by Fleur Ferris
‘Christian Chisel missing at sea.’
I skim through the article. There is a picture of a guy, about my age, with sandy blond hair, olive skin, and lively blue eyes. He is smiling at whoever has the camera and the sun lights his face. Underneath it says, Christian Chisel (18). He went missing after the Chisel family yacht hit a reef and sank. The rest of the family washed up onto the beach of a nearby island and were rescued the next day. This article says it has been five days and Christian has not been found.
I click the next article.
‘Search for Christian Chisel extended.’
This article outlines how the Chisels refused to give up looking for Christian, how his parents couldn’t accept his death. When I read the quotes from Christian’s parents I sit back in my chair for a moment. They extended the search, spent thousands of dollars trying to find him, and yet when they get signs that Christian may have survived they want to keep it hidden? It doesn’t make sense.
There are some other articles that have photos. There are two separate photos of the Chisels helping each other out of a chopper. They must have come back from the island in two separate groups. In one photo there are three women and a boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen. I recognise the two older women as Jacki and Selena Chisel. The younger one is Portia Phoenix and now that I read her name I also recognise her. Portia is Knox Chisel’s wife and was recently in a string of TV commercials helping to raise money for victims of an earthquake. I run my finger along the caption and see that the boy is William Chisel. I’m not sure I’ve seen that name in the news. In this picture his face is damaged, his eye bruised and swollen, a bit like Zel’s at the moment. The next photo is of two men. The younger guy is helping the older one down but is looking at the camera as he does it. The caption reads, ‘Damien and Knox Chisel’. As my gaze runs over their faces I see that Knox’s jaw is clamped and a ball of muscle pops out the side. My blood turns to ice.
It’s Zel.
Zel is Knox Chisel? I’ve seen Knox in the news, always in suits and well groomed, different to the black-eyed and bruised Zel I met, but the dishevelled Knox in this photo could be him. And that clamping of the jaw …
My eyes move back to the smaller kid in the first photo. He’d be nineteen or twenty now. I study his face closely. His eye is purple and swollen shut …like Zel’s. It’s hard to tell in these photos but I guess that kid could be Zel. I try and guess Zel’s age. He could be twenty, like William would be now, or he could be twenty-three like Knox. Three or four years is nothing when you’re older. It is impossible to tell which brother Zel is.
The next headline.
‘Storm on the Land and Sea.’
Page no longer available.
Why have so many of these links been removed? I can’t believe I didn’t notice this when I was writing my article.
I go back to the other results page and realise that every missing link was published by a newspaper owned by the Chisels.
A hot prickling sensation moves up my back. Darryl’s story about this family being corrupt echoes through my head and then I hear Zel’s words, the police can’t protect you …
What if Darryl and Zel are right? Corrupt and powerful. I have no chance against these guys. Hot tears flush my eyes as the hopelessness of my situation overwhelms me.
The next article I find is small, half a page in a boating magazine. There is a picture of an amazing three-storey yacht that the Chisel family supposedly paid eight million dollars for. Five bedrooms, indoor and outdoor entertaining decks, two kitchens, lounge areas, a spa and plunge pool … This boat is far bigger than any house I’ve been in. The article is mainly about how expensive and luxurious these boats are and where you have to go to purchase one.
I return to the picture of the Chisels next to the helicopters. Every face in this family looks grief-stricken, and yet five years later they’re killing anyone who threatens to … I don’t even know.
What happened on that island? What does finding Christian Chisel mean for this family? And which Chisel is Zel?
My parents would know what to do, but even if it was safe to call them, I can’t. They’d still be in the air. I’m in this alone and now it’s decision time.
What do I know?
One. I found something that someone doesn’t want exposed. Fact.
Two. Someone ransacked my house looking for it. Fact.
Three. My colleagues were murdered because they knew about it. Fact.
Four. I was abducted by someone who I think is a Chisel, but I have since escaped. Fact.
Five. I have no money or phone and nowhere is safe. Fact.
Six. If they find me they will kill me. Most likely.
