Nightmares of Caitlin Lockyer by Demelza Carlton
there was no way in hell I was going to say it. I pasted a smile on my face. "So I only get you today and tomorrow? How would you feel about getting into the vodka tonight after dinner and we'll see what happens? I'd better make sure you enjoy yourself, so you don't forget me while you're away on holiday."
Caitlin's kiss was long and lingering. "I'll never forget you, Nathan. You saved my life, remember? And then stole my ice cream." Her smile was impish. "C'mon, let's take the cheese and crackers to the lounge room. Jo lent me some DVDs of her brother's, a TV series she said was really funny. It's about some secret agent who works with computers..." The cutting board in one hand and the box of crackers in the other, she led the way out of the kitchen.
Some hours later, when the episodes on the DVD faded to warning messages in a dozen different languages, I looked around. The coffee table was littered with the takeaway hawker food we'd eventually ordered, along with the empty vodka mixers we'd drunk afterwards. Caitlin snuggled closer to me, letting out a little contented sigh in her sleep. Smiling, I shifted her into my arms and staggered to my feet to carry Caitlin off to bed.
I considered waking her to ask about the very pretty underwear she'd tempted me with earlier, but I decided against it. I settled for sleeping with her in the somnolent sense tonight. I didn't know when I'd get another good night's sleep, what with worrying about her while she was away from me.
At least I knew that anywhere else would be safer than here.
88
Caitlin was so worried about getting to the State Mortuary on time that we arrived way too early. It was easier to humour her than argue. I'd never seen her so nervous – not even before the interview. In the waiting room, she hopped from chair to chair, convinced that she wasn't comfortable in what looked to me to be identical seats. When she settled in one for more than a minute, I shifted to the one beside her and slung an arm around her shoulders.
"It's okay, angel," I murmured, pressing my lips to the top of her head. I could feel her bouncing a little with a rhythm only she could hear.
She didn't reply, for her eyes were fixed on a lost-looking old bloke, standing by the reception desk. I hadn't seen him come in, but Caitlin couldn't stop staring at him.
The poor old guy noticed her staring and his eyes grew wide as he looked at Caitlin. The receptionist saw him and stood up, moving around the desk to stand by his side. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr Dennis. Would you like me to call you a taxi, or did you drive today?" She walked with the man out the doors to the car park outside. She returned after a few minutes, looking sad.
He must have lost his wife, poor bloke, I thought.
I looked at Caitlin. Her eyebrows were down and her forehead was wrinkled. I stretched out a hand to smooth the skin, stroking her hair, too. "Don't worry, angel. We'll be out of here soon."
Her smile was tight as it turned up her mouth, as if she were trying to convince herself as much as me. "You're right, Nathan. It'll be okay." I didn't want to think what would happen if circumstances conspired to make it any less than okay.
Footsteps sounded on vinyl and the detective I'd last seen trying to interrogate Caitlin in hospital stepped up to the reception desk. The receptionist said something to him, too soft for me to hear, before he turned to look at us. "You're early," he said with some surprise.
Caitlin pressed her lips together, looking at the floor, so I answered, "Caitlin really wanted to get this over with and I was worried about parking, so we made sure we had plenty of time to get here."
"And she brought you for moral support," he went on, as if I hadn't spoken.
"Yes I did, Detective," Caitlin said with a sweet, sad smile. "I couldn't do this without Nathan." She held out her hand, a CD case clutched between two fingers. "This is what you asked for – my memories."
I looked longingly at the CD, wondering how to ask her for a copy, but I didn't say a word.
"Thank you," he said in wonder, tucking it into the folder he held stiffly at his side. "Shall we?"
My arm tightened protectively around Caitlin as she stood up and I did the same. She leaned against me for comfort as we followed the detective deeper into the building.
He led us to a waiting room for the bereaved – the same place where I'd waited to see Alanna one last time. It was my turn to hold on to Caitlin for comfort, but the pain wasn't as bad as I remembered. As if she'd filled the gap somehow.
Caitlin's eyes looked up at me in surprise for a moment, before she settled closer into my embrace. Maybe it worked for both of us right now.
