“We’re assuming it’s a blight, yes?” Mum asked.
The television was off. I’d taken the plates to the kitchen and made us all cups of tea—because nothing says “war conference” like Lady Grey. Mum and I sat on the three-seater lounge while Jen curled up on the two-seater.
“I am,” I said.
“Me too,” Jen replied in a quiet voice, raising her shoulder in a one-sided shrug. “The nursing home connection is too great a coincidence. The question is, what do we do about it?”
I clenched my jaw, slowly inhaling the warm, aromatic air drifting from my mug. If Daniel was possessed, I didn’t want to just report him to the police. Like Brad months before, Daniel wouldn’t be in control of his actions. I’d refused to give the police a statement back then, and that was when Brad had been a total stranger. I knew Daniel.
On the other hand, I was the only one Brad had hurt. I hadn’t felt guilty about not helping the police because I’d been the sole victim. Now, though… “Did they say how badly injured the person he attacked is?”
Mum shook her head. “Not exactly, but I don’t think the man’s injuries are life-threatening. He’s in a ‘stable condition’—” she made air quotes “—in Canberra Hospital. If the injuries are bad they usually say ‘serious condition’. Don’t they?”
“He must be so scared.” Jen’s voice was soft, almost mournful. She tucked her feet under her as if cold and huddled into the couch, her shoulders drawn down.
“The victim?” Mum looked surprised. “I’m sure he was at the time, but—”
“Daniel.”
I remembered how upset Brad had been, believing there was something wrong with him. No, upset wasn’t strong enough a word. He’d been devastated: questioning his identity, his humanity. Thinking of the shy nurse, my heart ached.
“What do we do?” Jen asked again.
I rubbed my fingers over a fraying spot on the knee of my jeans. “If the blight is new I’ll be able to kick it out, no worries, but…” I hesitated “…the victim. He will always wonder—”
“It’s not Daniel’s fault!” Jen’s glasses flashed, catching the light as her face jerked up to glare at me. My own irritation flared and I sat up straighter in my seat, the sudden movement making the surface of my tea dance dangerously close to the lip of my mug.
“We don’t have to decide whether to report him just yet,” Mum said, patting the air in a soothing ‘there there’ gesture. “We don’t know for sure that it was Daniel who did this. And, even if he did, we don’t know it was a blight. Let’s figure those two things out first, and then decide from there.”
After a moment, Jen and I both nodded. She gave me a rueful smile. “Sorry. It’s just … sometimes I have these nightmares where I dream that I’ve woken up and then I start attacking people, tearing at them with my … my hands and teeth.” Her lips paled as she pressed them together. “I feel so out of control. It’s awful.”
That type of dream was called a false awakening dream—but that was the sort of trivia I didn’t think Jen would be interested in just now. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked instead.
She shrugged. “I didn’t want to seem needy, asking you to program my dreams all the time. You’re not, like, Netflix for my brain.”
The comparison startled a laugh out of me. “No, but I’m your friend. Of course I’ll help. Tonight, before bed?”
“Sure!” Her smile faded. “About Daniel…?”
“I need to meet up with him. Five minutes alone will be enough for me to confirm whether he’s got a blight hitching a ride.” I sighed, glancing at Mum. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but this would be a lot easier if you were still at the home. Then I’d have an excuse to visit.”
She smiled, sipping her tea. “Why don’t you get Brad to take you in to visit his grandfather? That wouldn’t be so strange.”
I remembered my boyfriend’s comments the previous week about how he hated visiting the home. He won’t like that. But it was the simplest solution. “I’ll ask him.”
I was right: Brad didn’t like the idea of going to the home. But he liked the idea of someone blight-possessed and violent having access to his grandfather even less, and agreed to the suggestion that we drop in to visit when I proposed it over a late breakfast at a café in Kingston the next day.
“We can go after this if you want. Just make sure he’s there first,” he said with a little sigh. “It’ll look weird if we hang around, shift after shift, waiting for him to show up.”
“How?”
He shrugged, drizzling maple syrup over crispy bacon in a way that gave me major food envy—I’d ordered eggs, corn fritters, fried tomatoes and wilted spinach on thick bread that was perfect for soaking up juices. It was delicious … but it wasn’t bacon-with-maple-syrup delicious. “Call and ask to speak to him. You don’t have to say who it is.”
“Good idea.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement as he continued, “Now. Would you like a taste of my bacon or are you just going to stare at it all morning?”
I poked my tongue at him … but I didn’t say no either.
After breakfast, while Brad was paying the bill, I went out onto the leafy sidewalk to call the nursing home on my mobile, turning my back to the gentle breeze so it couldn’t brush across the microphone. The call was picked up on the second ring. “Good morning, Wattle Tree Park. Can I help you?”
I recognised the accented voice as belonging to Lien, the Vietnamese-born nurse who’d been on shift the night Brad and I had snuck into the home and confronted Ewan and Ikelos. She hadn’t deserved to be knocked unconscious, even as gently as I’d done it. Guilt at the memory tightening my stomach, I made my voice raspy and deeper than normal when I asked her if I could speak to Daniel.
