Nightmares of Caitlin Lockyer

Part 57

57

I woke up when the afternoon sun slanted through Caitlin's window. A lance of light that stabbed me squarely in the eye. I stretched and realised that the warm weight beside me was breathing, as Caitlin let out a little sigh and shifted against my side.

I still had one arm around her and I was bloody careful not to move, so as not to disturb her any more. I wasn't the only one short on sleep and she needed it more than me. Caitlin was still a long way from well.

She'd asked me to stay as close as I could in case the nightmares came back. I didn't doubt they would, but for now she was okay.

My heart lifted with the thought that I'd been able to help, my colossal car fuck-up of yesterday forgotten.

I looked down the length of her body, modestly clad in pyjamas with long sleeves. One ankle was bare and I could see the pink scar slicing across it. I remembered how sticky the rope had been as I'd sawn through it, how I'd had to peel it from the wound to free her. I swallowed, trying not to think about it.

I shifted my gaze further up to the fingers of her right hand, splayed across my chest. The nails were curved crescent moons, carefully shaped since Caitlin's fingers had been freed. I could still feel how the jagged edges had cut into my palms when I'd kissed her hands only three days ago.

She moved her arm further across me, her sleeve catching on my shirt and revealing the red gouge across her wrist. This scar was darker than the ones on her ankles and with good reason. The rope around her wrists had been so slick with blood it'd felt more like liquorice than nylon. It'd stuck to the scissors and they'd squeaked as I fought to free her, only to find that the rope was the least of the hurts to her hands. Her middle finger was still slightly crooked and might never be straight again, but at least the broken bones had healed somewhat. They'd healed enough for her to start documenting her own horrifying story.

I lifted my head to look at the laptop, to check if I'd closed it so she wouldn't know how I'd spied on her. I thought of emailing the whole account to myself, so I could check it for important info to use for work, but I hesitated. I wanted more than the scant outline she'd sketched out so far. I wanted everything she remembered.

Caitlin's breathing changed, the evenness broken by a long inhalation, before it was blown slowly out again. Awakening. Emails and other such violations of her trust could wait.

"So, what would you like for breakfast?" I asked, after I watched her blink, yawn and finally smile.

 "Hmm?" Caitlin asked sleepily. "Breakfast? Isn't it afternoon?" She sat up and stretched, so I carefully looked away. She's not my angel and never will be.

The clock said it was 3.16.

"Late lunch, then?" I hazarded.

"Or early dinner," she agreed.

"Shall I go have a look at what you have in the fridge?" I asked.

Caitlin's brows dipped. "I wouldn't."

I stared at her. "Why not?"

Her voice died to a whisper. "My fridge has fur."

I laughed and stood up, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. "Show me this furry fridge." I kept a supportive arm around her waist as we headed down the passage to the kitchen.

Caitlin pulled away from me when we reached the kitchen table, sinking into a chair as far from the fridge as she could. I stopped as she did, raising my eyebrows.

"I don't need to smell it and I can't do anything about it. Not like this," she said. She waved her hands up and down her body.

"Is it really that bad?" I asked.

Her eyes were huge and heartbreaking. "Everything's been there since the day I…went away." Went away. What a fucking understatement.

I couldn't look away from her face. "For more than two months?"

She nodded, resigned. "That long. Be my guest," she replied, gesturing toward the fridge.

I sucked in a breath and held it, before opening the door. It didn't help. I swear her fridge smelled like blue cheese. A lot of blue cheese.

The milk was green. The crisper was black and white with fur, interspersed with streaks of red, like there was a dead cat squeezed into it. The shelves looked like there were rainbow-coloured guinea pigs asleep on them – some of them in plastic boxes. Only the orange juice looked normal. I reached for the bottle.

"Don't," said Caitlin. "I poured a cup yesterday from the other bottle and it came out in chunks. That one's older."

I slammed the fridge shut and leaned back against it. The smell lingered, but the worst of it stayed sealed inside. "So what do you want to do about it?"

Caitlin shrugged. "I don't know."

I was at a loss.

"Our cleaner just does the bathrooms, the floors and the dusting. Not the fridge," Caitlin continued.

"Cleaner?" I asked, feeling like an idiot for not thinking of it.

"A cleaner. A woman Dad pays to come clean the house once a fortnight, so I don't have to and he doesn't need to worry about it," Caitlin said patiently. "But she doesn't do the fridge and it looks like there are dead mice in there, so I think we'd need the sort of cleaner who does nasty stuff like deal with dead bodies."

I looked at her. "I think I have a friend who does industrial cleaning. Let me call him and see if he can help." I patted my pockets and realised I'd left my phone in Caitlin's bedroom. "Do you mind if I go get my phone out of your room? Will you be okay here by yourself?"

She gave a weak grin. "Go for it. I'll be fine, unless the dead mice have mutated into zombies."

Zombies. Oh God, not zombies. I fucking hate zombies now.

I forced a smile and strode back to her bedroom.

I rang Navid. "No sign of anyone watching her house," he reported by way of greeting. "Looks like domestic bliss, the two of you in the kitchen. What's for dinner?"

The surveillance cameras. Shit, he's on watch. I hope they didn't put a camera in her bedroom. She deserves some privacy.

I smiled and kept my voice low. "Zombie mice."

"Fuck! What the hell?"

"She has a fridge full of fur from the food that's gone bad while she was away. Can you send in a team to deal with it?" I asked, crossing my fingers.

"Mate, ASIO clean-up crews aren't for ordinary housecleaning. That's misuse of government resources," Navid complained.

"It'll be me doing it on work time if you don't send them in," I replied. "My job is to protect the valuable witness. That includes making sure she doesn't get sick from eating food from a fridge full of zombie mice."

"Fuck!" he swore. "Okay, I'll send them in. Get her out, unless you want to tell her who you work for."

I smiled for the surveillance camera. I knew he was watching. "Fuck that. I'll take her food shopping. Make sure it's clean and the team are out by the time we get back."

I ended the call. There was no point in saying goodbye when he was in a van down the street, watching our every move on the screens.

I headed back to Caitlin, who hadn't moved from her seat. Her eyes were questioning, though she didn't say a word.

"My friend can spare a cleaning team in about an hour, but it's probably best if we go out. Leave them to deal with the dead bodies so you can come home to a clean fridge. We can do your food shopping, so you can fill it up again."

"Do I have time to get dressed?" she asked. 

I smiled. "Sure, if you're quick."