I must have sworn because Brad came back into the room, frowning. “Put some clothes on.” I shoved some hastily snatched fabric at him. “We’re being watched.”
“What?”
“Nelson,” I spat, pointing at the offending car. My hand shook with fury. “That’s his car, I’m sure of it. He’s spying on me. I’m going to wring his bloody neck.”
I started towards the front door, but Brad grabbed my arm awkwardly, his other hand holding his crumpled pyjama pants in front of his groin. “Hold your horses,” he said. “Just wait.”
“He’s been there the whole time,” I said, though I didn’t know that for sure. Had the constable left after we’d sent him packing from our doorstep that morning? Surely he hadn’t just parked across the street; Mum or Jen would have noticed when they’d left the house. Still, the idea summoned cold sweat to prickle my palms. “We just had sex, and the blinds were open, and he’s probably got binoculars in there or something. Our shagging is now part of a criminal investigation!” My voice was shrill in my own ears, my panic and indignation bleeding through.
“It’s okay. We were on the couch the whole time. Or the floor.” Brad’s tone was light as he stepped into his pants but his eyes, when they met mine, were narrowed with anger. Not the hot fury that quivered through me but something cold and hard, like frost-covered granite. “He couldn’t have seen anything unless he had X-ray vision.”
“But when you stood up…”
“He would’ve gotten an eyeful of my manly posterior. Serves him right,” he said, his voice muffled by his T-shirt as he yanked it over his head. “I’m going out there.”
“I’m coming with you,” I said. He glanced at me, frowning like he was unsure it was a good idea. “I won’t wring his neck,” I added grudgingly.
Brad looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he shrugged and nodded, heading for the door. I followed him out onto the porch, shading my eyes as the sun hit them and peering across the street at the silhouetted figure inside the car. The concrete was cold under my bare feet as we walked along the driveway, and by the time we got to the road I was beginning to wish we’d taken the time to put shoes on.
Nelson slid out of the car as we strode towards him, me trying not to wince as the rough tarmac scraped the soles of my feet. If it bothered Brad he didn’t let on, stopping in front of the car’s bonnet with his arms folded and legs apart—a belligerent stance. “Nelson.” Brad’s voice was so gruff it was almost a snarl. And he was worried about me being aggressive. I really didn’t want to have to intervene in a fight between my boyfriend and a member of the Australian Federal Police.
“Peterson.” Nelson nodded curtly. He wasn’t wearing his uniform anymore; instead, he was dressed in black jeans and a plain but rumpled T-shirt. He must have gone home to change. Either that or he’d had the change of clothes in the car—though I couldn’t imagine the long-legged man getting changed on his back seat. If he’d been coming off the night shift when he dropped past that morning, I didn’t think he’d slept yet; his eyes were bloodshot and puffy with fatigue. A glance into the car revealed that each of the centre console’s two cup holders held a takeaway coffee.
My attention snapped back to the conversation when Brad spoke. “Can we help you with anything, or do you just like harassing people in your spare time?”
The older man’s steel-grey eyes narrowed. “You might want to watch your tone.”
“Why? I’m pretty confident your boss would have something to say about you parking your butt outside Melaina’s house when you’re off-duty. You think I’m the one who’s going to get in trouble here?”
“Ah, yes, your threat of a lawyer.” Nelson looked around as if expecting a briefcase-wielding suit to leap out of a bush nearby and attack him with a sheaf of papers. “Where are they?”
“I was leaving it till tomorrow to call him,” Brad said, his jaw jutting out dangerously. “It’s Sunday, for Christ’s sake.”
Nelson opened his mouth to reply, and I stepped between the two men, my crossed arms in front of my chest telegraphing my discomfort. “Stop it, both of you.” Brad’s mouth snapped shut, and I regarded the police officer, wary. “Nelson, why are you here? I already answered your questions this morning.”
“Is that what you call your responses? Answers?” He rubbed his forehead, staring at me like he was trying to drill into my brain with his gaze.
“Yes. And you didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”
“I’m curious about your line of work. Heard you were working from home now.”
I took a long, slow breath, letting the cool, late afternoon air fill my lungs before breathing it out through my nostrils. When I answered, my voice was steady. “Firstly, as Brad already pointed out, today is Sunday. I don’t have any clients today. And secondly, if you are so curious about my dream therapy work, feel free to make an appointment. I charge fifty dollars an hour. Until then, please go away before I’m forced to call the police.”
His right eye twitched at that, and I felt my own eyes widen in response. He didn’t want me to call them. Was he even meant to be working this case anymore? The incident at Wattle Tree Park had been months ago, and as far as I was aware no one at the home had pressed charges after I’d put them to sleep. Sure, Ewan was complaining, but he’d also been committed and was being charged with arson. Hardly a reliable witness.
When was the last time Nelson had slept?
“Maybe you should make an appointment,” I said softly. “How have you been sleeping?”
“Just fine,” Nelson snapped, a muscle twitching beside his jaw. A memory hit me, sharp as a slap to the face: Ewan’s face in the home, with a tic jumping beside his eye. I’d suspected Ewan might be blight possessed, but couldn’t get close enough to check, not without him drawing the nurses down on us. Nelson was close enough to be in range of my power. He didn’t know to be wary. But did I really want to do this? Subdue a police officer on the street on a sunlit Sunday afternoon?
Can I afford not to?
“Have you been drinking that tea you bought from Serenity’s?” I said, glancing at Brad. He frowned back at me.
“What? No.” Nelson glowered at me. “I gave it to one of the ladies at the station. She’s a new mum … not that it’s any of your business.”