“I’m sorry, he isn’t available. Is it something I can help with instead?”
“No, it’s personal,” I said, feeling a twinge of disappointment. Her answer was so general that I couldn’t tell whether he was off-shift or just busy issuing medication or changing someone’s bedding. Damn her professionalism. I tried again. “Could you ask him to call back when he’s free?”
“We’re not expecting to see him for several days.” Bingo! “If you try his mobile number, you might be able to catch him.” D’oh.
“Ah, I don’t suppose you have his number there, do you?”
Her tone cooled. “I’m sorry, I can’t give out that information.”
“Of course not. Thanks for your help.” I hung up before she could ask any more questions.
“I like it when you speak like that.” Brad slid his hands around my waist. “Husky is sexy on you. I take it he’s not there?”
“No. She said he’s not expected for a few days.” I slid the phone into the front pocket of my bag and then hooked an arm around his waist. He smelled good, like coffee and aftershave. “Maybe he called in sick.”
“I would, in his shoes.” Brad frowned. “In fact, I did. Still. Do you know his surname? His address might be in the phone book.”
I racked my brain as we walked back to the car, embarrassed that I either couldn’t remember or hadn’t known it in the first place. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Belinda might,” Brad said. “Let’s drive back to mine and we’ll see if she’s there. She was going to the gym this morning, but she should be home by now. If so, we can look him up in the White Pages online.”
Belinda was indeed home, her hair still damp from her post-workout shower. She sat on the couch in the lounge room, feet propped against the coffee table and a whirring laptop balanced on her lap. “Hey, guys.” She glanced up, smiling, and then looked harder, examining her older brother’s expression and then my own. “You look grim. What’s up?”
“You know Daniel, the nurse at Wattle Tree Park?”
“The cute blond?” She grinned, eyes dancing, and Brad’s expression darkened. “What? You’re not my father. Cut the overprotective dad routine.”
I laughed, and the corner of Brad’s lips tightened in a grimace. “Sorry. Old habits.”
“So what about Daniel?”
“We’re trying to get in touch with him, but he hasn’t been at work,” I said. “Do you know his surname?”
“I can do better than that,” she said, looking back at her laptop. “Why are you trying to get in touch with him, anyway?” she asked, fingers flying across the keys.
“Did you hear about that assault in Commonwealth Park on Friday night?”
“Yeah. Why…?” Her eyes opened wide. They were the same colour as Brad’s, the brown of a good-quality hot chocolate. “You don’t think…? No. He wouldn’t.”
“And I wouldn’t break into a stranger’s flat and try to strangle her,” Brad said, glancing at me. “But apparently one time I did just that.”
“Oh no. Poor Daniel,” she breathed. Belinda knew about blights, though she hadn’t been as exposed as Brad had to the rest of my crazy world. Still, after Brad had attacked me, it had been Belinda who’d believed my talk of possession; she’d let me sneak into their home while he was sleeping so I could evict the blight.
“It’s not definite.” I sat beside her on the couch so I could peek at her computer screen. She had Facebook open and had typed a name into the search bar at the top: Daniel Gilchrist. A list of names opened underneath, but she clicked the one at the top, next to a profile picture of a sleek black motorbike with a pearlescent, Phantom-purple tank. I hadn’t picked him for a motorbike person. “You’re friends with him?”
“Facebook friends,” Belinda clarified. “We don’t hang or anything, but we chat sometimes. He’s nice.” She narrowed her eyes, scrolling through his wall. “He hasn’t posted an update for a few days. Nothing to indicate he’s on holidays or … wait.” The screen stopped moving.
“What?” Brad sat on the other side of his sister, earning him an irritated look as the couch dipped.
“Look at this, from a week ago,” Belinda said, steadying the laptop. “Posted at three in the morning.”
I read the update, anxiety roiling in my gut. “Just had the worst nightmare. Last time I eat cheese before bed!” The laugh-till-you-cry emoticon filled me with dread.
“It’s not a smoking gun, but…” Belinda drew out the last word, looking at the more recent updates. A link to a review of a new superhero movie. A funny meme involving a cat. All seemingly innocuous. But Daniel was an active Facebook user, posting updates on average twice a day; to me, the three-day silence with no explanation was just as sinister as the comment about bad dreams.
“I need to see him. Do you have his number?”
“No. But I’ll send him a message, ask him to give me a call.” She opened a message window. “Uh. What do I write?”
“Give it here?” I asked. She slid the laptop to me. “This is Melaina, Davina Armstrong’s daughter,” I typed. “This might seem weird, but are you OK? If you’ve been sleepwalking and—” I hesitated “—other things, I can help. Call me.”
I added my mobile number and hit enter. Daniel must have been online, because after a few seconds, a little tick and a “Seen” message appeared underneath my message. A bubble indicated he was typing back.
“Howd u know?”
“It’s my job to know. Are you free this afternoon?”
There was a long pause after the tick appeared, but finally a reply came. “Yes.”