An Isolated Incident (10 page)

‘Hey, Chris,' he said when I came close.

‘Haven't seen you in here a while. Cut back on the long-hauls, hey?'

‘Nah. Been on holidays. Took me mum to Thailand.'

‘Good on you! Thailand, hey? Come to mention it, you do have a bit of extra colour in your cheeks.'

He didn't until I said that. He blushed like a bloody virgin.

‘Yeah. Just got home yesterday. Straight back on the road today.'

‘No rest for the wicked, hey.'

‘You'd be one to know.'

‘Cheeky bugger,' I said and swatted him with my towel.

‘So, ah, you got a big night planned?'

‘Oh,' I said. ‘You know . . .' I stopped myself. He obviously didn't know or he wouldn't have asked me. I could tell him and have him be sorry and ashamed and slightly thrilled like the rest of them, or I could let it go, tell him I was tired. Or I could do as I promised Nate and get a damn lift home and, while I was at it, avoid being in my goddamn house alone all night.

‘Nah, it's cool, I just thought –'

‘Actually, my feet are killing me. I'd love a lift home if you don't mind hanging around until close?'

Like I said, he was a shy one when it came down to it. I set him up with a beer while I had a shower, put on my low-cut red nightie and changed the sheets on the bed. Then I called him in and took off his clothes. He was scrawny with a pinched, ferrety face but he had this lovely thick, golden, wavy hair. Such a waste on a bloke, I always thought.

I lay him down and straddled him, hanging my tits in his face, letting him nuzzle and knead me while I reached over to the drawer where I kept my supplies. While he could see nothing but tit I scooped out a bit of lube and stuck it up myself, then unwrapped a condom.

(You're the one wanted to know how I could jump back in the sack so soon. This is how. Don't ask if you don't want to bloody know.)

I readied myself then sat up straight. I rolled the condom on him as he continued kneading my breasts. He let go for a second when I stuck his dick in but then grabbed hold again. Normally I'd've played with him a little, tried to give good value, but I was so damn tired and sad I couldn't bear to draw it out any longer. I held his hands down and lay almost flat so my boobs would slap his face with each thrust. Slap slap slap slap and – boom – he bucked up and moaned, sank back down, sighed.

I kissed his forehead, carefully removed the condom and went to the bathroom to chuck it out and clean myself up. When I got back he'd snuggled deep under the covers. I switched out the light and climbed in next to him, happy to feel his weight and warmth next to me after the lonely, drunken horror of last night.

‘That was awesome,' he said, resting a hand on my chest. ‘Like, so much better than any of the Thai girls.'

‘Yeah? I've heard they're pretty good over there.'

‘They're alright. They try hard, but they don't have these, do they?' He honked my left breast and giggled. ‘Some of them have big ones, but they're fake. No movement, you know? It's like, come
on
,
give me some jiggle.'

I imagined some tight-bodied eighteen-year-old Thai girl bouncing up and down while he lay underneath slapping her hard, expensive tits. If I could've turned my flesh to stone I would've right then.

‘And when it's over, it's over, you know. It's in-out, in-out and then get dressed and piss off. I'd be like, “Where's the fire, love?” No wind-down, no cuddles.' He squeezed again.

‘Hmm. Most blokes would want that, I reckon. I think you're the only one I know who gets chatty after.'

‘Yeah, well, I'm just glad you let me come over, that's all. I really appreciate it, Chris.'

‘Okay, you big sweetie. Let's get some sleep, hey?'

‘Alright. I just wanted you to know that I appreciate you doing this. Especially with what happened to your sister and everything.'

If I could turn to stone or ice or ash. If I could become fire. I lay and stared and stared at the wall until the bruise came and I listened to him snore and wished ugly death on him and me and the whole world and the bruise seemed to promise I would have it, have all the ugly death I have ever wished for and then some.

I must have dropped off to sleep because when I woke he was gone and there were two hundred-dollar notes on my bedside table.

AustraliaToday.com

Locals united in disbelief over ‘poor Bella'

May Norman

9 April 2015

People all over Australia are talking about the murder of 25-year-old Bella Michaels, but here in her home town the ‘m' word is never used. It's ‘the tragedy', ‘this terrible thing' or, simply, ‘poor Bella'.

‘Poor Bella . . . It beggars belief,' says 76-year-old retired carpenter John Highsmith. ‘I've lived here my entire life and never in my worst nightmares would I have thought something like this was possible.'

The message is echoed by Highsmith's 45-year-old daughter Melanie. ‘It's like a thing that happens on TV or in movies. Not here. I haven't slept properly since I heard. I keep checking the doors and windows. Before last week I never even bothered to lock them.'

