“I’m not sure he will,” said Grace, shaking her head, then looking towards the station house. “Quick, we have to go before he comes back.”
“I have to get Ham.”
Grace rolled her eyes as Tom headed back to the yard. She couldn’t stand waiting for him inside the station so she went and stood in the street, glancing nervously around at the few people about. When Tom returned with Ham in the crook of his arm they set off.
They made for the cemetery and walked up through it and then followed the old sliprail fence that separated the bush from the paddocks. After a few hundred yards they jumped the fence and slipped in under the trees. When they reached the tumble of rocks at the base of the Rock they stopped to catch their breath.
“Do you think he meant here?”
“Must have,” Grace panted.
They waited there for an hour and then for another but still Billy did not appear. Tom had a sick feeling in his stomach and when he looked at Grace he could tell that she did too.
“He’s not coming,” she said, finally, and he didn’t argue with her. She stood and started walking back towards town. He stood too, but stopped to listen one last time. There was nothing but the wind in the trees overhead and the chattering of a small bird close by. Nothing else. He followed Grace at a distance for a while, then stopped again and looked around. Nothing behind him. Nothing up the slope either. He picked up Ham and put him in the crook of his arm, continuing along behind Grace, but every so often the sensation that something was following, ghosting along through the trees above and to his right, returned, and he would stop and listen and stare off into the puzzle of green, brown and grey.
When he heard something rustling through the undergrowth up ahead he stopped. A red-bellied black snake slithered out across the path and then disappeared into the grass on the other side. He put Ham down to sniff the track of the snake and then he closed his eyes and listened. He could almost feel the spin of the world beneath him. He threw out his arms for balance, dizzy, and then his arms went cold and his hairs pricked as something brushed by him. He opened his eyes and spun around but there was nothing there. He shook his head. Grace was calling him. He could hear the annoyance in her voice and his heart sank as he caught up.
When they reached the cemetery they looked down at the town and then at each other.
“We have to go and tell Pop what we did,” said Grace.
“I did it, not you.”
“He’s going to kill me anyway.”
“I’ll say you were somewhere else.”
“He’ll know you’re lying. He’s a policeman, remember? He’ll just know.”
Tom nodded. He felt empty inside and unable to think straight. He waited for Grace to make a move so he could follow.
“I can’t face him just yet,” she said, her face pale.
“What do you want to do?” he asked, a little surprised.
“I know somewhere. We can get a drink. Aren’t you thirsty?”
“Yeah, I am.”
Tom followed her along the cemetery fence. They skirted the town before cutting through a back lane to Springline Road. They stayed on the road for half a mile and then crawled under the barbed-wire fence at its side. He followed her in through the trees until they came to the creek. Grace went to the edge and drank. She sat down and wiped her mouth with her arm and began to pick up small stones from the ground to throw into the water. Tom stood in the shade for a moment and listened to the water tumbling over the rocks and the soft rustle of the trees overhead. Ferns dipped gently in the breeze and dappled sunlight fell across the little clearing they were in. By a tree was a little collection of boards and a circle of river rocks and as he went and drank at the creek himself he wondered who had put them there and for what purpose.
They sat for what seemed like another hour, Grace throwing stones ever more forcefully into the creek. A cloud came over and plunged everything into gloomy shadow and it began to look like it might rain. Tom edged over to where Grace was, very slowly, until he was only a few feet away, but even then she didn’t acknowledge him or look up.
“Did you . . . did you and Darcy used to come here?” he stuttered, waving his hand at the boards. “Was that your cubby?”
She looked up and glared at him.
“Yes.”
She stood and took a few steps away and then, before he could say anything else, she stopped and turned on him.
“I bloody wish you hadn’t let him out!” she shouted, her voice fierce. “I bloody well wish you hadn’t!”
She turned round and ran. A little stunned, Tom hesitated for a moment before following. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want her to be angry with him as well. He needed her, needed someone beside him, and the sight of her disappearing away through the trees made him feel even sicker, even emptier than he had before. His vision became blurred by tears and he stopped and dropped to his knees. His gut wrenched and the water he’d drunk earlier and what was left of his breakfast came up and out of him, bitter and hot. He retched and retched until there was nothing left and when it was finally over he sensed her near him. He was too ashamed to look up.
“What’s the matter?” she asked him. She still sounded angry.
“I don’t know.”
She pulled him up by the arm and helped him over to the water.
“Drink,” she said, and he did.
She waited for him to feel a little better and then she put her hand on his shoulder.
“Come on,” she said, firmly, but in a gentler tone. “We have to go back now. We really have to.”
He nodded.
He followed her for ten minutes or so through the trees and then he saw something move up ahead of them and off to the right. At first he thought it was Billy crouching there but when he was a few steps closer he saw it wasn’t him at all.
“Grace,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Stop.”
“What is it now?” she snapped, turning round.
Leper, one of Sonny Steele’s dogs, was standing in the long grass on the other side of the creek. He was a big dog; a mostly black mongrel with heavily muscled shoulders and a square head. He looked as if he had been put together using only the meanest parts of half a dozen other dogs. As Tom watched, Leper’s ears pricked up and then flattened against the top of his head and his tongue came out and did a circuit of his snout.
