Faceless, page 5
Max nodded.
‘How long’s she been gone?’
‘One night.’ Even as Max said it, he knew it made him sound like a paranoid parent. The Ginger’s eyebrows raised and gave him a look that had no doubt been delivered to his folks along with some attitude over the years. Was he being paranoid? No, that nagging disquiet wouldn’t go away.
‘Look, Girlie is cool, you know, and she’s tough. She can look after herself, so I think if it’s only been a night, you don’t need to worry.’ He was right, of course, but that didn’t explain the hollow feeling in Max’s gut, the certainty that something was wrong. ‘Tell you what, we’ll keep an eye out, and if we see her we’ll tell her you’re looking, okay?’
‘And if she doesn’t come back tonight?’
‘If she doesn’t come back, we’ll get looking tomorrow.’
It was better than nothing, and he couldn’t really ask for more than that. Max’s eyes found a young man who had been standing at the back of the group, his hoodie pulled up around his face. He looked so young. His features threw a snapshot of someone else into Max’s mind, and the thought triggered a buzz in his ears so loud that he had to walk off, he had to walk off now, away from the memory. With a curt nod to the leader, Max turned around and made his way down the nearest path to his right. He walked on in a haze, his feet on automatic, as his thoughts began to run through every conversation he could remember with Billy, to search for anything she had said in the last week that could possibly explain her disappearance. She’d mentioned a surprise for him, but wouldn’t elaborate on that, just gave him her cheeky smile and told him to be patient. He was certain she hadn’t mentioned staying over anywhere else. She didn’t know many people who could let her sofa surf – and if any, the motley group he’d just met were the most likely candidates. He felt disappointed in her friends and their lack of practical caring.
The drop in temperature under shade of the trees in the Grafton cemetery made him shudder more than the graves. He stopped for a moment, orientating himself now that he wasn’t relying on autopilot. This area was usually a place of calm for him, a sanctuary in the manic bustle of this city; but today the gravestones only increased his sense of unease. Now he was aware of which way he’d come he set out again, upped his pace, heading up towards the concrete solidity of the street, away from the ethereal atmosphere of this place with its dilapidated reminders of mortality.
‘Hey you.’ He’d been walking along in such a reverie that until now he hadn’t noticed the group of youths under the cluster of cabbage trees to his right. He put his head down and walked faster. ‘Hey you, shitface, I’m talking to you.’ He heard the light pad of feet running towards him and picked up his pace even quicker, but it was pointless, two bodies appeared before him, and he didn’t need to look to know he was surrounded by several others. They were all Polynesian, and judging by the predominance of black bandanas, were gang boys. The one in front of him, who looked to be the leader, judging by the sneer, shoved him in the chest. ‘What you running away from, old man?’ The sneer shifted to a look of distaste, and then disgust. ‘Fuck, you stink – you stink like piss and shit. Don’t you wipe your arse properly, old man?’ The words were followed by a chorus of bass and tenor laughter and taunting from behind, along with another shove, one that threw him into the leader.
‘What, you think you can touch me, are you trying to take me on? You wanna take me on?’ Before he could react, Max felt the blow to his stomach. The explosion of pain felt like someone had shot him in the guts. He doubled over, and more by luck than design managed to deflect a second blow, but he was unprepared for the kidney punch from behind. It felled him like a ton of bricks. As he crashed to his knees, survival instinct kicked in and he curled up, foetus-like, and thrust his arms up to cover his head. Their voices sounded like they were filtering down through water, his vision matching the illusion.
‘No, bro, don’t kick him, specially not in the arse, that stink will stick to your shoe, and you’ll never get rid of it.’ The comment was met by laughter and the thump of hands slapping backs. ‘Eh bro, you’d better wash your hands after touching him, eh? Those germs might kill you.’
He heard a big sniffing sound. ‘Aw, my hand stinks now, argghhh, it’s going to drop off.’
And another, ‘Fuck, my hand stinks too, and I’m gonna wipe it on you.’
‘Nah, get away, bro, ugh, that’s gross.’ Among the laughing and the jostling he only copped two kicks before the group, bored with their prey, moved on in a cackle of trouble to torment someone else.
