Who are you?
I was your greatest helper Charlie. I was your champion. Why I helped you to write your book, even if it never made it to the shelves or a publisher. I helped you cover the PK Killer. Of course it was a bit of an inside job, I am that PK Killer after all.
Charlie mouthed the words, The PK Killer, and slowly recognition dawned. He looked back down at the paper in his hand. He saw a different memory now. Another one, darker, more hideous. More sickening.
But you—
I what? the voice whispered.
You, but Charlie couldn’t finish. A new memory was flooding his mind. Of him speeding through the night along the dark Adelaide Hills. Through the curving and dangerous country roads. To the small abandoned building. The shed long dilapidated.
You remember don’t you? We of course weren’t too good at that point. You were tired of my games. Wanting to be the hero. To save the day when in so many instances you had been the villain.
Charlie’s hands were shaking, he could barely hold the phone. His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. He went to speak but his voice was gone.
You will never beat me Charlie. I said it then and say it now, you are mine to play with. My little mouse for this cat. And I will play with you all that I want. Twice a Gardner has saved me. Twice! Of course now we have a time limit. A week from now you won’t know up from down, or sky from night. You’ll be so drugged up to stop these episodes that were you to remember anything of our time, you’d better do it now. Because I want you to Charlie, I want you to remember everything for me.
. . .
The return of Rachel Gardner was big news. Big news for the village of Silversgrove, but also the city. Unsolved murders and the only witness too petrified to speak? She screamed for the first day when anyone other than her mother touched her. For Charlie, watching as a boy who didn’t understand the bigger implications of it, he just wanted his sister back. He wanted the fun one who played with him in the dirt. The one who could walk with him home from school, jump in the puddles, or buy him lollies when he was too afraid of Missus Cribbidge at the deli. But she was gone. It’d been months since she returned, and she still hadn’t returned.
Charlie was in his room, reading comics. Still working on the gobstopper Jim had given him. Course now he could play with Jim, or at his house with supervision, and they together had worked on the gobstopper. He could now fit it in his mouth. The ball of hardened sugar. No one was the same really, when he thought about it. He was coming up on his eleventh birthday, so it was time to get wise, as Jim kept saying. They were big kids almost. Had to get wise. Parents had changed, sister had changed, he probably had even changed. Yet he hadn’t seen it. He wondered if it was like the brown curlies Jim’s older brother said at them? Some day you’ll get ‘em. But even that seemed odd to him. No brown curlies on him or in his room, or backyard. They’d come to think that brown curlies was a codeword for snakes. And if it was baby snakes that Sean Mitcham wished on them, then no thank you. He’ll stick with his Hap Diggins comics.
Charlie saw himself frowning in his bedroom mirror. He wanted to go play in the backyard with his army men, but he’d left them in the sun last week. A boiler that had melted the men into some form of goo. He kicked at his covers. Then he saw movement by the fence. A face peering in.
It was Ethan Burke. He waved at Charlie. Charlie nodded back. Guess he would be playing in the yard after all. He came out and took his favourite digging shovel from next to his dad’s, decided he’d dig a hole to China. Again he didn’t trust Jim’s brother Sean, but there was something enticing about him saying he’d dug to China one time. Even though him and Jim had tried many times and not made it. But it didn’t mean they’d stop. He measured out to a spot near Ethan and the fence and began.
Hey Charlie, how’s your sister?
Hey Ethan. Not good.
Still?
Still. They stayed silent, Ethan watching Charlie dig. Want anything else? Charlie asked, saw the head shake side to side in the corner of his vision.
Digging to China?
Yup. Charlie stuck his tongue out like his dad did when he was turning over the garden. He thought maybe if he looked concentrated Ethan wouldn’t stay too long. But Ethan didn’t leave, he just stood there watching Charlie dig until he was sweating and felt blisters forming on his hands. You wanna dig some? he asked finally.
Ethan bounded over the fence and fell in besides Charlie, took the shovel gratefully. Moved earth as if his life depended on it and Charlie sat and watched him. Slightly awed by his manic energy.
They know you’re here?
Nope.
