Five Parts Dead

by Tim Pegler

  My hands are shaking. Beneath the note are three pages, fastened with a rusty pin. I recognise Captain Llewellyn’s distinctive penmanship, the dates, even the faint salty smell. The missing pages from the log. Pip nestles against me as we read them.

  AUGUST 21

  Commenced with fresh breeze & variable at ENE–NE. From 1am, four hours rain, from 8 till noon drizzling rain. Lightning at NW from 10pm.

  Mr Bellows still claiming to be incapacitated and unable to fulfil his obligations. This afternoon, having directly interviewed Miss Lily as to how she came to be injured and sleeping in the stables, she confessed that an exorcism was performed upon her in my absence. She stated that Mr Bellows and Mr Sutton tied her to a kitchen chair so she could not move. Mrs Sutton read from the Bible while Mrs Bellows assailed Miss Lily, apparently with the intention of forcing demons from her. Miss Lily says Mrs Bellows began by pummelling and squeezing her belly and chest, and then her throat. She is unable to give a reason for this persecution by the underkeepers but tearfully disclosed that she is with child and Mr Sam is the father. She now fears for the health of the infant.

  Exceedingly disturbed by this most vicious collusion, I called an immediate meeting of all personnel, demanding an explanation.

  Mrs Bellows opined that Miss Lily is possessed by demons. Having survived the drowning of her mother and twin sister, she had come to our community to do Satan’s work. Mrs Bellows said she called a meeting at which she attributed her miscarriage and the deaths of the Sutton children to Miss Lily’s presence. She said, ‘Even poor Captain Wilton was moved to return from the dead to revile his own daughter.’

  With the other keepers silent, I replied that this was a tragic circumstance brought on by a mudslide and naught to do with demons.

  In response, Mrs Bellows screamed that Miss Lily was a seductress and adulterer and carrying Mr Bellows’ child. I turned to speak to Miss Lily, seeking permission to correct this stain on her character. But, as I did so, Mr Bellows vowed this to be true and that ‘the devil child tempted him when she brought his evening meal to the light tower’. Miss Lily protested but Mrs Bellows spoke over her, calling out, ‘Demon be gone!’

  At this, Mrs Sutton held up a crucifix and stated, ‘Mrs Bellows is indeed a woman of God. She blessed us with an awareness of Satan’s work. We had to act to protect the children of the island—those born and unborn.’ In response, Miss Lily fainted.

  AUGUST 22

  Began with light wind from the SSW and clear weather. At 4am wind W by SW. At 5h 3m put out the light. From 6, overcast and hazy. Used 3 qrts 1½ pints oil trimming the lamps. Mr Bellows still refusing to work.

  I have signalled for assistance, feeling unable to rely on my fellow keepers. I wish to have Miss Lily evacuated from the Cape at the earliest opportunity, fearing for her wellbeing. I have also written to the Marine Board seeking the transfer of underkeepers Bellows and Sutton. I will appeal to the first passing vessel to take Miss Lily and my correspondence.

  At 1pm a ship in sight bearing north—too far off to communicate. At 3, a barque standing eastward. Signalled to both vessels but got no answer, the weather being too hazy.

  AUGUST 23

  Began with negligible breeze, cloudy weather, wind WSW. At 4 wind W by N. At 6h put out the light. Wind NW. Served out three pints of oil for the cottages. At noon a brig passed for the eastward. Hoisted signals but got no answer.

  I cannot bear to give Miss Lily the news I am burdened with, in her traumatised state. In order to avoid her persecutors she rarely leaves my verandah, other than to feed the horse and deliver my supper. While he claims to be too injured to work, Mr Bellows continues to walk around his cottage each evening, carrying his Bible in front of him as a shield. I cannot but wonder if this is a form of penance for his alleged infidelity…

  AUGUST 27

  Commenced with strong offshore wind at ENE. From 2 till 10, overcast.

  Mr Bellows still refusing to work his shift. I have warned him that unless someone from his household upholds their responsibility to the Marine Board today, I will recommend his immediate dismissal from service at the earliest opportunity.

  A cutter in sight has signalled they are altering course to assist us. I order Mr Sutton to watch from the light tower while I ride to Nolan’s Return to await a landing. Cutter unable to land due to high seas.

