Judas Kisses by Debbie Ritchie

Author:Debbie Ritchie [Ritchie, Debbie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
ISBN: 9781742731902
Publisher: Hardie Grant Books
Published: 2010-08-12T12:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

I am back in Redfern, in the lounge room that looks out onto a dull 1960s streetscape. I am sitting on Garry’s knee. He gazes into my eyes, and I stare back into his soft blue irises. There’s a mist around us and music plays. It’s orchestra music and it swells about the room like the crescendo to a love scene in a Hollywood movie.

Now Garry is stroking my arm. His fingers are gentle. He’s smiling. I continue to return his gaze. Then his eyes grow darker, steely. I’m reminded of storm clouds hanging low, about to break. Suddenly his eyes flash red and the music changes. AC/DC’s ‘Thunderstruck’ belts through the room and the windows rattle with the force of screaming guitars.

A few seconds into the song and Garry leans down and bites hard into the soft, pink flesh of my forearm. Blood spurts out in a scarlet jet. I am screaming my lungs out but no one hears. A woman clutching a straw shopping bag walks past the window, but she takes no notice of the racket. For a moment I think it’s my mum, a younger version.

‘Mum! Mum!’ I cry, but the woman walks on, out of sight.

I look down at my arm and it’s a mass of veins and mangled flesh. Garry is still going, gnawing up my arm towards my neck and face. I try to wriggle free, but his arms pin me to his lap. I struggle, flailing about as his gnashing teeth reach my face. Not my face!

As he bites into my mouth I wake from the dream. I’m safe, sitting upright in bed, eyes wide under my pressure mask, heart pumping, breath choppy.

The nightmares continued nearly every night, along with a stream of unanswered questions about the man I’d once loved and trusted. Did he think about me? Did he care? Was he sorry? Or was he going to come and finish me off? Creep through the dead of night with a lighter and petrol container. Bones and all, this time.

As the heat of summer hung over Killabakh, my anxieties increased. I knew why. It was time for me to front up to Taree police station to give my statement: my version of events on the afternoon of Friday, 1 April 1994. I’d never been inside a police station before. I didn’t know what was expected of me and was terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing.

I padded through the labyrinth of corridors behind Sissy and Detective Sergeant Frank Kuiters, past offices and waiting areas, uniformed officers and a smelly old bloke cursing in a holding cell. My body was quivering. If my new skin were able to sweat, I would’ve been bathed in perspiration. Instead I was hermetically sealed in my stifling burns suit. It was 13 December 1994.

The interview room was sparse, similar to those on TV crime shows. I don’t remember a window. There was a table and some chairs, a monitoring screen suspended in one corner and a video camera set up on a tripod.

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