The Sister

by China, Max

  Running downhill in as straight a line as possible, he saw Kathy ahead. He was confident he'd catch her. The ground away from the fairways undulated, and he narrowly escaped falling several times as he pitched forwards through the rough grass. He slowed down.

  Where on earth, does she think she's going?

  She disappeared into a grove of trees as he reached a flat and even fire road. He put the hammer down, driving his arms faster than ever; his hands came up straight, like blades slashing through the air, legs pumping harder still, desperate to narrow the gap. He ran as if his life depended on it. Clearing the trees, thirty, forty seconds behind her, he couldn't see her.

  A group of elderly golfers gathered around the shore of a lake, agitated and pointing. Someone pushed a small boat out. He yelled out to them, without breaking stride. "Have you seen a woman?"

  "She's in there, gone under. She just waded in!"

  He took the scene in a split second of clarity; the black water trail parted through the green chickweed to the middle, where she'd waded and then gone down. Five more paces to the bank. If he leapt hard enough, he judged he'd make it most of the way. A voice inside his head reminded him. You can't swim!

  Three, two, one - Miller took off . . .

  It was a mighty leap, his trajectory Olympian. The flight - three beats of his pounding heart - exhilarated him. He plunged into the water, taking a last desperate gasp of air with him as he sank below the surface.

  He didn't attempt to swim, instead feeling the churn of the water around him, he opened his eyes. The water stung them closed. He couldn't see.

  Wading along below the water, the weight of his wet clothes kept him down. You don't have long, Bruce. The gasp reflex was almost upon him.

  Something brushed against his leg; he reached down, his fingers running through a tangle of hair. It's her! As he struggled to stay calm, he inwardly thanked the Lord for all the times he'd practiced holding his breath; it was something he'd always done as a child, a habit he'd continued into adulthood. Gripping her under the arms, he launched himself upwards, dragging her; sensing the right moment, and as it came, he bent, and with the strength that desperation had brought to him, swung her upwards. The momentum forced him down. She left his arms; he felt her body surge through the water.

  Although he couldn't swim, he was strangely calm. The will to survive had taken over everything. Every pounding heartbeat reminded him he was alive. His last breath, desperately snatched breaking for the surface the third time, was stale, exhausted by his exertions, but still he held it in.

  A pulse inside his temple throbbed; his ears split with pain as the pressure built; the muffled beat of his heart grew louder as he continued to sink, and the murky light above slipped further away. All thought must disappear - mu shin no shin, mu shin - empty mind, pusty umysl. His life depended on his ability to forestall the gulp reflex, to buy time against the odds in the hope of rescue.

  All thought disappeared. Autopilot kicked in and at last; he was in survivor mode. Feet touched the bottom first. Knees folded; every ounce of power directed into powerful thighs. Driving up from his haunches, he surged through the water, a human missile shooting for the surface. The initial burst of acceleration died quickly. The mass of water held him down. He battled the last few inches. Getting his face out into the air, he sucked a quick shot into his lungs. It wasn't enough.

  Sinking back to the bottom for the fourth time, thoughts intruded. You should have learned to swim.

  He had to save his strength for one final burst. Mu shin, no shin. Pusty umysl. All thought must disappear.

  Touching the bottom again; his legs folded until his fingers touched the mud; he drove up hard for the surface, again.

  Miller's mind was empty, but his heart knew that if he didn't make it this time, he was finished. His face pushed up under the surface of the water, an inch short; he flailed his arms to get higher. His efforts in vain; the chance missed, going under again. His heart sank; he was at the limit of his conscious ability to withstand the body's pre-programmed gulp reaction. He would take in water. Lungs burned, on fire . . . ready to explode. Desperately refocusing - Mu shin - It was too late. The fight was lost.

  A thought popped into his head. In those last moments, you don't see your whole life flashing by, but if you're lucky … you get to make some sense of it all.

  Reflex took over. Gagging on the first influx of water, he didn't have the strength to do anything but die.

  Chapter 154

  His world rose within a bubble, mercurial, ballooning upward, dark waters kept at bay, as breath and air deserted him.

