The Recipient

  She’s clearly preoccupied, Kirkwood noted. Agitated even.

  Kirkwood took up her usual position in her armchair and adjusted her cushions behind her back. Casey continued her intense gaze through the window, folding her arms across her chest.

  “Bad day?”

  Kirkwood’s question caused Casey to turn her head sharply.

  She blinked and, as though realising how she must have appeared, her cheeks flushed. Her shoulders relaxed. Dropping her head, she nodded.

  “Not so much a bad day. Rather, a frustrating one.”

  “Well, let’s talk about it?” Kirkwood suggested with gentle sarcasm.

  Casey managed a self-mocking, pained expression as Kirkwood gestured to the sofa opposite.

  Kirkwood smiled knowingly.

  “It’s okay,” she said, adopting a reassuring tone. “We can talk about something else if you’d like. We can talk about anything. I’m just pleased that we have been able to talk.”

  Slowly, Casey turned and took up the seat.

  “It’s the dreams,” Casey said softly. “It’s always the dreams.”

  She looked down at her hands. She was picking at a chipped end of her fingernail.

  “There’s something that keeps coming to me—some kind of fragment—that I can’t quite nail. It’s right there on the edge and I think it’s really important.”

  Concern tightened Kirkwood’s features, which didn’t escape Casey’s notice.

  “I want to go back in,” Casey said, determined.

  Kirkwood tensed and shifted.

  “Casey, I thought we had discussed this.”

  Casey clasped her hands in her lap.

  “I know, Geddie,” Casey said, nodding. “But this thing, it won’t let go. I think that…Saskia might be trying to tell me something.”

  When Kirkwood didn’t answer right away, Casey continued.

  “Look, you said it yourself that examining these dreams could be helpful to me in healing. You started this.”

  Kirkwood nodded awkwardly.

  “Well, y-yes I did. But using them as a basis for searching for clues to a supposed murder? Do you think that is appropriate? It’s preventing you from moving on.”

  Casey could feel her frustration gathering, but she surreptitiously squeezed her hand into a fist to keep it at bay.

  “I know this is real. And I know that if I can understand it, then I can put the dreams behind me and I can move on.”

  Kirkwood bit the inside of her lip as she considered Casey’s argument. She could not deny that since Casey’s admission to her grandfather, Casey had been much more receptive to therapy.

  “You truly believe that Saskia is trying to tell you something?”

  Casey thought about that question for a long moment. She nodded slowly.

  “I’m not sure,” she answered. “I’ll only find it once I’m in there.”

  Kirkwood set her clipboard down on the floor.

  “Okay,” she answered. She held up her finger. “But I’m only going to do this one more time.”

  Casey sat up straight, eagerly resting her hands on her legs.

  “All right,” Kirkwood began.

  Casey didn’t wait for Kirkwood’s instruction. She had already closed her eyes.

  “Just like before. Let’s start with the relaxation technique and slow everything down. Empty your mind and find your way to the road.”

  Casey complied and allowed her body to relax into the leather sofa. Emptying her mind, focusing only on Kirkwood’s voice, Casey drifted until she felt herself shift into the darkness of her dream state until Kirkwood’s voice faded far into the background.

  Slowly, from the nothingness of her senses, Casey could hear the heart beating steadily—soft and comforting.

  And then…

  “Let me know when you’re there.”

  Kirkwood’s voice barely registered as she felt herself descending toward the road. Looking down, Casey saw rivulets of rain running across the tops of her feet. Above her, the lightning erupted, illuminating the road.

  And the scene before her.

  Stifling the familiar surge of nausea, Casey surveyed her surroundings and nodded quickly.

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  “Okay,” Kirkwood’s disembodied voice sounded. “Just like you did before. Examine the scene and tell me what you see.”

  Casey stepped forward, squinting against the brilliance of the headlights ahead of her, using her outstretched palm to shield her eyes.

  “I want to see the car,” she murmured.

