As Pip drove out the next morning, deciding her instant-coffee bravado of the previous day was a one-off thing, she noticed a dam down the hill in the middle of a paddock.
She’d never given much thought to dams, but she could see that this one was quite large—almost a lake. An empty lake. Well, almost empty; there was still water in the very centre, but not much. It was surrounded by a ring of tall trees with peeling bark and drooping leaves, and it looked more like a rubbish dump than a waterhole, with a scattering of metal objects, old drums and containers lying on the cracked, dry earth exposed to the sun and heat.
She was glad there were no livestock to take care of—the few she’d seen on her drive out here yesterday had looked hot and skinny. The vista before her as the driveway wound its way down the slight rise was brown as far as the eye could see. The shades varied, but the colour was the same. The huge gum trees looked tired and washed out—it reminded her of an old painting her nanna used to have hanging on the wall, a bush scene with early settlers setting up camp.
Momentarily her thoughts went to the strange dream she had last night, though she only vaguely recalled fragments. She’d been trying to remember it ever since she got up, without much success. She didn’t often dream, which made this an interesting occurrence.
She retraced the route she’d taken the day before and soon found herself back in relative civilisation, the big, shady trees of the main street offering a welcome respite from the dry landscape surrounding the little town.
Inside the grocery store, she fought the urge to strip off and allow the cool air to wash over her as she collected a red plastic basket and strolled the aisles. There weren’t many, so she took her time, drawing out the blessed coolness.
She’d written a list—the only writing she’d done so far—but left it on the kitchen bench. She gave up trying to remember what was on it after a few moments and instead started tossing in whatever caught her eye. It was perhaps irresponsible, but food shopping had never been her forte. Her meals were usually taken at her desk—she rarely had time for breakfast and she was always home too late to bother cooking dinner just for herself so would normally pick up takeaway. Having not noticed any big-name takeaway chains since she arrived—nor for the last few hundred kilometres of her drive—she guessed that would rule out her dinner options for a while. It looked like she was going to have to get the hang of cooking if she didn’t want to starve.
On the few occasions she did cook these days, she always thought of Bruno. They had moved in together and played happy couples for a while, and Pip had even given cooking a go back then. She’d been young, and at the time it seemed like a good idea. She’d thought she’d been in love, or as close to it as she’d ever been. But the fire eventually burned out. Bruno was a fellow journo who also travelled for work, and all too soon that burning flame she’d mistaken for love had turned into nothing more than two roommates who occasionally had sex if they were in the same place at the same time.
The following decade had left her completely underwhelmed by her experience of romance. When she’d had time to date, she found the men she went out with—usually journalists or in a related field—would rather talk about themselves and their accomplishments than anything else. She didn’t have the time or the energy to widen her dating prospects, so she tended to throw herself into work instead, and she didn’t feel as though she had missed out on anything.
She had friends who were married with children, and while she loved playing favourite aunty to a number of nieces and nephews, she had no desire to grow one of her own. She could barely manage to keep a house plant alive.
She continued down the supermarket aisle, grabbing things from the shelf and depositing them into her basket. Rounding the end, she slammed into something solid and painful.
‘Ow,’ Pip said, as the basket hit her shin.
‘Sorry, are you okay?’
Pip glanced up at the deep voice and blinked uncertainly at the man in a dark blue uniform standing in front of her. ‘I’m fine. I should have been looking where I was going.’
As she straightened, her gaze fell on the bulky gun belt he wore around his waist, and despite knowing this was a police officer, a tiny ripple of unease raced through her.
‘No, I was in a hurry,’ he said, then crouched down to pick up a bag of chips that had fallen out of her basket.
She took in his short, dirty-blond hair and blue-grey eyes; more dove grey, she decided on reflection, with soft blue highlights, cool yet calming, almost the same shade she’d chosen to paint her lounge room. He had a wide forehead and a slightly crooked nose with a bump across the ridge that looked like it had probably been broken. His lower jaw was covered in a short beard, blond but with a few flecks of copper. As he straightened back up to his full height she realised he was tall, or maybe it was just the uniform that made him seem taller.
‘Thanks,’ she said, clearing her throat as she caught him looking at the rest of her junk food–laden selections.
‘Having a party?’ he asked, lifting an eyebrow slightly.
‘Shopping on an empty stomach.’
‘Ah, right,’ he nodded in understanding. ‘The way I tend to shop, too.’
She looked down at his basket: it held a bag of dog food and two large bottles of milk. ‘Yeah, I can see you’ve gone totally wild.’
As he chuckled deeply, she wondered how long it had been since she’d heard someone do something as simple as laugh. The news industry was serious business most of the time, and the people she’d been hanging around for the past few years in particular had little to laugh about—most were criminals she’d interviewed in jail or informants with too much to lose to waste time laughing.
