The Recipient

  She picked up another.

  And another.

  It was the same.

  What were these medical reports?

  Though it had the air of officialdom, something about the piece of paper told Casey that this wasn’t something that had been produced by a government agency. Retrieving the phone and holding it up in her hand, she sifted through more sheets of paper until she found one that had a logo printed on it. She brought it close.

  Elyria Medical Services.

  Directing the light down, she examined the discarded papers on the floor. On every loose page she saw there, Casey found the same medical terminology printed on them.

  And then she noticed something else.

  Picking up another page, she examined it and found a series of numbers printed; numbers she recognised.

  SX801244

  Saskia’s scrawled note flashed in her mind’s eye and her breath left her all at once.

  Casey dropped to her knees and sifted through the pile, checking to see if any more sheets contained the same number on them.

  She found one. Then two more. Then another two.

  Setting the phone down on the chair and angling it so she could see, Casey examined the pages, noting their page numbers and sorting them accordingly until she was looking at a complete report.

  It was headed: Preliminary Medical Examination - IMA Candidate No. SX801244, Flaxley Park Immigration Detention Facility.

  Casey’s pupils dilated. Her blood turned to ice.

  Through her burgeoning shock, Casey quickly read through each page, searching for the name of the candidate and the person who had examined that candidate.

  The candidate’s vital statistics were featured on the first page. Age: 22 years (approx), Gender: female, Country of Birth: Sri Lanka.

  Casey noticed at various points throughout the report someone had scrawled notes in red and circled portions of the printed information. She read through one section, containing what appeared to be a blood profile, toxicology screen, liver and kidney function. These last two had been circled and notes made to one side.

  “No apparent history of drug use. Kidney function excellent. Liver function excellent…”

  The last line of the note had been underlined.

  “Ideal candidate for procurement. As per instructions, refer for follow up with Sonmez to arrange for inbound client. Recommend repatriation to the chamber…”

  A creeping horror suffused Casey and she felt her chest begin to tighten. She read the last lines again and again, not trusting her own eyes that what she was reading was actually there.

  “Ideal candidate for procurement…Follow up with Sonmez … Recommend repatriation to the chamber…”

  Fresh tears stung her eyes as she struggled to read on. The name of the candidate did not seem to appear anywhere on this page nor anywhere else.

  But the examiner’s name did.

  Dr. M. Davich.

  “Jesus,” Casey whispered raggedly.

  Her eyes drifted back to the scrawl beside the blood results and the mention of Sonmez.

  “Sonmez,” she sounded the name out loud.

  Something about it seemed familiar to her, as though she’d heard it before. But she could not recall where.

  Shaking her head, she read through to the last page, only to find that it finished in mid sentence.

  The report was incomplete.

  Casey searched the floor around her, looking to see if she had missed a page. She picked up what looked to be a fragment from another report but she couldn’t see an identifying number on it. Picking up the phone, she cast the flashlight across the room and into the corner where a bin stood in the corner. An electronic contraption sat on top of it.

  It was a paper shredder.

  Casey scrambled across to it and lifted the shredder component off of the bin and peered down into it. It was filled with ribbons of A4 paper.

  She pulled out a handful of the paper, even though she knew what it was.

  Shining the light back at the newspaper report stuck to the window, Casey felt sick.

  They know, she thought.

  Whoever it was, they knew and now they were trying to cover it up.

  Flipping her phone over, Casey brought up her home number and dialled it.

  Lionel answered almost immediately. His voice was plagued with worry.

  “Casey. What on Earth are you doing?”

  “I found the car, Pa,” Casey said, trying to contain her emotions, while keeping her voice low. “We were right. Arbelside Avenue is it. This is the place that Saskia was visiting.”

  There was silence at the other end of the phone.

  “There’s more, Pa. I’ve found a lot of stuff here…papers. Records.”

  “What sort of records?” Lionel asked urgently.

  “Medical records,” Casey choked, holding up the document she’d collated in her hand. “There is a whole bunch of them here but someone has started shredding them. I think they know somebody is onto them.”

  “Wait a second…medical records,” Lionel countered breathlessly. “I don’t understand.”

  Casey adjusted her grip on the phone and fought back her tears, her grief and her anger.

  “Okay. The file numbers that Saskia wrote down; I think they were for asylum seekers that were being held at Flaxley Park Immigration Detention Facility. Each of them were given medical examinations on arrival by a private contractor called Elyria Medical Services.”

  “Okay,” Lionel said. “That’s not uncommon for private contractors to provide assessment services for the government.”

  “I’ve found reports for at least two of those file numbers here. I’m guessing that the rest of them are here too.”

  “But what on Earth would they be doing there? In a private residence?”

  Casey dropped her head and began to shake. Tears fell on the papers in her hand.

  “Pa, there’s writing on the reports. Handwritten notes.”

  “What kind of notes?”

  “They were screening these candidates…these particular candidates.”

  Lionel gulped as Casey’s voice trailed away. He could sense her anguish.

  “What, Casey?” he urged her. “What is it?”

