The Miranda Contract

by Ben Langdon

  She smiled to herself, looking out the window with her head leaning against the headrest. She wasn’t worried about the owner of the car. Her people would get money to whoever they were and Miranda would make sure it was more than enough to replace the car. She smiled because Dan was really good at breaking the law when he needed to, and he did it without thinking.

  He did a lot of things, she figured, without thinking.

  “Do you hate your powers?” she asked as they moved onto the highway.

  He heard her, but he didn’t reply.

  She reached out and turned the radio off.

  It leapt back on without Dan moving.

  “I don’t think so,” she said and turned the radio off again. “Seriously, do you wish you were boring like me?”

  He smiled at that. She hit her mark. As usual.

  “I don’t know,” he said, checking the rear vision mirror. “It’s not something I can choose.”

  “But do you dream about being normal?”

  He still wouldn’t look at her.

  “I try not to dream at all,” he said. “Saves complications, saves disappointment.”

  “Very deep, Galkin. I just wondered, that’s all. I know people who would… who do things to be like you.”

  She didn’t shy away from the memories of the boy in Jakarta. She kept him vivid in her mind’s eye, his oily skin, the shine of his eyes and teeth. The smell of gasoline.

  “Some people think we’re different species,” Dan said. “Like a whole new race, or whatever.”

  “Did you even go to high school?”

  “What?”

  “You’re mixing up race and species, but I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  Dan curled his lip up and seemed amused.

  “You’re full of surprises,” he said. “I’m saying there are people out there who see themselves above the rest of the world just because they’ve got freaky powers.”

  Like his grandfather, she guessed, but she didn’t want to bring it up or break his conversation. He seemed to be relaxing a bit now they were on the highway.

  “But I don’t think we’re any different, apart from being able to do things a little differently, or looking a bit different. We’re still all just people, stuffing up as we go along.”

  “Still, there’s something about ubers that makes us think of different… better futures.” She paused and looked away. “There was this boy.”

  “Is this leading to some romantic confession?” Dan said, changing lanes. “Because I’d prefer not to know.”

  He pulled the car back into the left lane, overtaking an SUV. The motion was hard and Miranda braced herself against the dashboard. She shot him a look, hated him suddenly for not understanding her words, for cutting her off.

  “You idiot,” she breathed softly.

  “I’ve got problems, that’s all,” he said. “I don’t need to hear about your boyfriends.”

  The boy from Jakarta vanished, slipping back into memory, as the sultry Robbie Rogers replaced it. She screwed up her eyes and switched the radio back on, half expecting to hear one of Robbie’s songs. She gave up and turned the radio off with a bang.

  They travelled for a minute in silence, although Miranda was still churning inside. She hated the way he could slip into the adolescent boy mentality, the way he acted his age. He was seventeen. She expected so much more from him.

  “You slept with Evie,” she said suddenly. And regretted it instantly.

  “Who?” He didn’t even look at her.

  “My backup singer.”

  Dan shrugged.

  “The blonde. Small tits.”

  He looked at her then, and there was recognition in his eyes. She caught it just as he dipped them and looked away.

  “You don’t remember? Christ Dan, it was two nights ago.”

  “I could say sorry,” he said.

  “So why don’t you? Why don’t you say sorry?”

  He shrugged again.

  “You are such a bastard.”

  The car fell into silence again. Miranda wished that she could replay time, not say the words. It was his fault, of course. He had ruined the moment. She pulled out her phone and flipped the cover up and down, over and again.

  “My father killed a lot of people,” Dan said in the darkness.

  She stopped fidgeting.

  “What?” she asked, although she heard him clearly. You couldn’t not hear those kinds of words.

  “Twenty-nine, actually,” Dan added. “Maybe more.”

  Their car passed under a bridge, speed cameras positioned to catch offenders. She wondered whether the Mad Russian had access to them, wondered whether they would be careening back into that crazy world of killers.

  “They couldn’t identify all of them because of the heat of the fire and the… you know… the rubble.”

  She put her phone away. He needed her to say something, she knew, but there wasn’t any way of comforting him.

  “People were just out shopping, you know?” he said. “He’s got a following, my dad; these little sickos that discuss his career online and send him cards and letters.”

  “He’s alive?” Miranda sounded disappointed, even to her own ears.

  “No.”

  “They executed him?”

  “Are you telling me or asking me?” Dan shot back. But then he banged his hands on the steering wheel and rested his head back. “Sorry, you’re not the problem. We don’t kill criminals here in Australia. No death penalty, not that it mattered.”

  “But he killed all those people.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “Yeah.”

  They sat quietly. Dan tightened and loosened his grip around the wheel and Miranda just breathed slowly. Dan’s father was dead, that was clear. She wondered what happened and the possibilities flittered through her mind, sometimes the face of the man who could have been Dan’s father, was Dan himself.

  “Stop the car,” she said. “Pull over here.”

  He did as he was told, surprised at her words and probably too tired to resist. As the tyres slowed to a stop, she got out and walked to the driver’s side.

