The Tightrope

by Hiba Basit

  ‘We’re going to surround Green Orphanage from the front entrance to the exit by the gate. No more than two of our squad team will enter the building first. Jack and Sarah, that’s you. As soon as they dispatch orders to move, the team will immediately follow. Kids are our priority. If any child is in danger, call for back up. Do not act alone. We have two vans that are going to be parked on the greenland. Children out, safe and sound, and taken towards the paramedics.’

  ‘Abigail! Felix!’ They jump simultaneously. ‘I want you to follow the policemen until you’re a few metres away from the orphanage and then stop. Do not overtake them, do you understand?’

  They look at each other hesitantly, unsure why they can’t just wait in the car. Still, they nod.

  ‘If the signal for an emergency is used, move away from the building, make sure your squad is safe and wait for further instructions. Is that clear? Anyone have any questions?’

  No one does. Abigail watches as dozens of men and women get their guns ready. One of them moves towards her. He takes out a silver revolver and hands it to her, giving a second one to Felix. ‘Use this if necessary.’

  Felix glances sideways at Abigail and finds her staring at the gun in her hands as if she’s been handed a human bone. ‘You all right?’ he asks, but she doesn’t answer. ‘Let’s go, then.’

  Abigail takes a deep breath, but instead of attaining a sense of composure, she feels her heart stop and the sound of her breathing almost disappear. She starts to follow Felix, but every step she takes generates a loud, vibrating thud in her ears. She gazes down at her feet and feels a dull heaviness, as if some powerful force is pulling all the parts of her body in the opposite direction, away from what is familiar.

  ‘Felix,’ she whispers, but he’s already too far from her to hear.

  The rain slaps Abigail in her face. She moves guardedly, edging towards the building as if her speed will determine tonight’s outcome. Felix is still walking ahead of her. The police hover in front of him; several of them, rifles ready and pointed.

  They are nearing the orphanage when one of their men signals for them to stop. Felix grinds to a halt just as Abigail arrives beside him. He catches sight of her staring at the gun in his back pocket. She begins to feel for her own, the pressure of the weapon pressing unnaturally into her skin and alerting its presence.

  Use this if necessary.

  What does that mean? What’s necessary to her may not be necessary to another. She holds the rifle palm out in front of her and closes her fists around it, making the blood from her fingers rush towards her body, turning them white. Then, just like that, she drops her hands to her sides and stares at the orphanage, her fingers still coiled around the gun.

  ‘Focus on the end. It’ll all be over soon,’ Felix says.

  Confused, she turns to look at him. ‘What?’

  ‘You look on edge. You should stop worrying and try to stay calm. Everything will go just as we’ve planned.’ Her silence unnerves him. ‘If that’s what you doubted,’ he adds, uncertainly.

  ‘Yes. Thanks,’ she says.

  ‘You can put your gun away. I’m sure you won’t have to use it. With your lousy aim, you’ll end up shooting me!’ Abigail finally grins. ‘Put it back in your pocket. I know it feels awkward knowing a single accidental shot could blow your ass off, but try and forget it’s there.’

  She finally slips the gun in her pocket and desperately tries to remain alert to the here and now.

  Several hours pass and nothing happens. Felix and Abigail are hiding behind the bushes a few feet away from Green Orphanage, having been instructed not to come any closer. Squatting low to the ground, they stare at the entrance of the orphanage, where the policemen were standing a few hours ago. Felix watches Abigail from the corner of his eye. Apart from an involuntary spasm of a muscle every now and then, she is completely still. Then, he realises, so is he.

  Without warning, a deafening bang permeates the silence and he jumps before he can stop himself.

  ‘What do you think that was?’ Abigail asks as the silence resumes.

  ‘Not sure. Maybe they’ve finally entered the building. Smashed the door open.’ Felix evidently struggles to invent an explanation that will replace the horrible images filling his mind.

