by Nicola West
‘I’m so sorry, Marlowe,’ Michael said, shaking his head. ‘We shouldn’t have kept things from you. We were trying to protect you, but I had no idea you’d been in contact with him.’
‘I just thought it was because she’d seen the markings,’ my dad said. ‘I – I didn’t realise.’
‘We all should have realised,’ Mark added. ‘All the signs were there – the paranoia, the distrust. She was acting just like Lily.’
‘No,’ Michael said, sternly. ‘Marlowe is stronger than that. Lily was sick. She was vulnerable. And he took advantage of that.’
‘What the fuck is going on?’ I repeated.
‘This prick told you about the “cult”, right?’ Mark sneered, pointing at Jarrah. ‘About us hunting children in the rainforest? The fucking ritual sacrifice? It’s bullshit, Marlowe.’
‘But, Lily’s journals,’ I sputtered. ‘There’s evidence.’
‘Lily was sick, Marlowe,’ Michael began. ‘Very sick. She battled with mental illness her whole life and developed schizoaffective disorder as a teenager. It made her believe things that weren’t true. Horrible things. They felt real to her though.’
‘What?’ I asked, shaking my head in disbelief. ‘No.’
‘It’s true, Lo,’ my dad added. ‘We’ve all known for a very long time and have done what we could to keep her out of harm’s way.’
‘No,’ I said, my voice breaking. ‘She would have told me.’
‘You know that’s not true,’ Mark said. ‘You saw the way she looked up to you.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘She didn’t want anyone to know.’ Michael sighed. ‘She didn’t want anyone thinking she was broken.’
‘But she wasn’t,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘She seemed completely fine, up until the last couple of months.’
‘She was fine,’ Michael replied. ‘When she took her medication. But the second that stopped her symptoms returned – the delusions, the hallucinations, the paranoia.’
I turned to face Jarrah. ‘You were the one who made her go off her meds. So she could drink with you at your fucking parties…’
‘No,’ Jarrah said, stepping towards me.
I took a step back.
‘She didn’t need them, there was nothing wrong with her. It was just another way for these sadistic fucks to control her. She wasn’t delusional, Lo. Everything she said is real. Don’t let them gaslight you too.’
‘As real as those marks you carved into her body?’ Mark spat.
‘Those were for her protection,’ Jarrah hissed. ‘She asked me to do it.’
‘Just like she asked you to submit that inflammatory drawing into the show’s art competition?’ Peter Walsh asked, before turning to me. ‘That’s why it was removed, Miss Robertson. Because he sent it in under her name – without her permission.’
‘She did ask me to.’
‘But that doesn’t make sense, Jarrah,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘You said yourself that Lily just needed to get through this weekend. That she’d be free after that and could move to Sydney. Why would she deliberately antagonise them if she was that scared of what they’d do to her?’
‘Because she had bigger balls than any of you give her credit for. She wasn’t some delicate flower. She was a fucking warrior, and she’s going to bring you all down – even in death. Just you wait.’
‘Wait for what?’ Michael asked. ‘The reveal of your little art project? That’s what all this has been about, hasn’t it? That and your vendetta against this town. Tell me, Mr Watson. Did her death ruin things for you? Or did it just make the final piece all the more powerful?’
Jarrah opened his mouth to say something, but Michael continued.
‘I suppose at the very least you won’t have to worry about crediting her for your ideas. For turning her nightmares into reality. I must say, I’ve followed your work for many years, and I think the things you did in that clearing are among your best.’
I gasped – I audibly gasped.
‘So, Mr Watson,’ Michael continued. ‘When’s the big reveal?’
CHAPTER 66
The packages.
The packages were the big reveal. I was a fucking pawn for some pathetic art project.
Jarrah had used me. Just like he’d used Lily. And it might have resulted in her death.
It was like a filter had been lifted from my eyes. I could see the world again. The real world. It all made sense. More sense than fucking child sacrifice and evil adults in fox masks. How had I allowed myself to be so blinded?
