January

by Gabrielle Lord

  It was starting to get light and I got up and washed my face with cold water. How could a toy dog be terrifying? It didn’t make sense. But the reality I was living was also a nightmare-Gabbi saying I was the one who hurt her, Rafe saying he heard me in the house, my prints all over the gun, my own mother not believing me … there was no escape.

  343 days to go …

  Another week had passed and I was finding things really hard. Life in hiding seemed to get worse.

  Every morning, I’d spread the drawings out on the floor and study them. These were my work, my focus. I made notes, and scribbled down any ideas that came to me. I knew that in some way, they were connected to me, to my family.

  Most days I’d go outside the back door where the lopsided tin roof—all that was left above the old verandah—sheltered me, and there I’d have something to eat from the supplies Boges had given me.

  Then I’d go back to the drawings …

  Time passed so slowly. Under the cover of darkness, I slipped out to buy more food, and batteries for my torch.

  341 days to go …

  I’d struggled to sleep the last couple of nights and was really feeling it.

  I decided to copy the drawings for myself. I wanted to learn them, from the inside, hoping that they would reveal their secret to me. But what could I use as paper?

  I pulled a black marker out of my bag and stood by one of the walls. I looked down at the commando angel carefully and began copying his image directly onto the wallpaper. His form began to take shape as I bent low and stretched high to capture the size of his intimidating stature. Soon he towered above me.

  I moved further along the wall and drew the monkey next, with his ball in hand, then the waiter carrying the tray of cards, the Roman emperor and the Sphinx, the cupboard and the number five, then the rose and the boy … I looked around at my surroundings and there was no answer. The images that I’d stared at non-stop since I found them at the mausoleum all glared at me from the walls, as if begging for my help. I don’t know! I glared back.

  Help me, Dad! I whispered in my head. What were you trying to say when you drew these?

  I felt hopeless and pathetic. In frustration I began pulling off the wallpaper I’d just drawn on, tearing the giant angel down, ripping off his wings, tearing down the monkey and the Sphinx …

  I fell to my knees and looked up at the mess I’d made. The image of the waiter was all that remained on the wall. He stared down at me, between half torn-off sheets of paper, and held out his tray. He offered me the jack and the ace of hearts. 21. 21! His two cards made a perfect 21 combination. A blackjack!

  338 days to go …

  Why did the waiter have the winning combination on his tray? I needed help from Boges.

  Being alone for so long in that decrepit old house was sending me crazy. The days were all blurring into each other. The drawings hadn’t revealed anything else and I was no closer to finding out who had attacked my family and why. It had been too dangerous for Boges to meet with me and so he was trying to keep away until the heat died down. Time was ticking, and I was getting nowhere.

  Back at the house I’d heard rats scampering about upstairs and thought I could smell something dead up there. The hot weather was making it worse.

  I had to get out, so I’d taken the risk of sneaking out again in daylight.

  I ordered something to eat in a small sandwich shop in a factory area. I sat at the table staring at the television, enjoying the first decent meal I’d had for a long time. Nobody took any notice of me, until I nearly fell off my stool. I pretended it was because I had almost dropped my bag but it was because my mother’s face had suddenly filled the screen of the small TV set that sat on the shelf behind the counter.

  ‘Please call me again, Cal,’ she pleaded. ‘We can sort this out. You must be ill. I don’t blame you, and your uncle doesn’t blame you either. We beg you to come home and help sort this out. There are good doctors who can help you deal with this.’ The camera panned back and there was Uncle Rafe, head bandaged, and arm in a sling, standing beside my mother as she spoke, a steadying hand on her shoulder.

  I was speechless.

  Mum, I wanted to say, why don’t you believe me? What’s wrong with you? Surely she knew her own son?

  My mother spoke again. ‘We understand you’ve been under tremendous pressure lately. Just come home so we can deal with this together.’ She started crying and Rafe put his arm around her, pulling her close.

  I wanted to ring again, but I knew it was pointless.

  My face flashed up on the screen again. But this time I didn’t run or duck for cover—I didn’t need to. I didn’t look a thing like the fresh-faced schoolboy on TV anymore. He was history.

  337 days to go …

  My mobile rang. Boges!

  ‘They’ve stopped watching me. I think I can risk meeting you. What do you need?’

  ‘More clothes,’ I said, ‘and more food.’

  Having such a good friend meant a lot to me, and without his help I didn’t know what I would have done.

  Soon all of my friends would be going back to school. I wondered what they thought of all this. Surely they didn’t believe the reports.

  They’d all soon be doing those ordinary daily things that had been part of my life for the last ten years, while I was forced to live like a criminal—on the run.

  When Boges arrived at the derelict house, he stared at me, pointing to the studs in my lip and eyebrow and the tattoos on my neck and arms. ‘What the hell happened to you?’ he asked.

  I touched my piercings and glanced at the tatts. ‘They’re fake,’ I said. ‘I had to make a few changes. I know it’s lame, but it’s a quick fix for now.’

  ‘You look gross!’

  ‘And you’ve packed on a lot of weight suddenly!’ I said, noticing how bulky he was looking.

