by Janene Wood
Sam pulled the car over onto the shoulder of the road. “We’re here,” he announced in a tight voice. Kate breathed a sigh of relief. Heather pushed her door open before the car had completely stopped and jumped out. Sam killed the engine but left the headlights on. He remained in his seat, frozen in place, unsure whether to go after her or not. Kate was sandwiched in the middle of the back seat between Tayo and Jack and suffered no such indecision. “Can one of you please let me out!” she demanded impatiently.
Tayo quickly obliged. Heather was striding purposefully toward the one-lane bridge crossing the swollen creek and Kate had to run to catch up. The rickety bridge offered the best view of the falls, although it was doubtful scenery was uppermost on Heather's mind. Yet even with everything going on, Kate couldn't help admiring the awesome spectacle of the falls. The sheer volume of water, thundering over the edge of the bluff and falling sixty feet into the channel below, was incredible; so much more dramatic than the usual modest trickle.
Kate had to raise her voice to make herself heard. “Boys are such idiots,” she told her friend.
It was obvious, even to three clueless boys, that the girls needed some time and space to talk. Sam kept a wistful eye on Heather as he crossed the road and joined Jack and Tayo a short distance downstream. Even at this range, he could feel the cool mist from the waterfall on his face. It was becoming more and more apparent that he and Heather had no future together after tonight. The thought depressed him, but he still hoped Kate might convince her to give him a second chance. He could do better.
Certain that the outcome of their relationship was already out of his hands, he continued walking, disdaining the company of Jack and Tayo. There was a path of sorts running parallel to the creek, and he picked his way carefully along the slippery ground. A little further along, he noticed an enormous she-oak that had been uprooted in the storm and fallen across the stream.
The tree must have been magnificent in its prime; the trunk's diameter was wider than the span of his arms. The enormous canopy was spread out over the opposite bank, having flattened everything in its path as it fell. He found a foothold in the thick bark at the base of the trunk and pulled himself up so he was standing on the recumbent tree. At that exact moment, the clouds parted and moonlight glistened unexpectedly off the rain-washed foliage all around him. It was an enchanting sight; perhaps a sign things were not as bad as he thought?
Looking out over the magnificent vista before him, Sam immediately felt more in control of things. So what if Heather dumped him? He was young and not bad-looking. He was bound to find someone else to love, given enough time. The realisation did nothing to ease his troubled heart. He wanted Heather. He was learning the hard way that love wasn’t always the bed of roses he’d imagined it be.
He impulsively began walking along the top of the trunk, heel to toe, his arms held out wide to keep from overbalancing, until he was directly over the middle of the flooded creek. Far below, the rush and gurgle of fast flowing water was a symphony of soothing susurration. It beckoned to him, cool and inviting, though he knew it was an illusion. There were unseen dangers below the surface of the water, rocks and branches and other storm debris, waiting to churn his flesh into minced meat if he was so foolish as to slip and lose his footing.
But he had no intention of falling. Perhaps he was foolish to tempt fate this way, but the precariousness of his situation and the adrenaline thrumming through his veins made him feel more alive than he had in months, leaving him in no doubt of his humanity, or of the fragility of life. It was exactly what he needed right now. He might be a little tarnished by the past, but his future was wide open and full of promise. He was one lucky bastard, whether or not he ended up with Heather tonight. He had the blessings of a devoted family and friends, blessings he would try to be more grateful for in the future. He had a strong body and a quick brain and his whole life to look forward to. Why was he wasting time feeling sorry for himself?
The sound of voices drifting toward him, interrupted his introspection. The gap between himself and the bank was disconcertingly wide, a fact that hadn't gone unnoticed by his companions. Jack and Tayo's flippant remarks, carried toward him on the breeze, did little to disguise their concern at the seemingly pointless exercise he was engaged in.
“Careful, mate,” chuckled Tayo tightly, “you don’t want to slip and get your new trainers wet.”
