The Recipient (15 page)

As her concentration focused inward, Kirkwood's voice guided her toward a calm centre.

“Clear your mind. Empty your thoughts until there is nothing.”

Casey appeared serene. Kirkwood looked across at Lionel and nodded subtly, indicating that she was ready.

“Now remember, I am here to listen, Casey. All you have to do is describe what you see. Nothing or no one can hurt you. You are safe. You are in control.”

Casey nodded slowly, silently.

“We're going to enter your dream now.”

Through the familiar black shroud that covered her vision, a pinpoint of light flickered and danced. Casey tilted her head, curious as it began to draw closer, growing in size and shape, becoming a gelatinous mass that swallowed the darkness, revealing the familiar cloudscape to Casey. Soon, it surrounded her on all sides. She felt herself floating. The heart beat softly.

“What can you see?” Kirkwood asked, taking up her notepad and pencil.

“Clouds,” Casey responded. “Everywhere. I'm floating in them.”

“Can you see anything else? Look down.”

Casey tilted her head.

Far below her, through breaks in the cloud formations, Casey could see a thin ribbon of bitumen, marked with white lines.

“A road,” she whispered. “The road
.
I-I'm far above it.”

“Can you reach it?” Kirkwood asked.

“I think so.”

Casey turned her body over and angled herself, using her arms to propel herself downwards. The ground rushed towards her and she spread her arms, slowing her descent. Casey extended her legs, stretched out her toes and touched down gently onto the bitumen. Almost immediately, rain began to fall and she shivered instinctively—both in the dream and in the room.

Lionel straightened his back and looked to Kirkwood, who nodded reassuringly.

“What is it, Casey?” she probed.

“It's raining,” Casey responded. “I'm wet and cold.”

“Okay. Let's try something here,” Kirkwood ventured. “I want you to imagine that you're completely dry. The clothes you're wearing are comfortable and warm. The rain can't reach you. You're surrounded by a bubble of air. It's protecting you.”

Casey looked down and watched in amazement as her sopping clothing twitched against her skin. All the water in them was suddenly pulled out and she was completely dry. She turned her head up to see the falling rain bend as it splashed against an invisible shield that surrounded her.

Casey stepped forward hesitantly, watching the bubble move with her and she couldn't help but smile. Lightning crackled across the sky, lighting up the landscape around her, revealing the familiar landmarks. The collapsing stone fence to her left. The line of shattered pines up ahead to her right. She made a note of them as she moved forward.

“What can you see, Casey?” Kirkwood pressed gently.

“I see a stone fence. It borders a paddock—a large paddock. It's desolate…no pasture. There is a line of pine trees that have been stripped of their foliage. It's like they're dead.”

Kirkwood scribbled on her pad.

“You sense death here?”

Casey nodded, quickly this time.

Deep thunder rolled across the landscape, carrying the guttural moan that always reverberated through her. She cocked her head and stiffened as dread seeped through her pores.

“It's happening,” she breathed.

“Remember, you are in control of this, Casey. All you have to do is stop the flow whenever you want to. I'm right here with you.”

Casey turned in the dream looking for Kirkwood but she could not see her. She could however, feel her presence, as if she were standing right beside her.

“Look around you and tell me what you can see.”

Casey nodded, stifling a lump in her throat. She looked into the darkness and continued. The bitumen was slippery under her feet.

A second fork of lightning erupted and Casey spotted the road sign, its reflective surface shimmering. Casey instinctively quickened her pace towards it, looking up as she got closer.

“The road sign.”

“Can you see what's on the sign, Casey?”

As the lightning strike dissipated, Casey squinted into the darkness, trying to see.

“Remember, you can back it up if you need to, just like controlling a piece of video footage.”

Casey nodded and cast her eyes skyward, watching as the lightning above her flashed back into being, crackling in reverse from the point at which it had previously disappeared. When the light was at its brightest, she looked back at the road sign again.

“It's too bright,” she cursed between clenched teeth. “I can't make it out!”

