Catch Us the Foxes

by Nicola West

  ‘Mmm,’ I murmured. I’d only been half-listening as I scrolled through pictures on the hiking forums. The rainforest was truly breathtaking. And yet, now knowing Lily’s claims, utterly terrifying.

  ‘Lo?’ Jarrah asked.

  ‘Fuuuck.’ I groaned.

  ‘What?’

  I was looking at a photo posted by a disgruntled bushwalker. It was of a heavy-duty electric fence with a sign hanging on it. It read:

  PRIVATE PROPERTY

  TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT

  SURVIVORS WILL BE SHOT AGAIN

  I scrolled through the comments.

  ‘Avoid the southern track like the plague. It’s private property, and the owner’s a bloody nutjob. There’re ways to get over the electric fence, but it’s not worth it. You don’t want to come face-to-face with that prick and his gun.’

  ‘Marlowe, what?’ Jarrah snapped.

  I didn’t want him to chicken out. So, I lied. ‘Nothing – sorry – my dad just sent me an annoying text.’

  ‘Oh.’

  I had no idea whether he believed me or not.

  ‘Well, do you think that sounds like the best way?’ he asked.

  I thought over what he’d said. It seemed logical. ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘So, we’re really doing it?’

  I stared at the sign on my computer screen. ‘Yeah.’ I sighed. ‘We’re really doing it.’

  ‘All righty then.’

  There wasn’t a hint of fear in his voice. I was worried that there should have been.

  ‘If you’re driving, I’ll catch a train down first thing in the morning, so we can get up there nice and early. You cool to pick me up, Lo?’

  ‘Yeah. But aren’t you worried about someone seeing you?’

  He went quiet for a second. ‘Um, how about I get off early at Dunmore, and you pick me up there? That way we can head straight up Swamp Road and bypass Kiama altogether?’

  It wasn’t a bad idea. The station was only a ten-minute drive north of Kiama and almost directly across from one of the main access roads to Saddleback. But, most importantly, it would keep Jarrah away from the prying eyes of the town.

  ‘Yeah, that’s fine,’ I replied. ‘Just figure out which train you’re coming in on and text what time I need to be there.’

  ‘Sure, I’ll let you know later on.’

  ‘All right. I better head off. The final press conference is happening soon.’

  ‘Shit. Already?’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘Well, maybe by this time tomorrow there’ll be more to report.’

  My eyes flicked back to the computer screen.

  SURVIVORS WILL BE SHOT AGAIN

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘Maybe.’

  * * *

  I considered physically going to the press conference but I didn’t think I could stomach it. Some police media advisor from Sydney had apparently had the tone-deaf idea to conduct it at the showground’s stables. Something about the flowers on the stalls ‘popping’ against the baby-blue colouring of the police uniforms. All I could think was how the colour of Lily and Steve’s blood had ‘popped’ against the stalls’ pale concrete.

  The whole thing seemed disrespectful.

  I still watched it though, perched on the edge of my lounge. The New South Wales police commissioner had spoken, as had my dad. They’d reiterated that, based on DNA evidence, Steve Masters had been arrested for the murder of Lily Williams. There would be a formal investigation into Steve’s injury, but Lily’s case wouldn’t be able to proceed until he was capable of being tried.

  A neurologist from Wollongong Hospital had reminded everyone that Steve was unlikely to ever wake up. When asked whether his parents had been given the option to remove life support, the doctor had said that he couldn’t divulge personal information. However, he did state that if that recommendation had been provided, it would be a decision the family members would have to live with. At that point, someone off-screen could be heard yelling, ‘Kill the bastard’.

  Michael had spoken next, playing the role of the grieving father to a T. It was an Oscar-worthy performance, and I felt enraged that, even through the television screen, he was able to invoke a deep feeling of sympathy from me. Sharon had stood by his side, her eyes even more glassy through the camera’s lens. She’d said nothing and showed no connection to her husband or his words. No nodding in agreement, no supportive hand on his shoulder as his eyes filled with tears. She’d just stood there, staring into the camera. As if she were pleading at the faceless people sitting at home, trapped behind their television screens.