The detective sat on the couch across from us, a manila folder in his hands. He cleared his throat. "I have some pictures for you. Can you tell me if you recognise any of these people?" He opened it and held up a photo.
Laura in life. "She pushed me into her car, the red Mercedes," Caitlin said in a flat tone. He scribbled notes quickly.
Laura's photo disappeared into the bottom of the file. The next one was of a man, his eyes closed in death. "The police officer who shot Nathan."
He shot you, too, angel, I thought but didn't say. And later, he shot himself when he tried to shoot me again.
The next photo showed a live man. I recognised it from the surveillance footage of the inside of Caitlin's house. Pete, the one who broke her fingers, before I shot his face off, I thought with some satisfaction.
"I don't know," Caitlin said softly. She looked at the detective in consternation. "I didn't see all of their faces. I remember other things about them in the dark. Their hands, the size of them, what I..." She took the photo from him and looked more closely at it. "He broke my fingers. After I broke his nose." She sounded proud of it, too.
I smothered a smile.
The next photo was of a dead man. The one who tried to walk away, outside Caitlin's house. Tom, after I shot him in the back of the head as he heaped insults on her injuries.
Caitlin shook her head. "I don't know."
"Last one," the detective said as he pulled out one more photo of yet another waxy male corpse. This one had a bullet hole through his forehead, but the blood I remembered was gone.
Caitlin's expression hardened. "He was in the car. And on the beach that night."
He slipped the photo back in the folder, leaving only Tom's photo out. "So, you've identified all of them except for this one." He shook the photo. "What else do you remember about them?"
Caitlin screwed her face up, trying hard to remember. "I bit someone's hand. I remember spitting out the mess." She pulled a face in distaste. "He had some chunky rings on that cut my face when he hit me." Her voice was so devoid of emotion I could barely believe it. It was as though she'd locked the tears away for later.
The detective looked as disconcerted as I felt. "Well, that's why we're here, so you can identify the bodies if the photos aren't enough. Have you ever seen a corpse before?" He looked intently at Caitlin, ignoring me entirely. If he had the surveillance photos, then he knew what my answer would be.
Caitlin looked up at him, affronted. "I'm studying medicine. Of course I've dissected a cadaver." She followed him without hesitation, her head held high.
I followed more reluctantly, hoping to avoid my memories of this place.
In the cool room, the detective opened up drawers, each occupied by a sheet-shrouded body. The hands were visible on either side, though, and that's what Caitlin studied as she walked along the row of corpses. She stopped and pointed. "That one. You can see the ridges and tan lines where the rings were and there's a chunk missing on the side." Her face was firm as she waited for the detective to reach her. She flipped the sheet from the man's face and it was Tom, as dead as his picture. With a shrug, she covered him again. "Are there any more?" she asked, her face a mask of indifference.
He looked shaken. His composure was no match for hers. "No... no, that's all of them," he said with a sick smile. "Thank you for your time. I'll walk you out."
He hurried us out, looking like he couldn't be finished fast e
nough.
Caitlin looked pale as we left the mortuary, but she had her teeth clenched and her expression was fierce. She was remarkably composed for someone who'd just been looking at corpses.
"Are you relieved?" I asked. "They can't hurt you any more."
"No," she replied curtly. "They'll never touch me again, but that's not all of them."
"Are you sure?" I responded.
"There's one more man who hurt me. One they haven't got yet." She looked straight ahead as she said it, not looking at me.
For the first time, I struggled to keep up with her, as she marched back to the car. "But is he really a risk? The one they haven't got yet?"
She stopped to look up at me, her look incredulous. "He hurt me. He wasn't the worst of them, but he still hurt me. I'm not safe until they have him."
"Excuse me..." I turned to see the lost-looking old man approaching.
There was no one else around, so I answered. "What is it? I'm sorry for your loss, mate, but we're in a hurry here."
Caitlin had stopped moving. She was a frozen statue at my side, clutching at my arm. I felt a frisson of fear.
He raised his gun and pointed it at us. "You killed my son. Give me the girl."
"I don't know what you're talking about..." I began.
