Risk

by Fleur Ferris

  It could be Sierra speaking. The hair stands up on my arms and at the back of my neck. I sit cross-legged and lean on my ankles. I can’t take my eyes off Taylor Wolfe.

  My memory of it is distorted, like a smashed mirror, jagged and messed up. I’m messed up too, and he knew it. The stupid thing is, as soon as I saw him, I knew he was bad. I knew it from day one. You don’t come by something good so easy. When we met, I knew he didn’t care about me. There was darkness in his eyes; something cruel behind his smile. Why would I ignore that? I think I even knew it would end like this; me alone, and him slipping away like a shadow into the night.

  I’m holding my breath.

  I can’t believe I fell for him and did what I did. And now there’s no turning back. I’m lost, gone and buried.

  Air expels from me in a burst. It’s Sierra. It’s her message from the grave. She’s speaking to me. I shudder but don’t turn away. I’m listening, Sierra.

  The music changes; it’s much quicker now. Taylor Wolfe starts singing.

  I listen to every word she sings, and when the song ends, I’m left chilled to the bone.

  It’s as if Sierra stood up out of the earth, took me by my shoulders and sang into my face.

  I watch it again. Again and again.

  I’ve heard that song heaps of times. When it came out, it was flogged on the radio. I just never really listened. I didn’t know it was about a murderer. It’s now Sierra’s song to me.

  And what Sierra would want is suddenly clear. I know what I have to do; I know how I can show the world just how beautiful and special she was.

  When I finally get into bed, Taylor Wolfe’s words continue to play in my head. I stare into the darkness for what seems like hours, and finally I fall asleep.

  FIFTEEN

  ‘I’m going to Rachel’s this morning and I want you to come with me.’

  I stare at Mum, shocked. Yesterday at Sierra’s funeral, Rachel stared right through me. She’s angry that it was my computer Sierra found Jacob Jones on. Angry that I didn’t go with Sierra. Angry that I didn’t tell someone after she called on Friday night. Angry that I covered for her. Angry that I didn’t call someone on Saturday morning when she didn’t show up. Angry that I waited until Sunday to come clean. Angry that the killer chose Sierra over me.

  This last one is speculation. She’s never said it, but I bet she’s thought it. Rachel has every right to be angry. At least she can shut me out. I can’t. I have to live with myself.

  For Rachel it doesn’t stop with me, though. She’s angry with so many people – herself and Dave mainly. Even Cassy. Rachel has shut everyone out, but Mum says we have to keep trying, have to be there for her. Mum says that deep down, Rachel knows Sierra’s death is not my fault and that the longer she avoids me, the more ferociously her anger will boil. She thinks that if Rachel confronts her anger – confronts me – some relief could follow.

  ‘All right,’ I say, hesitantly. ‘If you think it will help.’

  ‘I don’t know if it will. It may be too soon. But you just never know. It could give her … something.’

  I know what Mum’s saying, I just wish that ‘something’ didn’t have to be me.

  My nervousness is making me sweat, so I turn on the air conditioner in the car. I wipe my palms on my jeans but the clamminess stays. I should have brought a bottle of water. I press my lips together, trying to create some moisture in my mouth. I run my hand through my hair and wish I had tied it back. My stomach’s churning. But I think about how strong Mum has been over the past week and know that I have to show some strength of my own.

  When Dad was diagnosed, the smile faded from Mum’s eyes. After he died, for a while, she stopped hanging out so much with Rachel. Mum says she still loved Rachel, but Rachel was too much of a reminder of what her own life was supposed to be like, so being around Rachel was difficult. She said the four of them were a set, and with Dad gone, the set was broken. But she says that even when she felt she never wanted to see Rachel again, she knew that Rachel was always there, supporting her from a distance, waiting in the background for her to bounce back. That’s what Mum’s been doing since the day they discovered Sierra missing.

  We pull into the driveway. Mum hands me a tray of lasagne. I’m pleased to be holding something. It won’t be as awkward when Rachel doesn’t hug me.

  ‘Remember, none of this is your fault. You couldn’t have stopped anything.’

