Catch Us the Foxes

by Nicola West

  My eyebrows knitted. I noticed that Michael had changed and was once again presenting as his dapper self. His hair was completely dry. I’d apparently slept longer than I’d realised.

  ‘They’ve become worse, haven’t they?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’

  He shook his head, seemingly frustrated. ‘He still hasn’t told you, has he?’

  ‘Stop talking in fucking riddles!’ I barked, before descending into another coughing fit.

  Michael reached his hands out but stopped short of touching me.

  ‘Come on, sit down,’ he said, corralling me to my bed.

  I did what he said. But only because I was worried that I might pass out. I perched on the side of my bed and buried my head in my hands. I felt the mattress sink next to me as Michael sat down. My mind flashed back to my dream, and my breathing became ragged once more.

  ‘Shhh,’ Michael hushed, next to my ear. ‘It’s okay. Just breathe.’

  His words and his proximity only made things worse.

  ‘Come on, Marlowe. I need you to lift your head up and look at me. Can you do that for me?’

  I sighed a jagged breath, before raising my head and looking into his eyes. They were as iridescent as moonstones. Hypnotising.

  ‘That’s it,’ he continued. ‘Now breathe. In-two-three, out-two-three.’

  I tried to match his count, but my breaths choked out early. He kept repeating the mantra until my body slowly adapted to the rhythm. I could feel my chest loosening.

  ‘I’d like to check your pulse. If you don’t mind?’

  I nodded and held out my hand. My entire arm was still shaking. I pumped my fingers in and out of a fist trying to stop the tremors.

  ‘Your neck would be easier. With your permission, of course.’

  I slowly nodded, and he reached towards me, carefully tucking my hair behind my ear. When his fingers made contact with my flesh, it was like a zap of static electricity. I clamped my eyes shut.

  ‘That’s it,’ he whispered. ‘In-two-three, out-two-three.’

  I kept breathing in sequence as he monitored my heartbeat. Eventually, he removed his fingers from my neck. My eyes sprang open. The area he had grasped still bore the sensation of his touch. I reached my hand up and rubbed at it, trying to disrupt the strange feeling that lingered on my skin.

  ‘Do you remember what you dreamed about?’ he asked.

  I locked eyes with his. Had I only screamed in my sleep, or had I called his name? His expression gave nothing away, so I averted my gaze and softly sighed.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I lied. ‘I never remember my dreams.’

  ‘You’ve been having them ever since you found her,’ he explained. ‘You scream her name in your sleep, and his – her killer’s. Your father has had to wake you up multiple times. He said he didn’t think you remembered anything. From the sound of it, you’ve also been experiencing sleep paralysis.’

  ‘Why am I hearing this from you and not him?’ I asked accusingly.

  ‘Come on, Marlowe. We both know your father lacks the emotional intelligence to deal with something like this. There’s no denying he’s somewhat –’ he paused for a second, searching for the word, ‘detached.’

  I thought back to a conversation I’d had with my father when I was still in high school. I’d been debating whether to study journalism or psychology, and he’d ‘helped’ me by sharing an anecdote about his mental health assessment prior to enlisting in the police force. After a string of interviews, questionnaires and tests, the psychologist had diagnosed him as a psychopath. I’ll never forget the pride in his voice as he gloated about his diagnosis: ‘They said I’d be perfect for the job because I don’t have a conscience.’

  I could hardly talk though. The fact that my first thought was, Goddamn it, that shit’s hereditary, probably summed up my own psychopathology.

  ‘He’s worried about you, Marlowe,’ Michael continued, interrupting my thoughts. ‘We all are.’

  ‘For the last time, Doctor Williams. I’m fine.’

  ‘But you’re not really, are you? The night terrors are just the start of it. There’s also the lethargy, the anxiety attacks, the paranoia and the fits of aggression.’

  I opened my mouth to protest, but he continued.

  ‘In my professional opinion, Miss Robertson, you appear to be experiencing symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.’

