by Finn Bell
I know this, but unfortunately, in my current condition, in this situation, there’s not a lot I can do about it.
So after some thought, and because I can see no better option, I start to drag myself onto the grass in a slow, wide circle.
It’s a risk, because if they see me out here in the open, I’m dead. But I’m betting on them going slow and being methodical in their search, which hopefully will give me enough time.
It’s not a brilliant plan or even very original.
When I was a boy in South Africa, people sometimes still hunted lions on foot.
And if you kill them first off, it’s simple enough.
But if you wounded them, it became tricky. Sometimes they just ran off to die in the bush. But other times the lion would run off and you’d be following that trail thinking that you’d find them up ahead already dead, or maybe just needing a last kill shot. That’s about when they’d come at you from behind, because they’d been doubling back in a big loop.
So I’m trying to track a clear blood trail, which at least in my current state I am well equipped for. Over the grass and back into the bush.
Nice and fresh, so it looks like maybe I was on the way back to the car when I heard them arrive and then headed back into the bushes on the side of the hill to hide.
My plan is to lead my blood smears straight back into the bushes, and then to break left and work my way down parallel to my own trail. I’m hoping I can stay well enough hidden among the plants that they won’t spot me. Then when they try to come at me from somewhere unexpected, I can be somewhere unexpected too.
At which point I’m going to patiently bleed in one place and when they come, I’m going to empty my very big gun at anything even vaguely Zoyl shaped.
CHAPTER 25
March 16, THREE MONTHS AGO . . .
Tai’s shower, which he had some of his cousins rebuild to his specifications, is a lame man’s dream. There’s hot water coming from two spouts at the same time, and you can actually fully slouch on his built-in bench without worrying about falling over.
Forget about a better wheelchair. I want this.
They say it is different stuff for everybody. For me, one of the biggest things was not being able to take a bath anymore. Getting in and out of it without legs is just way too much work. So this is the closest I’ve gotten to that warm, mindless experience in many months.
I don’t know what it is about the process, but it’s one of the few places that I don’t constantly feel like I need a drink. I can get through entire, glorious minutes without thinking once.
But when you’re living with a family of seven, time in the bathroom is a keenly measured and contentiously claimed thing. So I keep things short. Besides, I’m on a schedule.
I’m getting ready for a date.
It’s a big thing.
Bigger even. In a lot of ways.
Not because this is the first time I’m actually going to try and really engage with a member of the opposite sex after the accident, but because it’s really the first time I’m going to try and be with a woman as just myself, without the drinking to help me out, and it’s been years.
I realise, now that it’s drawing close, that I’ve not really approached any encounter with another person with any sense of hope for a long, long time.
And of course, you have that instinct to try and put your best foot forward, which in my case makes you realise the bad condition of your feet, emotionally speaking.
I think it’s easy enough to understand why I’d go for a date with Patricia. She charming, young, funny, pretty, and easy to talk to, with legs that go on for miles.
And clearly I’ve still got some game left, I think, as I manage to mention some other things in that description before getting to how hot she is.
But where I’m stumped, no pun intended, is why she would want to go on a date with me.
I’ve grilled Tai, and he assures me that it’s not a pity date. Apparently, Patricia has sent most of the town, with wheelchairs and without, away with a friendly no thanks.
But this divorced, late-thirties, cripple, ex-drunk who’s in counselling and unemployed while living on a friend’s couch and has that niggling serial killer problem, him, he gets the nod.
I can’t see the attraction.
When I roll back into the living room, I find the entire Rangi tribe arranged around the TV, popcorn flying, as they loudly disagree with a presenter’s assessment of which sheep shearer did the best job at the annual NZ Sheep Shearing Championships, a live, nationally televised event.
Only in New Zealand, folks.
And then, as the show goes to an ad break, the assembled womanhood from mother Becks down to two-year-old Mihi turn to me as one and set out making some “improvements” to my appearance.
And so, after a shave, having my hair combed in a different way, and wearing another shirt and new shoes, I’m declared “Okay” and “Not too desperate-looking.”
With the almost heart-warming honesty of people who accept you for who you are and are now trying to help you be better, the consensus of the Rangi teenagers makes it clear to me that Patricia is “way out of your league, Finn, but maybe you’ve got a chance, just like when Dad got Mom.”
A statement Becks, herself a stunningly beautiful woman, hears and upon looking me over, critically replies, “Meh, yeah, maybe.”
This stamp of approval is then further strengthened by Mihi who, after patiently scaling me to get to eye level, also declares “Hi” in what I’m going to take as a good way.
“Hey, bro, looking good,” Tai says as he rolls up next to me.
“So what do you have planned?” he asks.
“I thought we could go to the Pavilion,” I say.
“Ah good, that’s a posh spot,” he says, then pauses. “You know Patricia’s my cousin, right?” Tai says, and I nod. I’ve yet to meet people down here who are not in some way related.
