November

by Gabrielle Lord

  ‘You’re a brave lad, I can tell that. But you don’t have anything to fear from me. Understood?’

  I didn’t say anything, but he continued anyway.

  ‘I’ve committed many crimes in my life. So many bad, bad things. And I know I’ll face the consequences when I go to meet my maker. But before that time comes, there’s something I need to get off my chest.’

  He paused again, and my mind was searching for a reason why I was standing by his bed, listening to him reflect on his life.

  ‘Most of the bad things I did because I had to,’ he said. ‘This is a tough city and if you want to stay on top, you have to be tougher than everybody else. You can’t let things get to you. I don’t regret the things I did to keep my affairs in order, exactly. But there has always been one thing I’ve never quite been able to … to live with.’

  A terrible coughing fit suddenly convulsed through Durham’s body, and his claw-like hands groped around for something. I looked to the door, about to call for help, when a male nurse, stethoscope bumping on his chest, ran into the room and raced to the choking man’s side. The nurse picked up an inhaler from the floor and helped Durham insert it in his mouth. He took some desperate breaths, sucked in the vapour from the inhaler, and soon his wild eyes relaxed, and the coughing eased.

  ‘You mustn’t tire yourself, Mr Durham,’ the nurse scolded, looking across at me disapprovingly, as he plumped up the pillows behind the old man’s head.

  ‘I’m all right now,’ Durham replied, sipping from a glass of water. ‘I’ll call you if I need you again. Leave me now.’

  With a frown, the nurse left the room.

  I sat down on a chair that rested beside the bed. When Durham started speaking again, his voice was even weaker. I leaned in closer to him.

  ‘When you’re young, you don’t understand,’ he said. ‘You can’t see the future, so you don’t consider how one wrong choice can lead to a life like mine—the life of a career criminal.’

  I thought of Repro and how he was now forced to live underground, on the run from the very man who lay dying in front of me. He’d made a bad decision to use his skills in the service of criminals.

  ‘When I did my first car-jacking, I was sixteen. I had a good brain, the teachers used to tell me, but I didn’t listen to them. What would they know, I thought to myself. I’d never really done anything bad before that, but after the car-jacking I thought I was tough and cool and the king of the streets in my neighbourhood. See, I didn’t know then what it meant to get a bad name, or a police record. I didn’t realise that one event could change the path of my life forever.’

  Durham looked at his glass of water. I leaned over and passed it to him.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, awkwardly passing it back to me. ‘Some years later, I tried to turn my life around. I began studying and earned some qualifications at a technical college. But no-one wanted to employ me. My criminal convictions got in the way. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you? I couldn’t even travel. No country would let me enter because of my record.’ His piercing eyes bored into me from their hollow sockets. ‘I felt I had no choice but to return to crime, where I grew into a monster.’

  ‘My reputation is all bad too,’ I said, ‘and I didn’t even commit the crimes I’ve been accused of.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t say that for my crimes,’ admitted the old man. ‘You wanna know how I got my nickname?’

  Not really, I thought in my head. But it didn’t matter—Durham wasn’t waiting for an answer.

  ‘I used to cut off people’s toes with bolt cutters. If they got in my way, owed me money, messed with someone in my crew.’ Durham shook his head, clearly disturbed by his violent past. ‘They were all crims, in one way or another, and some of them were just as vicious as me. But there’s this one thing I did that I can’t get out of my mind. This world is an unforgiving place. And I can’t forgive myself for it.’

  His head fell back on the pillows, exhausted from the effort of talking.

  ‘Sixteen years ago, now,’ he said. ‘And it’s been something I’ve found almost impossible to live with. Now that I’m coming to the end of my life, I realise it’s not something I can die with, either.’

  A noise at the door startled Durham. ‘What was that?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing to worry about,’ I said, wondering why he was so edgy.

  ‘As long as it’s not my son. He thinks I’m crazy wanting to tell you about this. I can’t let him catch me with you.’

  About this? What was he talking about? Had he lost his mind?

