by Jane Abbott
‘Thanks for understanding.’ He cupped her face and kissed her, slow and soft and deep, and she clung to him, sighing when he stopped. Then he tensed, his hold on her tightening even more. When he swore, she twisted to see Casey standing in the dark, across the lighted alley. He was watching them, smirking, and as they stared he made an obscene gesture.
Gabe pushed her aside. ‘Stay with the others. I’ll find you.’
He was gone before she could call out. After what had happened, and remembering Gabe’s fury when she’d told him about Casey at the library, all she could think about was what he’d do if he caught him. A broken arm might be the least of Casey’s problems.
‘Where’s Gabe?’ Michael asked, when she found them standing under an awning, sheltering from the rain, which had started to pelt down.
‘Toilet.’ Jenny was trying not to panic. ‘He asked us to wait here.’
‘Great timing,’ Michael grumbled.
Her phone rang and she took the call, all the time keeping an eye out for Gabe. Her family would just have to wait. ‘Yes? Okay I’ll meet you there – I don’t know, ten minutes? I’m on the other side … All right!’ She disconnected and grimaced. ‘My mum.’
‘You go,’ he said. ‘We’ll wait for Gabe.’
Jenny shook her head. She couldn’t leave, not now, not until she knew Gabe was safe. She kept picturing Casey, the madness that shadowed his face, and she knew he’d deliberately tried to provoke Gabe. The minutes ticked over as she fought her fear. Just as she was giving up hope, he came jogging down the empty alley, splashing mud, and she rushed out to hug him tight.
‘Shh, it’s okay,’ he said, holding her close. He was soaked through, his hair plastered to his head, his skin glistening golden under the lights. He kissed the top of her head. ‘Lost the bastard. Christ, this rain. Come on, I need to get Michael and Cait out of here.’
They made their way back to the entrance, Michael and Caitlin heading straight to the ute while Gabe delivered Jenny to her parents. Her mother was annoyed at having been kept waiting, but Gabe shouldered the blame, making Jenny adore him more.
He leaned down and, brushing wet lips against her ear, the briefest and lightest of touches, he whispered, ‘I love you. Stay safe, okay?’
Then he turned and ran after the others, through the wall of rain and beyond her sight. As she followed her family home, Jenny’s emotions seesawed; she was disappointed that their night had ended so early and wished she could’ve gone with him. On the other hand – and oh my God! – Gabe Webster had just said he loved her.
iv
Gabe rubbed at the windscreen; it had steamed over, as wet inside as it was out, and the wiper blades were worse than useless. Should’ve changed them already, he reprimanded himself, as he cranked the side window. In the beam of the headlights, the fog and rain thickened to a white wall and he could barely see the road.
Beside him, Cait was nestled against Michael, her head resting on the ridiculous stuffed toy she’d won at the fair, the sharp chemical smell from its damp fake fur making Gabe’s head ache. He was so tired and he longed for home, for bed, for the rest he knew he’d never get until he could be sure his brother and sister were safe. Damn Casey, he thought. Damn him to hell.
He mopped the windscreen again. A slow, soft movement in his periphery made him turn: Cait burrowing further into Michael, and Michael dipping his head to kiss her. Gabe wished Jen were there so he could do the same. Tomorrow, he promised himself, suddenly feeling less tired, strengthened by this happy certainty. If he hadn’t been sure before that he could manage it, he was now: tomorrow he’d see Michael and Cait off, he’d weather the fallout from Jim and Barb, and he’d deal with Casey once and for all. He’d do whatever needed to be done. Tomorrow.
None of them spoke; there was only the rush of air from Gabe’s window and his occasional loud sigh. Cait felt for her brother, for what he would have to endure after she and Michael fled, but she couldn’t dissuade him from his chosen course. She had no more power over Gabe’s fate than she did her own.
She pressed her ear to Michael’s chest to better hear the song of his heart, for this was what buoyed her. Who would he be when she next heard it? she wondered. And how long would she be made to wait before hearing it again?
So she listened now, while she could.
Where are they? Where, where, where? Come out, come out wherever you are … Come on, arseholes, come play with me.
