Bottled Up

by K. J. Emrick

  Until he started charging me double what he had before.

  One of the big hotel chains that operate in Tasmania got ahold of his services and suddenly he was too busy for us local business owners like me. Not unless I wanted to pay him through the nose. Which I didn’t.

  So, I severed our business ties with a few choice words that I almost regretted the next day. Almost.

  However, I know that this man responds to the almighty dollar, so I was sure he’d be willing to help me bring out the rest of the words from Orville McGowan’s note. As long as I paid him enough.

  I’d driven up early this morning and arrived just as Marlon was opening up. I showed him the note, and I explained what I needed, and then I listened to him grumble about how valuable his time was. He finally told me to come back after lunch and he’d see what he could do. So I’d spent the day over here in Geeveston, just being a tourist. Thankfully, there’s no beaches in Geeveston.

  Around one o’clock I went back to Marlon’s shop.

  The fact that he started laughing the minute he saw me coming through the front door told me two things. Yes, he had what I wanted, and yes, it was going to cost me.

  “G’day, Dell! Got your little note for you right here.”

  He’s a big man, obese and jiggly, and he has to carefully sidestep when he’s behind the sales counter to get from one side of it to the other without knocking over the shelves behind him. How the displays of digital cameras and boxed toner cartridges and other items stayed so neatly stacked behind him without being toppled over in his wake was something of a mystery unto itself.

  His smile could swallow a wallaby whole. Not something I’d care to see.

  Reaching under the sales counter, he produces two things. One is the McGowan note, still in its plastic police evidence bag. I only allowed Marlon to do this on the condition that he not unseal that bag. He’d grumbled some more about how hard I was making his life and then rubbed his double chin and then shooed me out of his shop until after lunch.

  The second thing is another sheet of paper, also in a plastic sleeve, only this bag has the logo for Appleby’s Fine Print Shop up in the corner. In that one, the note has been reproduced in fine detail, every letter and every word complete.

  “Wow,” I have to admit. “You are a miracle worker.”

  Marlon’s expression is so smug I want to slap him. “Well. Here at Appleby’s Fine Printing, you get what you pay for. God himself would’ve charged you for this miracle, let me tell you.” Reaching under the counter again, he pulls up a third sheet of paper. This one is an invoice. “My bill. If you want this here lovely note, then I’ll need payment up front.”

  He reaches over and picks up the enhanced copy of the note that he made for me, and then very deliberately places it face down so I can’t get more than a passing glance at it.

  “Money first,” he insists.

  Nothing else to do but pay the bill…

  It took me a minute to pick my jaw back up from the floor. The price for this ‘miracle’ is pretty high. If I didn’t know Marlon personally, I would’ve thought he was kidding. Only, I know for a fact the man never kids when money’s involved.

  “You’re a real highwayman, Marlon. You know that? I bet you’d sell your own mother if someone made an offer.”

  “I resent the implication against the sainted memory of my mom.” He puts one hefty hand over his heart as he says it, but then he gave me a wink. “Unless you’re gonna make an offer?”

  Already disgusted with the man, I pull out the checkbook from my purse and scribble the amount and his name, and then my signature. He’s lucky I want to solve this mystery as badly as I do. I certainly don’t want to be responsible for someone else getting hurt over this note. That’s what Mabel was concerned about. Me too, for that matter. Especially since it might be me who gets hurt next time someone goes and tries to find Orville McGowan’s treasure.

  Part of me hopes the words on this note, now restored to their original state, do point the way to Orville’s riches. If the note’s a treasure map, all well and good. Me and Kevin can take a trip to find the gold, or jewels, or other baubles that Orville thought were important enough to wreck his marriage for. Mabel never forgave him for going out that night he died, choosing his wealth over her. Even so, it might do some good now. It would give my Kevin and his Ellie a nice little nest egg to build on. Might even find it in me to send a piece of it to Jasmine, regardless of everything that happened this trip.

  Now that my miracle was paid for, I lean over the countertop.

  “There,” I tell Marlon. “There’s your fee, and here’s hoping you choke on it. I can’t say you don’t do good work, because you do, but I hope I never have to do business with you again.”

  “My, my,” he hums deep in his throat. “You’re being rather meanspirited today, aren’t you? Well. Lucky for the likes of Dell Powers, I don’t hold grudges. Here it is, exactly like you asked for.”

  He turns the page with the restored message back over with a flourish, then adds a waggle of his meaty fingers.

  I don’t care how hard he pats himself on his back, just as long as he’s got the note finished and ready for me to read. I rest my elbows on the counter and take my first look at the last message Orville McGowan ever sent his wife before his disappearance and death.

  * * *

  “My dearest Mabel.

  * * *

  Our argument this time troubled me so much that I had to take some time away. I’m going where I can be away from everyone. I don’t like it when we argue. I love you, Mabel. I always have, and I always will. No amount of treasure would ever change that. You were right when you said this has been a fool’s folly. I haven’t found a scrap of gold or silver or anything out on these islands. Nothing that made it worth all the time I spent away from you.

