The Veiled World

by Vanessa Garden

  The Veiled World

  by Vanessa Garden

  While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  THE VEILED WORLD

  First edition. February 16, 2021.

  Copyright © 2021 Vanessa Garden.

  Written by Vanessa Garden.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  For Mum and Dad

  1 | Amber | Red Gum, Western Australia

  2 | Axel | Veiled World

  3 | Amber

  4 | Axel

  5 | Amber

  6 | Axel

  7 | Amber

  8 | Axel

  9 | Amber

  10 | Axel

  11 | Amber

  12 | Axel

  13 | Amber

  14 | Axel

  15 | Amber

  16 | Axel

  17 | Amber

  18 | Axel

  19 | Amber

  20

  21

  22 | Axel

  23 | Amber

  24 | Axel

  25 | Amber

  26 | Axel

  27 | Amber

  28

  For Mum and Dad

  1

  Amber

  Red Gum, Western Australia

  In single file we climbed the metal staircase leading to the open hatch of the private jet. A warm evening breeze blew my long hair across my face, along with a decent amount of red dust, temporarily blinding me. I stopped to gather my hair into a fist, causing Reece, who was behind me, to kick my ankle.

  Ouch. I swore out loud. But the steady hum of the jet engine and all the shouting going on around us drowned it out.

  “Smile for the camera!” a reporter standing beside the staircase yelled.

  “Amber! Over here!”

  A quick downward glance revealed a bleeding scrape on my ankle. I groaned, not because of the blood—that I didn’t care about—no, it was the ridiculous shoes Bruce Harvey’s stylist had made me wear. Five inches of discomfort disguised as glamour with a few sparkly sequins and lots of pink. Laughable footwear for a farmer’s daughter. I couldn’t wait to kick them off once I’d found my seat on the plane.

  I arched my back and licked my dry lips, desperate for a drink. There would have to be cans of Alive on the plane. We were flying on Bruce Harvey’s jet after all. But after catching sight of my trembling hands, I quickly decided that maybe caffeine wasn’t such a good idea. Being a human ping-pong ball while trapped sky-high in a tin can wasn’t exactly appealing. I just needed to relax, suck in a few deep breaths.

  “Keep going,” Reece muttered.

  But I couldn’t. The line had come to a standstill and if I moved any closer to Kyle, the guy in front of me, we’d become a human sandwich.

  From over the heads in front of me I had a clear view of Bruce Harvey, dressed in a Buzz Lightyear costume and looking more like a mischievous twelve-year-old than the billionaire owner of Alive Energy Drinks. Which was disturbing seeing as he was the one who would be flying the plane. His blue eyes glittered and his unnaturally white teeth beamed like lasers as he surveyed the crowd, his golden surfer hair dancing in the wind. Behind him, the shiny red aeroplane reflected the many flashbulbs going off behind us, like mini fireworks.

  “To infinity and beyond!” Bruce bellowed to the crowd below, and while I cringed at the sight of a fully grown man wearing white tights and foam wings, the entire town ate it up. Out the corner of my eye I saw a woman dressed in heels and short shorts collapse, one of the many single ladies who’d spruced themselves up knowing they’d be seeing the most successful, and available, export to ever come out of Red Gum.

  But it wasn’t just the locals who’d come to see us off. Journalists from all over the world were here too.

  Everyone, it seemed, except my parents. But that was no surprise.

  After all the attention they’d received from reporters last year, there was no way they were going to drive the ten kilometres it took to get from our farm to the disused part of an old highway that Bruce was using as an airstrip, just to get hounded by the press all over again with more questions about my brother, Sam.

  My chest tightened at the thought of Sam. Staring up at the purplish evening sky that was darkening by the minute, I wondered if he could see me. It was a known fact that twins had a special bond, but I strangely hadn’t felt as close to my brother while he was alive as I had after he’d died. Not that I’d ever share that with anyone. Back then he’d been too busy with his friends to ever really hang out with his much gawkier and freakishly taller sister. Now, though, I felt as though he was always around me, that I had him all to myself.

  “Turn around! All of you!” shouted one photographer.

  “Smile and wave,” another shouted after we’d all shuffled and turned to face them.

  “What are we, pageant queens?” said Kyle, who was now behind me.

  People cheered over the hum of the jet engine and parents proudly raised huge placards with the names of their children on them, though it was getting too dark to read them. The entire town had been puffing its chest out for the past two weeks that such an event was taking place in Red Gum, Western Australia, population, 1,628.

  Likewise the whole world was eager to know every little detail about Bruce Harvey’s adventure with “the eight luckiest teens alive.” Even on red carpet events in Hollywood, big-time movie stars and reality star wannabes stared down camera barrels begging Bruce to take them with him.

  We were big-time news.

  My photo had been in the paper every day since Bruce made the announcement a fortnight ago that he had selected eight teens from his old high school to sample the latest range of energy drinks on his private island. Of course the photo was always the same ugly shot of me with one eye peeking out from behind my messy blonde hair. The one they took minutes after my brother had died in the fire accident six months ago. I’d just escaped our blazing house and was sitting on the front lawn with my knees drawn up to my chest, rocking on the spot, absolutely distraught. But of course they cut my cowering body from the photo and used my head, which made me look like a serial killer with only the one eye showing. It even gave me the creeps. It was the same photo used a week later on a front page news story titled Death Sparked by Sibling Rivalry, which had made me boycott all newspapers and magazines from that day forward.

