One Way Or Another You Will Pay (14 page)

Quickly, I run downstairs, scout around for some bags, find a few, and run upstairs. I place all the diaries in the bag, then put the boxes neatly back in the cupboard where I found them.

“You
need to get out of there,” Ritchie says.

“Leaving
right now,” I say, as I walk into the other bedrooms, photograph them, and then leave the house through the back door with my green shopping bags and my flowers.

As
I race home, with Ritchie driving behind me, I call Bear and fill him in on everything.

“Anything
we can use against her for Savannah’s kidnapping?”

“I
don’t know about that as of yet but, Bear, it’s her. For sure.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m certain of it. I feel we may find our answers in her diary.”

“O…kay,
then. I’ll get off early and come home.”

“You
do that.”

As
I drive home, I can’t help it; at every traffic light, I’m reading a little. It’s very very interesting.

The
moment I get home, humming Blondie’s
One Way or Another,
I dash around to get my chores done, (only the important ones), stick a dressed chicken in the oven for dinner, make myself a cup of coffee, and scramble to sequence the diaries in order of dates.

“I’m
gonna find you …”

3
rd
December

Dear
Diary, I’ve been feeling really homesick for Jakarta today. More than ever. The last three months have been hell but today, I had a meltdown.

Maybe
it’s because I haven’t been able to eat and am sleeping badly.

I
think it all took its toll on me and this morning, as I was driving to work, at a traffic light, I saw a travel agency advertising flights to Indonesia. Right then and there, I broke down and cried.

My
island home, how I miss it.

When
I arrived at work, my face was red and my eyes were swollen. Everyone asked me if I was okay.

I
said ‘yes,’ but, of course, I wasn’t. They wouldn’t understand if I told them. They’re all Aussies and they just don’t understand us whining immigrants.

Don’t
get me wrong, I like Australia but I really miss my family. Everything is so different here and I feel lost.

But
quitting is out of the question and going back home is not an option, so I will act strong, stay focused, and see this through and soon. Can’t let my family down. Have to be a good example to my brothers and sisters.

They
are so proud of me for taking such a giant step and immigrating to Australia on my own. Imagine if I went back and told them I have failed?

Can’t
do that.

5
th
December

Dear
Diary, I think the fact that I am working this Christmas is what’s making me so blue. I’ve managed to pinpoint the problem.

I
try really hard not to think about my family and the Christmas tree and all the presents under the tree and the shopping my mother will do and…

I’m
crying now.

I’m
twenty-one, and I should be acting like a grown up but it’s hard. It’s just so lonely here.

Guess
I’m not as tough as people think I am.

Working
for Remington Correctional Services doesn’t make you tough. It just makes you careful.

Remington
is a hell hole. It is dreary and cold and the air is …hostile. I feel the pain, the suffering, the ugliness of the place, the despair.

That’s
the word, despair. When I walk into it, I become numb and I just, like, stop feeling. A robot, that’s what I’ve become.

I
don’t think I am cut out to be a correctional officer. I’ve been thinking about becoming a nurse?

That
would be nice. I could do something good for people, care about them. Who wants to do good for rapists and murderers who tell me they want to fuck me sideways every single day?

The
things the offenders tell me, it makes me want to take a shower right then and there.

But
how do I study to be a nurse and work at the same time? I feel really trapped.

Being
the eldest child can sometimes be
a curse, a burden
hard.

Anyway,
I’m on a diet. Just water all day, then in the evenings, I eat whatever I like. Put on five kilos since I completed my Correctional Officer’s Training Course.

Too
many McDonald’s quarter pounders with cheese. Lol! I’m also miserable because my uniform is so tight on me, one of the prisoners told me I have a camel toe, then all the others started laughing at me.

I
was so embarrassed, I went to the office and slipped on a panty liner but it didn’t help.

I
hate Remington. Wish someone would burn it to the ground.

7
th
December

Dear
Diary, today, I met a prisoner called Tom Botha. He’s been incarcerated for murder. I didn’t want to ask what he was in for. We were taught never to ask. But he volunteered the information, then explained that he was framed.

I
find it really hard to believe that he committed such a terrible crime.

He’s
so sweet and he’s got such a nice smile. Always-ready smile. And when he does, the corners of his eyes crinkle and his dimples show.

He’s
really a gentleman.

He
asked me why I looked blue. I didn’t answer, but he pressed me for an answer, so I told him I miss my family. He told me he missed his family too. His bitch of an ex-wife framed him, then took all his money and ran off with her Australian lover.

I
hate women like that. Some women don’t appreciate a good man. Guess they don’t
recognize
a good man.

Anyway,
Tom is an immigrant like me and he says that we immigrants must band together, because most Aussies don’t like immigrants. Says most of them are Pauline Handsom’s supporters.

I
told him I don’t know who Pauline Handsome was, so he explained. But I don’t know much about politics so I didn’t say anything.

