by A Kelly
‘Aaah… you want this?’ Bobby said pulling his belt out of his pants’ waistband. ‘We haven’t used it for a loooong time.’
Bobby looped the belt around Summer’s neck gently, it almost looked like a ritual. ‘Yeah… feel the edge of the leather, feel the coldness of the buckle…’
Summer whined. She whispered something to Bobby.
‘No, that will never happen. He loves you. As a man, I know he loves you, just as much as I do. I can’t let him go. Who do you love, Summer? Me or him?’
‘Please…’
‘Answer me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I thought as much,’ Bobby said and looked at Joseph. ‘Why did you marry me, Summer? You never loved me.’
‘I’m sorry, Bobby…’ her voice faded then she whispered ‘I love you’ to Scipio.
Bobby took a deep breath. His aura changed. He tried to suppress his contrition, but he failed. His body shook, his tears and sweat dropped on Summer’s face like rain. ‘Me too…’ he cried.
They stared at each other for a long time.
Then, abruptly, he pulled the belt. Summer’s throat contracted, she tried to be as still as possible, trying to hide that she was suffering, but her colour didn’t lie.
Bobby then slid his palm in between her thighs. ‘She never does this with you, Joseph? Oh, she’s wet…’
By this time Scipio had stopped trying to break free and started thinking about how he could escape watching her die. He wished he could’ve killed himself.
The scene of Summer suffocating made Bobby go into a frenzy. He started to ravage her lower body. Scipio screamed again… but in a split second between blackness and death, he found an answer. When he’d got caught in a rip during one of his swims, he’d injured his thumb on a rock. Somehow he had to recreate it now. It was his only chance. He pinched the knuckle of his left thumb, pressed it towards the palm, and flexed it until the base popped out of the socket. He heard the crack, followed by an almighty pain.
Thumb dislocated, Scipio slipped his left hand out of the cuff.
Bobby was so deep in his own desire that Scipio’s movements went unnoticed. With a thundering scream, Scipio charged at Bobby.
He dragged Bobby by the neck, far away from Summer who was already unconscious. He kicked the knife under the couch as the two of them wrestled. Bobby hit Scipio and he hit him back. The chains, looked to be repurposed bicycle chains, were still attached to Scipio’s right wrist. He used them to whip Bobby’s face mercilessly. Bobby’s eyes faded, but in the last second they wandered to Scipio’s other hand: a purple blob with a dangling thumb. Bobby snatched Scipio’s palm, crushed it and banged it against the floor.
Scipio screamed. The agony forced him to release Bobby. Soon he met with a barrage of punches from Bobby’s bare fist. He felt his lungs giving up, but Bobby stopped and the next time he saw him he was reaching down under the couch to get his knife. At the same time Summer rolled herself off the couch and fell on Bobby. Using every last ounce of her energy, she jammed her body between Bobby’s shoulder and the gap under the couch, stopping the man from drawing his arm.
Scipio pulled himself up. Screaming in pain and desperation, he swung the chains that were still hanging off his right wrist and lashed Bobby’s head. He went limp instantly.
He kicked Bobby aside and slid his right arm under Summer’s body. He felt her left arm move, trying to cling on to him. She sat up and leaned on his shoulder. He removed the belt from around her neck and covered her with his jacket.
‘Scipio…’ she whispered.
‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’ He put her arm around him and carried her outside. Her bandaged right hand had started to bleed again. The cuts around her lips had reopened too, and her neck looked deep purple.
Scipio laid Summer on the passenger seat as, finally, he heard a chopper closing in. Then a car, cars, many cars.
They were safe. Or pretty safe?
No, they weren’t safe. As long as Bobby was alive, they would never be safe.
‘Don’t, please,’ Summer begged as he turned back to the cottage.
Inside the cottage, Bobby was still lying in the same position. Scipio stared at the man. Youthful and wholesome? Perhaps. But Bobby was a monster too. Scipio walked to the couch, pushed it about half a foot and reached for Bobby’s knife under it. He knelt beside the stark-naked man. Only then did he realise how mangled his face was, but he was still breathing. His manhood had shrunk, leaning sadly on his thigh.
He gripped the knife firmly, lifted his hand, aiming at his heart.
