The Special Ones

by Em Bailey

  I’ve never been able to speak freely with Harry. And soon he’ll be gone, without even knowing my real name. But I hope, harder than I’ve ever hoped for anything, that right now he understands how much he’s meant to me. How I’ll never forget him.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Harry open his mouth, like there’s so much he wants to say. Then he closes it again. ‘Me too, Esther,’ he says finally. ‘Me too.’

  I’m not sure how long we lie there – maybe a couple of hours, maybe more – but finally Harry sits up. ‘You’d better go to bed,’ he says, regretfully.

  ‘Yes, probably.’ I sit up too, but neither of us stands. Out in the darkness, I hear a bird begin to sing. Dawn must be near.

  ‘Harry?’ I say. ‘Thanks.’

  He turns and looks at me for the count of three, and I’m startled by how strong the expression is in his eyes. He seems frustrated and angry – things I’ve never seen in him before. Finally, he looks away. ‘It’s nothing,’ he mutters. ‘You deserve way more.’

  When I go out onto the verandah the next morning, the galvanised iron is back in place on the roof, with no sign of the hole.

  It crosses my mind that it didn’t really happen. But then Harry emerges, humming ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’, and I know it was real.

  I feel stronger after the star-gazing night. More able to cope. And there’s plenty of work to distract me from my darker thoughts, too. Lucille has to make Harry’s renewal outfit but as she is still remembering how to do it, Esther is allowed to help. I end up doing a lot of it myself.

  There is a drawing in my remembering book of how everyone’s renewal outfits should be, and Harry’s consists of dark trousers, a waistcoat and a white shirt. I draft the pattern from this and, sitting in the changing room together, Lucille and I cut material and begin to sew.

  It’s strangely soothing to work on these clothes, despite what they represent. I linger over the details and take extra care that the seams won’t irritate or rub, that everything is perfect. Lucille clearly finds my involvement a challenge to her skills, and makes a big show of checking everything I sew, pouncing delightedly on any tiny mistake.

  But her behaviour can’t touch me. My head is full of other things, like my increasing obsession with trying to decide what it was that Harry did to trigger this renewal. Was it because he encouraged Felicity to jump around in the rain the night of the storm? Was it because of the chicken he slaughtered after he finally found the new Lucille? Or was there something else that happened that I don’t know about? Maybe something happened that he never told me about. Exhausted, I try to block the thoughts, but they creep in anyway.

  Finally, the news I’ve been dreading comes. ‘The second message arrived,’ says Harry one morning, showing me that hated creamy envelope. ‘I’m leaving tonight.’

  He says it in the same way he might say ‘I’m off to milk the goat’, but I can tell he doesn’t really feel that way, no matter how well he hides it.

  Lucille raises her hands above her head. ‘Let our joy rise up and take flight!’

  I fight the urge to throttle her. How can she be so naive? Harry catches my eye and winks at me. Don’t worry, the wink is saying. Don’t be sad.

  But how can I not worry? How can I not be sad? I rise silently and go to the changing room to finish working on Harry’s shirt.

  Harry spends the entire day down on the farm, not even returning with Felicity at lunchtime. ‘He’s got too much to do,’ she reports and I try not to feel hurt that he doesn’t want to spend every last moment he can with us. With me.

  He joins us for dinner, clearly exhausted but still managing to smile. I bring out some of the dried goat’s meat and place it in front of him.

  ‘Who’s hungry?’ he asks, lifting the plate and offering it around.

  I shake my head. I couldn’t eat anything. Felicity also refuses.

  Lucille accepts two slices. ‘He doesn’t like food to be wasted,’ she says piously.

  I clear the table and wash up mechanically. Don’t think, don’t feel … It’s the only way I’ll get through this.

