The Brays

by L. J. Fox

  Ross read the response and his eyes widened in shock. Was this real? Had Brad lost his mind? Ross took the pen and wrote:

  BUT LAYNE HAS SPECIAL ABILITIES TOO.

  Yes, but they don’t know that and she is still diluted.

  Ross shook his head in disbelief. What craziness was this?

  They don’t want me around and they won’t want Layne. I don’t know about Beverley. We are in danger. I have a plan that will expose them. I want Layne here away from danger while we sort it out.

  Ross stared at the note. He read and re-read the lines. His brain would not compute what he was reading. Had Brad lost his mind? Was he going through some sort of delusion or break down? His brain tried to analyse the situation. He DID know that Beverley had special abilities. He had seen it and he and Nina had spoken about it, only they called them gifts. He also knew that Layne had gifts as well. Was it possible that there were other people with these gifts?

  Ross nodded. He looked up at his son, taller than himself. He looked into his clear blue eyes, those familiar eyes and he saw the fear, the worry and how genuine he was. He didn’t understand and he had a thousand questions, but now was not the right time. Brad was anxious to get moving and Ross knew that no matter what the reason, they were always happy to look after Layne.

  The two men stood, and Ross wrapped his arms around his son and embraced him. He squeezed harder than he ever had before. He wanted his son to know that he was supportive, and that he would do whatever Brad needed him to do. The hug lasted ages and Ross wondered why he had not done this more often with his son. Brad exhaled loudly, breaking the spell. His eyes were misty and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

  They withdrew and Brad smiled at his father giving thanks. They turned and headed back out of the barn toward the others. Ross spoke in a loud voice.

  “Now. Where is my granddaughter? I haven’t given her a hug yet.”

  Chapter 6

  At 9am the next morning, a group of thirty students eagerly awaited their first class. There was an even mix of male to females standing in the foyer on the first morning. Amity was also in the same first class, so it was a relief to walk to her first class with support. Amity seemed to be at ease in any situation. With her outgoing personality, confidence and social experiences, she was the perfect companion.

  Layne was pleased to see such a diverse group of students obviously from different races, religions and backgrounds. She admitted to herself that she felt nervous at being with so many total strangers, but surely that was a common feeling. Having grown up nearly all her life in Katunga, where the town population was lucky to be 1,500, she had not the exposure to many strangers or different cultures.

  Amity had secured the two of them prime seats in the auditorium, half-way up the slope and roughly in the centre. Layne watched the seats start to fill up around them. She had to concentrate and work hard to turn off her senses. She didn’t need to know who had showered, who was wearing aftershave or perfume, which girl had her period, and which guys didn’t clean their teeth. At times these odours were distracting, and even revolting. Layne had taught herself how to turn off the senses. There was no way of ever totally turning them off, but she had found a way to minimalise the senses so the odours did not overwhelm her.

  Even though she had been practicing for a long time, she was not always successful. It was equally hard to turn off the hearing and she tried not to listen to the whispered conversations. She had become an expert at turning these things off in her previous school as it had been a quiet country school, but with the excitement of the university, her concentration was not as finely tuned, and she kept being distracted by various smells and sounds. She had to work particularly hard to not show a reaction on her face if she detected an unpleasant odour or an overpowering one. God forbid if someone should fart.

  Amity touched her arm and whispered about how many cute guys were in class. Layne smiled at her in encouragement, though she had been trying to scan the room discretely, not necessarily for cute guys but to just memorise faces. It appeared that everyone was trying to look around the room discretely. Eyes met here and there, and quickly looked away. The new scents and views were overwhelming, and she found it difficult to adjust and appear normal. There were so many faces, whispers, giggles and rustling sounds. Heads were swivelling around slowly, trying to appear natural. Her greatest fear was that she would not be accepted as normal, that people would see her discomfort and her strange abilities and shun her. She turned back, hoping the sudden fear in her eyes was not apparent.

  As she turned, her eyes fell on the guy to her right sitting a few seats away and without meaning to, she found her eyes kept getting drawn back to him. He was what she would define as ‘cute’ with his dark, almost black, unruly and too long curly hair framing a kind face. Wisps of curls hung down over his forehead and reached almost to his shoulders. Though she had never liked the untidy look, this guy looked neat and tidy, even with his unruly hair. His skin had a tanned look and she wondered about his ancestry. He looked European in some way, perhaps Spanish or Portuguese, or South American. His face was strong and well-chiselled and when he turned to look at her, she saw his eyes were a clear blue. Their eyes held for a moment and she almost felt a jolt of recognition, though she knew they had never met before. She felt like he had just looked through her and knew her secret, or knew what she looked like naked. He was looking into her soul and could see her hidden terror. She sucked in her breath and looked away quickly, hoping she was appearing cool and relaxed, even though her heart was racing and her face felt flushed.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the lecturer who now addressed the class. Her attention riveted on the lecturer and thoughts of anyone else in the room were forgotten. This was what she had come for, this was the start of the rest of her life. Her total focus was on the lecturer and the topic, and even the sounds, smells and other distractions from the rest of the class blurred into the background.

