In the Clearing

by J. P. Pomare

  ‘Search crews are working through the bush,’ Corazzo tells me. ‘They still haven’t found anything.’

  ‘And they won’t,’ I say. ‘He’s not out there, Corazzo. I know he’s not.’

  Inside, we sit at my table and I turn the TV on. The lunchtime news will be running soon.

  ‘You’d better eat something,’ Corazzo says, getting up. My home isn’t small, but he seems to fill the space as he rises, moves to the kitchen. ‘I’ll make you something.’

  ‘It’s okay, I’m not hungry.’

  ‘I know, but you’ve still got to eat.’

  Corazzo makes a passable omelette on gluten-free toast and I pick at it. The truth is I’m starving and could gobble it all down, but even in front of Corazzo I need to act like I’m too sick with worry to eat. It’s not that I’m not worried; I’m terrified. But that doesn’t stop the hunger. If you grow up with almost no food, you’re hardwired to be hungry for the rest of your life.

  When I entered the real world, I adapted. I was always the best actress in the Clearing, the one who could act the most like the normal people outside. I’m acting now, playing the role of the distressed mother. I know I didn’t hurt my son, but my reaction to this situation isn’t typical. I learnt what was normal, what was expected, and right now I know I must act like a typical woman would in this situation.

  I indulge myself just for a moment and take a sizeable mouthful. I look up at the contingent of reporters at the top of the driveway as I chew. I wonder if they can see me through the kitchen window.

  I would make the perfect story for those vultures. My childhood in the Clearing, locking Aspen in a car, living out here near the river as an adult. And Henrik Masters. I pull my phone out and search his name.

  I think of Mum and what she wanted me to be: a leader like her. I was always going to stay loyal to her, she made sure of that.

  I scroll through the search results and click on a news story about Henrik.

  I wanted to be Freya, the woman in the woods. I wanted to make art so I did. I continued to study art outside to help me assimilate. Art was something I could hold on to, a keepsake from my childhood. Now all those paintings, sold through galleries and brokers, are out in the world in people’s homes.

  I missed the Clearing at first. The world was so big, and things moved so quickly. People often asked what was most difficult to adjust to. The answer: people. I realised you couldn’t touch strangers. I learnt what a stranger was, that people avoided making eye contact, that people didn’t speak plainly even with their friends and loved ones – especially with their friends and loved ones. I realised there were hidden codes and subtext to everything.

  I never had a chance to be a regular artist because everything I created came with the tag ‘outsider art’.

  My art was often captioned: Amy Smith-Atkins, Blackmarsh survivor.

  The black spot conceals what really happened in the Clearing.

  The article has loaded. It’s a couple of days old.

  ADRIENNE SMITH-ATKINS ACCOMPLICE HENRIK MASTERS SET FOR PAROLE

  The name Adrienne Smith-Atkins may not chill people as it once did, but for three years in the late nineties, all of Australia stared into those piercing blue eyes. Some saw a charismatic and misunderstood spiritual leader, while others saw a heartless manipulator and the mastermind of the atrocities that occurred in the Blackmarsh cult.

  Smith-Atkins, according to travel records, was frequently travelling overseas and absent from the Clearing, this made it difficult for police and prosecutors to pursue the infamous leader, who is now in her late seventies. The only convictions recorded against her name were perjury and tax evasion.

  Smith-Atkins’ accomplice, Henrik Masters – known within the cult as ‘Adam’ – is set for release from prison this week after serving twenty-one years for his role in the abduction and torture of children, including Sara McFetridge.

  Masters’ treatment of the children in his care is considered to be one of the worst cases of child abuse in the state’s history and included the starvation of children to the point of malnourishment, molestation, hose pipe beatings, routine stabbings with a penknife, asphyxiation, and water-dunking sessions. It was during one such session that Masters drowned Sara McFetridge.

  Masters, who had a medical background and was once a renowned surgeon, also conducted home surgeries in the Blackmarsh cult.