  AUGUST 28

  Commenced with strong onshore wind at ESE, 1am to 6am. Ditto to 4pm. Cloudy throughout, latter part dark & gloomy with 1 hr drizzling rain.

  The cutter Selby reappeared at 11am. I rode to Nolan’s Return to meet the captain.

  Returned to the light station to find a scene of utter devastation. Miss Lily’s body lay on rocks below the light tower. Mrs Bellows said that she had been employed cleaning the lantern for her husband when Miss Lily forced her way onto the balcony and leaped to her death. Mrs Bellows then thanked God for ‘delivering’ our community from evil.

  I have sketched this most tragic scene and requested the Selby return tomorrow to collect my report on this most unjust and premature fatality.

  AUGUST 29

  Commenced with moderate breeze at W & NW and cloudy with a few light showers till 4am. From 2pm to 4, unsettled conditions, heavy squalls of rain at WSW…

  Given that Miss Lily has no other family, I demanded she be buried at the cemetery with her father. Mrs Bellows opposed me, asserting that to do so would be to curse our entire community. She said the sanctity of marriage is even more vital in a settlement as minute as ours and a Jezebel ought to be punished. She insisted upon a ‘harlot’s burial’, separate from the other graves and facing the setting sun, due to the disgrace wrought upon her father and her community. To my disappointment, Mr and Mrs Sutton concurred, citing suicide as a sin against the Almighty Creator.

  I challenged Mr Bellows to be a man of honour and admit that he was not the father of Miss Lily’s child. Glancing first at his wife, he stated: ‘I will not deny that she seduced me to impure thoughts and deeds. She was a she-devil, best gone from our island. I am most fortunate that my wife forgives my transgressions.’

  After I implored Mr Sutton to think of his own daughter being so harshly judged, he agreed to assist with the burial. However, he refused to dig the grave anywhere but in the furthest corner of the cemetery. Together we interred Miss Lily’s remains, but he declined to stay for a ceremony.

  I looked across the graveyard to Captain Wilton’s grave, believing he and his daughter should be together. I fashioned a cross from stones and then read the service over Miss Lily, sickened that such a lonely young woman should remain so isolated and persecuted, even in death. I prayed for her soul and will do so, every day I draw breath.

  I entrust these pages and my observational sketch to the care of the captain of the Selby. May God see that justice is done.

  The last thing in the file is a crumpled envelope. As Pip opens it, I hold my breath.

  Inside is a single sheet, a sketch of the rocks at the base of the lighthouse. Lily’s body is drawn face up on the kelp, just as I saw her two days ago.

  There are notes below the drawing, also in the captain’s spidery handwriting:

  Distance from tower, 12 feet

  Wind, as noted

  Lunch basket overturned on the balcony

  Pip speaks first. ‘Look at what he says about the wind. In the log it was a strong onshore wind—blowing towards the island, not away from it. To fall that far from the tower, face up, she can’t have jumped. She was pregnant, for God’s sake…She must have been pushed. Or thrown.’

  ‘Mrs Bellows killed her,’ I say in a hushed voice. ‘She would have ordered Lily to bring the food upstairs—why else would the basket be on the balcony? She wouldn’t have carried it all the way up there if she was going to jump. Mrs Bellows was jealous of Sam and Lily’s baby and so she pushed her backwards over the railing! And, for some reason, the coroner never saw this sketch.’

  Everything swims into focus. The dreams, t
he tarot reading, the girl, and me. I know what I need to do.

  Sally whistles at what we’ve uncovered. ‘How good are your investigation skills? What a sensational result! And, hey, thank you. That “EC”—the initials you saw— that’s my great-grandfather Edward…the Observer’s been in our family for generations. This is brilliant: it’s like he and I are working on the same story together! Come on. I’ll give you a lift back to the Cape…Would you guys be willing to be in a photo? We can workshop a headline. How does “Kids Foil Cape Cover-Up” grab you?’

  EF: SOS HAS BEEN CANCELLED

  Sally stayed for dinner last night. She even sat through a slideshow of Dad’s wetlands photos. I accused her of being another bird nerd but she claimed there could be an article for her in Dad’s research. She must be really struggling for stories.

  We’re leaving tomorrow but there’s enough time for me to do what I have to.

  Mum gave me a lift down to the cemetery. She’ll drop Pip off later. I wanted to spend some time here alone.