  ‘Thanks!’ Boges shook his head and laughed. ‘I didn’t want to carry a bag or anything, apart from this,’ Boges said, holding up a plastic bag of stuff he’d brought for me. ‘So I wore a few extra layers of clothes. Now I can peel them off and give them to you.’

  That’s my friend Boges.

  Again, we were staring at the drawings spread out on the floor.

  ‘See?’ I pointed out the 21 to Boges.

  ‘Yes, it’s the winning combination,’ said Boges. ‘A blackjack.’

  We stared at each other.

  I looked more closely at my friend. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked. ‘You look really white.’

  ‘It’s just the heat,’ said Boges … ‘What happened in here?’ he asked looking around at the shredded wallpaper.

  ‘Just a bit of interior decorating.’

  We’d been poring over the drawings for hours, trying to make some sense out of the blackjack drawing. But so what? A blackjack. It could have just been a coincidence. My eyes ached and my brain felt wrung out like a wet sheet.

  We were never going to crack these drawings—that is, if they could be cracked. After all, I reminded myself, my dad did have a virus that attacked his brain. Who knows what he was thinking.

  The drawings that had seemed so intensely exciting a little while ago, that had seemed to mean something, now failed to interest me. The angel seemed like nothing but a long-dead image from a war that had been finished nearly one hundred years ago.

  ‘We must be crazy to think these drawings actually mean something.’

  ‘Come on, man,’ said Boges. ‘You’re just feeling bad. Even the doctor said these drawings meant something to your father. What about your other relatives? Would they have helpful information about the family? Who else might know about the Ormond Riddle?’

  ‘I don’t have that many other relatives—except for a really ancient great-uncle who lives somewhere in the country. And some old great-aunt that I’ve never even met.’ I only had distant memories of my great-uncle, the uncle whose love of flying had been inherited by my dad. Dad had described him as a real character.

 
I started rubbing my shoulder. ‘I hurt it ages ago, somehow, but it’s still aching.’

  Boges took a look. ‘It’s a bit swollen.’

  ‘It won’t kill me.’

  ‘But staying here might,’ said Boges. ‘You need a country holiday. And an ancient great-uncle is exactly the sort of guy who’d know a lot about the family. He’s been around for a long time.’

  I must have looked unwilling because Boges kept talking, trying to convince me. It didn’t work. ‘I don’t know where he lives,’ I said.

  ‘Tell me where I can find his address,’ said Boges, ‘and I’ll get it for you tonight.’

  I described a little book Mum kept near the telephone on the kitchen counter. I was pretty sure it would be in there.

  Later that night, as I sat outside on the back verandah, wondering how I was going to get to the country, I was interrupted by a text message from Boges.

  been throwing up for hours. so sorry. sick as. might be better in a couple of hours.

  I couldn’t wait. I would have to break into my own house.

  336 days to go …

  Huddled in the jacket that Boges gave me, I made my way home through the night. I moved quickly and quietly, constantly looking around for watchful eyes.

  By the time I got to my street and peered around the corner, I was as jumpy as hell. Out of the dark, headlights suddenly blinded me as a car pulled out and headed my way. I dived sideways into the nearest garden, and crouched down until it passed. It was probably completely innocent—but I couldn’t help suspecting everyone and everything.

  I crept towards my house and was relieved to see that the only car there was my mum’s.

  As I came closer, I was shocked to find a ‘For Lease’ sign standing in the front yard. Mum must have put the house up for rent. But where would she and Gabbi live? My heart sank. I could only guess where they would go: Rafe’s house. The thought of that made me sick.

  I crept around to the backyard and luckily the spare key was still under the cactus pot.

  Moving like a ghost, I let myself in. Everything was quiet and dark.

  I had to go through the living room to get into the kitchen, and once there I felt my way around until I found the little book beside the phone. Holding it up in the dim moonlight, I flipped through the pages until I found Great-uncle Bartholomew’s address. I pulled a scrap of paper out of the bin and copied it down.

  A low growling noise came from behind me.

  Shocked, I spun around.

  Did Mum have a dog now, a guard dog?

  I stood immobilised. But then my eyes adjusted even more to the darkness …

  There in front of me, lying along the lounge and snoring loudly, was Uncle Rafe. He’d been hidden by the back of the lounge when I came inside. If he opened his eyes now, he’d be looking straight at me!

  I edged my way out of the kitchen, hardly daring to breathe, gliding silently past the sleeping figure, without taking my eyes off him.

  I heard another noise behind me then, and turned to see the figure of my mother coming down the stairs.

  I stepped backwards silently, taking cover around the corner behind a tall bookcase. I held my breath, terrified that she would hear me. She came down into the living room, past Rafe and then stopped, distracted by something on the mantelpiece. She picked up a framed photograph of Gabbi and me taken at the beginning of last year, before Dad went to Ireland. Mum stared at it for a long time. I noticed that in her other hand she was holding the photograph of my father that she kept beside her bed.

  I had to stand, silent and hidden, watching my mother’s pain and grief. Both Mum and I had lost almost everything and I couldn’t even comfort her.

