Either Side of Midnight : A Novel (2020)
Page 27
And then he realised the worst of it.
He hadn’t taken a breath.
Now Jack was panicking.
He knew he wouldn’t make another rotation. The next time he hit the ground, he’d be unconscious, dragged like a ragdoll through the dust. He tried to keep his eyes open, take in one last image. The ground, about two metres below him now. The sky, vibrant and bright, and getting darker. One last glance at his brother, but the doors to the ambulance were closed. Lack of oxygen to the brain. Three minutes. That was all it had taken with Liam.
Jack wondered, perversely, how far around he’d get before he passed out. Was there a blackboard with neat ruled lines showing names and records like at a fishing tournament, somewhere? Jack at the top. Two and a half laps. Well, not quite two and a half. He hadn’t felt the scrape of metal on his back, which he now knew was when he’d passed the apex and started to swing back down.
In fact, had he stopped moving?
There was yelling. The rev of an engine. Jack, still only two or so metres up, was able to tilt his head down. Someone was running across the park. Maurice. The ambulance had its lights on. Why were the back doors closed? Then there was a roar of an engine, and the ambulance spun its wheels, started reversing.
Maurice was still running towards it. He was almost at it. But the ambulance was reversing and picking up speed. Maurice saw it wasn’t stopping and stepped out of the way. But the ambulance swung into a broadside skid, the flank whipping round, and Maurice was there one second, gone the next, replaced by a smear on the side panel.
That was the last thing Jack saw. The tunnel in his vision slowly closed. Vision gone, his other senses still there but dulled. The rope, still trying to saw through his neck. His left eye felt like it might burst. The garish music from the wheel. The throttle pumping. The squeal of brakes. Something collided with his legs, pulverising one ankle, bones floating in the skin-sack of his foot. It didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt anymore.
And then the strangest feeling under his toes. The ball of his good, shoeless, foot.
Cold metal.
The roof of the ambulance parked underneath.
PART 6
WE NOW RETURN YOU TO YOUR REGULAR PROGRAMMING
Yeah, exactly, so stop doing that. There is more success than there are failures.
Are you kidding me?
You have to look at it that way and people only fail because they have the same mindset as you. Thinking they’ll fail.
I really want to believe you.
Why don’t you.
You can’t think about it. You just have to do it. You said you were going to do it. Like I don’t get why you aren’t.
I don’t get it either. I don’t know.
So I guess you aren’t going to do it then. All that for nothing. I’m just confused. Like you were so ready and determined.
I am gonna eventually. I really don’t know what I’m waiting for but I have everything lined up.
. . .
Don’t do it in the driveway. You will be easily found. . . . Find a spot.
I don’t know. I’m thinking a public place. If I go somewhere private they may call cops.
Well, then someone will notice you.
Do you think you will get caught? I mean, it only takes 30 minutes; right?
Just park your car and sit there and it will take, like, 20 minutes. It’s not a big deal.
. . .
Oh, okay. Well I would do the CO. That honestly is the best way and I know it’s hard to find a tank so if you could use another car or something, then do that. But next I’d try the bag or hanging. Hanging is painless and takes like a second if you do it right.
. . .
Are you going to do it today?
Yes.
Like in the day time?
Should I?
Yeah, it’s less suspicious. You won’t think about it as much and you’ll get it over with instead of wait until the night.
Yeah then I will. Like where? Like I could go in any enclosed area.
Go in your truck and drive in a parking lot somewhere, to a park or something. Do it like early. Do it now, like early.
. . .
Okay. I’m gonna do it today.
You promise?
I promise, babe. I have to now.
Like right now?
Where do I go?
And you can’t break a promise. And just go in a quiet parking lot or something.
Actual text messages between Michelle Carter and Conrad Roy III, 2014
EPILOGUE
Jack opened his eyes – thankfully not taped shut – to bleached white and a symphony of beeps and wheezes. Was this what Liam felt like?
In a mild panic, he wriggled his finger. Please move . . . It moved. He went about investigating the rest of him. Everything hurt. His tongue was dry and biscuit-rough. There was a sharp throbbing in his left knee, and he could feel nothing below his right. His throat felt trodden on. Neck itched. He reached up a hand to scratch it and all he felt was gauze. He pried a finger underneath it, which came away sticky. Held it up: bright red.
Harry was sitting under the window, flicking through a magazine. He saw Jack move and walked over. Harry flashed him that TV smile, but it finally felt like his own. He was wearing a crisp pressed shirt, cuffs rolled up to the elbows, tucked into pinstripe trousers. Nice clothes, for Harry. Not his brother’s.
