Free One Night by Malla Duncan

trousers.
    ‘Let’s flip him over.’
    We braced our hands under him, and
heaved. Brent rolled over. Runnels of blood poured from his nose, a purple graze
of torn skin ploughed across his left cheek. As we stared at him there was a
sound. I thought it was a groan but it could have just been the expulsion of
air from his lungs.
    Quickly we checked his pockets, she
on the left, me on the right. Nothing. Brent was deathly still, his eyes
closed. Cautiously, we backed away. I had to point out our next obvious move.
    ‘We need to find a phone. We need
to call the police.’
    ‘ No! ’ she almost yelped.
    ‘Look, they’ll help you. Are you a
refugee?’
    ‘I look for my boyfriend.’
    ‘Your boyfriend is here?’
    ‘Two years.’
    ‘Where exactly are you from?’
    She looked vague.
    I let this go. It didn’t matter.
‘Your boyfriend’s not legal either, is he? You’re an illegal alien.’
    She didn’t answer.
    ‘How did they get you here?’
    ‘Truck, then boat.’
    ‘And you landed on the coast here
at night? Then you needed a safe house. Was Brent supposed to provide you with
documents, a job?’
    ‘They say…’ She stopped.
    I felt sick. ‘You would probably
have ended up as a prostitute. Did you know that?’
    She looked away. ‘I am thinking…’
she said, frowning as if she was trying to put a puzzle together.
    My body was aching all over. I was
losing patience. Fear, shock and grief were being overlaid by irritability.
    ‘Well, we don’t have time for you
to think! I have to find someone to report this to. You can come with me or
not. Your choice.’
    She wavered, truly between a rock
and a hard place, as they say. I felt mean but I had to reach a phone. Her
problem was one more I couldn’t handle in one night, despite the fact she had
probably saved my life.
    ‘Come on,’ I urged. ‘We’ll find a
solution. You can’t stay here.’ I pointed at Brent’s immobile shape. ‘This man
may not be dead – and if he isn’t, you will be.’
    She understood this. She had seen
the body in the cupboard. Automatically she bent for her case.
    ‘Dump that,’ I said. ‘We’ll come back
for it.’
    Together we shoved the case under
some bushes on the side of the road. She looked at me with the barest
indication of a smile. ‘Glad I meet you.’
    A track of dried blood split open
at the corner of my mouth. The pain made me wince. ‘Can’t tell you how glad I
am.’
    We went back to the cottage to get my car keys. With all the lights burning it
looked like a cozy little home in the woods. The door which I had locked was
now ajar. I had to fight a rise of nausea as I pushed it open. The thought of what
lay in the yard made a vivid picture too big and too detailed to fit my mind.
    Sticky rose from the couch, pleased
to see company. He was clearly a little rattled by the comings and goings in
the middle of the night. My heart squeezed as I looked at him. His mum was gone
and he didn’t yet know nor would he understand. When would the grieving for her
disappearance set in? How long would he mourn her lack of return? How could I
love him enough to make up for it?
    ‘The dog…’ Galina said, backing
away.
    ‘He’s harmless.’
    I went forward and gave him a
stroke, ruffling his ears the way he liked. He licked my hand and settled back.
If he stayed put while I went for the police, it would be all right. I said to
Galina, ‘I’m just going to get my car keys.’
    I ran up the stairs, stopped. My
bag had been turned upside down. My heart in my mouth, I scrabbled through the
mess of loose change, cards, papers, makeup, pens, tissues. My keys were gone.
If Brent couldn’t take Mona’s car, he had schemed to take mine. I felt drained,
defeated. We would have to go back and get the keys off him.
    I went down the stairs. ‘Did you
find keys in that man’s pockets?’
    She paused, nervous. ‘Keys? Yes,
there are keys. I think – ’
    ‘That’s okay. We’ve got to go back.
He’s got my car