The Named

by Marianne Curley

  It’s not going to be easy.

  Especially since Isabel is Matt’s sister, and he’s as protective as a father. More so, I think. How am I going to get around him to even speak to Isabel? It’s not as if he trusts me any more, not after what happened with Rochelle, which is why I haven’t hung around his place for the last eighteen months at least.

  My mind drifts back to when Rochelle first came to Angel Falls. Both Matt and I were attracted to her on first sight. Who wouldn’t be? She was so … exciting and, well, just beautiful, with long, shiny black hair, startling green eyes, skin like molten gold. She had the most amazing laugh, and when she threw you a smile you thought it was just for you. At first I thought – I could’ve sworn – she was interested in me. I felt something between us, some deep, inexplicable connection. It hit me like a bulldozer, deep in my stomach. But her signals quickly became confusing. Was she playing on both our feelings? To this day I really don’t know. But she knew right from the start that Matt and I were close friends. The strain between the three of us grew heavy, and as Matt became more serious about Rochelle, I decided to back away, sensing that our friendship was being jeopardised. I guess I thought if Rochelle wanted me, my pulling out of the race would force her into choosing. But she let me walk away. And my friendship with Matt never recovered.

  Eventually it became easier not to see Matt at all. My presence was like a thorn in his side, and then one day he went off at me, telling me how he couldn’t trust me any more, that I had to stop coming on to his girlfriend. I didn’t know what he was on about. I never tried to win Rochelle away from him, even though sometimes, even today, when we meet accidentally, I sense something … I don’t know, probably just my bruised ego thinking I could still have her if I tried hard enough. Not that I would. No way. Rochelle played with my mind once already, ruining my friendship with Matt. I’m not an idiot.

  And now I have to spend time with Matt’s sister. A lot of time.

  I get to the Beckets’ front door and notice the fine cracks in the timber boards and the peeling paint around the edges. Otherwise the house looks much the same as I remember – a quiet two-storey white house at the very end of a lonely unlit country lane that borders national forest land.

  Taking a deep breath, I pull on the slightly rusted brass door knocker twice.

  After a minute Matt opens the door. He sees me and raises his eyebrows. He’s grown; I have to look up to meet his eyes. Well, it’s been a while since we stood this close to each other. But other than by a few centimetres, he’s not changed much at all. It’s his intense brown eyes I remember mostly, windows to his feelings. And now he’s staring at me with an expression that makes me want to look away – quickly. I swallow. ‘Hey, Matt. Been a while.’

  He stares for a second longer than is considered polite. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Ah –’

  ‘Heard you did a runner at school today. Carter was looking for you. Are you in trouble or something?’

  A rock forms in my dry throat. I try to appear unconcerned. ‘No, I’m not in trouble. Carter’s just …’ I grimace. ‘Carter. Everyone knows he’s got it in for me. He doesn’t need an excuse to come looking.’ And quickly, before I lose my nerve, I add, ‘Is Isabel home?’

  Matt goes dead still and says slowly, ‘Yeah. Why?’

  ‘I wanna talk to her.’

  His jaw does this funny sort of slide left, then right. ‘What for?’

  Thankfully Isabel makes an appearance, pushing Matt aside far enough so she can see who’s at the door. She jerks back just slightly. ‘Ethan.’

  ‘Can we talk?’ I ask while trying not to drown in the hostility flowing off Matt’s body in pulsating waves.

  Isabel flicks a quick look at her brother that obviously says, ‘You can leave now’, but he doesn’t take the hint.

  An awkward silence follows. Matt breaks it. ‘You got something to say to my sister?’

  Isabel groans like she can’t believe how much of a moron her brother is being. Quickly I decide to get it over with. ‘Yeah, I do.’ I turn to face Isabel. ‘Wanna go for a walk?’

  ‘With you?’ Matt says and laughs.

  Isabel sends her brother a look that could boil him in oil if she had that particular paranormal talent. A thought hits me: maybe she has. It will be fun to find out. But right now I have to get past Matt. ‘Yeah, with me. What’s so funny?’

