The Recipient (16 page)

She sighed. Frustration needled her.

Scrolling her finger across the map, she centred it over the land mass of Australia. If this were to be a question of where, she could start by ruling out all of the locations outside of Australia. If she was certain of anything at this point, she had never been to any of them.

Double-tapping the screen, she zoomed in on the five Lasterby locations in the south-eastern corner of Australia. One in rural South Australia. Two in New South Wales and the remaining two in her own state of Victoria.

Casey squinted, noting that the South Australian Lasterby Road was a dirt track that snaked across a ruddy and vast landscape: pastoral countryside. She recalled the sense of desolation from her dream. The environment in it was akin to rural farmland rather than the vast barren scrub on the screen here. In her gut, she knew this wasn't it.

She manipulated the map over the two New South Wales locales. One of the entries here was again a dirt track running through hilly terrain, close to a township and Casey lingered here for several moments, noting the presence of trees clumped together. The proximity of the township didn't feel right.

She moved away to the second location but when she clicked on the pin there, the description was for a Lasterby Street in what appeared to be a residential development close to the coast.

She homed in on the two remaining pins.

One hovered over a winding fire road in dense, mountainous forest well east of Melbourne's urban sprawl. The other denoted a long strip of bitumen, running in a roughly north-south line in the left-hand corner of Port Phillip Bay.

She lingered here, zooming in on the pin. The landscape here appeared to be grazing country. A small mountain range overlooked acres upon acres of meadow from the northern edge. Again it was desolate, in a similar vein to her dream, but it seemed too desolate. There was nothing that looked familiar.

And then…

As Casey zoomed out, her eyes hovered over a thin dark line flanking a portion of the road at its southern end. Tapping her finger in the centre of the line, the image zoomed in, then shifted and flashed as it re-focused, revealing the detail. Trees with elongated limbs, dark, needle-like foliage and long shadows cast outward to the left of the line indicating an afternoon sun.

Pine trees
!

The tall, devastated pine trees from her nightmare flashed in her mind and Casey felt her stomach plunge.

To the south of the line of pines, Casey spotted a dirt track that intersected with the bitumen. A few feet from that intersection, she saw a dark, L-shaped object: a fence.

An old stone fence.

Her eyes darted between the line of pine trees and the rubble on the opposite of the road, Lasterby Road.

Was this the place?

An isolated pocket of countryside in the south-western corner of Port Phillip Bay. Casey sensed, from the lay of the land and the lack of population surrounding it, this area was vast and open—the kind of place that would terrify her.

She gazed at the landmarks, trying to discount their significance. It couldn't possibly be right.

But deep down inside, she knew.

“Can't sleep?”

Casey jumped at the sound of her grandfather's voice. He was standing right beside her.

“What is this?” he queried, leaning in.

Casey reached forward and tapped the screen. An information panel popped up.

Lionel read the description.

“This is what you've been dreaming about? This place?”

“I have no idea, Pa,” Casey lied.

Lionel tapped the screen, causing it to zoom out enough so that he could judge its proximity from the centre of Melbourne. It was a little over an hour's drive, despite the fact it was in the middle of nowhere. He looked at Casey's steadfast gaze. He sensed that her mind was working furiously.

“I thought you were scared of open spaces.”

Casey looked up at her grandfather.

“I…I…” Her voice caught in her throat as she glanced back at the screen. “Something happened there,” she said, pointing with a slender finger. “Something important. It's been stuck in my mind for so long, Pa.”

Lionel nodded in understanding. “Then we'd better go and see if we can find out what it is.”

___

The black GMC van cruised along the country road, heading toward a strip of azure ocean that filled the horizon beyond the miles of farmland that surrounded them.

Casey sat in the rear passenger seat, holding onto the seatbelt strap as she tried to avoid gazing out at her surroundings. Instead, she concentrated on a comical ‘Sasquatch' bobble head figurine that danced crazily on the dashboard. They had been on the road for a little over an hour and she felt she was doing pretty well in keeping her agoraphobia at bay.