  ‘He’d kill me,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t take much!’ He started to laugh, making a choking, rusty sound like it was something he hadn’t done in a while.

  ‘He’d probably kill you too. So we’d better make this quick, while he’s out of the place.’

  ‘Let’s do that,’ I agreed.

  Again came the rusty, choking sound of his laugh. He reached for his water once more. I helped it to his lips.

  Durham had said this terrible event occurred sixteen years ago. Things started coming together in my mind. I pictured the newspaper clipping about the abduction of twin babies that Great-uncle Bartholomew had snatched out of my hands. I pictured Ryan and his mum. I pictured my mum and the sadness in her eyes.

  ‘I think I know what you’re talking about, Mr Durham,’ I said slowly.

  ‘Is that right?’ he asked, dubiously.

  ‘Are you talking about a kidnapping?’

  His eyebrows rose, slowly. ‘Smart kid, eh? I’m not surprised you have some idea about it; you’ve been able to avoid the cops and the crims for nearly a year. So tell me, what do you think you have to do with it?’

  I wasn’t too sure what to say. Murray Durham was probably the sort of guy who would lash out in rage if someone made a mistake about him.

  ‘Don’t be scared of me. This old dog is dying, can’t you see? No teeth. No bite.’ He knocked his fingers against the glass of water containing his false teeth. ‘Anyway, I’m done for, son. I don’t have any action left in me, good or bad, except to make a long-overdue confession. So come on. Spit it out.’

  ‘My guess is you were involved in the abduction of twin boys,’ I said. ‘Sixteen years ago.’

  I waited, holding my breath. There was a long silence.

  Durham cleared his throat and shifted on his satin pillows.

  ‘You’re right on the money,’ he admitted. ‘I was part of that notorious kidnapping.’

  My heart was racing. I tried to focus and listen carefully to his every word.

  ‘I was a well-known hitman by that stage of my life, and I was approached by someone with an unusual assignment. My job was to kidnap twin babies from a suburban house, and dispose of them. I was offered a fair amount of money in return, but that’s when I discovered something about myself—the infamous, heartless Murray Durham didn’t have it in him to be a baby killer. Yeah, I could cut the toes off dirty crooks and homicidal jailbirds, but I couldn’t harm a baby. I suppose that’s a good thing.’

  He glared at me, as if daring me to contradict him.

  ‘I should never have agreed to it,’ he continued. ‘My heart was never in it and maybe that’s why the whole thing was a disaster. The job never felt right, but I’d grown accustomed to luxury and got greedy. Plus I had an old debt that I wanted cleared, and I saw this as my opportunity to finally knock it out. It’s sad what people will do for money. How much of themselves they’re willing to sacrifice to get the things they want. I didn’t see a cent in the end. It was all for nothing. I was working with a partner—he’s dead now—and we broke into the Kenthurst house—’

  ‘Kenthurst?’ I blurted out. I thought I understood what he was talking about, but my family was from Richmond.

  ‘Kenthurst,’ he repeated. ‘We picked up the two sleeping babies without any trouble, then drove off to an old building that I knew was waiting for demolition. We’d just made it inside and put the babies down when I spo
tted a police patrol car on the street. The babies were crying and I panicked. I ordered my partner to grab one of them, while I grabbed the other, and we split. I ran out to the car, thinking my partner was following me, but he wasn’t. I waited behind the wheel for him, but I didn’t see him come out of the building. The cop car returned so I slammed my foot on the accelerator and sped off. I drove all the way back to my place, and just as I stepped inside, my sister Sandra turned up—she was living with me at the time. There I was with a damn baby screaming his head off. I couldn’t think quick enough to make up a story about the predicament she’d caught me in. She was horrified at what I’d done. She’d raised me—was like a mum to me—and she was furious. She’d just heard about the kidnapping on the radio and couldn’t believe someone would do such a thing … let alone me. Her little brother. Turns out my partner had abandoned the other baby in the old house, and made a run for it alone.’

  The old man’s lips quivered at the memory.

