The Recipient (13 page)

Lionel chewed the inside of his lip, trying to think of what to say next.

“She's so
bloody stubborn
,” Peter said finally, his voice trembling with anguish.

“What makes you think I'm going to be of any help?”

Peter managed a bitter half-smile.

“I don't,” he said, turning to look at Lionel sympathetically. “Sorry…”

Lionel frowned.

“You were Edie's suggestion,” Peter added simply.

At this, Lionel's eyes went wide and he took an audible intake of breath. “
Edie
. Good Lord.”

CHAPTER 13.

D
o I knock?

His leathery hand, balled loosely into a fist, hovered near the white door. Lionel cocked his ear, hoping to hear something from behind it. He shook his head.

Silence. Too silent.

Looking back over his shoulder and glancing down the corridor, Lionel realised he was alone. Of course, that was how he'd wanted it to be, but now he wasn't so sure. This wasn't, after all, just anyone he'd come to see.

What am I going to find?

Lionel pushed through his doubt and rapped on the door three times, then lowered his hand to the handle. He opened it and quietly stepped into the room. Its starkness assaulted him. The walls were painted a crisp white. Though a high window allowed light and the colour of the grounds beyond into the room, a cold and clinical feeling enveloped him—and it wasn't pleasant. There was a single bed. Actually, it wasn't even a bed. Rather, it was a large, vinyl-encased piece of foam with a pillow, sheets and a quilt.

No metal or fittings that could be used as a weapon to harm—or to inflict self-harm
, Lionel thought.

A single large mirror was embedded in one wall, and underneath stood a small wash basin. There was another door opposite.

The room was sparse, unsympathetic.

Casey was neither on nor in her bed, nor on the single plastic chair provided. In fact, Lionel almost made the mistake of thinking there was no one in the room at all. As his eyes wandered however, they fell across the pathetic form huddled up in the corner on the other side of the bed.

He gulped upon seeing her—stifling a gasp.

Despite Peter and Edie's warning, he was nonetheless shocked by his granddaughter's appearance.

Her hair was matted and flat to her head. Her skin was pasty. Her eyes were sunken and ringed with dark circles. Her cheekbones were disturbingly prominent. The singlet and shorts she wore were crumpled and stained with what Lionel guessed was fresh vomit.

He couldn't be sure that Casey even registered his presence. Only the twitching of her eyelids betrayed her otherwise catatonic state. Her eyes did not turn in his direction. Rather, they darted in every direction but his. As Lionel quietly closed the door Casey flinched, causing locks of her stringy fringe to fall down over her face and she drew her knees closer to her body.

Lionel shifted, somewhat awkwardly, unsure of whether to remain standing or whether to take up the chair next to him. He continued to study his granddaughter, contemplating whether to speak first or sit.

Did she even realise it was him?

Taking the folded newspaper out from under his arm, Lionel lowered his hand to the chair and drew it towards him.

“You might w-wanna wipe that down,” Casey slurred suddenly from underneath her curtain of fringe. Her voice was gravelly, clearly affected. “I think I peed on it earlier.”

Raising an eyebrow, Lionel regarded the chair then leaned in close to it. There didn't appear to be any offensive detritus evident but, just in case, he saw a hand towel hanging over a tap behind him and he reached for it. Quickly wiping the seat down, he tossed the hand towel into the basin then positioned the chair and sat without giving Casey's warning another thought.

He crossed his legs casually, then he leaned back. He continued to study her but he said nothing. In truth, he wasn't entirely sure of where to begin. Instead, he unfurled the newspaper he held and took out a pair of glasses. He began to read.

For her part, Casey struggled to maintain a discreet eye on her grandfather through her sedative-induced haze.

What is he doing here? More to the point, why is he reading the newspaper?

Casey tried to clear her head, unsure whether she was hallucinating.

Part of her couldn't believe he was here and it took all of her resolve to prevent her from springing to her feet and rushing to him: her beloved Pa. The other part of her seethed with anger at what she suspected was a ploy, hatched by Kirkwood and her parents—a push to get her to talk.

