The Dark Part of Me

by Belinda Burns

  They’d read my hospital records so it was easy to act like I didn’t remember anything. They asked me about Danny – how long we’d been friends, when I’d last seen him, if he’d mentioned anything about Bomber. I lied, saying I couldn’t remember when I’d last seen him. They asked me if I had any idea where Danny might be hiding and I shook my head and said, ‘Sorry, I haven’t the slightest.’

  After they left, I went back to bed in my own room. I got thinking about Bomber’s threat again. There was no use telling Hollie. With Mr Bailey back at the ranch and the cops no doubt tracking her every move, she’d have no way of getting to him. More than that, I didn’t want to frighten her because she’d probably just lose it. She’d been acting so bizarre lately. I had to warn Danny myself, but I’d do it later, in the middle of the night when all the burbans were dead to the world. I set the alarm for midnight and tried to get some shut-eye.

  I snapped on the lamp and slipped out of bed. One minute past midnight on Christmas Day. I chucked on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, and tied my hair back in a ponytail. After so much snoozing, I felt fresh and sparky. I crept through the darkened house. As I passed Mum’s new fibre-optic Christmas tree, glowing red to purple to orange in the dark, I didn’t even stop to check out my presents.

  Outside, the air was thick and muggy, not a murmur of a breeze through the tree-tops. It was like the earth had stopped breathing to listen for life on other planets. I ducked across the lawn and in through the side door of the garage. Not wanting to wake Mum and Randy with the car, I grabbed a torch off the shelf and my old kid’s bike and wheeled it out onto the drive. I hopped on and pedalled away through the moon-washed streets to Hollie’s place. As I rocketed down Fleming, I threw my head back to the sky, which was deep and black as old blood. My T-shirt billowed out behind me and my hair lashed about my face. I was flying – the wicked witch on her broomstick. On my way up the last hill, sweating and pumping at the pedals, I looked across at the ascending row of slumbering houses which lined Hollie’s street. In each front window was a plastic Christmas tree, multi-coloured lights blinking on and off, out of sync with each other. The only real tree was Hollie’s. I could just see it, tall and erect in the front casement window at the very end of the street. It was decorated with nothing but fairy lights which didn’t foxtrot or do the rumba, but shone cold and bright as stars.

  A car was parked outside Hollie’s house. From its shape and size, it wasn’t Mr Bailey’s Lexus. My spine tingled as I dismounted and dropped down into a ditch hidden from the road. I dumped the bike and scurried along the eroded trench. To my right, the bush throbbed and pulsed. When I was abreast with the parked car, I popped my head up over the verge. Inside, the cabin was in darkness but I could just make out a silhouette. I clambered up the incline and hauled myself onto the bitumen. With my heart thumping like crazy, I cut across the corner of the cul-de-sac and hid behind a lantana bush. From this position, I could see there were two men inside the car. The cabin light came on and they bent their heads over something. They had to be the cops, on the prowl for Danny. I turned and scrambled up the track, under a cover of thick scrub, towards the cave. Above the tree-line, the red lights from the TV towers blinked like a warning to go home, but I pelted up the steep incline, fumbling through the dark, until I reached the cave. I stepped up to the entrance, rubbing my hands against the rough surface of the rock, feeling my way. Quiet as a bug, I dropped to my knees and crawled inside. It was so black I couldn’t see my hands in front of me, but I could feel the earth cool and smooth between my fingers as I headed deeper into the cave. At the egg rock, I sat up and switched on the torch. A pair of eyes, red and glistening, swooped down upon me. I screamed. There was a flurry of wings beating about my ears, hissing and flapping. I folded my arms around my head and crouched into a ball, burying myself small and hard as a stone, digging my toes into the earth.

  ‘Rosie-Maroo?’

  ‘Danny?’ I stood up, swinging the torch towards the back of the cave. He was leaning against the far wall, wearing a grubby T-shirt. The light shone hard against his thin arms and his wiry legs. His skin was streaked with mud. Slowly, I walked up to him and pressed my palm against his hollow cheek. I exhaled, my muscles softening with relief. He grinned his wide white-toothed smile and touched me the same, rubbing his dirty hand over my face.

  ‘Rosie-Maroo,’ he repeated.

