Part 9
1043 Words
NINE
I sat staring at my phone for a full fifteen minutes before I dared to make the call. For five years, I'd been good and not called anyone in Perth, but those conditions had lifted now the five-year mark had passed.
What'd happened to me? Had I gone so soft I didn't even have the guts to make a single phone call?
It's not like we'd ended on bad terms. I'd kissed him goodbye, tongue and all. He'd even said he loved me, though actions spoke louder than words in this case because he hadn't loved me enough to come with me.
I hadn't truly needed him any more, and he knew that, but he could have checked in on me once in a while. Just to make sure...
Mentally, I shook myself. Maybe he had checked in on me, covertly and carefully so I'd never known he was there. After all, he'd probably had formal anti-terrorist agent training now. Maybe he was pulling Bond-girl types who were far superior to some scarred victim, a reminder of his first, near-failure of a mission.
But I wasn't just a scarred victim. I'd taken out two of them by myself with no help from him, then gone on to make deals with people to ensure I had a financial safety net in case my mental health fell apart and I couldn't work or study. A house. Investment properties across the country. And now I was a doctor with a job. I didn't need the money the government was offering me to shut up. But I did need to know why. Surely Nathan, working for ASIO and all, would be able to explain the motivations behind the enormous bribe being pushed in my direction?
I hit the call button.
A snippy recorded voice told me the number was disconnected and that I should check it before dialling again.
Shit. Well, there went his mobile number. Maybe Nathan had had to change it after some dangerous terrorist had gotten a hold of his old one and tried to use it to stalk him through the phone's GPS. Or he'd had to switch to a more covert number that no one had. Or maybe...
Maybe I was reading too much into it.
I decided to call his house instead. He might not still live there, but it'd been his parents' investment property, so it was a start. Maybe his sister still lived there.
It rang and rang and no one answered. So much for needing courage.
For three days, I kept calling, losing count of the number of times I tried and no one answered. No answering machine, no recorded message, nothing. So when I stood in my empty house with my suitcases by my side, it took almost no thought at all to dial his number one last time. It's not as if anyone would answer.
One trill. Two. On five, I'd hang up and give up.
"Hello?" a female voice demanded.
Or not.
"Chris?" I replied, crossing my fingers.
"Yeah. Who's this?" If anything, her voice sounded suspicious. Well, that wasn't surprising. The people who'd kidnapped me had threatened to hurt her, too. She was probably as paranoid about strangers as I was.
I took a deep breath. "My name is Caitlin. Is your brother home?"
"No, he's not."
"Can you ask Nathan to call me, then, please? My number is –"
"No. I won't."
Silence. What do you say to that?
"Then can you tell me when he will be home, so I can call again later?" I tried.
"No. I don't know when he'll be home and he won't talk to you when he is. He won't even remember your name, Katie. He never does. Once he's f****d a girl, he's got what he wanted from you and he'll forget your name because he doesn't care. And no, you're not different. All girls are the same to him. He only wanted you for one thing. Deal with it, Katie, and if you don't like it, don't f**k guys you don't know."
I forced myself to stay calm. Nathan had evidently gone back to his sleazy ways once I was out of the picture and it wasn't any of my business who he slept with. James Bond, indeed. "My name isn't Katie and I'd like to discuss financial matters with Nathan. It's kind of urgent."
"If you're pregnant, take it to the Family Court. And make sure you get a paternity test. Nathan may forget your name, but he never forgets contraception. He wouldn't get some s**t like you pregnant, so go back to your low-life boyfriend and tell him to pay for his own problems. You won't get a cent out of my brother for your bastard kid."
I couldn't seem to close my mouth. Who said things like that to someone they didn't know? And with such viciousness in her tone, like she really hated me when she had no idea who I was?
Numbly, I tried to respond, but she took another breath and let rip with more vitriol than I thought one person could contain. She inferred that I had sexually transmissible diseases; called me a s**t, a slag, a hoe and a skank; suggested that my mother was all of these things and my father was a paedophile with a penchant for i****t. Then she started on her hopes for my imaginary child.
With shaking fingers, I terminated the call. It had lasted just under six minutes and I don't think even the b***h who'd tried to kill me had insulted me quite so much.
I remembered the fierce girl who'd wanted to protect me and her brother when I met her five years ago and tried to match her to the foul-mouthed harpy who'd spewed obscenities into my burning ear. What had happened to her in the intervening five years to turn her so bitter? Had some of my tormentors survived after all, only to target her?
A thought niggled through my shock. Nathan still lived with his sister. Did that mean she'd had to deal with his increasing post traumatic stress disorder for the last five years as he struggled to do a job that only made his mental state deteriorate?
If I wanted answers, a phone call was worse than useless. I'd need to show up in person and hope Nathan was home. Because whatever his sister said, I knew he'd never forget me, even if he wanted to. But first I had a concert to attend in Sydney. And I intended to have a blast.
- Writer
