Girl From the Tree House

by Gudrun Frerichs

  “You don’t have to continue.”

  I’m out of breath and lean forward, supporting myself with my hands on my knees.

  “I might as well get it over and done with. It continued when Horace and Helen moved to Waitakere Flats and started a sister commune of Gateways there. Like in Mosvale, in Waitakere Flats, a lot of young so-called difficult children, boys and girls, came for what Horace called conduct adjustment. They all disappeared after a year. I think they were abused and groomed for other pedophiles. We never saw them again. We think it’s a lucrative business because all the Gateways guys are stinking rich.”

  We walk for a while in silence. I glance at him. I can’t tell whether he’s in shock or disgusted. If only Elise were here. I’m not good at reading people. I hope we don’t disgust him. He meets my gaze with a soft compassionate smile. Oh no, pity. That’s even worse.

  “Don’t you dare pity me.”

  “I don’t. I admire your grit and the fight in you all. No wonder the Gateways people are trying to make sure you keep your mouth shut. You could do some serious damage to their organization.”

  “I don’t think so. We have no proof. Everything I told you is just that, a story. With no proof, nobody in the whole wide world will believe us and convict them. Actually, they’ve told us often enough that nobody would believe a dirty little slut like us.”

  “But there’s evidence. Your body still must have scars from what happened.”

  That’s it!

  It takes a moment for me to crawl out from under the heaviness of his statement. He might as well have held my head under water and waited till there is no more fight left in my body. Amadeus is coming closer and I’m getting more wound up by the minute.

  I push back because it’s no use getting angry with him. He only wants to help. He isn’t aware that he’s part of the problem. Like most ordinary people, he lives in this bubble where good things happen to good people, the evil ones will get their just punishment, and nasty stuff like child abuse, violence, or murder only happens in the dark alleys of slums.

  That’s what’s wrong with the whole thing, the naïve habit of looking the other way, the blind confidence that victims can expect a fair trial in the justice and law enforcement system. If only people knew.

  There is a reason sexual abuse and child abuse are under-reported. Things will never change. The Tribe is awake. I know that because a wave of helplessness and hopelessness washes through me. We can’t afford to give up and falter. We have to stay hopeful and positive or we’ve lost before we even started.

  “You are sweet. Really sweet and naïve. I told you we’ve been to the hospital as a young child. The doctors always believed what the parents told them. Accidents in the playground, blah, blah, blah, and fairy tales like that. They only see what they want to see. Why don’t you get it? Nobody believes a certified crazy person. If we stay out of police custody, we might have a chance to disappear overseas.”

  He takes a breath as if he wants to launch into a yes-but-argument with me. I’m holding up my hand.

  “Stop. Let’s not talk about it. I’d rather concentrate on getting out of here.”

  I increase my pace even though the straps of my backpack are cutting into my shoulders and I’m getting tired. It feels like Luke is taking over from me and walks the rest of the way to Scottie’s cabin. At least I hope that’s what’s happening.

  Elise: 4 December 2015, Early Evening, Scott’s Hut

  I can’t describe how happy I am seeing Scott’s truck. Hiking up and down a mountain in twenty-four hours is about all the exercise I need for this month. Prince is jumping ahead and sniffing around Scott’s hut. Scott is inside and packing a bag for a four-day trip. I’m sitting on a bench next to his front door, my legs stretched out, and enjoy doing nothing. The sun disappeared hours ago behind gray clouds that will any moment now offload the rain. It’s a typical West Coast afternoon.

  Prince is yelping at the back behind Scott’s hut. I can’t make out whether it’s excitement or anxiety that makes him bark and get up to see what he’s on about. By the looks of it, it’s both. He’s down on his front legs and barking at a small brown ball.

  “Prince, leave the hedgehog alone.” Whatever hunting instinct the tiny animal triggers in Prince, he’s not letting go.

  “Prince, come, I don’t fancy a visit to the vet.” He’s not listening. Only the sound of a car approaching minutes later breaks his attention. His ears, which a moment ago laid back flat against his head, spring up. He’s such a good watchdog. How did I ever manage without him? Scott and I arrive at the same time at the front of the house, he from inside, and I from the back with Prince in tow.

