by Finn Bell
“I know,” I say, thinking that James has had plenty of chances to kill me in here, and he even held that fulcrum rock so I could escape, which would have meant that he was willing to sacrifice his life for mine. Despite everything he’s done, despite the law, I can’t deny the inescapable, simple fact that James Chen is a good man.
“If you realised what I had done back when you saw the rope marks on Remu’s body, why did you give me your gun before confronting me?” James asks.
“Because I wanted to be sure,” I say. “I wanted to make certain that you are in fact a good person. A bad man would have pulled the trigger by now. Even a halfway decent one would probably have found a way to talk themselves into it. You would have had enough reason to kill an innocent man for the sake of your family, your kids.”
“No, not that,” James says. “All I wanted was to make things right again, that’s all.”
“Are you ready to give it back to me?” I ask, holding my hands out to him in the darkness.
“Yes, of course,” James says without hesitation, as he hands my gun back into my trembling hands. Causing my last inkling of doubt about him to dissolve away.
James hadn’t held my gun before now. Wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference in weight. Plus, he doesn’t know what a constantly suspicious bastard I am. He couldn’t see me empty out the bullets in the dark before I gave it to him.
* * *
We’re both shivering in the freezing water now, crouched up high against the slip. Half sitting, half floating on the water’s edge along with the other debris, everything James, Remu and I brought in here, I realise. Pieces of cardboard, the broken lamp, the stick of dynamite perched carefully above us, even Remu’s corpse. Not much time left now, I think. We’re down to minutes only. But as I think over everything that’s happened and everything that’s going to happen, I realise that’s enough.
“What will happen to me now?” James asks, looking through the gaps in the slip at the strengthening pre-dawn light. Freedom seems so close. And Tobe should be on his way back by now, I reckon.
James truly is a good man, and innocent.
Him and Tobe both, really.
Maybe all good people have it built in somehow.
Have that need to believe that in the end, no matter how bad things get, everything will be ok. But then that’s good people and make believe for you.
I think I lost that long ago.
But I knew they’d believe me when I lied about there being a pick axe behind the hut. I knew Tobe would go despite being injured, and I needed the time alone with James. I needed the truth.
What will happen now, if by some miracle James survives and actually gets out of here, is the law. Everyone will see what I have as soon as they find Remu’s body.
The rest is inevitable and bad.
Because unfortunately the law isn’t what most people think it is.
Really, it’s just a set of rules we all agreed to and is far from perfect. We like to think of the law as something above us, good and righteous. Something that gives us justice, something that is meant to keep us safe. But the truth is there’s nothing inherently wise or sacred about the law; politicians make laws. And the words sacred, wise, good and righteous don’t exactly spring to mind when I think of the average politician. Plus, the law gets changed all the time. This process isn’t even driven by morals or conscience but mostly by what the politicians think will get them re-elected. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes the law is fair, sometimes you get justice, but sometimes you get this.
Because according to the law, James Chen killed several men – that’s multiple, premeditated murders, plain and simple. Not to mention a whole slew of other charges. And what’s worse, in the eyes of the law, so did Andrea Chen. They’ll both go to prison for the rest of their lives.
And before they die they’ll do hard time, real punishment, real suffering. Knowing that they have shamed and abandoned their daughters forever. Not being able to care for them, not being parents ever again, not seeing them grow up; that will be only the start. Because they’ll be in prison with the gangs, with the families and friends of all the people they’ve killed.
It’s so fucking heart-wrenchingly sad it’s almost funny.
In a world where the law lets bad men get away with doing horrible things every day, these two people, good people, who did what they did for good reason because they knew that the law couldn’t, they would be made to pay. In full. Them and their kids.
For some reason I’m reminded of the conversation Tobe and I had back when all this started, when we were driving back from Lawrence the very first time. Tobe asked me whether I thought having this happen to those two kids will change them. How did he say it? “Later on, maybe 10 or 20 years from now, when this is all history and they’re just people – would you be able to look at them and see the marks of this still on them somehow?”
I still remember what I told him: “I think when something bad like this happens to you, you’ll naturally start to heal but only up to a point. Beyond that point you have to make a choice, choose to work at it to heal up all the way. But when something really bad happens to the people you love, like your dad when you’re young, or you lose your kid or something, then I don’t know. I think then maybe you don’t always get to choose that second part. Sometimes you’re just fucked.”
That’s why I’m thinking of that now, I realise. Because for them it’s true now. They didn’t ask for it, didn’t deserve Remu Black coming into their lives.
It’s just the way it is.
Just the way it is.
That’s what my dad said to me, the first and only time we met all those years ago, lying there, spitting up blood when I finally stopped hitting him. It wasn’t an excuse, just a reason. I can still hear him, still see the calm, unfeeling stare. “Look, I don’t love you,” he told me. “I didn’t love your mother. We fucked a few times and then I left. I didn’t mean to hurt her or you. There’s no reason. It doesn’t mean anything. Things just happened that way. It’s just the way it is.”