  He laughs so hard he has to grip the door jamb with one hand for balance.

  Frowning, Isabel looks from her brother to me, then back to Matt again. ‘Oh, I get it. This is some sort of joke you two have conjured up.’

  Uh-oh. Now she’s got the wrong idea altogether and she’s starting to look really annoyed.

  ‘Is that it, Ethan?’ she demands, staring at me hard. ‘Or are you asking me out …?’ She pauses, her face going a brilliant shade of red.

  But now I’m getting annoyed. My first instinct is to lay Matt flat to the floor with my fist, but I understand that action won’t win me any bonus points. I need Matt on side so he won’t give Isabel a hard time, ’cause she’s going to be spending heaps of time with me from here in. So asking her out as if on a date obviously isn’t going to wash with him. And I don’t want to give Isabel the wrong idea either. I recall something about how she used to have a crush on me when we were kids. I’m sure she’s not interested in me like that any more, but all the same, I don’t want to risk hurting her feelings. I need another excuse. Fast.

  ‘He’s not asking you out,’ Matt says sarcastically, quietening down at last.

  She looks at me expectantly. I’m not sure what that look means. Does she want me to ask her out? We haven’t spoken for years so I don’t really know her any more. Suddenly I think of a reason that just might work. ‘It’s the history project.’

  ‘What?’ Isabel frowns again.

  ‘You know, the assignment.’ With my eyes I urge her to play along. ‘We have to work in pairs, remember? Probably why old Croc-face was looking for me today. We’ve got heaps of work to do on it. I just thought we could get started on some strategies early, seeing Carter paired us up together.’

  Her frown deepens but she doesn’t call me an outright liar. Matt’s jaw does that funny sideways slide again. ‘How long are you going to be?’

  Isabel glances at me for the answer, starting to look amused. ‘Ah, an hour or so,’ I say vaguely. I don’t want Matt coming looking for us on the dot of sixty minutes. ‘History, it’s a big subject.’

  Matt looks unimpressed but beaten. ‘Has anyone ever told you you have an unhealthy interest in the subject? There’s a rumour going around you get nothing but straight A-pluses.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I think that’s going to change.’

  Matt gets defensive. ‘What are you insinuating? Working with my sister is going to lower your class average?’

  I really need to learn to think things through before reacting or opening my big mouth. Isabel saves the situation. She whacks her brother’s arm with the back of her hand. ‘Don’t be a jerk.’ And to me she says, ‘Give me a minute while I get my notebook.’

  Chapter Seven

  Isabel

  For a minute there I think Ethan is actually asking me out. But it doesn’t take long to see through his stupid little game. How can I think he’s really interested in me? I have to be careful not to let him think I’m interested in him, either. I’m not, anyway. Not at all.

  What I am is curious, and confused and freaked out. My finger healing itself this morning was a really strange phenomenon. I can’t explain it. I’m hoping Ethan can. Although why he should be able to, I don’t get. But he did do that thing with the pen this morning, and walking straight into the mountain was strange too. Not that I’m going to tell him I saw him. What would he think if he found out I stalked him? It might just remind him of how I used to follow him around when we were children.

  What on earth am I thinking here? Did I wake up this morning in a parallel universe or something? O
f course, Ethan is not remotely interested in me. And the part about him walking through a rock wall has to have some simple explanation.

  With these uneasy thoughts swimming around in my head, I watch as Ethan suddenly pulls out a torch. I glance at the sky. It’s blue, late afternoon, but there’s still plenty of daylight. What is it with this guy? Is he nuts or something? ‘What do you need that for?’

  ‘It’s going to get dark on our way.’

  This makes me stop. ‘You told Matt we’d only be an hour.’

  ‘Actually I told Matt we’d be an hour or “so”. The “so” lets me off the hook.’

  ‘Not Matt’s hook.’

  He snorts a kind of agreement. ‘Why is he so …?’

  ‘Paternal?’

  He shrugs a yes.

  ‘When I was little, I mean really small, my dad … Well, Dad’s last words to Matt were to look after his mum and his sister in the way that he never could. Matt took those words literally.’