  The wrought-iron gate is shackled with straggly creepers. I try to wrench it open. It won’t budge—the salt air must have rusted the latch.

  Resting two hands on the top of the fence, I jump up, awkwardly swing my cast over, then the other leg. I spill into the weedy graveyard, wincing as I land.

  Two neat rows of white crosses, fifteen in total, face east to witness the rising sun. Each is initialled and dated but there are no ornate decorations or inscriptions. Captain Wilton’s cross is in the front row:

  Cpt KW

  13.9.1858

  Where is his daughter’s grave? In the far corner, a tree branch has fallen across the fence. Through a mesh of twigs and decaying leaves I can see a mound, marked by a jumble of mismatched stones in the shape of a cross. It has to be Lily’s plot, facing west and condemned by her warped little community for eternity. Grasping the branch with both hands, I drag it back over the fence.

  Lily’s grave is overgrown, barely distinguishable from the ground around it. I drop to my knees and pluck weeds and greedy tendrils of creeper from the mound. As I claw at the earth, a gruff wind arrives, hissing in the trees.

  I’ve stripped the grave clean by the time I hear footsteps on the gravel path. I struggle upright, relieved to see Pip.

  ‘Come around here, there’s a spot where the fence is busted,’ I call out.

  Moments later Pip ducks under the fallen branch and squeezes through the fence to stand beside me. She kisses me on the cheek. ‘So this is her, over here on her own?’ She passes me a wooden cross and waterproof marker. I kneel and write on the cross, as best as I can with trembling hands.

  Lily Wilton

  and Sam Jnr

  28.8.1859

  As I do so, there’s a metallic clink behind us. A shiver surfs down my spine. Pip gasps. At the far side of the cemetery, the rusty gate creaks open but there’s no intruder to be seen.

  The gate swings shut. The latch clunks. The wind whimpers in the trees.

  I look up at Pip. Her face is white but she summons a smile. My pulse pounds as I turn back to the grave. I grab a stone and carefully knock the new cross into the soil.

  With the marker in place, I glance towards the head of the grave. Lily stands there, her hands folded over her round belly, her head bowed in prayer. She looks up, gazing into my eyes, then down to the cross. She nods, then vanishes.

  ‘She was a twin too, you know,’ I murmur to Pip. ‘Did you see her?’

  ‘No, but I’m not surprised if you did. It feels like something just…ended.’

  I move across to Pip and pull her to me. ‘Guess that depends on your perspective. It feels like something’s beginning to me. Something fantastic.’

  We swing hands as we walk back to where Mum’s waiting in the car.

  M: I AM STOPPED. MAKING NO WAY.

  Mel and I cook dinner together, using everything left in the pantry. Cauliflower, frozen peas, coconut milk, cumin, coriander and onion soon swirl in a rich curry that we pour over steamed rice. It’s just the five of us tonight. Hiroshi has a nocturnal animals tour and Mel wasn’t keen. ‘Mosquitos and cranky koalas,’ she said. ‘Not my scene. I’ll catch up with Rosh on the ferry tomorrow.’

  I hear Mel ask for the pepper without her speaking, reach out and put it in her palm without looking up.

  Pip’s onto us. ‘How did you do that? How did you know she wanted pepper just then?’

  Dad looks up from his bowl and winks at Pip. ‘Aaah, that’d be the twin thing. When they were little they always knew how to outsmart us by working together.’ Mum dabs a serviette at her eye.

  I look at Mel and know what her answer will be. She grins and shrugs: ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. The pepper must have been a fluke.’

  We’ve never let on. That’s one thing we’ve always been rock solid about. Our secret. Besides, we don’t want to freak people out.

  The moment of family solidarity seems like the right time to talk. I finish my mouthful, wondering how to begin. Mel nudges me. Get on with it already. It’ll be okay.

  And so I loop back through my memories of the party and tell them all I remember about the night everything went black…

  A yelping of tyres precedes the arrival of the Millennium Falcon. In the unlikely event that there are people in the suburb who haven’t heard him coming, Travis brakes hard and tattoos the bitumen with the mother of all burnouts before ripping into the driveway. Rubber smoke drifts across the front lawn as he saunters to the verandah, a Year 12 girl under one arm and a six-pack dangling from the other.

