Catch Us the Foxes

by Nicola West

  Instead, Lily’s diary suggested that it was only when a member had completed their eighth hunt that they would sacrifice that year’s red-masked child. By single-handedly killing the victim, they would signify their dedication and commitment to the cult, and they’d receive their eighth branding. It was larger than the rest – a circle that connected all the other symbols together. A sickening souvenir embedded in flesh.

  The ‘fox’ hunting formed the pinnacle of the Kiama rituals and seemed to be the result of a somewhat peculiar interpretation of the ‘Song of Solomon’. The scripture’s meaning had been twisted and bastardised by the cult, seemingly to justify the monstrous child abuse Lily had described.

  The words from the ‘Song of Solomon’ had undeniably held great power over Lily. I’d lost count of how many times she’d written the verses in her diaries, often filling up multiple pages with her frenzied repetitions. The pages were also covered in drawings of the branding – the flower-like symbol made up of interconnecting circles – that she had come to learn was called ‘The Seed of Life’.

  It was easy to assume that Lily was most traumatised by her time allegedly spent being hunted by those frighteningly familiar men and women in masks. Drugged, pursued and forced to watch unimaginable acts of violence against other children. But, according to her journals, Lily’s real problems emerged shortly after her sixteenth birthday when her father’s promise came true and the hunted became the hunter.

  Reading the things she wrote, I began to wonder whether her father would have even needed his so-called CIA quackery to make Lily forget. Surely a mind as pure as hers would rather destroy itself than face up to those alleged memories? Maybe she weaponised her amnesia and used it as a tool to protect herself? Maybe the trauma itself was the mind control technique?

  But – regardless of whether or not she remembered it – every year after her sixteenth birthday, Lily was certain she was forced to participate in the hunts. After all, every year, she would return from the rainforest bearing more scars – both emotional and physical.

  I thought of my photographs of Lily’s back. Seven symbols equalled seven years, seven hunts and seven ceremonies. If what Lily was saying was true, then she would have been due to sacrifice a child at the end of this year. I’d felt goosebumps when I had read the eerily prescient words Lily had written next to that revelation: ‘I’d rather die than receive that mark.’

  No matter how much I was questioning her words, I had to acknowledge that her wish had come true.

  CHAPTER 23

  After placing the journals back under my mattress, I walked into the kitchen for a late breakfast. Once again, I had slept until the afternoon, and I thought I could counter my lack of energy with a large serving of extra sugary cereal. I poured way too much into a bowl before heading for the fridge. As I opened the door, I swore under my breath – no milk.

  Out of sheer laziness, I considered eating the cereal dry but knew there’d be a fresh bottle of milk next door. Without bothering to change out of my pyjamas or put on shoes, I walked out my back door, cereal bowl in hand. I entered through the back of the police station and headed straight to the small break room.

  Nathan was sitting at the tiny dining table, an opened newspaper and cup of coffee in front of him. When he saw me, he smiled, before spending way too long staring at my body. I crossed my arms over my chest, but he didn’t seem to take the hint.

  ‘Sleeping beauty’s finally awake, eh?’

  I ignored him, heading straight for the fridge.

  ‘Someone’s in a grumpy mood this morning,’ he tutted.

  I gave him the finger without bothering to turn around. I reached into the fridge, unscrewed the milk bottle’s lid and poured a generous splash onto the cereal. It crackled like a freshly lit fire.

  Nathan sighed loudly and I heard him lift up the paper, rustling its pages overdramatically. When I turned back around, I almost dropped my bowl. I was stunned to see Lily. She was on the front page, fleeing from the ghost train. Two bold words hung above her terrified face: ‘KILLER CARNY?’

  ‘That’s my fucking photo!’

  Nathan examined the front cover, perplexed. ‘But this is national, not the local rag.’

  I slammed my cereal down on the table before snatching the paper from Nathan’s hands.

  ‘Hey!’ he shouted in protest.