  “I’m driving, you rest. It’s a straight road, I promise not to kill us.”

  His eyelids were heavy. He nodded and crawled across to the passenger side, his arms and legs everywhere as he practically fell into the seat.

  Five minutes later he was asleep, with his head backwards, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. His fringe fell to the side, revealing one of the scars he’d collected recently. She reached across and let her fingers touch the skin.

  His head was warm.

  She stroked his face.

  “You’re so young,” she whispered. And inside she knew that things between them were different. He was a boy she could like, a boy with charm, a boy with complications. But then she knew it wasn’t ever going to happen.

  There was just too much in the way.

  Miranda checked her phone as she sat on the grass overlooking a river.

  No messages.

  No phantom techno-images of The Mad Russian, either.

  The ground was wet, but it wasn’t moving. It was wet and normal and real. She dropped her phone back into her bag and lay down, looking up into the sky. It looked different to home, but she’d already got used to the shifting world. Cities changed, skies changed. She breathed in and let her fingers spread out either side of her, pushing outward into the grass.

  “Got some chips,” Dan said as he walked up to stand over her. “I keep my promises.” He’d only been gone for fifteen minutes. She could smell the fries and smiled. Dan stood there looking uncertain. His shirt was torn from the fight in Melbourne. She noticed the scratches on his arms and face.

  “Come on, then,” she said.

  He grinned and sat down, quickly unwrapping the white paper, unleashing more of the smell.

  “What’s the plan?” she asked, enjoying the sensation of food. She c
ouldn’t remember the last time she had eaten.

  “We get out of here,” Dan said, not meeting her eyes. “There’s a place west of here. Should be safe enough and far enough away.”

  “So we run?”

  He shrugged.

  “I was hoping we’d drive,” he said. He looked exhausted.

  “What about tomorrow?” she asked. “I’ve got a concert, you know. There are people out there who need to know where I am.” Dan didn’t say anything. He sat with his face looking out to the river. “We need a plan, Galkin.”

  “It’s just that, plans aren’t really my thing,” he said. “I don’t do this kind of stuff everyday.”

  A few gulls circled above them, their shrill calls piercing the air. They settled close to Miranda, white feathers almost glowing in the moon light. They hopped closer. Dan threw them a chip and they spiraled upward to catch it, shrieking with hysteria.

  “I just want to be normal,” he said, throwing a second chip further down the slope towards the river, drawing the birds away.

  “I can call my people,” Miranda said, although she knew that Sully wasn’t going to be able to answer her. The others: the management crew, probably weren’t going to be much help either.

  “Bree said they’re compromised.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Miranda said.

  “Let’s just keep our heads low for a bit,” he said. He turned to look at her, his whole face pleading with her to drop it.

  “We’ll need a new car,” she said.

  Dan bit his lip and looked down, his familiar smile already dancing on his face.

  “Already taken care of,” he said.

  “You are a little villain.”

  She stood up and brushed off the grass which was everywhere, looking down at the river which now looked like a dark oily road. The hint of gasoline caught her on the light breeze. She closed her eyes, forcing down the memories again. The birds crept forward, chattering like devils, but apart from the gulls, they were alone. It was just her and Dan. She picked up her shoes and bag, already looking back up the hill.

  Dan touched her shoulder and she felt a little shock at his touch. He rubbed his hand down her back and the grass was gone. Some kind of electric shock. He was full of surprises.

  “I don’t want to know what you just did,” she said. “You need to come up with a plan tomorrow, because I’ve got fifteen thousand fans coming to see me.” She reached her free hand back for Dan and he took it. “I don’t care how mad the Mad Russian is, Dan. He’s not going to stop me from getting to that concert. And neither are you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Whatever,” Miranda said, taking the lead. “And I’m driving again. You still look like crap.”

  “Fine, get us out of the city.”

  They walked up the hill. Behind them, the birds crashed down onto the paper and chips, screaming their rights and nipping at each other as they feasted.

  Dan raised his eyebrows, looking down at Miranda’s hand as she shifted gears and accelerated back onto the highway. She caught him smiling, but ignored him and passed the slower traffic, heading out of the city. It didn’t matter which side of the road was the right one, and that’s why she liked double and even the triple lane roads. It was all about the slipstreams, moving ahead like she would back home on her trail rides, navigating her way forward.

  “You can stop smiling,” she said, finally. A quick glance at him reassured her that he was going to live. The cuts on his face were almost fully healed. He looked exhausted still, but that wide, white smile was still there. “You told me to drive. Back there, you told me to get us out of the city.”

  “I guess,” he said.

  “You did.”

  “I just expected a bit more jerking around,” he said. She cut him another glance and saw the mock-innocent eyes now.

  “Are you flirting with me?” she asked.

  “Hell, no,” he shot back, finally looking away from her. He rested his feet on the dashboard, hunched up like a teenager. Miranda enjoyed the shift in atmosphere. Dan was arrogant but he had a lot to learn.