  Do I imagine it or did Scott move to shelter me from being seen? I’m getting nervous and have to force myself not to hide behind the stack of wood on the side of the house as the sound of a car comes closer.

  “Who is it, you think?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not expecting anybody.” He throws my backpack and his bag in the back of his truck. “Why don’t you wait in the truck? I’ll take care of this.”

  I guess he tries to give the tone of his voice a calming quality, but… it’s not working. I climb into the passenger seat of the truck and wait, wishing I could just disappear into the fabric of the seat. This would be a good time to have Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak. Reality is, though, that only fairy godmothers grant wishes in stories that end with… and they lived happily ever after. I’ve never had a godmother, and I stopped believing in fairy tales long before I entered primary school.

  My fears are confirmed. The typical white Holden with blue and yellow colored blocks along the sides and grill and Police painted right, left, and center comes around the corner.

  The Tribe is in panic mode and I’m frozen.

  “What the…” Amadeus is hissing like a vicious adder in my ear, while I hear little ones wailing in the background.

  “Let’s get out of the truck and run,” Lilly says but her voice is lacking conviction. She knows it’s futile. We all do. The timing of their arrival is cunning. Fifteen more minutes and they would’ve missed us. We would’ve been on the highway to Haast and from there on our way to Christchurch and freedom.

  A cop I haven’t seen before and the redheaded policewoman Maddie recognized leave the car and march toward Scott’s truck. The cop is adjusting his belt with a pistol peeking out of a holster.

  “Mrs. Reid, please step out of the car. You are arrested for the murder of Patrick Armstrong and Heather Millhouse.”

  He said more, but I didn’t hear what it was. My head is buzzing with the all-familiar choir that drowns out everything else. It’s comforting to have the sounds of the Tribe filling my head again. At least, I know I’m not alone.

  I do what he says and let the redhead cuff my hands. The big smirk on her face makes my blood boil. I was never prone to violence, but right now I would’ve given everything for a skillet to flatten her face. I’m sure it would deeply satisfy me. She shoves me toward the police car and pushes me into the backseat.

  “Hey, stop. But. What…” Scott reaches for me.

  The officer interrupts Scott.

  “Don’t worry, we have it under control. Thanks for your help.”

  He swings behind the wheel and we take off. Before we round the corner, I take a last glance at Scott standing in front of his house. In the past weeks, I came to consider him a friend, someone I can turn to when I need help. But he turns out to be nothing other than a rabbit-killing, gun slinging traitor and a cheater.

  “Thanks for your help,” the cop said to him. Thanks for your help.

  Those four words ricochet inside my head from one corner of my mind to another, like the little silver ball in a pinball machine. Cling, cling, cling. Thanks for your help. Only it doesn’t want to fall into the bottom slot and disappear. It keeps going around and around.

  He betrayed me. Thanks for your help. That’s the long and the short. I got it wrong. I let his sad s
tory of wife and child perishing color my common sense. I’m a fool, a stupid, stupid, gullible fool.

  A sick weight settles in my stomach. He betrayed us. Scott turning on us is even worse than being taken away by the police. I can’t stand the lack of commentary from Sky and Lilly. Why are they not saying something? Anything? At least they could shout at me or give me a lecture of how wrong I’ve been judging Scott’s character, especially Lilly who had warmed up to him. Please, talk. Anything is better than nothing.

  I never would have thought I’d beg the parts inside me to talk to me.

  This would be a good time to do so.

  Nothing.

  Only the indistinguishable hum of chatter remains like the background music of a B-grade movie.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Lilly: 4 December 2015, Early Evening, In The Police Car

  I feel sorry for Elise. She doesn’t know that when the shit hits the fan, most of us go to ground. That means we disappear. Not that we want to, it just happens. Is it a habit or an inbuilt mechanism? I don’t know. I wish she would stop with the mea culpa rubbish. She may have the ability to see into a person’s character, but it’s just as much our fault as hers.