  Travis left school at the end of Year 11 to start an apprenticeship as a panel beater. The paint fumes have clearly gone to his head. Checking who he knows on the verandah, he pauses and chucks his keys towards a guy with a fluorescent display of acne. ‘Hey, Nico. Put these somewhere safe, mate. The Travster will not be driving home this evening.’ Then, with a slap of his female companion’s butt, Travis struts inside.

  Nico is unimpressed. Travis is known to demand his keys after a few drinks. You don’t want to be the one standing between him and his wheels, not under any circumstances.

  Nico waves his arms about, feigning nonchalance. He tosses the keys at a kid called Huddo who has just been dropped off by his parents. Talk about bad timing. Huddo gapes at the glinting cluster in his grasp. ‘No way, man!’ And then he lobs them at me.

  They land with a clatter half a metre away, skidding across the decking. I consider ignoring them. Not an option. Maybe I could throw them to some other sucker. Nope, the only one left out here is me.

  I reach over and snatch the keys. Glancing around for witnesses, I stretch across and drop them into a Blundstone boot by the doorstep. Done. If anyone asks, I’ll do a Bart Simpson—deny everything.

  I take a sip of my unwanted beer and act like nothing has happened.

  ‘That’s when you came and sat with me,’ I grimace at Pip. ‘That’s the first bit you…didn’t see.’

  Pip’s biting her lip, hating being back at the party. Mum has a hand over her mouth and jaw, as if she’s battling to hold herself together. Dad’s gripping his forehead, looking down at the sticky tabletop, studying its constellations of circular stains. Mel gives me another nudge. Go on. I need…we need to know what happened. All of us. And you’ll feel better for telling us.

  I lift my glass and swish the water around, my gaze fixed on the swirling remains of an ice cube. ‘Okay…so Pip and I talked for a bit and then she went inside to get food…And Carlo burst through the front door.’

  ‘That’s where you are! Bottle-shop run. You coming?’

  ‘Nah.’ As I shake my head, Boris, Phan and Aaron cannon out of the house. Aaron wraps an arm around me and ruffles my hair because he knows it shits me.

  ‘I am so loving your work, Dan-My-Man,’ he gleams. ‘Huddo tells me you are Keeper of the Keys. Too freakin’ easy! Now all we need is to, errr, borrow the Falcon for a while.’

  I raise my beer and s
wig it so I don’t have to look him in the eyes. I mumble: ‘I don’t have them. Huddo’s full of shit.’

  Aaron deflates and I hope to God that’s going to be it, end of story. But no. I can almost see his synapses flexing as he reaches his joyous conclusion.

  ‘Huddo says you had them last…You say you don’t have them. I say you…you must know where they are. Boris, assist me please.’

  Boris swamps me in an embrace, lifting me while pinning my arms with his. Aaron slides up my shirt. He lands a forearm slap, crack, across my stomach. I’ve seen him do this, his famous Red-Gut, umpteen times before. Never so close up though.

  I kick out with both legs. Boris wobbles backwards as Aaron swings again. Carlo and Phan cheer ‘Red Gut, Red Gut’ as the third slap arrives. After the fourth, Boris drops me onto the decking, my stomach a sunburn pink.

  ‘In that boot,’ I pant. ‘Over…there. Now take the fucking keys…and bugger off. I’m not…I’m not up for this…tonight. I have…plans.’

  ‘Plans, my arse!’ That’s Aaron. ‘Sitting at the back of a room perving on Sarah. That plan is officially cancelled. We have a flight to catch. Boris is Chewie, Golden boy Phan is C-3PO and Carlo, Carlo is the perfect R2-D2. You, my man, are Luke and this Captain Solo ain’t taking no for an answer.’

  Boris lets out his best wookiee yowl. Carlo scowls at the reference to his height. I turn to go back into the house, my stomach still hotter than a barbecue grill.

  ‘Sorry boys, no flight for me. I have to work the force on Sarah Hansen. You dickheads shouldn’t be driving anyway.’

  ‘Negatory. That does not compute, Luke. We need beer and that is a mission for the entire team. Which means you. Get him, Chewie.’

  And, for the second time that night, Boris wraps his hairy arms around my chest and lifts. I buck like a rodeo bull but can’t break his hold. Phan grabs my legs, locking my knees together. They carry me across the front lawn to the Falcon. Carlo holds the door as they shove me inside. Then he and Phan leap in either side of me and lock the doors. Aaron guns the motor and the Falcon lurches away.