Marilyn Read online

  ***

  'Ma'am, is everything OK?'

  'I need to use your phone, please, it's an emergency, please.'

  'Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid all the lines are down.' He rubbed the premature morning dew from his eyes. 'I couldn't even tell you when anyone would come around to fix them. God only knows how long this storm is going to last.'

  'I need to phone the police, someone has taken my son. Someone has taken Jack,' she spluttered, giving way to emotion.

  'Calm down, calm down, what did you just say? He grabbed the back of his head and puffed out his chest. 'Did you say someone has taken your son? Shit, come in, come in. Get yourself out of this weather.'

  The old man put his arms around Marilyn and ushered her inside.

  'Come, come. Sit down.'

  He walked them into the side room, his living room. It was homely and welcoming. Pictures of family and friends cluttered the shelves and walls. But it was lacking a woman's touch. The carpet was a tattered and faded maroon, it had seen better days. Marilyn sat on an almost perfect, unused couch and the old man parked himself on a matching chair, opposite.

  Marilyn cradled her shaking hands in her soaking lap and took in her surroundings.

  'I'll be right back, you going to be OK for a minute?' the old man asked in a concerned, trustworthy whisper. Marilyn didn't speak, she couldn't. She sat trembling in silence.

  The old man pushed himself out of his seat with a few ageing cricks and left the room, his legs uneasy with nerves. He returned moments later, carrying his trusty bottle of single malt, two glasses and a towel under his robed arm, which he handed to Marilyn. He watched sympathetically as she weakly rubbed the towel into her hair and face. She did this in an unwilling trance, wiping away the last particles of make-up. He held the two glasses in the palm of his hand and poured the whiskey, making sure both were equal measures. He checked out the glasses, thought about it, and slung another shot in each.

  'Here, take this, it'll warm you up.'

  Marilyn looked up with a pallid face, her eyes sunken, red, and puffy.

  The old man held the glass out in front of her, coaxingly with a relaxed smile. She accepted the drink and passed the towel back, nodding in appreciation as she cleared her throat. She lifted the glass to her lips, slowly, embracing it with both hands. She drew in a breath and savoured the robust smell that clung to the back of her gooey tonsils. She felt safe, her fear was withdrawing itself, leaving only the panic and shock to keep her company. Her hands shook violently as she took her first sip of her whiskey. It burned her throat, all the way down to her pit of her stomach, but it felt good. She couldn't think of a time that she had needed a drink more than this, not in a long while, not ever. The first mouthful rattled her senses, awakening her. Marilyn did not lower the glass, instead she threw the rest of the single malt down the hatch with a practised flick, swallowing it in one, leaving no time to taste the expensive liquor. She watched the old man as he cautiously fumbled around with his own drink.

  The wind bellowed through the building, shaking its foundations, and sending vibrations through the single-paned windows. The whole building seemed to rumble and wobble around them. It fractured the protective bubble that encased the pair, and tore them out of their bewilderment. Marilyn's whole body jolted forward and she dug her nails into the arm of the couch.

  'Hey, there's no need to panic. You're safe now, no one’s going to hurt you. OK?' the old man assured, carefully retreating back into his chair. He sat down, positioning himself well, in an affectionate manner, leaning forward with his hand on his knees. He took a closing mouthful of his finest, and put the glass out of sight.

  'Ma'am, my name is Elwood, I run this motel here.' He smiled.

  Marilyn did not return the pleasantries, instead, she fixed her gaze upon her empty glass.

  'I know this is hard, Ma'am. But you're going to have to talk to me if you want me to help,' he continued, gently enforcing the truth.

  Elwood waited.

  'What's your name?'

  'Ma... Marilyn,' she stuttered.

  He looked across to where she sat, taken back, his eyes beginning to water.

  'Hi, Marilyn. My Name is Elwood. Elwood Bailey. Do you know where you are?

  Marilyn didn't respond.

  'You're at the Bailey Motel, out here, just off Highway 5. Can you tell me what happened, Marilyn? Are you hurt?'

  She looked up and across at him. She could feel him examining her from the other side of the room

  'No, I'm not hurt.'

