Afterlife of Alanna Miller Page 7

  I wanted to tell her not to take the pills. I wanted to ask her to rage at me while I made love to her, because if I didn't, they'd hurt her and I couldn't stand it. I'd never hurt her. Never.

  With a jerk of her hand, the pills vanished into her mouth. She tilted her head back to gulp down the bottle of water and it was too late. She glared at me as if she could read my thoughts, daring me to come closer so she could try to stab me again. Yeah, she'd tried that once. She missed, though. Pity. It might've saved her some pain if she'd killed me. And I wouldn't have had to stand there and betray her.

  I watched them take effect. Her eyelids dropped slowly, as if gaining weight until they were too heavy to hold up. I'd given her my normal dose, so it should send her right to sleep. She wouldn't remember a thing – lucky.

  Maybe I didn't have to, then. With him not watching, I could take her clothes off, put a condom on, jerk off and he'd never be the wiser. I'd just say I'd worn her out and that's why she was sleeping.

  It felt like she fought the drugs forever before she finally toppled over sideways, sprawling on the mattress like a drunk. Right. I had to get her clothes off before he came in and then manage the fastest wank in the history of mankind. Well, at least I'd have my fantasy in front of me to think about as I beat off.

  I felt around in the dark for her and found denim. She moved under my hand, but I squinted until I could see the faint outline of her body, dark against the mattress beneath her. First, the jeans.

  She screamed and fought me. It was like she hadn't taken the sleeping pills at all, she just went crazy, like she was on different drugs entirely.

  I heard him laugh outside and I got desperate, yanking on her clothes more roughly than I wanted to. If he walked in, I had to make it look like I'd done what he asked. That meant the jeans had to come off. In a whisper, I tried to explain it to her. That there was a man outside with a gun, ready to kill us both and my family, too, if I didn't do this.

  She begged me to stop and it almost broke me. The screaming and insults I could take because I deserved them, but when she begged, I was ready to give in.

  "Give me the bitch's clothes," he shouted through the door and I saw it open a crack. "I bet she wet herself in fear. Don't forget her wet undies."

  I forced myself to think of patients in my practical placements for uni. She was just another unconscious girl in the ED, drunk and passed out, who I needed to get into a hospital gown to send her to x-ray to check for fractures. I added her underwear to the small pile of clothes and handed them to him without a word.

  He said something about watching as he just stood there in the doorway. Oh God, faking it wouldn't work. I was going to have to do it. At least she'd be asleep so she wouldn't remember it. As I unzipped my pants, I prayed I wouldn't hurt her.

  "Please," she whispered. Oh God, she wasn't asleep. No. I couldn't do it. Her fear turned me into a limp noodle with all the stiffness of a wet strand of seaweed. I couldn't.

  I must have said it aloud because he threw her clothes on the ground and came striding in, unbuckling his belt. If I couldn't do it, he was going to rape her before my eyes. And it'd be my fault, because I gave her the sleeping pills that had left her helpless, before I took her clothes and the only weapon she had to defend herself.

  I crumbled and told him I'd do it, but not with him watching. He laughed and mocked me, but it didn't matter as long as he left. This time, he did, but he locked the door behind him. Leaving me alone with her. I listened for the scrape of footsteps outside, to see if he was leaving or eavesdropping on us. A rock clattered across the concrete and his swearing sounded distant. Then I heard the pound of feet retreating up the steps. If he wasn't listening, I wouldn't have to.

  But there was the matter of the used condoms...I'd wait until she was asleep before I jerked off, or I'd give her the wrong idea.

  I glanced at the mattress to see if the pills had knocked her out yet and she was gone.

  Oh God. Had he taken her? Had she found a way out and he'd caught her, locking me in here alone? Or was she still in here? She could hurt herself if she fell and she'd taken a heavy dose of sedatives. She'd be clumsy as a drunk in the dark and with the rubble on the floor...

  I swept the room with my torch, trying to find her. And when I did, I froze. She had one arm across her breasts, but the other was curled into a fist and the curves silhouetted behind them...oh God. Ten. A perfect fucking ten. If she didn't put some clothes on, I was going to beg and we'd both die.

