The Man in the Water

by David Burton

  ‘Jeeeee-suz. Everyone knows Mr Grant’s rough. I bet Simms was crapping himself. Where are they now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I haven’t heard from Megan, have you?’

  Shaun had thought about texting her, but couldn’t think of what to say. She would know by now that he’d lied about the wound on Tyson’s head. He felt his stomach tightening again. He should tell Will the truth. But Will’s voice was bright with a new idea.

  ‘Maybe we should go up to the hospital and check it out. Simms could still be there. We could ask him!’

  ‘Ask him what? If he killed Tyson?’

  ‘Hang on, what time were you at the Grants’ for dinner?’

  ‘I don’t know, around six.’

  ‘So Peter goes and bashes Simms. And Simms goes to hospital. And what time did they call the house?’

  ‘Um, I don’t know. Half an hour later or so, I guess.’

  ‘So if Simms dumped the body somewhere for the police to find, he would’ve done it before Mr Grant bashed him. He was in the hospital for the rest of the night.’

  Shaun wasn’t sure what to think anymore. Why would the killer suddenly produce the body after all this time?

  ‘I guess,’ he said.

  ‘What’s wrong? You don’t seem excited. We might be able to go to the hospital and figure out—’

  Without thinking, Shaun interrupted. ‘They said Tyson doesn’t have a head wound. His head’s fine.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’re saying he wasn’t hit on the back of the head.’

  ‘So it’s a conspiracy! They’re lying. Those bastards.’

  Shaun considered letting Will go, letting him think the whole thing was a massive cover-up. But he knew he had an opportunity to be honest. If they were ever going to get to the bottom of what had happened, he had to tell the truth.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, when I saw him he didn’t have a wound either. I … I just said that so you’d believe me.’

  The phone was silent. Shaun wondered if the connection had been lost.

  ‘So you lied,’ Will said.

  Shaun wanted to cry. ‘Yeah.’

  He could hear the school bell ringing in the distance.

  ‘You really saw him?’ Will said. ‘You weren’t lying about the whole thing?’

  Shaun dug his fingernail into the side of his knee, hard enough to leave a mark. ‘Yes. Deadset.’

  Will’s voice was firm. ‘You’re an idiot, you know that?’

  He felt heavy. ‘Yeah.’

  There was another long pause. ‘I should get back to class,’ Will said. ‘I’ll talk to you soon.’

  He hung up without waiting for an answer.

  Shaun held on to the phone, pretty certain that he’d just lost the one friend who would ever believe him.

  The doctor’s appointment was that afternoon, and there was no way his mum would let him miss it. The town ‘hospital’ was hardly bigger than a family home, with the doctor’s surgery in the front room.

  When Shaun entered the quiet air-conditioned building, he hoped to find at least one other patient there: Simms. If Peter had beaten him up enough to get arrested, then surely Simms would’ve at least spent the night in a hospital bed. There was only one way to make sure.

  He and his mum sat in the small waiting room, a grubby pile of torn magazines between them. She held her bag close to her, staring into space. They’d barely spoken since that morning, and that was fine by Shaun.

  Finding his way to Simms wasn’t going to be easy. In such a small building, he couldn’t do a thing without being watched. But he had an idea. He stood up.

  ‘Where are you going?’ his mum said before he’d taken a step.

  ‘To the toilet. It’s just down the hall, isn’t it?’

  ‘I think so. But don’t be long.’

  He’d have to be quick. He moved out of the waiting room into the hall and stood in the bathroom doorway. He could hear a man’s muted voice coming from the other end of the building.

  Simms? It had to be.

  Somewhere, a phone rang and he almost jumped. Then the door at the end of the hall opened. Shaun felt his heart race. If he was asked, he was just going to the toilet. But it didn’t matter. The nurse crossed the hall without looking in his direction. She had gone to another room to pick up the phone.

  It was now or never. He moved quickly to the room the nurse had just left, took a deep breath and turned the door handle.