Max stayed where he was, breathing deeply, for several minutes before he emerged like a turtle from his shell. He’d copped enough beatings in his time to know he’d got off lightly, that they’d only been playing with him; if they had meant it, he wouldn’t be walking away right now. He crawled over to a park bench to lie down and catch his breath. He still had work to do, he knew it, but his body ached, and the impetus had been kicked out of him. Maybe the BMX boys were right, maybe she had gone home with someone for the night and would turn up tomorrow, full of apologies for worrying him. She might even be there now, waiting for him, holding a peace offering of food or booze for causing him grief. The best thing he could do was go back to the haunt and wait – wait and see if she came back. Because he’d always be there for her, he’d promised that.
His body resisted his commands to move, but eventually spirit overcame flesh, and he pulled his aching self up off the park bench and started the walk up through the headstones and home.
Bradley
He lay in bed, staring up, watching the negative image from the light shade flit across the ceiling with the flicking movement of his eyes. For once he was glad of the comforting glow of the children’s nightlight in the hallway, because right now he couldn’t face being in the dark, like she would be. He didn’t dare close his eyes because when he did all he saw was her, crouched low into the corner. The vision was so intense he could smell the urine, feel the waves of fear that came off of her. He had to make it right somehow – but how? It wasn’t the sort of thing he could enlist Ange’s help with. Hi, honey, you know how you always fix things for everyone? I’ve got a pearler for you: it might be quite a challenge, accidentally kidnapped a girl – actually, she was a prostitute I picked up – but can you make it go away? He let out a snort of laughter, then held his breath as he heard Ange’s gentle snoring in the bed next to him falter, then settle back into its quiet rhythm. His mind began to roll down the well-trod path of self-abasement and abuse for getting himself into this mess, but he hauled it back, because that didn’t do anyone any good. He was employed to find answers for difficult problems at work, and he did it bloody well. Admittedly they revolved around the safe area of budget structure and efficiencies, but surely the same principles could be applied here? He would find a solution if only he stayed calm, was logical about it. There were basics that needed to be attended to. He didn’t want to accidentally kill the girl out of neglect, like that poor pet rat he’d had when he was ten. He’d stuck it out in the shed to clean out the cage because it was making his room too smelly, then had got distracted for a few hours, which had turned into days, which had turned into weeks, which turned into a dead rat. There was enough chewing on his conscience now without that. He rolled over onto his side, consciously relaxing the frown tightening his forehead. He had to keep calm, keep logical. He had to take control of the situation.
Billy
She dreams that the hulking, lurching shadow is edging ever closer to her, she looks over her shoulder and tries to see what it is, she squints, but its amorphous form shifts like winter mist and all she can feel is the dread, and she tries to run, to flee from the horror of it, but the harder she tries to run the more the ground beneath her shifts, it slips like sand, liquefying sand, and the more her legs pump and her muscles strain and the more she struggles the deeper she digs herself in, and still she can hear it coming, she can feel the darkness coming, she can hear it, hear its breathing coming in hot ragged gasps, and she is trapped, she can’t escape and she knows it’s right behind her and in her desperation and her all-encompassing panic she gives one more almighty kick out with her legs, and a flare of pain rips through her foot and she screams, she screams as she wakes up with the agony of her foot hitting the cold concrete wall, and as her lungs gulp for air and her heart drums in her chest, her face crumples as she realises her nightmare is her reality.
Max
The dawn sidled in under cover of cloud, with no fanfare or fuss. Max looked out over the top of the cardboard, across at the vacant space opposite. She hadn’t come home. What had been a twist of concern had grown into a gnaw of anxiety with each hour of darkness, hours passed in vigil rather than in sleep. Tiredness weighed heavy on him now, his body ready to give over to the desire for sleep when his mind could not. He knew what he should do, he knew what he needed to do, but a painful inertia dampened his body and soul. Five more minutes, he’d wait five more minutes. His fingers groped about in his pocket for a lengthy stub of cigarette he’d found the day before, and his hands shook as he tried to light it. Food was probably a good idea too. He could do the round of the skips, hope for something reasonable, then maybe he could bring himself to do what was necessary. No, he couldn’t think like this, for Billy’s sake he couldn’t. If the tables were turned, she would take action, she would make finding him her mission, he knew she would. He stood up abruptly, and the boxes that sheltered him fell to the ground. He started walking without looking back, left them where they fell, the scattered remains of a night’s sanctuary. He had to go, he had to walk there before the desire left him.