  She enjoyed the class lecturer, Professor Jane Taylor’s style. It was so different from high school, conversational rather than lecturing. It was the first time that she felt the students were being invited to decide what they thought, to problem solve, and deduce the answers or decisions rather than accept what they were told. It was a world away from the Katunga High School where the students were given a textbook and left alone to learn the material. This lecture/discussion type of session was motivational and inspiring. She looked around at one stage and realised that the great majority of the class were also mesmerised by the professor.

  This was going to be fun.

  Chapter 7

  Layne hadn’t realised the class was over until Amity grabbed her arm. She snapped out of her trance, looking at Amity questioningly.

  “Let’s go.”

  Layne looked around the auditorium to see that everyone was packing up their books and pens and standing. Looking down, she had written pages and pages of notes, though they would never be used or viewed again. This was a tactic her grandmother had suggested she do many years ago. Writing notes made her appear normal and could be used to explain the absolute attention to detail and memory that she had. It also helped her focus so the odours and noises from other people didn’t become overwhelming. She remembered in her first few years of school, she had felt overwhelmed by the smells and noises on more than a few occasions and had to leave class. With the tactic of writing notes, she had not once had to leave the room.

  The first essay that the lecturer had just instructed the class to submit by the following week was something she would be able to ‘knock up’ later tonight with ease.

  A group of students from the class mulled around in the foyer intent on introducing themselves to each other. Amity was keen for them to mingle so mingle they did. Her grandparents had done such a good job with her that mingling was quite easy. She smiled, laughed and chatted with the group of students, feeling part of things for half an hour. She stuck close to Amity, who had no problem comm
unicating with any of the students. Within the thirty minutes she had met almost all the thirty students from the first class.

  It was decided that the group would get together on Friday night and head down to a local bar to get to know each other better. The invitation would be spread to the other classes of first year students.

  Her timetable showed that she had two classes each day and one on Friday. Layne could easily condense the term into a few weeks and escalate her education, but of course, that was ridiculous for a number of reasons. She had to appear to be like everyone else and as her grandmother had said, she may learn something if she took it slower. She was also keen to make new friends and was sure she would enjoy the whole experience.

  She mentioned the guy with the unruly hair to Amity who was quick to find out that his name was Andrew McAllister, but everyone called him Andy. McAllister barely sounded Spanish, Portuguese or South American, she decided. Amity brought him over to meet Layne.

  He was quite tall, judging by how far she had to look up to see his eyes. Broad-shouldered and hazel eyes, with flecks of green. She was pleased to note that he had showered and washed his hair that morning, was wearing clean clothes and had made obvious efforts to be presentable, other than the unruly hair. Strange though it seemed, in her experience many guys appeared to be well presented but had not showered or had showered but were wearing clothes that had been worn for some time. The fact that he was all clean was a big plus in Layne’s eyes. She could detect the faint aroma of a chewing gum though he was not currently chewing anything. Definitely cute, she decided.

  He commented on how many notes she had taken during class. He had obviously been watching her throughout the class.

  “Habit of mine.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and smiled at him. She didn’t feel the same sensation this time, that he was looking through her and could sense her gifts. It was a different, unfamiliar feeling. A warmer and friendlier feeling although she did find that when their eyes met, they seemed locked together for a small period of time, as if a connection had been made.

  Was this flirting? She blushed slightly and looked away. With a polite nod she moved away from him to introduce herself to more of her classmates, but she felt her eyes drawn back to Andy and where he was. It was like a magnetic pull, drawing her back. She was fully aware of where he was and who he was talking to for the remainder of the greet.

  She hoped he would be at the bar on Friday night.

  Chapter 8

  A group of first year students congregated at the Owl’s Branch Bar on the first Friday night of the term. The small town was an easy walk of five minutes from the campus and was more like a trendy little village with a few small cafes and bars, plus an arcade of shops. Amity and Layne had made the one kilometre walk on several afternoons to purchase groceries.

  There must have been close to twenty people keen to communicate with others of like interests. Layne saw some familiar faces she had met during the week. Amity had been excited about this evening all week and had insisted on helping Layne to look her best including painting her nails and toenails purple.

  This close proximity to Amity had been entertaining and she enjoyed the bubbly extrovert who lived next door. Her school friend, Belinda, had been quiet and reserved and she could never imagine the two of them painting each other’s toenails. As she was growing up, her grandparents had thought it best that she kept a bit of a distance from other children, as other children would see the differences with Layne, and in fact they had. The Katunga children were aware that she sometimes displayed strange behaviours, and their parents had warned the children from getting too close to Layne. They all thought she was a bit different, possibly even on the autism spectrum. She was rarely invited to birthday parties or events though Belinda had been kind and friendly to her.

  Now, she felt experienced enough at acting normal to have a close friendship with other people.

  Amity happily divulged that she had a younger sister and an older brother and lived in Ringwood which was a suburb around thirty minutes drive from the campus. Layne asked her why she was staying on campus when she could commute from home. Amity explained that she needed to learn more independence and it had been her choice.

