Category: Fiction

Jack Lewis was not, and had never been, a man to socialise.

Even when he had been a young boy in elementary school, people had often commented on how quiet he was, how he preferred to keep to himself, and interacted with others only when he had to. This habit had stuck with him all the way to adulthood.

Jack had an opinion of himself as a man of routine, the kind of man who had his life together. Each morning, he would be roused by his alarm clock at precisely seven thirty, eat his breakfast of toast and tea, and then catch the eight o’clock 399 bus to work. He would stay there for the day, stamping documents and filling in forms until precisely seven thirty in the evening. At this point of the day, Jack would pay a visit to the diner that was located conveniently underneath his office block and buy himself dinner. Then he would catch the same bus home, unless it was a Friday. On Fridays he would cross the street to the shopping centre near the bus stop and buy the week’s groceries. Afterwards, he would arrive back at his home in the suburbs, eat his dinner and put away the groceries, the alphabetised order of the jars soothing his soul. Then he would go to sleep.

Each day passed in an identical manner, barring the weekends. On his two days off from work, Jack would take the time to do things that he enjoyed, which mainly consisted of admiring his sizeable aquarium of exotic fish or working on his rather extensive collection of model boats and ships. His routine on the weekends did not differ much from the days on which he was expected to show up to work; he still arose seven thirty, only instead of heading off to the bus stop, he would stay indoors with one of the model ship magazines he wanted to read, or take the train to the nearby aquarium and burn a few hours there looking at the exhibits. Afterwards he would treat himself to a simple dinner of microwaved food, and then would go down to his basement workshop and spend exactly two hours working on his model ships, all the while listening to the somewhat ear-grating and wall-shaking thud thud thud of his neighbour’s music. At least, he assumed it was his neighbour’s music. It certainly came from inside the house next door. He had never been inside the neighbour’s home to confirm, nor did Jack really feel the inclination to. It wasn’t that he did not like his neighbour; Jack really couldn’t think of any reason to dislike the man. It was just that aside from a casual wave and nod to each other when they would occasionally set off for work at the same time, Jack simply felt that he didn’t know the man well enough to ask about his tastes in music. After all the years living side by side, all Jack knew about his neighbour was maybe his name, which he could not recall at the present moment, and that he had a wife and teenaged son, whom he occasionally caught a glimpse of through their windows.

And so, life went on, every day more or less a repeat of the last, just the way that Jack liked it, until one warm Sunday night. Jack settling down in his workshop with a mug of his favorite Earl Grey tea, with exactly one tablespoon of cream and two sugar cubes in it. He was adding some finishing details to the conning tower of one of his prized model aircraft carriers, one which he had just finished assembling the night before. Jack rubbed his hands together in anticipation and unscrewed the lid on a jar of cherry red paint, getting his brush ready.

It was in that moment that a pall of unease settled onto Jack like a cold, clammy mist. Jack stared at his tabletop, frowning. He sipped at his tea, hoping it would calm him down. It did not work.

Jack rose from his workbench, screwing the lid back on his jar of paint. Something was definitely wrong. He looked at his cheap digital watch, adjusting his glasses as he did so. It was three minutes past eight, which was just about the usual time he should be in his workshop, so no problems there.

Had he perhaps forgotten to do something? Jack quickly went over everything he had done that day and couldn’t find anything that he might have missed. He wasn’t wearing anything out of the ordinary: smock, t-shirt, and tracksuit pants. He dressed this way pretty much every time he set to work on his models.

Jack had never been a superstitious man, but right now he could not help but feel as though some hidden sixth sense had sprung in his head, warning him that something was not right. Had someone perhaps broken in without him hearing it?

Keeping as quiet as possible so as not to alert a possible intruder, Jack mounted the steps to the basement, keeping to the sides of the steps to avoid making any creaking noises on the wooden stairs. Once he reached the top, he slowly reached behind the umbrella stand and brought out a wooden cricket bat. Jack had won it in an office raffle, but had always meant to sell or give it away, since he didn’t play cricket. He hefted the bat, feeling its comforting weight in his hands as he tiptoed around, checking all the windows and doors, making sure they were all locked and unbroken.

After a thorough check around the house, establishing it intruder-free, Jack replaced the bat and sat down on the couch, scratching the stubble on his chin and letting the thoughts in his head grind. Something was still off, and he knew that unless he figured it out, he would be up all night bothered by it. In a way, it irritated him that he was feeling this way. Didn’t he have as much right as the next man to a peaceful weekend? He had done everything right, and if it weren’t for the neighbour’s music…

Jack’s hand paused mid-scratch. He jerked his head to the wall that blocked his neighbour’s house from view. Quiet as a grave.

Jack rushed to his front door, throwing on a jacket over his painting smock. He stormed out of his house and onto the sidewalk, making tracks for his neighbour’s own front door. It was past dusk, and therefore a little chilly, but Jack was adamant. He would let nothing stand in his way of finding out just why someone had the nerve to throw a wrench into his well-oiled machine of weekly routine. Jack’s ears grew hot; he was partially infuriated and partially concerned, though mostly for himself.

Jack arrived at his neighbour’s house and raised his hand to knock. What was his neighbour’s name again? Jules? Julien? He decided to risk the former. Jack knocked once, twice, thrice on the wooden door then took a step back, just to be polite.

He heard footsteps within the house, and after a few seconds, Jack’s neighbour was peering at him as though he couldn’t believe his eyes.

‘Jake?’

Jack inhaled, his brow furrowing. There was definitely something wrong here. He could see it in his neighbour’s bloodshot eyes and his unshaven face.

‘It’s Jack, actually,’ Jack corrected. ‘Listen, Jules,’ His neighbour didn’t say anything, so Jack assumed he had been right in guessing the man’s name. ‘I can’t help but, ah, notice, that something’s been off lately,’ Jack said almost accusingly. ‘I don’t suppose you know what?’

Jules’ eyes grew mournful, and Jack began to have second thoughts about whether this venture had been a good idea. Oh well. It was too late to turn back now.

‘I…well…you’d better come in,’ Jules said, stepping into his house and opening the door wide for Jack to enter.

