‘I’m home, Tabitha,’ he called as he opened the door. Nick scanned the inside of the van and noted that the cat wasn’t in any of her usual places. Maybe she was outside chasing mice. He frowned. Normally she’d be hanging around for her dinner by now. But he didn’t worry; she’d turn up when she was hungry. Nick had learned long ago that Tabitha was a contrary creature who did what she wanted.
Grabbing some clean clothes from the basket on the couch, Nick headed off for a shower. By the time he’d finished and started thinking about dinner for himself, the cat still hadn’t made an appearance. Nick started to get a niggling feeling in his belly. He took out a tin of food and a knife from the drawer. He opened the front door and banged on the side of the tin.
‘Tabitha, Tabby, come on—dinner.’
He stopped for a second to see if she’d come, but there was nothing. He tried again, this time hitting the tin harder.
‘Tabitha, damn it, where are you?’
It was then that he thought he heard a tiny meow coming from back inside the van.
‘Tabitha?’
He searched the place from top to bottom. He tried calling over and over, but the cat wouldn’t answer. He walked over to a small cupboard by the bed. It was a narrow thing with a few shelves, as far as cupboards go; Nick had always thought it was pretty useless and rarely used it. As soon as he yanked open the door, a black ball of fur flew out and landed with a thud against his chest.
‘Jeez, Tab you scared the shit out of me,’ he said as he held the cat to his chest, trying to calm her down. ‘How the hell did you even get in there?’
Nick carried her over to the couch. Her ears were still flat against her head and her eyes were wide—almost crazy. It took another half an hour before she had settled down enough to eat. But even then she was skittish for the rest of the night and ended up pretty much sleeping on Nick’s head.
Because he’d been tired and distracted by Tabitha’s antics, Nick hadn’t paid much attention to his surroundings. So it wasn’t until the next morning, just as the sun was rising, that he rolled over to hit the alarm and saw a faint, golden gleam. He sat up and stared at his wedding band sitting next to the clock. How the bloody hell did that get there?
Chapter 21
Every family had its own stories and superstitions, and Tash’s lot were no exception. It was said that the women in the family carried ‘the sight’. Supposedly, one of Tash’s ancestors had it and passed it on, she couldn’t remember how many great-grandmothers ago it had been—maybe five or six? Tash had always thought it was complete bollocks and had never paid it any consequence.
Her grandmother had told stories of the family’s sight saving more than one member of the family over the generations. Tash had always put it down to luck, good timing and common sense, rather than anything mystical. But her grandmother had sworn that it was her ancestor’s sight that forewarned the family to escape from eastern Russia back in the nineteenth century, and straight after the family had left violence erupted, taking out most of the town…Tash had always believed this reflected more about her ancestor’s ability to read the social unrest and being brave enough to search for a better place than any hocus pocus.
When she had been alive, her grandmother had always said that Tash had the sight. She always found this ridiculous: she had never predicted anything in her life, although she had to admit that being able to pick the winning TattsLotto numbers would have been a bloody good party trick.
Tash sighed and walked over to the window, drawing back the curtain. No matter how hard she tried, Tash just couldn’t settle. Something was gnawing at her, almost like dread. She dropped the curtain and walked away. Maybe all she needed was a nice hot cup of tea and a good night’s sleep? But as the minutes ticked by the more unsettled she became.
‘Oh, this is crazy.’
Tash picked up the remote and turned on the TV. She forced herself to sit on the couch, but she soon realised that she wasn’t taking in what was on. She chucked down the remote, got up and headed to the door—snatching up her car keys on the way. Maybe she needed a bit of air. She’d been driving a few minutes when she realised that she was on the road out of town, the one that would take her to Winters Hill. It was late, but maybe with a little luck Nick would still be up.
