by Perry, Kyle
They stepped over discarded beer cans to get to the back of the cave, dodging a family of skinks, running their fingers over their names still engraved in the back wall, and out the back exit.
Doubling back, they crept back up the hill and wriggled under a patch of ferns in the pines, from where they could see the main entrance to the cave. They didn’t have to wait long: a weedy little man with a thin beard walked slowly up to the cave, dressed in patchy jeans and a blue woollen jumper.
‘That’s one of Doble’s guys,’ whispered Butch.
The man glanced around, then ducked inside the cave.
Butch and Murphy slithered out from their hiding place and each grabbed a heavy pine branch.
‘Don’t intervene, Murph,’ said Butch, his voice full of a hardness Murphy hadn’t heard in a long time. ‘Let me handle this.’
‘Butch?’
‘I’m serious. You don’t think Doble’s the reason people are pinning this on you? Let’s not give him anything.’ He tightened his grip on the branch. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if Doble was the one behind whatever’s happened to Jasmine.’
‘Butch . . .’ said Murphy. He needed to tell Butch the truth about the girls’ plan, sooner rather than later.
The weedy man came stumbling back out into the light, looking around, his cap dislodged.
His confusion turned to fear when he saw Murphy and Butch.
‘Didn’t find what you were looking for?’ said Butch.
The man shrank back, raising his hands. ‘Easy, fellas. I’m just out on a walk.’
‘You were looking for our crop,’ Butch said, walking forward. ‘Doble sent you.’
The man stumbled back, feet slipping and falling on his backside. ‘Don’t touch me! He’ll get you if you do!’
Butch growled, low in his throat. ‘Fuck me, I’m tired of this.’ He smacked the branch into his open palm and stood over the man. ‘Tell Doble that the next man he sends will end up even worse than you.’
He slammed the branch into the man’s face. His nose cracked and blood came pouring out. ‘It won’t happen again. I swear it,’ he squealed, putting his hands to his face to stem the bleeding. ‘I’ll tell him!’
‘That’ll be hard with two broken legs.’ Butch lifted the branch high over his head, but Murphy held him back.
‘Butch,’ he warned.
‘Stay out of this, Murph.’
The man scrambled to his feet and raced off into the bush, blood on his shirt and running down his arms.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ snarled Butch. He shoved Murphy away.
‘You were actually going to break his legs.’ Murphy stepped back. ‘And how was he going to get back down after that? Were you going to carry him?’
Butch swung the branch underhand like a cricket bat. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Murphy. ‘You go check the crop. I’ll stay here in case he comes back with some mates.’
‘Butch,’ warned Murph.
‘Just go,’ hissed Butch.
So Murphy went. A short distance away, through King Billy Pine so densely packed their corrugated trunks seemed to be kissing, were two massive dolomite boulders, leaning against each other to form a narrow passage. He leaned down to trigger a fishing line strung taut across the opening, then stepped back.
A 4.5 kilo sledgehammer, hidden in the ceiling crack of the two boulders, swung down with a whoosh, right where Murphy’s chest would’ve been. He waited for it to still, then picked his way past it and down the short tunnel. He emerged onto a shelf of land about the size of a basketball court, which looked out over the steepest part of the gorge. Many years ago it had been laboriously cleared by Murphy’s grandfather, Brandon Murphy Snr. Now the shelf was blocked off by pines and boulders, accessible only by the passage Murphy had walked through.
And here, in secrecy and solitude, a tall forest of marijuana plants reached into the sunlight, whispering in the wind. Dull green like Christmas trees, with the iconic seven-bladed leaves lush and healthy. A mountain stream trickled down and through the dug-out irrigation trenches.
The smell of the plants, the solitude, the sense of purpose and life – usually this place was a sacred escape for Murphy, where all the good things about cannabis seemed epitomised, where it was a symbol of a good life, lazy and under control and with money in the bank.
But not today.
‘Jasmine? Are you here?’
Avoiding the bear traps scattered through it, Murphy ran along a row of plants, looking for any sign of Jasmine, her tent, her footprints. He came to the brink of the gorge and rested his hand against the trunk of a tree, peering over the small cliff, down into the dense gorge filled with foliage and fallen trees.
