Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
I’d tossed and turned all night trying to come up with a decent plan to get Steamy Sips out of the red before Miss Lissy crept in and snatched it out from under Breeze. I’d filled her in last night once the negotiations about spinning poles had wrapped up.
"I admire her confidence, but it'll never happen," Breeze had said.
I wished I shared her optimism. Knowing what Miss Lissy was capable of through town gossip and actually experiencing what she was capable of were horses of a different colour.
I had zero financial skills to speak of, unless you counted being able to survive on packet noodles for weeks. I wouldn’t know where to start with creditors and debtors. And I couldn’t help but worry that Breeze’s situation was worse than she was letting on.
After a shower, I slipped into a pair of blue skinny jeans and a loose t-shirt, which I tucked in at the front. My wavy brown hair tumbled down to my waist and needed its own support to hold its weight.
I could hear Breeze chatting to Taco as I came down the dusty stairs, and I made a mental note to clean them this week.
“Here we go, my tiny burrito taco bowl,” she chirped, sliding a small plate of meat and biscuits down for the chihuahua.
“I wasn’t aware she had a full name,” I said, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
Breeze’s cheeks turned pink. “She doesn’t. My mum would have hated that. Taco brings out that voice in me, like babies do.”
I couldn’t relate. That time clock they say kicks in for women in their twenties, making them all clucky and drawn to baby making hadn’t hit me yet.
Babies are waiting for you around the next corner, you mark my word, people kept saying. I’d been cautiously checking every corner I turned since. I couldn’t imagine trying to take care of another human. It was hard enough taking care of myself.
“Your phone’s been lighting up like crazy all morning,” Breeze said, gesturing to where I’d left it charging in the scullery overnight. “I popped my head in your door, but you seemed out cold.”
“Was I snoring?” I asked, unlocking the screen.
Five missed calls. Same unknown number.
Breeze’s grin widened, like she’d discovered one of my secrets. “Yes.”
“You’re just lucky I was wearing pyjamas.”
I pressed the voicemail icon. As the message played, my jaw dropped.
Talk about crap things arriving in multiples.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned at the plainclothes detective leaning against the black ute. He widened his stance as I approached, arms folded, each hand tucked beneath an armpit, making his large biceps bulge. I wondered if he dedicated as much time to leg day.
He held out his hand, looking far too satisfied considering the circumstances.
“I don’t think we made official introductions when we met. Dax Holmes,” he said, his hand hanging in the air.
Give me a break. Not only did I have to come back to this stupid house because of a stupid break-in, but I had to do it with him too?
“Riley.” I shook his hand only for a second, but long enough to notice a tremble. Was that because of me?
“I didn’t realise you were a cop.”
He tilted his head. “Would you have spoken to me any differently if you had known?”
“No.” Honesty was the best policy.
But I’d probably fantasise about a uniformed version of him in that scene in the cafe now.
I looked up at the towering wooden gate, whose padlock lay broken on the ground.
Dax turned to follow my gaze, and the side of his muscled arm brushed against my shoulder.
A pleasant tingle trailed behind it. Ugh.
“I prefer the people I’m forced to spend time with not to be arrogant as fuck,” I said.
“That’s funny. I was about to say the same thing, but here we are. Might as well make the best of it.” He pushed off the car with the sole of his boot.
How much did I care about the vandalism, anyway? Because being around this guy gave me about as much joy as a final notice letter.
Dax walked ahead, making notes on his phone as he surveyed the outside of the property. I would have opened the door while I waited, but someone had already done me the favour. Thanks, I guess.
I sat on the wooden bench on the patio and kicked at a plastic yellow-and-black trike left behind.
My heart raced the same way it had when I was last here with June, and I leaned my head against the red brick.
Unwelcome memories swirled in my brain and stomach, threatening to dislodge this morning’s smoothie.
Not all the memories were bad.
Every Friday night on this patio had been fish and chip night.
If you were allowed to attend it. I remember the sunroom at the front of the house that they'd converted into a toy room and the excitement when it was my turn to play with something.
I remember the sugar shakers on the breakfast table, and the novelty of using as much as you liked.
If breakfast was on the cards for you that day, that is.
The negative stuff permeated like an illness, tainting everything. Including the way my body felt just being near the building.