‘Apparently I broke both of your legs,’ Harry said. ‘Sorry about that.’
Jack went to speak, but nothing came out. The crackle of an untuned radio.
‘Only just missed you. After I stormed off – I think it was because I knew you were right – you weren’t there when I got back. I saw you from the window powering across the road to the KFC. Figured, I don’t know, that maybe I should hear you out. So I followed you. By the time I got there, I saw someone barrelling you into the back of an ambulance and blasting off down the street. I tried to follow in a cab. Man, he was punching it. Sirens on, the lot. I lost him pretty quick, but not before I knew he was on the highway south. Ambulance. South. I’m slow, but I pieced it together.’
Jack rolled his tongue around. Took a cue from Ivan Fraye: one word at a time. Fishing hook down the throat, drag a word up, scraping along the way. Eventually one crumbled out of his lips. ‘Liam?’
Harry put a hand on Jack’s arm. ‘He’s all right, mate. Across the hall. With your dad, who’s taking turns between rooms. Much nicer bloke than you are, don’t know how you came from him.’
A chuckle made Jack feel like his head would split in half. ‘Mau . . . rice?’
Harry shook his head. ‘Got in the way.’
Jack nodded. The smear on the side panel. Closed his eyes.
‘I’m going to pay you the rest,’ said Harry. ‘Beth’s emails are a pretty big paper trail. Cops are interested now so they can do all the computer stuff. They’ve got the script for the autocue. He tells him to, all right. He says he has Heather’s life in his hands, gives him a time limit. So much for talking him into it. There’s no ambiguity in that, no choice.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘So it’s not manslaughter, it’s outright murder. Sam’s insurance pays out. I’ll pay.’
Jack shook his head. Fell back to sleep.
He awoke briefly to chatter. Daylight. Celia was sitting now, Heather in her lap. Harry was standing, reading a book to his niece. No one saw Jack open his eyes. He couldn’t keep them open for long. Just words, as he drifted back.
‘Come for dinner some time.’ That was Celia. ‘She should see more of you.’
‘Okay.’
‘Will you do me a favour? It might be weird. I just miss him.’
‘Okay.’
‘Will you stay a bit? Just sit here? Put the jacket on? And don’t say anything. Just sit?’
The next time Jack woke, Peter was asleep beside him, LiquorMania shirt on. Name tag clipped to it. His chest moving up and down softly. But it fluttered and settled and paused and jumpe
d like he was real. The opposite of Liam’s metronomic pulse.
Jack could see Peter’s phone was beside him on the arm rest. He forced himself to sit up, looked around the room. Beside him, there was a small table with a motley collection of his things. Keys, his phone, his audio recorder. Maybe there was a show in there somewhere. A small mirror. His eyes looked jet black. Blood-filled from the broken blood vessels.
Sitting up, he could just reach his father. He leaned over. His fingers felt unused and they struggled with the clasp. Got it. He looked at Peter’s nameplate in the moonlight. Tossed it in the bin.
He picked up his phone. Infinity missed calls. Swiped past the notifications, messages.
Words kill people all the time.
Jack knew that now. He believed it. And there was only one more left to use.
YES OR NO.
Jack typed a word. Deleted it.
Typed a different one. Just to see what it would look like. How it felt in his hand. Deleted that too.
He gritted his teeth. Made up his mind. Typed.
And pressed send.
This novel contains themes of suicide and mental health. If you or someone you know needs help, you can contact the following organisations:
Lifeline: 13 11 14
Beyond Blue: 1300 22 46 36
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to mention that every coercion case referred to in this book that does not interact directly with the characters in the novel is a real event. Quotes used are from publicly released court transcripts or news articles. In a book about the power of words, it is a pleasure to reserve the final few to thank the many people who helped bring this book to life.