  I nod but it’s hard to believe those words. Mum rings the doorbell. Rachel answers. She glares at me. Her hair is pulled back from her face. It looks darker than usual, almost brown. Her face is thin and pinched and her lips pursed. She looks older. Mum hugs her.

  ‘Rachel, I just wanted to drop off some food.’

  Rachel nods.

  ‘We won’t stay long. I just needed to see how you are.’

  Rachel’s face distorts. She turns away. I look at the ground. Mum indicates for me to go through to the kitchen. As I enter, I’m startled by Cassy standing at the kitchen bench. Her hair hangs wet, dripping onto her shoulders, fresh out of the shower. Her face is pale and blotchy. I’ve never seen her without make-up. She stares, open-mouthed, shocked to see me. I brace myself for one of her snarky comments. She steps forward and opens the fridge door. At first I think she must be getting something out so I stand back and wait, but she moves aside. She’s opened it for me. And after I’ve found a place for the lasagne, she closes the fridge door. An awkward moment passes as we stare at each other. Her face moves with the hint of a sad smile, then she leaves.

  Cassy’s being nice and Sierra isn’t here. Everything is wrong.

  I stand in the kitchen, not knowing if I should go find Mum and Rachel. It’s weird to be in Sierra’s house as an unwelcome guest.

  I find Mum and Rachel in the lounge, sitting on the couch. The house is so quiet.

  ‘Taylor is doing something for Sierra,’ Mum says to Rachel. She turns to me. ‘Tell Rachel what you have planned.’

  I swallow hard. My throat is dry and restricted.

  ‘I’m starting a blog, dedicated to Sierra,’ I say. ‘I’m going to call it Risk, and I’m hoping it’ll help others by telling them how dangerous it can be … meeting people online …’ It all sounds too little too late. I haven’t thought all of it through so can’t explain what I want the blog to say or how it’s going to do what I want it to do. ‘Ah, if you’d like to contribute … er … you can … Just let me know … and I’ll …’ I stop. The look on her face is threatening. My words fade into nothing.

  ‘I’m sorry, Josie, I can’t do this.’ Rachel stands up and walks down the hall to her bedroom and closes the door.

  We see ourselves out. When the car door closes I burst into tears.

  ‘She needs time, that’s all. I know it’s hard, but we have to keep trying …’ Mum says.

  I stare out the window.

  Mum reaches over and takes my hand. ‘You did good.’ We sit there for a moment while I compose myself. ‘We’re going to detour on the way home and get you a new phone.’

  I nod. I want one; I just don’t feel like going to the store for it right now.

  I feel washed out when we arrive home. I leave the phone in its packaging and lie on the couch. Mum lies on the other.

  ‘It’s not your fault, Taylor. Sierra would have gone on that date no matter what. Ever since she was a little girl, she pushed the boundaries.’

  ‘I know.’ My thoughts spiral through the years. ‘Remember that time we went camping in the Grampians and Sierra crawled out on that death bridge thing, and Rachel stood at the side screaming her lungs out?’ I laugh at the memory. ‘What was she then, five years old?’

  ‘And that time at Mount Buller,’ Mum continues, ‘when she ducked under the ski patrol tape and sailed alongside that jumper and made him fall over before he reached his jump?’ Mum is smiling.

  I laugh. ‘That one made national news.’

  ‘God, Rachel was furious,’ Mum says.

&nbs
p; ‘And remember that year Cassy ate Sierra’s Easter eggs, so Sierra sat the sprinkler on Cassy’s bed and turned it on?’ I laugh. I was there, but I didn’t know she was doing that. She did it so quickly and quietly. People walked over the hose heaps of times without realising why it was there.

  ‘Sierra certainly wasn’t dull,’ Mum says. ‘She did so many wild things.’

  I breathe deeply and try to relax my stomach by stretching out.

  I think about what I’m going to do next. Rachel’s reaction wasn’t about the blog; it was her anger at me. I still want to do the blog, but I’m going to make it bigger. I’m going to make it a website. For Sierra. For me.

  Callum arrives about an hour later. We’re quiet and sombre together, but his presence is comforting. I still don’t know how he really felt about Sierra and I don’t know how he feels about me now. That Saturday with him is a beautiful memory. It was the last time I was happy. It just came at the wrong time. I’ve started to think that maybe our relationship hasn’t been put on hold, it’s been put away. We still act as though nothing ever happened.