  'That's good, Marilyn, you're doing great. Now, you said about your son. What happened to your son? Is anyone else hurt?'

  'Jack,' she gasped, her head dropping.

  The glass hurtled toward the carpet, her fingers still mimicking the duty of holding it. It collided with the floor in a soundless thud and rolled in a semi- circle. Colour rushed to her face, and tears attacked her cheeks in a frenzied barrage.

  'Someone has taken Jack, I woke up in my car, he was gone, he's gone, Jack's gone. I don't know what's happened to him. I… I.'

  ‘Hey, hey, calm down, it's OK.' Elwood got to his feet and knelt down beside her. 'We'll find him, OK. We'll find him.' He wrapped a comforting arm around her, she was freezing to the touch and her whole body was shaking.

  'It's OK, take your time, try your best. Explain to me what happened. Where's Jack? What happened to your son, Marilyn?'

  Elwood shimmied around to face Marilyn, he held her hands in his and encouraged her.

  'I… I. I'm not sure. I woke up in my car on the side of the road. I pulled over because I was feeling tired, I was only going to sleep for an hour. I don't know what happened,' she spluttered. 'I shouldn't have pulled over. I should have kept on driving. It's all my fault.'

  She pulled her hands away from Elwood and buried her head in her palms between her quavering fingers.

  'It's all my fault.'

  'You can't blame yourself, Marilyn. It's not your fault. Marilyn, hey, come on. Look at me, everything's going to be OK. We'll find Jack, together. I'll be with you every step of the way.'

  Marilyn lifted her head.

  'Thank you, thank you so much,' she said with a faint beginnings of a smile.

  Elwood dipped his fingers into his robe pocket, drew out a clean but crumpled handkerchief and used it to dry her tears.

  'Now, Marilyn. I'm going to need to know exactly what happened. What's the last thing that you can remember?’ he pressed, gingerly.

  'We stopped for food at the diner a few hours back, Jack was starving and wouldn't let up. He kept nagging me to find somewhere.'

  Marilyn laughed, it was a painful, genuine laugh.

  'That's good, Marilyn. What happened then?'

  'We ate our food, talked for a little while and then I said we better hit the road. We drove for a bit. I started to feel really tired, it came from nowhere. Jack went to sleep pretty quickly, so I put the radio on to try and keep myself awake. I remember almost falling asleep at the wheel, you know, like when you jump and wake yourself back up, but can't tell if you've actually been sleeping. I thought it would be a good idea to pull over and have a quick hour. I didn't see any harm in it with the weather being so bad and Jack was already asleep, I thought it was a sensible idea. I… I...'

  'You're doing fantastic, Marilyn,' he said, reassuringly. 'You really are. Now. Was anything else missing, or anything out of place when you woke up, purse, money, anything strange at all?'

  'My phone. My phone was gone. I kept it in my bag on the back seat.’

  'Your phone? Nothing else?'

  'No, not that I know of.' She questioned, 'Why?'

  'Just trying to understand what has happened. I know these questions may seem a bit silly, but anything and everything is important. Can you remember anything suspicious? Anyone that you didn't like the look of? Anything at all, Marilyn?'

  'No. Nothing. I... I can't think. I'm sorry.'

  'There's no need to apologise. You're d
oing brilliantly. How old is Jack?'

  'He's eight,' she answered, proudly.

  Elwood cleared his throat as non-threateningly as he could.

  'I'm sorry to ask you this, but, did you have an argument, do you think Jack could have…..' he trailed off. 'Run away?

  'What? NO, of course not. What are you saying..?' she cried, her fists crunched into tight balls.

  'Nothing, nothing. I have to ask everything. I need to know what went on. I'm sorry, I'm just trying to help you.'

  Elwood got to his feet and turned toward the mantelpiece.

  'Do you smoke?'

  'Huh?'

  'Do you smoke, Marilyn?' he repeated gently.

  'I used to, I quit when I found out I was having Jack.'

  Elwood advanced across the room to his writing desk, that was a very similar style to the one in his study. He opened the drawer and revealed a dust-covered pack of cigarettes, they had to be at least a year old. He brushed the dust away, removed two, and offered one to Marilyn who reluctantly accepted. He lit hers and then his with a cheap disposable lighter that was equally as old. Clouds of smoke began to fill the room, breaking into twisting, fading swirls before disappearing. It felt good, for both of them. For Marilyn, it was like she'd never quit. What was his next move? He was running out of questions and ideas.

