Night Lights, page 18
Only, it creates fresh concerns too. Something nasty like methamphetamine in Dad’s system, coupled with his existing drinking and anger issues, is a dangerous combination. If anything, it confirms our suspicions that he could have physically lashed out at Uncle Marty.
The senior constable is on her phone as she returns to the car. She’s walking quickly like she has somewhere to be.
“Okay. Thanks, Dave,” she says, sliding into the driver’s seat. “I’ll let them know.”
She ends the call and turns to the three of us huddled in the back seat. Her face is unreadable. My pulse quickens.
“That was Sergeant Chapman,” she tells Mum. “We’ve located your brother.”
DAY NINE
One day ago
It was almost one thirty in the morning, and we were still going over what had happened while Mum, Dad, and Marty were out at the pub. I really wanted to sleep, but since my bedroom was the couch, there was no chance until everyone else went to bed.
The three of them had arrived home sometime after eleven, puzzled to find Nika and me asleep in the bathtub. At some stage I’d dozed off, unable to shift without disturbing my sister. The noise on the roof had lasted probably no more than ten minutes, but I was so wired that I couldn’t relax an inch for at least an hour afterwards.
“Tell me again,” Dad said now. “What exactly did this person look like?”
We were all exhausted, hunched over the dining table like we were having a Neighbourhood Watch meeting. The untouched Monopoly game was set up in front of us from earlier in the day, and Marty fiddled with the small silver top hat. Mum nursed a mug of tea, every now and then glancing past my shoulder towards the hallway. Nika hadn’t cried out once since we’d transferred her from the bathroom to bed. Mum was on high alert anyway.
“Tall,” I said. “And slender. I couldn’t really make out any facial features.”
My stomach squirmed at the memory of the face in the window. Could I really describe it with any accuracy? It was gone in a blink. I could already imagine the expression on Dad’s face if I described what I thought I saw.
He huffed at how hazy I was being. “Male or female?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It was dark.”
I added this part apologetically. This only seemed to frustrate Dad more. Anyone would have thought it was me who’d climbed onto the roof to cause havoc. It’s like Dad needed somebody to be angry at, and here I was waving my vague answers around like a red flag to a bull.
I wanted to tell them the truth; I just didn’t know how. What was I supposed to say that didn’t sound crazy?
“How tall?” Dad asked.
“I only saw them crawling,” I said, “but it looked to me like they were possibly over six foot. Like seven, maybe eight feet tall?”
Dad scoffed. “Nobody is eight feet tall, Owen.”
“Could it have been a prank?” Marty said, glancing around the table. “Like that bang on the door last week? Maybe they were wearing some kind of costume.”
Dad folded his arms, his jaw tightening. “That’s about as stupid as Owen’s suggestion of an eight-foot freak.”
“Well, sorry about that, Mick,” Marty said dryly. “What’s your explanation, then? I’m sure we’d all love the opportunity to shoot down your ideas.”
Mum patted Marty’s arm. “Okay, okay …”
“And I’m sure you’d love to explain it away as a prank,” Dad said, “considering this happened to play out on a night when we were all at the pub.”
Marty’s brow furrowed. “Meaning?”
“It was your suggestion that we should go out tonight.”
“What are you getting at?” Marty said. “You think I had something to do with this?”
“Did you?”
My uncle’s mouth dropped open. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Mick,” Mum said, “that doesn’t make any sense.”
Dad rose clumsily from his chair and moved to the nearest window, peering out into the night.
“Maybe it’s the seven or eight beers talking,” Marty muttered to Mum.
“Or maybe,” Dad said, over his shoulder, “Owen was so bloody busy cowering in a corner that he barely got a look at the bloke.”
Great. Now it was my fault again?
“What did you want me to do?” I said. “Go outside and confront them? I was trying to keep Nika safe.”
“Of course you were,” Mum said quickly. She reached over and squeezed my hand. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”
It was only as she said this that I suddenly felt like I was on trial. The three of them weren’t even here. What would they have done in the same situation? How would they describe what I’d seen?