  ‘It’s been more than a few hours. I don’t think they’ve just entered!’ Abigail sucks in a sharp breath as another sound explodes, this one followed by loud screams. She claps her hand over her mouth, fear erupting in her eyes. ‘What’s happening?’ she shouts, instantly running in the direction of the noise.

  ‘Gail, stay back!’ Felix shouts, chasing after her. She bends over, the fear leaving her winded as she takes in deep breaths of the icy air.

  ‘There are more than two hundred children inside! What if they don’t all survive?’

  Felix lands by her side. She leans into him, keeping her gaze fixed on the orphanage. Screams erupt from inside. Abigail jolts forward, already closer than instructed, but this time Felix grabs her. She looks at him, the dread in her eyes reflected in his.

  Chapter Five

  The clock chimes three in the morning in Canberra. Abigail watches the time ticking by, wasting away. She doesn’t move or make any sound for a long time until the irregular drips of water alert her to the cerise light of her bathroom.

  She submerges herself under water, drowning her thoughts with her body. The strong smell of camomile fills her senses. Her vision darkens and her tresses drift upwards, gravity no longer taking its toll. The questions she’s been wrestling with for the past hour return. Who decides what rules get broken and when? Who decides that because water is denser than air, it has the power to override gravity so that objects are not weighed down but left in mid-air? Who decides that because infants and children are already vulnerable and defenceless, this justifies their abuse so that someone working to help them cannot even begin to imagine how to amend the wrong done to them?

  Abigail feels lifeless, motionless, floating as light as a feather. She enjoys the moment lavishly. The burning sensation in her ears amplifies as they fill with torrid water. She takes satisfaction in the pain and revels in it, almost smiling until the memories overshadow her brief reprieve and her eyes feel heavy with tears.

  Suddenly, the sound of persistent knocking pervades the water. The water falls from her face as she rises and fingers the edge of the bath to steady herself. She is crying hard, her tears no longer restricted by the water medium but effortlessly spilling over the wet tiles. Grabbing her towel and wrapping it around her, she rushes to the door and opens it. Felix is in front of her, holding a bottle of red wine, his lips parting involuntarily as he catches sight of her.

  ‘I’m sorry. I should have called,’ he says with a grin.

  Abigail tightens her towel. ‘It’s OK. Come in.’

  ‘I wanted to give this to you.’ He offers her the wine bottle. ‘It was meant to be a relaxing gesture, but I see you’re already doing that. Which is good,’ he adds uncertainly, catching sight of her red eyes.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says. He opens his mouth to ask after her but then closes it. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come in?’

  He looks her over. ‘Do you want me to come in?’

  ‘If you want to.’

  ‘Would you like me to come in?’

  She shrugs. ‘If you want.’

  When she looks at him again, the hurt in his eyes is clear. He scuffs his hands inside his pockets. ‘It’s OK. I’ll drop by another time.’

  Abigail doesn’t move, her hand still around her towel. Water drips onto the carpet. When the awkwardness begins to suffocate her, she waves clumsily and closes the door, leaning against the handle and letting her towel collapse to the floor. As she listens to his footsteps fade, the images she’s been repressing since returning infect her mind once again.

  She bends over, clutching her stomach. Then, anger surmounts her and she violently hurls the wine bottle into the distance of her dining room, screaming and w
eeping at the same time. As the liquid seeps into the black fluffy carpet, she observes how it dissolves without leaving a trace, not even a mark. How can something so damaging get away unnoticed? How?

  ***

  Annette Coulter steps out of the shower, leaving wet footprints across the shimmering marble surface. She walks to the mirrored closet in the corner, which shines her image in multiple forms, and unravels the towel from her head. Her thick black hair cascades below her shoulders. She combs through it with her fingers and knots it up into a slick tress.

  As she slips her lingerie on, David calls her name and enters. The space around her is misty. She watches his reflection in the mirror as he walks towards her, sliding his palms over her stomach and pulling her close.

  ‘You smell of lavender and mint,’ he says into her neck.