  You’re the most important thing in my life. You don’t know how your smile lifts my heart. You don’t know how your touch can make me whole. It doesn’t matter how much gold I found out here, it would never be worth losing you. I’m going to the island to pack up my things, and then tomorrow I’m coming back. I hope I can find a little peace in your arms when I get there, and I hope I can find some way for you to forgive an old, stubborn fool like me.

  I love you, Mabel. This note might reach you before me. Be waiting for me if it does. I’ll make it right. I promise.

  Orville.”

  * * *

  I read the note again, blinking over each word. This isn’t a clue to buried treasure. This isn’t a note detailing Orville McGowan’s untold riches. This… this is a love note. Orville was telling his wife that he was sorry for their arguments, and that he wanted to change.

  The irony there is that sometime shortly after writing this note, hopeful that he would come home to his wife’s loving arms, he died instead. Orville never made it home. The note never made it to his wife. She went on with her life thinking that her husband had abandoned her in favor of a fruitless search for buried treasure. She died thinking her husband didn’t love her anymore.

  Orville never made it back to tell her differently.

  But I could show her now. She could see the whole note, restored and complete, and know that her husband died wanting to be better. He died thinking of her.

  She would get her happy ending, even if it was coming a little late.

  “Thank you, Marlon,” I say to him. I mean it, too. He doesn’t realize it, but he’s done a good deed. Mister Bottom-Line here just proved there’s more to life than money. “Listen, I appreciate you doing this so quickly for me. I’m sure it was hard to get the whole of the message like this.”

  He shrugs both massive shoulders. “Wasn’t all that hard, actually. Just had to scan the note with an ultraviolet light and then run it through an enhancement program of my own design. Took me a couple of hours, is all.”

  I stare at him and wonder why I should be surprised. “Then why was the bill so high?” I demand.

  Now his
smile shows teeth. “A man’s gotta eat.”

  If you ask me, Marlon Appleby could afford to miss a few meals.

  Not my concern, however. I was serious when I told Marlon I hoped I never had to see him again. It’s good to know that there’s people who know their business as well as he does, when you need them, but it’s just as good to know that you can walk out of their door and leave them behind. Like this.

  The bell over his door clatters when I walk outside. Today was warmer than yesterday, and it was looking like winter might hold off for a little longer yet.

  Time for me to get back to the Pine Lake Inn and make sure Rosie has everything in hand. Might send her home early to spend time with her twins again, if she’s still feeling under the weather. I want to show James the remastered version of Orville’s note, too, so we can get it into the paper and keep everyone from going nuts over a treasure that isn’t even there. He can run the story now without me worrying about it. Plus, that will be a real snub to Gladys Austin. And good for her, because she deserves it.

  Might donate the original to the museum in Blue Laguna, too. It’ll make a nice addition to their collection. A piece of Tassie history, found and returned to where it belongs.

  I’ve got one thing to do with it first.

  I haven’t replaced the mirror in my bathroom yet, but this morning I had the distinct feeling that Mabel McGowan’s ghost was still at the Inn, waiting to talk to me again. When I get back I’ll find a quiet space with a mirror and show the note to her. It’s not often that you get a second chance to love the man in your life. I had that chance with my husband Richard’s ghost. Now Mabel McGowan can have it, too.

  One more ghost in my Inn. Well. My life wasn’t exactly normal before.

  At least it’s never boring.

  Coffs Harbour is a coastal city about three hours away from Sydney. Beautiful place, right on the water, with a very different feel from Blue Laguna. Once upon a time its economy was based primarily on banana plantations. Now, it’s blueberries. It’s far enough north of Tassie that the winter weather starting to encroach on us hasn’t found them yet. The breeze is warm. The water is nice. The people are friendly.

  Never been there once in my life, but I can picture it clear as day.

  Now, take North Boambee Road out of Coffs Harbour for fifteen minutes, almost to Bishop Druitt College, and turn right onto Krakanow Road. Follow it out to the end, and there’s a gate that blocks off a dirt drive.

  The dirt drive leads through the woods for kilometers, until it brings you to a cluster of dwellings that look like they’ve been built by madmen who were having fever dreams while sucking on psychedelic mushrooms. Some of them go straight up from the ground, topped with octagonal rooms. Some of them rise at a slant. Some of them are raised up on poles. All of them are different. I suppose in a certain light they might even be considered artistic.

  This is where my daughter Carly has been living.

  Everyone here wears clothes of white cotton. Pants and shirts, for both the men and the women. For the kids, too, because there’s a few of them about. They share a communal meal twice a day. They grow flowers to sell at the farmer’s market. They make ceramic bowls to sell to the local market places. There’s no internet. No phones. None of them talk to their families anymore except by writing letters. They might use the library computers in Coffs Harbour to send an e-mail on occasion, but other than that they only have each other.

  Their old families don’t matter. They think of each other as family now.

  Carly has forgotten about me. At least, that’s what I thought. I honestly thought she had given up her old life for her new one, and that she wanted nothing to do with her mother anymore.

  It’s only in moments like this, when I’m asleep in my bed and dreaming, that I think maybe I was wrong.

  I can see her, walking the dusty streets of this little community. I can see her smiling at everyone she meets. I can see the fear behind that smile, too.

