Queen of the Night

by Leanne Hall

  The corner of Wildgirl’s mouth twitches. ‘No idea. I quit that job. I work at a vintage store now.’ She finally turns to me. ‘Actually, it’s a funny thing. Ortolan came into my work this week.’

  ‘Ortolan?’ She didn’t say anything about seeing Nia.

  ‘Yeah. Apparently she comes in every few months.’

  ‘Did you talk to her?’

  ‘A little bit.’

  ‘Oh.’ I mull this over. I thought Nia and my worlds were separate. I had no idea Ortolan made so many forays into other parts of the city. ‘Is that why you called me tonight?’

  Nia doesn’t answer.

  ‘I babysit Ortolan’s daughter Diana all the time. She’s a great kid. You should meet her.’

  Nia nods, but not very enthusiastically, and I’m an idiot for suggesting it. Ortolan and Diana are probably like TV characters to her. People and lives she heard about once upon a time and then forgot about. She looks towards the Datura Institute. I realise then that she’s bored. First I piss her off at the pub, and then we come here and I bore her.

  ‘Things have changed,’ I say, lamely.

  ‘For me too,’ she replies, but something across the road is taking the greater part of her attention. She’s getting away from me. ‘Wolfboy. Look.’

  There are two people walking towards the institute, a man dressed in blue, and a younger boy wearing all black. I watch the man closely. It’s not the same guy as last night.

  ‘See the guy in blue? That’s what some of them wear. It’s a uniform.’

  The boy drags his feet, his arms hanging limply by his side. They reach the front gate. The man looks left to right quickly before turning the gate handle. The gate is unlocked.

  ‘That other one wasn’t Paul, was it?’ Nia asks.

  I shake my head.

  ‘Are they Dreamers?’ Nia asks. ‘The way the younger guy was walking was a bit Dreamer-ish.’

  ‘No.’ But then I remember the woman on Dreamer’s Row. She may have been dressed in blue, but she definitely lived in that house.

  ‘Well, at least now we know regular people can go in.’

  There’s something in Nia’s tone that sends alarm bells ringing. That and the exaggerated innocence on her face.

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Try and stop me,’ she says. Before I can react she stands and pushes down on the edge of the seat, hard. I hold onto it as it rocks violently. It’s so unexpected that it takes me longer than it should to get gravity under control. Dust flies up in a cloud off the seat and porch floor. To add insult to injury I start sneezing.

  Once I’ve righted myself I run to the end of the driveway and crouch behind the letterbox. Oleander Crescent is deserted again in both directions, and the fence of the Datura Institute is a faceless wall. The gate is closed. No sign of her anywhere. I slam my fists down into the dirt and swear quietly. Fuck. I let her disappear into thin air.

  I bow my forehead all the way down to the dirt and try to think. Do I cross the road and go through the gate? Would she really go in there? Or is she hiding around the corner to taunt me?

  Damp soaks through my jeans at the knees. I count slowly to ten. A foot digs under my shoulder, pushes me upwards. I sit up. She stands calmly in front of me. Not even out of breath.

  ‘You praying or something?’ she says.

  I’m up in a flash, and pulling her by the arm, down Oleander towards O’Neira Street.

  ‘Ouch!’ she protests. ‘You’re hurting my arm.’

  I let her go, but I keep walking fast, forcing her to trot to keep up. I breathe down the red wave that threatens to engulf me. It laps over me then flows away.

  ‘Don’t you want to know what was inside the fence?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Sorry. Your arm. Sorry.’

  ‘I’ll tell you anyway.’ She walks ahead of me, backwards, talking as fast as she can. ‘I go through the gate and I can’t see anything. So I stick to the path. There’s a light on in the house. I don’t know if it was an automatic thing because those guys just went through, but it was enough to see the sign next to the door. Plaque actually, gold plaque. It said: The Datura Institute—no surprise there. Then under that, Doctor Gregory, with a whole bunch of letters after his name.’

  I stop.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Nia says. ‘Don’t tell me you’re surprised? This has Doctor Gregory’s fingerprints all over it. From the moment you told me I knew it had to have something to do with him. And I’m not even from around here.’