  Then we gather in the parlour, standing in the four points of a square, heads bowed, eyes closed. Lucille, Felicity and I begin to recite. ‘We are sending Harry on his journey today. We wish him well …’

  I try to disconnect myself from the words, pretending I’m back at high school – my old one, from before we moved – performing in the end-of-year play. I have no doubt that he will be watching us carefully right now, zooming in on our faces to check that we have the right expressions, that we look as if we’re happy and excited. Then Felicity and Lucille sing the renewal song, the only song that Lucille is allowed to sing: ‘Oh, you Special One! Your journey starts today. Make haste with your return …’

  I keep my head bowed throughout, throat tight. For once I’m glad I’m forbidden to sing.

  Afterwards, Harry goes to the changing room, where Lucille has laid his renewal outfit out on the cot. There are no specific clothes for the rest of us on renewal day, but Felicity wants to put on the bluebird skirt that Lucille made for her. Unfortunately, it’s nowhere to be found and she has to select something else.

  Lucille, Felicity and I wait outside the closed door. Lucille knits her fingers together. ‘I just hope they fit,’ she keeps saying, as if she alone made them.

  Harry steps out of the changing room a few minutes later, straightening his collar. The clothes fit perfectly. I knew they would. ‘How do I look?’ Harry asks, sounding a little self-conscious.

  All I want to do is stare at him. Fix him in my mind. He is so familiar and so there, somehow, that it’s impossible to believe that in a short time – just a few minutes – he will be gone. ‘You look just right,’ I manage to say.

  And then it’s time. The final farewell. We must, as always, stay calm and controlled, no big displays of emotion are permitted, because we must all pretend that a Special One leaving for renewal is just a temporary thing. That they will soon return, the same – if not better – than before.

  At the front door Felicity and Lucille hug Harry goodbye – Lucille in a stiff, formal kind of way and Felicity so tightly and for so long that Lucille finally reaches over and peels her off him. I step forward, my hand outstretched to take Harry’s. The cameras will surely pick up my nervousness, but I can’t help it. This will be the first – the only – time I can touch him.

  There is another reason I’m on edge. I have something to give Harry. I prised it out of my mattress this morning and I’ve been carrying it around with me ever since, waiting for this moment. It’s the twenty-dollar note that I’ve managed to keep hidden ever since I first arrived here. It had seemed like such a lot when it was still in the mattress. But once I fished it out, it suddenly seemed like nothing. I’m still determined to give it to Harry, though. Maybe it will help with whatever he finds waiting on the other side of the gate.

  Harry’s hand slips into mine and I press the folded bill into his palm with my thumb. I see surprise flash momentarily on his face. Then his thumb curls in just enough to secure the gift and he looks me steadily in the eyes. Thanks. Two seconds. Three. Four. Five. He squeezes my hand tightly in his.

  His skin feels just as I thought it would – a little rough but also warm. I was worried I would cry at this moment, but I feel strangely calm. ‘I’ll miss you,’ I whisper.

  His eyes are shiny. ‘I’ll miss you too.’

  ‘That’s long enough,’ says Lucille.

  I’m hoping Harry will ignore her, but after one last squeeze he pulls his hand from mine. The money is carefully hidden from view and he slides it into his pocket. A moment later he removes his hand and presents me with something. ‘For you.’

  It’s a small comb with very fine teeth, smooth and pale, carved from bone.

  Lucille frowns. ‘We don’t give gifts for renewal,’ she says, but both Harry and I ignore her. My fingers curl around the comb. I can still feel the warmth of his hand on mine, encasi
ng it in a glow.

  ‘I’ll see you again soon,’ Harry says. His voice has taken on an urgent tone. But that’s probably not so surprising, considering these are the last words he’ll ever say to me. ‘We’re connected.’

  He suddenly grabs my hand again, his eyes looking directly into mine. ‘Esther. Remember that, won’t you? We’re connected.’

  I nod, swallowing hard.

  We all walk with Harry to the verandah. This is as far as I can go. Although it is late, the sunset lights up the garden like a stage set. I stand at the edge of the steps and watch as the rest of them walk as far as the garden gate, where Lucille stops. Harry looks back at the house for a moment and I watch him, glowing like an ember. Then he takes Felicity’s hand again and walks with her through the gate.

