by J. P. Pomare
‘We don’t talk about that. She’s not herself anymore anyway.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s lost it.’
He raises his eyebrows at this. ‘You certain?’
‘Yeah. She barely recognised me last time.’
‘So what are you going to do now? Will you keep visiting her?’
‘I don’t want to but I don’t want to piss Jonas off, and I kind of have to. But I’m not taking Billy out there again. I don’t want Billy near her at all.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ he says. His gaze shifts away from me, back to the street outside the cafe window. He takes another sip of his coffee.
‘I still feel like such an idiot,’ I say. ‘I believed in the twelve and the new age for years after I left. Then even when I knew it was bullshit, I couldn’t walk away. She always held a power over me.’
Corazzo has a complex expression. He watches me closely. ‘You don’t believe in all that anymore?’
‘God no. Olivia says it’s conditioning. She says I have been wearing a mask my entire life, I’ve always felt different, I’ve always felt like I’m full of violence and it’s only a matter of time before it comes out. She says most people never escape a cult even when they leave it.’
‘A cult,’ he says to himself. ‘So you’d never go back?’
‘No,’ I say, smiling. ‘I can finally, honestly say Billy is much more important to me than Adrienne. This might sound callous, but when she dies I’ll feel entirely free for the first time in my life.’
‘So that’s it, you’re done with her?’
‘I am,’ I say.
There’s a moment, a pause, before he smiles.
‘I thought you would be happier,’ I remark.
‘Oh, I am happy. I’d be careful though. The fanatics might still be out there. I wouldn’t go broadcasting the fact you’re no longer loyal to her; you never know who might be listening.’
FREYA
Sixty-one hours missing
‘ANTON?’ CORAZZO SAYS again.
I risk another look. He’s squatting down now by Jonas’s inert body.
‘Shit,’ he says.
I stay dead still, concealed behind Jonas’s car, trying to form a plan. If I could make it to the driver’s door, I could take off. But what if he tries to stop me? Corazzo is old, I remind myself, with a heart condition; maybe I could fight him off. On the other hand, he’s still so much bigger than me, still so strong. Think, you idiot, I scold myself.
The rain has eased to a light drizzle, but the wind is still gusting, pulling through the bush.
I feel something against my hip, a vibration. It’s loud in the still night. I stare at it in horror, recognising the number that had called earlier, knowing now that it’s Corazzo, and that he’s looking for me. I stab at the screen, trying to stop it, but by the time I do he’s there, looming above me.
I stand up, staring at him, speechless.
‘Amy,’ he says. My old name. I hold the phone out towards him to see him better.
He is holding something in his hand. It glints in the meagre light from the phone screen.
A blade.
Laughter bursts from him. ‘You’re not the only one who wears a mask, Freya. This is what we do for her, this is how we pass in the world.’
The police can’t be too far away now, but he’s drifting closer to me. I step back. ‘No,’ I say. Tears, real tears, fill my eyes. ‘Not you.’
His expression softens. ‘Don’t make this difficult, Amy. You’ve already nearly killed your brother. You’ve done enough damage.’
‘Where is Billy?’
‘He’s safe. Don’t worry. We will take care of him.’
‘When did they get you, Corazzo?’ I try to keep my voice even, but I hear it crack. ‘What did she offer you?’
He ducks his head a little as if to see me better. ‘She never got to me. I was always with her. I was with her when you were a baby. She knew you wouldn’t be able to control yourself on the outside, so I stayed close.’
His face is expressionless. I steal a glance at the blade in his hand. He’s the one who convinced me not to trust the police, that he was the only one who could protect me, the only one who was really on my side. He probably concealed evidence, pursued Adam but not Adrienne, manipulated me at the hospital. When the police were closing in on the Clearing he tipped Adrienne off. He was there at the house by the river when I fled with my journal. He was part of the plan all along.
I step back, drawing a deep breath, filling my cells with oxygen. Then I turn and run.