“Not to worry, Tay,” called Jack, his eyes glued to his brother. “Sam has the reflexes of a cat. Well, more of a pussy, really, but still…”
Sam grinned back at them, feeling at once completely vulnerable and utterly invincible. It was a heady, intoxicating feeling. Until Heather's horrified voice rang out from the bridge. “Sam! What on earth are you doing?” Her words were surprisingly clear, even from such a distance.
Startled by her voice, Sam glanced upstream to the bridge and the two girls watching him. He barely moved, but somehow his trainer slipped on a piece of sodden bark. His arms wind-milled to keep him from going over the edge and a surge of adrenaline rushed through him. He cursed himself for tempting fate, and for one terrifying moment, thought he was a goner. Somehow, he managed to regain his balance, but by the time he was in control again, his heart was pounding and sweat was pouring off him. That was one of his nine lives gone...
Feigning nonchalance, he edged back along the trunk until he reached the bank. Leaping effortlessly from the recumbent tree, he was hugely relieved to feel solid ground beneath his feet once more.
Jack was white as a ghost as he made his toward his brother. “That was close, bruv.”
Sam shrugged as if to say it was of no matter, but they both knew differently. He had been lucky.
“Nah,” said Tayo. “Sam has the reflexes of a cat, remember?” The look he gave Sam was less forgiving than Jack’s. “The little lady doesn’t look too thrilled with your little stunt, mate.”
Sam looked upstream to where Heather was making her way toward them, stepping carefully around the obstacles in her way and trying not to slip in the mud. “She’s already pissed at me; how much worse can things get?”
To Sam’s surprise, Heather was smiling radiantly as she stumbled down the path toward him, stepping around clumps of long grass and low-lying bushes, keeping a safe distance from the side of the creek. New hope surged through him at the possibility that Kate had managed to convince Heather he really did love her. If so, he owed his sister an enormous debt of gratitude. Grinning foolishly, he hurried past Jack and Tayo to meet her halfway.
The ground was muddier than it appeared and in Heather's rush to reach Sam, her back foot slipped out from under her, making her stumble sideways to the very edge of the bank, where it had been undercut by the powerful current. Unable to bear even her slight weight, the ground gave way without warning, making her teeter over the edge. Crying out, she waved her arms ineffectually in an attempt to reverse her momentum, but was powerless to help herself. She tumbled over the side of the bank and into the surging current. Sam and the others watched in horror, too far away to do anything except scream at her. One moment she was right there, the next moment she was gone. The sight of her terrified face was burned into their retinas.
“No, no, no, no,” moaned Sam in a helpless litany as he scrambled frantically to where she had been standing a moment before. He reached the edge in seconds, but she had already been dragged beneath the surface by the strong current. He scanned the churning waters, but there was no sign of her. Kate was closer than the others and reached his side only moments later. “Oh, God!” she cried, her voice trembling in shock. “This can't be happening!”
Sam continued to stare at the churning water, searching for Heather and fearing the worst. Somehow, he had to save her. Was that her in the distance...? There! Near the bend in the creek, struggling to keep her head above water... It was hard to be sure of anything in the pale moonlight. It had to be! He was almost sure of it. Sure enough...
Muttering incoherently, he pulled hi
s trainers off one at a time and tossed them carelessly behind him. He knew what he had to do.
“No!” screamed Kate, seeing what he intended. She grabbed his arm with both hands, pleading with him. “Don't be an fool! Just stop and think for a minute!”
Before he could second-guess himself, Sam pushed her aside and jumped in the water.
Kate cried all the time at first. Deep, racking sobs that drained her, both physically and emotionally, triggered by every little thing and nothing. A touch, a look, a movement, a memory... it didn’t matter; one thing was as significant as the next. Tears fell in a constant stream, day and night, swelling her tired, red eyes until she could barely see. Eating made her sick, so she stopped. The weight fell off her already slim frame, leaving her thin and gaunt. It felt like she was drowning, the irony of which was not lost on her.
