by R. L. Holmes
When the path is finally clear, I see through foggy eyes a group standing around Geoff. Gran instructs me to stay put as she races over. A river of blood pours out of him and covers the grey concrete. An ambulance is called, but it’s too late. He had completely blown his brains out, scattering bits of tissue and blood all over the place.
¥
We sold a lot of product before Geoff killed himself, so we have only a small amount to pack up. Sarah McLachlan’s, Angel, echoes out of the Hot Dog caravan; those eerie melodies and ghostly lyrics shiver and sway filling the icy silence.
Gran asks me if I’m okay. But my head hurts terribly and I’m so overwhelmed by what I just witnessed that I say nothing. I am stunned with no emotions. I can’t even feel my heart beat.
¥
It is only at night when it’s deadly silent and images enter my mind from the depths of my subconscious, do I begin to feel. But I’m not just feeling this day. I’m reliving it over and over. The images change like a movie. The actors alternate roles and it is me who stands there holding a gun to my head, while In the arms of the angel haunts my mind, fading in and out, like an old gramophone.
As I lie in bed trying to erase the day, I overhear mum asking Gran who Geoff is. I do not hear Gran’s answer, but I’m sure that Gran has had very little to do with him. Then a screech exudes out of my mum. I get up and tiptoe to the lounge wall and press my ear up against it.
‘What?’ my mother bellows. ‘You were in business with him.’
‘Keep your voice down. You’ll wake Sara.’
‘How long for?’ mum asks.
‘It was him who approached me about renting my growing expertise and using the shed.’
‘Why on earth would you agree to that?’
‘Because I needed the money.’
The room falls to silence. I wait patiently for someone to continue the conversation.
‘Was he the only one that approached you?’ mum asks after a long pause.
‘No, Daniel as well.’
‘So why are you keeping their role in this a secret?’
‘I can’t say.’
‘Come on, mum. Are you serious? Why are you trying to protect those two? Who are they to you?’
I hear no reply.
‘Why do you think he killed himself?’ mum’s voice becoming weary and strained.
Again, Gran doesn’t answer. The conversation is over. Gran wants to say no more and I feel just as frustrated as my mother.
¥
As soon as the sunlight seeps through the crack in my curtain, I’m relieved for the new day, Sunday. My headache has lifted and my eyesight back to normal. I quickly dress and race out to see if Seth is about. He has gotten into the shed where all our preserves, jams and wine are stored.
When I find him, he is stacking jars and bottles to one side of the shed. As I approach he waves me out the way. I stand to one side and watch him rub each jar with an old rag. I find this rather unusual behaviour for him, as he doesn’t normally bother with our inventions, only what’s created in the garden. As I draw a little closer, I can see what he’s doing. Some of the jars are splattered in Geoff’s bloody brain parts and Seth has taken it upon himself to cleanse these bits off. As if he feels responsible in some way. How we did not notice when we packed up yesterday, I don’t know.
Feeling a new fondness for this unusual creature, I step up to him and pat him on his shoulder. This is the first time I’ve touched this funny old man from my imagination, and I’m surprised to discover that he’s warm, like a real human or animal. Like anything that has blood running through it and a beating heart.
My mind travels backwards to all of my imaginary visitors and even though I didn’t touch most of them, they were partially transparent or just simply invisible with images only in my head.
My hand burns. I open it to find it’s covered in some sort of clear liquid. I look back at Seth’s shoulder and it’s clean and dry. My hand burns some more, the skin quickly turns red and bubbles with blisters. I scream from the pain and race inside to place my scolding hand under the cold tap.
Mum appears and quickly grabs the frozen peas from the freezer. She asks me how I did this. I answer that I do not know. I don’t want to mention Seth to my mother again after the last strange incident. The pain is unbearable, the heat overwhelming.
To escape this torrid pain, I close my eyes and imagine being somewhere calming and beautiful. I find myself transported to the river on the Richardson’s farm walking joyously through the long grasses and weeds. The sun is shining and the air smells sweet from the nearby yarrow flowers swaying in the cool breeze. A tune enters my mind and I begin to sing in rhythm with the chatty river.