  Kirkwood tilted her head. Retrieving her clipboard from the floor, she quickly reviewed the notes she had made from their previous session.

  “Let’s leave the car for a moment. Tell me, what else can you see.”

  Casey’s looked back over her shoulder into the darkness.

  “I don’t see anything else.”

  “What about her?” Kirkwood challenged. “What about Saskia? You said Saskia was trying to tell you something.”

  Casey stiffened. Her breath quickened. She balled her hands into fists and pumped them nervously.

  “I…I…”

  “Tell me what you see, Casey,” Kirkwood pressed, sitting forward in her armchair. “Saskia is there before you, right now, with him. Surely you can get closer.”

  “I c-can’t,” she stammered fearfully. “I don’t want to.”

  Lowering her voice, Kirkwood studied Casey carefully. “No one can hurt you here, Casey. Just step closer to Saskia and tell me what you see.”

  “But he’s on her,” Casey’s voice came in ragged, horrified gasps. “I can’t stop him. I can’t help.”

  “You’re just an observer here. You can’t change what happened.”

  Gulping softly, Casey walked slowly forward toward the shrouded forms of the assailant and Saskia.

  Saskia was struggling against the huge form that straddled her, wrenching her arms in a vain attempt to free them. She thrust her head up and away from the huge gloved hand that was clasped over her mouth. Though Casey could feel the impact of Saskia’s scream, the scream was silent.

  Suddenly, Saskia managed to pull her left arm free and she began clawing desperately at the road surface, searching for any purchase with which she could pull herself free.

  The familiar horror assailed Casey as though it were she who was underneath the attacker and she gasped, fighting to orient herself.

  It is not me. It is not me.

  “What do you see, Casey?”

  Casey was closer now than she had ever been to Saskia.

  Balancing on the edge of panic, she fought the urge to flee. Casey forced herself to look ahead.

  The hand of the assailant came down, smashing through Saskia’s chest. A silent, sickening mixture of blood and shattered bone.

  And still she fought to free herself.

  Her head twisted around in a desperate effort to find a means of escape. And in that moment, Casey and Saskia were looking at one another.

  Casey’s legs buckled and she dropped to her knees. Blood erupted from the ragged cavity in Saskia’s chest and spattered everywhere, mixing with the falling rain and forming rivulets of crimson that trickled down her skin.

  Saskia thrust her free hand out, stretching her fingers as far as she could, searching in desperation for Casey’s own hand.

  “What do you see, Casey?” Kirkwood pressed, her voice echoing distantly.

  “She’s reaching for me,” Casey gasped.

  Kirkwood blinked as Casey jerkily lifted her left hand from her lap and reached out before her. In the dream, Saskia formed words which Casey could see and understand though she could not hear them.

  Help me!

  “She’s pleading with me…”

  As Casey instinctively reached forward, Saskia’s pupils flickered and dilated and her hand snapped fast around Casey’s wrist. With a surge of inhuman strength, she yanked Casey towards her.

  Casey opened her mouth to sc
ream but could utter no sound. Instead, her own eyes bulged as she looked into Saskia’s face.

  Saskia’s lips began to move, forming words? No, letters? Casey couldn’t be sure. She was trying to understand, trying to control her terror.

  Saskia kept mouthing the words and Casey tried desperately to decipher them.

  S…

  Casey began moving her own lips in concert with Saskia’s until she began to realise that they weren’t words at all. Rather, they were letters and numbers.

  X…

  8…

  0…

  3…2…5…4…

  Over and over again, Saskia repeated the letters and numbers and Casey spoke them back to her in silence until they were repeating them in unison.

  S…X…8…0…3…2…5…4…

  A fork of lightning flashed close, its effect causing Saskia to release her grip. All at once, a serene expression came over her face, so serene that Casey thought she saw her smile.

  Then, without warning, Casey felt herself being yanked backwards. She cried out as her body tumbled and rolled violently along the road like a rag doll as Saskia’s face, the car, the assailant disappeared into the gloom.

