Box Set

by Kim Petersen

  The killer froze too, swivelling on stealthy feet under the shine of the half-moon, cocking a head and listening towards Ace’s window. In growing alarm, Ace watched him move deliberately closer to where he stood frozen in a tangled mess. Ace’s heart was pounding so hard, he was sure it could be heard, and beads of nervous sweat swathed his brow and stung his eyes. His mouth opened past dry lips in a scream when the killer switched on the flashlight to reveal the perpetrator, and a flood of relief came in a long exhaled breath as Ace recognised that it was no killer but only Millie, and it appeared she was carrying a box.

  Grappling to slide the window open, Ace poked his head through the opening. “What are you doing?” he scowled.

  “Nothing,” Millie hissed back. “Go back to bed,” she said over her shoulder as she turned and began to walk away.

  “No! You woke me up. What are you doing? What is that?” Ace pointed at the box she carried under one arm.

  Millie turned back towards him. “Shhhh! I’ll tell you in the morning, okay; now go back to sleep.”

  He mumbled a curse under his breath while closing the window, making extra sure to lock it securely, just in case. His imagination had had enough excitement for one night. He made the short trek back to bed and his waiting Benny Boy. I’ll deal with Millie in the morning, he thought as sleep beckoned him again.

  ***

  Ace stretched under flimsy faded green bed sheets as recollections of his midnight disturbance returned. He bounced out of bed and saw on the clock that he had slept in, and was missing his favourite Sunday morning cartoons. He flew into the kitchen to make a bowl of Weetbix and brown sugar before hurrying to the lounge room to take up camp in front of the television. He almost spilled milk and soggy Weetbix when he saw his sister’s slight figure was already sprawled over the three-seater lounge, and the TV tuned to the wrong channel.

  “Hey!” Ace protested, making no effort to conceal his displeasure.

  She threw him a quick glance before her eyes settled back to the screen. “Hey what?”

  “Well, it’s Sunday morning,” he stammered, trying to figure out how to get rid of her. “You never watch TV on Sunday morning!”

  Nursing his cereal bowl, he sat down on the edge of the single lounge chair. Already tall for his age, his sturdy twelve-year-old body perched awkwardly. What is with her anyway? he thought, and a scowl twisted his mouth.

  “Well, I am watching it now,” she said, pronouncing each word with emphasis.

  Ace began to scoop up big spoonfuls of cereal and cramming the wet concoction into his mouth. Then he remembered she had told him she would explain her noisy digging the night before, and he really wanted to know what was in that box. Maybe she had dug up treasure!

  “So,” he ventured, “What’s in the box? Is that why you were digging last night?”

  Millie sat upright and glared at him, causing him to squirm. “That is my business and none of yours.”

  His eyes clouded over and he frowned. “So, you don’t want to share the treasure?”

  “What treasure?” Her snappy reply came just as their father walked into the room.

  “Good morning you two,” he beamed. “What treasure?”

  “Nothing,” Millie muttered, throwing her brother a cautionary stare.

  Ace grunted his disapproval and decided to seize the opportunity to include their father in this little venture of hers. “Dad,” he began, throwing her a snide smile, “Millie dug up a box in the backyard last night. I’m sure she found treasure, but she’s not sharing any of it.”

  Glen’s face contorted as he processed the odd information offered by his imaginative son. “Oh,” he responded, deciding to humour Ace’s tall tale. “Treasure you say?” he grinned. “Are you telling me we are rich?” he mocked, but his humour faded as he noticed the colour draining from Millie’s face. He raised a curious eyebrow at his daughter. “Millie? Why were you digging in the backyard last night?”

  Squirming a little, Ace reached forward to put his empty cereal bowl down on the coffee table. The bowl clanked loudly as it made contact with the table’s worn tiled top, distracting his father and Millie for a moment as both their eyes were drawn to the trembling ceramic bowl. “Sorry,” he murmured. This was way better than any cartoon! he thought, as he watched his sister flounder under their father’s questioning stare. He could see Millie was attempting to figure out how to answer, noticing the struggle in her eyes and the fingers that had flown up to twist handfuls of long dark hair. Her eyes started to moisten and Ace began to realise something was wrong. Oh! What have I done? He felt a lump rise in his throat and became aware, as he recognised a shift in his sister from sorrow to the clenched, angry square of her jaw and the fire in her eyes that this was not going to be good.

