Tomorrows Child

by Starr West

  “Gee, that’s great; I can’t even lie and pretend that I had an early night. Lachlan is going to have a good time making fun of me today.”

  “He was here when I got home this morning and has been giving me a hard time all day. But it’s harmless fun, Psyche, I wouldn’t worry too much.”

  The service for Basil was held on his property. Libby and Abigail sent for us not long after I finished my second cuppa. When we arrived, everything had been prepared. The body was wrapped in white cloth and the grave had been dug on a hill in a far pasture so that Basil could watch over the rest of us as the years passed. Of course, most of us believed that Basil’s spirit would be free to roam amongst us if he chose to or return home and cross over. But Basil believed he would remain with his body until Jesus came to take him home.

  The truth was irrelevant; Basil had chosen his own resting place and his wishes were observed. There would be no cross or stone to mark his grave because to Basil, it would be a waste of good farmland. He knew that we would honour this place as a sacred site, but future generations would never know that this was Basil Huxley’s final resting place.

  With all the gloom that surrounded us on a daily basis, I found the funeral to be uplifting and inspirational. The stories of Basil’s life flowed from the mouths of the tribe like poetry. They were either part of his life or had heard the stories so many times they knew them by heart. Libby held Basil’s Bible and read verses that had been highlighted; she finished with the Lord’s Prayer. Basil would have been grateful for the inclusion.

  The afternoon flowed into mountains of food and stories of his life. Basil had been a hard nut to crack and his beliefs and lifestyle were at odds with the members of the new community. Libby was the mediator for many years, but eventually Basil had become family.

  Ruben said it was the children that won the old man’s heart. The truth was more likely linked to the fact that Basil distrusted authority and was inspired by every conspiracy theory imaginable. The one unifying fact was that they all believed in the same basic philosophy “Expect the best, but prepare for the worst.” Basil was a true ally in this regard and a wealth of knowledge when Libby and Tahinah began holding regular “preparation” meetings and workshops in primitive skill techniques and subsistence living.

  The stories continued until almost dark, it was still difficult to gauge the time because a thick cloud blanket remained, hiding all signs of the sun and sky. Listening to the storytellers and their tales did little to boost my energy, and as the families began to return home, my attention was drawn to the bed that awaited me, the sleep that called me and the dreams that would haunt me.

  Chapter 17 ~ THE PATH OF DECEPTION

  It had been weeks since the storm and we struggled to make the gardens healthy and productive. Today, I offered to clean our neglected house while Libby spent the day tending the herbs. Some herbs, like black cohosh, were planted in the forest because it was closer to their natural environment and where it grew best. Libby was there now, tending the rainforest herbs.

  Talk of magick had all but vanished. It was still important, but it wasn’t a priority compared to food and medicine. The prophecy still played in my mind, but at the end of the day, I was too tired to ask about it and both Libby and I fell asleep almost as soon as the sun set.

  Even my time with Phoenix had been limited. The only chance we had to be together was when he was rostered on to protect us. Ruben had gone all out with security since Basil’s murder, which would have been enough to cause the increased security. But combined with the hellhounds and the deaths in town, Ruben was obsessed.

  The only positive side to his obsession was teaching me to shoot a rifle. I couldn’t hit anything, but at least, I didn’t shoot myself. This also worked well for Navarre, who spent a lot of time teaching everyone how to use a bow and arrow.

  Today I was on house duty. The two of us made very little mess so cleaning wasn’t really a chore, it was more like a day off. Restocking the pantry was my main concern, as food from the gardens had been limited since the storm and we’d consumed much more of our stores than anticipated.

  The pantry was divided into two sections. The front area was small and opened into the kitchen, where we stored a couple of weeks’ supply of everyday food. The rear section of the pantry was the size of a large bedroom and basically hidden from sight. This was the real pantry. It had access via a small door hidden behind a wardrobe in my room. Originally, there had been an entrance through the front pantry; in fact, it had once been a single room, but now it was boarded up to create a secure and separate food storage room.