  Clawing frantically at the air, Casey screamed, trying to stop herself.

  But she couldn’t.

  She felt herself dragged into the night sky.

  “Casey!”

  Kirkwood’s voice rang like a gong and Casey’s eyes snapped open. She was back in the room with Kirkwood but she was no longer on the sofa.

  Instead, she was writhing on the floor, grabbing at the carpet and a form that was over her. Blinking in terror, Casey realised that she was screaming at the top of her lungs. Kirkwood was trying to restrain Casey as she lashed out. Several blows had connected.

  “Casey!”

  Realising that she was no longer in the dream, Casey stopped. She withdrew her arms and scrambled into a sitting position, backing away, more to protect Kirkwood than to protect herself.

  Embarrassment and shame flooded her.

  “Oh God! I’m all right, I’m all right!” she croaked breathlessly.

  Exhausted, Kirkwood scrabbled back on her knees and leaned against the sofa.

  At that moment, there was an urgent rapping at the door and Kirkwood looked around.

  She glanced at Casey.

  “I’m so sorry,” Casey gasped raggedly.

  Kirkwood got to her feet and hurried to the door, opening it to find her receptionist standing there with an expression of terror on her face.

  “It’s okay. Everything’s okay,” Kirkwood calmed her as quickly as she could.

  “What on Earth happened?” the receptionist probed urgently. “The waiting area has cleared out!”

  Kirkwood nodded and held up her palm.

  “I’ve got it under control, Stacy. Just give me a moment, okay?”

  Closing the door, Kirkwood retreated back into the office to find Casey already on her feet. She was standing before the window, looking out, chewing nervously on her thumbnail.

  “That was my fault. I brought you out too quickly.”

  Casey began to shake her head.

  “You were beginning to panic,” Kirkwood continued. “I had to do something.”

  “It’s okay,” Casey said softly. “I’m glad you did.”

  She looked down on the table where Kirkwood had dropped her clipboard. On the sheet of lined paper secured to the clipboard was a series of letters and numbers, hastily scrawled.

  SX803254.

  Casey bent down and tore the sheet away. She held it up. “She gave me this.”

  Kirkwood gulped. “You were reciting it over and over.”

  Casey blinked. “Saskia was reciting it to me. Over and over again, until I remembered them.”

  Folding the sheet of paper and holding it tightly, Casey stepped forward, retrieving her bag from the sofa.

  “I’ve gotta go,” she said softly.

  Kirkwood’s eyes grew wide. “Casey! We haven’t finished. We can’t leave it at this.”

  Casey headed towards the door.

  “I have to find out what this is, Geddie. This is important.”

  Even though she knew Casey wouldn’t be persuaded otherwise, Kirkwood followed, stepping around her to grasp the door handle.

  “Please, Casey. Don’t do this. We don’t know what this means and it could end up being more damaging for you, if you pursue it.”

  Casey hesitated, considering Kirkwood’s plea and the folded note in her hand.

  “I’ll come back, Geddie. I will. But I’ve gotta do this.”

  Kirkwood let go of the handle and allowed Casey to exit.

  “I can’t do this again,” she said solemnly. “I can’t take you back in.”

  Casey nodded. “Hopefully, you won’t have to.”

  CHAPTER 22.

  In another life, Casey would have relished being in such picturesque surroundings as the leafy grounds of Ballarat’s Gainsborough College. As she emerged from a line of trees near the entrance to the exclusive school, Casey found herself standing before an expansive, sunlit lawn. A Gothic-style mansion stood on the far side. Next to it, connected by arched cloisters, was a stone chapel that appeared ancient.

  Her breath quickened and she gulped.

  Small clusters of students were lounging on the grass and under the nearby trees. Some were engaged in conversation. Some were solitary, laying with their heads against their rucksacks or rolled-up clothing, reading or dozing. The odd couple could be seen snuggled up together and basking in the warmth of the mid-morning sun. Further afield, a group of young men kicked a football back and forth.