He moves quickly for an old man, but I’m faster. My sneakers slide in the mud as I round the Great Tree, instinctively heading for the gate. After years of neglect, the gate and the fence have been swallowed up by blackberry bush. I sprint. The night air shrinks my lungs. I can hear him close behind, but I don’t risk looking back. I’d been shot that night at the house, all those years ago. Shot but not killed. Was that a mistake? Was I supposed to die that night, leaving my journal to exonerate Adrienne? Instead I survived.
I hurl myself up and over the fence. The thorns of the blackberry bush shred my palms but I don’t slow down. I am wired with adrenaline.
I hear him hit the ground behind me a moment later.
The track through the bush is so overgrown I don’t recognise it, but sometimes your body remembers what your brain forgets. My heart pounds and my lungs burn as I weave through the bush along the overgrown path. I can hear him close behind, hunting me.
I put on a burst of speed. Blackberries catch my hair, tearing it. The sky cracks open and I can hear the rain again before I feel it, spitting at first, dripping through the canopy. Blood pounds at my temples, in my chest, and sweat starts on my back.
I keep going, ignoring the searing pain I feel in my throat with each intake of breath. He is close now, so close. I feel his fist snatch my hair and I drive an elbow back in the darkness, hitting something solid. His grip loosens.
‘There’s no escape, Amy,’ he calls. Amy – hearing that name coming from his lips hits me in the guts.
The bush is so thick here; curls of ferns, a fallen tree rotting on its side. I leap over it. I hear him coming down, the swish of ferns moving, the crack of twigs snapping. I move again, lightly picking my way through the undergrowth, shifting between trees. I need to get to the river.
‘I know this bush as well as you,’ he says. ‘You think you’re safe out here but she is with me, she is guiding me.’ His voice booms over the storm. ‘I led the search for Asha, knowing all the while we would never find her. Making sure we never found her. I scoured this bush with the rest of them, Amy. You can’t escape.’
I keep moving, picking my way in near silence. Then I slip. I slide down a slope, grabbing at roots and shrubs. A bone-shattering crunch. My ankle. I bite my palm to keep from screaming. I try to stand but the ankle won’t take my weight. I’m trapped. Desperate to keep going, I start to hop. Then I hear it. Just a whisper at first. The river. It’s near, summoning me. I hop faster, scrambling through the dense bush, using my hands to tear away the foliage. It’s so close. But he’s coming.
I emerge near a bend in the river, a place from which we once leapt into the water below. But the river is too low now to risk jumping. Down below it’s all rocks and shallow pools.
My ankle is throbbing; I can’t run. I’m trapped here. I can hear him coming, the bush crackling around him. I look around urgently for some kind of weapon, something that will give me an advantage. Spying a log close by, an idea forms. I heave the log up and hurl it off the cliff and into the river below. The splash is loud. I hobble back into the undergrowth and crouch beside a tree.
Focus. Control your breathing, Freya. Don’t mess this up.
He rushes out of the bush, the blade in his hand. He’s so large, squinting down at the river, searching for my body.
He turns back towards the bush, eyes searching the dark. He senses me. He knows I’m near.<
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He glances back down at the river. This is the moment. I don’t hesitate. Despite the crushing pain in my ankle, I run.
I hurl myself at him, shoulder into his spine. He’s surprised. He stumbles, twists, falls. A moment of flight, then the cartwheeling descent.
I watch. Not with sadness, exactly, but the feeling is similar. There’s a sense of loss as the only person I ever truly trusted tumbles, falls and hits the water. The rain pounds. For a moment nothing happens, then Corazzo resurfaces, floating face down.
I remember playing in the river with Adam. I remember how happy I was, how much he cared for us children. I remember the look on his face in court, the hatred in his eyes.
I glance down once more at Corazzo before turning and starting back, limping towards the Clearing. I think of everything I did for my family as a child, and what I’ll do now for Billy. It’s not so different.
Three weeks returned
Olivia smiles when she sees me. I can smell the chamomile tea in the pot on the low wooden coffee table. The warm autumn sun streams in through the blinds.