Her frustration caused her to lose her grip on the progression of the dream and she was propelled forward, past the sign and into the shadows of the devastated pine trees.

The moaning grew louder and with it, dread and fear beckoned.

Ignoring it and focusing ahead, Casey saw the outline of the car, stationed at an angle. Its headlights punctured the darkness. Casey raised her arm against the glare.

And then she saw him
.

Standing in the middle of the road over a crumpled form beneath him.

“It's him!” Casey hissed. Her chest heaved and she felt herself stumbling back.

“Remember, Casey, he can't hurt you,” Kirkwood's voice sounded, distant this time.

Casey didn't acknowledge her.

The shrouded figure dropped to his haunches over the stricken human form.

The moan grew louder until it transformed into a horrified scream. Casey slapped her hands against her ears.

The shrouded figure snapped his head up and forward, looking directly at Casey. She could not see his face underneath the wide brim of his hat.

Without warning, he plunged his hand down between the legs of its victim and Casey jerked in pain and terror on the couch.

“Nooo!” she screamed.

“Control it, Casey. You can control it.”

Lionel launched out of his chair and prepared to go to his granddaughter but Kirkwood held out her hand desperately to stop him.

“Just wait,” she whispered urgently. “It'll be all right.”

Lionel relented, filled with anguish.

Kirkwood rose from her chair and moved over to sit beside Casey, who was panting harshly, hyperventilating.

“Can you hear me, Casey?”

Casey nodded rapidly, through clenched teeth. “Make it stop!”

Her head snapped forward just as the assailant prepared to pounce. He launched himself at her. She thrust out her palm in front of her, pushing a pressure wave toward him that distorted the air around them. The pressure wave crashed into the assailant, stopping him in mid stride—frozen. The maelstrom around her ceased. Everything fell silent. Droplets of rain hung stationary in the air.

Slowing her breathing, Casey visibly relaxed and Lionel backed away from her chair.

“It's okay,” Casey said softly. “Everything has stopped.”

She blinked into the lights of the car ahead and tilted her head, trying to see around the immobile assailant in front of it.

“I see a car…a sedan of some kind. I can see him. He is or was over me? Not me. He's over someone.”

Casey squinted harder. “It's a w-woman. I can't see her. But I can feel her. I can feel what she's feeling.”

“Can you get closer?” Kirkwood queried, glancing at Lionel. “Can you see who she is?”

Casey screwed up her face, as though trying to focus on the scene before her.

“I can't. I…” she paused, trying harder. “I can't see her yet. I can't see her until it…until…”

Kirkwood nodded, understanding. “What about him; can you make out anything that identifies him?”

“No. He is just a shadow. He's always been a shadow.”

“What is he doing?”

“He's frozen. I've stopped him.”

Kirkwood made more notes on the page in front of her, then placed the pad and pencil down. She contemplated what she had written for several moments.

“Okay. Let's stop there, Casey. I don't want to push you any further. I want you to back away from the scene now. Let yourself relax. Let your mind go blank.”

On the road, Casey blinked as though disoriented. She turned away from the scene before her, feeling the sense of warmth and comfort return. She crossed her arms over her chest and clasped her shoulders. She began to walk away from the frozen assailant, his stricken victim, the desolate pine trees. The sense of death.

“Leave this place,” Kirkwood's voice guided her. “Return here with me and your grandfather, where it is safe.”

Casey's mind began to drift. Her eyes began to lose focus. She turned her head slightly, spying the road sign passing on her right. Distant light pulsed from somewhere behind her and she stopped.

“Wait,” she said aloud, looking around for Kirkwood but remembering that she was alone.

The road sign loomed and she fought to retain her focus.

Casey turned and tried to run toward the sign. Her legs felt heavy.

No!

In desperation, she thrust her head up and reached out towards the sign.

Nothing.

Casey…

“Casey?”

Her eyes fluttered open and Casey found herself back in the office with Kirkwood sitting beside her and Lionel sitting opposite. She felt completely calm, relaxed—more relaxed than she had felt in a long time.

