by Nicola West
‘I saw you cover up her marks. You made me lie about them. What was I supposed to think?’
‘That I was doing my fucking job?’
I broke down in tears as I slumped onto the floor in front of him. The sight of the packages made me physically ill. I wanted to vomit but, as my weeping racked my body, I could only manage to dry retch. I felt like I wasn’t getting enough air and clawed at my throat.
‘Breathe, Marlowe,’ my father commanded.
I tried to nod, but my whole body shuddered with each sob.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ my dad muttered, before climbing to his feet.
The pictures of Lily’s mutilated back fell from his lap. They only made me hyperventilate more.
‘I – I’m so sorry,’ I wailed, as he kneeled beside me.
He placed his hand on my shoulder and I winced at his touch.
‘Come on, Lo. Breathe.’
I tried to inhale deeply, but the air got stuck in my throat and I choked it out in pathetic sobs. I felt like I was about to black out. I was horrified to realise that I wanted to.
‘This is getting fucking ridiculous. Calm. Down.’
I tried to respond to him, but the words wouldn’t form. The corners of my vision began to fade. It was as if a lace curtain was slowly descending over my eyes. I couldn’t even tell if I was trying to breathe any more. The world was slowly disappearing.
With one swift movement, my father slapped his hand against my back – hard. I slumped forward from the force, but the shock was enough to kick-start my breathing. I lay there, my face pressed against the carpet while the oxygen slowly returned to my brain.
My dad grabbed the back of my dress and tugged me upright.
‘There you go,’ he said, rubbing my back far too roughly. ‘That’s it. In and out. Nice and slow. You’re okay.’
Nothing about this was okay.
I wrenched myself away from him and gulped down more air. The fog clouding my mind was slowly dissipating. My eyes scanned the parcels covering the floor.
‘That’s not all of them,’ I managed to choke out. ‘I sent more than that.’
‘I know. I couldn’t get them all. The bloke you spoke to at the delivery centre called me the second you left and handed over the ones that were still there.’
‘But what about the rest?’
‘It’s too late. Some of the local ones have already been delivered.’
‘Does the Williams family know?’
‘No. But they will soon.’
‘I have to warn them. I have to try to apologise.’
‘No, Marlowe. You’ve done more than enough to that family. You’re not going anywhere.’
He grabbed my purse from the floor and took out my phone and car keys.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘You can’t be trusted,’ he said, placing them both in his pocket.
‘But I know what really happened at the showground that night. She wasn’t killed by one of her crystals, she was killed by –’
‘A salt lick. Yeah, we know.’
As I opened my mouth to protest, we both heard the back door open.
‘Just me,’ Nathan called out.
My dad got to his feet as Nathan walked into the lounge room. He noticed the parcels straight away and when he saw the picture of Lily’s back, he looked at me.
‘What do you want?’ my father snapped.
‘Oh – uh, you’re needed at Warilla. Sounds pretty urgent.’
‘I bloody bet it is,’ my dad said, locking eyes with me. He turned back to face Nathan. ‘Have you finished your incident report about the accident at the funeral?’
Nathan nodded.
‘All right. I’m gonna need you to stay here.’
‘The station? I wasn’t planning on go–’
‘No. The cottage. I need you to keep an eye on Marlowe.’
‘Dad…’
‘She’s not to leave here. Understood?’
Nathan nodded, but he looked unsure.
‘Right. I’m off.’ My father sighed, before turning to face me. ‘No doubt to clean up your mess.’
‘I’m sor–’
‘Yeah. You should be.’
He stormed out the door.
I stared at the packages. I had to do something. I had to warn the Williamses before it was too late.
‘What the bloody hell was all that about?’ Nathan asked me as the front door slammed shut.
‘Where’s Sharon?’
‘I dunno, back at her house, I guess?’
‘Why isn’t she in the fucking hospital?’
‘Uh, because I took the brunt of the fall? There wasn’t a bloody scratch on her.’
‘Shouldn’t she be on suicide watch?’
‘Wait, what?’
‘She tried to kill herself in front of thousands of people!’
‘What the hell makes you think that?’
‘What do you fucking mean? She tried to walk out onto a six-lane highway!’
‘Not on purpose. She was off her bloody tits. Poor thing didn’t know which way was up.’
‘No. She did it on purpose.’
‘Why the fuck would she?’
‘Because of me,’ I said, tears brimming in my eyes once more. ‘Because of what I said at the funeral.’
He shook his head. ‘Can someone bloody explain what the hell has been going on?’
‘I’ll tell you everything if you take me to the Williamses’ home. My dad took the keys to the LandCruiser, but I need to get there – now.’
‘Fuck, no. He’ll bloody kill me!’
I knew I had to appeal to his ego. ‘You saved her once. Now’s your chance to do it again. Local media have already received these parcels – when they begin reporting on them, it’s going to push her over the edge.’
His eyes scanned the parcels.
‘They’re filled with Jarrah’s lies,’ I continued. ‘The lies that drove Lily to self-harm and the lies that likely led to her death. The piece I read at the funeral came from them. I think it’s what made Sharon try to kill herself.’