  ‘Danny-Dilly.’ I smiled. ‘Are you OK?’ He was close enough for me to inhale the dank, grassy smell of his skin, the stink of his unwashed hair.

  ‘The spirits of the cave are looking after me.’ He was speaking in his weird pseudo-aboriginal way and it made me nervous.

  ‘Danny, listen to me.’ I looked into his eyes and felt this strange sensation like drowning. Anxious to say what I had to say and get out of there, I squeezed his hand, then let go. ‘I came to warn you about Bomber.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘I think he knows about the cave. He’s coming up here.’

  Danny nodded and walked to the middle of the cave. He lit a candle. In the centre was a pile of ash and twigs, the remnants of an open fire. Peering closely, I saw what looked like the charred remains of a small animal; a blackened head, a white flash of bone exposed here and there along its body. Danny crouched down and fished a chunk of fleshy bone out of the embers. He tore strips off it with his teeth.

  ‘What is it?’ I said, disgusted.

  ‘Bandicoot.’ He chewed away. ‘Want some?’ He offered me a bit of grizzled meat.

  ‘No, thanks.’ He shrugged and continued munching. ‘Danny, there’s something I want to ask you.’ He looked at me, eyes possum-bright, quizzical. I took a deep breath. ‘What happened between you and Scott?’

  Danny scowled and kicked his toe in the dirt. ‘Why don’t you ask him? He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?’

  ‘No. Not any more.’

  ‘Oh.’ His eyes flickered over my face. ‘I thought he was. Hollie told me he was.’

  I heard the rustle of the trees outside. Inside the cave the air became lighter, less oppressive, and I felt a chill as the earth edged closer to dawn. Danny threw the stripped bone to the ground and wiped his mouth on his T-shirt. He knelt down and bundled sticks and dry leaves together to re-build the fire.

  ‘OK,’ he said, lighting the kindling with the burning candle. ‘You want to know about Scott? I’ll tell you.’

  I nodded and perched on the egg rock. Our shadows reared up around us as the flames stretched higher. I pulled my T-shirt over my knees. Danny paced back and forth across the cave, his profile a giant hunchback against the wall. It took him ages to settle down but then he crouched near the fire and began.

  ‘It was the summer holidays and I’d just turned fourteen. You and Hollie were up here, playing your Shakespeare games. It was really hot and sticky and I was bored. There was jack all to do. All my mates except Scott were away so I called him to see if he wanted to hang out.’ Danny paused and stared into the fire. He scratched at his belly. His neck muscles were strained, his shoulders tense. A tangled lock of hair hung over the left side of his face. He brushed it away and continued. ‘So, Mrs Greenwood drops him over and, as soon as he’s inside, he pulls this porn video out of his backpack. He’s nicked it from his brother’s room and is raring to watch it so I get us some wine from Dad’s cellar and we put it on in the billiards room. It’s mostly lesbian stuff. Scott’s really into it. He rewinds it five or six times. He keeps looking over at me like he wants to make sure I’m into it, too.’

  ‘You weren’t?’

  ‘Yeah, sure, but not as much as him.’ Colour rose beneath Danny’s muddy cheeks. He reached for a stick and prodded at the bandicoot carcass. ‘Next thing he gets his dick out and starts jerking off. Don’t ask me why, but seeing him do it so casual gives me an instant hard-on. He glances over, sees my boner and grins. “Just whack it out,” he says to me. I scull more wine and stare at the porno. By this time, I’m fairly wasted. Scott’s batting away. His eye
s are closed, head back against the couch, frowning like this.’ Danny mimicked Scott’s expression in a way that was startlingly familiar.

  ‘So I slide off the couch and onto the floor. I unzip my shorts, hoping Scott keeps his eyes shut, and whip it out. I’m going for it when he looks over. “Yeah, boy,” he goes. “That’s it.” Scott’s dick is still out, erect, in full view, and I watch my hand drift over and touch it like it’s not my hand but someone else’s. I give it a squeeze. Scott sighs and slumps back in the couch. He’s got his eyes closed and he doesn’t say anything. I edge in closer for a better grip and wank him, slow at first, then faster till he comes. For a few seconds, he just lies there, not moving a muscle, but then he sits up and says, “Thanks, mate” like I’ve just bought him a beer or something. He doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed but my face is burning up. I go upstairs for a towel but when I come back he’s gone.’