“Just keep walking, slowly,” he whispered to Grace.
Tom thought she seemed quite calm really, for someone who was supposed to be afraid of dogs, but then she began to back away, tripping over bushes and tussocks of grass as she went. Tom tried to follow her but then Leper saw Ham, who hadn’t seen or smelt the bigger dog yet, and crossed the creek. Tom, his heart thumping madly in his chest, opened his mouth and screamed out a warning.
“Ham!”
He imagined, in a flash, Leper swallowing the little dog whole, like a giant bean. He saw himself cutting open Leper’s belly just in time, giving Ham a second bloody birth. Then he realised that he had no knife, and that Leper wouldn’t swallow Ham whole, but would crush him instead between those awful jaws.
Ham saw or sensed Leper coming and yelped like he’d been kicked. There was a clump of lantana bush nearby and he headed straight into it. As the big dog came past after him Tom threw himself across his back, digging his fingers into his coat to try and halt him. He flailed his arms, felt the dog’s domed skull under the loose skin of his head, but then Leper shook himself free of Tom’s grip and turned, momentarily, to see what had had the nerve to get in his way. Growling, the dog looked down at Tom sprawled on the ground. Tom smelt his wet fur, his hot, meaty breath, heard his breath hissing through the narrow races of his nostrils, and then the dog lifted his head and leapt off after Ham. Tom pulled himself up. He could just see Ham wriggling away through the maze of lantana, but he could also see that the big dog was intent on forcing his way in behind him.
“Grace! Help!” he yelled, but Gr
ace had put her head down and her arms round her ears. She didn’t even look up.
He looked around. The only weapons he could see were the stones in the creekbed. He went and picked one up—his legs shaking—and carried it over to where Leper was thrusting his head and shoulders into the undergrowth. He was very close to Ham but had been slowed by the lantana and seemed unable to move forward any further. Ham crouched only a foot or so away from Leper’s jaws and was so still that Tom, for a moment, thought he was already dead.
“No, you don’t, bastard!” he yelled. He lifted up the rock and brought it down as hard as he could upon Leper’s back. The dog yelped, although after that there seemed to be no other effect, as if he were dealing with a dog with workings of cog and pulley rather than flesh and bone, but then he began to growl and pull himself free of the lantana. Tom knew he was angry and he knew there was only a little time—and maybe one chance. He went and picked up another rock from the creek and threw it at the dog just as he was about to wriggle free. Leper’s back legs buckled, then straightened out again. He turned himself round, struggled to his feet, walked away with his back legs stiff and swinging from side to side. Tom followed him. He picked up the heavier rock he’d thrown first and hoisted it once more at the growling, snarling dog. The rock landed a glancing blow on the dog’s head and stunned him into silence. He stood for a moment, licking his chops, his back legs trembling. Tom picked up the rock again and threw it as the dog tried to escape through the grass, dragging his back legs behind him. When he stopped for a moment Tom took the opportunity to get closer and take more careful aim. He lifted the rock and brought it down across the top of the dog’s head with all his strength. He heard a wet crack. He picked up the rock and threw it again. This time the rock’s sharper edge opened a vein in the dog’s head and blood scythed out across the bank. Tom lifted the rock, brought it down, again and again, until the dog’s fur was soaked with his own blood and there was blood on Tom’s own arms and legs. Finally, breathing hard, he stopped and let the rock fall from his hands. Leper twisted over onto his back, his jaws working soundlessly, and showed him his belly as if begging for a scratch. Then he went still. A bow of yellow piss shot up and his legs kicked out. A shit came churning out of his arse and fell into the grass.
Tom stared down at the dog’s body and prodded it with his foot. The rock had flayed off a flap of skin near the muzzle and Leper looked as though he was grinning. Tom turned away and went over to Grace.
“Grace,” he said. “It’s all right now. It’s dead. I killed it.”
Grace lifted her head, slowly, until she could see the body of the dog.
“See?”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I see.”
He left her and went back to where he’d last seen Ham. On hands and knees he fished around in the lantana until he had hold of his back legs and could pull him free. The little dog was trembling violently and he could feel no pause at all between the beats of his heart. He stood, cradling him like a baby, and walked back to Grace.
“He’s all right. Ham’s all right.”
“Good. That’s good.”
He put Ham down and went to the creek and washed the blood off his hands and arms. Ham sniffed Leper’s still body from the tip of his tail to his wet nose. Tom finished washing and then helped Grace to her feet.
“Come on,” he said. “We should go. Sonny might come.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
22
There was soft rain falling in the courtyard when Gibson shuffled past on his way down to the showers. He looked at his watch. It was just after three o’clock. He’d slept most of the day away, but his head still screamed to be horizontal, and cushioned. He yawned and looked at himself in the mirror. He thought he looked about five years older than the last time he’d inspected himself. He shook his head, picked up his brush and shaving soap, and began to build up some lather. When he had a good amount on the end of the brush he lifted his hand up, but then he stopped, staring at the whiskery Gibson before him. It was a minute or so before he blinked and realised he’d come to a standstill, stalled. He shook his head again. He shaved and rinsed his face then slapped after-shave onto his raw skin, the evaporating alcohol making him sneeze.
