Dark Confluence

by Rosemary Fryth

  “So physically, I’m fine?”

  He nodded, “Now, I must go. However, I’ve booked you in for a check-up in six months’ time. The nurse will mail you a reminder closer to the date.” He stared again at her pale face, “If you wish, I can get the nurses to book an appointment with the resident psychologist?”

  Jen gulped and shook her head abruptly, “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  He stood and opened the door for her, “Very well, now don’t be worrying, Ms McDonald, there is nothing to fret about. Just let nature take its course.”

  As Jen left the hospital, she felt unsure if she should be relieved or not by the Doctor’s cheerful prognosis. Although, she was grateful that there seemed to be no physical cause for her visions, her worry worm remained fed with thoughts of mental illness or insanity. She stopped suddenly, mentally berating herself. She refused to allow herself to sink into hypochondria, vowing that all future visions should be chalked down to simply an overactive imagination.

  A day or two later, while taking a break from her proofreading, Jen sat out on the verandah with a cup of tea by her side. The book was going well, only three more chapters to go, and then she could send the completed proofing back to the client. The mundane wrestling with words seemed to calm her and she was able to put the last unsettling week to the back of her mind. She glanced at the watch on her wrist. It seemed to have stopped. She shook it and the hands refused to move. She sighed, yet another thing to deal with. However not today, she closed her eyes and let the balm of the late afternoon summer sun gently warm her bare legs and arms.

  “Mind the sun, would burn one as fair as you”

  Jen’s eyes fluttered reluctantly open. In front of her, stood a young man aged about nineteen, who regarded her appraisingly with direct leaf-green eyes.

  She glanced out to the yard beyond him. There was no car, nor had she heard the local and infrequent bus.

  “Can I help you?”

  He introduced himself, “I am Fionn.”

  “Jen,” they shook hands, his touch was cool and unsettling to her skin.

  “Mind if I sit?”

  She shook her head. He sat on the top step near her feet. She studied him; he was slender and wore a non-descript pair of faded grey jeans, and a loose fitting collared black shirt. His hair, which was the colour of sun-bleached linen, fell straight about his shoulders. If she had been thirty years younger, she might have felt shy of this pale, handsome youth. As it was, he seemed young enough to be her son.

  “You have an interesting name, Fionn. Are you Irish?”

  He smiled tightly and her heart gave an odd lurch, “More or less.”

  “Then you’ve wandered a long way to end up on my doorstep,” she replied. “What would a young man like you be doing here?”

  He smiled at her again, this time the smile reached his eyes, “I’m older than I look.”

  “Very likely and direct off the flight from Dublin, going by that fair skin of yours,” she observed. “You shouldn’t be the one to lecture me on the perils of the southern sun. Still, you didn’t answer my question.”

  He stared at her with a smile hovering about his sensual lips. “You are not yet ready for my answer. So I would ask you a question instead.”

  Jen nodded, humouring him, “Ask away, young Fionn.”

  “If you could be given anything your heart desires, what would it be?”

  Jen narrowed her eyes, taking in the perfect face of the young man who called himself Fionn. She thought to herself, ‘My heart’s desire? I have home, hearth, am reasonably financially independent, what more could I want?’ An answer insinuated itself into her mind yet she flicked it away. Thirty years of loveless life could not be reclaimed. It was something that had to be accepted.

  “What would I want, out of all the things in the world?”

  He nodded, staring intently at her.

  “A measure of happiness, I guess. It is all that anyone ever wants.”

  “Yet, happiness can be a double-edge blade,” the youth observed, leaning back and staring intently into her face.

  “How so?” she asked, intrigued by their odd conversation.

  “Well, what might give you happiness might yet cause grief or pain to another.” He grinned wickedly and her mouth grew suddenly dry. “After all, I am sure even the most evil of men gained a certain perverse happiness from their horrid acts upon others.”

  “Is that your intent here?” she asked. “To seduce me with fine words and then rob me to feed a drug habit? I warn you, there is little of value in my house.”

  He glanced inside and laughed, “Of that I am sure, no riches abide within. Do not be alarmed. I was merely in the neighbourhood, and saw you sitting there at peace and I wished to converse with you.” He smiled gravely at her, “So you would ask for happiness without harming another. That could be a martyr’s choice, Jen.”

  “Perhaps so,” she agreed, “Perhaps, true happiness can only be attained through self-sacrifice.”

  He looked at her directly, as if examining her heart. “I perceive a life of self-sacrifice already.”

  Then he stood as if to leave, yet he bent forward, and to her utter surprise, placed a kiss upon her pale brow.

  “You possess a gentle soul for one of your kind,” he whispered quietly against her ear. “For what is coming, I am truly sorry.”

  Then, he stepped back and shockingly, faded completely away.

  Jen looked around. It was now completely dark, and her tea, forgotten and unheeded, was stone cold.

  She shook her head and stood, feeling a little disorientated. A dream she thought, she must have fallen asleep in the sun. Immediately, she dismissed it from her mind. Yet the feel of his lips upon her skin, disturbingly remained with her for the rest of that day and night.