  Investigators gathered testimony and witness accounts, although all but two of the children, some of whom are now in their forties, were deemed too unreliable to give evidence. One child was so traumatised he still has no memories of his first eight years of life.

  Charismatic leader Smith-Atkins gained popularity in academic and medical circles through the seventies and eighties. This enabled her to acquire children. Members of Blackmarsh fixed adoption papers and fostered children. Some members themselves also gave up children to be raised in the Clearing as Smith-Atkins’ own. Eventually, Masters turned to kidnapping children to fulfil Smith-Atkins’ need to have a family of twelve children.

  Despite progressing dementia, Smith-Atkins still maintains a vast fortune, including an international property portfolio. It’s yet to be seen if Masters has remained loyal to the woman he idolised, although a reunion at this stage seems unlikely. An eleventh-hour petition to block his release has failed, however, as a condition of his parole, Masters will remain under house arrest.

  •

  ‘Reckon we should join the search party?’ Corazzo says.

  ‘I guess,’ I say, glancing up from my phone.

  ‘Don’t worry about the media. It’s just local guys looking for a story. It helps to have the exposure, anyway.’

  We walk across my property to the river and head up to Derek’s place. The gazebo is mostly deserted now, just a couple of guys lingering around. Photos of Billy are pinned up on a board beside a map of the park. The two men are talking; they haven’t noticed our approach.

  ‘We’re going to have to check the river all the way down. By now he could have floated to the city or he could be caught in the rocks.’

  Corazzo clears his throat and the men look over. One bows his head a little.

  ‘You boys aren’t searching,’ Corazzo says.

  ‘Heading out later in the afternoon,’ one says.

  Corazzo glances down at his watch.

  On the table there are spare walkie-talkies, drink bottles and sandwiches cut into triangles, wilting in the sun. A fly lands on one, rubs its hind legs together, then takes flight again. I glance at the men. One closes his eyes and sprays himself in the face with mosquito spray. The other is doing everything he can to avoid my gaze – they must know I’m Billy’s mother. I watch him for a while, daring him to look. I notice a bead of sweat trickle down from his temple.

  Derek comes marching down from his home carrying a pot of coffee and two mugs on a tray. His forehead is shining with sweat.

  When he sees me, he puts the tray on the table and rushes forwards to draw me into a hug. I’m so surprised I forget to hug him back. I hear shutters click and look up. A photographer is standing at the edge of Derek’s yard, aiming his lens at us. I cling on to Derek’s back and arrange my face into a sad expression. If I could squeeze out a tear I would.

  ‘We’re going to find him,’ Derek says. ‘Don’t you worry – he’ll turn up.’

  I feel my phone vibrating in the pocket of my jeans.

  ‘Sorry, Derek,’ I say, freeing myself from his embrace, ‘I have to take this.’ I pull my phone from my pocket and look at the screen. I recognise the number instantly. Wayne.

  AMY

  FACES PEER DOWN at me. I’m in a small white room. Swinging, pulling, turning. Not a room – a corridor. I’m being wheeled on a trolley. Am I alive? They are taking me somewhere. Then pain. Explosions in my lower back, my hip.

  ‘She’s back with us,’ the voice says. There’s something in my hand. I squeeze, and it squeezes back. I try to speak but my lips won’t move. Prot
ect the Queen. Everything fades again.

  •

  The night comes back to me; the knife, the Blue Devil with the gun, someone carrying me. Light fading in and out. Panic grips me then wanes. I try to sit up but find I can’t move. There’s something hard across my chest: a band of leather strapping me to a bed. Are they going to torture me? I reach for the band but my arm stops short, restrained by a ring of steel around my wrist and a chain that disappears beneath the bed. A fishhook of pain drags through my gut with every movement, so intense it makes me cry out. I scream and scream until a group of people in pale blue tunics and white coats flood in. They are not Blue Devils but something else. A man with silver hair and narrow eyes stands over me. He shines a flashlight into my eyes, then plugs two tubes into his ears, presses something cold against my chest.