She blinked and looked at Kirkwood.

“How do you feel?” Kirkwood asked.

Casey thought for a moment, realising that her mind was empty. She suddenly didn't know where she was.

She looked down at her hands and then across at Lionel who continued to watch her expectantly.

“Casey?”

Suddenly, Casey gasped. Her features contorted into an expression of shock. Then realisation.

“What is it?” Kirkwood said, worried.

Casey fixed her eyes on Kirkwood and drew her hand away from her mouth.

“Lasterby Road,” she whispered.

CHAPTER 15.

C
asey stepped through a pair of large glass doors and paused at the top of the steps. A stone path led away from the Victorian-era hospital building, across the manicured lawns toward a nearby car park. Beyond a high fence was the outside world.

Hesitating, Casey turned and looked back over her shoulder, ensuring that Kirkwood and Lionel were close behind. Lionel carried her small travelling case, which he used to gesture at the doorway.

Anxiety prickled at the back of her neck as she walked along the path. Her mind cast itself back to the day she had left that other hospital, after her transplant. She recalled the same sense of fear. Here and now however, she quickly dismissed it as absurd, reminding herself that this place had been a prison that had, albeit temporarily, stifled her freedom and forced her to open herself up to far more scrutiny than she had ever wanted.

She was yet to determine whether that had been a wise thing to do, given that another reality began to emerge as she walked out from the shadow of the building. She would now be subjected to another type of prison: her parents' home and the suffocating scrutiny of her mother. She bit down hard on her lip at the thought of it.

As they approached the car park, Casey looked ahead to see her parents approaching from the far side of a group of vehicles that included not only their 4WD, but Casey's own Volkswagen sedan. She glanced questioningly at her father. He managed an awkward smile but Edie's taut expression betrayed an obvious discomfort.

Stopping before her car, Casey looked down and away from them, unable to meet their eyes. Peter embraced her awkwardly, planting a kiss on her forehead.

“Good to see you, love,” he offered, as though reciting a scripted line.

As he drew back, Casey nodded over his shoulder at her Volkswagen. “What's with my car?”

Peter glanced at Edie, then across at Lionel who allowed a subtle smile to tug at the corners of his mouth.

“We thought it would be a good idea if Pa drove you back to the warehouse…and perhaps stayed a while there. You know, just until things settle down.”

Casey raised her brow in surprise and she turned to her grandfather. “Is that right?”

Lionel nodded as Peter then Edie stood in stony silence.

“Your father and mother and I felt that it would be better for you to get yourself back into a routine as quickly as possible. I suggested I might stay with you, if that's all right. You do still have that guest room upstairs, don't you?”

Casey cast a conspiratorial glare at both Lionel and her father. One corner of her lips pulled upwards in a smile and she could not help but flick her eyes towards Edie. Her mother turned her head away stiffly.

Peter placed his arm around Casey's shoulder and gently steered her away from her mother.

Lowering his voice, Peter looked into his daughter's eyes.

“Look. Think of this as a way to keep Mum happy. She'll accept that you're not on your own and you'll be able to get yourself right again in your own space, albeit with a fairly innocuous chaperone. Agreed?”

Casey gave her father the pretence of considering what he had said, even though she already knew that what he was suggesting was a win-win for everyone…except Edie.

She nodded finally. “I won't argue with that.”

Kirkwood, who had been standing at a respectful distance, approached and handed Casey an envelope. “You're all set. I've made a time for you to come and see me on Friday, okay?”

Casey nodded. “Thank you.”

Kirkwood gently squeezed her hand. “You've come a long way, Casey—a
really
long way. But there's more to do.”

Casey smiled softly and turned towards her car. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted her mother's expression had changed subtly, having witnessed that last exchange with Kirkwood.

It had softened.

___

As Casey climbed the stairs to the warehouse ahead of the others, she had a flicker of panic, having realised that she hadn't seen it since the night of the accident. No one had mentioned the state that it had been left in when she had been taken by the ambulance, so she had no idea if anyone had thought to clean the embarrassing mess she had caused.