Thank you to Beverley Cousins, my publisher. Your guidance, your vision for what this book could be and your willingness to let me take risks (try calling your publisher and saying the words: ‘Right, so it’s about – get this – scary words’) and push me on the hard questions were invaluable in shaping this novel. Though this is my second novel, this is the first book we’ve run the entire race together, and I am looking forward to many more. Amanda Martin, my editor, thank you for solving the endlessly labyrinthine problems that my renegade plotting throws up, and keeping everything in line. I am grateful for your patience, attention to detail and tenacity through a thoughtful and incisive edit. Thank you for always providing ‘gentle nudges’ instead of ‘Hey moron, have you forgotten this was due two weeks ago?’ Thank you to Nikki Lusk for proofreading the novel. Thank you to Adam Laszczuk for the amazing and haunting cover, and Midland Typesetters for the internals. Emily Cook, my publicist, thank you for championing my work at every turn: the confidence and energy you bring to talking about my books astounds me. Thank you to Nerrilee Weir and Jordan Meek, who work tirelessly in selling and administering rights. Justin Ractliffe and Julie Burland have gone out of their way to make me feel at home at Penguin Random House. More than those I know personally, there is a behemoth of a team in sales, marketing, design, production and more who gets a book off the ground. To everyone behind every desk/laptop/notepad/iPad/wheel/printer at Penguin Random House Australia, thank you.
Thank you to Pippa Masson, my agent, for who this was also our first full book together. A literary agent is the dartboard of an author’s petulance, and I am indebted to your absorption of my darts. Thank you for your assistance, diligence, temperament and, most of all, patience. Pippa is ably assisted by Caitlan Cooper-Trent – thank you, Caitlan, for the fantastic catalogues and pitches of my novels. The support of everyone at Curtis Brown has been extraordinary. Thank you all for helping me chase dreams.
I’d also like to thank Karen Yates and Liz Alexander for producing the audio editions of my works so wonderfully. Grace Heifetz and Kimberley Atkins got me started on this train years ago, and I owe them thanks.
My family – Peter, Judy, Emily and James – thank you for supporting my books and writing. My early readers and fellow authors Helen Scheuerer and Tom Gibson provided insightful feedback. And to Aleesha Paz, rather than list your virtues: thank you for everything.
I am writing these acknowledgements from self-isolation in April 2020. The world has changed a lot in the last few months, and it may well change a lot more before this book is released. Authors, bookshops, festivals, theatres and more are facing uncertainty over what’s to come. To every artist, author, bookseller and distributor: we are vital. To every single reader: you help make us so with every book you read. I am grateful you’ve chosen to spend your time with mine, and I hope you enjoyed it.
Benjamin Stevenson is an award-winning stand-up comedian and author. His first novel, Greenlight, was shortlisted for the Ned Kelly Award for Best Debut Crime Fiction, and published in the USA and UK. He has sold out shows from the Melbourne International Comedy Festival all the way to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival and has appeared on ABC TV, Channel 10 and The Comedy Channel. Off-stage, Benjamin has worked for publishing houses and literary agencies in Australia and the USA. He currently works with some of Australia’s best-loved authors at Curtis Brown Australia.
Praise for Benjamin Stevenson’s Greenlight
‘An outstanding debut – confident, compelling, with a surprise around every corner. I loved it.’
JANE HARPER
‘A hugely original premise and a plot that won’t lie down. A great debut.’
CHRIS HAMMER
‘Such an assured, intricately plotted novel full of mind-bending twists and turns.’
CANDICE FOX
‘A gripping, densely knotted debut . . . kept me guessing until the very last page.’
MARK BRANDI
‘Benjamin Stevenson is a writer with something to say.’
DERVLA MCTIERNAN
‘A clever, heart-racing read.’
COURIER MAIL
‘Filled from the opening prologue with devilish twists and turns.’
ADELAIDE ADVERTISER
‘Thought-provoking and densely plotted, Greenlight is compelling and timely.’
SYDNEY MORNING HERALD
‘Perfectly executed plot twists and turns.’
HERALD SUN
‘An engaging, exciting and topical debut.’
BELLARINE TIMES
‘An absolute knock-out . . . you will not be sleeping until you know how this one ends – trust us.’
BETTER READING
‘A nail-biting thriller . . . Greenlight will shock with twists and turns you’ll never see coming.’
WENTWORTH COURIER
‘Stevenson is a splendidly vivid and tricky writer. Readers will be curious to see what he comes up with next.’
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY (starred review)
‘A truly magnificent story on so many different levels, [Greenlight] should be at the top of everyone’s must-read list.’
NEW YORK JOURNAL OF BOOKS
‘A fine, twisty ending.’
BOOKLIST
MICHAEL JOSEPH
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Michael Joseph is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published by Michael Joseph, 2020
Copyright © Benjamin Stevenson, 2020
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, published, performed in public or communicated to the public in any form or by any means without prior written permission from Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd or its authorised licensees.
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ISBN 9781760144661
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&nbs
p; Table of Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Contents
Dedication
Part 1: We Interrupt This Broadcast Prologue
Part 2: Reboot Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part 3: Replay Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Part 4: Reshoots Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32