  ‘I didn’t know what to do with the baby. He wouldn’t stop crying. I had to keep him quiet and out of sight so the neighbours wouldn’t suspect anything. I begged Sandy to help me. Regretfully, she took the little guy from me and calmed him down. She was great with him. She fed him, and put him to sleep. Before we knew it, days had passed, then weeks, then months. Sandy had fallen in love with him. I told her we couldn’t keep him any longer, that she had to get him out of the house. But she had nowhere else to take him. Finally she found a friend who couldn’t have children, and together we organised dodgy adoption papers.’

  ‘What happened to the other baby?’ I asked. ‘The one your partner left behind?’

  ‘He was eventually found by the cops. He was cold and hungry, but he was fine.’ Durham stopped speaking and stared at me. ‘He was reunited with his family late that night.’ His bloodshot eyes examined mine. ‘You’ve probably guessed by now who the child was.’

  A sick feeling welled up in my stomach as so many of the unexplained things from my life started falling horribly into place.

  I was the child who was returned.

  Durham’s eyes continued to bore through me.

  ‘Sandy’s friend never knew any different. She took the other baby, and the white toy dog he was clutching when we took him, and thought the adoption was legal and above board. She never knew that Sandy was the sister of Toecutter Durham.’

  The white toy dog of my nightmares—the dog I’d discovered in Ryan Spencer’s room—started making more sense.

  ‘The abduction happened on the eleventh of November. The date I left on your blog.’

  ‘You did that? You hacked my blog?’

  ‘I wanted you to investigate the date. I wanted you to realise who you were. I wanted you to know about the other boy—your twin. But then I ended up sending Ezekiel and Chook to find you and bring you in so I could tell you myself.’

  I was speechless.

  ‘I’ve felt bad all my life about taking those kids—bad about that mum losing one of her boys, bad about separating twins. And now that I’m an old man, I finally understand the damage I did to that family, stealing their children like that, tearing them apart. So anyway,’ he said, taking a big breath, ‘I needed you to know the truth … while I was still able to tell it to you. I feel better now,’ he whispered, barely audible. ‘I feel lighter already.’

  ‘Who was the person who hired you to do the contract job?’ I asked.

  Durham was silent.

  ‘Who was it?’ I asked again, thinking of the list of names from Rathbone’s office. My shock was suddenly being overtaken by anger. This guy had ripped me off from having a life of growing up with my brother. He’d taken us from our parents, and my twin—Ryan—had never been returned. ‘Who ordered the kidnapping? Was it someone called Deep Water, or Double Trouble, or the Little Prince? Tell me!’

  ‘What are you raving about, boy? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  From somewhere in the house, I heard a door slam. Immediately, the sick old man became agitated. ‘Ezekiel! Ezekiel? Get in here now!’

  The Polynesian suddenly appeared at the door.

  ‘That’s Wayne coming home!’ said Durham. ‘Get this kid out of here! Use the back door. Oh, I almost forgot! Wait, son, take this with you.’

  With that, Murray Durham, his haggard face pale with fear, opened a bedside drawer, took out an envelope and pushed it into my hand. ‘Now, disappear, the pair of you!’

  Ezekiel grabbed me and hurried me to the door, looking out each way, like he was checking for traffic.

  ‘Follow me,’ urged Ezekiel, before racing me down the hallway towards the door at the end. He kicked it open. ‘On your way!’ he said, pushing me out. ‘Disappear! Fast!’

  I didn’t have to be told twice. With the envelope tucked tightly under my arm, I took off, running.

  After I’d put a bit of distance between me and Murray Durham, I found a place to hide—in a carpark behind some charity bins—and ripped the envelope open.

  I leaned my head back against the wall of one of the bins. The newspaper clipping trembled in my shaky hands. As sick as all of this was making me, understanding brought an overwhelming sense of relief. At last I had the explanation as to why that threadbare white toy dog, the cold building and the crying baby had brought such fear and desolation to my nightmares. At last I understood why Mum and Rafe wanted to keep their dark secrets, and why they treated me as though I was damaged. They thought I was scarred from the trauma, even though I was way too young at the time to remember it clearly. At last I understood why I always felt like something was missing.