"I do," Caitlin cut me off. She glared at the old man.
"Give me the girl," he insisted.
All warmth drained from me as she let go of my arm and took a step toward him, lifting her hands to the height of her
Caitlin's kiss was long and lingering. "I'll never forget you, Nathan. You saved my life, remember? And then stole my ice cream." Her smile was impish. "C'mon, let's take the cheese and crackers to the lounge room. Jo lent me some DVDs of her brother's, a TV series she said was really funny. It's about some secret agent who works with computers..." The cutting board in one hand and the box of crackers in the other, she led the way out of the kitchen.
Some hours later, when the episodes on the DVD faded to warning messages in a dozen different languages, I looked around. The coffee table was littered with the takeaway hawker food we'd eventually ordered, along with the empty vodka mixers we'd drunk afterwards. Caitlin snuggled closer to me, letting out a little contented sigh in her sleep. Smiling, I shifted her into my arms and staggered to my feet to carry Caitlin off to bed.
I considered waking her to ask about the very pretty underwear she'd tempted me with earlier, but I decided against it. I settled for sleeping with her in the somnolent sense tonight. I didn't know when I'd get another good night's sleep, what with worrying about her while she was away from me.
At least I knew that anywhere else would be safer than here.
88
Caitlin was so worried about getting to the State Mortuary on time that we arrived way too early. It was easier to humour her than argue. I'd never seen her so nervous – not even before the interview. In the waiting room, she hopped from chair to chair, convinced that she wasn't comfortable in what looked to me to be identical seats. When she settled in one for more than a minute, I shifted to the one beside her and slung an arm around her shoulders.
"It's okay, angel," I murmured, pressing my lips to the top of her head. I could feel her bouncing a little with a rhythm only she could hear.
She didn't reply, for her eyes were fixed on a lost-looking old bloke, standing by the reception desk. I hadn't seen him come in, but Caitlin couldn't stop staring at him.
The poor old guy noticed her staring and his eyes grew wide as he looked at Caitlin. The receptionist saw him and stood up, moving around the desk to stand by his side. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr Dennis. Would you like me to call you a taxi, or did you drive today?" She walked with the man out the doors to the car park outside. She returned after a few minutes, looking sad.
He must have lost his wife, poor bloke, I thought.
I looked at Caitlin. Her eyebrows were down and her forehead was wrinkled. I stretched out a hand to smooth the skin, stroking her hair, too. "Don't worry, angel. We'll be out of here soon."
Her smile was tight as it turned up her mouth, as if she were trying to convince herself as much as me. "You're right, Nathan. It'll be okay." I didn't want to think what would happen if circumstances conspired to make it any less than okay.
Footsteps sounded on vinyl and the detective I'd last seen trying to interrogate Caitlin in hospital stepped up to the reception desk. The receptionist said something to him, too soft for me to hear, before he turned to look at us. "You're early," he said with some surprise.
Caitlin pressed her lips together, looking at the floor, so I answered, "Caitlin really wanted to get this over with and I was worried about parking, so we made sure we had plenty of time to get here."
"And she brought you for moral support," he went on, as if I hadn't spoken.
"Yes I did, Detective," Caitlin said with a sweet, sad smile. "I couldn't do this without Nathan." She held out her hand, a CD case clutched between two fingers. "This is what you asked for – my memories."
I looked longingly at the CD, wondering how to ask her for a copy, but I didn't say a word.
"Thank you," he said in wonder, tucking it into the folder he held stiffly at his side. "Shall we?"
My arm tightened protectively around Caitlin as she stood up and I did the same. She leaned against me for comfort as we followed the detective deeper into the building.
He led us to a waiting room for the bereaved – the same place where I'd waited to see Alanna one last time. It was my turn to hold on to Caitlin for comfort, but the pain wasn't as bad as I remembered. As if she'd filled the gap somehow.
Caitlin's eyes looked up at me in surprise for a moment, before she settled closer into my embrace. Maybe it worked for both of us right now.
The detective sat on the couch across from us, a manila folder in his hands. He cleared his throat. "I have some pictures for you. Can you tell me if you recognise any of these people?" He opened it and held up a photo.
