by Fleur Ferris
‘They’re saying he’s mentally ill, Tam, unstable, and –’
‘Who’s saying it?’
‘On the news. This morning. He’s wanted for Darryl and Simon’s murders and for your abduction. They said the hunt for him is continuing, that he is armed and dangerous.’
My gut clenches. They’re going to kill him, I know it. ‘It’s a big set-up,’ I say. ‘He’s being framed.’
‘Knox is on TV. He’s pleading for his little brother to come forward, to hand himself in to police … He said he doesn’t want anyone to get hurt.’
‘What do you believe?’
There’s a pause. Sometimes no words say everything.
‘You can’t believe everything you hear on the news, Relle. Knox owns the news, remember that. He can put anything he wants on there. And information can be twisted to allude to other things. You’re studying psychology, so you of all people should know that.’
‘I know,’ she says, but she says it sympathetically. She feels sorry for me. Sorry because I believe an unstable, armed and dangerous murderer.
‘I realise it’s hard to believe when police and the media are all saying one thing, but I met him, Relle. I was there. I was there when two men were in my house. There were two, I’m not mistaken about that. One was Zel and the other was trying to kill me. Zel got me out. He rescued me. He said he wasn’t expecting to find me alive because by the time the other notes made the news and he arrived the people were already dead or had disappeared. But I was alive and he didn’t kill me. As convincing as Knox is, I have to go with my gut instinct, Relle. I know there were two men in my house and Zel wasn’t the dangerous one.’
‘Okay,’ Relle says. ‘I’m with you. If you say there were two, there were two. But if you’re going to help this guy, if you’re going to uncover a huge five-year-long conspiracy before they catch Zel, you’d better hurry, and quite frankly, you’ve got Buckley’s. You’re going to need a lot of help. What can I do from this end?’
Relle’s words ring in my ears. Uncover a huge five-year-long conspiracy …
‘You’re right. This is huge. I’m focusing on Zel, and Christian going missing and what happened on the island five years ago. But if what Zel says is true, three other murders … they’re not going to let me uncover that, let alone what happened on the island.’
‘This is way too big for us,’ says Relle. ‘We need help from someone powerful, someone who believes in Zel too.’
‘All the more reason for me to go to see Oliver. I don’t know what you can do from there, Relle. Maybe start searching for information about the others who found notes. How they died, where they disappeared from … I don’t know, but you could stumble over something that could be helpful. Just be careful, okay. I don’t want anything happening to you.’
Relle laughs. ‘Did the tables just turn? I felt something move.’
‘I love you … and thanks for believing me over the news,’ I say.
‘Of course. Love you too. Stay safe.’
Before I switch my phone to aeroplane mode, I find Solomon Midge on Facebook and write a message. It’s not until after I press send that I worry I may have given too much away or question whether Smidge is the trustworthy friend that Zel thinks he is. Zel was so certain about him, so I tell myself I’ve done the right thing …
Something tells me we are going to need all the help we can get.
I’m packed and ready to go to the airport to start boarding school in Melbourne. I sit at the kitchen bench waiting for someone to come for me. It’s been quiet around here since the accident. Selena and Oliver haven’t been over once. When the news came in about the search for Christian needing to expand, they both had a meltdown. Now Mum and Dad go there every day to talk with their psychiatrists and basically look after them, so they won’t be coming to Melbourne with me. Dad suggested Knox take me, and he agreed to it, but Carrington stepped in at the last minute, saying he had some things to take care of in Melbourne. Thank God for Carrington.
It’s all chitchat in the car on the way to the airport. Carrington tells me about how he used to go camping with his family in Victoria when he was my age. He and his brother Felix would pitch their tents near the river, tie a rope to a tree and swing into the water. Swing, swim and fish – that’s all they’d do for two whole weeks. Then the next year they’d do it all over again. They’d go to the same spot and repeat last year’s holiday. They did this every year Carrington was in high school. That’s how much they loved it. Our family doesn’t have a favourite place like that. I guess for Dad it was the yacht.
