39

The hammering on the glass partition of the security booth startled both Etienne Matongo and Marlon Cloete, one of the junior guards on night shift. Etienne nearly spilt hot coffee onto his uniform and Marlon jerked out of his slumber like a man on puppet strings, his chair perilously close to upending him until he braced with one foot. The two men squinted out of the brightly lit cubicle into the rain, surprised at the commotion on such a slow night. The silhouette outside resolved into a young woman, soaked through, her eyes crazed.

‘Jissis, man.’ Marlon rubbed his eyes. ‘Where’s the fire? Why’s everyone so nuts during the full moon?’

‘It is raining. There is no moon,’ Etienne responded in a level voice. The younger guard gave him a ‘you know what I mean’ shake of the head. Etienne turned back to the glass. His chest expanded painfully when he made out the face. It was Serena Fourie.

‘Go and have a break,’ he ordered. Marlon opened his mouth, and Etienne fished a twenty out of his pocket and pressed it on him. ‘It has been a long night. Have a break and I will handle it.’

Marlon studied his boss as he got to his feet. Etienne was as calm as a bay on Sunday; he didn’t flip moods like the security chief. Etienne met Marlon’s eyes. He knew he wouldn’t disobey. Etienne knew the other guards respected him as an understanding guy, one who projected a quiet authority out of every inch of his considerable height. He was the only senior guard, for instance, who would let a man have a guilt-free nap. Etienne would let it slide, as long as it was for short periods under his watchful eye when there were others on patrol. So he wasn’t surprised when Marlon took the money without a word, only casting a quizzical glance over his shoulder before he left for the hospital cafeteria.

Etienne closed the office door behind him and joined Serena under the protective canopy covering the booth. Hard rain drummed on the tarpaulin over their heads. Shivering, Serena seemed to dance to its rhythm as she hopped and rocked from one foot to the other. Her hair hung to her shoulders like lengths of curly seaweed. She barely noticed when Etienne removed his coat and draped it around her shoulders.

‘It’s Rosie. She did it again. I … I … I …’ Her chin trembled. ‘I tried to watch her. I tried, but she sneaked out. I couldn’t find her … the nightmares have started again, and she’s been acting crazy …’

Etienne dropped his head and cursed in a low voice. He had known sooner or later this would happen. Nothing stayed buried forever.

She seemed to take his silence like a slap in the face. ‘I tried! I did everything you told me!’ she wailed, tears running freely down her cheeks, mixing with rain. She spun away and wept, her back hunched. Etienne let her pour it out, everything she had guarded and fed until it had become too much for her young heart. At last, she gulped down the last of her sobs and straightened up. She slapped the tears off her face as she looked out at the storm, as if only in its chaos could answers to her turmoil be found.

‘What has she done?’ Etienne watched the back of her head. It shook dejectedly, like she was shaking off the nightmare, peeling its talons back to release the hold it had on her. Her seaweed tresses swung from side to side.

‘She took two people,’ she whispered. ‘She took them and locked them up … somewhere.’

Etienne swore quietly. He wished the hands of an angel would come down and cover his ears so he wouldn’t have to hear, to participate in this any longer. He thought of the young girl whose memory he had helped betray for two years, and of his own family, who stood to lose everything through his actions tonight.

‘Those two girls from the magazine, the ones investigating–’ Serena sucked in a deep breath and it gurgled in her throat.

Etienne’s heart, a father’s heart, melted in the face of Serena’s desperation, as it had once before in the past. ‘Where are they? Where is Rosie?’

Serena whirled on him. Her face had aged, its muscles haggard with strain. ‘No, no, no,’ she shook her whole body in vigorous refusal. ‘No. You can’t be involved in this any more. I can’t let you. I was wrong to ask you the first time. We were both so wrong.’ She reached into her sodden jacket and pulled out a thick, crumpled brown envelope. ‘It’s to help. Please take it and go. Go now. Before the police get here and …’

Etienne backed away as if she were brandishing a python. ‘Serena–’

‘Think of your wife and daughters. Do it for them,’ she pleaded. ‘It’s mine, my savings. It’s not a fortune, but it can help you start over. Please, Mr Matongo. Don’t risk everything you have left for us.’ The package wobbled in her outstretched hands, sobs rocking her body. ‘Do it for your daughters.’

Etienne couldn’t move. Serena wriggled off the jacket he had draped around her and wedged the money into its side pocket. She pressed the jacket against his chest and held it there, waiting for him to take it. Still, Etienne didn’t move. Serena flung herself onto his chest and put her arms around him, squashing the jacket between them. Etienne embraced the weeping child that was not his, comforting her in a way she had long wished her own father would.

Serena pulled herself together and wiped her eyes.

‘Please forgive me. Forgive us,’ she said, stepping off the pavement. She flipped the hood of her sweatshirt back up and tore into the rain.