  *

  Chapter 5

  There was a sudden knock on her door and Jen looked up from the breakfast she had been preparing. Glancing at the kitchen clock, she frowned. It was just after 6am, too early for visitors. Turning the heat off her scrambled eggs, she tightened the dressing-gown cord about her waist and cautiously opened the door.

  Standing on her verandah was her farmer neighbour, Brett Robinson. He was a young man in his late twenties and clad in faded denim jeans, scuffed work boots, and a light grey cotton shirt that gaped open revealing a sun-bronzed neck and chest. On his head was a battered and misshapen bush hat, which going by the look of it had seen many years of constant wear.

  “Come in, Brett, what brings you out visiting so early.”

  He leant on her doorframe filling it with his lanky height. He squinted down at her, “I won’t stay Jen, just here to warn you. Do you have any dogs or cats?”

  “No, at least not since old Harry died last year.”

  Brett nodded, “Ah Harry, I remember him, wasn’t he a kelpie-cross?”

  “Yes, he was. A good dog too, pity he died of a tick.” Her eyes clouded with past sorrow, “I took him to the vet, but he was too far gone, paralysis had set in.”

  Brett shrugged his wide shoulders, “Yeah, those ticks can be buggers. Ya gotta watch ‘em, summer is the worst time.”

  Jen nodded, “Yeah, he died last summer; was seventeen, a good age for a dog.”

  “Agreed, perhaps it’s best he’s dead. Given what has been happening.”

  Jen frowned, “What has been happening?”

  “Dunno Jen, a few of us have lost small animals the last few days. They vanish, and then later found dead. Mutilated, as if something’s had a go at them, some are literally torn to shreds.”

  Jen shuddered, “What do you think is doing it?”

  “Hard to tell, perhaps a feral dog is attacking them, or maybe a fox. I’ve not seen the like. Anyway, just warning households to keep their small animals in at night until we catch whatever is killing them. I’ll be laying baits too, Jen, so mind you don’t touch anything on the ground.”

  Jen nodded, “Thanks for letting me know.”
>
  “No problem, I’m off to alert the next house.”

  Jen glanced at the heavy and menacing clouds that were building up on the horizon, “You’d best be quick, Brett, looks like we’re in for some wet weather soon.”

  He nodded, “Yeah, I heard on the radio that there is rough weather ahead,” and then waving goodbye, he was gone.

  Jen turned to go back to her half cooked breakfast and stopped, a thought niggling at the back of her mind. The odd dream from yesterday had returned to trouble her again. What was it the young man had said yesterday? Something about being sorry about what was to come. A shiver of dread travelled down her spine. Surely, that encounter yesterday was just a dream, or was it? Right now, Jen honestly did not know, and did not want to know.

  She took the scrambled eggs off the stove and transferred them to a plate. Fetching her cup of tea from the bench, she took both to the kitchen table and settled down to have breakfast. She hadn’t eaten more than a mouthful of her eggs, when she pulled a face, and spat the remains out onto a paper towel. The eggs had tasted horrid, yet she knew that they had been only newly bought only yesterday. Perhaps the milk had turned, but she had recently bought it as well and it was certainly within its use-by-date.

  Opening her fridge, she smelt the milk – phew. Yes, the milk had soured. Time for the new carton she had bought yesterday – and again, that too had turned. Puzzled, she poured the contents of both cartons down the sink and binned the remains of her meal. Breakfast would simply have to be toast and juice today.

  By the time she had finished her meal, showered and dressed, the rain was drumming a thunderous rhythm on her tin roof. Grabbing an umbrella, she locked the front door and ran to where her car was parked by the side of the house. Hastily, she threw her bag in the back and sat down in the driver’s seat, her open sandals oozing mud and water. She flicked on the radio, deciding to delay her trip until the rain had diminished enough to see her way out of the driveway. The news was just finishing and she sat watching the raindrops pelting against the front windscreen of the car and waiting for the weather report to come on.

  The radio hissed and crackled, so she turned the volume up trying to catch what was being said.

  “... the weather service has indicated that a deep low-pressure system has formed off the Sunshine Coast and will cause above average rainfall and damaging winds across all adjacent regions ...Fraser Island to Brisbane... are warned that flash flooding may occur and that they are not to attempt to cross flooded roads....indication that this low pressure system will develop into a cyclone...warning signals have gone out to all small boats, and that swimmers are advised that dangerous surf conditions...strong wind gusts have been recorded from Tewantin to...beach closures are expected north of...next full report due...”

  Jen switched off the radio and contemplated her trip to the shops. Not only the milk needed replacing, but also additional supplies, in case the weather turned especially bad. She had never experienced a cyclone this far south, but the recent cyclones further north had been widely covered on the news, so she had a good idea what to expect.

  A few minutes later, the rain eased sufficiently for her windscreen wipers to be moderately effective, so she pulled out of her driveway and onto the road. Carefully, she made the drive into town.

  Turning into the supermarket carpark, Jen noted that a number of people were already there ahead of her. She parked as close to the entrance as she was able, and ran inside, at the same time attempting to shield herself with the now ineffectual umbrella. She shook herself dry and stared at the crowd milling around the supermarket entrance. Amid the hubbub, she dimly heard a loudspeaker announcement.