Jack followed Jules into the house, taking note of all the pictures on the walls of Jules and his family, as well as a sizeable collection of strangers whom Jack assumed were friends. Most of the lights were on, and upon passing the kitchen, Jack saw Jules’ wife, a shorter woman with blonde hair, sitting at the table and staring numbly at a collection of papers.

‘It’s nice of you to come by, Jack,’ Jules said absent-mindedly. Even Jack, who did not consider himself very good at reading body language, could tell that his neighbour’s thoughts were a million miles away at the moment. ‘We haven’t told any of our family friends yet…’

‘Yeahhh…’ Jack said slowly. ‘Look. I just came by because, well, things have been, er, quiet. I wanted to know why.’

‘Quiet?’ Jules gave Jack a questioning look before understanding dawned on his face. ‘Oh, you must be talking about Calvin, I mean, our son’s music?’

‘Is that his na-‘Jack caught himself. ‘I mean, yes. The music. Of course. I was wondering where it went.’

Jules sat in silence for a whole minute. Eventually his wife came over with two cups of tea, setting them onto the living room coffee table. Jack took the tea, hoping for something to moisten his dry mouth. This was more human interaction than he’d had at his job for years. He sipped at the tea, which was definitely not Earl Grey, and steeled himself so as to not make a face at the bitter drink. Jules took a fortifying gulp of the hot liquid before continuing.

‘Jack,’ Jules said at last. ‘Calvin’s been sick. He has been for a very long time, ever since he was nine.’

Jack stared at Jules, who was gazing into his cup of tea as if it contained the secrets of the universe. Remembering that it was rude to stare, Jack looked back to his own beverage and took another sip of the horrible tea. His lip twitched as he forced it down.

‘The only thing that kept him going was his music,’ Jules said suddenly. Jack went back to staring at Jules. ‘He always was a snappy little musician. Magic on the turntables, is what his music teachers said about him. Calvin loved making music, and once he got sick, he threw himself into it, always said it made him forget about the pain.’

Jules sighed heavily, his shoulders slumped as though they held the weight of the world on them like Atlas of myth. ‘He made dozens of songs to help pay for his treatment, since he couldn’t bear to let us pay for all of it.’

Jack sat silently, feeling more than a touch irritated, but giving away nothing. He yearned to be back in his workshop painting his aircraft carrier, but no, he just had to find out why the music stopped and now he was in the metaphorical frying pan. Surreptitiously, Jack angled his left arm toward himself and sneaked a peek at his watch.

Jules didn’t seem to notice.

‘But on Saturday night, Calvin-‘ Jules broke off, stifling a sob. ‘Calvin got worse, and had to be taken to the hospital. The doctors are saying they can’t do anything, and that if Calvin g-gets worse, he could, he could…’

‘Die?’ Jack completed slowly. Obviously that was what Jules had meant to say, but Jack was shocked when Jules covered his face with his hands and let out a tearful moan. He almost dropped the cup of tea he had been holding as Jules leaned against him and sobbed into his jacket. Jack awkwardly patted his neighbour on the arm as his eyes darted all around, hoping to find anything to alleviate the situation, whether it be an exit or another topic. He found neither.

By the count of Jack’s watch, they sat like that for ten minutes and thirty-three seconds. At which point Jules’ sobbing had deteriorated into sniffles, and finally into heaving gasps.

‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ Jules sniffled. ‘I don’t mean to break down like this, but Calvin means so much to me and Sarah and I’m just not ready to let him go. No father should have to bury his son.’

Jack nodded slowly as if in agreement. ‘It…it’ll be alright,’ Jack said, remembering from a book that it was the typical thing to say to someone who was sad. He hoped the book hadn’t exaggerated its effectiveness.

Jules gave a rattling sigh and wiped the last of the tears from the corners of his eyes. ‘I hope so, Jack. I really do. Thanks for stopping by, but I need to help Sarah with the hospital forms. I don’t mean to kick you out or anything, but…’

‘Oh, no, it’s fine, it’s fine!’ Jack cajoled. ‘You’ve got a lot on your mind, I get it. I’ll just see myself out.’

Jack was just turning the doorknob on the front door when the patter of footsteps made itself known behind him.

‘Jack, wait!’

Jack inhaled, feeling indignation flare up inside him. What was it now? Jules was at his side, holding up a small silver disc in a transparent case.

‘Jack, I want you to have this. It’s one of Calvin’s albums, and I know it would mean the world to him if he knew someone was still listening to his work, even if he might not make it.’

Jack blankly accepted the disc and tucked it into his jacket pocket. With a final wave, Jack bid Jules goodbye, and he hurried back into his own house and locked the door, glad to finally be alone again.

He checked his watch again. He had wasted at least twenty-five minutes on his little field trip, but perhaps it was worth it. Jack took the disc out of his pocket, staring long and hard at it. He went back down to his basement and put the disc into his CD player. Immediately, loud bass pulses and heavy beats filled the room.

‘Ah, no!’ Jack shouted, slapping the “stop” button on the CD player’s remote control. He would never be able to concentrate on painting with that kind of ruckus. He rubbed his chin and thought. Then he unplugged the boom box and hauled it up the basement steps and into the guest room.

It was a sparsely furnished space, with a single bed, a dresser, and a wardrobe, all empty. Jack lowered the CD player into the bottom drawer of the dresser and closed it, plugging in the wire. Then he pressed “play”.

It worked; the music was now muffled, and would barely register back in his workshop, but its wall-shaking beats and bass drops still made Jack feel at ease. Just like it used to before Calvin had been moved to the hospital.

Now he could, at last, get back to his life in peace.

All was right with the world.

 

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I reach the end of my story and pull my headphones over my head. I sink into the sounds—I like to listen to static and white noise while cleaning. It brings everything close, I can focus. Sometimes it’s rain or cats purring, today it’s just static. I close my eyes and squeeze them so tight I see tiny lights. The bleach smells cold and reminds me of home. I open several bottles one after the other and pour them all into the bathtub. The milky white masks the red slightly. I let it sit in the bath while I clean the mirror. I spray the window cleaner three times, squeezing the trigger slowly; they are satisfying squirts. I wipe a cloth over it and the blood smudges. It frames my eyes but covers everything else in a strawberry haze. I look deep into my blue and wonder if I can see my own soul. I wipe faster until my arm starts to hurt.