By they Charlie meant the orphanage. The Church. He’d stayed with his biological father, who was Constable Michael Stephens, for almost a month before he was dropped off in the middle of the night, burn marks and welts all over his body. The last part of the story was omitted from the gossip at large but known by all. Charlie was still too young to understand, to him he just thought Ethan had been up to adventures now that he was living with his dad. Not that he didn’t want anything to happen to his parents, but he knew if he was with either of them he’d still find ways to have fun. A few of the times Ethan had even begun to say something, confess to a real pearla of a good time he thought, when he’d suddenly shut his trap and start digging some more.
He sensed the same now. Ethan had stuck his tongue out like Charlie too, was digging far quicker and far deeper than Charlie had in his five minutes than he had in his twenty minutes.
They stood in a hole a metre deep and wide. It was good dirt, soft dirt, as his dad always said. Ethan suddenly stopped and threw the shovel outwards. Screaming and climbing from the hole. The worm Charlie. Watch out for the worm. Get out of the hole!
What?
The worm, get out of the hole, Charlie. Please? Ethan pulling at his shirt, face contorted in a grimace.
Charlie climbed from the hole and stood besides Ethan looking in. What’s wrong?
The worm there, can’t you see it? Look! Ethan pointed at the wriggling flesh coloured thing in the ground. Writhing about because it had been chopped in two.
The earthworm? Charlie asked. You can’t be serious?
Deadly, Ethan said, frowning but slightly calmer. He was shaking. They use them on us at the orphanage. Here, Ethan went quiet. Swallowing repeatedly. Charlie could tell it was one of those times where Ethan was thinking what to do. He began in a whisper, but became more confidant as he went on. Pastor Phillips isn’t a nice man. Well not to us. He does things. Things, I—if I were to say. Ethan stopped, swallowing. If he says we’ve said a dirty word, or are dirty, he gets the bucket.
Charlie didn’t say anything, his mind wondering what many different things a bucket could hold. So he asked, What’s in the bucket?
Ethan shook his head, already heading further into the story. He makes us get naked. And, and he straps us to the table. Then he gets the bucket. And he gets the bucket and he puts it near us. Ethan was breathing quick, his own images scaring him. He starts screaming at me, dirty boy, dirty boy, you’ve been a dirty boy. And then he takes handfuls of the worms and laughs at me, I mean you. Um, and puts them on you. He says the worms burrow into the dirt and we’re the dirt. Ethan shaking wildly and stuttering every time he said worms. He laughs and I feel them in my belly button Charlie. And I feel them wriggling and he says they eat dirty boys. Dirty boys. God says that dirty boys aren’t good and I’m a dirty boy. And he says he’ll let them eat me if I want to be a dirty boy, but I don’t want to be a dirty boy Charlie. I don’t want to! Ethan was pulling at his hair now, afraid and eyes bulging. God knows he says! So I do what he says is the only way to not be a dirty boy, a-and go with him. And going with him is what makes me clean again, but I don’t feel clean Charlie. Because the worms are gonna eat me. And the worm there was near me before I realised and—and—an—
Ethan stopped talking and sat down, hard. Tears flowing from his eyes and breathing non-existent. Charlie
squatted next to him. It’s alright Ethan. Really. The worm won’t kill you. Worms can’t kill you, unless you’re like dead or something. They’re harmless. He’s probably playing a joke—
He never jokes Charlie! Ethan snapped, and he looked at Charlie deathly afraid. Never, he whispered.
Charlie was regretting having come outside now. First his sister wacko, now Ethan. Look, he said. Look at it, it can’t even do much. I’ll show you. See? Charlie picked up the worm in its two halves and held it in his hand. Look? he repeated. Ethan did look but was terrified, and Charlie could see his want to cry. It can’t burrow into me, or you. You’re not dirt Ethan, Pastor Phillips must just be playing a joke.
But Ethan didn’t reply. He was dark now. Watching the worm slow as it died. Charlie moved his hand to drop it back into the soil but Ethan stayed his movement, letting the worm cook more in the sun. They watched until it stopped moving, dead.
Thank you Charlie, he said quietly. Thank you. At that he dropped back into the hole and began digging again. His strength and vigor renewed. He slashed at the walls and threw the spades of dirt freely.