I was sick of talking. I wanted to sleep.
“Can I go to bed now?” I said bluntly. I gestured at the couch in the hopes of giving them the hint.
“What are we going to do about Scout?” Mum said. “We need to find her.”
“It’s the middle of the night, Janey,” Marty said. “We’d just be stumbling around in the dark.”
Dad tested the deadbolt on the sliding door again and moved to double-check the front door locks.
“She’ll come back when she’s hungry,” he muttered.
“But it’s so cold …” The fight was fading from Mum’s voice. We were all too tired to deal with this anymore tonight.
Still, I listened out for Scout for as long as I could until fatigue dragged me under. At first my body fought off the impulse to shut down by jerking me awake whenever I drifted off. Surrounded by bare windows, I felt exposed and vulnerable, every noise in the bush taking on a sinister edge. It was only when I pulled the sleeping bag up over my head that I managed to find a pathway to unconsciousness. More than once, I woke with a start to find Dad moving around in the dark, creeping from window to window.
He was the first one up in the morning as well, brewing coffee and stoking the fire. I wasn’t sure if he’d actually slept. He looked rough, like he’d been awake for days – large puffy bags beneath his eyes, a waxy patina to his skin – with a mood to match. He spoke very little over breakfast, and it was hard to shake the feeling that something was brewing, like the rainclouds gathering in the sky above Wooralla Ridge. The rest of us were worn down and frazzled. How well would we weather Dad’s storm when it unleashed?
It was almost lunchtime when he became restless again.
“I’m going out to search for Scout,” he said. He’d been out twice already to walk around the property. Was he really looking for our dog? Or doing another one of his perimeter checks?
“I’ll come too,” I said, jumping up to grab my shoes.
Dad walked out of the cabin as if I hadn’t spoken, the door slamming behind him.
“I’ll go with you, O-man,” offered Uncle Marty. “Let me finish this coffee and then I’ll grab my jacket.”
I gave him a grateful nod.
“She may have run down that walking track towards the creek,” I explained. “There’s a small hiking hut along that trail. She could have sheltered there for the night. Or at least near it if she couldn’t get inside.”
“Oh, I hope so,” Mum said. “Poor little pup.”
“Can I come?” Nika asked.
“Not this time, Nik-nak,” I told her. “We have to do a fair bit of walking.”
“We’ll do something fun later,” Marty promised. “Once we’ve got Scout back again.”
We were about to leave when heavy footsteps thundered across the verandah. The cabin’s door burst open and Dad entered, frantic and out of breath.
“Mick?” Mum said. “What is it?”
“They’re out there.” He kicked the door shut and fumbled with the lock. “They’re watching us.”
Mum and Marty exchanged a look.
“Who’s out there?” Mum said.
“There’s a black SUV out on the road.” Dad hurried to the closest window. “They might have a listening device. They might be monitoring everything we say.”
Marty snorted. “What?”
“You think this is a joke?” Dad barked.
“You’re overreacting,” Marty said. “Owen and I saw that car the other day. Did it have personalised numberplates?” He gave Mum’s worried expression a subtle head shake. “It’s just a random car. Probably belongs to a neighbouring property.”
Dad turned from the window. He squinted at Uncle Marty like he was seeing him for the first time.
“It was you,” he said. His tone was quiet, menacing. “You did this.”
Marty blinked at him. “Did what?”
“They found us because of you.” Dad turned to Mum. “He brought them here. He told them where we are. Your weasel of a brother.”
“Whoa!” Marty said, holding up both hands. He blinked at Mum.
“Mick.” Mum’s voice was shrill. “What are you talking about?”
Dad rounded on Marty, lumbering a few steps in his direction. Marty backed up, straight into the edge of the plastic dining table. He moved quickly to the other side, putting the table between himself and my father.
“You’re a traitor to this family,” Dad said, leaning over the table. It shunted forwards under his weight as he jabbed an accusatory finger in the air. “You set this whole thing up.”