  Here, you have to smile at everyone, or they think there’s something wrong with you.

  They have ways of fixing what’s wrong with you.

  Carly knows how to fit in. She always did.

  A man comes up to my daughter, tall and wiry, with long brown hair that he keeps tied back with hemp rope in a long tail, and a beard that frames his square jaw. His white shirt is decorated with red thread weaving designs down both sleeves. This is the leader of their alternative living community. He’s the man who gives direction to this new family of Carly’s.

  He’s the man who took Carly away from me.

  I don’t know his name, but I remember his face clearly. I will always remember this face. I figure that’s why he shows up in my dreams so often. I’ve been having this same dream for over a week now. Odd, how that can happen. It must be because Carly’s been on my mind a lot. Now, with Kevin’s wedding coming up so quick, I think she’s been in my thoughts a little more. I’d love to have her back to see her brother get married. I just know it isn’t going to happen.

  In the dream, the leader of this odd community hands my Carly a flower. It’s purple with a yellow center, and wide petals. Got thorns, too. I’ve never seen the like of it. Only in this dream.

  Carly takes the flower and pricks herself on one of the thorns.

  It’s the hardest thing in the world for a mother to see their child hurting and know there’s nothing they can do about it. This is all symbolism, of course. It’s my overworked brain telling me that I need to save Carly from herself, even though my rational side keeps telling me to let her do her own thing. She’s an adult. She gets to make her own decisions.

  Even when I don’t agree with them.

  But then I see her in the dream, holding onto that flower, and bleeding, and smiling because if she doesn’t smile there will be consequences.

  So I reach for her, and I’m almost able to reach her before her image turns to smoke and drifts away.

  I gasp and sit bolt upright in my bed. It’s dark, and I’m disoriented, until I remember that what I just saw was just a dream. I’m safe and warm in my bed. James is snoring softly with his bare skin pressed up against mine.

  Stupid dream.

  Running a hand through my hair, I replay the image of my daughter holding that flower, and I sigh. It’s her life, I remind myself. Her decisions.

  Doesn’t mean I have to like it.

  Swinging my feet down to the floor I get up out of bed and head to the bathroom. The nightlight’s on in there, plenty bright enough for me to find my way around my own rooms. Got the mirror replaced just yesterday. James filed his story on Orville McGowan’s note yesterday, too. Kevin’s wedding is next week, and I’m so looking forward to it.

  In the bathroom, I pour myself a glass of water from the sink and gulp it back. It’s going to be a few minutes before I can get to sleep again. Walking around usually helps get me tired again. James could help me get tired again, too. I might like that. I know he would.

  Putting the glass back on the sink, I look up at my reflection in the mirror.

  Mabel McGowan is looking back at me.

  Her spirit had been oddly silent since I showed her the note Orville had written for her just before he died, expressing his love and regret. I swear to you there were tears in her ghostly eyes. When she was done reading the words thank you had scrolled across the mirror, and she had faded away.

  Since then I hadn’t seen her once. Until now.

  Her eyes blinked, and a new message appeared.

  The blood in my veins turned to ice.

  Your daughter loves you. She needs you.

  I pressed my hand up against the mirror as the words slipped away, wanting them to come back, wanting Mabel to tell me more. How could she know about Carly, or the dream I’d been having, either?

  She couldn’t. Perhaps Mabel was just picking up on my uneasiness. Maybe she’d heard me talking to Jasmine about it.

  Maybe she knew something I didn’t.

 
I crawled back into bed, wrapping myself around James, and closing my eyes.

  Sleep wouldn’t come. All I could picture was my Carly holding a purple and yellow flower, her finger bleeding, a false smile on her lips.

  I really hate dreams.

  Continue reading?

  Book 9!

  Glossary of Australian Slang

  A few clicks - a few kilometres(miles).

  A goner - person or thing that is dead, lost, or past recovery or rescue.

  Aces - good.

  Around the bend – not in one’s right mind.

  Back of beyond - a remote place.

  Back of Bourke - an isolated place; middle of nowhere.

  Bloke - man.

  Bludger - an idle or lazy person.

  Blue - incident/drama. Argument.

  Bonkers - crazy.

  Bonza - most excellent, cool, great etc.

  Brekkie - breakfast.

  Bugger - used as a term of abuse, especially for a man or used to express annoyance or anger.

  Bugger off - go away, leave a person alone.

  Bunyip - the bunyip, or kianpraty, is a large mythical creature from Aboriginal mythology, said to lurk in swamps, billabongs, creeks, riverbeds, and waterholes.

  Can of cordial – can of soft drink. (This usage of 'cordial' for a soft drink is universal in Tasmania.)

  Chips – french fries or flavored chips in packets (snack).

  Chuck a wobbly - To overreact to something.

  Deadset - true, the truth.

  Delish - delicious.

  Devil's Marbles - a famous natural rock formation in Australia.

  Dipstick - a loser, idiot.

  Dodgy – dishonest or unreliable. Potentially dangerous. Of low quality.

  Donkey Track - very rough, unpaved road.

  Doovalacky - General term for an unknown item. A common Australian colloquialism. Used whenever you can't remember what something is called.