Bridie

Red and blue lights rotating, illuminating the night sky, the narrow road, the officer’s kind face as he knelt next to her. She’d collapsed within moments of the police car drawing to a halt. It was as though her brain knew she was safe and allowed her body to do what it had wanted to do hours earlier: give up the fight.

‘Can you tell me your name?’ The officer pressed two fingers to the side of her neck, checking her pulse.

Bridie’s voice didn’t work at first. Her mouth was too dry. She wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating his existence, the flashing lights, the whole thing.

It took several attempts before her croaks formed into whisper-thin words. ‘Bridie … Sullivan …’

Now a plastic water bottle at her lips. ‘Just a few sips to start with,’ he said kindly. ‘We don’t want you to get sick.’

Bridie ignored him and gulped greedily. Most of the water missed the target and trickled down her chin. The bottle was gently removed.

‘Just seeing how long till an ambulance can get here. Your parents are being informed.’ His hand squeezed hers. ‘You’re safe, Bridie. You’re going to be fine.’

Another officer was on his radio. The pitch of his voice and the crackled responses added to the sense that this was a dream, not real.

She closed her eyes, drifted away.

~

A torch being shone into her eyes, a sting in her arm, the sensation of travelling in a vehicle – an ambulance. More kind voices.

‘Just hooking you up to an IV, Bridie.’

‘Are you feeling pain anywhere?’

‘Nearly at the hospital. Your mum is on her way from Sydney.’

The stretcher descended from the ambulance, rolled into the bright lights and noisiness of A&E.

Then Bridie was surrounded by a team of doctors and nurses, all doing different things at once. She answered their questions as best she could, tolerated their probing fingers and equipment. She tried to tell them about the voice, but they were more concerned about her low blood pressure and rapid heart rate. They bustled around her, talking in their complicated medical jargon.

‘Is my mum nearly here?’ she asked tearfully.

A squeeze of a hand. ‘She’ll be here soon. Try to rest. You’re safe.’

But was she safe? Where was he? Had she imagined him being in that house? Could she trust her mind or even her memories?

Oh, trigonometry. Who doesn’t love trig?

‘But it can’t be you,’ she whispered. ‘You wouldn’t do that to me.’

Here’s another way to answer the question …

She nodded her head vigorously. Of course: there was some other explanation.

‘Try to stay still, Bridie. Just giving you some pain relief for that headache of yours. You’ll feel a sting.’

Ah, here’s my adopted daughter again …

Something cold and soothing was applied to the graze on her back.

See you next week. See you next week. See you next week …

She dropped in and out of sleep. She was in the dark boarded-up room. She was in the dusty claustrophobic ceiling cavity. No, she was in a hospital bed.

‘You’re going to feel better very soon,’ someone said in her ear.

He was coming for her. She needed to run, get away from here.

‘No.’ They held her shoulders down. ‘He’s not coming. There’s no danger. Try to relax.’

Finally, the scrape of the curtain rail, a change in the energy.

‘Bridie, oh my darling girl. I got here as fast as I could. Oh, my love. I’m here, I’m here, you’re going to be okay.’

Mum’s voice. Mum’s arms. Mum’s tears and kisses and palpable relief. Mum’s love.

That was when Bridie knew for certain that she was safe.