“Owee…?” came Nika’s timid voice. I reached behind me and felt her small hand slip into mine.
“You’ve completely lost it,” Marty said to Dad. “The mood swings, the paranoia. You’ve got issues, Mick.”
“Marty,” Mum pleaded. “Can we just—”
“No, Jane.” Marty scowled and shunted the table back towards my father. “Enough is enough. You shouldn’t have to put up with this. He’s behaving like a total nutjob.”
Dad gripped the edge of the plastic table and swung his arm upwards. The table flipped onto its side, Monopoly pieces scattering across the floor.
Nika pressed against my back, burrowing her face into my hoodie.
Mum cried out. “For god’s sake!”
“They’re coming for us!” Dad bellowed. “You get that? You led them here. And now they’ll take her. They’ll take her away from us!”
“Take who?” Mum shrieked, clutching her neck with trembling hands. My own throat was swollen with fear, like my heart was lodged there.
Dad turned to glare at me and I staggered backwards, shielding Nika. I clutched her hand tighter as she whimpered.
“You need to leave, Mick,” Marty said. “Get in that car right now and drive away from here.”
“That’s exactly what we’re doing,” Dad said. “Everyone get your stuff together. Now.”
“Not us,” Marty said. “Just you. I’ll get Jane and the kids back to Melbourne myself.”
Dad sneered. “You think I’d leave them here with you? You can’t protect them! You couldn’t fight your way out of a paper bag.”
“Yeah?” Marty clenched his hands at his sides. “Try me, dickhead.”
“Please,” Mum implored. “Both of you!”
Dad marched to the kitchen counter, snatching up his keys and wallet. He unlocked the front door and yanked it open.
“We’ll go,” Mum said quickly. “We’ll all go, okay?”
“Janey—”
Mum turned to Marty. “I don’t know what’s going on, but let’s all get in the car and drive around for a little while to calm down. Please?”
“I’m not leaving without Scout,” I said.
“Owen,” Dad barked. “You’ll do as I say.”
“But Scout could be—”
Dad whirled around and marched towards me, his face like thunder. “Leave the bloody dog!”
Nika’s hand slipped from mine. She scurried away to hide behind Marty as Dad towered over me.
He’s going to hit me.
Mum was already there, pulling at his shoulder. I saw a gap and sprinted for the open door, across the verandah and out onto the driveway. I headed for the walking track that led down the mountainside.
Was I running to look for Scout?
Or was I running away from my father?
“Owen!” Dad hollered behind me.
I chanced a quick look over my shoulder to find him following, a streak of blue in his rain jacket. Mum was hurrying across the verandah, close on his heels.
“Mick!” I heard her plead. “Mick, leave him alone!”
The bush pressed in around me as I descended towards the valley. Ferns whipped at my legs. Knobbly tree roots threatened to trip me up. I swerved away from low tree branches as they clawed at my hoodie, trying to snag me and slow me down so Dad could catch up.
And still he kept coming, matching my pace. His heavy boots thumped against the rocky ground.
“Owen!” he yelled. “Get back here!”
The rain that had been threatening all morning finally made an appearance, the first few fat drops hitting my face. Soon it would be slippery underfoot. We’d probably both end up soaked through.
I wasn’t going to shake him. We’d both keep running along this path until we reached the creek, or until I was exhausted, whichever came first. I was already wheezing. I imagined Dad would be as well. I slowed my pace to a walk, my breath ragged, digging my fingers beneath my ribs where a stitch was slicing me in two.
I doubled over, resting my hands against my knees, and attempted to slow my breathing. I patted my pockets, hoping for my inhaler and coming up short. Mum’s voice was distant as she called out my name. It sounded like she’d given up the chase much further back on the trail.
Behind me came a snap of twigs, a rustling sound. Any second now Dad would appear, red-faced and out of breath, stumbling his way between the trees. I held up both hands in surrender, hoping to stave off his anger by demonstrating that I would now be compliant.