No, I think as I grip the gun in my trembling hands, Remu Black’s floating body gently nudging me I look at the stick of dynamite perched on the rocks next to me.
It’s just the way it is.
That isn’t true.
It’s never true.
It wasn’t then and it isn’t now.
It’s just the way it is because that’s the way we let it be.
And right then, when I realise what I need to do, for the first time ever since the day it started 14 years ago, completely and all by themselves, my hands stop shaking.
I’m finally still.
“James, I need you to remember not to tell them anything,” I say.
Then I hit him with the gun. Hard.
* * *
I hit James with the back of the gun on the side of his head, near his temple. He’s knocked out immediately, without making a sound. There’s just enough light to make things out now. I hope I didn’t hit him too hard but I check and he’s still breathing. He needs to be unconscious otherwise he’ll only fight me. But we’re out of time. It’s not about right or wrong anymore, just mathematics. Like the polar bears who will eat their own cubs to survive that Margaret told me about. Either we all die down here and everyone innocent out there pays the price, or we do this. I don’t like it but there’s no other way.
And more importantly, unconscious bodies float. They won’t stay on their backs for long but that doesn’t matter. Tobe will come, I know he will.
I’m careful with him but I need to be quick. Tobe can’t be too far but I also can’t risk him being in here.
I turn James on his back and position him just so, keeping his head out of the water. It’s not perfect but it’s the best I can do and it should work.
I’ve been waiting for the water and it’s almost high enough now.
It’s almost ready.
I’ve got Remu’s help now too,
as I manoeuvre his dead weight over the fulcrum rock along with my own. Probably the only good thing he’s ever done. Like before, the combined weight of two people is enough and thankfully the stone moves more easily in the water. The gap opens again, the escape now half submerged.
There’s a strained moment when I have to hold the fulcrum rock in place along with Remu’s slumping body while pushing James through the hole at the same time. For several seconds I wonder if can get it done, fearing that I got it wrong, but then with one last, frantic shove, James’ ribcage slips through and I give his leg one last push.
That’s it. He’s out. He’s free.
For one last moment I watch his body, still thankfully with his face up and above the water, as he floats very slowly towards the light in the much shallower water of the rising tunnel. It’s up to Tobe now.
As soon as I shift position on the fulcrum rock, Remu’s body slips to the side and the rock immediately thuds down dully in the water again. Figures, I think, there’s no way Remu would do a cop any last favours. I run through the possible options one last time but no, this is the only way now.
Then I take a moment to look down at my hands in the pale light. Despite the fever and exhaustion, despite the adrenalin coursing through my veins, and despite the icy cold water, they’re steady, still, un-trembling and all mine.
That’s it then.
There’s only one very last thing to do.
There’s some resistance in Remu’s arms but I manage to force them up, bending them close in near his face like he’s praying. I have to get right behind him, with my head perched over his shoulder and my hands on his to keep him in that position. Neck and wrists close together. That’s the only way to be sure.
It’s going to work though.
As long as his neck and wrists are close enough together it’s going to work.
If a good person was watching they’d probably be thinking there’s going be some trick, some way for me to get out of this. Because some way, somehow, in the end everything will be ok.
Even as I reach for the dynamite.
Even as I hear James start to moan and splash as he regains consciousness, and Tobe calling in response from just outside the mine entrance.
And in a way, those good people would be right.
Because for once I don’t have to go back in time to fix my mistakes in order to get my hands to stop shaking.
Because here and now my hands are still; I’m not making a mistake.
Then with one last breath I close my eyes and pull the tab on the explosive.
And do what all good people believe you should:
Fight the Darkness with Light.
* * *
BECCA PARTICK AND THE CHANNEL 3 NEWS
“This is Becca Patrick coming to you from the re-opening ceremony of the Waipori Falls Track. Exactly one year ago today the south was hit by what has come to be known as ‘White Easter’, one of the worst blizzards in history. The Waipori Falls area experienced extremely heavy snowfalls and the track sustained significant damage due to mudslides and stormwater, rendering it unsafe for use until now. But for many this day commemorates more than the record snowfalls.
“Today also marks the first anniversary of the now infamous Lawrence hostage drama. In what was a stunning turn of events the Chen family, who had previously received much media coverage due to the world-wide search for a kidney donor needed by their terminally-ill son, were the victims in a violent home invasion and hostage taking.
“The armed stand-off with police lasted several hours and eventually ended with the deaths of five armed assailants and the kidnapping of Mr James Chen. This spurred an extensive search and rescue operation that resulted, only days later, in the successful rescue of Mr Chen and the death of his kidnapper, Remu Black.
