Allergic To Time (14 page)

There it was again: guilt. The same gnawing sense of guilt which had been at the back of my mind for days, about everything: Uni, Connie, Robert, my overdue rent, running away to Nelson Bay. I had to make a conscious effort to push down all my anxieties about the responsibilities I’d left behind in Sydney, as they dangled and taunted me. Kept telling me that I was being
irresponsible,
which was
 
a trait I had tried hard to disassociate myself from the past few years.
 

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and quickly turned it back on before I could change my mind. There was no sense in ignoring Martin or Connie any longer. I would just have to face the music.

***
 

It was 3:30pm. The graduate seminar that we had left Connie in charge of back in Sydney should have been well over by then. I checked my phone, expecting fourteen missed calls from Connie to flash up on the screen - I’d assumed she’d be eager to let me know how she had swooped in and saved the say, while simultaneously berating me for abandoning her with fifteen irritated post-grad students.

But there was nothing: no messages, no missed calls. I double checked I had reception. Some parts of Nelson Bay were black spots for the 4G network. But I had two full bars.

“What’s wrong?” Robert asked, taking a drag of his fifteen-thousandth cigarette for the day.

I looked up at him, still gripping my phone between both hands.

“I haven’t had any missed calls from Connie,” I replied, realising that it sounded like a pretty lame thing to be worried about.

“And that’s a problem why?” Rob blew smoke into the face of an elderly woman who was passing him on the footpath. “Shit, sorry,” he said, then apologised again for swearing, before finally giving up and giving a small hand wave.

I exhaled heavily. “It’s not that I miss hearing from her, believe me. It’s just weird. Even on a good day she calls me seventeen times.”

“Why the hell does she do that?”

I shrugged. “We’re the only two girls in the physics post-grad class. She thinks we should stick together, I guess. I don’t know what’s up with her half the time. She always says we’re friends, but we’ve never really been friendly, so to speak. We don’t hang out together outside of school.”

“Maybe you are her only friend.”

Guilt crept over me yet again, warming my stomach. I didn’t answer him, just glanced back down at my empty phone. “I guess you don’t even have these where you come from. I don’t know how you ever kept in touch with people back then.”

“Yeah,” Rob said, raising his eyes. “I don’t even want to know what one of those freaky things
is.
”
 
He pointed a cigarette-laden hand towards my phone and eyed it suspiciously. He seemed to have perked up after the cinema incident, happy to be chatting to me again without any residual awkwardness. “It’s a bit like a TV though, isn’t it?” he continued on.
 

“What, the phone?” I looked down at the screen. “I guess. You can watch TV on it.”

“What?” he asked, incredulous. “This really is the future man.” He glanced around Nelson Bay and raised an eyebrow. “Well, not this town.”

“I doubt people even have smart phones here,” I muttered. “Half the population probably don’t even own a mobile,” I added, thinking about the ageing population of the little coastal town.
 

“Maybe I should stay out here then,” Robert said, putting out his cigarette butt with his foot. “It’s much less terrifying than Sydney, where there are people who want me dead.”

I didn’t want to tell him the real reason we were in Nelson Bay, because considering the person we were there to see, I wasn’t 100% sure Nelson Bay was any safer for Rob than Sydney had been. I decided to leave him in the dark, unaware of Nelson Bay’s dark underbelly, at least for the moment, at least until he absolutely had to know. After all, I was doing a pretty good job of keeping us away from it all so far...

My phone started vibrating in my hands. “Incoming call Dr. Anderson.”

I sighed. I had promised myself I would face up to any phone calls from him, unwanted or not, so I forced myself to press “accept call”.
 

I expected an angry tone to greet me, but I didn’t expect quite the level of fury I got from Martin after I said hello.

“
Where the hell are you?”
he spat.

I almost recoiled in shock. I pulled the phone back from my ear.
 

“Chill out. Rob and I were just...”

“Connie’s dead, Anna.”

Chapter Sixteen.
 