  I could feel my rage bubbling under the surface. I wanted to yell – to scream – to tell him I knew exactly what he was trying to do. But I knew that was precisely what he wanted.

  ‘Think about it, Marlowe. I mean, really think about it. Be honest with yourself. Be honest about what you’ve experienced these last few days. I know it’s a difficult thing to hear for someone so used to being in control, but I think if you let go, you’ll realise what I’m saying is true.’

  Before I’d even had a chance to process his words, my phone began to ring.

  ‘I’ll leave you to get that,’ Michael said, standing up. ‘I’ve already intruded enough on your time. I also need to prepare for the press conference, but I do hope you’ll consider what I’ve said. You need help, Marlowe – and you have a support network who are willing to provide it, if you let us.’

  He left before I had the chance to tell him to go fuck himself.

  CHAPTER 40

  As soon as the door clicked shut, I reached for my phone. I hadn’t had time to see who the text messages and phone calls were from, but the capitalisation suggested Jarrah. I scrolled through the myriad messages I’d missed while my phone was dead. My suspicions were correct.

  He was furious about Steve’s arrest and ‘convenient’ injury. We’d texted back and forth the previous day, after Owen’s article was published, and Jarrah had shared my suspicions that Steve was being framed. Now that the carny had been silenced, Jarrah was baying for blood. He wanted proof of the cult, and he thought he could get it – with my help.

  I walked to my door and pressed my ear against it. I couldn’t tell whether or not Michael had left.

  I walked back to my bed and slumped down on the mattress. I picked up my phone and dialled Jarrah’s number. He answered on the first ring as if he’d been sitting there, waiting for my call.

  ‘I thought you were fucking dead!’ he shouted.

  ‘Nope, just my phone,’ I replied. I cupped my hand over my mouth and whispered as a precaution, but it was unlikely Michael could hear me even if he were still in the cottage.

  ‘Why are you whispering?’ Jarrah asked.

  ‘Lily’s dad was here. I’m not sure if he’s left.’

  ‘What? Why was he there?’

  ‘To have a shower before the press conference,’ I began. ‘Oh, and to tell me that he thinks I have PTSD.’

  ‘Shit,’ Jarrah murmured. ‘He’s gaslighting you. Just like he did with her.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m not fucking stupid.’

  ‘Jesus, Lo. Please be careful. You’ve read the journals; we both know what he’s capable of.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  I thought back to my dream and felt my chest tighten once more. It was as if I could still feel the pressure of Michael’s body pressed against mine.

  ‘Anyway,’ I continued, ‘about this plan of yours, what do you need?’

  ‘You,’ he replied. ‘You’ve been to her house, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yeah. I mean, it’s been a while, but yeah.’

  ‘Lily talked about the place they held the ceremonies – the ones they did after the hunt. She said it was on their property. A big clearing in the middle of the rainforest. I’ve looked on Google Maps. You can see it.’

  ‘Uh, so?’ I asked. ‘According to her journals, the last hunt was in October. I hardly think there’s still going to be evidence there.’

  ‘But what if there is, Lo? It could corroborate the journals. You could go to the media with it all.’

  I hadn’t told him about my encounter with Owen, or of his editor’s conn
ection with Michael.

  ‘I still don’t understand what you need me for,’ I admitted.

  ‘I need backup, Lo! I’m not going into that fucking rainforest by myself after the things I’ve read. Plus, you’ve been on the property before.’

  ‘I haven’t been through their whole section of rainforest though. It’s like hundreds of acres!’

  ‘So? Weren’t you ever a Brownie or a Girl Guide or whatever the fuck the female version of a Scout is?’

  ‘Pfft, no!’

  ‘Then why the hell do you have a Swiss Army knife?’

  ‘My dad gave it to me. Until I sliced my hand open with you, I’d only ever used the bloody bottle-opener.’

  ‘Well, shit.’ He laughed.

  I joined in.

  ‘Come on, Lo,’ he said after our laughter had died down. ‘We’ve gotta do it. For her.’

  I sighed. ‘When?’

  ‘Today? I can come down right now.’