  There was a framed photo in her room of her beloved French Bulldog, known as Mauve. Every time she spoke of Mauve, tears welled up in her eyes. Amity was an animal lover and a sworn vegetarian. Her sausage sandwich on that first night at the university had been a Vegan sausage.

  Layne found Amity to be sweet-natured and fun to be around. Amity was fascinated to hear stories about the farm at Katunga, the farm dogs, Sally and Bon and the finger-sucking calves. The thought of calves sucking her fingers tickled Amity and she kept holding her hand up to look at it and giggling. The giggling was infectious and soon, the two of them were rolling around on the bed, giggling like little schoolgirls.

  Layne offered to take her to Katunga one weekend. She thought of how her grandparents would love Amity and her exuberance for life.

  The student group were standing near the bar talking among themselves when the two girls arrived. The bar had a good atmosphere to it and was quite trendy with an industrial look and feel. Layne looked up at the tall ceiling with exposed metal beams and imagined that this could have once been a storehouse or warehouse.

  “What do you drink?” asked Amity heading straight for the bar.

  Layne hesitated. She had only ever had a glass of wine over dinner now and again.

  “Umm ... white wine?”

  She hoped her answer was cool enough. She had heard the other kids at school talking about various drinks, but she had no real knowledge or experience with them. She didn’t want to appear to be too naïve, or too much of a country hick. The truth was, she didn’t really know what was cool and what was not. Did she want to be cool anyway? Of course, she wanted to fit in.

  Amity nodded and ordered two drinks. Her poison of choice was a Vodka mix. Layne sipped her wine and registered the subtle flavours and aroma of the drink.

  “Sauvignon Blanc.” Amity pointed to the wine. “Better than the other whites.”

  Layne mingled with the other students and introduced herself to those she had not yet met. The feeling of bonding with the group was a new experience and gave her a warm feeling ... or was that the wine? She had to admit that the more sips she had, the better the wine tasted. It gave her more confidence. Instead of being Amity’s shadow, she was beginning to feel confident enough to speak to people on her own.

  Although she had not seen him yet, she was aware of Andy’s presence in the room. The mix of his smells gave him a unique aroma. Everyone had a unique smell to them, and she had memorised Andy’s one. She smiled to herself as she sensed his movement across the room toward her.

  Was this how her parents had met? She chided herself for thinking that way. She had only ever met the guy once.

  “Layne – is that short for something?”

  A voice queried from behind her. She turned around to find Andy’s smiling face. She smiled back, pleased to see him. His hair still looked just as unruly. She wondered briefly if he deliberately tried to give it that appearance, like he had just got out of bed, but couldn’t detect the scent of hairspray or styling gel. She knew some people kept their hair over their face, like a fringe, to act as a bit of a shield or something to hide behind. He didn’t appear to be the type who was lacking in confidence so she put the hair down to being naturally wild.

  “No. It is just Layne. Plain and simple.” She responded.

  “I don’t think there is anything plain and simple about you. Were you named after Layne Beachley, the surfer?” he asked.

  “Umm ... I’m not sure though she did win her first world title the year before I was born so it is possible.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you Layne.” He held out his hand.

  She looked down at the hand as if it were a foreign object. She was immediately aware of how masculine his hands were, with neatl
y clipped nails. Gently she placed her hand in his and they shook hands with one movement. His hand felt firm like it had done some outdoor manual work and yet the hand was not dry or rough. Through the touch she identified his accelerated heat rate, mild sweat developing in his palms and the catch of his breath. Looking into his eyes she saw his dilated pupils and noted the nostrils flare. Slightly embarrassed as if he could read her mind, she removed her hand with a small giggle.

  “Tell me about you.” He enquired. “Where are you from? Do you like the classes so far?”

  Layne took another sip of wine and somehow gave him more information than she intended to.

  “I am from Katunga, which is a farming town not far from Numurkah in northern Victoria. My grandparents raised me after my parents were killed in a car crash when I was young. I am not sure what I want to do with my life which is why I am doing a Bachelor of Arts. I figured I would work it out along the way, and I am enjoying the experience immensely.”

  She glanced up at him, a little embarrassed at revealing so much.

  He nodded silently digesting the information.

  “Sorry … about your parents.” He looked down for a few moments. “I think all of us doing the Arts degree are not sure what they want to do in the future. Isn’t that why the Bachelor of Arts exists?” He shrugged his shoulders.

  It was easier to say her parents were killed in a car accident than to tell people that they had disappeared in mysterious circumstances. She didn’t want people asking questions which they always did, as is human nature.

  “But tell me about you. Where are you from and what are your aspirations?”

  “Well ... I am a city boy I hate to tell you. Born and bred in Melbourne, just up the road here at Richmond. Both parents still alive and well, thank goodness. My dad is a mechanic and my mother, a primary school teacher. Nothing too academic there I am afraid. They were both born here in Australia, but my mother is Brazillian and my father is from Scottish parents. What do I want to do?”