You know you’re pretty good at this, Charlie said. A bit of a weirdo, but definitely a lot better than Jim at digging.
Ethan stopped, torn, his eyes had found something in the soil yet he’d heard one of the first compliments in his life. He turned to Charlie, thank you, he said.
No problems.
Ethan bent down and took something from the soil and put it in his pocket, not showing Charlie. Then climbing from the hole gave Charlie the shovel. Here, it’s been great but I probably should get back. Wasn’t meant to be gone anyway.
No worries, Charlie said. Come round whenever you like. We can play whatever, I got comic books too.
Ethan smiled and ran to the fence, vaulted over it and was gone. Charlie leaned on his shovel for a bit, thinking about the last hour and how he couldn’t really be bothered digging to China anymore. He was trying to figure out why he’d told Ethan he could come around. He was weird, he’d told him, hell Ethan knew he was weird. Taking a handful of dirt home. Didn’t they have dirt at the orphanage? But even then, he didn’t have to nod back at him when he was in his room. He’d ignored him before, when he used to come round before the incident. Although then he was probably hoping to glimpse Sarah. But no, he hadn’t fetl like ignoring him today. If he were older and understood his emotions, he would’ve known that he didn’t want to ignore him. He felt sad for Ethan. Pitied him. If Sarah was having issues he could only imagine how Ethan was.
Charlie sighed, looked at the mound of dirt they’d excavated. He’d have to fill it in before Dad got home, wouldn’t be the worms getting him then, they’d be the least of his worries. Charlie began pushing the dirt into the hole and scraping little mounds also with his feet. He began to think about what Ethan had been saying, about the worms, about going with Pastor Phillips. He wondered what it was, but not enough to pursue it any further than the thought. He supposed he could ask Dad, he always had an answer. Or mum, she knew her scriptures back to front. Probably could give him the book and chapter. Bob book four chapter seven. But, Go with Pastor Phillips cause he stops your worms wiggling in ya pants, that was something else. Charlie started giggling at the thought. Picturing Ethan wriggling around with worms in his pants. He started laughing. He was laughing so hard it became hard to shovel dirt. He was just about to begin shovelling again when the backdoor slammed open, reverberating off the wall. His mother storming out, screaming.
Charlie, she snapped. What in the Lord’s name are you playing at? You know Sarah can’t handle laughing, it scares her too much. And why have you turned over the backyard like this? You wanting to ruin your father’s work?
No mum, I was just—
I don’t want to hear it. Shovel that dirt then get inside. You can help with tying off the linen. God knows I’ve got enough to do, made more harder now that your sister flinches everytime I reach for the twine. Bless her soul. But you. You should know better—she said nothing more and returned to the house, too angry to put it into words.
A new thought of why Charlie went outside occurred to him. It was because the house didn’t feel like their home anymore. Sarah was gone, mum snappy, dad spending more time at the pub. He knew why he’d offered to play with Ethan, because he wanted someone to play with him too. They were both boys that had had their lives turned upside down in a matter of an afternoon.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Charlie was sitting at his desk in the office typing up his latest restaurant review. It’d been another week since the second PK Killer victim was found. In that time he’d written six reviews for Roger. It had been the perfect distraction from the bodies, from Eve, from Ethan, from himself. It was something he could throw himself into, get lost in. He refused to believe how he’d found the body. He must’ve been hallucinating, he had to have. There was no way Ethan Burke was alive. No way that he was lead to the body, he stumbled upon it heading to the city. That’s what he’d told the police when they came. So he refused to acknowledge anything else as fact. The PK Killer was still the PK Killer unknown.
That decision, that he was maybe more crazy than stable, was incredibly liberating. It was decisive and allowed him to focus on his work. Just write about food. Handle Roger as quick as possible and get to the restaurants. He wrote and rewrote, read and reread. Came in early and left late. He got into a rhythm. Was starting to learn the ins and outs of the floor. The people. Who he could ask for help, who was best to steer clear of. He was still in Carl’s good graces, as opposed to most of the other journalists. He had the distinct feeling that he was more of an experiment, an inclination in curiosity, than being treated as a real writer. His work was often heavily edited, this though Ralph said was not to be taken personally. All of them were edited heavily by Carl, until they bent to his will, lost their voice and hopes of a personal column and just wrote the damn thing. That sense of liberation he’d allowed himself continued on in his homogeneity. Charlie Gardner, for once, wasn’t Charlie Gardner.
