The Disappeared Read Online Free Page B

hadn’t
experienced in such a long time that she had almost forgotten what it felt
like. It was a feeling of absolute desolation. A cold arid bleakness. As if her
soul had imploded into a tight ball of infinite emptiness and darkness. It was
a feeling she knew so well. Waking up the morning after a night of binge
drinking. Staring at empty bottles and knowing there was nothing more ...
except the slow creeping death of withdrawals. Knowing that, unless she made
quick desperate plans, her day would resolve itself into the shivering puking
shitting hellhole that came with alcoholism.
    Lindiwe turned.
Away from the memories. Away from the stain. Away from her past. Today was six
months and she had – had! – to find something to inspire her and elevate her
above this nagging bleakness. 
    In the growing
daylight her lithe beautiful chestnut-brown body was sharply silhouetted against
the white of the bunk-bed sheets. On a hot night like last night, she slept
naked. Except for her panties.
    She reached
for her little analogue clock that stood next to the caravan bunk. It felt
early but she couldn’t be sure. She looked at the clock face.
    Dammit.
    The clock had
stopped some time during the night. She tapped the plastic casing with her
finger and looked again. Nothing . Now she shook it vigorously and placed
it next to her ear. Still nothing . She put it in the little
alcove above her bunk-bed. Although she had several more clocks stashed all
over the little caravan she was vexed at its failure. Being able to measure
time – especially at night – was one of the tiny but meaningful consolations of
her new life in Bishop.
    Lindiwe sat up
and looked at the sparse confines of the caravan. It was dingy but clean and
tidy. Spotless. From ceiling to floor. She was proud of that. She cleaned
religiously. Almost maniacally. The immaculate interior of the small caravan
was testament to that. It kept her busy – and focused. Most importantly, it was
a matter of pride; something that had been in such precious short supply not
that long ago.
    Lindiwe loved
her little caravan. Gogo had insisted – more than once – that she move
to the main house. And occupy one of the upstairs bedrooms. But she liked the
privacy of the caravan. She liked the proximity of the outdoors. It also gave
her a measure of independence.
    She arose
slowly, moving her long legs over the edge of the bunk. On second thought, she
leaned back and moved aside the curtains that covered the little adjustable
window just above her bunk-bed. She peered through the window that had become
yellowed and slightly warped with time. The sky was thick with grey clouds, yet
she could see from the texture of the veiled dawn light that it was still
early. Yet ...  
    She craned her
neck trying to peer over the hedge into the backyards of the neighbouring
properties. It was early. But not that early. And yet things were eerily
quiet ... too quiet.
    She felt a
jolt of unease that did nothing to improve her mood.
    She looked at
the house of gogo – Zulu for granny – the old woman that had saved her
life so many months ago. Yes , she thought, gogo will be awake. I’ll
go and have coffee with her.
    Her mood
lifted perceptibly as she jumped from the bunk-bed and hurried across to the
little basin on the other side of the caravan. She quickly washed her face and smoothed
the hair-extensions that hung just below her jaw line. From a medicine cabinet
above the basin she extracted her toothbrush and much-squeezed tube of Aquafresh.
She lay a big cable of toothpaste onto the toothbrush head and brushed her
teeth vigorously while staring sightlessly at the clock next to the basin.
    It felt good
to brush her teeth. Since she had woken up there had been a subtle but
persistent metallic taste in her mouth. Subtle but unpleasant. Now all she
tasted was the powerful medley of mint and fluoride. She washed out her mouth.
Grabbed a bottle of Listerineand poured a liberal measure into the
black