  While everyone else had been quick to stick the knife in Steve and his family, Michael had taken a different approach. He’d condemned the attack on Steve, saying that it wasn’t justice for Lily – it wasn’t justice at all. At that point, Sharon had turned around and stared at the wall of flowers marking her daughter’s place of death. She’d frowned and reached out her hand to tug on a frayed piece of rope attached to the stable’s doors. When it wouldn’t come loose, she’d abruptly walked out of shot. Michael had continued talking like he hadn’t even noticed. But, when the cameras began panning away to follow Sharon as she ambled towards the cliff’s edge, he’d hastily retrieved his wife before any further damage could be done.

  The press conference had ended not long after that. But not before a final threat, masquerading as a plea, from the town’s mayor. Peter said that the town needed a chance to grieve on its own. That the carnies would be moving on the next day, and that the press should too. He’d reminded people that Lily’s funeral was only open to members of the town and that outsiders would not be admitted.

  ‘This town has lost one of its own to an outsider,’ he’d said. ‘We need to be able to close ranks and heal as a community. Please respect this or face the consequences.’

  I audibly laughed at the screen. Outsiders were the least of this town’s problems. And, after tomorrow, everyone would know the truth.

  CHAPTER 43

  Dan texted me in the evening asking me to pop into the Blue Diamond to pick up the heels I’d left in his car. I didn’t want to, but when I realised they were the ones I wanted to wear to the funeral, I texted him back.

  I’ll meet you at your car after work.

  Not in the mood to see Owen TBH.

  My dad was actually home that night so, as I headed out the door just before ten, I had to tell him where I was going. He was lying on the lounge reading a dog-eared paperback, a Raymond Chandler novel. In the background, the television blared poorly produced local commercials.

  ‘Just popping down to the harbour for a sec,’ I said. ‘Have to get the heels I’m wearing to the funeral off Dan.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you two were the same shoe size.’

  I realised he wasn’t joking. ‘No, they’re my shoes,’ I replied exasperatedly. ‘I’m getting them back from him.’

  ‘What did he need them for?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why’d he borrow your shoes?’

  ‘He didn’t! I left them in his bloody car.’

  ‘Oh.’

  My dad thought Dan was gay. Lots of people in the town did. Sometimes I felt like it was the only reason he was comfortable with us being so close. But it also often manifested in weirdly passive-aggressive bouts of homophobia, such as assuming Dan was a cross-dresser.

  ‘You might have to get new ones,’ he replied matter-of-factly. ‘They’re probably all stretched out now. Bet he couldn’t resist trying them on.’

  ‘Bye, Dad,’ I said, turning my back to him and heading towards the front door.

  ‘Wait, Lo.’

  ‘What?’ I sighed, turning back around.

  ‘Did you speak to Michael?’

  My dad had a nasty habit of asking questions that he already knew the answers to.

  ‘Yep, sure did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘Well…’ He paused. ‘Are you gonna, y’know, get fixed?�
�

  ‘Fixed?’

  ‘You know what I mean, Marlowe,’ he said, far too aggressively. He often lashed out when he knew he was the one in the wrong.

  ‘Have I really been screaming in my sleep?’ I asked.

  He nodded. ‘It’s real bad, Lo. Like how you were when your mum died.’

  ‘What?’ I asked, shocked.

  He stared at me for a long time. ‘You don’t remember, do you?’

  I shook my head. I truly didn’t.

  ‘You had nightmares – about the accident.’

  My eyebrows furrowed.

  ‘You’d scream your mother’s name all night long.’

  I had no recollection of what he was talking about.

  He sighed. ‘Michael fixed you then – he can fix you now, too.’

  My mouth gaped. I tried to think back to the psychiatrist I’d been forced to see when my mother died. It hadn’t been Michael. Had it? I attempted to picture the person’s face but drew a blank. But their voice. There was something about it. Something familiar.

  ‘I’ve gotta go,’ I said. I could feel tears forming in my eyes.

  ‘Lo…’ my dad began.

  But I was already gone.

