Deep Water

by Sarah Epstein

  Another convulsion. More water.

  ‘Breathe!’ I say, shaking him. He’s already taking a wretched lungful of air. It scrapes through his throat in a violent wheeze but it’s the most glorious sound I’ve ever heard. His chest hitches and falls on its own, shuddering with every breath as his lungs remember how to work.

  Relief floods through me and I hover over him for a moment, watching him breathe and cough and be alive.

  I roll him into the recovery position, and lean into his back, burying my face into his sodden hoodie. My potato. My astronomical nerd. My sweet, funny Raf.

  ‘Help’s coming,’ I assure him, even though I have no idea if that’s actually true.

  My limbs start trembling uncontrollably. I try to relax them but they shudder of their own accord. Shock. So much to take in.

  Raf. Tom. Henry.

  Henry.

  We’ll never know where he is now.

  My eyes close and I pull Raf to me, hearing him murmur softly. Something in my body releases. It feels like I’m clutching Henry close, too.

  Somewhere deep in the trees, somebody is yelling. I jerk my head up and seek them out. Heavy footsteps, running, echoing across the water. I can’t figure out which direction they’re coming from.

  ‘Chloe!’ a deep male voice calls. ‘Tom!’

  I release my grip on Raf and stumble to my feet.

  ‘Chloe!’ the voice calls again. Closer now, on the walking track from the southern car park. Not the northern one. Damn. They went to the wrong one.

  ‘Here!’ I yell, waving my arm even though I can’t see anybody yet. ‘Hurry!’

  There’s thrashing through the undergrowth and then a figure bursts into the clearing, his head whipping around left and right. It’s Sergeant Doherty.

  ‘Ben!’ I call. ‘Ben, over here!’

  He turns at my voice, sprinting across the picnic area and hurdling the small shrubs and boulders around the edge. He’s dressed in a white T-shirt and pale trackpants, his runners flicking up tiny stones along the bank.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he says, breathless, as he pulls up in front of me.

  I nod quickly and gesture at Raf.

  ‘Rafi Nolan?’ he says, confused. He crouches in front of Raf, ducking his head to check he’s breathing. He rests a gentle hand on Raf ’s shoulder, lowering his face to reassure him with a few words. Raf ’s head moves up and down in a weak nod. It’s such a relief I have to bite back a sob.

  ‘You did CPR?’ Doherty asks me. I nod again.

  He stands and pulls his phone out, pacing away from me towards the water’s edge. I hear quick words about Raf and ‘drowning incident’ and paramedics and Raf ’s parents. Something about my dad. Something about me being in shock.

  Doherty moves his phone away from his mouth and asks me, ‘Where’s Tom Lawson?’

  I point a shaky hand towards the way I came in. ‘Northern car park. He’s in Mason Weaver’s blue Subaru.’

  Doherty turns away, talking quickly into his phone.

  My legs start wobbling again, though I’m not sure they ever really stopped. I take a few shaky steps back towards Raf ’s limp body, my own wet clothes sending a wave of shivers through me. My teeth chatter and my throat spasms. I start to double over.

  Doherty hurries back to me, shoving his phone into his pocket. He grabs me by the upper arms and folds me into his chest.

  ‘I’ve got you.’ He places a hand on the back of my head and strokes my hair. ‘I’ve got you, Chloe.’

  I sink against him and he lets me sob, loud and messy, all over his white T-shirt.

  Now

  The ride is tough going in the dark, his head pounding like a drum. Mason shakes himself awake every time he feels like he’s starting to droop. Sergeant Doherty should be at the reservoir soon. Maybe he got there in time. Maybe Chloe and Raf were able to stop Tom from leaving.

  Tommy.

  Mason can’t picture his face without a pain in his chest. The betrayal stings like a thousand tiny cuts. Mason can’t let his mind really comprehend what Tom has done because that would mean he’d have to think about Henry. He can’t let himself go there or else he’ll fall down and never get up.

  Just get this done.