  The water no longer stung his eyes. A last trail of silver bubbles escaped his lips and nostrils. He watched them go.

  With no hope of rescue, he resigned himself to Fate. He'd always known that when the end came, it would come by water … the end of living on borrowed time.

  At last, he felt redeemed. Did you save her? Maybe not, but at least I would have died trying.

  The water churned about him. A funnel formed, dragged him along in its vortex. All the things he'd ever done flashed before him fast, faster, running backwards. You are receding…

  It all made sense.

  A strange sensation crept over him. Detachment, but in a way he'd never experienced before. His cold and heavy clothing fell away as the rope of life unwound, releasing him strand by strand, thread by thread. For a moment, he floated above himself, free and untethered, but not wanting to let go. From the corner of his eye, a bright copper bloom appeared in the murk of the water beneath him. He sensed rather than felt something press into the palm of his hand, and he willed his fingers with all his might, overriding disconnected synapses, to hold onto it. Spirit hadn't left him yet. Words formed in his head. I've got you mate…

  Darkness stole him away into nothingness.

  A void, black and unyielding held him fast. How long have I been here? In the distance, he thought he heard Stella's voice. Is she here too? Heart filled with dread; he searched for her in vain.

  His father was laughing. Out in the field they picnicked. Bruce laid on his front; face turned into the grass, studying the fine ribbed detailing of its blades close-up, imagining himself as an explorer in the jungle, hacking his way through, beating off monstrous ants and spiders. A feeling descended upon him. Thoughts, not his, intruded. It was the first time he remembered having the sensation of being watched. He rolled over and stared up at blue skies that stretched out forever. High above, a tiny cross-shaped fleck rode the air. He blinked against the brightness, and holding his eyes closed, suddenly felt lighter, more buoyant than the breeze. In his mind's eye, he could see himself and his family far below on the ground. I am the bird! Soaring higher, he scoured the land with eyes sharper than a telescope, taking in rocks and trees; everything came into focus in a way he'd never experienced before. Finally, he zoomed in on a girl in a purple dress marching purposefully down the hill into the valley below; she stopped to remove her rucksack—

  The sound of his mother's voice drew him back.

  Don't go any further, Bruce!

  Miller opened his eyes; the glare forced him to shut them again. Blinking, he tried to sit up.

  "Don't . . ." Stella leaned over and restrained him with light fingertips against his chest. "You almost died, you need to rest."

  His voice lodged in the dryness of his throat and failed. He swallowed hard and winced at the soreness in his chest. Confused, he pinched at the skin of his thigh beneath the bedclothes. Not entirely satisfied he wasn't in the throes of some elaborate dream he'd concocted to fool himself into thinking he was still alive; he pinched again, this time harder.

  Noticing the movement under the covers, she said, "What are you doing under there?"

  "Just checking to see if I'm still alive…" The last jumbled remnants of his memory jostled to make sense. "But how . . . how long have I been here?"

  "Since yesterday," she said.

  "What happened to Kathy?"


  "You saved her."

  Almost overcome with relief, voice barely above a whisper, he said, "I did? Thank God…"

  "Yes, you did. I thought you told me you couldn't swim."

  He frowned and said, "I can't."

  "Well, you did a good job of pretending you could when you swam—"

  "Whoa, I did not swim," he insisted, concentration knitting his brow as he collected his thoughts. "I bounced along the bottom, and then pushed her up out of the water, that's what happened. I didn't swim!"

  "But you did, you were struggling on your back with one arm round her, holding her head clear. Don't you remember? You got her as near to the shore as you could, then you both went under. You must have panicked. I don't know how you did it. You propelled her up out of the water - a guy in a boat grabbed her, but then you went under again. You were gone for ages. When help arrived, they found you half out of the water in the reeds on the other side, unconscious. If you didn't swim, how did you get there?"

  "I don't remember exactly." A shape, a form, just before he'd let go in the murky waters… A flashbulb went off in his memory - The bright copper coloured hair . . . No, it couldn't have been. That would be crazy.