  CHAPTER 44

  Dan was sitting on the bonnet of his car, looking out over the harbour. It was still hot that night. No storm had come to cool everything off. A faint sea mist hung in the air. There was no wind, and the atmosphere felt oppressive.

  As I approached his car, Dan picked up my heels and began to clap the soles together. He mimicked horses hoofbeats, speeding up the closer I got. I smiled.

  ‘You’re a fucking idiot,’ I said, snatching them from him when I was within reach.

  ‘And yet we’re still friends. Who’s the real idiot?’

  I shook my head but smiled.

  ‘How you holding up?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m getting pretty fuckin’ sick of that question. I can tell you that.’

  He held up his hands and mimed zipping his lips.

  ‘A peace offering,’ he said, opening up his backpack and revealing a small bag of pot and a couple of freshly rolled joints.

  I went to reach in, but he snatched the backpack away. He looked at the hotel over his shoulder, before turning back to me and raising his eyebrows.

  ‘How about a change of scenery?’

  He slid off the bonnet and walked onto the harbour’s flats, slinging the backpack over his shoulder. He beckoned me towards him. I followed, and he kept walking until he was standing on the footpath in front of Black Beach. When I caught up to him, he jumped onto the black sand below. The crushed basalt made a satisfying crunch as he landed.

  Black Beach was an afterthought for the town. A tiny, uninviting shoreline on the harbour that could barely qualify as a beach. The jagged rock shelf below the waves made it an impractical choice for swimmers and surfers, and the rough, gravel-like sand was unpleasant to sunbathe on. Besides, with Kiama’s numerous white sand beaches, there was always a better choice close by.

  I always liked Black Beach though. It was yet another by-product of when Saddleback was a volcano and a reminder of the town’s prehistoric origins. The fact that it was located directly across the road from the police station and cottage further fuelled my fascination. As a kid, I would spend hours sifting through the sand for treasure – namely, ocean-polished pieces of glass which I obsessively collected.

  I sat down next to Dan, feeling my weight sink into the dark sand. I put my heels down next to me and dug my hands into the cool basalt shards; wiggling my fingertips deeper and deeper. Dan lit the joint and took a short drag before handing it to me. I pulled out my right hand – it was covered in tiny black specks that shone in the moonlight.

  ‘So,’ Dan began as I inhaled deeply, ‘you wanna tell me what happened at the showground after I left?’

  I held the smoke in my lungs, thinking about Steve’s unconscious body slumped in front of Nathan. I finally exhaled – a long, slow sigh.

  ‘Not really,’ I answered, passing the joint back to him.

  ‘Well, will you at least tell me what happened between you and Owen?’

  I paused for a second – recalling the time under the grandstand – but quickly recovered.

  ‘I don’t know what you heard, man, but…’ I shrugged.

  Dan passed me the joint again. I noticed that he hadn’t smoked it.

  ‘Owen offered me fifty bucks to send that text message to you. Said he needed to see you again and asked me to lure you in. It was shady as fuck.’

  ‘Nice to know the price you put on our friendship,’ I spat, dragging on the joint once more.

  ‘I didn’t take his money. The second you replied saying you didn’t want to see him I knew something was up.’

  ‘Wow, how noble of you.’

  ‘It’s why we’re here and not on my bonnet. I don’t trust the bastard, Lo.’

  Somewhere behind us, the basalt crunched.

  ‘That’s probably for the best,’ a low voice growled.

  Owen’s presence startled me so much that I dropped the joint. By the time I retrieved it from the sand, it was coated in tiny black grains. I tried brushing them off but it was futile. I grabbed my shoe and snuffed out the end with my sole, before burying it in the sand.

  While all that was happening, Dan had sprung to his feet. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he asked Owen.

  ‘I told you. I need to see Marlowe.’

  ‘Yeah, well, she doesn’t want to see you.’

  ‘I think she can speak for herself, don’t you?’

  A memory blossomed in my mind. ‘She is the cat’s mother,’ I recited, before descending into a fit of giggles. I had no idea why I found the sentence so hilarious, nor where I’d heard it before.