Anyway,
he’s really friendly and polite and, as you can see, smart.

I smile to myself. Silly girl to write so openly and leave such incriminating stuff in her house. Did she really believe that the cops wouldn’t search her house if she was thought to have any link to the kidnapping?

As
for most Aussies being Pauline
Hanson’s
supporters – that’s simply not true. Aussies have huge hearts and most of them are great people.

Tom
just wanted to divide, then conquer.

Reminder:
Bear is an Aussie.

I
am an Aussie.

Just
saying.

9
th
December.

Dear
Diary, guess what? Last night I was paired with Officer Dawes or Mr. Dawes. He is now my mentor at work. We worked the night shift and after an hour, he left to do something. I found myself having to guard Tom in the computer room while he did some work for Mr. Rogers, the head warden of Remington Correctional Services. He’s a former South African and he and Tom speak in Afrikaans all the time.

They
seem to be very friendly.

I
don’t know what Tom was doing on the computer and I didn’t want to know, but I had a strange feeling it wasn’t something legit. But I’m just a small fry so I will keep my mouth shut and that way keep my job.

Anyway,
Tom asked if I could uncuff his hands. Of course, I couldn’t.

I
said, “Sorry, I can’t. Against the rules.”

“I
understand,” he said. “Thank you for being kind about it.” He gave me one of his lovely smiles and I wondered if maybe I could have uncuffed him for just a little while.

His
cuffs are not the regular kind. They are cuffs with chains wide enough for him to use the computer keyboard with ease.

While
he works on the computer, I sit on the couch and guard him. Nothing to it, really. Boring, actually.

But,
luckily, after a while, he took a break from the screen and we talked.

He
was funny and interesting and we talked for about three hours.

He
was genuinely interested in me and what I had to say. What my thoughts were, he asked about my dreams, and what I wanted to do when I “grew up.” I laughed and told him that I was twenty-one-years old.

He’s
around forty-two, I think. But he doesn’t look or act old. He likes rap music and his favorite song is P.I.M.P by 50 Cent.

When
I talked, he looked deep into my eyes and really listened to me.

I
liked that. Men don’t give a shit about how I feel, so when someone like him comes along, I’m really impressed.

It’s
good to know that there are men like him out there. Caring, genuine men who listen when you talk without wanting to get into your pants.

Anyway,
I won’t be guarding him again but he’s truly a fascinating man.

That’s
right, Dear Diary, Tom Botha is a man, not a boy.

Wow, this is interesting. Tom Botha likes rap? Since when?

Tom
listens when she talks? Since when?

Tom
is caring and genuine? Not the Tom I know.

I’m
a bitch of an ex-wife who framed him? Okay, that part is true.

At
this moment, I want to scream, “Run, girl, run!”

Let’s
read on…

11
th
December

Dear
Diary, guess what happened?

Mr.
Rogers, yes, big cheese, South African Rogers called me in and asked if I would consider working the night shift permanently.

If
I said yes, I would get an extra $225 per month and …I would automatically get a promotion to the night shift’s 2 IC.

That
is second in charge, Dearest Diary!!!!!!!

Apparently,
I will be permanent guard to Tom! That nice prisoner with a charming smile? With the cute dimples? Remember him?

That’s
who.

How
easy will that job be? But Rogers made it clear that I am to keep my trap shut about …everything, his exact words. He scared the crap out of me with his deep voice and his heavy Afrikaans accent. When he looked at me with his icy blue eyes, his big jowls, and his thin, white lips (that look like someone took a greyish pencil and simply drew them in), I was scared even though I had done nothing wrong.

Of
course, I said yes. I would never think of saying no to Rogers.

It’s
a good deal, anyway; more money and a promotion in such a short space of time? I am thrilled! It’s not like I have a husband or kids or a boyfriend that I need to be home for. So, yes, I am now on permanent night duty.

I
may be able to move out of this boarding house into my own place now.

‘May’
because I still have to send money home to my mother.

I
have to be honest, having to guard handsome Tom is like the cherry on the cake for me. That man is intriguing. Very intriguing.

PS:
Tom told me it’s Pauline Hanson, not Handsome. Silly me! Tom teaches me so much all the time, corrects my English, helps me with pronunciation, explains big words. He’s just so intelligent. I told him he’d make a great teacher.

PPS:
He said he loves my innocence. Says it refreshing that I am eager to learn. Unlike his ex-wife, who belittled him all the time.

Anyway,
got to run. Hearts and kisses to you Diary Dear.

20
th
December

Dear
Diary, I really have neglected you, haven’t I? I’m sorry, but I have been so caught up with my job and life. But, I have sooo much to tell you.

Okay,
so first of all, Tom and I spend almost all night talking.

Long,
lengthy conversations and it’s wonderful. He confessed; it was him who requested me to guard him at night in the computer room. Says he wanted me.