Ch 1-10

Summary

Emily Davis experienced a run of disturbing nightmares. She learned of possible reasons that not only challenged some of her beliefs, but caused her to pursue a course of action that would ultimately change her life forever, if it didn’t kill her first. .

Chapter One

Sarah Moon reclined in her lounge chair as she glanced around the crowded bar. The number of patrons had grown since she and her colleagues arrived for their weekly Thursday night drinks.

The pretty young red head with the heart-warming smile, loved to socialize with her friends, but for some reason, tonight she wasn’t feeling it.

The drunken conversation throughout the popular CBD bar made chatting all the more difficult. The noise was no different to any other Thursday night, but tonight, Ben’s Bar irritated her.

Whatever the reason, continually being asked to repeat herself, or asking her friends to repeat themselves, grated on her as the evening wore on.

Sarah checked her watch, then emptied the last of her drink. She gestured towards the door. ‘I’m gonna hit the road guys…’

She stood from her chair and straightened her skirt. She shouldered her hand bag, ignoring the pleas to stay a little longer, or to have one more for the road.

Sarah brushed the fringe of her salon styled hair from her pale face. She forced a smile. ‘I’m just really tired tonight…It’s been a long day. I’ll catch you all tomorrow, OK.’

Her work friend, Melanie leapt to her feet. ‘I’ll walk you to your car, Sez…’

‘Don’t be silly…You stay.’ Sarah motioned for Melanie to sit back down. ‘You’re enjoying yourself.’

‘Are you sure?’ Melanie asked, slowly lowering herself into her seat.

‘Of course,’ she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘My car’s not that far away, anyway.’

Following one last reassuring smile and a wave, Sarah zig-zagged her way across the room, through the gathering of mostly male patrons, to the street exit.

The summer breeze welcomed her as she stepped out, making a casual check of her surrounds. After a short stroll along the busy main street Sarah turned onto Park Street. She baulked briefly at the paucity of street lighting, conspiring with the cloudy moonless night to create dark shadows. She checked over her shoulders before slowly continuing.

Sarah’s eyes flicked from dark spot to dark spot. The deeper into the darkness she moved, the faster she walked, reassured all was well by the occasional check back over her shoulder.

She was deep down the lonely street before she was comforted by the sight of her car up ahead. Only two other cars were parked near Sarah’s. The isolation added to the eerie silence. She started to understand why she’d never parked down there before and never would again.

A sound caused her to stop and quickly turn towards the main street. Her darting eyes scanned the path behind her. So many dark shadows.

Sarah continued, this time her pace matched her heart rate—fast. She hadn’t travelled far when the sound of running footsteps caused Sarah to gasp. She stopped and turned back, clutching her hand bag close. Her wide eyes darted. Nothing there but dark shadows.

Sarah frowned at the darkness. She continued to her car, which was now close, all the while ruing her decision to refuse Melanie’s offer.

With a push of a button on her remote, she unlocked the doors as she approached. Her tension eased slightly when her vehicle’s indicator lights flashed twice, briefly tinging the darkness in yellow.

She heaved open her car door. Her small hand struggled to grip the car keys and the door handle. The keys fell from her hand. She cursed to herself as she bent down to collect them from the roadway.

When she stood back up, a leather-gloved hand came from behind her and covered her mouth. Before she could react, a large blade was thrust deep into her back.

The knife was like a hot iron. Its long blade struck a bone, possibly a rib. Blood flowed down her back while the gloved hand muffled Sarah’s agonized screams.

Sarah’s knees buckled. Before she could fall, the attacker withdrew the knife and plunged the bloodstained dagger twice more, deep into her back. The actions were so swift and clean Sarah did not feel any pain, only the force of the blows, followed by a tingling sensation in her back.

She hit the ground with a heavy thud. The balaclava wearing attacker stood over her with eerie eyes that peered at her through the narrow slits. Nothing was said to explain the attack.

Her terror-filled eyes dropped to the blood soaked knife held in the attacker’s gloved hand. She held up a hand. ‘I don’t want to die. Please… Why are you doing this?’

Her assailant did not respond.

All Sarah could do was watch helplessly as the attacker casually bent down and plunged the knife into her chest. Its blade pierced the sternum with ease before dissecting her heart. The intense pain she felt was short lived. The last thing Sarah would’ve seen was her attacker closely watching her as the light abandoned her eyes.

---

Max Higgins was mid-conversation on his mobile phone when a uniformed constable entered the office and approached his desk. Max held up a finger to the young cop while he completed his call.

‘What time was this…?’ Max said into his phone. ‘Aha…’ He quickly scribbled some notes. ‘And that was the last time you saw him…? OK. Great. I have your number if I need anything else. Thanks for your call.’

He ended the call then dropped his phone onto his desk. He sighed heavily. ‘What can I do for you, mate?’ He asked the young cop in a tone devoid of enthusiasm.

‘Sorry to bother you, Detective…’ The cop held out a single sheet of paper. ‘I think you might be interested in this.’

Max scanned the page. ’If you have anything other than a foot long Subway and a Pepsi there for me…I’m not interested. I haven’t had lunch yet.’

The young cop’s eyes lifted to the wall clock with its hands pointing to 2.55pm.

Max checked his watch then rolled his eyes. He accepted the page and reclined his chair. He crossed his legs while he read what was so important.

‘Hasn’t been seen since she left Ben’s Bar a little after 10.30 pm last night,’ the young cop said.

‘Last night…?’ Max blurted. He glared at the cop under a heavily furrowed brow.

‘When she failed to turn up at work this morning, her Manager called her mobile to check she was OK, because she didn’t call in sick. The call went to voice mail.’

‘How old is she…?’ Max asked, devoid of any interest. He scanned the report. ’26,’ he said, answering his own question. ‘She probably picked up some guy last night at the bar and has been at his place fuc—’

‘Her friends said she left alone…’ The young cop said firmly.

Max peered over the report at the cop. ‘Why are you showing me this…?’ Max said, holding a frowning glare. ‘I’m missing my lunch for this…’

‘Well, you handle missing persons. This woman is missing. Her friends were worried because her social media accounts have been inactive all day, which was unusual, apparently.’

Max glared at the cop. ‘All day… You mean…She hasn’t used social media for a whole day. My God… Quick, call in the special ops…’ he said, oozing with sarcasm. ‘I still don’t understand why you brought this to me?’

‘Some of her colleagues visited her apartment and she wasn’t at home and her car was missing.’

Max rolled his eyes. ‘Did you consider she wasn’t home and her car wasn’t there because… she drove it somewhere…?’ Max said. His patience wore thin.

His experience was locating long term missing persons that were presumed murdered, and hopefully bring their killers to justice. He didn’t care about people that failed to turn up to work after one day. History usually showed these people were located alive and well within a short period of time.

The young cop continued. ‘Her friends were worried about her, so they drove to where she parked her car last night, to check she had actually driven it home…’

‘And…? I’m assuming there’s more to this…’

’She parked in Park Street, ‘round the corner from the bar, but the car was not in the car park when they arrived there this morning.’

Max’s shoulders slumped slightly. He lobbed the page back at the cop and fell back in his chair.

The cop watched the page come to rest in front of himself. ’What was there was a substantial amount of dried blood on the road,’ the cop said.

Max’s eyebrows lifted. ‘How substantial…?’

‘Substantial enough for it to have congealed…about one metre square.’

Max leaned his elbows on the desk. That volume of blood loss concerned the experienced detective. ‘Do we know if the blood is from her…?’ He lifted his chin to the report on the desk.

‘No.’

‘OK. Let’s get crime scene down there to take a swab before it gets too contaminated. Is she married…? In a relationship…?’ Max asked.

‘No. Single. Lives on her own.’

‘She’s probably just gone home to visit mum and dad for the weekend…Are we looking for her car?’

‘Yeah, I informed the afternoon shift Sergeant and he mentioned it at the readout.’

‘Ok. Good.’

‘And what do you think about the blood on the road then…?’ The young cop asked.

’I don’t know, mate, I’m not clairvoyant… If it is hers…maybe she was assaulted, or something. I don’t know.’ Max flicked a finger at the report on the desk. ‘So the friends have filed this missing person report because this… this…’ he gestured to the page.

‘Sarah Moon.’

‘Sarah Moon never turned up to work this morning. Never answered her mobile phone and she was not home when they visited and her car was gone…’

‘Correct.’

‘So why do you think I would be interested in this?’

The cop nodded at the white board off to the side of Max’s desk.

Max’s eyes followed. He eyed each of the four photos spread horizontally across the whiteboard. Each photo was a head and shoulders shot from a drivers’ licence photo, sourced from the VicRoads database. Each one was a missing person and each one was suspected of having encountered foul play.

’Those are missing persons, mate,’ Max said, lifting his chin to the photos. ‘They have all gone missing, disappeared under suspicious circumstances and have been missing for some time… Not one day like your Sarah Moon there.’ He flicked a dismissive hand at the report.

’But doesn’t the blood on the road qualify as ‘suspicious circumstances’?’ the cop asked.

‘Is she actually missing? Does the blood belong to her? I don’t know and it is too early to tell at this stage.’

Max pushed himself from his seat and approached the whiteboard. ‘See here…’ He tapped the first photo. ‘Brian Taylor. 29. Last seen when he left home to buy some milk for his wife. Missing since March 2016.’

He pointed to photo number two. ’Jenny Cox. 26. Left to visit her parents in Bacchus Marsh. She never arrived. Missing since August 2016.

He moved along and tapped photo number three. ‘Libby Vassillou. 27. Last seen as she set out hiking in the Otways, near Lorne. Missing since December 2016 and Lance Edwards, 29. Last seen going for an evening jog and never returned. Missing since April 2017. No-one has seen or heard from any of them since they went missing.’ He waved a hand across the photos. ’That is what qualifies as a missing person…’

‘What do you want me to do with this?’ The cop held up the missing person report.

‘File it. Let me know if we get a match on the blood type found on the road. If she’s still missing in a few weeks or so, come back and see me then.’ Max held his glare on the cop. ‘If there’s nothing else… I’m goin’ to get something to eat.’

Max watched the young cop traverse the bull pen and exit the room.

He rubbed a thoughtful hand across his mouth. The blood on the road concerned him, but until he was certain the girl was actually missing, he couldn’t take it much further.

Max Higgins was a career cop working in the regional town of Geelong, located in the state of Victoria, in Australia’s south-east. His male pattern baldness, ‘standard issue’ police moustache and expanding waistline all conspired to give the stereotypical appearance of a cop with many years’ experience.

He would love to boast greater success in his missing person’s investigations, but sadly he can’t. His current case load of four missing persons had remained with him now for some time. The oldest case dated back to late 2016. So the last thing he wanted was to add Sarah Moon to this list.

---

Some people go missing with the intention of never being found again. For whatever reason, some faked their own deaths, while others, usually the loner types, had no idea people were looking for them until they were located.

Then there were those who had met with foul play. These were the ones from the region that involved Max. Invariably, those that were found after long term disappearances were often located deceased and became cold case homicides. However too many were never found again, leaving their loved ones, and cops like Max, wondering what happened to them.

It was this unknown that drove Max to try and find the answers to the mysterious puzzles of why these people went missing.

Chapter Two

‘Go away!’ Emily Davis screamed into the darkness, shattering the early morning serenity. She sat bolt upright in her bed. Her chest heaved under her oversized night t-shirt. Her wide eyes scanned the darkness in front of her while her resting brain awoke.

Boyd flicked on the bedside light. ‘Are you alright?’ Concern etched into his face as he regarded his wife sitting upright beside him.

Emily’s chest continued to heave under her heavy gasps for air. Her stare was blank.

Boyd rubbed a comforting hand across Emily’s back. ‘It’s OK. Breathe slowly…,’ he said. His tone was calm. He rubbed large circles around her back. ‘Did you have another one…?’ he asked knowingly.

Emily nodded slowly. Her shoulders slumped and her head dropped.

‘It’s OK… Just breathe.’ Boyd pressed a button on his mobile phone, beside his bed. 3.23am lit up on the display. He briefly shook a disapproving head at yet another early morning interruption.

Emily cupped her forehead as she fell back onto her bed. ‘I don’t know how much more of this I can take…’ she said.

Boyd lifted himself onto an elbow as he regarded his wife. ’I know… I know. They appear real… But they’re not. You know they’re not real. They’re just dreams…’

She draped an arm across her eyes, as Boyd’s words resonated. When awake, her logic brain reassured her she just had a vivid dream. But it was her sub-conscious brain that presented these realistic nocturnal visions, and they were frightening.

Boyd slipped out of bed, returning a short time later with a glass of water and a pill. He handed them to Emily.

Her hand shook as she raised the glass to her chapped lips. The first sip was like gravel in her parched throat.

Boyd gently eased the glass back to her mouth. Emily took another sip. This time the water passed more freely; it moistened her dry mouth.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Boyd asked.

Emily took another sip. She shook her head.

‘It’s OK,’ Boyd reassured.

Emily took comfort from her next sip of water. With a big gulp, she emptied the glass.

Boyd held out his hand. ‘Do you think you will be able get back to sleep?’

Emily handed him the empty glass. ‘I can try…’ She reclined back and snuggled under her covers.

Boyd watched her settle. He placed the glass beside his phone and turned out the bed side light.

---

The next morning, Boyd was sitting at the breakfast bench reading the Saturday morning newspaper when Emily shuffled her way into the kitchen.

‘Good morning, Hun,’ she said. Her dishevelled, matted hair was evidence of yet another restless night.

Boyd lifted his eyes from the paper. ‘Good morning. How’d you sleep…?’ He watched her move through the kitchen.

Emily grabbed a mug. ‘I’m so sorry for waking you up, again.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I keep telling you that.’

Emily forced out a smile. ‘I slept OK. Once I fell back to sleep, I slept pretty solid. There were no more disruptions.’ She poured a coffee from the percolator.

‘Good to hear.’ Boyd watched her slip onto the stool beside him.

Emily held her mug with both hands as she sought comfort from her early morning coffee. The black rings under her eyes and ashen appearance were testament to the affect these night time interruptions had on her health.

For some time now, too long for her to remember, Emily had been visited in her sleep by these unknown people; often a different one each time.

She knew they were there because she felt them nudge her, or tap her on the shoulder. At least that was what her sub-conscious brain told her, while she slept. To her, it all appeared so real.

For the most, these visitors, all adults, usually stood beside her bed and stared at her, only leaving when she woke in fright. Nothing was said and no reason was given for these recurring nocturnal visits.

In recent weeks the visits occurred more regularly. The stress they caused impacted Emily’s general wellbeing. It wasn’t so much the sleep deprivation these visits caused, although Boyd would probably argue otherwise, it was the psychological stress that affected Emily.