  We were desperate to trust someone.

  I guess, after escaping from under the reign of Helen and Horace, we thought we’d met a wholesome and decent man. No use crying over it, no matter how deep it cuts. We don’t have the luxury of having a long pity-party. My time is better spent searching for a way out of this dilemma.

  I have fantasies of pushing open the backdoor and rolling out of the moving car, as you see on TV, but the moment I move towards the door, the red witch turns around and squints at me. Blimey, it’s as if she can read my thoughts. Or did I speak out loud?

  They whisper in the front and send meaningful glances to each other, like adolescent school kids on the backbenches planning a secret rendezvous. How disappointing. I expected more from my first ride in a police car. There is no blaring from the police radio, no sirens are howling, not even the rooftop lights are flashing. I should be worth at least some rooftop flashing lights. I feel short-changed.

  I hope the crime they are accusing us of is severe enough to send us to a larger police station in Queenstown or Christchurch. The local police are corrupt; I trust them as far as I could throw our loom after I saw the red witch setting us up by planting a gun. All is not lost as long as they send us on.

  When we get to the highway, they turn left rather than right. What the…?

  “Hey, you took a wrong turn. Port Somers is the other way.”

  I might have saved my breath; they don’t even grace me with a response. What if they plan to dump us in one of the deserted canyons of which there are hundreds along the coast? I’m relieved when we turn into a driveway and, minutes later, stop in front of a farmhouse. The red witch pulls me out of the car and her colleague rushes to the farmhouse and knocks at the door. When the door opens, my mouth falls open. I’m not sure what I expected but certainly not this.

  “Good evening, Elizabeth. I’m glad we find you unharmed and well.”

  I stumble back and slam into the front of the red witch. This is impossible.

  “Helen?”

  “How wonderful, you are still sane enough to recognize me. Bring her in, Clara, we have a few minutes.”

  So, Clara was the red witch’s name. They steer me into the kitchen and sit me on a chair.

  “Martin, could you please pass me my bag and hold Elizabeth’s hands down?”

  Ha hold my hands down shouldn’t be too much of an effort. They are still cuffed. Four against one. I’m not sure, should I be proud that it takes four people to hold me down? It’s clear that Helen is not willing to run any risks this time. She gets a syringe out, lets the air out, and pushes the sleeve up on my right arm. I struggle, but it’s no use.

  “Keep still or it’ll hurt. I know you stress out easily. This injection will calm you down. Don’t worry. Good girl.”

  I feel my eyes getting heavy. Damn, that stuff is potent and acts quickly. The drugs are playing havoc with my system. I’m glad Ama sent the kids up into the tree house hours ago. Luke is up there too. Only Amadeus is close by, letting me borrow some of his strength and the ever-present Sky. Please, Sky, keep an eye open. I don’t think I can stay awake much longer.

  I can’t…

  … keep my eyes open. I wish I could rub my eyes, but my hands are still cuffed. For a moment there, I thought I dozed off. My mouth is as dry as the Sahara Desert and my head feels as if it’s made of custard and it buzzes like a beehive. Do bees like custard? They must do. Why else would they be inside my head?

  I’m staring into a big, blinding light. I close my eyes and wait a moment until I open them again. The light is still there, and my eyes hurt like hell. I remember now, Helen drugged me. When I turn my head the blinding light… how silly, it’s the sun.

  Where am I? I look around as much as I can see being tied up on this couch. I don’t know this room.

  “The sun came up a few moments ago. It’s time to leave and get to the boat. Is she awake?” a male voice is asking. It could be Martin Harris, Scott’s friend. He must have alerted Helen to our whereabouts after he helped pull Scott’s truck out of the ditch. Maybe it was wrong to blame Beth? That’s when our troubles began. It hurts to realize that’s also when Scott’s betrayal began. Steps are coming closer and I shut my eyes again. A shadow falls over my face.

  “She’s still out. We must carry her into the car.”

  Helen sounds smug and satisfied. Catching me must be a milestone in her pathetic life. How unsporting of her, one against a dozen, if not more. That’s not much of an achievement in my book. Where the heck are they taking me, and where the heck are the police?

