- 3 -
The two men sat at the small kitchen table of the colonial homestead, Jack Welsh chewing a piece of buttered toast while Ray Douglas sipped a strong coffee. They sat in silence, Jack's elbows resting on the table, his eyes far away; observing the shadows of the morning sun streaking across his land through the open windows. Ray held the warm mug in both hands between his knees, his shoulders were so hunched that he was practically sitting in the foetal position.
Jack cast a quick glimpse at the man sitting across from him and took a slow bite out of his triangle of toast. He had wondered what Ray was up to last night, rooting around in the cellar. The idea of him stealing some port to get loaded never crossed his mind.
Ray was only in his late twenties, if Jack remembered correctly. He looked nearer to forty these days, well he had ever since he got out of jail. He wasn't a big man, Ray, but when he cracked he was pretty frightening. He had an agile grace about him that made his movements so disturbing. It was a only minor assault charge, but Ray was inside for twelve months. His history as a law-man saw to that, should have known better, Jack mused. He recalled meeting Ray for the first time, he had heard the kid had a history of alcoholism, but the clean cut young recruit standing before him showed so much promise.
Jack remembered hearing the news that his star recruit had shot and killed a fellow officer in the line of duty. He remembered freezing, perfectly still. It was uncanny, but for a good five minutes, he was paralysed; no thinking, he couldn't hear, he just stopped. Jack shook his head at the memory, wondering if that happened to anyone else when they heard something horrible.
After that, Jack finally got to see Ray the alcoholic. What was it? Six years sober, or something like that, the kid was a full blown alcoholic in his teens for Christ's sake. Well, there was a bloody good reason for picking up the bottle again, Jack thought. Poor kid, he thought, and still did. Jack knew Burgess well and made sure to defend Ray as best he could.
After the investigation and the eventual discharge, Ray socked his therapist, Jack never really found out why. I probably would have given him a thump too though, Jack suppressed a smile. Shouldn't have gotten twelve months for it but then again, you should have known better, Ray.
Jack didn't hear much from Ray after he was released, apparently he spent a year living with his sister, getting loaded every day and probably scaring the hell out of her. Jack had trouble keeping Ray's sordid history in check, he never quite knew why Ray came here, only that he needed help. In fact, Jack wasn't quite sure of much these days, maybe Ray never went to prison, or maybe he did a hell of a lot more to that therapist. Jack noticed Ray sigh, a deep breath of shame, and quickly returned to surveying his patch of dirt through the window.
Ray raised his eyes slightly and saw Jack staring intently out the window. The rising sun shone through the kitchen of the old house and illuminated every crevice and dent on the old man's face. He was only in his late sixties but Ray thought he looked at least eighty. The top of his head was bald with stringy grey hair flowing out of the sides. Since he had retired, he hadn't shaved once and his face was home to a long grey beard that rested on his chest.
Ray couldn't remember Jack looking so old, and so fragile. Jack was a big man, tall and solidly built, but his spine was weak now. His stomach protruded out and his large shoulders tiredly hunched forward, giving him the appearance of an ageing gorilla. Ray guessed that he didn't actually look that fragile, but compared to what he was in his youth, Jack might as well be rotting.
A great pain rested, thumping, behind Ray's eyes. He shut them but felt the floor begin to sweep away from under his feet. There was another pain too; his eyebrow had a small gash through it from something that happened the night before.
Ray closed his eyes and endured the sweeping floor, to try and remember clearly what had happened. He remembered a wiry man insulting him and a large man throwing a punch. They hadn't given him the gash though. No, it was the men in the car park. Ray saw boots flying at his chest and tried to recall rolling away.
He scrunched his face up until his eyes hurt and his temples pounded from the inside out. They were beating me, I ran. The ideas floated through a haze of pain and darkness.
I punched and kicked, fighting them off.
I ran.
I ran?
“Ray, what happened last night?” Jack's voice was soft and subdued.