I could no longer hear his footfalls.
“Dad?”
Had he given up and headed back? Was he loading everyone into the car right now?
Will they leave without me?
“Dad?”
I backtracked up the trail, my hand pressed to my ribs. The sky had darkened. It was around midday, but the light had a dusk-like quality, a grey haze that absorbed all definition. Any minute now, it would start teeming with rain.
I noticed a smudge of blue up ahead, partially hidden in dense scrub just off the trail. Dad’s rain jacket. He was half-crouching near a fallen tree trunk, with his back to me.
Had he hurt himself? Twisted an ankle?
God, he’s not having a heart attack or something, is he?
I pushed my way through a knot of ferns, careful with my footing on the uneven ground.
“Dad?” I said.
He whimpered, jerking his head to seek me out.
I held up both hands. “Dad, it’s me.”
He pressed a finger to his lips. Even from here I could see his hands were shaking.
“They’re here,” he said in a stage whisper. “They’re all around here, hiding in the trees.”
I stiffened, peering into the vegetation surrounding us. “Who?”
“They’re well hidden,” Dad said. “I keep catching movement from the corner of my eye.”
He whimpered again, as though it was a struggle to keep his emotions in check. It took me a second to recognise his behaviour as fear. I’d never in my life seen my dad scared before. And if he was, then I definitely should be too.
“We need to go,” he said. “Right now.”
“O-okay.”
“Right now,” he repeated, grabbing for my arm.
He dragged me by the sleeve, the two of us stumbling back onto the trail. He pushed me in front of him and told me to hurry. It was a relief when I spotted Mum on the bush track ahead. She was sheltering beneath a tree as the rain steadily increased, craning her neck for a glimpse of us.
“Oh, thank god,” she said, clutching for me as I approached. Then she saw the expression on Dad’s face and her eyes widened in panic.
“We need to move, Jane,” Dad told her. “We’re in danger.”
The three of us tripped and staggered up the steepest section of the walking track, clumsy in our haste. When the cabin came into view, Dad pushed past us to reach the edge of the driveway first. He hurried over to the station wagon to unlock it, the whole while glancing left and right for invisible threats. He ordered Mum into the passenger seat.
“Get in,” he said to me, yanking open the rear door. I did as I was told.
Dad disappeared inside the cabin. Ten seconds passed. Twenty. After a minute, the car windows began steaming up from our damp clothes and body heat.
Where are they? What’s taking so long?
I stared at the back of Mum’s head in the seat in front of me. “Mum, is this—”
There was a commotion at the cabin door. Dad hurried out carrying Nika, her legs dangling, feet clad in purple gumboots. My heart leapt to my throat as he stumbled on the steps in his rush, almost upending them both.
I opened my door and jumped out.
“Get her in the car,” he said, lowering Nika to the ground. She clutched Bunny in one hand and a choc-chip muesli bar in the other. There was a tiny smear of chocolate in the corner of her mouth.
“Where are we going?” she asked me in a small voice. “Why was everybody shouting?”
I murmured assurances as I helped her into the back seat. Dad dug around for the car keys in his pocket and dropped them, then fumbled for them in the gravel. The colour had drained from his face.
“Where’s Marty?” I said.
Dad didn’t answer. He hurried to the driver’s side with his head down. I stood by the car so my uncle could take his place in the middle of the back seat. The cabin door hung open, ready for him to run out and join us.
Any second now.
Any second.
NOW
The last place I expected to reunite with Uncle Marty was in the Bridgewater Guesthouse’s sunny conservatory room. He ambles in wearing a promotional T-shirt for a pharmaceutical company and a bandage wrapped around the top of his head. It’s holding a wad of gauze in place at the back of his skull.
“You like it?” he asks us, tugging the bottom of his T-shirt. “Sales rep chic. The nurses wouldn’t let me wear my own shirt home, so they dug this out of a storeroom. Apparently bloodstains aren’t in fashion. Who knew?”