  Shelves lined the walls, stacked with food in tins and jars and vacuum-sealed bags. It was one of the first Darnell secrets I learned and probably the most important. Everything was labelled and dated, with “Eat First” signs stuck to some things. That’s what I was doing today, shopping for Eat First items.

  Our gardens had been sustaining us until the storm, which damaged most of the food ready for harvest. The unexpected snow had caused more damage than any frost was capable of. Then, as the winter progressed, the gardens simply refused to grow. Our tropical fruits and vegetables suffered the most. Fortunately, as bad as it seemed, many plants looked capable of recovery when spring returned.

  Without fresh fruits and vegetables from the garden, it felt like a famine, but it was important that we still had nutritional variety and that’s where our stored food supplemented us. It had taken years of planning to get the balance right and find foods that would store for a long time and supply good nutrition. Thankfully, I did not have to wander the wastelands to search for food and we still hadn’t experienced real hunger.

  I took seeds for sprouting – alfalfa, mung bean and pea; then bags of chickpeas, lentils, rice and wheat; and some dried herbs we stored during summer. I marked these things off my list, but there were other things I wanted to take, like tin peaches, coffee, and chocolate. Libby was hoarding chocolate! Well, maybe not hoarding, but there were dozens of blocks of chocolate and bags of cocoa and cocoa beans sucked tight in vacuum-sealed bags. Nevertheless, I had a list and knew the rules – “take only what we need.”

  There was more than just food in the pantry. First aid supplies in boxes were stacked high and medicines sat on the high shelves, real medicine, not herbal concoctions. There were cartridges for the shotgun and bullets for a rifle I’d never seen. And then there were unusual things, like pencils and writing pads, bottles of ink and tubes of artist paint and dry good essentials like toilet paper and toothpaste.

  As I stood amongst the “stuff,” I realised that most of what I saw was irreplaceable. Substitute or go without; I understood this now. So many things we once took for granted could never be replaced and much of it could never be substituted for a simpler, non-manufactured local product. I would never see another box of breakfast cereal or drink a cold soft drink. The closest thing to fast food now was a banana. I’m not sure that it’s a bad thing, but this solitary trip to the pantry made me realise how much life had changed.

  I pulled the cupboard back into position, secured the door and hid the real pantry when I heard a knock on the door. Someone is knocking on the door! People never knocked anymore. Most of the time, they would just yell and come right in. Standing at the door now was a tall, thin, ugly man. He wasn’t anyone from our neighbourhood and if I had run into him in the city, I would probably have turned and run the other way.

  “Hello, you must be Psyche.” The man might have been a stranger to me, but he knew exactly who I was. That alone was downright creepy, but the fact that he looked liked a strung-out drug dealer made it even worse.

  “Yes, I’m Psyche, but…”

  “Of course, you don’t know me, but I have been a friend of the family for many years. You are the spitting image of your mother, you know.” This was completely untrue, most people told me I looked like I’d been adopted. Where Mum had golden honey-coloured hair with gentle waves; mine was straight, kinda brown, and unru
ly. Not curly, just crazy out of control and always messy. Mum was also petite, while I was sturdy and tall. Mum was beautiful.

  “So how is Celeste?”

  I told the stranger about Mum, though I felt I should have told him something else, but my mouth opened and the truth flowed. He seemed thoughtful for a moment, but shook away any concern almost instantly.

  “Forgive me, Psyche, my name is Mason Johnstone. May I come in?” I invited him in and he sat in the seat at the head of the table. “I was hoping to catch up with your mother while I was in town. Not sure how long I will be here, just passin’ through… headin’ nowhere.”

  “So tell me what you and Celeste have been doing all these years. We lost track of each other after she moved away when you were born, and we haven’t been fortunate to run into each other again. Guess we move in different circles.” Without even knowing this man, I knew that to be true. We would never hang around with someone like Mason Johnstone.

  “So tell me, Psyche, do you live here with Libby? Or are you on your own now?”