  ‘You must be smarter than me then,’ I say. ‘Did anyone see you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There could be cameras.’

  ‘I didn’t see any.’ A long pause while she searches my face. ‘Aren’t you going to thank me?’

  ‘No. I’m going to get you home on time.’ I start walking again, slower this time. Why would Paul let himself have anything to do with Doctor Gregory? I told him more about that night on the roof than I told anyone else. He knows the things that Doctor Gregory said to try to manipulate me.

  I sense Wildgirl looking at me, but I ignore her. We walk in silence, over the border to Panwood. I barely register the moment we cross. Up ahead there are traffic lights and cars and the station.

  ‘You don’t have to walk me all the way.’

  ‘It’s no problem.’

  The station glows orange in the night. There are people waiting on the platforms, and the ticket office is open. There are still a few minutes before the train is due.

  We stop in front of a circular flowerbed.

  ‘I’ll leave you here then,’ I say to my toes.

  ‘Why didn’t you call me?’

  A breeze blows Nia’s hair about. She looks beautiful and golden and unknowable. Her shirt is scattered with tiny coloured stars, mirroring the sky above. ‘I did.’

  ‘I don’t mean after six months. Why didn’t you call me after that night?’

  ‘I did call you. A week later.’

  ‘You’re such a liar.’ She marches up the path towards the ticket gates. I chase after her, stopping her, careful not to grab her arm as tightly as before.

  ‘Nia, I did call you. Your mum answered and I asked to speak to you, and she said—well, she just—she said no.’

  ‘What?’ Her eyes are wide and incredulous.

  ‘I thought maybe you asked her to say that. I wanted to speak to you, but I wasn’t going to push it.’

  The station lights starburst behind her. ‘I don’t believe you. Number one, my mum wouldn’t do that. She never told me anything about a phone call from you. Number two, say on the off chance that she did do that, why didn’t you keep trying? You could have called me again.’

  I don’t have any answers. She stands her ground, making it clear she expects something. I open and close my mouth.

  ‘I’m talking to you now,’ I mumble eventually. ‘Lupe said I should call you, and—’

  ‘Wait. Wait!’ She holds up her hand. She’s crackling and sparking like pine cones in a campfire. ‘You called me because Lupe told you to?’

  I’m tricked into nodding.

  ‘Wow.’ She goes very still. ‘I am really stupid. To think that you called for any other reason.’

  ‘But you called me tonight! You made me talk about Paul. You wanted to go to the Datura Institute. You snuck in through the gate. You like this espionage stuff.’

  It’s the same as it was that first night. Wildgirl playing in the dark suburb, shaking things up like we’re in a giant snow dome, and then going back to her normal life. Leaving me in a blinding storm, not knowing which way’s up.

  ‘You called me tonight,’ I repeat. ‘Do you want to mess up my life?’

  Nia is speechless. Her red mouth shocked open. Tears well in her eyes, but she blinks them away.

  ‘You don’t know what you want, Jethro,’ she says. ‘Your life is already messed up. You don’t need me to do that for you.’

  If I could retrieve my words I would, grab them out of the sky and hide
them where they can’t be seen. The crossing bells start to ring, the boom gates lower, and Nia turns and runs for the platform.

  thirteen

  I stand at the crossroads, at

  the corner of Grey and O’Neira. I’m flooded with so much static I don’t know what to do with it. My hands curl by my side, my neck forces my head back. The night stops.

  In a swift flash I gather the black sky from above and pull it down into my gut, swallowing it whole. It cuts deep inside and then it’s rising, burning a stinging path up my windpipe.

  I scream. I howl.

  The sound reverberates inside my head, bounces and multiplies. I try to shake it off, make it stop.

  I choke, I scream, I howl.

  I’m bent over, hands on knees, close to vomiting. My heart pounds but I’m finally quiet. A few people stand on the stairs of the Diabetic, faceless plastic figurines. One raises an arm and points. I thought I was done with this.