  He turns onto Roberts Road in the direction of Shallow Reservoir. This is the only way out of town, no matter which car park you’re coming from. He doesn’t want to slow down and try calling Chloe again. The last call went straight to voicemail, which immediately made Mason think the worst. What was going on down there? Did they catch up with Tom or has he already left town?

  Maybe Mason will never see him again.

  No. He’ll be easy enough to trace in the stolen vehicle. Mason wishes he hadn’t given Tom all those driving lessons last year – he’ll be familiar with the Subaru’s quirks. It only now occurs to Mason that his car will be taken into evidence when Tom’s caught. They’ll have to analyse it for any traces of …

  Henry.

  He crushes his eyes shut for a second, shakes his brother’s face away.

  No, no, no. Don’t go there.

  Not yet.

  Just keep pedalling.

  Streetlights are dotted down the rolling stretch of Roberts Road, farmland on one side, soil embankment on the other. It’s an easy stretch to ride but his legs are like jelly. He almost pulls the bike over to vomit, his mouth flooded with saliva. He manages to breathe through it and swallow the urge back down.

  Headlights.

  Up ahead, two blazing orbs are growing larger, dipping and cresting with the undulating road. Mason hears the engine. As the vehicle passes under a streetlight he sees a flash of blue.

  His car, closing in fast.

  Way too fast for this stretch of road.

  As the car draws closer, the rev of the engine backs off momentarily. Tom has seen him. Mason locks his arms at the elbows and grips the handlebars, pumping his legs harder until his muscles scream out in pain. His mind goes to that empty place where he’s not quite connected. He doesn’t care about what happens next. He can’t let Tom leave.

  The streetlights glint across the car’s bonnet as it thunders towards him. Mason steers the bike onto the centre line of the road. The station wagon jerks to the right. Mason mirrors it. Then to the left. Mason does the same. The car returns to the centre and Mason steers the bike to meet it. It doesn’t slow. He hears the engine kick up a notch.

  Mason holds his course. The car is a hundred metres away. Fifty.

  This is going to hurt.

  Mason’s tempted to close his eyes. Instead, he hunches his shoulders and stares at the car’s windscreen.

  ‘Do it,’ he screams. ‘Take me out as well!’

  It’s only when he says the words he realises that isn’t what he wants at all. Most of the time he doesn’t want to be here, but that doesn’t mean he wants to go.

  Mason veers left. At the last second, the Subaru locks up as Tom slams on the brakes. The car swerves to Mason’s right and hits the embankment, dark soil spraying across the road. It’s airborne for a split second before the bonnet strikes a tree, flipping the car out sideways. It comes to rest right side up, facing the direction it came from.

  Mason skids his bike onto the shoulder and it slides out from under him. He sails along the gravel on his stomach, his bike travelling into a ditch. He jerks around, ignoring the gravel embedded in his hands.

  His car is a wreck. Glass everywhere. Smoke is pouring from the crumpled bonnet and the passenger side door is completely caved in. A headlight dangles from its wires like a detached eyeball, and he can hear the tick tick tick of something dripping. Stu Macleod is going to be so pissed.

  Mason looks for Tom.

  The windscreen is cracked and both airbags have deployed. He watches the driver’s side door, waiting for Tom to kick it open and jump out. He doesn’t.

  Mason feels a flash of panic about Tom being injured and instantly hates himself for it. His conflicting feelings are tough to get his head around.


  He keeps watching the car, too sore to move anyway. He has to blink to focus, his concentration dipping in and out. Only when he sees blue and red flashing lights in the distance does Mason lay his head down in the gravel.

  He lets himself think about Henry now, and surrenders to the tears when they come.

  Now

  It almost feels like a dream, the memory of that afternoon last year when Henry and I were together at the service station on Bridge Road. I picture the wistful expression on his face as he talked about leaving The Shallows one day.

  ‘Sometimes I just wanna keep going and never look back.’ I think of those words now as Dad steers the ute past the railway station, my eyes drawn to the waiting room where Henry’s mountain bike was found. Despite knowing the truth, part of me will always imagine Henry got on a train that night to start his big adventure.