  ‘Have you heard anything from the police?’ Callum asks Mum.

  ‘They have nothing yet,’ Mum says. ‘No suspects.’

  ‘What about the shots they got on the security camera? Surely that’s led to something.’

  ‘You would think so,’ Mum says sadly. She sits up on the couch. ‘I’m going to leave you two to it. Thanks, Taylor, for coming today. I know it was awful, but we have to keep testing the waters with Rachel. We have to be there for her, always, even if it’s uncomfortable.’

  Callum looks at me. I wait until Mum goes before telling him about our visit to Rachel’s place. It brings me to my website idea. Callum’s eyes light up. His face is handsome and I want to kiss him. I look away.

  ‘That’s a great idea. Do you need help?’ he offers.

  ‘Yep.’ We both laugh. ‘Have you made one before?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I’ll see if I can find out about how to do it … It will be kind of good to have something to think about other than …’

  His eyes are haunted. I know the look; I see it in the mirror every day.

  Callum rides home and collects his laptop so we both have one – I’ve still got the one from school. We sit next to each other on the couch in the lounge room and Mum comes in and out, doing laundry, a bit of gardening and bringing us food and drinks. Her being here, doing normal things, comforts me. Callum and I go online and browse through sites that explain how to build websites. They have formats you can use. It’s fiddly and tedious but much easier than I thought.

  I list what I want the site to have.

  Introduce Sierra – photos and story

  Blog

  Chat room – a place to talk online. Scheduled conversations and topics

  Photo gallery – start with the photos Jacob Jones sent to me, so others can see how easy it is to create a convincing alias

  Callum looks over my list.

  ‘Do you want me to make it so that you can add more pages as you go? In case you think of something else you want to include?’

  ‘Is that easy?’

  He laughs. ‘I don’t know. But I’d bet some of the guys at school will know.’

  I don’t enjoy the technical side of building a website and can’t focus on reading about it. ‘You can be responsible for developing the website, then, and I’ll sort out the content,’ I say.

  He nods with a smile. We stare at each other for a moment and I expect him to look away, but he doesn’t. Neither of us does. He leans in closer to my face. His voice drops.

  ‘I’d like to write a blog post at some stage, though,’ he says.

  Our faces are so close I think he might kiss me.

  ‘Sure.’ I wonder what he wants to say, but now’s not the time to ask. Instead, I move to close the gap between us. Our lips are about to touch. I pause, giving him time to pull away if he wants to.

  There’s a knock at the front door.

  I blink a few times. Worst. Timing. Ever. Callum smiles, then looks towards the door. The moment is broken.

  Another knock sounds.

  ‘You’d better get that,’ Callum says.

  I put my laptop down on the coffee table and walk to the door. Another knock comes, more urgent this time. Suddenly I’m anxious about who it might be and what might be wrong …

  It’s Dave, Sierra’s dad. He looks shocking. Bags hang heavy under his eyes and his hair is a mess. His eyes are wild. He looks wired, emotional, unhinged. It’s such a shock to see him here. I haven’t spoken to him since before he went to America. I don’t know what to say. Is he here to give me a piece of his mind for having the hide to go visit Rachel? Does he blame me too?

  I step back, eyes wide, waiting for the yelling.

  ‘I should have called,’ he says. ‘I … I was driving around …’ His voice trails off and I think he’s going to break down and cry. He swipes his hand across his forehead. He’s trembling. He struggles to speak, then regains his composure. ‘Is Josie here?’

  It’s so different to what I was expecting that for a moment it confuses me. It takes a moment but eventually I step aside. ‘Yes. Come in,’ I say. Nervous energy makes me awkward and I don’t know whether to bring him through the house or make him wait in the hall. I close the door behind him and go to leave to find Mum.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault, Taylor,’ Dave blurts out. ‘He did it. I blame him.’

  A lump forms in my throat. I want to hug him, but it doesn’t feel right so I just stand there, uncomfortable, not sure how to respond.

  ‘Dave?’ Mum sounds as shocked as I was to see him. She takes in his dishevelled appearance. ‘Is everything all right?’