  I stumble over to a wall and lean against it until I get my breath back. I’m still puffing when my phone rings. For one deluded second, I think it’s Wildgirl calling me from the train, but it’s not.

  ‘Ortolan?’ I try to sound normal. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Jethro, are you all right?’

  I swallow. ‘I’m glad you called. Can I come over?’

  ‘I thought long and hard about whether I should tell you I saw Wildgirl.’ Ortolan positions the heater to blow on her slippered feet. We sit downstairs, in the dark and empty shop, so we don’t wake Diana.

  ‘I decided not to tell you before you played. I’m sorry. I should have made sure I told you afterwards.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘It wouldn’t have made a difference. I think she hates me.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true.’ Ortie stirs sugar into the tea and hands me the cup. ‘From what you’ve told me she’d be angriest at her mum.’

  ‘Her mum was probably right. It’s best for Nia if I stay away from her.’

  ‘With all due respect, Jethro, I think that’s bullshit.’

  I accidentally swallow a mouthful of scalding tea. Ortie hardly ever swears.

  ‘If Nia’s mother actually met you, then she’d quickly realise what I already know. You’re polite and sensitive, and you always try to do the right thing by people. And according to my friend Kara—you remember the blonde woman from last night?—you wear a pair of jeans very well.’

  I scald my mouth again. ‘You better watch it,’ I say, trying to deflect my embarrassment. ‘I’ll get a big head.’

  ‘Not a chance.’

  Ortie reaches out and absentmindedly fiddles with a dress hem. ‘I sort of understand where her mum is coming from. I lie to Diana sometimes if she needs protecting from a certain truth. I’m not excusing what she did—it was misguided—but I do understand that…tigress feeling.’

  ‘It’s done now,’ I say. ‘Everything is fucked.’

  ‘I think you can still save it.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘I’ve got other things to worry about.’ I stare at the phalanx of draped mannequins guarding the front window.

  ‘You mean Paul?’ asks Ortolan, and I nod, but I don’t tell her about Doctor Gregory and the blue people.

  ‘I don’t want to add to your worries, Jethro,’ Ortolan hesitates. ‘But I need to talk to you about Blake.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I say. ‘What happened?’

  Already I’m thinking of possibilities: Diana cutting up her bedspread, or filling the bath with tinned spaghetti, or running a flying fox from the first-floor window. All things she’s tried to get me to agree to in the past.

  ‘Diana said that Blake took her out of the house last night.’

  ‘No,’ I say straightaway. ‘Blake wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘That’s what my first thought was. But Diana said very clearly, several times when I asked her, that Blake took her to see the Queen of the Night.’

  ‘The Queen of the Night? What’s that? Is it a movie?’

  ‘No, Diana said it’s a person.’ Ortie sighs. ‘I know, it sounds like a game or something made-up. When I asked Diana if she meant a real or pretend person, she said real. Not that that means anything.’

  ‘It’s not like her to lie to you, though. She tells you everything.’

  ‘That’s true. She also tells me she had a tea party with the moon.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Ortie. I thought Blake could be trusted.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. But can you ask Blake about it? I’ll feel better if I know exactly what happened.’ Ortolan goes to the lacquered desk in the far corner.

  ‘Here.’ She hands me a piece of ribbon. I take it, confused. ‘I think this is going to help you solve a few things.’

  Blake isn’t in her bedroom when I get home, so I double back to Paul’s room at the front of the house. The room is unsurprisingly empty and stale. Paul still hasn’t been home. No satchel. I check under the blow-up camping mattress. Nothing. I’m not sure what I’m looking for anyway. My throat still feels raw.

  I message Thom to see if Paul crashed at the cottage last night, but he could be behind the brick walls of the Datura Institute for all I know. I can’t believe this has been happening right under my nose.

  There’s an inner tube in the far corner, and a messy stack of papers being held down by a tin of baked beans: a stash of flyers, some for our gigs, some for other bands, black market sales, and a two-month-old ticket for a party at the old municipal pool. Nothing with the Datura Institute logo on it. Then I see Paul’s spidery handwriting on the back of the pool party ticket.

