POSTE HASTE

 

Sophie Jones tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and took a deep, shuddering breath. 

As forks in the road of life go, this was a big one. 

Should she knock on the door of the house, perhaps saving a woman’s life, or should she just turn the car around, go back to work - her lunchtime was nearly up anyway - and forget she had ever met Tina?

           Of course Tina was probably not the girl’s real name. 

Sophie had sorted mail into Tina’s private post box every morning for four weeks now, and she could recall at least eight or nine different aliases.  Tania Stephens, Tracy Swan, Tammy Sweeney, and many more.  All using the initials T.S. and all, Sophie had to admit, quite creative.

           When Tina first came into the post office to open a private box, Sophie was required to gather identification from her customer. Tina had seemed hesitant at first, but then she had produced a government rent card bearing the name Tina Smith.  Sophie had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of these at her busy post office agency, but never one that had the address obscured by a thick square of masking tape.

           Sophie had held the card up to examine it.

           “You don’t need to know my address, do you?” Tina had said, her eyes widening.

           “Well, yes.  I have to put your street address on this form here.”  Sophie tapped her pen on the piece of paper and smiled politely. 

Tina glanced around her and leaned closer to Sophie, lowering her voice.

           “If I give you a street address – it might be a false one.”

           Sophie sighed.  She had worked in the post office for thirteen years and she prided herself on always following rules.  Breaking or bending rules, she found, often resulted in ramifications down the track – she had seen too many colleagues get into trouble for careless work practices.

           “I’m sorry,” Sophie lowered her own voice, “I have to have your correct street address.  If you can’t give me a genuine address, I can’t lease you a private box.”  Sophie was practiced at being polite but firm.

           Tina lowered her eyes and turned the plastic card over and over in her fingers.  Sophie waited patiently, watching her.  Tina was slightly built, perhaps in her late-twenties, around Sophie’s own age.  But the lines on Tina’s face spoke of a hard life. 

Sophie prided herself on being able to sum people up.

           “Alright,” Tina said finally, her shoulders slumping. “But please, this has to be confidential …”

           “Of course.”  Sophie picked up her pen.

           “Please, I’m serious.”  Tina had reached across the counter and her thin fingers clamped Sophie’s wrist. Sophie resisted an urge to pull free of the woman, and she looked Tina squarely in the face.

           “You don’t understand,” Tina continued, squeezing harder. “My husband… he wants to kill me … I’ve had to move so many times … he follows my trail, never gives up …”

           Sophie had felt a chill but kept her composure.  Tina reminded her of a scared animal, and she felt a sudden wash of sympathy.  Sophie had never married, but still, she thought, there but for the grace of God go I, and any other woman. 

           Sophie was tempted to lay her other hand over Tina’s and whisper soothing words, but she was a professional, she reminded herself.

           “I can assure you, our records are stored securely and are not given out to anyone.  Under no circumstances would any member of the public have access to post office records.”

           Tina appeared to relax somewhat, and let go of Sophie’s wrist. She slowly peeled the masking tape from the public housing card and slid the card across the counter.  The address was revealed:  24 Scott Parade. Sophie quickly copied the address and pushed the card back to Tina.

           “Thanks.  And don’t worry.”

           Sitting in her car now, Sophie wondered if she should have let Tina just give her a false address.  Would it really have mattered?  Any official correspondence would be sent to Tina through her box, anyway, not via her street address.  It was just one of those rules that the post office demanded, and Sophie always obeyed.

The house was old and run-down.  Even at midday the curtains were closed.  Junk mail spilled from the mailbox onto an untended lawn.  Sophie’s heartbeat quickened.  Should she go and knock on the door?  Reassure herself that Tina was alright? 

But on what pretext? 

What if Tina was dead inside?  What if her crazed husband was in the house?  She gazed unseeingly ahead.

On the other hand, she could just return to work.  Why get involved?  She had never gone to a customer’s house before – this was madness.  And it was breaking every possible rule.

           The package had arrived about two weeks ago, addressed to Tina Smith, care of the post office, with no return address.  As the parcel was far too big to fit into the private box, Sophie had slipped a card into Tina’s box informing her that an item was waiting inside the post office for her to pick up.  After a few days the parcel was still there, and Sophie had put a second card in Tina’s box, as a reminder.  

           Sophie had already guessed that Tina’s mail was not being collected until after dark each day. This was often the case with customers who worked full-time and were unable to collect their mail during office hours.  But she suspected that in this case Tina might be avoiding the post office during daylight hours so as not to be seen.  Sophie had been tempted to ring Tina and offer to drop the parcel off to her house personally, on her way home from work one night. This was clearly against post office rules, but Sophie couldn’t help wondering what had become of Tina.  When Sophie had rung the phone number on Tina’s private box records, there was just a recorded message from the telephone company – the phone was disconnected.