  "I think you're mistaken about what happened," he said.

  "Still in denial, eh?"

  He changed the subject. "Where's Kathy? Is she here, in the hospital?"

  "No, she isn't, as I was coming down the hill; a four wheel drive with blacked out windows came past on a fire road; they'd almost caught you up before you went in," she poured herself a plastic cup full of water. "As soon as Kathy was out, they resuscitated her and took her with them."

  "Who did?"

  "The Sister and a younger woman, I'm guessing her daughter."

  "Where was I?"

  "You were still in the water. By that time, the emergency services were coming down the fire road. I think they just wanted to get out before anyone challenged what they were doing."

  "You saw her?"

  "Yes, I recognised her from Ryan's funeral," she looked at Miller, and paused, as if considering the credibility of her next statement. "I didn't try to stop them taking her. I know this probably sounds odd, but I just felt everything would be all right."

  "It will be. She's like the last survivor of a forgotten tribe . . ." Miller's voice trailed off as his thoughts caught up. "I often wonder why it is that God made such people. Was it by design, or accident?"

  "You're getting too deep for me now. Come on, you need to rest," she said. Picking up her bag, she stood, ready to leave.

  "Wait, she – they – Tanner and Marshall, what's happening about that? They must have said something about Kathy?" he asked.

  "I telephoned Marshall and asked if we could extend the paperwork to cover a few more days and after I'd told him she was responding very well to being with us, he agreed."

  His thoughts touched on Tanner. If Marshall had agreed to a few more days, he might not like it, but he couldn't object.

  Miller sighed, "I'm so tired; I could sleep for a week, but at least we know she's in good hands."

  "I'll leave you to get some rest. I'll be back later." She took no more than six paces and stopped, delving into her handbag. "Oh, by the way . . . they gave me this." She held out a clear, sealed plastic wallet.

  "What is it?" he said, raising himself onto an elbow.

  "They told me you were holding it so tightly in your hand that they had to prise it from you." She patted his arm. "I'll leave you to it."

  Mystified, he took the bag and held it up in front of him. Something inside was wrapped in tissue paper. His forehead creased in puzzlement, as he pulled the seal apart and reached in to retrieve the object. Placing it on the bedclothes in front of him, he slowly stripped the thick layers away. An edge exposed; he hardly dared to conceive its meaning, his heart hammered, expectant. What? Feverish, his fingers tore at the rest of the paper, setting the object free. Joy and confusion mixed with surprise when he realised what it meant. His face lit with wonderment, and he beamed as he held it, felt its curve against the inside of his palm.

  It was his seashell.

  The meaning of many things he'd never understood before became clear. He'd cheated death so many times. Now, what Kirk had said to him once summed it up perfectly. I escaped, but I never got away.

  "Kirk, old friend," he whispered. "Maybe that's so. Maybe I'm not meant to get away. Maybe this is my life; only ever a heartbeat away from dying. Maybe I haven't escaped, but I have bought myself some more time.

  An hour later, he discharged himself from the hospital.

  The jangling sound of a telephone infiltrated his dream, louder and louder, until finally he sat up, exasperated at the thought that a dream phone call could wake him. His mobile buzzed almost immediately, spinning in a clockwise arc on the bedside table. The caller display told him it was Tanner; he disconnected the call. It immediately rang again.

  "Yes!" he barked and was met with silence. He checked the display. It wasn't Tanner. He softened his voice. "Sister . . . Is that you?"

  "No, it's Rosetta. I'm coming to collect you. Bring Kathy's sister. It's time to set things right."

  "How is she, Kathy?"

  "She's better. I'll see you soon."

  Stella's hotel room was opposite his. He knocked on the door. Come on!

  A two inch gap opened; the frown on her face disappeared when she saw it was him. Her was hair turbaned in a towel and she checked it was securely wrapped before stepping back to allow him into the room.

  "Are you coming in? I have to warn you, the house is a mess—"

  "Stella, Rosetta is on her way to pick us up to see Kathy. We need to be ready."

  "I'll race you," she said and shut the door.

