Three Breaths (The Game of Life #3)
Belle Brooks
These books have been written using UK English and contain euphemisms and slang words that form part of the Australian spoken word, which is the basis of this book’s writing style.
Please remember that the words are not misspelled. They are slang terms and form part of everyday Australian vernacular.
Reid
The downlight above Maloney’s head creates the illusion of a halo as he stares at the television. He seems relaxed with his arms outstretched on top of the lounge, and his knees spread wide apart from each other. His sneakers start where his blue jeans cut off, and they appear almost brand new when I come to focus on them in the light—stark white, no scuff marks, no tattered laces. I don’t know why this seems off-putting to me, but it does.
It’s a gentle clearing of his throat that causes me to shoot my eyes upwards. Maloney rotates his head in my direction, from that of the television, and subtly nods before he again turns away. I can’t help wondering how Maloney managed to get the job of being my babysitter because that’s how this situation seems—like I’m a toddler under constant supervision. All day, and so far, all night, someone’s watched my every move. I didn’t abduct my wife, and I’ve never wished harm upon her, not even in my angriest moments. I want Morgan to come home more than anybody. I also want to know where my money is, and why this is happening to our family, and to my wife.
Maloney hasn’t said much over the last couple of hours. In fact, he’s the quietest he’s been since he walked into my home and took up temporary residence here. Is fatigue getting the better of him as it is me? My eyes burn, and the headache beating across my eyebrows makes me squeeze my eyes tight together every few minutes to reduce the strain. I should sleep, but I’m too scared, because what if the phone rings and I don’t wake to answer it? Will this game-playing son-of-a-bitch kill Morgan like he promised he would if I’m not at his beck and call?
“Reid, are you okay?” Maloney says softly.
“Huh?” I need to get out of my head and away from my thoughts.
“Are you okay?” he says, this time slow and drawn out.
“No,” I sigh. “Where’s Morgan? Is there any new information?
“We don’t know anything yet.” He tips his head to the side. “We’re doing everything we can.” Maloney’s go-to phrase. I’m sure I’ve heard him speak these same words numerous times today.
“It’s been over twenty-four hours. I’m worried as fuck, and tired as shit. I bet Morgan is …” I don’t finish speaking because my thoughts flash between differing scenarios.
Morgan’s skirt is hiked above her hips. Her knees spread wide. Her knickers rest by her ankles. There’s blood streaks down her inner thighs, and when I see the deep purple hand print bruised into her skin I leap to the dirty mattress littering the concrete flooring and use my body as a blanket to cover her exposure.
“No, no, no,” I hiss.
There’s a miniature train circling a track beside the Ferris wheel. Its horn blows each time it rolls by a fat plastic controller standing at its side. The amusement park is absent of children’s laughter, flickering lights and show tunes, until the Ferris Wheel begins to rotate unexpectedly. I tip my chin upwards in search of the children who are now screaming. I smother my mouth with my palms when Morgan’s body comes into view. She’s tied to the metal structure by her wrists. Dangling so high above the ground.
“Morgan.” I blink excessively, trying to halt these visions. I don’t want to see Morgan that way. I curl my head into my forearms, muttering, “Leave her alone.”
I envision a lake. It’s big, with dirty brown water and tree branches hanging over its banks, and there’s Morgan, face down, floating in the lake, all the life she had perished.
“Help.” It’s a weak deliverance of the word from my lips.
A room, no grander than the area I’m sitting in, is dark. There’s a spotlight focused onto a four-poster bed, and as I search for my wife, it’s as if the air in my lungs leaves as hers did. She’s posed, naked, with her throat slit from ear to ear, and there’s so much blood splattered high up the walls that the urge to vomit overcomes me. Morgan's blue in colouration, and cold when I come to brush her cheek with the backs of my fingers.
“Reid.” My name sounds as if it’s being spoken from a distance. I don’t answer.
A dirt road stretches for miles and I’m frantic as I rush down it. I stop when I see a beaten body laid out in the centre. I gasp. The black skirt and heels Morgan last walked out of the house in … It’s her. It’s Morgan. I dry-heave at the sight of her trodden body and the view of her skull caved inwards. Red, so much red, creates patterns through the dirt surrounding Morgan, and I jump back in horror when it reaches the tip of my shoe.
“Fuck,” I growl.
“What’s happening, Reid? Reid, can you hear me?”
I want to vomit. I’m shaking. I can’t breathe. “Make it stop.” I bolt upright to my feet with my eyes wide and my breath jagged.
“Look at me.” His hands grip tightly around my biceps. “I think you’re having a panic attack. Just look into my eyes.”
I can’t because all I see is Morgan. Dead.
Her head is hanging limply between her legs one moment, and then she’s running through uncontrollable flames the next.
A flash of her hanging from a noose slung high from a tree, so high I’d never reach her to remove it, takes over, and I can’t seem to make these flickers of film my mind is creating stop.
“Come on, mate. Stay with me.” Maloney pauses. “Lynette,” he yells.
“Morgan,” I cry out, as I brace my body by crossing my arms over my chest.
Fog is filling an alleyway. I’m hesitant, but the need to enter is overpowering. The alleyway suddenly becomes clear, as if someone parts the thick, smoky veil, and there, discarded amongst bags of trash, is my wife’s lifeless body.
I cover my mouth. “Fuck.” I drool, wiping at my lips. I hold my breath and then let out a gut-wrenching groan.
“Breathe, Reid. Come on now, just breathe.”
It’s Maloney; I can see his caring eyes searching mine.
“He’s hurting her. He’s torturing her, raping her.” I pant and then moan out my agony as I fold at my mid-section.
“You don’t know that. You don’t know these things have happened to Morgan or that they will. Come on.” Maloney’s hand presses against my shoulder as I struggle to draw air into my lungs. “In through your nose, out through your mouth,” he instructs calmly.
I do. Three drawn breaths lessens some of the panic that’s hit me like a bus collecting an unobservant pedestrian.
“I’ve got you,” he says. He grips my hands and then tugs me by my arms until my feet drag along the ground. He's moving me.
“Sit, Reid,” Maloney says.
“Okay.” It’s a barely audible response.
Maloney is crouched in front of me when I come to eye him. His chin is tilted back slightly and his mouth partly open. “You can’t go to those types of places inside your head. Trust me, if you do, there’s no coming back from them. Every scenario you play out will consume you, and then you’ll be useless to us. You need to stop this so you can be strong for your wife. Falling apart like you’re doing will do diddly squat.” There’s a long pause. “You’re stronger than this.”
I nod.
“Lynette, can you get him some water please?”
Lynette? Where did she come from? Where is she? I try to locate her, but Maloney obstructs my view.
“Of course, Max.” She’s courteous.
“Reid, you and I are going outside, aren’t we?” Max’s tone is laced with concern.
I don’t respond.
“We’re going to get some fresh air, the two of us. We’ll be outside, Detective.”