Miracle Man (15 page)

Lahra marvelled at how much
energy she had expended trying not to think about Marcus, all in vain. "I
can try, if I can find him."

"Didn't you say he's a
neighbour of yours?"

"Well, yes, but it's
not quite that easy." Lahra looked out the watery window to Marcus’s
house. There was no simple way she could know if he was home. She had no idea
of his phone number. The river carved its way through the valley like a moat.
"I'll do my best."

She took Sally's number and
urged her to call if she found out anything else.

A moment later she was
dialling the offices of Stone Rowbottom & Partners, and the receptionist
was only too happy to supply his mobile number. She dialled the number, but his
phone was out of range. She banged down the receiver and looked back out the
window through the driving rain.

If there was anything
underhanded going on, all the charm in the world wouldn't stop Lahra from
bringing him down.

So she watched and waited.
Waited for the first sign of life in the old Taylor house. There was no more
avoiding Marcus Dean. No more hopeless romantic notions. The next time they
met, sparks were going to fly.

*

By four it was dark, but not
so dark as the emotions that brooded in Lahra Brook's chest. Time had passed as
if it barely existed. Two movies had played and she'd hardly taken notice. If
she wasn't pacing to the verandah to check for movement across the river, she
was dialling Marcus’s number to no avail. She'd stoked the fireplace so high
that the flames nearly leapt out into the room.

And then she saw it. A light
in the downstairs window. Marcus had finally arrived home.

She ran upstairs and
gathered her coat, didn't stop to turn the television off, and picked up her
keys and ran outside. She was momentarily pelted with rain as she ran around to
the carport, but was quickly in the Jeep and on her way.

The road wound down the hill
in front of her, slick and black, almost a river in itself. As quickly as she
wanted to get to Marcus’s, conditions were so bad that she had to hold back.

Soon she came to flatter
ground, and in the beam of her headlights and the semi-light that the clouds
allowed through, it quickly became obvious that something was amiss. Every
twenty metres or so the road dipped out of sight beneath swirling water.
Rivulets had formed on either side of the road, in some places resembling
creeks in their own right. The Jeep advanced at an ever-decreasing rate as the
ratio of road to water became less favourable by the minute. When Lahra finally
reached Valley Bridge, she came to a complete stop.

In the darkness she could
make out the river as it surged beneath the bridge. But how much longer the
water level would stay beneath it was anyone's guess. Already the torrent was
splashing occasionally against the side of the overpass, and it licked the edge
of its banks with threatening force. Lahra watched the power of the flow in
amazement, before slowly bringing her foot off the clutch and moving forward.

Her heart thumped solidly in
her chest as she crossed the narrow span. At the other side the road
disappeared into oversized, rain-drenched puddles, and she manoeuvred the car
carefully along what she hoped was the bitumen. The gradient rose just enough
to reveal white lines as she approached Mountain Bridge, and she increased her
speed a little. As she crossed the bridge she looked away to where the gorged
Doyle River headed towards Riverbank. A feeling of dread gripped her.

The horrible sensation
followed her all the way back up into the foothills, and stayed with her as she
pulled into Marcus’s drive. Something was dreadfully wrong, she could feel it.
Even now as she jumped out of the four wheel drive and ran through the downpour
to the cover of the house's front porch, an invisible hand seemed to be tugging
her back in the other direction, back towards town. If it weren't for the sheer
force of the anger driving her forward, she could so easily have been swept
back.

Shaking the wetness from her
hair, Lahra pressed the doorbell.

"Yes, who is it?"
came the voice over the intercom.

"Lahra," she said
assertively.

A few seconds later the door
swung open, revealing a very dour looking Marcus. He wore a white business
shirt open at the neck and suit pants, as if he still hadn't relaxed fully from
his day's work. A warm light from behind surrounded him in a soft glow, and
sunk his eyes into shadows.

"Would you like to come
in?"

"Anything's better than
standing in the rain," Lahra remarked, and despite the voice inside her
that told her to go back, she stepped inside.

"Let me just finish
this call," Marcus said, heading towards a room down the hall. "Make
yourself at home, I won't be a moment."

Lahra had absolutely no
intention of making herself at home. She would stand right here in the entrance
hall and wait.

His indistinct voice came to
her ears as he began talking on the phone, but she was more aware of the
crackling of an open fire. She looked through a doorway to her left into what
appeared to be a living area. She leaned and craned her neck, and could see a
large, semi-circular fireplace against the far wall. Its invitation of warmth
was enticing, but she didn't accept. She would wait right here.

But then something else
caught her eye. On the wall beside the fire were two picture frames, one above
the other. In the dimness she could make out photographs of people in them, but
from here they were fuzzy and incomplete. Perhaps if she moved just a little
closer...

Lahra entered the room as if
she were expecting an alarm to sound. The furnishing and decoration were
minimal, but so well co-ordinated that the room exuded an irresistible comfort.
The polished floor was warmed by thick rugs the colour of rust. A large modern
painting dominated the wall behind her. But it was the photographs, on display
like a couple of windows into the private world of Marcus Dean, that drew her
further in. The warmth of the fire penetrated the chill on her face and hands
as she moved in close.