He couldn’t lose them now, not when he had them right where he wanted, in the dark and the wet and the cold; not with Golden Boy all riled up. Not fucking now!
Todd hunched over the wheel and peered at the shifting road. They couldn’t be far ahead; he’d only waited a few minutes before trailing them out of the car park, and this was the only road to the farm. Had they pulled over to wait out the weather? He cursed not being able to see shit in this rain. No, they wouldn’t have done that; Gabe would want to get them home, make sure they were safe, ’cause that’s the sort of thing he’d do, right? Mr Save-The-Day-Keep-Away-Don’t-Wanna-Play. Todd laughed. Too late now. We’re gonna play, all right …
He jammed his foot to the floor.
Gabe lifted a hand to shield his eyes. What the …? A flare of light, blinding in the rear-view mirror. Some idiot hadn’t downed his high beam and was coming up too fast behind – a crazy thing to do in this rain. Gabe rounded the bend and the light dropped back again. He risked a glance at Michael and saw his eyes were closed. Lucky him. It wouldn’t be long before Gabe could do the same. They were almost there, almost home. He sighed again.
Found you! Todd wriggled in his seat – foundyoufoundyoufoundyou – but then the red tail-lights of the ute stuttered and vanished again. The bend, he realised; it was only a couple more k’s before the turn-off.
C’mon, faster, he told his mad self, and his mad self obliged, pressing the pedal. Relax, it replied. We’ll catch them on the hill.
Michael was almost asleep. Lulled by the hiss of tyres on the wet road and the gentle sway of the vehicle, he felt himself drift into that space between the here and the nowhere. Soon Gabe would slow the ute and they’d turn onto the dirt road for the last time; tomorrow Jim and Barb would return and whatever happened would happen. But that was tomorrow. Right now he couldn’t do anything about it. Right now all he could do, for a few moments at least, was escape the world that had judged him too harshly. So he let himself fall into the familiar and embraced the dark.
There the wicked cease from troubling,
and there the weary be at rest.
JOB 3:17
XVIII
But do you remember how it ends, Michael? How it always ends?
With pain.
With screams, the cracking of bones, the rolling of the earth. With the shredding of metal, the grinding of asphalt, the shattering of glass. With jagged light, red and then black. With swift darkness.
Then silence.
People say such times are slowed, with entire lives seen in flashes before eyes close. But Michael knew that wasn’t true. It was over before it had even begun; the start was already the end.
When Gabe died, he wasn’t just unmade. He was deconstructed, everyone pulling him apart and taking their piece. Short Town mourned, every vulture flapping and snapping, taking what they wanted, discarding what they didn’t and making up the rest. The footy club praised his skills, his leadership and his team spirit yet he’d stopped playing when he turned fifteen and Jim had decided his strength would be more use on the farm than on the field. The CFA cited his bravery – a hero in the making – though he’d only managed to attend a couple of training sessions. Teachers remembered his dedication at school except he’d been no scholar. Girls he’d never touched whispered of wild passion, and guys recalled his mateship, forgetting any secret jealousies. Flowers were piled at the farm gate, cut offerings bound in plastic, bright-ribboned and tagged with scrawled messages; all of them left to rot in the rain. The media circled like hyenas, sniffing for
a new angle, finding it in the too-brief tale of young lovers torn apart by tragedy and scattering its bones for a public feeding frenzy; Jenny was once again the unwilling focus of a bitter town.
But Cait they left alone.
There was a memorial service, a public wake organised by do-gooders to ease sore hearts. The whole town closed, outraging the tourists who’d driven two hours from Melbourne for a day’s outing, and everyone streamed into the Town Hall, armed with their recollections and their speeches and their tissues. Michael didn’t go inside. He couldn’t face the collective grief, genuine and hypocritical, and he remained alone in the cold, by the car. But he couldn’t avoid the funeral.
