by Nicola West
‘Among other things. Michael is associated with heaps of foster homes and orphanages. Those kids are basically ghosts, Lo. They get shuffled around so often that no one would ever question a sudden absence.’
I felt my stomach churn. ‘You know who else has pretty close ties to those places? My dad.’
I’d heard countless stories from my father about having to take children away from their families and put them in places like that. He’d always maintained that they were better off, and I’d heard some sickening stories but did ‘better off’ mean dead?
‘I guessed as much,’ Jarrah said, nodding. ‘That’s why all this stuff needs to get out there. You have to do it tonight, Lo. We can’t risk leaving it any longer.’
He was right, of course. It had to be tonight. And I’d have to be the one to do it.
CHAPTER 57
We finally turned off Swamp Road and approached Dunmore station. The realisation that Jarrah would be leaving me to do all the dirty work finally hit me. He truly was a tourist here. He would go back home, and no one would ever know of his involvement. He’d be completely safe, and he knew it. It was likely the only reason he came back here in the first place.
‘You sure you don’t want to come to the funeral?’ I asked.
‘Fuck, Lo. Don’t lay the guilt trip on me. I know for a fact Lily wouldn’t give two shits whether or not I was there.’
‘I’m not trying to guilt trip you,’ I said as I pulled up to the station’s drop-off area. ‘But did you ever think that I wasn’t asking for Lily?’
‘Then who the hell are you asking for? She’s the only person in that entire shithole of a town I ever gave a fuck about.’
‘Me, Jarrah. Did you ever stop to think that maybe I need backup, just like you did in that forest? Especially after what I have to do tonight.’
‘I don’t know what to say, Lo. You know I’m not welcome in town.’
I scoffed to myself, but it was largely to distract from the pain his words had dealt. I was shocked by his lack of support. Jarrah was only the delivery boy, and that job was done. He never had any intention of seeing the rest through. Lily had chosen me to expose the cult, and me alone.
‘Look,’ he began, staring at the train timetable on his phone. ‘This’ll make me sound like a prick, but the next train will be here any minute and it’s a direct line with limited stops. I’d really like to be able to get on it.’
‘You do that, then. Run on back to Sydney and forget all of this. Don’t worry, I won’t mention your name. They won’t come after you – so you can continue doing your little art projects. Maybe you can make a piece in my honour when they kill me, huh? Bet it’ll fetch a pretty penny at auction one day.’
‘Lo…’
‘Seriously, Jarrah, fuck off.’
‘Don’t be like this.’
‘Like what? Honest? Scared for my life?’
‘They’re not gonna kill you, Lo.’
‘That’s pretty fucking easy for you to say, isn’t it?’
‘No, just – ugh.’ He ran his hands over his head like he was the one who was frustrated.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ I said. ‘Maybe they’ll just put me in a coma like Steve.’
‘Stop being so fucking dramatic. They won’t touch you, not with your father’s protection. That’s not a luxury all of us have, Lo.’
‘I don’t know why I wasted all those years feeling guilty about what happened to you in that station. Turns out you’re just as much of a coward as your parents.’
His head snapped towards me. There was genuine rage behind his eyes. For a moment, I thought he was going to punch me. Still, I didn’t back down.
‘What is it you say in those whiny little interviews that those pretentious arts journalists lap up?’ I hissed. ‘That the town made your parents cowards. Though, not you, of course – you got out early enough, right?’
A frightening grimace was transforming Jarrah’s pleasant features from soft to hard. The muscles in his neck were bulging, and his hands were balled into tight fists. I could tell that he was trying to control his breathing.
I went for the jugular. ‘What a fucking hypocrite you are. At least you don’t have to worry about being adopted though, hey? You’re clearly your parents’ son – just as piss-weak as they are.’
With a series of swift movements, he unbuckled his seatbelt, threw open the passenger side door, grabbed his satchel and stepped out of the car. I flinched at the flurry of activity, convinced that one of the actions would result in his fist connecting with my face. To my surprise, he didn’t lash out and he remained silent the entire time.
He paused as he turned around to shut the LandCruiser’s door, considering whether or not he should say something. I was ready for a fight.
‘Marlowe?’ he quietly said.
‘Yeah, what?’ I snapped. ‘Finally grew some balls, did ya?’
‘There’s mud all over the bottom of the car. You should go to a car wash or something before you go home. Just so your dad doesn’t ask questions.’
Before I had the chance to reply, he slammed the door shut and ran off to catch his train.
When I put my hands back on the steering wheel, they were shaking.
CHAPTER 58
As loath as I was to admit it, when I pulled into the police station’s driveway, I was thankful that I had cleaned the car. Michael’s four-wheel drive – a sleek black BMW that somehow still looked spotless in the rain – was parked in one of the vacant spots reserved for police cars. I’d hoped that it meant he was in the station, but from the second I entered the cottage I knew that wasn’t the case.
Michael and my father were sitting in my lounge room, along with the town’s mayor, Peter Walsh, and were having a heated discussion about Lily’s funeral. Neither my father nor Peter noticed my presence, but Michael did. A small smile graced his lips as he wiggled his fingertips in the same odd wave as the farmer on Swamp Road.
