The Last Time

by Sharon Haste

  She wanders foreign streets; she is demented and untouchable with a 'don't care' attitude, daring fate to intervene. White picket fences and sweeping lawns change to broken wire and tall, seeded grass without her noticing. Darkness blankets the streets, except for the dull glow from an occasional streetlamp. She strides along with arrogance, ignoring the whine of hungry children, screaming parents, and the clink of beer bottles drifting on the sultry air.

  She's still seething when there's a crunch of gravel behind her and her heart takes off. With sudden awareness, she's back in her body. She's Charli Richter again. Her senses spring to life, and she scans the street for the familiar. There's nothing she knows; she's lost, surrounded by dereliction and darkness. A cocky laugh and footsteps behind her turn her insides to water. She looks ahead, and there's a light, a small beacon of hope. She sprints toward it, skidding inside the corner delicatessen and startling the man behind the counter. Panting, she nods his way before making a surreptitious move down the first aisle. She casts a furtive glance outside. Two youths saunter past. They are dressed in black t-shirts and wear jeans over military boots. They laugh as they walk by, eyes fixed on the window of the shop. She watches them go, grateful to be inside, and a shiver crawls down her spine.

  The burn of the man's eyes propels her down the aisle, and she searches the foreign jars and packets cramming the shelves. Her nose leads her to a pie warmer; the delicious aroma forces a growl from inside her stomach. Her fingers dig into the pocket of her jeans and are rewarded with a folded fifty-dollar bill tucked beneath the pendant. Minutes later, she tosses the pie, a bottle of cola, and some gum on the Formica counter, holding the unfurled note toward the cashier. The man nods, almond eyes on her for a minute, before ducking his head. He presses the buttons on his register, and the drawer pings open. He tucks the fifty inside, gives her change, and packs everything into a thin plastic bag.

  'Thanks,' she mutters.

  The bag bangs her knee as she walks through the door. She sidesteps and drops to the footpath, leaning against the shop front to eat. The piecrust crumbles beneath her teeth, oozing warm gravy onto her tongue. She's never tasted anything so good and inhales it, licking thick gravy from her fingers minutes later. She sips the cola, eyeing the street in front of her. A majestic, sandstone cathedral across the road captures her attention, standing in stark contrast to the dishevelled neighbourhood surrounding it. Her eyes travel the stained glass windows and heavy wooden doors, wondering how such an imposing building came to be there. After draining the bottle, she throws her rubbish in an overflowing bin and crosses to the church. The door's ajar and swings open at her touch. She skims the polished floor to the back pew, eyes squinting in the dim light. It's quiet, eerie, and empty. She inhales pine and polish. A statue of the crucified Jesus rises from the floor to her left, candles flickering at his feet. She slides into the wooden pew, her eyes lifting to the statue. Anger flickers inside and she bellows at him, her hand squeezing into a hard fist.

  His benign stare is infuriating, and she starts toward him, stopping halfway and feeling the pine meet her thighs once more. Her face drops into folded arms, and she cries herself to sleep.

  Chapter Six

  Coltish legs stretch the distance to the pew in front, stiffened by sleep. It takes a minute for her to wake up enough to remember why she's in the church. The floorboards behind her creak, and she stiffens, heart thumping against her ribs. She hears more creaks, and she's scanning the church. A shadow emerges from the back, morphing into a boy around her age. Her eyes watch him saunter to her row and drop to the pew with a cheeky grin on his pubescent face. Faded skinny jeans and a black t-shirt hug his short, angular frame. He shuffles closer, dimples popping up on both cheeks. A mixture of boy stink and cheap aftershave permeate her space. Her heart surges. Where have I seen him before?

  'What's up?' he asks.

  She glances at him surreptitiously and turns away.

  'Do I know you?' she asks, frowning.

  'Maybe,' he says. 'I'm Tobias, but I'm Tobi to my friends.'

  He thrusts a skinny hand towards her, and she wants to ignore it, but good manners force her to reach out and give it a cursory shake.

  'Where do I know you from?' she asks.

  'School,' he says, studying her face as her eyebrows knit and she stares back at him.

  'You go to St Joseph's?' she asks, doubt making her voice rise.