  I struggled out of my jumper, unable to get the image of her perfect naked body out of my head, and that's when she tackled me. The torch smashed somewhere and my fingers brushed against beautiful skin before she darted away into the darkness.

  I heard her body slam against the door repeatedly – the only timber in the room – until it sank in that we were locked in here together and there was no escape.

  That's the real fucked-up part of it. I was ordered into that room and locked in with her so that I'd rape her, but I couldn't do it, yet I wanted to. I know I wanted to and I couldn't bring myself to touch her because she hated me. My nightmares go further. I always end up giving in and she screams and fights me until I realise I've killed her, but I'm sure I didn't. I'm sure I didn't hurt her.

  I should never have given in to temptation later. Now I know what it's like to feel her body, naked against mine, writhing in the bits of bliss I managed to bring her, my traitorous mind twists the memory into my dreams. I think. Did I do it and deliberately try to forget hurting her? I couldn't hurt her. I couldn't.

  But the nightmares are so real...

  And then I take more pills to make them go away, but they always come back. I swear it can't get worse, but it's not getting better, either.

  Angrily, I shut down the laptop. He'd never hurt me. He hadn't wanted to and he hadn't done it. And if he'd forgotten, then I needed to remind him. But first...I needed to get to bed before I fell asleep at the desk. Bloody night shifts.

  TWENTY

  Jo looked far too cheerful for this hour of the morning. In fact, everyone looked far too cheerful. When you've worked in the Emergency Department for five night shifts in a row, 10 am is officially an ungodly hour. I needed a whole pot of coffee and another one, too, or I was going to face-plant on the table and snore into next week.

  "How's work at the hospital? Getting used to people calling you doctor yet?"

  I tried to focus my bleary gaze on her face, but gave up. Insufficient caffeine, sleep and...something else. Mental acuity, maybe.

  "I hate ED and I don't ever want to work in one again. I think I want to specialise as a doctor who deals with sleeping disorders. Or an anaesthetist." I drank deeply and clunked the cup back to the table. A mug, not a tiny teacup.

  "That bad, huh?"

  I nodded. "You don’t know the half of it. It's the last week of the school holidays."

  "Lots of kids getting sick and breaking bones? I'm not sure I could handle dealing with a child who's hurt and doesn't understand. And their panicking parents..." Jo's eyes widened in horror. "Give me numbers any day. They don't cry."

  "Oh, I deal with numbers, too. Two hundred kilometres per hour – that's how fast the souped-up V8 was going when the seventeen-year-old drunken idiot driving slammed it into a traffic light, slicing his car in two. Three of his passengers were wearing seatbelts – he and one of them weren't. Only two of the passengers survived. Or a hundred and eighty – the speed a motorcyclist was doing when he came off his bike on the freeway before three cars hit him. He's in ICU and we're not sure if he'll wake up. Or two hundred and twelve stitches – that's a total, on five different people who decided to have a brawl with broken bottles in Fremantle last night. Every single one of them was underage. Or six – the number of vomit bags a fifteen-year-old girl used before I had to pump her stomach for alcohol poisoning." I sighed. "And zero, the number of hours of sleep I've had in the last twenty-four hours."

  Jo patted my hand sympathetically. "It sounds awful. I shouldn't have asked to meet you for coffee, but I was dying to see you, so I didn't think. I should let you get home so you can sleep."

  I shook my head. "I'm not sleeping well at home, either. I think I have a stalker. He only comes out at night, though."

  She bit her lip, as if she was trying to keep the words inside her mouth.

  "Just spit it out, Jo," I said tiredly.

  Jo cast her eyes down. "Well, you are back in Perth and this is where he lives, isn't it?" My blank look seemed to be enough to persuade her to explain. "The sleazy stalker who wouldn't leave you alone when you were in hospital. Nathan. Nathan something. Nathan Miller."

  "He wasn't a stalker. He was there to protect me," I insisted.

