“Yep.”
“She’s in a state, so it’s hard to get any sense out of her. He tried to kill her. It’s like they may need to sedate her.”
“So we may need to wait for her to settle down.”
“How’s things your end?”
“Been able to track him but we’ve lost him at the moment. But I’m glad about one thing. Watts is on the other side of the river from the safe house. It’s a big river, and he doesn’t have a boat.”
“And he doesn’t know where Ruby is,” Catherine said.
<°)))><
Toby stood at the top of the driveway looking at the overstuffed letterbox. The rusty No Junk Mail sign hung on an angle supported by a solitary screw. Did anyone ever pay attention to those signs? He gave it a tap and watched it swing. He picked up the rubbish and threw it in the long grass near the timber fence.
He turned his attention down the driveway. Been awhile since he’d walked down there. Only been here a few times since getting out of prison, and his little brother Gill had run off to an island at around the same time. No one had looked after the house. Not that it deserved to be looked after. It was a nut house. Filled with drugs and dealers and violence and dark, dark things. But he’d be safe here now. Safer than when his dad was alive. But he missed his mum. She’d joined her spooky friends somewhere in another dimension. And he missed those times with the spooky friends.
The house was hidden down a long drive, behind another house. No one could see it. No one could see the mess. The real estate people called it a battle-axe block. They explained why. The driveway the handle, and the house the blade. He liked that.
A medieval oak chair guarded the front door with a large pot plant next to it. He walked up some steps and sat down. His dad was one nasty piece of work. Toby had ended up in prison because of him. A nasty piece of work. Apparently, his dad had drugged him and had him murder someone, but he had no memories of the event. That helped him get a more lenient sentence.
He could almost see the people walking down the driveway. They’d bring their tarot cards and Ouija boards. They called the Ouija board a talking board but he’d never heard it talk. He placed his hand in the large pot near the front door, rummaged around the back of the plant and found the key. He knew it would be there. The gods watched over his house and everything he did.
Gods? His dad called god the Great Architect. Don’t let those Christians fool you, son. It’s got nothing to do with Jesus. You and the gods are one—you don’t need Jesus. So, no Jesus and no bible. His gods told him everything he needed to know. It was all a game, anyway. Everyone meets up again in the next life. Life on this plane wasn’t important—you could be killed or be a killer. It didn’t matter. Dad often brought Jesus into the picture. Why?
He opened the door and stood at the entrance. Light poured into a dark place. The walls were a yellowy white. The room smelled stale, so he left the door open as he wandered into the depths of his house. He sneezed. He paused at the doorway to the special room on his right and tapped the medieval ring door knocker to let the spirits know he was home. He gave a wry smile. Yes, he was home.
The floorboards creaked as he walked down the passageway to the living area. He flicked the light switch to see two large sofas and a television perched on a large flat table. He saw his reflection in the black green screen. A large family portrait hung on the wall. It was old and fading, just like his memories.
He made his way into the kitchen. The kitchen had a small bench, a small fridge, and an old stove with coil hot plates—they’d always reminded him of mosquito coils. He hated the smell of those burning coils. He hated most things about this house except the room.
Toby placed his backpack on the bench. Welcome home.
He looked back down the passageway towards the room. It called him.
Had his presence disturbed the spirits? He walked down to the room, stood before the heavy dark door and reached for the door handle, but stopped midway. The air was heavy. Things were not right. The gods were not pleased with him. He knew that. The task needed to be completed.
He turned and headed back to the kitchen. He unzipped his backpack and pulled out the groceries he’d purchased on his walk. Two tins of tuna washed down with an orange juice. He needed that.
Back down the passage way, he went into his parent’s bedroom. Light filtered in through a ripped blind. He watched the dust particles he disturbed colliding with each other as they floated back to the floor. He sneezed. A large rug covered the timber floor at the end of the bed. It also covered a secret hideaway.
He lifted the rug. More dust. More sneezing. He pulled down his shirtsleeve and placed it over his nose and mouth, and lifted the large rug further to expose the timber floorboards. He sneezed again. With watery eyes, he looked down at the combination lock on the floor and entered the code: 6666. Any combination or code or numbers always involved sixes, nothing else—some kind of family tradition. Car number plate was the same.
He laid down and poked his head in. Found the light switch and flicked it on. He scanned the pit. Some daddylong-legs scampered away. The weapons, drugs, and other paraphernalia all looked intact.
43 – The river
THE SUN HAD SET and Toby felt the dampness of the land close to the river through his shoes. He’d gone for a walk along the esplanade not far from his home. The gods had again been kind to him, placing the lady in a house not too far away from his parent’s house, and separated only by the great river.
He made his way up a slope to a small park overlooking the river that featured many houses with river frontage and jetties swaying in the water. The rich and the famous. Was it such a good idea to have a safe house on the river? It was exposed, but such exposure could also assist with a quick getaway. So was it really a safe house? Maybe just a temporary new address, maybe just a friend’s house. A stinking rich friend. This could be a lot easier than he’d thought. Yes, the gods had been kind.
A park bench faced the river and he walked over to it. The seat had a film of moisture covering it so he decided against sitting down. The solitary light in the park reflected down to the water’s edge. He could just make out a track through the shrubbery. From his vantage point, his eyes traced the track down to the water’s edge and saw tucked away, beneath an overhanging tree, what looked like the bow of a boat. Thank you.
It would be an old rowing boat used for checking mud crab pots. The owners wouldn’t leave paddles or oars, unless they were stupid, so he needed to find something. He was sure there were some paddles hanging in the rafters of the garage at home. His dad had chased after both Gill and him a number of times, using the paddles as weapons for whacking, not paddling.
He was relaxed. A sense of calm came over him as it always did when a plan came together. He reached into his backpack and located his night vision binoculars. He had found the house on Google Earth and now wanted a real-time look. A figure on the pontoon belonging to the house came into view. The glow of his cigarette gave him away. Would there be more than one? He ran his binoculars up towards the house. Three people stood on a balcony. He zoomed in. Three people with cups held close to their faces, seeking warmth from the steam spiralling into the air the same as the pontoon man’s cigarette smoke.
She was there. She did something to him. He remembered the first time his partner had told him about the redhead. Why he’d become obsessed, he didn’t know. And then seeing her at the clinic. She excited him. The gods were feeding him. He had watched from the boat as the people fought over the shovels to bury her. He wanted so much to be part of it. To stop them, because she was his. But things had turned out for the best. At times his lack of faith annoyed him. Sorry, gods.
But now she was his. All his. No people fighting over her. Just him. He felt so alive.
<°)))><
The warmth of the mug in Ruby’s hands warmed the rest of her body as she meditated on the softness of the house lights and street lights reflecting on the calm waters. Water always helped her feel more at ease.
The detectives would be here soon, apparently to bring good news.
She looked over towards a high point on the other side of the river where a solitary lamp lit up some parklands. There appeared to be someone standing there. Staring down on the river from up there would also bring a peace of mind. Water did such things, or so the Wiccan readings told her. She shuddered at the thought of Wiccan things.
She felt peckish, but knew the visitors would bring food.
A beam of light flashed over the backyard and she realised it was lights from a car that had turned into the driveway. She swallowed hard and wasn’t sure if it was because of her hunger or what she was about to find out.
T2 had already left to greet the guests.
“Wonder what’s up?” Ruby asked Zoe.
T1 headed back up from his pontoon, raising something to his mouth as he walked. Breath freshener, perhaps? Then he turned and looked back towards the river. Ruby followed his line of sight. A few moments later she saw what had caught his attention. Fish were jumping out of the water—probably being chased by a bigger fish, a predator.
