‘I don’t have it,’ Raf says.
‘I saw you take it in the pizzeria.’ Tom mutters a swearword under his breath. ‘I don’t have time for this. Where is it then?’
‘It’s the middle of the night, Tommy,’ Raf says. ‘What’s going on?’
Edging closer to the rock, I peer around one of the large boulders. Tom has his back to me and Raf has his back to the water. Raf ’s camera is set up beside him on a tripod, and his backpack is on the picnic rug off to one side.
‘Chloe doesn’t trust you and she wants me to keep all the evidence safe,’ Tom says. ‘Just hand it over.’
I want to yell out in protest. Instead I press my lips together.
Raf shifts his weight from one leg to the other. ‘Chloe said that?’ There’s a hint of disbelief and hurt in his words. ‘Well I’m still not telling you where Henry’s hat is. I already told Chloe I’m taking it to Sergeant Doherty tomorrow.’
‘For god’s sake!’ Tom drags his hands through his hair and paces in my direction. I shrink behind the boulder as he turns sharply and stalks back towards Raf. ‘Do you know how exhausting this has been? To always stay one step ahead? I wanted to get Mason home safely, and suddenly my whole scholarship was in jeopardy. My whole future. Everything I worked so hard for.’
‘What are you—?’
‘My grandpa cried when he heard I’d got into university. No one in his family has ever been, and he and Nan keep telling me how proud they are. It’s crushing me.’
‘Seriously mate, you’ve lost me,’ Raf says. ‘I don’t know what’s going on. Why don’t we go home and talk about it?’
‘Talking won’t help!’ Tom yells. His voice echoes out over the water. Raf is stunned into silence.
‘Tom,’ I say, stepping onto the edge of Devil’s Rock. Raf startles. Tom jerks around to face me. ‘Talking will help. We’ll explain it all to Sergeant Doherty. We’re going to figure this out.’
Tom stares at me, his face crumpling. ‘I don’t know how to fix it. I can’t fix it.’ His voice catches in a sob. Raf looks from Tom to me, his eyes wide in alarm.
I gesture with steady hands. ‘It’s okay. We need everybody to understand what happened, that’s all.’
‘But you hate me now. You hate me.’ His eyes spill over. He yanks his glasses off and swipes tears with the back of his hand. ‘Everybody will hate me. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t see him until it was too late.’
‘It was an accident, right?’ I ask. ‘You panicked?’
I think about how meticulously Tom covered everything up and know that’s going to look really, really bad when all of this comes out.
‘He hit the steel barrier and he wasn’t moving. I didn’t know what to do.’ Tom’s voice is pleading. ‘I had to get Mason out of there so he didn’t find out. I didn’t want him to find out.’
From the corner of my eye I notice Raf ’s body sag as he pieces it together. I glance at him and his face is slack with shock. I feel an urge to comfort him.
‘When I came back it was too late,’ Tom says. ‘He was already gone.’
A fresh round of sobs racks his body and a painful ache is growing in mine.
‘Where, Tom?’ I manage.
‘I didn’t have any choice,’ he croaks, not hearing me. ‘I had to cover it with a lie. Then cover that with a lie. Then another, then another.’
‘I understand,’ I say, even though I don’t understand at all.
‘And you kept pushing and pushing for answers. You wouldn’t let it go.’ He dabs his wet nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. ‘Now I’m in too deep. There’s no other choice but to leave.’
My stomach rolls. ‘No. No, Tom. There is another choice. You need to tell us where Henry is.’
He stares at the ground, vigorously shaking his head.
‘Come on, Tom,’ I say. ‘I know you regret it. Let’s end it all now. You can come clean to Sergeant Doherty.’
The tears have stopped and Tom frowns at me like that suggestion is ridiculous. ‘I’m not going to prison like my dad.’
‘Speak to Sergeant Doherty,’ I say. ‘Explain what happened.’
‘You think he’s going to care that it was an accident?’ Tom says. ‘Or Mason, or Ivy? Everyone will turn on me.’
