One Way Or Another You Will Pay (29 page)

“Fuck
you. You are lucky I’m in this chair.”

“
Wheel
chair,” I correct. “Let’s get that right. Bear put you in it.”

His
face cracks into a smile to my surprise.

“What?”
I ask.

He
rolls his eyes to his right.

Slowly,
I turn my head and follow his eyes. It rests on a nursing assistant. When our eyes meet, she quickly turns away. She’s slim, in her late forties, I think, with dull blue eyes. My smile vanishes at the sight of her hair – a mahogany bob which stops two inches from her ears.

I
turn to look at him.

He
sticks out his tongue. “You left me this. It’s the most powerful muscle, you know.”

I
don’t answer, because I don’t know what to say.

“She’s
thirty-seven, husband left her six years ago with three kids, hasn’t had a boyfriend since, spends her spare time playing
Temple Run
, when she’s not raising her family. She received a traffic fine of three-hundred and twenty-five dollars for parking in a disable parking spot. I dictated a letter to Roads and Traffic and the fine was quashed. Then last month, she failed to show up for Jury Duty. The fine was over a thousand dollars. I dictated a letter and didn’t have to pay a cent.” He smiles and wriggles his eyebrows. “Boo!”

I
jerk to my feet. “Fuck you, Tomthumb! In spite of that glib tongue of yours, your view every single day will still be this faded, grey wall. Enjoy your miserable life, Rumpleforeskin.”

“Fuck
you!” he snarls. “Don’t call me that.”

“Monotonous,
that’s what life is going to be like for you.
Monotonous
: an adjective. Dull, boring, unvaried dreary, colourless.” I smile.

“That’s
what you think,” he says in a buoyant voice. “I plan to walk again. If it takes forever, then so be it. But, I will do it because I am Tom. Nothing stands in my way. Just you remember that.”

With
a scoffing chuckle, I walk away.

But
even though I act confident and cocky, I can’t help but look over my shoulder. All it takes is a simple hairstyle to have me checking out my SUV before I enter and locking my doors behind me. A hairstyle.

As
long as Tom is alive, he is a threat to me and my family.

Damn,
Bear, why didn’t you kill him?!

****

SIX MONTHS LATER

13 February

Dear
Arena, I have been diagnosed with cancer. Pancreatic.

I
don’t have long to live. Please can you visit me? I swear I’m not lying,

I’m
really am dying.

Love,

Tom

I shake my head. This guy lives up to his promise; he will die trying.

The
handwriting on the letter is not his. It’s a female’s handwriting. Which is understandable, as he no longer has the use of his hands. Is it the nurse with the mahogany bob perhaps? I would think so.

Anyway,
I’m not going to fall for this crap again. If I do, it will be a case of:
Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.

Something
like that.

If
the past doesn’t convince me, all I have to do is look at the date on the letter.

I
crumple it and throw it away.

Of
course, I mention it to Bear. No secrets anymore.

I
ignore three more of Tom’s letters without even giving them much thought.

****

It’s 7 AM and the bell at the entrance of our property rings.

A
sleepy Bear answers. “Cops,” he says and unlocks the gates for them.

I
rush to grab my gown, before I join them in the lounge. What now?

“Arena,”
Bear says, looking at me with shock in his eyes, “Tom died last night. They came to deliver the news.”

“Whaaaat?”

“Ma’am,” one of the cops says, “We would like to know if you want to make funeral arrangements for him or should we do a pauper’s burial?”

I’m
too stunned to answer.

Tom
is dead. He wasn’t lying about his cancer this time.

“I
…I need to think about it,” I finally mutter. “He’s not my husband anymore and he…he tried to…to kill us. Recently. Couple of months ago.” I look at Bear. “He really had cancer!”

Bear
doesn’t answer.

“Okay,
but he has you listed as Next-of-Kin. You have his son…?”

“Eh,
ye…”

“Whatever
you want to do is fine with me, Arena,” Bear says. “It’s Warren’s father after all.”

I
look at Bear, then at the floor.

“Arena,”
Bear says, looking at his phone.

I
look up at him.

“Today
is the 14
th
May.”

“And…?”

“Tom died on the 13
th
.”

“Wow!”
I say. “Thirteen was his number. Gosh, I can’t believe it, Bear.”

“You
can collect his belonging if you like,” the cop says. “Just call ahead.”

“His
belongings? He has belongings?”

No,
thanks.

After
the cops leave, I sink into a couch and think about Tom.

He’s
dead. He really had cancer.

“What
you thinking?” Bear asks as he takes a seat across me.

I
shake my head.

“Bear,
he has no one here, in Australia to bury him. But…” I clear the frog in my throat as I look up into Sasha’s smiling face.