It was the markings. The markings that he had done. If I’d never seen them, I never would have believed the rest.
Of course Jarrah was the one who had defiled the clearing on the Williamses’ property – just as he had defiled the flesh on her back. It had all the hallmarks of one of his artworks. Large scale, gaudy and fucking on the nose. It was why he had been so insistent on us going there. Why he knew to take Hoddles Track and had miraculously spotted the path from the back of the Williamses’ homestead to the clearings.
It was because he had been there before. God knows how many times. Carving those fucking symbols into the trees and wearing the rings into the ground.
It was how he knew that there was no phone reception and that the electric fence was off. How he confidently strode through the rainforest like he fucking owned the place. And how he knew to take a piss right in the spot that led to the second clearing. He was leading me there. So I could document his lies. So I could make them seem more real.
It was also why he wasn’t scared. He knew there was no threat because he’d made it all up. It was how he could laugh and joke in that rainforest. How he was able to look at those ashes without dry retching. Because none of it was real.
But what was the point of it all?
I stood there – staring at the men surrounding me – and the penny finally dropped.
It was revenge. Revenge for what had happened to Jarrah in the town all those years ago. Peter had been the father of his attacker and had insisted on him being expelled. My father had been the one who had ensured Jarrah’s punishment happened, while also letting his attacker walk free. Mark had published a series of articles at the time that were essentially a smear campaign against Jarrah. And, if I were to hazard a guess, Michael had probably been the one who had conducted Jarrah’s psychiatric assessment.
And me. I’d been there that day. I’d stood there in silence. I could have stuck up for him. But I never did. I was every bit as guilty in Jarrah’s eyes.
But what about Lily? What could she possibly have done to warrant Jarrah’s wrath?
Maybe she had nothing to do with his revenge. Maybe she was his muse. Maybe he fed and cultivated her delusions like a wild garden. Ensuring she’d point fingers in all the right directions. It was cruel. Sick. Almost as bad as the horrors Lily was convinced to believe.
Maybe her death was a blessing in disguise. A way to sever Jarrah’s hold over her. A way to stop the horrible things that she believed to be true.
The things that never actually existed.
My thoughts stopped swirling and I could feel the sun on my skin and smell the salt from the sea spray in the air. Jarrah was still arguing with the men. Protesting. Denying. I hadn’t listened to a word of it. I didn’t really care. Not any more.
But then, there was a cacophony of gasps and screams from behind Lily’s coffin.
The squealing of brakes and the honking of horns.
A vehicle smashing into something.
Then something else.
‘Where’s Sharon?’ Michael asked, his voice tinged with panic.
I turned to face the chair she had been sitting in. It was empty. Michael was already running towards the road and the rest of the men followed.
‘Wait, Lo,’ Jarrah said, grabbing me by my wrist.
‘You take your fucking hands off me,’ I spat, before wrenching myself away.
He held up his hands defensively. ‘Please, Lo.
You have to trust me.’
‘No, Jarrah, you were right. I shouldn’t have trusted anyone.’
Before he could say anything else, I was already running towards the road.
CHAPTER 67
I didn’t see the accident firsthand. But that didn’t matter. I would see it over and over again in the coming days. Running on a loop on every news channel – stills splashed on the covers of every newspaper. Breaking news conveniently unfolding in front of rows of journalists, television cameras and true-crime paparazzi.
For a handful of lucky newsrooms, it was even broadcast live. The loud smash interrupting the monotonous drivel spouting from bored presenters struggling to fill airtime. It couldn’t have gone better if it were planned. Peter had been right, the rubberneckers had been a liability.
Sharon was lying by the side of the road. Her body was crumpled – her right foot bare. A single black pump lay in the centre of the left-hand lane.
She appeared completely unscathed, albeit in shock.
Michael dived onto the ground next to his wife as a dazed Nathan slowly climbed to his feet.