‘Today I’m on a mission. I brought a list,’ he said, waving a piece of paper.
‘Show off,’ she muttered but felt a smile tug at her lips.
‘Are you here visiting family?’ he asked, adjusting the basket in front of him.
She was momentarily distracted by his forearms, which bunched at the movement. ‘Sorry?’
He smiled easily at her. ‘It’s a pretty small town and I haven’t seen you around before. Do you have family here?’
‘Oh. My uncle lives here. I’m housesitting for him. Neville Worsley.’
‘I know Nev. Does some pretty amazing stuff with wrought iron.’
‘Yes, he does.’
‘He mentioned he was going away. I’ve been driving past a few times a week to keep an eye on the house. How long are you staying for?’
‘He’s away another three months, so probably that long. I’ll see how I go.’
‘You don’t think you’ll last three months?’ he asked jovially.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever left the city for more than a week at a time.’
‘You’ll probably be okay,’ he said with amused sympathy.
‘We’ll see,’ she said, smiling despite herself. What was going on here? How was this complete stranger making her feel … happy and … oh God … chatty?
‘Well, welcome to Midgiburra. I’m Erik Nielsen.’ He moved the basket under one arm, which was even more distracting than the forearm move, and Pip had to snap herself out of whatever giddy schoolgirl nonsense she’d found herself in to shake his hand.
‘Phillipa. Pip,’ she added quickly.
He smiled and gave her a nod. ‘If you have any problems, let me know,’ he said, before releasing her hand from his warm grip.
‘Shall do. Nice to meet you.’
Pip forced herself not to turn and watch him walk away, but as she reached the end of the aisle she caught a final glimpse of him as he finished at the checkout and waved farewell to the operator.
‘How odd,’ she mused quietly. She had no idea why she’d had such a strange reaction to Erik Nielsen, but by the time she’d reached the house, she had convinced herself it was most likely low blood sugar levels from lack of food, or maybe she just needed caffeine. Nothing a strong cup of decent coffee and a home-cooked bacon and egg roll couldn’t set right, she decided as she unpacked her groceries. As soon as she had something in her stomach she’d be ready to start work. After all, that was the whole purpose of her coming out here.
Pip dropped her hands from her hips and let out a frustrated bellow. This writer’s block was doing her head in. This never happened to her. Ever. She thrived on deadlines. Thrived! At least, she always had in the past. But today she was struggling to stay focused on one task at a time. It was getting past a joke. She eyed the phone and weighed up the wisdom of her next move.
With a resigned groan, she grabbed her phone from the table and called her best friend.
‘Well, well, well,’ Lexi said on the other end of the line. ‘I was wondering when you’d call.’
‘I called you a week ago,’ Pip said.
‘To tell me you were going off the grid and not to worry. Oh, and thanks for the invite.’
‘I’m here to write—it’s not a holiday,’ Pip said calmly.
‘Whatever. Anyway, enough of that—I’m glad you’re back. Let’s go out for drinks tonight?’
‘I’m not back,’ Pip said. ‘I’m still trying to write.’
‘I’m hearing something I haven’t heard before,’ Lexi mused. ‘Okay, spill. What’s going on?’ Lexi had always, since the day they met at university, had an annoying habit of being able to read Pip—apparently even over the phone. Pip couldn’t recall a monumental event in her life since that hadn’t involved Lexi—usually as the instigator in some kind of alcohol-fuelled disaster.
‘That’s kind of the problem. I have no idea. I’ve been trying to write ever since I got here and … nothing,’ she said helplessly.
‘Nothing?’
‘Nope. I have written a total of one page in the last week.’
The line went quiet, and Pip pulled the phone away from her ear to check the call hadn’t been disconnected. ‘Lexi?’
‘I think you’ve put yourself under a bit too much pressure. It really hasn’t been that long since … everything. Maybe just relax. Try not to force it.’
‘I can’t relax anymore! I’ve done all the damn relaxing I can possibly do. I just need to write.’
‘Yes, it sounds like you’re completely zen, my friend,’ Lexi muttered.
‘I just don’t understand it. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to write.’
‘You haven’t. It’s just your brain telling you it needs time to recover. Pip, don’t understate the significance of the trauma you went through. It was a big deal.’
‘I’m completely fine,’ Pip brushed off.
‘And that’s why you’re stuck. Until you actually face the fact you were almost killed, you’re not going to be able to move forward.’
Pip went to shake her head and deny it, but Lexi cut in briskly. ‘And don’t brush this off. I know exactly what you’re doing.’
A best friend could be both a blessing and a curse. When someone knows you so well, it’s almost impossible to get away with things you’d get away with talking to a stranger.