No change, I can’t change
I can’t change, I can’t change
But I’m here in my mould
I am here in my mould
But I’m a million different people
From one day to the next
I can’t change my mould
No, no, no, no
Bees hum around my ears, their legs loaded with golden, wild flower pollen. A spotty thrush bird breaks into tune, as it perches on the highest limb of the willow across the other side of the river. Greenfinches cheep excitedly and a magpie crows. Life is wonderful and safe and warm.
A splash further up breaks me out of my song. I can see two people, a man and a woman swimming in the river, laughing and flirting together. I kneel down and crawl through the grasses, peering up every so often to get a closer look. The couple are naked, their wet pale skins bronzing in the golden sun, caressing and tussling each other.
As I draw closer, I can see that I know the male. His wet brown hair and broad shoulders give him away. The female though, I do not recognise. She has dyed blonde hair and a curvaceous figure and is not in any way inhibited. She seems instead, quite at home out in the open, baring all.
Crawling closer still, I spot Daniel’s orange utility truck with the back canopy open and fishing rods poking out. Feeling like I’m intruding on their bliss, I decide to head home. As I sit up I notice someone squatting near Daniel’s truck. His face is glued in one direction - watching the frolicking couple. I try to see who it is, but the grasses are too high and he’s in the shadows of the vehicle.
Panic runs through me. I know I have to leave now. As I clamber up onto my feet, I catch a glimpse of something under this stranger’s backside. I cock my head to one side to get a better view. What I see, is some sort of white plastic container that he’s using to prop himself up on as he peeps at the carefree, naked couple. I don’t think much more about it and carefully make my way through the tall grass, until I trip on a solid cow dung and land heavily on the ground.
¥
I awake with my hand still burning and holding a bag of frozen vegetables. I’m back in my lounge at home, surrounded by very concerned expressions. Potts and Mrs Rennie came over and an ambulance was called. I had passed out from the pain, my hand so hot that it cooked the frozen peas and beans and now we’re onto the corn. The medic with rotten breath, carefully lifts the frozen corn off my hand. Again I close my eyes to escape this nightmare.
He grunts and after a long pause says, ‘That’s strange.’
I open my eyes and peer down at my aching hand, only to find that it’s perfectly healed. There’s absolutely no trace that this hand had come in contact with something so scolding that it blistered and peeled, and so painful that I fell into an unconscious state.
‘But I saw it,’ my mother in an alarming tone. ‘I saw her hand and I felt the heat coming from it.’
‘Is it painful when I do this?’ the medic asks as he pushes his thump into the palm of my hand.
‘No’, I say somewhat confused.
‘Does it still feel hot?’ he asks again, his putrid breath creating violent waves in my stomach.
‘Yes......I mean, not now.’ I gently pat my palm with my fingers. ‘It’s gone cold now.’ My hand still feels hot, but to touch it i
s ice cold.
‘That’s probably from the ice bags,’ the medic says, smiling. ‘You’ll be okay.’
The medics leave and all expressions of concern ease. Gran decides to boil the jug for a brew of coffee. She had purchased some coffee beans from the farmer’s market and is keen to try them. She directs mum to the grinder and instructs her to hand grind the beans to a certain size suitable for a plunger. Mrs Rennie and Potts decide to have a quick stroll around the garden, while Gran sits down next to me on the couch, placing her warm hand on my cheek.
‘What was that all about Saracen?’ she whispers, hoping mum won’t hear.
I shrug a little confused about the question.
She repeats, ‘What was that all about? You seemed to be in an enormous amount of pain, but there are no inflictions anywhere.’
I shrug again as tears form in my eyes. I’m completely confused by the recent events. So much has happened in such a short space of time, I’m beginning to question whether it’s all real and not more from my overactive imagination.
‘I saw something. I saw something just now when I was asleep,’ I suddenly say, startling Gran.
