In the Clearing

by J. P. Pomare

  Rocky’s wet nose touches my fingertips. I look down into those soft brown eyes, then to Billy.

  ‘Tell me if you see that strange man again, please.’

  Billy just stares. I remember the manic look in Wayne’s eyes as he screamed at me. I remember thinking, This is how it ends.

  PART THREE

  THESE VIOLENT DELIGHTS

  For God knows that in the day you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.

  Genesis 3:5

  FREYA

  One day to go

  WHEN I DREAM, I am at the river. I see Billy floating facedown on the surface, but for some reason I am not alarmed. Instead I feel calm; in fact, I feel a rising euphoria. Then I hear a voice. I turn and Wayne is there, sitting on the bank. I don’t know why I think it is Wayne – where his face should be there is nothing but skin – but I know it in the same way I know it is Billy in the water. And someone else is there: Henrik. He’s talking so quickly I can’t understand what he’s saying, but it’s clear he’s instructing the faceless Wayne.

  Wayne stands. He rushes towards me with his hands outstretched. I laugh, it is all a game. He grips my neck and we both fall back into the water. I don’t resist. I let it happen. Why did you do it? I know I can’t die, he won’t let me drown. Despite how much he hates me, he will never stop loving me, so I just lie there as his grip tightens and tightens. But he doesn’t let go. I can’t breathe. I kick out, fight back, but he is too strong.

  When I wake I am breathless, clutching at my throat to peel away the fingers that aren’t around my neck. I reach for the familiar kink of my nose and remember the day I almost died. The day I got the scar at my waist.

  Your body senses something is wrong before your brain. That’s how it was with Aspen. I knew I was doing something wrong, I could feel it. It was a mistake. I just wanted a break. A moment away at the park. He had too much energy, wouldn’t stop screaming. I locked him in the car. I didn’t know what it would cost me. I didn’t know that it would almost kill him. I didn’t know that they would all blame me.

  The nights back then were long. I expressed during the day when Aspen wouldn’t feed, then he would wake me up at all hours while Wayne was out working. Wayne didn’t need to work. I had enough money. He didn’t need to drive himself into the ground, growing more and more stressed, more and more sleepless. We fought. Well, not so much fought; rather, Wayne got angry and I kept control most of the time. He made me feel like a bad mother. I have regrets, of course, but I was not a bad mother.

  He was collecting debts to make money. He didn’t know how close I was to breaking down, how the stress was grinding my bones, how my skin was wearing thin and how more and more that woman inside was breaking through.

  I squeeze Billy who again is sleeping in my bed; the sky is dark outside of the windows and the twiggy branches of the paperbark tree dice up the crescent moon.

  I picture Aspen as a baby, the occasional smile, a single nib of white beginning to break through his bottom gum. At twenty-two I was too young to be a mother; I was still a girl, really.

  I cannot reside in the next memory for too long without the acid of grief washing away the calm veneer I’ve built up. I recall the moment. There is a pause before the pain, just enough time to know, to understand there is nothing you can do. When I looked up and saw the gun, I knew what was coming. I recall waking up between the crisp sheets. A small sterile room. Waxed halls, nurses in squelching white shoes. Looking up and seeing a solemn, suited man watching over me.

  Reaching for the nightstand, I find my glass of water and take a long sip. Rocky, at the foot of the bed, snorts, and stretches before going back to sleep.

  I roll out of bed, careful not to wake Billy, and creep into the lounge, where I turn on the TV and lie back on the couch. A fortune teller is accepting calls at $4.90 per minute to read people’s fortunes live on air with cards and crystals. A scarf is twisted about her hair, and each eye shines beneath a substantial ellipse of purple eye shadow. I change the channel. An old movie comes on, a Christmas thriller. Probably a bit much for my heart to take after that dream. I change the channel again, this time settling on the early-morning news. So long as there are no new abductions, no infanticides, I’ll be okay. The news doesn’t help. In my mind I revisit the past and think of the future. I think of how much it hurt to lose Aspen. With no one around, no one watching, I let myself cry and it all comes in a flood.