As she alighted onto the corridor outside the industrial door she froze. The corridor was clean—and not just a little bit clean,
a lot clean
.

The flickering light bulb above her head that she had ignored for so long had been replaced. In fact all three of them had been replaced so that the entrance to the warehouse was now significantly more inviting. The faded granary poster seemed more vibrant, just with the amount of light that played across it. A potted plant stood just outside the big green door below a high window that allowed bright sunlight into the corridor.

This window had been boarded up for years.

Casey paused before the door and glanced conspiratorially at Lionel and her father. Slowly, she drew her keys out from her shoulder bag and slid it into the lock, sensing that she knew what she was about to find inside.

Hauling the great door aside, Casey looked in on the apartment and simply nodded. It had been completely cleaned from top to bottom. The shattered glass from the window had been swept away and indeed the window itself had been repaired. Her bed had been made up with fresh linen. There was nothing of the trauma of her accident. It now seemed so long ago.

Setting her keys down on the kitchen counter, Casey surveyed the handiwork with appreciation while Lionel drew aside the large curtains and opened the door out onto the balcony. A fresh sea breeze filtered in from outside and Casey drew it in.

“I'd almost forgotten how wonderful that view is,” Lionel remarked as he set Casey's case down on her bed. Casey turned and gestured with a nod towards the mezzanine.

“I'd show you where the guest room is,” she said. “But I guess you've probably worked that out already.”

“I did endeavour to respect your privacy.”

“There's nothing but junk up there anyway,” Casey smiled warmly at her grandfather. “The company will be good.”

“Do you want me to hang about and cook something?” Peter offered. “I know it's a little early.”

Casey rebuffed him with a smile. “Thanks, Dad, but we'll be all right. You deserve a break and besides, you'd better get Edie home.”

There was a moment of awkward silence at Casey's acknowledgement of her mother's absence. Edie had decided to remain in the car.

Peter shrugged. He leaned in and planted a kiss on his daughter's forehead. “The kitchen has been stocked. Just let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Casey nodded to Lionel, then walked her father downstairs to the path leading up from the street. Casey glanced across at the 4WD, saw the shadow of her mother's profile behind the darkened passenger window. A knot of sadness tugged at Casey's stomach and Peter noticed her shoulders droop slightly.

“She's never going to accept all of this,” Casey said sourly.

Peter followed Casey's gaze.

“You've taken some big steps. She'll come around. Just give her time.”

“I've given her time, Dad.
Too much bloody time
.”

“You're getting yourself together. Sooner or later, she'll see that.”

Casey offered him a sad nod, then turned back toward the warehouse.

“Talk to you soon.”

Casey found Lionel sitting on the edge of the sofa when she returned, holding a tea cup in one hand, gazing upon the portrait of Jeanne Hebuterne.

He nodded at the countertop, upon which sat an identical cup. Languid wisps of steam rose from the cup and, as Casey turned to it, she caught the sweet scent of chai rising on the steam. It was her and her grandfather's favourite.

“Mmm,” she mused pleasurably, taking up the cup. “I knew you wouldn't forget to bring your stash.”

Lionel chuckled as Casey joined him. He turned his attention back to the portrait. “I managed to get most of the stains out of the canvas without too much trouble. Though I'm still worried about one or two of them.”

Casey squinted, trying to see what stains her grandfather was pointing out. “I can't see anything.”

Lionel stood and approached the portrait, extending a finger out towards the right cheek of Jeanne Hebuterne, then beside it where long tresses of her red hair fell down over her shoulder. A trio of darkened splotches stained the canvas.

“They're stubborn,” he observed gruffly.

“Like their owner.”

Lionel glanced at his granddaughter. He couldn't help but smile at her dark humour.

“I remember when Ruth and I bought this for you,” he said. “We'd trudged around Sydney for days searching for it. It became something of an obsession.”

“Can't imagine where you got
that
from.”

Lionel chuckled. “Your obsession with his art did seem to arrive out of left field. It was as though you had found Modigliani all at once,” Lionel clicked his fingers for effect. “Suddenly, you just had to immerse yourself in him.”

