Chapter Twenty-One

They went home, right then, in the middle of the night. Dad drove, and Mum sat in the back with Tim. The streets of Rowington were dark and Tim looked up at the clear black sky with its sliver of moon and millions of twinkling stars. The night sky was never like this back in the city.

Suddenly headlights shone through the back window. Tim sat up in alarm, turned and looked back.

‘Don’t worry. It’s only the police,’ said Dad. Tim could hear an edge to his voice.

‘Why are they following us?’

‘Well, you’re pretty important to them at the moment, so you’re getting police protection.’

‘Not that they really expect that man to try and find you at home,’ added his mother, reassuringly. ‘He wouldn’t even know where you live.’

But Tim could hear an edge to her voice as well.

When they pulled into their driveway, a policeman walked over to Ben’s side of the car. ‘Stay there and keep the doors locked,’ he said. ‘We’ll just check the house and gardens first. Just to be on the safe side.’

When they got the all-clear, one of the officers stayed, settling himself down in the lounge with a large cup of coffee while Tim was ordered to bed.

‘Do you want me to leave a light on?’ asked Dad as he checked the windows in Tim’s room just to be sure they were locked. He pulled the curtains, blocking out the darkness of the night.

Tim shook his head. ‘No. It’s okay. The lounge light’s on,’ he said. He pulled up his doona even though it wasn’t cold.

Dad sat down on the bed. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘everything’s locked up and Constable Blackwood is just in the lounge if anything should happen. But my bet is this man won’t be hanging round here. And if he is, then he’ll be found. You can’t hide a blue ute like that for too long in a small town.’ He reached over and brushed the hair off Tim’s forehead. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I think you were very brave today. Your mother and I are both proud of you. Especially since … you know … the accident.’ He ruffled Tim’s hair. ‘Now see if you can get some sleep. How’s your ankle, by the way? Not hurting too much?’

‘No,’ said Tim. The nurse had put an ice pack on it, and later she’d strapped it. Now he hardly noticed it.

‘Good. Just let me know if it starts to hurt.’ And he stood to leave.

‘Dad?’ said Tim.

Ben turned back. Tim could see worry etched on his face.

‘Yes, son?’

‘Mrs Ragdale. She’ll be alright, won’t she? I mean, that man, he won’t do anything to her, will he?’

Ben smiled. ‘No, Tim. She’ll be safe. She’s in the intensive care ward, remember? A nurse will be with her all the time. But the police aren’t taking any chances. They said they’d be posting someone in the ward with her until this man is caught. Now, get some sleep. It’s way past midnight.’

But Tim couldn’t sleep. He lay awake thinking about everything that had happened. His fingers touched his left shoulder where it was bruised, and he felt the skin – raised and lumpy. He listened to the sounds of the house. His mother and father, talking softly in their bedroom. The clink of an empty coffee cup as Constable Blackwood placed it on the glass-topped coffee table.

Outside, he could hear branches swaying in the breeze. Somewhere a curlew cried out in the night. Tim shuddered at the sound. And there was the creaking of the old house as it cooled in the night air.

All the usual sounds. But none that worried Tim as he rolled onto his side and drifted off to sleep at last.

He wasn’t sure what woke him, or even how long he’d been asleep, but slowly the events of the day before seeped back into his memory. As his eyes began to adjust to the dim light, he realised he wasn’t in hospital, but in his own bed. And he remembered there was a policeman in the house. Protecting him.

He rolled over.

‘Oh,’ he cried as he saw the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway, the dim light from the lounge behind him.

‘It’s okay,’ came a voice. ‘It’s just me. Constable Blackwood. I didn’t mean to wake you. Just checking.’

Tim sat up, trying to calm himself. He’d had enough of men creeping up on him in the dark.

‘Go back to sleep. I’m just going to do the rounds outside,’ said the constable.

As Tim watched Constable Blackwood’s figure retreat down the hallway, he was sure that sleep would not come back to him. Instead he lay listening to the sounds of the night once more. He heard heavy footfalls outside in the garden and hoped it was just the constable. He lifted the corner of his curtain and looked out. A torch light swung back and forth through the bushes. Yes, just the police patrol.

He dropped the curtain and lay back on his bed, thinking of the fire and of Granny Rags, and wondered how Lockie was going. They’d have plenty to talk about when they saw each other.

His eyes were beginning to droop when again a figure appeared at his bedroom door.

‘Find anything out there?’ Tim asked sleepily.

There was no reply.

Tim pushed himself up on one elbow as the figure took a step forward.

‘Now where were we when we were interrupted?’ said a voice. A voice that sent shivers through every part of Tim’s body.

He gasped as the man took a few steps closer and hissed, ‘I’ve just come to finish things off. Seems you don’t know how to keep your mouth shut. Well, I’m going to shut it for you.’

The man reached forward and yanked the pillow from under Tim’s head.

In that instant, Tim knew what this man intended to do and there was no way he was going to let that happen. He tried to call out, but the pillow was pressed against his face before he had a chance.

But not before Tim heard the crunch of boots on dried leaves outside his window.

Constable Blackwood.

Tim heaved his legs out from under the doona, and kicked them hard against the wall.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

There was a rap at the window.

‘Are you alright in there, Tim?’ called the constable.

The man, distracted for a moment, pulled back. And Tim took his chance.

‘No,’ he screamed, but the word was lost as the pillow once again came down on his face.

He’s not going to get me, thought Tim.

And he lashed out with his legs, striking the wall again, and felt pain shoot through his injured ankle as the heel of his foot struck the window. Glass shattered and the pillow dropped from Tim’s face. As he gasped for air he saw the man rushing from the bedroom.

No, he’s not going to get away.

And Tim felt a sudden rage for this man who had tried to take Granny Rags’ home, and her life. And his own.

For some reason, Tim pictured Oliver playing footy, running up behind his victims and tackling them to the ground. And Tim knew how that had felt.

Without a second thought, he leapt from the bed and launched himself at the retreating figure as a roar bounced off the walls and echoed down the hallway. The man turned his head and Tim could see the look of shock on his face.

The next thing he was lying on the worn carpet trying to suck in air. Stars danced before his eyes. Hands grabbed him, lifted him roughly from the floor, but as he tried to scream, no noise came. He swung out, hitting at the arms that lifted him, kicked out, hoping that something would connect. But the hands just held him tighter.

‘Tim, it’s alright. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Just breathe.’

But Tim couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He was going to die.

‘Tim. Breathe.’

He sucked again, and felt some air reach his lungs. He gasped once more.

‘Slowly now,’ the voice ordered. Dad? And as the spots in front of Tim’s eyes cleared he looked up at his father’s concerned face, and his mother’s too, right above him.

‘The man,’ he said. ‘He was here.’

‘It’s okay. Blackwood’s got him. He’s been caught, thanks to you.’ And Ben, tears in his eyes, grabbed Tim into a hug so tight it almost took the breath right out of him again.