  I take my phone off the charger. Back on the couch, I find I have two missed calls from around midnight. I stare at the ten numbers as if deciphering a code. I type a message.

  Whose number is this?

  I hit send and watch as instantly the three dots appear on the screen. Whoever it is, they’re typing a response. My heart tumbles about my body. Instinctively I look out into the night. Is he here now? Is he coming for me? The panic button is within reach, if I need it. But he couldn’t know where I live. Last time he was in town we stayed at a hotel.

  You’re awake early.

  My hands shake. I look up at the TV, thinking for a moment.

  Wayne?

  Good guess. I’m looking for my son, Freya.

  My breath catches. I eye the panic button. Billy.

  What are you talking about? I type rapidly.

  Let’s not make this difficult. I need to take him home.

  Are you watching me? Are you here?

  I’m not leaving without him.

  You’ve lost your mind.

  I’ll be seeing you soon.

  Again I feel that tugging feeling of the invisible cord between me and Billy. I head back to my room and fall into bed beside him with my phone in hand.

  Leave me alone, Wayne. I have no idea what you are talking about.

  My heart is kicking at my sternum. I need a distraction. I go to Facebook, and scroll. I scroll through the lives of the few people I know. Jonas has more photos up from Bali. I search Wayne Phillips. I flick down through all the suggestions, but I already know I won’t find his account. He’s as good at hiding as I am. I was naive to think I could ever have a normal life. It was always going to turn to shit again.

  •

  I drop Billy at school in the morning and sit there tracking him with my eyes until he is safely inside. Then I scan the faces of the parents and people walking along the footpath outside the school gate. There is no sign of Wayne. I turn the car for home.

  The van is still parked near the dip in the road.

  As soon as I get to the house, I put Rocky on the leash and head down through the yard towards the river. The world around me is a riot of birds, cicadas, the crackle of dehydrated flora beneath my boots. The human eye detects movement before all else; I read that somewhere. Before we think, before we can understand what we are seeing, we identify a threat and our body is already reacting to it. Hairs rise. Eyes widen, blink less. Breathing quickens. Our pulse soars.

  Near the back gate, I notice an opening in the fence wide enough to pass a soccer ball through. I squat down beside Rocky, who sniffs at the foot of the fence. Something has chewed it. I’ll have to lace it up with wire. I imagine sluggish wombats, or foxes, or wallabies. Or could it be the same person who opened the gate, making a new entry point now that the gate is padlocked?

  When we reach the river I don’t swim. I stand at shin depth, hurling stones for Rocky to chase. Occasionally he dunks his head in after them and brings them back up in his mouth. The heat quickly saps any energy I had.

  ‘Come on, Rocky,’ I call, ‘let’s get back.’

  Inside the house, I pause for a moment. It’s completely still. I go to the sink, turn on the tap, and water rushes over my hands. I feel rather than see a shadow pass before the open back door. Is someone there? It was just a flash in my peripheral vision. A swooping bird, perhaps? I twist about, my body stiff and electric.

  ‘Rocky,’ I call. He trots to my side. Without turning from the back door I reach for my phone and call Oli
via.

  •

  In the psychologist’s office, I sit holding my face in my hands. She cancelled her lunch to make time for me.

  ‘Everyone understands what he put you through, Freya. No one will judge you. Do you believe that?’

  ‘He’s coming for my son.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He sent me a text message. He said he won’t leave without Billy.’

  Olivia shifts in her seat. ‘Well, that could be construed as a threat. How would you feel about contacting the police?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘No.’

  ‘He has caused you a lot of pain.’ Olivia’s eyes narrow, hawk-like behind square-framed glasses. ‘Do you blame him for losing Aspen?’

  ‘We each played our part.’