He stared at me for a long time, his eyes probing my features.
‘There’s no one next door,’ he finally said. ‘But I can get one of the other constables from Warilla to go up there and do a mental health check.’
‘It’ll take too long for them to get there – it might be too late. We’re way closer.’
‘Well, I’ll bloody call them, then.’
‘No. It has to come from me. I have to do it face to face.’
‘Why?’
I looked down at the packages, then stared Nathan straight in the eyes.
‘Because I was the one who sent them. And I’m the only person who can explain why.’
CHAPTER 74
Nathan and I jumped into his police car and sped through the streets of Kiama with the sirens blaring and lights flashing. I’d never travelled those familiar roads that fast before and, as we entered the Kiama Bends, I felt the telltale signs of a panic attack grip my chest. I clamped my eyes shut and tried to focus on my breathing, but that only amplified my motion sickness.
As we raced past the spot where my mother – and so many others – had died, a collision erupted in my mind. It felt so real that I physically flinched and, as if bracing for the impact, lifted my hands in front of my face.
To both of our surprise, I didn’t vomit heading up the mountain to the Williamses’ farmstead, though it was definitely touch and go for a while. When the road transformed from bitumen to gravel, Nathan reduced his speed, and we soon pulled up to the property’s imposing gates. Nathan wound down his window and the fresh mountain air was like a salve for my nauseous body. He leaned over and pressed the intercom’s buzzer. We both looked at the camera mounted above the gates. They lurched to life and sprang open before us – splitting the wrought-iron number nine in half.
We continued up the driveway until we finally broke the tree line. In contrast to the previo
us day’s fog, everything was bright, crisp and clear. They really did live on the top of the world. And yet, I was drawn back towards those trees. Back to the clearings, and what Lily had done there. It had felt so real. I suppose because it was – at least to her.
We pulled into the farmstead’s entrance and parked out the front of the self-contained guesthouse. The front door to the main house opened. To my surprise, Michael, Mark and Peter all emerged. But there was no sign of Sharon.
I noticed the confusion etched on their faces as we approached them. They looked back and forth between each other, their eyebrows cocked, waiting for someone to say something. Finally, Michael stepped forward.
‘What are you doing here, Marlowe?’
‘I need to talk to you. I need to tell you something. It’s about Sharon.’
‘Where’s your father?’ Mark interrupted.
The front door opened, and a solemn-looking man I’d never seen before emerged. He wasn’t wearing black, so he clearly hadn’t been at the funeral. There was something about him that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
‘Are we ready?’ He stopped when he saw me. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Did John send you, Nathan?’ Michael asked.
‘Nah. I had to bring Lo up. She needs to talk to you.’
‘It’s really important,’ I repeated. ‘It’s about Sharon.’
‘Where is Sharon?’ Michael asked the stranger.
‘In her room.’
‘And she’s…’ Michael trailed off. ‘Everything’s…?’
The stranger nodded.
Michael nodded to himself and looked at his watch.
‘Doctor Williams, please. I really need to talk to you. It’s important.’
He looked at me as if he had only just remembered my presence.
‘Marlowe, I need you to go inside for a moment, okay? Grab yourself a drink and make yourself comfortable in the living room.’
‘No, I need to –’
‘Please, Marlowe. I need to speak to Nathan for a moment. I promise I’ll listen to whatever you need to say when I’m finished.’
‘Well, can I at least stay?’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Mark spat. ‘Just bloody go inside, Lo.’
Michael glared at Mark before turning back to face me. He placed his hand on my shoulder. There was something in his eyes – something that made me want to give in.
‘Please, Marlowe.’
‘Okay.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. I could tell that he meant it. There was a hint of relief in his voice. And yet, it still felt like it was something I was going to regret.
Peter opened the door and I begrudgingly walked underneath his arm. After it had slowly shut behind me, I turned and could see all of the men looking at me through the panes of glass. They were waiting for me to leave before they started talking. I sighed and walked away.
CHAPTER 75
It had been years since I’d been in that house, and yet it instantly felt familiar. I’d spent so much time there as a kid, it had clearly made its mark on my mind. The open-plan kitchen was immediately to the right of the short entranceway, so I walked to the cluster of cabinets lining the wall and pulled out a glass tumbler. I walked over to the large island separating the kitchen and the dining room and filled the glass with tap water from the sink. It was filtered and fizzed like champagne.
I carried my tumbler over to the sprawling glass doors and marvelled at the view. Below the tree line and rolling farmland, Seven Mile Beach looked like it stretched on forever. In front of me, the infinity pool glistened welcomingly in the sun. On any other day, I would have killed for a dip.
I walked over to the oversized leather lounge in front of the fireplace. I placed my glass down on a coaster and admired the strange statuette sitting on the coffee table. It was a bronze hare that was coquettishly looking over its shoulder. I picked it up – surprised to find that it was lighter than I anticipated. I juggled it between my hands wishing that the men would hurry up. I sat the hare back down and paused. Something had caught my eye.
