Night Realm (4 page)

“I don’t know anything about you or your husband, so I’m not even going to attempt to touch on what might be wrong, or has gone wrong, in your relationship. Chances are you’ve done nothing wrong. You can’t blame yourself for Brad’s weaknesses. That’s his problem. The way I see it, Julia, is that you’re too good for him. I know this sucks and I know it hurts and that anything I say right now isn’t going to make the situation better, but in time you’ll know it’s true. Trust me on that.” He shrugged. “Maybe you can mend your marriage, but if you can’t, chances are down the line, you’ll be better off without him.”

“You’re probably right,” she said, although she still didn’t looked convinced.

Time would sort it out.

Ryan got up from his seat and Julia did the same. They shook hands and Julia managed a strained smile.

“Thank you, Mr Fox,” she said.

Ryan nodded. “I wish I only had better news for you. Good luck with everything.”

T
hey then went their separate ways.

*  *  *

Sean and Stacey arrived back at their home in Riverstone Crossing late Monday afternoon. He parked the car in the driveway and he and his wife got out. Summer was coming so the sun was still quite high in the cloudless sky. They’d just experienced a great weekend at a health retreat in the Sunshine Coast Hinterland. Both felt tired, but at the same time rejuvenated.

Once inside the home Stacey called out to her daughter, “Amanda? We’re back!”

There was no reply.

“She’s probably still at work, Babe,” her husband said casually.

A look of confusion crossed Stacey’s features. “She normally has Monday off.” Having a thought then, Stacey opened a door on the opposite wall to the kitchen. “Her car’s here,” she reported, staring into the gloomy double garage.

Sean replied, “Then she’s probably gone visiting friends.”

“Without her car?”

He shrugged. “Maybe a friend came by and picked her up?” Sean took a beer from the fridge and cracked it open, taking a long swallow of the amber fluid. “Ahh!” he said with satisfaction. “Those health retreats don’t understand the positive benefits of a good
, cold beer.”

Stacey went down back to Amanda’s room. A moment later she returned to the kitchen, looking and feeling
even more confused.

“The quilt’s gone from her bed, and the bed’s all messed up,” she said in a strained voice.

“What are you so worried about?” Sean wanted to know. “She’s  a big girl now and she can take care of herself. She probably had a sleepover at one of her friend’s places.”

Stacey shook her head. “I’m not so sure.” She looked into her husband’s eyes. “Sean? I have a bad feeling about this.”

After returning home for a sleep, the consecutive late nights having drained him, Ryan did as promised and emailed Julia Davis copies of all the photographs he had taken.
He pulled the money from the envelope she had given him, counted it, then stuffed the bills into his wallet. He’d made a much-needed couple of grand from the gig. Some bills would be getting paid.

He
tugged on his ear a few times, then sat back in his chair at the computer desk and gazed out the full-length glass windows of his large bedroom, where he took in the late afternoon view of Surfers Paradise and the placid blue of the ocean beyond.

Ryan lived in a two bedroom, two bathroom highrise apartment in the centre of Surfers. It was an older style apartment, which meant it was quite spacious and roomy, unlike many of the modern places. The rent was also surprisingly cheap, and had virtually stayed the same for the four years he’d lived there. He used to share the place with a mate and they halved all expenses, but that all changed
a year ago.

On the desk he saw a business card for a real estate agent up on the Sunshine Coast. He picked up the card and dialed the number on his mobile. It was answered on the third ring.

“Hi, Tessa. It’s Ryan Fox here. Just wondering if you’ve had any interest in the house?”

The estate agent spoke so loudly
, he was always forced to hold the phone away from his ear so he didn’t risk perforating an ear drum.

“Hi, Ryan!” she bellowed. “No, no luck so far.”

“Is anyone interested? Anyone put any offers in?”

“Not yet, but I had quite a successful open home on Saturday morning, so I’m expecting some offers to flood in from that.”

“Really?” He was more than a little surprised. “That does sound promising.” He took a deep breath and said, “Look, I know times are tough and the market is way down, but I really need to get that house sold. I’m willing to look at any reasonable offer.”

“Well, I did stress that you should have taken the last offer
we had. I realize it was well under the asking price, but in the current economic climate-”

“I know,” Ryan cut in, “but I wasn’t as desperate to sell three months ago.”

“I understand. I’ll do my best.”

“Thanks, Tessa. Keep me informed. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Will do. Bye, Ryan.”

Ryan placed the phone down on the desk and glanced around the room. Basically there was just a queen-sized bed with four pillows. The pillowcases were all different. Nothing matched. Even the black and white quilt that covered the bed was a different colour and design from that of the pillows. There was a bedside table and lamp. A small TV with DVD player rested on a cabinet beside the bed near the windows. The room had built-in wardrobes and a small ensuite bathroom. The only other furniture in the room was the desk he
was sitting at.

Now that Julia’s case was over he had no cases to work on, which wasn’t good. So far he’d heard nothing from night club owner, Selena Thorne. Possibly she was just being polite
the other night when he’d met her, and didn’t really have anything for him to work on.

He shrugged. If she called, she called. If not, something else would come up.

He took a shower for something to do and shaved the stubble from his face for the first time in days. When he was done he looked at his reflection in the mirror. His short, dark-brown hair could probably use a bit of a tidy up with some scissors. The whites around the blue of his eyes were surprisingly clear, considering all the late nights he’d had recently. His body was lean and fit and chiseled, accentuated by his olive skin and a light sun tan. He slapped his flat stomach with satisfaction and put some clothes on.

