The Recipient

  Raising an eyebrow, Lionel regarded the chair then leaned in close to it. There didn’t appear to be any offensive detritus evident but, just in case, he saw a hand towel hanging over a tap behind him and he reached for it. Quickly wiping the seat down, he tossed the hand towel into the basin then positioned the chair and sat without giving Casey’s warning another thought.

  He crossed his legs casually, then he leaned back. He continued to study her but he said nothing. In truth, he wasn’t entirely sure of where to begin. Instead, he unfurled the newspaper he held and took out a pair of glasses. He began to read.

  For her part, Casey struggled to maintain a discreet eye on her grandfather through her sedative-induced haze.

  What is he doing here? More to the point, why is he reading the newspaper?

  Casey tried to clear her head, unsure whether she was hallucinating.

  Part of her couldn’t believe he was here and it took all of her resolve to prevent her from springing to her feet and rushing to him: her beloved Pa. The other part of her seethed with anger at what she suspected was a ploy, hatched by Kirkwood and her parents—a push to get her to talk.

  With a blunted expression of incredulity, Casey looked out from under her hair at Lionel as he casually read the newspaper. Though her vision was blurry, she recognised the masthead of the Hambledown Reader.

  “W-what are you doing?” she slurred in annoyance.

  Without looking up, Lionel licked the end of his finger and turned the page. “Catching up. I didn’t have the chance to read this on the flight.”

  Casey blinked.

  “Weather’s beautiful in Hambledown right now,” he continued as composed as he could. “Can’t believe I left it for the rubbish that’s coming down outside. Mind you, it does seem rather poetic given the circumstances.”

  Casey turned her head. “It’s a-always beautiful in Hambledown,” she said softly.

  “The meadow above the beach is looking more lush than it has in years, you know. The Braithwaites have cattle grazing on it right now in fact. It’s turned into quite the little earner for Sonya and Andrew. Sonya sends her love by the way.”

  Casey squeezed her eyes shut, still not convinced that this was real, that Lionel was here.

  “They’ve not long gotten back from America. Catching up with Andrew’s family, touring about, that sort of thing. It’s wonderful to see actual—”

  “What are you doing here?” Casey snapped abruptly.

  Lionel looked over the edge of the newspaper. She’d brushed her hair aside and was now staring at him with piercing eyes. A smile tugged at the corners of Lionel’s mouth.

  Lowering the newspaper, he sat forward. “I’m told you’re in rather a predicament.”

  “How did, how could you have kno…”

  Her voice trailed off; a flash of understanding managed to register through her fog and a bitter smile appeared.

  “Dad asked you to come here, didn’t he?”

  Lionel turned the page of the newspaper without looking up and went on reading. “No. Your mother did actually. She thought I might be able to help.”

  Casey shrugged petulantly and leaned her head against the wall.

  “Your parents are sick with worry. What is this business about not eating or talking to anyone?”

  Casey didn’t answer.

  “Surely you can’t think that is healthy,” Lionel observed, frowning.

  “I don’t know,” Casey said dismissively, holding her shoulders up as she fought a wave of dizziness. “I wouldn’t want anyone misinterpreting me. There s-seems to be a lot of that going on lately. Especially from Edie.”

  Lionel didn’t react to her invective.

  “Why do you believe that everyone is conspiring against you?” Lionel ventured.

  “You’ve seen the reports, yes?” Casey countered. “Young woman tries to throw herself out of her window at two in the morning. People tend not to trust the words of someone who’s tried to off herself.”

  Casey’s lip began to shake. Her eyes glazed and she looked away from her grandfather.

  “Were you? Trying to off yourself?”

  Casey shook her head defiantly. A single tear trickled down her cheek.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Well,” Lionel said cautiously. “Why don’t you tell them that? Talk to them and tell them.”

  Casey wiped her face angrily. “They don’t w-want to listen. They d-don’t want me to leave here. Kirkwood. Dad. E-Edie, especially,” Casey spat. “Now that I’ve gone postal, everything can be as they’ve always wanted it to be.”

  Again, Lionel frowned. “Do you really believe that?”

  “They’re all happy because they think I’ll be forced to reveal myself to Kirkwood and her mind-fucking.”

