Anyone would have done the same."

  "Like the helpful guy in the club who attacked that bloke, who almost attacked you? I don't want that to happen again. This isn't a story I want to tell, but it's not just mine, Nathan. I want to make sure people know what you did for me. I don't want to see you framed because you helped me." She sounded firm, but she looked like she was holding something back. I assumed it was tears, but there was more. "I... need your help to do it, Nathan. They want to interview not just me but you, too."

  NO! That was my first thought, and the second, too. I'd lose my job, was the third, followed by, Did I really want to do this job any more, now that it's over? I could go back to Uni next year... I realised what else was bothering me and voiced it. "You don't like telling anyone what happened. How could you give an interview about it?"

  She bit her lip and her voice was barely audible. "Because if I do this, I won't need to tell it again. Everyone will know and I'll only need to tell it once."

  And there it was. No matter what I felt about it, no matter how much either of us didn't want to do it, we both would – so that I would know she'd never have to go through it again. I still couldn't get her face out of my mind, that day in hospital when she first started telling me what she remembered so I could take it down. The way she'd cried torrents without stopping, as if something inside her had ruptured and spilled out through her eyes. I'd do anything to know she never had to hurt like that again.

  "If you really want to do this, I'll help you," I told her. "But we'll tell the press crew that there are conditions, to make this easier for you."

  And I'd be there every step of the way, so I'd hear everything she had to say. I couldn't lose my job over that – I was still supposed to gather information. Even if it was in a TV studio... Fuck, how did I get into this mess?

  85

  "Remember, we set conditions," I told Caitlin in a low voice as we drove to the TV station, two days later. "This isn't live, they'll tape it and cut it, so there's no audience. I won't answer many questions, but I'll be there for you – for photos, too, if you like." I had misgivings about any photos or filming, but it was part of the deal. "If they ask anything that upsets you, you don't have to answer. You can end the interview when you're ready. If it gets too much, we can end it."

  "If I've had enough, end it," she murmured to herself as she clutched my arm. Together, we walked into the studio buildings. I was nervous as hell and I couldn't imagine how much bigger the butterflies were in Caitlin's tummy. She'd promised to tell the story she hadn't even told me.

  The receptionist's eyes widened when Caitlin gave her name, murmuring about makeup as she hurried off, waving frantically for us to follow her.

  Caitlin's expression tightened. I could feel her fear through her fingers, pressed firmly into my forearm, but she didn't
falter as she followed. At least she didn't draw blood this time.

  A round, little woman dressed all in black directed proceedings in the dressing room. "You – makeup," she barked at me, pointing at a chair in front of a mirror framed with lights. It might have looked like a starlet's dressing room in a movie, if three of the light globes hadn't blown. I sat down cautiously, resolving to raise merry hell if they turned me into a drag queen or a baby-faced teen idol.

  Another black-clad girl started swiping a sponge across my cheeks, as if she was trying to sand the stubble back into my skin. I'd shaved this morning, so it wasn't like it was too bad today.

  "Right, get her undressed. We'll try the blue first..." I looked at the room reflected in front of me. The round woman stood with her hands on her hips as three other girls circled Caitlin like a flock of magpies – a combination of sweet song and sharp beaks.

  Hands plucked at her shirt. Caitlin shrank away, her arms curled across her body. "No, please..." Her eyes were wide with terror and turned to me. "Please..."

  I stood up and shooed the magpie girls away as I strode through them. "Let me help you, angel," I said softly. I took her shaking hands in mine and touched my lips to hers.

  "Need to get changed," twittered one of the girls. I didn't turn to see which one.

  My eyes never leaving Caitlin's, I shifted my fingers to her shirt. I smoothly undid the buttons and slid the shirt off her shoulders. There were gasps as the girls saw the scars on Caitlin's back, but I ignored them for my eyes were busy holding hers. I eased it down, baring her arms and her bra, and I heard a muffled sob from one of the nameless girls. "Angel, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. You don't have to tell this story to anyone. I can take you home if you want." I took her hands again and kissed her fingers.

  Caitlin's eyes were dark, dry wells. Her tone was equally deep. "No. I can do this." She pulled her hands from mine and gritted her teeth as she undid her pants, letting them slide to the floor. Her pink underwear matched her scars perfectly.

  In the mirror behind her, I saw the shaken round woman say, "Not... not the blue. Too much skin. The mulberry, I think..." Even her voice shook.

  One of the girls nodded, wiping her eyes, as she hung the blue dress up and reached for something in purple. The room was so silent I heard her every footstep on the vinyl until she passed the purple dress to me.

  I helped Caitlin slip the dress over her head, the skirt falling to just below her knees.

  "May I?" asked a quiet voice beside me.

  Caitlin nodded silently to the girl, who wiped her eyes once more and started to adjust Caitlin's dress so it sat perfectly. Caitlin stood like a statue of fortitude, frozen and unflinching, yet still I worried.

  "Are you sure?" I asked.

  This time, Caitlin nodded only once. "Yes, Nathan. I know what I can take. Get some makeup on, because the interview questions will be harder than just getting dressed. I need you." Her fearful eyes lingered on mine, showing the terror the rest of her body hid beneath her stiff stance.

  I sat back down, watching her reflection carefully until Caitlin was led to the chair beside mine. I reached out and took her hand, smiling at her.

  "Done," said the makeup artist with considerable relief. I looked in the mirror at her work. I was relieved to see I still looked like me. If it weren't for the Vaseline she'd brushed on my lips, I could ignore the fact that I was wearing makeup at all.

  "You need to change your shirt," the round woman told me, her voice quieter than her first command. "For you, the cornflower..."