‘What the hell happened?’ my dad asked.
Nathan stared at him like he wasn’t really there. His entire body was trembling. His lips were moving, but no words were coming out.
My father gently placed his hand on Nathan’s shoulder, and the contact seemed to bring him back to his senses. He looked out at the road and then stared down at Sharon. She was softly sobbing into her husband’s chest.
‘Is she okay?’ Nathan asked Michael.
Michael nodded, his arms still wrapped around Sharon’s trembling form.
‘What about everyone else?’ Nathan asked, his eyes scanning the cars involved in the crash.
‘Mate, forget about that,’ my dad said. ‘I need you to tell me what happened.’
‘Sh-she just walked out onto the road.’
My dad’s expression buckled, and he turned to face Michael. Something important was exchanged in the glance between them.
‘What do you mean, Nath?’ my dad asked.
‘I was watchin’ her,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘She just started walkin’ straight towards the road. I called out to her, but it was like she couldn’t hear me. I thought maybe she was pissed off at the press. That she was gonna shout at them from this side of the road. But then I realised…’
Nathan’s eyes flicked back to Sharon.
‘Realised what?’ my dad asked when he didn’t continue.
‘That she wasn’t gonna stop.’
My dad and Nathan both looked at Sharon. Her face was still buried under Michael’s chin. Her pained mewling sounded like a wounded animal.
‘You saved her?’ Michael asked.
‘I mean, I just –’
‘No, you saved her,’ Michael repeated. It was a statement, not a question. ‘Thank you.’
Nathan smiled sheepishly and allowed himself a small nod.
‘I got to her the second she stepped onto the road. I grabbed her by the waist before the car even swerved and I just fell backwards with her on top of me. Are you sure she’s okay?’ he asked. ‘We hit the ground pretty bloody hard.’
‘Are you okay?’ my dad asked.
‘Yeah. Just… yeah.’
My dad slapped Nathan on the back. ‘Good job, mate.’
Peter stepped out from next to me and shook Nathan’s hand, his body positioned so that the press got the perfect shot. My gaze fell back on Sharon. She had turned her head and was staring straight at me. Her cold eyes fixed on mine as her husband slowly stroked her hair.
Her rage was back, and this time I understood why.
I had done this. I had made her try to kill herself. And Michael and my father both knew it. It was why they’d looked at each other the way they had. They knew I was to blame.
The eulogy. The fucking eulogy. She had been furious at me, just not for the reasons I’d originally thought.
If the rantings in Lily’s journal had been a potent combination of schizophrenic delusions and Jarrah’s influence, then me reading from them was a kick in the teeth to everyone who had loved her. Everyone who had been trying to protect her.
It was heinously cruel. Sick. Twisted. Detestable. I had shattered an already broken woman with my words. If it weren’t for Nathan, Sharon’s blood would have been on my hands. I was a monster.
And things were only going to get worse once my packages reached those newsrooms.
I ran to the LandCruiser. I had to get to the parcel distribution centre. I had to stop those packages from being sent. I would not be responsible for spreading Jarrah’s lies any further. For his fucking revenge plan. Not after seeing how much damage it had already done.
With one final look at Lily’s coffin, I sped away from that cemetery and from all the people that I’d hurt.
It didn’t matter that it wasn’t intentional. The damage was already done.
CHAPTER 68
‘You right, love?’ a gruff voice called out from somewhere behind me.
I was standing with my hand on the door handle of the distribution centre’s office. I’d pressed down, but it hadn’t budged. It was locked. I turned around to face the voice. It belonged to a middle-aged man in an orange high-vis vest. He was standing in front of a large roller door and smoking a cigarette.
‘Our girl’s still at the funeral,’ he said, nodding towards the office. ‘Dunno what she’s bloody doin’. She was supposed to be back ages ago – the phones are ringin’ off the hook.’