Though the ceremony was private, it didn’t stop people from gathering on the street as the coffins – one mahogany, one white – were pulled from the hearse. Necks craned, voices drifted in the wind and the townsfolk sobbed as Gabe and Cait were hoisted onto shoulders and carried slowly into a church they’d never attended. Pete bore up under Gabe’s weight, Matt too, and Phil and Paul. Michael couldn’t carry Cait but he limped along beside her, his hand on her coffin.
The minister kept it brief, and the family sat up the front staring numbly at the caskets with their flowers and their polished wood and their bright fittings – brass for Gabe, chrome for Cait. People cried, but those who had reason to weep never shed a tear. None of them got up to speak. That had already been done to death. When it was over, the caskets were taken away and the family left, empty-handed and empty-hearted.
Barb brought home the powdery remains in ornate boxes. They sat on the mantelpiece in the dining room, joining the living for every meal but just as silent, Gabe’s laughter quelled and Cait’s beauty burned away. Gradually, their quiet presence intruded and they were moved first to the shelves in the living room, where they were slowly obscured by books and ornaments, and then to the base of the small hallstand, before they were stowed in a cupboard.
Michael didn’t know who’d mourned Casey or if he’d been missed at all. He didn’t care. If there’d been a coffin it would’ve been empty, a token only, because a body had never been recovered. He’d taken care of that on the road where Casey had hung up-ended and groaning in his car, still alive while Gabe and the truck driver found their way through the wall to the Unmaking, and Cait faded and waited to be remade.
He’d approached the car with difficulty, dragging his leg and fighting the pain. The headlights still beamed high and the engine was quiet, killed in the roll when Casey’s car had bounced like theirs. But his had spun sideways, coming to rest against a tree, while the ute had slammed into the oncoming truck cresting the hill, the force crushing Gabe and throwing Cait through the windshield, hurtling her into the air and smashing her onto the ground.
Crouching on the wet gravel and dirt, Michael stared through the broken window at Casey’s bruised and bloodied face. The airbags had saved him, cushioning him. Gift-wrapping him, Michael thought. The old ute had had no such luxuries. Still, he took his time, watching while Casey struggled desperately to free himself.
‘Webster, get me out.’ When Michael said nothing, the other boy actually laughed, crazed. ‘Shit, I wasn’t gonna hurt you. I’d never hurt Caitlin. Never!’ He ferreted around for the clasp of the seatbelt, pushing against the collapsing airbags, but he was disoriented, his head twisted against the roof of the car.
Michael said nothing. Did nothing.
‘You fucking arsehole! Get me out of here. Fuck!’ Casey pounded the airbags and gasped, in pain, perhaps beginning to panic, and still Michael said nothing. And that was when Casey had raged, mad and filthy, swearing and cursing. Cursing Gabe. Cursing Michael. Cursing Cait. But he was too late, for hadn’t they always been cursed?
Watching him, Michael thought back to the night of the party when their battle had begun. He thought of Jenny, so pretty, and he thought of Gabe, so bright, and he saw Cait in his arms, smiling and sated.
Your anger is terrible, Michael, your vengeance too. They’re your worst faults.
But they were also his greatest weapons, and he used them well. Looking at Casey’s arm, the one he’d broken all those months ago, still swollen and pink, with its line of stitches, he slowly split the skin and heard Casey scream. The air thickened with heat, and Michael broke the bone again, shattering it, and heard the boy bellow. The first flame caught on the roof of the car, near Casey’s head, and Michael watched him try to twist away, fear overcoming any pain, but it was no use. The fire spread, pooling around him like liquid, and Casey’s flesh reddened and blistered and his hair curled and crackled. And Michael watched. Casey screamed and cursed until, finally, he passed out and Michael didn’t have to listen any more. Getting to his feet, he turned his back, the car rising like a beacon in the air behind him, spinning slow and high to light his way.
He passed Gabe, pinned in his first coffin with the stuffed toy Cait had entrusted to Michael, which had saved his life instead of hers and was now more red than black and white. She was twenty metres from the ute and, sinking down beside her, he cradled her broken head and neck and wrapped her limp arms around him while Casey burned.
The fuel tank caught and the car exploded, falling in bright molten pieces across the road. Closing his eyes, Michael lay next to Cait for the last time and waited for them to be found.
