by Nicola West
‘But why would she attack him?’
‘Because she was scared. Scared of the people who did that to her.’ I gestured at my phone. ‘She knew she was going to die.’
‘And how do you know that?’
‘I have more proof,’ I said, tracing the droplets of condensation on the table. ‘Lily kept diaries, she named names.’
‘Jesus,’ Owen said. He was acting shocked, but there was something else there. A glimmer of excitement. He was no doubt thinking of his next Walkley award.
‘I obviously want her killer to be punished, but I need to think of myself as well,’ I began. ‘If I blow this thing open, my life is over. I need assurances. I need a job. And I need to be the person telling this story.’
The faintest smile flickered along Owen’s jawline. ‘I’m guessing this ultimatum is what pissed Mark off so much?’
I shook my head. ‘I hinted that I may have had access to further information but didn’t go into specifics. No one knows about the photos. Or the diaries.’
‘Why me, then?’
‘I told you. I want to be you. I wasn’t talking out of my arse. I want it all. The job, the Walkley awards, the book deals. Fuck the old guard.’
He laughed, his eyes sparkling, and stretched out his hand. ‘Welcome to the vulture club, kiddo. You’re a shoo-in.’
The Blue Diamond’s lights began flickering on and off. Owen stared up at them, bewildered – like they were part of the conspiracy. I looked over at Dan, who stopped flicking the switches.
‘Sorry, guys,’ he shouted. ‘Closing time.’
Owen looked at his watch. ‘It’s bloody ten o’clock!’
Dan shrugged. ‘In Kiama-time that’s, like, three am.’
‘The council’s really strict here,’ I told Owen. ‘The oldies in the houses across the road stay up just to report if there are still people in the bar after close. The hotel’s received heaps of fines over the years. Don’t take it out on Dan. It’s not his fault.’
Dan had already walked over to our table and was clearing away our drinks. Owen looked like he was going to punch him. To my surprise, Dan was unintimidated.
‘Seriously, Lo,’ Dan said. ‘You guys need to go now. I’m not getting in the shit for this.’
Owen locked eyes on me. ‘You still owe me a bloody drink.’
‘Pfft! Good luck getting one now.’
‘Oh my god, stop flirting and just go,’ Dan demanded. ‘Take her back to your friggin’ suite, she’ll shout you a drink from the minibar.’
He always had been a good wingman, even when I didn’t want him to be. I raised my eyebrows at Owen.
‘All right, deal,’ he said. ‘Come on.’
We exited onto the Blue Diamond’s back terrace and Dan slammed the glass doors behind us. I stared up at the oak tree I’d spent countless recesses sitting under. Its leaves rustled in the clammy sea breeze.
‘I’m surprised the bartender suggested you come back to my room.’ Owen smirked. ‘I thought he had the hots for you.’
I laughed. ‘I’m not his type, trust me.’
‘I don’t believe that for a second,’ he said, looking me up and down. ‘I don’t think there’s a man alive who wouldn’t consider you his type.’
I ignored the comment. He was trying way too hard.
‘Dan and I grew up together. We’re practically siblings.’
His smile was iridescent in the moonlight. ‘I thought you small-town folk were into the whole incest thing.’
I laughed, genuinely shocked by the comment. ‘Fuck you!’
‘If you insist.’
I was about to reply when something hit the top of my head. I looked up and felt a second glob of sap land on the hollow of my throat.
‘Goddamn it.’ My chin was beginning to stick to my neck.
Owen licked his thumb, wrapped his fingers around my throat and carefully wiped the sap away. His hand lingered there for an uncomfortably long time, and I felt goosebumps radiate from his touch. He pulled me close and whispered in my ear.
‘Guess you weren’t joking about being my next one-night stand. Were you, kiddo?’
That fucking smile.
CHAPTER 32
I didn’t want to sleep with Owen, but some part of me enjoyed the fact that he clearly wanted to sleep with me. It had been like that for as long as I could remember. I adored the chase – being wanted – and being wooed. It made me feel powerful. But the second they touched me everything changed. It became too real. That want – that need – was never reciprocated. There was simply nothing there.
