Leopard Dreaming (31 page)

She couldn’t drag her eyes away from him.

A tall bedraggled woman struggled to help Ben out of the water and up the beach, while the others roughly shoved and taunted her. He was hobbling, with her army shirt wrapped tightly around his ankle. Her long wet hair hung like ropes down her white singlet. Cargo pants clung to her legs. Bare feet through a line of seashells at high tide must have hampered her too, but didn’t slow her, even though her mouth and forehead were both bleeding enough to drain her strength.

Ben’s face also bled down his bare chest from his brow and lip, and he clutched his battered ribs despite his bound hands. As the woman lifted her pretty face, Mira recognised her ghost and shivered as if she’d seen a real one. Corporal Tarin Sei. Lockman’s surveillance partner. Captured with Ben, and apparently beaten as badly as him, and yet she bore much of his weight as she helped him up the steps onto the patio and into the house.

Powerless to help them, Mira stood back as they passed her, headed for the nearest sofa. She glimpsed
a rod of dark metal down at Ben’s ankle — some kind of machine pistol — and saw that his joint had been braced using the downward pointing muzzle. It looked like Sei’s hand gun; quite different to Lockman’s. Empty of bullets, presumably, or they should never have been captured on the mainland. If not for Lockman’s quick thinking that first whole day she’d been free from Serenity, Mira knew she would have been captured as well.

As the last two men entered, Mira recognised them too. Greggie Greppia, the cruellest of Kitching’s money launderers, and his pet cop, Douggie, whose bald head and tattoos made him look more like a thug than a constable, despite the uniform.

The dirty cop kicked the back of Ben’s knee and sent him sprawling, throwing Tarin off balance too — and yet she managed to guide his fall onto the couch, where she deftly moved to make him comfortable and wipe the blood from his brow, using the damp hem of her singlet.

The cop grabbed her by the hair and wrenched her away from him.
Careful, bitch,
he snarled into her ear.
You’re Greggie’s girl now. If you want to make him jealous, try fussing over me.

Leave her alone,
Ben pleaded.

The dirty cop only laughed and pressed his hot cigarette against her cheek, making her scream and fight. He countered every move she made, until he’d pinned her bodily against the piano and cruelly finished stubbing out his cigarette.

Mira glanced at Ben, expecting him to shout another challenge at them to leave her alone, feeling the urge to do the same in his place, but instead she found Greggie slugging him in the gut, leaving him unable to do anything except stay flat on the couch, watching with a pained expression, and clutching his ribs as if he could barely draw enough air to breathe.

Hey, play with your own toys,
Greppia shouted, making the cop grin. Tarin changed hands like a spinning toy. Greppia caught her roughly backwards against his chest and licked her cheek and wound slowly from jaw to ear.

Oh, yummy, mummy,
he chuckled.
Do me a favour,
he called to his shortest man.
Go find which room has the biggest bed.

You want to lie down?
Tarin asked with a scowl.
Let me help!
She drove her elbow backwards into Greggie’s belly, driving the wind from him, and flipped him over her shoulder onto the rug using an advanced twist on the move that Lockman had taught to Mira.

Four weapons rippled to attention around Tarin, but she grabbed a fragment of the broken vase to defend herself.

Stop!
Greggie ordered as he scrambled back to his feet.
If anyone punishes my new bitch, it’ll be me
.

Try it!
Tarin shouted — silent now in the mists of time, yet the slow light from her face still strained darkly with fury.

Greppia’s grin widened, but he moved no closer to her. Instead, he shifted sideways to Ben, swooping up the piano stool, crashing it down on his chest and knocking the last of the wind from him.

No!
Tarin cried.

Greppia’s grin curled meanly as he leaned a timber leg across Ben’s neck, choking off any chance to refill his lungs.

Put down the glass
, he warned Tarin as Ben began to struggle under the crushing weight.
Come to me willingly, little lady, or watch him die right now, right here, because of you.

Ben shook his head desperately.

Kill him and you’ll never get Mira,
Tarin argued.
You’ll need him alive to control her.

