Nightmares of Caitlin Lockyer

Part 83

83

Caitlin unlocked the front door and turned to me, pressing her lips briefly against my cheek. "See you tonight for dinner?"

I stopped dead. "Don't you want me to stay with you?"

She shrugged. "I'll probably just be writing more of my memories down and doing some washing. Maybe catch up on the sleep I missed out on last night." Her smile was enough to remind me of things that were better than sleep. "I feel bad that I take up so much of your time. Like the rest of your life is on hold for me."

Right now, your safety is my life. There's nothing more important to me.

I'd sound like a real idiot if I said it, though, so I smiled and said, "I definitely don't mind. Are you sure, though? I mean, what will you do if the last of the bastards come for you while I'm not here?"

Her surprise made me feel stupid. "Call the police, of course, like you did last time. After all, they were so efficient. I'm sure they'd be just as helpful again."

The police did fuck-all last time – that was us. I tried to find a way of saying it inoffensively, but came up blank before I realised that she didn't know – and I had to keep it that way. "I'm sure they will," I said, summoning a smile. "You know my number if you need me, too. So, dinner?"

Caitlin looked relieved. "Dinner. See you tonight."

She left me standing on the doorstep as she shut the door. Feeling stupid, I trudged back to my car.

After a few minutes' driving, I still didn't know where to go or what to do. On Saturday, Chris would still be home and I definitely wanted to avoid my sister today. My job was to protect Caitlin as much as she'd permit, so I didn't have work to do after she'd dismissed me for the day. My life is on hold while I protect yours, Caitlin, and I won't get my life back until it's over.

I wasn't stupid enough to think it could go back to what it was, no matter how much I wished for it. Before Mum and Dad made names for themselves as successful investment advisers in Dubai. It sounded so simple – telling a wealthy investor that if he invested his money in businesses known to support terrorist activity, he'd lose it. It wasn't that simple, of course, as Dad had explained on his last visit.

"For our advice to mean anything, we have to know which businesses support violent extremist activity and demonstrate with extensive data the resulting losses," he'd said, lining up his points like ducks crossing a road. "With the numbers to back us up from Marion's PhD project and the glowing reviews of satisfied customers, it was just a matter of the right introductions…"

Alanna had laughed at him as she shook her head. Her laugh had been deeper than Caitlin's – more a throaty chuckle, I remembered fondly. "But Dad – you're forgetting that violent extremists use religion as their basis for action. Aren't the businessmen anxious to save their souls by investing in a religious cause?"

Dad's laugh had matched hers – maybe the last time it ever would. "The successful ones are more concerned with the state of their bank balance than that of their soul – plus they feel that taking money from people in the West is revenge enough."

He'd explained how he'd speak to the men and Mum would sound out the women, for wealthy wives had money to invest, too. If they hadn't been so successful, maybe Alanna would still be alive.

One too many investors had stopped giving money to some group who decided they didn't like their funding drying up. They hadn't gone after Mum and Dad – they'd threatened their children. A threat Mum and Dad had ignored.

"After all, you're all safe in Australia," Dad had laughed over Skype.

First Alanna disappeared. No word, no sign, nothing. Then the gory envelopes arrived at home, as I tried to hide them from Chris. She'd had final exams to focus on and so had I. She'd done well, of course. She'd channelled her worry into study and it showed.

Yet I'd failed, my thoughts on Alanna at the exams she should have attended with me.

Receiving the results of DNA tests, confirming the envelope contents were from Alanna. Grave-looking police officers, always offering sympathy as there was nothing else they could do that they hadn't already.

The message was clear – no one's safe, no matter how far away. Yet Dad said she'd turn up. Alanna always did, because she was so good, so perfect, a fighter to the last…

Mum and Dad refused to capitulate. Their business model was too good. There was too much money to be made in doing the right thing to give in to terrorists. The kidnappers would realise they had no choice but to release Alanna.

When were terrorists ever reasonable?

I got sick of the positive fucking spin. Endless repetition – "Alanna will appear. She always does."

She did. The call came to my mobile, to come and identify her. I didn't tell Chris. I didn't call Mum or Dad, far away and far from concerned. I stood and stared at the corpse of my sister as the images seared themselves into every layer of my consciousness, never to leave me. Leaving only ashes and a smouldering desire for revenge. I'd resolved to make the bastards who took my twin pay in tears of blood.

The most terrifying thing is losing those you love.

Mum and Dad did mourn. We all did. We just didn't do enough.

One sister gone, I dreaded losing Chris next. I was the only man home – it was my job to protect them and I'd already failed. I couldn't fail again. Time to get fucking proactive. The ASIO team started asking questions so I started with them. I was going to help, whether they paid me or not. In the end, they gave in just to stop me from interfering in their operation.

Gotta catch 'em all.

Almost. God, almost. So close and so fucking frustrating. My hands tightened on Alanna's steering wheel. Mine now.

What if they got to Caitlin while I wasn't there?

I decided to go to the gym. I wanted to punch things.

I'd never worked so hard with a speedball. I lost count and didn't stop 'til I couldn't see, there was so much sweat streaming down my face. I mopped my face with a towel and moved on to weights.

Lifting Caitlin so often meant I wasn't completely out of practice, so I was pleased not to need to drop the weight down much. I did a few extra sets, just to make up for the time I'd been away.

I refilled my water bottle, nodding to some of the familiar faces I hadn't seen in a while. Mine wasn't a social gym – all the battles were personal, except when you worked with a personal trainer. The guys who grunted and sobbed as they did bicep curls with a barely loaded barbell didn't last long in my gym. They soon found somewhere else to train.

I finished up with intervals on the treadmill, starting out easy and then turning up the gradient. I ran 'til I ran out of water before heading home for a shower. Chris had already left the house by then, thank God. Showered and freshly dressed, I watched TV until it was time to go back to Caitlin's.

We had Japanese for dinner and Caitlin cried when she couldn't handle the chopsticks. I threw them out and fed her sushi with my fingers until she laughed again. Of course, that didn't happen until my eyes were streaming from finishing up the wasabi in one mouthful. She could've warned me.

She let me ditch the pyjamas, but not my shorts. I wasn't complaining. I still got to sleep with her.

And the next night. And the one after that.

I wished I hadn't spent so much time at the gym that first session, because everything fucking hurt like I'd been in a fight and lost. It got better, though. After three days, I upped the weights. It felt damn good. The gym had to replace the speedball and my six-pack was starting to return.

For two days and nights, I rinsed and repeated – gym, shower, clothes, TV, back to Caitlin's.

I could hear the child practising the piano again each day as I climbed out of the car. The same song, over and over, but it sounded smoother and more like music now. Everything coming together to turn something rough and awkward into something pleasurable.

Maybe tonight…I thought as I walked stiffly up the steps to Caitlin's front door.