  'Marilyn, I want to try something, OK. It might not work, and it may seem a little bit, I don't know, silly, but it's worth a try.'

  He inhaled a deep, rewarding drag of his Marlboro, held it, fought back the familiar tickle and exhaled.

  He was reminded of a book he once read about a hard-boiled private investigator. A rich, elderly woman's husband was murdered, she was the key witness but couldn't remember a thing.

  The brain is complex and sometimes irrational thing need stimulation to function as needed.

  'I need you to lie down and close your eyes, can you do that for me, Marilyn?'

  Elwood paced back and forth, and then circled the drab rug in the centre of the floor that covered up some of the careless carpet stains, taking both long and short drags of his cigarette as he did so. Marilyn agreed with a nod of her head. He handed her a glass ashtray and they both extinguished their smokes. She watched the dying amber turn to dead black before she lay back nervously, trying to keep her breathing regulated and steady. Elwood bent down, reached for her hand and gave her some encouraging words smothered in a tender whisper.

  'Wonderful, now. I need you to relax. Take a few deep breaths and try and stay calm.’

  She breathed deeply, steadily.

  ‘Brilliant. Now, close your eyes and take three more deep breaths. I want you to try and forget everything and only listen to the sound of my voice, nothing else. OK? Try your best to empty your mind.’

  EIGHT

  The pair sat in a difficult silence heading into the storm. They couldn't pick up much of a speed, the road was hardly visible and the weather was too unpredictable. The man concentrated on his path ahead. The boy sat next to him, his eyes closed.

  'Where's my mom?' Jack asked, not pulling any punches.

  The man didn't reply. He cleared his throat and just twisted his fingers tighter around the steering wheel.

  'Where are we going? What do you want? Who are you? Are you going to hurt me?' Jack rattled, without taking a fresh breath.

  The man took his empty eyes from the road and glanced at the boy, briefly. There was very little emotion in his face.

  'If you behave, then I won't hurt you,' the man snapped, in an icy, serious tone.

  He directed his vision back to the road, without so much as a change of his facial expressions.

  The boy rubbed a chain around his neck.

  'Who are you?' he asked, calmly, his hand still clasped around his chain.

  The man stared out of the window, saying nothing. There was a minute of silence. His mouth twitched.

  'My name is O'Sullivan. Walter O'Sullivan. My friends call me Walt.' His sentences lingered, like each word was new, spoken for the first time.

  The boy rubbed his eyes once more, oiled his vocal chords with a throat-clearing cough and pinned a believable smile to his face.

  'I'm Jack. Nice to meet you, Walt.'

  O'Sullivan just stared at him, his face like stone.

  'Nice to meet you too, Jack.' The beginnings of a trying smile crawled up the sides of his face.

  The car chugged along, rattling when it travelled along open road, but steadily fighting against the tempestuousness of the storm. It looked as though it was calming. Passing over.

  'Is my mom OK?' he quizzed, pouncing on the man's newfound friendliness.

  There was a pause.

  'She's fine. Nothing to worry about.'

  'Where are we going?'

  'To the freeway. Through the storm, it's passing over us.'

  Jack shifted anxiously in seat, sitting on his hands.

  'What do you want with me, Walt? I mean, what am I doing here?'

  O'Sullivan focused his gaze deep into Jack's brown eyes and shrugged.

  NINE

  Trying his best not to distract Marilyn, Elwood flicked out another cigarette from his packet and lit it as quietly as he could, his thumb pressing and dragging over the worn lighter reel until it produced a flame.

  He inhaled and exhaled. It felt great on his lungs. He missed it.

  He thought his questions through. There was a lot he needed to know. A lot she needed to remember.

  'Marilyn. Can you hear me?'

  'Yes,' she answered through a stony, throat trapped whisper.

  'Good. I need you to remember. Where is it you were heading with Jack?'

  She twitched in her seat at the mention of Jack, but managed to keep her composure. Her voice was soft and coated in sadness.

