Every Second Counts

Chapter Twenty One

SOMETIMES IT REALLY FEELS as if I'm in one of my nightmares. Right now, I want to reach over and touch Florence's arm, see my hand disappear into her misty apparition. That none of this is happening.

'OMG, you're part of an organisation,' I accuse as anger wells within. But my underlying fear stems my outburst and my voice is a mere whisper when I ask their opinion, 'He's dead isn't he, because of all the secrets and lies surrounding me?' The old people say nothing, but there is a sadness in their eyes they cannot hide.

Florence continues, 'That evening when Damien died, you were meant to stay with us, for the night. You agreed. But within half an hour you'd taken off. You went home. We sent someone to check on you the next morning and they found you were oblivious to anything that had taken place the night before. That was when we realised you must have had one of your episodes.'

'You sent someone? Who?' I ask, wondering how they got into my apartment and decided I was without a memory. 'Someone stole into my apartment? What kind of people are you?'

'No. No. Nothing like that. Crikey, Athena. We're more civilized than breaking and entering,' Mr. Heslop says with indignation.

'Then?' I ask while I think back to that Monday morning.

'We, um...' Florence says as she licks her lips in embarrassment.

Then it clicks and I interrupt, 'Paul. Paul who looks after the apartment block. He's on your payroll?' When they both nod, I add, 'Just how screwy can all of this get? Wait till I see him. I'm gonna...'

It is my turn to stop in the middle of my sentence because Mrs. Heslop's hand has come down on my arm with the power and strength of someone half her age. 'Athena. Listen. This is for your own good. Paul Abbitt will be reassigned the minute you leave Cottonsdale today. It is for his own protection. You now know about him. We cannot have that. Someone else will take over his job at the apartments, but I can promise you, his replacement will have nothing to do with this operation. He will actually be just a normal employee working for whoever owns your building.'

The three of us are quiet for the longest moment. Florence pours herself another cup of tea from her green teapot with pink carnations on the lid; Bert continues to tap (annoyingly) the edge of the table with his index finger and I stare above Florence's head at the print on her wall of snow, trees and mountains.

'To cut a long story short, Paul Abbitt checked on you, talked to you and reported that you were behaving like nothing traumatic had happened to you. So, that was good news to us. You were OK. Well, apart from having one of your episodes,' she tells me.

'You know about them?'

'Oh dear sweet Athena. We know pretty much everything about you. But, hey, don't get spooked. We only know what we need to, to keep you safe,' Florence says.

'So, you know about the man in the Black Sedan, following me?'

There is no way the old people can feign their surprise. 'What man?' Florence rasps.

'What sort of car?' Bert asks, his eyes wide and he bangs his hand on the table top.

'So, you don't know about the man in the Black Sedan? Do you know I have assumed another identity?' I ask.

They nod. 'Yes, and that you've learned that Floppy is more than a useless hound,' Bert answers.

The claws of terror clutch at my heart as I wonder just how much these old people know. Do they know about Patrick? Are they linked up in anyway with 'Unknown' who has photos of Patrick and me prior to his death? Do they know about me being thumped outside my accountants office in the dead of night? But to my shame, the worst behaviour of mine that I so don't want these old people to ever find out, is my Thursday night sexual escapades. I reckon I nearly hate the Heslops at the moment for the secrets they have kept from me, but I've loved them for so long and I just know how I roll, I'll be loving them again.

One thing I'm pleased about is to find they have no knowledge of the man in the Black Sedan and it appears to me, that would be the first thing they would have discovered. So, there really is no man in a Black Sedan. Finally, I can put that paranoia to bed!

We are silent for the longest moment while they wait for my next question and I have heaps. I try to calm myself. They don't appear to think any less of me so my reasoning is they cannot know what I get up to after I trawl the bars on Thursday nights.

But any form of calm seems out of my realm of capabilities at the moment and I yell, 'For God's sake. Just tell me what this whole bloody thing about my parent's past is all about.' They say nothing, they avert their eyes and have a resolute stature I know well. I will not get the answer I need from them. Then I puzzle. 'Hey, if you've been contracted to keep an eye on me, who's paying you now? My parents are dead.'

Florence's faded blue eyes sparkle. 'Your parents have a trust fund that goes on into perpetuity. When we peg it, someone else will take our place,' she says with pride.

* * *

The trip back from Cottonsdale to Red's apartment is once again a blur. My life has never been what I thought it to be. My whole life I've been protected. From what or who, I have no idea. The Heslop's either don't know or are refusing to tell me. What were my parents so afraid of that I've been looked after, forever? Spied upon. And a trust fund set up to protect me all the days of my life!

Most of what the Heslop's told me seemed ridiculously far-fetched, nonetheless, I believe them. But I can remember getting that old nagging feeling that because I lie such a lot, I can spot when someone else is lying to me. But try as I am, I cannot recall which piece of their revelations is a lie.

When I hit the city it is as if a switch has been clicked. I am alert, watching every vehicle within my radius. Who is watching me?

By the time I reach Red's apartment I so want a drink. I need a bottle. The information I've been told is a fucking nightmare. I am living a nightmare. Floppy is pleased to see me but I push her out of the way with my foot and head to the kitchen and the cupboard where I stash my whiskey. I grab the biggest glass I can find and fill it to the top with my alcohol of choice.

* * *

It's a miracle I can function at all when I set up the link with the girl in the dark room. When I stare into the murky shithole she resides in, it is at that precise moment when I hear a voice. I know instinctively it is not coming from the girl in the dark room.

'Well, that's really going to help, isn't it? This is exactly Red and Athena's answer to everything.'

I leap up out of my chair, swirl around, fists up to protect my face, feet apart ready to spring into action. But there's no one there. And then the voice comes again, 'You want to keep safe? Then sort your shit out.' Floppy is at my feet, looking up at me panting, her mouth open, tongue hanging out. She does this when I tell her we're going for a walk or it's time to eat her doggie biscuits. But right now, her head is also cocked to one side and one of her golden ears is slightly lifted as if she's trying to decipher what I'm saying.

What I am saying?

Was that me?

I repeat what I thought I heard. 'Well, that's really going to help, isn't it? This is exactly Red and Athena's answer to everything. You want to keep safe? Then sort your shit out.'

OMG, it was me. For fucks sake, now I'm talking to myself? Worse than that, I'm trying to give myself advice.

* * *