He knew. He knew exactly where I’d been.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ my dad snapped, startling Peter. ‘And why are you soaking wet, did you jump in the bloody harbour?’
‘I was down at the Boneyard,’ I lied, talking about the secluded beach. ‘The rain came out of nowhere, and I knew that by the time I made it back to the car I’d be drenched, so I just stayed down there hoping it would pass.’
‘What the hell were you doing down there? You know there’s no reception. I was trying to call you.’
‘I –’
‘Oh, come on, John,’ Michael interrupted. ‘Cut her some slack for god’s sake.’ He turned to face me. ‘It’s good that you were taking some time for yourself, getting out of the house – clearing your head. Though you never really struck me as a “beachy” type of person.’
I struggled to meet his gaze. I was terrified that he was about to call me out on my lie. That he knew exactly where I’d been and the horrors I’d seen there. Instead, he smiled back at me like a proud parent. It didn’t make sense. He genuinely seemed to believe my lie. I turned to face my father, who was still scowling at me.
‘Well, can you take care of yourself in places that have bloody phone reception? I was worried, Lo.’
His response surprised me.
‘Sorry, Dad. What did you want me for, anyway?’
His eyes flicked to Michael.
‘I’m afraid that’s my fault,’ Michael said. ‘I just wanted to ask you something, Marlowe. I was happy to wait, but your father insisted on calling. I didn’t mean to cause such a fuss.’
Peter loudly cleared his throat before unsubtly looking at his watch.
‘You can ask her when we’re done here, Michael,’ my dad said. ‘She’s not going anywhere.’
My father locked eyes with me, and I stubbornly crossed my arms over my chest.
‘Can you leave us, Lo,’ he said. It was a command rather than a question. ‘We have a lot of things to sort out before tomorrow.’
‘I need to tak
e a shower anyway.’
I moved away. Michael caught my eye and mouthed ‘Sorry’.
As soon as I was out of sight, Peter’s voice boomed around the house. ‘I don’t care where you get the fuckin’ money from, John,’ I heard him spit. ‘I want more cops at that cemetery. You really think the press is gonna play nice? This whole fuckin’ thing has been a bloody circus. You know they’re going to turn on us, and you need to get control of the situation before they do.’
‘Or what, Peter?’ my dad’s voice snapped.
I paused in the hallway, straining to hear Peter’s response, but the only sound came from the thudding of my heart.
I took a long shower, scanned my body for leeches and tried my hardest not to think about what I’d seen in the clearing. And yet, every time I closed my eyes, the fire pit was all I could see. I felt like the ash still clung to my body and wouldn’t come off, no matter how hard I scrubbed.
I’d brought a change of clothes with me to the bathroom lest I come face-to-face with Peter or Michael roaming the cottage’s halls. It was a good thing I had because, when I walked into my room, I discovered Michael casually perched on the end of my bed. The sheer audacity of his presence infuriated me.
‘I’d tell you to make yourself comfortable,’ I said, stepping into the room, ‘but it looks like you already have.’
‘Forgive my intrusion. I had to get away from those two, and there aren’t many options in a place this small.’
‘What are they arguing about?’
‘The funeral. My family has a single plot left in the old portion of Bombo cemetery. It was always supposed to be mine, but…’
He paused for a while, absentmindedly running his hand along my bedspread.
‘Anyway,’ he continued. ‘Because it’s in the old section, that means that the funeral has to be held at the front, right next to the highway. They’re worried about the media and looky-loos lining either side of the road – even rubberneckers driving past and causing accidents. The police can keep people off the cemetery grounds themselves, but everywhere else appears to be fair game. We’ll all be completely exposed tomorrow.’
The faintest hint of a smile graced my lips. He had no idea how prescient his statement would prove to be.
‘Oh, excuse my manners,’ he said, gesturing at the bed before beginning to stand up. ‘Do you want to…?’
‘No, it’s fine.’ I walked over to my dresser and gently perched on the edge.
He sank back down on the bed. It groaned under his weight, catching him by surprise. My eyes quickly flicked to my backpack. I’d repositioned myself so I could check on it – my camera was in there, full of the incriminating pictures from the clearing, not to mention the bone shards. Thankfully, it was still sitting slumped by the side of my bed – seemingly untouched. I breathed a short sigh of relief.
‘So, what did you need to ask me, Doctor Williams?’
His brow furrowed as if he’d only just remembered that was the purpose of his visit. ‘I just wanted to know if you’d like to say something tomorrow, at the funeral?’
‘Say something?’
‘About Lily. There’s absolutely no pressure and, if you’re not comfortable, I completely understand. But I just thought that it might be good for you – a way to properly say goodbye.’
‘I –’
‘It’s just,’ he interrupted, ‘Sharon is in no condition to speak, and the only other people who have agreed are Peter and Mark.’
‘The mayor is going to say a eulogy for Lily? And her boss? That’s it?’
‘Your father also offered. If need be. And I’ll obviously be saying something, but – as you can no doubt tell – your voice and perspective would be very much welcomed.’