  Mum knows, of course, that everything is not all right. Everything will never be all right ever again. But that’s not what she means. I’m pretty sure she’s talking about the events that led him to our door.

  Dave doesn’t answer.

  ‘Come to the kitchen; I’ll get you a drink.’

  When I return to Callum in the lounge room, we hardly speak. He would have heard Dave and I talking, how disturbed Dave sounded. His issues are bigger than our faltering romance, so again Callum and I pretend that nothing just happened between us. We work alongside each other for a while and before long, Callum is making his way out the door to his soccer game.

  With Callum gone, I get distracted by what Mum and Dave might be talking about. Their voices are too quiet for me to make out any words. I resist the urge to go into the kitchen and pretend to want a drink, and instead pull out a bunch of old photo albums we have. I have photos of Sierra since she was a baby. I find a photo for each year of her life. A different memory is attached to each one. I scan the photos and edit them, slightly altering colour to highlight the gold shine of her hair, or the sparkle of her eyes, or the beauty of her smile. I have photos of her at pony club, in the snow, among flowers, in her school dress, dancing, at the beach, in a swimming pool. I line up fifteen photos. The final one is the one where she looks most like Taylor Wolfe. She would definitely choose it. She looks happy, beautiful and bursting with energy. So alive. I fade all the colour except for the colour of her lips, which I enhance so that they are a bright, bright red. He may have killed Sierra but he can never take away her spirit.

  My eyes flood with tears. The despair never leaves. Suddenly, Mum and Dave are standing at the door looking at me. I dab at my face.

  ‘Ah, I’m fine. It’s just … Sorry.’ I pull myself together.

  Dave looks at me for a moment. He still looks a wreck.

  ‘I meant what I said before,’ he says.

  I want to tell him how much it means to me, for him to say that, but the lump in my throat is back and I can’t speak.

  Mum talks with him in the driveway for a few minutes and then he leaves.

  Mum comes to me in the lounge room. ‘Are you okay?’ she asks.

  I nod. ‘Did something else happen?’

/>   ‘Things got very nasty between Rachel, Dave and Cassy. They had a huge fight.’

  ‘He didn’t look very good.’

  ‘No. He didn’t, but he wants to work things out. He wants to stand by Rachel; he’s just not sure she’s going to let him.’

  When Mum goes, I lie on the couch and stare at the ceiling. Just when I think the heaviness in my heart is at its limit, it proves me wrong. The thought of Rachel and Dave splitting up is devastating.

  I give myself fifteen minutes, then make myself get off the couch and keep working on the website. By the time Callum returns, I’ve arranged the photos onto a web page. They increase in size with each year of her life. The pictures snake across the top of the page and then curve down into a sweeping path to the biggest one. I smile at him and keep working. I write words to match the sweep of the photos and then a passage about the way Sierra met the man who killed her. Callum taps his keyboard beside me. I tune into his presence, aware of how close we’re sitting, our legs almost touching. I save my page, take a huge breath and walk away from my computer. When I turn around Callum is watching me. He looks back to his computer and keeps working.

  I need a break, anyway. I need time away from Sierra, so I go into the kitchen and make cheese and Vegemite toasties and two hot chocolates and bring them to the lounge room.

  Callum puts his computer down, flops sideways onto the couch and stretches out. The fresh air and exercise he had playing soccer has brightened his skin. He doesn’t ask about Dave, so I don’t bring it up.

  ‘Did you win your soccer game?’

  ‘No. Didn’t score.’ He laughs. ‘The site’s coming together but I’ll take it to school and get the guys to help do the final touches and make sure it all works properly.’

  ‘That’s great,’ I say. ‘Maybe we can go live next week.’

  ‘Maybe. What are you going to call it?’

  I flush red. I know I shouldn’t feel embarrassed.

  ‘Risk,’ I say.

  ‘Risk,’ he repeats. I can see that he doesn’t think it’s that great a title.

  ‘I want the focus of the site to stay on Sierra, but I know she wouldn’t just want it to be all about her. She would want to stop this from happening to others. Callum, she got caught because she didn’t even realise she was taking a risk. Sierra never stood a chance.’