  Casey sat up straighter. “Organ harvesting,” she said finally. “Someone wanted these people’s organs.”

  The import of her words did not strike Lionel immediately. Within the silence that followed, a horrible realisation began to dawn on him and he felt his legs buckle. He reached out and grabbed the back of the sofa.

  “Casey,” he stammered. “Is there a name on the report? Can you see a name of a doctor or specialist?”

  Casey nodded, flipping back to the first page. She directed the light beam at it, squinting as she scanned the name she had found earlier.

  “Davich,” she said.

  “Marco Davich?” Lionel queried.

  Casey nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

  “Our dead Marco Davich,” Lionel muttered, trying to comprehend what Casey had in front of her.

  “Elyria Medical Services has a dead man working for them,” Casey said softly.

  “So who is the impostor?”

  “I don’t know. There’s a name scrawled in the notes. I think it’s a name at least. Somebody named Sonmez. But I can’t see…” She held the report up again, examining the logo for Elyria Medical Services at the top of the first page. “Pa, I’ve seen this Elyria Medical Services logo before,” Casey squinted in the light from her phone. “In fact, it looks way too familiar.”

  “Elyria Medical Services,” Lionel repeated.

  His eyes narrowed as a flash of recognition passed through him. A fragment of a memory registered and he focused on it, trying to recall where he had encountered it before.

  “I think I have, too.”

  “Casey, get out of there now. I’m going to call Whittaker.”

  “No, wait,” Casey countered sharply. “We should contact Prishna instead
. I’ve already thrown her a bone and—”

  Suddenly, a loud bang followed by the smashing of glass downstairs cut Casey off. She whipped her head up, dropping the phone. It bounced on the cushioned surface of the chair, coming to rest with its flashlight beam pointed at the ceiling.

  “Casey!” Lionel called out.

  Casey slapped her hand to her mouth, stifling the urge to gasp. Dropping to her knees, she scrambled across the floor and cowered behind the door.

  “Casey, what’s happening?” Lionel shouted.

  Cocking her ear to the gap between the door and the door frame, Casey gulped. There was a long moment of silence followed by the sound of footfalls on the broken glass.

  Oh, Jesus!

  CHAPTER 31.

  Fighting against panic, Casey realised the smartphone’s light was still shining in the darkness. Pushing the door to the office closed, she winced as it squeaked on its hinges before stopping just short of closing completely. Casey reached out for the crowbar, dragging it to her, then she made a desperate grab for the phone, killing the light and shoving it against her ear.

  “Pa, someone’s here!” she whispered frantically. “Someone’s downstairs!”

  Lionel felt sick.

  “Casey, get out of there,” he growled. “Get out of there now!”

  “I can’t.”

  Lionel paced around the kitchen counter. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

  “Casey, you have to do some—”

  Without warning, the line went dead.

  “Casey!” Lionel shouted. “Casey!”

  Casey clutched the neck of her shirt as a series of loud thuds sounded on the stairs.

  Her eyes flicked around the study. For a fleeting moment, she entertained the idea of escaping through the window, but dismissed it just as quickly. It appeared to be painted shut and, in any case, she doubted she would have enough time to get to it.

  She was utterly trapped.

  How could anyone have possibly known?

  She could hear someone moving slowly towards the door now. Squeezing her eyes shut, Casey grabbed the crowbar in both hands.

  “I know you’re in there,” a male voice growled.

  Casey’s eyes snapped open. Her breath caught in her throat.

  She recognised the voice.

  “There’s nowhere to run. No one is coming for you.”

  Casey felt her stomach lurch. A vortex of images flashed before her. Images from both the nightmares and from her memories—her recent and real memories.

  A conversation.

  He leaned in and gently drew down the sheet so that he could examine the cables. In the process, he inadvertently brushed his forearm over her chest…

  She shivered and blushed even more acutely…

  “You’re seeing the boss today?”

  “Yeah, this afternoon at three.”

  “He does like his data.”

  Casey couldn’t bear to believe it. She began to shake.

  Saskia’s face, pleading with her through the lightning flash inside the nightmare.

  The gloved hand in the nightmare; plunging into her chest; cascades of blood…

  The intruder was outside the door. It moved as a hand rested upon the handle.

  Casey steeled herself.

  The door swung open and Casey shifted just enough to allow it to complete its arc.

  The intruder stepped into the room behind a powerful beam of light.

  Casey held her breath, praying that he wouldn’t hear her. The torch light swept around the room as the intruder searched for her. She did not dare look around the door frame to see who it was.

  She already knew.

  Suddenly, her phone vibrated noisily in her pocket and, as she was wedged behind the door, it vibrated against that too, amplifying the noise so that the whole door became the phone’s ringer.

  Oh fuck!

  His fingers appeared at the edge and, before she could react, he wrenched the door back and shone the blinding light directly at Casey. Though dazzled by the beam, Casey could still see him.

  She recoiled.

  Francis Arlo.

  A single, interminable moment of shocked recognition passed between them. Time slowed to a crawl.

  Neither one could move.