  She lifted her gaze, but she still didn't seem to want to meet my eyes. "I know you liked him well enough, but I thought he was creepy. I didn't feel comfortable around him. Perhaps he's stalking you again here." She held her hand up to silence my protest. "Not necessarily in a bad way. Maybe in a good way. Maybe he's keeping an eye out for you." She didn't look like she believed her own story.

  Again, I shook my head. "Nathan wouldn't skulk around. He'd show himself and tell me he's trying to protect me, because he knows how I'd react if I felt I was in danger. He wouldn't want to scare me by staying in the shadows and not showing his face."

  She sighed. "You haven't seen him in five years. He might have changed a lot in that time. I mean, we have. I'm now considered an enchantress with all things number-related; you're Fiona Stanley Hospital's newest miracle-working angel, sorry, doctor. Maybe he's become the creepy sleazebag he was always meant to be. Have you seen him yet?"

  "What? The stalker? No, I said he hadn't showed his face. I don't know what he looks like. Just that I get the feeling I'm being watched a lot. Especially at night."

  Concern filled her eyes. "No, though I think you should call Trevor and tell him about the stalker. I meant Mr Sleazy. Have you seen him yet?"

  No, but after his sister called me a whore, I've been dragging my feet instead of calling him or going to his house. I pressed my lips together and shook my head.

  "Are you going to?"

  After reading the emails he'd been sending to his dead sister, how could I not? If only to clear up his cloudy memories and tell him he'd never hurt me. Definitely never raped me, nor had he wanted to.

  "Please don't." Jo's words took me by surprise and she seemed to realise this, so she continued, "You're so much better now. Not a shadow of yourself like you were five years ago. You have enough on your plate with moving back and your new job at the hospital. You don't need him messing your life up again."

  I opened my mouth to tell her it wasn't his fault my life had been messed up by meeting him, but I snapped it shut again. I couldn't say a word without incriminating Nathan and myself.

  She sighed. "I can see you're exhausted. Look, we should catch up again when you're not falling asleep on your feet. Are you still okay to pick up Jason from the airport tomorrow?"

  I nodded.

  Jo grinned. "Thank you so much. Then I can go shopping for something new to wear to the concert. Living in Melbourne, you'd think I'd have thought of it then, but no, I had to forget until I arrived in Perth. Come join me if you can. It wouldn't hurt for you to wear something new, too."

  I smiled noncommittally as we rose, hugged and I plodded home.

  No matter what Jo said, I would go and see Nathan eventually. He needed to talk about his nightmares to someone and I was the only person who knew what had really happened in the dark. On my next day off, I resolved, falling face-first onto my bed. I had no intention of getting up again until I had to go back to work.

  TWENTY-ONE

  I grabbed my bag and trotted down the ward. I'd allowed plenty of time, but I hadn't counted on my shift going overtime by more than two hours. ED had been hectic, but the general surgery ward had its own drawbacks – not to mention a spate of winter colds and flu that had kept them short-staffed all week. Now I had to make it to the car and fight peak hour traffic to get to the airport on time. I quickened my pace.

  "Ooh, hang on!"

  The voice was a moment too late – I slipped on the wet floor and nearly face-planted on the carpet at the end. The voice's owner thrust a sizeable hand in front of my face.

  "Let me help you up, doctor."

  Forcing myself not to shudder at the prospect of being touched by a stranger, albeit a very helpful one that I worked with, I managed to rise without his assistance. I summoned a smile instead. "Thank you –" I glanced at his name badge "– Peter."

  He grinned. "Can't have you hurting yourself on your way to save someone's life."

  I tried not to laugh. "I'm on my way out. My shift's over. Time for me to leave the lifesaving to someone else for a few hours."

  "My shift ends in ten minutes. Want to get coffee?" he asked eagerly.

  I forced myself to keep a smile on my face, despite the desire to run, screaming. He was a good-looking bloke and he didn't need my issues to shadow his ego. "No, thank you. I'm picking up my friend from the airport. He's flying in for a concert next week and he'll be waiting for me."

  "Oh, you mean Chaya?" Peter seemed to grow even more eager than I'd believed possible. "The only time they play Perth and it's their farewell tour. Where's he flying in from? I heard the Sydney concert at the Opera House was awesome. Why'd he bother coming here?"