Ray's face remained scrunched up, his head almost level with the edge of the table, “don't know.”
Jack sighed, “uh-huh.”
“Seriously.”
“Fair enough.”
The two men sat in silence for a while.
“Rachel is in trouble!” Ray's body jerked up, his eyes wide and alert as the memory struck him.
“What?”
Ray reached into his pocket and thrust the crumpled note across the table at Jack.
As Jack slowly read, Ray tried to explain, “I got this yesterday, I...” he trailed off.
“You needed a drink,” Jack murmured, his eyes never leaving the blood-spattered sheet of paper.
Ray sighed and his head fell to his chest. As Jack read, Ray rested his head on the table and tried to ignore the feeling of vertigo that arose when it was still. He gazed lazily out of the window and his eyes began to flicker and droop.
“I don't blame you.” Ray heard the words, far away, comforting his aching head.
“Ray?” There was a bird on a tree, hopping gently from branch to branch. The golden warmth of the sun fell onto Ray's face, the bright glare through the tree's branches, vibrant yet gentle, eased Ray into unconsciousness.
“Wake up!” Jack's loud voice sounded like a thunderous clap above Ray's head and as he jerked up in his seat he realised Jack had actually clapped his hands as he said it.
“What?”
“What do you mean 'what'? Don't sleep on my bloody table.” Jack stood by the window and Ray was suddenly unsure if he had dozed off.
“Sorry,” Ray murmured.
“What are you going to do about this?” Jack held the note up and all of a sudden a wave of nausea swept over Ray.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit, what are you going to do?” Jack shook the note as he said his piece.
“I already called it in.” Ray scrunched his face up again and held his head in his hands, the headache was worsening by the second.
“Really? Who'd you get?”
“Cook,” Ray said behind his hands, his eyes tightly shut.
“Shit, Ray. That bloke's an arse hole.” Ray nodded, his head still in his hands. “What did he say?”
Ray shrugged, “he told me to have another drink.”
“What did you say to him?” Jack stepped over to the table and rested his massive hand on Ray's back.
“Nothing.”
“Come on Ray.”
“He asked if I was going to kill him too, you know, like Burgess.”
“Jesus, that prick. What did you say?” Jack held his hand on Ray's back as he rested his head on the table again. “What did you say to him, Ray?”
“I told him that wasn't a bad idea.” Ray felt a sharp crack across his back and yelped.
“You're an idiot Ray. Do you know that?” Jack walked back to the window.
Ray shrugged and remained still, his head still resting on the table. “Fuck him.”
“Ray, you're an idiot.” Jack picked up his bare plate from the table and reached for Ray's coffee.
“No, wait!” Ray snatched the mug and slurped the rest of the thick liquid down. Once he was done, he rested his head back on the table and held the mug up in the air.
“Did I ever tell you you're an idiot?” Jack said as he grabbed the empty mug and walked over to the sink.
“Maybe, once or twice.” Ray became groggy again and passed out, his head resting on the kitchen table, the sun warming his throbbing face.
“Wake up idiot. Feeling better?” Ray opened his left eye a fraction and was almost blinded by the amazing light that filled the room. He quickly shut it and held his arms over his face.
“Come on now. Wake up.” Ray realised he was lying on Jack's couch, wearing something warm. He opened his eyes slightly and saw he was in a dressing gown and pyjamas. He couldn't remember if he was wearing them at breakfast just before.
“What? Leave me alone.” Ray murmured the words through his arms.
Jack looked at the crumpled man lying on his sofa. He had reverted to being a child. Maybe Ray never really did grow up, Jack thought as he watched him writhe about, trying to get comfortable. The kid was drinking at such a young age, maybe it stopped his development, or something, Jack wondered. He wasn't really sure, although Ray always did seem to have an immaturity about him, even when he was sober. Jack recalled the amazing fit of rage Ray flew into when he first arrived here. He began to yell and scream about Rachel, all the while throwing his fists around and putting holes through the wall.