  Danny’s story didn’t surprise me. It was just Scott’s style to sit back and take whatever was on offer. What slated me was knowing what must come next. Danny stood up, shaking his head. He went back to his pacing.

  ‘The rest of the holidays we spent a fair bit of time hanging out, playing video games and cricket in the backyard, smoking pot. He told me about all the stuff he’d done with chicks and how he liked to spy on his older brother having sex. Each time he came over, I’d jerk him off but we never talked about it and he never touched me. I started having feelings, you know, weird feelings, but everything changed when school went back. The other guys still came over to watch porno, drink and do cones, but not Scott. Never Scott. Then, they all stopped coming over. At school, they completely ignored me. Then this rumour started going round that I was gay.’

  ‘But you’re not, are you?’

  ‘No. Maybe. I don’t know. I like women alright.’ Danny padded back and forth across the cave floor, getting more and more agitated. ‘Anyway, the rumour gets around and then they all start laying into me after footy.’

  ‘Who’s they?’

  ‘Bomber. Muzza. Matty.’ Danny stopped, his head bowed to the ground. ‘Scott.’

  ‘Scott?’ I looked up and Danny was leaning against the wall, his hands clenched at his side.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘But he told me he wasn’t in on it.’

  ‘The other guys in school, they all turned a blind eye. They didn’t want to be seen siding with faggot-boy. I put up with it for ages. Who was I gonna tell? Dad? A teacher? One night, I just lost it. They had me up against the wall, kicking me in the shins. I guess I fought back and wrestled free. Then Matty comes charging at me. I swung at him and caught him on the side of the head and he flew back against the lockers, this stunned look in his eyes, and slid down onto the cement. He slumped sideways and there was this awful silence. Everyone was watching, saying nothing. I was praying for him to get up. Scott tried to pull him up, but his head just lolled to one side and blood was coming out of his mouth. Bomber threw a bucket of cold water on him. I had this sick feeling spreading through me. I knew I’d done something bad. The rest of the guys from the team came over in their socks and undies and someone went to call an ambulance. Scott stood up and screamed at me, his eyeballs popping out of his head, “You fucking faggot bastard, you’ve fucking killed him.” Muzza was saying, “Fuck, man. He’s fucked” over and over, and I remember Matty just lying there with his eyes all glassy.’

  Danny sunk down on his haunches, his filthy arms wrapped around his knees, his head hung low. He tipped over onto his side and rolled around in the dirt. I lay down next to him and hugged him to me for a long time, inhaling the soil, the trees, the scent of blood and fur and flesh which clung to him. After a while, he drifted off and I crawled out of the cave into the first glimmer of dawn. The gum trees were slicked with gold and the air was fresh and humming with the new day. I ran down the hill, sneaking past the cops who were asleep, chins to their chests, and rode home.

  17

  We stood on the front lawn in the blistering sun. It was Christmas Day. Randy was wearing dick togs and a Santa hat. Mum was sporting a skimpy, red bikini, which revealed every last shaking inch of her middle-aged flesh. I stood as far apart from them as possible, in the lime-green bikini which Mum had given me, just a few minutes before, as my Christmas present.

  ‘Now, put these on,’ said Randy, handing a blindfold each to Mum and I. ‘Keep your eyes closed until I say.’

  I reluctantly put it on. If only I could have been having a normal Christmas with a normal family like the Greenwoods. I pictured Mr and Mrs Greenwood and all Scott’s rellies sitting around the tree in their pyjamas, opening the presents. Randy manoeuvred us into a chain; himself at the lead, Mum holding onto his waist, me bringing up the rear. I felt like a complete tosser but Mum was spoofing.

  ‘Isn’t this exciting?’

  ‘This is stupid,’ I grumbled.

  ‘No talking,’ said Randy. ‘Just follow me.’ We headed around the side of the house, through the side gate, click-clack, and along the bark path. As we crossed the fishpond, Randy took a deep breath.

  ‘OK, girls. On the count of three. One.’ There was a high-pitched squeal of pipes groaning into action. ‘Two.’ A spluttering sound and water splashing against tile. Mum whimpered in anticipation.

  ‘C’mon,’ I said, fed up with the palaver.

