Torment Read online

  “We need to talk,” he said quietly.

  Bridget frowned. “Talk…” she said as her hands dropped to her side. She turned away and Daniel pulled her back into him.

  “Bridget, please we need to talk. You know I can’t keep seeing you, if I’m to continue as your therapist. I don’t know about you, but I can’t deny the feelings I have for you. I’ve watched you for years. Admired you for years. I kept my distance because you had Zack… but now I don’t want to keep my distance. I am falling for you, Bridget. I think I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you. But we can’t do this… we can’t do this while I am your psychiatrist.”

  Bridget released a loud sigh then dropped her face. She freed herself from Daniel’s hold and looked directly into his eyes. She knew he meant every word. “Find me one then,” she snapped. “Find me a new psychiatrist. I’m sick of living like this. I want to move forward. I want to move forward with you, Daniel. I’m not going to let those three bastards ruin my plans. Promise me… promise me you’ll do it.”

  Daniel nodded, “I will… I promise. I’m here for you, Bridget. You don’t have to worry about those bastards. They have no proof you’ve done anything. They’ll get what they deserve, and I’ll find you a new therapist. I want you more than anything, but I cannot cross that line. Not yet.”

  Bridget lent forward and whispered in his ear, “I know you want what’s best for me. I know you want what’s best for us. I trust you’ll never let me down and I’ll never let you down either.” Bridget’s hand wandered to his thigh as she kissed him.

  The remainder of the weekend was spent enjoying each other’s company. Neither spoke about their close encounter, and both continued with the playful teasing, close encounters, and penetrating gazes. They knew what they wanted. They knew they had restrictions that required resolving before they could move forward. Nothing would jeopardise what they desired.

  Daniel drove Bridget to the airport. Removing her luggage from his car, he placed it on the footpath then looked into her eyes, smiled, and wrapped his arms around her. Bridget pulled him close. He could feel the warmth of her embrace; again, his loins were on fire. Bridget closed her eyes. Daniel inhaled her sweet scent, and pulled her even closer. He felt a tingling sensation down below. There was no denying the spark. They kissed. They hugged. Daniel promised to do as she had asked. They would reunite when she returned. Nothing would ever come between them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  S

  itting around the crackling campfire, the three ate and drank as they watched the flames flicker. Stars sparkled in the blackness that enveloped the sky. A half-moon sat overhead surrounded by a misty ring of clouds. Three tents had been erected in a semi-circle skirting the fire. Firewood was stacked around the outer rim of the fire pit, bordered with a mix of large and small bush rocks. Three logs had been pulled from the dense bushland. They were positioned as stools so the three could gather around the warmth. The day had been a great success. Tonight they ate fresh fish. Their voices echoed out into the darkness of the dense bushland that surrounded them. They were alone. It was a time to plan their attack.

  Pierre looked at his friends, wondering if they could be trusted. They’d covered for one another before but they’d never contemplated murder. Would they follow through with their silence? Arthur had lost everything. His wife had left him. He appeared to have nothing left to lose. But Samuel was another story. He had a beautiful wife and daughter. Would he risk his freedom? Pierre stared at Samuel, as the man picked up the remains of his fish bones and threw them into the fire.

  “We need to work out our plan,” Pierre said. “I need to know you’ll both go through with what we decide. The bitch must pay, but I have to be sure you’ll both keep your mouths shut.”

  “Of course we will,” Arthur said. “That whore ruined my life. I want her dead just as much as you.”

  Samuel looked across the fire at Pierre. He hesitated.

  “Samuel,” Pierre snapped. “What about you? Can we count on you when the time comes?”

  “Jesus Christ, what type of question is that? Of course you can,” Samuel said as he threw his beer can into the fire. Seemed he was annoyed Pierre doubted his loyalty.