***
Something was off. Nick felt it in his bones. He walked over to the caravan door and yanked it open. Now he just sounded crazy. He may have felt unhinged for all that time, worried that he could be losing his mind, but not anymore. Something—or someone—was doing this, and even though he kind of liked the idea it could be Sophie trying to contact him from beyond, he knew it wasn’t. No, it wasn’t his wife or the local kids trying to scare him—it was someone else. Someone that wanted to harm him and make him suffer. And, finally, after mistakenly believing it had been Vivienne, Nick had a fair idea who it was. What he couldn’t get his head around was why.
As he stood in the caravan doorway, a faint sound of music echoed through the night. Nick followed the music up the hill towards the shell of the house. The light of the almost-full moon was bright enough for Nick to see where he was going—not that he needed it; he knew the way like the back of his own hand.
As Nick approached the house, he saw something pale fluttering inside. The hairs on the back of his neck quivered. He stopped and scanned the area. All was silent except for the tinny strains of an old waltz. There was something familiar about it.
He moved closer and looked through the broken window. A couple of candles were burning inside on the mantelpiece and Sophie’s long white veil made of lace hung in what should have been the lounge room. Instantly, the image of her wearing it as she walked down the aisle bloomed in his head.
‘You might as well come out, Peter, and stop all this bullshit,’ Nick called out.
There was no movement, and the only sound was the last few bars of the waltz fading away. But after a few more seconds slipped by, Peter stepped out of the shadows at the end of the room.
‘So you figured it out,’ he said. ‘Pity. I was hoping to send you over the edge.’
Now that his masquerade had been revealed, Peter’s true feelings were evident in his face and demeanour. He had a threatening and angry stance, and his eyes were full of hatred.
‘Why would you want to do that? I thought we were friends—family.’
‘We were…once,’ Peter said as he took another step closer. ‘You killed my little sister and you have to pay for it.’
‘You know that’s not true. I loved Sophie. The fire killed her, not me.’
‘She shouldn’t have been here. You should have got her out of here long before the fire came. I agree with what Viv said. She was right—you need to be held accountable for what you’ve done.’
Nick could see the bitterness that had twisted Peter, and he knew that only a few short weeks ago, he may have agreed with him. But not anymore.
‘I know she should have been miles away from the fire,’ Nick said, ‘and I wrestle with that every day. I should have made sure that she was safe. But why wait until now to call me out? You could have done that six years ago.’
‘You needed time to suffer and pay for what you had done. I was happy enough to watch you sitting up here, twisting yourself inside out with guilt…But not anymore. You don’t get to have a second chance at happiness and family…My sister doesn’t, so why should you?’
‘I’ve mourned her for years.’
‘It’s not enough.’
‘Do you really think that Sophie would want this? Family meant everything to her. Do you think she’d approve of what you’re doing?’
Peter gave him a slight smile.
‘Nah, she was always too kind-hearted for her own good. She loved you and you didn’t deserve her.’
‘Come on, Peter. What about Heather and the boys, and your mum—haven’t they been through enough? None of them would want you to do this. Why don’t we go get a drink and talk about this?’
; ‘You think you can placate me like a child?’ Peter said with a hard look. ‘You think a beer and a chat will put things to rights? And as to my family—they’ll understand. I’ve watched you Nick, first with the teacher and now with Tash. You’re looking at moving on and starting a new family. Well, it’s not going to happen.’
‘Peter…Just listen for a sec…’
‘I won’t listen to anything,’ he cut in. ‘At first, I thought I’d make you suffer by watching those women of yours dying in front of you. I thought that every time you started to get close to someone, I’d snatch them away.’
A chill went through Nick at these words. God, had Peter been mad enough to try to hurt Tash and Jules?
‘But they’ve nothing to do with Sophie’s death!’ he shouted.
A brief smile touched Peter’s lips.
‘You’re right. And after Tash had her little accident…’
‘You did that?’ Nick said as another chill went through him, a cold burning of anger.
Peter ignored this.