  So as I stared down the camera barrels and flashing lights I kept my face neutral. I wasn’t going to give them anything. If I smiled they’d print, Dead Boy’s Uncaring Sister Happy, or Sibling Finally in the Limelight. Even better I bent my knees and crouched as best I could, concealing my head behind Reece’s big round one.

  “Hey! Amber! Amber Reid!”

  Inwardly I groaned and looked down, trying to hide behind my hair, but the wind, of course, blew it all out of the way.

  A raven-haired woman stuck a microphone in my face and licked her brightly painted red lips before shouting, “So, Amber, do you think this trip will help you get over the death of your brother?”

  “More like the murder,” a woman shouted from a nearby cluster of locals. Though I couldn’t be certain over the drone of the engine, it sounded like Shay from the bakery. Traitor. I used to work for her every Saturday and Sunday morning before my brother died. I’d open up the shop and crank up the ovens and prep everything, showering myself in flour because she’d been too busy nursing her hangover from the night before.

  Quite a number of people from the crowd nearby shuffled forward to listen for my answer over the jet engine’s steady hum.

  My palms began to sw
eat and I could feel the heat rising up my neck and into my face. But I chose to remain mute. If I gave her nothing, she could hardly present it to her boss as breaking news.

  She arched a perfect eyebrow at my silent rebellion and cleared her throat before turning to address the camera and the sloppily dressed man behind it who was eating a pie. The wind wafted the savoury scent of curry and gravy-soaked beef my way and my stomach growled. I’d been so nervous about this trip I hadn’t been able to eat all day. I desperately hoped Bruce had some good stuff on his plane and not just that watercress fluff you’d imagine the rich and famous eating.

  “As you can see, Amber Reid is still suffering from the tragic loss of her brother. But is this suffering the result of grief or guilt? Only Amber knows the answer to that question.” The woman gave a thumbs-up to the cameraman and turned to me and winked before walking away.

  Inside my head I was leaping over the stair rail and tackling first her and then the cameraman, smashing the camera and it’s footage to pieces—perhaps saving the pie and eating it. But if I did, all the other cameras would home in on me and film my freak out. Mum and Dad would never speak to me again. Not that it would change much, they hardly spoke to me anymore now anyway, except maybe to say “dinner’s ready,” or “go collect the eggs,” or “the cockies need shooting.”

  So instead I stood there and took it from Blondie, telling myself over and over that we’d be on the plane soon and away from this place and that maybe, just maybe, I was going to get some peace on this island of Bruce Harvey’s.

  Gripping the railing, I shut my eyes and tried to drown out the chaos around me. Focus, Amber. You are going on the trip of a lifetime, like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It’s going to be fun! Yes, fun! Something you haven’t experienced in a long time.

  I opened my eyes and stared past Reece to see Clair blowing kisses at the cameras. The flashbulbs lit her caramel-blonde hair up like a halo. She looked beautiful in her red dress, the same cherry red as the aeroplane, and I thought back to the fun times we used to have dressing up in our mums’ clothes when we were little. It seemed weird now to think that we were once best friends, that she used to sleep over my house every other weekend and eat cold apricot chicken right out of the pot with me, usually way past midnight and by the light of the fridge.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, your carriage awaits!” announced Bruce before stepping aside and allowing the first student, Noah, to enter the jet. Noah, who looked tiny next to Bruce, turned and raised a hand in some kind of salute, perhaps from Star Trek, before disappearing through the oval doorway.

  This was our single, stellar moment of the evening, our moment to turn and wave to our proud families. My stomach swirled sickly to know that when it came to my turn, nobody would be waving back.

  After Kyle fist bumped the air and entered the plane, I gripped the rails and turned on shaking legs to face the crowd, expecting everyone to boo me. But after a split second of awkwardness, where the crowd craned their necks in vain before realising my parents weren’t there to see me off, Bruce rescued me from utter mortification by giving me a quick side-hug and waving to the crowd. We were the same height. I rarely got to look people in the eye, being over six feet tall. I was always looking down at them. A lot of the guys at school hated it. Like they found my height a threat to their masculinity.

  “Let’s give this one a huge send off, people!” he shouted.

  They all responded by waving and shouting, “Bye, Amber!”

  I waved back, feeling stupid and love-starved, especially when tears clouded my vision. They were only saying goodbye because Bruce had asked them to, not because they truly cared.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled to Bruce, my cheeks burning. He was probably wondering why he’d chosen such a freak to go on this trip when there were tonnes more likeable, popular students who would have suited his Alive brand so much more.

  While the crowd roared for Reece, Bruce leaned in and nudged me on the jaw with a gentle fist, the way dads do to their kids. “No drama, sweets. Get in, make yourself comfortable, and get ready to leave Red Gum behind.”

  Sucking in a deep breath, I nodded and smiled, even though the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Something about the way he’d said “get ready to leave Red Gum behind” had sounded so...final, like I was never going to return.