Oh, I don’t have to kill him all at once.
Greppia
punched Ben’s nose, bursting blood everywhere and making him spit and splutter as his face began to strain and turn a deeper shade of purple.
Little by little suits me. She’s blind — if he can speak and scream, that’s all I need, aside from a little playtime with you in the meantime. There’s still hours until we have to make the rendezvous with the shipment. So I’m going to induct you into a little team-building program … Long-term family tradition, called the harem.

Go to hell!

Greppia punched Ben’s face again, in the same place, distorting the shape of his nose and thickening the flow of blood. With no air to cry out, Ben could only writhe and struggle to push up on the stool. Taller and fitter than Greppia, he should have found it an easy fight to lighten the load on his throat, but he was already injured and on his back, with gravity and leverage working against him.

Still no?
Greppia asked Tarin smugly.
Oh, goodie. I love it when dumb bitches play hard to get. Grab pliers and a hammer from the garage, please, Douglas. It’s time to get a little more creative with my talkative friend here.

‘No!’ Mira lunged to Ben’s side, despite the invisible hands that tried to catch her. Collapsing to her knees, she caressed the spectral light of his face, wishing she could have been there for him, standing over him and guarding him in the flesh. Instead, she could only clamp her eyes shut, trying not to cry as she hugged the empty couch.

Gabby came to her again, hugging her and Mira became aware of Lockman standing back, watching her too, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain how much further back in time she’d slipped. ‘He was right here.’

She couldn’t bear the sight of him suffering with his struggles weakening, and yet she opened her eyes, unable to let him endure it alone any more. He had
to know that she’d come here across time for him, eventually. It seemed inevitable now, no matter how cowardly she’d been in trying to avoid the whole lounge area over the past week. Living here, and yet not living. Like a zombie.

In that moment, his focus shifted as if he did notice her. He stared up at her, or through her to the ceiling, delusional perhaps; his body still contorting and straining to fill his lungs. Yet in his eyes she could see her own reflection — something that had never happened before. He let go of the stool, giving in, and from his lips she read the silent words
Stay free for me.

Her reflection faded in his eyes as they lost focus.

Wake him,
Greggie said. He stepped back from his handiwork as the cop returned with a toolbox from the garage.
Kick some air back into him. Whatever. One way or another I’m getting lucky today. Let’s start by seeing how many ways we can make him pass out, shall we? I’ve heard it’s hard to recover from a busted ankle if both tarsals are fractured the same way.

The bald cop smiled and offered him the choice of a hacksaw and blowtorch as well as a sledge hammer and pliers.

Please don’t,
Tarin pleaded.

Are you volunteering to occupy my time in a friendlier way?

Tarin shuddered. Her mouth opened but she didn’t, or couldn’t, answer, and Mira could hardly blame her.

The cop gripped hold of Ben’s right earlobe with the pliers and squeezed, making him jolt to life, screaming, and Mira cringed, holding her own ear, almost feeling his pain too.

Interesting song,
Greppia said.
Hands up who thinks he’ll play piano as well as he sings, if we supply him with longer fingers?

Stop!
Tarin screamed. She shook her head, her cheeks glistening with tears, but she dropped the glass
shard, and raised her hands slowly to the top of her head.

Greppia’s grin widened and he licked his lips.
There’s my girl. On your knees now, please, and offer your wrists up to me.

Shaking, Tarin took a step as if she preferred to lunge at him, but obeyed finally, and upon a signal from Greppia the cop approached her with handcuffs.

Behind her back is safer,
he warned.
She’s got training, so you’ll also need to beware of her legs.

Behind her back then.
Greppia waited until she hung her head submissively with her hands fully secured before approaching. He lifted her gently to her feet by her elbow, but took the opportunity to slide his hand up her singlet and grope her chest with one hand, before exploring lower, where he rubbed a small circle around her stomach.

Too flat,
he complained.
Like a man’s. How would you like me to fill this for you, make you grow soft and glow like my other women? Nothing sexier than a belly full of baby. Am I right, gentlemen?

The others laughed but Greppia remained serious. He caught Tarin’s jaw, forcing a kiss on her, until she managed to shake her head free and spit in his face.