Lionel sat up front, watching the rolling countryside through his own window, while occasionally stealing a glance at the mountainous figure driving the van. Lionel was still coming to grips with Scott's intimidating presence—his elaborately tattooed arms, huge hands—and yet, Lionel had been taken by Scott's gentlemanly demeanour from the moment Casey introduced them to one another. On the drive out of the city, he had noticed the quiet way in which Scott made sure Casey was okay, distracting her from her agoraphobia by having her navigate using his smartphone.

Now that they were in the vicinity of the road they were looking for, Scott again stole a glance at Casey, bringing her attention back to her assigned task.

Looking at the screen, Casey spied a blinking chequered flag near the top. It was steadily descending toward the cursor in the middle of the screen as they approached their destination.

“It's just ahead,” Casey said, peering over Lionel's shoulder. She scanned their surroundings, comparing them with the satellite image. The familiar landmarks she'd identified last night were there.

Scott slowed as they approached a turn on their left. A crooked pole rose up from a patch of overgrown grass. Attached to it, was a green sign with white, reflective lettering. All three of them gazed at the sign as they drew nearer.

Lasterby Road.

Scott pointed south, toward a distant line of trees. “Let's go have a look.”

Casey sat forward now, holding onto the back of Lionel's seat, the gnawing anxiety of her agoraphobia pulsing in her temples as they drove onward down the isolated stretch of bitumen.

A temporary fence that had been erected to block access to the road had collapsed long ago; its remnants lay across the roadway. Scott slowed as he drove over it, then he continued on cautiously. The road was pocked with shallow craters and the surface was cracked in places, indicating that it hadn't been used in some time.

A cold knot settled in Casey's stomach.

The road rose slightly, obscuring the landscape ahead, but as they levelled out Casey felt as though she had received a sucker punch. On their left, no more than a dozen yards away, a straight line of tall pines came into view.

Imagery from the nightmare flashed in concert with what she saw here and now. The pines were tall and healthy specimens, in stark contrast to the devastated branches from the nightmare.

This was the place.

Scott glanced over his shoulder, his expression filling with concern as he noted the colour had drained from her face.

“Keep driving,” she instructed stonily.

The van slowly passed the pines while Casey kept her eyes forward. Her breath had quickened, her pulse pounded, but she remained focused.

Ahead, Casey spotted the second landmark she knew so well. She didn't want to believe it.

The tumbled-down remains of the stone fence came into view at an intersection. It was very nearly concealed by overgrown weeds. A dirt track branched off to the west and led away toward a trio of distant hills. Here, again, a sign denoted the road. Casey reached forward and placed a hand on Scott's shoulder.

“Stop,” she said softly.

Scott angled the van over to the side of the road. Even before he'd brought it to a complete stop, Casey had clicked open the side door and stepped out. Both Lionel and Scott exchanged looks as Scott extinguished the engine and the two men got out.

Casey walked slowly forward, craning her neck to appraise the sign as she passed it.

The veil of her nightmare descended.

The darkness surrounding the sign. The glare from the headlights on its reflective surface.

She could barely comprehend it, yet there was no doubt.

This was the place that had haunted her for so long. Everything appeared exactly as it did in her nightmare.

Casey's legs became heavy. Her hands began to shake.

Her eyes darted forward, along the road to the place next to pines where she had witnessed—and had been a victim of—horrific acts of violence.

But I haven't!

“I've never been here!” she screamed.

Her nightmare leached from her mind, the dream world melding with the real. Anguished screams resonated as Casey recalled the violence she had observed and experienced. And then, she was sucked from that experience. She was standing before the all-too-familiar scene, reality replaced by fantasy, as she watched the woman screaming, crying out to Casey.

She thrust her face out towards Casey, pleading through blood-soaked tears, clawing at the air between them with her free hand.

No!

The heart thumped furiously inside Casey's chest, sending shards of pain through her. She clutched at her shirt. Her legs buckled and she collapsed to the road, consumed by the pain and the noise and the chaos in her mind.

Lionel and Scott rushed to her side. Lionel dropped to his knees and grabbed her shoulders. With the touch of his hands, the chaos ceased abruptly. She was returned to the present, to the quiet.

Casey looked up at Lionel through unfocused eyes and blinked as though she did not know where she was.

“Casey?” Lionel shook her gently, trying to reorient her. “Casey!”