With a blunted expression of incredulity, Casey looked out from under her hair at Lionel as he casually read the newspaper. Though her vision was blurry, she recognised the masthead of the
Hambledown Reader
.

“W-what are you doing?” she slurred in annoyance.

Without looking up, Lionel licked the end of his finger and turned the page. “Catching up. I didn't have the chance to read this on the flight.”

Casey blinked.

“Weather's beautiful in Hambledown right now,” he continued as composed as he could. “Can't believe I left it for the rubbish that's coming down outside. Mind you, it does seem rather poetic given the circumstances.”

Casey turned her head. “It's a-always beautiful in Hambledown,” she said softly.

“The meadow above the beach is looking more lush than it has in years, you know. The Braithwaites have cattle grazing on it right now in fact. It's turned into quite the little earner for Sonya and Andrew. Sonya sends her love by the way.”

Casey squeezed her eyes shut, still not convinced that this was real, that Lionel was here.

“They've not long gotten back from America. Catching up with Andrew's family, touring about, that sort of thing. It's wonderful to see actual—”

“What are you doing here?” Casey snapped abruptly.

Lionel looked over the edge of the newspaper. She'd brushed her hair aside and was now staring at him with piercing eyes. A smile tugged at the corners of Lionel's mouth.

Lowering the newspaper, he sat forward. “I'm told you're in rather a predicament.”

“How did, how could you have kno…”

Her voice trailed off; a flash of understanding managed to register through her fog and a bitter smile appeared.

“Dad asked you to come here, didn't he?”

Lionel turned the page of the newspaper without looking up and went on reading. “No. Your mother did actually. She thought I might be able to help.”

Casey shrugged petulantly and leaned her head against the wall.

“Your parents are sick with worry. What is this business about not eating or talking to anyone?”

Casey didn't answer.

“Surely you can't think that is healthy,” Lionel observed, frowning.

“I don't know,” Casey said dismissively, holding her shoulders up as she fought a wave of dizziness. “I wouldn't want anyone misinterpreting me. There s-seems to be a lot of that going on lately. Especially from Edie.”

Lionel didn't react to her invective.

“Why do you believe that everyone is conspiring against you?” Lionel ventured.

“You've seen the reports, yes?” Casey countered. “Young woman tries to throw herself out of her window at two in the morning. People tend not to trust the words of someone who's tried to off herself.”

Casey's lip began to shake. Her eyes glazed and she looked away from her grandfather.

“Were you? Trying to off yourself?”

Casey shook her head defiantly. A single tear trickled down her cheek.

“No,” she whispered.

“Well,” Lionel said cautiously. “Why don't you tell them that? Talk to them and tell them.”

Casey wiped her face angrily. “They don't w-want to listen. They d-don't want me to leave here. Kirkwood. Dad. E-Edie, especially,” Casey spat. “Now that I've gone postal, everything can be as they've always wanted it to be.”

Again, Lionel frowned. “Do you really believe that?”

“They're all happy because they think I'll be forced to reveal myself to Kirkwood and her
mind-fucking.”

“What's there to reveal?” Lionel asked.

Suddenly, Casey lurched to her feet and staggered as she fought to maintain her balance. Her defiance had returned. Lionel remained seated, unflinching as Casey paced back and forth.

“Dad's happy because he won't have to put up with Edie's bloody nagging.” She waved her arms angrily, ignoring his question. “He won't have to check in on me to make sure that I'm
behaving
myself.”

“What is there to reveal?” Lionel repeated, adding a harder edge to the question this time.

Casey shut her eyes. “Edie's happy because she can finally have me exactly where she wants me—wrapped up in cotton wool—just like she's always fucking wanted!”

“Oh, don't be so
bloody
ridiculous!” Lionel shot back with considerable rancour. Casey shuddered where she stood.

Lionel sat straight in his seat, his eyes boring into Casey with a potent fire.

“No one wants you to stay here, least of all your mother,” he hissed. “They do actually want you to be well but unless you drop this ridiculous charade, you're going to find yourself locked up in here for the foreseeable future. And who knows how long that could be?”

Crossing his arms, he let his words hang in the air between them. His gaze remained unrepentant.