While all the locals express shock at ‘this terrible thing', those who knew Bella personally are battling grief along with their disbelief. A popular aged-care worker and community volunteer, Bella Michaels was born in the Strathdee hospital, attended the local public primary and high schools and, except for 18 months in Sydney in her early 20s, lived and worked in the centre of town her entire adult life.

‘I've known her since she was a baby,' said a neighbour of Bella's late mother, who asked that his name not be published. ‘The family had its troubles, but Bella was such a good girl, just an absolute ray of sunshine.'

The ‘troubles' the resident referred to include a mother who struggled with alcoholism and gambling from her teens until her death from cancer five years ago. Bella's father left when she was barely two and, according to the neighbour, her mother was involved with a succession of men, at least one of whom was physically abusive.

Bella's half-sister, Chris Rogers, 37, has refused to speak to the media since breaking down at a press conference yesterday. Her ex-husband, Nate Cartwright of Sydney, has reportedly returned to Strathdee and is staying with Ms Rogers in her home a ten-minute drive from where her sister's body was discovered.

Richard Grey, owner and manager of the Royal Hotel, where Ms Rogers has worked for the past decade, said the relationship between the two women was ‘watertight. Young Bella was the only person in the world who Chris'd listen to. You'd laugh if you saw it. Chris can stare down a 200-pound drunken truckie without blinking, but if little Bella went crook at her she'd be a puddle.'

‘They always looked after each other,' the former neighbour says. ‘Sometimes it was Chris being the big sister and sometimes it was Bella, because though she was young, she was such a nurturer, you know. They really were the world to each other. I worry terribly about Chris now.'

The police are revealing very little information to the public at this stage, confirming only that the cause of death was blood loss and that sexual assault took place prior to death. Meanwhile, local gossip and speculation are spreading like the wildfire that took out 8000 hectares just east of here two summers ago. There are rumours of torture and mutilation. Some of the descriptions seem to have been taken from the most extreme of Hollywood horror films. A drinker at the Royal, when asked what he thought had happened to Bella Michaels, matter-of-factly painted a nightmarish scenario involving dozens of separate, individually described acts of brutality.

‘It's terrible, the talk you hear,' Mr Grey said from behind the bar where much of it is taking place. ‘Truth is, we don't know what happened exactly. We know it was bloody terrible, but. We know she suffered. Yeah. There's no dodging that.'

Anyone with information is asked to call Crime Stoppers or the Strathdee police.

Friday, 10 April

T
hree messages from Monica Gordon when I turned my phone on in the morning after Tyler left. I tried to find the card Sally Perkins had given me on that first day but couldn't. I called the station instead and they put me through to Brandis, who sounded like my call was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

‘Chris, Chris, good to hear from you, mate. What's up?'

‘Some woman called me about a march in Sydney. For Bella?'

‘Yeah. Heard something about that. So you're not involved with it, hey?'

‘You need to stop it.'

‘Not up to us to stop. It's a Sydney thing. If they've got permission –'

‘They don't. I haven't given permission for anything.'

‘Permission from the city, I meant. To hold a public demonstration. They don't need permission from you.'

‘I'm the next of kin.'

‘Chris, mate, this is a thing that happens around high-profile cases. All kinds of people – lobbyists, crazies, nasties, well-meaning idiots – they try and get involved, make it about them, about their cause. Best to stay out of it, leave them to it. Go about mourning Bella in private.'

‘Leave them to it.'

‘Best thing. And you should think about changing your number, getting an unlisted. Don't make it so easy for them to get to you. If they start getting too obnoxious, coming around to your place or work or whatever, then give us a call and we'll send a uniform to shoo 'em away.'

‘You think people will come to my work?'

‘Not people: reporters. Speaking of, leave the TV off for the next little while, hey? Don't read the papers or the internet. All that shit out there, it's got nothing to do with anything. Real breakthroughs, real developments, you'll hear from me, yeah?'

‘So are there any? Developments?'

‘Like I said, you'll hear from me when there are.'

‘Right. So I'm meant to shut myself off from the world, sit here waiting for you to call?'

‘We're doing everything we can, Chris. Now, I gotta go, but you make sure you call us with your new number, yeah?'

‘Okay.'

‘Okay. Take care now.'

I went straight across to Lisa's and asked if I could use her computer. I'd done this plenty of times in the past, but now she said, ‘Oh, I don't think that's a great idea, hon.'

I played the victim card, I don't mind admitting, told her I needed to email some long-distance relations whose phone numbers I didn't have and that I needed to do some online banking because I couldn't cope with going into town. Both of these things were true, I realised as I said them. I also realised I could just buy a computer of my own with some of the money I'd put away for me and Bella. But that would come later. Now, I needed to know why Brandis was so keen for me to stay away from the news.

