“No coming for you. Sleep.”
Leaving her wanting and unfucked was now on my list of favorites. Funny, how it almost seemed as if she liked it too. There was a sweet smile on her lips as she squirmed in place before she snuggled into the sheets.
* * * * *
In the parking garage, Joe leaned on the side of the car with his finger hovering over the send button. “Should I, boys? Ryan?” His youngest nodded, then Jack nodded too. “Okay. You’re right. I should’ve thanked that man more than I did. Let’s see if this helps us find him.”
He hit the button and the video Mrs. Hendriks had caught of Ryan’s rescue was sent. A few more shares, and it was loose on the internet, on YouTube, Facebook, and Instagram. He reread the text and nodded. This would do it.
Help me find this man, he saved my son’s life today and I was too shocked to really thank him. #superhero #goodSamaritan #shareThispost #ourLifesaver #whoIsHe
As an afterthought, he added a description of the car the man and his girlfriend were driving. He only had a partial rego, but it might jog someone’s memory.
“Now we wait, guys.”
He hugged his sons to his side then wiped his eyes. Since his wife had passed away, he was theirs, and they were his responsibility in every way. His sons were his life. That man had saved him in so many ways.
CHAPTER 16
RED
When we collected him, the dog leaped all over Isak. I crouched down and called to him, and he finally noticed me and ran over, knocking me backward with his enthusiasm. I wasn’t sure if I should be miffed that he chose to greet Isak first. I wasn’t sure why we were keeping a dog that might belong to another.
However, I saw potential here. If Isak could bond with a dog and feel affection, we were getting closer to that goal of his.
To my shock, Isak grabbed my hand with the one unoccupied by dog leash. Hand in hand we strolled to the front glass door like a married couple. Why did I feel as though this was a new strategy of his and not a blossoming friendship? The usual reason. Everything he ever did to me, the murders, the sadism.
“Pill’s due,” I said when we were outside on the footpath.
He gave me a glance then popped one from the foil-backed sheet he took from a pocket and swallowed it down with a slug of water. Matter of fact. As if I could truly tell him what to do. We both knew he could refuse.
And what was this with the whole pill? The last time I noticed the dose it had been less. Clearly, he was testing the effect with different doses. An idea surfaced. It was probably a bad idea.
What if I managed to get him to OD? We’d been there before, though. Years ago, I had tried slipping some to him without his knowledge. I’d added some ground-up Keppra to his wine, and as punishment he had fucked me on the table on broken glass. Then he’d stapled me together.
That was Isak when he was off the drug, in vicious sadist mode.
How easily this routine could slip. If he threw it up or ran out when we were hours of travel from a chemist, or if I forgot to remind him.
I wasn’t Cassandra from the Greek legends or Dr. Strange. I couldn’t predict or alter the future. I could only do my best not to screw up.
I took a few measured breaths then trotted after Isak and Banjo.
For once Isak drove. In the vet’s white ute, we headed for the town of Yellert, ever nearer the middle of Australia though nowhere close to it. The country was enormous. Another day or two and I guess we might be in the center. I wasn’t googling it, considering my lack of the internet or a cellphone. Somehow my imagination made it more a fantasy. This could be the land that went on forever.
Fantasy was good. It let me imagine Isak as a man who could become better than a monster. A smaller monster would also be an improvement.
Yesterday he had closely resembled a hero.
I looked over my shoulder at Banjo and where he lay on the back seat. He panted and laughed at me, with his long pink tongue hanging out so far he might never get it rolled back inside. I was pretty sure this dog thought Isak was his hero.
Weren’t dogs supposed to be good judges of character?
* * * * *
Yellert was smaller than Bormage or whatever was the name of that other one. The names were a blur. Isak exited and found the widow who lived here.
While Isak met with the same lady who’d given him the bronze pick-up. Banjo stuck his head out the wound-down window.
I leaned on the car and gave him pats. Six or seven black crows cawed accusingly at us from a large tree. I didn’t blame them.
The weathered concrete footpath lay beside her small but neat house – corrugated iron roof, timber walls, a small patio, and some neighbors who looked at us curiously. Isak had her phone number and with one call he’d verified where she was and told her to hand over the keys and whatever he needed to find the property she owned once we arrived.
I barely took in her appearance. It was a safety mechanism for me. I could consign all these people to oblivion when we left. They became ghosts to me. Gone. It made my head hurt less.
But… she had gray hair and a frail figure. This was the widow. She chose to stay here, in town, but owned a small farm that had been left to