Carrington has worked for Dad and Oliver for over twenty years. They first met at uni, studying commerce. Then years later their paths crossed again at a conference when Dad and Oliver were in trouble with the business. Carrington agreed to help them and he turned it all around. He did such a great job Dad asked if he’d stay on and he’s been there ever since. Our business can run without Dad and Oliver, but I’m not sure it could run without Carrington.
We press back into our seats as the plane accelerates for take-off. My fingers tighten around the armrest and I wait for that sickening feeling of the ground dropping away. I’ve watched enough episodes of Air Crash Investigations to know that at any moment an important part of the plane could crack or fall off. And when that happens, that’s it, everyone dies. Carrington looks across me and out the window, totally unfazed about catapulting into the sky in a metal can.
We touch down in Melbourne and Carrington accompanies me to my new residence. My dorm is in Bentley House Junior on the first floor of the Finley Boys College.
Carrington sees me to my room. It’s not the same room we saw on Open Day, it’s smaller. Apparently I am sharing with another student, but he’s out. A ceiling-to-floor wardrobe acts as a partition between the two beds. One side of the wardrobe is mine. Against the wall are two small desks, each with a chair. It’s the most sparsely furnished room I’ve ever seen.
Carrington helps me carry in my bags and I start unpacking.
Before leaving, Carrington pauses by the door. ‘William, I feel bad news about Christian is coming,’ he says.
I sit on the edge of my desk. ‘I feel it too,’ I say. ‘Have done since the Search and Rescue team expanded their search.’
It brings relief to say it out loud without being shouted at, without anyone crying or storming off.
‘What will happen if he’s never found?’ I ask.
‘I’m not sure. It will be up to Oliver and Selena whether a memorial service takes place. Soon the search will be called off, whether Christian is found or not.’
Carrington shakes my hand and then hugs me. ‘William, if you need anything, all you’ve got to do is call. I’ll always look out for you. You’re going to be okay.’
Then Carrington leaves me to it and I cry for Christian without feeling guilty that I’ve lost hope.
Christian is gone, lost forever.
I’ve never felt more alone in the world than I do right now.
An hour later, my roommate saunters in and tosses his keys onto his desk.
‘Hey. Solomon Midge.’ The wiry kid thrusts his hand towards me. ‘Everyone calls me Smidge.’
‘Hi, Smidge.’ We shake hands. ‘Pleased to meet you. William Chisel. Everyone calls me Will.’
‘Not me,’ he says.
This makes me laugh. ‘What are you going to call me?’
‘Nicknames should include your surname,’ he says.
‘You can’t really add W to Chisel. Wisel?’
Now he laughs.
‘Or Chis.’ He pronounces the ‘Ch’ as a ‘J’ and the ‘S’ as a ‘Z’ and cracks up laughing.
‘Maybe don’t call me Jiz,’ I say.
‘Next I suppose you’ll say you don’t want to be called Wiz?’
We piss ourselves. It feels good to laugh and I completely overdo it. We feed off each other’s wisecracks and even though they aren’t that funny I laugh until my face aches and my sides h
urt. Then there’s an awkward lull, like we both know it wasn’t that funny.
‘Zel,’ he says. ‘You look exactly like a Zel. Your parents must have been daft not to call you that in the first place.’
Zel. I like it. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Patchewollock. My folks are farmers. Dad boarded at this school. What about you?’
‘From Sydney. And same, Dad came here too.’
‘Really? They probably know each other.’ He rolls his eyes and laughs again.
‘So, what do you do around here?’ I ask.
‘Sport, mostly. And when we aren’t doing sport, we do sport. I get out on the weekends with the army cadets.’
‘Serious? Can you use a gun?’
‘Maaaate, I’m a farm kid. Of course I can use a gun. You should join. Get those city hands dirty.’
‘Could you teach me to shoot?’ I ask.
‘Of course,’ he says.
Smidge speaks with a slow confidence. He’s tall and skinny, but strong. His skin is white and freckly and shiny from sunscreen. His hair is reddish-brown and army-short, and he looks like he’s about to burst into laughter any second.
