“I think we’ve found our man in Winston, but we also need to locate Cruise so we know that he’s safe. Is this normal behaviour for Cruise? Disappearing? I know he’s some soap actor, high profile and all that shit, but does he disappear like this?”
“Three times,” I mumble, sitting further upright.
“Really?”
“Yep. When the world gets too much for him, Cruise goes on what Dad tells everyone is a walkabout.”
“Walkabout?”
“Cruise finds somewhere to hide out, where nobody can find him, and drinks himself fucking stupid. The last time, probably two years ago, he ended up having his stomach pumped because of alcohol poisoning. Mum and Dad tried to get him to seek professional help after that episode, but he refused.”
“Substance abuse problem?” Maloney cocks his eyebrows.
“Yeah. I guess. Cruise has a mind that’s so creative that at times, it gets the better of him and he can’t seem to find a balance between what’s real and what’s not.”
“I see. Has Cruise ever seen a shrink about shit like this?”
“Ha. Yeah, no. Not Cruise. He doesn’t believe in shrinks and their healing powers. He believes in hitting the bottle until he drowns out the noise inside his brain and he finds his equilibrium once more.”
“Good to know.” Maloney stretches his arms above his head.
“Sore? Tired?”
“Yeah.” He arches his eyebrows. “You could say that.”
“Cruise was playing this character at work. It got to him. That’s why he and Mum, Dad, and Natalie went overseas. The network issued a break in filming because Cruise was going off the rails. I remember talking to him about it on the phone. He was so down, and short tempered. You heard me talking to mum earlier.”
“Yeah. I did.”
“Cruise has always been this harmless fellow. He never gets into fights—he gets along with everyone.” I grin. “Cruise is the quintessential loveable teddy bear, with an amiable face and down-to-earth attitude, you know?”
“Yeah. But all men get into biff barges.”
“Not Cruise, unless it’s with me. He can get rough and tumble with me, but I’m his little brother so that’s been a lifetime thing.” I smirk. “I’ve always given back as good as I’ve gotten.”
“This Natalie. His wife?”
“She’s the best thing that ever happened to him. However, two of the three times Cruise has gone walkabout have been due to feuding with her and working long, much too long hours at work.”
Maloney nods as he removes the cigarette packet from his pocket, retrieving another two fags. “Another?”
“Sure.”
The flash of the flame coming from the lighter in front of my face tells me I need to make sure that this stops once Morgan’s found. Stress or not; these cigarettes kill.
“Do you think it was Morgan who put that lock of hair into the mailbox slot?” Maloney’s eyes narrow.
“I think it was a woman, but I’m not sure if it was Morgan. I think I wanted it to be really bad though.”
“Why don’t you think it’s her now?”
“Because she would have wanted to see the children. She loves her kids.”
“Do you think you could have been seeing things and nobody was there at all?”
“I’m so fucking tired, it’s possible.” I pause. “Why don’t you go home to your family? You said it yourself—you don’t even need to be here. I bet you aren’t getting paid for this.”
He laughs. “I’m getting paid. No, I’ll see this out to the end.”
“Mila would be missing you.”
“Yeah, she would be, but I have a duty, and that is to serve and protect above all else. My little girl will understand, as will my wife.” Maloney takes a draw from his cigarette, blowing small Os with the smoke on his exhale.
“Have you at least spoken to them?”
“I have. Many times.”
“Shit. I never even noticed.”
“Most times we don’t even notice the things that are right under our noses.”
And as the words leave his lips, I wonder if Morgan’s kidnapper is right where we can see him, but too close to see.
Morgan
I rotate in circles. I'm in bushland with no idea how I came to be here. I’ve bare feet, and I’m stripped down to a pair of boy-legged knickers and a singlet.
Bruises, cuts, bites, and grazes mark my entire body, and the numbers one through to five, are inked inside my inner arm, with a line crossed through “one”.
Two large gashes gape across my shins, and my feet are a filthy black.
I’m holding a mobile phone, a phone that’s not mine. I stumble forward, then rock backwards. How did I get here?
As I manoeuvre in a circle, pain rips through my brain and beats behind my eyebrows making me dip my head and brace it between my palms. Why do I hurt so bad?
Heat scorches my skin, skin I can tell has already burned. Blisters rise on the tops of my legs. I seek shade, and as I shuffle, I wobble as I would after way too many glasses of wine. Have I been drinking?
I press my back up against a smooth palm tree trunk that shelters me with its leaves. I look at the screen of the phone I have clasped in my fist as if my life depends on me doing so. It’s blank. I swipe my finger over it and the screen lights. I open the contacts. There are none to be found. I move to the gallery and see nothing apart from a document icon. I press download and stare in wait. An arrow pointing downwards travels in a repetitive pattern. I continue to wait. The screen goes white before the document opens.
Dear Morgan,
I received your letter, and I’m sorry you feel this way. I know things have been hard for me, and I wish I weren’t such a burden on all the people I care deeply for, but I am. I know you need space to live the life you’ve made for yourself with Reid, and after this letter, you won’t hear from me again.
There’s so much pain buried deep inside me ... it’s a living hell from which I can’t seem to escape. No matter how many times I tell myself it’s only a nightmare, and if I try hard enough I’ll wake up, I don’t. Morgan, I never wake up, no matter how much I beg.
There’s so much I wish I could destroy inside my mind. There’s an evil that lurks inside me, and it's one I struggle to contain. There are so many things I wish were different for me, one of those things being you. I guess you were the glue that was holding all my broken pieces together, but over time you couldn’t stick with me anymore. I understand why, I do. I’m sorry I couldn’t be all you deserved.
You mean well—I know it’s why you’ve continued to write to me for so long. At first, it was a relief after you moved away. I missed you intensely. I pined for you like a child who’d lost his very first puppy. That probably sounds psychotic, right? But from the very beginning, when I met you, I knew you were someone special. I also knew you’d always stay true to your word. You have for as long as you can, and I thank you for doing so.
I was in love with you, Morgan. It wasn’t lusting, or puppy love, like you said. It was a deep, all-consuming, heart-stopping love, but for you, it wasn’t those things. In the end, you couldn’t fall as hard for me as I had for you, and that’s always been my fault.
I tried to hide my darkness. Keep its venom secured away in an airtight jar, but it wasn’t bullet-proof, and bit by bit that jar got shot to shit, and parts of me, I didn’t want you to know existed, escaped. It tarnished what we had. Neither you nor I are responsible.
As the days keep passing, I’ve realised that time itself cannot heal my wounds because my wounds grow deeper with each ticking minute. I want to be at peace. I want to find my order, and I’ve figured out how I can.
I need to say goodbye to you, Morgan.
I need to let you go.
I’m letting you go, my rose.
Please continue to blossom like the perfect flower you are. Remember that twelve long-stemmed roses will never be enough for a beauty like you. You will always be one more, one more perfectly cut bud, better than all the other women who walk this damned earth. It’s the reason why I always gave you thirteen of them, instead of the traditional dozen.