So, my options are …
I sigh.
Running and hiding is an option, but only a temporary one. Even if they don’t find me I will need food, water and safe shelter before long.
I could go to a safe house somewhere in the city, but it isn’t a permanent solution. Hiding won’t solve my problems.
I have aunts and uncles dotted around the outer suburbs of Melbourne who would give me anything I asked for, but after what happened to Simon and Darryl I can’t go to them. Likewise for friends.
I assume the people hunting me have the original note and any copies made. They would have deleted digital copies. Simon would have given them everything they wanted, he would have cooperated. I fight off a wave of grief, needing my head to stay as clear as possible.
How do I fight power and corruption? What disarms power?
Transparency. Exposing the corruption. Uncovering the crime.
That would be great if I knew what I was exposing.
I wish I could ask Mum and Dad. I wish I could ask Darryl. Although, I already know what they would say.
I stare at the article still up on the computer screen, the photo of the Chisels, and realise I only have one option: revelation.
The police can work out what this all means.
Zel says the police can’t protect me from these people, but even if that is true, I can’t protect myself from them either. I may as well have help.
Zel obviously believes he and his family are above the law. But I don’t believe they are. No one is. My decision is made.
I’m going to call the police.
This brings so much relief I could cry. I log off and walk back down to the front desk. I stand and wait until the man with the beard stops typing and looks up. He smiles and then looks concerned.
‘Are you feeling okay?’
‘Yes. Er, no, not exactly. I was, um …’ Suddenly I feel uncomfortable telling him anything in case it puts him in danger. ‘I need to call the police. I’m sorry, I have no money or phone.’ When I say it tears fill my eyes. ‘Would it be okay if I called them from here?’
His face drops. ‘Sure. Yes. Absolutely.’ I can tell he feels awkward. He stands up. ‘Would you like some privacy?’
‘Yes, please.’
He shows me to a small office that is lined with bookshelves. There’s a desk sitting in the middle of the room. ‘You can use this phone,’ he says, gesturing to the handset. ‘Can I get you a coffee or tea, or another glass of water?’
‘No, thanks.’ I smile and wait for him to leave. I sit down and stare at the phone.
I take a deep breath, pick up the receiver and dial triple zero.
The lady I speak to takes all my details. Then I tell her that I am calling in relation to Darryl and Simon’s murder and that I was abducted. She repeats the key words as I tell her and I can hear her typing as she speaks. Her voice is calm and emotionless, and I wonder if she believes me, but then she repeats the story back to me correctly and enquires whether I am now in a safe place. When I confirm that I am, she tells me that police are on their way.
I hang up the phone and stand by the window, looking out over the entrance stairs so I will see the police coming.
It’s not long before two men dressed in dark suits and ties make their way up the stairs t
owards the library door. A moment later, there is a polite knock and the guy with the beard opens the door.
‘The police are here to see you.’
‘Thank you,’ I say.
Two detectives walk in and close the door behind them.
‘Tamara Bennett?’
‘Yes.’ I look at the first officer. He has sandy-coloured hair, olive skin and hazel eyes. The other officer dawdles towards the window and peers out before I get a good look at him.
‘I’m Senior Detective Torney and this is Senior Detective Smith. We’re investigating the murder of two men that occurred last night in Tolsea.’
Hearing his words bursts a dam inside me and I spill over with tears and relief. I want to clutch onto this guy and never let go.
‘Sit down. It’s all right, you’re safe now.’
Senior Detective Torney waits until I have calmed down.
‘Ms Bennett, local police attended your house and have reported that is has been ransacked. It could be unrelated, of course – druggies looking for money, a petty burglary – but the information I have indicates that nothing obvious was taken. The usual items burglars target, like TVs and other electronics, were left untouched. Do you have anything that someone might be looking for?’
‘Yes. Someone was there when I got home. He asked me for a note. At first I didn’t know what he meant, but then someone else arrived. They started fighting. I think the first guy was knocked out, then the second guy abducted me. He told me about the note. It was a note I found floating in the sea the day before. Apparently it was from Christian Chisel, who went missing after a boating accident five years ago.’