‘Oh yes,’ she smiles warmly.
‘I saw Daniel with a girl on the Richardson’s farm.’
Gran peers up at mum in the kitchen to check if she is listening in. Noticing she’s absorbed in grinding, Gran then nods for me to continue.
‘They were parked up by the river, playing in the water.’
‘What did the girl look like?’
‘Dyed blond hair with re-growth coming through. Her skin is white and she’s quite shapely.’
Gran nods and picks up the Sunday Herald newspaper that Potts had brought over. ‘Is this her?’ she says, opening the paper to a black and white photo of a girl. The newspaper has done a feature on the unsolved double homicide in a small town shrouded with sordid tales of incest and jealously.
‘Yeah I think so, but a bit older.’
Gran puts her arm around me and holds me close. ‘What am I going to do with you?’ she says rocking me from side to side. ‘You have been through so much for such a young thing. You are maturing into a lovely young lady.’
The kettle boils and Gran unleashes her grip from me. And as she gets up I say, ‘There was someone else there too, watching them.’
She stops suddenly and lands back down on the couch. ‘Who?’
‘I don’t know I couldn’t see them properly. They were hiding behind Daniel’s utility truck.’
Gran nods and sighs as she brushes the hair away from my face. ‘Were they male or female?’
This question surprises me as I thought it obvious that they must’ve been male. But when I stop and think about it, I couldn’t really tell. So I shrug an answer.
The coffee smells divine as the four adults sit sipping in silence, on this fine Sunday morning. After having another nap and dreaming about chocolate cake, I step outside to find Seth, to ask him about the liquid that burnt my hand.
I spot him rummaging around in the compost heap at the very back of the section. Now and again I catch him throwing little clear stones on the heap and so I ask, why he does that. His answer is most dissatisfying to me. He merely mutters something about nutrients for the earth to feed the plants.
I study his rounded shoulders and wonder if I touch him again, will it burn. I decide that it isn’t a good idea to try that again so I resort to our usual aloofness.
‘What was that stuff that burnt me?’ I ask.
Seth grunts and climbs up on top of the compost and jumps up and down to compact it.
‘Seth,’ I ask again. ‘My hand got really badly burnt and I was just wondering if you can tell me, what that liquid was?’
The funny little man stops jumping and for the first time since I met him he makes eye contact, but only for a moment. He drops his head down and stands still as if frozen, his arms dangling by his side and his shoulders stooped.
In the months that I have known Seth I have never seen him behave this way. He is more likely to act out in violence than pure deflation, when upset. He stands this way for several minutes. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to touch him, for fear of setting my hand on fire. So I grab a stick and jab him in his ribs. Instantly, he looks up as if refuelled then jumps down from the compost and heads towards the shed. His stumpy legs move fast, his expression was one of determination as he with much purpose flies through the shed door.
The loud slamming of the door against the shed wall frightens the adults inside. They file out onto the back porch to see what the racket is. Puffing as an unfit child does, I race in behind Seth and there I find him, pointing to white plastic containers. Suddenly my heart races and a nervous knot forms in my stomach. These containers are the same as the one I saw the unidentified person sitting on by the river. These containers are filled with ethanol, a flammable substance, a substance that if poured all over Daniel’s utility truck can be set alight, engulfing the sleeping bodies in one murderous swoop. I begin to shake and call for Gran. Quickly she enters the shed and looks around with eyes wide and fearful.
‘What’s the matter Sara?’ she yells, trying to calm me down.
‘That’s what they were sitting on, that person by the river. That’s what they used to burn him.’ My mind in a state of confusion and my hand begins to throb again as Seth disappears out the shed door without anyone knowing.
‘Why did you ask me if they were male of female? Was it you? Was it you who set them alight?’
‘Sara calm down,’ Gran in her assertive tone that she only ever uses when I’m in trouble. ‘Of course it wasn’t me, you’re being ridiculous.’
Mum enters wearing an expression of pure bewilderment. ‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing here,’ she said. ‘Sara, how can you possibly believe your Gran would do such a thing?’