‘Scipio! No!’
He froze.
‘You’re not a killer.’
He noticed Summer was about to collapse. Immediately he abandoned Bobby and got to her.
Once more, Scipio opened the cottage door. This time three police cars and an ambulance were waiting for them. Everyone was in position, guns pointed at them, but Varro decisively told them to hold fire.
Scipio dropped the knife and put his hand up; his other hand held on to Summer’s waist as she barely hung onto his shoulder.
‘He’s inside!’ Scipio said to Varro.
Paramedics soon rushed into action. Two of them took Summer on a stretcher while one was holding Scipio.
‘I’m fine. Just save her! She’s been drugged,’ Scipio said wriggling away from the paramedic.
‘You need help, too, Mr Russo.’
‘Where’s the chopper?’ Scipio could hear it, but it was nowhere in sight.
‘Calm down, Mr Russo,’ the paramedic said. ‘It had to land elsewhere. The ambulance will take you and your partner there.’
‘Scipio!’
Where she got her energy, he didn’t know, but Summer managed to shout out his name as the paramedics were wheeling her towards the ambulance. He staggered to her, ignoring the paramedic who was tending to his hand. ‘I’m here, Summer. We’re okay. The police got him.’
‘Cornelia…’
‘She’s safe.’
‘I couldn’t let you die for me, Scipio.’
He pecked her swollen, bloodied lips. ‘I would die for you, Summer,’ he whispered.
She wanted to say a lot more, but she just sighed.
‘Just stay with me. Keep telling me you’re okay,’ Scipio said, looking at her pale face; the bruises on her neck looked even darker now.
She was about to get up and hug him.
‘Ms Rideau! Lie down! You’ve lost a lot of blood,’ the paramedic said.
Soon they were on the move, and as the paramedic had said, they arrived at a paddock where the helicopter was waiting for them.
Summer threw up a few times and went in and out of consciousness as the chopper swayed in the wind. Sometimes she wriggled and mumbled. He couldn’t hear what she said, but from reading her lips, he knew she was calling his name. He caressed her with his right hand. He tried not to look at his other hand; even the medic kept shaking his head, looking at Scipio.
He asked himself if it was all worth it. Would Bobby have done all that to Summer, to him, if he’d given him what he’d asked for? Had Summer not turned up, would he have hurt Cornelia? Supposed Bobby had got his first 200K and managed to disappear, would he really care about the remaining 300K? One thing was for sure, individually Scipio and Summer wouldn’t have brought Bobby down, but together, not even Bobby could tear them apart. That was victory for Scipio.
In between the medical equipment beeping and the noise of the rotating chopper blade, Scipio heard RHH from the radio. Royal Hobart Hospital.
More people were waiting for them on the helipad. It looked like chaos, but they got to the emergency room in no time. Right when the nurses were about to separate Scipio from Summer, she opened her eyes wide. She gaped, almost choked.
‘What is it, Summer?’ he said.
She cried.
‘Ms Rideau?’ one of the paramedics asked.
She reached out to Scipio to come closer.
He stooped to
really listen.
‘Was he inside me, Scipio?’ she cried.
How he wanted to kiss her gaping mouth – but it was full of cuts. He shook his head then breathed into her hair and kissed her forehead. Along with the smell of dried blood and vomit, there was a familiar smell, a soothing smell, a smell that told him she was still alive, and that she was still his. ‘No,’ Scipio said. ‘No.’
Her gaze softened. Slowly she closed her eyes. Soon things got erratic.
‘Summer! Summer stay with me!’
And there was blood, fresh blood, coming from under her.
Scipio was pulled aside. The nurses gripped him under his armpit. He himself was falling. As everything turned black, he heard a disappearing voice: ‘Cardiac arrest…’
31
A fighter
Scipio held Summer’s hand, resting it against his chest. On top of his hand was Cornelia’s.
‘She’s one hell of a fighter, Dad. She’ll pull through,’ said Cornelia.
‘I’m sorry you have to go through this,’ Scipio said. ‘Tell me honestly, Cornelia, did Bobby hurt you?’
‘No. He didn’t.’
Scipio nodded.
