by J M Donellan
“Goodnight, Jack. Sleep well,” she whispers into Callum’s shoulder. Everything smells like disinfectant.
***
Rosaline’s eyes flutter open as though she were Sleeping Beauty. She brushes hair out of her eyes and murmurs, “Freya? Callum? Where am I?”
“Hospital. You’re suffering from smoke inhalation, but you’re going to be fine,” says Callum.
“We made it! We escaped! Gosh, that place went up so quickly didn’t it? Like it was covered in gasoline!”
“It was filled with highly flammable synthetics and electronics, basically an arsonist’s wet dream,” says Freya.
“I’m so glad we’re all okay!” Rosaline pauses and studies their faces. “Oh…oh, dear. We’re not all okay, are we?” She checks their expressions again. “It’s Jack, isn’t it? The poor, poor thing…Frey, are you alright?” She takes Freya’s hand and gives it a squeeze.
“He’s in a coma, Ros. He might never wake up,” Freya says quietly, her eyes red from both the smoke and tears.
“I’m sorry to say that I know exactly how you feel. Elijah? What about—?”
“He’s dead. Harland and Evelyn, too. They couldn’t get out of the house in time.”
Rosaline’s chin slumps to her chest and her lip starts to quiver. “Oh…oh, God…”
Freya hugs her close, the first time she has dared such a manoeuvre, but Rosaline shakes herself free and yelps, “Look at my dress! My dress is fucking ruined!”
34
Part of the Family
***
Freya guides the razor over his face, carving paths in the foam. When she is finished she runs her hand slowly over his freshly shaven cheeks and dries him off. The television drones in the background; some appalling American melodrama about lawyers and their lovers. She only keeps it on so she has other human voices nearby, something to save her from the constant beep beep beep of Jack’s monitors.
She opens the minibar and removes a bottle of vodka, which she finds even more appealing in petite packaging. She mixes it with ginger beer, throws in a couple of ice cubes and walks out to the hotel balcony. After six weeks, the view from twenty-eight storeys up still fills her with a combination of awe and nausea.
She scans the lights, the river, the horizon and, as always, she looks out towards the charred remains of the Vincetti mansion. During the day she can just make it out, a black dot among a cluster of luxury houses, as though someone has smeared a landscape painting with a careless smudge of charcoal. At night, however, it is disguised as blackness blended with blackness. She sits and sips at her drink, taking her time, watching the cars rush back and forth from somewhere to nowhere and back again.
She rises from her seat at the sound of the door opening to reveal Rosaline carrying an elongated paper bag and Callum bearing a cardboard carry tray filled with coffee cups.
“Watch the coffee,” warns Callum, holding the tray out at arm’s length from his body as Freya hugs him.
“I love you, Cal. Did I ever tell you that?”
“Usually when you’ve been drinking, yes. How’s Jack?”
“You know these charming artistic types, always so elusive and taciturn. Rosaline, I know I’ve said this before but I can’t thank you enough for organising this place for me. You know I’d be just as happy in a cheap motel.”
Rosaline smiles and flicks her hand in a gesture of friendly dismissal. “Don’t be silly! It’s all on the company bill anyway. It’s no trouble.”
“Yes, how’s it all going at Halcyon HQ?” asks Freya, leading them out to the balcony. They sit around the small glass table, their legs and feet warped and clouded by its surface. The city hums and buzzes beneath them.
“Good! Well, mostly good. I mean, the board is still more or less the same awful, corrupt, exploitative cretins as before—”
“You didn’t manage to get any of those scumbags turfed?” asks Callum.
“Well, no. Even with the Vincettis gone and all of my shares in the company, I mean, I don’t really understand all the legal stuff, but a corporation’s not quite like a kingdom you know? There are always more people waiting in the ranks to keep the wheels spinning. I guess it’s kind of like the Mafia, or, what was that animal in Greek mythology where you cut off its head and two new ones would grow back?”
“The Hydra,” offers Freya, opening the lid of her coffee cup and pouring in a satchel of sugar.
“Right! So I guess, Halcyon has had its main heads cut off, but I’m afraid it’s still pretty much business as usual, except that because of all the mess, the big merger with the Davies Group and Happymax has fallen through, so that’s a good thing, right Freya?”
“Yes. It is. It means that they won’t have a near monopoly on pharmaceutical production and distribution. That’s a huge deal.”
Callum scowls sceptically. “So, instead of one big evil company controlling the world’s medicine, it’s controlled by three slightly smaller evil companies?”
“Well…I guess…” concedes Rosaline.
“Business as usual then.”
“Pretty much,” Freya agrees as she lifts the cup to her mouth and grimaces.
“This smell weird to you? The milk off or something?”
Callum sniffs. “Nope, it’s fine. So Rosaline, what about Firmatel? Freya said you had some good news to share.”
She claps excitedly and grabs Freya’s hands. “Yes! That’s the best part! Firmatel is all mine. The lawyers managed to negotiate a complete buy-out. Daddy would have been so proud! And our charity division is all ready to go; we’re going to donate thirty percent of all profits from our toys to fund hospitals and schools in developing countries. Niki is partnering with an NGO to set up the Maria Suarez Hospital in Bogotá and Freya, you’re going to do such an amazing job overseeing the development of a brand new clinic in East Timor for the next four months!”