I collapse into a blubbering mess. Somehow I’m carried out of the shed and put to bed. I don’t remember who did this as my mind is a wet fog. I’m exhausted and confused and I fall instantly to sleep.
¥
I awake shortly after by a tapping at my window. I sit up and look out to find Seth using the stick I poked him with. I open the window and ask him brashly what he wanted and he replies in his usual cryptic language with, ‘Aphids on roses.’
‘Aphids on roses!’ I bellow triggering the neighbours’ German shepherd into a barking frenzy. ‘What the hell does that mean?’ I slam the window shut, just as Gran enters the room curious to see who I’m yelling at. ‘Go away! I’m just sick of everyone.’
¥
Late January 1999: Stranger
¥
Wonderful. He did it and I am pleased. I thought he may not have had the courage. To blow his brains out at the farmer’s market, even I couldn’t think of a more brilliant way to die. I was there you know. I saw him do it, like so many others. I was just another face in the crowd buying my weekly fruit and vegetables.
I saw the way he stared at them. I was annoyed by this. Was this his way of warning her? Did he say something to her? Damn him. I will never know I guess. I didn’t want the girl hurt, never her. So I wasn’t pleased he threatened them in this way.
Apart from Geoff’s violent departure, something peculiar happened. Something I couldn’t quite explain. I was at their stall trying Mary’s apple fritter, thought they could’ve used a bit more cinnamon, when the delicate fragrance of roses entered the air. Pope.
He has not bothered me for some weeks and I thought I had got rid of him. But he was there. As clear as a sunny day he was there hovering behind them, hovering behind Saracen. Has he contacted her? She has the dark rims around the iris, the special sight. So I know she has the gift. I must investigate. He is the last link. Only he knows the truth.
Damn you Pope. Why can’t you leave for good?
¥
Late January 1999: Saracen
¥
Mum and Gran both agree that I need time to heal as I have been through so much and s
een too much, so they decide to keep me home from school for a few days. I’m supposed to be enrolling in my new Form Two class for the new school year - a new teacher, new classmates, more hell. Naturally I didn’t mind missing a week from that horrid place, so if staying in bed is what I have to do to miss school then in bed I stay. I do feel awful inside. My stomach continuously gurgles and at times I have to rush to the toilet with explosive diarrhoea. My head aches above my right eye and I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone.
In her usual healing manner, and with Goo Goo Dolls singing Slide on the stereo, Gran makes chamomile and peppermint herbal teas. I normally love this, but today I’m not interested. She tries to lure me with chocolate and liquorice, but I’m not so easily fooled. All I want to do is to lie in bed and escape into other lands where, the weather is always warm, the animals friendly and the people nice to one another. In this world I ride a winged tiger holding a magical sword and overcome all evil. In this world I am revered and respected and my power so strong, I cannot be defeated. In this world I am always happy and healthy and can eat as much cake as I like without my stomach bloating and groaning and cramping.
A knock at the front door awakens me. It’s 4.30pm, I must’ve slept for hours. Mum answers with a tone of caution. Out of curiosity I get up and peer around the corner of the hall. I can’t see who this visitor is but her voice is familiar and mum isn’t overly pleased to have her on our front door step. After my mother asks several times for this person to leave, an argument breaks out. The woman on the door step screams obscenities and mum slams the door. The woman stays on the door step kicking and banging on the glass. I hear the voice of Gran in the kitchen asking what the hell is going on. Mum says something to her and they debate what should be done about this person. Soon the violent bangs and screechy swear words stop. I creep out into the hall and into the front room, Gran’s consultation room, and over towards the window which faces the front garden. I catch sight of a slightly built woman climbing into the passenger seat of a heap. The driver I do not recognise, but I can tell he is male. The female screams something at the driver and he hastily drives off, skidding a little along the road. There is something familiar about this female but I can’t put my finger on it. Mum and Gran are in the kitchen discussing the event with fear in their voices.