‘I just –’
‘You don’t even need to come up with something yourself if you’re not comfortable with that. Perhaps there’s something you can read? A passage that you feel is appropriate? Something that you know was significant to Lily?’
‘I –’
I had been about to turn him down but, at the last second, something popped into my mind.
‘I think I have the perfect thing.’
Michael left shortly after that, joining my father and Peter who continued to argue all the way out the front door. I was glad to hear them go. I needed the house to myself to begin preparing the packages I would have to send that evening. Sure, I’d do the majority of it while my dad was asleep, but I still needed to source the addresses and get everything uploaded so I could print it all off.
And yet, I remained perched on my dresser, unable – or at least unmotivated – to move. My eyes kept being drawn to my movie posters. The ones that had adorned my walls during my formative years and had become so unassuming that I felt like I was looking at them for the first time in my life.
Would that be what Lily’s death would become when the truth came out? Just another story, no more real than the latest horror flick? What had Owen said? That Lily wasn’t real any more? That she belonged to the masses?
No, she wasn’t just a story. She was a catalyst. A harbinger of doom, at least for the cult. She was the beginning of their end.
I’d make sure of it.
I finally mustered the energy to get down from the dresser and closed and locked my door. I grabbed my laptop and backpack and climbed onto my bed. It creaked and groaned – even more than it had with Michael – seemingly protesting my weight.
I’d missed the familiar noise while the journals had been under there, cushioning the blow. There’d been something comforting about –
Wait.
I sprang to my feet, ran around to the edge of my bed and lifted the mattress – right where Michael had been sitting. The pillowcase was there, but it was empty. The journals were gone.
Panic gripped my chest like a vice.
How could he possibly have known they were there? How could he have known what I intended to do with them, that very evening? Had he been there? In the rainforest? Watching? Waiting? Hearing our plans as we stupidly discussed them in the clearing? We thought we’d been out of earshot of the house, but we hadn’t considered that someone could have already been out in the rainforest. Or worse, that someone had followed us.
My stops at the train station and then the car wash would have given Michael more than enough time to make it back to the cottage. I could feel my breath growing ragged. But at least I knew one thing I was sure Michael didn’t – I’d already scanned every single page of Lily’s journals and saved multiple backups. If this was his attempt to silence me, it would only make me louder.
CHAPTER 59
It was done. I’d compiled and posted the packages under the cover of darkness. Once again sneaking out of my house while my father slept, blissfully unaware. It was fortunate that the post office next door had two full-size mailboxes, and I’d filled them both to the brim. I’d been able to easily go back and forth between the cottage and the post office, carefully depositing the parcels in small batches. The packages would bypass the post office and be taken straight to the nearby distribution centre first thing.
I hadn’t bothered climbing the back fence; I didn’t really care whether I was caught in the act. That being said, the streets had been deserted and I hadn’t seen a single person or car as I dutifully carried out my mission.
It was like it had never happened.
But it had. And I’d signed my name to it. Everyone would know what I’d done. But – more importantly – they’d know what they had done. There was no point in remaining anonymous. The cult would know it was me, regardless, and I could use my name as an insurance policy.
Sure, it might not be enough to save me from them. But, at the very least, it would mean that my death would not be in vain. If something happened to me, it would only solidify their guilt. People would have to ask questions.
I had no dreams that night or, at least, none that I could remember. To say that I was exhausted from the day’s events, both physically a
nd mentally, was an understatement. The second my head hit that pillow, I was out, and I seemingly hadn’t moved a muscle until my alarm jolted me awake.
I tried to relish those few seconds between sleeping and waking. That twilight zone of preconsciousness where I was nothing more than a blank slate. But, soon enough, the memories crept back in and the realisation dawned.
Today was the day that everything would change. And it would be my doing. There was no turning back.
I got ready for the funeral on autopilot – showering, eating breakfast, cleaning my teeth and slapping on makeup. I only returned to the real world when I stood in front of my closet, trying to figure out what to wear. For most people, it was a straightforward decision. But, staring at the rows of all-black ensembles, I was spoiled for choice. The majority of my wardrobe was funeral appropriate. What the hell did that say about me?
I wondered what Lily had been dressed in before she was placed in her coffin. Probably something pure and white. If I dressed like I was constantly in mourning, then Lily dressed like she was heaven-sent. The town’s guardian angel. Always looking out for everyone but herself.
I reached for a little black dress and a tear spilled down my cheek. It caught me off guard and I frustratedly wiped it away. There would be no waterworks at the funeral. At least, that’s what I told myself. Of course, it would be easier said than done.
I found myself wondering what Lily’s reaction would be if she knew I was crying over her. If it were me, I’d be royally taking the piss – especially after years of having to put up with my ‘tough guy’ act – but she’d probably cry on my behalf and apologise. She’d wrap her arms around me and I’d squirm and protest. Which would only make her cry and apologise more.
How could a person like that have come from a family like hers? How could something so good and pure be forged from evil? How had she survived as long as she had?
I think that was the thing about her death that I was struggling with the most. The sheer inevitability of it. The same scenario could have played out a million different times, in a million different ways, but the outcome would always be the same. She was destined to die. She couldn’t live with their crimes.