  At that exact moment, someone on the other side had done the same and he almost fell into the room. He was face to face with a lanky older man with a stethoscope around his neck.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘You’d be Shaun, right?’

  Shaun’s eyes wandered to the bed at the end of the room. There was Simms. One of his eyes was big and purple, and his arm was bandaged and in a sling. He looked at Shaun with cold, exhausted eyes. Shaun couldn’t speak.

  ‘Wrong room,’ said the doctor. ‘Come on, I’ll take you down to your appointment now. Is your mum here?’

  He turned Shaun around and guided him out into the hallway.

  Walking away from the room, Shaun could have kicked himself. As soon as he’d seen the doctor, he’d panicked. He’d been so close. If only Will had been there. He would’ve come up with some clever story to worm their way in and get all sorts of information from Simms. But not Shaun. He shuffled back into the waiting room, the doctor by his side. He felt even more like a loser.

  ‘You must be Mum?’ The doctor offered her his hand.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, standing up to shake it. ‘Linda. He was just going to find the bathroom.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t find it. Went for a bit of a wander. Come on through.’

  Shaun avoided his mother’s piercing stare as they moved to the small consultation room.

  ‘Now,’ the doctor said. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Shaun didn’t look up.

  ‘Well,’ his mum began, ‘I don’t know if you’re aware of our history. You haven’t been here long, have you?’

  ‘A few months,’ he said. ‘I have your notes here.’ He looked at the computer. ‘Shaun has a history of asthma, okay, that hasn’t been a bother?’

  ‘No, not lately,’ she said. ‘My husband, Shaun’s father, he died just over a year ago.’

  The doctor looked up from the computer, his face softening. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Shaun felt hot. Why did she have to bring up his dad? ‘Mum,’ he said, ‘Dad’s got nothing to do with this.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘maybe you want to tell the doctor why you’re here.’

  Shaun scowled. ‘Mum thinks I’m mental.’

  The doctor nodded slowly and leant back in his chair. ‘And why does she think that?’

  Shaun pushed his fingers into the chair. ‘Because I saw a dead body in the lake. But no-one believes me. I saw it and went and told the police and when I came back it was gone. And it was the body of Tyson Grant. I saw it.’

  ‘Okay. And why does no-one believe you?’

  ‘I was the only one who saw the body before it disappeared.’

  ‘And he lied.’ His mother’s voice was hard and certain. ‘Didn’t you, Shaun? Tell the doctor about the blow on the head.’

  Betrayed, Shaun looked at his mother, but he didn’t answer.

  She turned to the doctor. ‘He told everyone that Tyson had a mark on his head, like he’d been hit. But now the body’s actually turned up and there’s no sign of anything on his head. At all. So I don’t know what to think. We’ve had the police round to our place and—’ Her voice broke. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  Shaun didn’t look up to see her crying. He wanted to leave.

  ‘And may I ask,’ said the doctor, ‘what this has to do with your father?’
/>   Silence.

  Finally, Shaun looked up. ‘My father killed himself. Mum thinks I’m seeing ghosts.’

  They left the office with a referral to see a psychologist. The doctor had offered them both valium to calm their nerves and help them sleep. Shaun refused, but his mum took the script with thanks. They’d both taken the tablets when his father died. It had helped them sleep, but Shaun could remember waking up feeling heavier, his mouth dry. And it didn’t change the fact that his father was still dead, and his mum still devastated. No pill could change that.

  The psychologist was booked out for ages. The tentative booking that Shaun’s mum had made was a long way off. She looked at the doctor. ‘What am I supposed to do with him until then?’ she said. ‘Should I take him to the coast to see someone?’

  The doctor printed off a list of a dozen names. ‘This is a list of the psychiatrists and psychologists in a three-hour radius,’ he said. ‘Any of them will accept this referral. See how soon you can get him in.’

