Jacob pulled himself to a sitting position on the edge of the gutter and sat there waiting for the pain to ease. Long minutes passed. His whole face and body was hurting, but it was a small hurt compared to the hurt to his pride. Five minutes before he was feeling so pleased with himself that he had finally run the witch-bitch, Susan, to ground. He had thought of hiring a camera man to capture the day but in the end decided not to as he did not want to share his glory with any other.
It was a simple shoot, he knew exactly where they would be when they came out of church, making their way through the gathered people, and walking down the steps to the outside. So he put his camera on a tripod and filmed them as they came out the back door, following their slow progress unnoticed as they made their way through wedding guests, handshaking and kissing friends. Then he focused the camera on the bottom of the steps with a wide enough view to capture them coming down. While the camera continued to record he stepped forward holding a microphone connected to a recorder in his pocket.
Susan looked different to when he had last seen her, much fuller of body and face and more womanly, hair done differently. She was stunning in her floating white dress with little blue-green flowers within the fabric. Despite the changed appearance it was unmistakably her, her blue eyes and an aura that was just her. He knew for certain he had found her.
Seeing her bedecked as a beautiful bride seemed a fitting way to end it, the ultimate betrayer image; the perfect deception story undone.
As he had said her name he expected to see a look of fear and horror come into her eyes at being caught out. Instead all that came was a blank, bemused look. He knew in that instant she really had no idea what it was all about, there was no guilt or anxiety. Good actor though Susan had been he knew she was not good enough to hide this. Instead here was a person filled to the brim and overflowing from happiness who showed a warm kindly face towards an unknown stranger, someone who had said something she did not understand. She would try to help him out of innate generosity.
The image was not right; in fact it was totally wrong. As he saw it all his certainly about her guilt crumbled to dust and instead he felt ashamed at what he had done.
In the second of watching her face he forgot about the man standing beside her, the elusive Vic through whom he had finally found her.
So he felt surprise as this man loomed into his central vision, tearing the microphone free and throwing it away. Then there was further surprise as the flying fists connected with his face and body. He felt his head jerked back and forward with each impact and felt his face mashing under hard knuckles. Normally he was quick on his feet and had grown up in a tough place where self-defence was a required survival skill He knew he should protect himself or get out of the way. But surprise rendered him immobile in those seconds and he just stood there and let the blows fall.
He felt burning pain in his chest and belly as more blows fell there; this guy had fists like sledgehammers despite his modest size. Then, before he could move, those two human gorillas, not so much big as strong, stepped in. Hard faces in his space and hard hands on his arms, they had told him they would finish it if he spoke another word of what he had found out.
He knew he would never tell the rest of this story but it was not from their threats. It was a thing inside his brain called his conscience which had told him he had got this story awfully wrong, that to mislead further would be the greater wrong. It had never occurred to him before that he had a thing inside him called “knowledge of right and wrong”, instilled as a child in the church with his mother. This part of his mind now said, Enough!
He felt mortified as he lay there. It was a blow to his manhood and his pride. He knew he could have stood up for himself and fought back. But they were right. She deserved to be left alone. Even if they had not smashed his camera he could not use this, not if he had any shred of remaining decency.
This girl was a victim not a monster. He could harm her no further. He glimpsed it in Beck’s face that day, but then he had ignored it to pursue her.
So he, after visiting all the coastal towns around Brisbane, Gold Coast, Sunshine Coast, searching for a Jane with two small children, had finally found her trail in the caravan park in Caloundra, where the manager had confirmed her identity and told him that the man was Vic.
At that point Jacob knew how to find him, Vic the helicopter pilot. He guessed they had gone to Alice Springs. So he came here to look.
At first nobody in Alice had known anything about Vic’s wedding plans amongst his wide group of former mates. Jacob kept clear of the immediate family and close friends lest they warn Vic. Instead he focused on friends of friends knowing that some secrets would pop out. Only last week he cracked it, finding out from a friend of a friend that Vic was indeed getting married this Saturday at his sister’s regular church in the main street of Alice.
So he had paid a visit to the church. The office lady asked pleasantly how she could help. He told her he was assisting with accommodation for guests coming to this Saturday’s wedding of Vic Campbell. They had mislaid their wedding invitation and needed to know the time of the wedding. As he was walking by, down the main street, he decided to pop in and ask.
She answered. “It is at three o’clock in the afternoon.”
So he made his plan to be there. First he had thought of setting up to catch Susan on the way to church, but there would be lots of people standing around and it might be hard to get to her. In the end he decided that it was best to let the ceremony proceed and catch her on the way out. That way the element of surprise would be greatest. And, with everyone inside, he could set up in the perfect position.
Tomorrow he planned to have his story and pictures syndicated to the front pages of the London and Australian tabloids. It would be huge, the picture of the wedding girl in the white dress alongside the evil monster who murdered her lover and fed him to the crocodiles. He would tie the two pictures together with his picture her face and her shocked answer when he asked his first question.
It just had not worked out that way. He knew that this was a better and more decent result though his journalist career would go up in smoke if he did not submit the story as promised to all those who eagerly awaited it.
Part of him felt strange relief he had not succeeded in his final assault on this girl, he sensed there was justice in him being thwarted. Another part of him felt mortified as his inglorious treatment and thrashing, now he looked like any black other drunk sitting in the gutter. He felt as if he should get up and crawl away to some obscure location to sleep off the pain and shame, the way another black drunk would do.
But yet he stayed transfixed, watching the unfolding scene. The family and friends closed around the married couple, enfolding them in friendly protection, the mood of the guests lifted again if a bit more subdued.
Jacob decided they were right; it was their time in the sun to enjoy, a special occasion which no one else could take away.
But yet he was still a journalist and he needed a story. He wondered if he could do an, “I was wrong, they are really decent people” story, and tell of his road to Damascus conversion.
No it would not wash. It would reveal their location to others of his kind. Those people would keep his previous version running. His stepping aside would hand this story to them on a plate. He knew the new identity of this girl, Jane Bennet. Once that fact got out hiding was not a realistic option for her. She could not keep running, nor could Vic vanish easily again either.
He noticed that something had changed in the wedding group. They had all formed into a tight circle, arms around each other with the bride and groom in the centre, an enormous group hug.
There was such a sense of solidarity in these people and Jacob found himself profoundly moved, he knew he was not welcome, but part of him felt an urge to join them. It reminded him of family gatherings of his childhood and the community of his home. He felt a wistful nostalgia for that time and place, its simple innocent goodness.
As he watched a grey haired lady detached from the edge of the group, she did not seem as if she quite belonged but yet had been moved to express her shared pleasure with them by joining her arms to these other bodies.
Now she moved purposefully towards him. He feared she would ask him to join in and he could not do that. Instead she spoke to him. “I do not really know them, yet I wanted to wish them well, particularly the girl, Jane. She and I are fellow travelers.
“But then I saw you sitting here, alone and lonely with your cut face. So I thought I would come and talk to you. You do not know me but I know of you. I have read some of your stories, true in parts, untrue and unkind in others. But at least you are a searcher for the truth. It seems that this story that you planned to tell has got away and will stay untold.
“Perhaps I can give you another. It is time I stopped running from my own past. I am Cathy, one of the four Lost Girls.”