Every Second Counts

Chapter Fourteen

DAMIEN IS NOT AT MY PARENT'S HOUSE when I arrive at Cottonsdale and I realise he will have got himself caught up with a customer at the last moment. I have only bought a few of my mother's possessions, the jewellery I have in my trinket box at Red's. After my parent's demise Betsy insisted my mother's jewellery should be stored at the bank or at her work.

Apparently, Lawyers have one hell of an impenetrable safe, 'Fort Knox,' she had told me. So, there they still are, not that I think any of it is valuable, but I really don't want to lose any of her things. Sentimental value only. Except of course the Russian ring—a little band of gold with blue amethyst stones surrounded by tiny diamonds, which is now in Betsy's safe also. I stifle a tear when I think of the carnage that tiny ring caused. The deaths, destruction and the innocence of a woman...me.

I banish the horrid thoughts and try to focus on the nicer memories like when my father gave her the little heart shaped pendant with a diamond in the middle...their 10th wedding anniversary. She was so excited and so was I when she placed it around my neck for me to wear for the whole day. Her ruby ring celebrated their 15th Wedding anniversary and a gold bangle for their 20th anniversary. By then, I realised my parents were wealthy and I questioned the modest gifts to which mother said, 'Athena, these people we live amongst are our friends. We do not want to flaunt our wealth at them.' She went on to tell me that all they had in jewels etc were not expensive. Nor the paintings my father had collected. I already knew they were all prints.

I hope Damien isn't too disappointed when he peruses the five necklaces, a bracelet and five pairs of earrings which I have bought with me. Although they are all very old I am quite sure they are not collector's items. I check my makeup and make a vow that by the end of the evening, the last thing on Damien's mind will be my mothers' jewellery.

But as I pull up to my parent's house, my mother's jewellery...especially my mother's blue amethyst Russian ring crashes into my head space again. I banish the image but it is replaced with the horrors of my beautiful mother's body covered in blood lying on the floor of my father's shop.

The memory triggers a strange feeling inside me and my temperature rises exponentially. I will myself to breath normally, but I cannot. My whole body feels it's in freefall, but I know I will not tumble because I'm sitting in the driver's seat in my Holden. My breaths are short and ragged and beads of sweat covering much of my body have appeared. The air in the car has rocketed up to sauna temperatures. A barrage of images play out before me. I'm there. Watching my mother's bright red blood and bits of her brain splatter against the wall as the bullet hits her head and the screech of the gun forces itself into every part of my being. Then I'm on the balcony, watching Patrick fall to his death. Hearing the thud on the ground, bones breaking. Then I'm at my computer with the girl in the dark room, I cannot see her except her silhouette slinking onto the putrid slimy floors and then the bone chilling whirls of thundery clouds whip around me as I spin deeper and deeper. There is no light. There is just swirls of various gradients of darkness.

I can feel the claws of depression start to gnaw at my brain.

You can't do this.

You can't do this.

Go back to Athena's.

I don't go back to Athena's. I sit in the driver's seat in my Holden.

I can't breathe. There is so much blood. Her light blue frock is splattered with bright red. Bright red blood. Her blood. Along with several shudders, her image blurs and her frock is no longer light blue. Its orange. No, she's wearing an orange shirt and light grey shorts. And her hair isn't golden, its...dark, in a ponytail. I open my eyes. But I still see her. I still see the woman in an orange shirt and light grey shorts. I close my eyes again. This is not happening to me. But it is.

Suddenly the air plummets and bone chilling whirls of thundery clouds whip around me as I spin deeper and deeper. There is no light. There is just swirls of various gradients of darkness. And then a hand appears from nowhere. 'Athena.' It's my mother's hand and she comes into view, sparkling blue eyes, locks of golden curls. 'Don't cry my little warrior,' she says as she cradles me. I try to speak but she says, 'Hush,' and kisses my forehead. 'You came back for me...' I whimper. She puts her finger over my lips. 'No, you haven't seen me, Athena. Whatever anyone asks you, you haven't seen me.' And then she leaves me and walks toward the darkness. 'Mama,' I cry out. 'Don't leave me.' But she does. She gets smaller and smaller until she fades into the bone chilling whirls of thundery clouds and I'm left on my own, sobbing, with my dolly in my arms.

Tonight, I don't know how long I sit in the front seat of my car, in a daze. I could have been weeping for all I know. But I guess not, my mascara is still as it should be. And I'm not parked outside my house anymore. I'm outside Damien's shop which is all in darkness. I cannot remember driving here from my parent's house, but the odd memory loss has happened before and I'm not particularly concerned, although when I check my watch, and discover it's 8.30 p.m. I wonder why Damien has not come out to meet me, whatever time I arrived. He knows my car. Obviously Damien isn't as keen to see me as I am to see him.

I slip out of the driver's seat and walk up to his front door passing the driveway which takes one to the back of his shop. I see Damien's car is parked in his usual space.

I knock on the front door and then walk into the shop. Just for a fraction of a second do I wonder why, if Damien is out the back doing his paperwork or whatever, why the front door to his shop isn't locked.

It's dark inside and I cannot find the light switch. I'm tottering down the narrow walkway between two antique grandfather clocks when I get the most eerie feeling. Something isn't right. I hear a creak. Floorboards. It appears to be coming from Damien's office.

'Damien, are you there?' I call out. There is muffled noises, sort of like a scuffle. Suddenly the whole shop is lit up by the lights of a car shining through the front windows, which is parking across the road.

A lot of thudding footsteps retreat and a door slams. Someone is leaving through the back door. 'Damien?' I call out. Silence.

Now I am running through the shop, past the tables with 17th century silverware and I head toward Damien's office. I open his office door.

I stand in a frozen moment.

Damien is lying on the floor. In a pool of blood. A knife in his chest.

'OMG,' my voice, a strangled whimper. I kneel down and grab his hand, 'Damien, speak to me. Are you...'

Damien is cold.

Dead cold.

This beautiful man is dead. I check his pulse. I take out my compact and place my hand mirror close to his mouth. Even before I do, I see some of the blood on the floor is dry and I know Damien Crowder hasn't just died.

'Oh my God,' I weep.

I'm not sure how long I kneel beside Damien's body with his blood slowly seeping into my lemon cotton frock, but by the time I leave his shop the front panel of my frock is sticking to my knees and thighs.

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