           And so the parcel had remained … until this morning.  On her arrival at work the first thing Sophie had noticed was that the parcel was gone.  The manager, Reg, was already sorting mail.

           “What happened to that parcel for box 408 – Smith?” Sophie had asked him, hanging her coat on the hook.

           “And a good morning to you too, Sophie” Reg said sarcastically. “That parcel?  I gave it to a postie to drop round to the house.”  Sophie noticed the metal box that held the private box customers’ details was unlocked and open, with the Box 408 card lying beside it.

           “That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it Reg?” Sophie looked at him. “Did the customer ask you to do that?”  Sophie couldn’t imagine any of their posties willingly taking a parcel that size on their bikes, in any case.  They were always grumbling about having to deliver even the smallest packages – that was the job for the special parcel van.

           “No, the postie offered actually.  So I thought, why not?”

           “The postman offered?”  This was becoming more bizarre by the minute.  Sophie knew all the posties, and none of them ever willingly offered to carry parcels.  “Who offered?”

           “I don’t know, Sophie.  Does it matter?  Some new bloke.”

           Now Sophie was really confused.  She wasn’t even aware there was a new postie, and she’d just been into the postal depot yesterday, chatting to them all.  There was an uneasiness prickling across her scalp.

           “What’s the new postie’s name?”

           “For God’s sake, Sophie, I don’t know.  I’ve never seen him before.”  Reg was clearly exasperated.  “Please … just start sorting or we’ll never be finished by nine o’clock.”

           Sophie sorted the mail absentmindedly.  Just before nine o’clock, she rang the mail depot to ask about the new postie, but there was no answer.  Being a Tuesday, the lightest day of the week for mail, the posties were already out on their rounds.

           All morning Sophie had been distracted.  Would a crazed husband be ruthless enough to impersonate a postman in order to get to his wife?  Let’s say he was aware Tina had opened a private box at this post office.  Could he send a parcel addressed to his wife care of the post office and then brazenly offer to deliver it himself? 

Possibly.  Why not? 

Sophie now regretted that she’d insisted upon a genuine street address – what would it matter, anyway, if Tina had given a false address? At least she’d be safe, or at least, if her husband ever did catch up with her, it wouldn’t be because Sophie had insisted on following rules.

           Sophie gripped the steering wheel.  Her lunch hour was almost over but her sandwich packet lay unopened on the seat beside her.  Sitting in her car outside 24 Scott Parade hadn’t solved anything. 

She had to make a decision.

           Straightening her post office uniform and taking a deep breath, Sophie walked to the front door and knocked loudly.  Years of having to deal with customers had taught her how to feign confidence. 

There were sounds of life inside.

The door opened with a wheeze.

           “Yes?” An unshaven middle-aged man squinted into the sunlight. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks inflated as he stifled a belch.

           “I’m looking for Tina Smith.  Is she here please?” Sophie asked pleasantly.

           The man shook his head.  “No one here by that name,” he said darkly, and began to close the door.

           “Well then …” Sophie had to think quickly, “Can I speak to the woman of the house?”

           The man narrowed his eyes.  “There is no woman of the house.  Why – you selling something?”

           Sophie had run out of ideas.  “No, no … just – post office business, that’s all.  Sorry to bother you.” She turned and started towards her car, feeling the man’s eyes on her back, then turned to face him again.

           “Do you mind if I ask how long you’ve lived at this address?”

           The man studied her for a moment.

           “Four years.”

           “And you’ve never heard of Tina Smith?”

           “That’s right.”

           There was something about his manner that made her uneasy. She was sure he was lying.

           Back at work she rang the mail depot.  Daryl, the head postman, snorted into the phone.  “New postie?  Sophie, they’re shedding staff, not hiring.  New postie? I wish!”

           Reg was adamant.  “Look, he wore the uniform, I saw his bike parked outside.”

           Sophie had a bad feeling about this.  She knew the uniforms could be found in opportunity shops.  Anyone could look like they work for the postal department if they had a mind to.  Even the postal bikes were sold to the public second-hand; anyone could buy them.

           Reg was unimpressed.  “Sophie, settle down and get back to work – there’s always a rational explanation for these things.” 

Really? 

She rang Daryl again, telling him her theory.

           She heard him chuckle.  “It must have been someone from head office.  Don’t worry about it.”