The picture on top was of
four young men in swimming costumes, arms around one another, each holding up a
shining gold medal to the camera. Even brighter than the medals were the smiles
on the young men's faces. They were the smiles of people who obviously felt
they could take on the world. And the brightest of the smiles belonged to the
second young man from the left. It was Marcus, broad shouldered and lean,
brimming with confidence even back then.

The second picture was a
family portrait. The Dean family. Marcus’s father stood in the centre of the
photograph, his wife to his right, Marcus to his left. Sitting in front were
whom Lahra presumed to be Marcus’s younger brother and sister. Lahra's brow
furrowed involuntarily as she looked from one face to the next. The most
striking thing about the picture was its sterility. Every family member was
completely impassive, looking into the camera as if any display of emotion
would result in some sort of punishment. Lahra looked into the eyes of the
patriarch, but she saw none of the seductive qualities that his eldest son
displayed. There was only an emotionless determination that made her skin run
cold despite the fire.

She looked at Marcus in the
family portrait, stolid and sullen, then she looked at Marcus with his swimming
mates. They made her feel like she had felt almost every time she had come into
contact with him. Like there were two different people at work in the same
skin. The carefree, charming person who had found his way to places inside her
that even she didn't know existed. And the cold, uncompromising person who had
the unfailing ability to strike where it hurt most.

"State distance
swimming champions of 1978," Marcus said from behind Lahra, making her
jump. She turned to see him entering the room, his gaze travelling past her to
the photograph. "Me in the middle of chasing a dream." He stopped next
to her, the soft light of the flames rimming his profile. His eyes dropped to
the other photograph. "And that's me just after the dream had been taken
away."

Lahra wanted to say
something, to do what it was she had come here to do, but Marcus didn't seem to
be fully in the room with her. His mind had transported beyond the glass frames
on the wall to times and places long past.

Eventually he turned to her,
his eyes almost luminous in the shifting shadows of the firelight. Who was he
now, Lahra wondered. Which photograph would she deal with tonight?

"Sorry. Just talking to
the boss. So how is it that you're paying me a visit? After your charming
goodbye on the phone yesterday it's quite a surprise."

"I imagine you had
quite a bit to discuss with your boss today," Lahra said firmly. A little
more so than she had meant to be.

Marcus tilted his head a
little, bemused. "Yes, I did as a matter of fact."

"All about your little
tête-à-tête with Bob Moses, no doubt."

Marcus’s face went from
bemused to surprised. "How did you…?"

"From what I hear the
two of you were cavorting around Bircham like long lost comrades. I imagine it
would have been pretty easy for somebody to see the two of you and put two and
two together."

"And just what was the
result of this mathematical deduction?"

"As much as I think
you're a self-serving schemer, Marcus, even I didn't think you'd stoop so low
as to do secret deals with politicians to get your way." The anger that
had been simmering in Lahra had suddenly erupted into a fireball.

"What are you talking
about?"

"Oh, Marcus, don't
embarrass yourself any further by playing stupid. You were seen chauffeuring
the one man who can help me get a speedy intervention all over town. What did you
offer him to ignore us? Are you going to renovate his house? Or maybe knock
down an old one and build from scratch? Or was it a straight up cash
deal?"

"Lahra, listen to
yourself. Do you know what you're saying?"

"Yes I know what I'm
saying!" Lahra retorted at the top of her voice, the fireball inside her
consuming everything in its path. "I should have known. I should have
known there was more to it when you were so content to just stand there at the
Town Hall. No wonder you didn't want to say anything. Why argue your case when
you've got friends in high places to make sure you get your way? How stupid was
I to think that we could win this in a fair fight?"

Marcus made an attempt to
take hold of her. "Lahra you don't know what you're talking about, calm
down."

"Don't touch me!"
Lahra screamed, brushing his reaching hands aside and moving away across the
room. "And no, I won't calm down! You seem to think you can control
anybody you please, but you can't. Didn't your father's attitude teach you anything?
Didn't you learn from the dreams you gave away? You can't get away with this. I
won't let you. I just can't believe that..." The fireball had burned all
there was to burn. She suddenly felt hollow, and an overwhelming sadness
enveloped her as if the only thing that could cool the burnt remains of her
anger were tears. "I can't believe that you could do this to me. That I
let myself..." Her voice trailed off into a silence on the edge of losing
control.

Marcus moved towards her but
she retreated. She stumbled back out into the entrance hall and headed for the
door. She swung it wide and ran into the darkness outside. The cold and the
rain hit her like an elemental wall, but she didn't even notice. Her sole urge
was to get away from this place as quickly as she could. And away from Marcus
forever.

Her foot caught something
and she fell to her knee, hitting it on something hard. Her glasses fell into a
thick patch of grass. The thudding emotions inside her compelled her back to
her feet and towards her car, oblivious to the pain in her leg and her suddenly
impaired vision. She reached for the door and threw it open, fumbling for the
keys in her coat pocket.