Casey tilted her head.

“It's rather a curious taste,” Lionel continued. “For someone so wedded to the intricacies of information technology as you are. I can only imagine how…monochrome, all that code and programming must be. All those zeroes and ones.”

Casey smiled at her grandfather.

“It's not that rudimentary, Pa.”

Casey approached the portrait now, gazing up into the eyes of Jeanne Hebuterne. She had become somewhat central to Casey's love of the art of Amedeo Modigliani.

“You do have a point,” she acknowledged. “All that code. All those equations. They're absolute. Linear. They are set out exactly as they should be. Where others see them as rigid and uninspiring, I see a kind of beauty in them.” Casey paused, sipping thoughtfully from her cup. “But, I guess I've come to yearn for things that are different from what I do. This art is a perfect example. Modigliani's work…it lives and breathes. I love the stylisation. I love his use of colour. You put 'em together and there's something definitely stimulating about it.”

As Casey gazed at the portrait, she let her mind wander. All of those things were true. Casey was drawn to something within the works of Modigliani—this work in particular—and it was something powerful.

Though she couldn't determine what that something was.

___

Casey reclined in her chair on the balcony and gazed out at the star-filled night sky. She sighed. It was good to be home.

Cradling a glass of water in her hand, Casey gently swirled the liquid within, watching how it caught the light from inside, then she closed her eyes. The sounds of Bach's “Goldberg Variations” piped through from the stereo, courtesy of her grandfather.

She smiled.

She loved Lionel's choice of music. It was soothing. It allowed her mind to drift.

Yet, no sooner than she found herself relaxed, a question began to tug at her consciousness.

What is that place?

She squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to crush the incessant question but it would not go away. It persisted. Then an image coalesced.

The road sign.

From the moment she'd latched onto that final, fragmented image from her dream during Kirkwood's session, it had needled her consciousness, nagging her for days. The last thing she wanted now, having just returned home, was to be pulled back into the nightmare.

And yet, the moment she closed her eyes, she was drawn involuntarily to it.

As if part of her actually wanted it.

“Fuck,” she cursed under her breath, opening her eyes and drawing the glass up to her mouth.

Even with her eyes opened and focused on the sea beyond, she could still see the lone sign.

Lasterby Road.

Why is this place so vivid?

She couldn't recall ever having been to a Lasterby Road anywhere and yet, the image seemed as strong as a memory.

Though she felt the familiar echo of fear from her nightmares, her curiosity gathered momentum until it gained the upper hand.

She couldn't stand it any longer. Pushing up from her chair, Casey stepped through the doorway and into the apartment.

Lionel was tucked into one corner of the sofa, his head bowed over, fast asleep.

Tip-toeing across the room, Casey sat at her desk and booted up her computer. Her fingers danced across the keyboard as she initiated security measures, ensuring her network activity was secure behind her customised virtual private network, then she opened a browser window. She considered using the darknet, but decided against it and ran an open-web search for Lasterby Road.

Almost immediately, a slew of results flashed up and Casey examined them carefully. Though there were dozens of references to Lasterby Road, much of it appeared to be fragmentary data. Descriptions from news sites all around the world. Obscure references from various local government websites. A few message board postings. Some images. None of them appeared noteworthy. The results blurred into one another.

What am I looking for?

Is it even a question of what, rather than where?

Casey opened another tab and navigated to a satellite imaging service where she was greeted by a high resolution image of Australia, complete with a number of statistical overlays and option panels surrounding it. Touching the search pane with her finger, she hesitated momentarily, then typed in ‘Lasterby Road' on the keyboard.

She was greeted with thirteen results for thoroughfares named Lasterby all across the world as the on-screen map zoomed out to reveal the locations her search had yielded. They included the United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, South Africa and Australia.

Lifting one leg up onto the seat and leaning into it, Casey retrieved her glasses and put them on. Manipulating the display with her finger, she appraised each of the pins on the global map.