Who were these people? Why did they visit her in her sleep? Were they nothing more than figments of her over active imagination? Were they people that had passed on? Did they want some help from her? These questions and more occupied her waking thoughts for hours, following each nightly episode.

‘Which one was it last night…?’ Boyd asked. He regarded his wife.

Emily sipped on her coffee for courage. History had taught her that she felt better if she talked about it the morning after it happened. It seemed to help purge them from her conscious thoughts.

‘The man with the full-faced beard…’ Emily said.

Boyd nodded. He was fully aware of all Emily’s nocturnal visitors; their physical descriptions at least. ‘He hasn’t been back for a while, has he?’

Emily shook her head. ‘No. No he hasn’t. Last night he woke me then stared at me for so long. Then he moved to the foot of the bed where he continued to stare at me in complete silence. I wish I knew what they wanted from me.’ Her fixed glare shifted to her husband. ‘Do you think I am being haunted by ghosts, or something?’

‘All I know is… they are not real. They are manifestations in your sub-conscious brain while you sleep. They can’t hurt you because they do not exist. They are not really standing there.’

Emily sipped on her coffee as she silently wished they would all leave her alone.

---

Wednesday morning was about to get a whole lot more unpleasant for Max. He received the memo, but simply forgot the significance of this date. He was distracted by his growing caseloads.

Max sat at his desk in the back corner of his office. Earlier in the morning he noted that most of his colleagues were absent, but he never gave it another thought. He was about to learn the reason for their collective absenteeism.

His Detective Senior Sergeant entered the bull pen, accompanied by two senior officers from upstairs and the Victoria Government Police Minister. Max’s shoulders slumped when he saw the visitors enter the room.

He rolled his eyes then as if by instinct, quickly scanned for an escape route. Problem was, the only way out was blocked by the entering entourage. He was trapped.

Today was a day that all cops like Max tried to avoid. Usually, when dignitaries were scheduled to visit, Max and many of his other like-minded colleagues, intentionally made sure they were absent from the station for the period of the visit.

As the entourage approached, Max silently rued his carelessness. He knew the minister was coming for a visit, he just simply forgot. Frankly, he couldn’t be bothered with all the protocol bullshit that surrounded these visits. And all the arse-kissing made him sick.

‘Ah, over here we have Detective Sergeant Max Higgins…’ The senior sergeant said, as the group moved towards Max.

Max was like a deer in the head lights as they approached. He froze, watching them near, step-by-step.

‘Max leads up our missing persons team here at Geelong,’ The Senior Sergeant said.

The minister approached Max and shook his hand.

‘Minister,’ Max said, with a single nod. He didn’t vote for the incumbent government and he did not like the work this particular minister did for police.

‘You are doing a wonderful job here, Detective,’ the Police Minister said. It was a perfunctory comment that attempted to disguise his lack of genuine interest. The politician glanced around the near empty office before he returned his focus to Max.

He gestured to Max’s white board containing five photographs. ‘Are these people all missing?’ he asked.

‘They are…’ Max said.

‘Why don’t you run through some of these cases for Minister Newel,’ Max’s boss said.

‘What about this one here,’ the Minister said. He gestured towards the photo of a female. ‘This young red haired woman here. She has that typical Irish appearance, doesn’t she? Red hair. Pale white skin and green eyes.’

‘That’s one of the more recent cases. She went missing about four months ago.’

Newell approached the board and read the name under the photograph. ‘Sarah Moon…26 years of age,’ he read. ‘Hmmm. What are the circumstances of her disappearance?’

Max had no interest entertaining this Minister with war stories, but he did so under sufferance. Frankly, he wanted to keep his job, so he played along.

’She was last seen at a CBD hotel drinking with friends. Left the hotel shortly after 10.30pm and hasn’t been seen since. A substantial quantity of blood was found on the roadway beside where she parked her car.

‘We have obtained DNA from the blood, but we don’t have anything to match it to, at this stage. Her abandoned vehicle was found burnt out in farm land south of Winchelsea, about two-weeks after she disappeared,’ Max said.

‘Winchelsea is a small country town about forty kilometres south-west of us here at Geelong, sir,’ The senior sergeant said to his visitor. ‘It has a population of about 2000 residents.’

‘I see… Yes, yes. I think I know that town,’ The police minister said, without any semblance of conviction. ‘Any leads on this one, Sergeant?’

Max shook his head. That was always the question he found hardest to answer. The longer a case went on, the less likely they would be found alive, if at all. And that brought with it a sense of failure.

‘No. nothing much is known about this disappearance, at this stage.’

Newell strolled the length of the board examining each of the photos on display. He gestured to the first photo. ‘This poor gent has been missing since 2016,’ he said, stating the obvious. ‘And what about him. Not much known of his whereabouts either?’ The Minister said as a question that sounded riddled with condescension.

Would he be on the board if we knew his whereabouts? Max thought. Using all his restraint, what he actually said was, ‘That’s correct.’

Max checked his watch. He’d had enough of this time-wasting bullshit. Fortunately, the Police Minister took the not-so-subtle hint.

‘Well, we shall leave you to it, Detective. I won’t take up any more of your valuable time. Thank you for running through your cases with me,’ he said.

Max nodded once. ‘You’re welcome,’ is what he said. Now piss off, is what he thought.

Chapter Three

The lack of sleep from this morning’s nocturnal visitor started to show on Emily. She had already shut her eyes twice while sitting at her desk. So the timely morning coffee break stroll from the office to her favourite café reinvigorated her.

Her work mate, Naomi, entered first then held the door for Emily to enter behind her. The tantalising smell of fresh Barista brewed coffee welcomed them as they stepped inside.

‘I never get tired of that aroma…’ Emily said.

The queue was long, but it moved fast. Emily ordered for both of them, then moved over to stand off to the side with Naomi.

Naomi watched Emily approach. ‘You look so tired, Em… Are you sleeping OK?’

‘This morning I didn’t, no…’

‘Another visitor…?’

‘Aha.’

Naomi shook a slow, sympathetic head. She was Emily’s closet work mate and the only person at their work who knew of Emily’s strange, early morning visitors.

It helped Emily to have someone at work to discuss these ‘visitors’ with, someone who didn’t think she was a complete nut case. Someone who believed her for what she thought she saw. And that someone was Naomi, who loyally kept Emily’s secret.

Emily couldn’t afford her boss to find out about her dreams. She knew in her own mind that if it was anyone else who claimed to be visited by unknown people in their dreams, she would be cynically judgemental of them.

So, through fear her boss would question her mental stability, Emily kept her problems from her boss. She loved her job as the Accounts Manager in one of the country’s big four banks and could not afford to have her sanity questioned over these early morning visits.

While waiting, both girls casually monitored the coming and goings of the many office workers seeking their morning cuppa-of-choice from the popular café. People watching helped pass the wait time.

‘I was a little uncomfortable bringing this up…’ Naomi began. ‘But… seeing how tired you look…I figured, what the hell.’

‘Uncomfortable bringing what up…?’ Emily said. She nudged Naomi, then discretely lifted her chin to the hot guy entering the café.

Both girls’ heads followed the suit-wearing man as he moved to join the back of the queue.

Naomi smiled knowingly to Emily as she lifted her phone and tapped on the screen. ‘Do you ever wonder why these people who visit you, picked you…?’

‘Only every day,’ Emily said, while she continued to leer at the cute guy.

‘What if these people were murdered and they were coming to you for help…’

‘Why me…? How can I help a ghost?’

Naomi turned her phone screen to Emily. ‘I saw this the other day and I thought of you.’

Emily took the phone and read the screen. She shook her head and handed the phone straight back to Naomi. ‘See, I don’t believe in that shit, Nomes,’ Emily said. Her tone was direct.

‘Hear me out, Em… These people that come to you in your dreams are most likely dead. Stands to reason, doesn’t it?’

‘Order for Emily…’ a Barista called.

Emily pushed herself away from the wall and collected their order. She handed Naomi her coffee and they strolled to the exit.

Emily said, ‘I have no idea if they are dead, or just dreams. All I know is… I wish they would stop.’

Naomi lifted her phone screen to Emily. ’Could this really hurt? What if it gave you some answers…? Would that be so bad?

‘And what if it didn’t…? I’m not in to all that witchcraft hoo haa.’

‘It’s not witchcraft… Look here…’ Naomi read from her phone. ‘A Medium is a person who mediates communication between spirits of the dead and the living.’

‘Aha… Just like I said….Witchcraft.’

Naomi rolled frustrated eyes at Emily. ‘I’ll go with you, if you want company. If you can talk to these experts, it may give you answers… reasons why you are visited in your sleep.’

Emily had to admit, Naomi made some sense. But the cynical part of her, the part that disbelieved in ghosts and the afterlife, prevented her from embracing Naomi’s suggestion.

Maybe it was time to step outside her comfort zone and explore some alternatives to why these visits kept happening.

She held out her hand to Naomi. ‘Give me a look at that.’ Naomi smiled her satisfaction as she handed Emily the phone. Emily read from the screen. ‘A psychic medium’s skills and connection to the after-life support investigations and assist law enforcement agencies solve crimes.’ She lifted her eyes to Naomi. ‘Could this be what it’s all about, Nomes…? They just want my help?’

Naomi shrugged. ‘Could be.’

For the next twenty, or so metres, while reading the screen, Emily unwittingly became one of those people she observed on a daily basis, who annoyed her. Like those inconsiderate people, she now walked along the busy footpath with her eyes buried into a mobile phone. And yes, on more than one occasion, she did almost career into oncoming foot traffic.

Scroll all the way to the bottom, ’Naomi said. Emily scrolled.

‘See there…’ Naomi began. ’An actual Medium is holding a seminar in Melbourne next month. I reckon you should go.’

‘Aren’t these things just tricks… you know, scams…? Don’t they have people planted in the audience, or something?’

‘I don’t know, Em…What have you got to lose?’

‘$140 for starters. They’re kidding themselves, aren’t they? Who’d pay that?’

Naomi scoffed. ‘You’d be surprised, Em. Look, think of it as an investment into curing all this. What better way to get the answers you seek… I’ll come with, if you want.’

Emily lifted the phone to Naomi. ‘You’d spend $140 on this bullshit… just for me?’

‘I do anything for you if it will help you with these night time visitors.’

Emily hugged Naomi. She was warmed by her friend’s loyalty.

Naomi moved ahead and opened the door to their building. Emily moved through first, handing Naomi back her phone as she passed.

As they strolled to the elevator lobby Naomi asked, ‘Well…what do you think? Interested in going?’

‘I’ll have a think about it and chat with Boyd. See what he thinks.’

‘Good girl.’

---

Emily watched Boyd top up her red wine, then his own. She was keen to discuss Naomi’s suggestion about the Medium seminar with Boyd. However, she was a little nervous discussing something they both believed were scams, run to profit people who preyed on the vulnerable, or even the gullible.

She had it all planned out. While enjoying their pasta dinner tonight, she would causally raise Naomi’s suggestion, to seek her husband’s opinion, and gauge his response. Problem was, dinner was almost over.

Boyd caught Emily’s contemplative expression. ‘You OK…?’ he asked. ‘You seem a little quiet tonight. Did you have a bad day at work?’

Emily forced out a smile. ‘No. No. Work’s good. I’m just really tired from this morning’s episode. I didn’t sleep well after it.’

Boyd twirled his pasta around his fork. ‘You and me both…’ he said, then shovelled the sizeable serving into his mouth.

‘There’s something I want to talk to you about…’ Emily said. She surprised herself. The words came out of her mouth before she had time to think about what to say.

Boyd reached for his wine. ‘What’s up? Everything OK…?’ He said. He regarded Emily as he sipped on his wine.

Emily’s long pause in responding must’ve worried Boyd. It wasn’t intended, she just searched for the right words. It was always going to be difficult to sell the seminar idea to Boyd, when in her own mind, just like Boyd, she was a disbeliever.

Boyd leaned on his elbows. He regarded Emily with a frowning brow as he waited for her to respond. ‘Em…? What’s up? Talk to me. Are we good..?’

Emily’s face lit up. ‘Yes. Of course we’re good.’ She placed a reassuring hand over Boyd’s hand. ‘It’s just that…well…I think I’m becoming desperate for answers as to why I keep getting these early morning dreams.’

‘That’s more than understandable, Hun. I wish I knew the answers. I wish I could help more.’

‘You know Naomi from work…?’ Boyd nodded as he shovelled some pasta into his mouth. ‘I was chatting with her today about my most recent visit. She showed me something she found on the internet that she thinks might help me understand what, and why things are happening to me.’

‘OK…’

‘Naomi thinks I might unknowingly have some sort of ability to communicate with the afterlife…’ Emily cringed slightly as the words left her mouth.

Boyd held Emily’s gaze for an extended, uncomfortable pause before he responded. ‘And what do you think about that?’

‘Honestly…I’m like you. I don’t believe in that after life stuff…But do you have any other alternatives as to why this keeps happening to me…?’

‘I wish I did. But I don’t.’

Emily slid her phone closer and brought up the website she visited earlier with Naomi. She slid the phone to Boyd. He read from the display.

Emily thought she saw his shoulders slump, ever so slightly. Boyd scrolled the screen as he continued to read.

He pushed the phone back to Emily. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘And you would like to go to that seminar…?’ He lifted his chin to the phone. His tone sounded disappointed.

‘I don’t know, Hun. It sounded like a good idea today, but now I’m not so sure. I’m just over all this…’

‘Hey,’ Boyd began. He placed a hand over Emily’s hand. ‘If you think this… this seminar thing will help…then why don’t you give it a try.’

Emily’s face lit up again, this time with excitement. ‘Really…? You don’t think I’m being gullible..?’

‘I didn’t say that…’ Boyd said. ‘But if you think it will help you cope with it all, then I think you should give it a try.’

‘It costs $140…’

‘I saw that. Look at this way…It is an investment into your health. If we went for an MRI or a CT scan over something wrong with our health, it would cost more than that and we would still do it, regardless of the cost.’

Emily smiled her relief. ‘Naomi said she would come with me…’

‘With us…’ Boyd began. ’I’ll request a day shift, or a day off. So if she wants to go to this seminar, she can come with us. I’m not letting you go on your own…’

Emily cupped her hands to her mouth. Her eyes welled with tears. She was so happy her husband had chosen to support her. ‘Thank you so much, Hun,’ she said.

‘Go ahead and make the bookings,’ Boyd said. ‘Who knows, it might be entertaining.’

---

Emily looped her arm through Boyd’s arm as they made their way into the Sofitel Hotel in Melbourne’s CBD. The large number of people attending tonight’s psychic medium seminar surprised Emily.