“What are you afraid of, Casey?” he probed. “It's obviously significant enough to have caused you to change so dramatically. I don't even recognise you.” Lionel stood, placing his hands in his pockets. “Do you think I or your grandmother haven't noticed? Sure we may not be around as often as we used to be but we've seen it. You look different. You never seem happy. You haven't ventured north to see us in what, two years? Hambledown was your favourite place to come to spend your holidays, even during your university years.”

“People do change, Pa.”

“Do they change so much that they want to end it all without there being some underlying reason? I don't believe they do. So what is it? What are you hiding?”

Casey's features tensed. Her eyes grew wide and her jaw quivered. “I wasn't
trying
to hurt my—”

“No? Then what?” Lionel interrupted her. He leaned against the far wall, hands still in his pockets, studying her. “What's going on with you?”

Casey looked away from him and rubbed her forehead, agitated.

Of all the people to press me, why did it have to be my Pa?

“Tell me what it is,” he said forcefully. “Everyone has been treating you with kid gloves for far too long but it's time to stop. You have to start facing up to this, Casey.”

Outside the room, Kirkwood and Peter stood before the one-way viewing window, watching Lionel and Casey. Kirkwood was biting the inside of her lip. She was clearly tense. She turned to look at Peter who, by contrast, was surprisingly calm.

“We're taking an awful risk,” she remarked with concern. “I don't know if it's wise for someone untrained to push her so hard.”

Peter breathed in slowly. “Lionel's had thirty years in the Victoria Police,” he said softly, looking at her. “He used to this sort of stuff. He's an old-school copper.”

Kirkwood shook her head slowly.

Casey backed herself further into the corner and wrapped her arms around her legs tightly.

“Don't, Pa,” she whispered through gritted teeth.

“Don't what?” Lionel retorted. “I'm not the one playing games. Tell me what you're afraid of. What's with those awful wounds on your chest? Is it your heart? Is there something wrong with it? They say you haven't slept properly in months. Why is that? Is there something you fear about sleeping?”

She felt a pounding in her head as Lionel's questions peppered her. Her anxiety grew, seeping into her lungs, suffocating her. Her eyes darted fearfully from her grandfather to the floor.

Sensing an opening, Lionel stepped forward.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

In her mind, flashes of imagery pierced through a dark veil and she gasped. Glancing around the room, Casey could not determine whether she was awake or caught in the nightmare once more. She threw her hands up in front of her face but she was unable to stop the images hurtling towards her.

The road. The car. The lone sign in the darkness.

“Tell me!”

Casey lifted her hands to her head, grasping her scalp hard. She hissed angrily as the images came faster.

The shrouded figure coming towards her. She was running as though caught in a thick soup, her face a mask of terror
.

“TELL ME!”

In her mind, Casey saw herself standing before a towering wall. Large fissures had opened up in the structure. Mortar crumbled and turned to dust, allowing the nightmare's images to slip free like nebulous apparitions. Her scream was silent as she flung herself against the structure, pushing with all her might to stop her fortress from collapsing, even as large columns of stone all around her cracked and crumbled. The wall shook and sagged. She cried out, but her screams were swallowed by the chaos. Tears of blood streamed from her eyes and fell at her feet.

“No, no, no, NO!” Casey screamed in the confines of her hospital room as she balled her hands into fists and pounded ferociously at her temples. She hissed through her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut against the torrent.

But it was no use.

Lionel's shoulders dropped at the same moment as his features. He looked upon his granddaughter in horror and shame as she continued to beat on herself, rocking back and forth and slapping her feet against the floor.

Shatterpoint
, he thought ruefully.

Lionel was canny enough to know when a subject had been pushed too far. There was nothing left he could do. He could only extricate himself from the room as quietly as possible without causing further trauma.

Slowly, his hand enfolded a piece of paper in his trouser pocket and he drew it out, looking down upon the picture card of Jeanne Hebuterne. He hesitated momentarily, then stepped forward and set it down on the edge of her bed. He turned and went towards the door.

“Don't leave!”

Lionel stopped at the sound of Casey's voice through wracking sobs and slowly, he turned back to face her. Casey's hand was on the picture card before her.