She could still breathe of course, but each inhalation hurt. Each breath reminded her of what had been irretrievably lost. Her body felt heavy, weighted down with guilt; each movement of her limbs was as slow and cumbersome as walking underwater. Her energy evaporated with the struggle to breathe, with the need to tense her body against each new stabbing pain. Thinking took effort; trying not to think wore her out even more. Her mind wouldn’t stop working, sending a constant stream of tortuous images into her head that gave her no peace.
And sleeping... Sleeping was worst of all.
The funeral was the nightmare she expected it to be, but the wake was a surprising deliverance. Kate still wasn’t sure whether Frank knew there was vodka in the orange juice he handed her, but how could he not? No doubt he recognised her need for temporary pain relief, and thought he was doing her a simple kindness. A few sips had an almost instantaneous effect on her half-starved body, making her light-headed and giddy. After her second drink, it no longer hurt to breathe and her grief was a dull ache she was doing a reasonable job of ignoring. By the end of her third glass she was chatting animatedly with Larissa and Bulldog French and wondering what it was she’d had against them all these years.
Kate almost fell down the stairs in her eagerness to get off the bus, knowing her afternoon was about to improve exponentially. As the bus pulled away, the other kids exchanged a few last goodbyes and dispersed, leaving her alone on the street. Finally, she had some space.
Hitching her bag over her shoulder, she walked around the corner to the now-familiar park. It seemed she was the only one who ever came here lately; the grass hadn't been cut in weeks, and she’d worn a path through the clumps of paspalum. She followed it now, crossing to the far corner of the reserve where three swings were suspended from a sturdy steel frame.
Kate picked the middle swing as usual and sat, making herself as comfortable as possible, although physical comfort was less important that the emotional release she came here to find.
The small pewter flask she pulled from her school bag belonged, she assumed, to Frank; it certainly wasn't something she had ever seen her mother use. Frank still hadn't collected his belongings from the house, so he wasn't going to miss it. She found it during one particularly bad night, when she went looking in the liquor cabinet for something to help her sleep. There was no vodka, but she discovered that scotch or bourbon, diluted with milk to quench the unpleasant burning sensation, did the trick just as well.
It took only a couple of weeks to go through the meagre stock of spirits and liqueurs left behind by Jane and Frank, until nothing remained but a quarter bottle of tequila, which she couldn't stomach. She was vaguely troubled by the idea of getting found out, but the only person who might have noticed was Simon, and there wasn't much likelihood of that. He was almost teetotal these days, with little time or inclination for anything but work. He rarely saw his old friends and Rosanne dumped him ages ago. Kate supposed they weren't able to relate to his altered circumstances and responsibilities. At least he had his new friends from the restaurant.
Circumstances being what they were, Kate rarely spoke to Simon at any length these days. She avoided Cabot's like the plague, and her brother was usually asleep in the mornings when she left for school. When he came home around midnight, after a long shift at the restaurant, he was usually too tired to do more than poke his head into her room and bid her good night. It wasn’t his fault he had to work such long, inconvenient hours and couldn’t be there to comfort her or monitor her comings and goings, or to notice she was slowly but surely falling to pieces. Things might have been different if he had. He trusted her to be sensible, to do her schoolwork, to stay out of trouble. With trust came freedom. Too much freedom, she would have told him, if he had been there to listen.
The first sip was always the hardest, but also the most satisfying. She had learned to tolerate the burn of the spirit as it slipped down her throat, telling herself it was the price she had to pay for the temporary remission of guilt, grief and pain. Once the burning eased, the alcohol spread through her bloodstream like the slow rise of the tide under a full moon, soothing all her tension away and blunting the edges of her emotions. She savoured the languidness that began with that one small sip and felt the pain ease, just a little bit. There was no longer any need to rush. The promise of more was all she needed for now.
Kate retrieved her maths book from her bag and opened it on her lap. She set to work without further delay, methodically completing her homework, taking a sip from the flask now and then as a reward for her diligence, and then moving on to Biology and History. It was habit, more than pride or concern for the future, or the expectations of her brother and teachers, that forced her to keep up with her schoolwork and maintain her grades. Also the need to keep one small part of her life ordered and neat when the rest of it was so utterly messed up.