  ‘It’s my shampoo.’ She turns to face him, purposely dragging out the last syllable.

  ‘Are you trying to be sexy?’ he jokes.

  She’s about to lean into him but swiftly pulls back. ‘Trying? Wow, thanks!’ He breaks into a laugh, trying to wrap her back into his arms. ‘No, you can’t hold me if I’m not sexy enough for you,’ she chides, but fails to move out of his reach.

  He looks at her intently. ‘You’re too sexy for me!’

  Annette bites the inside of her lip, trying to resist grinning. Inevitably, she succumbs and shakes her head, her smile widening.

  ‘How does it feel to be back at the hospital?’ he asks.

  ‘Good. Really good!’

  ‘I really missed you last night. It’s been nice having you home for a few months,’ he says.

  ‘Well, as it turns out, I won’t be working late tonight.’

  He inches towards her. ‘Then we’ll make a day of it. It wouldn’t be right to simply fall asleep. I wonder what we can do that will keep us up all night?’

  Laughing, she kisses him. ‘I’m sure we’ll think of something.’

  ‘I’ll get a bottle of wine from the store.’

  He grins and walks out, leaving Annette to get ready for her own day at work and the new project she has taken under her wing.

  Annette waits impatiently in her office at St Anne’s Children’s Hospital. As she does so, she examines the room that she calls her second home.

  Usually, when presented with children, therapists aim to make the meeting place colourful and animated by using toys and teddy bears that intentionally surround the room. Their thinking is that children immediately feel attracted to the environment and start to engage in informal play rather than feeling pressured to behave. Annette, however, approaches her work differently. Although she believes the child’s environment is critical, she’s always felt that there is something children can never receive from inanimate objects. Trust. Trust is as fundamental in life as water is for the body and with trust comes a child’s desire to stay.

  As Annette looks outside from her third-floor office, she remembers what an ordeal it was to create the private hospital from scratch. How much effort went into getting planning permission, buying the land, drawing up the floor plans, getting loans from banks, constructing a building from scratch. She’d also just moved to Australia a few years ago and still knew very little about the country and its people.

  As she reflects on her accomplishments, she feels grateful and happy. And if someone asked her to do it all again, she would, without a doubt, despite the time and energy it had taken her to get to where she is, in her profession, her achievements, her status and in her relationship. Yes, she would do it again in a heartbeat.

  Annette turns from the window and the picture board catches her eye. It’s packed with all sorts: photos, cards, drawings by children, certificates and letters. Pictures of children she’s helped line the panel, some kids laughing joyfully by themselves, others standing next to Annette and the nurses at St Anne’s. She smiles as the feeling of success runs through her and is about to turn away when her eyes land on a photo on the far left of the board. It’s the size of an adult’s palm, with no other image covering it. Annette cautiously moves towards it and touches its surface. The image is of a little girl, six years old, standing in front of her adoptive parents. The girl's hand is wrapped tightly around Annette’s, the redness making the grip noticeable. Annette is bending down to her level, her right hand wrapped around the girl, bringing her closer, whilst her left one rests in the child’s grip. She is laughing, her cheek touching the girl’s, but the little girl is solemn.

  Annette feels herself breathing heavily. The photo is there to remind her that no matter how good or experienced she is, she can make mistakes. That it was her arrogance and obstinacy that meant she misread the signs that were sent her way. That it only took one slip-up to ruin a little girl’s life. That she will never let a mistake like that happen again.

  She pushes herself away from the board and pours herself a glass of water. Someone knocks on the door; Ellie, the receptionist, enters. ‘They’re here,’ she says.

  Annette picks up her pager and as soon as she touches it, it starts to beep, as if anticipating the contact. The words come into focus: Emergency. Ground floor. Case GO, 686. Be prepared.