  ‘What do you mean, Freya?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t trying to hurt Aspen. I was just tired, and I didn’t know any better.’

  Olivia closes her notebook. One eyebrow arcs over her glasses as she waits for me to speak. The silence game, a favourite among psychologists. Except I’m immune to social awkwardness, I don’t leap to fill the silence with my thoughts the way others might. Olivia breaks first.

  ‘We’ve been through this, Freya. No one blames you — ’

  ‘I know. It’s not that. Wayne didn’t hurt Aspen, but he wasn’t there for me. He blames me. He told them I was hurting Aspen, that I almost drowned him in the bath before the car incident.’

  She pinches the bridge of her nose, turns her wrist to see her watch. ‘You can make the choice to continue to exclude him from your life. You haven’t seen him in years and he’s got no right to take Billy.’

  ‘But what if he takes him anyway?’

  ‘You should contact the police. It would be irresponsible of me to encourage you to do otherwise.’

  I sit for a moment, thinking. Olivia knows the real me – well, she knows about the real me, which is an important distinction. She knows I harbour the real me deep inside. She knows I won’t trust the police after what happened with Aspen.

  ‘Do you believe that you are in danger?’ Olivia asks.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When was the last time you heard from him?’

  I haven’t told her about the night I spent with him. ‘Not since he took Aspen. He blocked me out.’

  ‘You haven’t heard from him in fourteen years?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you’re certain it’s him contacting you now?’

  ‘Yes. It has to be.’

  ‘And you’ve never had messages like this before?’

  I think back. He seemed so loving and kind when we were together. He had hidden behind doors sometimes to give me a fright, or he would reach into the bathroom when I was in the shower and flick out the lights, but it was all for a laugh. And he always got one from me.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘No, never.’ I remember him making blueberry pancakes in the nude, bringing them to me in bed. I remember the way he nestled Aspen against his shoulder with such tenderness I thought I might cry. It seems like so long ago now, and in a way it is. But then I remember the violence he held inside, how quickly he turned away, how the force of his fear for what I might do to Aspen overwhelmed his love for me.

  •

  I go straight from my appointment with Olivia to my class, getting there early. Milly is at reception, she greets me with Namaste and I go straight into the studio. I use the time to meditate, my hands curled over my knees, eyes closed, feeling gravity pull me down, feeling the blood in my veins, and air rushing in and out of my lungs.

  I become calm. People drift into the room. I am aware of them quietly unrolling their mats. I open my eyes and rise to a standing position, placing my hands together as in prayer at my belly button. I shape my mouth into a smile and greet them all as they enter.

  I start out by synchronising the collective breath. It is here, in this position standing at the front of the class, that I notice a face through the window at reception. He is sitting down, looking at something in his hands. Dark eyebrows, hair combed back, mouth bracketed with lines. Swipe of grey at the temples. My breath quickens and the calm of my meditation evaporates. He looks too familiar. I fight to contain myself within the skin of Freya Heywood; I fight to maintain my calm. Wayne is waiting in reception.

  AMY

  I WAKE IN the night and everything is still and dark. Tonight, Adrienne gave us children a sermon and I was proud that Asha was sitting up the front, her head tilted back, her eyes wide. Anton gave her an entire carrot for her good behaviour and the other children watched with envy as she chewed it.

  Now, lying in bed, I can see the stars outside the window. The room is hot; it is too hot to sleep. I think about the snake, the way its head fell to the dirt. I feel eyes watching me from the bottom bunk across the room. I stare into the darkness and realise Asha is staring back. She is awake.

  I wonder if I woke her or if she has been awake all along. Even in the darkness I can see her fear. I can see the shine of tears. I climb from my bed and cross the room to lie beside her, grazing my hand down the buttons of her spine. She looks into my eyes, the fear replaced with hope.

  ‘Can I please go home now?’

  My heart twists. She doesn’t understand how lucky she is. He could hear her if she speaks too loudly. I place my finger over my lips and shush her, knowing that I should report her, knowing I could be punished for protecting her.