I let out a slow breath and opened my eyes, jumping when I realised Dax was now beside me.
He sat at the other end of the bench, legs stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other.
The mid-morning sun lit the edge of his jaw, and my cheeks warmed.
I was embarrassed that I’d been oblivious to his quiet presence while I was busy wading through trauma soup.
I cleared my throat, and his face turned towards me, his full lips curving as his dark eyes studied my face.
Okay, he was attractive. But I was only happy to admit that because I knew it was down to pure insanity. It was my explanation for being here in the first place, and everything else I’d done since.
“Shall we?” I asked, sliding my sweaty hands down my jeans as I stood.
Dax gestured with a hand. It was another one of those times that I wished some guy wasn’t trying to be chivalrous and would just go before me.
The house still smelled stale, surprisingly so given that the front door had been broken open since the previous night.
What caught my attention was the red line sprayed from the base of the stairs upward like a giant arrow.
I stood looking at it as Dax cleared the bottom floor of the house.
Spray paint had dripped down the handrail like blood.
It gave the space a suitably ominous feel.
“All clear on the ground floor,” Dax called from somewhere in the distance.
Then I heard the screaming.
It began the way it always did in my dreams. Building. Shrieking.
But it didn’t usually happen outside of my sleep.
My heart thudded hard as I looked around, trying to locate the sound. Ice seemed to rise from the floor, locking my feet in place. No. Not now. I willed the vault to stay shut, but it roared open like a bull out of a gate.
Please, not here.
The screaming was visceral, tearing through my body, and I crouched down on the floor with my hands over my ears.
The small room with its ammonia smell.
The house mother that smiled and reminded me to be good as she pushed me into it, closing the door.
The man in the white coat, and the table with the machine next to it.
The camera that sat on a tripod by the wall.
His smile and his twisted front tooth.
The way he patted my hand and said this would be easy.
The mixed lollies on his desk.
“This helps us see how good you are. And I can tell you’re good,” he’d said.
I’d smiled back at him.
I remember him strapping something around my legs. I can still hear the hum of the machine as it warms up.
The screaming as volts coursed through me. My screaming.
I woke to the strapping being removed. It was the first time I remember learning what betrayal felt like.
He gave me one lolly, not more. Because I’d screamed.
Red welts circled my legs from where the electrodes were strapped.
“We won’t need to do this again. Unless you break a rule.”
I’d trembled. My mouth tasted of vomit.
I vowed to myself I would never get in trouble again.
But I did. Because the rules changed constantly. Sometimes, it was impossible to stay quiet. Pain has a way of forcing sound out of you that you can’t control. And breaking the be quiet rule was the worst offence of all.
“Please. I want to go home. Please, I’ll be good, I promise. I want to go home.” I rocked on the floor, hands still over my ears.
“Riley,” a gentle voice cut in. Someone touched my arm.
I jerked back.
“Open your eyes, Riley,” the voice said firmer this time.
Automatically I opened them and felt jolted by Dax’s face looking into mine as he crouched down in front of me.
His chocolate eyes full of concern as he watched me struggling to get enough air through my haggard breath.
Everything in the room felt like it was floating, and I didn't know how to stop it.
“Notice where your feet are,” he said as he held my face with one palm and forced me to look into his eyes. I noticed my feet.
“Is what you’re standing on hard or soft?” he asked. The ridiculousness of his question caught my thoughts off guard.
“Hard,” I whispered.
He smiled at me. “Which bits of your body are touching things?”
“My feet are touching the ground. My legs are touching each other,” I wheezed.
“Good. Good. What day is it?”
It took me a couple of beats to find the answer.
“Sunday.”
“And where are you?”
“The worst fucking place in the world.”
I noticed my hands were still over my ears and I self-consciously pulled them away. Dax lowered his chin for a moment, his eyes hidden. When he looked back up, something was different about his face, but I couldn’t place it.
“That’s it. You’re here, and it’s today. Sunday. Not back then. Can you look around the room and tell me five things you can see?”
Half-heartedly I rolled my eyes but complied. I was too exhausted to fight, and it was what I instinctively did after my nightmares anyway. I felt ripped off and uneasy that one had just happened while I was awake.