  “What’s there to reveal?” Lionel asked.

  Suddenly, Casey lurched to her feet and staggered as she fought to maintain her balance. Her defiance had returned. Lionel remained seated, unflinching as Casey paced back and forth.

  “Dad’s happy because he won’t have to put up with Edie’s bloody nagging.” She waved her arms angrily, ignoring his question. “He won’t have to check in on me to make sure that I’m behaving myself.”

  “What is there to reveal?” Lionel repeated, adding a harder edge to the question this time.

  Casey shut her eyes. “Edie’s happy because she can finally have me exactly where she wants me—wrapped up in cotton wool—just like she’s always fucking wanted!”

  “Oh, don’t be so bloody ridiculous!” Lionel shot back with considerable rancour. Casey shuddered where she stood.

  Lionel sat straight in his seat, his eyes boring into Casey with a potent fire.

  “No one wants you to stay here, least of all your mother,” he hissed. “They do actually want you to be well but unless you drop this ridiculous charade, you’re going to find yourself locked up in here for the foreseeable future. And who knows how long that could be?”

  Crossing his arms, he let his words hang in the air between them. His gaze remained unrepentant.

  “What are you afraid of, Casey?” he probed. “It’s obviously significant enough to have caused you to change so dramatically. I don’t even recognise you.” Lionel stood, placing his hands in his pockets. “Do you think I or your grandmother haven’t noticed? Sure we may not be around as often as we used to be but we’ve seen it. You look different. You never seem happy. You haven’t ventured north to see us in what, two years? Hambledown was your favourite place to come to spend your holidays, even during your university years.”

  “People do change, Pa.”

  “Do they change so much that they want to end it all without there being some underlying reason? I don’t believe they do. So what is it? What are you hiding?”

  Casey’s features tensed. Her eyes grew wide and her jaw quivered. “I wasn’t trying to hurt my—”

  “No? Then what?” Lionel interrupted her. He leaned against the far wall, hands still in his pockets, studying her. “What’s going on with you?”

  Casey looked away from him and rubbed her forehead, agitated.

  Of all the people to press me, why did it have to be my Pa?

  “Tell me what it is,” he said forcefully. “Everyone has been treating you with kid gloves for far too long but it’s time to stop. You have to start facing up to this, Casey.”

  Outside the room, Kirkwood and Peter stood before the one-way viewing window, watching Lionel and Casey. Kirkwood was biting the inside of her lip. She was clearly tense. She turned to look at Peter who, by contrast, was surprisingly calm.

  “We’re taking an awful risk,” she remarked with concern. “I don’t know if it’s wise for someone untrained to push her so hard.”

  Peter breathed in slowly. “Lionel’s had thirty years in the Victoria Police,” he said softly, looking at her. “He used to this sort of stuff. He’s an old-school copper.”

  Kirkwood shook her head slowly.

  Casey back
ed herself further into the corner and wrapped her arms around her legs tightly.

  “Don’t, Pa,” she whispered through gritted teeth.

  “Don’t what?” Lionel retorted. “I’m not the one playing games. Tell me what you’re afraid of. What’s with those awful wounds on your chest? Is it your heart? Is there something wrong with it? They say you haven’t slept properly in months. Why is that? Is there something you fear about sleeping?”

  She felt a pounding in her head as Lionel’s questions peppered her. Her anxiety grew, seeping into her lungs, suffocating her. Her eyes darted fearfully from her grandfather to the floor.

  Sensing an opening, Lionel stepped forward.

  “Tell me,” he demanded.

  In her mind, flashes of imagery pierced through a dark veil and she gasped. Glancing around the room, Casey could not determine whether she was awake or caught in the nightmare once more. She threw her hands up in front of her face but she was unable to stop the images hurtling towards her.

  The road. The car. The lone sign in the darkness.

  “Tell me!”

  Casey lifted her hands to her head, grasping her scalp hard. She hissed angrily as the images came faster.

  The shrouded figure coming towards her. She was running as though caught in a thick soup, her face a mask of terror.

  “TELL ME!”