  The ground-floor corridors hum silently, the ghostly calm of the hospital patiently awaiting the inevitable. As Annette looks around her, she recognises a handful of familiar associates working within the multidisciplinary team she set up at the hospital in her first year. The team consists of surgeons, from neonatal to bariatric, pro-therapy general practitioners, several nurse specialists, an occupational therapist, a social worker, a clinical psychiatrist and, herself, the consultant child psychologist. In the ten years she’s been working here, parents have commended her clinical team for their hard work and optimism. In fact, parents became wide-eyed with surprise when they discovered St Anne’s advocated a mental health system based on both inpatient and outpatient care for 2-12 year old children and this care was delivered by the same team.

  In the early stages, Annette debated whether to combine the inpatient unit and outpatient clinic teams, but after the triumph of their opening year, she’d come to realise the importance of a team of individuals coming together and using their differences to achieve a shared goal.

  The entrance doors crash open and the corridors are suddenly packed. People are shouting, screaming if they can’t be heard, pushing past each other to get to the other side and then looking puzzled when they have reached it. Annette takes in the chaos that has erupted in her hospital, trying to convince herself that this is what she predicted, until she becomes aware of the pain in her eyes. She focuses her attention on it and feels the strain, realising in an instant what has happened. She has opened her eyes too wide and for too long without blinking. Something has shocked her.

  She begins to walk, shout and cry out instructions for the staff to follow. Within seconds, she is part of the chaos too. She rushes to the whiteboard at the front of the hospital and scribbles the numbers of the rooms available. Only five rooms are vacant and she starts to panic that there’s a space shortage in the surgical ward until she turns and realises only three kids have been wheeled in, erupting the sudden disorder she’s witnessing now. That leaves two rooms unoccupied. She grabs the bed being wheeled her way and looks at the child sprawled onto it. She lifts the blanket and draws it over his legs. He remains still. A doctor approaches them.

  ‘Is he breathing?’ she asks, as he sets a stethoscope on the right side of the boy’s chest. After a moment, he nods. How can someone alive be so still? Lifting him up, she repositions the oxygen mask around the boy’s mouth as the doctor pages the blood supply unit. As Annette looks up, a policeman motions her over. Her pager beeps twice. Ignoring it, she rushes towards him, only to find that he’s already talking to her. Missing the first half of the conversation, she struggles to focus in on his words. As soon as she hears legal forms, she grabs the information pack from him and stuffs it inside her pocket. You can tell me this later, she thinks.

  As she retraces
her steps, a nurse moves to the left and another patient, a little girl, comes into view. She feels a sickening sensation in her stomach, as if a pebble has fallen from the sky into her body. The girl is sprawled on two chairs with a thin blanket around her. Her eyes are closed and what appear to have been blonde strands now fall as red over her face. She is covered in blood, every bit of her, the hospital blanket coloured in unusual markings of red and black. Her feet dangle to the floor, bare, made of sticks and bone.

  Instinctively, Annette begins walking towards her and then running, but before she can reach her, a nurse lifts the girl and places her on one of the beds. Ready to be cured, the nurse’s smile promises as she wheels her away. And, usually, Annette would agree, but a peculiar weight has gripped her, making her doubt if any of this is even happening.

  Later in the afternoon, Annette is back in her office scanning the hospital database to form a list of primary and secondary mental health nurses for the three children from Green Orphanage. Unexpectedly, someone knocks on the door and she finds Abigail holding two cups of coffee.

  ‘Hi, Abigail,’ Annette says, ushering her in.

  Abigail sets both cups down on Annette’s desk and slides one towards her. ‘Looks like you need it. Ellie let me in.’

  Annette takes a sip, remembering the phone call from Felix a few hours ago. He said that Abigail was suffering after she witnessed ‘an incident’ during the rescue mission. He said he had no idea what it was or even what had happened, and because she was refusing to talk about it, Abigail had been struck off the GO case by her manager, who’d noticed the change as instantly as Felix had.

  ‘How’s your day been?’ Annette asks.

  The two of them have been friends for a long time, but Annette senses that Abigail is suddenly uncomfortable in her presence. She stares at the floor, avoiding eye contact and pinches her fingers together.