  ‘Relax,’ he says, reaching past my head to something on the wall. ‘It’s okay, shh.’ I feel a prick at the hinge of my elbow, just like when Adam would put us into a deep sleep. Adam. I see him jabbing needles into Asha, cutting her open, electrocuting her. The man leans over me, too close, so close I can’t breathe. I twist and jerk. A strange feeling blooms inside me and rinses over my skin. Everything is white. I fall asleep.

  I am some place completely different. I am hovering a few feet above the Clearing, my legs folded up in Padmasana. Then I fall. I’m back in a grey room. My body is heavy from sleep.

  I turn my head and find a man sitting beside my bed. He smiles down at me.

  Scanning the room I see more faces, more people. This is not how I expected the world outside to be.

  In a voice that seems too soft for a man with such a bristly moustache, he says, ‘You’re back with us.’ I’ve seen him before, I realise. He was with the Blue Devil at the house by the river. ‘You’ve been unconscious; you had a nice long sleep.’

  I remember fleeing the house by the river. Somehow, I’ve ended up here, chained to this bed in this room.

  Adrienne had told me what I should do if I ever found myself in a situation like this. Don’t trust anyone, she warned me. Protect the Queen, keep going. And, most importantly, If they ever take you away, we will find you and bring you home one day.

  My mouth is too dry to swallow; it feels like I can’t breathe. As if sensing my distress, the man reaches for a plastic cup on the nightstand beside the bed and holds it to my lips. Don’t trust anyone. I clamp my lips shut.

  ‘It’s just water,’ the man says. ‘Drink up.’

  I draw away from him, as far as the constraints allow. Water spills down my neck.

  ‘Let me know if you need a sip, okay?’

  I watch him. I can feel my heart thumping against the band over my chest. I can hear the blood pumping in my ears.

  ‘Do you remember what happened?’ he asks.

  I don’t answer. This moment is important, perhaps the most important moment of my life. I need to be careful.

  ‘Hey,’ he says, ‘you’re in a lot of trouble at the moment, but together you and I are going to get you out of it. I promise. You just need to talk to me.’

  ‘Where is my father?’ My voice is scratchy and unused. I know I’ve got to ask for Adam. I know that’s what Adrienne wants.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘My father. Where is he?’

  ‘What’s your father’s name? I could try to find him.’

  ‘Adam,’ I say.

  ‘As soon as I find him I’ll let you know. We’re just trying to piece everything together.’

  I look at his face, the creases at the corners of his mouth. The dark thinning hair, combed back. ‘Where am I?’ I ask. ‘Is this hell?’

  He smiles again. ‘No. You’re not in hell. Not anymore.’ He moves a little closer, looking down into my eyes.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ I say.

  ‘I won’t,’ he promises. ‘I’m not going to do anything to hurt you.’ When he turns his head, I follow his gaze. Another man is sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed. The two men give each other a look, then the older one, the one by my side, nods at the doorway. Two men and a woman, all in white coats, are lingering there, watching. Panic seizes me; their eyes seem to burn my skin. My breath becomes so loud I can barely hear the man when he says to the trio in the doorway, ‘Give us a minute. Go on.’ They retreat.

  ‘The Blue Devils,’ I rasp. ‘Are you a Blue Devil?’

  The man asks, ‘You mean the police?’

  ‘Police?’

  ‘It will all make sense soon. But you need to help me. Can you do that? We have been waiting for you to wake.’

  ‘The Blue Devils.’

  ‘It’s okay, they’re not here,’ says the man. He turns to the other man, sitting by the foot of the bed. ‘You too, Mike,’ he says, nodding towards the door. Mike rises, slips a notebook into his pocket and leaves, pulling the door closed behind him.

  ‘See? Now it’s just the two of us. You have nothing to fear.’

  ‘I want my father.’

  ‘Sure thing. I’m on your side here. I’m going to help.’

  I clamp my mouth shut.

  ‘Maybe you can go home after this. Would you like that? We can take you back to your mother.’