Smidge doesn’t ask if I’m from the Chisel family. At first I think he’s being polite, or maybe he doesn’t care who my family is, but then it occurs to me that maybe he doesn’t realise. I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t know who my family is. Finally I don’t have to be Damien Chisel’s son, or Knox Chisel’s brother, I can be me … whoever that is. I like the idea of joining the cadets. I knew coming here was the right thing to do.
A couple of days later, I’m in the change rooms getting into my sports gear, talking to Smidge.
‘You should join up, man. They train you in all sorts of cool stuff. I reckon you’d like it.’
‘How do I apply?’
‘I put an application form on your desk,’ Smidge says with a sly smile.
I grin back. I’m excited at the thought. I want to do it. It’d be fun to go out bush on weekends and do some of the training Smidge tells me about. He’s even enlisted in a piloting course.
‘You ready?’ As Smidge stands up my phone rings.
‘I’d better take this,’ I say to Smidge. ‘Hey, Dad.’
‘Hi, William, how are you?’
‘Good.’ His tone tells me something is wrong. ‘What is it?’
There’s a pause.
‘I’ve got some bad news. The Search and Rescue team have ceased their search for Christian,’ Dad says.
I expected this news. I thought I was prepared, but receiving the call still knocks the wind out of me.
That’s it. Christian really isn’t coming back. My most favourite person on the planet is never coming home. He’s gone from my life, leaving a gaping black hole in my heart.
‘William, are you there?’
‘Yeah,’ I say.
‘There’s a memorial service in two days …’
A memorial. I think about what this means – to remember him, to say goodbye. Saying goodbye to someone still absent is like saying goodbye to a hollow space. A void. How do you say goodbye to someone who isn’t here?
‘We need him back, even if he is dead,’ I say, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘We need him back, Dad.’
‘I know, son. We all want him back.’
Anger heats my face and tears brim my eyes. Smidge is waiting for me, hanging around the door, knowing something is wrong. I turn away so he can’t see my face.
This is Dad’s fault for taking us out on the boat. Aunty Selena thinks so too.
‘I’ve got to go.’ I hang up.
Dad’s right to remove the company’s coat of arms. The Chisels don’t rule on sea, nor on land. The Chisels rule only inside the bubble Dad and Uncle Oliver created for themselves. To rule on land and to rule on sea is to rule the world; how arrogant to think this in the first place. When it comes down to it, we are flesh and blood like everyone else and everything else is bullshit. Fuck!
I want to scream. I rock forward with my hands on my knees … then my thoughts turn back to Knox. What did he run towards that day on the beach? Was he just collecting stuff from the boat? If he was, where is Portia’s handbag now?
I ring Dad. He picks up but doesn’t say anything. I know he is upset and blames himself, and this isn’t going to go away for him, ever, so there is no good time to say what’s on my mind.
‘Dad, on the island I saw something. I saw Knox, down on the beach. He ran at something. In the back of my mind I thought he’d found Christian. The way he looked … it was like he’d seen him.’
‘Son, we searched –’
‘No, Dad, please listen. When the plane was coming Knox ran. He ran out of my view and I couldn’t see what he was doing.’
‘Son, you’re upset –’
‘Dad, please! He hit me. When he saw me, he came up and punched me in the face. He was in a rage. He did that, he might have done something else too. He might have … he did something he didn’t want the plane to see, something he didn’t want me to see. I saw him pick up Portia’s red handbag.’
‘Knox punched you? Why didn’t you say? You said you fell. And William, we found a lot of things from the boat.’
‘Was Portia’s bag one of those things? Where is all the stuff now?’
‘It was disposed of, William. So much washed up.’
‘Yeah, but wouldn’t you return a handbag?’
‘I gave a direction to dispose of everything they found from the boat. I guess I should have given everyone a chance to see what was there, but they asked me what to do with it and I was exhausted and distraught and wanted the whole mess to disappear. Nothing that washed up was irreplaceable. All of that seemed so frivolous when Christian was missing. William, we’re all upset. I’m thinking crazy things too. Our minds do strange things when we’re this upset. We clutch at straws, see things that aren’t there. None of us is thinking clearly.’