I rolled my neck from side to side as if stretching, taking the opportunity to look up and down the street. None of our neighbours were out on their lawns, although I couldn’t guarantee no one was peering out their window. “It’s just that you look rather similar to a client of mine, one who was suffering from terrible nightmares. Tired, peaky…” Beside me, Brad’s eyes widened. Good, he’s got it.
“I’m not having nightmares!” Nelson snapped.
“If you say so.” I held my hands up with fingers spread, a soothing gesture. “You just call if you change your mind. Here, let me get you my card.” I reached down, towards an imaginary pocket, and took a half-step towards the irate policeman.
“I already have your…” His eyelids slid shut as I exhaled a sigh onto his face.
Brad was ready, catching Nelson even as I stepped onto the verge. “Cross your fingers the neighbours are all watching footy,” I said, opening the driver’s side door. Nelson hadn’t locked it.
“You’re not going to take him inside?” Brad said with a grunt, easing the tall man around the bonnet. I scooted back to him, lifting Nelson’s feet so his heels didn’t slam into the kerb and wake him up.
“Hell, no. I’m going to give him a confused dream about talking to us. Something surreal, to make him think he fell asleep at the wheel and this conversation was all in his head.”
“I assume you’re going to look for blights first?”
I nodded. “He’s been out to Wattle Tree Park, and he’s been around Ewan at the hospital. He could have been infected with a blight larva.” The idea of a blight possessing someone with access to firearms made me shiver.
Brad’s expression was grim as we manoeuvred the tall man into the driver’s seat of his car. Brad closed the door softly while I crossed around to the passenger side, opening the door and sliding inside. The interior of Nelson’s car wasn’t as tidy as his personality had led me to expect. The floor was clear of the tiny pebbles and pieces of dry grass that clung to the carpet like burrs in most cars I’d been in, but the back seat was cluttered with empty takeaway food packets and receipts. It looked like someone had given a new car to an untidy person and the mess hadn’t fully set in yet. Another sign of blight possession, maybe? Less attention to detail than usual? Certainly I’d never seen his clothes look anything other than neat before; now I had time to look, I saw his T-shirt was not only rumpled but had several small stains on it.
“Alright,” I said to Brad through the open door. “I’m going in.”
“Be careful.”
“Always.” I closed the door and got to work.
“He wasn’t possessed.” Brad stood by the lounge room window, peering through the blinds at Nelson’s car. The sun was setting, bathing the street in an orange light before leeching the colours away, and all we could see of the constable was a vague silhouette.
“No.” I threw myself down onto the couch. “There wasn’t even any blight ichor. He’s clean as a whistle. I feel like an idiot.”
“Don’t,” Brad said. “I was starting to think he was possessed too. He’s not acting rationally. But maybe we’re starting to see blights in every dark corner.”
“Yeah,” I said, staring up at the ceiling. We hadn’t turned the overhead light on, and it was growing gloomy. “Maybe he just really needed some sleep?” Nelson had been out cold for at least an hour now, and showed no signs of rousing. He’d wake up with a sore neck, but at least he was sleeping. And I’d given him a very nice dream—it had started with us chatting on the street before transforming into a three-person buddy cop movie, where we hooned around in a flying car and were all the best of friends.
I doubted the suggestion would work. He might not even remember the dream when he woke; the only reason Brad and Jen remembered the dream we’d shared was because we’d discussed it right after they’d awoken, before the memory could fade.
After a long, thoughtful pause, Brad turned to me. “I should go. I still want to talk to Belinda, see if the home called. And I need to iron some shirts for work tomorrow before I hit the sack.”
“Okay.” I grimaced. “I suppose I can’t monopolise all your time.”
“Not all of it, no,” he said as he turned to get his shoes from beside the door. “Life does get in the way.”
“Adulting is hard,” I agreed.
“Speaking of adulting—” he glanced out the window again before sitting beside me to slide on his shoes, “—I’ll call that lawyer tomorrow.”
“Right. Okay.” I wrinkled my nose.
After seeing Brad off, I put some shoes and a jumper on. There was no way was I going outside barefoot again, especially now the spring day was giving way to a chilly evening. I collected an empty clothes basket from the tiny laundry before heading into the yard to see whether the towels were dry.
Our yard was small, the tall photinia hedge that ran along the back fence warring with the clothes line for domination of the space. Smaller, scraggly bushes huddled along the sides of the yard: innocent bystanders. An odd assortment of bright, gemstone-hued bath towels and tea towels hung on the line, swaying in the evening breeze. I pulled them down quickly, making idle conversation with a sharp-billed magpie that strode to and fro in the shadow of the house. It ignored me, foraging in the long grass and loose clumps of dirt underneath a wall vent, occasionally lifting its head to warble.
A second magpie flew in low across the yard as I tossed the last towel into the basket. I ducked reflexively as it came in to land beside the first. Our local mob hadn’t shown any signs of swooping yet, but, with spring in the air and babies in the nest, you could never be too careful. I’d known a kid at school who’d lost a chunk of his ear to a swooping magpie.
The second magpie jabbed its beak into the earth as well, and I frowned, leaving my basket on the path and easing closer, sneakers crunching on the grass. “What are you doing, Maggie?” I asked softly, not wanting to startle the birds.
One of the magpies lifted its head, swallowing something small and brown. A moth, already dead by the looks of things. It lowered its head to get another, and my stomach seemed to drop right out of my body as I realised what I was seeing. Those weren’t loose clumps of dirt. That was a pile of moth carcasses. A big pile.
Mara.