  The struggle within her ceased, and frustrated tears cleared up to a cold stare directed at their father. “Why don’t you tell me something, Dad?” she said.

  His eyes held hers unwaveringly while his mind began to spin in warning; his daughter hadn’t spoken nor looked at him this coldly since the night Lilly had left them. He knew that whatever she had dug up and discovered in the box Ace had spoken of, could not have been good. Thoughts raced through his mind as Glen tried to decipher and decide just how to handle the apparent hostility the contents of this box has brought upon them. Upon him.

  “What do you mean, Millie?” Play it cool, he thought.

  “Where is my mother?” She matched his light tone with a short sweet smile while she scraped her hair back off her face, tightening it into a ponytail, as if preparing for a showdown.

  His laugh became a nervous jitter. “You know where she is.”

  “Do I?”

  Shrinking back as far as he could manage into the lounge cushions, Ace gulped down the lump in his throat. Why is she bringing up Mum now? He clenched a tight clammy fist while another lump rose to replace the one he had just managed to wedge free. He glanced at his father, who was shaking his head from side to side and appeared just as confused as he was.

  “Millie-pie,” Glen said, “Your mother left us. I have no idea where she has gone. I have not heard from her.” Then a disturbing thought. “Have you?”

  “Yes,” she said in a rasped whisper as she watched with mild fascination as this information sank its way into her father’s head. “She left me a key to the box she had buried under the avocado tree.”

  She saw the softness in her father’s eyes change and recognised the struggle as he fought to stop a scowl at the mention of their mother’s connection to the wooden box. Millie knew then that he was well aware of the box she had uncovered, and its damning contents.

  He was standing near the television throughout this exchange, and as his daughter’s words infiltrated his awareness, it took every ounce of restraint to stop the hand, now clenched tight, from smashing the television screen. Pristinely cleaned white ivories ground together in a violent frenzy while the lustre of gold in his eyes matched those of his daughter’s, as they ignited in fury. His mind, only moments before, a light-filled dome of happiness, grew dark while the serpent awakened and reclaimed its throne. He knew of the wooden box Millie had unearthed, but he thought it had been destroyed years ago. I should never have trusted that bitch! How dare Lilly do this to me! I let her live all these years … and this is how she repays me! He turned away from the prying eyes of his children and looked towards the window. He knew he had to keep control over the dark force in their presence.

  He sucked in a deep breath. “Ace, go to your room.”

  Ace seldom heard his father use this tone with him, and it sent a cold shiver down his spine every time he had heard it in the past. There was no protest he could summon when he spoke like this. Ace leaped to his feet and scampered out of the room, leaving Millie alone to meet their father’s wrath.

  Ace twitched as he sat on the floor at the foot of his bed. Holding Benny Boy firmly in his grasp, he attempted to concentrate on remembering the odd facts he liked to memo
rise. Ears pricked up as he heard the thunderous clash between Millie and his father. Lightning … lightning, he thought, racking his brain as he tried to block out the storm in the lounge room. Oh yes, lightning!

  “A bolt of lightning has enough power to toast 160,000 pieces of bread,” he muttered to himself. He looked down to the stuffed toy regarding him with dull eyes from his lap. “One-hundred and sixty thousand pieces, Benny Boy! That’s a lot of bread!”

  He covered his ears in an attempt to block out the cyclone in the other room as it grew to a thunderous peak. Samantha? A word penetrated into his ears. Who is Samantha? he thought, unable to block out Millie’s accusations towards their father. Then he heard the words that fell upon him like a molten weight on his chest and stomach.

  “Did you murder Samantha, Dad?” Millie’s steely voice was hardly recognisable, and was met with silence. Then her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “You murdered my mother!”

