Necessary Evil of Nathan Miller (13 page)

"Please, can you take me home now?" I
asked aloud.

"Sure, angel," he murmured, starting
the engine.

It seemed like no time before he said,
"You're home."

I looked out the window and realised he
was right. I was home and it hadn't changed at all – the opposite
to me. I thanked Nathan as he helped me from the car and into the
house.

I told him where we kept the spare key
and watched as he dug it out.

I stepped inside, following Nathan's
gaze to see where the surveillance cameras were. Ah, on the burglar
alarm sensors. That meant the bathrooms, toilet and bedrooms had no
cameras – just the living areas.

He turned his eyes to the floor. Before
I could ask why, he said abruptly, "You can use my sister's laptop
for as long as you need to."

I nodded, thinking of how much I'd have
to add to the vague descriptions of my memories. More than Nathan
should ever see. Yet I didn't want to say goodbye to him yet. He'd
been so kind in driving me home, despite my unfounded fears and my
dislike for his car.

"Did you want to have dinner here, or
do you have something planned at home?" I offered uncertainly. I
had no idea what to offer him for dinner. I didn't even know if we
had food in the house, with Dad gone for so long.

I'd have to ask him to order and pay
for pizza. I laughed at my own stupidity.

As if he'd read my mind and didn't like
the pizza box he saw there, Nathan said, "You should probably have
a rest, maybe even a couple of hours' sleep, and I'd stop you from
doing that if I stayed. I'll leave you to it...Here's my phone
number. If you need me at any time, feel free to call."

He took a moment to pull a receipt out
of his wallet, looking around for a pen. I grabbed one from the
hall table and held it out. He smiled his thanks as he scribbled
his number on the receipt. I read the number over his shoulder – a
South Perth one, not far from here, I guessed.

"How about I see myself out?" Nathan's
words startled me.

Hastily, I smiled and agreed. Maybe
he's the one on surveillance. I hope he's the one watching me
through the cameras. Better than a stranger.

He walked slowly out, offering to
return tomorrow.

I grasped at the straw. I didn't want
to be alone. "Thank you, yes. That'd be wonderful." I wished I had
the temerity to demand he stay with me now, but he seemed jumpy,
somehow. Maybe he wanted to go home and check on his sister. Surely
she had surveillance in her house, too.

I forced myself to close the door
behind Nathan, before I hurried to the lounge room window to watch
him drive off, my hand pressed against the net curtains and glass
as if I could bring him back if I reached out far enough.

Nathan, please don't go.

Yet he did, pulling smoothly out of my
driveway and driving away. It felt like he'd taken my heart with
him. Lost, somehow.

How strange.

Part 38

Mike – Hide – Dark – Fighting – Chris –
Clothes

He took my clothes. All of them. Cold
and clinical as if it were surgery. He bundled them up and took
them to the door while I shivered. I heard his voice as a low hum
in the distance.

"You got all of them? Fuck, have fun
with her. Mind if I wank while I watch?" Mike's voice.

My heart froze as I felt cold fingers
on my skin again. The mattress moved as his weight crushed it,
close to crushing me. And worse.

"No," I whimpered. "Please…"

Never had unzipping sounded so loud. To
me, it was louder than the scream I tried and failed to summon from
my own lungs. His panting drowned out even my breathing – I didn't
want to breathe if it meant the pain that would come next.

"Please," I whispered.

Laughter from further away. "Come on,
fuck her. She's begging for it. Just shove it in. I'll do it if you
won't. She looks real uptight…"

"NO!" His shout echoed through the
room, telling me it was bigger than I thought. He swallowed noisily
as he pulled his hands away from me. "I can't."

"You sure about that?" the big bastard
asked, an edge to his tone.

"I…can't…not with you watching," Chris
said finally. He stood up and moved toward the other bastard.

I struggled to sit up, moving into a
clumsy crouch.

"Performance issue, huh? Why am I not
surprised?" The rustle of fabric. "I'll take her clothes then.
Anything else you need? A dildo, maybe, if you can't get it
up?"

Where to go? The door was out, with two
of them there. My next best option was to try and hide in the
darkest corner I could find. I moved into the darkness.

