Facing Us (Kids of the District #1)

by Nicci Harris

  Elise pushes her glasses back onto the arch of her nose, and tries to take it all in. “It’s funky, I like that.”

  “Dickhead!” I hear someone say inappropriately loud, and then feel the back of my seat shake. I release Blesk, and pull my arm down to my side, spinning around to see Jax and Drake grinning at us. Bunch of bloody miscreants. I wonder what Blesk said to Drake when she cancelled their plans. His lopsided grin tells me he’s not surprised to see us here. He winks at me, letting me know we’re all right.

  “I thought you’d be here, dickhead,” Jax laughs.

  I hold my finger up to my lips and shush them. “Sit down and shut up.”

  When Elise sees them, she squirms with anticipation in her seat. “Dracula!” Elise acknowledges Drake enthusiastically.

  So, they know each other.

  I must have missed something.

  “Hey, Dracula!” I mock with a cocky smirk. “Sit down you ugly, blood-sucking bastard.”

  Drake scoffs at me. “Fuck off. Dracula is a stud.”

  When I turn to Blesk she is peering at me with little flashes of disappointment, perhaps in response to me pulling away from her so quickly in the presence of the lads. Before I know it, I wrap my arm over her shoulder again. I hang it down her side, my fingers brushing the curve at her waist and down her hip, causing her to wriggle beneath my touch. Jesus Christ … I can’t help imagining her wriggle underneath me.

  My need to focus on functional processes, like breathing and maintaining an appropriate level of arousal, is imperative right now. The boys jump into the seats at our sides just as Frank walks on stage, followed closely by the spotlight that isn’t in the right spot. Bloody Jojo.

  Everyone goes quiet. All I can feel right now is Blesk, her chest rising as she leans against me, her hair brushing the side of my neck. I subtly turn my head and watch as her eyes dart around the stage in anticipation of something to happen. She relaxes into a sig, and presses against me—I have never felt more content.

  “How long have you known, Elise?” I whisper in her ear.

  “As long as I’ve known you,” she whispers back.

  I chuckle. Some things just work. Elise and Blesk just work … and so do Blesk and I.

  I start to say something else, just as Frank speaks.

  “Welcome. Tonight, we are going to show you what live art is all about. When you go to a gallery, the items you view have been constructed, nay, designed, over a period of time. The place of said production is unknown. The state of said producer is also unknown. Its living essence, unknown.”

  Artsy guys are so dramatic.

  Frank continues. “The painting you fell in love with could have been painted under any circumstance, in any mood, during any event. What does it mean to them? Only words. What they tell you it means. So how can it mean so much to you? The first step your daughter takes, mum fighting back tears, dad with his arms outstretched to catch her. Wouldn’t it be nice if you could capture a piece of life, perfectly in time and in space? Well, that’s the beauty of live art; the piece or experience happens right in front of you. We are bridging the gap between the art and the consumer.”

  With that, Frank calls a young couple up on stage. He stretches up and pulls a board with a piece of canvas attached to it towards the floor.

  “I’m going to paint them as they are right now. In love.”

  Jax and Drake splutter out a laugh and I almost follow suit until I notice Blesk and Elise, wide-eyed and enthralled. These girls are making me soft. Blesk chews on her bottom lip as her attention is glued on Frank. She is completely in love with this.

  Frank turns back to the audience. “Watch this.”

  He positions the couple in front of the canvas, then begins to spray paint around them. It’s messier than I’d expected. He coats the canvas, moves the couple as if they were puppets, and starts spraying them again. They are basically living stencils. Within minutes they’re completely covered in paint and chuckling happily together. Everyone around me is smiling while they’re watching this unfold, and I’m grateful that it’s exactly what I wanted it to be.

  We watch for fifteen minutes as a blank canvas becomes an abstract piece of artwork. Frank slides his work of art behind the curtain, and it disappears backstage so that once again there is a blank backdrop.

  “That looks like what it felt like to watch,” Blesk whispers in my ear, and then giggles. “You know what I mean.”