He walked into town and when he reached the main street he saw Pop sitting on the police station’s front step smoking a cigarette, a grim look about him. He crossed the street and walked up the path. When he reached Pop he saw, inside the station, Grace and Tom sitting with their backs to the wall on two wooden chairs. They glanced up when they noticed him and he saw their shoulders move as each let go of the other’s hand. Grace looked back down at the floor. Tom looked out at him with a clear, steady gaze, and only after quite a time did he look away, as if he had seen quite enough and all he needed.
“Gibson,” said Pop. “Thought I’d seen the last of you.”
“Nope. Still here.”
He gestured to Pop’s office. “Your prisoners don’t look too happy in there.”
Pop didn’t look round. “They’re not in my good books.”
“Why, what happened?”
“Billy Flood turned up out at Ezra’s early this morning. Drunk. I had him in a cell out back to sleep it off. These two,” he said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder, “let him out.”
Gibson looked up at them. Grace looked away, shamefaced. Tom inspected his hands. Gibson let out a long, incredulous whistle as Pop continued.
“He told young Tom he’d show him where to find Flynn. Said he wouldn’t tell anyone if he wasn’t let out. I don’t doubt Billy’s learnt some cunning in his time, but if these two learn nothing from this they’ll sure remember how hard those chairs were.”
Gibson almost smiled. “How long they been there?”
“Couple of hours.”
“You’re a hard man, Sarge,” Gibson joked weakly.
Pop gave him a look. “No, I’m not. I’ve just never been quite so angry in my life. I think they’re getting off pretty light.”
Gibson nodded. “You’ve had a look for him?”
“No point. He’ll have headed for the bush.”
Gibson went and sat down beside him. “Borrow a smoke?” he said.
“Here,” said Pop, handing him the tin. “Help yourself.”
They watched cars pass in the street as the day began to wind down. Every so often someone would see Pop sitting there and wave or raise their hand and Pop would give a slight nod in return. Gibson smoked and watched and thought.
“You look tuckered out, Gibson,” said Pop, after a while. “You hungry?”
“No, not really.”
“I am. Getting close to feeding time. You won’t join us? These two won’t be eating tonight.”
“No. Thanks anyway.”
The lowering sun caught the webs of spiders in the trees across the street and gilded them. It lit up tiny insects in the evening air as they described arcs and things unknown. The belly of a passing cloud turned shades of red, orange, and purple and then the streetlight elements flickered on inside their glass cases. A magpie atop the metal-capped power pole began to sing evensong to its fellows across the valley and a band of grubby kids came tearing out of a lane. Girls with a hopscotch panel at their feet threw stones onto the footpath and watched each other’s turn, oblivious to all else.
“This is a good place, isn’t it,” said Gibson.
“It’s as good a place as any.”
“Think you’ll ever leave?”
“Nope. What? Thinking of moving here?”
Gibson shook his head. “No. I don’t think I’d fit in somehow.”
Pop nodded and looked intently at Gibson for a time.
“What’s the matter, son? What’s happened? All the fight seems to have gone out of you.”
“I went out to see if I could find Smith,” said Gibson, after a long pause.
“And?”
“He’s dead. Horace Flood told me that.”
“Oh. I see.”
&
nbsp; “You know, I came up here because I thought if I could find out why Darcy did what she did it would help me understand why my own sister did the same. Then I thought I’d found some kind of reason why somebody would want to take young Flynn. I thought it was Ezra Steele at first, but not even Henry agreed. I thought if he was capable of that, maybe he was capable of . . . anything.”
“You’re talking about Darcy.”
“Course I am, but I’ve ended up with nothing.”
“That’s hardly a sin, Gibson,” said Pop, putting his hand on his shoulder briefly. “You saw some hope and chased after it.”
“Yeah.”
“Look at Billy. Look at what he went and did this morning. Maybe he saw the same thing in Darcy that you did. We’re only human. We see the things we want to see.”
“Yeah, maybe. But when I found her down there I thought I’d walked into the one place in the world I was needed most. You know? Now why did I think that? Why?”
“Why? You mean why you? Why here? You’re talking about designs beyond our understanding.”
“And you’re talking about God again.”
“Maybe I am, but you’re asking for a reason and that’s all I can come up with.”
“But it’s not so much to ask, is it? To know why? To have a little peace?”
“No, of course it’s not. But you’ve tried, Gibson, what else can you do? I’m sorry about your sister, but maybe for some questions there are no answers. Maybe . . .”
“What?”
“Maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong place altogether.”
“Where do you think I should be looking then?”
“I don’t think you’ve even set foot there.”
“Where?”
“The country of the mind, Gibson,” said Pop, catching his eye. “The country of the self.”
Gibson shook his head and tried to give Pop a dirty look but his heart wasn’t in it.
“I’d just get lost,” he said.
Pop smiled. “Oh, I don’t know. I really don’t. But look, one day, young Tom will remember what happened when he was lost. I know it. Maybe the same will happen for you.”
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