  I had a brother. Ryan Spencer’s mum was a friend of Durham’s sister. My double was my twin.

  The name my parents had given him was Samuel.

  Head down, my mind still whirling from Toecutter’s confession, I found my way back to the treehouse. I snuck up to the Lovetts’ shed to plug my phone in for a charge, then hauled myself up the tree and collapsed on the floor.

  My head was thumping. A song suddenly drifted into my thoughts.

  ‘Two little lambs in the cold night frost, one was saved and the other one lost.’

  Great-aunt Millicent’s song must have been her attempt to tell me about my brother.

  The soft wind stirred the leaves of the huge tree outside the windows. I sat up on the bench and hugged my knees. I had to call Mum. I had to tell her about Ryan—about Samuel. She needed to know that her other son was alive and well.

  Then I got to thinking about whether Mum would want to be reunited with her lost son. It would mean Ryan finding out about his shocking past, having to face the fact that the woman who had raised him was not his biological mother.

  ‘Hi Mum,’ I imagined myself saying to her. ‘I have something amazing to tell you. I found Samuel.’

  I rehearsed it over and over, trying out different ways of breaking this massive news to her.

  Finally, still undecided as to how I was going to put it, I retrieved my phone and dialled Rafe’s place.

  ‘Rafe speaking.’

  ‘Uncle Rafe, it’s me.’

  ‘Cal?’ he replied, his voice quavering.

  ‘Please hear me out. First of all, I just want to say that I didn’t fire the gun at the chapel. I’d heard a sniper was going to try to take you out, so I went there to stop him. To save you.’

  ‘Wh-where are you?’ he stuttered. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine. Listen, I really need to speak to Mum. I have something important to tell her. Something I think she’ll want to hear.’

  ‘I hope it’s not something that will upset her. Every time she talks to you, she ends up in a mess. She’s fragile, Cal. She has Gabbi back, but she’s still finding it hard to cope with her family in tatters.’

  ‘This could help.’

  Rafe paused. ‘Do you mean you’re going to hand yourself in?’ he asked, hopefully.

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  I heard my uncle sigh. ‘If it’s im
portant,’ he said, ‘why don’t you give me your message and I’ll pass it on to her. I think it’d be better if she heard it from me, speaking on your behalf.’

  ‘Please, just let me talk to her.’

  ‘Cal, I need to speak to you myself—man to man.’ His voice was a whisper. ‘I want you to know that I know—’

  He was cut short. I could hear my mum calling.

  ‘Is that Cal? Let me speak to him! It’s my son!’

  Within seconds she was running to the phone, but not before Rafe spoke urgently. ‘I know you don’t quite trust me, but you should. If we could—’

  But it was too late. Mum had grabbed the phone from him.

  ‘Cal? Where are you?’ she blurted.

  ‘It doesn’t matter where I am. Mum, I need to tell you something. I know everything. I know about the abduction when I was a baby. That I had a twin who was never found.’

  I heard my mum’s sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.

  ‘Mum,’ I said. ‘I’ve found him. He’s alive.’

  The shocked silence at the other end of the line deepened into a huge void.

  ‘Mum?’ I asked.

  ‘Samuel? He’s alive? Please don’t lie to me, Cal,’ she pleaded, the distress obvious in her voice.

  ‘I’m not, I promise. I’ve met him. He looks just like me. He’s fine. He’s had a good life—I want you to know that.’

  I could hear her crying on the phone and I was feeling overcome with all sorts of strange and powerful emotions. ‘I can’t talk any more,’ I said, swallowing hard. ‘I just wanted you to know that Samuel’s OK. And in case you still care,’ I added, before hanging up, ‘I am, too.’

  Not so long ago, I’d have gone to my mum if something was bothering me. Not even for advice, necessarily, but because she had that knack of making me feel better. I had almost forgotten what that felt like.

  Something in the back of my mind was telling me that I was forgetting an important detail. I was processing so much information that I couldn’t pinpoint it.