           Sophie felt a vein in her head start to throb.  Do men have no interest in domestic violence?  These men seemed to have an active disinterest!  She decided to go to the police station right after work.

           Sophie was relieved to see the officer on the reception desk was female.  The woman listened sympathetically to Sophie’s story and then leaned on the counter.

           “I’m afraid we can only act on a call from the victim herself, or perhaps a neighbour who hears an argument and fears violence. Plus, there is no evidence that this woman actually lives at that address.  If she is using aliases then chances are she did give you a false address – that rent card may have been years old, might not even have belonged to her.”

           Sophie thought about it.   It all seemed quite reasonable when explained like that, and yet she had this gut feeling.

           That evening Sophie pushed food around her dinner plate. Then she lay on the couch in jeans and sweater, trying to get involved in the midweek movie. 

Finally, she got into her car and drove to Scott Parade.

           At first the house seemed dark and empty but then Sophie noticed a light from a window at the side of the house.  After a few steadying breaths she stepped out of the car, locked it and shoved the keys deep inside her jeans pocket.  Her sneakers made no sound on the driveway as she walked down the side entrance.  She could just make out an early-model car parked in a carport behind the house.

           Sophie’s heart beat faster as she crept closer to the lighted window.  The curtains were tightly drawn and there was no sound from inside.  Clouds were fleeing across a full moon and Sophie was bathed alternately in darkness and brilliant moonlight. 

This is madness, she thought grimly as a neighbour’s dog started barking.  What am I doing here? 

She turned back towards her car.

           Suddenly the front door of the house burst open and the porch light came on.  Sophie dropped to her knees behind a fragrant bush with white flowers.  Immediately she felt her nose start to itch and she pinched it hard, breathing in the sickly fragrance through her mouth in small gasps.

           The front door slammed shut and moments later she heard what sounded like someone opening and closing the letterbox.  Don’t tell me he’s chosen this moment to finally collect his mail, Sophie thought grimly.  She prayed he would go straight back inside, but then she heard uneven footsteps coming down the driveway straight towards her.  Not daring to breathe, she stayed crouching behind the bush as he walked past her, fumbling with a bunch of keys.  Looking through the daisies she could see it was the man she had spoken to at lunchtime.  He was heavy-set, and walked with a pronounced limp.  He moved within five feet of Sophie and she could clearly smell beer on his breath.  He continued past her and on towards the carport.  Moments later the car engine rattled into life and headlights flooded the driveway, including her bush.  Sophie remained behind the shrub, not daring to move.  She could only pray the man was distracted enough not to see her. 

Sure enough, the car clattered past her and out through the front gate. She heard it rumbling slowly down the street.

           Sophie stood up, realising she’d been holding her breath for what seemed like minutes.  She released her nose and immediately sneezed, setting off the dog again.

           There was no time to waste.  If she was going to act, it had to be now.  She tapped lightly on the window, then a little harder.  “Tina!” she hissed, “Are you there?”

           Sophie thought she could hear a faint sound inside.

           Moving quietly around to the back of the house, Sophie noticed women’s underwear on the clothesline.   So, there’s no woman of the house, eh, she thought grimly.

           She would have to go inside the house.  Sophie tasted pungent fear and swallowed hard.  All her instincts were telling her to leave this place. Go home.  Don’t get involved. This is not your problem!

           And yet – who else was going to help?  

Sophie breathed a shuddering breath and walked to the back door. She grabbed the handle and turned it.  With a soft click, it opened. 

A long, dark hallway ran the length of the house.  Sophie stepped inside and let the door close softly behind her. The place reeked of stale beer and cigarettes.  Sophie’s heart fluttered as she walked slowly down the hall. The floor groaned with each step.  She glanced into the rooms on either side, her eyes adjusting to the darkness.  In one room could make out items strewn like debris across the floor:  a tumble of pizza boxes, crushed beer cans and saucers spilling over with cigarette butts. 

Suddenly she felt a desperate longing for her own apartment, for the comforting smells and familiar objects.

 This place was so foreign, so unknown.  The atmosphere seemed to drip with fear.

           Sophie stopped at the closed door and looked down to see a sliver of yellow light shining from under it.  She placed her ear against the door, but heard only the frenetic drumming of her own heart.  She clasped the doorknob and tried to turn it, but it resisted.

           She knocked loudly and heard a faint scuttling sound on the other side.

“Tina?” she called, and threw her weight against the door.  A searing pain shot through her shoulder.  The door held firm. 