  In her mind, Casey saw herself standing before a towering wall. Large fissures had opened up in the structure. Mortar crumbled and turned to dust, allowing the nightmare’s images to slip free like nebulous apparitions. Her scream was silent as she flung herself against the structure, pushing with all her might to stop her fortress from collapsing, even as large columns of stone all around her cracked and crumbled. The wall shook and sagged. She cried out, but her screams were swallowed by the chaos. Tears of blood streamed from her eyes and fell at her feet.

  “No, no, no, NO!” Casey screamed in the confines of her hospital room as she balled her hands into fists and pounded ferociously at her temples. She hissed through her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut against the torrent.

  But it was no use.

  Lionel’s shoulders dropped at the same moment as his features. He looked upon his granddaughter in horror and shame as she continued to beat on herself, rocking back and forth and slapping her feet against the floor.

  Shatterpoint, he thought ruefully.

  Lionel was canny enough to know when a subject had been pushed too far. There was nothing left he could do. He could only extricate himself from the room as quietly as possible without causing further trauma.

  Slowly, his hand enfolded a piece of paper in his trouser pocket and he drew it out, looking down upon the picture card of Jeanne Hebuterne. He hesitated momentarily, then stepped forward and set it down on the edge of her bed. He turned and went towards the door.

  “Don’t leave!”

  Lionel stopped at the sound of Casey’s voice through wracking sobs and slowly, he turned back to face her. Casey’s hand was on the picture card before her.

  “Don’t leave,” she pleaded again, her tear-filled eyes fixed upon him.

  He did not move.

  “I can’t make them stop,” she seethed desperately. “They keep c-coming for me and I can’t make them stop.”

  Lionel turned back to face her while keeping his hand on the door handle.

  “What, Casey,” he whispered urgently. “What can’t you stop?”

  Unfurling the index finger of her left hand and tapping angrily at her temple, she steeled her jaw and ground her teeth together. Her body shook once more in reaction as she prepared to let go of that which she had held onto for so, so long.

  “The…the…” Her face became a mask of anguish. “The nightmares.”

  As the revelation spilled from her lips, Casey sagged against the wall and began to wail uncontrollably.

  Swiping his own tears away, Lionel dropped to his knees and took her into his arms. He held her tightly as her entire body seemed to crumple in his embrace.

  “It’s all right,” he soothed gently. “It’s all right. Let it go, Casey.”

  “I can’t make them stop, Pa,” she heaved desperately. “They’ve been with me for so long and I can’t make them stop. I’ve tried so hard to fix this on my own. I couldn’t fix it, Pa. I couldn’t fix it!”

  Adjusting himself on the floor while not letting her go, Lionel looked over at the mirror on the wall opposite and nodded. Behind it, Kirkwood and Peter stood silently, unable to look at each other immediately.

  Finally, Kirkwood turned her head.

  She was visibly shaken.

  “He got to her.”

  CHAPTER 14.

  In a pretty flower garden, in a quiet corner of the hospital grounds, Casey sat on an ornate bench. Her legs were drawn up, her arms wrapped around them and she held them tight against her body. Her eyes were closed as she rested her head on her knees, luxuriating in the warmth of the sun on the back of her head.

  It was a beautiful morning. To Casey, having realised she’d lost count of the days she had been held indoors, it had an almost hyper-real feel to it. A light breeze tugged at the upper branches of nearby shade trees, whistling through the foliage in such a way that she felt she could hear the crinkling of each individual leaf. It caressed the hedgerows behind her and the rosebushes surrounding her. Birds twittered on the lawns and splashed in a nearby fountain; it sounded as though they were right beside her.

  The brightness of the morning necessitated sunglasses, even though Casey knew instinctively it was just an average sunny day. Colours appeared so much brighter. Then there was the presence of others around her. People—other patients—walked or sat nearby, either with family or hospital attendants, engaging in conversation or, like her, revelling in the solitude the gardens afforded. Casey felt unsettled by their proximity.

  Lifting her face, she felt the luxurious warmth of the sun and she smiled. For a moment, Casey almost felt free.

  At least the illusion was nice.

  She could not deny that she felt a release from the psychological imprisonment that had tormented her for so long. She was grudgingly appreciative of her grandfather’s persistence. In its place, however, was far less certainty. There were now more questions.