  Without warning, Arlo whipped his arm up, closed his fist and swung hard at Casey. She whipped her head to her right as his fist crashed into the wall beside her, shattering the plaster board and slashing the skin across his knuckles as it struck a wooden beam inside the cavity. The torch fell to the floor.

  Arlo yelped in pain as Casey dropped to her knees and rolled from her hiding place.

  Grasping the crowbar in both hands, she sprang to her feet, planting them well apart as she raised it over her head, preparing to strike.

  Arlo gasped, seeing her in the half-light from his torch, wrenched his arm free and propelled himself backwards, crashing directly into her midsection.

  Casey felt the wind knocked from her and the crowbar fell from her hands. As she collapsed back, it struck her on the side of her head and she saw stars.

  She crashed down onto the paper shredder behind her, shattering the electronic component of the machine. Sharp fragments pierced her skin and drew blood. She cried out again.

  As she struggled on the floor, a sudden and intense pain exploded inside her chest, sucking the breath from her once more.

  The room began to spin and she felt sick.

  Arlo did not wait. Recovering, he spun around and braced himself in the middle of the room before spying the fallen crowbar. He lunged for it, grabbing it up in his hand, then he grabbed the torch and shone the beam directly at Casey.

  As she flailed impotently on the floor before him, shielding her eyes from the beam of light, Arlo looked down on her, his expression hovering somewhere between sadness and apoplexy.

  He shook his head. “You think I’d be stupid enough not to secure this place in the event of an intruder?” he snarled.

  Casey’s voice caught in her throat. She shook uncontrollably as the pain in her chest grew more intense, robbing her of breath.

  Arlo lurched towards her, a crazed fury in his eyes.

  “You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” he hissed. “You just had to keep pushing.”

  Casey spat at him.

  “Why,” she croaked, struggling to speak against crushing waves of nausea. “Why!”

  Grief and rage collided within her. She could not comprehend that before her stood the man who had helped save her life. The man Fedele had once called his natural extension. She had trusted him. Had been grateful to him.

  She had respected him.

  This very same man was the monster from her nightmares—Saskia’s memories. The memories that had been given to Casey from the very moment Saskia’s heart had begun to beat inside her chest.

  Arlo stood over her, glowering, his jaw clenched, armed with the weapon. The very realisation of her nightmares.

  His eyes were filled with hatred and evil. And yet, there was something else.

  They were filled with fear.

  He raised the crowbar over his head.

  In that moment, Casey saw past the torch’s blinding light. She saw where he was standing in relation to her.

  In one swift movement, she folded her legs up and drew them tight against her body. Dropping the torch, Arlo gripped the crowbar in both hands and sucked in a loud, deep breath.

  Casey screamed as she kicked out as hard as she could, her legs propelling towards Arlo like hydraulic rams.

  She struck true in the centre of his groin with so much force that Arlo was flung backwards like a rag doll. Striking the wall behind him, he roared in agony as he crumpled to the floor, clutching his groin.

  Casey was on her feet in an instant. No sooner had Arlo drawn himself up into a sitting position, she struck again, flicking her right leg up and ramming it directly into his face. The sound of breaking bone mixed with his anguished cries as his n
ose shattered and bent sickeningly to one side.

  Casey would not be assuaged.

  She came at him again and again, kicking him as hard as she could, screaming in animalistic fury. Blood poured from his ruined nose. Deep lacerations opened up under his right eye and his chin. A tooth dislodged and flicked up into her cheek.

  Her barrage was relentless. The intensity of her anger detonated like a nuclear bomb. Three years of pain and anguish spewed forth in the fallout and he was powerless to stop it.

  As he tried to raise a hand up to his face, Arlo’s cries grew more desperate.

  And then they stopped.

  And then she stopped.

  She stumbled back. Arlo’s hand dropped. His head slumped forward. He continued to moan into the fractured darkness but it was clear he was close to unconsciousness.

  Her breath was ragged. Recovering the fallen crowbar, Casey stumbled back and spat on Arlo’s inert form. She felt her phone vibrate and her hand dropped to her side, plucking the device from her pocket.

  Looking at the screen, she blinked and allowed herself to feel a crackle of relief. There was a ‘message received’ notification from Prishna.

  Glancing down at Arlo, Casey pitched the phone at him, hitting him in the side of his face.

  “You’re done, Francis,” she said bitterly. “They aren’t coming for me. They’re coming for you!”

  Casey backed away, supporting herself against the desk as she fought to slow her breath. All at once, her emotions overcame her. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she sobbed in the darkness. Her adrenaline-soaked strength collapsed as she raised a hand to her face.

  Without warning, Arlo erupted from the floor and pitched himself at her, striking her hard with a closed fist. The blow knocked her sideways as she crashed against the bookcase.

  Disoriented and panicked, Casey felt the room tip sideways and she thrust her hands out in front of her, swinging at the air to protect herself from him.

  The expected attack never came.

  Instead, Arlo threw open the door to the study and leapt through it, striking the door frame with his hip and shoulder.

  In her faltering consciousness, the realisation came to Casey.

  He’s escaping!