“See how nice I can be.”
We peeled away from the footpath, drove a kilometer out of town where he pulled over in a shaded spot, ordered me from the car so he could wrench down my jeans. The button flew off into the grass. He screwed me over the hood of the car, grunting. My open mouth smeared drool on the paintwork.
The pill was taking way too long to work.
When he dropped me into the undergrowth and placed his foot on my neck as he zipped up, I barely noticed the mouthful of grass.
“I’m getting lax. I haven’t fucked you with a stick for months or whipped you while you masturbate. Or strung you upside down from the rafters. Stuck needles in you.” He shook his head in disgust at himself.
Luckily, by the time we reached the house he was calming.
He strangled the wheel once the engine was off, then punched it hard over and over. My heart thudded and thudded so loudly. Fear, this was fear, again. He looked to me, studied me as if I were alien to him.
“I’m sorry.” He lay back into the seat headrest and sighed. “Really. You might not believe this, but I am.” He turned his head. “You’re a strong person. Don’t give up on me.”
Fuck. Fuck! This scared me more than before. So different to what he had been like for years, my mind went skitter-skating around, unable to comprehend.
That could still be lies. It has to be lies.
Lies I could deal with.
My heart was thudding even louder in my ears.
A thank you – was that what he expected?
Then he added, “Fucking you though…” He dragged me to him and examined my partly naked state. My jeans had been left by the side of the road. My shirt was unbuttoned to halfway down, and my panties were missing too – mild for him. “Yeah. Not sorry for that.”
He caressed my face then gently kissed me on the mouth.
When he slowly stuck his fingers between my lips and whispered suck, I may have had tears rolling down my face but, god, I loved it, loved doing it while he avidly watched every motion of my mouth and lips. A tear ran down my face, then another.
Maybe, perhaps, he was actually changing? It threw several spanners and a whole slew of wreckage into the works. There might be hope. I’d been saying that to myself but hadn’t believed it.
“You are such a good girl, Red.”
The pills were crucial.
* * * * *
Jacob: What have you got?
Dan: There’s a vid circulating of a guy who saved a kid from falling off a cliff, and I think it’s our man. I’ll send it now. There.
Jacob: Got it. Heyyy. That’s him. Good work! If I need more from you, be ready. Ted will be fucking happy.
Dan: Great. Check that partial rego. That might do it. I’ll be ready fer sure.
CHAPTER 18
RED
The country must run on slower time than the city, for the days sifted by and Isak also slowed. He spent mornings sitting out on the wide verandah, throwing the ball for Banjo and checking the sky for eagles, or the bush nearby for kangaroos.
Watching that ball go flying and bouncing, then our mad cattle dog tear off after it and the ensuing soft words and pats when he returned it to Isak…
It made me wonder what was happening.
We went horse riding – which means we tried the gentlest mounts available and bounced around and suffered from sore rear ends afterward. We also stayed in bed and screwed, painted the walls, and messed about in the town. Sometimes we went further afield shopping for groceries when the local store was lacking.
We made casual friends, and I ensured that drug kept circulating inside Isak on a rigid, twice-daily schedule.
Golem was still his default emotional state. This was not a novel thing, but I also saw him laugh, most often when wrestling the dog. Banjo developed a habit of trying to herd any cows that sneaked through the fence. A loose area of wire was discovered by a few of them and they would stray. We – that is me, Isak, and Banjo – would carefully herd them back through the gate.
Today was no different. I looked up at a shout, and spotted Banjo circling and snapping at the heels of the orneriest cow. Isak waved his cowboy hat at her. I recognized her by a patch of white on her head. If you ventured into the paddock, she would take a run at you.
Banjo ducked in again – heel nipping and herding was instinctive in his breed.
The cow kicked backward and connected, sending the dog tumbling and yipping. I’d never heard that noise before, and I shot to my feet. He struggled to stand.
Isak sprinted out, trying to shoo the cow off the poor dog. He picked up Banjo and was heading my way when the cow decided to charge.
“Run!” I grimaced then stopped breathing, anticipating the contact.
The thud as she whacked into his side and threw him sprawling was loud enough for me to hear it from the house.
Rifle. I whipped inside and grabbed it from where Isak had placed it, hidden near the door and then I ran out, in an arc to the side. I paused, hesitating as I wondered about safety. With a round in the chamber, I drew a bead on the cow as it circled in, and I figured she planned to stampede over man and dog where they lay in a heap. Banjo wriggled loose and leaped up to growl at the oncoming cow.
She trotted slowly, snorting, head lowered.
Shoot her?
This was something I’d practiced years ago, with the sole purpose of killing Isak.