Ryan left the bedroom and went into
the old kitchen. He searched the refrigerator for something to make for dinner. He withdrew a container of leftover pasta from God knows how long ago. Through the clear plastic lid he could see flecks of green mould, so he tossed it in the bin.

Unable to find much to eat and making a mental note to do some grocery shopping, Ryan opted for sausages and fried eggs on toast
in the end. As he was cooking up enough for two, he heard the entrance door open and close.

“Dinner’s almost ready!” he called out to his sister.

“Not hungry,” came her abrupt reply and he heard her bedroom door slam shut.

“She sounds like she’s in a great mood. Again,” he mumbled as he dished up plates for the pair of them, despite her saying she didn’t want any.

The air was filled with the salivating aroma of eggs, sausages and toast as Ryan sat down at the small dining table to eat. Before him was the living room with an LCD television in the corner near the full-length glass balcony doors. There was a three-seater lounge, beige in colour, and two matching armchairs. A square wooden coffee table rested on the carpet between the furniture. Some newspapers, remote controls and a chess board sat on top of it. Through the glass doors Ryan had a view of the ocean some three hundred metres away. The outlook was partially obstructed by other buildings, but he could still see the water and a stretch of sand. It was twilight out there now, just about everyone having left the beach for the day.

He tucked into his food and didn’t realize just how hungry he was until he’d swallowed the first bite.
The food was washed down with a glass of water. When he was done, he washed his plate, cutlery and the frying pan.

His sister still hadn’t emerged from her bedroom, so he went to her door and knocked
firmly on it. “Chelsea?” The only response he got was the sound of water running in her shower.

Ryan went out on the balcony and gazed out over the lights of Surfers
Paradise by night. Twilight was succumbing to full dark now and he could no longer see the ocean. It was just an indistinct dark smudge beyond the line of buildings. Twenty floors below the highway cut a path through the concrete jungle. That road was never quiet. Even when he’d stood out there at three in the morning it was still relatively busy. Didn’t anyone ever sleep?

A half hour later Chelsea emerged from her room and stepped into the living room. When Ryan turned and looked at his seventeen year old sister, his jaw dropped.

“Where the hell are you going looking like that?” he demanded.

Chelsea was five feet, six tall and had bleached blonde hair, preferring that to her natural medium
-brown hue. Her figure was fairly solid, but well-proportioned and quite curvaceous. Even though she was his sister, Ryan could see she was very pretty; a fact backed up by the amount of attention she’d received from guys ever since reaching adolescence. Her crystal blue eyes shone with intelligence and she was always quick with a comeback. At the moment her facial features were hidden behind a thick and viscous mask of heavy make up. She had on so much eyeliner that it looked like her eyelids had been dipped in ink. Crimson eye shadow cut an arc just under her thinly-plucked eyebrows. Her face was white with a sickly application of foundation that was all wrong for her olive complexion. Crimson lipstick had been pasted onto her plump lips. On her throat was a conspicuous, dark-brown mole.

The over-doing of the make up was only a part of what concerned her older brother. It was the choice of outfit that really worried him.

She wore a skimpy top that was little more than a sports bra. It was white and barely managed to confine her ample breasts. If Ryan chose to examine the top more closely he’d be able to see through it. It wasn’t exactly discreet as far as hiding her nipples was concerned. Below her bare midriff, sitting low on her hips, was the skimpiest black skirt he had ever seen. It only just covered the cheeks of her butt, and if she happened to bend over even just slightly, all would be exposed.

“What are you wearing under that thing you call a skirt?” he asked,
the tone of his voice filled with disapproval.

“Underwear,” she said, giving him a look that suggested he was a complete idiot.

“A G-string, no doubt.” He shook his head. “You look like a real slut.”

“Well, thanks for the compliment,” she snarled.

“Where are you going dressed like that?” Ryan repeated his earlier question.

“Out with friends.”

“But where?”

She shrugged and said rather brusquely, “I don’t know yet. We’ll just hang in Surfers for a
bit and see what happens. Maybe we might go to a club?”

“You’re too young for night clubs.”

She smirked mischievously. “It’s never stopped me before.”

“Did you go to school today?”

“Nope. I did a full day at Threads.”

Threads
was a trendy clothing store in town where Chelsea worked part-time.

“What about school?” he protested. “This is your last year and you’re almost finished.”

“School’s boring. I hate it. I’d much rather work and earn money so I can go out and have fun.”

Ryan sighed with frustration. “But you’re so close to graduating. It’s important that you get your HSC.”

“Yes...Dad,” Chelsea said with heavy sarcasm.

“I’m not your father.”

“Exactly.” Chelsea went into the kitchen, opened the fridge and emerged with a can of Coke. It hissed with effervescence when she pulled back on the ring tab. “There are too many rules at school, Ryan. I hate being told what to do.” She drank some Coke.

“No kidding. Look, you can’t just drop out of school.”

She burped loudly. “Why not? I’m just following your example.”

Ryan made a face. “What do you mean? I finished school. And a couple of years of uni.”

“But you dropped out of the Police Academy, didn’t you,” she reminded him, grinning smugly, knowing she’d scored some points with that one.

“That’s not the same thing,” Ryan said, trying to find a way to justify his own actions from the past. “The
Academy wasn’t doing it for me.”

“And school’s not doing it for me.”

“The Academy was too restrictive,” Ryan went on, despite his better judgement. “There were just too many rules and regulations-”

“Exactly.” More points for Chelsea.

He knew immediately he’d stuffed up completely. She’d won that argument easily.

“The manager at Threads has offered me a fulltime position if I want it,” Chelsea told him, looking more at peace after her victory over him.
“And I want it.”