  “There’s no need to jump down my throat. It’s a question I had to ask for an answer I needed to hear.” He stared hard at Samuel. “There can be no second-guessing. There’ll be no turning back. What we decide here must stay between the three of us. We have to work together, and promise that no matter what, we’ll never discuss what we did.” He shifted his gaze between his two friends. “We have to kill her before she kills us, and when we do, we have to be certain our secret goes to our graves with us.”

  Samuel and Arthur nodded in agreement. Samuel grabbed another beer from his esky. “I’ll drink to that,” he cheered, as he threw fresh beers to the others.

  Pierre stared at him then glanced towards Arthur. He hated Bridget. He wanted nothing more than to see her dead. The last thing he wanted was for one of his so called friends to stuff up his plans. He wondered if he should have just kept his mouth shut. Maybe getting them involved had been a mistake. He wanted to ask them again, wanted to double-check their loyalty and commitment but thought better of it. He had to believe in their word. A man’s word was his bond, his father had always told him. Pierre had to be confident, and they had covered for one another in the past.

  Cracking open his can, Pierre guzzled his beer and pushed to his feet. He paced around the fire, picked up a log and threw it onto the flames, watching as embers flew. The timber popped and crackled. Smoke filled the air and sparks danced high. An amber glow lit their campsite and made shadows dance over their surrounds.

  “We need to attack her in her home,” Pierre said, as he rubbed a hand over his face then through his hair. “At night. We’ll attack at night while she’s sleeping. I know her boyfriend’s left her. She’ll be alone.” He grinned, then burped loudly. “She won’t know what hit her.”

  “When?” Samuel asked.

  “As soon as we get back. We can’t let another minute pass.”

  Samuel looked down into the fire and tossed a small branch into the flames, “How will we get inside?”

  “I know she still goes to see a shrink,” Pierre said. “Been going to him for years. Seen her dash into his office. Every appointment is always in the morning at the same time. All we have to do is find out when her next appointment is, and when she leaves her house, we break in. We can leave a window unlocked. She won’t suspect a thing. Then when she’s sleeping, we’ll attack.”

  Samuel shivered and gulped down his beer as reality struck. Pierre was serious. There would be no turning back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  C

  rouched behind the bushes my heart raced. Palms clammy, sweat trickled from under my armpits. The pressure was on. This was the moment I’d been waiting for. Fear of being spotted kept me still and alert. Samuel Easton, Arthur Fuller and Pierre Rainer sat drinking around their campfire. The three became more intoxicated as the minutes passed. Darkness, we were all surrounded by darkness. Scattered beer cans covered the ground. It would soon be time to strike. No way could they continue. Bullying bastards. They would destroy no more. No mercy would be given.

  Pierre stood and stretched, his gaze moving over my hiding spot. He threw his discarded beer can. It struck the nearby tree trunk and fell within reach. Pierre’s head tilted, hands raised to his forehead as he stared. He took a few steps forward. Closer. Branches and twigs cracked beneath his feet. He paused. One wrong move…

  He took another step forward. Paused again as he stared.

  “Oi, Pierre what ya doin’?” Arthur slurred his words. “Why don’t you fetch us another drink while you’re up.”

  Pierre glanced back over his shoulder. “I thought I saw something,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

  “Oh no! Watch out for the boogeyman,” Samuel laughed.

 
“I’ll give you fucken boogeyman. Get your own fucken drink,” Pierre snapped.

  “Oh come on, lighten up…” said Samuel, laughing again. “I was only joking. Why don’t you grab that bottle?”

  “What bottle?” Pierre asked, turning back to the fire.

  A sigh of relief. Patience.

  “You said some guy gave it to you the other night when you were leaving the pub, some old guy you’ve known for years.”

  “Oh that bottle.” Pierre nodded, “Old Billy Tappet gave it to me, said someone gave it to him and we should take it with us.”

  “Well go on then, what are you waiting for? I think we need to drink a toast to our up and coming success.” Arthur chuckled, “I can’t wait to see the look in that bitch’s eyes when she sees us.”