  The house fell silent. Ace’s ears buzzed against the sudden lull in the house, and he felt his chest twist and tighten so much that he could hardly breathe. He rose to wobbly feet, dropping Benny Boy unnoticed, and opened the door slightly to peer through the crack. Hearing nothing, Ace strained to see further down the dim hallway. He took a cautious step into the hall, and keeping his body flush with the walls, scoured the length of the hallway towards the lounge room, feeling like a prowler and wishing he possessed the courage of one. As he neared the fully open door to the lounge room, he could hear his father sobbing. In all of his twelve years, he had never heard his father wail in such a way.

  As he approached the threshold to the lounge room, his eyes met with the image of his father hunched over on the edge of a lounge chair. Large calloused hands cupped his face, and tears were dripping through the loose gaps between his father’s thick fingers. Tasting the salty fluid of his own tears, Ace ventured into full view of the lounge room, and noticed Millie was nowhere to be seen. He heard the distinct groan of the front door opening, and hastily back tracked through the lounge door, glimpsing his sister slam the door behind her and disappear into a rainy morning. For a moment he was paralysed, balancing on fumbling feet, uncertain of what to do. Should I go after her or should I comfort Dad? Surely Millie is just as upset? She needs me too! Ace wrestled with the guilt that this was his fault.

  The sound of Millie’s car accelerating down the street made the difficult decision for him. He turned back to his father and sat beside him. He stretched an awkward arm around his shoulders, comforting him as best he could. And as he sat in puzzlement, it occurred to him that this was no fault of his at all. He may have brought the box’s existence to his father’s attention, but he had no way of knowing the contents. His muddled tears dried up and a part of his heart began to freeze over. This is my mother’s fault. She deserted us, and now she has caused this trouble! She alone has brought my father to this crumbling mess! And while these thoughts began to clog his mind, more thoughts like them joined in, until they gained significant momentum, and there was no doubt left to argue the new resolve which settled within him comfortably. The blue sky that shaded his lovely eyes, darkened to a sapphire burn. His mind twisted in spiteful torment while the new emotion took firm grip, it was hate’s first visit. I hate her!

  ***

  Long after the sun had drifted beyond the horizon, Ace found himself engulfed in a restless, sweaty slumber. He tossed and turned, unsettled in the dreams his subconscious played out for him.

  He moaned as he discovered himself standing alone in their backyard, the sun dancing through the leaves of the avocado tree. The radiance of the sun streaming through thick leaves beckoned him closer. “Come,” said a voice, as he caught a quick movement from behind the tree. “Come.” He stepped closer, recognising the sweet tone of his mother. She poked her head out from behind the thick trunk and flashed him a broad smile. Her golden hair tumbled and swayed like silk. He stepped up to see her in full view. “Mummy,” he uttered. His eyes fell to the earth below the tree where there was a deep hole. A shadow drifted across his mind as he remembered, and his eyes rose up to her in accusation. He watched as her smile turned to sorrow and his contempt dawned on her.

  Another movement caught his attention as a black serpent with a big ugly head hissed at him, revealing its fangs. “Hello friend,” said the snake. It arched back in attack mode, and grew taller until it was as tall as Ace himself. His mother stared at them with horror in her eyes. His own fear tore at his chest as his eyes stayed transfixed on her. She opened her mouth and screamed as the snake struck, sinking its fangs deep into the soft flesh of his neck and released its venom into his bloodstream. He screamed as pain scorched through his neck and felt the venom enter his bloodstream like a bolt of lightning.

  Ace awoke bathed in a thin film of sweat, the scream freshly caught in his throat as he attempted to calm his laboured breathing. And although relieved it was all a silly dream, he was aware, as he lay back down on the damp pillow, that something had permanently transformed within him. And he knew, he would never be the same again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  November 15, 1973

  T o My Sweet Baby Daughter Amelia,

  How lovely you are my little girl! You are but one month old, and do not doubt me when I say; every smile, every watchful stare and every little gurgle you have given me has made every sleep-deprived night and every soiled nappy worth it. How you have captivated me with your bright emerald gaze and your rosebud pink lips! How happy I am that you have come into my world, sweet girl. From the bottom of my heart, my wish is that you understand with completion just how much I love you.