  And I’m a goner.

  I’m grinning at her because that giggle resonates in my chest every damn time. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  “Oi, Slater!” Frank yells out into the audience, peering around until his eyes find me. “Nice to see you, buddy, who’s that next to you?”

  I acknowledge him with a nod. “A pretty girl, ever seen one before?”

  “Cheeky prick. Get up here, it’s your turn,” he says, dragging a new piece of canvas down. Christ, it must be at least four metres long. I turn to look at Blesk and she’s white, completely stunned, like a bunny in headlights. A damn adorable bunny.

  “Everyone up!” I say, standing. Elise just blinks at me with her mouth open. Drake and Jax are eagerly jumping to the challenge, encouraging the girls to join them.

  Originally, I’d planned on this being for just Blesk and me on our first date. But I’m glad it’ll be a group moment. After the lads jump up, I reach down to grab Blesk who seems to sink back into the seat.

  “Blesk,” I say, and pull her into me. “Let’s do this?” I nod at her, encouraging her with my playful eyes to agree. “Yeah? You’ll have fun, I promise.”

  My hand moves to the small of her back as I steady her against me, noticing her breathing quicken. Her eyes close tightly as she takes a big calming breath, and I’m suddenly not sure I should have done this. She is so shy. I thought that because she sings in public she’d enjoy this. “You’ll regret it if you don’t,” I whisper.

  During our private moment, Jax has pulled Elise up on stage, and holds their hands above their heads, while people in the audience clap.

  “See, look,” I say, pointing to Elise whose grin stretches from ear to ear.

  A nervous smile tugs at Blesk’s lips. “O ...kay,” she says in a silly, defeated voice, rolling her eyes at me.

  I hope I get to hear that cute voice again. It was like she was mocking me, and maybe herself, but either way, I loved it. I pick her up before I step onto the stage, and she squeals with excitement. Frank begins to position us in front of the canvas. Blesk and I remain in the same place, with her cradled in my arms. She cuddles my neck, and her nervousness is apparent by the pace of her heart as it beats against me. I rock her back and forth until she relaxes, giggles slightly, and begins to kick her feet. And of course, I once again have a ridiculous grin on my face watching her, just … being her. I make sure I have her dress folded across my forearm, so no one can catch a glimpse of her knickers. Although I’d love to know what colour they are, whether they’re lacy, or silk, or cotton, or boy shorts …

  Clearing my throat, I force myself to forget about her underwear. This would be a very bad moment to get a boner. Captured forever. The thought actually makes me laugh.

  Elise is standing on my right covering her heart with her palm, and Frank says that represents “in life.” Jax is on my left pretending to look at his watch, which is meant to be “in time”. Drake is on my far left looking up towards the ceiling. “In space.” The whole thing is ridiculous and yet the girls seem to enjoy it.

  We are all trying to not misrepresent our designated poses, although it is particularly difficult when Blesk is kicking around and laughing nervously. Which I wouldn’t change for the world. Jax keeps grabbing Blesk’s feet, trying to hold them stationary, which only makes her giggle and kick more. Frank doesn’t seem to mind as he gets in the zone and begins to spray us with paint, switching colours, coating us and the canvas, splashing up and down, switching motions and consistencies.

  I hold Blesk for nearly twen
ty-five minutes while Frank scurries around us, and the whole time I can’t take my eyes off her lips. I want to kiss her. I’m dying to taste her. I want our first kiss captured right now. Despite how much I want to, a strange apprehension stops me.

  Frank puts the canvas away for drying and sealing. Apparently it will look completely different after it sets. When I finally lower Blesk to the ground, I thread my fingers through hers and we leave the theatre hand-in-hand. We approach the dorm, and before the girls venture inside and we all say our undesirable goodbyes for the night, I need a second alone with Blesk. I walk her into the dormitory courtyard, and into a softly lite corner. She shivers as the cold wind hits us, caught between both buildings and the rustling trees around. Rubbing her shoulders to keep her warm, I struggle not to stare.