‘Tom—’
He moves towards Raf ’s backpack on the picnic rug. ‘Give me the hat.’
Raf mirrors his movements. ‘Don’t touch my bag, mate.’
‘So you do have it here,’ Tom says. ‘Just let me take it and that will be the end of this.’
He darts forwards to grab it but Raf is faster. He plucks the backpack from the ground, swinging it away and out of Tom’s reach.
‘Tom,’ I plead. ‘You need to tell us where Henry is!’
He’s ignoring me. His only focus is Raf ’s backpack. He lunges for it and tackles Raf in the process. The two of them tussle, their bodies thumping into one another, shoes skidding against rock. Raf tumbles onto one knee and I jump in to pull Tom away by the shoulder. He shrugs me off and shoves me backwards. I fall awkwardly, landing hard on my backside and cracking both elbows against the rock. My hands fill with pins and needles, and for a moment I’m winded.
My fall distracts Raf, long enough for Tom to wrench the backpack from his arms. Raf raises both hands in defeat, glancing at me as I struggle to sit up. Tom swings the backpack up and around, hitting Raf across the face. I yell something as Raf ’s head snaps sideways and he falls heavily, smacking his forehead into the rock. It’s a horrible sound. The kind of sound that means Raf really shouldn’t attempt to get up.
He does, though. He manages to wobble onto all fours. He brings a foot underneath himself, struggling to a stand. Even in the moonlight I can see something dark and shiny oozing from his hairline. It flows quickly down his temple and onto his cheek. He’s somehow upright, swaying wildly, trying to find his balance.
Side to side.
Backwards.
Backwards. Backwards. Backwards.
And over the edge.
Now
Mason shuffles across the verandah to find the front door gaping open. His head is pounding now, the walk from the shed and his own panic making the blood pump faster. There’s a high-pitched ringing in his ears he can’t seem to shake. Everything feels foggy, like he’s had a couple of drinks.
He hears his mother’s voice, dry and croaky, the way she sounds when she’s first woken up in the morning. He’s almost relieved to realise she’s not the one who took his car, until he remembers who did take it and why that’s so much worse.
‘Is he coming over now?’ Ivy says.
‘Yeah. My parents too. I need to go back down there and let Chloe know.’
Sabeen’s voice. Mason instinctively touches a hand to the back of his head. It’s something he won’t forget easily – gentle, goofy Sabeen trying to knock his brains out. He can still hear the sound of metal against his skull a moment before everything went black.
‘She’s gone,’ Mason says, stepping into the kitchen. His mother is blinking blearily in her dressing-gown, an unlit cigarette in one hand and a lighter in the other. Sabeen flinches and backs up against the fridge. ‘Chloe let me out of the shed, okay? I didn’t do anything to her.’
‘Where is she?’ Sabeen says, and then, before he can answer, ‘How’s your head?’
Her eyes are deeply bloodshot, her olive skin pallid. She looks as wretched as he feels.
‘Honestly? Like somebody drop-kicked it across a football field,’ he says. Sabeen winces. ‘Is Sergeant Doherty on the way?’
She nods. ‘Are you going to turn yourself in?’
From the corner of his eye he senses his mother moving closer, awaiting his answer. It takes him a second to formulate a response. Maybe he really is concussed.
‘It wasn’t me, Sabeen,’ he says. ‘I didn’t do anything to Henry. It was Tom.’
Sabeen sucks in a sharp breath and something about that makes Mason want to break down and cry. He hasn’t had time to be
shocked. About Henry. About Tom. This is the worst night of his life.
‘What are you talking about?’ his mother says.
He can’t meet her eye. He doesn’t want to be the one to tell her. Please don’t let it come down to him.
‘And you knew about it?’ Sabeen says in a small voice.
‘Of course not! Chloe and I just figured it out.’
His mother is saying something else. Mason pulls out his phone and dials Tom’s number. There’s still a chance this is a mistake. He could have it wrong. He was so drunk that night. How reliable is his memory?
He knows this is denial kicking in but he lets the phone ring out anyway. He tries Tom’s grandpa next. Maybe Tom is asleep with his phone switched to silent.