  'Yeah, you're that Richter dude's kid, aren't ya?' he says, the dimples popping up again. 'Charli?'

  She nods; she is dumbfounded that this scrawny kid from the other side of town knows her name and goes to her exclusive private school. As if reading her mind, Tobi explains that he's there on a music scholarship. Recognition dawns as she remembers the school assembly where he played drums with a band.

  'Ah, you're with that band. What's it called ...the Electrics or something?

  He nods. 'Good memory,' he says.

  'You were pretty good,' she says reluctantly. She didn't really want to talk to him and is wishing he'd just leave her alone.

  'Thanks. Whatcha doing here? Did ya get lost or somethin'?'

  'No,' she says, guarded.

  'You in trouble?'

  His piercing blue eyes drill into her green ones.

  'No. What makes you think that?' He is so annoying.

  'No reason, just askin',' he says. 'Makes no difference to me. Can't imagine a girl like you doing anything wrong anyway. Hey, ya wanna come to a rave?'

  Charli wants to hang on to her solace and ignore him, but she can't help herself. 'A rave?'

  'Yep, wanna come?'

  She hesitates, not sure what to do.

  'Aunt Rosa's there, and it's not far, only a coupla blocks away.' He waves his left hand in the air; his face is expectant. 'Better than sitting here all by yarself.'

  She weighs her options, thinking about the boys in the military boots, and sizes Tobi up. She decides he looks safer than spending the night in an empty church or wandering out there by herself.

  'Okay,' she says, rising on stiff legs.

  He grins and springs up. Pins and needles heat her legs as she follows him down the pew. She stands a full head above him. Outside, the night air is dense and thick; the day's heat still lingering. Cars pass, lifting litter and dust from the road and generating hot wind. Despite Tobi's laid-back pace, sweat dampens her armpits, and her throat thickens with instant thirst.

  Tobi keeps up a steady stream of chatter, relieving Charli of the obligation to respond. In a short time, she realises she's lost and at the mercy of a virtual stranger. Dim streetlights stretch the length of the road; some are flickering in the throes of death while others are already lost, leaving long stretches of darkness. The houses sit back from the street in various stages of disrepair. Their gardens are overgrown and littered with rubbish, broken toys, and rusting cars. Her heart skips a beat as her thoughts darken, and she wonders where he's taking her. Fear slows her steps, but Tobi strides on, oblivious to her inner turmoil.

  'Almost there. Aunt Rose's shed's sick, and the light show's always wicked.'

  She nods, swallowing despite a dry throat. Her hands ball into fists.

  'It's just over there,' he says, pointing in the dark, and Charli hears the faint throb of a bass. Techno music. It is a party. There's a new spring in her step as they make their way closer to the music, the throb of the beat getting louder. Tobi turns into the drive of a sprawling bungalow with knee-high grass stirring in the postage stamp front yard. Holes in the white picket fence grin like missing teeth, the remaining palings halfway between white and fence-post grey. Light spills over a small group crouching on the front stairs; thin ribbons of aromatic smoke drift from the huddle. Charli trails after him, inhaling the perfume of a large frangipani tree spilling white blossoms across the chipped cement.

  The shed dwarfs the house and is seething with activity. Its roller door is a gaping yawn. A group of lads stand guard with their thumbs in their pockets; their jeans a
re slung low, revealing their underwear beneath. Their hair is spiked, gelled, or cropped close. They push themselves forward and greet Tobi with their ritual handshakes and nods. They banter awhile before he turns and shouts introductions above the music. Charli forces a smile and nods back. With a final back slap, they enter the shed.

  The music pulsates through her. There are flashing lights, writhing bodies, and a steady bass. She's soon lost in the human spaghetti, heat pressing from all sides, and she is swallowed by the beat. Tobi is a typical boy on the dance floor: all limbs, and no rhythm, but the movement makes her forget as she becomes at one with the moving crowd.