  She’s covered in paint— it’s in her hair, on her hands, on her cheek. She’s marked with the uniqueness of this night, and I knew she’d get her dress all dirty but she doesn't seem to care at all. I grab her hand, while looking her straight in the eye, wishing I had something impressive or sweet to say to her. Or something corny. I gently push her back, until she is wedged between me and the wall. Her back hits the wall, and a small gasp leaves her lips.

  Goddamn, those lips.

  My breathing nearly stops when I smell her again, and as she licks her lips I almost lean in and kiss her. I love how her hand feels in mine, how her pulse drums against my palm. I raise our combined hands and open hers, stroking my fingers down her hand and gazing into her eyes, enjoying how she gazes back. A huge grin draws my lips out, and I press our index fingers together in a gesture I haven’t done in so many years.

  Her face falls, and something unexpected and heavy drops into my stomach. She gasps, retracting her hand from me so quickly I could have sworn I burnt her.

  “What is it, Blesk?” I squint at her, questioningly. Her face pales, her cheeks hollow, every part of her appears paralysed, and the look in her eyes… Christ, the look in her eyes is freaking out.

  What did I do?

  “What did I do?” I finally say.

  She’s petrified and staring at me, searching every inch of my fac, as if she sees something disturbing in me—my secrets.

  “Blesk, what is it? Tell me what I did! Please? You’re fucking freaking me out right now.”

  What the hell is happening?

  She looks like she’s just seen a ghost.

  SEVEN: August 23, 1999

  DISTRICT DAILY NEWS

  Nerrock Family Son and Heir Kidnapped at Daybreak

  Sunday August 22, Deakon Nerrock, age 5, was taken from his family home just outside Cape Rogue. The brown-haired, green-eyed only son of Dustin and Madeline Nerrock and heir to the prominent family’s estate was tucked into bed Saturday 21 and was missing at 5:30the next morning.

  Constable Hugo Toshal of Cape Rogan City Police and a party of eight officers were called out to the family home by the Nerrock family’s Captain of Security Adolf Bauer when Madeline discovered the boy was missing. Mr Bauer started his shift at 9:00 pm and was accompanied by his usual team of four trained bodyguards.

  Mr Bauer said the popular student of West Wing Early Education Centre is lively but very close to his mother and has never run away from home.

  He said, “He (Deakon) was put to bed at 7:00 pm and both my deputy and I checked on him just after midnight; he was fast asleep in bed at that time.

  “As far as we are aware, no one went in the house, and no-one left—the security system was still engaged when we realised the boy was missing,” Mr Bauer said.

  Constable Toshal said that a 5-kilometre radius around the family mansion was searched by volunteers, security, and police, and no trace of the boy was found.

  “We have search parties out and several people are being questioned however, at this stage, we have no suspects,” Constable Toshal said.

  Madeline Nerrock spoke emotionally to Cape Rogan News Group and thanked the volunteers and police for their efforts so far.

  “I want to say, please, if anyone knows anything, you will be generously rewarded for your information. And if you took my son, please bring him back to us—we will do anything to have him back,” Mrs. Nerrock said.

  Deakon Nerrock is three feet five inches and was last seen wearing a red Spiderman shirt and black cotton pants. Contact the Cape Rogan City Police if you have seen Deakon Nerrock or have any information about his whereabouts. A generous reward is on offer for any information that leads to his discovery.

  EIGHT: Blesk

  “Where. Are. You?” Erik screams into the phone. I know he’s frantic because each word comes out between gasps. I’m having trouble constructing thoughts, let alone converting them into words. I mumble, and my mouth fills with tears. I can’t believe I’m here, again. I can’t believe I’m making my brother endure my shadowy past, again.

  The last seven hours have been a blur of traffic, of running, of hiding. I’m always hiding from my past, and now I’m walking, covered in splatters of paint, my hair knotted with acrylic, and my flats barely adequate for their general purpose, let alone trekking a mile through an uphill field below clapping trees, sinking into the undisturbed ground and ruining the purity beneath. Water seeps through the soles, and the daisies and weeds sponge my landing as I walk out on top of the hill.