When I finish with the en-suite I lift the plug out of the bath and rinse everything down.  It is back to its flawless porcelain white. I sit the body up. The skin squeaks against the walls of the bath as I struggle; I didn’t think it was this heavy. I move into the bedroom. I bend down and drag my hand underneath the mattress to bring the fitted sheet away from it. I strip back the quilt cover and the pillowcases and put them in the wash with lemon, baking soda, and as they are white, some bleach too. I scrub the carpet with cleaner too. The bubbles soak through my jeans, leaving two dark circles on my knees. I wipe down the surfaces of the bedside-tables and the drawers. The place is small, so the bedroom and the en-suite are the only places that need a deep clean. When I think everything is perfect I have to check it again, twice. Walk through the place slowly and check everything. Look underneath every bookshelf, the sofa; everything. I turn the warm tap on in the bath but leave the plug out, this will keep him warm and soft.

I close the door with a heavy click and put my shoes on again, they feel a lot looser on my feet now. In fact, all my clothes seem less restraining. I pull off the plastic gloves and stuff them into my back pocket, adjust the headphones on my head and change to a different track, this one is rain. ‘Rain with distant thunder falling on a shed’ I laugh at how specific it is. I hop down the stairs of the fire escape, skipping every second one and head into the foyer. I have a quick look around and go out onto the street. Outside it’s actually raining. People are ducking and passing through the streets to avoid the drops. I fiddle with my headphones. My chest feels clearer than it has in months and my nose is no longer blocked, it’s an amazing feeling. I can almost see myself from the outside, raising my face to the sky like I’m in a shitty romance movie—pop music playing over the top.

 

*

 

The train was loud. I could hear it even through my headphones. I looked from one face to the next. A woman was sleeping with a bag between her legs, head tilted to the side and arms loosely crossed on her lap. A boy and girl in school uniforms looking deep into each other’s eyes were blushing and holding hands. They probably thought they’d be together forever, they were more mature than their friends. This one was meant to last, they might get married and have some kids. They’d go to the same university and they’d always be in love. A young mother and her son. He was standing on the chair and looked out the window at the outside moving fast. Did he understand that he was on a train? She was holding him by the legs and pointing at things in the distance: shop, tree, another train. And then there was you.

You were wearing a shirt from some band I’d heard of but never listened to. Your hair was short on the sides but coiffed on the top, your small round glasses were slightly crooked. You were holding a book and talking to your friend. I was awestruck, you were the most handsome thing I’d ever seen. I couldn’t stop looking. Was I hoping to catch your eye? I don’t think so, but I didn’t have to worry about what I’d do if I did, you never looked my way. If you had, looked, I was wearing a blue flannel button up shirt and a striped jumper over the top, my favourite Levi jeans and a pair of Doc Martens. My hair was neat, but very much in need of a cut. It was getting long. I turned the track down, so I could hear what you were talking about. I think it was about the book you were reading, it was for class and you were laughing with your friend about a particularly risqué passage that took you by surprise when you read it.

‘Should I talk about it in class?’ you laughed again ‘I’d be shy, but I have to know what he was thinking putting this in!’ Your smile made me smile. And then you got up with your friend. I jumped up to follow, I couldn’t lose you.

I gathered you were walking to class. I followed with my headphones on, the street was too loud not to. I missed what you were saying but it was okay. I followed you right up to the university building. It was large and made of sandstone, the edges looked sharp. Chimneys came out of almost every peak on the roof and windows covered every face. You were so mysterious I wanted to be close to you. Your friend said goodbye to you and I caught your name, Max. In Latin, it means ‘the greatest’. I thought it suited you well. I felt quite silly standing there now that you were gone, I made the walk of shame back to the station.

When I got home that night I sat alone in my room, face lit by the screen of my laptop.  Searching you up on Facebook wasn’t hard, your name and university and there you were. I sent you a request and you accepted. I was surprised, that’s usually the hard part. I waited two and a half days so as to not seem too keen. It took me hours to construct that simple message: ‘Hey! you probably don’t remember me, but I met you at Joe’s party last week. We should meet up for coffee sometime! Or go to the markets?’ I thought this was really smart I scrolled through your feed and saw some photos from the party.

When we came together we were like old friends you were so upbeat and shone when you smiled. I walked up to you, this time you were wearing a t-shirt, black jeans and a denim jacket. Your eyelashes were so long they flicked every time you blinked. I don’t think I’d ever seen a man with eyelashes like yours.

‘This place is so busy today, hey?’ your voice was even lovelier than I remembered, I had psyched myself up for days training myself not to need my headphones at the market. I knew it would be loud, but I wanted to hear you. It was deep and felt like you had poured golden syrup into my ears and over my face. I wanted to sit in your soundwaves forever. There was a stall that sold jumpers not too far from where we were, I suggested we looked over there.

‘Yeah sure,’ you did a little smile that made my heart skip a beat. I didn’t want to assume anything yet, but I thought, maybe, you liked me. We talked about what you studied, I already knew, it was on your Facebook, but I wanted to hear you say it. Give it to me.

We discovered throughout our market traipsing that we were the same size in clothing. And even though I was shy to suggest that stall, you did in fact like jumpers. The more we talked the more I felt as though you felt the same as me. We liked movies, the same movies. We liked books, the same books. Our hands brushed over each other and lingered. You put your hand on the small of my back as we weaved through the multitudes of people. I thought you were so brave to touch me like that in public. Our hands bumped together less by accident and more with purpose, our fingers intertwined.

We got coffee afterwards. You pulled out your phone to check your messages. Your hands were strong and heavily lined. Your fingernails were cut to the same length on every finger, no stray pointy shards that needed to be bitten off. Each nail was blessed with the same sized half-moon by the cuticle. The hair on your arms was straight, and all went in the same direction. When you looked up at me, was the first time I wasn’t afraid if someone had seen my soul behind my eyes. We arranged to meet again, two days later, I’d catch the train back to your apartment with you after uni.