Banners and posters promoting their host, “Molly Williamson Internationally Renowned Psychic Medium”, were positioned throughout the foyer. Each banner displayed the smiling head shot of an attractive blonde woman in her early thirties.

Emily and Boyd made their way into the conference room. She presented her phone to the smiling male usher standing at the door. The usher scanned the barcode code from Emily’s electronic ticket.

‘You’re seated in row four, seats eleven and twelve. You can access them off to your left.’ The usher gestured into the room. ‘Have a good evening.’

Below the drop-in, elevated stage, the conference room had been divided into three sections of seating, similar to most movie cinemas, with an aisle separating each group of seats.

As they made their way along the left hand aisle towards row four, Emily was taken aback by the number of seats in the room, all of which were filling fast. Who would’ve thought this many people believed in this stuff…

Boyd checked the seat numbers on the rows. He counted along. ‘Eleven and twelve. That’s us there near the middle,’ he said.

Emily and Boyd edged their way along to their allocated seats. Emily exchanged a smile to those who contorted their legs to the side so Emily and Boyd could pass.

They didn’t have to wait long before the room lights dimmed. A male voice-over introduced the evening’s special guest, Molly Williamson. The elevated stage burst into light.

The medium trotted onto the stage to a reception worthy of a rock star. Most people in the room stood and applauded.

Emily glanced at Boyd. ‘Should we stand…?’

Boyd shook his head. ‘Nuh. We don’t even know who she is…’

‘Yes we do…’ Emily pointed to the blurb written on the program booklet. ‘It says here, she is a world-renowned medium and clairvoyant with an amazing ability to communicate with those who have passed on to the other side,’ Emily read with a cynical tone.

Boyd rolled his eyes at Emily.

The medium moved around the stage like a seasoned performer as she addressed the audience. She was bubbly and upbeat. Her headset microphone projected her voice across the crowded room.

After she explained the evening’s expectations, she began interacting with the audience.

‘Who in this room has psychic skills….?’ She moved to the other side of the stage. ‘Come on…who amongst you is a practicing medium…? Stand up if you have medium experience.’

Emily glanced around the room. About fifty people, mostly women, stood up.

‘Fantastic,’ Molly said. She shielded her eyes as she scanned the audience. ‘Wow, there are a lot you. Isn’t that great?’ She moved to her left side of the stage. ‘Let’s start over here. Who is this area is currently working as a medium?’

Several hands were raised from those standing.

‘That’s great.’ She gestured to an elderly lady standing around row six. ‘What’s your name, please?’

An usher rushed to the standing woman and handed her a microphone.

‘Um, my name is Agnes…’

‘Hi Agnes…Thank you for coming along tonight.’

‘Thanks for your 140 bucks, she means,’ Boyd whispered out the side of his mouth. Emily smiled at his cynical humour.

‘And you are currently working as a medium, is that correct?’

‘I am. I help people communicate with loved ones who have passed on…’

‘How long have you been doing that?’

‘Over thirty years.’

‘That is great. Let’s give Agnes a hand everybody,’ Molly said as she trotted to the other side of the stage. The room erupted into applause.

‘What about over this side…? Who over here has done some work, other than what Agnes does…?’

A number of hands went up. Molly pointed to another elderly woman. ‘OK…We have another lovely lady standing over here. What is your name…?’

An usher ran to the woman and handed her a microphone.

‘Hi. My name is Betty.’

‘Hi Betty. Thank you for coming along tonight. Please tell us what work you use your special mediumship skills in…’

‘I assist law enforcement, mostly with investigations into missing people…’

‘Wow…’ Molly said as she moved back to centre stage. ‘And how long have you been doing that, Betty?’

‘Around twenty-five years…’

‘How many successful outcomes have you assisted with over that time?’

‘I’ve assisted law enforcement with many successful cases,’ Betty said.

Boyd leaned closer to Emily. ‘That’s not what she asked… Way to avoid answering the question, Betty,’ he said. ‘She must’ve been a politician.’

Emily grinned as she gently nudged Boyd.

Chapter Four

Molly thanked everyone and asked them to sit back down. For the next twenty to thirty minutes, Molly pranced around the stage talking about the special skills of a psychic medium. She provided several anecdotal examples from own her experiences.

Emily and Boyd exchanged a brief glance. Each was clearly bored by the self-adulation of the proceedings.

Molly explained the various ways a psychic medium could help almost anyone. She cited families, law enforcement cases – cold and current and private investigators.

Boyd leaned closer to Emily. ‘Learning anything…?’ he whispered out the side of his mouth.

‘Not really…’ Emily said in a disappointed tone.

‘What do ya reckon…?’ Boyd began. ‘Give her ten more minutes and if it doesn’t get any better…we bail…?’

Emily nodded. ‘Deal…’

The cynical side of Emily started to criticize most things Molly the Medium said. She wasn’t learning anything about why these people visited her in the night.

This whole seminar was a disguised promotion for Molly’s books, or her training seminars and on-line courses. She couldn’t help but feel like they had been scammed out of $280.

That was until the direction of the evening took a turn when Molly next addressed the audience. ‘Who here tonight is new to mediumship…?’ She scanned the room. Six or so hands went up. ‘Come on. You can do better than that. Who here tonight has had encounters with people who have passed, but they don’t know, or understand why they are having these encounters…?’ More hands went up.

Emily’s eyebrows arched. She and Boyd exchanged a glance. This was getting closer to what she came to hear.

‘Come on… Don’t be shy. Put your hand up if you are being visited by someone you think may have passed to the other side.’

Emily scanned the room at all the raised hands. Boyd gently nudged Emily. ‘Go on… Put your hand up,’ he said. ‘This is why we came here, isn’t it…?’

‘I feel a little uncomfortable… but OK.’ Emily raised her hand.

Emily’s late hand raise caught Molly’s attention. She moved over closer to Emily and glanced straight down at her. Emily’s pulse quickened when Molly pointed to Emily.

‘Down here…’ Molly said as she gestured to Emily. ‘Would you mind standing up please…?’

Emily exchanged a brief, nervous glance with Boyd. Boyd nodded his reassurance. She slowly stood from her seat. A male usher edged his way along the row and handed her a microphone.

‘What is your name, please?’ Molly asked.

For a brief moment it was like she was attending one of those group meetings where she felt she should stand up and say something like, Hi I’m Emily and I’m an alcoholic. What she did say was, ‘Emily…’ with a nervous tremor.

‘Hi Emily?’ Molly moved across the stage. ‘Come on everybody…’ she said as she gestured back towards Emily. ‘Let’s give Emily a warm welcome…’

The room burst into thunderous applause. She made her way back to Emily. ‘Tell me this, Emily… Are you a believer…? Do you believe in the afterlife…?’

Emily paused her answer. Should she be truthful in front of all these people, or should she play along and make out she was a believer, even though she was far from it? Her eyes dropped to a grinning Boyd. She went with truth. ‘If I am being honest… no, I’m not…’ Emily said.

‘That’s OK, Emily. Thank you for your honesty. Don’t feel embarrassed. But what would you say if I told you that after tonight, you will believe in the afterlife…?’

How do I answer that…? Emily again looked to Boyd. He smiled up at her. She knew that smile. It was his, ‘don’t look at me, you’re on your own,’ smile. He clearly found this quite entertaining.

Emily eventually said, ‘We’ll have to wait and see…’

Molly moved to the edge of the stage, closest to where Emily stood. ‘Have you recently had a visit from a person from the other side?’

‘I have. From several people.’

‘Wait…You have been visited by more than one person… Is that correct?’

‘Yes.’

’How many have visited you?

‘Four or five…’

‘Wow…That’s fantastic,’ Molly said as she scanned the audience. ‘When was the last visit?’

‘Two days ago…’

‘That is great. What do these people say to you when they visit you?’

‘See, that’s the thing that I don’t understand. They don’t say anything. They just stare at me…’

‘I see. And this frightens you..?’ she asked knowingly.

‘Scares the hell out of me…’

Molly beckoned towards Emily. ‘Why don’t you come up here on stage with me and we’ll talk about this further…’

Emily’s eyes dropped to Boyd. He smirked at her. ‘Go on… Go and get converted,’ he whispered.

‘Come on Emily… don’t be afraid, we’re all your friends here…’ Molly said.

Emily edged her way to the aisle. A waiting usher took the microphone from her and she made her way to the stage.

‘Come on everyone… Let’s give Emily a big hand for being so brave…’ Molly said.

The room erupted into applause. Molly met Emily as she reached the top step. In the background male roadies placed two lounge chairs, centre stage.

She extended her hand to Emily. ‘Hi Emily, I’m Molly. Lovely to meet you.’ They shook hands.

Molly gently guided Emily towards the lounge chairs. She gestured for Emily to sit. Emily’s chair had a hand-held microphone on it. Emily lifted the microphone and sat. The two chairs were angled towards each other.

Emily glanced nervously back towards Boyd. The blinding lights prevented her seeing beyond the first few rows of faces staring back at her. Her mouth was dry. Her heart pounded in her chest. She was now well outside her comfort zone. All she could think of was, I hope this is worth it.

‘Now Emily, you said that these people who visit you, just stare at you… Is that correct? They don’t actually say, or do anything…’

‘That’s right.’ She could hear her voice projected over the PA system.

’And is that what scares you?’

’Well, that and the fact they are there. I don’t understand why they visit me…’

‘Because you have the gift…’ Molly said.

Emily frowned in response. The Gift, she thought. Here we go…

’Not everyone has the gift, but you obviously do. These people who have passed, seek out those of us still living, those of us who have this special gift that allows us to see them, to talk to them… That is why you are being visited.’

The cynic in Emily only heard bullshit… She decided to play along. ‘OK, then if they have sought me out, why don’t they speak to me? They just stare at me.’

‘That is a good question…’ Molly said. She addressed the audience. ‘Who amongst us here tonight came across a common house spider—like a huntsman, for example, when you were young and your parents told you that the spider was more scared of you than you were of it…?’

Several hands went up, accompanied by muffled giggles.

Molly continued. ‘These people who visit us from the afterlife are just like those spiders… Well, they’re not arachnids of course, but like those spiders, they are actually more scared of you than you are of them.’

‘I’m not so sure about that…’ Emily said. ‘I’m pretty darn scared of these people.’

Chuckling laughter filled the room. Molly again addressed the audience.

’Who here has seen the movie, Sixth Sense, starring Bruce Willis, Haley Joel Osman and our very own Aussie, Toni Collette…?’

Not surprisingly, almost every hand in the room went up.

’In that movie, Haley Joel Osment’s character, Cole Sear, was visited by a number of ghosts…people who had passed on. You will all remember his well-known line, “I see dead people”…’

A muffled murmuring flowed up from the audience.

‘Well, he did see dead people, and they frightened him…’ she turned to Emily, ‘Just like they frighten you, Emily.’ Her focus returned to the audience. ‘But in the movie he was too frightened to tell anyone about these visits…Does everyone remember that…?’ she asked rhetorically. ‘When Haley’s character learned they were not there to hurt him, but instead, they sought his help, he relaxed. He was no longer scared of them and they started to communicate with him.’

Molly turned back to Emily. ‘But some of you might say, that was just a movie… right…?’ Molly said.

Emily nodded. That’s exactly what she thought.

‘Wrong,’ she said to the audience. ‘In this instance, it is a classic case of art imitating life.’

She returned to address Emily. ’This applies to you, Emily. Your visitors are scared of you. They probably also feel your disbelief in what you are experiencing. Because of this, they are too intimidated to communicate with you. This will all change once you welcome them in and believe in them. They will probably tell you why they are there…what they want from you,’ she said.

’Easier said than done, I think…’ Emily said.

‘Actually, it’s not,’ Molly said. ‘Don’t be frightened of them. The rest will fall into place, OK…?’

‘OK,’ Emily said, completely devoid of conviction.

Molly stood from her chair and moved to the front of the stage. ‘Let’s give Emily a big hand as she returns to her seat.’

So that’s it…? We’re done here…? Emily thought as she stood from her chair. What the heck did that prove..?

The room burst into thunderous applause. ‘Thank you for sharing with us, Emily…’

As Emily returned to her seat, she couldn’t help but feel like she had just participated in some sort of evangelistic awakening session.

The hour long drive home from Melbourne to Geelong was spent reviewing the Molly Williamson Medium Seminar. Both Emily and Boyd were equally underwhelmed by the experience.

‘You know what that reminded me of, back there…’ Emily began. ‘A cross between an Amway convention and a religious seminar. You know, those sort of events where they whip believers into a frenzy while being sold a concept, along with overpriced merchandise on the way out.’

‘I agree,’ Boyd said. ‘That Molly Williamson was definitely a talented sales woman. She was a performer and very convincing in her delivery. Her well-rehearsed show told people what they wanted to hear.’

All Emily hoped for from tonight’s experience was some answers, not stories about huntsmen spiders and theories about Hollywood movies imitating life. Those were all spin and rhetoric convincingly delivered with the sincerity of a politician on the hustings.

Emily wasn’t interested in hearing about stories from people, who without one iota of evidence, claimed they had communicated with dead people for several years. All Emily could think was, ‘show me the proof, people’.

For most of their trip home Emily rued the fact they were $280 lighter and none-the-wiser after the two hour, thirty minute talk fest. She still hadn’t learned why these visions of people visited her in her sleep. In fact, after tonight, she wasn’t convinced she was being visited by people and not some sort of recurring nightmare.

‘I’m really sorry to put you through that, Hun…’ Emily said. It took her a while to work up the courage to say that. It embarrassed her to think this event could’ve been a panacea to her problems.

‘Don’t be silly, Em…’ Boyd said. ’At least now you won’t be left wondering the ‘what ifs’…’

‘I just feel so stupid for even going there…’ Emily said.

Boyd grinned. ‘It did have that…’ Boyd waved his hands in the air, ‘Hallelujah’ feel about it, didn’t it…?’

‘I promise I won’t ask you to do anything like again…’ Emily said.

‘Hey, I’d sit through all that bullshit again in a heartbeat, if I knew it would help you get rid of these nightmares.’

Emily placed her hand on his thigh. ‘Thank you, Hun. That makes me feel better.’

With everything seemingly off her chest, for now, Emily had dozed off by the time they reached the outskirts of Geelong. She next awoke when Boyd pulled into their home drive way.

Chapter Five

Max Higgins rolled his eyes as he snatched up his warbling desk phone. ‘Detective Sergeant Higgins…’ He said. His tone was curt.

It never failed. Whenever he tried to concentrate on reviewing his case notes, something, or someone invariably interrupted him, breaking his train of thought.