  ‘Three!’

  And there, in all its hideous glory, was the Decontamination Chamber, pastel pink (Mum’s favourite colour) and gleaming in the sunshine. It was enormous. It took up more than half of the courtyard. It reached flush against the eaves and stood at least two metres wide. Bursting with pride, Randy pulled back the retractable frosted glass door to reveal a glittering confusion of nozzles, jets and flexy hoses, each one firing a relentless trajectory of shooting water. On one side was a full-length mirror; on the other, a set of metal racks equipped with every kind of anti-bacterial liquid, soap, shower gel and body wash as well as various scrubbing brushes, sponges, pumices and loofahs-on-sticks.

  Mum was in raptures. ‘It’s so beautiful.’ She smothered Randy in sloppy kisses. Dragging him with her, she leapt into the shower and began sudsing herself into a decontaminating frenzy. Then she started on Randy, tearing off his Santa hat, and working up a thick lather all over him. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I went to my room and shut the door. The back of the Chamber was right against my window, blocking out most of the light. I stumbled towards my bed and sunk down onto it, pulling the sheet over me. Closing my eyes, I pictured a pale and distracted Hollie, sitting down with Mr Bailey for their usual Christmas lunch at the Marriott; and poor Danny, alone in the cave with nothing to eat except chargrilled bandicoot. I racked my brains for some way I could help him, but I’d done all I could – the cops were bound to get him sooner or later. From above the rumble of the power shower, there came raised voices and the sound of a scuffle. Mum was shrieking. I got out of bed and went outside to see what was causing all the racket.

  Mum was in the middle of the courtyard, jumping up and down, her face contorted in horror. Christmas lunch lay splattered across the ground. There were broken plates everywhere and the table and chairs had been tipped over. Inside the shower, Dad had Randy in a mean headlock up against the pastel tiles. Turbo-strength jets of water fired into Randy’s face as he kicked and squirmed and flapped his arms about. Dad stood rigid with his arm around Randy’s neck, soaked through to the skin in a pair of striped pyjamas and his old Volleys.

  He shouted in Randy’s ear, ‘Who the hell do you think yar screwing around with my sheila!’

  Mum rushed forwards into the shower, trying in vain to pull Dad off her new lover. ‘Call the police!’ she shouted back at me, her face streaming with water.

  I stood rooted to the spot. No way was I calling the cops. For once, I was on Dad’s side.

  ‘Rosemary! For god’s sake! Do something!’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Call Mr Greenwood! He’s a policeman, isn’t he?’ I wasn’t calling
the Greenwoods. Scott might’ve answered the phone and he was the last person on earth I wanted to talk to right now.

  ‘He’s retired, Mum,’ I said. ‘And it’s Christmas.’

  ‘This is an emergency!’ Mum raced inside to the phone. I watched from the other side of the courtyard as Randy struggled to fight back. He managed to slip out of Dad’s hold and they fell into a sloppy tackle, punches misfiring, legs flailing this way and that. Above the strangled snorts and groans, I could hear Mum inside on the phone to Mr Greenwood. Dad got Randy pinned again.

  ‘She’s mine, y’know,’ he shouted. ‘My woman. Say it and I’ll let yer go. Just this time, mind. And if I ever, ever catch your hairy mitts on her again, there’ll be trouble, y’hear. Big trouble.’ Randy shook his head in defiance. He shouted something back at Dad but I couldn’t hear it above the torrents. ‘I wanna hear you say it,’ roared Dad. ‘My woman. Trevor’s woman.’ Funny how he’d had fourteen years to get Mum back but it was only now she’d gone and got herself a new bloke that he was taking action. It was obvious he’d been on the turps all morning. His eyes were glazed and bloodshot from the half-dozen or so tinnies he’d probably knocked back since breakfast. Like Nan used to say, it was the devil in the drink that tipped him over. Sober, Dad’d never hurt a cockroach. He was a pacifist at heart. Perhaps it was my fault for telling him about Randy, who, right at that moment, wasn’t getting off too lightly. Dad had the hose looped around his neck like a noose and was pulling tight. But Randy stood firm. ‘C’mon, mate,’ Dad barked in his ear. ‘Spit it out and I’ll let yer go. Fair deal.’