  Her throat is sandpaper when she feels the tug of Tobi's hand. They squeeze to the edge with their armpits wet and their cheeks crimson. Tobi dives into a bucket of ice, coming up with two bottles of cola. They twist the tops and suck them down, not stopping for breath. He tosses the empties and scores two more, dragging her outside. The air is thick but sweet, and she follows Tobi across the thinning grass, flopping to the ground at the edge of a small group. Trees loom as tall shadows against the night sky, and the heady scent of jasmine fills the air. It reminds her of her mum, and the moment turns sombre. Tobi introduces her to a few people, and they murmur relaxed greetings.

  In no time, Tobi is offered a smoking joint, which he inhales and passes on. He leans back on an elbow while he sips his drink. Aromatic smoke lingers as it passes from hand to hand. Charli watches the tendrils disperse into the cloudless night. She takes the joint when it's her turn and passes it on untouched, hoping nobody will notice.

  Languid conversation meanders between the friends, and she lies on her back, cocooned in a wave of calm. A smattering of stardust is strewn across the inky sky. Her eyelids lower and she starts to drifts off.

  'Hey Charli, got something for ya.'

  Her eyes flutter open to a shadow above. He is dark-skinned and muscular and has dreadlocks to his shoulders—Jael. Her heart skips a beat, and she springs up, hands flying to smooth her hair as soon as she's upright. Jael is on a football scholarship at school and is her secret crush. Despite the depth of feelings she has for him, she's only ever spoken to him once, and she got so tongue-tied that she looked like an idiot. She's shocked he remembers her name. Colour stains her cheeks, but she widens her eyes and gives him her full attention.

  He opens his palm and shows her a yellow pill in the centre. Her mouth goes dry, and she stares at the pill, not wanting it but desperate to look cool. Tobi saves her; his hand snakes out to snatch the pill, and he chomps it in half with his teeth.

  'He's messing with ya, Charli,' he says, holding up the other half of a sugar-coated chocolate. 'That's Jael. He's like the biggest health freak around. Nuthin’ chemical will ever pass those lips, baby.'

  Jael flashes a toothy grin, and Charli's colour deepens.

  'Sorry, Charli,' he says, chuckling. 'Cruel initiation.'

  His hand finds her shoulder, and her skin tingles beneath his touch, adding to her mortal embarrassment. She smiles and nods, remaining mute and feeling like an idiot. He flops down across from her, still wearing his grin, and winks at her before starting a conversation with the girl next to him. The girl's hair is so long that it puddles on the grass behind her.

  She continues to shoot him surreptitious glances until Tobi flops beside her, wearing a lopsided grin on his animated face. He starts probing, wanting to know her story.

  'So what's the real Charli like?' he asks. 'Not the newspaper one.'

  She thinks about all the articles they'd had in the newspaper, most of them focussing on her father, but often there'd be something about the rest of them, too.

  'I'll tell you up front the media always lies, so most of what you've read about me is not true.'

  Tobi nods. 'So spill. What's the juice? Tell me the real story.'

  She hesitates before starting to tell him the safe things about herself, knowing that the truth will change everything. She sounds so straight.

  'You're so boring,' He rolls his eyes and flops back. 'I want the dirt on the Richter family. Give me something nobody else knows.'

  She thinks about her life: what it's like to be the daughter of Thomas Richter and how his presence makes other people twitter and pretend they are not awed by his nearness. The service with him was so much faster and smoother than when he wasn't there. She's not sure if it's the power of politics or that her father's a much-loved public figure. All she knows is that she likes being noticed and feeling important. She doesn't intend to tell Tobi about last night, but it spills out with the words tumbling over her lips, chasing one another for purchase and effect. Did she do it to shock him and for the attention? She's not sure. All she knows is that by the time she's finished talking, there are six sets of eyes on her. The awkward silence stretches into the dark, and the beat of the music throbs in her ears. Then she feels their hands, touching her, and they are whispering words of sympathy. It's too much, and her eyes find the starry sky to keep the tears back, not knowing what to do or how to respond until someone tugs her hand. Tobi drags her into the cave of light, where music and bodies swallow her up, forcing her to forget for a time. The strobe light captures them, sucking them into the writhing crowd. The bass dissolves her dark thoughts, pounding them out with the beat. Tobi ducks down to retrieve an orange glow stick on a string that he drapes around her neck. She closes her eyes and loses herself in the beat, feeling the gentle swing of the stick against her chest.