Now that his destination was within reach, this course of action didn’t seem like such a good idea after all. The whoosh of six lanes of traffic roaring past only added to his growing sense of unease and disorientation. His pace slowed with each reluctant step forward, time stretching out between each stride like some slow-motion replay, so by the time he stood on the opposite side of the road, the Auckland Central Police Station loomed over him, the crest of an imminently crashing concrete wave.
I’m doing this for Billy, he reminded himself, and he impelled his shaking hand to reach out and press the large metal button at the pedestrian crossing. He flinched with the loud click, snatched back his hand from its cold, impersonal surface. The glowing red man on the opposite side swelled and receded with the ever-growing throb inside his head. He fixed his eyes across the road and up the street, on the front door of the building, the destination, a clear goal, focusing his willpower on that one small place. He could do this. It was as simple as walking through that door.
The angry red man turned to an assertive shade of green, the demand to cross reinforced by an insistent electronic clamour. Max’s feet obediently propelled him over the threshold and onto the road; but by the time he got halfway across, his heart was hammering so hard and the whoosh in his head was roaring so loud, it was as if every primitive impulse to flee was screaming at him. With that blind instinct to protect himself against danger and pain, and before he was even conscious of doing it, he turned around and ran back to the sanctuary of the traffic island, a haven floating in the sea of traffic, with the shelter of its trees. Once within the protective confines of the triangle of safety, he leaned over, hands on his knees, and panted for breath. Rivulets of sweat ran down the sides of his face and the pounding pain in his head threatened to make it explode.
Jesus, what was wrong with him? What was so hard about walking in that door, reporting a missing person? What was so bloody hard about that? In his frustration he punched out at the air, trying to deliver a knock-out blow to his own failings. Had he turned into such a pathetic creature he couldn’t even perform a basic civic duty? He could feel the black dog of darkness nipping at his heels, its seductive pull lulling him down, promising the comfort of oblivion.
Billy.
He said her name out loud
‘Billy.’
He yelled it out this time, punching at the air again, catching a branch and flushing an eruption of startled birds out of the bush. The sting in his hand pulled his consciousness into the here and now. The blackness retreated enough that he was able to suck in deep breaths, steady himself, feel the percussion in his chest ease to andante. He forced himself to step through the protective barrier of the trees, walk forward to the seat, position himself so he could see the monster. And then he sat, sat and tried to stare it down.
Bradley
Avondale didn’t exactly provide a high-street shopping experience, and that was precisely why he was there. The long night had not been wasted, and the seeds of a plan had emerged with the dawn. And with that plan had come the beginnings of a shaky confidence, so he’d managed to lie to Ange about going to work, and he had enjoyed a swell of victory when he had asked her to cancel that doctor’s appointment she’d insisted on making. He’d had to dress the part to convince her, of course; and now he was here in Avondale he wondered about the appropriateness of his clothes. It was too late to worry about that. As he drove along the main street there appeared to be a disproportionate number of money-lending businesses in the shopping centre – that and takeaway food joints. He seldom passed this way, only on family expeditions, the odd Sunday drive to explore the sprawling city; the type of houses and the people who lived here were about as far removed as you could get from their substantial home in well-to-do Albany. He’d noted then the emporium-style shops – they were hard to miss, with garish displays of goods spilling onto the streets – in fact he had often scoffed about their tackiness. But until today he had never had cause to stop. Until today, he hadn’t had a bloody huge cause – one that threatened to overwhelm him. Hell, it had overwhelmed him; he hadn’t slept in days, he felt sick to the stomach and his heart didn’t seem to have dropped below racing speed in all that time. He tried to tell himself he was imagining the tight feeling in his chest, the snaking pains across his shoulder, the shortness of breath. He wasn’t having a heart attack, it was just stress – stress at the stupid, fucking unbelievable mess he’d got himself into. He had a plan. It wasn’t ideal, and it had the potential to come back and bite him, but it was a plan – his plan. He was doing something about it, taking action. Although the thought might not have calmed him, it did make him feel a little more in control of the situation.
Bradley looked down at the leather satchel on the floor on the passenger’s side. He hoped it would be enough. It held the contents of his rainy-day account. He hadn’t told Ange about that money, and why should he? He was the breadwinner, he was the one who toiled every waking hour in that toxic shithole of a job. He was the one who did the overtime, didn’t get home until seven o’clock most nights, and was then expected to do dishes, or iron his own shirts, or mow the lawns, or look after the kids while she went out with the girls or to some art class or Pilates or whatever exercise fad she was following that month. What was her reason the other night? – ‘It’s been a hard day. I’m going out to catch up with Cathy. I need some time out from the girls’ – when he’d just put in an eleven-hour day. She already had her bag and coat in hand, ready to leave, and he’d barely set foot in the door.