Chris sounded upset. Good. Two-faced
prick. "No. Just…no audience."

The bastard snorted. "Wish it was my
turn. Ah, she'll keep." The door slammed shut. Shuffling footsteps
on concrete, fading away.

One down. One to go.

"Oh, shit. Angel?"

He'd discovered I wasn't where he'd
left me. I stayed silent and tried to move deeper into the dark –
away from him. My back touched the concrete wall, cold and rough
against my bare skin. I edged along it, trying not to make a sound.
I backed into a corner, almost screaming as soft, sticky cobwebs
clung to my skin. What if the spiders were still home? I bit down
on my lips to keep the scream inside. A deadly spider bite was
preferable to what he had in store.

"C'mon, angel. It's dark and it's cold,
you have no clothes and you'll freeze. I'm not going to hurt you,"
he pleaded. He clicked on a torch and started sweeping it around
the room.

Knowing he'd find me soon enough, I
spat, "No, you just took my clothes and you want to rape me. Like
that won't hurt. Fuck you!" The words came out thickly, like I was
drunk.

His voice was anxious. "Look, I'm just
doing what I'm told."

"So you're going to rape me because you
were told to. Big bloody hero." My voice was flat. I edged around
the wall, hoping to find another way out. A corner gave way to an
alcove and I backed into deeper darkness, where I couldn't see him
– only the light from his torch beam. I grazed my foot on a brick,
searing pain spreading as it scraped away skin. I didn't make a
sound.

"No. I swear – I won't touch you again.
They want me to, but I can't do it. C'mon, I know you're not
feeling well."

His torch beam played across the edge
of my alcove, then approached along the floor. The light touched my
toes and moved away quickly.

"Here." The torch clinked to the floor,
casting weird shadows as it shone up his body. He started to pull
his sweater over his head. I caught a glimpse of the ripple of
muscle beneath.

Now or never. I reached down and
grabbed the brick, sprinting toward him. With his head covered, he
wouldn't see me coming. I brought the brick down on his torch,
smashing the glass and the globe inside. Light died.

I brought the brick up to hit him with
it next.

"What the hell?" He flailed around and
sent me sprawling before I could clock him with the brick.

I scrambled to my feet, stumbling for
the door. My fingers touched wood and I felt around for the
handle.

There wasn't one.

I shoved at the door, kicking at the
lock, but nothing happened. I remembered this door opened into the
room – kicking wouldn't help. I sank to the floor, dizzy.

His voice was alarmingly close. "Here."
Something soft touched my face. Not fingers. Fabric.

In the dim light, I could barely make
him out as a dark shadow looming over me. I was too tired. He was
going to win. My only hope now was that he'd knock me out and I
wouldn't feel him hurt me.

"Just fucking get it over with," I
panted. I was close to passing out.

"Here. Take my jumper. You must be
freezing."

"I give up. You win." I slid down the
wall. The concrete under my head was cold but I was drifting out of
consciousness anyway. I barely felt it.

"No, angel. I can't win. I've lost too
much already. Don't you ever give up. Keep fighting. Don't let them
win."

His hands touched me again. I couldn't
move to resist them any more.

Darkness descended.

Part 39

I sank onto a stool by the phone and
pulled out the phone book. I had a lot of cards to cancel and new
ones to request. An hour later, sick of spelling out my name and
telling everyone my birth date, I left the kitchen and headed for
the pathetic collection of belongings I'd brought home with me from
hospital.

I pulled the laptop bag onto my
shoulder and carried it to my bedroom, looking for the camera on
the hall sensor. Once I'd spotted it, I felt a little safer. At
least someone was watching out for me, somewhere. I hoped they were
close-by – close enough to come if I needed them.

Unzipping the bag, I lifted the pink
'puter out and started to connect the power cables. I didn't flick
the switch on the wifi modem. I didn't want to check my emails,
Facebook and all the rest. Answering all the panicked questions
would take me ages and I just wanted to focus on the worst of
things first.

Jo had told me about the Facebook
tribute page, RIP Caitlin, that some idiot had set up.
Almost,
but not yet, asshole,
I thought. I'm not dead yet. I have too
much to do. A little justice is in order.