  I smothered my laughter by clearing my throat. "It'd be pretty hard for there to be a concert without him. He's in the band."

  "Ohhh." He nodded. "You mean you'll get to go backstage and everything? Why doesn't he just get a limo to pick him up from the airport? With the money Chaya make, surely he can afford it."

  He would, if I dallied any longer, and I needed to speak to him before he lost himself in the fangirls of Perth. "He's...my partner. And I've missed him," I admitted. It had to be the first time in my life I'd missed Jason, but it was the truth.

  "Oh." His face fell. "I guess you can't have that coffee, then."

  I nodded. "Enjoy your evening, though!" I set off again, waiting for barely a split second before I decided it'd be faster to take the stairs than wait for the lift. I pounded down the steps, wishing I could agree to something as simple as coffee with someone. Anyone. But I still couldn't stand anyone touching me. Sure, I touched my patients, but that was different. I was as cold and unattainable as the clouds scudding across the sky this morning. Besides, what sort of doctor would I be if I fell in love or even lust with one of my patients?

  I squeezed between the red Mini and one of the Porsches in the doctors' car park to get to my less flashy car. I probably had the money for a Porsche, but, like the owner of the Mini, I preferred to invest it elsewhere instead. Plus, a flashy car would make me stand out and I'd spent years perfecting the art of blending in.

  Pulling out of the parking lot, I nodded to the security guard and sped on my way. I floored the accelerator down the highway to the airport, hoping Jason's flight had been delayed or that my run would be smooth. I was ten minutes from the airport when I saw the orange flashing lights – road works along the highway, with the snail-crawl speed limits that were put in place to protect the road crew. The road crew looked like they'd knocked off for the day, but they hadn't changed the signs to let us go faster. Gritting my teeth and gripping the steering wheel, I crept along in my car, wondering if I'd get to the airport faster if I walked.

  When I stormed into the terminal, I was fifteen minutes late and fuming. Keeping my fingers crossed, I checked the arrivals board, only to find that Jason's flight had been twenty minutes early. He was probably halfway to a hotel by now, thinking up ways to make me feel guilty for forgetting him. As if my job and my patients didn't matter.

  I pulled out my phone and called him, scanning the seats at the terminal in the faint hope that he'd have waited for me. Fat chance.

  Behind me, the first few bars of Chaya's Necessary Evil sounded as a mobile ringtone. I whirled and Jason winked. I ended the call before it had started and shoved my phone into my pocket.

  His happy smile wasn't directed at me, but at the air hostess sitting across from him, sipping her coffee through a perfect, red-lipsticked mouth. He said something to her and she erupted in a fountain of giggles. I wondered if she'd given him her phone number yet – or if he'd decided to enrol her in the mile high club during the flight from Melbourne. Neither would have surprised me.

  "Brooke, this is Angel," Jason drawled loudly. "Brooke's the air hostess who gave me the most amazing service on the flight. Absolutely first class."

  A blowjob so good he wanted another one, I translated in my head.

  Brooke blushed, giggled and did her best to look like an appealing manga character. I gave her a bland smile in response.

  "She volunteered to help crew a flight to Kalgoorlie when one of their flight crew got stuck in a car accident in the roadworks on the highway, so I offered to buy her a coffee while she was on her break between flights," Jason continued. "You should really come to the concert, Brooke. I know someone backstage who'd love to see you again." His eyes dropped to his pants.

  "I think you should offer to take her to dinner properly before the concert," I said brightly. "But my bathroom's off limits, Jason." After catching him in my shower, squeezed between no less than three naked girls in Sydney, I'd offered to castrate him if I caught him in my room again.

  He laughed off my implied threat and rose with Brooke. He murmured something that included the word 'pleasure' and kissed her hand for several seconds before releasing it. She giggled again and made the signal for him to call her before she strode off to the departure gates like a catwalk model.

  "C'mon, I'm not carrying your luggage and parking here is more expensive than health care," I grumbled, wishing Jason would tear his eyes away from the girl's perky bum. She had legs like jet streams, so the skirt that would have looked modest on me almost revealed her underwear with every step.