My hands began to shake violently as I pressed the “end call” button on the screen. Streams of tears began to stream down my checks, silently, automatically. Out of shock, out of fear, I wasn’t sure.

Robert looked at me in horror. “Ann, what the hell’s wrong?” He hurried over to me and wrapped his arms around me. I was in shock, but I was still cognisant enough to register that this wasn’t an ideal scenario. But I didn’t pull away from him.
 

“We have to go and meet Martin,” I whispered, wiping away at my tears. I suddenly knew we had to do what we come there to do.

***

Later on I would hear the story of how it all unfolded: Connie Hung, they would tell me, lost the plot, walked into the graduate seminar and simply unravelled.
 

They would tell me how she opened up her computer, loaded powerpoint, and then turned to the class and unleashed her
 
very own special presentation: how she told them everything about Martin Anderson, and Nick Cooper, and — somehow — everything about Robert Smith. About how she cried and yelled as she gave them the details. They would relay to me her unhinged demeanour, and the way she stormed out of the room before the hour was even up, leaving the class reeling in disbelief.

And then how, she was last seen stepping in front of a car in the Physics Building parking lot, allegedly the victim of a hit and run.
 

***

But by that point I didn’t know any of the details, could only imagine what had happened to Connie Hung back in Sydney, while Robert and I were enjoying ice creams and movies down on the coast. As I wiped the last of my tears away, I trudged my way back down to the tourist centre to meet Martin with Robert trailing behind, still in shock.

Martin was waiting for us, leant up against a small blue sedan he must have managed to hire somehow. His only greeting was a grim look and a command that we get in the car right way. My childish disobedience from earlier had run out and I climbed in without argument. Martin started the engine and headed out west down the Nelson Bay coast. There was no doubt in my mind as to where we were headed: my father’s lair.
 

“Lair” really was the only term to describe my father’s residence. It was, ostensibly, a house, with most of it — seemingly at least — above ground. But appearances could be deceiving. I knew that better than anyone. And I knew about the area of his house that was hidden below ground, the sprawling space beneath that was four times as big as the beach cottage upstairs
 
— the top of which was merely the tip of an evil iceberg.
 

I could feel the tears drying on my face, forming a tight mask, leaving my eyes red and burning, as the car wound around the corners towards my father’s lair. I cursed my decision to copy Robert’s make-up that mornings. One glance in the car’s side mirror confirmed the fact that my face was a ghastly mess.
 

The drive took only ten minutes, but we’d been correct earlier: it would have been near impossible without a car, as the house was located at the top of a cliff without any footpaths and was not serviced by public transport. As we drew nearer to the house butterflies began to grow in my stomach. The only thing that was kept them slightly at bay was the numbness I felt at the news about Connie. I still didn’t want to face what was waiting for us at the top of the cliff, but my earlier anger
 
about the fact that Martin had brought us there was deadened, replaced with shock.

Martin said nothing the entire drive, and he remained silent as we pulled into the long driveway that served as the entrance to my father’s cottage. In the back seat, Robert swallowed audibly, and I glanced at him in the review mirror. I saw a flicker of fear enter his eyes. He possesses good instincts, I thought, because there was nothing obviously scary about the exterior of the innocuous seaside cottage. The scary stuff was all hidden on the inside.

“You okay?” I asked him, even though I was barely able to form words at that point.
 

Rob just stared at the cottage. “I feel like I’ve been here before...” he shook his head. “I don’t think that’s possible though. Forget it.”

I undid my seatbelt with shaky hands and climbed out of the car. Martin remained in the driver’s seat a moment longer, seemingly trying to compose himself.
What did he have to be so worried about?
I thought. All of this was his entire freaking fault. They were probably in on it together.
 

Martin finally pulled himself out of the car and locked it behind him. The three of us began a slow, reluctant traipse up to the house, our feet crunching on the gravel beneath us. I had the feeling like I was attending a funeral. The driveway seemed unendingly long, and as I glanced up at the multi-level cottage above us, I knew we would have already been spotted, that the person inside would be preparing himself for our arrival.
 