It took me a long time to figure out that my feelings, or lack thereof, were not the same as others’. I thought I’d had crushes on people – powerful, talented men like Owen. But I soon figured out that, unlike everyone else, I didn’t want to be with them, I wanted to be them.
At its most benign, it manifested in simple things like wanting to get to know them and to learn from them in the hopes of bettering myself. But there was also something deeper there. Something that scared me sometimes.
I wanted to consume them.
Everything they were, are and would ever be. To devour their very essence like a dominant twin absorbing its weaker sibling in the womb. I was the first to admit that it was unfathomably fucked up.
So, as I stood in Owen’s hotel room, staring over his shoulder at the warning lights flashing on the harbour buoys, I allowed him to slip the straps of my dress down as he caressed my neck. His touch felt like insects burrowing beneath my skin.
‘You’re so fucking beautiful,’ he growled in my ear, before running kisses from my jaw to my collarbone. I closed my eyes. Not out of enjoyment but to avoid looking into his – and seeing that hunger I could never return.
To my surprise, my phone began vibrating and I dropped my purse.
‘Shit,’ I mumbled, reaching for it.
‘No, no, no, no, no,’ Owen whispered, his lips pressed against my throat as he deftly kicked my bag away.
I sighed. I actually sighed. Like a petulant teen being lectured to. His kisses stopped and my eyes sprang open.
‘You okay?’ Owen asked.
No, I thought.
‘Yeah.’ I nodded. ‘Sorry.’
He could see it. They always could. Some guys were into it but, to others, it was a deal-breaker. An insult. She doesn’t want me. I had finally deflated that overblown ego, and I didn’t even get to feel good about it.
I put my hand on his body, feeling its firmness, and began tracing shapes on his dress shirt. I was horrified when I realised that I was mimicking the symbols on Lily’s back. He pulled me close to him, and I rested my head on his broad chest. He tenderly kissed the top of my head and I tried not to flinch. He slowly began rocking us backwards and forwards. I wanted to feel safe in his arms, but I didn’t.
On the floor, I could hear my phone buzzing away.
‘Hey, I was thinking,’ he mumbled into my hair.
‘Mmm?’
‘How well do you know Michael Williams?’
What the fuck? I thought, pulling away.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘It’s just, he’d probably be a good person to have onside. You know I’ll try and help you as much as I can. But my editor and I have a somewhat contentious relationship. And we’ve been explicitly warned to tread lightly in our coverage of Lily’s death. I just feel like having one of Paul’s mates on board couldn’t hurt.’
‘What do you mean “one of his mates”?’
‘Oh, sorry, I thought you knew that they were friends. It’s how Lily got her cadetship. Nepotism at its finest.’
‘I had no idea,’ I replied, shaking my head.
I thought back to what Jarrah had said: She was so proud of that cadetship. She felt like it was the only thing in her life she’d ever truly earned by herself.
Lily hadn’t known that her father was still controlling her.
‘Yeah,’ Owen replied. ‘The two of them go way back. They’re old hu
nting buddies. Paul comes down here every year and they go out into the rainforest together. He’s a different man when he comes back. Best week of the job for the rest of us.’
I tried to hide my shock. Behind Owen, the warning lights on the harbour blinked on and off.
I didn’t know what to say. I felt like I was being baited. Did Owen know about Michael’s involvement? Was he warning me? Or worse, threatening me? Could he have been a part of the cult too? I thought back to Lily’s list of names. Owen’s definitely hadn’t been on there, but neither had his editor’s. Was the whole thing even more insidious than I had originally thought? Did it go far beyond Kiama and its inhabitants?
I needed to get out of that suite.
‘Probably worth a try though, yeah?’ Owen asked.
I nodded while my eyes scanned the moonlit room for my purse. It was behind Owen’s feet, nestled next to the bed. The photo of Lily was in there, on my phone. I couldn’t leave without it.