  Chapter Seven

  She's sitting under a large fig tree with the bark at her back. Citronella perfumes the air, and the lake shimmers with a full moon mirrored on its surface. She sucks a blade of grass; its bitter sweetness melts into her tongue. A scream pierces the night and is followed by someone calling her name.

  'Ch-ar-li.' The syllables are drawn out and unfamiliar. 'You're running out of time.'

  She bolts to her feet with her heart leaping; her legs propel her toward the water. The lake ripples with a gentle breeze; the occasional bubble rises to the surface. Her efforts to reach the water bring her no closer than before.

  'Help us, Charli. Hurry.'

  Despite her panic, the lake shimmers in the distance, holding her family in its soggy depths and taunting her with its prize. She screams in frustration, pushing her legs harder, but nothing gets her closer. Then something gives, and she takes off with limbs flying and arms impelling her forward. When she reaches the lake, she wades into it, fully clothed, and starts to swim. As soon as the water touches her, it turns into turbid froth, sucking and heaving around her. It steals her breath as it pulls her under. The current drags her deeper, farther from the top, and then she feels an eerie peace as the lake water seeps into her lungs. Her eyes spring wide to a staring face. Ash's blonde hair floats around his cherub cheeks, tiny bubbles bursting from his nose and mouth. She reaches for him, and then she bolts upright on the mattress, gasping for air. A light sheen of sweat makes her damp. Something moves, making her heart lurch.

  'Mum? Mum, is that you?'

  Hope dissolves in the masculine voice.

  'What’s-a-matter?'

  The form beside her moves, and she squints at it, trying to make out who's in her bed. She edges away with her eyes narrowed at the lump and her heart tapping her fear.

  'Charli? It's Tobi.'

  'Tobi?'

  'Ya safe here,' he slurs, his words dissolving into gentle snores.

  She releases her breath, easing herself back down and careful not to touch him. Disappointed tears wash her cheeks as she curls on her side, making herself as small as possible, desperate to be rid of this room and the events that brought her here. She stares into the night. Her brain hums until the tick of the fan overhead lulls her back to sleep.

  Bright light wakes her early, the sun heating her face every time a breeze lifts the curtain. It's already too hot; the fan overhead does little to cool the humid day. She rolls to her side with sweat trickling down her neck. She explores the room through half-closed li
ds: magazine posters of rock bands, motorcycles, and cars paper the walls with peeling blue paint peeking from beneath them. A shiny drum kit looks out of place beside a chipped bedside table; the tiles beneath them are pale grey with dust bunnies hovering in the corners. A pile of clothes, shoes, food wrappers, and rock magazines surrounds the bed; a double mattress pushed close to one wall. The odour of sweat and dirt, suffused with cheap aftershave, saturates the room; the smell is proliferated by the heat. She wrinkles her nose and stares at the closed door, glad to be alone. Her jeans lie crumpled on the floor beside her, and she grabs them, shucking them on at lightning speed. The heavy fabric increases her discomfort. Why didn't I wear shorts?

  Once dressed, the urge to leave is overwhelming. She turns the doorknob and pulls. The door rattles but stays closed. She tries again, mild panic never far away. She grabs the knob with both hands and pulls, using her sneakered foot on the doorjamb as leverage, but it doesn't budge. Panting, she shoves her ear hard against the wood, but there's eerie silence on the other side. She wonders why Tobi locked her in and starts to pace, throwing aside the curtains to reveal louvered windows with security screens wrapping each one. Anger mounts as she scans the room, kicking debris out of her way and searching the walls for escape.

  Ceaseless worries gnaw at her rational thinking, and she starts going over every detail of yesterday, pulling and tearing at her memories until she doesn't know what's real anymore. She sifts through the pile of belongings, searching for a phone or something that might help. Nausea claws the pit of her stomach until she stops, throwing a well-worn shoe across the room. She feels mild satisfaction as it thuds against the wall. She slumps to the mattress and eyes the door. Tobi finds her there with her knees to chin and tears sliding down both cheeks. His face drops. The hand, holding a paper bag in the air, drops to his side.