We shared earphones. The first song you put on, do you remember what it was? it was soft like you. Your fingertips stroked the back of my hand the whole trip. Your place was cosy and warm. Brown carpet stretched from wall to wall, the walls were off-white as they generally are in apartments. You had books and films crammed, double stacked, into your bookshelves. You walked in ahead of me and turned around. ‘Well. This is it!’ Your lips pinched into a smile that looked like you were stifling a laugh. ‘I love it.’ I whispered. You made us tea and we sat on your bed. Your hair was soft passing through my fingers. ‘Max.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Do you like me?’ your little smile again; it killed me every time, you leaned in and kissed me. I could feel the lines on your lips and your stubble on my cheeks. Inside your mouth was warm and wet. We lay down on the bed and you held my face. Our breaths were slow and heavy but got faster. Your hands clutched at my back and mine made fists in your hair.

When we fell apart the place was quiet. I wondered if you could hear my heartbeat, was it fast? Or slowly trudging on? I moved my hand to your head and ran my fingers over the cartilage in your ear: Daith, Rook, Helix. I could feel you shift and then vibrations travelled up my chest and throat. You invited me to a party you were thinking of having in a couple weeks, you said you’d introduce me to people. I kissed you again and pulled you in close.

I had done the trip to yours a countless amount of times by the time the party came around. When I arrived at your building I could hear the music from the street. The door was already open and there were far too many people crammed into the space. The music reverberated in my chest and my ears. I put my headphones on quickly and shut my eyes. Breathed in and out. The air was already being used by everyone else. You were leaning against a wall, a red wine balancing between two fingers, talking to someone. My entire body filled with warmth when I heard your golden syrup voice. You saw me and beckoned me over.

‘What are you wearing these for?’ You pulled my headphones off, ‘guys this is Ben, the one I’ve been telling you about,’ your arm circled my waist. You called out to Sam, to bring me a wine. I didn’t drink but I wanted you to see me drink. Wine after wine after Vodka lemonade, the drinks kept coming. I watched you dance. Your body swayed, and your eyes closed. Your mouth was loose, and your smile was different; a drunk smile. You were called away by Sam for something, you looked back to me and smiled. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself while you were gone so I assumed my wallflower position. I ran my hands over each of the books’ spines, they seemed cramped and their spines were jutting out everywhere. The amount of liquid I had consumed had started to hit me and I went to the bathroom but when I opened the door – you have to remember this bit. This is the bit that absolutely crushed me, so you must remember. You were there, weren’t you? With Sam. My heart fell through the fucking floor, Max. You didn’t see me straight away, so you kept on. Your hands were on his waist and clenching his shirt like they often did to mine. Your eyes were closed with your long eyelashes gently kissing his cheeks. Your eyes snapped open and I felt my knees wanting to give way. ‘Ben! What are you doing in here?’ Your voice was slurred. You followed me out of your apartment saying you were sorry, but I pushed passed you and ran into the alley next to your building. I fumbled with my phone like a drug addict trying to push in the needle. I had to press play. Rain with distant thunder. You didn’t come out after me.

The next three days were the hardest; I sat like a kettle boiling. I took the train to your house. You kept trying to apologise and kiss me, but I connected my elbow with your face and carried you to the bath. I stripped you down and put tape over your mouth. You woke up. I told you I loved you, and I didn’t want it to be like this, all the cliché stuff you’d expect. I flipped the knife over and over in my hand and moved my eyes from the floor. The first thing I noticed was your eyes. They were almost closed but not quite, eyelashes still flicking softly when you blinked but they were holding tiny pearls made from tears. Your skin was red and wet from the tiny pinpricks of sweat. I placed my hand on your cheek and kissed your quivering eyelid. And I did it.

‘I wanted you to know my side of the story, Max.’ I’ve got to clean now. I pull my headphones over my ears.

 

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Stu stood on the edge of the curb, his heart thumping in his chest. Here it comes, any second now. It wouldn’t take much, just a single step. A single step he could manage easily. Bam. Game over.

Gathering his courage, he felt the muscles in his legs tense as he prepared to step off the safety of the footpath. He just hoped this wouldn’t scare the driver too much. But then, why should he care about frightening those wealthy enough to afford a car?

‘There’s nothing good about this city, I tell you. Smells of piss and shit. Only the rats like it here,’ a grouchy voice declared behind him.

Stu frowned, hesitating where he stood. The car whizzed past him, and Stu couldn’t avoid the spray of filthy gutter water that shot up beneath its whirring wheels. Disappointed at having missed his opportunity, he turned towards the sound of the voice instead and came face to face with a pair of elderly gentlemen. The one who had spoken was chewing on his cigar and puffing smoke directly on Stu’s face. The man caught him staring, frowned, and growled, ‘The hell do you want, pipsqueak? Beat it!’

Stu hadn’t been sleeping well, his temper was short already, and he almost had the nerve to confront the pair. Almost. Staying quiet, he merely rolled his eyes and tried to wipe the muddy brown water off, but in spite of his best efforts, it left dark stains on his threadbare, slightly too short trousers.

Swearing under his breath, Stu straightened up and looked behind him again, but the man was already stomping his way across the street, the shattered glass over the faded green man blinking in time with the man’s steps. The man, despite his age, was much too fast for Stu to ever catch him with his uneven gait.

Stu didn’t cross. He stood on the side of the road as the light turned red again. The traffic roared past him, filling the air and his lungs with its horrible fumes, staining the surrounding buildings an even darker grey. They’d given everything, as a species, in pursuit of that oil. Everything was grey now, the sky, the streets, the skyscrapers, the rubbish, all of it was grey. Now that he really thought about it, Stu couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen something that reminded him of life.

‘When I was a kid, there were rolling hills of green, far as the eye could see.’ Stu heard his grandfather’s doddery old voice in the back of his mind. ‘And the sky even turned blue every once in a while.’

‘It’s not all bad,’ Stu muttered to himself. He’d grown up in this city. No matter how ugly it was, it was still good. ‘I’ll prove you wrong,’ he promised the old man, who was already disappearing in the distance.

‘Excuse me, young man, could you help me?’

Stu snapped out of his gloomy daydream and turned towards the voice. He found an elderly man at an ATM, probably the only one left working in the entire city. If one thing had survived all the chaos, it was the banks.

‘Sure, what’s wrong?’ he asked, strolling closer.

‘Sorry,’ the man laughed, ‘I’ve forgotten my glasses, and I can’t read the screen.’