  ‘No. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly. We need more time to plan. I need to look at the maps and figure out the best way to get there without alerting Lily’s parents to our presence. We’d need an early start, too. By the time you come down from Sydney, it’ll be way too late today. I mean, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to get stuck up there after dark.’

  ‘Okay, sure,’ Jarrah eagerly replied. He’d given in way too easily.

  ‘Jarrah, I’m not saying I’ll one hundred per cent do it. Okay? Just that I’ll look into it. I mean, I wanted to see it for myself the second I read the journals, but Saddleback’s rough, man. Like, without the whole death cult thing.’

  ‘That’s why I need you there, Lo. You were the only person Lily trusted, so you’re the only person I can trust.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Turns out she’s just as much of a pain in the arse to me dead as she was alive.’

  I laughed, but he didn’t. The silence was uncomfortable.

  ‘She thought so highly of you, Lo,’ Jarrah finally said. ‘I dunno if she was the kind of person who’d ever say it to your face, but I hope you know it. I think she thought that if she were more like you none of this would have ever happened.’

  ‘That’s not true…’

  ‘She was so scared, Lo,’ Jarrah said, his voice small and brittle.

  ‘I know.’ I sighed, feeling tears bite at the corners of my eyes. ‘Anyway, I’ve gotta go check if Michael’s actually gone. Send me a photo of the clearing you were talking about. I’ll call you later. After I’ve had a chance to figure stuff out.’

  ‘Thank you, Lo. And please, be careful with Lily’s dad.’

  ‘Trust me, Jarrah. I can handle him.’

  CHAPTER 41

  The Williams family lived on a vast piece of land located on the western face of Saddleback Mountain. It was nestled underneath the Barren Grounds plateau but had sweeping, uninterrupted views of the South Coast. Everything felt limitless up there. The rainforest trickled into the fields, the fields into the beaches, the beaches into the ocean and the ocean into the sky. On clear days you could even see all the way to Ulladulla.

  However, to say it was remote was an understatement. To get there from Kiama, you had to travel in a needlessly complicated U-shape. Driving down the Kiama bends, before heading past Gerringong, then back up the mountains via Foxground. It was easily a twenty to thirty minute trip, depending on how comfortable you were tackling steep, winding roads.

  Looking at it on Google Maps didn’t do the place justice. You couldn’t get a feel for just how big it was – or how isolated. I stared at it on my computer screen and realised why Jarrah had been so flippant. He simply couldn’t grasp what it was really like up there. How wild everything was.

  Being on that land gave me the same feeling as being at the blowhole. There was something primordial about it. Something to be feared. Something that made me feel tiny and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Like I was nothing more than a blip on a radar – come and gone in a millisecond.

  And yet, Lily’s house itself was a sanctuary. Perched on the edge of the rainforest. A modern, pavilion-style home fit for the front cover of an architecture magazine. A sprawling monolith designed to effortlessly blend into the landscape with an infinity pool that made it feel like you were floating on the edge of the world.

  I suppose you actually were.

  But therein lay the problem. It truly was like another world up there, and not one that could easily be ventured into. For starters, the property was on a private road, with an imposing security gate kilometres away from the house itself. If you didn’t have a key or weren’t admitted entrance via the intercom, the property was virtually impenetrable.

  At any other time, I could have driven up to the gate, leaned out the window and pressed the buzzer, before waving at the security camera as I watched the gates spring open. I didn’t have that luxury now. Jarrah and I would have to find another way in. Staring at the map, things weren’t looking good.

  That is, until I received Jarrah’s text message.

  GOOGLE HODDLES TRACK

  After a cursory search, I discovered that Hoddles Track was located at the summit of Saddleback Mountain and stretched west before splitting in two directions. The top path would take you up into the escarpment, bordering the Barren Grounds, while the bottom would take you down into Foxground. Looking at the map before me, I realised that the latter portion actually joined onto the Williamses’ private road. It was a potential entry point that I doubt many people knew about. I know I certainly hadn’t.

  It was perfect.