The call he received was from a uniform officer who had taken a missing person report at the police station front counter last week and wanted to discuss it with a detective.

Max checked his watch then sighed. ‘OK. Come on up… What did you say your name was again…? Constable Nina Farley… OK. Thanks, Nina. See you shortly.’

Max hung up the phone. His eyes passed over the extensive case file spread across his desk. It would all have to wait, again.

Within minutes of the phone call ending a young, fresh-faced police woman entered the bull pen. She caught Max’s eye and moved towards him. Max hadn’t met this member before today. He liked what he saw as he watched her approach. Her blonde hair, tightly pulled into a bun, accentuated her natural beauty.

‘Nina, I presume….?’ Max said as she neared.

She smiled. ‘That’s right. Thanks for seeing me, Detective.’

‘Max… We’re not that formal in here…’

‘OK. Max…’

‘How long have you been at Geelong? I don’t think I’ve seen you around,’ he said. He knew very well he hadn’t seen her before. He would’ve remembered, if he had.

‘About two-weeks now…’

Max nodded his approval. ‘Nice…Well, welcome,’ he said. He gestured to the report she carried. ‘What do you have for me?’

Nina handed him the report. Max read from it while she provided her narrative summary.

‘Mrs. Cartwright there, reported her husband, Dale Cartwright, 36 years of age, missing last Monday…’

Max checked the date on his watch. ‘Eight days…’ He mumbled.

‘Aha. Apparently he went away for the weekend on a bike ride…’

Max’s eyebrows arched as he peered up from the report. ’Bike ride for the weekend…?’

Nina nodded. ‘That’s right. He is a mountain bike fanatic, apparently. He camps out and goes on these cross-country mountain bike rides over the weekend.’

‘On his own?’

‘Usually, yeah.’

‘Where did he go mountain bike riding on this occasion?’

’His wife thinks he was somewhere in the Otways. She says he puts on a backpack with his tent etc., and rides his bike to Lorne. He usually gets supplies from the supermarket there.

‘And he is still missing…?’ Max said as a question.

‘Correct. But the reason I wanted to bring this to your attention is because, two days ago someone found an abandoned mountain bike on a bush track between Airey’s Inlet and Fairhaven and handed it into the Anglesea police station.’

‘How’d you hear about that…?’

‘My friend works at Anglesea. I told her about this bloke…’ She flicked a finger at the report. ‘And she mentioned the mountain bike.’

‘Do we know what bike this bloke rode..?’

‘I rang Mrs. Cartwright this morning and from what she described, it certainly sounds like the same bike…’

Max rubbed his chin stubble in contemplation. ‘OK. Leave it with me. I’ll get the Anglesea boys to do a search of the immediate area where the bike was located. Failing that, we’ll have to arrange a more extensive search.’

‘OK. Thanks Detect — Ah, Max,’ Nina said, followed by a beaming smile that illuminated her face.

Max watched Nina make her way out of the office. He dropped the report onto his files. His eyes shifted to his whiteboard and the five faces staring back at him from the ten-by-eight photographs.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Dale Cartwright’s photograph would be number six.

---

Emily sat up in bed with a frozen expression as she glanced around the room. This time her breathing was normal. Her pulse rate was calm. She checked her phone. The display glowed 4.35am against the darkness. Her eyes dropped to Boyd, fast asleep beside her.

In the two weeks since they attended the Molly Williamson medium seminar, Emily had experienced uninterrupted sleep. She started to believe she was cured. Tonight however, something changed.

As she woke from her slumber, Emily tried to rationalise what just happened. She wasn’t frightened as she sat up in bed, recalling her dream. If anything, she was surprised. She had to share it with Boyd.

Emily gently nudged her husband’s shoulder. ‘Hun…’ she said quietly.

Boyd’s eyes opened. He startled and sat up quickly. ‘What’s wrong? Are you alright?’ he mumbled. He rubbed an eye.

‘I’m fine…really. I just had another visitor in my dreams…’

Boyd’s shoulders slumped. He regarded Emily. ‘Is everything OK…?’

Emily nodded. She pulled the covers over her lap. ‘No. I’m good actually. It was really weird.’

Boyd leaned on an elbow. ‘Weird…You mean, weirder than any other of these sort of visits…?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK. How so…?’

‘In my dream, I woke up to a woman standing by my bed looking down at me…’

‘OK. Sounds familiar. Which woman this time?’

‘No. I haven’t seen this one before. She was about mid-twenties. Red hair and really pale skin. The weird thing was…I wasn’t scared when I saw her. I found myself talking to her. I think it was a dream. It’s hard to tell because it was so real.’

‘You actually talked to this…this dead woman?’

‘I did.’ Emily shook a puzzled head. ‘I did. I actually spoke to her.’

‘This is some messed up shit, Em. What ah…what did she say to you?’

‘When I first saw her standing there, I felt calm. I asked her if she wanted something from me. I asked if she needed my help. She said, yes.’

Boyd’s jaw dropped. ’Are you sure you’re OK?’

‘Yes. I’m good. This woman asked me to help try and find her. I asked her where she thought she was. She said she didn’t know but it was cold and wet.’

Boyd’s assessing glare monitored Emily as she continued.

‘She told me she has a lot of pain in her back and her chest hurts. Her shirt…’ Emily rubbed a hand across her chest, ‘was all bloodied…’

‘Are you saying these dead people feel pain…?’

‘I don’t know…They must. She said she is in a paddock somewhere, it’s cold and wet and she wants me to help find her…so her family knows where she is.’

‘How the hell can you do that, Em…? How can you possibly find someone you saw in a dream?’

‘I don’t know. I woke up after that, so I am a little taken aback at the moment.’

Boyd’s eyebrows arched. ′You’re taken aback…’ He rubbed a hand through his hair. ‘You’re talking like you are considering this…like, like this was something real, not a dream…’

‘I don’t think it was a dream. You know how in dreams you can’t see people’s faces, your mind just tells you it is them. Well, I could see her face. I’ve never met her before, but I could make out all her features. She had these bright green eyes…’

Boyd slipped his legs out of bed. He sat on the side leaning on his elbows. He had to be concerned about his wife after what he just heard.

After several minutes of contemplation, he glanced over his shoulder at Emily. His eyebrows plunged when he saw her nestled back under the covers and fast asleep.

With a slow shake of his head, he killed the light and tried to do the same.

---

One week later it happened again; another nocturnal visitor in Emily’s dreams. This time she didn’t wake up. She slept through until her phone alarm disturbed her sleep.

After her shower, Emily wandered into the kitchen. The tantalising smell of toast and freshly brewed coffee welcomed her. She smiled at Boyd enjoying his breakfast, when she entered.

‘Morning, Hun…’ she said. ‘What time did you get in…?’ She shuffled over to the coffee percolator, grabbed a mug and poured herself a cup. She breathed in the wafting aroma.

Boyd’s eyes lifted to the wall clock. ‘About twenty minutes ago…’

‘How was work?’ Emily held her mug with both hands while she sipped on her coffee. She leaned back against the sink.

‘Quiet. We only had three call outs all night.’ He lifted a finger. ‘A heart attack…’ He lifted a second finger. ‘A drug overdose…and an assault victim,’ he said lifting a third finger. ‘All were transported and all survived, which is good. How about you…? How’d you sleep…? No dream time visitors,’ he asked with a hint of flippancy.

’As a matter of fact… I had another visitor during the night…’

‘Really…? Same one?’

‘No. A different one this time… a man. I hadn’t seen him before, either.’

‘Did he want help too?’ Boyd said with a cynical smirk.

‘He did.’

Boyd rolled his eyes. ‘Really, Em…’ he said, riddled with disappointment. ‘Surely you’re not believing this is actually happening. You don’t believe you are being visited by dead people…Do you?’ His tone pleaded with his wife.

‘It seems so real…They actually talk to me.’

Boyd scoffed then sipped on his coffee. He replaced his cup. ‘You know who you sound like…?’ He began. ’One of those nutters at that seminar we went to, the ones who believed they actually talked to the dead.’

Emily didn’t respond. His words cut deep. She expected unconditional support from her husband, not ridicule. These nocturnal visions, while no longer distressing, still concerned her.

‘What did this one ask you to do?’ Boyd asked.

‘Same thing as the young woman… He wanted me to help find him, so his wife knew where he was. He looked about mid-thirties and was dressed in bike riding gear. I asked him if he was a rider. He said he was. He said he was near Airey’s Inlet but he doesn’t know where. It was dark where he was and wanted help to find him.’

‘Was he injured?’

‘I don’t know. He said his neck was sore though…’

‘Maybe he fell from his bike and broke his neck… that is of course, assuming all this is real,’ Boyd said.

‘I think it is…’ Emily said. ‘I genuinely think all this is actually happening. These are dead people talking to me.’

‘Coz you have…’ Boyd held up quotation mark fingers. ’The gift, hey…’ he said, riddled with cynicism.

Emily glared at Boyd. ‘You need to go to bed and I need to go to work…’ She emptied the dregs from her cup into the sink and placed it in the dishwasher.

‘Come on Em… I’m only teasing you. Look at it from my perspective.’

‘No…’ Emily snapped. ’You look at it from my perspective… I’m the one being visited by these… these —

‘Ghosts…?’ Boyd said with a smirk.

‘People…’ Emily said. She glared at Boyd. ‘I’m the one who has to reassure myself that I’m not going crazy. I’m the one who has to cope with all this happening around me. And the one person I thought I could rely on for support, ridicules me. Thank you very much. I’ll see you tonight.’ She gathered her hand bag and car keys and stormed out of the kitchen, ignoring Boyd’s pleas to come back and talk about it.

---

Emily and Naomi casually strolled to their favourite café for their morning coffee break. It was an opportune time to update Naomi on everything that had happened, without prying, judgemental ears listening in.

She knew everything about these dream-time visits sounded absurd to the average punter, but to her, it was all very real. Fortunately Naomi didn’t judge her. In fact, she seemed genuinely interested. More importantly, she was supportive.

Naomi opened the café door and allowed Emily to enter first. ‘So, let me see if I’ve got this,’ Naomi said, following Emily inside. ‘Two people have visited you…’ Naomi glanced around the busy café. ‘In your sleep,’ she said in a lower tone. ‘And each one asked for your help to locate them…?’

The girls joined the back of the order queue that snaked back towards the front door.

‘That’s right…’ Emily said.

‘How do you plan to do that…?’

‘I don’t know… I wouldn’t know where to start.’

‘What does Boyd say about all this…?’

Emily glared at Naomi. ‘He says they’re just dreams…’

Naomi waved her hand. ‘What would he know… He’s just a male. I wonder how each one died…?’ Naomi said with a tone of excitement. ‘I wonder if they had an accident and haven’t been found. Maybe that is why they want your help…’

That right there was why she loved her friend so much. Even with something so weird, something so questionable as these night visits from dead people, Naomi still supported and believed her, almost unconditionally. Emily knew in her own mind that if it was Naomi who had these night visits, her cynical nature wouldn’t be so believing.

‘Surely their family know where they are,’ Emily said. ‘They would probably have buried them after their funerals…’

‘What if they are missing…?’ Naomi said. ‘What if their families don’t know where they are and they haven’t had a funeral…?’

They reached the front of the line. The waitress caught Naomi’s eye. ‘Oh, I’ve got this,’ she said, then moved to place their order. Emily moved off to the side.

When Naomi joined Emily, she continued. ’If they are missing, the cops would have a missing person report for them.’

Emily shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

‘You should go see the cops and tell them what you know. It might help them.’

Emily glared at Naomi, holding it for an extended awkward period.

‘What?’ Naomi said.

‘You want me to go to the cops and tell them that I was…’ Emily paused to check her surrounds. ‘Visited by dead people in my sleep and I think these dead people might be missing persons…? They’ll probably lock me up, or certify me, or something.’

‘I see your point…’

‘Even if I did do that, I can’t help the cops,’ Emily stressed. ‘I don’t know where these two people are.’

‘Order for Naomi,’ the Barista shouted.

‘You’re right,’ Naomi said. She pushed herself from the side wall and collected their order. She handed Emily her coffee and they exited the café.

‘Maybe they will re-visit you and tell you more information, Em…’

Emily shrugged as she sipped on her coffee. ‘Who knows?’

Naomi opened her browser as she strolled. She thumbed something into her phone. ‘Hey, Em, did you know there are thirty-three people missing in Victoria at the moment, all of whom are suspected of having met with foul play?’

‘I didn’t know that.’

Naomi’s eyes remained buried in her phone as she scrolled through the missing person website pages. She stopped walking. Emily continued a few steps then stopped and turned back. Naomi’s eyes were wide as she stared into her phone

‘What’s up Nomes…?’

Naomi’s eyes slowly lifted to Emily. ‘What did you say that woman looked like… the one who visited you and spoke to you…?’

Emily moved back to Naomi. ‘Um. She had red hair and green eyes. Looked mid-twenties, or so. Why?’

Naomi spun her phone display to face Emily. Emily squinted then took the phone. Her eyebrows arched and her mouth fell open. ‘That’s her. That’s the woman who visited me…’ Emily said. ‘Is she a missing person?’

Naomi took the phone back. ‘This is the Victoria Police Missing Person website, so…yeah, she is a missing person.’ Naomi read the page. ‘Her name is Sarah Moon. She is twenty-six. Went missing from Geelong CBD about six months ago.’ Naomi’s excited eyes lifted to Emily. ‘This is the woman who visited you in your dreams, Em… You know what that means…?’

‘No. What…?’

‘You’re not crazy. She must be dead, that is why she visited you.’

‘Can I have a look at that?’ Emily accepted Naomi’s phone and visited the photos of all thirty-three missing people. ‘This one here…’ She turned the display to Naomi. ‘She looks like one of the women who had visited me in the past. This one never spoke to me, though.’

Naomi read from the screen. ‘Jenny Cox. Twenty-six. Left to visit her parents in Bacchus Marsh. She never arrived. Missing twenty-two months. Twenty-two months, Em… She’d have to be dead.’

Emily took the phone. ‘This one here… This guy with the beard. This Brian Taylor. I’m sure he has visited me as well.’ Emily continued to visit the various pages of faces. ‘I reckon this one here, and this one here, have both visited me at some time in the past as well. They look so familiar.’

‘If they did visit you Em, then that means they are all probably dead.’

Emily shuddered. ‘This is too much to take in…’ She handed Naomi back her phone. She checked her watch. ‘Oh, shoot. We better move it. We’re running late.’

‘Good thing these coffees have lids…’ Naomi said as they quickened their pace back to their desks.

Chapter Six

Malcolm Denyer crawled his vehicle to a stop, parking by the kerb in the quiet residential court. The dashboard clock showed 10.15pm before it shut off with the vehicle engine. The time was significant to Malcolm.