  “Shoppers, please be patient. Milk supplies are being unloaded now. However, each person will be rationed one three-litre bottle each, until our regular supplies arrive later today. We can assure you that this milk is fresh, it is newly delivered from our sister-store in Nambour.”

  “What happened?” Jen asked the young mother standing close by.

  “Haven’t you heard?” the woman replied. “The supermarket’s entire stock of milk spoilt overnight.”

  Jen’s mouth dropped open, “I had the same problem!”

  “As did all of us,” she replied, her baby fretting at her shoulder. “Every drop of fresh milk turned bad. The only milk that did not spoil was the powdered variety. The supermarket is blaming the supplier. Yet I’ve heard that the supplier reckons there was nothing wrong with the batch.”

  “How very odd,” Jen exclaimed.

  “Oh good, they are opening the doors,” and with a quick smile, the young mum had vanished into the press of people surging forward.

  Jen duly received her three-litre bottle of milk from the attendant at the dairy cabinet, and then hurried on to get the other supplies she wanted in case the storm crossed the coast. Ticking off batteries, matches, bread, powdered milk, a spare bottle of kerosene and bottled water from her list she threw into her trolley a dozen tinned and dehydrated meals as well. Leaning down to replenish her stock of candles, she heard an ear-piercing shriek of laughter, and looking around she saw an entire stacked display of tinned fruit go tumbling off the shelves and land right at the feet of a startled cashier.

  She hurried over, “Are you okay?”

  The young man frowned at her and motioned her closer.

  Jen repeated her question a little louder this time.

  “I’m fine.” He looked at the mess of tins on the floor and slowly bent to start restacking them. “It’s so strange. I saw no one near, and then suddenly, the tins were all on the floor. I’m positive they were stacked properly.”

  “Then you didn’t hear the laugh?”

  He looked shook his head, “What laugh?” He grinned suddenly, “Mind you, at the moment a bomb could go off and I’d not notice. Spent last night clubbing on the coast, and I’ve had a loud ringing in the ears since.” He looked around, “I reckon it must have been an earth tremor.”

  “Yet, nothing else fell,” Jen pointed out.

  “True,” he agreed, “Nothing else fell.”

  Jen walked back to her abandoned trolley, her mind racing. What was going on?

  Outside, the rain continued to pelt down, and a fresh wind had picked up, blowing the rain sideways at times. Jen, her hands burdened by several plastic bags filled with groceries, stumbled to the car. She was drenched through by the time she had deposited the bags in the boot of the car and opened the driver’s door. Wiping the water droplets from her glasses, she turned on the demister and put the windscreen wipers on the highest setting.

  The drive back to her house was hairy indeed. Visibility had been reduced to only a few metres and wind gusts buffeted the car, rocking it on its suspension. She peered anxiously out at the road as she slowly retraced her route back to her home. It was with a profound sense of relief that she turned into her driveway and eased the car as close to her front steps as she was able.

  Once inside, she sloughed off her wet things into the washing machine and had a hot shower, changing into dry clothes. Slowly and mechanically, she put away the groceries, listening as the rain hammered mercilessly on the tin roof. She turned on the radio, and then gave up as an immediate chorus of whistles and crackles made listening impossible. Shrugging, she decided that the best course of action was to return to work, there were those three chapters left to do. If she put her mind to it, she might get it finished by this evening.

  She turned on the computer, and immediately, the screen started to flicker. Alarmed she did a restart, but no change. The computer was acting as oddly as the radio. Annoyed, she shut it down and stood staring at the window, watching the distant trees bending and moving, and the house was imperceptibly shaking in the increasing wind. Despite being almost midday the rain and clouds had plunged the countryside into a creepy grey-green half-light. There was a sudden rattle of hail on the roof and immediately there was a sharp crack, almost like a rifle shot. Inadvertently, Jen jumped and all the lights wen
t off in the house.

  Cursing to herself, Jen stumbled around in the dark, finally locating a kero-lamp in the laundry and lighting it. In the eerie half-light, the fury of the storm was readily apparent. She pushed open a curtain and peered outside. The rain was being driven almost horizontal and tree branches were whipped from side to side. A waterfall cascaded from her roof as the holes in the guttering opened up under the cloudburst. Every so often, the house shuddered on its foundations, as a strong gust of wind hit it. Alarmed, Jen hugged herself, not wanting to watch the storm. Yet, she was fascinated despite her fears. She stared up at the flying clouds, watching as the rain squalls moved across the countryside. As she watched, a brilliant, mind-searing shaft of light flashed before her eyes, and before she could blink, she glimpsed with shocked eyes, a dozen or so ghostly horsemen cavorting about in the dark sky. Suddenly, the ground shook and an earth-shattering bang threw her back on her heels and sent her scurrying for the relative safety of the bathroom. Crouching fearfully, she felt the house tremble, and then settle again. Her ears rang from the deafening clap of thunder and she distinctly smelt ozone. Distantly, yet distinctly, she heard a high pealing laughter, then it was gone, and the wind picked up again, howling through the eaves.