‘How could I not have faced it? I was there!’
‘You haven’t talked about it, dealt with how it made you feel, what it did to you … the emotional side of it, Pip. You need to talk to someone about how you’re feeling so you can let all that pent-up stuff out.’
‘You know all that touchy-feely stuff isn’t my thing.’
‘There’s no touchy stuff. But the feely stuff is what I think you need to deal with.’
‘I just want to write this bloody book.’
‘I may not be an expert, but it’s possible that the subject of your book is most likely the reason you’ve got a mental block happening.’
‘Which makes no sense. Writing this book was supposed to free me from it all. It was going to be all cathartic and shit.’
‘You know, your way with words is truly poetic,’ Lexi said.
‘Well, it’s true. That was the main reason I agreed to the book deal. It was supposed to be easy. I was looking forward to it, but now … I just don’t know what the hell’s happening. I sit down to write and my mind literally goes blank. There’s just nothing there. I’m really starting to panic, Lex. I’m not sure I can do this.’
‘Of course you can. You just need to work out how to release all that blockage.’
‘Why do I feel as though there’s going to be some kind of metaphor here about a plunger and a sink?’
‘Laugh all you want, but I know you, and I know how you think. You bury your head instead of facing things when they get too emotional. Maybe when it’s your career that’s at stake you’ll finally realise you can’t ignore it.’
Pip wished she could laugh it off, but as much as she hated to admit it, she knew her friend was more than likely right. There was something stopping her. It was more of a feeling that hung over her as she sat in front of the screen. Each time she tried to sort out her thoughts she saw the man in the ski mask standing there in the middle of her room.
Pip shook away the creepy sensation that washed over her once more and realised with a sinking heart that ignoring it wasn’t making it go away. ‘I’ll think about it. Maybe I can see if they’ll do a phone consultation or something.’
‘Well, I guess that’s a step in the right direction. You could always just come back here and see someone in person,’ Lexi reminded her.
‘I don’t have time to waste travelling back and forth—this book needs to be finished … or started, even, would be good,’ she added.
‘Okay,’ Lexi conceded. ‘Let me know how you go.’
The two friends said goodbye and Pip hung up feeling … not exactly better but maybe a tad more hopeful. The idea of spilling her guts to a counsellor who would ask her all kinds of intrusive questions didn’t hold much appeal, but if it managed to budge some of this blockage and let her writing mojo flow again … Pip pulled out one of her notebooks and opened to a blank page. She would go to a counsellor as a last resort. All she needed to do was concentrate.
She slid the key into the lock and pushed open the front door. Kicking off her heels and dropping her handbag on the hallway table, she gave a small sigh of relief at the instant pleasure of soft carpet under aching feet. She reached out and switched on the light, but nothing happened. Damn it. All afternoon she’d been looking forward to a long, hot soak in her bathtub and a night binging the last few episodes of Peaky Blinders. A blackout was going to ruin all her plans. Digging in her bag, she pulled out her phone and turned on the torch to make her way through her dark apartment to locate the candles she kept in the sideboard. As she walked across the open room, something moved. She turned, and her breath caught in her chest and a scream froze in her throat as the dark figure lurched towards her—
Pip sat up in bed, a scream echoing in the room. She felt the cold chill of the sweat that made her T-shirt cling to her uncomfortably, and ran a shaky hand through her hair, moving the damp tendrils off her forehead. Dropping her head into her hands, she waited for her breathing to settle and her heart to slow to its normal rate before steadying herself enough to climb out of bed. She headed to the kitchen, and her hand shook slightly as she filled a glass from the tap and took a sip. She hated the nightmares more than anything. They always felt so real. Her hand went to her neck, and she timidly pressed her fingers to the skin expecting to feel tenderness. It was just a nightmare, she told herself firmly.
It was stupid to keep thinking it would ever happen again. After all, Lenny Knight was behind bars. It was over. And yet, the police had never found the man Knight had paid to attack her. She pushed that thought away. It didn’t matter. Lenny had lost and was locked away, and whoever he paid had only been doing a job and would be long gone by now. The thought made sense logically, but Pip suspected that not knowing the attacker’s identity was behind the lingering nightmares. As long as she continued to have the nightmares and gave into the fear, it felt like Lenny Knight was still winning. Fear blended with anger, always.
She hated it—this constant reminder she carried with her. When she’d heard of his arrest, and then through the trial that followed, she’d been relieved that it was all, finally, going to end, and she could put the last year behind her. But it hadn’t ended. With each shadow she jumped at, each noise that made her heart pound, he won all over again. Which is why she was determined to ignore the fear and the constant unease she lived with. If she ignored it, then she was the one in control, not him. But even locked away where he couldn’t hurt anyone anymore, the man still managed to haunt her.