  I watch until they disappear out of view into the farm, and then I can only listen as their voices fade. Finally, faintly in the distance, I hear the main gate bang closed.

  My entire body prickles like I’ve been dunked in icy water. It’s happened. Harry’s gone. Inside, I feel something swing loose, then break.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  For the first few days after Harry’s departure, I struggle to move. Even the simplest of tasks – combing my hair, peeling potatoes, nodding – suddenly seem to require monumental effort. I drag myself through the day, cripplingly tired, but also dreading the moment when I go to bed. Bed means having no tasks to distract me.

  In quieter moments, I catch myself composing letters to Harry in my head, filling him in on every tiny detail. I made jam out of the ripest of those peaches you salvaged after the storm. It was a little sour so I stirred some honey into the mixture and it helped. Felicity is being brave, but I know it’s hard for her working on the farm alone. She really misses you, Harry. So do I …

  The night-time noises seem to grow louder and more frequent, although maybe it’s just that I’m hardly sleeping anymore. Almost every night I think I hear footsteps, which often seem to stop just outside my door. Worst of all are the times when I think I hear the sound of heavy breathing too, coming through my keyhole. It’s just the wind, I tell myself over and over as I lie there, picturing a hand reaching out towards the doorhandle, grasping hold, starting to turn. I try to work up the courage to fling open my bedroom door, but I can’t. I’m afraid of what I will – or won’t – find out there.

  One night after evening chat I linger in the chat room alone, dreading the thought of going back to my room and the night-time noises. I draw out the routine of shutting down the other machines for as long as possible, polishing every surface until it gleams. Then, when there is absolutely nothing left for me to do, I sit down in front of Esther’s screen. Stare at it. It looks like a piece of the sky, that unwavering blueness. Something you could float off into.

  Just when I’m finally, reluctantly, about to turn it off, I hear it – the ping of a message arriving. This happens sometimes – a follower sees that I’m still online and tries to sneak in a question. Normally I’d ignore it, but tonight I’m eager for distractions. The username – Piper – is not familiar to me.

  Esther. A close friend recently gave me twenty dollars and I’m not sure what to do. Should I save it?

  I stare at the message and feel a little pulse of hope. It’s Harry, I think. He’s alive.

  But it might not be Harry. It might be from a normal follower, just asking an innocent question. It might also be a test from him. Maybe he saw me slip the money to Harry.

  It’s too much to fathom and my hand darts out and turns off the screen. I can’t answer it now. I need to think. I climb into bed and lie there, heart pounding and the covers pulled up to my nose, trying to decide what to do.

  I want with all my heart to believe the message was from Harry. He’s asking if you want him to come and rescue you, my tired, overly stimulated brain keeps insisting. But I also know that this is very unlikely. It doesn’t make sense that anyone could survive renewal. But maybe he did, maybe Harry’s the exception. The only one who made it through.

  Just before dawn, having not slept at all, I get up and dress. I want to go to the chat room before the others in case the message is still there – or any more have arrived. I still haven’t decided what I am going to do.

  Outside, two kookaburras go through their morning song routine, accompanied faintly by the rooster down on the farm. The house has the stillness of very early morning. I pad down the corridor, instinctively stepping over the squeaky floorboards. I unlock the chat-room door and go inside. The room seems charged, the way the air feels before a thunderstorm. I hold my breath as the screen comes to life. And then I deflate when I see what’s there.

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  The message has disappeared. Maybe it was never there. I bow my head in my hands and nearly burst into tears. I’m so tired.

  A voice speaks behind me, making me almost leap from my chair. ‘Esther? What are you doing?’ It’s Lucille, still in her nightgown, watching me from the doorway.

  ‘Just getting on with things,’ I reply. In my attempt to pull myself together, I sound terser than I intended.