  I’ve never heard of a case where the police arrest someone and then put him or her in a private house overnight. It’s hard to resist the urge to look, but I might find out more if I keep pretending to be asleep.

  “Let me do it. We have to hurry to catch the outgoing tide in Greymouth.” Two rough hands scoop me up. Martin. No doubt, it’s Martin. What has he to do with Helen? They seem to know each other well.

  “She’s too heavy, you take her legs.”

  They pull me up from the sofa and I have to bite back a giggle. Helen must put a lot of trust in her drugs if she believes I’m still out. They lay me down on the backseat of their car and rush into the front seats. I have no complaints. The car is super comfortable and quiet. A Mercedes is my guess, you know, the ones that drive so quietly, you only hear the ticking of the clock. My cuffed hands are the only discomfort I feel.

  They could at least have taken the cuffs off. What do they think of me? That I’m stupid enough to jump out of a car doing sixty miles per hour? Sometimes I think people watch too much TV and believe it’s real. This is not a cops and robber James Bond style scenario.

  This is a puny, pathetic woman who gets off on abusing children and vulnerable people. I’m sure I’m underestimating the power of the group standing behind her, but when everything is accounted for, they are shitty, creepy people who are too weak and too incompetent to make a decent living the legal way, so they have to prey on the most vulnerable of society.

  A cell phone rings and Helen answers it.

  “Where are you? They’re waiting for you. Don’t mess this up.”

  The person on the other end shouts loud enough that I can make out a distinct, Irish lilt. Whoever it is, is at the brink of an explosion.

  “We are only minutes away, don’t worry, Seb, she won’t cause any further troubles.”

  I’m sure Helen is talking about me. For a second I bathe in the satisfaction that not only Helen, but others too are fearful of my ability to create problems. I pledge to do my best not to disappoint them. If I don’t find a way to escape, I’ll at least try making their lives a living hell.

  Sky’s cautious voice interrupts my thoughts. “Be careful, a frightened enemy is unpredictable. They ar
e past smacking us and calling us naughty.”

  Who does Sky think I am? An amateur? I know what they are capable of. I just don’t see any benefit in launching into an all-out panic. I leave that to the others in the Tribe. I need to keep a clear head. A panicked mind has little chance of coming up with good solutions. And one thing is certain, we urgently need a perfect solution, or we are toast.

  We must have arrived at our destination because the car stops. Time to stage my waking-up-oh-my-where-are-we performance. I start with a few moans, a pulling on the handcuffs, and a loud groan.

  “She’s awake.” Helen throws a quick glance at me, opens her door, and leaves the car. Now would be a good time for Elise to show up. She knows best how to deal with Helen. Experience has shown I’ll only piss her off.

  I’m waiting.

  Elise: 5 December, Early Morning, Southern Belle

  I always wanted to know what it’s like to live in another person’s mind. Now I do. It’s not half as spooky as I thought. It has its pros and cons. The pros mean there is an end to stumbling through the day, oblivious to what is going on and how things impact on me. The state of blissful ignorance is no longer available to me. The constant influx of information from the Tribe is blowing my mind. I’m able to sit like a passenger on the backseat of a motorbike and observe what’s going on. No more significant time loss.

  The cons mean, I can’t pretend any longer. As I opened the door to the Tribe, my life has become a hundredfold more complex and difficult. I never knew there’s a part of me that would love to strangle Helen or another part that craves more of the stuff she injected us with, or another part that wants to crawl into her arms for a big hug, and a part that feels sick at the very thought of her hugging us. Every moment becomes a judgment call of which voice to follow and which to frustrate.

  One thing is certain; this is not the time to crawl into her arms for a hug. As I listen to Lilly’s thoughts, I feel like she’s pulling a curtain from my eyes and lets me see the world in a new light. Helen, who I once thought of as a friend, stares at me with dark eyes filled with hate, as she yanks me out of the car. Did she always look at me like that? I never noticed her sallow, sagging cheeks or her dull, dirty-blond hair.