‘After Tash’s accident, I started thinking that maybe I was going after the wrong person,’ he said. ‘It’s true: I hate her for wanting to be with you, but then when I really thought about it, I knew it had only ever been about you. Besides, if I was to eliminate the women, then I’d be condemning their brothers to my fate. Both Alex Duroz and that writer would find out what it’s like to lose a sister, someone almost like part of themselves, someone you can always count on, no matter the circumstance. I couldn’t bring the same sort of suffering to those guys that you brought to me. Anyway, getting rid of the women wouldn’t work; in time, you’d just find someone else. I need you to keep suffering that pain and loss. You deserve nothing less.’
Nick slowly released a breath. Whatever happened here, at least he knew that Peter wouldn’t go after Tash again.
‘I’m glad you came around to that way of thinking, Peter. Both Tash and Jules are innocent—they shouldn’t be dragged into this business.’
When Peter stepped closer, Nick saw a coldness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
‘What do you want, Peter?’ Nick braced himself.
The atmosphere was charged with tension. He clenched his fist.
‘For you to suffer.’
‘I have.’
‘But not nearly enough. You have to pay for what you did; what you took away from me.’
‘You need help, Peter. I know what you’ve lost—I understand, I loved her too.’
‘You don’t—don’t even try to compare what you feel to me. You don’t know anything. She was my baby sister and I was meant to protect her.’
‘We both were.’
Peter glared at Nick.
‘And we both failed. But tonight you get to pay for it.’
Nick sidestepped at the last moment as Peter ran at him.
‘For God’s sake, Peter, stop! I don’t want to hurt you. You just need to calm down and think about what you’re doing.’
Peter turned around and faced him. Nick wondered if somehow he’d managed to get through to him. Maybe he could talk him down, and it would be alright after all.
‘Peter…please…’
In a split second, Peter’s eyes narrowed and he attacked again. This time Nick couldn’t manoeuvre out of the way fast enough. He raised his hands in defence, but Peter managed to land a punch to Nick’s jaw. The impact sent him staggering.
Nick rubbed his face.
‘Jeez, Peter—enough.’
‘Nowhere near.’
He advanced again, but this time Nick was ready for him. He blocked the series of punches that Peter showered upon him, and then fought back. Nick landed a punch in Peter’s mid-section, hoping that would be enough to stop this insane fight. But his hopes were in vain as Peter recovered and once again went on a manic offensive. He grabbed on to Nick and they both went sailing into the old wooden chair close by. It splintered under their weight, and Nick grimaced as a piece of wood gouged into his back, drawing blood. He managed to push Peter off and scrambled back to his feet. Peter came at him again.
Nick defended himself by ducking and blocking the swings that Peter levelled at him. Peter began to tire, and Nick took the opportunity to strike first. The blow caught Peter under his chin and was strong enough to knock him off his feet. He landed by the broken chair and lay unmoving. Nick dragged in a breath.
‘Shit, Peter, are you alright?’ He stood over his unconscious brother-in-law. ‘Peter, Peter! Come on, get up!’
Nick pulled his phone out of his jean’s pocket and started punching in 000 as he bent down to make sure Peter was still breathing.
‘Hello, I need—’
Peter moved as quick as lightning, grabbing a broken chair leg and bringing it down on Nick’s head. A blinding pain roared through his head, the floor pitched beneath him and Nick fell into darkness.
***
Nick was conscious…Well, kind of…He couldn’t open his eyes, let alone move, but he supposed that he should be grateful for small mercies. He lay still and listened. It all appeared to be fairly quiet, and in the distance he heard an owl hoot. There was something very comforting about that noise. But there was also another sound nearby. Nick couldn’t quite make it out—it was a splashing sort of sound. He cracked open his eyes and moved slightly, which resulted in his head exploding with pain.
He let it wash over him as he tried to remember what the hell had happened. Why was he on the floor of the house? The splashing noise sounded again. Nick turned his head, which was easier said than done. The moon was still out and it cast enough light for Nick to see Peter outside the house with a jerry can. The night wind blew through the broken windows and brought with it the heavy scent of petrol.