  There was no way to sneak down the hallway to Simms. Even if there was, what could Shaun ask?

  He imagined himself at the foot of Simms’s bed. ‘Did you kill Tyson Grant?’

  Simms shrinking in fear, nodding and being forced to sign a confession. ‘I hereby confess that I killed Tyson Grant,’ it would say, ‘and Shaun isn’t crazy. He saw the body and I panicked and hid it.’

  Shaun would run to the police station, hand in the confession and Simms would be arrested. And Peter would be set free. And Megan would love him. And Will would forgive him. And his mum would shine with pride and stop crying.

  He replayed the movie in his mind several times as they walked to the car.

  ‘Have you got much on at school at the moment?’ his mum asked as she drove out of the car park.

  ‘The usual. There’s a debating thing coming up.’

  He imagined being in a plane with Will on one side and Megan on the other, both hating him.

  ‘We should call your teachers and get what you need. I don’t think you should go to school for a bit.’

  He resisted the urge to yell. ‘Mum, that’s not fair. I’m fine. Honestly. I don’t understand why you can’t believe me.’

  ‘Sweetie, it’s not up to you. Okay? It’s my decision.’

  ‘But. I’M. FINE.’

  Their discussion was broken by the sound of shattering glass. It was only a couple of minutes’ drive from the hospital to their place, and they were almost home. They were a few houses away when they first heard the noise. THUD, THUD, THUD, like someone bashing something metallic. It was coming from their front yard.

  As they pulled up, his mum gasped. There was Peter Grant, huge and red, with a cricket bat. One of their front windows was broken, and now he was knocking the hell out of their letterbox. His ute was parked in the driveway, driver door open and engine running. He looked up, scowled and barrelled straight for them.

  They locked the doors. Staring straight at Shaun, Peter lunged at the hood of the car.

  His left eye was blue and swollen, just like Simms’s. He was still wearing the same clothes that Shaun had seen him in the night before.

  ‘Stay away from my family!’ he yelled. ‘You’re a liar!’

  He turned away, slamming the bat once more into the letterbox, which gave way and crumpled, tearing off its frame and skittering along the front path. Shaun and his mother sat frozen, not daring to speak. Peter threw the bat into the back of the ute, jumped in and sped away.

  Shaun went to inspect the damage. His mother stepped out behind him.

  ‘Jesus,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Mum,’ he muttered, feeling hollow and weak. ‘I’m sorry. This is my fault.’

  He didn’t know what to do, or what to think. So he ran.

  He didn’t leave consciously; his body just started moving. If his mother called to him he didn’t hear. The road was dusty and scorching, as always. His shirt clung to him. Occasionally, images flicked through his mind, daring him to run faster.

  Peter Grant staring at him with his purple eye across the hood of their car.

  His mother’s vacant face while she inspected the damage.

  Megan folding in half at the pool and sobbing when he told her.

  Will’s heavy sigh. The sound of the phone hanging up.

  And his father. He thought of his father, looking down on him from a heaven Shaun wasn’t sure he believed in, and looking away in shame. His son had let him down.

  At this, Shaun crumpled at the knees and fell to the ground, his face in the dirt.

  He pushed the images away. He didn’t want to cry. He was so sick of being a pathetic loser.

  He looked up.

  Silence. Except for a few twittering insects. And the sound of gently lapping water.

  He had run to the lake.

  Exactly where he’d found Tyson. His body had taken him there without thinking.

  He sat for a long time just looking at it, waiting for Tyson to walk out of the water.

  Was it all some horrible nightmare? Was it all because he was still grieving for his dad?

  He’d liked his dad. But he’d never felt that he knew him. Not like his mum. She had always been there. In the kitchen packing his lunch box. Smiling from the back row at his debates. On the couch beside him, watching crappy TV.

  He mostly remembered his father working. His hands were always dirty. He was always sleeping. Or having a beer. They played video games together, a few times. He liked that. But most of the time he had to turn the TV down because his dad was sleeping. Or he had to go outside and play.