Her homework complete, she packed her books away and settled in for the duration. It wouldn't get dark until after six, so she had another hour before she needed to think about heading home. Home was no longer the refuge it used to be; now it was a constant reminder of how badly she'd stuffed up. She avoided home the same way she avoided Cabot's; the same way she avoided everything that used to give her pleasure. She accepted her exile as penance; a penance she bore willingly. But God, she missed them all so badly! Her brothers, her mother, Frank and Heather...the way things used to be. So badly! Deprived even of Jack's comforting shoulder to cry on when all the self-loathing and bitter regret came spilling out of her. Not that she blamed him for leaving. Not really. She understood why he had to go; it was what she, too, longed to do. To escape. It was his method that baffled her. How could he not even tell her he was going? How could he leave her behind, as if he had no idea what she was suffering?
She had been aware for a while that Jack was having difficulties with Simon; knew he had been struggling with some internal conflict he refused to discuss. Knew also that Simon initially blamed him for not looking out for Sam that night. Kate had set Simon straight on that front at least, telling him over and over, until it finally sank in, that nothing on earth could have stopped Sam from jumping in the creek. But by then, Jack was already gone.
The shock of that moment, when Sam sacrificed everything for the girl he loved, would stay with Kate forever. After they lost sight of him in the swollen creek, she and Jack and Tayo had piled into the Anglia and driven at break-neck speed to a popular picnic spot a mile or so downstream from the bridge. Downstream also from a section of treacherous rapids, notorious for the destruction regularly exacted on watercraft and human beings alike, even when the creek wasn't so dangerously swollen as it was that night.
Once there, they split up and began a frantic search. Kate and Jack went upstream and Tayo headed down. Jack spotted Sam almost immediately, snagged by a branch, face down in the water. Together, they pulled him ashore, laying him flat on his back on the grassy bank. They screamed for Tayo to come, but he must have been too far away to hear. It was all over by the time he doubled back and found them.
There was no way of knowing how long since he stopped breathing but he was their brother and there
was no way they could not try to resuscitate him. After clearing his airway and performing CPR for what seemed like hours, Sam finally coughed up a lungful of water and began breathing stertorously on his own. The relief they felt at that moment was impossible to describe. Unfortunately, it was short-lived. They waited impatiently for him to rouse, but he remained deeply unconscious. Barely breathing, he was oblivious to their encouraging words, and as the seconds passed, their desperate entreaties. Insane with fear, Kate picked up Sam's freezing hand and tentatively probed his body with her mind, searching for some injury to explain his unresponsiveness.
She finally located a fracture at the base of his skull. It was bad, but she thought she could fix it and that everything would be alright. And she did fix it, mending the fracture and stopping the superficial bleeding. Unfortunately, his brain was already swollen and bruised; damaged also from oxygen deprivation. She tried to reverse the devastation, delving into and attempting to repair the deeper brain tissue, but it soon became obvious she didn't know what she was doing. She had always healed by instinct, but instinct wasn't enough in this case. Her limited experience as a healer and her inadequate knowledge of anatomy and physiology was simply insufficient for such a delicate task. She realised in horror that she was actually doing more harm than good. His pulse was becoming more erratic... She was losing him. He was fading away right before her eyes.
She had failed.
Failed her brave, sweet Sam. Failed him when he needed her the most. What use was she if she couldn't help the ones she loved!
Gently, she placed his cold, blue hand on the ground by his side and forced herself to meet Jack's eye. Forced herself to say the words. “It's no use, Jack. There's nothing I can do.” Grief erupted from her as the full realisation of her inadequacy hit home. She pitched forward, emitting a terrible keening sound that did nothing to relieve the agony of her loss. Jack pulled her to him and they clung fiercely to one another, unable to let go. “He's gone, Jack,” she sobbed, over and over. “He's gone.”