  She leans forward, squinting at the screen. ‘Are you about to write a report?’ she asks. Without realising, I’ve opened the form that is used to contact him if someone has broken a rule. ‘Have Felicity and I done something wrong?’

  I quickly close down the report form. ‘There’s nothing to report,’ I tell her. ‘Nothing at all.’ I click on another icon, one that opens up the most recent message from him. ‘Your word today is trust.’

  Why didn’t I reply to that message? The thought torments me throughout the day. Of course it’s possible that the message was a test from him, or a genuine question from a follower. But now that it’s gone I feel almost certain that it was from Harry. I should’ve taken the risk. Because what other options do I have now? I’m not safe in here, no matter how obedient I am. Harry’s renewal has made that clear.

  After evening chat, when Lucille and Felicity have gone to bed, I sit down in the chat room and wait. Hoping what happened last night will happen again, but not daring to believe that it will.

  Which is why when the message from Piper appears, long after the chat session has finished, I feel my breath catch in my throat.

  Are you there, Esther?

  I’m really worried about my twenty dollars.

  I think something bad might happen to it, if it stays where it is.

  But maybe it’s better off there – I’m not sure.

  This time I don’t let myself think. I just begin typing.

  That twenty dollars is at risk. You should save it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The next message appears almost immediately.

  Yes, that’s what I thought too.

  I can’t write anything direct. I can’t ask if it’s really Harry and, if so, how he managed to survive renewal. But it’s not as hard as it could have been. Harry and I have always had to talk in code.

  Do you have a savings plan in mind?

  It’s not a typical topic for discussion with a follower, but he has always stressed that we should answer all genuine questions with respect.

  Not yet. But I’m working on it. I just wanted to hear if you thought it was a good idea. Something you’d approve of.

  I shut my eyes as I type.

  It sounds like a wise idea to me. And I’d do it sooner rather than later.

  The conversation is making me dizzy, light-headed. Another message appears.

  I have to go but I’ll contact you again once I’ve decided on a savings plan.

  Just keep being you, Esther. Don’t change, whatever you do.

  I stare at the final two sentences. They contain a warning, that’s very clear. But is it from Harry, telling me to keep my head down and not do anything stupid, or is it from him, letting me know that he has his eye on me, even more intently than usual?

  Piper logs off before I have a chance to reply.

  The conversation b
uzzes in my head, devouring almost all other thoughts. By late the next day I’m convinced I’ve made a terrible mistake. When I log on to my computer, I am fully expecting to see a message from him, telling me he knows what I’ve done and that I’ll be punished for it. Renewed, even. But there’s nothing there. Still, I need to be careful.

  Obey the rules and act like nothing has changed, I instruct myself. Just keep being Esther.

  But it’s hard. I’m so exhausted, so completely drained. I spend hours awake each night, unable to shut off my thoughts, falling asleep just before dawn – only to wake up as the sun streams in through my window.

  Except that one morning it doesn’t stream through. Or maybe it does, and in my exhausted state I roll over and fall instantly back asleep. I don’t remember.

  The next thing I am aware of is Felicity’s voice calling to me. ‘Esther? Are you all right?’

  I open my eyes to see her small face peering at me anxiously. Lucille is behind her, hands on hips and eyes narrowed.

  I sit bolt upright. ‘I’m fine. Sorry. What time is it?’

  ‘Well past dawn,’ says Lucille, scrutinising my face. ‘What’s going on, Esther? Are you sick?’

  ‘No,’ I say. Not that being sick would be an excuse for me to stay in bed, anyway. There have been times in here when I’ve been almost delirious with fever or weak from flu, yet I’ve dragged myself from my bed and done my chores as usual. Sickness is described in Esther’s remembering book as a sign that the spirit is restless and possibly in need of renewing. I’ve learned to smother every sneeze, suppress every cough.

  ‘Then get up!’ Lucille orders. ‘We can’t even choose what to wear if we don’t know the guiding word.’