Except that it was he, Charlie Gardner, that no matter how hard he tried to fight against it, kept getting drawn back into the centre of things.
Charlie Gardner? a voice asked.
Yes? he replied, looking up from his notes.
A man slightly younger than him looked down upon him. Wearing a dark blue suit and offering a cigarette, he gave the impression of someone always moving. It was the detective that had spotted him on his first morning here, when the PK Killer had announced themselves to the world. I’m Detective William Davidson. Heard you found the second body? he said.
Charlie paused for a second, straightening his things to buy time. Yes. I did. Um, but I’ve already spoken to the officers on the weekend. The detective then asked questions—
And you did great, Davidson replied. I’m just doing some larger information gathering. Some of us have to do the nuts and bolts work. He flashed a smile.
Oh, yeah, Charlie laughed. Sure, yeah some of us get stuck with that.
You gonna take this cigarette or am I gonna stand here all day?
Oh sorry. Thanks, Charlie said, taking the smoke.
Carn, Davidson flicked his head. We’ll smoke in the fire escape. I know Carl.
Charlie followed the detective with the feeling that this line of questioning had been done before. Casual, at ease. No one’s taking a ride to the station. No one knows. Just before Carl’s office they took a left and went a few metres down the maintenance hallway. Davidson pushing the fire door open with his hip and they exited onto the large cement staircase. Stacey was there with Peter the cartoonist. She giggled and made to be looking for something.
It’s alright, Davidson said. I haven’t seen nothing. Come on, he gestured with his head. I’m not even here, Stace. Stacey and Peter rushed inside with a quick jump and button, Pete fumbling his zipper. So you seem to be a lucky guy? Davidson said, holding up his lighter for Charlie.
What do you mean
?
Well, he said, inhaling the smoke and changing the cigarette between hands. Saved a girl’s life the other week. Found a body this one. Keep going and you might do my job for me.
Charlie smiled to hide the wave of nausea sweeping through him. There was a reason he found the body…
I’m kidding, relax. Davidson smiled and took another drag. Carl says you’re alright, been through the ringer though. Wanna be a writer?
Charlie nodded. Gotta pay the bills first though. But hopefully. I’m doing research at the moment.
I know what ya mean, he replied. Wife wants to get a bigger house. But she only wants a bigger house cause there’s so much shit in our current one. But there’s so much shit in our house cause she’s bored and watches daytime tv. Infomercials and shit. Wants a baby that I won’t give her. He shrugged. That’s life they say. He flicked ash down the steps. But you know, you never think you need an electric can opener until ya fucking cat is screaming like a bitch in heat to be fed and your too hungover to see how to work the fuck’n manual one, ya know? Suddenly that thing is greater than God’s tit. But that’s the reason isn’t it. Items for weakness.
Yeah maybe, Charlie said. You don’t like the manual one?
No the manual one’s fine. A bit finicky if you don’t know how to use it, but it works nonetheless. But it’s convenience. Pointing with his cigarette, like he was pointing his opinion on a map.
Ah, Charlie said. He knew. Yeah convenience is big in our household too, he said. Two daughters that take constant supervision. Gadgets suddenly seem like golden tokens.
Exactly, Davidson smiling now, nodding. Convenience makes everything easier. But it’s quite telling of someone’s character too, ya know? Like why in the fuck do you need an electric can opener when the manual one works fine in the first place? Am I really that lazy? What precious seconds are being saved? Better yet, with the time created by this convenience, what are people doing with it? What is my wife doing? I’ll tell ya, buying more shit. Davidson laughed loudly, took a last drag of his cigarette and flicked it away. So that’s why we need a bigger house. It’d be convenient to have more space, but having said that, he got all serious. With convenience in mind, how is it that a man sees a plastic wrapped body in the dark of night, that had been weighted down, when he’d had a few drinks? Davidson’s smile was gone, in its place were staring eyes.
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