I was contemplating my next move – Owen’s eyes still greedily surveying my body – when the sound of sirens filled the air. Two fire trucks sped past the window, and Owen turned to face them.
‘Someone’s burnt their toast.’ Owen laughed. His smile fell when a police car and ambulance closely followed. ‘Shit, you think something’s up?’
I shrugged and he slid open the room’s floor-to-ceiling glass doors before walking out onto the balcony. I took my chance, diving for my purse and pulling out my phone. I was alarmed to see several missed calls from my dad, along with a single text message:
Where are you? Get back to the cottage NOW. Stay away from the showground. It’s not safe.
As I stared at the screen, puzzled, more sirens spilt into the room. I walked out onto the balcony and watched as more fire trucks, police cars and ambulances sped along Terralong Street.
‘This isn’t normal, right?’ Owen asked.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I leaned over the balcony railing and scanned the small car park across the road. There, sitting on the bonnet of his car, smoking a joint, was Dan. I knew his post-work routine too well. After all, I’d joined him for enough of them.
‘I’ve got to go,’ I said to Owen, already walking back into the room.
‘Wait, why? What’s going on, Marlowe?’
‘I’ve gotta go,’ I repeated.
‘No,’ he commanded, following me.
I laughed and threw open the door. ‘Just try and fucking stop me.’
The door swung shut behind me but Owen grabbed it.
‘Who was trying to call you, Marlowe? Your father? Something is happening, isn’t it?’
I was already dialling Dan’s number, but I turned to face him. ‘Let’s just say it’s a good thing I stole your second drink. You’re still under the limit so you can drive yourself there.’
‘Drive where, Marlowe?’
Dan had answered, so I turned away.
‘Hey Dan,’ I said. ‘I need a lift.’
‘Oh god, don’t tell me Jawline McGee’s that quick in bed. Like, yeah, he’s old, but at least have some common courtesy and buy Viagra. Isn’t it cheap when you’re on the aged pension?’
‘Uh… you’re on speakerphone,’ I said, looking over at a clearly mortified Owen and pretending I wasn’t secretly cheering inside.
‘Fuck,’ Dan swore. ‘I’m never getting tipped again, am I?’
Owen stepped towards me and needlessly shouted into the phone. ‘I’ll give you the biggest tip of your life if you give me a lift too.’
‘Sorry, dude,’ Dan’s mellow voice droned. ‘Don’t swing that way. But good for you, man.’
I burst into laughter. Owen was unimpressed.
‘Not that kind of tip,’ he growled.
Dan was giggling like when we were kids. I looked in the direction of the bower. Behind us, more sirens screamed.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ I said, grabbing Owen’s wrist and leading him towards the fire stairs. I didn’t have time to fight with him. ‘Come with me.’
‘Where are we going?’
I held up my finger and spoke into the phone. ‘We’ll be there in a sec, Dan. Need to get to the showground ASAP. Something big’s going down.’
CHAPTER 33
Dan looked sheepish as we approached his car.
‘Sorry, dude,’ he said to Owen. ‘Just takin’ the piss, y’know?’
‘I’m thirty-eight,’ Owen spat, defensively.
‘And I’m sure you go like a fucking jackhammer,’ I replied. ‘Can we chill with the fragile masculinity for five seconds and get in the bloody car?’
Owen was sulking like a sullen teen. Slamming the door, crossing his arms in his lap and pouting. It was hard to believe that minutes earlier I’d been scared to be in a room alone with him. Apparently, all I’d needed to do was insult his virility. And yet, up until that point, he’d seemingly found all my jibes about his age endearing. I didn’t get the double standard until I realised it had also come after my perceived ‘rejection’. I sighed. I didn’t have time for that bullshit.
‘So,’ Dan said as we pulled out of the car park and headed towards the showground. ‘Gonna tell me what the hell is going on?’
‘Pfft.’ Owen seethed, kicking the back of my seat like a toddler. ‘Good luck getting anything out of her.’
I rolled my eyes, pointed my fingers at my head and pretended to shoot myself. Dan giggled.