The leafy street in which he parked was not his street, but it was not foreign to him. It was nothing more than a car park. He surveyed the immediate vicinity before reclining his seat. His eyes remained fixed to the rear view mirror.

Malcolm was a well-respected man in his society. He was the Principal at his local primary school with thirty-two years’ experience in education. He was the former president of his Rotary club. He was the incumbent chairman of his lawn bowls club and he could be found on many Sunday mornings, working as a volunteer for local charity organisations.

Earlier tonight, he volunteered at a Geelong soup kitchen providing meals and food hampers to the homeless and families in the community from a lower socio-economic background. He was on his way home when he detoured.

All this charity work and caring for the needy however hid a darker, sinister side to Malcolm Denyer. It was a seedy side driven by uncontrollable urges that lured him here tonight.

He checked the time on his watch before returning his eyes to his mirror, waiting.

Malcolm sat upright in his seat when a familiar car passed by in the adjoining street, behind Malcolm’s vehicle. He checked his watch. Right on time.

He waited five minutes then alighted from his vehicle. He was a short, overweight man with an unflattering head piece, unconvincing in its efforts to hide his male pattern baldness.

He quietly closed his car door, nudging it until it clicked. With a push of a button, the car’s indicators flashed. Following one final check of the immediate vicinity, he made his way back to the adjoining street, turning left. His corpulent silhouette was difficult to discern skulking in and out the shadows cast by street lighting.

After a short walk he stopped out the front of a single storey home and scanned his surrounds. The front of the house was in darkness. The vehicle he earlier waited for was parked on the street out front. He leaned back against the waist high, brick fence and feigned doing up a shoe lace, all the while scanning for prying eyes.

When he was satisfied all was clear, Malcolm quickly entered the property, via the driveway and made his way across the front yard to the high picket fence, side gate. He knew from experience there was no dog to worry about. He slowly opened the gate, closing it behind him.

For the most, the side of the house was in darkness, except for the light shining from a window, two-thirds of the way down. Malcolm edged his way to this window. The privacy screen erected on the side fence, to his right, hid him from the neighbour’s view.

Malcolm’s heart pounded as he arrived at the window. The blinds were open, so too was the window. He took a deep breath then peeped around the lower corner of the window. He frowned at the empty bedroom. He stood back against the house and checked his left and right, then his watch.

It wasn’t long before the sound of a female singing caused him to smile. Malcolm moved back and peered through the window, keeping close to the lower corner. A sinister smile filled his face.

An attractive young woman—probably in her early twenties, entered the bedroom wearing a fluffy white towel wrapped tightly around her shapely body. She sang and danced around the room to the tunes pumping through her headphones, oblivious to the prying eyes glued to her window.

The fifty-eight year old pervert had her routine down pat. He knew from previous visits, she attended the gym four nights a week, returning home around 10.20 each night for a shower, followed by an unwitting show for her audience of one.

He knew she lived in a share house with two other university girls. He knew she left her blinds open, along with her window on the warmer nights, like tonight. He knew the privacy screen was there and he knew he had got away with watching her now for several weeks.

Her first mistake was believing she didn’t need to close her blinds because of the privacy wall on the neighbouring fence. Her neighbours couldn’t see in, but creeps like Malcolm could.

Malcolm watched on as she removed the towel and dropped it into a clothing basket in the corner of her room. Malcolm’s pulse quickened as he leered at her toned and shapely naked body; testament to her many dedicated hours spent in the gym.

He was particularly focused on her free moving, sizeable breasts as she danced around the bedroom, oblivious to the unintended performance she provided. Malcolm removed his phone and took a series of photos to add to his growing collection.

She was a young woman comfortable in her own skin. She was in no hurry to cover up and this suited Malcolm.

After several minutes of perverted leering, the primary school principal removed some tissues from his pocket and began pleasuring himself, while he watched his naked, unsuspecting victim.

When he was done, he took one last leer, then quickly and quietly retreated back to his car.

His vehicle’s indicators flashed twice as he quickly approached. He opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door. His heart still pumped heavily, as his mind’s eye re-visited the visions of his naked goddess.

While fumbling with the ignition key, the door behind him opened and someone slid into the back seat.

Malcolm frowned. ‘Who’s that…?’ He said. He tried to glance back at the uninvited intruder.

A gloved hand came around from behind and grabbed his forehead, pinning his head firmly to the headrest. The other gloved hand pressed the tip of a knife blade into the side of Malcolm’s neck. The knife point slightly pierced his skin. Blood trickled down his neck.

‘What do you want from me…?’ Malcolm said. His heart pounded, but this time it was from fear.

‘Drive,’ was the firm instruction from the back seat.

‘Drive…where to?’

The back seat passenger applied pressure to the knife point.

‘OK. OK.’ Malcolm took the not-so-subtle hint. He started the car and moved off from the kerb.

Following a series of “turn right”, “turn left” and “straight ahead” instructions, Malcolm found himself on the open country road. He glanced into the rear view mirror at his abductor, but all he could see was the left eye of a black balaclava.

‘Where are we going…?’ Malcolm’s voice asked with a notable tremor.

Nothing but silence from the back seat. The pressure applied to the blade was clearer than any spoken word. He kept quiet.

The vehicle’s headlights illuminated the occasional centre white line disappearing under the car, and the poorly maintained jagged edged bitumen roadway and gravel shoulder.

Beyond the high beam from Malcolm’s vehicle sat isolated countryside and rural farmlands blanketed by the black of night. The further he drove into the darkness, the quicker his heart rate climbed and the more frightened Malcolm became.

After forty minutes of country road driving, Malcolm’s car headlights illuminated a sign announcing their arrival at Steiglitz. The remote town, northwest of Geelong once thrived in the mid-1800s as a busy gold mining township.

At the height of the 1860 gold rush, Steiglitz had over fifteen hundred. gold-fossicking residents. Today, there are less than one hundred, mostly farmers, scattered throughout the bush town.

The gold rush may be long gone and the town’s last gold mine closed in 1941, but there remained a residual scar on the land. A number of alluvial deep mining shafts, with associated mullock heaps, were dotted throughout the surrounding bush landscape; evidence this virtual ghost town once thrived in a time gone by.

‘Slow down…’ came the instruction from the back seat. Malcolm eased off the accelerator. ‘Left here…’

The high beam illuminated a break in the long roadside grasses approaching on the left. Malcolm slowed and turned left into the gravel road, lined by one metre high dried grass. His vehicle bounced and rocked along the narrow, bone shaking, pothole-riddled track.

The car’s high beam illuminated the towering, light grey tree trunks lining the road. They jumped out from the black backdrop.

‘Turn right here…’

Malcolm did as he was told, turning right into bush land.

‘Stop.’

Malcolm pulled the car over. He glanced around the isolated darkness. Visibility away from the car headlights, on this moonless night, was down to only feet.

‘Turn off the lights.’

He did as instructed. Darkness engulfed their vehicle. Malcolm’s heart raced. He knew this wasn’t going to end well. Why else would he be brought way out here?

‘Turn off the car.’

‘Look… Has this got something to do with that girl I was watching…?’

The knife pressed firmer into his neck. ‘OK…’ Malcolm held up a submissive hand and turned off the engine.

‘Leave the keys. Get out.’

Malcolm alighted from the car. The twigs and dried leaves crunched under his feet. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. He glanced around at the enveloping blackness. No-one would hear him scream out here.

A torch light from behind illuminated the ground in front of Malcolm. ‘That way,’ the voice from behind ordered.

Malcolm commenced walking where the torch light shone. At least the knife had been removed from his neck. He touched the tender wound left by the knife. He grimaced. When he checked his fingers, there was blood.

His abductor shoved Malcolm aggressively in the back. Malcolm quickened his pace. They walked into the dark, tree covered bush for around five minutes when the torch light flicked to the right.

‘Over there…’

Malcolm did as instructed.

‘Kneel down…’

‘I don’t want to die,’ Malcolm pleaded with his abductor. ‘Please, I have a family…I have a wife and three kids. Look, I promise I won’t peep in her window again… Please…’

His pleas fell on deaf ears.

‘Your phone…’

Malcolm slid his phone from his pocket and held it up.

‘Unlock it…’

Malcolm did as instructed, then handed the phone back behind himself.

‘Hands on your head.’

Malcolm obliged. He scanned the darkness. His breathing escalated to panting, while the abductor inspected Malcolm’s phone.

After a short wait, Malcolm’s time was up. Using a quick, deft movement, the abductor sliced open the side of Malcolm’s neck, below the ear, severing his carotid artery. Blood spurted several metres from the gaping wound.

Malcolm grabbed his neck in a feeble attempt to stem the flow, but the cut was too deep. Torrents of blood coursed from his body. He collapsed to the ground.

Within thirty seconds Malcolm passed out from the lack of blood supply to his brain. Ninety seconds later the perverted primary school principal was dead. His abductor stood and watched until the life drained from Malcolm.

Once his pockets were emptied, Malcolm’s body was rolled over three times then, with a final push from a foot, Malcolm’s overweight corpse plummeted down an open, vertical mine shaft. The delayed thud resonating back to the top, verified it was deep.

Malcolm would never know it, but he shared his deep dark resting place with two other bodies, in varying stages of advanced decomposition.

Within minutes Malcom’s car was gone and the area returned to isolated, overgrown bushland.

Chapter Seven

Max Higgins marched through the bull pen and dumped his folder and car keys onto his desk. He glared at his whiteboard and shook a slow, disapproving head, concerned at the unprecedented high number of people missing due to suspicious circumstances.

He flipped open his folder and lifted a ten-by-eight, colour photograph—the seventh in his growing collection. He paused to pass his eyes across the whiteboard, then affixed the photo.

Taken during happier times, the photo was given to him by Tanya Denyer, the distraught wife of Malcolm. She had one stipulation when Max visited her earlier this afternoon and that was, the photo had to be returned to her in the condition he received it.

Three months had passed since her husband, Malcolm was last seen leaving the charity soup kitchen in Geelong’s CBD around 10pm. His bank accounts remained untouched. His mobile phone diverted to voice mail and probably the most telling was, his social media was inactive.

Malcolm regularly used Facebook. He invited all his students to interact with him, via the social media platform. He viewed it as a way to break down perceived barriers between students and their principal.

He used it as a news forum and a way to distribute information to students and their parents. It was also his clever way to deter online bullying among students.

He was considered somewhat of a pioneer in this area. The concept was embraced by all at the school, including his teaching staff, so his long-term absence from Facebook concerned all who knew him.

While passing his eyes over his photo board collection, Tanya Denyer’s heartfelt question resonated with Max. It was a question that so many others in her position asked him, and it was the one question he avoided answering — “Do you think he is still alive?”

To Max and his years of experience investigating missing persons, the answer was sadly obvious. But to desperate family members clinging onto the slightest glimmer of hope, it was a question he couldn’t answer truthfully—for their sakes.

While ruing the latest addition to his collection, Max’s boss, Detective Senior Sergeant Jeff Fry approached.

‘How’s it coming along, Max?’

‘It’s not…’ Max said. His tone was riddled with frustration. Jeff stood beside him surveying the photo display.

Jeff flicked a finger at the photo of Malcolm Denyer. ‘Is this a new one..?’ he asked.

Max’s eyes flicked to the photo. He nodded once. ‘Just put that up…’

Jeff moved closer to Malcolm Denyer’s image. ‘Is that a rug…?’ he asked knowingly. ‘That would have to be one of the worst I’ve seen. I don’t understand why guys wear those things…’ His eyes lifted to Max’s balding head. ‘They should be like you and just wear it naturally…’

‘Each to their own, Boss.’

Jeff waved a hand across the whiteboard. ‘Any chance some of these are drug related disappearances…?’

Max shook his head. ‘No.’ He gestured to Malcolm Denyer’s image. ‘This guy with the rug for example, he’s a primary school principal,’ he said.

‘Could any of these disappearances be linked…?’

‘What…You mean like to a serial…?’

‘Something like that.’

‘I don’t think so. They’re too spread out for a serial killer. Serials tend to offend in areas they are comfortable with, like where they live, or where they work.’ Max paused at the interruption when his desk phone warbled to life. He continued as he moved to answer his phone.

‘Plus, we have varying occupations and a mix of gender and ages…’ He lifted the handset while continuing. ‘No. Too erratic. No pattern,’ he said, then took the call. ‘Detective Sergeant Max Higgins.’ Max’s eyes flicked to his whiteboard. ‘OK. Give me the address.’ He lifted a pen and scribbled notes. ‘OK. Got it. I’m about twenty minutes away…’ He hung up the phone and ripped the page from his note pad.

‘Whatcha got…?’ Jeff asked.

Max moved over to the whiteboard and tapped photo number two—Jenny Cox. ‘They’ve just found her car in a farmer’s dam in Anakie. Search and rescue divers are there scouring the dam.’

Jeff read the details recorded under the photo. ‘Been missing for twenty-five months…Went missing on her way to Bacchus Marsh…’ He nodded knowingly. ‘Anakie is practically on the way to Bacchus Marsh. Maybe you’ll have an answer to this one.’

Max lifted his keys and folder. ‘We’ll see,’ he said, moving towards the door. ‘I’ll let ya know. Gotta go, Boss.’

---

The road to Anakie was typical of most Victorian country roads. Sealed bitumen roads with wide gravel shoulders, lined with kilometre after kilometre of barbed wire fencing. Each fence painstakingly erected to retain livestock and define the outer boundaries of the expansive rural acreages stretching as far as the eye could see.

During his drive to the small rural township thirty kilometres north-west of Geelong, Max was anxious at the possibility of solving one of his missing person mysteries.

After arriving at the address scribbled on his notes, Max left the roadway and travelled down a long unmade, barbed wire lined driveway, towards the residence situated over 500 metres from the road. Two-thirds of the way down the drive a uniform constable met Max and directed him to a break in the barbed wire fence on his right.

After carefully navigating the wire fence, which had earlier been knocked down by the tow truck that preceded Max’s arrival, he continued driving across the uneven paddocks towards the vehicles gathered away in the distance.

The cars were parked at one of the largest farm dams he had seen. It would’ve been at least the size of a soccer field. The tow truck had already dragged the abandoned vehicle from the dam.

Max parked his car and made his way to the banks of the dam. A uniform constable met him along the way and strolled with him.

‘Who found the car…?’ Max said.

‘The farm owner… Bill Marx,’ the uniform cop said, keeping stride with Max. ‘He said he went to the dam to check the level, which was low due to poor recent rainfall. The low water level revealed the roof of the car. He assumed it was a stolen car and called us.’