  Hot tears prick at my eyes and I press a damp tissue to my cheeks in an effort to compose myself. I don’t think I’ve ever cried as much in my whole life as I have in the last three days.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?’ Dad says, easing the ute into a parking space not far from the police station. He hasn’t left my side since we heard about the excavation of the mudslide site on Cutler Bend. I’m grateful he was there to hold me when Sergeant Doherty called to inform us Henry’s body had been found in the ravine. Tom provided a full confession, and walked the police through everything that happened.

  And still, none of this seems real.

  ‘I’ll be okay,’ I tell Dad. ‘Will you wait here for me?’

  ‘Of course, chook.’ He leans over and kisses the top of my head.

  I take a deep breath and make the short walk to the police station on wobbly legs. Once again I find myself standing at the reception counter and staring through the glass, only this time I don’t have to wait. The red-headed police officer jumps up and ushers me straight through the security door, and Sergeant Doherty meets me on the other side.

  ‘You okay with this?’ he asks me gently, his gaze searching my face.

  My eyes are bloodshot and my nose is pink from blowing it, but I nod firmly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Just because he asked to speak to you doesn’t mean you have to do it.’

  ‘I know,’ I assure him.

  Doherty’s furrowed brow softens slightly. Dark shadows circle his eyes and I wonder how much sleep he’s been getting, especially in the last day or so since media crews descended on the town.

  ‘All right,’ he says. ‘As you know, he’s already given us a detailed statement. However, there is a camera in the room and it will be recording in case he reveals any other relevant details. He’s requested that his lawyer not be present for this because he wants to speak with you alone. I won’t come into the room unless you ask me to.’

  ‘Mm-hmm. I understand.’

  He glances through the glass at the reception area. ‘I take it Mason’s not joining you?’

  I shake my head. ‘He can’t do it. Not yet.’

  Doherty’s voice is quiet. ‘That’s understandable.’

  He leads me towards an interview room with the blinds drawn and the door closed, gesturing for me to enter whenever I’m ready. I grip the doorhandle and release a long breath before easing the door open and stepping inside.

  Tom is sitting with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. His glasses are resting on the tabletop off to one side. His head snaps up as I enter. He appears pale and drawn, like he’s suffering from the flu, but he has no obvious injuries from the car crash. The airbags in Mason’s car did their job.

  Taking the seat opposite, I realise I have no idea what I want to say to him. Tom’s the one who requested this meeting, so I wait for him to talk.

  ‘Is Mason coming?’ he asks. His voice is husky and he quickly clears his throat.

  ‘No.’

  Tom’s expression wilts. He presses his lips together in a grim line and reaches for his glasses, shoving them on.

  ‘I just …’ he starts. His eyes well up. ‘I need you to know how sorry I am. For all of it. For Henry, for all the lies, for trying to run. It all spiralled out of control.’ He runs a trembling hand through his hair. ‘I’d give anything to change it. I’d do anything to bring Henry back.’

  I’m quiet for a moment, unsure how to respond. It’s still inconceivable to me that I’m having this conversation with Tom. How long did he think he could get away with it? At some point in the future the mudslide would have been cleared so the road could be rebuilt. No wonder he was supporting Jack Doherty’s efforts to keep Cutler Bend closed – it was buying him time. Maybe making sure his grandparents were taken care of with the fire insurance was part of a larger plan to disappear before work ever started on that road.

  So many questions. But only one that really matters.

  ‘Why didn’t you help him?’ I ask, my voice breaking.

  Tom gulps as his tears spill over. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’ He shakes his head and pulls off his glasses again, pressing his fingers into his eye sockets. ‘I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t moving, and there was so much water on the road. I—’

  ‘You drove away and left him there?’ My tone is disbelief and anger all rolled into one.

  ‘I had to get Mason away!’ he cries. ‘I didn’t want him to know. I didn’t want anyone to know. My grandparents … how could I do that to them?’

  ‘So you let the water take Henry.’

  Tom wipes his nose with his sleeve. ‘I came back. I panicked and took off, and I’m not proud of it. But I came back to find Henry. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere. He was …’

  ‘Gone,’ I manage.