“And down south here we take family seriously, right?” he prompts, and I nod again.
“So I guess what I’m asking, bro, is if you’ve ever had sex with a man?” he asks.
“What? No, I haven’t!” I say.
“Good,” he says as he lays a big hand on my shoulder and gives me a hard look. “And if you treat her right, that won’t have to change.”
But then Tai’s glare breaks into a bout of laughter and he slaps me on the back and says, “Nah, bro, you’ll be all right. I’ve got a good feeling about this.”
Before I’m really ready, I’m parked and nervous outside Patricia’s house, honking the horn for her to come out. It’s not a dick move on my part. I called in advance and as it’s pouring down with rain again, we agreed that her hopping in is better than me going through the chair setup-and-stow twice.
An unintended consequence is getting to see her framed in the light of her front door. I knew she was pretty, but right now in that black dress she looks like every kind of good thing rolled into one.
As she hops in the car and gives me a look and that smile, I finally stop having any doubts.
It’s still entirely possible that she’s not that into me, it’s just that for the moment, I don’t care.
“Hi, Finn,” she says in that easy manner she has, like I’ve only come in for a haircut.
“Hi, Pat,” I say, and now that she’s in the car and we’re alone in the dark with the rain drumming on the windows, the intimacy of it all becomes almost painful.
“Nervous?” she smiles, reading my expression.
“Nervous? No,” I say, surprised by how calm my voice sounds. “I passed nervous when I saw you open your front door in that dress. This is the calm terror beyond nervous that beautiful women inflict on average losers like me every day.”
Patricia gives another easy laugh.
“We should kiss now,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “That way it’s done and we can relax and see if we actually like each other. You game?”
I am, but can’t find
my voice at the moment so just nod dumbly. So we do.
And it’s simple and pure and so achingly good that I lose track of time.
And when we finally stop, I realise how terribly honest kissing is, how naked, because it’s not like sex. You can’t hide yourself. I can’t help thinking of Anna, of how we were.
When love starts, every kiss is a promise that you believe, despite yourselves. But after it dies they are all just lies you can’t deny anymore.
It’s some time later when she finally pulls away from me and whispers, “Well, that works,” in a husky voice, and then looks over at me from the passenger side.
“I agree, in large amounts,” I say, finding it hard to stop nodding, prompting another laugh from Patricia.
“How long has it been?” she asks, still laughing.
“Since that? At least 37 years that I know of,” I say, and start to lean over to her side again but she pushes me back, sighing as she bites her lip in a way that I just know is going to lead to trouble if I have anything to say about it.
“Nah, no more, mister. Enough bodies for now. We’ve still got to see how our heads get on,” she says, and turns away to put on her safety belt.
Temporarily admonished but still tingling, I start the car and we head out.
Talking to Patricia still comes just as easily as it did that first day I met her in the hair salon. It must be all her, because I’m not usually one who has anything much to say to anyone.
The conversation continues quite easily over dinner as well, the only interruptions coming from various people stopping by at our table to say hi to Pat.
It figures; she knows the entire town, when I know virtually nobody.
“Sorry about that, it comes with my line of work,” she apologises when yet another woman returns to her table after stopping by.
“Have you had the salon long?” I ask.
“About three years now. I bought it after Kieran got better and I finally had the time to start something of my own,” she says.
“Kieran?” I ask, and the way she looks back at me and puts down her knife and fork signals something important.
“You don’t know, and Tai didn’t tell you? Kieran is my son, Finn. He’s eight. His dad’s in prison. We’re divorced. I’m sorry, I thought you knew. This is just a date, Finn, but I need you to be straight with me in any case—is this going to be an issue?” she says in a calm but serious tone.
I decide then that I’m going to try and not be the utter fool I’ve been in the past and actually not lie to a woman I’ve got feelings for.
“I didn’t know about Kieran. And yes, it does matter,” I say, taking her hand and meeting her gaze. “First, because you asking means you may be considering having another date with me in the future, a notion which I’m very much in favour of. But also secondly because I’ll be honest with you, Pat. Me, my life, it’s a bit of a mess right now. I came out here to try and start over, to sort myself out. And I know this is just a first date and I’m reaching, but I’m used to messing up my own life, and there’s a risk that I’ll do it again. But I don’t want to mess up other people too, especially an innocent kid who doesn’t have a choice,” I finish.
So much for light-hearted, first date conversation.
“So where does that leave us?” she asks.
“Probation, I think. If you’ll have me, we can see each other and see how things go. And then, if you’re failing judgment continues and still makes you think I’m worth it, much later, when I’m declared sane, then maybe I can meet Kieran. Deal?”
“Well, at least you’re honest . . . Yeah, I can live with that. Deal,” she says and smiles back.
“Now if I could raise again the pressing matter of more kissing?” I ask.
CHAPTER 26
June 4, PRESENT DAY . . .
