A human hand.
My stomach makes a horrific lurch.
Her hand?
Behind her there’s a boy with his arm in a sling, hunched over what looks like a puddle of vomit. I try to decipher his gaze. Does he know me? Do I know him?
Did he cut off that woman’s hand? Did the stranger next to me?
Could I have done it?
I try to reach back to where memories usually are, but there’s only fog. I swallow down my rising panic.
‘Come back here,’ the woman says to us, her voice cracked. ‘Right now.’
I exchange a look with the girl I was just kissing, and we silently agree. We may not know much, but the thing we know for certain is that we are not going anywhere near her.
I glance around, trying to work out my options. We’re on a kind of promontory, projecting out over the ocean. Behind the old woman and the boy, steep hills rise sharply, cloaked in thick green rainforest. White-sanded beach stretches away along the coastline, dotted with palm trees, rocks, and what looks like an ancient jetty with a half-sunken dinghy stuck between two fallen poles. Far in the distance I think I can see a black speck in the ocean, but it could be a trick of the light.
‘Now!’ the woman barks.
She picks up the gun and slowly stands, swaying. She plants her feet wide to steady herself.
Instinctively, I take a step back, towards the cliff edge.
‘Fuck you!’ the girl next to me yells at the old woman. ‘Why should we trust you?’
The old woman shrugs. ‘You don’t have to trust me. You simply have to do what I say.’
‘Or what, you’ll kill us?’
‘Just one of you. You, specifically.’
The girl’s face is a mask of fury, and all of it is directed at the old lady. I’m glad she isn’t pointing it at me.
The boy is still staring. He meets my gaze and he flinches. Is it his fault I’m here? Did he do something to me? Is he the one who cut off that lady’s hand? He doesn’t look as if he has the stomach for amputation.
The old woman points the gun at the girl. Her arm is none too steady.
‘Okay, okay,’ I say, stepping forward and raising my hands. ‘We get it. We’re coming.’
‘No.’ The girl doesn’t budge. ‘We’re not going anywhere with her.’
‘Where are you going to go, then?’ The old woman’s voice is jeering.
The girl’s eyes flicker to the edge of the cliff.
‘Are you serious?’ I mutter to her.
She takes my hand, and it feels good. Together we back towards the edge of the cliff.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ the old woman yells. ‘What are you going to do, jump? Then what?’
We reach the very edge of the cliff. I look down and my stomach lurches at the vertical drop, and the surging water below.
The water is the most amazing shade of blue I’ve ever seen.
The girl’s grip on my hand is firm. She’s not letting go, and it feels like an anchor. I don’t know who I am, but I have this. I have her hand in mine. It means something, and I want to know more.
The girl gazes down at the water. ‘Can you swim?’
The old woman is shouting at us. I can hear her footsteps on the grass as she approaches. I hear the crack of her gun, and turf sprays up around our feet. I don’t turn. I don’t listen. I just look down at the water, that incredible swirling cerulean.
I feel my lips part as I take a breath. The warm air is rich with salt.
‘I don’t remember.’
I don’t know if I can swim. I don’t even know my own name. All I know is that I want to live long enough to kiss this angry, beautiful girl again.
So we jump.
UPCOMING LITERARY EVENTS
LI ZHONG YO will appear at Century Hall tomorrow night, promoting his new tell-all memoir Blank Slate, about his harrowing experiences on Eleos Island, where he was allegedly taken prisoner and tortured by tech billionaire Cato Bell. Yo’s gruesome tale of memory-wiping, political corruption and murder has been widely disputed by Kore Rafal, acting CEO of Bell Industries, as well as a spokesperson for newly reinstated senator Sandra Yates. The always-reclusive Bell has not been spotted or heard from for months, but Rafal claims she will return soon.
Other possible corroborators to Yo’s story are yet to come forward, in particular the infamous Blue Fairy Cecily Cartwright and her accomplice, Nia Ongoco, whose whereabouts are currently unknown.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I always feel like my acknowledgements are the most boring parts of my books, because I’m just thanking the same people over and over again. But I guess I’m pretty lucky to have such rad humans still in my corner after so many years.
THANK YOU TO:
Jodie Webster at Allen & Unwin for strong-arming me into writing another thriller, when I was distracted by something shiny. She’s amazing. And Hilary Reynolds, who has the sharpest, most eagle-like eye of any editor I know. And Debra Billson, who designs the best covers. And everyone else at A&U who helped to make this book a thing.
My writer friends, especially the Goosemoot/House of Progress crew. Special shoutouts to CS Pacat for her feedback on an early draft, Paul Gartside for suggesting the CB hand thing and steering me to Alex Gibney’s documentary about Elizabeth Holmes, Eliza Tiernan for explaining legal stuff, and Amie Kaufman for her brainstorming mojo.
My husband, Michael Miller, for his advice, feedback, brainstorming assistance, support and love.
Our son, Banjo, who frankly contributed nothing to the novel – if anything he hindered its creation by not respecting my work ethic, but gets thanked anyway because he is five and gives amazing hugs.
David Stuart MacLean’s memoir The Answer to the Riddle Is Me: A Memoir of Amnesia is an incredible resource about the physical and emotional experience of episodic memory loss.
And special thanks to the Alternative Limb Project, and Limbs 4 Kids, for resources and advice on Nia’s prosthetic.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lili Wilkinson is the award-winning author of eleven YA novels including After the Lights Go Out, The Boundless Sublime, Green Valentine and Pink. Lili established the insideadog.com.au website and the Inky Awards at the Centre for Youth Literature, State Library of Victoria. She has a PhD in Creative Writing, and lives in Melbourne with her husband, son, dog and three chickens.
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