‘It’s not your fault, Dad. It’s not Summer’s fault. I’m okay,’ Cornelia said.
The doctor came back with a serious expression. ‘Can I please talk to your father?’ he said.
Cornelia gave Scipio a kiss and walked out.
The doctor pulled up a chair and sat next to Scipio’s wheelchair. He was contemplating something.
Scipio looked at the doctor’s face. Why did he look familiar?
‘What is it? Please tell me…’ Scipio’s eyes were fixed on the forty-something doctor.
‘She lost the baby.’
That fresh blood under her…
‘What? She was pregnant?’
The doctor nodded.
Scipio howled. ‘No… No… No… No…’ He frantically fiddled with whatever he could grip on the wheelchair to move away from Summer. He stopped in the corner of the room next to an empty bed. He covered his mouth, trying to swallow his sobs, but eventually he just cried out loud. ‘No. No.’
The doctor knelt in front of him. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Russo. I’m sure she did all she could to protect the baby.’
‘How did he hit her? How?’ Scipio said.
‘There were no injuries on her abdomen, not even a bruise. It was the drug that caused the miscarriage.’
Scipio clenched his fist and hit the armrests again and again. In anger he was about to break his own arm cast.
‘Mr Russo, please stop, or I’ll have you restrained and taken back to your room.’
An orderly came in but the doctor signalled everything was okay.
‘I was not supposed to bring you here,’ Dr Carver said. ‘But I knew you had to be with your fiancée. So, please, cooperate.’
Scipio held his breath. He nodded and nodded as he choked back his tears. Why hadn’t she asked about the baby? The first thing she’d asked about was Cornelia. Fair enough. Then the second thing she asked was whether Bobby had raped her.
‘How far along was she?’ Scipio asked.
‘Two weeks.’
‘What do I say to her?’
‘I can talk to her when she wakes up.’
‘Yeah, yeah… because you’re well-trained, huh?
‘However I can help, just let me know.’ The doctor paused.
Scipio trembled as he looked at the doctor’s face. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘No, no. I just wanted to tell you – you’re a good man, Mr Russo. I will do anything to help.’ He paused. ‘I used to work in the North-West Regional. My brother is still there, he’s a paediatrician.’
Now that the doctor had mentioned, Scipio was reminded of Cornelia’s doctor when she’d had pneumonia – and that doctor really looked like this Dr Carver. Scipio tried to recall the paediatrician’s name. Dr Henry Carver.
‘I visited his wing one day and I’d never forget what I saw. You were singing The Lion Sleeps Tonight to the kids in Cornelia’s room. It was about this time of year. I remember there were Easter decorations everywhere. They all admired you as if you were the Easter bunny himself. I asked my brother your name. Russo. I still remember.’
Scipio nodded, then wheeled himself back to Summer’s bedside. He extended his arm to caress her stomach, but she might be tender there. He withdrew. But Dr Carver said, ‘It’s okay, you can put your hand there.’
Summer probably hadn’t known. No. She hadn’t.
‘Please don’t say anything,’ Scipio said. ‘Let me tell her. Don’t tell anybody.’
‘We’ve given the report to the police. But of course, it will be treated with utmost confidentiality.’
First, Emily, now Summer. He remembered Emily telling her: ‘Carlton was fine. Cornelia was fine. Why does yours have to be difficult, Joseph?’
‘Are there any implications on her health?’
‘It was a very early pregnancy loss, and it looked to be a clean miscarriage. I can’t see any serious impacts on her health.’
‘So we still have a chance to have another child?’
‘I can’t see why not.’
‘Please don’t tell her,’ Scipio almost cried. He sighed. ‘She… she gets depressed easily and I don’t want to upset her.’
‘We’ll make that call, Mr Russo. For now, you need rest.’ With no hesitation, the doctor grabbed Scipio’s wheelchair to wheel him out.
‘I’ll see you soon, Summer,’ Scipio said and kissed her fingers.
Outside, Scipio found Tim and Bernard chatting with Caine.
‘How is she?’ asked Tim.
‘She’ll be okay,’ Scipio told Tim.
‘I heard Swinburne was pretty beat.’ Tim scanned Scipio from head to toe. ‘Hell of a fight, huh, Joseph? Didn’t know an open-water swimmer could do that. But I was a good judge of character.’