‘This guy who abducted you, did you get a good look at him?’
‘Yes. He has a black eye – I’m not sure if I did that or the guy at the house. He called himself Zel. He took me to Regal Towers. He could still be there.’
Senior Detective Smith turns sharply towards me when I say this. His face is dark with the brightness of the window behind him.
‘Okay, Ms Bennett,’ Senior Detective Torney says. ‘Could you accompany us to the station so we can get a statement?’
I nod. ‘Of course.’
Senior Detective Torney walks out and I follow, Senior Detective Smith closely behind me. Once we are outside, the detectives walk on either side of me. As we reach the bottom of the stairs, two uniformed police officers pull up and get out of the car. They make a beeline for the door. Neither of the detectives acknowledges them and we veer left towards a side street. I guess not all cops know each other and work together.
The detectives walk me to an unmarked car. Senior Detective Torney opens the rear driver’s side door for me and I climb into the back seat. It feels good to get into a warm car. Safe. The slam of the door signifying my night of terror is over. My exhausted body sinks into the plush seat and I lie my head back. Senior Detective Torney goes to the driver’s seat, but I’m surprised when Senior Detective Smith gets into the back seat beside me, rather than the front.
I lift my head and look at him. His eyes are dark, hard and as cold as steel. My blood runs cold. He grins at me, unfriendly, like a wolf licking his lips. I shuffle closer to my door. When I look back he smiles again and I notice a glossy pucker on his left cheek. A scar in the shape of an arrow, pointing towards the ground.
To my grave, perhaps.
Mum, Selena and I take our time to climb up the cliff. Before long, Mum’s and Selena’s feet are cut and bleeding like Portia’s and mine. The silence among us is heavy, and it could be in my imagination, but I’m sure the atmosphere is loaded with crackling anger ready to explode like a lightning storm.
Selena moves the slowest and Mum stops to wait for her every few minutes. I go on ahead. A deeper fatigue is edging into my body now and my arms and legs feel like lead. When I reach the top, I head straight for the tiny holes of water in the rock and drink. The water is warm now, but still brings relief. The sun beats down, burning my skin, and my heart races from the exertion. We’re going to need to find more fresh water. These pockets will have dried up before the day is out.
When Mum and Selena make it to the top they join me and drink. Exhaustion is seeping into them too. We are all going to need to sleep soon.
I lift my head and spit out the grit that has accumulated in my mouth.
‘There’s better water over here,’ I say to Mum and Selena. The larger rock pools have cooler water and less grit, but drinking makes me aware that I’m hungry.
Mum walks over to me slowly and drinks. After a minute she sits back on her haunches and looks at me. ‘Okay, where are they?’
I point to the cliff edge we have to go over to get to the others.
Selena frowns. ‘Why don’t they come up here?’
‘Uncle Oliver is hurt. Broken ribs maybe.’
Selena flinches.
‘And Knox isn’t really in any state to climb. He’s asleep.’ As soon as I say it I wish I hadn’t. Selena’s cheeks burn red.
‘Asleep?’ She doesn’t hide her disgust. ‘Knox is asleep …’ She shakes her head. ‘Let’s not disturb him then.’ White hot anger slices the air. ‘While Christian is missing, Knox sleeps.’ Selena looks at Mum.
‘We’ll search the whole island, Selena. A search party is coming. And there are neighbouring islands. They may have been separated, but that doesn’t mean Christian hasn’t washed up somewhere like the rest of us,’ Mum says.
Selena shakes her head, walks to the cliff edge and disappears. I look at Mum and wait for her to say something.
‘Are you okay?’ she asks.
I nod. ‘You?’
She holds my gaze for a moment then closes her eyes like she does just before she cries, but this time she holds it back. ‘At least I’m alive,’ she says. ‘We’ve got to regroup, we’ve got to find Christian.’ She glances at the sky, then closes her eyes again. ‘Please let us find Christian,’ she whispers.