‘What do we know about this bloke, Bill Marx…?’

‘Clean skin. No record.’

‘Good. Are there any remains in the car?’ Max asked.

The cop shook his head. ‘No. Empty, including the boot.’

‘And the car is registered to Jenny Cox…?’ Max said as a question.

‘Correct. Well, it’s unregistered now, but the last registered owner came up as Jenny Cox. It looks like it has been here a while….’

‘About twenty-five months, I’d guess,’ Max’s said.

Max walked around the pale blue Toyota Camry. Evidence of rust bubbling under the paintwork replaced what were once polished panels.

All doors were closed. All windows were wound up. Max shielded his eyes to peer in through the driver’s window. A green slimy algae on the inside of the window reduced visibility. Car keys were still in the ignition.

Max approached the three search and rescue divers who were in the process of gathering their dive equipment. ‘Hey guys… No luck finding a body…?’ he asked.

‘No. No human remains in there,’ one of the divers said. ‘Just a bloated, decomposing sheep… But no human body.’

‘OK, thanks for coming out guys…’

Max scanned the surrounding wide open, parched farm land. ’If her car was dumped here… She must be around here somewhere… But where…?’ he said to no-one, as he scanned the vast country side.

‘Could be anywhere…’ the uniform cop said, stating the obvious to Max’s rhetorical question.

‘Make sure the car is towed back for full forensic examination,’ Max said to the cop.

‘Will do…’

Despite the disappointment he felt on the return drive to his office, Max knew that while the discovery of her car was not a break through, it was another small piece in the puzzle to finding out what happened to Jenny Cox.

---

Such was her focus on scribbling notes while seated at her breakfast bench, Emily’s morning coffee had gone cold and the butter spread thick across her untouched raisin toast, had congealed.

With Boyd working morning shift, the 6am start meant he left for work at 5.30am. So Emily was home alone with no distractions and no-one to remind her that she was already late leaving for work.

Instead, her focus was solely on scribbling notes from her latest nocturnal visitor. At 3.23 am this morning a woman in her late twenties visited Emily. She was dressed in knee-length khaki coloured cargo shorts and a light blue singlet top.

She asked for Emily’s help finding her and provided directions where her body could be found, just off the path leading to Erskine Falls. The popular tourist attraction was located on the outskirts of Lorne, a seaside hamlet, fifty kilometres south-west of Geelong on the world famous Great Ocean Road.

Emily wanted to record the notes while her conversation was still fresh in her memory. Part of her was glad Boyd had already left for work. She didn’t want to waste time justifying to him that this latest in a line of many visits, wasn’t just another dream.

In her own mind, Emily believed the visits had purpose. These people wanted help from her and she felt obligated to assist where she could. Problem was, she didn’t know where to start.

After completing her latest note taking, Emily reviewed her list. It was now quite long. She opened her phone’s internet browser and navigated to the Victoria Police Missing Persons website. One-by-one she scrolled though the photos, searching for the familiar face from last night.

At page four she stopped and examined the image. A smile filled her face. ‘There you are…’ She read the name. ‘Libby Vassillou. How long have you been missing Libby…?’ She checked the date recorded on the site. ‘Oh my God. Twenty-seven months… Your poor family.’

The hair on Emily’s neck stood on end when she read on the website that Libby was last seen hiking in the Otways, which Emily knew as the expansive forest that surrounded Lorne.

Seven people were now recorded on Emily’s list. Not all had names yet, but all seven had each alerted Emily to their locations during their respective early morning visits.

On one occasion, not too far back, three people, two males and a female, visited Emily simultaneously. It was disturbing enough waking from her sleep to find one person staring back at her, but to have three people standing by her bed, was triply frightening.

They told her they were lying together in a deep hole near Steiglitz. Emily later identified the woman from the website as Jenny Cox and one of the men as Brian Taylor, but she could not find any information about the other male. She suspected from their visit that the unnamed man may have worn a wig.

Emily glanced over her list of seven people. She had to consider how best to handle this information. Her gaze lifted to the wall clock. Her jaw dropped. ‘Shit…’ she blurted. She was running late.

She lifted her coffee and took a sip as she moved to the dishwasher. Her face screwed up and she spat the liquid back into her cup. She shuddered. ‘Blah, cold coffee’, she muttered to herself.

Following a quick clean up, Emily scooped up her list and shoved it into her hand bag on her way to her car. Within sixty seconds she hit the road for the ten minute commute to her work.

---

This morning’s visitor distracted Emily from her work. She sat at her desk reviewing her list of notes compiled from her many nocturnal visits.

Being the manager of her department, Emily was afforded the luxury of an office, which is essence, was just three shoulder-high partition walls.

The rest of the open plan office in which she worked was occupied by desks placed side-by-side and back-to-back, forming rows along the room.

Naomi didn’t work in Emily’s department, but her desk was nearby. They did however share the same senior manager responsible for overseeing both Emily and Naomi’s respective departments.

Emily stood from her chair and peered over the top of her partition wall, towards Naomi’s desk. Naomi waved and smiled when she saw Emily’s head appear. Emily gathered her notes and moved towards Naomi’s desk.

‘Do you have a minute, Nomes…?’ Emily asked as she approached.

Naomi sat back in her chair watching Emily approach, ‘Of course. What’s up?’

Emily dragged a nearby chair over and squeezed in beside Naomi. She unfolded her list and dragged a hand across it. She checked over her shoulders then said in a quiet tone, ‘I had another visitor this morning…’ She tapped the fourth name on her list. ‘This one…Libby Vassillou. She told me where she could be found…’

‘Oh my God, Em…’ Naomi said. ‘How many is that now…?’

‘Ah…’ Emily tapped each name as she counted down her list. ‘That’s seven now…’

Naomi placed a hand on Emily’s forearm. ‘What are you going to do about it…?’

‘I don’t know. What can I do…?’

Naomi sat back in her chair and folded her arms in contemplation. ‘You know what…? I reckon it’s time, Em.’

‘Time…?’

‘Time you went to the cops with this. You have too many names for them to think you’re a nutter. They’d have to listen to you.’

‘I’m not so sure, Nomes.’

‘Look. I’ll come with you,’ Naomi said. She checked the time on her computer monitor. ’Why don’t we go at lunch break today? We can walk to the police station and get it out of the way… Tell ‘em what you know, then they can worry about it. What do ya say…?’

Emily stared at her notes while considering Naomi’s suggestion. She wanted to tell the cops what she knew, but something in her gut warned her off it, in case they thought she was a raving lunatic.

Up until six months ago, she would’ve thought exactly that of anyone who claimed to speak to dead people in their sleep. And she expected the cops to do the same. But if she didn’t act, nothing would get done for these poor people.

‘You know what…?’ Emily said. ‘Let’s do it…’

‘Good girl…’ Naomi said. ‘I’ll come and get you at 12.30…’

‘Done. See ya then,’ Emily said. She pushed herself away from the desk, rolled the chair back and returned to her office.

Chapter Eight

The butterflies in Emily’s stomach kicked in when she noticed the time was 12.25. It was almost time for her lunch break. The last time she felt this nervous was when Molly Williamson dragged her up on stage in front of all those people at the medium seminar.

She was divided in her thoughts. Part of her wanted to tell the cops what she knew to help them locate these missing people. The other part of her was cautious as to how it would be received.

Emily startled when Naomi stuck her head around the front of the partition wall. ‘Ready…?’ Naomi said.

‘Yep…’ Emily said. She locked her computer screen, folded her notes and placed them into her handbag. ‘Let’s do this…’ She shouldered her handbag as she moved to exit her office.

Following a short stroll through Geelong’s CBD, Emily and Naomi arrived at the Geelong Police Station. The public inquiry counter was occupied by three cops taking reports from other people.

Emily and Naomi stood back waiting their turn. It wasn’t long before a young male cop squeezed in beside the other cops and beckoned Emily and Naomi towards him.

‘How can I help you ladies?’ He asked. The cop was personable, with a warm smile. Emily felt at ease as she approached the desk. She read his name tag. Constable Brandon Coutts.

‘Hi… I have some information that you might find useful in relation to some missing people,’ Emily said. She removed her notes from her handbag.

‘OK…’ Constable Coutts said. He dragged a note pad closer and removed a pen from his shirt pocket. ‘Let’s start with your name…’

‘Ah, Emily Davis…’

The cop scribbled on his pad. ‘And your address, Emily…?’

Emily frowned nervously at Naomi. ‘Ah, fourteen Wentworth Court, Belmont.’

The cop scribbled her response. ‘Do you have a mobile contact?’

Emily nodded. She glanced at the other people at the counter. ‘I’ll write it for you.’ She accepted the pen from the cop and jotted down her mobile number, then handed the pen back to the cop.

Constable Coutts read the number. ‘Now, what is the information you have for us…?’

Emily unfolded her notes and placed them on the counter. ‘I have some information on the whereabouts of some people that have been missing for some time.’

‘Oh, OK.’ The cop’s eyes dropped to Emily’s list. He gestured to it. ‘Is that the information there…?’

Emily nodded.

‘May I have a look at it…?’

‘Please…’ Emily handed her notes to the cop. He leaned on his elbows as he read the list. Emily watched on.

The cop frowned. His eyes lifted to Emily. ‘There are seven names on here…Which one do you have information on?’

‘All of them…’

Constable Coutts stood upright as he regarded Emily. An awkward pause ensued. ’You have information on the whereabouts of all seven of these missing persons…?’ The cop asked.

‘That’s right.’

‘How do you know this information?’

Emily and Naomi exchanged a brief glance. Naomi gave a reassuring jab of her head towards the cop. Emily took a breath and said, ‘I have the ability to communicate with people who have passed on…’ She paused when the cop’s shoulders noticeably dropped. ‘I am what is called a medium and these people told me where they are located.’

Constable Coutts exchanged a brief glance with a colleague standing beside him. The other cop rolled his eyes before returning to his own report.

Constable Coutts’ questioning eyes flicked from Emily to Naomi and back again. ‘You believe that each of the people on this list are dead and they visited you and told you where their bodies are…?’ Coutts said.

A woman to Emily’s right scoffed loudly. Emily was too embarrassed to look in the woman’s direction. The Emily of old would probably have shared the same cynical scoff, if she heard those very same words uttered by the cop.

That’s right,’ Emily said. ‘Look. I know how strange this sounds, but I—’

‘I appreciate you coming down here today, Ms…’ the cop read from his notes. ‘Davis… But I’m afraid we need something more substantial than what you have to offer, for us to act on the information relating to missing persons. I’m sure you understand…’

Emily glanced around the public reception area. Everyone, including the cops on the other side of the counter all stared at her, judging her, or so she felt.

‘OK…’ Emily said. She wasn’t going to argue with the cop who just politely informed her, she was a nut and he was not interested in what she had to say.

Emily tapped Naomi on the arm then gestured towards the exit door. ‘Thank you for your time,’ she said then quickly exited the foyer. Naomi followed behind.

Emily’s stride was long and fast. Naomi jogged to keep up. ‘I told you they would think I was a nut… I told you Nomes,’ Emily said. She cupped her forehead. ‘My God that was embarrassing. Did you see those people looking at me…?’

‘At least you tried, Em. You can’t control what the cops think.’

‘I can’t blame them, Nomes… I would think the same, if all this wasn’t happening to me.’

Naomi placed a reassuring arm around Emily as they walked. ’It’s OK, Em… Don’t let them get to you. You’re not a nutter. At least you tried. Let’s get some lunch. My treat.

---

Constable Coutts watched Emily and Naomi storm from the public reception area. His puzzled gaze met a colleague’s standing beside him. The colleague rotated a finger beside his ear, then returned to his report.

With no one else waiting to be served, Constable Coutts checked his watch. He lifted his notes and Emily’ list from the counter and moved away from public view, into the watch house. He re-read Emily’s list.

When he finished he shook his head and scrunched the papers into a tight ball and lobbed them into a bin. ‘I’m going for some lunch, Sarge,’ he said to his supervising sergeant.

The sergeant checked his watch. ‘Enjoy…’ he said.

Constable Coutts sat in the large police station meals room enjoying his sandwich when his cynical colleague from the front counter wandered in with his own lunch. The arriving cop slid into a chair next to Coutts.

‘How was that nutter you served, bro…?’ The second cop said with a chuckle.

Coutts shook his head. ‘Unbelievable. I can’t understand why they let these people walk around unsupervised.’

‘I never heard the full story…’ the second cop said. ‘What was she saying…dead people visit her, or something…?’

‘Yeah, that’s right. She had a list with her which she said she compiled from visits she had from dead people who are missing persons…’

Max Higgins sat alone in the corner enjoying a quiet feed. His ears pricked up when heard the words “missing persons”.

Coutts continued. ‘I read her list after she stormed out… Hey, how’s the way she practically ran from the reception area…?’ Both cops laughed out loud.

‘I read from her list after she’d gone,’ Coutts continued. ‘And it was filled with notes about the supposed locations these ghosts told her, as to where their bodies were…’ Both cops laughed as they dined.

Coutts continued his recollection of reading Emily’s notes. ‘The first one on her list… This Sarah someone. Apparently the ghost of this Sarah told this nutter her body is in a dam near Winchelsea. Yeah right…’ the cop said.

Max heard enough to pique his interest. He approached the two cynical cops. ‘I only caught part of what you were saying then… Something about someone knowing the whereabouts of a missing person…?’

‘Oh, hey, Higgo…’ Coutts said. ‘Yeah that’s right. I just had a female nut case come in to the watch house and tell me she knows the whereabouts of seven missing persons…’

‘What…?’

‘Don’t get too excited… She said their ghosts visited her and told her where their bodies were…’ He scoffed. ‘Do you believe that shit…?’

‘What was it you said there before, something about a Sarah? I have a Sarah Moon as one of missing person cases.’

Coutts scoffed. ‘Like I said, I wouldn’t get too excited, mate… I think she was on lunch time leave from the looney bin ward of the psyche hospital.’

‘Yeah. I got that part… What did she say about this Sarah. Was her name Sarah Moon?’

‘That’s it, Sarah Moon. Yeah. But she didn’t say anything. She had a note with her with seven names on it. The top of the list was this Sarah Moon. In her notes she wrote the body was apparently in a dam near Winchelsea. Do you believe that shit…?’

Max’s firm expression held the grinning cop’s gaze. ‘Where’s this list…?’

The cop waved the back of his hand. ‘I threw it in the bin in the watch house…’

Max gestured towards the kitchen door. ‘Come with me and get that list…’

The young cop glared at Max. He frowned. ‘Surely you’re not believing this nut job, Max…’

‘I’m not believing anything. I just want to see this list you’re speaking about…’

The cop stood from his chair. ‘What’s got you interested in this list?’ He said. He scooped up his lunch rubbish and dumped it into a bin.