I watched the machine power up, tears
springing to my eyes as I saw a photo of Alanna and Nathan on the
desktop. They looked like they were on a boat at Rottnest – and
they both looked so happy. I'd never seen him smile like that.
Perhaps a part of him really had died with her. She'd been so
vibrant.

But not stupid. She'd told me to watch
out for him. Had she seen danger when it came for her?

I shook the thought from my head. I
knew now what they'd done to her, more clearly than anyone else
could, for I bore the same injuries. Now I've lived to tell the
tale it's time to tell.

The file was saved directly on the
desktop, neatly called Nightmares of Caitlin Lockyer.
Like the
title of a horror novel,
I thought. I’d never liked horror
stories, but I opened this one.

I skimmed through what I'd already told
Nathan in the vaguest terms. The most brutal of rapes reduced to
thirty words? No, twenty-nine. I could reduce the whole thing to
just four, if I really thought about it: It hurt. Never again.

But brevity wasn't called for now.
Brutal detail, so I could find them. Hunt them down. Somehow make
them pay for what they'd done to me. Like Alanna, I probably should
have died. But I didn't. I was on borrowed time. Borrowed for
vengeance, for I had no life left as long as they had theirs. I'd
never be free until they were all dead.

I carefully stretched my fingers and
started to type.

Chris.

The car.

The stolen kiss.

How he took my clothes.

The horror of the first rape. And
another…

The cruelty of cuts, breaks, bruises
and other brutality.

The horror of help not given, however
desperately begged for.

Bloody breakfast cereal that I'd never
eat again, no matter how hungry.

And the beach…darkness, freedom, stars,
blood, gunshots…almost losing everything.

As I reached the bit where my fingers
were broken, I stopped, the tears too much. Now I wanted a hug from
Nathan, a promise of cake and comfort. I toyed with calling him,
but I didn't. After all, I didn't need him – I just felt a little
lost and lonely. Hardly an emergency.

I read through the harrowing account of
how Pete…and couldn't do it any more.

As the sky turned mauve, I sat back,
looking at the horrible text with some satisfaction. I'd done
enough for one day. I hit save.

My stomach rumbled to remind me that I
had other concerns than catching criminals. I closed the lid of the
laptop and rose, heading for the kitchen.

I opened the fridge first, out of sheer
force of habit. The smell that assaulted me was like nothing on
Earth I'd ever smelled before. I grabbed the orange juice and
slammed it shut quickly. The juice bottle was the only item that
hadn't been furry.

I set the bottle on the sink and found
a glass. Barbara had kept our house immaculately clean, as always.
Having a cleaning lady like her was a luxury I hoped would continue
for a long time.

I uncapped the juice bottle and started
to pour.

Nothing came out.

I set the bottle on the bench, checking
to see if the seal was still on it. It wasn't. I tipped the bottle
over the glass again.

A little liquid started trickling into
the glass, followed by an enormous blob of goo that splashed over
the glass and the draining board in a spectacular orange
inkblot.

What does this remind you of?

I could almost hear the hospital
psychologist's coaxing voice.

I inclined my head, looking
closely.

It reminds me that I've been away for a
long time and I need to go food shopping. It reminds me not to
drink the orange juice.

I capped the bottle and dropped it into
the bin.

As if the clink of the bottle hitting
the bin-bottom were some kind of cue, I heard knocking at the front
door.

Part 40

The knocking continued as I made my way
to the front door.

Jagadamba from across the road stood on
my doorstep, her dark eyes worried. "Caitlin! We were all so
worried about you and the newspapers kept saying you would not
return alive…"

I smiled. "You know me, Jaga. I'm too
tough to kill."

"What happened to you?" she asked.

I sighed. "More than any girl should
have to put up with." She smelled of spices – the sort that set my
hungry stomach off again.

"Oh, don't you worry. You'll be back
into life in no time. I know you!" she said fiercely. She dropped
her voice. "Would you like some biryani? I made extra when I saw
you arrive home, because I thought you'd have nothing in the house
and no time to cook." She held up a covered dish and the spicy
smell intensified.