‘But I’m going out. Tonight is my lodge night, you know that. Have you arranged a babysitter?’
‘No, sorry, you’ll just have to miss it this month. I’m strung out, I need to get out for a bit. You have no idea how hard it is to be constantly on call, constantly in demand from them. You get to walk out of that door every day. I don’t. There’s no let-up.’
She thought he had it easy?
‘Look, we’ve had dinner, so you’ll have to fend for yourself tonight. And you’ll need to give them a bath before bed. I’ll see you later.’ She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and headed down the hall towards the garage, end of discussion.
‘But I can’t just not show up, they’re expecting me,’ he called after her.
‘They’ll get over it.’
The door through to the garage had barely clicked closed – he was still standing there, coat over his arm and briefcase in hand – when a wail erupted from the girls’ bedroom.
‘Muuuummm, Katie hit me.’
‘I did not, you pulled my hair.’
And there went his time out, out the window. He was last in the pecking order in his own household.
He looked at the bag again. No, he’d earned it. He felt fully entitled to skim a bit off the family finances and put it away for a rainy day. And if this wasn’t a rainy day, he didn’t know what was. There had been a number of times recently, as their debt and lack of cashflow had threatened to trip them up, that he had been tempted to raid the account and ease their burden, but then he had thought bugger it, why should he be the one to make all of the sacrifices? Thank God he’d resisted, because now more than ever he needed that cash. He just hoped it would be enough. What was the price of silence?
He parked the car around the back of the shops, out of view of the main road. Not that anyone he knew would be out this way at this hour of the day, but it didn’t hurt to be careful. Still, as he walked up the street in his business suit he felt like he stood out like a beacon. He had a plan: if anyone asked he’d say he was picking up some spare clothes for a church camp for youth outdoor activities – or something like that.
The first emporium he approached had stuff on every available surface; and where there wasn’t shelving, it was hanging from hooks in the ceiling. It was wall-to-wall colourful crap. He’d never seen anywhere quite as crammed as this. It had a Pacific feel to it, with vibrant leis, hibiscus-patterned wraps, singlets and T-shirts with flowers or beach scenes. In contrast to that were the shirts with skulls and death-metal images. He sneezed – the smell of long-stored tat heavy in the air. Where the hell did he start? He moved further back towards the rear of the shop and found a stand of nylon trackpants. What size would she be? She was shorter than Ange, thinner, with less curves. He looked at the size labels on the racks – 14, 12 … 10. Would that fit? He pulled a pair out and held them up. They looked tiny. He looked around to make sure no one was watching and held them against his waist, trying to gauge the size and length. Hell, they’d have to do. He could feel the beads of perspiration begin to roll down the sides of his face. Man, it was so hot in here, he had to hurry up. T-shirts. He grabbed a white one with a rainbow across the front. It was the sort of T-shirt Katie would love. The thought stopped him dead, the mental merging of his two distinct worlds jarring so hard he felt the knot in his stomach tighten even further and a taste of bile rise in his throat. He shoved the T-shirt back into the rack and grabbed a lime-green number instead. She would need something warm, if she hadn’t frozen to death already. His hand was starting to shake as he reached for a black hoodie with some unfamiliar brand name spread across the chest. The first one was so big it would have fit him. He tried to push it back in the rack, but it was so jammed full the bloody thing wouldn’t go back in. In his frustration he dropped it on the floor, kicking it underneath out of sight. He turned his head around to see if anyone was watching and met the suspicious eyes of a young Polynesian woman, the shop assistant. The age was the same. The size was the same. The hair was the same. The eyes were the same. A wave of cold prickles washed over his face, bees buzzed in his head, swarming, getting louder by the second, and a grey maelstrom started to tunnel in the edges of his vision. His hands fell open and the bundle of clothes fell on the floor at his feet, the walls started to tip over and the floor shifted beneath him. With a Herculean effort of will he drove his leaden legs to propel him out of there before the walls collapsed in on him, before his world caved in completely. He had to get away, get far away from those eyes, those dark, accusing eyes.