  Pierre shook his head and smiled. “What… so now you want to do the honours?”

  “Why not? She’s ruined my life. Jill won’t even talk to me. I’ve lost everything. I want that bitch to see my face when she struggles for her final breath,” he said, spittle flying from his lips.

  “What you want and what you get are two very different fucken things,” Pierre snarled. “Look what she has done to me. She nearly killed me! She threatened my family. Says she can get me whenever she fucken likes!” He balled his hands into fists. “I’ll show her who’ll get fucken who.” He stomped over to the fire. “I want to wrap my hands around her bloody throat and squeeze as tight as I can. I want to stare into her eyes. Feel her struggle beneath me. I want to spit in her face, then snap her fucking neck.” Pierre clenched his hands in front of his stomach and motioned a snapping action.

  ***

  Samuel sat quietly, listening and watching his friends, his expression pensive. Their words were full of hate. He wondered if it was the alcohol talking. He wanted Bridget to pay for her actions but murder, he wasn’t sure if he was capable of murdering anyone. What would happen if they got caught? He would lose his family. He would lose his freedom. His daughter already thought he was a joke. How would she handle a father being convicted of murder? To retaliate against someone who caused pain was one thing, but murder? Samuel hoped the light of day would deliver sense. For now he just needed another drink, something stronger than beer.

  “A little less talk and a bit more action,” Samuel laughed nervously. “Weren’t you going to get us that drink?”

  Pierre smiled and nodded “Oh so I was,” he replied enthusiastically, turned and kicked an empty beer can then stumbled towards his tent. He unzipped the flap and dove inside. The campsite fell silent. A few minutes later Pierre emerged with a bottle that held a dark amber liquid.

  “Let’s drink to our success,” he cheered, as he raised the bottle above his head. “Grab me those mugs,” he demanded, pointing towards their supplies next to the esky.

  Arthur scurried over and retrieved three mugs as instructed. He smiled as he passed them out. Pierre poured for all three, spilling some of the drink onto the ground before throwing the empty bottle into the fire.

  He held his mug at waist height. “I’d like to propose a toast…” he said, looking towards his mates and smiling. “To friends, and to the death of Bridget Tilner. May she rot in hell!” He cheered, as he raised his mug.

  Samuel and Arthur repeated his words. All three sculled the contents of their mugs. Samuel went to the esky and retrieved another three beers, and the men sat around the fire watching the flames.

  Pierre studied his friends’ faces. Was that determination in his eyes? Set, no doubt on the killing. Would he be able to trust the other two to keep their mouths shut? What would he do if they dared to cross him? Would they become an enemy?

  Samuel met Pierre’s gaze, but couldn’t hold it, looking away as he poked at the fire. Contemplation sat on Samuel’s face. What doubts did he hold? Murder seemed to weigh heavy on him. If so, where would he stand if he did not comply with their demands? He questioned whether his big burly mate would be capable of murder. He had seen first hand how others had suffered at his hands. He had never dared to cross Pierre. Too many people had crumbled beneath his power. But murder?

  ***

  Arthur appeared half-asleep. His face was ashen, his cheeks drawn. All his earlier talk of smothering someone seemed unlikely, but who knew? The man had had heart surgery, and was half the size of his friend, Pierre.

  Arthur sat smiling into his drink. His heavy eyes flickered. Darkness met his exhaustion. The crackling flames had been mesmerising. A day fishing in the sun with hours of drinking had been taxing. He thought of the mateship he shared with his friends. His mates were his life. Besides their friendship he had nothing. He closed his eyes. He soaked up the warmth from the flames. He was content. He gently lowered his can next to his side and placed it on the ground. He wriggled around and adjusted his position. The log behind comfortably supported him. His breath became shallow. He would soon be asleep.