“Ros, you are a saint. I won’t let you down, I promise. As soon as we’ve finished assembling Jack’s medical escort I will be on a plane over there.”
“Oh, shut up, you’re going to be fantastic of course! And, and, and! Look, I have a prototype to show you! From our new line of dolls, we’re going to start making boys too, kind of like Barbie and Ken, except ours will have realistic bodies.”
Rosaline reaches into the bag and removes a slender white box. She opens it slowly, her fingers slipping under the cardboard folds and peeling them open with a sense of quiet ceremony. She slides a small humanoid figure covered in tissue paper out of the box and carefully unravels it. Freya stares at the plastic rendering of those repulsively familiar features and forces a smile. Rosaline unwraps the rest of him, revealing a green and gold ski suit, complete with two silver medals hanging around his neck and ski poles gripped between his rigid hands. “This is Winter Champion Elijah! It was…um…it was going to be Winter Olympian Elijah, but there was a copyright issue. Isn’t he perfect?”
Freya smiles and takes the doll in her hands, examines its bright blue eyes and roguish smile. “He is, Rosaline. He’s perfect.” She hands the doll back to Rosaline and wipes her hands on her jeans.
Freya picks up the coffee cup again and sips from it. “Fuck, that is disgusting!” She slams it back on the table and runs to the sink to spit, then turns on the tap and washes out her mouth. Callum picks up the coffee cup, sips at it and frowns at Rosaline.
“What’s wrong with it?” she asks.
“Nothing. It tastes fine.”
Rosaline walks over to Freya and rubs her back gently. “Frey, honey, you okay?”
“Yeah, I think the milk was spoilt. Tasted like microwaved puke. Just let me sit down.” Freya returns to her seat and tips her head back, groaning.
“The milk tastes fine, Freya. I got it from Brew, you usually like their coffee.”
“I love their coffee, Callum. I love it with all of my h
eart and most of my liver. But I…ugh…I can’t handle the smell right now, for some reason.”
“Have you been unwell, Frey?” asks Callum.
“I think maybe the height is getting to me up here. I’ve had a little dizziness, nausea. Also I have this constant craving for peanut butter and licorice. What? Why are you making the same face you made when I told you that I was going on a date with a guy I met in a strip club?”
Freya reaches for her Moscow Mule and Callum snatches it away from her, frowning. “Freya, I think maybe that’s not such a good idea.”
“Why? What the fuck is going on?”
Rosaline grins like she is about to burst into song, puts her arm around Freya and murmurs sweetly, “Do you want me to design the nursery for you?”
35
Home
***
Jane opens the hotel door to find Freya sitting in her underwear with a cigarette between her fingers. The hotel room is a catastrophic mess of half-packed suitcases and clothes strewn across every available surface. “It’s okay, it’s not lit. I just wanted to take a break from packing and I needed to feel the comfort of it in my hands,” Freya says with a frown, before drowning the cigarette in a bottle of ginger beer.
Jane smiles and leans in to hug Freya, noticing the black bags that have formed underneath her eyes. “It’s been a while. You haven’t smoked in years.”
“Or drunk in days. Mum would be so proud. The whole unexpected pregnancy thing might chalk up a few points against me, though. How much has Cal told you?”
Jane removes a pile of dresses from a chair and sits down. “He ran me through the highlights. I wish I’d never given you that card.”
“Don’t say that. It’s not your fault. And it’s not all bad, I finally met the perfect man. Handsome, rich, and he never opens his mouth. I’d introduce you two, but he’s taking a nap right now.”
Jane smiles and takes her hand. “I missed you, Frey. I never even got to see that fancy mansion you were living in!”
“Well, you can just about make out the rubble from here, if you squint. How’s the apartment treating you?”
“It smells like booze and paint, but it’s really nice. Kind of like its former occupant.”
Freya lets go of her hand, leans back, dons sunglasses, and looks up at the sky. Jane sneaks a glance at Jack through the bedroom door.
“Should we talk about the baby elephant in the room?”
“I can’t believe I have a Vincetti inside of me.”
“Well, you’ve obviously already had—”
“Don’t. You’re better than that, I’m supposed to be the bitter, sardonic part of this team.”
“You don’t have to keep it.”
Freya drums her fingers on the arm of her chair, bites her fingernail.
“Yes. Yes I do.” Freya turns to look at Jane, who watches her own twin reflections in the lenses of Freya’s sunglasses as she speaks.
“I’ve been thinking about blood a lot lately. It’s something Jack likes to talk about, the laws of blood. How they’re immutable, separate from the contemporary laws of the state. If I’d been knocked up by some regrettable one-night stand I’d get rid of it, no question. But this is different. I’m tied to the Vincettis now. I’ve spilled their blood, and they’ve spilled mine. And now our blood is shared. There’s a certain kind of magic in that.”
“Blood is science, not magic.”
“Well, science is just magic in a business suit, right? In any case, it’s a bond that can’t be broken. We’re tied together, even now that most of them are dead.”