  ‘I didn’t know your father died.’

  ‘He didn’t, he …’ I don’t usually like talking about this subject. It makes me uncomfortable. But talking to Ethan right now feels strangely natural. ‘He walked away ’cause he was a drunk and, well, he reckoned he had to leave so he wouldn’t hurt us any more.’

  ‘But he hurt you more by leaving, didn’t he?’

  My fingers grow restless suddenly, as if irritating fleas have found their way under my skin. I stretch my hands out and crack every knuckle. ‘Not at all. I was too young when he left.’

  Ethan slides me a look like he’s not real sure he believes me. I ignore it, looking straight ahead, and he says, ‘Was he abusive?’

  ‘So they say.’ An uncomfortable silence follows. I don’t want to talk about this topic any more. ‘Look, my father was a drunk and he beat my mum and sometimes …’ I stop myself before I tell him of Matt’s experiences beneath Dad’s leather strap. Matt wouldn’t want Ethan to know. He has such a low opinion of Ethan these days. As kids they were inseparable, but now Matt says Ethan’s changed, become self-involved and full of himself. Ethan starts whistling a lively tune; completely tactless, I think, considering the topic we’re discussing. Quickly I decide Matt’s probably right. I mutter so beneath my breath.

  He hears me. ‘I don’t know anything about the pain of living in an abusive house, Isabel –’

  ‘I’m not in any pain,’ I fervently assert.

  He gives me that funny disbelieving look again, but chooses not to comment. ‘But I do understand the grief of separation, of losing a member of your family, whether through divorce or …’

  His words surprise me, and then I remember the story of his sister’s death. I was too little to be aware of it at the time, but Matt and Mum have mentioned her over the years. ‘How did your sister die?’

  I think at first he’s not going to answer, then he says with a small shrug of his shoulders, ‘It’s a bit of a mystery.’

  ‘Really? I thought Mum said she’d been ill.’

  ‘The autopsy stated a massive brain haemorrhage, caused by a rare aneurism she’d probably had since birth.’

  ‘That’s terrible.’

  ‘But she was only ten and had never shown previous signs of illness. Not even one headache.’

  ‘How did you all cope?’

  He pushes aside a half-fallen log that blocks the path. ‘I don’t remember a thing,’ he says quickly.

  ‘You were probably too young.’

  ‘Four,’ he says and shivers suddenly.

  I start wishing we’d never got on to this subject. ‘I don’t remember much from when I was four,’ I reply softly. That was about the age I was when my father left.

  He gives himself a thorough shake as if shedding the memory. ‘Well, anyway, I think Dad took it the worst.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s never been the same since.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Mum reckons he used to be more outgoing, adventurous. A risk taker. Someone you just wanted to be around. Someone I would have been proud of.’

  I think about what I know of Mr Roberts now, selling his leatherwork from one of the craft workshops at the Angel Falls Café. A quiet, modest man who hardly speaks. ‘He’s a talented craftsman. His leatherwork is just beautiful.’

  ‘Mum reckons he could have been anything he wanted.’

  ‘Maybe this is what he wants.’

  ‘If it is, then why does he never smile? My house is like a morgue.’

  As I wonder what it would be like to live with a person who never smiles, Ethan grabs my arm and tugs me down behind a thick flowering bush.

  ‘What is it?’

  He pulls me down lower to the ground, putting a finger to his lips, frowning in uncertainty. His reaction makes me think we’re doing something we shouldn’t. Like when he took off this morning, always peeking over his shoulder. Cautiously he reaches up for a peep, then breaks out in a wide and relieved smile. ‘It’s nothing.’ He drags on my jumper sleeve to keep going.

  Peering over my shoulder, I see a photographer snapping shots of the valley beyond the ridge. But Ethan’s uneasiness arouses my curiosity. ‘Tell me why you dragged me up here.’

  ‘There’s a cabin I want to show you. It’s not a real cabin now, just the remains of one. We can talk there.’

  ‘A deserted cabin? Deep in quiet bushland? I wonder why you didn’t tell Matt our destination?’