  While the track had originally been used in the 1800s to transport produce from the Southern Highlands to Kiama, far better routes were established and the trail fell out of use. Its only purpose now was to pose a challenge to the more ‘hard-core’ tourists Kiama attracted. Adventure-seekers who turned their noses up at Saddleback’s wheelchair-accessible lookouts because they weren’t ‘challenging’ enough.

  Apart from historical accounts regarding the trail’s founding surveyor, Robert Hoddle, the track was only mentioned on bushwalking websites. Scrolling through the hiking forums, I grimaced. While the top track was undeniably the steeper one, the bottom would still be a long and arduous walk. It wasn’t something I was particularly looking forward to.

  But, as I clicked through the galleries of images proudly posted by hiking enthusiasts, I noticed something. There were tyre tracks on the ground in each shot. It didn’t make any sense. The road simply didn’t go up that far. You could drive to the summit of Saddleback, but not any further west. The road formed a loop around the phone towers perched on the mountain’s peak, directing you back down the slope.

  There was a fence at the western-most point.

  No… A gate.

  A strange sensation tugged at my mind. I got up from my computer, opened my door and walked into the hallway. Thankfully, Michael was long gone. I began rummaging through a chest of drawers in the lounge room. The top two had been officially designated the ‘junk’ drawers, but the remaining ones looked identical. There was no rhyme nor reason to their contents. Just a mishmash of household detritus, slowly gathering dust.

  But then, under a pile of miscellaneous charger cables, I found it: a hulking metal loop filled with keys of all shapes and sizes. Thankfully, the key ring was better organised than the drawers. Each key was positioned next to a small plastic tag in a variety of colours. I flicked through each, squinting at my dad’s messy handwriting, but quickly figured out the system.

  I focused on the red tags – signifying fire trails – until I found the words I was searching for: ‘Hoddles Track’.

  CHAPTER 42

  ‘Wait, you mean we can drive there?’ Jarrah asked.

  I’d called him straight after I’d found the keys.

  ‘My dad has spare keys to all the fire trails around here,’ I said. ‘A lot of them are just old stock routes so I assumed Hoddles would be the same.’

  ‘Isn’t the path crazy steep th
ough? How can you get a car up there?’

  ‘The bottom track’s better than the top but I assume we’re taking my car, right?’

  ‘Depends. What do you drive?’

  ‘An ancient LandCruiser. She’s not the prettiest thing, but she makes a fairly decent bush-basher.’

  ‘I mean, anything that allows me to avoid physical activity is A-okay in my book,’ he said, laughing. ‘I wasn’t looking forward to the hike.’

  ‘You know we’re not going to be able to drive the whole way, right? Once we get near their place, we’ll have to go on foot.’

  ‘Yeah, I figured as much. How are we going to get to the clearing from that angle though?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. I mean –’

  ‘Do you have the aerial shot in front of you?’ he asked.

  I looked at the map on my computer screen. ‘Yeah, why?’

  ‘Look at the back of their house. The rectangular bit at the southern-most point.’

  ‘You mean the pool?’ I asked, condescendingly, before remembering that Jarrah had never been there.

  ‘Yeah. Go straight back from there. Look at the rainforest.’

  I leaned closer to my laptop and squinted. ‘What am I looking at, exactly?’

  ‘Don’t you think it looks like a trail?’

  I zoomed in. I could kind of see what he meant, but it wasn’t super clear.

  ‘I guess,’ I said. ‘But a trail to where?’

  ‘The clearings, Lo. It seems to go straight to the big one, and then that little one is off to the side.’

  ‘Why would they need a track to the clear–’ I cut myself off. I already knew the answer to the question.

  The phone’s crackling only emphasised our silence. It stretched on, punctuated by static.

  ‘So, what would be the best way to do it, then?’ Jarrah asked, seemingly talking through his ideas out loud. ‘We enter via Hoddles Track on the eastern side of the property…’ He paused. ‘Then maybe hug the edge of the rainforest perimeter and walk down until we’re lined up with the pool and hopefully find the track from there?’