  I felt my own eyes sting with tears.

  After a while she turned and went back upstairs, holding the photographs close to her heart.

  If only I could go back upstairs too, and crawl into my own bed. Maybe I should just turn myself in and get it over with, I thought. Then my eyes fell on the portrait of my parents on the wall, the shot taken when they’d had a holiday together a few years ago. Even in the dim light it seemed that Dad’s dark eyes were looking directly into mine, reminding me that I’d promised myself to look after the family, that I’d promised myself to solve the mystery of the drawings and the Ormond Riddle. Standing in the dark, then and there, I made another promise to myself—that one day I’d walk back into this house, no matter who was renting it, pay them off and give it back to Mum. Then everything would be the way it once was. No, it would be better—way better than it had ever been. It would be as if Dad was back with us, because now I was more determined than ever to discover the huge secret he’d been in the process of uncovering. Whatever it might bring to us, it would always remind us of his presence.

  As I made the promise, I felt a new strength and determination in my bones. Even though the situation right now seemed hopeless, if there was a way to do this, I was going to do it.

  I was awake and eating more cold baked beans. I had made myself some big promises that I needed to keep. I had my great-uncle’s address and I had to get ready to hit the road. All I needed was a map and a ride. But first, I had to see Boges.

  I was packing my backpack with some supplies for the trip when Boges sent me a text.

  feeling heaps better 2day. but being watched. how did you go with the address? meet tomorrow @ 2 where we used to draw with chalk. bring them with you.

  Straight away I knew where Boges meant, and what he wanted me to bring. In Year 8 we used to go to a five-storey carpark and hang out, writing stupid things on the walls.

  The road trip would have to wait one more day.

  got the address. cool. see you there.

  335 days to go …

  I got there before Boges and went to the top level to keep a lookout for him.

  It didn’t take me long to spot him jogging along, and I was about to go down and meet him when I noticed a man following him. When Boges crossed the road, so did the man.

  That’s when I realised Boges was right. He was being followed and he was leading his pursuer straight to me!

  I called him urgently. I watched as he pulled out his phone.

  ‘Don’t turn around! You’re still being followed!’ I told him. ‘Shake him off!’

  Boges paused while he took the call, and so did the guy behind him. I could see him pretending to look at something on the ground. Then Boges suddenly doubled back the way he’d come, almost colliding with the man as he straightened up. I ducked back from my lookout position.

  I heard something—it was Boges, huffing and puffing. ‘I took him on a wild goose chase,’ said Boges with a smile. ‘If you think I’m puffed, you should see him! We’ve been up and down and round and round! I sent him up and down in the lift!’ He plopped himself down on the ground, wiping his face. ‘Man, I’m glad that’s over.’

  ‘Who do you think he was?’ I asked.

  ‘I reckon he was a cop. Out of condition. Too slow and heavy. I’m going to have to be very careful whenever we meet. This isn’t the first time I’ve been followed.’

  ‘You’re right. Boges, how’s Mum?’

  ‘So-so. Your uncle’s out of hospital.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘He scared the hell out of me last night. He was sleeping on the couch while I was breaking in.’

  ‘So you know about the plan to lease the house?’

  I nodded.

  ‘And Gabbi? How’s she?’

  ‘No change. She’s still in the coma.’

  ‘But it’s been nearly a month!’ I said. ‘She’s got to come around soon.’

  Boges looked away a moment and when he turned in my direction again, his face was very serious. ‘Cal, you should know that the doctors are saying she might never wake up.’

  ‘What?’ I didn’t want to hear what Boges was saying.

  ‘With the sort of injuries she had,’ Boges continued, ‘and the fact that she was without oxygen for so long …’

  I
thought of my desperate attempts at CPR.

  ‘She might have to be on life support for the rest of her life,’ said Boges.

  I couldn’t believe it. My heart flipped. I felt so helpless. I had to change the subject. ‘I’m heading off for the country,’ I said. ‘What did you want to tell me?’

  ‘I’ve had an idea. About the drawings—the things that can be worn. That angel is wearing a lot of equipment. And some sort of medal.’

  I pulled out the drawing of the angel and we both looked at the medal just to the side of the gas mask.

  ‘And you told me something was stolen from your mum—some piece of jewellery? Again, something you wear …’ he continued.

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘it was probably a gift for Mum—I’m just guessing it was jewellery. Mum said she’d never seen that box in her life.’

  I thought of something. ‘Maybe whatever was in that box was the Ormond Singularity. Some precious jewel or something? Something people will kill to get their hands on?’

  ‘Error of logic, man,’ said Boges. ‘They’ve got their hands on it already. They’re still trying to …’

  ‘… kill me,’ I finished for him. He was right. It had to be much bigger than a jewel.

  ‘Look, Cal. I don’t want to sound dramatic—you know I like to keep it simple, but I just want you to know that if anything were to ever happen to you, I’d follow this thing through for you.’

  A sudden sound near the stairwell brought the conversation to an end. A couple of security guards were hurrying towards us. ‘Hey, you two! What are you doing here?’