‘No problem.’

Large pipes and scaffolding lay in the way, from a skyscraper that had been blown in half some years earlier. Stu clambered through the rubble and creaking metal shrapnel to approach the man and peered at the screen, which listed the options for the card in block grey letters.

‘You’re withdrawing cash?’ he guessed.

The man nodded, so Stu pointed at the top one. The man pressed the screen, typed in $500, and waited a little. Stu felt his heart beat faster at the number on the screen. He tried not to be jealous, but it was hard not to be after he’d just been laid off. ‘We have to make cuts, ya know? Budget and all that,’ his boss had offered, but Stu knew that wasn’t true. With the kids growing up and joining the workforce, the factory didn’t need the likes of him anymore. He was replaceable, and no one felt the least bit guilty for replacing him.

‘And now press enter,’ Stu suggested after a moment, and the man obeyed with a cheery smile. The screen then asked for his PIN, and Stu was about to politely turn away to give the man privacy but lingered a little in case he needed help. He felt good. That old grouch at the crossing could go stuff himself.

The smile vanished from the man’s face, and he turned to scowl at Stu.

‘You ain’t getting a reward, buddy!’ he snapped.

Stu opened his mouth, and awkwardly closed it again, taken aback by the abrupt change in attitude. As the man continued to glare at him, he rolled his eyes and hobbled away. So much for being nice.

He went past the park he used to go to as a child, back when the grass was still sort of green. Now, it was all ugly yellow, twisted lumps of thistle and weeds, giving the grey and brown climbing frames an almost sepia tone. Stu realised with dismay that, while there had been two climbing frames in his youth, now there was only one. The skeleton of the second stood, blackened and scorched, like a bad memory.

On the swing set, Stu spotted a little boy sitting by himself. The boy had the tell-tale ribs and tattered clothes of one of the countless homeless children. Stu felt a twinge of guilt watching the boy, knowing he was going to ignore him. He was still cringing from the time he’d tried to help a little girl who’d fallen over and grazed her knee.

He hesitated for a moment. Maybe today he could do something good, properly good, and help the little boy. ‘Get away from my daughter, you pervert!’ the woman’s words echoed in his memory, as she’d hit him with her handbag. People weren’t kind anymore. That’s why he didn’t want to stay among them much longer. Swallowing his guilt, he pressed on, hating himself with every step.

His feet led him to the corner shop, and he peered in. Beyond the tins of spam and beans, he saw a few shelves of sad, withered fruits and vegetables, wrinkling with age and attracting flies. There wasn’t a lot of variety since the farms all started failing. Back in the Resource Wars, the government had promised that with their victory would come more farming land and more food for everyone. They won, and they took the land, but it was all worthless anyway. None of it could support a single grain anymore, not after what the nukes had done. Stu chewed his lower lip and felt his wallet weighing like a stone in his pocket. Against his better judgement, he walked into the store.

Stu left several minutes later with an apple, the best he could find, though it had eaten into his dwindling savings. It gleamed a soft red and smelt sweet and crisp. Stu’s mouth watered at the sight of it. Most of what he ate came out of a tin. He limped back to the park and found the boy still sitting there.

‘Hey,’ Stu called, forcing a smile onto his lips.

The boy’s eyes shot up, and immediately narrowed when he saw Stu, staggering towards him with his twisted legs, ‘I was wondering if you wanted this?’ he said, holding up the apple in offering.

The boy wiped his snotty nose on a filthy sleeve, before he snatched the apple, and pegged it as hard as he could straight at Stu’s chest.

‘Fuck you, freak!’ the boy shouted and ran off, as Stu clutched his chest, gasping. That was the last child he was ever going to try to help.

When his breath returned, he continued his walk. He’d grown up in this city, lived here all his life, surely he could find one thing, one good thing, to redeem it.

The wind picked up, setting the street garbage in a flurry around him, plastic and chip packets clinging to his legs. The fumes from a smoking vent in the street filled his lungs, giving him a hacking cough that made his eyes water. The cough didn’t stop for several minutes, and his already bruised chest ached with the strain of it.

‘Goddammit!’ he swore between heaving breaths, kicking a rubbish bin over in frustration. It clattered to the ground, but nothing spilt out of it since no one ever bothered to fill it in the first place. A couple of old women looked up in surprise, shooting him dirty looks. He often received dirty looks, no one much liked to look at him anymore.

Eventually, when he’d recovered from the cough and the embarrassment of his temper tantrum, Stu gave up on his search and decided to go home. This whole venture had been pointless, and now his ankles were starting to ache from climbing over the rubble of fallen buildings.

He’d been so proud of his apartment when he’d first got it. Now, its dank, dingy atmosphere, with moulding walls and untreated floorboards filled him with disdain. Stu shoved the front door closed behind him with his foot, kicking it when the swollen wood stuck in the frame. He stood for a moment in the silent room, staring absent-mindedly at all the junk he’d collected over the years, cluttering up the space. So how did it all feel so empty? He caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror on the far side of the room. His twisted, mangled legs that barely worked anymore, his face and arms riddled with shrapnel wounds and burn scars.

Tossing his keys aside, Stu strode across the room to his desk. He pulled it forward, scraping across the floor until he had access to the electrical socket behind it. Stu unplugged his ancient computer from the wall and yanked the cord out of the back of the machine. Tugging it slightly to test the strength, he tied a loop at one end, just big enough for his head. Climbing onto his couch, he swung the cord around one of the cross beams on the ceiling and tied it there. He leaned his full weight against the cord, and it held.

Stu stuck his head through the loop at the end and felt it settle on his neck. He took one last look around the room, and his eyes drifted towards the window. The city he’d grown up in, the one he’d tried so hard to love again, stared back at him: the permanently thunderous sky that blocked out the sun, the dilapidated skyscrapers, half their original height, and never rebuilt after the wars and the bombs.

With a sickness in his stomach, he remembered the pride he’d felt when he enlisted. Everyone was cheering, sending the young off to defend their country, as they’d called it. Stu had relished it at first, the order of the army, how his body had felt as he grew stronger from the relentless drills and training. He genuinely thought it was making him a better man, and that he could spread his strength to other lands. Patriotism, and all that. Stu still couldn’t sleep most nights after what he’d seen. He’d given the best years of his life to protect this country, fought in wars that had left his body all bent and broken. No one thanked him for it, and even though they’d won, it hadn’t been a victory. Stu sighed. He wondered when he’d started seeing the world for what it really was—worthless, dead.