‘Hello …?’
‘Uncle Bernie? It’s Mason.’ He stops. He has no idea what to say next.
‘Mason? It’s very late to be calling. You gave Rose a bit of a shock.’
She’s about to get an even bigger one, Mason thinks. He’s not going to be the one to break it to them either. That’s Sergeant Doherty’s job.
‘It’s just …’ Mason wills his muddled brain to work. ‘Could you please get Tom for me? I need to speak to him.’
‘Oh, it’s a bit late, son,’ Bernie says. ‘Tom’s asleep.’
Mason’s throat aches. He says hoarsely, ‘Could you please check?’
There’s a shuffle and a scrape as Bernie puts the phone down, and Mason finds himself repeating please, please, please under his breath. This could all be a big misunderstanding. Henry’s in Sydney. And Tom’s in bed.
He can hear his mother and Sabeen murmuring to each other, confused. He hopes Sabeen’s mums are on the way. Ivy will need someone with her when she finds out.
‘Mason?’ Bernie’s back. ‘It’s the strangest thing. Tom isn’t here. His bed’s empty.’
Mason’s legs go weak.
Tom. His Tom.
It’s finally sinking in.
Bernie is still talking about how Tom’s bed is made and things are missing from his room. Books, clothes, laptop. Mason gives him mm-hmm responses because he’s afraid of what might happen if he opens his mouth.
The kitchen is too bright. The wall clock is ticking like it’s any other evening. The fridge is ordinary. The microwave, the teabag tin, the dirty dishes stacked on the draining board – all so very ordinary.
Nothing is ordinary about this night.
The whole world has changed and nothing will feel ordinary again.
‘Thank you, Bernie,’ Mason mumbles, hanging up on him. He finds himself backing out of the kitchen. ‘You need to send Sergeant Doherty to the reservoir,’ he tells Sabeen. ‘Call him again.’
‘Where are you going?’ his mother says.
Mason stumbles down the hallway and out the front door. He runs halfway to the carport before he remembers his car is missing. Come on, brain. Come on! There, propped up against Wayne’s old tool bench, is his bike.
There’s only one road to the freeway now that Cutler Bend is closed. Mason has no clue how he can physically stop Tom behind the wheel, or even keep up with him if he tails the car. He just knows he has to do something.
They need to know where Henry is, and Tom’s the only one who can tell them.
Now
There’s a deep pa-doosh somewhere out in the darkness. Raf ’s camera and tripod stand vigil in the moonlight, watching over the scene below. Raf was right here with me and now he’s in the water.
His head.
The blood.
I scramble to my feet as Tom is shrugging on Raf ’s backpack. He hurries past me towards the trail and I reach out and grab his arm. He tries to shake me off and I double-down by grabbing the backpack strap as well.
‘Chloe, it’s over!’ Tom says, his voice jagged. He swings around, trying to loosen my grip. ‘You need to let me leave.’
‘I can’t. We have to know. About Henry.’
He jerks violently. My hand slips from his arm. I grip the strap tighter with my other one.
‘You hear that?’ he says. He points towards the edge of the rock. I strain to listen for Raf, his splashing and struggle in the water as he fights his way to the bank. What I hear instead is chilling.
Silence.
Raf isn’t fighting at all.
‘Keep me here or help Raf,’ Tom says. ‘What do you want more?’
I need them both.
It feels like my chest is tearing open. An unbearable pain. I’m losing Raf. I’m losing Tom. I’ve lost Henry.
I can’t fix this.
I have to let go now.
In order to save Raf I have to let go of Henry. I have to abandon my search for him.
Let it go, Chloe.
My fingers spring open, releasing the backpack’s strap. Tom jerks away from me and runs towards the bush trail, his footfalls an echo in the darkness.
I scramble towards the edge of Devil’s Rock and peer into the water below. Shards of moonlight dance on the surface like shimmering jewels.
Where is he?
He fell heavy.
I can’t see him.
He’s not conscious.
Dizzy with terror, I tug off my runners and swing my legs over the edge, bucking my body off the rock to pindrop into the water below.