  The hill I hate.

  I squint at the sun. I’d forgotten how bright it is up here. My feet are soaking wet with soppy condensation, and I’m shivering in the crisp morning air. But the beauty of this part of Australia takes my breath away, just like it always has. I’m not me when I’m on this particular hill.

  I’m not me right now.

  The view from the top still fills my chest, just as the wave of daisies that takes the ground by storm have always done. I was constantly told that daisies are little more than weeds, and that they’d be ploughed into the ground to make way for more important foliage. I never cared; I don’t care. I love daisies.

  “I’m home,” I manage to say to Erik when I remember I’m on the phone. When the words break from my lips, I am left panting down the speaker. I caught a bus. A train. Another bus. I went home. I didn’t really think it through. I wheeze for a few seconds as my body forgets how to breathe and how to swallow. There is no response. “I went home,” I whisper again, kneeling on the spot, the spot that marks the entrance to a place only a few people could ever find . . . or have ever been.

  “Just stay where you are,” Erik says curtly, pain clear in his voice. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I lower the phone from my ear. I’m knotted up with all kinds of delirious feelings. I stare at the lifeless space below my feet, a clear patch of grass that leads down the stairs. “Blesk!” he yells.

  I raise the handset back in a daze. “Yes?”

  “Do NOT go in,” he commands before he disconnects.

  I hate that Erik is coming back here. I know what seeing this place does to him. Saying goodbye to Liz was one of the hardest days of both of our lives. I was nine years old, Erik was only thirteen, when they brought us here. My brother, my mother, and my dad all spent a spring day on the hill. We picked the daisies that she loved so much, and we lay them by her tree, where we buried her memory forever. Leaving her behind meant leaving him behind, too, and everything they were together. But I needed the grief to end.

  The year before we said goodbye felt like hell on earth, and no one could get through to me. I would dream every night, the same dream, which made it easy to remember.

  I’m watching television when suddenly I see his face. I see his face, people crying, a mother crying, and then I know—know I’ve ruined his life. His four-year-old face.

  I would then be shaken back to the waking world still screaming, swamped with the guilt his eyes summoned in me. Erik would wake me from the deepest place within my subconscious and hold me while I wept, while I tried to remind myself that it was over, that I could let go. He would curl up beside me, smothering me in his arms, rocking me back and forth
and hushing me tenderly. His heart would always race. His cheeks were often wet with his own sorrow. My mother couldn’t sleep, my father couldn’t sleep, my brother wouldn’t sleep, and I was to blame for their misery.

  That’s why I did it. When I decided to end it all, to finally end it all, the decision lightened me. Every second of my life, I’d somehow managed to lead people down the path of horror, and I was too selfish to release them from their torment by freeing them of me. I wanted to die. I only wished I’d had the courage to do it earlier. When the blood drained from the sliced vein in my thigh and coloured the bath water pink, it felt like all my guilt was seeping from me, all my pain, all my emotions, were unlocked and free. Then, the thudding started to vibrate in my cranium, a pounding cadence that bellowed throughout my head and in my arteries. Bashing, droning, faster, beating, until the noise was so loud it became one drowning hum.

  The wall-to-ceiling tiles opposite me began to change form, warping with my slipping consciousness. I was slipping. The first sense to go was sight. Then the water became so cold, so icy, that it froze me, and I went numb, numb from the neck down. The second sense to go was touch. The air thickened; it became undetectable, and every trace of another living being was just … gone. I was alone. Detached. The third sense to go was smell. The intense, vicious drumming in my head slowed, it slowed as my pulse slowed, to nothing. The fourth sense to go was sound. My last memory, my very last thought, was of the taste of metal.

  When I woke in the hospital, I was surrounded by the reddened eyes of those I had tried to free. I had survived. I lost so much blood and my brain was without oxygen for longer than anyone thought possible. My dad has called me Kitten since that day because no one thought I would ever wake up. Only a cat with nine lives could have survived that, so even the nurses started calling me Kitten.