And then a pair of hands,
strong and uncompromising, grabbed her by the arms and stopped her in her tracks.
They swung her around, the dizzying motion scattering her feelings enough to
allow a new one, fear, to rise. The drenching rain fell into her open mouth as
her vision barely cleared enough to see Kurt Carol's face before her. She tried
to pull away, but couldn't, his grip was too powerful, and then her vision swam
again and the face in front of her changed. It wasn't Kurt at all. It was
Marcus, the rain pelting across his anguished expression.

"Lahra, listen to
me," he yelled over the weather. "You've got it all wrong! There are
no secret deals with Moses."

"I don't believe
you!" Lahra cried, and her fist struck out, contacting his solid chest.
"I don't believe anything you say!" She kept hitting him, over and
over, and all he did was stand there and take it. Each blow was weaker than the
last, until eventually she could hit no more. Her energy had left her.
Exhausted, she fell forward against his rain-soaked shirt, her cheek pressing
against the taught muscle beneath.

From deep inside his chest,
the quick beating of his heart came to her ear. Its rhythm had an immediate and
strangely soothing effect. She felt his grip on her loosen, and his arms slid
around her, holding her close. Now his hand was running gently over her head,
cradling her tenderly, assuringly. The rainstorm surged around them stronger
than ever, but in his arms, the storm inside her had begun to pass.

She tilted her head back and
looked up at his dark, rain-streaked face, and she silently wished that he
would hold her here like this and never let go. His hands moved up to her face,
cupping her cheeks gently in his palms, and he leaned forward to kiss her.

All ties with the real world
were severed the moment his lips pressed against hers. The emptiness inside her
was suddenly filled. The energy that had left her was suddenly returned. And
the fear, the doubt, the aching disarray of emotions that had troubled her for
days, all suddenly went away. His kiss, flavoured by the pure, clean rain,
became the only reality she knew.

His lips performed soft,
slow caresses on each of hers, leaving no millimetre unattended. Her arms
slipped out from between them and reached around him, her hands pressing into
the shirt that clung wetly to his back. Their kiss became more urgent, and she
greeted his softly exploring tongue with hers as her breasts, her hips, her
thighs, everything, eliminated every bit of space between them.

There was no future. There
was no past. There was only this moment, and Lahra lived it to the full. Every
movement of her lips, every flicker of her tongue, every stroke of her hands
was saying the same thing, over and over again. I love you, Marcus! I love you!
I love you!

Was it her imagination, or
could she hear ringing? The intensity of their kiss diminished a little as her
attention suddenly found itself being distracted away from her newfound world.
She didn't want to go. She didn't want to leave this place, this moment, that
they shared. But the ringing persisted. It would not let her be. Slowly and
surely, her ability to remain in this selfish state of bliss weakened, and she
opened her eyes to find herself back in the real world.

Her mobile in the Jeep cut
through the pounding of the rain with shrill insistence. She pulled away from
Marcus’s embrace as if doing so too quickly would cause physical pain, looking
apologetically back towards him as she went without a word to the car. She
leaned in and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Doc..."

"Wally?" The
connection was bad, smothered by static. But even through that Lahra could tell
that something was wrong. "Wally, are you okay?"

"Doc... my heart,"
came the weak voice. "Please... help..."

There was a crash on the
other end as if the phone had been dropped, then the line cut out.

"Wally?" Lahra
called loudly. "Wally?!" Panic, hot and sharp, coursed through her as
she listened to the silence on the phone. In a split second she had travelled
light years from the place she and Marcus had been. The abandon she had felt
had now been completely replaced by an all-consuming dread.

"What is it?"
Marcus asked, concerned.

"It's Wally. I think
he's had another heart attack. I've got to go." She climbed into the
driver's seat and went to pull the door shut.

"Wait! I'm coming with
you!"

"No. There's no need."

"Lahra, don't be
ridiculous. If there is something seriously wrong he'll be better served by
both of us."

"Alright," Lahra
relented, too anxious to argue. "Get in."

He hadn't even taken his
seat properly when the four wheel drive lurched forward, spraying mud into its
wake. Lahra spun the car around and headed for the road, narrowly missing the
front gate on the way out.

"Can you see without
your glasses?" Marcus asked as the Jeep fishtailed onto the bitumen.

"I'm fine," Lahra
stated, squinting through the rain-spattered windshield, the deluge beyond and
the darkness that barely yielded to her headlights. "Just fasten your seat
belt." She positioned the Jeep on the winding white line in the centre of
the road, and did her best to stick to it. With luck, no other cars would be
silly enough to be out in these conditions.

Neither of them spoke as the
car made its way down the hill faster than any sane driver would allow. Twice
Lahra was surprised by sharp turns, and narrowly avoided sending the Jeep into
the ditch on the side of the road. Her knuckles were white on the steering
wheel. Her knee, already aching from her fall, now throbbed from continuously
pumping the brake pedal. But her mind was focussed completely on Wally at the
bottom of the hill, depending on her.