  I squinted at the byline. The article had been written by Owen, but the photo was credited to Mark. A sense of panic gripped my entire body. How the hell had he accessed my photos? But then I remembered I’d left the bloody memory card in one of the paper’s computers that night. I’d been so scared by Mark’s outburst that I hadn’t even realised.

  ‘What I wouldn’t give for five minutes alone with that sick fuck,’ Nathan growled.

  I thought he was talking about Mark. But when he continued I realised what he meant.

  ‘I knew it was gonna be an out-of-towner. Pricks think they can come in, assault our women and piss back off to whatever shit stain of a town they come from.’

  I cringed at the possessive use of ‘our’. Lily didn’t belong to the town, and she certainly didn’t belong to its men. Ignoring him, I slumped down into a dining chair as my eyes scanned the article. I couldn’t believe what I was reading.

  KILLER CARNY? by Owen Archer

  21 January 2008

  It was supposed to be one of the happiest days of her life. But when Kiama’s reigning showgirl, Lily Williams, plunged into the dark depths of the show’s ghost train on Saturday night, she could never have predicted that she’d come face to face with her potential killer.

  Kiama police have named 26-year-old ghost train employee Steve Masters as a person of interest in Miss Williams’ death after it was alleged he indecently assaulted her during her time on the ride.

  Along with two other showgirl finalists, Miss Williams rode the ghost train as part of a photo opportunity for the local paper. But, once she entered the ride, things took a terrifying turn. Approximately halfway through the train’s short journey, the entire attraction was plunged into darkness, which is believed to have been caused by an electrical fault.

  It is alleged that Mr Masters, whose official role on the ride is to hide in its shadows and scare patrons, took advantage of the situation and proceeded to assault Miss Williams. The 22-year-old showgirl was heard screaming by those outside the train before she left the cart and ran to the exit. That horrifying moment was captured by an employee of the Kiama Gazette.

  As the paper’s editor, Mark Thompson, confirms: ‘I was standing outside the ghost train with the operator, waiting for the showgirls to emerge. Suddenly, all the lights and sounds went out before a loud scream was heard. Shortly afterwards, Lily burst through the ride’s doors, clearly terrified.’

  That moment is believed to be the last time Miss Williams was seen alive by members of the public. Less than an hour later, her body was discovered inside one of the showground’s historic stables by an unnamed Kiama resident.

  ‘We tried to find her,’ Mr Thompson recalled. ‘I informed her parents about what had happened, and we all scoured the grounds. But, at that stage, we hadn’t realised what had occurred on the train. We didn’t know she’d been assaulted.’

  That scenario was only suspected once police interviewed the two finalists who’d accompanied Miss Williams on the ride.

  ‘In hindsight,’ Mr Thompson admitted, ‘I should have known something terrible had happened. She was obviously so frightened. I just wish we’d been able to find her before he did.’

  Police have confirmed that Mr Masters did not have an alibi for the time between the incident on the ghost train and the discovery of Miss Williams’ body. He was last seen heading alone towards his family’s caravan, which was parked in close proximity to the stables where the murder took place.

  It is alleged that the police sought a voluntary DNA sample from Mr Masters yesterday evening. However, it is believed that the suspect refused this request. Local po
lice inspector, John Robertson, declined to confirm Mr Masters’ refusal but did admit that DNA would play a significant role in the conviction of Miss Williams’ killer.

  ‘We can confirm that blood we believe to belong to the killer was found on Miss Williams’ clothing, and that we typically seek volunteer samples from persons of interest to try to clear suspects’ names as quickly as possible,’ Inspector Robertson said. ‘However, it’s important to remember that refusing said sample is not an admission of guilt and should not be treated as such. If a suspect refuses a voluntary DNA test, the next step is to pursue a warrant.’

  Time will tell if Mr Masters will be forced to submit to the test. However, the shocking crime and news of its potential perpetrator are rumoured to have made the closeknit community even more wary of outsiders. The small coastal municipality, approximately a 90-minute drive south of Sydney, typically boasts a population of just under 20,000. However, during the holiday seasons, that number triples due to the influx of tourists.