Dad rushes over to us as our feet hit the sand. When he hugs Mum tight she buries her head into his neck and she breaks, her shoulders heaving up and down. I leave them and walk on. Aunty Selena is sitting beside Uncle Oliver and she is also crying. Uncle Oliver is sitting up for the first time that I’ve seen and he grimaces every time he moves. I walk past them to the water to wash the blood off my feet and then look back. They have both turned their heads towards Knox, who is lying in the sun like a seal. Knox may not even know that Christian is missing. He wouldn’t know that Christian gave him his life jacket, and that he is here and Christian is not because of that. Though by the look on Oliver and Selena’s faces, I think he’s about to find out.
I look around me, at the rocks, at the clouds building, and at my family strewn around the beach like they’ve been spun out of a tornado. It all feels dreamlike. I turn my back to the island and look out to sea. Our yacht seemed so big in the port, a giant compared to the other boats. But against the ocean it was the size of an ant and now it is gone, full of water, our belongings trapped inside. I don’t want to think of Christian out there. I keep telling myself he was a good swimmer, but deep inside me is the smouldering dread of having to accept maybe he’s with the yacht. I close my eyes and see the look on Selena’s face just now when she stared down at Knox. I think of the stifled awkwardness between Mum and Selena on the climb. A blow-up is coming.
Looking at the family on the beach, I wonder what will become of us. Maybe last night’s storm now lives inside us. Maybe we all went down with that boat.
Mum and Dad make their way over to Knox. Mum kneels beside him. Dad stands back.
He’s still furious with him for getting into trouble with the Porter brothers last month. And that was before Dad found out that Knox was still seeing Cameron after he had forbidden him to make contact with anyone from that family again. Cameron was even at our house one day when Knox thought the rest of us would be out until late. When Dad and I came home, Cameron was sitting at our kitchen bench drinking beer. The scar on his cheek had mostly healed, but
was still a shiny, red reminder of the fight he had been in. Cameron must have sensed that Dad doesn’t like him because when we walked in he stood up like he knew he wasn’t welcome.
‘I was just leaving, Mr Chisel,’ he said, but his drink was full and frosted. Cameron smiled at me, making his scar rumple. ‘How are you going, Willy.’
Death scene: Something hard and heavy falls from a passing jet and caves in Cameron’s ugly head.
I hate him.
Knox gave Cameron permission to torment me years ago. They’d been an unstoppable team ever since. It started with taunts and sneers, but quickly moved beyond that. One time, when Cameron was at our house with Knox, he kept at me …
‘I know you’re into boys, Willy,’ he’d said.
I laughed, not taking the bait. ‘So what if I am.’
Then he pounced, pinning me down on the couch. I braced myself for the usual – spitting on my face, covering my mouth and nose and then collapsing in hysterics when I go purple … I know they won’t go too far because they’re careful not to mark me. But then I smelt the alcohol on Cameron’s breath.
‘How’re things going down there?’ He was smiling, but his black, beady eyes told me he wasn’t being friendly. At first I thought he meant me, how am I going down there, trapped underneath his weight. ‘You letting your boyfriends at school touch it?’
This was new territory. They’d never made it sexual before.
‘Get off,’ I yelled. I tried to push him off, but he was too heavy and my arms were pinned. ‘Get off me!’ I struggled to push him away. Knox was at the dining table, distracted by his phone, barely interested in what was going on. Cameron grabbed hard at my groin. I thrashed and bucked and accidentally headbutted him in my panic. He groaned with pain and his hands flew up to his face. I took the opportunity and wriggled out from under him but he caught me while I was scrambling away. He grabbed the back of my shorts and pulled them up so high I was almost split in two. I shrieked in pain and Cameron let go but I could still hear them laughing when I slammed the door of my bedroom. I dragged my bed so it was in front of the door, curled under my doona like a child, and stayed there for four hours until they left, too scared to even leave my room to use the bathroom. I couldn’t stop crying.