‘Jasmine?’ he called. ‘Jasmine!’
There was no response but the rustling of the marijuana plants and the slow growth of the Tasmanian bush.
He called for a long time.
His only answer was bird call.
Walking back with Butch, Murphy’s heart was as heavy as his footsteps. When they got home, Murphy stepped in the back door and kicked off his boots. Then he froze – he’d heard a girl’s cough. Someone was in their house.
Murphy motioned to Butch and put a finger to his lips.
‘What now . . .?’
Murphy ignored him and crept up to Jasmine’s bedroom door.
Footsteps creaked on the floorboards inside.
‘Jasmine?’ croaked Murphy, and opened the door.
A terrified shriek answered as a teenage girl leapt off Jasmine’s bed, thin and dark-haired. Jasmine’s photo albums lay open on the bed.
‘Carmen?’ Murphy croaked. He knew her from Jasmine’s class. She’d come over a few times for sleepovers, and was one of Jasmine’s closer friends outside the Fab Four.
The girl swallowed and nodded her head.
‘Why are you here?’ shouted Murphy.
‘A while back . . . Jasmine showed me the spare key,’ whimpered Carmen, quailing before Murphy’s anger.
‘Why are you here?’ Murphy stepped out of the room, gesturing for her to leave, struggling to force his temper back under control. ‘Can you get out of my house, please? You’ll only get me in more trouble.’
‘That’s why I’m here.’
‘No.’ He walked through the dining room, opening the front door wide. ‘You need to leave.’
‘Please, Mr Murphy.’ Carmen followed him but stopped short of the door. ‘I know you didn’t take the girls. I know you’re not what everyone is saying.’
‘I need you to go!’ He didn’t mean to roar the last word and regretted the way it made her squeal and jump back. But he kept his hand on the handle of the open door.
‘You heard him,’ said Butch, leaning against the doorway. He folded his arms and stood taller.
‘No,’ said Carmen shakily. ‘I have something to tell you . . . I-I know who Cierra was sleeping with . . .’
‘Then you need to go tell the police, not me,’ said Murphy. ‘Please, leave before someone sees you here.’
‘The condoms were just . . . just a bit of a joke, I think . . .’
‘Go.’
‘I know you weren’t sleeping with Cierra because she . . . well, because . . . Cierra was sleeping with Miss Ellis!’
There was a moment of silence. Murphy’s hand dropped off the door handle.
Butch slipped where he was leaning against the doorway, swearing loudly.
Murphy’s mouth opened and shut. ‘That . . . doesn’t make any sense. Eliza isn’t . . . she’s not a . . . is she?’
‘Cierra is not straight,’ said Carmen firmly. ‘Cierra and Miss Ellis were . . .’
‘This is bloody perfect,’ said Butch. ‘We need to go down to the station. You’ll tell the detective this, won’t you?’
Carmen nodded quickly. ‘Yeah. Of course.’
‘No,’ said Murphy suddenly.
‘Sorry?’ said Butch.
‘We’re not telling the cops.’
‘Why the fuck not?’ shouted Butch.
‘Eliza couldn’t have taken the girls,’ he said. ‘She had that blow to the back of the head. She couldn’t have done it. And I don’t believe for a second that she’s . . . that she’d —’
‘Sleep with another chick?’ said Butch.
‘Sleep with a student,’ said Murphy. ‘She’s a good person. A good teacher.’
‘That detective needs to know! And it’ll take the heat off you —’
‘Exactly!’ shouted Murphy above Butch’s increasing volume. ‘You’ve seen what they did to me. If this comes out about Eliza, she’ll be lynched in the streets —’
‘So she fucking should,’ shouted Butch. ‘And they’ll leave you alone!’
‘No, Butch . . . This . . . this is my decision to make.’ Murphy leaned forward so his face was level with Carmen. ‘I need you to promise not to tell anyone else.’
‘How the hell is this your decision to make?’ said Butch. ‘This is Carmen’s decision!’