  Still, I bowed my head and entered the aeroplane.

  Wow. Just wow. Leaving Red Gum behind was an understatement. Stepping into the cabin was like stepping through a portal into the land of the luxe.

  The interior was all glamour—red and black velvet beneath sparkling chandeliers. Nothing at all like the economy experience of my trip to Bali last year, where I’d spent the flight crammed between my dad and a guy who was so nervous about flying he’d left wet patches on the armrest.

  Noah lounged, spreadeagled, his double seat extending into a generous bed. There was so much leg room. So this was first class. No. This was private billionaire’s jet class.

  Eight double seats—one set for each of us. So there had been room for more. Weird. Bruce had made it clear since the day of the announcement that there was only enough room aboard his private jet for the students, no parents or teachers allowed. He’d made my parents sign a special form. A form which gave permission for me to go unchaperoned with a man they hardly knew a thing about, except that he was a successful celebrity billionaire who hailed from Red Gum and used to ride his dirt bike up and down the firebreaks of our farm.

  It kind of helped, though, that we were all year twelves and that most of us had already turned eighteen. I myself was a week shy of my eighteenth. Maybe that was why we had been chosen. I liked to think it was for a special reason, but, really, the fact that we were mostly legal seemed the most logical explanation.

  My stomach rumbled. The smell of delicious food tickled my nostrils, mixed in with something similar to a new car scent, only more expensive, like a Calvin Klein version of it.

  A line of covered bain-maries were set up towards the back of the plane. With no stewards or stewardesses on board, well, none that I could see, it made sense that we’d have to get our meals ourselves. I wondered if Bruce would already have his food waiting for him in the cockpit. I didn’t like the idea of him strolling around the cabin in his Buzz suit while the plane flew itself.

  There were four double seats on either side of the plane. Taking a seat behind Noah in the third row, I released an audible sigh. The cushioning on the chair was at once soft and firm. Perfect. I was so tired, but wired at the same time. Hopefully I’d actually get some sleep before we got to the island.

  In front of me was a fold out tray attached to the cabin wall and on it was a basket filled with snacks; little packaged gourmet treats like chocolate covered strawberries, nuts, lime and cracked pepper potato chips, and a little drink can, condensation beading along the Alive logo. It felt cool beneath my fingertips as I lifted it from the basket and inspected the label.

  Black Magic

  It was one of the new flavours. Blackberry maybe. I was so thirsty I couldn’t wait to knock it back despite knowing the mega dose of caffeine was going to give me an extra, unwanted buzz.

  The engine whirred a little louder and my stomached stirred with excitement as I stared out the window at the desolate, rural darkness I’d known my whole life, broken only by a small cluster of lights that was our town in the distance. But that excitement was quickly squished by the weight of sadness. Somewhere out there my mum and dad were sitting in our kitchen with its six-month-old linoleum floor coverings and fresh paint, brewing a pot of tea and opening a tin of homemade coconut biscuits that Mum had baked this morning, while their only living child was on a plane, about to fly off to some private, remote island that no one really knew the location of, with a man who wore a Buzz Lightyear costume.

  I love you too, Mum and Dad.

  “Ready?” Bruce beamed as he pulled the door shut and started to pull and lock a series of levers around the hatch
.

  He turned around and rubbed his hands together, his eyes sparkling with a school boy’s excitement. “Around twenty minutes after take-off, I’ll give you the go-ahead over the loudspeaker to unbuckle and get yourselves something to eat. Eat well, the flight is roughly fourteen hours so fill up and try to get some rest. There’s a decent-sized screen on the back of each seat with a whole catalogue of movies.” He paused and looked at Jacob, who was sitting in the very front seat. “Good, you’ve found yours.” Bruce leaned towards Jacob, maybe to adjust something, before saluting us and disappearing into the cockpit.

  The person sitting behind me yanked my hair. I didn’t even need to turn around to know that Reece was my tormentor. He had been hassling me since the day my brother died.

  “Movies! Awesome. Maybe we can watch Firestarter, Amber, what do you reckon?”

  Though every inch of my body stiffened, I pretended not to hear Reece’s stupid suggestion. My eyes did a quick dart across the cabin. Bella was smirking at me, but when she caught my gaze she jumped, and quickly busied herself with the task of buckling her seatbelt. I hated it when people, especially everyone from school, did that. Hated when they wouldn’t hold my gaze for more than a split second. It made me feel like a monster when, in truth, they intimidated me with their cliques and their “you can’t sit with us” vibe. The truth was, I could never and would never harm any living thing. Even when Dad sent me out to shoot the cockies, I’d fire a single shot into the sky to scare them off before I could do them any real harm.

  Noah peered over the back of his seat and smiled at me.

  “Maybe Reece should watch Dumb and Dumber,” he said, then lowered his voice to a whisper, carefully mouthing the words so that I understood over the engine hum. “Or maybe even The Jerk.

  I hesitated to smile, wondering why Noah, who had never said a word to me in his entire life, was being nice to me. But still, he was roasting Reece and I was more than okay with that. I leaned forward. “Is there actually a movie called The Jerk?”