She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. Her tortured expression slackened, melting first to confusion, then calm.

And then determination.

“It happened here,” she rasped, raising a finger to her temple and tapping it hard. “Whatever it is that's going on up here, it began on this road.”

“I don't understand, Casey,” Lionel shook his head.

“All this time, I've been dreaming that something happened to me right here.”

Lionel helped her to her feet and she brushed herself down. She held her arms out before her, palms down, as if feeling a magnetic force rising from the road before her.

“But, it wasn't me at all.”

Lionel glanced at Scott who was equally perplexed.

Casey stepped forward, her mind working anew as she took in the scenery around her, assessing it. Approaching the pines, Casey inspected them, trying to see if there was anything significant about them.

The car was there, in the darkness, stationed at a crazed angle on the road.

Realisation began to foment and Casey looked down, touching her hand to her chest. Through the ragged scars, she could feel the heart beating fast, yet steady.

She turned to face Lionel and Scott.

“I think I know what happened.”

CHAPTER 16.

T
he apartment was quiet. Though the sounds of the street and beach filtered through the open door, it wasn't loud enough to distract Casey.

On the drive back from Lasterby Road, the image of the young woman had remained firmly planted in Casey's mind.

She was pleading with Casey, reaching out from underneath her assailant with a single, free hand, clutching desperately towards her.

Casey felt the stranger's terror; a visceral echo. It caused her to shiver.

Casey sat at her computer. A browser window was open, with a page of search results on it. She had been at it for several hours, ever since Scott had dropped her and Lionel back at the warehouse. Lionel had decided to head out and fetch a few grocery items and visit her parents.

She knew it was to give her some space with her thoughts.

She smiled wanly, thinking of his consideration and thankful that he trusted her to not do anything rash.

Her eyes refocused on the screen. A page of images was displayed in front of her, images of countryside in the vicinity of Lasterby Road and some of the road itself.

Until now, the most compelling snippet of information she had discovered on Lasterby Road was the reason for its apparent closure: a scientific report chronicling geological instability in the area surrounding it.

She hissed as she scrolled angrily through the images.

You know…

“Rubbish, rubbish, rubbish.”

Returning to the search pane, Casey paused and stood, going over to the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of water.

Again, the face of the girl appeared in her mind.

Her anguish. Her torment. Their torment.

Casey squeezed her eyes shut then turned to the screen.

A voice inside taunted her.

You know what to look for…

Her hands hovered over the keyboard and she wiggled them nervously; she was fighting against herself to get them to type that which she sensed deep down was the key.

Finally they descended. Casey keyed in ‘Lasterby Road' then, beside that, a date.

March 17, 2012

This time, she filtered the results by news items only. She tapped ‘Enter.'

Instantly, a page of news headlines flashed up: the first of which was an item from the Australian Broadcasting Corporation.

Young Woman Found Critically Injured On Country Road Following Apparent Hit/Run.

Casey felt her stomach lurch as she clicked into the story.

Police are appealing for any witnesses to come forward after a young Melbourne woman was found abandoned with critical head injuries on an isolated rural road two nights ago, the apparent victim of a hit-and-run.

The story was brief, giving little additional information or images. Casey backed out of that story and went to the second item in the results:

Police Race Against Time In Search For Answers To Baffling Hit/Run On Lasterby Road.

Victoria Police have been unable to find any clues to the circumstances surrounding a tragic hit-and-run accident involving a twenty-two-year-old student from Melbourne's inner northern suburbs.

She clicked back then tapped the next item. This time, she gasped as the page flashed up.

Young Woman Lies In Induced Coma As Detectives Continue Their Inquiries After Hit/Run.

Melbourne's public is snapping to agonised attention at the plight of a young Melbourne woman and the mysterious circumstances surrounding the hit-and-run which left her in a coma. Twenty-two-year-old student Saskia Andrutsiv lies in an induced coma with life-threatening head, abdominal and pelvic injuries after being found close to death by a local farmer on Lasterby Road near the beachside township of Queenscliff.

Police have been unable to find any witnesses of this tragic accident. Preliminary enquiries point to Miss Andrutsiv's presence at a music festival at a Queenscliff beach
in the hours prior to her discovery but no other details have come to light as yet.