‘But you don’t deserve all this horrible stuff they’re saying!’ said Carmen.
Murphy’s face was unchanged. ‘I’ll go talk to Miss Ellis. But you’re not to tell anyone else. Okay? Promise me.’
Carmen gripped his hands. ‘That’s not all. Madison wanted me to give you this.’
‘Madison sent you over here?’ said Murphy, pulling his hands out of hers, feeling suddenly cold.
‘She wanted you to know about Miss Ellis —’ began Carmen.
‘Madison told you to tell me?’ said Murphy. ‘What else has she said?’
‘Just about Miss Ellis, and that she wanted you to have this.’ Carmen fished a USB drive out of her pocket.
Murphy took the USB drive but held it away from himself like it was another tiger snake.
‘Murph, you need to tell the cops,’ said Butch.
Murphy glanced at the driveway, then at the USB. Anything that little witch says is lies and poison. Whatever is on this USB is just something to help her get her way. I won’t be part of her game – I don’t believe for a second that Eliza slept with Cierra, but I need to go warn her.
He put the USB in his pocket. ‘I’m taking the Hilux and I’m going to speak to Eliza. Carmen, promise me you won’t tell anyone else.’
Carmen shrugged. ‘I guess. Unless Madison tells me to – Cierra’s her sister, after all. But —’
Murphy had already grabbed the Hilux keys off the hook and was walking out the door.
CHAPTER 30
ELIZA
Eliza sat on a stool in Tom and Monica’s kitchen, showered and warm. She had a new red headscarf around her temple and her golden hoops in her ears. She was drinking white wine straight out of the bottle and staring out the bay window, watching the wind in a maple tree.
It had been an hour since she’d returned from the mountains. Monica was at Tom’s mother’s house with Wren. Tom himself was volunteering up at the search around Lake Mackenzie. Sarge the dog was locked in the backyard: she didn’t want him getting in the way when the police came.
On the counter were a line of three post-it notes.
I give permission for Eliza Ellis to do what is necessary to protect her niece.
Signed, E. Ellis
I give permission for Eliza Ellis to not lose hope.
Signed, E. Ellis
I give permission for Eliza Ellis to be the strongest version of herself.
Signed, E. Ellis.
She was thinking about the moment Madison had approached her, only weeks ago, with her plan. She’d come into the staff room during lunch, bold and smirking, and in front of all the other teachers she’d asked Eliza to go speak somewhere privately. Then, huddled in the car park, she’d told Eliza that on the camp Madison and Jasmine would stage a fight, and then Eliza would keep the four girls behind after the rest had left.
She left Eliza no choice. ‘If you don’t, I’ll tell everyone the truth about who Cierra was sleeping with . . .’
That’s all she’d said, but it was enough for Eliza.
I have permission to not lose hope.
She hadn’t been there for Denni. It all came back to that. Denni had been Eliza’s treasure, a chance to take what the world had refused to give. Eliza wanted to do for Denni what hadn’t been done for her, or for Monica, or for Kiera. But after everything Eliza had done, Denni had still killed herself. Nothing would be good in the world ever again. She’d tried to protect Wren, but she’d failed at that too.
Back in the present, heavy fists thumped on the door.
Alright, here we go.
She left the bottle on the counter and walked to the front door. She opened it and then hastily stepped back as Murphy forced himself inside, his teeth a white grimace in his dark beard.
‘Murphy! Wha— Why are you here?’ She looked past him, expecting to see a police car, but it was only Butch’s Hilux.
Murphy glanced around the room, then turned his eyes on her. Those eyes were sharp and clear, and with the wine and the emotion and the fear, mixed with the breadth of his shoulders and the set of his jaw, Eliza found him suddenly extremely attractive.
He grabbed her arms and pulled her face close to his. She squeaked, and his eyes looked between hers, and then he forced his mouth onto hers. Her own eyes widened, and for a moment she didn’t know what to do. Then she bit his lip – hard – and drove her knee up into his groin.
He groaned and lurched away, bending over with his hands between his legs.