  If you are to receive this letter at all, you see, life with your father has not been easy for me. Oh, I know he loves me. But there is something inside him that takes hold; something sinister. And although I have tried to help him cast this demon within him aside for good, I fear my efforts have been in vain. I fear my very life is in danger. His mind is not his own anymore, and since your birth, he has become particularly paranoid, and I have no-one to turn to for help. He refuses to help himself. I am certain he doesn’t realise that he cannot contain this part of himself alone.

  Millie, I have loved your father from the moment he diverted my attention away from my canvas and paint one spring afternoon in the park in Rockton. I was completely absorbed with capturing the graceful beauty of a fluttering black and deep blue butterfly when he had startled me with a most charming comment. I’ll never forget the soft smile in his eyes that day, and I assure you, it took a lot for me to turn away from a work in progress in those days. Especially when it came to butterflies. Oh, but how I fell in love! The thing is, I know now that my love for him isn’t enough to endure the demon that lurks below the surface and overshadows the light within him.

  So, I have decided we are to leave your father, sweet daughter. Together you and I will make a peaceful existence for ourselves. Together we shall work it out. And I promise you, I am doing this for our safety and nothing more. So I write this to you now in the hope that one day you will understand the reasons why you are to grow up without the presence of a father.

  And I hope the depth of my love for you will be enough.

  All my love,

  Mummy xoxo

  P.S My apologies in advance if you find a distaste for your toes! – For you have unfortunately inherited my lightbulb endowments, and actually, they are just the sweetest little things on the tip of your perfect body.

  ***

  Folding the faded pink paper that revealed her birth mother’s handwriting between shaky fingers, Millie replaced the delicate letter in the worn box. She must have read the letter over a dozen times since it had come into her possession only the night before, and still the reality of its revelations echoed through her being. She allowed her sullen eyes to fall on the contents of the box, and released a heavy sigh while picking up the white-gold ring to inspect its tiny inscription on the inner circle of the precious metal. The exquisitely engraved
writing read: G&S Forever in Love. 1970. The initials of her parents. Her real parents! A flash of anger surged through her. How could he keep this from me? All these years thinking Lilly was her birth mother when another had carried her within the nurturing constraints of her womb and laboured to birth her! It was a mother’s love that was all too familiar to her now that she realised the significance of her divine encounters with Samantha. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes and spilled down already soggy cheeks while she placed the wedding ring on her finger. Oh Mummy! a numbed mind mused. What really happened to you?

  It was a truth too harsh for her to face right now. It can’t be … not my father! Her mind briefly wandered back to the aftermath of Lilly’s brutal bashing years ago, and just as quickly pushed aside thoughts that her father was a murderer. How could she love a murderer? Yet she did love her father.

  After their argument and the damning accusations she had thrown at him that morning, Millie had driven off in a tizz. She felt so alone in those moments while she pined for the arms of Damon to enfold and consume the discord that ran through her. But there were only memories as she parked outside the apartment block he had just vacated and looked up to the balcony where he smiled down at her so many times in the past. In those hours spent crying in her car in the rain-soaked street, Millie found herself in a whirlwind of emotions at the shock of discovering she was not Lilly’s daughter.

  The world she knew had been ripped out from under her once again, as the reality of her real mother and what may have happened to her seeped into her consciousness. And how she longed for the safety and comfort of the best friend she could no longer find. She wrestled with raw emotions about her father while the rain fell as though to taunt her. The image of his expression when she had screamed those wild accusations at him was fresh in her mind. He, the strongest and bravest of men she had known, had crumbled before her in a flood of tears. She had to distance herself physically from the deceit that poured from him as she had no idea where it ended and truth began. And by the end of a long, mentally exhausting day, she had crept quietly through the front door of her darkened home with no idea on how to handle the situation with her father, and the mother forever lost to her.