I tentatively approached the mantel, as if mistrusting what I had seen. But the closer I got to the wine bottle, the surer I became. There was no doubt that it was the same type as the broken one I’d found in the clearing – the one with the person in hunting attire on the label.
My prediction had been correct – they were wearing a fox mask. A black leather one. Identical to what Lily had described and drawn in her journals. Exactly the same as the ones that she claimed the cult members had worn. I peered at the writing on the label. Having seen the bottom half in the clearing, I had a pretty good idea of what it said. Sure enough, those four familiar words were there: ‘Catch Us the Foxes’.
‘It’s what started all of this,’ a small voice said behind me.
I was so shocked that I jumped and swore out loud. Regaining my composure, I turned around. Sharon was standing next to the lounge wearing a flowing silk dressing-gown. Her feet were bare, which may have explained why I hadn’t heard her approach.
‘Mrs Williams.’
‘You’re welcome to pick it up,’ she said, walking towards me and gesturing towards the wine bottle.
There was something strange about her movement. It was slow and languid, and matched the slight slur to her speech. Nathan had been right; she was clearly off her face.
And yet, as she walked towards me – seemingly floating across the polished concrete floor – I noticed how serene she looked. There wasn’t a hint of the anger she had shown towards me at the funeral, nor the hysterical confusion she’d displayed as she sobbed in Michael’s arms at the side of the highway. It was perplexing and utterly haunting.
‘Go on,’ she said, as she stopped beside me. ‘It’s my finest work. A private vintage grown on this very mountainside. The volcanic soil is particularly pure up here, and it gives the wine a delightful acidity. It lends it an almost savoury palate. It truly is one of a kind.’
I carefully picked up the wine bottle – cradling it as if it were a newborn child. Sharon seemed to appreciate the reverence with which I regarded it and stared at it like a proud parent. But then her expression soured.
‘She must have seen that damn thing every day of her life. Before her broken mind twisted it into that horrifying tale.’
I looked into her eyes. Tears were brimming.
‘How could she turn something so beautiful into something so heinous?’ she asked. ‘Where would such a thing even come from?’
She stared at me, expectantly. I realised that they weren’t rhetorical questions.
‘I – uh…’
She frowned at me, seemingly disappointed, and held out her hands. I looked at them, puzzled, before realising that she wanted the wine. I carefully passed her the bottle, and she ran her thumb over the label – encircling the person in the fox mask.
‘When did you realise?’ she asked.
For a second, I wasn’t sure whether she was talking to the bottle or me. ‘Realise what?’
‘Who really killed my daughter?’
My face crinkled in confusion, but she was too fixated on the bottle to notice.
‘It’s why you read that poem at the funeral, wasn’t it?’
‘What? I –’
‘You spoke to that poor young man, didn’t you?’ she asked, her eyes still trained on the bottle. ‘He told you about the argument. Their caravan was so close to the stables, he had to have heard it.’
‘Yeah, b–’
‘You have to know I had no idea they’d retaliate like that. I mean, I didn’t even know about the blood on her dress until it was too late.’
Once again, I opened my mouth to say something, but she continued.
‘They wouldn’t tell me anything. They deliberately withheld information because they thought they were protecting me.’ She shook her head. ‘If only they knew.’
She began to scratch at the label. As she dug her manicured thumbnail in, the head with the fox mas
k was severed. There was the most awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.
‘If I’d known they were closing in on someone I would have said something,’ she said. ‘I just – I just needed more time – I thought I had more time.’ She peeled the rest of the label away. ‘And then that poor young man from the ghost train. I never meant for it to happen. I never meant for either of them to happen.’
She locked eyes with me. I knew what was coming.
‘Please know that it was an accident, Marlowe,’ she pleaded, tears streaming from her eyes. ‘When I found her in that stable, she was like a feral animal. The things she was accusing me of – they were unspeakable!’
My mouth sprang open as my jaw quivered.
‘She attacked me when I denied it,’ Sharon continued. ‘So, I pushed her – all I did was push her to stop her from hurting me – but she slipped. She slipped and fell on the pine needles and hit her head on –’
‘A salt lick,’ I said, surprised to hear my own voice.
She looked at me, wide-eyed, and nodded.
‘What happened to it?’ I asked. ‘It wasn’t there when I found her.’
‘It broke in half when she hit it, and I panicked. I – I touched it. It was covered in her blood. I took the pieces and threw them off the cliff.’
I clamped my eyes shut and tried to control my breathing.
‘I – I never meant to hurt her. I swear. Or that poor boy in the coma. If I’d said something sooner…’
I opened my eyes when she didn’t continue. She wanted something from me. Forgiveness? Understanding? Atonement?
‘I saw the police car pull up,’ she said. ‘I know they’re here for me.’
Before I could say or do anything, she’d already smashed the bottle against the mantel. Wine and glass shards sprayed everywhere, and I instinctively raised my hands over my face. I could feel fragments embedding themselves into my forearms.
Then I heard the scream.
I pulled my hands away from my face and let out my own shriek. Sharon had plunged the top half of the shattered wine bottle into her neck. I watched on in horror as she ripped it from her flesh and collapsed onto the ground.
The blood.