  Mr Thompson, who had mentored Miss Williams at the local paper, expressed his shock at the violent crime and recalled the showgirl fondly.

  ‘It’s honestly unfathomable,’ he said. ‘She was the youngest journalist ever hired in the history of the Gazette. Lily had limitless potential. She was a tremendously talented writer and a genuinely kind and compassionate young woman. It feels like a piece of the town is missing. Like we woke up one morning and the blowhole was gone.’

  Tributes continue to flow from around the country as the harrowing story of the young showgirl’s senseless demise resonates in the hearts and minds of the entire nation.

  Anyone with any information regarding Miss Williams’ death is urged to contact Crime Stoppers on 1800 333 000.

  CHAPTER 24

  ‘Oi, I was still reading that!’ Nathan yelled as I stormed out of the break room with the paper under my arm.

  ‘Is Dad here?’ I called back to him.

  ‘Yeah, in the office. But he’s on the phone.’

  I ignored him and headed straight towards the inspector’s office. Only minutes earlier, I would have gone out of my way to avoid seeing my father, but all of that was out the window now. I just wanted answers. Real answers, this time.

  I pounded on his door, slightly surprised to see it shut. There was no response. I inhaled deeply and knocked one more time, before slowly turning the handle. The door clicked open and I carefully pushed it forwards.

  ‘What?’ my dad mimed from behind his desk before aggressively pointing at the phone.

  I held up the paper and angrily prodded at the front page. ‘What. The. Fuck?’ I mouthed.

  He shook his head, before waving me away with a dismissive flick of his hand.

  I plonked myself down on the rickety chair positioned in front of his desk. I leaned back and crossed my legs defiantly, trying to make it clear that I wasn’t going anywhere. He pinched the crease between his brows, before pointing to the phone and gesturing for me to wait. I nodded, satisfied.

  As I watched him conduct the one-sided call – which seemed to have something to do with the DNA test warrant – I scanned his familiar features. The person I’d observed sitting on the bonnet of that police car – grey sideburns and lined jowls – looked positively youthful compared to the man before me. He’d aged a decade in just two short days. But guilt would do that to you, wouldn’t it?

  I softly sighed to myself, and he frowned at me. I was still struggling to associate the man who had raised me with the heinous acts described in Lily’s journals. Jarrah had been right. Lily didn’t think that my father belonged to the cult, but he definitely knew what they’d been up to. He’d been with them in that rainforest. He’d witnessed the ceremonies. He hadn’t even tried to stop them. It didn’t make any fucking sense.

  I honestly couldn’t decide what was worse. Being a member and participating in literal child sacrifice, or being a police officer who, while not technically participating, knew everything and still did nothing to stop it. I mean, logically, the obvious answer was the first. Still, there was something so unforgivable about being in a position to actually stop the cult and, instead, choosing to use that power to protect its members.

  I wanted to leap across the desk and grab him by that blue collar. Tear off those three stars on each of his shoulders and ask him, ‘Why?’

  Why would he fucking do something like that?

  And yet, there was still some part of me that refused to believe it. The part of me that was sitting there, wringing my hands, staring at that headline and begging some unseen force for it to be true. That Lily really was killed by a random out-of-towner, and that everything else was…

  What, exactly? A misunderstanding?

  I closed my eyes and saw those little red foxes fleeing through the forest. I still had no clue how I’d known the details of the hunts before Jarrah had told me everything. And yet, to my surprise, the journals hadn’t triggered any further recollections – if that’s even what they’d been in the first place. It still didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

  I ran my hand through my hair, squeezing my skull to stop the throbbing that was resonating from somewhere deep within. My dad was finally wrapping up the call and I stared at the embroidered patch on his sleeve, the New South Wales Police crest. It featured an Australian wedge-tailed eagle carrying a blood-red sash in its talons. You couldn’t tell on the patch, but the sash contained a single word: ‘Nemesis’.