To the right-hand side of the text, a grainy black and white image had been posted of a young woman, to which Casey's eyes zeroed in.

It was her!

Reaching out from underneath her assailant with one free hand, clutching desperately at the air.

Casey fumbled underneath the glass surface of the desk, searching for a notepad and pencil. She flipped the pad open and slapped it on the desk, scribbling down the name of the girl, then returned to the computer screen. Clicking back into the search results, Casey scrolled down the page further. The headlines began to blur into one another, though the name Saskia Andrutsiv, the road and the mention of the music festival continued to feature in the subtext below each headline.

Casey was searching now, beyond those initial headlines and the dates on which they were posted, looking for the next logical item that she sensed she knew would come.

She found it.

Doctors Announce The Death Of Lasterby Road Hit/Run Victim. Family To Donate Organs.

Saskia Andrutsiv, the young woman at the centre of a baffling hit-and-run accident, has lost her battle. Doctors announced that her family has agreed to turn off her life-support this evening. Despite their best efforts to save her life, doctors have described Miss Andrutsiv's injuries as catastrophic and that her head injuries in particular were so severe that her chances of recovery were severely limited. In making their devastating decision, the family has agreed to donate Miss Andrutsiv's organs, saying that the opportunity to provide a life-saving gift to multiple patients was one that brought them great comfort at this tragic time. Formerly from the Ukraine, Miss Saskia Andrutsiv was described as a vivacious young woman, a loyal friend and a passionate student who was enrolled in an Art History degree at Melbourne University. According to a family spokesperson, it was Miss Andrutsiv's dream to become a gallery curator, preserving the works of famous European artists.

Casey's eyes filled with tears as she read through to the end of the news report. Here, a higher resolution image of Saskia Andrutsiv had been posted. This time, there was no doubt.

Her hand lifted towards her chest. The heart within thumped forcefully, its beat quickening, the longer Casey gazed at the image of the woman on screen.

The industrial door slid aside and Lionel entered quietly, armed with a pair of shopping bags. Upon seeing his distraught granddaughter, his eyes grew wide with worry and he placed the bags on the kitchen bench.

“My dear, whatever is the matter?” he asked, rushing to embrace Casey.

Lionel peered down at the screen. His own heart plunged as he scanned the information.

Casey wiped her eyes, slumping into her grandfather's embrace as a renewed torrent of emotion surged.

“She was my donor, Pa,” Casey sobbed. “I've found my donor.”

___

Casey stood before the window in Kirkwood's office, taking in the garden outside. A trio of birds frolicked in the urn, splashing water everywhere. She watched them intently, distracting herself from the emotions that swirled inside her.

“We can sit out there if you like.”

Casey cocked her head, considering Kirkwood's offer. Instead, she turned back into the room. “No, that's all right.”

Kirkwood nodded, then regarded the yellow envelope that Casey had set down on the table. “Did you have something to show me?”

Casey sat down in the armchair opposite Kirkwood and clasped her hands together. “I do. And, I think I need your help.”

Kirkwood cocked an eyebrow and offered an inquisitive smile. “Well, that's something I've been eager to hear for a long time.”

Casey did not smile in return. Her gaze remained fixed. It was steely, serious.

“I know why I've been having the nightmares,” she said. “I don't quite understand
how—
but I do know why.”

Kirkwood sat forward.

“I know who my donor was.”

Kirkwood blinked, shock registering in her features. She watched as Casey opened the envelope on the coffee table and drew out several A4 printouts. She regarded them as a fleeting moment of doubt threatened. Then she held them out for Kirkwood.

“Saskia Andrutsiv,” Casey began, “was struck down by an unknown vehicle four nights before my heart transplant in 2012. It happened on a country road just outside of Queenscliff. A Lasterby Road.”

Kirkwood lifted her reading glasses into place. She studied the news articles one by one.

“She was discovered by a farmer who reportedly heard her scream and found her on the road, left for dead. He called an ambulance and they took her to a hospital where she lay in a coma. The doctors tried to save her, but her injuries were too serious. They were…
catastrophic
.”

She looked down at her hands, fidgeting nervously.

“Saskia Andrutsiv was declared braindead on the 17th of March, 2012. Her family made the decision to donate her organs.”