The cold is a shock; it steals my breath. I release too much air from my lungs and my head pounds with the wrongness of it. The moonlight barely breaks the surface and everything is dark and murky underneath. I flail and kick in the water trying to find him, but my hands grab at emptiness. How deep did he slip under? Has he drifted?
Where is he?!
I thrash and grope, twist and turn. Desperation surges in my throat like acid. I turn my face up to the surface and see the mottled shape of the dark rock jutting out against the moonlit sky.
My foot connects with something soft and solid. I know it’s him. I use my arms to drive myself down until my hands find his arm. His pale shape is suspended in the darkness like an astronaut floating in an ocean of stars.
I lock my hand around his upper arm and feel the muscle there. Is his heart still beating? How long has he been in the water? How long could he hold his breath for?
I scoop and kick at the water, sideways, upwards, towards the light. White dots creep into my vision and I’m woozy, weak.
Push through it, Chloe. Fight!
My head breaks the surface and I take a long, ragged breath. Rolling onto my back, I heave Raf up with me and manoeuvre myself under his upper body. The weight of him forces us both under the water. I kick up and yank him towards me, locking his head between my shoulder and jaw. His wet hair drapes across his face like seaweed. It sticks to my cheek, so very cold and wrong. But his neck is warm against my collarbone and I focus on how it feels. Our faces are barely above water but I can breathe. I place my hand under Raf ’s chin, holding his face up to the sky.
‘Don’t,’ I wheeze. Don’t slip under. Don’t give up. Don’t leave me, Raf.
Water droplets cling to his long black eyelashes. I desperately want to brush them away. I move one arm and leg in unison, dragging Raf ’s limp body. Slowly, slowly we creep towards the bank.
What can I remember from school lifesaving classes? Something about the airway sealing to stop water getting into the lungs. Something about how long the brain can survive without oxygen. Five minutes? Six minutes? How long have we been in the water?
How long, how long, how long?
The sandy bank slides underneath my backside and I cry out with relief and desperation. I need to move faster, but it’s hopeless – in the shallows we’re both impossibly heavy. I reach under Raf ’s arms and lock my own across his chest. I heave his body upwards, digging my heels into the ground. Inch by inch, I struggle onto the bank until our upper bodies are clear of the water.
I wriggle out from under Raf and his head lolls to one side. Blood trickles from the cut on his forehead and pools in his eye socket. His neck is exposed and I’m almost afr
aid to touch it. What if there’s no pulse there? My hand trembles as I press my fingers to the curve of his neck.
Please.
I can’t feel anything.
Please.
I can’t feel anything!
I slip my hand under his neck and tip his head back, a trickle of water running from the corner of his mouth. I lean close to his lips, listening for signs of breathing that I know won’t be there. My hair drips water into his face as I unzip his hoodie. His wet T-shirt clings to his body like a second skin.
Resting my hand on his stomach, I will it to move under my fingers.
It doesn’t.
I sit upright and place the heel of one trembling hand on Raf ’s breastbone like we practised on plastic dummies at school. Placing my other hand on top, I interlock my fingers and press my hands down into his chest.
One. Two. Three. Four—
—water gushes from Raf ’s mouth—
Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve—
—his body wobbles and buckles—
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two—
—his arms flop at his sides—
Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.
I place my left hand under his neck and tilt his head back, pinching his nostrils closed with my right hand. His lips are cold as I close my mouth over them. His chest inflates as I breathe into him. And again. I turn my head and listen for signs of breathing.
Nothing.
My hands find his chest again and I start pumping. I’m puffing hard and my arms ache but I keep my rhythm.
Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.
‘Come on!’ I scream at Raf. At me. At both of us.
Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.
I close my mouth over his again. One breath. Then another.
‘COME ON!’ I scream, my voice shattering.
I clutch my shaking hands together and press them to his chest.
I can’t stop. I won’t ever stop.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six—
Raf ’s chest heaves towards the sky. Water spews from his mouth, across my hands, down his chest.
Deep Water Page 26