Nick struggled to sit up, but the room rocked and swayed as dizziness took hold. He slumped back down as the stench of petrol swirled around him. He knew that he had to move if he wanted to get out of this, but it was too much of a challenge. Nick stared up at the ceiling and waited for his head to clear. He drifted, not sure how long he lay there—was it a minute or longer? It was hard to tell. What brought him back was the whoosh of flames as the petrol was ignited and the crackle as it took hold of the abandoned house.
***
Tash had almost reached Nick’s place. It was late and she didn’t see another car on the road. The night was mild, so much so that she had the window cracked open. The moon was almost full and it cast a pale light over the countryside.
Everything appeared as it should—until Tash reached Archer’s Bend and glanced ahead to Winters Hill. There was an odd light in the sky, up on top of the hill. Tash leaned forward and peered through the windscreen. It didn’t seem right, though she couldn’t make out what it was, or why it was at Nick’s place.
As unease started to prickle in her stomach, she increased the speed, hoping that everything was alright. She kept driving for another five minutes until she could finally get a better look at the farm. Pulling over to the side of the road, Tash threw the gear into neutral and tugged on the handbrake. She jumped out of the car and stood staring at the top of Winters Hill. There was the telltale scent of smoke in the air and Tash could see that a fire was taking hold.
Without hesitation, she grabbed her phone out of her pocket and found Nick’s number. She waited as it rang out, tried again, but with no luck. She quickly dialled 000.
‘This is Natasha Duroz from White Gum Creek. There’s a fire on Winters Hill, Nick Langtree’s place. Yes, it’s about nine kilometres east of the town. No, I don’t know if anyone’s hurt, I’m down on the main road driving towards it. I tried ringing his phone, but there wasn’t any answer. Okay, thank you.’
Tash tossed the phone on to the passenger seat before driving off towards Winters Hill.
***
The flames were beginning to build. The back of the house was ablaze and acrid smoke filled the air. Nick had finally managed to sit up, and the room swam for a second, but then settled back down. He
stood up, and gingerly ran his hand over the side of his head and felt a tender bump. Pushing the pain aside, Nick tried to focus on his surroundings. There was no sign of Peter, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hanging around, gloating at his handiwork. Loss had pushed both him and Peter into different directions. For Nick, he had withdrawn from the world, but for Peter it had pushed him towards madness.
Nick had to get out before the whole place went up. But as he headed towards the door, he saw Peter standing on the outside with a shovel. Nick recalculated; maybe he’d better find another way out? With luck, he could slip past Peter and ring for some help. He didn’t want to hurt Peter, even though he may have to. He kept thinking that Lana had already lost her daughter—this would kill her.
But Nick knew that he’d have to do everything he could to get out of this alive. He headed towards the side door. It had three clear panes of glass set down the middle and Nick could see the light from the fire flickering against the dark branches of the eucalypts outside. Nick could feel the heat of the flames from where he was standing at the back of the house, but the side door was clear. He ran the last couple of steps towards the side door, but as he reached it; flames erupted outside. For a moment he thought that he might not see Tash again, and that filled him with dread. There were so many things he still wanted to say to her—to get her to understand just how much she meant to him. No, that wasn’t right. There was only one thing she needed to know. It hit him then like a tonne of bricks. All this time he’d been trying to deny how he truly felt, always keeping their relationship at arm’s length because he was terrified that he would be hurt all over again. He’d been in love with her all this time.
The flames flared up into the dark night sky and Nick stood transfixed as the red, yellow and blue of the fire intensified. There was a crackle and a hiss and a roar as the flames consumed the whole house. He had to move, but he couldn’t because all at once he was no longer standing by the side door but in the stables. He could see the fire demolishing the building. It couldn’t be real, he knew that, but Nick couldn’t move. He glanced up as the fire fingered up into the steep pitch of the ceiling, leaving blackened destruction in its path. His eyes watered and the heavy smoke caught at the back of his throat.
White Gum Creek Page 21