  With just enough time to freshen up, pack and ping a quick email to Carla, he checked his watch. No way would she beat him. He turned on the shower.

  Using his phone, he drafted an email and pressed the send button.

  Hi, just touching base I haven't heard from you for a while. I won't call you in case you're spying on someone, ha ha. Ring me this evening.

  Miller.

  He debated on whether to add an 'x', and decided not. As he pressed the send button, there was a knock. Throwing the last of his belongings into a small carrier bag, he opened the door.

  Stella had beaten him in getting ready. She looked immaculate in the clothes she'd been wearing the day before; hair tucked up into a silken scarf; make-up faultlessly applied.

  "How did you…?"

  "When I have to get going, I don't mess about. Unlike some," she grinned.

  An hour later, they were on the road. The trip didn't seem to take anywhere near as long as Miller's blindfolded journey.

  "You decided you can trust us enough not to tell anyone where you live then?"

  Rosetta glanced sideways at him. "It was never a question of trust. What you don't know, you can't tell anyone else. After this, we are moving on, so it really doesn't matter."

  Miller looked at Stella, turned down one corner of his mouth and shrugged his shoulders. She mirrored his gestures and raised an eyebrow.

  Rosetta smiled, crinkling her eyes, and met Stella's gaze in the rear-view mirror. "Your sister is so much better . . ." she said.

  "It would be a miracle if that were true."

  Rosetta's eyes came back from the road to the mirror again, still smiling. "Oh, ye of little faith . . ."

  Open heath gave way to woods and then forest; where the sun streamed flickering beams through passing trees; light and dark strobed in and out in equal measure. Miller, drawn by the rhythm into abstract thought, glanced at Stella. She appeared to be sleeping. He closed his eyes.

  Rosetta slowed, and without indicating, turned from the road into a narrow lane. Deeper into the woods the density of the trees increased, closing up their leafy overhead canopies until the sky could be seen no more. Gloominess prevailed. The uneven road bounced and jarred him from his daydream. Miller opened his e
yes. Stella stretched her arms wide, fists clenched and shivered. Guessing they were close, she remained silent, contemplating. A narrow gap in the earthen bank presented itself, and Rosetta turned into it. Ahead, the track led out into the sunshine.

  "How does the postman find you?" he laughed.

  "Nobody finds us. We have no need of mail delivery. What we send, we deliver ourselves, one way or another." Her eyes blinked at the sudden increase in brightness. "And what we need, we collect."

  Tyres crunched over gravel as she slowed, wildflowers and weeds, overgrown and undisturbed by traffic, brushed against both sides of the car with a gentle rasp.

  Around a long slow bend, nestled among a copse of trees, a house came into view. With walls of stone and leaded windows, under a heavy slate roof, it was an oasis of civilisation amongst the wilds, its gardens neat and clipped. A flash of light reflected from a lower window, dazzling him. Vision blurred; he leaned back into the seat to avoid the glare, and watched his own arrival in his mind's eye. He sat forward with a start. On the cusp, understanding lingered at the edge of his consciousness, as elusive as the shadows that had dogged him all his life. Pusty umysl. He cleared it all from his mind.

  The car drew to a halt. Miller appeared to be in a trance. Stella glanced at him and waved a hand before his eyes. He was gone, yet still he followed Rosetta, in through the front door, past the lobby into the hall. At the first door on the left hand side, she turned to Stella and said, "Sit in there, please."

  "Is he all right, Rosetta?"

  "He'll be fine," she said and smiling reassurance, led Miller down the narrow passageway towards the last door on the right as she'd done before. At the end of the corridor, brilliant light shone through the window and fuzzed his vision. Kaleidoscope colours preceded Sister's appearance in the doorway. As he advanced towards her, his viewpoint switched, and he watched himself coming forwards. Rosetta withdrew from his side, trailing behind. Shadows formed and gathered to the left and right of him. Three dimensional and no longer dark, they emerged from the washed-out watercolour hues of hair and clothes and creamy flesh, becoming lit and exposed in the brightening light, as he neared the window. Am I seeing through her eyes?