It took an incredible amount of coaxing and patience to calm him down, but somehow Jack had managed to turn the raving animal into a blubbering baby. Jack frowned as he remembered carrying Ray to his bed, listening to his incoherent moans and cries.
“All right. I'm being fucking serious now, Ray. Get up, you've got work to do.” Jack's voice boomed through Ray's head and he knew what it meant.
Immediately Ray lowered his arms and sat up on the couch. He took a deep breath and forced his eyes open despite the blinding light.
“You have to make this deadline,” Jack said the words, holding the note out in front of Ray;s face.
“It's a fake, gotta be.” Ray looked up at Jack, his eyes still trying to adjust.
“No. I took a good look at this. Trust me Ray, it might not be true about Rachel but somebody wants you Ray.”
“Why?” Ray continued to stare at Jack.
“Ray, what happened the night you left Adelaide and came here?”
Ray broke his stare and looked down at the floor. He paused for a moment and looked back up, “I couldn't say, Jack.”
Jack shrugged his heavy shoulders, “well Ray you've done a hell of a lot to piss people off and now I think somebody wants payback.”
Ray froze at that last word.
Payback, an answer for his past.
“Payback?” Ray asked.
“Yeah, answering for yourself and all that. Ray who knows who sent this but if they know about you and your past, they sure as hell know about Rachel. You can't risk her safety Ray.”
He knew it, answering for his actions.
No, answering for his sins.
“I can't go.” The words struck Jack and he stared at Ray, dumbfounded. Ray shrugged his head and curled back up into a ball on the couch.
“What? What the hell do you mean you can't go?” Jack's voice became louder and Ray rolled over to face the back of the couch.
“Ray! Look at me!”
Ray rolled back towards Jack, who noticed his eyes were glassy and his face red. “You said it yourself, Jack! I can't risk her safety.” Ray's voice broke as he let it out. “Look at me!”
Ray rolled back over and looked as if he was trying to bury himself between the cushions and the back of the sofa. Jack stood, still dumbfounded.
“I'm no help to anybody.” Ray muttered the words, his voice strong again and he felt sure of what he was saying.
“You're not the man you used to be, Ray.” Jack's soft words echoed around the room, bouncing off of Ray's back.
“Leave me alone, Jack.”
“No. I-”
“I said leave me alone!” Ray shouted into the cushion and Jack quietly left him there, curled up on the couch where he slept.
“Leave me alone, Jack” Ray mumbled at the hand resting on his back.
The fingers poking into his side gently felt too small to be Jack's.
Ray rolled over and saw Rachel standing across the room.
“Leave me alone, Rachel.”
“Get out.”
Ray saw a pile of broken glass beside Rachel's feet begin to quiver and shift.
Suddenly the glass flew into the air, the pieces connecting and reforming against the wall.
A bourbon bottle flew across the small inner-city living room and into Ray's hand.
Rachel stood with her mouth open, her hands clasped tightly, resting on her stomach.
“Go away.”
“Get out.”
The dialogue bounced back and forth, both of them taking turns at a new line.
Ray looked to the floor and saw a piece of paper lying beside the couch.
The paper read; 'get out' and 'go away,' the words printed below each of their names, typed out in all capitals.
Ray lifted the script and flipped it over to see a spatter of blood.
He looked up to see Rachel gagged and tied to a chair, a ghoulish man standing over her dragging a knife repeatedly across her bare arm causing droplets of blood to spill forth.
“Get out!”
The man turned and Ray saw Burgess smiling at him.
“Go away!” Ray yelled the words, but there was no sound except for the crack of his pistol.
Ray felt the jerk of his hand and watched as his bullet flew across the room.
Burgess grinned and stepped aside, calmly allowing the bullet to enter Rachel's cheek in a violent eruption of blood.
Ray's heart echoed through the large, old living room. He felt his pyjamas and dressing gown were sticky with sweat and he panted as he sat in the dark, afraid to fall asleep again.
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