‘Got a text from Dad,’ I said to Dan. ‘Telling me to stay away from the showground because it was dangerous.’
‘God, he’s an idiot. It’s like he doesn’t even know you.’
I laughed. It was true.
The emergency vehicles had seemingly stopped their onslaught and the streets of the town were deserted. We drove past the police station and I noted that the cottage’s lights were out and that the driveway was empty. My dad was no doubt at the showground, dealing with whatever dangers lurked there.
Dan flicked his indicator on as we approached the roundabout next to the post office.
‘Nah, straight ahead,’ I said. ‘Go in the back gate.’
‘It’ll be locked.’
‘It won’t. They need to get the emergency vehicles in.’
‘If you say so.’
We drove past Storm Bay, and I noticed that the ocean was eerily calm. If I’d met Jarrah that night, I would have escaped my drenching. I couldn’t believe that it had been less than twenty-four hours since I’d come to possess Lily’s journals and even less time since I’d learned the true extent of the horrors they contained.
‘You think it’s another body?’ Dan asked.
I shook my head, thinking of the procession of cop cars that had descended on the showground when I’d found her.
‘Too many fire trucks and ambulances,’ I replied.
The Norfolk pines grew denser and the town’s pure-white Anglican Church peered through the tree line, appearing to glow in the moonlight. I’d once taken maths tutoring there and remembered watching the embers of the show’s fireworks landing on the roof and praying that the whole thing would go up in flames. As we rounded the corner and the showground came into view, I immediately regretted that thought.
My dad was right, the danger was clear.
‘Fucking hell,’ Dan gasped.
I felt Owen’s hand on my shoulder as he scrambled to see out the front window.
‘The pavilion?’ he asked.
I shook my head, staring at the smoke billowing from the other side of the showground.
‘The carnies’ caravans.’
We sped through the northern gate, heading towards the smoke. A large group of townspeople had gathered – something closer to a mob than a crowd. Staring at them, I could tell they weren’t just looky-loos who were there after the fact. They were the instigators. The flashing lights of the emergency vehicles cast eerie shadows on their faces, making them appear even more animal-like. There was something wild about them. Something primal.
A makeshift barric
ade separated the mob from the firefighters attempting to extinguish the blaze. Police officers lined the divide – a human shield against the surging masses. My dad was front and centre. He was calling for calm but it didn’t seem to be doing much.
Dan pulled to a stop behind the mob and I threw open the passenger door. The smell of burning metal and the chants of the townspeople filled the air.
‘Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!’
For a moment, I thought they were referring to my dad. But when someone hurled a beer bottle over the barricade and screamed, ‘Die, carny scum!’, I realised they were screaming about Steve.
Without warning, Owen jumped out of the car and attempted to enter the crowd. He used his height and strength to strong-arm his way in. Throwing an elbow here and there for good measure, seemingly pleased to be taking out his frustration with the town on its inhabitants. It wasn’t a tactic that would work for me.
I turned to face Dan, still wisely tucked away in the safety of his car. He pointed towards the grandstand, and I nodded. I kicked off my heels, draped my bag over my shoulder and slammed the door shut behind me. Without bothering to check on Owen, I dived under the show ring railing and sprinted towards the grandstand. It was the reverse version of the shortcut I’d taken when I’d found Lily, and would lead me past the stables, straight towards the Masters’ trailer. I hoped they’d managed to escape in time.
I ran towards the hollow passage, the ground turning from grass to mud under my bare feet. It was pitch-black beneath the grandstand and it was like entering an unknowable void. I ducked my head to avoid the rows of tiered seating above and continued forward. The mob’s violent jeering grew fainter with each step.
I burst out the other side of the grandstand and the tops of the stables came into view. So much for never going there again. And yet, rather than taking the road my dad and I had driven down, I decided to slide down the small embankment and land behind them. It was a stupid decision. My dress was torn, my legs covered in streaks of mud and my hair was filled with pine needles. I looked like one of those feral forest children, raised by wild animals.