I’ve made it a decent way along in the foliage, and even tried to cover some of my passage by shifting back branches and rubbing dirt over some of the more obvious blood marks, but I still feel vulnerable.
I keep thinking that if I can see them, then they will be able to see me.
But then I’m a concealed pair of eyes in amongst the bushes, nowhere close to where my trail goes back in, and they’re going to come from somewhere I can hear or see them in time. I hope.
I’m lying on my stomach, nestled in amongst the dirt and dead leaves, propped up on my elbows, gun held in front of me with both hands.
A small, cowardly part of me, that isn’t currently glowing with anger like the rest, is thankful for the gun. At least it means the dying part will probably go quick.
I’m trying to be as quiet as possible but it’s hard to get my breathing to slow down.
Gradually I get used to the sounds of the world around me. I can make out the slow crash of the waves on the beach behind me and the various sounds of birds and bugs in the bushes all around but nothing else, so I keep checking all the angles to see if a Zoyl is creeping up on me.
Nothing happens for such a long time that I begin, with the optimism of desperation, to think that maybe they just left. Like that night in my house when the emergency services called back. They don’t know I’m out here alone, do they? And they don’t know I didn’t tell anyone I was coming out here either?
They may in fact be assuming I was much smarter than I actually am.
Then there’s movement beside the house, and despite my brave plan, the first thing I do is duck down, but then realising that this is useless, I peek back out.
Oh good. It’s my car.
Which is slowly and quietly making its way from behind the house heading towards one of the outbuildings.
I can just make out a figure pushing it along on the driver’s side with the door open, and I consider shooting on general principle, but at this distance it’s not worth the risk of missing.
So I watch the steady progress then wonder—why are they bothering to hide my car? Because they want to make it look like I haven’t been here. Because they know that once I’m reported missing, people are going to come looking. They are going to come search here.
But they won’t find anything. Just like with Alice and James.
Because, I think bitterly, this is most certainly not your first time.
The car slowly disappears from view behind the side of the outbuilding when I see Sean Zoyl follow the same path carrying the twisted remains of my wheelchair. I involuntarily duck down but don’t look away this time, but Sean doesn’t look over.
I’d forgotten about my chair.
It went down after me when I landed on Darrell’s body and luckily missed me and bounced away on the rocks.
So if they’ve found my chair, that means they found Darrell, and it means they found my blood trail. So now they know what I’ve done and know roughly where I am.
It won’t be long then.
What I wouldn’t give for a working pair of legs.
Or to see everyone just one last time. Anna and Patricia and Tai and Betty and so many others. I don’t really know what I would say, but something at least. There should be a word that means sorry and thank you and I love you at the same time.
That’s when I see Sean step back out from behind the side of the outbuilding, rifle in one hand, casually resting the butt against his hip.
Just standing there, facing out towards me.
“Finn Bell!” he then yells out. “It’s time to pay what you owe!”
And I swear for a second it looks like he’s spotted me and is looking right at me, but then his gaze sweeps further along. Then, to my surprise and grim satisfaction, he steps forward and walks out about halfway and stops, looking up and down again.
Maybe I will get a chance in the straight up I-shoot-you-you-shoot-me fashion I thought they were too smart for.
If only Sean would come just a few steps closer, just a few.
Then he looks back over to his left and gives a low whistle and my day—which hasn’t been the best—gets that much worse.
Be
cause there, walking out from the far side of the furthermost shed in the distance, comes Archie.
Archie’s leading two dogs on leashes and even from here I can make out the smile on his face.
Dogs.
Of course they would have dogs.
Dogs to work the cows and sheep.
Dogs for hunting.
Dogs to find things the Zoyls want found.
So much for my cunning plan.
Movement from Sean draws my eye back to him and it’s only now that I notice that he’s got something in his other hand.
I recognize it easily from this distance. It’s one of my sweaters I had in the back seat of my car. They’re probably going to use it to give the dogs my scent. Not that I think they’ll have a hard time finding me, but Sean probably likes doing it this way.
Out here where I can see it, so I can dread what’s coming.
Even though Archie is still a good distance away, the dogs have started to bark excitedly, tugging at their leashes in the direction of the bush, pretty much directly towards me. They both look like some form of sheep dog but skinny and hungry-looking.
Then, as they reach the side of the last outbuilding, still heading towards Sean, it happens.
It’s more a sensation of deep, massive vibration than sound, and I feel it in everything; my teeth, my eyes, my bones, and finally my ears.
The light and sound happen at virtually the same time as the entire back corner of the shed disappears in a massive explosion of searing white light and a boom that doesn’t seem to end but just steadily fades away into the staccato sound of metal and wood debris raining down all over.
And I can feel the heat of it on my face even here, as the plants get pushed back by the rush of air.
It happens so fast that I’m still frozen, I can’t look away.
There’s not a lot of smoke now and I actually feel the air being pulled back inwards again when I make out Archie through the haze.
He’s not where he was.
But he’s miraculously still standing, if just.