“I’ll keep trying to get a hold of him,” Natalie says quietly, softly.
West nods in Natalie’s direction before saying, “Let’s go, Eric.”
There’s a clearing of a throat that has me swivelling my arse until my head twists towards the front door. The same tall, broad shouldered, muscular man who turned up at the house with Linda yesterday now stands in the doorway holding a parcel.
“Dusty.” Linda runs straight to him.
“Hey, babe. I came as soon as I could,” he says, catching Linda by the waist. He tucks her close to him. “Morgan rang. That’s wonderful news to get, babe.”
Dusty knows Morgan rang too?
“You might want to check this out. A delivery guy just handed me this package. It’s addressed to Reid and there’s no return address on the back. I checked. The driver is out on the street in his van, waiting. I said you might have questions.” Dusty reveals a white post satchel from behind his back.
West walks towards him.
“Could be something, right?” He holds the parcel out. West takes a step back.
“No. You put it on the table. The fewer hands touching this without gloves on the better. If it’s from Morgan’s abductor, we might get a print from the packaging.”
“Sure,” Dusty says before he takes long strides and places the satchel on the table.
“Max, can you get me a knife?” West flicks his eyes from the package to Maloney.
“Yes.” Maloney’s response is immediate, and as fast as he’s gone, he returns, holding a steak knife. “Do you want me to open it?” His eyebrows raise.
“No. Put the knife on the table. I will. I’ll need gloves. I don’t want to risk any evidence being unnecessarily tainted at this point. They’re in my car.” West doesn’t walk towards the front door to go to his car. Instead, he stalks the package. “Someone get me some gloves,” he snaps as Prospect appears from behind him holding a pair of cream latex gloves. How does he do that?
“Thanks.” West slides them on, pinging the band at his wrist before he picks up the knife and gently slices the blade along the top of the bag.
“What’s in there?” Mum’s voice shakes as much as my hands do.
West doesn’t reply.
West places a small cardboard box on the table. “Evidence bag,” he mumbles.
Prospect appears again, holding a clear bag with the word evidence written on its front.
“Thank you.” West slides the postal satchel inside, then Prospect seals the top.
Taking up the knife once more, West slices between the two folds taped together at the top of the box. He shifts his head until it blocks my view.
“Three evidence bags,” he says, closing the folds back together.
“What is it?” My heart thrums in my chest.
“A wedding ring.” West doesn’t look at me when he says this.
“Morgan’s?”
“You can tell me in a minute, once I've bagged it.” West turns his back to me.
I don't see what he puts into two of the bags, but in the last one he places the small box that had contained the ring.
West's arm stretches out. A bag dangles from his fingertips, and I snatch it from his grip within a second.
A thin gold band is resting at the bottom. I turn the ring on its side and look for the dent and scratch I know to be there, a dent and scratch caused by a plastic racket in a tetherball game we had set-up in our backyard last year. I close my eyes and watch the final parts of my hope flutter away like ducks heading south for the winter. “It’s hers.”
“What’s in the other bag?” John croaks.
“A thin ticket of paper.” Prospect eyes me even though it wasn’t me who asked.
“What does it say?” John holds out his trembling hand, like he wants Prospect to pass the item to him.
“Death. Now we part,” West answers.
“What does that mean?” Kylee cries.
The room falls silent.
Does this mean her captor has found Morgan before the police could?
My world shatters around me, only this time I know there won’t be a second chance. If this fucker has found my wife and killed her, then I’ll hunt him like a rabid dog and tear him limb from limb, even if it takes me the rest of my life.
Morgan, I will avenge your death.
Morgan
Goodbye. It’s the last thing I said to my husband, and as I sit tucked up between the rock and the boulder I ventured away from earlier, I can’t help wondering if that was the last time I’ll ever get to say goodbye to Reid.
The fear lacing his tone was palpable. The few words he’d spoken screamed his torture. I want to take his pain away as much as I want to diminish my own. A tear springs to my eye, then rolls down my cheek. I jet my tongue out of the corner of my mouth and catch it. I’m so thirsty that this single tear is better than no liquid at all.
My mouth is bone dry. My tongue is rough like sandpaper. My lips sting and bleed. I’d give anything for a drink.
A powerful and painful growl vibrates in my stomach, telling me I’ve not eaten for days. I don’t feel hungry at all. Instead, I feel sick.
Bugs wiggle below the surface of my skin. I know they’re not there, even though my mind tries to convince me they are. I can visualise them moving in rows. I scratch at my skin. I bite at my wrists. I gnaw on my fingers.
I’m inside my own living hell.
My sight changes between hazy, spotty, and clear, and with these variations, my mind changes too. One minute I’m coming up with extravagant plans of escape, and the next I’m focused on the percentage marker that indicates how much battery power is left on the phone, willing it not to drain.
Darkness often threatens to sweep me away to a place where I’m unable to think, feel, or be aware. I fight it, but soon enough, I know I'll fail. It’s only a matter of time.
The need to sleep is causing my gritty eyes to sting, and keeping them from closing becomes more difficult each time a rush of tiredness whizzes around my brain. I’m too scared to rest, so I continue fighting to stay awake, but after what feels like the hundredth time, I’m not strong enough to make it through the brain-numbing sensation. With the last flutter of my eyelids, I moan. “Shit.”
I’m walking down the long hallway separating each office space from the other. When I reach the end of the corridor, I’ll enter my door. Each step I take gets quicker as excitement bubbles deep down in my gut, but I’m not sure why I’m feeling so damn excited.
The corridor suddenly fills with blinding light; it’s so powerful that I shield my eyes and tuck my chin to my chest.
“Hello,” I whisper, unsure of what’s happening.
There’s no answer.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Linda twirls her finger into her red hair as she smacks gum loudly and smiles in my direction. The light has disappeared, and I’m now sitting at my desk at work. I feel irritable. Stressed. Overwhelmed.
“What’s wrong?” Linda tilts her head to the side.
“So busy,” I moan.
“Tell me about it. It’s been a crazy week all around. I wish I never came back from Canberra now. How are you holding up?”
“I’m pissed about the entire situation, to be honest. I knew that we were going to sink into hot water with George Anderson’s account, yet I still took part.”
“Union Sully said death threats came in today.”
I nod. “It was a major blunder, and I’m not sure how the company will fix this.”
“Don’t even worry about it. You played such a small part that it will have no bearing on you.”
“Hmmm,” I groan.
“Maybe we should both go to Canberra until the heat dies down.”
“About that.” I twist my chair until my shoulders are square in front of Linda. “Do you think Reid is acting weird?”
Linda shrugs. “I haven’t seen him since I got back.”
“Was he acting weird in Canberra?”
“Wouldn’t know. I only saw him briefly. We had a drink. I told him about the boring-as-fuck conference I sat through, and he told me about the riveting one he’d enjoyed.”
“That sounds about right with you two.”
“Things got worse with him and you? Is he still being short-tempered? An arsehole?”