  His lower lip wobbles. ‘The road’s shoulder had fallen away. All this mud was down in the ravine—’

  I hold up my hands. ‘Stop.’

  Tom covers his face, his shoulders shaking. My anger quickly subsides and all I feel is desperately sad. I’m heartbroken about Henry. And I’m also heartbroken about Tom. After that moment of impact, they both must have felt so very, very alone.

  ‘I don’t know how to forgive you for this, Tom.’

  ‘I know,’ he croaks. ‘I don’t blame you.’

  ‘You should have told someone. Instead you covered it up.’ I swipe at my wet cheeks with frustrated hands. ‘You planted Henry’s bike at the train station and you disposed of his hat. You faked a postcard from Sydney. You tried to make us all believe Henry had run away.’

  He shrinks in his chair under the weight of my words.

  ‘I thought that was better than …’ His voice trails off. ‘I knew the truth would crush you.’

  ‘Tom,’ I say, my voice catching. The truth is crushing me, but the fact that Tom has been hiding it from us makes it a hundred times worse. ‘We needed to know. Mason and Ivy needed to know.’

  ‘It’s been eating away at me ever since,’ he says, his hand finding his chest and rubbing at the pain. In the harsh light of the overhead fluorescents it’s clear how much weight Tom’s lost in the last few months. His cheeks are hollow, his collarbones sunken, the bones in his wrists and elbows protruding and obvious. ‘Will you please tell Mason I really need to see him?’

  ‘He won’t come, Tom. He’s not ready.’

  He hangs his head again, sniffling. I find myself feeling sorry for him one moment, then wanting to shake him the next. Hitting Henry with the car was a regrettable accident, but covering everything up was sly and deceitful.

  Wrong turns, bad decisions … everybody makes them. Mistakes show we’re human, but it’s what we do next that reveals who we truly are.

  ‘I need to go now,’ I tell Tom.

  ‘Will you come and see me again? Before my court date?’

  I frown at the floor, not sure what to say. ‘Maybe after the funeral.’

  Tom’s eyes grow wet with tears again and he nods quickly. I stand up and he remains seated. I hesitate, because it feels strange not to hug him goodbye. As
I move to the door, I glance over my shoulder. Tom gives me a sad, faint smile.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ he says.

  ‘We’ll talk again soon,’ I tell him, realising that’s something I actually do want. I see him slump in relief as I pull the door closed behind me.

  Sergeant Doherty hurries over to meet me as I exit the interview room.

  ‘You all right?’ he asks, guiding me along the empty corridor.

  ‘What’s going to happen to him?’

  ‘Well, he’s already been charged with a number of offences, the main ones being negligent driving causing death, and failing to stop and render assistance.’

  ‘Is he in trouble for moving Henry’s bike and hat? And faking the postcard?’

  Doherty nods. ‘He’s been charged with hindering a police investigation too. There’s also the unlicensed driving charge, and failing to provide the particulars of an accident.’

  I swallow. ‘So many charges.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What happens next?’

  ‘Right now he’s on conditional bail while he awaits trial,’ Doherty says, ‘so he remains at home and has to be supervised by Youth Justice until his court date. He committed the crimes when he was seventeen, so he’ll be tried as a young offender, not an adult.’

  ‘Will he go to jail?’ I ask.

  ‘If he’s found guilty he’ll be placed on a control order to be served at a Youth Justice facility.’

  ‘So, like juvenile detention?’

  ‘Exactly. Although they will move him to an adult prison when he’s twenty-one.’

  ‘Right.’ My stomach rolls. I can’t stop thinking about Tom’s bright future, his potential, how it’s all come undone. This in turn makes me think about the future Henry had taken away from him, and how Tom is responsible for that. Under any other circumstances I’d want to see someone punished for what happened to Henry. The fact that it was Tom makes everything so confusing.

  ‘Come on,’ Doherty says. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

  He fills me in on a few other things as we head out through the waiting room. Tom hasn’t admitted to starting the fire at Bernie’s shop and it’s still being investigated. If it turns out it was deliberately lit, it will no doubt affect the Lawsons’ insurance payout.