He toed the edge of the couch, and mentally apologised to his landlord, who no doubt would be the one to find him when his rent was late. He was about to take the last step when something caught his eye. There, by the window, partially hidden by the fire escape. A burst of colour in a world of grey.

Stu stood utterly frozen, uncertain what to do. He just stared at it for what felt like forever. Gingerly, his fingers crept up to his neck and removed the noose. He stepped off the couch, his lungs still working when his feet touched the floor. For all he knew, time may have slowed down, each step taking an eternity as he crossed the room.

The window was jammed and took almost all of his strength to open, but eventually, with a grating sound that made his ears bleed, it slid up. Half hanging out of the window, Stu could barely believe his eyes. On the edge of the fire escape, in a pile of broken brick and dust, was a tiny little plant. Its green leaves stretched towards the sky, aching for the sun, and it was so small it was barely visible but for the little pink and yellow flowers that swayed in the breeze.

For a long time, Stu could do nothing but stare at it. His heart ached with the sight of it; he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so beautiful.

The wind picked up, and the little flowers quivered. Snapping out of his reverie, Stu lunged back into his apartment. He ignored the sofa and the cord hanging from the ceiling. He ignored the ache in his legs and the tickle in his lungs of another hacking cough. He ran straight to his kitchen, where he began looking for something that might make a suitable flowerpot.

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‘Audrey. Audrey.’

His grip tightened on my shoulder before he spun me to face him. His eyes were clouded with concern. ‘Did you hear me, babe? Don’t go out tonight.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ I shook him off. ‘It’s just a little rain.’

Liam was sweet, and had been nothing else for the six months of our relationship. A part of me, though, resented this aspect of him. His need to always be with me was smothering sometimes. Everywhere I looked I saw traces of him. A shirt slung over the back of a chair, books stacked on the coffee table.

‘Don’t you ever watch the news? They said it’s set to be a thunderstorm.’

‘Of course I do,’ I answered. And I did, though it was all the same story lately: news about the Affliction. I did my best to tune it out, but little slivers of information managed to lodge themselves in my mind. There had been an upsurge in cases in recent years; men were most commonly affected, the disease causing them to lash out and harm those closest to them. Rehabilitation centres were overcrowded and understaffed, though there was no evidence that rehabilitation was an effective treatment.

‘I’m not going to let a storm ruin my night.’ I picked up my lipstick and leaned toward the bathroom mirror to inspect my reflection as I applied it. He watched me from the doorway with his arms crossed.

‘Got a hot date, huh?’ His tone was light, but there was a hint of hurt pulled taut like a cord beneath it. I rolled my eyes, unable to keep the smile from playing on my lips.

‘No. It’s Aimee. I told you already.’

It had been a last-minute arrangement. I’d needed some space, and she’d suggested catching a film together. The latest action flick, just like old times. Laughing over the overdone fight sequences had been our main bonding activity since high school.

‘Oh.’ His voice dropped. ‘Her.’

‘I wish you would at least try to like her for me.’

Liam raised his hands in a defensive gesture. ‘Hey, I’ve tried plenty.’

I raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

It took only a few seconds for him to cave. ‘Okay. I just think she hangs around you too much. It’s a little…obsessive, to be honest.’

‘She’s my best friend.’

‘And you have other priorities…’ He pulled me towards him and leaned in for a kiss. Normally that trick might have worked, but I was overdue for a night out. It had been months since I’d seen anyone socially.

‘I’m going.’ I pulled away and headed out of the bathroom and to the front door.

‘Oh, come on.’ He followed me, and something about the heavy thudding of his footsteps made my heart jump in my chest. I was reaching for the doorknob when his fingers wrapped around my other wrist. ‘Babe, don’t leave.’ His voice was pleading, dripping honey, but his grip on me was like a vice.

‘I’ll be back soon.’ I laughed and tugged lightly on my wrist, expecting it to give with little resistance. My breath hitched in my throat when he didn’t immediately release me.

I pulled and twisted to no avail, my skin stinging and rubbing raw where he held on.

‘Liam.’ I laughed again, the sound of it high and trembling even to my own ears. ‘Let go of me.’

‘No.’ He wasn’t smiling anymore. Something cold had crept into his voice, sending a chill into my veins. ‘I can’t ever let you go.’

 

 

 

On our first date Liam had bought me a flower bouquet, pulled out my chair for me, picked up the cheque. He’d been a proper gentleman, but it was his personality that drew me to him. His face had lit up whenever he talked about his friends or his parents or his younger sister. He was a keen listener, an easy laugher. Relaxing around him was almost second nature. Still, I hadn’t let him walk me home until the fourth date, and I hadn’t invited him inside until the sixth. I’d been careful. Maybe not careful enough.

I waited until I was certain he was asleep before I dared to move. Even that was difficult since his right arm was slung across my stomach, pinning me in place. I could feel each breath he took tickling my cheek and making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I disentangled myself from him inch by inch, second by painstaking second. He remained oblivious in his slumber, so I picked up my phone from the nightstand and slipped out of the room.

I’d told Aimee that something had come up at work, and she’d accepted my explanation without question.

‘No dramas, let’s just catch up next time!’

The glow of her cheery text illuminated the dark hallway. Aimee wouldn’t have understood if I’d told the truth about what happened. She would have twisted it to use as ammunition against Liam, when it really wasn’t anything to worry about. He had wanted me to stay in tonight and I’d agreed. Simple.

I examined the red marks patterning my wrist where his hand had been. Those hands that made me feel so secure when they were resting on my shoulders or wrapped around me. They had left an almost perfect circle on my wrist. A bracelet. A bruise in the making.

They were called Secondary Symptoms; the marks that manifested on those people closest to the Afflicted, detached from the disease itself but still directly related. I remembered them from all those commercials for the National Affliction Helpline: black eyes, bruises on the face or neck. Apparently early intervention was key, so that the Afflicted could receive necessary support. I’d always hated those commercials. I’d seen bruises like that before, and I knew without doubt that nobody could unthinkingly inflict such damage on another person. It couldn’t just be a disease. It had to be a choice.