‘The location of the body…’ Max said. Both men exited the kitchen, en-route to the watch house.

‘What… In a dam near Winchelsea…? She probably saw this Sarah Moon went missing from around that area and made the rest up…’

‘Sarah Moon went missing from the Geelong CBD. Her car was found burnt out near Winchelsea a few weeks later…’

‘There ya go… She probably read that on the website, or saw it on the news…’

‘None of that information about Sarah’s car and its whereabouts had been released… So how did your nut job know Sarah Moon’s body is in a dam near Winchelsea…?’

The young cop’s face tightened.

Max followed the young cop into the watch house and watched him retrieve some screwed up paper from a bin. Constable Coutts unfolded the paper and handed it to Max. ‘That’s the list she brought in with her…’

Max accepted the list and commenced to read from it. ‘This is her writing… it’s not yours…?’ Max said as a question.

‘Correct.’

Max glared at the young cop.

‘What…?’ The cop said.

‘All seven of these names are long-term missing persons and each is one of my case files…’ Max said.

‘So, she probably visited the missing person’s website and got the names from there…’

‘Is that right…?’ Max said with his own hint of cynicism. He gestured to the names at numbers six and seven—Malcolm Denyer and Dale Cartwright. ‘Tell me how she knew about these two missing persons…’ The young cop shrugged. Before he could answer, Max continued.

‘Their names are yet to be published on the missing person’s website…’ Max held a firm glare at the cop. ‘So, how could she know they were missing and more importantly, where their bodies are supposed to be located?’

The cop’s open-mouthed stare at the list was enough of a response for Max.

‘Did you get this woman’s name…? Please tell me you at least got her name.’

The young cop dived a hand into the bin and retrieved another crumpled up page, which he handed Max. Max opened it up. ‘Is this her…? The woman who brought in this list…’

‘Yep, that’s her. That’s her mobile phone number on the top there… Why the sudden interest in this nut job?’

‘Because this nut job just gave you information that only the offender, or an accomplice would know about… Or, she was telling you the truth about being psychic… Do you know which one she is…?’ Max said, again with cynicism that was unfortunately lost on the young cop.

No. I don’t know.’

‘Neither do I…’ Max said. ‘But I’m going to find out…’ With a disapproving shake of his head, Max marched out of the watch house.

---

Max’s inquiries into what was known about Emily Davis came up empty. She was twenty-eight and a clean skin. She held a current Victorian driver’s licence. She and her husband, Boyd Davis owned their home at fourteen Wentworth Court, Belmont.

Boyd Davis was also not known to police.

Max had long hoped for a breakthrough in one of his cases. But this woman claimed to have information on all seven. Could he be so lucky? It was time to contact this enigma that is Emily Davis.

He dialled the number written on Constable Coutts’ notes. A female voice answered.

‘Hello. My name is Detective Sergeant Max Higgins. I was hoping to speak with Emily Davis please…’

‘This is Emily. What’s this about?’

‘Good afternoon, Emily. I understand you visited the Geelong Police Station earlier today. I was hoping to chat with you about your visit. Do you have a spare minute or two, now?’

‘That was so embarrassing. I know he didn’t mean to, but that young cop made me feel like such an idiot…’

‘Let me apologise for that. I’m terribly sorry. That should not have happened the way it did. But I am interested in the list of names you brought in with you though. Where did you get that list?’

‘I prepared it. The people came to me…’ Emily paused. She knew the words that were to follow were unconvincing. They would certainly sound like the ramblings of a crazy woman.

‘Look, I’m not sure it’s worth me even trying to explain all this to you. You’ll just think I’m a raving nut case, so…’

‘With all due respect, Ms. Davis…’ Max began. ‘I think you should let me decide what I think. As a matter of fact, I am very interested in what you have to say… probably more than you realise…’

‘Why…?’

‘Because I lead the missing persons squad here in Geelong and the names on your list are all of my cases…’

‘Oh. OK. Good. If you promise not to judge me, I’ll continue.’

‘No judgement. I promise.’

‘I learned recently, as recent as around six to eight months ago that I have this ability to communicate with people who have passed on…’

‘You mean, who have died…?’

‘Correct. I know how that sounds, but over a period of time, these people all came to me one-by-one and asked me for help in locating them. I wrote them on a list, which I assume you have there with you…’

‘I do… Tell me, how did you know they were missing persons? Did they tell you they were missing?’

‘No. My friend, Naomi, looked up the missing persons on the police website and showed me. I recognised some of the faces on there as being the people who visited me.’

’I see. Why do you think they asked you for help?’

‘I wish I knew… Nearly all of them wanted closure for their loved ones and asked me to help find them.’

‘I find this incredibly intriguing, Ms. Davis. I was wondering… Are you free later tonight after your work? I would love to visit you and hear more about your visits from these people.’

‘Um. OK. Sure.’

‘Would 8pm suit you?’

‘Yes. 8pm is fine…’

‘Great. I have your address from your visit today as fourteen Wentworth Court, Belmont…’

‘That’s correct.’

‘Excellent. I’ll see you then…’ Max said, then ended his call.

He dropped his phone onto the desk. He rubbed a hand across his mouth as he read Emily’s list of names. This will be an interesting visit, he thought.

Chapter Nine

Emily glanced at the wall clock when her doorbell rang. ‘Eight o’clock…right on time,’ she said. She pushed herself up from her lounge chair.

The smiling face of Max Higgins greeted Emily when she opened the front door. ‘Detective Higgins…?’ Emily asked.

‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘You must be Emily.’ He held out his police ID to Emily, which she inspected.

Emily stepped back, a silent gesture for her visitor to enter. Max moved inside and she closed the door behind him.

Max moved through to the lounge room and approached Naomi sitting in an arm chair. ‘Hi. I’m Detective Sergeant Max Higgins from Geelong police…’

Naomi shook Max’s hand. ‘Naomi,’ she said. ‘Pleased to meet you…’

Emily gestured to a vacant lounge chair. Max took a seat.

‘My husband is working afternoon shift, so I asked my friend Naomi to sit with me while you visited. I hope you don’t mind…’

‘Not all at,’ Max said, giving his best reassuring smile to Naomi. ‘What does your husband do for a living…?’

‘He’s a paramedic here in Geelong…’ Emily said.

‘Oh, Nice. I have probably seen him around then… We often cross paths with the ambos at various jobs we attend,’

‘Would you mind making some coffees, Nomes…?’ Emily said. It was her signal to Naomi that she was comfortable being left alone with this cop, albeit for a short time.

Max handed Emily her list. ‘Did you create that list of names, Emily…?’

Emily briefly scanned the page. ‘I did. I unintentionally left it at the police station earlier today.’

‘I’m glad you did. I’m glad I got to see it…’

By the time Naomi returned to the lounge with coffees for all, Emily was well into her explanation about how she met each person named on her list. She explained where their bodies were located, as told to her by each visitor. She even mentioned the one occasion when three people visited her at the same time because they shared the same hole.

‘Tell him about the seminar you went to, Em…’ Naomi said.

‘Seminar…?’ Max said.

‘A few months back, I didn’t understand why I was being visited by these dead people. Naomi found this medium seminar being held in Melbourne. So I went to try and find some answers. The host, Molly Williamson, dragged me up on stage and told me that I apparently have a rare gift… the ability to talk to the dead.’

‘Did this Molly Williamson have the gift…?’ Max asked.

‘So she said.’

After what Max considered was an informative forty-five minutes he began to wrap up. He scanned his detailed notes taken during their chat. ‘It seems that some locations are more precise than others. Did you find that?’ He asked.

‘I did, actually…’ Emily said. ‘But that is what, or where they told me to look… I just wrote it down.’

‘And these are the injuries they each told you they have… presumably the same injuries that killed them…? Would that be right?’

Emily shrugged. ‘That’s how I understood it, yeah,’ Emily said.

Max showed Emily the list. ‘These last two people on your list… They don’t have names. Why is that?’

‘They aren’t on your missing person’s website.’

Max regarded Emily, briefly. He frowned. ‘I’m not sure I understand. Are you saying that you only know these peoples’ names because they are listed on the website…?’

‘That’s right.’

‘But you talk to them… Don’t you ask them their names…?’

‘Look. It’s all very surreal when they contact me. They control the conversation. We don’t talk like you and I are talking now… I just clarify what they ask, or want. Asking their names is the last thing I think of at the time…’

Max nodded, albeit unconvinced. ‘OK. Thanks.’ He stood from his seat. ‘Well, I won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you for the coffee Naomi,’ Max said.

Emily escorted Max to the front door, which she opened. ‘Thanks again. I’ll be in touch,’ Max said, then stepped onto the front porch.

Emily watched her visitor make his way to his car parked in the street out front, then closed the door.

‘What do you make of all that?’ Emily said.

‘He certainly seemed interested, Em. That’s more than you got from those other cops today.’

‘Yeah. I suppose you’re right. I’ll be curious to hear if he finds anything at any of those locations.’

‘Me too.’

---

Max Higgins locked his fingers behind his head and rested his feet on the side of his desk; his favourite position for contemplating. His eyes remained glued to his whiteboard photos.

His boss, Jeff Fry stood to the side reading Emily’s list of people who she claimed visited her. ‘You’re telling me this woman gave us a list that contains every one of your missing persons…’ Jeff said. ‘No other missing persons… just these ones,’ he waved a hand at the whiteboard.

‘Correct.’

’And the only way she knew their names was by visiting the Vic Pol missing person’s website…? She didn’t think to ask them their names when they visited her…?

‘Correct.’

‘Bullshit!’ Jeff blurted. ’I find it intriguing that this woman claimed to speak to dead people who have gone missing and she doesn’t take the time to ask them their names…

‘Wouldn’t that be one of the first questions you’d ask someone who claimed to be missing? What’s your name? Where are you from…?’ Jeff said in a rambling rant.

‘I agree. And I know where you are heading. But the thing is, this Emily Davis is a sweet, calm amiable type who gave the impression she wouldn’t hurt a fly. When you speak with her, she genuinely seemed intimidated by these visits she claimed to have had.’

’The way I see it, Higgo, is you have two options here. One. She is a psychic who speaks to dead people, only some dead people mind you, but while doing so doesn’t think to ask them their names…’ he said riddled with cynicism. ‘Or two. She is either the perp, or knows the perp.’

‘Normally I’d agree,’ Max began. ’But if she was our perp, why would she implicate herself in murders of people who have been missing for considerable periods of time?

‘Secondly, she’d be five-three in the old money, and only sixty kegs wringing wet. So she couldn’t move these bodies… not on her own, anyway,’ Max said.

‘So, she could be a co-offender then…’

‘Mmmm. Still doesn’t explain why she would bring heat on herself after all this time,’ Max said as he continued to study his whiteboard.

‘I go with the hard evidence, every day of the week… Something that can be proven, not this mumbo jumbo psychic bullshit,’ Jeff said.

Max dropped his feet to the floor and woke his computer screen. ‘Why don’t I run a test case on the first name on her list…’ He flicked a finger towards Sarah Moon’s photo. ‘Let’s drag this dam and see if her body is in there. If it is… We can re-visit this conversation and decide on our options, moving forward.’

He brought up Google maps satellite image and typed in the area where Sarah Moon’s burnt out vehicle was located. ‘OK. There are two dams near where her burnt out car was located. Here and the other over here.’ He tapped his screen. His eyes lifted to his boss. ’What do ya reckon… drag ‘em?’

Jeff waved a hand in the air. ’Drag ‘em,’ he said with a defeated tone.

---

Slight ripples fanned across the opaque, coffee coloured dam water, courtesy of the biting winds whipping up from the south-west. Tiny waves lapped onto its muddy shores.

With open farm land stretching to the horizon in all directions, there was nothing to reduce the impact of the chilly unseasonal winds.

Max Higgins stood on the elevated dam bank overseeing proceedings. Which in reality, meant he tried to follow the almost indiscernible trail of air bubbles expelled from the police divers trawling the floor of a dam, roughly four times the size of the average back yard swimming pool.

While he waited, Max toed small pebbles on the bank of the dam. Some of the larger ones he pitched at a nearby, well-weathered fence post, silently keeping score of his hits and misses.

When he wasn’t reshaping the landscape, one pebble at a time, he shoved his bored hands deep into his pockets and pressed his arms tightly against his body, to trap in whatever heat he could.

His light-weight suit jacket did nothing to warm him from the cold mid-morning winds.

Every so often an occasional wayward fin breached the water surface, like a frolicking seal, then disappeared into the murky depths. It was his only highlight to break the monotony.

The poor visibility on the dam floor meant the two divers had to drag their hands across the silt bed in an organised grid pattern, foot-by-foot using touch in their search for human remains. A third member of the search and rescue team remained on land monitoring his colleagues for safety warnings.

Max checked his watch. The divers had been down now for twenty-five minutes. It wasn’t looking good, not for this dam anyway.

One of divers breached the surface and stood in the shallows. ‘Finally,’ Max mumbled. While the diver removed his fins, the second diver surfaced and stood in the shallows of the dam. The divers made their way to the bank. Max moved around to meet the divers.

‘No good…?’ Max said.

One of the divers shook his head. ‘Nothing,’ he said.

Max rubbed a hand across his mouth as he scanned the country side. ‘OK…’ He said. He unfolded his printed map. ‘This is us here… So the other dam is there.’ He tapped the map.

‘Which is over in that direction.’ He gestured to the north-west. ‘Looks like we’re moving to dam number two…’

It wasn’t long before Max experienced a sense of déjà vu at this second dam site, located on a different property about five hundred metres from the first dam.

It was much smaller than the last dam, but it was the same biting south-westerly wind, the same coffee coloured water, the same boring wait while all the action happened below the surface.

While he waited, Max kept an eye on three nosey cows that wandered over to him, obviously curious at what all the fuss was at their waterhole. As long as they kept their distance, Max was happy.

Twenty minutes after entering the water, the divers re-surfaced. They proceeded to remove their fins in the shallows. To Max that meant only one thing— strike two.

He moved over to the divers. ‘Nothing there either…?’ He asked.

‘Same-same,’ a diver said.

‘OK,’ Max said. He held up a finger to the divers. ‘Give me a minute to check something…’

Max quickly returned to his vehicle and revisited the notes in his folder. He read from Emily’s hand written notes that recorded Sarah Moon’s supposed whereabouts.

In a dam south of Winchelsea, he read. He scanned the surrounding open plains. ‘There are no other dams around here…’ he said to no-one.