‘Freya,’ she says. ‘Take a seat.’
We have a lot to work through now. The yoga mums, the school parents and teachers, everyone knows who I really am. They’ve all seen the photos and read the stories. They all want to hear about Blackmarsh and that night in the Clearing from me, but I’ve taken time away. I’ve got to accept who I was, where I came from and who I am now.
I pick up my cup and sip.
‘So, how have you been the last couple of days?’
I think for a moment about what has happened since our last session a few days ago. Billy had another check-up yesterday at the hospital. He’s been home for a week now.
‘I spoke with Aspen last night,’ I say. ‘I’ve got a lot of making up to do after almost killing him for the second time.’ I try to laugh but only issue a sad deflating sound. ‘Wayne’s happy for me to have some contact with him too.’ He’s almost an adult now, after all. We’ve agreed to let bygones be bygones; we’ve both changed a lot since then. The hot car was an accident, a momentary lapse. No one taught me how to be a good mother, but luckily I get a second chance.
‘That’s good to hear. And how do you feel about that?’
‘It’s the silver lining of this whole messed-up situation. It feels nice and vindicating to be back in Aspen’s life after all this time.’
‘That’s right,’ she says, her warm eyes on me. ‘It is a messed-up situation. Something you couldn’t control. Can you see how you’re also a victim in all of this?’
I was fifteen when I hurt Asha, when I held her under water until the life drained from her. The pictures are still there for anyone to see. My eyes wide and manic, the trace of a smile on my lips. What’s not visible is how, just out of the frame of the photo, Anton was urging me on. I often think about that day. Anton, Adrienne and the minders gathered around, forcing me to punish her. It was my fault she had run away, they said. I was responsible for her, and that meant it was my responsibility to administer the realignment. They said the Devil had her and only I could make him leave. But I held her under too long. I still remember the feeling of the child’s life evaporating through my fingers as her body became limp. How can I be a victim?
‘No. I hurt Asha. I brought this on myself.’
She considers this for a moment. ‘Did you have a choice, Freya? Did you choose to hurt Asha? I don’t think you did. I don’t think anyone in your position would have acted differently.’
Adam tried and tried to revive her. He slammed her chest with his hands and blew air into her lungs. He cut her open, taking pressure off the brain. He electrocuted her. He did everything he could think of to bring her back. It was hours before he gave up, and let his head fall into his hands defeated.
Twenty years later he would be found hanging near the spot we took her from with a note in his pocket.
‘I don’t know. I guess that’s for the legal system to decide.’
My lawyer is convinced nothing will come of the images showing what I did to Asha, but we are ready. Jonas is awaiting his own trial. He didn’t get bail and it looks like a reasonably clear-cut case. When they raided his farm, they found an exact replica of the Clearing had been constructed, with half-a-dozen adults living on site and half a dozen children. One of them was Billy. Another was the girl taken from New South Wales. The rest were made up of children from those adults living there. Jonas knew Adrienne didn’t have many years left. He was hastily pulling together a new twelve.
•
After my session with Olivia, I go straight to Billy’s school. It was his first day back and his return was greeted warmly. His ordeal had been all over the news. He’s not quite up to a full day yet, so we’ve agreed I’ll pick him up at lunchtime.
Olivia has me painting again. I’ve started my first piece in years and maybe this time I will be able to finish it without the black square obscuring the scene. I’ve captured the anguish in my face as I carry Asha’s legs and the stiff jawed determination in Anton’s face as he carries her arms. Olivia is also helping me to work through the fears I have as a mother, the need to protect Billy all the time. I’m not there yet, but eventually I hope to let him live a normal life without me watching over him day and night.
I see him walking towards the school gate, guided by a teacher. I climb out of the car.
‘Hey, Billy,’ I say, squatting down to pull him into a hug. I squeeze him tight for a few seconds then make myself let go. ‘Come on.’
We follow the familiar route home. Billy is tired but seems happy to have returned to his regular routine. As we roll down the driveway, Rocky bounds towards us, barking. He’s not used to the new car.