‘Dad, Knox did something that day he doesn’t want us to know about.’
‘William, Knox has been our rock this past month, working around the clock, helping Carrington at the office. He’s found an inner strength I didn’t know he had. Losing Christian changed him. I know he blames himself. He’s as upset about this as anyone else and doing everything he can to help all of us. He loved Christian, they were like brothers.’
I hang up from Dad, feeling sick.
When Smidge sees me lower my phone he rushes over. ‘Dude, what’s going on?’
I toss up whether or not to tell Smidge. He’s still never asked about my family and I like that. When I’m with Smidge, I’m Zel. It’s liberating. But Smidge is my friend and he wants to know.
I tell him about the accident and how the search was called off today.
‘I was expecting it, but it’s still such a blow,’ I say.
‘No doubt.’ Smidge seems totally stunned by the story.
‘The thing is, Knox, my brother … I don’t know, this next bit might sound crazy …’
‘Nothing wrong with crazy, mate,’ Smidge says.
‘Everyone blamed Knox, right, on the island, because he was so shit-faced and Christian gave him his jacket before the boat went down. So Christian went into the water without one.’
‘Oh, man, Knox must feel terrible,’ Smidge says.
‘You’d think,’ I agree. ‘A fight broke out because Christian’s mum was blaming Knox, so he stormed off. He climbed the cliff and went looking for Christian.’
I tell Smidge what I saw and how Knox punched me.
‘Dude, what a prick. Jesus. Did you hit him back?’
‘No. No way. You don’t know Knox. I’d pay for it ten times over if I did something like that. He and his mates have been tormenting me for years. I’d never cross him.’
‘This story gets worse by the minute,’ Smidge says.
‘I just told Dad what I saw and he thinks my mind is playing tricks on me. He thinks I’m seeing something that isn’t there. Dad and Uncle Oliv
er have lost it, Knox has completely pulled the wool over their eyes. They haven’t been back to work and Knox has pounced at the opportunity. He wouldn’t want Christian to come back. It would mean he’d have to share the Chisel empire.’
‘What about you?’
‘You’re missing the point. I think Knox saw Christian on the island and did something. I think he made sure he wouldn’t come back or be found.’
Smidge whistles through his front teeth. ‘This makes you even more of an issue, man. Is he going to knock you off as well?’
‘No way. I’m no threat to him. I’d never go and work for the company while he’s there. Over the years he’s made sure of that. It’s why I came here – to get away from him.’
‘But what are you going to do? He can’t get away with that.’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. No one would believe my word over his.’
‘Well, man, I do. I believe your word over his. If you ever think of a way to make this right and you need help, count me in.’
‘Thanks. The problem is, I didn’t see what he did exactly. I’m not sure how to prove anything.’
Smidge frowns. ‘If he’s done something, evidence is sure to show up eventually. It always does. There’s no such thing as the perfect crime.’
I love flying. I love sitting by the window so I can see out; the patchwork of fields, the grids of the city, and the glorious Sydney Harbour reflecting gold in the morning light. It’s stunning. Sydney is warm and sunny, exactly as I remember it. The airport is moving fast and efficient, hordes of people but no lengthy queues. Cabs line up and leave quicker than the constant stream of people reaching the taxi zones.
‘No luggage?’ the driver asks.
I shake my head. ‘Not this time. I’d like to go to Winbilla Road, Point Piper, please.’ My body thrums with adrenaline.
Sydney is just as beautiful at ground level as it is from the air and being here makes me think of family holidays. We’d stay at Bondi and spend every day on the beach eating ice-creams. Mum would leave us with Dad while she shopped, and we’d eat out for every meal, including breakfast. We could have done the same at home because we lived near the beach and heaps of cafes, but we never went to the beach as a family. The beach is a part of our every day at home. I surf each morning, like my sister Caroline did before she moved to London. Being on holiday has nothing to do with location, it’s all about mindset.