  “No, Libby’s here, she should be back soon. She’s tending the garden; we had a huge storm and it caused a lot of damage.”

  “You look pretty well set up though,” Mason looked around the house and out into the garden, Libby wasn’t there. “Where did you say she was?”

  “In the garden?” He looked around again, “You know a young girl shouldn’t be alone. These are dangerous days, Psyche, I suspect adult supervision is necessary and something you should consider.”

  Libby came in through the back door “What the hell are you doing here?” She was not happy.

  Mason smiled with the left half of his mouth “Just thought since I was back in town I would call in and see how you were keepin’. You know how I care about this family.”

  Libby just huffed.

  “You can’t keep me away,” he sneered, “and you know that. Especially not now.”

  Libby raised an eyebrow and held each side of the table until her knuckles went white. I had never seen her this way. I thought I made her angry at times; I was wrong, very wrong.

  “Mason, you made your choice many years ago, there’s no taking that back now. You didn’t care then, so I doubt anything has changed. So… why are you really here?”

  “You know. I heard what happened and just wanted to do the right thing. Come to get what’s rightfully mine.”

  “Get out, Mason! You get out this instant!”

  “No, Libby, not until she knows who I am.”

  Libby was quiet; the colour drained from her face but only for a second. I thought she was about to vomit.

  “Psyche, Mason Johnstone is your father.”

  Holy crap! This was totally unexpected. Now I wanted to vomit. I couldn’t have guessed where the conversation was going and I had never seen Libby so angry. He said he had come for what was his. Had he come for me? Or was I an afterthought now that he knew Mum was gone?

  Mason sat, relaxed, with his leg stretched out and his arms folded behind his head, as if he were holding his head upright. He looked at me with that same sneer he had used to expose his intentions to Libby. Libby still clutched the edge of the table, maybe she would punch Mason. It sure looked as if she were about to do just that.

  “Damn girl, shut your mouth before you start catching flies!” He seemed to get some joy from embarrassing me, but I was still in shock and unable to speak. What could I say? We hadn’t spoken about my father in years; I knew there was no point asking Libby because Mum had refused to say anything.

  Here sat a man that was as much a part of me as Celeste was, but there was nothing familiar. I didn’t share his thin face or pointed nose, I didn’t have small brown eyes or thin lips. What on earth was I supposed to do with this information?

  I often imagined my father, once upon a time… He was supposed to look like Patrick Dempsey or Johnny Depp, not like some strung-out waste of space. This can’t be true.

  Mason was about to start talking, but as he opened his mouth, Libby cut him off. “So now leave. We don’t need your kind of trouble around here.”

  “I’ll leave now Libby… but I will be back. I’ll give the girl some time to think about it all and make plans. I do intend to get to know my daughter.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “If that’s what it takes.” He turned from Libby “Psyche, I’ll be seein’ you… soon.” And Mason walked out.

  Libby and I sat in silence. There were no real thoughts in my head, just swirling masses of truth and lies. Libby looked ashen and the fear I saw in her eyes was real. I figured the threat from Mason was far greater than any wild beast attacking me.

  “I’m sorry, Psyche, I never expected we would ever see him again and it wasn’t my place to tell you about your father. I presumed you had talked it out with your mother.”

  “Mum always said there was nothing to tell. I stopped asking about my father years ago.” It was true I was never very interested and hadn’t thought about him for years. “But he is horrible; I can’t believe he’s my father. Tell me it’s a mistake. Tell me Mum had a secret lover so I can forget all about that man.”

  “Psyche, apparently Mason was the secret boyfriend.” Libby considered her next statement. “I guess it is time to tell you what I know.”

  Libby spoke as she prepared coffee beans and filled the boiling jug. “He was actually quite good looking, your father, tall and handsome. He came to town in a whirlwind of controversy and claimed to be the grandson of a wealthy woman who’d just died, Maisy Johnstone. No one had ever heard of him, but there was no will and she had no other family. So Mason claimed it all.