‘You’re awake?’

I almost jumped out of my own skin at the sound of Liam’s voice. He stood at the bedroom door, rubbing a hand over his face.

‘Just getting a drink of water.’ I walked back towards him, a moth drawn inexplicably to a blinding flame.

He cupped my face in his hands as he leaned down to kiss me, warm and sweet. ‘Come back to bed. Not the same without you there,’ he slurred sleepily. And he was himself again. The Liam that I loved.

‘Okay,’ I whispered.

But even as I lay beside him in the dark, slowing my breathing to match his, I couldn’t shake the image of Aunt Alexandra sitting on our couch all those years ago.

She’d had her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders were rapidly rising and falling as she took shuddering breaths. I had noticed immediately that she was thinner, smaller, so different from when I’d last seen her. Being eight at the time, I was old enough to know that something was wrong, but too young to pinpoint exactly what. My mother had stroked soothing circles in her back while murmuring something. I’d only heard snippets of what she’d said: ‘it’s alright’, ‘not your fault’, and ‘Harold’. My Uncle.

Aunt Alexandra’s voice was hushed and punctuated by sobs. When she’d finally looked up, she was nothing like the person I remembered: purple bruises bloomed across her neck and up one side of her face, her lip was cut, her eye almost completely swollen shut.

Stifling a gasp, I had shrunk back behind the door, out of sight. I couldn’t reconcile these two different versions of her in my head: the woman who smelled like sunshine and brought me presents and sang me to sleep at night, and the woman I saw that day.

This was nothing like that, I reminded myself as I rolled over to face Liam. The marks would fade quickly. Couples arguing was nothing new, and this one had been brewing for a while. I’d made the right decision by staying in tonight; things had been so busy lately that I hadn’t made enough time for Liam. But he was a good guy, a nice guy. I knew that.

Uncle Harold had been a nice guy, too.

 

 

 

A month passed, and then two. I learned to stick by the unspoken rules of our relationship; to spend all my time with him, to text him whenever we were apart just to keep him updated. He didn’t like not knowing where I was.

There were some days where Liam was inexplicably moody no matter what I did. Small things like leaving the dishes in the sink or forgetting to start the washing machine became fuel for much bigger fires. Those days were rare, though, and for the most part I avoided the never-ending arguments, the heated words and the cold shoulders that followed. The routine was good, it worked. Until it didn’t.

The trains were delayed.

The trains were delayed, and my phone was dead.

Sickening dread clawed at my stomach as I stared at its blank, unresponsive screen. Useless.

A tinny broadcast played overhead, the announcer managing to sound apologetic yet cheerful as she said that the train would be another forty minutes, sorry.

I paced the length of the platform and back again. My eyes darted to the people around me, but their faces and voices all merged into a churning sea. I could barely hear them over the beating of my own heart in my chest, in my ears, pounding in my head.

I could catch a taxi, but it was rush hour. I could borrow someone’s phone, but his number wasn’t one I knew by heart. For a crazy moment, I contemplated not going home at all. But that was ridiculous. It was my apartment.

My hands clenched then unclenched, tighter each time until my nails left marks on my palms. I stood still and let the shakiness run through and out of me. He would understand. He had to.

‘I’m sorry.’ The first words out of my mouth as I opened the door. ‘The delays—’

‘Sorry?’ Liam was on me in an instant. He’d been waiting in the hallway all this time. ‘I called you! I kept calling you! What happened?!’ His voice rose with each word, like a siren growing louder the closer it got. I realised then that I’d been bracing for this the entire way home. It was almost a relief to get it over with.

‘My phone died. I’m sorry.’

‘Your phone…’ He stared at me. ‘You didn’t charge your phone?’

‘I must have forgotten. I know. It won’t happen next time.’

‘Next time?’ He ran his hands through his hair and pulled at the ends of it.

‘Can you stop parroting everything I say? It was just a mistake.’ I couldn’t help but snap at him. The annoyance bubbling inside of me ebbed immediately afterwards. I wished I’d never spoken at all.

He moved before I could flinch, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me hard.

‘Do you know how fucking worried I was? I thought you were dead. I couldn’t reach you, I didn’t know where the hell you were. How could you do that to me?!’

‘Liam…’ Hot tears pricked at my eyes. My head hurt. Everything hurt.

‘And this?’ He snatched my phone from my hand. ‘What’s the point of this if you don’t fucking charge it.’

‘No, don’t!’ I cried as the phone hurtled at the wall. It hit with a thundering crack before falling to fragments.

‘Can’t even remember to do that. You’re useless.’

‘Get off me,’ I mumbled. Then louder, ‘Get off me!’

A stinging slap hit my cheek before I managed to push him away. The tears spilled over as I held a hand to my face.

Liam only laughed. There was no trace of remorse in his eyes. ‘You really have no idea, do you?’

I did now. And I’d never be mistaken again.

‘Screw you,’ I said. He started towards me, and I ran back out of the door, slamming it in his face.

 

 

 

The apartment building was the same as I remembered it. Short and squat, its grey concrete lined by dozens of small, eye-like windows. I wasn’t expecting to remember her address, but it was still lodged in my mind from when I was younger. I’d spent most of my afternoons here waiting for my mother to pick me up after she finished work. That had been before everything that happened. I wasn’t even sure if she still lived here.

My chest fluttered with apprehension as I knocked on the door, and my stomach tied itself into knots in the moments of silence that followed. Finally, it swung open, and relief coursed through my veins.

‘Aunt Alexandra.’

‘Audrey?’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Well–’ A lump formed in my throat that I tried desperately to swallow around. I’d already shed enough tears for a lifetime, but they seemed to just keep coming. ‘It’s…Liam.’

Instantly her expression cleared. She nodded to me.

‘I think you’d better come in.’

It felt like no time had passed since I’d last been here, sitting at her kitchen table while she made tea. Only now we were on equal ground. Her life and all its messy complications were all too easy for me to understand. At first I couldn’t find the right words, but once they started spilling out I didn’t know how to stop them. Aunt Alexandra listened through it all, and the understanding was plain on her face.