  'Mr Nighty, my boss. My ex-boss. He had given me the keys to his holiday home. It's about a two day drive away from here. Things at home were not so good, and well, we both really needed a break. I thought the drive down would help us get to know each other a little better, help us bond. I've been away a lot with my job and I wanted to make it up to him.'

  'That's an excellent start,' he responded, proudly. 'What happened next, Marilyn?'

  'We'd been driving for a good eight hours. Jack was getting restless and agitated. He gets bored easily. He was hungry, even though I made him a packed lunch for the journey and had food before we left. He's always hungry. We joked and laughed. We stopped at a fast food place.'

  'OK, you're doing just fine, Marilyn. Great progress.'

  He took a slow draw of his cigarette, keeping the smoke in his lungs, and continued with a strained voice. 'Did anything happen there, anything suspicious, anything at all?'

  'No. Nothing. We ate our food and drank our drinks. We talked and left.'

  'Did you leave Jack on his own at any point?'

  'No. I was with him the whole….' Marilyn paused. 'Wait. I went to the toilet. I went to the toilet and checked my hair. Freshened up. I was less than two minutes.' She became frustrated, her head and body twisting and turning on the sofa. She scrunched her hands into tight fists.

  'It's OK, Marilyn. Breathe. Listen to my voice. That's it. Nice and easy. You're doing great.' He stopped. Took a puff of his Marlboro and watched the dead ash fall into his lap. 'Who else was there?'

  She thought about it hard.

  'It was pretty quiet. There were three or four people working. The woman who served us. She was called Amanda.'

  'OK, good, who else?’

  'A young couple. They were kissing. I remember thinking Jack hated it. He never cared much for me and his father kissing when we were in public.'

  The old man laughed, covering his mouth and catching the smoke

  'There was a mother and daughter there. She had blonde hair, the daughter.'

  'Anyone else that you can remember, Marilyn/’ he pushed.

  'There was a man, sitting in the corner. I couldn't see him very well.'

  'Try to remember s
omething about him. What was he wearing? Did he look out of place? Anything.’

  'He looked tired and worn out.' She squirmed. 'He also looked kind of dirty, his jacket was all scraggly.’

  'Very good, Marilyn.' He put the cigarette to his mouth, but didn't take a drag, just let it balance there between his lips. 'Now, think about his face. Think hard. Is there anything you can remember?'

  Her face crinkled up, she was trying so hard to remember. Elwood tapped his ash onto his lap and took the missing puff. He pulled long and hard and blew out a mushroom cloud of smoke. He needed another drink.

  'He had a mark under his eye. It looked like pen, but it could have been a cut. I don't know.'

  'Did you see him leave?'

  'No. He was gone when I came out of the toilet. I was only gone two minutes.'

  Elwood reached back out and took her hands in his.

  'Ok, it's OK. You were fantastic. Keep your breathing steady. I want you to count backwards from five slowly and open your eyes. Ready?'

  TEN

  The car trudged into the unending onslaught of rain and wind. They had been travelling for hours now, down a miscellaneous collection of roads and lanes, where the next looked just like the last, but at this pace, they were getting nowhere fast.

  'Are you thirsty? Would you like a drink?'

  Jack was caught off guard, he wasn't expecting to be asked anything.

  'There's water in the glove box if you want it. Help yourself.'

  Walter gestured at the glove box with his arm. Jack reached forward and unclipped the stiff door. Just as he suspected. Mess. It was overflowing with scrunched up receipts, napkins, and condiments. He carelessly pulled out a handful of discarded, professional-looking letter-headed papers and dropped them onto the floor, adding them to the mishmash. Sure as Walter had said, there it was. A bottle of water, unopened, full to the brim. But that's not what stole his attention. To the side of the water bottle, the butt of a gun poked its way through mounds of debris, crying to be seen. He couldn't take his eyes from it.

  Jack removed the water bottle from the glove box, carefully, keeping his eyes fixed upon the cool, metallic glow of the gun. He unscrewed the cap, took a sip, swilled it around his mouth, and offered some to Walt. He declined, politely. Jack closed the glove box and kept the bottle on the seat next to him.