The battle with Bobby might’ve been over, but his fight as Summer’s Scipio had just begun.
32
The singer
It was a sunny spring morning, five months after the transaction-gone-wrong at Styx Forest. Sunlight shone through the lancet windows of Penguin’s historic St Stephen’s church. In front of the altar, tuxedo-clad Scipio paced the 20m width of the church. Next to the first-row pew, Scooter rested while her eyes followed Scipio’s movement.
‘Sit down, Russo!’ Caine said, followed by Scooter’s brief bark. ‘Your dog knows better!’
‘Where are they?’
It felt as if the whole population of Penguin was already inside – but the three most important people in this wedding showed no sign of arriving.
Scipio sat, putting half his bum on the edge of the first-row pew, his feet very close to Scooter. He nudged up his sleeve to once again check the time. Five more minutes.
Reverend Debbie Oliver approached Caine and asked if he could give the bride’s party a call.
‘I’m going there!’ Scipio said even before Caine could answer the Reverend.
‘Sit down!’ said Caine. ‘They’ll be here,’ he reassured Debbie. ‘Just give them a few more minutes.’
‘Joseph! Come on! We’ll be late!’
Summer watched her mum shouting towards the ceiling of the Beam House, as if there were a second floor where her parents’ bedroom would’ve been. Cornelia frantically wiped Summer’s face; her tears had ruined her make-up again.
‘Summer, I’m sorry… I’ll start again. I’ll just apply some light eyeshadow, okay? We’ll go pastel and forget the mascara.’
‘I’m sorry, Cornelia,’ Summer said. She knew Cornelia didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop crying.
‘Oh no! I forgot to iron Joseph’s shirt.’
‘Mum… please… Dad isn’t here.’
Cornelia quickly applied a layer of lipstick and then brushed Summer’s hair again. ‘You look gorgeous. Come on! We have to go.’
‘Joseph!’
‘Mum, co
me on, let’s go.’
‘I’m not going without Joseph.’
‘Mum, please…’
‘Summer, you go first. Chris is waiting for you outside in the car,’ Cornelia said, looking at her watch. ‘I’ll take care of your mum. We’ll be there, I promise.’
‘I’m not going without my mum.’
‘I’m not going without Joseph.’
‘I’m sorry, Cornelia. I shouldn’t burden you with all this…’ Summer cringed. ‘But I can’t go without her. She’s my mum.’
Cornelia went into Summer’s bedroom and came out with a photo. ‘Summer, I love you. And I love my dad, too. This man. This man is waiting for you at the church. And he loves you more than anything in this world. He wants to marry you. And I want you to marry him, too. Please…’
Summer’s favourite photo of Scipio – he was in his hoodie holding Pierre the rosella before the bird’s release. She rested her sobbing face on his dimpled smile.
Scipio was constantly looking at his watch, yet he couldn’t really tell how many minutes had passed. Then he heard the congregation sigh. Cornelia, holding Louise’s hand, entered the church – discreetly but in a rush. He heaved his own sigh of relief – half a sigh, because he still couldn’t see Summer.
Scooter wagged her tail as Cornelia approach Scipio. Cornelia quickly patted the mutt and said to her dad, ‘Sorry we’re late.’
‘Where’s Summer?’
Cornelia smiled. She was ready to rush back outside to follow Caine, who was walking out of the church to meet Summer. She paused to tell Scipio: ‘She loves you very much, Dad.’
Every groom would say their bride was the most beautiful bride, but Summer was truly a fairy-tale bride. Standing tall at the end of the aisle, her figure was a stark contrast to the maroon carpet and walls of yellow timber barge boards. She wore a white satin gown – body-hugging at the top, flowing delicately from her hips down. The gown was plain, no lace, no frills, and Scipio couldn’t see any jewellery on her. But she shone –– she shone. Her hair was lightly curled and tied up in a slightly messy bun; and her make-up was toned down: her usually red lips were pink. In her hand she carried white roses, bound with a white satin ribbon. She still had a slight limp from her broken ankle, but next to her, holding her other hand, was Caine, who couldn’t stop crying. In fact, many people in the church were crying.