“This is all sounding very Godfather. You really don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I mean, raising a child? Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
“Everyone has to do things they don’t want to and no one is ever ready to raise a child. But this isn’t about motherhood or family, it’s about blood and empire. I’m part of that now.”
“So what, you’re heir to the throne?”
“No, this is.” Freya pokes at her stomach. “He. She. It, whatever. But I’m part of the bloodline. Jack was always talking about trying to make his stories come out the right way, but how they were like children that couldn’t be controlled. He’d will them to be these beacons of light and they’d come out these twisted, horrid things. The Vincetti saga’s had a lot of violent chapters, omissions, and alterations. Maybe I can help the next chapter of the Vincetti family saga be a good one. Or maybe this little fleshy jellybean floating inside my amniotic fluid will grow up to be a manipulating sociopath, like Elijah.”
Jane furrows her brow. Frowns. Sighs. “I don’t know, Freya. I don’t think this is the right choice.”
“It’s not a choice. It’s what has to be done. Cain had to kill Abel. Pandora had to open the box. Orpheus had to look back at Eurydice. Oedipus had to sleep with his mother.”
“I don’t know how many times I’ve told you not to explain things with mythological or literary references.”
“Sometimes the old stories are the best ones. And the truest.”
Jane sighs, “Well, if there’s anything that history has taught us, it’s that arguing with you is a complete waste of time. I think you’re more fun when you’re drunk and belligerent than all high-minded and philosophical.”
Freya grins and replies, “It’s funny because it’s true.”
Jane inspects the pile of books on the coffee table and picks up a tattered paperback.
“Chaos in the Kingdom of Cynthia Green. Isn’t that the one that sleeping beauty over there wrote?”
“Yes, it’s one that I like to come back to a lot, especially lately. You should read it.”
Jane flicks it over to read the blurb and then places it into her handbag.
“You know I never have time to read, but maybe I can make an effort just this once.”
“You’ll have plenty of time when you come over to Timor. I’ll let you set your own hours.”
“What?”
“Come and run the clinic with me. We’ll have adventures every day and all the time, and you have to say yes or I’ll cry forever and that’ll probably hurt the baby. Do you really want to be responsible for that?”
“I can’t believe you’re using your unborn child as a tool of highly implausible emotional blackmail.”
“I can’t believe you haven’t said yes already.”
Jane rolls her eyes, gently bites her lip as she inhales.
“You’re doing your serious thinking face. You’re going to say yes, aren’t you?”
“It’s not a choice, it’s what has to be done.”
***
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The radio is on, but mostly just to fill the air with voices. Night has descended while Freya has been absorbed with attempting to learn basic phrases in Tetum. She hasn’t moved from her seat to turn on the lights, thus the only illumination in the room comes from her laptop screen and the city outside. Freya rubs at her eyes, closes the window of Tetum phrases and runs a final check on Jack’s medical escort.
“You know, for a guy who lies around all day doing nothing you sure are a pain to move par avion, you know that? Good thing you’ve got the cash for a charter plane and plenty of doctors.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
“You sound just like your brother.” Freya closes her laptop. The room is dark. She steps over the piles of bulging suitcases and puts Chopin on the stereo, letting washes of blue cascade across her vision. Freya walks into the bedroom and watches the hypnotic scrolling of jagged green mountains on Jack’s heart monitor before climbing into bed next to him. She holds his limp, warm body in her arms, brushes her fingers through his hair. “You’d better enjoy this figure while you can, Vincetti. Pretty soon I’m going to start
doing a flawless impression of a woman who’s swallowed a bowling ball.”
Freya takes Jack’s hand in hers and watches the tiny Kandinskys dance across the ceiling.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Between her fingers, Jack’s hand quivers, but only for a moment.
Epilogue
***
Excerpt from
Chaos in the Kingdom of Cynthia Green
I have struggled to be the ruler of my tiny kingdom for too long. I no longer want an empire, but just one small, private room. “A room of one’s own,” as Virginia Woolf once said. Somewhere to be myself, whoever that may be.
We are, all of us, a never-ending war of insatiable will against an insufferable world. We are the ghosts of our aspirations battling the spectres of our future failures. We are the expectations of our parents pitted against the joy of our own sweet rebellion. We are the impositions of society combating our indefatigable need for self-expression. We are the urges of our instincts against the cravings of our hearts.
We are walking dreams, fading memories, hallucinations made flesh, desires made manifest.
But for now, perhaps, that is enough.
Acknowledgments
***
I know a lot of authors keep this to one or two lines but I am a grateful person so this is going to take a while. Thanks to my family for being the complete opposite of the Vincettis; you guys can stop asking when the book is coming out now. The Green family and everyone at Pantera for so much hard work and luxurious Xmas hampers that made me feel like Jay-Z. Poisoned Pen Press for releasing this wild Australian creature into the Americas. The marvellous, generous, and gregarious Kelso clan. Scott Mercer, Darragh Murray, Jodi Biddle and everyone at 4zzz (the greatest radio station in the world). Busybird Publishing. Helen and everyone at Speakers Ink. All of my students past, present, and future. Everyone at Playlab.