  ‘Finally!’ I exclaimed as he hung up the phone.

  ‘Don’t ever do that again,’ he snapped. ‘And for god’s sake put some bloody clothes on if you’re leaving the house.’

  I looked down at my camisole and shorts and scoffed. I knew his demand had less to do with the clothes I was wearing and more to do with the body they barely concealed. It was the same absurd reasoning that saw a bikini ban at my school’s swimming carnival while the boys were allowed to parade around in nothing but budgie smugglers. I mean, at least a bikini left something to the imagination.

  ‘What the hell is all this about?’ I said, tossing the newspaper onto his desk.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘All this stuff about the ghost train scarer. You don’t really believe that’s who’s responsible, right?’

  ‘Well, we’ll know for sure once we get this warrant. If the blood’s a match, that’s our man.’

  ‘Where exactly was the blood on Lily’s dress?’

  He furrowed his brow. He seemed to be trying to figure out my angle and was clearly debating whether or not to tell me.

  ‘Between her shoulder blades,’ he finally admitted.

  I allowed a small smile to grace my lips. ‘Which would have been the exact place it landed when she threw her elbow back and hit him in the face.’ I paused. ‘Back on the ghost train, before it even blacked out.’

  My father’s mouth gaped.

  ‘And wouldn’t it have made more sense,’ I continued, ‘if the bloodstain came from a time when Lily’s hair was pulled forward, exposing her back? Like when she was about to have her photo taken for the local paper, emerging from the ghost train? After her sleazy boss had spent way too much time fussing over her hair? Pulling it forward to show off the lengths while also framing her chest because, god forbid, she wasn’t showing at least a hint of cleavage?’

  ‘Who told you she hit Masters in the face?’ he asked, coolly.

  ‘The carny who operates the ghost train.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘After it happened, obviously. And before I found her.’

  ‘That’s funny,’ my dad said, folding his arms across his chest and leaning over the desk towards me. ‘You never mentioned it in your statement.’

  A moment of panic struck me, but I was able to recover. I mimicked his posture and leaned towards him. ‘I mean, it’s not the only thing I didn’t mention in my statement, is it?’

  ‘When did this conversation take place, exactly, Marlowe? And why didn’t you tell me about
it all those times we were running through your story?’

  ‘I didn’t think it was pertinent to the case.’

  ‘Bullshit. He only told you after the fact, didn’t he? After we started sniffing around the carnies, right? Once they got their story straight.’

  ‘No. It was on Saturday night, just before I found her. Dan was there. You can bloody ask him if you want. He’ll tell you the exact same thing.’

  He seemed utterly bewildered by my words. ‘Jesus, Lo, why didn’t you say this at the time? I don’t care what you and Dan were up to, just tell the bloody truth.’

  I didn’t want to be a narc, but I didn’t have much of a choice.

  ‘Dan was looking after my bag while I was on the Hurricane. When I went to find him afterwards, the ride operator told me he was round the back.’ I sighed. ‘Look, Dan and the ghost train carny were sharing a joint. There was no deal or anything, just two dudes chilling, looking out over the ocean and apparently talking about Lily going nuts on the ghost train. When I got there, the carny repeated the story.’

  My dad shook his head, but he didn’t try to question whether I had also been smoking pot. He always preferred the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ school of parenting.

  ‘The carny freaked out when he found out I was a cop’s daughter and, after everything that had happened, I didn’t want to get the poor guy in trouble. I mean, he’d had a pretty shitty night after Mark’s stupid photo stunt broke his ride.’

  ‘So, he knew you were a police officer’s daughter, then?’

  I nodded, frustrated. I had just said that.

  ‘And, timewise, this was immediately before you found her?’

  ‘Yeah, I got your text while we were talking and left straight afterwards.’

  He laughed hollowly and shook his head. ‘You got played like a bloody fiddle, Lo.’