Ah, fire! I love it!
He wiped his cheek and backed off a step.
Makes you more fun to break.
One punch to her stomach doubled her over. A second to her jaw sent her backwards, until he swooped and hefted her over his shoulder.
Which way to your room?
he asked Ben.
I assume that’s the master bedroom? Point, or it’ll be the last chance you get to use your fingers.

Ben clamped his eyes shut and turned his head away.

Suit yourself …
Greppia headed upstairs to find it himself.
Have fun, gentlemen. Don’t forget to ask questions now and then about the blind bitch.

Mira buried her face in her hands, hating herself.

‘Say something,’ Gabby pleaded.

Mira shook her head, shivering. Beside her, the shortest man was taking his turn at breaking Ben’s fingers with hammer and pliers, and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

Movement caught her eye upstairs, and she saw Tarin running from the bedroom with Greppia’s weapon. Her hands were still cuffed together, but in front of her now, allowing her to aim. Mira brightened, wanting to cheer as bright sparks from the angry tip of her machine gun spat death at the shortest man. His chest burst with silent eruptions of flesh and he fell to the floor like a sack of rubbish, but just as Tarin adjusted aim to drop the next man, the dirty cop spun about on his heel, grabbing his own T-shaped club of death from the piano and mincing her hand with a short burst of lead.

Tarin screamed silence into the past as she recoiled against the wall, her blood and slow light forever plastering the timber panels with ink blots — the Rorschach psychological profile test. Mira knew it too well.
There’s an angel being raped by the devil.
More down the hall as she dragged herself backwards to the nearest alcove.
A tigress hunted by dogs.
And in the corner,
a little match girl.

Mira winced, feeling ill. She clutched her stomach, rocking back and forth, trying to soothe herself. She needed to look away but couldn’t. Tarin went down for the last time, in shock at the sight of her own hand hanging by little more than a slim strand of flesh and tendon, while the others ran and closed in like a pack to recapture her.

Greppia stumbled out of the room, his forehead awash with blood now too.

Stop!
he screamed, stumbling as he hurried along the balcony.
Now look what you’ve done. Go and signal the other yacht for backup — and fetch the hacksaw and blowtorch. I’m keeping this bitch, so we’ll have to trim off that wrist in the bathroom.

Tarin struggled, kicking out with her legs, but the cop struck her forehead with the butt of his Uzi, and lifted her, unconscious, over his shoulder.

Gabby snatched off Mira’s glasses, sending her back a century into grassy sand dunes.

‘Mira, talk to us!’

The pain relief came instantly; like turning down a rock concert from jet stream to merely deafening, but she remained invisible to herself, roughly waist deep in sand and lost to all sense of her own body and balance briefly. She couldn’t shake the past that she’d already witnessed. More brutal than she’d ever imagined. The worst of it replayed over and over inside her head, burning deeper into her memories, blending conscious with unconscious, while her imagination filled in the screams that made it seem all the more real. Reality and imagination melded into surreality; the beginnings of a more permanent nightmare, but she knew this process too well — knew it always ended with her sedated for weeks in a straitjacket.

She had to get out.

Clamping her eyes shut, she scrambled blindly to her feet and fumbled frantically to find the front door.

‘I’ll get her,’ Lockman said, starting after her. ‘Toss me the shades. You find where the Chirons went. Try the hospital using the land line, or call the mainland base for the local ambulance.’

Outside, Mira heard him jogging out after her, catching up easily as he followed her into the forest. She stumbled over a fallen log, and scrambled determinedly back to her feet, grateful that he didn’t try to touch her. She just needed to get away and shake her head clear, and from his silence, he seemed to understand that.

Kookaburras laughed at her as she passed under them, three invisible tormentors driving her further
from the house. Blindly, she flailed her arms to find trees and the path that she knew from memory.

Lockman kept up with her, barely crumpling a leaf. Her invisible shadow. He stopped when she did, and she could feel him watching her as she braced her back against the wrinkled broad bark of the most familiar tree in the whole forest. Keeping her safe, always, with respect for her space.