  He’d been there when Shaun graduated from primary school. There’s a photo of them from the day: Shaun is beaming at the camera, holding out a certificate, and his dad is copying him. It was a joke. His dad was goofy like that sometimes.

  Now Shaun couldn’t remember where they’d put the photo.

  The sun was setting. The temperature had dropped a bit.

  Then he had an idea. There was one small thing he could do to start to set matters right. But he’d have to move quickly.

  He got up and started to run again.

  By the time he got to Millie’s place, twilight had begun to settle. The open sky was brushed with pink. He held Tyson’s boots in his hands. He had run home and picked them up, moving quickly to avoid his mum, who was probably out looking for him.

  The house was little more than a shack. An old weatherboard place that had been knocked together when the boom was on. There were identical places on either side.

  The front yard was bare, just a stretch of yellow grass with nowhere obvious to leave the boots. And even if he did just drop them in the yard – or at the front door, if he dared – would Millie recognise them as Tyson’s? Would the appearance of her dead boyfriend’s boots freak her out?

  He’d have to speak to her and explain. He hadn’t brought anything to leave a note with.

  He knocked on the door, waited and was just about to drop the boots and turn away when it opened.

  Millie was a dream of herself. It was if she had died along with Tyson. The only sign of life was the faint trace of contempt behind her eyes as she looked at Shaun.

  ‘Oh,’ she muttered. ‘It’s you.’

  He swallowed and spoke quickly. ‘I know you don’t want to see me and I totally get it, but I realised that I still had Tyson’s boots and I thought you should have them and I’m sorry about how everything’s turned out and I’m really sorry for your loss and everything. I’m sorry. I thought you might want these.’

  He held them out, and the two of them stood staring at each other in the doorway. Millie’s eyes didn’t shift from his. She didn’t look at the boots for a second.

  ‘Are you for real?’ she said.

  ‘Completely. I went back to where I found Tyson the day after I told
the police and I found these under a tree. I promise, Millie. I’m not lying. Why would I lie about this?’

  She glanced down at the boots and softened. ‘Where did you find them?’

  ‘Just like I said. Under the tree down that end of the lake. You know it? Just there. Where I found him.’

  She took the boots out of his hand, turned and walked back into the house, leaving the door open behind her.

  ‘You should come in,’ she called over her shoulder.

  Shaun stepped into the lounge room. The room was dark. There was just a single window covered by a loose curtain. Millie had placed the boots in the middle of the floor and the whole room seemed to orbit around them. There were cardboard boxes in one corner. It looked as though she’d only just moved in.

  ‘So you saw him?’ she said, facing him.

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘A week ago?’

  He nodded.

  She looked at the boots again. ‘I thought you were lying. You lied about the hit on the head.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Why?’

  He didn’t look away. He wanted to own up to what he had done. ‘Because I’m an idiot. I just thought more people would believe me or be interested or something if there was blood involved.’

  ‘That was stupid,’ she said.

  Shaun nodded. ‘If it’s any consolation, Mr Grant’s just been over and scared the hell out of me and Mum.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘For real?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘He’s an idiot.’

  ‘Nah, I deserved it.’

  ‘That’s not the point. He goes looking for fights. He’s pissed off with everyone all the bloody time. Suddenly Tyson’s so important to him, but he was never that important when he was alive.’ She sank onto the futon in the middle of the room. ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Went insane with a cricket bat. He smashed a window and our letterbox.’

  She shook her head. ‘Idiot.’

  It didn’t feel right to agree with her, so he just stood there.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ she said. ‘Tell me how you found him.’

  He started quietly, but as the details unwound he relaxed. She sat, listening intently. Clearly, she believed him. It was the small details. The colour of Tyson’s hair. His jeans. His hi-vis vest. And then Baker and Charlie at the police station. And the way they’d been told about Tyson’s death at assembly.