“March 17th,” Kirkwood said softly. “The day of your transplant.”

Casey nodded. “No one ever came forward and admitted to having been involved in the accident. There were no witnesses to it and the police were never able to find anyone responsible. It became a cold case.”

Kirkwood was concerned. Though it was not unheard of for organ recipients to discover who their donors were, it was uncommon and expressly discouraged.

“Casey,” Kirkwood began cautiously. “You know very well that there are strict laws in place to protect recipient and donor families. In any case, h-how can you even be sure that this woman is your donor?”

Casey bowed her head and nodded at the floor, acknowledging Kirkwood's point.

“Why then? Why would you want to know?”

“Her death was no accident, Geddie,” Casey declared calmly.

Kirkwood blinked as Casey's expression became even more determined. It didn't escape her notice that Casey referred to her by name—possibly for the first time ever.

“The nightmares—
my nightmares—
I thought it was me being attacked in them. But it wasn't me at all.”

Casey leaned forward and pointed to the A4 sheet in Kirkwood's hand, the image of Saskia Andrutsiv.

“It was her,” she said, her voice dropping to nearly a whisper. “It was her that I've been seeing. It is her heart that I'm carrying inside me.” Casey balled her hand into a fist and tapped the centre of her chest.

“She was murdered on the road that night…and she has been trying to tell me ever since.”

Kirkwood sat up straighter in her chair and set the printouts down on the table. She exhaled through her teeth, clearly uncomfortable with Casey's theory.

“Casey, I can't possibly know where to begin with all of this. What you're telling me is not rational. It's the s-stuff of
fiction.
”

“It's not fiction!” Casey snapped defiantly. She stood abruptly. There was a fire in her eyes that alarmed Kirkwood enough that she gripped the arm of her chair.

Casey quickly relaxed her shoulders.

“Look. I've never sought to find out who my donor was before now. I've never wanted to. You've been trying to get me to talk for years, Geddie—to tell you what's going on inside my head. Well,
this
is what is going on!” Casey pointed sharply at the news article.

“I know it sounds completely crazy. But Saskia Andrutsiv is the face I've been seeing in my nightmares and I
promise
you, I've never seen her anywhere else.”

Casey paused as the woman's face echoed in her mind. Tears began to well and she wiped her eyes with her knuckles in frustration.

“She has been trying to reach me—to tell me the truth—and I wasn't listening,” she continued shakily. “But I am listening now.”

Kirkwood listened and considered.

Her rational, analytical mind would never entertain such a scenario. Then again, Casey Schillinge was no ordinary patient. Kirkwood was aware of literature, often regarded as fringe, concerning cellular memory: the idea that donor organs contain some sort of neuro-chemical “memory” of the individual from which they'd been harvested.

“You believe this to be true, without
any
foundation to support your theory?” Kirkwood ventured.

“I know it sounds ridiculous. But yes.” Casey's gaze drifted through the window. She crossed her arms. “I'm not crazy. I
know
I'm not.”

In that moment, Kirkwood saw something in Casey that she doubted she'd ever seen more acutely.

Determination. Resolve.

“Well,” Kirkwood ventured cautiously. “I'm not entirely sure how we can go forward with this.”

“I want to re-enter the nightmare again,” Casey replied softly. “Like we did before. I want to see if there is anything else—a clue—something I can, I don't know, follow up on.”

Kirkwood shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Casey, I don't know if that is a good idea. It could be very dangerous for you.”

“Then why did you do it before?” Casey challenged, staring directly at Kirkwood.

Again, Kirkwood couldn't help but smile, but it was an awkward, reactionary smile at having been so comprehensively skewered. She studied Casey for a long moment and then nodded.

She was beginning to see where Casey was heading. “You think that by solving her murder, the nightmares will stop.”

Casey shrugged. “I don't know. Yes.
Maybe
?”

Without speaking, Kirkwood rose from her chair and went over to the window, drawing the blinds across. She then switched off the main light and turned on a lamp that sat on the corner bookshelf behind the sofa. The light in the room softened considerably.

Casey sat down on the sofa.

“Make yourself comfortable, like you did before,” Kirkwood instructed hesitantly.