  It wasn’t so much the large gathering of people that caused her anxiety to ratchet up. Rather, it was the prospect of having to traverse the lawn in order to reach the buildings on the far side.

  Casey cursed herself for having insisted that Lionel drop her here. Glancing back over her shoulder, she could see him standing beside the car, but his back was turned. She had barely coped with the long, scenic drive up here from Melbourne with miles and miles of open rural heartland to stare at; an agoraphobe’s worst nightmare. She’d had to retreat to the rear of the car for the last part of journey, lying down on the back seat with a blanket pulled over her.

  Here and now, she licked her lips, realising her tongue was as dry as sandpaper.

  She wished Lionel were here with her.

  Casey closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing.

  I have nothing to fear, she repeated over and over to herself. I look just like any other student here.

  Outwardly, her appearance was as similar as any other student.

  It was just a question of keeping herself from losing her composure. Then she would stick out like a sore thumb.

  Scanning the mansion beyond the lawn, she noted a pair of leafy trees. Casey picked out the one closest to her, then drew in a deep breath. She adjusted her shoulder bag, then ploughed forward, weaving in and out of groups of people, marching at a speed that had her almost breaking into a run. A few heads turned in her direction as she passed, albeit with a fleeting interest only.

  Crossing from the lawn onto a paved thoroughfare, Casey leaned against the trunk of the tree and exhaled loudly, realising that she had been holding her breath the entire time.

  Thank God.

  Wary of being noticed, she composed herself, taking a minute to slow her pulse. She then reached into her shoulder bag and retrieved her notebook.

  Shelley Agutter had been “off the grid” since shortly after Saskia’s death. Although with Casey’s resources, it hadn’t been difficult to establish her whereabouts. With a little help from Scott, who had some connections within the security community, Casey learned that Shelley had only recently enrolled at the privately-run Gainsborough School of Art & Design.

  The school offered post-graduate courses in fashion, interior, and architectural design and it was the fashion curriculum that Shelley evidently had been drawn
to. She balanced her classes here at the college with serving at a local coffee house in the town centre. Shelley had also struck a deal on behalf of the cafe, enabling her to run a small, transportable coffee cart right on campus.

  Unfolding a printed map of the campus grounds that was stapled to the page, Casey examined it and the notes she’d scribbled hastily in red ink, then looked up and west of where she now stood.

  Accompanying the mansion and chapel, which had once been a convent, was a smaller, Tudor-styled house situated on an adjoining property. It had been incorporated into the campus and was linked by a path that ran through a purpose-built quadrangle. This building housed the fashion design faculty, complete with classrooms and studios, and was the place where Shelley Agutter was purported to spend most of her hours.

  Casey saw the beginnings of a long thoroughfare, known as The Walk, just a short distance away. Calmer now in the shadow of the towering mansion, Casey made her way toward The Walk and fell in with the light pedestrian traffic moving back and forth along it.

  The air here smelled crisp and sweet. Long garden beds to her right, sheltered by huge Moreton Bay fig trees, had been freshly watered and the light breeze that wafted along the path captured the scents from the flowers, lifting them up where they mingled through the canopy above her head. Casey felt a pang of affection for her university days.

  Up ahead, Casey spied a cluster of bright red outdoor umbrellas arranged inside a courtyard that also served as a thoroughfare bridging the smaller house to the mansion. The portable cafe cart resided in the centre of the courtyard, serving a sizeable cluster of people there. Beyond the courtyard, Casey could see the slate-tiled roof of the house itself.

  This was it. This was where Shelley—according to the timetable Casey had—was likely to be.

  Approaching slowly, Casey cast her eyes around, scanning the tables underneath the umbrellas. A loose line of customers was gathered adjacent to the coffee cart, waiting to be served. Shielding her eyes, Casey examined the servers beyond the waiting line, but she didn’t recognise anyone.

  Looking back over her shoulder, she noticed a constant stream of pedestrians moving between the house and the mansion. If her information was correct, Shelley should be working right now.