In
the grainy framed picture, she has a lollipop in her hand that is stuck to her hair. I remember that day so well. We were at a picnic with Bear and Amy and we couldn’t stop laughing at how funny the scene was. Every time Sasha tried to jerk the lollipop away, it took her hair with. Even though she was feeling a bit of pain, she refused to let go of the lollipop.

I
snapped the photo of her using my iPhone, so the quality is bad. But every single photo of Sasha became significant to us. We cherish them all.

Bear
follows my eyes to Sasha.

“It’s
like if I refuse to bury him, then I am cold–hearted, soulless, as he once called me. Hardened heart. If I go ahead and bury him, then I feel like I’m unfaithful to my baby’s memory.” My shoulders sag with conflict.

What
do I do?

“What’s
up, Mum?” Warren asks walking into the room.

After
exchanging nervous looks with Bear, I put my hands on his shoulders and break the news to him.

For
a few moments, all we hear is the ticking of the clock.

“Did
you see his body?” Warren asks in a matter of fact voice.

“Eh,
what?”

“How
do you know he’s really dead?” he says. “You need to be sure, Mum.”

“I…eh…”

“You should check it out before you believe it,” he says backing out of the room, Xbox controller in hand. “C’mon Amy!”

The
kids follow him into the TV Room.

Bear
and I stare at each other at a loss for words.

“Want
me to come with?” Bear asks.

I
give a dismissive wave, my forehead lined.

****

It’s bizarre viewing Tom’s dead body in the morgue. He’s as thin as a seven-year-old and his arms and legs have wasted away through lack of use.

He’s
lost just about all his hair and his face is badly lined. If I didn’t know him, I’d say he’s around seventy-years-old.

But
he’s dead. Door-nail dead.

He
can’t hurt us any more for certain. He’s left the earth.

A
prison official hands me a small bag as he murmurs his sympathy.

In
it are a few personal items, like a toothbrush, comb, a set of headphones.

I’m
about to dump the bag when I see an envelope.

It’s
sealed but it’s addressed to Warren Botha c/o Arena Botha.

“Incineration?”
the morgue attendant asks.

I
nod, as I slip the envelope into my handbag.

“Sign
here, please.”

I
sign away Tom once and for all.

Tom’s
dead.

I’m
finally free.

Warren
is free.

My
family is safe.

When
I leave the prison, once again, the sun is out and with each step toward my car, my shoulders drop further from my ears.

Tom
can’t hurt me. He can’t wheel his way into high-ranking official’s wallet and lonely prison officer’s panties and try to get to me.

He’s
gone, time to close that chapter.

No,
no, no, to
slam
that chapter closed.

He
died alone.

I’d
be lying if I declared I didn’t feel a kernel of sympathy for him.

I
actually do.

But,
when I think of how we had to turn our house into a fort, how we lived in fear with our phone alerts and video intercom systems, how Warren walked around with a knife in his back, how we all slept in one bedroom out of sheer terror, how we lost our reputation in the community, that kernel becomes a spec.

When
I think about poor Sasha, that spec of sympathy evaporates.

Tom’s
gone.

I
nod as the feeling of relief intensifies and threatens to make me want to skip to my car.

He
died alone, Sasha baby. I believed he prayed for death.

As
I walk, a woman walking behind me sniffs loudly. I’ve seen her in the morgue, viewing a prisoner’s body.

Her
car is parked closer to the prison entrance than mine is. She gets into a green hatchback Holden and starts it, and immediately Leona Lewis’s
I see You
blares through the car’s open windows. I like this song. I liked the movie too.

My
phone buzzes.

Texts
from Bear.

Bear:
U ok

Arena:
Im ok my luv n u

Bear:
gud

I
smile to myself. He’s thinking about me right now.

Bear:
y u smiling

Arena:
how do u no im smiling

Bear:
look up

My
neck jerks to look up. I see Bear in the distance, standing in the prison parking lot outside his SUV.

Oh
my God, he’s actually here?

Bear:
wanted to make sure ur ok moral support in case the prick was not dead immoral support actually lol

My
smile widens and my heart fills with light and love for him.

Bear:
can u c me
rena

As
I walk toward my caring husband, the green Holden pulls out its parking space and cruises slowly alongside me, following the line of cars in front of it, Leona belting her lyrics.

The
driver of the Holden now sports a melancholy smile on her tear-stained face.

As
I listen to the lyrics, I look at Bear, my love who left his security business to come all the way to Remington in case I needed
immoral
support. In case Tom wasn’t dead dead.

Talk
about a person
showing
their love.

Like
Leona says, Bear’s love really does shine a light for me…I really do live for his love…our love is indeed
enchanting
.

In
spite of all the storms, the heartache, the pain; we came through, weathered it, and we’re stronger. I know that with Bear at my side, I am safe, I am whole, and I can take anything life throws my way.