  Velodrome

  Sunday, darkest night

  I stare at it. There’s only one velodrome in Shyness. It’s close to my old high school. As far as I know the cycling track and club has been abandoned for years. Although I probably wouldn’t know if something was there. The last time I was close by was that night with Nia, on our way to Orphanville. We were stopped by three Kidds dressed as pirates.

  And one of them did say something about the velodrome.

  I strain to remember the pirate captain’s exact words.

  She said: As soon as I saw you I thought you were off to the velo. The bike place. The dog place.

  I’ve underestimated how eerie the walk to the velodrome is going to be. As soon as I cross the misty creek I regret not riding. The creek and the corridor of parkland have changed in six months. More dead trees have toppled, the undergrowth has rotted flat, trying to meld with the ground.

  My mind can’t settle: Paul, Nia, Paul, Nia. He’s been lying to me. He’s caught up in something to do with Doctor Gregory. She’s gone.

  I should have said something different to her at the station. I should have told her that I can’t believe I ever got to kiss her. But I didn’t say anything right. And now she’ll find some other guy. She’ll change her mind, because that’s what people do. They change their minds, they don’t call. They wait a few days so they don’t look too keen. When there’s an obstacle they give up too easily. They wonder why someone would ever be interested in them. The memories that once seemed so certain fade and become more like fantasies or dreams.

  Ahead lie the dark buildings of Orphanville. The night is cloudy, with no illumination from the moon, and the towers are darker than I’ve ever seen them.

  The velodrome is further away than I thought.

  I pass the bridge where we met the three pirates and I run until the towers pass silently. I finally spot a smudge of light in the distance. As I draw closer to the velodrome, my eyes sharpen and my ears sharpen; everything moves into clear focus.

  The velodrome fits into the basin of a man-made hill the shape of a small volcano. Light bleeds from the lip. Something, some sense or instinct, prickles the back of my neck. I reach the top of the hill and look down. Two trucks are parked near the centre of the bowl, with floodlights running off their batteries. The lights are focused on a huge cage. When I see what’s inside, I understand why the pirate called th
is the dog place.

  fourteen

  There are about forty people

  in the velodrome, most of them gathered around the cage, cheering and yelling. Their excitement is palpable. Off to the side is a set of decrepit bleachers with a handful of people lingering on the steps.

  I pass two Locals scuffling in the dust. One has the other on the ground in a headlock. He sees me, and pauses to give me a grin and a thumbs-up.

  The cage is a big cube, about twice my height. I grab onto the wire and press my face close. My nostrils flood with the scent of sweat and adrenaline.

  There are two men fighting inside, throwing themselves wildly at each other. And now that I’m closer I can see I wasn’t wrong. They’re people like me. Once or twice I’ve glimpsed others around Shyness, but not for a while. The sight used to scare me. Now I’m interested.

  The taller man wears only a tatty pair of shorts. His body is covered with hair so dense it should really be called fur. Bare feet dancing, he circles the other guy with his fists up near his face. I watch his eyes, and it gives me a shiver. He’s taller than me, heftier, and more animal. Recent howl aside, I am not this guy. I couldn’t become this guy.

  The other fighter looks more regular. An athletic guy in a tracksuit, except for the fact that his fingers end in sharp, curving claws, and his shaved head is tattooed all over with blue lines. He swipes with a lightning paw. The tall man falls to the dirt, clutching his shoulder, and the small crowd explodes into cheers. My fingers twitch at my side.

  An umpire lying face-down on the wire roof above the fighters counts down as the clawed guy pins the other down. The umpire calls it, and the clawed guy leaps to his feet, arms held up victory. The tall man rolls over and spits blood onto the dust.

  The guy standing next to me swears, rips up a piece of paper and stamps on it. He catches me staring.

  ‘Fifty bucks, down the drain.’

  Next to the cage, standing on a tall lifesaver’s chair, an old man in a gaudy checked suit calls into a megaphone. ‘Victory to Talon! Next up, Pussycat Battle!’