  She sighed, easing ahead of another car. The lights of the city were behind them and a calmness spread through her mind. No more of these extraordinary people with their unbearable, convoluted plots. She thought of Sully and her manager. She thought of the fans and the media.

  Everyone would be wondering where she was.

  “My dad taught me to drive stick,” Miranda said.

  Dan shifted his legs. He ran his hand through his hair and raised his eyebrows again.

  “I said, my dad taught me to drive stick. Back home,” she said again.

  “I thought you’d have a chauffer.”

  Idiot. She smiled, despite herself.

  “Seriously? I’m not that girl.”

  Dan smiled too. He shrugged.

  “My dad drove a truck,” Miranda said. “Okay? Deliveries and stuff.”

  “Fair call,” Dan said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Dan shrugged again.

  “Can you stop shrugging?” she asked. “Seriously, can you not do that so much?”

  He sat up and picked off the GPS unit from the stolen car’s dash. Short flashes of blue light arced from the device and up along his fingers. Miranda watched them, like little flecks of lightning. They started bright but faded quickly as they vanished up his bare arms. She noticed his eyes were closed. After only a few bursts of electricity, Dan dropped the GPS over his shoulder where it clanged to the floor in the back. Useless.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked.

  She could tell he was about to shrug, but his body straightened and he took in a breath. She watched his chest lift. He seemed like he could go to sleep. Behind them, his grandfather was probably being helped out of the boot of a car, furious as Hell.

  “No,” he said.

  “Would it hurt me, if I touched you when you did that?”

  “You wanna try it?”

  Miranda shook her head. The traffic was thinning out. Beyond the lights of the highway, darkness swept across the land. The ocean was out there somewhere, and houses and farms, and normal people.

  “Would it?” she asked again.

  Dan let his hand slip to the gear stick. His bare skin lay warm against her own. It was a normal kind of touch and she surprised herself when she didn’t flinch. He strummed his fingers and she slipped her hand around his, squeezing it gently.

  “Thanks for saving me,” she said softly.

  A sound escaped his mouth, something like a half-laugh, but his breathing had slowed. He squeezed her hand back, but said nothing.

  Chapter 27

  Dan

  The sounds of the highway were well behind them, muffled by the rain and distant rumblings of thunder. Dan knew the storm would hit soon. He could feel the fury building across the bay behind him, hidden by the trees and the darkness of night. Ahead of him, Miranda held her shoes by her side as she walked barefoot towards the light of the house. Her pace hadn’t changed at all, despite the mud and uneven road surface. She hadn’t really said anything since leaving the car. Dan followed behind her.

  The house was his house. Once upon a time.

  Miranda stopped at the gate and looked around, pushing the strands of wet hair out of her eyes. Dan looked past her to the house. He could only see the one light on, the one in the laundry, but he knew she was home. The garden either side of the path was wild with herbs and discarded junk. He was embarrassed by the sprawl and hurried past Miranda, striding towards the door and hoping the whole night would hurry up and move on.

  He rapped on the security door.

  Eyes closed, he waited. How many times had he tried to get away from this place, he wondered. How many times had he dreamed of running away, of pretending to be someone else, living a normal life?

  Miranda stood behind him, off to the side, looking out to the paddocks which were eventually consumed by the night. She still clu
ng to her shoes and every now and then she sniffed.

  “I’m sorry,” Dan said softly.

  The door opened with the sliding of bolts and clicking of locks. Dan stepped back, the porch light suddenly all around them.

  She was surprised to see him of course. It was 2am and his face was bruised and bloody, his clothes drenched with rain. A normal mother would have pulled him inside, full of questions and touching. But Theresa wasn’t a normal anything.

  Instead, she stayed hidden behind the security door, slightly back as if he would lunge at her or try to force himself inside. They both remembered years ago when he thundered his way out, while she grabbed at him to stay.

  Things had changed since then.

  “Mum, I need to stay for a while.”

  Her eyes showed the whites. Her fingers, blue and creased with age, wrapped around the edge of the frame, but she made no effort to open the security door. There was no sign of the Theresa from earlier in the week, no sign that she saw him as anything other than a threat.

  Dan wanted her to remember. He felt exhausted, felt desperate for her to shake off her cyclic manic-depression, to wake up from her medicated torpor.

  “I really need some help,” he said and sniffed. “Please?”

  He could feel himself losing control, the weight of the night crushing his throat so he couldn’t talk anymore. And the tears were coming too, even though he’d promised himself never to come back, never to ask for help from her again.

  Dan suddenly slammed his hands against the wire mesh of the door, shocking his mother back inside in a flurry of locks and muttered prayers. He whipped around and walked back to the path, his face down, not daring to look at Miranda. She followed him around the edge of the house through clumps of weeds and lavender and other plants that were wet and heavy.

  He came to a window and reached up, feeling the edges. He pulled out a strip of metal, shining in the moonlight, and slotted it into the edge of the window. He moved quickly, with practiced ease. The metal lifted the latch on the inside and he pushed the window up, breathing out finally, a mist forming in the night.