‘There was a car accident,’ I said, approaching him. ‘Out the front of the cemetery. It’s held everyone up. I only got out because my car wasn’t in the main car park and I knew a back route.’
‘S’that right?’ he asked. ‘Everyone okay?’
I nodded, but I knew it wasn’t true – Sharon was far from okay.
‘Good. The last thing this town needs is more bloody drama.’
I nodded again. He took a long drag on his cigarette and his eyes locked with mine. I looked away.
‘You work here, right?’ I tried to casually ask. ‘Is there any chance you could give me a hand with something?’
He looked at me like I’d just asked him to prostrate himself before me.
‘I’m on smoko,’ he said, holding up the cigarette. ‘Besides, I just sort packages. You’ll have to wait for the girl if you want something. Not really in my job description, y’know?’
‘It’s about packages though,’ I said, smiling warmly. ‘Sounds like you’d be the perfect guy to ask.’
He laughed. ‘Nice try, sweetheart, but I don’t get paid enough to have to deal with people. Just wait for the bloody girl, okay? She can’t be too far off.’
He dropped his cigarette and ground it onto the concrete with the heel of his boot.
‘I’m on the clock, love. I gotta go.’
‘Wait, please. I posted a bunch of parcels last night and I need to get them back. I know that they’re here. Please help me. They can’t be sent.’
He stared at me for a long time.
‘Please,’ I repeated.
‘You’re the copper’s daughter, right?’ he finally asked.
I nodded, slightly confused, and he appeared to think something over. I pounced while I still had the chance.
‘There was a bunch of them. About this big,’ I said, indicating the size with my hands. ‘All the same, and all addressed to different newsrooms. I posted them in the parcel boxes outside the post office last night, and I know they come here.’
He squinted his eyes, though whether it was due to the sun or what I was saying, I couldn’t tell.
‘I mean,’ I began, gesturing at the roller door behind him, ‘they’re probably still in there right now.’
He had absentmindedly retrieved another cigarette from his pocket and seemed shocked when it touched his lips. He removed it, frowning, before tucking it behind his ear. He gave a long exhale.
‘Look, love –’
&nbs
p; ‘Please. Please, just look for me. I’ve fucked up so badly. You have no idea what I’ve done. I have to stop them from getting out.’
‘It’s not that.’ He shook his head. ‘I’d love to help ya. But it… it’s just…’
‘What?’ I asked. Tears were pooling in the corners of my eyes.
He gently placed his hand on my shoulder. I didn’t have the energy to recoil from his touch.
‘They’re gone, darl. They’re already gone.’
‘No,’ I muttered, shaking my head in disbelief. ‘No, there has to be something you can do.’
‘If there was, I would. I promise ya. But once they’re on those trucks, there’s no turnin’ back. They went first thing. I’ve been here since four am.’
‘No,’ I whimpered, feeling my chest seize up and my breaths grow ragged.
‘Come on, love,’ he said, squeezing my shoulder. ‘It can’t be that bad.’
But it was.
I had to get away. I turned my back and walked towards the LandCruiser. The parcel sorter was calling out to me, but his words were white noise. All I could think about was the look on Sharon’s face. That anger. That hatred. And how she had turned it on herself.
I climbed into the LandCruiser and pulled away from the distribution centre. I was heading back into town on autopilot, but I had nowhere to go. Not any more.
CHAPTER 69
I was back at the showground. Back where it all began.
And yet, I had zero recollection of how I’d made it there. I’d left the distribution centre and then – what? Driven to the showground, clearly. But why had I done that?
The carnies were long gone, and the entire area felt like a different place. It was so… normal. So nondescript. An empty oval – a car park – and a pavilion with all its doors locked. And, of course, those stables. The place where I’d first spotted those gold gladiator sandals.
One of my favourite things about the show had always been the way it transformed the area. It was almost like the atmosphere itself changed when the carnies rolled in. You could feel it there, among the rides, showbag trailers and food vans. It was something different – something electric – something so un-Kiama-like.