***

“Hi dad,” I said, in a dull monotone that could not have been any more devoid of emotion than if I had actually tried.

There he stood in the doorway: Brad Black, non-beloved estranged father to myself, Anna Black. I noticed that his hair was now completely grey, to match his eyes. He seemed taller and more imposing than ever as he stood in front of me and returned the same level of warmness back to me. “Anna,” he said. “What a wonderful surprise.”

I wondered briefly what Robert and Martin were making of the chilly reunion between myself and my father. At that point I didn’t care - I was hardly going to feign warmness towards my father for their benefit. There was nothing to gain by carrying on that facade.
 

Brad switched his gaze from me to Martin and offered him the same chilly greeting. “Dr. Anderson.”

Martin stood still a second, staring back at my father. For my part, I still didn’t know exactly what the connection between them was, so I was surprised to see that he was breathing in and out heavily, like a bull about to charge. I’d assumed the two of them had been secret friends, but that had clearly been wrong. I edged back in surprise, so that I was no longer standing between them.

Martin, without warning, lunged towards my father, and grabbed him by the collar of his pressed white shirt.

“You killed Connie!” Martin sputtered, his face red and furious.
 

I was aghast at the accusation. Brad, on the other-hand, just stared at Martin with cool detachment and removed himself from Martin’s grip with considerable ease. He backed away and cooly considered Martin’s statement.
 

“Who in the hell is Connie?”

Martin stepped back, fuming. He turned to me, and spoke to me for the first time since I’d hung up the phone forty minutes earlier. “And you...” he began, shaking his head, pointing at me. “How could you...”

“How could I what?” I snapped back, barely able to stop my voice from trembling.
 

“You told her. You told her everything! When you had no right to, when you promised not to.”

My voice was slow and level. “I. did. Not. Tell her everything.” It was the truth, I hadn’t told her anything at all about Robert. I had merely told her that Martin was not who he was pretending to be. But that was only for Connie’s protection! It wasn’t supposed to lead to her murder. I took a deep breath and tried to steady my heartbeat.
 

“Then why is she dead?” Martin’s voice was hushed now, grave. He stared at me, but he was staring through me, like all of this was worse than even he could ever have imagined. He snapped and turned back towards Brad Black, who — in spite of the scene unfolding in front of him — had begun to smile slightly. I looked at him in disgust.

“Why don’t the three of you come inside?” He stepped back and waved for the three of us to join him in the front sitting room. Martin barged through, knocking against him as hard as he could, then refused to sit down. He looked around the room suspiciously, as if searching it for secret compartments.
 

Personally, I did not want to set one foot over the threshold, but Robert had followed Martin inside and I didn’t want to leave the three of them alone together without me so I followed suit. Once inside, I didn’t have the strength in my body to refuse a seat either, so I sank down onto one of my father’s $5000 lounge chairs, a far cry from the tacky fabric chairs in Martin’s rental property.
 

“You know,” Brad began. “I could have quite easily stopped you from coming here today.” He raised his left eyebrow ever so slightly.

“Oh, so you knew we were coming did you?” Martin crossed his arms over his chest.

“Of course.”

“Of course,” Martin repeated, derisively. He paced across the sitting room. “So where is it?”

“Where is what?” Brad pulled a face, attempting to look confused. He cleared his throat. “But I allowed you to come here,” he continued on, returning to his original point. He turned to face me and plastered the barest of smiles onto his lips. “ As I thought it would be pleasant to see my darling daughter again.”

“Connie was my friend...” I said, in the merest of whispers, staring down at my hands. “How could you...”

“Darling,” he said. “I genuinely don’t know who this Connie person is. Can you fill me in?”

Martin went to grab him by the collar again, but Brad swerved away and shot him a dismissive look.
 

“Connie’s a student at the university.” Martin stopped and swallowed. “Well, she was. She was completely innocent!”