He never returned to school. Barb didn’t argue too hard and Jim didn’t care, becoming more terse, more distant, finally missing the children for whom he’d had so little time. Michael stayed on the farm, helping when he could, resting when he couldn’t. Pete and the others dropped by a few times, but he struggled to talk to them; the silences became longer and more awkward, and the visits grew rare until they stopped altogether and he was left in peace.
His days were spent with Cait; he talked to her often, hearing her voice in his head, seeing her smile. At night he lay on her bed, breathing in her faint scent. Sometimes he slipped through the door into the Unmaking, seeking Gabe. He wasn’t bright like he’d been before; he’d become as unlit as the rest, but for as long as Michael remained Michael, Gabe would be his brother. And though he searched, denying what he knew to be true, there was no sign of Cait in that place. She remained only in his memory, and it was this that stopped him from ending it and starting over – if he did, Cait and Gabe would no longer exist for him.
Jenny came to see him two months after the funeral. He was sitting in his usual chair on the verandah, a blanket folded over his bad leg, Cait’s favourite dog stretched out on the boards beside him. He didn’t get up as she approached the house and tentatively opened the screen door. Barb would’ve heard the car but she didn’t come out either; she didn’t do that so much any more. Jenny paused on the top step, looking back at the driver who remained behind the wheel – her mum or her dad, Michael wasn’t sure which – before stepping inside. She stood in front of him for a while, not taking the other chair, and they stared at each other.
‘God, Michael, you look terrible,’ she said.
He shrugged. He had no idea how he looked; he never bothered to check. His hair had grown and he’d lost weight, the scar on his face left jagged by stitches he’d removed himself, but he didn’t care. There was no one to see him except Barb and Jim. And now Jenny.
She looked tired and sad and thin, her prettiness washed out. Michael had barely spoken to her at the funeral, and though she’d rung a few times since, he hadn’t taken her calls, too overcome by his own grief to consider hers. He knew she missed Gabe, but so did he. God, he missed him! And he felt a stab of guilt then, because Gabe never would have abandoned a friend. But Michael wasn’t Gabe. He’d never had his strength.
Jenny pointed to his leg. ‘Can’t you fix that?’
‘No,’ he told her. The pain was good, a necessary reminder: had he not dozed off in the ute that night, he might have saved them all.
‘You never came back to school,’ she said.
‘No.’
‘Have you seen the shrine? By the side of the road
?’
He closed his eyes. It was answer enough.
‘What will you do?’ she asked.
‘Stay here,’ he replied, because there was nothing else for him to do. Because here he was safe. And so was everyone else. She nodded, but he didn’t need her to understand. ‘What do you want, Jenny?’
‘I’ve come to say goodbye,’ she said, and her voice squeaked without the oil of tears. ‘We’re going back to Melbourne.’
‘You’re leaving?’ He stared past her at the car. He shouldn’t have been surprised – there was nothing here for her any more.
She sat on the arm of his chair and, taking his hand, she pressed it to her belly and cried, deep wretched sobs that wracked her thin body, and Michael wondered then, because Gabe had always been so careful. But he didn’t cry with her. He couldn’t tap into that misery, terrified it might drown him, so he sat and waited for her tears to end, thinking of his brother and what he’d sacrificed. Of all he’d lost.
Why are we here, Cait? What’s the point if it’s so hopeless?
But she had no answer this time.
‘I took care of Casey,’ he told Jenny at last. It was the only thing he could offer her. Because that was his punishment.
‘I hope you made it hurt.’ Jenny’s voice was low and vicious.
‘Yes.’
Leaning down, Jenny kissed his cheek softly and he closed his eyes at the touch, remembering their summer together and feeling Cait’s lips on that same cheek. ‘Goodbye, Michael.’
As she rose to leave, he caught her hand and, curling it into a fist, finally gave her the only thing she’d ever asked of him. Opening it slowly, she stared at the butterfly. It was large with bright golden wings that glowed and trembled, a flame to dance upon her palm, and her eyes shimmered.
‘To help you remember him,’ said Michael.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and then she was gone, taking the light with her.