  And she did not know where to begin answering them.

  Glancing to her left, she spied a hospital attendant pacing nearby. Though he was keeping a respectful distance, there was no doubt he was keeping a close eye on her. She smirked.

  Casey looked back towards the main building of the hospital and spied Kirkwood approaching her from across the lawn. As their eyes met, Kirkwood hesitated and seemed to consider leaving her be. Casey sat forward in expectation and gestured with a small wave. Acknowledging her, Kirkwood continued forward, closing the short distance to the garden seat.

  “Gorgeous morning,” Kirkwood greeted. “How are you feeling?”

  Casey nodded. “Awake. But not in a bad way.”

  Lowering her legs to the ground, Casey shuffled aside in a silent invitation.

  Kirkwood looked across at the hospital attendant as she sat and nodded subtly at him. She set the clipboard down beside her.

  Casey noticed their silent communication. “Was the chaperone really necessary?”

  “Well, this is your first time out in nearly two weeks,” Kirkwood observed. “As much as we’d like to give you the space you want, we’re obligated to ensure you are safe.”

  “Afraid I was gonna run?” Casey mocked gently. “I don’t think I’d get very far if I tried. I still feel like a zombie.”

  “Quite an eventful past couple of days,” Kirkwood remarked. “I have to admit, your grandfather? I did not see that coming.”

  “Lionel is a tough cookie,” Casey said. “Always has been.”

  Kirkwood raised her brow. “Tough is right. I’m thinking of offering him a job on staff.”

  “He’s an old-school detective, and a fiercely independent one. He would probably break ev
ery rule in your text books. Any lesser patient would have shattered in that room.” Casey raised her eyebrows and allowed a smirk.

  Kirkwood smiled knowingly. “You may be right. Between you and me, he would do more good for the patients here than most of my colleagues.”

  “Did Edie really suggest bringing him here?”

  Kirkwood nodded. “Your mother knows you better and loves you more than you want to believe.”

  Casey bit her lip angrily at that observation. She looked away again.

  “Well…I can’t say that I’m not glad to see him.” She bowed her head slightly. “I’ve missed him. My brother and I used to spend a lot of time with him and Nana when we were growing up.”

  Kirkwood turned to the clipboard beside her. Her hand hovered over it. “They sound like good people. Kind people. Your grandfather is very concerned about your well-being.”

  Casey’s smile faded. “I guess I should add him to the list then.”

  Another moment of quiet passed between them. Casey fidgeted with a piece of loose thread at the edge of her dressing gown.

  “Shall we pick up where he left off, so to speak?” Kirkwood ventured.

  Casey stiffened. “Don’t push it,” she said warningly.

  “Well,” Kirkwood nodded, maintaining her posture. “How about we start somewhere else?”

  Casey frowned wearily.

  “Look. You’ve made real progress. Probably the most significant progress in all the time I’ve known you. Don’t you want to try to build on that?”

  Casey glanced sideways at Kirkwood. As much as she might have tried to deny it, Kirkwood had a point.

  “When did it begin?” Kirkwood ventured, sensing Casey was open to her questioning. “The sleepless nights. The insomnia?”

  “That’s pretty obvious, don’t you think?” Casey said flatly, nodding at Kirkwood’s folder. “I’ll bet you can pinpoint exactly when it began.”

  Kirkwood nodded. “My guess is that it was around a year after your transplant. There was definitely a tipping point where I felt you were beginning to withdraw. You’re saying that was when the nightmares began?”

  “At first I was just shocked by it.” Casey’s eyes drifted down across the grass. “It was so…violent. Disturbing. I’d never had any sort of dream like it before. I remember being so unnerved that I didn’t go back to sleep that night. But, it seemed like it was just that one time. It didn’t come back and I put it out of my mind. I didn’t think anything more about it.” She sat forward, straightening her back and she took a breath. “It came again, maybe two weeks later. Same nightmare but much more intense. More detail. More violence. I didn’t sleep for days afterwards. But it caught up with me eventually and, as soon as I did sleep…” Slowly, Casey removed her sunglasses and rubbed her eyes. “It happened again and again. Not every time I slept, but close to it. The same nightmare. The same violence. More powerful each and every time.”