She kicked him in the shin and then punched him repeatedly in the shoulders. ‘How dare you!’ She kept hitting him, wondering if she could pummel him out of the door. ‘You disgusting, horrible —’
‘I had to know,’ he moaned, still doubled over. ‘You never . . . came across as a lesbian.’
‘Excuse me?’ She gripped his hair and pulled his head back so she could look him in the face. She couldn’t believe she’d had the audacity to be attracted to him moments earlier. ‘First, how dare you?’ She pulled his face closer to hers, finding pain and uncertainty there. ‘Second, what possibly makes you think my sexuality is any of your business? And third, you think you can tell someone’s sexuality just by kissing them?’ She grabbed his beard now and wrenched his face even closer to hers. ‘I could be heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, pansexual – kissing me would tell you absolutely nothing.’
He groaned.
‘To think that I’ve been defending you . . .’
‘That’s what Madison is telling everyone.’ He held her wrist to keep her from pulling more of his beard out. ‘You and Cierra. I never believed it.’
Eliza didn’t let go of his beard. ‘Exactly what has she told you?’
‘She sent Carmen —’
‘What did she say?’
‘That you and Cierra have been sleeping together.’
Eliza looked down into his eyes. She didn’t move, didn’t say a word. Her hand slipped through his beard and fell to her side.
Of course.
When Madison had come into the room that night, all she’d seen was a scantily clad Cierra and Eliza in her dressing gown. Eliza had assumed Cierra would’ve explained the truth to her sister later, but in fact . . .
That night Cierra had called Eliza, afraid, because Tom had passed out in her bed. Eliza had pulled herself out of bed in a rush, driven across town, and climbed up the trellis to Cierra’s window. The two of them had managed to get the very drunk Tom to the window, where he had dropped down into the thick conifer hedge below. The crash had woken the Masons’ dog, Mr Bruiser, who had then brought Madison bursting into Cierra’s room. She drew the wrong conclusion, apparently.
Now she faced a choice . . . No, of course she had to come clean about Tom. But what would happen if she did that?
Tom gets blamed for the disappearance, even though he didn’t do it. The girls don’t get found.
Monica hates me. I lose my sister.
Wren hates me. Her dad loses everything.
I don
’t care. I don’t care! I’m not taking the fall for him!
‘It isn’t true, is it?’ demanded Murphy, standing upright unsteadily, his hand hovering protectively over his groin. ‘I haven’t told the police. I don’t believe it. I told Carmen not to tell anyone, but who knows what Madison will do. This is all part of her publicity stunt, isn’t it?’
‘Carmen was going to tell the police?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you stopped her? Why?’
‘They’d crucify you,’ said Murphy, rubbing his chin beneath his beard. ‘They were going to kill me, imagine what they’d do to you.’
More loud knocking came at the door. ‘Eliza? Open up, please,’ came Con’s voice.
Eliza and Murphy turned to the door as one. They stepped closer to each other.
‘I didn’t tell them, I swear,’ whispered Murphy. ‘You can run. I’ll stall them.’
Eliza laughed, but there was no humour in it. ‘Run? Are you serious?’
‘Eliza,’ called Con. ‘We need to talk.’
She walked forward and opened the door.
Con stepped in, his shirtsleeves rolled up. He looked stressed. He was followed by a woman who flashed her badge and ID card at Eliza, identifying her as Detective Melinda Tran.
Con frowned at Murphy. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Visiting a friend,’ Murphy said. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Eliza, we need you to come down to the station.’
‘What’s this about?’ she asked.
‘Madison’s latest video: I’m not sure if it’s been uploaded to her channels yet, but she sent it to the police station fifteen minutes ago.’ His hands were clenched into fists. ‘And also, I think, to every major media outlet. Take a guess, Eliza: what do you think the video is about?’
Shouting sounded outside and then Tom burst into the house, breaking one of the glass panels of the door as he slammed it open. His immense muscular bulk loomed in the entryway, his large jaw muddied as though he’d fallen. His eyes were wide, the guilt and remorse painfully obvious.
‘Eliza?’ Tom looked between the detectives, lingered on Murphy for a moment, and then to her. ‘I just heard. Madison has shared it all over Facebook.’