  I turned to see what sort of flowers I was expected to wear, but the girl held only a light blue striped shirt. I shrugged out of my own and put on the proffered one. The fabric felt thick and crisp against my skin – like my good suit shirts that I only wore on special occasions. I guess this was one of them. The day Caitlin told the country what had happened to her.

  I looked to Caitlin, her eyes closed as the girl took a brush to her eyes, darkening lids and lashes with careful strokes.

  Reaching for Caitlin's hand again, I was quick to press my lips to her fingers before she could pull them out of my grasp. Of course, I got Vaseline all over them and felt stupid, so I started to apologise.

  "It's okay, Nathan," Caitlin cut me off, then was silent as the makeup artist painted her lips the same purple-pink as her dress.

  "There you go, sweetheart," she said, standing back and smiling with considerable pride.

  Caitlin's eyes fluttered open.

  My breath caught in my throat. "You look beautiful, angel."

  Her slight smile was enough to lift my heart. "Thank you, Nathan." She stood stiffly, holding still to have her dress arranged around her once more, before she held out her hand to me.

  I took it and we were ushered into the studio to tape the interview.

  A bloke wearing a headset told us to sit down, pointing at the armchairs arranged in a semicircle. Caitlin sank down in relief on one. One of the magpie girls swooped in to tweak Caitlin's dress and hair so that everything was perfectly in place.

  Caitlin didn't let go of my hand, so I sat beside her while the dolled-up interviewer sat on her other side. The interviewer looked vaguely familiar, but for the life of me I couldn't remember her name.

  She'd evidently been warned not to attempt to shake Caitlin's hand, so she just sat and smiled at us while people scurried around the two women, making sure they looked their best.

  Caitlin looked pale, which only served to draw more attention to her big, dark eyes. I caught sight of what she looked like on camera on the screens in front of us – a hauntingly beautiful woman I ached to make mine. I looked over at her and she turned those eyes on me. Help me, they said, as she looked more vulnerable than she ever had before.

  "I'm here for you," I promised her.

  The interviewer cleared her throat and we looked to her. The questions began.

  As she asked Caitlin the first question, my stomach clenched in the worst case of stage fright I'd had since primary school. I forced my face into sympathetic blankness as Caitlin told what she remembered, being kept in the dark, men hurting her. I let the words wash over me, trying not to visualise the vague events she'd described in more detail on Alanna's laptop. She wasn't asked to elaborate. Instead, the interviewer asked how she felt and prompted her when Caitlin appeared lost for words.

  "I wanted to kill them all, but I knew I couldn't," Caitlin said at one point. "Sometimes I just wanted to die so that the pain would end." Her eyes filled with tears then, but she squeezed my fingers and, with iron self-control, she didn't cry, blinking the tears away. "And then, I woke up and Nathan was there. He told me it was over and they weren't going to hurt me again. It seemed too good to be true so I didn't believe him at first." Her watery smile left me wishing I could comfort her.

  As if her words were some sort of cue, it was my turn.

  "How did you find her?" the interviewer asked me.

  I took a deep breath, trying to unlock my jaw to answer. I'd prepared a response for this and I had to get the words out.

  Do it for Caitlin.

  I looked at her beautiful, brave face and found courage I didn't know I possessed. The power to open my mouth.

  "I couldn't sleep. I went for a walk on the beach. I saw someone lying on the sand and when I approached she didn't move, so at first I thought she was dead."

  Caitlin's huge eyes were on me, worried. Still, she smiled.

  "I... I asked her if she was okay, but she didn't answer."

  Now her eyes held sadness.

  "She was very cold and barely conscious, so I called an ambulance and got a first aid kit from my car while we waited for help to arrive."

  Caitlin pressed her lips together, giving the slightest nod.

  This was the hardest part. Slowly, slowly...

  "She woke up before the ambulance arrived. She was so scared." I swallowed as I looked at her, remembering what I could never forget.

  The i
nterviewer's voice broke through my memories. "What was the first thing you said to her?"

  I'm sorry. Oh God, so sorry.

  "I told her it was over and that I was there to help."

  One look at Caitlin's watery smile made me continue.

  "She asked me to stay with her in the ambulance and the hospital, because she was afraid to be alone."

  The image came to my mind then of what she'd looked like when she'd said that and I stared at her now, trying to replace the hellish image I remembered with the vision I saw now. "She's amazing," I blurted out. "No matter how much pain she was in, she never stopped fighting to live, to get better. Anything else would mean they'd won."

  Caitlin looked so deep in thought she didn't seem to know what she wanted to say. Her lips formed words, but no sound came out. She tried again and I barely caught the words, her voice was so quiet. "End it."

  I dragged my eyes from Caitlin to the interviewer. "This interview is finished," I told her, as Caitlin and I stood up together. I moved closer to Caitlin, so I could support her before she walked too far.

  She stood still for a moment, her arms resting on mine as mine held her. She looked up at me slowly, a smile on her face. She brought her lips up to mine and kissed me. Her gaze never wavered from my face, even as her heels touched the ground again and the kiss ended.

  "Beautiful," came a voice from behind us. I turned my head a little, to see a cameraman flip two emphatic thumbs up.

  Caitlin sagged in my arms, squeezing her eyes shut, more exhausted than I'd realised.

  "I'll take you home, if you like, angel," I said softly. She nodded wearily, leaning heavily on me as I escorted her out.

  End it. The words echoed in my head as I desperately hoped they didn't inspire the same memories in Caitlin as they did in me.

  86

  "An interview. You gave a fucking television interview."

  His name was Paul Mott. It said so on his door. An ordinary name for an ordinary bloke, the boss who was yelling at me for fucking up this entire operation from start to finish. This time, in person and not by phone.