Lisa left me alone with the computer while she made the apparently legally-required-for-grieving-relatives cup of tea. I started typing Bella's name into the search bar and before I could finish the auto-fill function suggested:

Bella Michaels murder

Bella Michaels photos

Bella Michaels raped

I clicked on the first search result, a newspaper opinion piece. Bella was a reminder, the first paragraph declared, that none of us were safe. I returned to the search results, opened a Facebook page called RIP BELLA MICHAELS. There I saw my own grinning mug, pressed against Bella's flushed, giggling one. Bella's eighteenth. Her boyfriend at the time, a shy, goofy plumber's apprentice whose name I've forgotten, was on the other side of her, whispering something into her ear. On my left was Mum, smiling in that closed-mouth way that made everybody think she was annoyed or anxious when really she was just embarrassed of her crooked front teeth, and beside her, my cousin Kim, who I hadn't seen since the night the pic was taken.

Bella Michaels my darling cousin and one of my closest friends was taken from this world by the actions of an unknown monster. This page is a tribute to this beautiful soul who is now an angel in heaven. Please ‘like' to show you care and share to help get the word out about this senseless tragedy.

This message, written by Kim, had been ‘liked' three thousand and ninety-seven times. The page itself was being followed by seven thousand and forty-five people. I scanned down:

I never met Bella but feel as though I've lost a sister. RIP angel

Bella you were too beautiful for this world.

RIP Bella your death won't be in vain it will always be a lesson to young girls out alone

YOUR KILLER WILL PAY FOR WHAT WAS DONE TO YOU. HOWEVER LONG IT TAKES WE WILL NEVER FORGET

Underneath that last one was a long comments thread:

Violence begets violence

If I get my hands on the fucking animal who did this then he will know what violence is

Ive been reading all the reports and does anyone else think its a bit sus that there were no signs of struggle near her car??? Like maybe she willingly went? I won't say who told me but someone who knows says that she had a reputation for being ‘easy' so maybe the police should consider that she wasn't abducted from the car park??? Of course what happened to her later is still a terrible crime and whoever did it should be punished but worth asking if this was a ‘crime of passion' rather than random abduction.

Fuck you and your fucking victim-blaming

Not victim-blaming, just putting it out there as its important to get facts right in such cases. Lots of females are scared of being grabbed but maybe scared for no reason as long as they don't go climbing into cars???

You are talking shit mate and anyway Bella was not easy ask anyone who actually knew her she was a VERY MORAL PERSON

‘Oh, honey,' Lisa clattered a mug down on a side table and hugged my shoulders. ‘This is what I was worried about. You can't be reading this stuff. It's ridiculous, clueless nonsense. These people are –'

‘Family,' I said. ‘One of them, anyway. Goddamn cousin who hardly even ever saw her.'

Lisa reached past me and clicked the window closed. ‘Family or not, they're idiots and what they have to say is irrelevant. Meaningless.'

I felt I should open the window back up and type some furious replies but all the air, all the fight had gone out of me. I took the tea Lisa slid into my hand and sipped. It tasted like parsley steeped in dishwater.

‘It's a special blend I made for you. Soothing. I was going to bring a tin of it over this arvo.'

I couldn't even say thanks, I just kept sipping the foul stuff so she'd know I appreciated her.

After a few minutes she said, ‘Listen, there was a reporter here yesterday. Apparently she'd tried her luck at your place and Nate told her where to go in no uncertain terms. Little miss came straight across here, as if I'd have any sympathy! I sent her packing, too, but you should know that she went on door-knocking right along the street. I watched best I could from my window but I had a big cook going and so kept losing sight of her. I think she got inside at Carrie's, maybe at Frank's place, too. I'm sure they didn't say anything you need to worry about, but just thought you should be aware, you know, aware that these people are out here, desperate for any little bit of info.'

‘What . . .' I cleared herbal moss from my throat and Lisa rubbed the top of my back. ‘What could anyone tell her anyway? Bella hasn't even lived here for years.'

‘I suspect that's all it'd be, honey. Reminiscing about what a sweetie she was. How she used to sing so loud when she was gardening out the front that you could hear her from the top of the street if you had your car window down and the radio off. How she'd offer to walk everyone's dogs and leave out little treats for all the cats because you, you mean old cow, wouldn't let her have a pet.' She hugged my shoulders again. ‘There's only nice stuff to remember about Bella. How many people can you say that about, eh?'

‘Some woman rang,' I told her. ‘Said she's planning a parade or something. For Bella. I didn't know what to say. It seems so . . . mental.'

‘People feel very bad. They don't know what to do.'

‘That must be hard for them.'