  Ignoring my sarcasm, he keeps going, heading into deeper scrub. After a while he turns his torch on as the thickening canopy overhead blocks out the remaining afternoon light. I start getting the creeps and tug on Ethan’s arm. ‘Ah, I think we should turn back.’

  Ethan stops and turns round. ‘Why? We’re nearly there.’

  With a wide sweep of my arm I indicate the surrounding deepening woodland. ‘It’s just bush. And it’s getting darker the deeper we go into it. It’s creepy.’

  But then he says, ‘What happened to that pesky little monkey I used to know who couldn’t stop climbing trees and jumping down cliffs and getting into trouble?’

  My head tilts to one side. He’s appealing to that part of me I’ve always found difficult to deny. ‘How much further? Exactly?’

  ‘Ten more minutes, I promise.’

  ‘And when we get to this half-standing deserted cabin you’re going to tell me how I managed to heal myself this morning?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  He has me now completely hooked, and he knows it. He doesn’t even wait for a reply, but starts jogging off in a general forward direction. I run to catch up. After ten or so minutes he stops, and starts pulling vines down out of his way. I follow and before I realise it, we’re standing beneath a couple of old wooden cross beams.

  ‘We’re here,’ he says.

  I do a full circle and wonder where the rest of the cabin is. After a few minutes of pulling vines down, the remains of a brick chimney and part of a decayed wall are revealed. That, apparently, is all there is left of the cabin, other than the two overhead beams and a couple of rotting timber posts on the other side.

  ‘This is it?’ I ask.

  He nods proudly. ‘What do you think?’

  I’m starting to think this guy is way too weird. ‘I swear you don’t really want to know.’

  He walks around, stopping occasionally to describe the room – two rooms, he says. ‘The divider ran along here.’ He draws a line in the air with his hand about two-thirds across from the remaining beams, then points across my shoulder. ‘Over there was a small window. I remember it clearly. It had calico curtains held back by two bright-yellow ribbons Rosalind made herself. She made everything, come to think of it, including the family’s clothes.’ A warm, fuzzy expression slides over his face. ‘She liked to add a splash of colour every chance she got.’ He looks at me. ‘Their clothes were really drab. Half the time she made them out of old hessian bags.’

  He walks to the other end of the imaginary room and runs his hand down an im
aginary object. ‘This is where the wood stove sat. The damper she made in here was the best I’d ever tasted.’

  These words strike me as a little odd. A nervous flutter starts up in the pit of my stomach. How on earth could Ethan have tasted this damper, or seen the calico curtains for that matter?

  ‘You see over there?’ He points somewhere over my left shoulder. I turn to look. ‘That’s where Rosalind hung the family portrait. It was a hand-painted gift. It was the only time she allowed herself to show some pride.’

  ‘Ethan, who were these people?’

  ‘Relatives,’ he replies as if I should know this.

  ‘OK, but it’s weird how you know so much about them, like you’ve … researched them really well,’ I finish, too cowardly to voice what I wanted to ask. I mean, he can’t really believe he lived here. It’s plausible to think he wanted to live here. His own home sounds terribly depressing. But this is not what Ethan means.

  ‘I researched them all right. First-hand.’

  This too is a strange thing to say. I decide to be brave. ‘But the people that lived here –’

  ‘Died well over a hundred years ago.’

  ‘So … how do you …?’

  ‘Know so much about where they lived?’

  I nod, spooked and speechless.

  ‘That’s easy. You see, the woman who lived here – Rosalind Maclean – is a direct ancestor of mine. A great-great something-or-other on my mother’s side.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘And I lived here with Rosalind and her children – all six of them – for three whole months. Three great months, to tell the truth.’

  Now I’m completely freaked out. Ethan is just too peculiar. Matt was right after all with his distrust of this guy. He knew something, obviously. Well, I wish he’d told me earlier what it was. Here I am in one of the most isolated sections of the national park, alone with this weirdo, in the near dark.

  I think I’m in trouble.

  Chapter Eight

  Ethan