  “Your mother was very young and looking for a way to escape. There’s this thing about small towns and teenage girls – their dreams take them away. Mason’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect. He preyed on her naiveté and promised to give her the world, and I guess in a way he did. He gave her you; and trust me, Psyche, it is the only good thing that man has ever done.

  “He drank most of the money and who knows what else. It was a dark time in town in those days. Scum came from everywhere and Mason fit right in. The relationship only lasted a short time; in fact, I never knew anything about it until much later. Celeste was no longer with him when she found out she was pregnant. So, we decided to keep it a secret.” I must have looked horrified because her next words surprised me.

  “I know, I know. It was wrong, but secrets are our legacy; it’s a hard habit to break. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do to protect you both.

  “Anyway, Mason showed up one day and wanted to borrow money from your mum. Guess he’d spent the entire fortune. Celeste came out because he was yelling like a banshee and wouldn’t leave. She was only a few days away from giving birth so there was no hiding it. Funny thing is, she never said you were his baby. He just screamed that she was a liar, called her all types of bad names and left; that is the last time we saw him.”

  “Mum never said he was my father?” I was confused.

  “Well, no, but she never said he wasn’t; and after his outburst, I guess I just assumed.”

  “And today is the very first time he ever met me, not even when I was a baby? He knew who I was right away.”

  “He was bluffing, but it wouldn’t take a genius. My guess is he expected to see your mother.”

  I found it hard to believe any of Libby’s story about my father. There was no connection, no similarities, nothing. I expected something!

  ~~~

  Pepper was missing!

  “I know… I know, ‘if you love something set it free, if it comes back it’s yours, if it doesn’t it was never meant to be’,” I was quoting Libby, “but I should check on him. You know he always comes home for dinner.” Pepper was usually hanging about most of the time, looking for food. He spent all day scavenging and still expected something from us. Fortunately, he ate almost everything.

  This was the first time since I found him that day that h
e’d missed a meal. I looked in all his usual haunts and called his name. Nothing. I stood at the edge of the forest. I knew better than go into the forest to look for him but I also remembered that when I found him he was near death, covered in burns, probably from another bigger fire-breathing dragon. The tall rainforest trees that guarded the forest now cast long dark shadows across our lawn but allowed the western sun to filter through, creating patches of light. Perhaps just a little way…

  I entered that forest. “Pepper! Pepper!” I could hear a noise in the bushes. Pepper never came this far. I walked a little further; at least I was on the path that led to the creek so there was no chance I would get lost. The path led past the pump and over the small footbridge, but I’d never wandered in this direction before.

  I crossed the food bridge and out of nowhere stood a tall dark-haired woman.

  “Hello, Psyche.”

  Chapter 18 ~ DARKER THAN DEATH, REDDER THAN BLOOD

  The cold stone floor chilled through my body and bored into my bones. My flesh trembled and my heart quivered. At least, shivering was the physical response of a body intent on creating warmth - it meant I was alive. How many days now? I didn’t know. It was dark; it was always dark. I didn’t know when the nights ended and days began as no light entered the small stone room where I was being held prisoner. The acrid smell of sulphur permeated the air and burnt my lungs while the putrid smell of filth and death filled me with nausea. I would vomit if there had been food in my stomach. But it had been so long since I’d eaten, even the rumblings had ceased In their place was the hard, twisted knot of starvation. Even water had been rationed as if there was a finite supply. Still, I had grown grateful for the small offering provided by my captor.

  The sensory deprivation was only limited to my sight, and in the dense blackness, my other senses had grown acute. I could hear the sounds of life just metres away. But the sounds of life didn’t extend to talking and laughter, just the sounds of footfall on hard stone floors. Occasionally, I heard a door slam or some other nondescript sound. If I focused, I could hear more distant sounds beyond the stone walls like the constant whistle of winter winds and the rustle of dry leaves. Owls hooted in the foreground and a stream trickled away in the distance, rolling constantly over stones and pebbles. At times, I heard the pebbles move and the sand shift with a crunch, perhaps an animal drinking at dusk. But it was the curlew song of death that haunted me the most.