‘Oh, honey. Listen, is Nate at home – at your place, I mean?'

‘No. He's staying at Mel's. He said he'd come over late morning. What is it now?'

‘Just after ten. How's about I give him a call, hey? Tell him to get his lovely bum in gear?'

‘No,' I told her, getting up to leave. ‘Can't have him thinking I can't go a couple of hours without him.'

‘You're too independent for your own good, Chris. It's okay to lean on people during hard times.'

‘I've leant all over you just now, haven't I?'

‘Any time, honey. I mean it.'

I knew she did. I felt her eyes on me as I crossed the street and unlocked my front door. God bless sweet neighbours, hey? Though the know-better bitch went ahead and called Nate as soon as I left. He came roaring up twenty minutes later, full of concern and guilt. Fuller than usual. Overfull.

‘Lisa said you were distraught. Why didn't you call me?'

‘Lisa's a drama queen. I wasn't distraught. I was annoyed.' I told him about the phone call and the Facebook page. He nodded along like he knew it all already. Said he'd been keeping an eye on all that, that I didn't have to worry.

‘Now, tell me honestly, how are you? How did you sleep last night?'

‘Fine,' I told him, thinking of Tyler and the black hate of the wall bruise. ‘I had company, actually, so I was good.'

I've never enjoyed hurting him, yet it was one of the few things I was great at and so I was rarely able to stop myself when the opportunity arose.

After he left there were these weird convulsions in my throat. Made me want to choke myself. I wandered around the house coughing and swallowing for a while then picked up a book one of the neighbours had dropped off the day after Bella was found.
An Unnatural Loss
. It was for parents who'd lost a child. I didn't try to read it, just hugged it to me, tried to feel the warmth I'd got from this woman, Edie, when she dropped it by, held my hands, told me she knew Bella wasn't my daughter but that she thought of her that way. Every time she saw Bella coming and going she thought, There's Chris's girl. Anyway, she said, she knew I'd grieve hard, as hard as any mother who'd lost her child. I liked it that she said that, this woman, mother and grandmother herself, thinking of me – of us – that way. But I don't know if she's right. I'm not a mum, can't know what that feels like. They say it feels like nothing else, don't they? That you can't understand love until you've held your own baby in your arms. I don't know, I don't know, I can't. And anyway, Bella was more parent to me than I ever was to her. Practically speaking. But I loved her fiercely, you know? It sounds dumb to say. We loved each other fiercely. If there's a love greater than what I had for her then I'm happy I never had a baby of my own because I couldn't take it. Oh, the love I could take, who couldn't? The love is easy. But this is the flipside, isn't it? Bigger than this I couldn't take. Don't even know if I can take this, to be honest. The loss of her is already too much and then there's the other thing – the end of being loved in the way only my sister could love me. What I feel for her survives and that hurts like battery acid every minute, but worse is that what she felt for me died with her. I will never be loved like that again.

Anyway, I was standing in the living room sort of hugging the book, thinking all this, when everything went black. I dropped the book, froze, trying to figure out what had happened. Even with the lights off and the curtains closed that room gets a good bit of light on a sunny afternoon like this one. I held my hand in front of my face and couldn't see it.

Something moved behind me. The rasp of a shoe against carpet. I spun to face it, felt hot breath on my face, sprung backwards, slamming into the wall. I lashed out with both arms, but there was nothing there. I looked and looked, straining my eyes as though darkness could be overcome by effort.

I blinked and it was light again and everything just as it had been, except my pulse was going like the clappers and the back of my head hurt where I'd hit the wall. I wanted so badly to call Nate to come sit with me awhile. Instead I called Melvin and asked him if he could come and have a look at my wiring sometime soon. I could hear Nate in the background asking if I was alright and so I waited until the very last moment to leave for work, more than half expecting that Nate'd come round or at least call to check on me but he never did.

T
he good thing about a town like Strathdee was that the phone directory was slim, very few people were unlisted, and in the rare case you couldn't find the person you were after you could bet you'd only need to ask two or three not-quite-random people – a taxi driver, a supermarket manager and a retired school teacher, in this case – and you had the address plus a fairly detailed life history of the person you were looking for.

Melvin and Julie Atkins, the friends Nate Cartwright sometimes stayed with in town, lived in a neat brick three-bedroom behind the hospital. May knew from her informants that Melvin would likely be at work – he was one of only two electricians left in town and so was always busy – but that Julie, who worked nights at the TAB, would probably be home.

Julie answered the door before the bell had finished its electronic jingle. She was a solid block of a woman, a foot taller and at least twice the weight of May, with a smooth, wide face and close-cropped, bleached hair.

‘Good morning. My name is May Norman. I'm –'