  All three would never make it to their tents.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A

  long the tree-lined streets of Sydney, nothing much had changed except three co-workers were mysteriously missing. Samuel Easton, Arthur Fuller and Pierre Rainer were rostered to commence their shift at 8am, and all three had failed to show. Not even a phone call by way of explanation.

  Veronica Easton was in a flap. She hadn’t managed any sleep. Nor had she been able to contact her husband. He’d been due home yesterday afternoon, and she’d even baked his favourite dinner – meatloaf with mashed potatoes and peas plus bread and butter pudding. She’d kept his plate warm, just as he liked, and she had waited patiently.

  He never showed.

  His dinner now sat covered in the fridge. A niggling feeling told her something was wrong. Very wrong. She’d not seen or heard from Samuel since he left with his two mates over a week ago. Pierre Rainer and Arthur Fuller had picked him up before sunrise the previous Saturday. Veronica had been in bed when they arrived. She’d heard their voices, heard them mention fishing, but Samuel hadn’t told her where they were heading. He’d left without as much as a kiss on the cheek. They could be anywhere. Tears fell as she looked at her watch, then glanced out the front window. It was too early to contact the police to file a missing person’s report. She prayed he was safe and well. She’d not heard of any major traffic accidents. She again checked that the telephone was working. How could her beloved husband just vanish? Why hadn’t he called to tell her what was happening?

  Sharon Easton thanked the gods for her father’s disappearance. She was glad he was missing. He was a thorn in her side. Contrary to his belief, the male population was not the superior race. The voices and views of women were not something to be ignored. I hope he never comes back. She didn’t care where he was. Besides her mother’s worrying cries, her home was peaceful for once. Sharon loved this time of year. She looked forward to her father’s time away with his mates. It was one week of freedom. Time without him in the family home delivered harmony, cooperation and peace. She could use the bathroom when she chose. She didn’t have to endure her father’s demands. Respect. Her home possessed respect. And the toilet seat was never left up. Looking at her mother she could see the worry in her eyes, could feel her concern, and hear the nervousness in her trembling voice.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Sharon told her mother. “They’ve probably just drunk too much, maybe they’ve broken down or have a flat tyre. He’ll be home soon enough,” she said, as she wrapped her arm around her mother.

  Veronica shrugged away her daughter’s arm and paced the lounge room. She ran to the front window when she heard a car. “I should have insisted he tell me where they were going,” she said, as she shook her head.

  “He wouldn’t have told you, it was secret-squirrel business, the private man’s club,” Sharon scoffed.

  “That’s enough! Can’t you see I have enough to worry about than to listen to your smart comments?”

  “Well I’m sure you would’ve told dad
where you were going. I have to say where I’m going all the time,” Sharon snapped. “I don’t see why there’s one rule for us and another for him,” Sharon said, as she rolled her eyes and looked towards the ceiling.

  “I said that is enough,” Veronica said sharply, then burst into tears.

  Her mother was a loyal wife who never questioned her husband.

  ***

  Judy Coleman looked out the rear window, past the flowers in the garden and towards the garage. Her eyes were blurry and her head was thumping. She had a massive hangover. She’d had a big weekend with her girlfriends and was relieved to have a rostered day off work. She had no memory of arriving home last night. She’d not made it to bed; instead she spent the night on the lounge. When she finally staggered to the bedroom, the bed was made and she collapsed on top of it. She placed her hands over her head and asked herself why she had drunk so much. She frowned. Something hadn’t seemed right when she looked out into the backyard. What had she seen? Her brow furrowed further. Something sticking out from behind the garage. In her state, she hadn’t been able to work out what it was. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t be bothered getting up. She needed sleep.

  ***

  Jill Fuller received a telephone call from Sally Pascoe at Wolf Industries during her morning tea break. Sally had been trying to contact Arthur on his mobile phone but there was no answer. She’d made several attempts, and the only response was an automated message stating his telephone may have been switched off or out of range. The same message she’d received when she’d attempted to contact Samuel Easton and Pierre Rainer.