“While the whole Chen family survived the ordeal and have since made full recoveries, the overall death toll of that fateful week stands at seven. The assailants were all subsequently identified as leading figures in the criminal underworld, with suspected links to organised crime.
“Although an extensive investigation was launched, to date police have been unable to uncover any clear explanation for why the Chen family were targeted or what the ultimate motivations of the attackers were.
“The deceased also included the tragic death of Detective Nicholas Cooper, who has been posthumously awarded the Police Bravery Award for his role in the final rescue of James Chen, here on the Waipori Falls track.
“The extensive repair and improvements made to the track have been financed by the newly-formed Nicholas Cooper Trust. The trust is jointly-chaired by Detective Cooper’s previous partner, retired Police Detective Tobe White, who was also involved in the Lawrence hostage drama. The other chair is James Chen himself, who, in the opening speech made only moments ago, thanked the public for their ongoing support and generous donations.
“Aside from several police officers and a large contingent of visitors from Lawrence, the ceremony was also attended by Detective Cooper’s former partner, Maria Stevens, and their young son, who was born eight months after Detective Cooper passed away.”
THE END.
THE EASTER
MAKE BELIEVERS
BY
FINN BELL
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SLIGHTLY BIASED MOSTLY TRUE THINGS . . .
Daffodils
As with all my books, this one is set in the deep south of the South Island of New Zealand (simply the best place on earth, and I’ve already seen all the other good bits so there’s no point in arguing, really). I have, in the back matter of my previous books, often extolled the virtues of this land, so will refrain from repeating it here (aside from saying that it remains a unique combination of staggeringly diverse, unspoilt natural beauty, fascinating history and vibrant, quirky culture offering an unlikely blend of unparalleled pure seclusion and encounters with great people who are often much more themselves than you) and if you haven’t been you really should.
So instead, I have decided here to attempt relating not what the south is but what it does to people, and in aid of this goal I offer the following:
Imagine, if you will, a man smelling slightly of beer. See him as he opens a door and walks outside to stand for a moment, gazing about him as he takes in the surrounding landscape. Despite appearances something special is occurring.
Because the year is 1895 and the landscape is that of Central Otago, the deep south of the South Island of New Zealand. What meets the eye is an idyllic panorama of pastoral beauty: clear streams bubbling merrily, flowing green pastures speckled with sheep nestled among giant trees under a clear sky, the sound of bumble bees and birds floating on the gentle breeze carrying the warm scents of summer. You would likely think we would be hard pressed to find a person not moved by the experience, and perhaps even allow that it would be unsurprising for a person to gain a measure of peace and quiet contentment from standing in such surroundings.
But, as it turns out, we have. Because the person doing the standing is the indefatigable Ben Hart, who liked to keep busy (doing all sorts of things, often when other people thought there were good reasons not to). And the standing is being done just outside the door of the Black Horse Brewery, one of the farthest south examples of beer brewing in the world at the time. What occurred inside the mind of Ben at his moment we may never know. What he did, which we can still gauge from simple observation more than a century later, is plant a daffodil.
As a single act, this is not that unusual. What makes it unique is that it was the first of many. More even. You see, other things aside, Ben loved flowers. He loved them so much that he kept planting them. And planting them. Ben had, it must be assumed, a passion. And he followed it. So much so that by the time he was done (several
years later) he had planted flowers (mostly daffodils and rhododendrons) across 25 acres of land (roughly 21 football fields). That’s a big flower garden. No power tools, no tractor. Just a man and shovel and (eventually) what must have been one of the most colourfully and extensively landscaped beer breweries in the world. What is remarkable is not only the fact that he did this (or even that he wanted to) but that he could.
The Happy Heart Daffodil Trust mentioned in this book draws its inspiration from Ben Hart and the Harts Daffodil Heritage Trust. Because it’s all still there. The acres of flowers and the brewery both (and worth seeing, do make the trip).
And standing there even now, among Ben Hart’s very many daffodils, you may gain (regardless of whether you like flowers) an understanding of the lingering spirit of Central Otago that seemed to infect everyone who came here (and still does from time to time). It is an extraordinarily scarce thing and (like the gold everyone came for) becomes harder to find every day. You see, while it is true that most people came here for gold, they stayed for better things. Whether Chinese or Scottish or Spanish, many of them ended up finding the thing people actually wanted when they travel around the world searching for riches in the first place. A better life. A place where you could do more than just survive. More than just pay the bills. That very rare chance, in fact, to have dreams and be able to follow them. Like Ben. In short, a place where people could have daffodils.
More than a century later little has changed. People are still coming here from all over the world, thousands every year, looking for that same chance at a better life. Because it’s still true, and true for the rest of New Zealand too (although there are fewer daffodils). The south offers the exceedingly uncommon opportunity to live in a place where what we were all taught as kids is actually, really, still true. (And has sadly become an obvious lie in so many other countries around the world.)