  ‘Asha,’ I say, ‘you are home, so don’t ever say anything like that again because he will hurt you if he finds out.’

  She tucks in against me. Her face, warm and damp with tears, presses against my chest. She wraps her tiny arms around my neck. I squeeze her. It’s been almost a week since she arrived, and she has gotten skinnier. Her face has thinned. She looks completely different.

  ‘It’s going to be okay. Keep going. Protect the Queen.’

  I feel her grip tighten, then she speaks. ‘I hate it here. I want to go home.’

  ‘This is your home now, Asha. You are safe here. We will never make you go back to that man who hurt you.’

  ‘No one hurt me, never. Not until you brought me here.’ She says the word you with force. I feel afraid, not for myself but her.

  ‘That’s not true.’

  Asha trembles against me. I can tell she is crying again as a sob escapes and soon her tears soak through the shoulder of my nightgown.

  ‘I’m sorry, Asha,’ I say. I don’t know why I say it but it’s out now. In my heart, I know we saved her, I know I have nothing to apologise for. ‘What was it like out there in the world?’

  ‘It’s different. I have friends at school. Laura is my best friend and she misses me.’ She is speaking fast now. ‘I eat dinner and breakfast, proper food. I used to have roll-ups and cheese sandwiches for lunch. My poppa …’ She lets out a tiny whimper. ‘I miss my poppa. He’ll be looking for me.’

  ‘No,’ I whisper. ‘You’re confused. He hurt you. You are with God now, Asha.’

  ‘My name is Sara!’

  I slap my hand against her mouth and snatch her head back by her hair so she is forced to meet my eyes. Our noses are almost touching. Someone moves in a bunk nearby. I can’t risk her waking anyone else.

  I swallow, lean forwards and kiss her head. Her entire body tenses. The air is damp and sticky.

  ‘Adrienne has a plan for us all,’ I whisper close to her ear. I slide my hand from her mouth. ‘Just be good and it will get better, I promise. Our mother will show you the light.’

  ‘She is not my mother,’ Asha says. ‘My mum died. Don’t call her my mother.’

  Once she has fallen asleep again, I slip my hand under my mattress and pull out my journal. I steal away to the bathroom to think. Perhaps she needs another dose of medicine to help her see, to bring her into the light.

  Why would she say her mother had died, though? Her mother is Adrienne. We are, all of us, Adrienne’s children. I just hope it gets better for her here soon. She doesn�
��t understand what will happen if she resists.

  — Amy’s journal —

  I am back in my own bed now but I still can’t sleep. Adam had come for me in the night, careful not to wake the others. He gently nudged my shoulder. Come.

  He led me out across the Clearing. I walked without my shoes, half expecting a bull ant to light a fire on the underside of my foot.

  He turned to me and instructed me to stick out my tongue, dropping a little of the magic bullet on it.

  ‘Once a caterpillar becomes a butterfly, there is no turning back,’ he said, looking up. ‘You’re beautiful, Amy. And you are only going to get more beautiful as you get older.’

  No one had ever said anything like that to me before. I followed his gaze up to the stars. They looked brighter than ever.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’m going to show you one of life’s great pleasures. I’m going to help you purge the feelings you’ve been developing inside.’

  As we approached the Great Hall my heart rose in my chest. I looked across the Clearing to the squat wooden shacks where the minders live.

  I climbed up the ladder to the loft. Adam followed.

  ‘If we are all going to die, Amy, what would be the problem with hastening another’s death?’ The question caught me off guard.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘If someone is suffering, let’s say, what then?’

  ‘It depends.’

  ‘Right and wrong are not fixed points on a compass. Sometimes we do things just because they are necessary. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I felt his hands on the front of my nightgown.

  ‘It is important that you do not tell anyone what we are about to do, not even Adrienne. She can never find out. She would hurt us both.’