Inside, we change into our bathers and head down to the river with Rocky. There can’t be many more hot days left. Soon the river will be too cold for swimming.
I hurl Rocky’s ball out into the water and watch as he rushes in. Billy dips a foot in, his arms wrapped around his bony body.
‘Go on,’ I say. ‘It’ll be nice once you’re in.’
I walk out without hesitation, diving under, floating there as my hair fans out.
When I surface I ask, ‘Are you excited to meet your brother?’ Aspen is coming to dinner tonight.
‘Yeah,’ Billy says.
‘Me too.’ The current pulls me along gently. The sky is clear and beautiful, and for the first time in weeks I feel no eyes on me. It’s just us out here: me, my dog and my kid.
EPILOGUE
THE WATCHER
I SEE YOU. Even now, when you believe things are back to normal. When you believe the threat is gone.
Do you ever wonder why I never called or wrote? Do you ever wonder why I came so close without ever seeking to speak with you? It’s simple. I wanted to watch you. I wanted to know what sort of woman you are. I wanted to see what Anton saw. He was right. You were treading water, pretending to be something you’re not. He knew you had abandoned the cause. They say we never really change; we just learn to act differently. You killed Asha, and you would have killed me.
As I watched you, I saw the moments when you reverted to that girl they told me about, the girl you were at the Clearing. When your anger and frustration bubbled over and you hurt Billy. I wanted to help with the collection. I wanted to see you suffer. I took such delight in sending you those flowers and seeing the look on your face. It was my idea but Uncle Anton approved.
We’ve been in contact for years. Receiving the email from him was the most exciting moment of my life. At first I really thought it was you, but it turned out it was much better than that. Uncle Anton helped me to understand the truth about you, the truth about Grandma. I knew only they could keep Billy safe and raise him the right way. We need to prepare him for what we all know is coming. Uncle Anton introduced me to our cause and I am so grateful to him.
I see you, Amy. Now, as I walk down your driveway with my girlfriend, as I hand you the bottle of wine we brought
. I see you. When I called, you sounded excited. Slowly, surely, I will work my way into your life. I will get to know Billy. You will trust me, your lost son, and then we will all disappear together.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I WOULD LIKE to first acknowledge all those who were affected by The Family cult that was active and prominent from the 60s to the 90s. Although In The Clearing is fiction, the seed of the story was born out of my fascination with the cult, the resilience of the children survivors, and the enigmatic leader. For further reading, The Family by Rosie Jones and Chris Johnston is a great place to start.
Once again thanks to the best agent/therapist/life-coach in the world Pippa Masson. Also to those tireless agents working to get my novels out in other territories – thank you Dan Lazar, Gordon Wise, and Kate Cooper.
I am grateful to have Robert Watkins in my corner to help me see the bigger picture and for supporting my career. Thank you to Brigid Mullane who saved Wayne’s life on multiple occasions (he didn’t contract leprosy, or grow a hump, he wasn’t stabbed, shot or drowned. He probably owes you a beer.) I extend my gratitude to the rest of the team at Hachette in Australia and in New Zealand for your ongoing support and belief in my work, especially those who did such an incredible job in getting Evie out into the world – Daniel Pilkington, Sean Cotcher, and my amazing publicists Lydia Tasker, Tessa Connolly and Tania McKenzie-Cooke.
I am also grateful to Marion Barton for providing deep insights into the psychology of cult members, and Sue Werry, Antoni Jach, Tiffany Plummer, Russ Hogan and Lynn Yeowart along with the various other Tiffaneers.
Thank you to my broader circle of friends and family, including my siblings and father, Bill, for whom those book is dedicated and my late mother who made me believe I could do anything. I would also like to mention my mother in-law, Jackie, who is one of my first readers and certainly my most encouraging.
And finally Paige Pomare, my wife. When I can’t seem to make anything work and the story is falling apart, she’s always there with gentle words, a cup of tea, and a needle and thread to put it back together.