  ‘Seriously, mate,’ Dan threatened in a surprisingly low voice. ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘Marlowe,’ Owen exasperatedly droned. ‘Can you please call your attack dog off?’

  I was still staring out over the harbour. In the distance, a series of warning lights flashed on a rocky outcrop – the harbour’s helipad. I thought of the look of pain branded on Steve Masters’ face as he lay crumpled in front of the stables. I felt light-headed.

  ‘Listen, pretty boy,’ Dan said. ‘You’re a long way from home. So why don’t you go back to your hotel room, pack your suitcase and get ready to check out with the rest of the vultures first thing tomorrow morning?’

  I heard a single step crunch behind me as Owen moved towards Dan. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Not now, and not tomorrow. I have a personal invitation from the Williams family to attend their daughter’s funeral.’

  Of course he does, I thought.

  ‘And you really think calling me “pretty boy” is an insult? I think that says a lot more about you than it does me, mate.’

  ‘The fuck’s that supposed to mean?’ There was an unsettling edge to Dan’s voice.

  ‘Let’s just say this town talks. And tongues are certainly wagging when you’re involved, aren’t they?’

  Another crunch as Dan edged closer.

  ‘You got the balls to say what you actually mean, prick?’

  ‘What’s to say?’ Owen asked. ‘Personally, I find the whole country closet-case thing so passé. It’s 2008, man. No one cares if you’re gay.’

  Even with my back turned, I knew the punch was coming long before it landed.

  Owen was not a fighter. He’d never had to be one – certainly not like Dan had. He physically crumpled beneath Dan’s fist, his knees buckling as he landed on the beach with a crunch. He let out a pained mewl so shrill it was pathetic. I felt an urge to kick him while he was down. Payback.

  I slowly got to my feet and turned around. Owen was still kneeling on the sand; his hands pressed over the left side of his face. Dan had immediately backed off, genuinely shocked and disgusted by how quickly Owen had dropped. He looked at me, his hand still clenched in a fist, and sheepishly mouthed a single word: ‘Sorry.’
r />   I rolled my eyes and kneeled down in front of Owen.

  ‘Let me see,’ I said, reaching up to pull his hands away from his face. He physically recoiled under my touch, batting my hand away like a feral cat.

  ‘Don’t fucking touch her,’ Dan shouted, and I watched with disgust as Owen flinched at the sound.

  ‘Shut the fuck up, Daniel,’ I spat. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my house keys and held them out to him. ‘There are mixed veggies in the freezer. Get a bag and a tea towel to wrap them in, then come back.’

  ‘I’m not leaving you with him.’

  ‘Yeah, I think I’ll take my chances with the guy who didn’t just king-hit a bloke, okay?’

  In the moonlight, I could see there was a hint of a smile on Dan’s lips. He was clearly proud of himself.

  ‘If you want to keep this bullshit bravado act up, at least do something useful and get the veggies.’ I threw the keys at Dan, and he caught them. He slung his backpack over his shoulder.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay with him?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes! Now, fuck off.’

  Dan took one final look at Owen’s cowering form, rolled his eyes and began jogging towards the cottage.

  ‘Wait,’ I shouted, picking up my heels. ‘Take these, too.’

  He spun back around, begrudgingly snatched the shoes from me and headed back off.

  ‘My dad’s home,’ I called out to him. ‘Don’t bloody tell him what happened.’

  He ignored me, but I knew he was likely to heed my advice.

  ‘Now,’ I said, turning my attention back to Owen. ‘How you holding up, slugger?’

  ‘He’s a fucking psychopath!’

  ‘Yeah.’ I sighed. ‘This town breeds ’em. Now, let me see how bad it is.’

  ‘It’s really bad,’ he whimpered.

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that. C’mon, Owen, take your hands away. I need to see.’

  He slowly removed his trembling hands.

  My eyes widened at the sight.

  CHAPTER 45

  From all the fuss, I’d expected blood and broken bones. A crushed eye-socket, haemorrhaging nostrils and maybe even a cauliflower ear. Instead, there was some minor swelling and the beginnings of what was sure to be a pretty decent shiner.