Laura in life. "She pushed me into her car, the red Mercedes," Caitlin said in a flat tone. He scribbled notes quickly.
Laura's photo disappeared into the bottom of the file. The next one was of a man, his eyes closed in death. "The police officer who shot Nathan."
He shot you, too, angel, I thought but didn't say. And later, he shot himself when he tried to shoot me again.
The next photo showed a live man. I recognised it from the surveillance footage of the inside of Caitlin's house. Pete, the one who broke her fingers, before I shot his face off, I thought with some satisfaction.
"I don't know," Caitlin said softly. She looked at the detective in consternation. "I didn't see all of their faces. I remember other things about them in the dark. Their hands, the size of them, what I..." She took the photo from him and looked more closely at it. "He broke my fingers. After I broke his nose." She sounded proud of it, too.
I smothered a smile.
The next photo was of a dead man. The one who tried to walk away, outside Caitlin's house. Tom, after I shot him in the back of the head as he heaped insults on her injuries.
Caitlin shook her head. "I don't know."
"Last one," the detective said as he pulled out one more photo of yet another waxy male corpse. This one had a bullet hole through his forehead, but the blood I remembered was gone.
Caitlin's expression hardened. "He was in the car. And on the beach that night."
He slipped the photo back in the folder, leaving only Tom's photo out. "So, you've identified all of them except for this one." He shook the photo. "What else do you remember about them?"
Caitlin screwed her face up, trying hard to remember. "I bit someone's hand. I remember spitting out the mess." She pulled a face in distaste. "He had some chunky rings on that cut my face when he hit me." Her voice was so devoid of emotion I could barely believe it. It was as though she'd locked the tears away for later.
The detective looked as disconcerted as I felt. "Well, that's why we're here, so you can identify the bodies if the photos aren't enough. Have you ever seen a corpse before?" He looked intently at Caitlin, ignoring me entirely. If he had the surveillance photos, then he knew what my answer would be.
Caitlin looked up at him, affronted. "I'm studying medicine. Of course I've dissected a cadaver." She followed him without hesitation, her head held high.
I followed more reluctantly, hoping to avoid my memories of this place.
In the cool room, the detective opened up drawers, each occupied by a sheet-shrouded body. The hands were visible on either side, though, and that's what Caitlin studied as she walked along the row of corpses. She stopped and pointed. "That one. You can see the ridges and tan lines where the rings were and there's a chunk missing on the side." Her face was firm as she waited for the detective to reach her. She flipped the sheet from the man's face and it was Tom, as dead as his picture. With a shrug, she covered him again. "Are there any more?" she asked, her face a mask of indifference.
He looked shaken. His composure was no match for hers. "No... no, that's all of them," he said with a sick smile. "Thank you for your time. I'll walk you out."
He hurried us out, looking like he couldn't be finished fast e
Caitlin looked pale as we left the mortuary, but she had her teeth clenched and her expression was fierce. She was remarkably composed for someone who'd just been looking at corpses.
"Are you relieved?" I asked. "They can't hurt you any more."
"No," she replied curtly. "They'll never touch me again, but that's not all of them."
"Are you sure?" I responded.
"There's one more man who hurt me. One they haven't got yet." She looked straight ahead as she said it, not looking at me.
For the first time, I struggled to keep up with her, as she marched back to the car. "But is he really a risk? The one they haven't got yet?"
She stopped to look up at me, her look incredulous. "He hurt me. He wasn't the worst of them, but he still hurt me. I'm not safe until they have him."
"Excuse me..." I turned to see the lost-looking old man approaching.
There was no one else around, so I answered. "What is it? I'm sorry for your loss, mate, but we're in a hurry here."
Caitlin had stopped moving. She was a frozen statue at my side, clutching at my arm. I felt a frisson of fear.
He raised his gun and pointed it at us. "You killed my son. Give me the girl."
"I don't know what you're talking about..." I began.
"I do," Caitlin cut me off. She glared at the old man.
"Give me the girl," he insisted.
All warmth drained from me as she let go of my arm and took a step toward him, lifting her hands to the height of her