  I nod, but I know he won’t take me back. ‘Please don’t hurt me,’ I say. He doesn’t seem threatening, but I can’t trust anyone; why would they bind me to the bed? I feel so vulnerable.

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘No, of course I won’t. I came to the house the other night to help you, remember? What’s your name?’

  ‘Amy.’

  ‘Amy, that’s a nice name. A beautiful name. And your dad’s name is Adam?’

  I nod. He’s not really my dad though.

  ‘Adam, huh? Now, can you tell me how many brothers and sisters you have?’

  I look down. I don’t want to answer. I’m thinking about my family down in the Clearing, I’m wondering if they miss me. I wonder if the Blue Devils have swooped in.

  ‘Why don’t I count and you nod when I get to the right number?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘One … two … three …’ The higher he goes, the slower he counts. At ten I nod. So close to twelve. Just one away.

  ‘Ten,’ he says to himself. ‘Wow.’ He takes a notepad and a pen from his pocket and scribbles something down.

  ‘Nine, actually,’ I amend.

  ‘Sure.’

  I try to move against the restraints but the binding across my chest has no give.

  ‘Did you have anything with you when you left?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Really?’ he says. ‘Nothing?’

  ‘My boots.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘My journal.’

  He wets his lips. ‘Your journal? Where is it now?’

  ‘I dropped it.’

  He clears his throat, a flicker of something passes over his face; frustration, perhaps? ‘Amy, would you mind if my friend Mike came back in? He’s a good kid. A really nice man. He’s just going to make a few notes while we talk. Is that okay?’

  I nod.

  The man walks to the door, opens it and leans out. ‘Mike,’ he calls.

  The younger man appears in the doorway.

  ‘She’s dropped her journal somewhere. It’s important that we find it as a matter of priority. Can I leave you in charge of that?’

  ‘Sure. Any idea where?’

  The older man turns back to me. ‘You hurt some people when you came here. That’s why you’re tied down. I can loosen the strap, but only if you promise to be good and help us. Will you do that?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. I feel like I know this man already.

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Alright.’

  He loosens the strap across my chest and for the first time it feels like I can take a breath.

  ‘Now, can you tell me where you dropped your journal? Was it at the house, in the bush?’

  ‘At the house, I think.’

  ‘Check
the house first, Mike.’ Mike makes a note, then the man with the moustache opens his own notebook. He places a small black box on the stand beside the bed. Adrienne had warned me this might happen. ‘This will record our voices, so I can listen to it later to help me understand everything. There’s nothing to worry about, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Good girl. Now tell me, did you leave your home by yourself?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did someone tell you to do it, or did you run away?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, did anyone tell you to go to that house?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good girl. That’s good. And your ten brothers and sisters, do you all live together?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is it a big open space with four or five buildings?’

  ‘The Clearing.’

  ‘The Clearing … that’s right. Now the, ah, the Blue Devils …’ He moistens his top lip. ‘Does your family have any plans for what to do if the Blue Devils go down there to the Clearing?’

  ‘We’ll get hurt. If we don’t hide from the Blue Devils, we will get hurt.’

  His eyes go wide for a second. He runs his palm over his moustache.

  ‘We heard a helicopter once,’ I offer.

  ‘Is that right? And what did you do?’

  ‘We stayed in the Hole.’

  ‘The Hole? What is the Hole?’

  ‘It’s under the Burrow. In the ground. When we’re hidden there, no one can hurt us.’

  ‘Good girl, Amy. You’re doing so well.’ He turns back to Mike. ‘Go fetch her a Big Mac or something.’

  ‘Can she eat that?’

  The man with the moustache frowns. ‘Better check with the doctor.’

  Mike rises and disappears through the door.

  ‘He’s tired,’ the man says. His pink tongue slides between his lips and his eyes soften. ‘I want you to know that you’re not in any trouble, so long as you keep helping us. We will make sure you are safe, you and your brothers and sisters and your mum. Because you’ve had a hard life.’

  I shake my head hard.

  He eyes his recorder. ‘It’s true. You’ve been starved and hurt. Someone has been hurting you down there.’