Then, he had a light bulb moment. He removed his phone and opened Google Maps and rechecked their location. ’Ah… south of Winchelsea…’

He mumbled to himself. His first mistake was he limited his initial search area to where Sarah’s burnt out car had been located.

He jogged back to the divers, waiting by the side of the dam. ‘We were supposed to be looking at dams south of Winchelsea…’ Max said. ‘We are south-east of Winch.’

‘OK. Any dams to the south of Winchelsea?’ a diver asked.

‘There’s this one that’s not too far south of the town. The only other one is a few Kays further south… So I’m thinking we’ll do the closer one,’ Max said.

‘Your call,’ one of the divers said.

‘OK. We’ll make this the last one,’ Max said.

‘We’ll follow you,’ the dive team leader said.

---

Max watched the divers slide into the third, and final dam and disappear from view. He checked his watch. His hunger pangs reminded him his lunch was well overdue.

This dam was similar to, if not slightly larger than the first dam, so he expected it would take time for the divers to trawl across the floor of this dam. He settled in for a long wait.

After a few short minutes of boredom, his wandering eyes located some young lambs playfully frolicking nearby.

The paddocks were dotted with hundreds of woolly sheep feeding, many with a small lamb close by. The playful innocence of the new-born lambs caused a rare smile to emerge on the tough cop’s face.

His ovine watching interlude served as an unintended, pleasant distraction to the expected lengthy wait for an outcome. That’s was until a shrieking whistle caught Max’s attention.

The head and shoulders of one of the divers protruded from the water. His mask was up and his regulator was out. The diver held up a thumb to Max.

‘You got something…?’ Max said. He approached the water’s edge, trudging carefully through the deep, sheep hoof prints in the mud.

‘Got her…’ The diver said. ‘She’s been weighted down with two car batteries.’

Max rubbed a contemplative hand across his mouth. He was a little stunned. He didn’t expect this last dive to uncover anything.

He had all but conceded their efforts would come up empty, proving Emily Davis to be a psychic fraud.

Instead, Emily’s handwritten notes were accurate. Sarah Moon’s body was in a dam near Winchelsea. But did Emily know this because she put Sarah’s body there, or was she a medium psychic, as claimed?

‘We’ll keep checking the dam floor for a weapon, or anything else…’

Max held up a thumb to the diver.

Chapter Ten

Following Max’s phone calls, the large dam on the quiet country farm, usually reserved for livestock to rehydrate, had transformed into an active crime scene. Several police vehicles, marked and unmarked now occupied the immediate vicinity.

Max stood on the bank of the dam chatting to the third member of the search and rescue team.

‘Do you want us to bag her before we bring her up?’ he asked.

‘For evidence preservation…?’ Max asked.

‘Mainly…’

‘I understand she’s been tethered to car batteries by wire… We’ll need photos of that before she’s transported,’ Max said.

‘That’s OK. We can just bring her to the side and lay her out with the batteries beside her, for forensics to photograph.’

‘Yeah, let’s do that,’ Max said.

The land based search and rescue member instructed his dive team, while Max moved away to call his boss, to update him on the find.

When he returned to the water’s edge, Sarah’s heavily bloated, ashen body had been removed from the dam. Forensics officers snapped photographic evidence.

Max regarded his swollen victim with a tinge of sympathy. This was undoubtedly Sarah Moon. From her distinctive ginger red hair, to the clothing she last wore, as described by her colleagues.

Due to the lengthy time spent underwater, she was unrecognisable, facially. He would have to wait for DNA confirmation, which would be a mere formality.

His squatted down to examine the thick gauge wires, embedded deep into Sarah’s bloated torso. The wire was attached to the two old car batteries, now positioned beside her body.

‘She clearly wasn’t meant to be found…’ Max said to anyone listening.

He sighed heavily as he pushed himself back to his feet. Finding one of his missing persons was always bitter-sweet, particularly when it involved a murder. Locating the body was just the first step of many he must now tread, to try and find out who did this, and why.

It was late afternoon by the time Sarah’s remains were loaded into the Coroner’s van, en-route to the next stage of investigation—the autopsy.

---

Following his return from recovering Sarah Moon’s body from the Winchelsea dam, Max and his boss, Jeff Fry discussed the next course of action. Jeff was black and white. To him the next step was straight forward. Max was more shades of grey. To him he still wasn’t convinced he had his murderer.

‘Whichever way you look at it, Higgo,’ Jeff said. ‘This woman told you where to find the body of a murder victim, more specifically, the body of your missing person, Sarah Moon…’ Jeff gestured to Sarah’s photograph. ‘You have no choice. Ya have to bring her in…’

Max silently eyed Sarah’s photograph with the words “LOCATED DECEASED” written above her photo, in red capital letters.

‘I’m not convinced, Boss.’

‘She knew where the body was… How much more proof of her involvement do you need,’ Jeff said. ‘And don’t give me that shit about talking to dead people. That crap won’t hold up in any court in this land. You know it. I know it.’

‘We have no evidence to place her in, or around Ben’s Bar on the night Sarah disappeared. We don’t have a weapon and we have no evidence linking Emily to Sarah’s body.’

‘Bullshit!’ Jeff blurted. ‘You have the evidence that she knew exactly where the body was dumped…’ Jeff said. He glared his disagreement at Max.

‘Well, it wasn’t exactly. But apart from that… We have nothing else linking her to the murder. I need more to roll that dice.’

‘What more do you need. She provided you with the location of a body that only the offender, or an accomplice would know…If you want more, search her home, search her car. Bring her in and give her an old fashioned grilling,’ Jeff said.

Max shook his head. ‘I’m not convinced she’s involved. Think about it logically. Only an idiot would come forward and implicate herself in something she’d got away with. It’s illogical and she doesn’t strike me as an idiot.’

‘Maybe she wanted to watch her work get recognised on the evening news after all this time. Who-the-hell-knows what these psychos think.’

Max lifted Emily’s list and read from it. His eyes lifted to photo number four on his whiteboard. ‘Take this Lance Edwards…’

Max gestured to the photo. ‘Left his home in Corio on 8th of April, 2017, to go for an evening jog. Never been seen since,’ Max said.

’This list says, Lance Edward’s ghost apparently told Emily his body is in a disused factory in North Shore. Why don’t we go and see if this list remains credible?’

‘I can’t believe I’m even asking this but, does this so called ghost give a street name for this factory?’ Jeff said.

Max re-checked the list. ‘No. The list just refers to a disused factory in North Shore.’

’That area is a huge industrial ‘haystack’ filled with factories,’ Jeff said. ‘Good luck finding that needle.’

---

Max slowly rolled his car along Bayview Circuit in North Shore, an industrial street that snaked around the shores of Corio Bay, in Geelong’s North. Factories of all sizes lined both sides of the lengthy street, each one secured at its boundary by a high cyclone wire fence and gate.

These days, a head barely turned at the presence of a police car in the northern suburbs industrial estate, it was so commonplace. The area was notorious for chop shops, drugs, fencing stolen property and numerous other criminal activities.

A couple of streets over, the fortified clubhouse of a Geelong based chapter of a notorious outlaw motor cycle club that sat nestled between factories, also brought regular heat to the area.

During his previous visits to this estate, it was not unusual for Max to stare helplessly through a cyclone wire fence at the snarling jowls of a ferocious guard dog, when trying to enter a property where unannounced visitors were not welcome.

But Max wasn’t there because of the area’s crime reputation. None of that interested him today. He was there in search of the factory located at number ninety-eight.

After convincing his boss last week that the next course of action was to follow up on another name on Emily’s list, Max visited the offices of the Geelong City Council.

Lance Edwards had been missing since April 2017. According to Emily’s list, Lance’s body was dumped in a disused factory in North Shore.

All he had to do was search council records for factory ownership and tenancy in the North Shore industrial estate, searching for any factory that closed prior to April 2017 and remained closed today.

With access to data bases and up-to-date technology, he assumed it would be a straight forward process. How wrong he was.

He soon found out over three hundred factories occupied the North Shore industrial estate, spread across several street blocks.

After hours of visiting the relevant records for each property, then calling the property owner to check if the factory still operated, Max struck gold. The two hundred and seventy-sixth property he checked — a factory at number ninety-eight Bayview Circuit — matched the criteria.

The factory used to operate as a motor mechanic work shop. When the owner unexpectedly passed away in February 2017, the factory was left to the eldest of his three adult children. A sibling dispute over the will resulted in challenges to the factory ownership, which had seen the factory remain closed to this day.

Following a recent amicable settlement among the siblings, the factory was due to be listed for sale and would be managed by Northern Suburbs Real Estate Agents.

To facilitate his access to the factory, Max arranged to the meet the managing real estate agent at the property at 10am this morning.

As Max rolled along Bayview Circuit, searching for number ninety-eight, he noticed a black BMW SUV parked up ahead, outside a factory with a large ‘For Sale’ sign attached to the front cyclone wire fence.

Max pulled up behind the Bimmer. This was the factory he sought. The entire cyclone-wire front boundary fence was lined internally with light green opaque plastic.

With the brief introductions out of the way, the real estate agent moved to unlock the cyclone wire gate, secured by pad lock and chain. The agent lifted the padlock. He paused. ‘This padlock is open… unlocked.’ He held the padlock for Max to examine.

The padlock looped through the heavy chain links, but had not been secured shut into its housing.

‘Have you, or any of your team been inside the factory recently?’ Max asked.

‘No. No-one. I only just put that For Sale sign up while I waited for you. I intended to inspect the factory for listing purposes when we are finished here today.’

‘So you haven’t been into the property yet…?’

‘Not yet, no.’

‘OK. Let’s go in…’ Max said.

The estate agent unhooked the heavy chain and shoved opened the gate. The single-fronted, corrugated iron clad factory had a high pitched roof line.

A wide, twenty metre long driveway stopped at a large roller door. To the left of the door was an office. Parking spaces occupied the property’s front apron area.

To the right was a two metre wide, side access to the rear of the property. Max made his way down the side of the building. The estate agent followed.

‘Are you looking for anything in particular, Detective?’

‘No. Just looking.’ Max was intentionally brief. He also focused where he trod as they navigated the uneven grounds and rusting car parts, down the side of the fifty-metre long building.

When he reached the rear, Max paused to scan the back yard. The large area was scattered with rust-riddled engines, various car parts and derelict car bodies, devoid of windows and wheels.

‘What a mess…’ Max blurted. ‘Where do I start?’ He asked himself rhetorically.

The estate agent watched on as Max conducted a methodical search of the rear junk yard, checking anything that could likely contain the body of Lance Edwards.

After checking through, under and around piles of rusting junk, he moved to one of the car bodies; a maroon Holden Commodore. The bonnet was missing. The doors were either ajar, or missing, and all glass from the windows was smashed or removed.

Max moved to the boot. The boot lid sat slightly ajar. He lifted it and glanced inside. Nothing but rusting junk metal parts.

He moved to the next car located to the side of the yard. This too was an early model Holden Commodore. Like the previous car, it was a rusting shell, with brick stacks where the wheels used to be. He fumbled for the boot latch. This lid was also unsecured.

Max lifted the lid and glanced inside. Four wheels with bald tyres took up most of the boot space. He dropped the lid.

Max surveyed the junk yard, mentally checking off each area he had searched. Thirty minutes of rummaging through car parts and under piles of rust-riddled junk, failed to locate anything. Maybe the offender had access to the workshop, there’s nothing here, he thought.

He flipped open his folder and read from Emily’s list. The list recorded Lance Edward’s body was in an abandoned factory in North Shore. Max’s eyes lifted from the notes. ′In an abandoned factory,’ he said to himself, processing what he read. ’Does that mean inside the factory, or inside the factory’s boundaries…?’ he said, thinking out loud.

‘Are you looking for a particular car part, or something Detective?’

‘No. No it’s all good. I had information that something may have been stashed here, but I’m not having any luck.’

‘Is the item sizeable, or small?’

‘Sizeable.’

‘I only ask because you didn’t check the boot of that car over there,’ The real estate agent gestured towards a derelict Toyota Camry.

Max glared at the car. He frowned. There were three car bodies in total spread across the yard. ‘Didn’t I check that one…?’ He asked with a puzzled gaze.

‘No. Definitely not. You checked the front and back seats and boot of those two…’ The real estate agent flicked a finger at the Holden Commodores. ’But you skipped the boot of that one…’ He again indicated the white Toyota, nestled deep in the yard, against the rear fence.

Max flicked his chin stubble. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I was sure I checked it.’ His focus shifted to the white, heavily rusted Toyota Camry, the last of the car bodies in the rear yard.

When he tried to lift the rear boot, the lid was secured. He moved to the driver’s door and lifted the floor lever. The boot lid popped. He returned to the rear and lifted the lid.

Max startled slightly when he noticed the large, black industrial garbage bag that filled the boot space. The top of the bag had been sealed with grey duct tape.

He gently prodded the bag to get a feel through the plastic for what was inside.

‘Do you think that’s a body?’ The real estate agent asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ Max said. Truth was, Max was certain the body of Lance Edwards was in the garbage bag.

‘We’re going to have to move back out to the street,’ Max said. ’This is now a crime scene.

’OK… So you do think it’s a body?’ The real estate agent asked, as they made their way to the street.

‘Could be. I need to get the experts down here to safely open the bag.’

---

Within twenty-minutes, police vehicles had lined the industrial street. Uniform police secured the factory entry with crime scene tape. A lone, bored cop stood like a sentry at the gate.

Inside the property, forensic officers, dressed in full body HazMat suits, looking more like astronauts than cops, worked to recover the body from the car boot.

Out front, Max impatiently leaned against the bonnet of his vehicle, with his arms crossed, while he waited for an update. It would be thirty minutes before he learned anything.

One of the forensic officers exited the property and approached Max. His HazMat hood had been removed. He carried a digital camera.

‘You probably already know, but we recovered the body of a male. No ID. The remains are in advanced stages of decomp,’ the forensic cop said.

He pushed some buttons on the rear viewing screen of his camera. ‘In order to preserve potential evidence, the body has to be transported in the garbage bag. But this is the guy in the bag.’ He turned the camera to Max. ‘Is he known to you?’

Max glanced at the close up photo of the body’s head, exposed from the bag. He opened his folder and lifted the photo of Lance Edwards and compared it to the camera image.

‘Looks like him, doesn’t it?’ The forensic cop said.

‘Yeah. It does. I think you’re right,’ Max said.

‘Good. I’ll let transport know it’s good to go. We’ll get these photos to you when we’re done,’ the forensic officer said.

Three hours after arriving at number ninety-eight Bayview Circuit, Max was clear to return to his office. His mission was accomplished. Emily’s list had once again bore fruit, boasting two from two. More importantly, the second of his long-term missing persons had been located.