She looked around the dim hallway for something to use as a tool.  She spotted a marble pedestal pot-plant stand.  On top of it sat a withered plant.  Removing the plant, she picked it up with difficulty.  It was very heavy.  She took aim at the door handle and drew it back.           

“So,” said a male voice behind her, “it’s the nosy woman from the post office.”

           Sophie turned to see the dark shape of the man at the back door. He took a limping step towards her, steadying himself against a wall.  As he moved forward into the half-light she could make out his smirking face.

           “Where’s Tina?” Sophie demanded, her quavering voice betraying her.

           “You shouldn’t go hiding in people’s gardens like that …” he said, “Someone might think you’re a thief and hurt you.”  He took another step towards her. 

Sophie stepped back, her legs suddenly weak.  Don’t fail me now, she begged her body.

           “What have you done with Tina?”  Sophie heard her voice take on a pleading tone.  She began to glimpse random snapshots of her life, her job, her home. Does this mean I’m going to die, she wondered frantically. And yet she knew with a desperate certainty that she wanted to live. Whatever idiocy has led her to this situation, she knew she must fight her way out.

           The man sounded amused.  “That’s really none of your business.”

           Without warning he lunged at her.  His thick hand clamped firmly around her left wrist.   Sophie tried to pull away from him but his grip was too strong.   His lips peeled back into a sneer, revealing yellow teeth.

           “Let me go!” she pleaded and tried to twist her arm from his grasp.  She heard a crack and felt a nauseating pain in her wrist.  Darkness started closing in on her and she felt her consciousness desert her.

Then she remembered her right hand still gripped the heavy pedestal.  It was her only chance.

Somehow she swung it with superhuman strength. The man was still leering at her as it struck him in his left temple with a sick thud.  She felt his hand release her arm.   Then he stood and looked at her quizzically for a moment before dropping to his knees in slow motion. 

Sophie jumped back breathlessly as the man knelt there for what seemed like an eternity.  Then he fell face-down on the floor and lay there motionless.  A trickle of scarlet oozed from his nose and formed a tiny pool on the floor.  His eyes stared sightlessly past her.

           Sophie dropped her weapon, gasping for breath.

“Oh my God!” 

Her instinct was to run from the house before the man came to, that is if he was still alive, but she knew she must now stay and finish the job. 

She must find Tina. 

           Picking up the pedestal again she held it like a ramrod and smashed the end of it into the door just beneath the handle.  The door splintered open and Sophie stepped cautiously inside. The room was small and musty-smelling.  A lamp glowed in the corner next to an unmade bed.  The only sounds in the room were Sophie’s halting breaths.

           Then with a creak the wardrobe door opened a fraction.  Sophie could make out someone huddled on the floor inside. Dropping the pedestal again, she hurried to the closet and opened the door.

A frightened animal looked up at her. 

It was Tina.

“It’s alright,” gasped Sophie,  “You’re safe.”

Sophie crouched beside her, trying to take her hand, but Tina fought her off.  “Who are you?” she wailed.

           “Tina, you remember me,” begged Sophie “I’m from the post office …”

           Tina’s eyes widened.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

           “Remember you told me about your husband … you gave me this address … there was a parcel … I came to save you …” Sophie gasped.  “It’s alright now … he can’t hurt you anymore.”

           “What … ?”

           “Your husband …”

           “My husband is here?” Tina’s eyes flew open wider. “Oh my God! Where’s Tony?”

           “Tony?”

           “My brother.  This is his house. He’s letting me stay in his spare room.  Where did you see my husband?”

           Sophie was feeling dizzy.  “Wait a minute.  What are you doing in the wardrobe?”

           “I heard someone knocking on the window … thought it might have been Eric … my husband …  Tony had gone to the pub, told me to hide if anyone came round.”

           Sophie thought about the body lying in the hallway.  “Does your brother … Tony … does he drive a car?”

           “Yes, you just missed him … oh God, I hope he comes back soon.”

           Sophie stood up and sucked in air to try to clear her head. 

What had she done? 

She glanced down at Tina, who was looking back up at her expectantly. Sophie knew she must go and examine Tony’s body, but she suspected it was already too late.  “Wait here,” she told Tina, and turned to go.

           Then she heard it and stopped, transfixed.

“What is it?” Tina was asking, but Sophie was frozen. 

That sound.

“What’s the matter?” Tina started to whimper.

Sophie’s blood had turned to ice. 

The sound was getting nearer.

There were no lights shining on the bedroom window as it moved slowly up the driveway, but Sophie knew the sound.

She heard it every day at work.

           The unmistakeable purr of a postman’s motorbike.