‘I just don’t know…’ My voice finally exhausted itself. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘What can you do?’ She sighed. ‘I went through it all with Harold, and it was a bunch of crap. Weekly couples’ counselling, rehabilitation that they made me pay for. As if that would help anything.’

I hadn’t heard her talk about Uncle Harold since that night in our living room. She’d been frightened then, but this time she only seemed weary.

‘How is he doing now?’ I hesitated. ‘Is he still Afflicted?’

Aunt Alexandra’s face hardened. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, squeezing then releasing. ‘Last I heard he was back in rehab. His second wife is paying for it this time around…’ She closed her eyes. ‘He should be locked up.’

I thought about having to see Liam every week, having to support him through it all, when I had given so much of myself to him already. I thought about letting him slip away to find someone else to keep under his thumb.

‘It’s okay, you know,’ Aunt Alexandra said.

‘I know, and I’m leaving him.’

And that was enough. It had to be.

 

 

 

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I grew up a lot that night, the way adults do. I was placed in front of doors that opened into fields no child should know about. New feelings stuck themselves onto me and slowly started to burn. My skin had already turned black before I knew where the pain was coming from. A word I heard only a few times before, shaped itself into its dark meaning. Guilt had only been a word I would hear on TV by those stylish men and women on the news. But the word quickly became a weapon that my parents were throwing between each other.

My younger brother Aaron was nowhere to be found. We had been playing in the park at the end of the street and when I couldn’t see him anymore, I turned back home. On our bare feet, my mother dragged me back to the park to look for him. When she asked what I was doing, I took the drawing pad out of my pocket and proudly showed it to her. Unimpressed she threw the pad on the ground and told me that I was supposed to look after him not just draw stick figures.

Once we were back in the house, she made a few calls and the neighbours started to fill the front yard. Soon after it got dark, policemen were crowding our house, leaving the front door open. Their black leather boots were drumming the stairs, walking in and out of my brothers’ room. I was summoned to the kitchen by my father who told me that the police have to ask me a few questions. My mother was standing at the corner of the table with her head towards the ground. She was talking loudly while her left hand was moving uninterrupted as if she just dropped something and could not pick it up. When she saw me, she quickly turned and wiped her eyes. My parents, two policemen, and I sat down at the kitchen table. The older policeman was asking questions. A few times he asked the same question with different words as if my answer was wrong. My mother would always find a way to cut me short and answer the questions for me even though Aaron and I were by ourselves in the park. There was something in her voice I could not recognize. It seemed as if someone else was talking.

Three times we went through everything. Where we were, what we did, who else was there, and if anyone saw us. And three times my mother made a mistake. The same mistake.

‘His T-shirt was definitely green. I dressed him this morning,’ my mother repeated.

‘But it was blue. You have to believe me,’ I said to the policemen, hoping they would take my word and not hers.

A search party for my brother was organized that night. Our neighbours gathered in the living room. The coffee table was full of batteries and Mr Lee from across the street was placing them inside flashlights. My mother wanted to go as well but my father and his sister Grace insisted that she should stay home. With her head constantly nodding she was walking from the kitchen to the living room and back saying that Aaron must be hiding somewhere. A large map was unfolded on the kitchen table. The search party was divided in two teams. More policemen entered the house, some of which had dogs.

‘Team A will search Heathcote Park and team B will search Dharawal. We can search the Royal National Park in the morning,’ one police man said.

‘We can’t think about tomorrow. We have to find my son by daylight,’ said my father.

None of the policemen lifted their heads from the map. Aunt Grace placed her hand on my father’s shoulder.

Some left with their cars and some on foot. Although my mother said she could look after me by herself, Aunt Grace remained in the house. It was past midnight and my mother could not sit down for more than a few minutes. Aunt Grace made tea for all of us, but my mother’s cup remained untouched. My yawns got bigger and bigger. After a long blink, it was daylight. The search parties were in front of the house. My parents were in the kitchen, whisper-shouting at each other. My mother was accusing everyone of not looking hard enough for my brother. No matter how many times my father tried to tell her that they did everything they could she would wave her hand and talk over him.

‘I don’t need the police to make posters. I can make them myself,’ my mother said while walking towards her study.

She slammed the door shut and my father went to the front yard with coffees. Aunt Grace made a fruit salad and let me eat it on the couch. She turned on the TV for me but the volume was too low. By the time my mother came out of her study, the search parties were gone. Another search party was organized for that afternoon.

My mother placed a pile of papers on the coffee table. Half of the page was covered with a picture with Aaron that was taken a few weeks before. I took one poster and ripped it in half. The description was wrong. For the first time, I screamed at her that his shirt was blue but she only stared at her teacup that was still full. When I got up the rest of my fruit salad fell on the floor. This made Aunt Grace get up and immediately start cleaning but my mother’s face was like a sculpture.

I ran towards Aaron’s room and stopped at the door. The air was still and everything smelled like him. The light cream carpet had multiple boot prints on it. I wondered why the policemen didn’t take off their shoes. Carefully, I started going through his shirts and found a green one. This was enough proof that I was right until I found a blue shirt. Taking all the shirts, I ran back down taking two stairs at the time. When I reached the living room Aunt Grace looked at my mother and then quickly moved her face into her teacup. My mother ripped the shirts out of my hands and opened her mouth as if she was about to scream. When my father walked in she closed her mouth and almost smiled. Dad took the shirts and we looked at them together. He didn’t talk much so I went to sit on his lap, something I hadn’t done for a while. With his hand shaking, he felt the fabric while my mother was looking at the front door with her hands folded. The wave of silence was broken by Aunt Grace who picked up the remote and turned the volume up. On the right side of the screen was the same picture from the posters. I knew that the lady was talking about Aaron but her voice could not reach me. The sounds from the TV echoed beside our still bodies.

For the next few days, Aunt Grace brought my meals to my room. Groups of people, some of whom I’d never seen before, were leaving in the mornings from our house always returning without Aaron. My parents kept coming into my room to talk but always separately. They insisted I should return to school, so I did. The drive was no longer fun and the radio’s buttons were starting to collect dust. My mother would drive in silence and often made short stops to give people posters, which made me the last one to arrive to class. At the sight of my mother, who no longer followed her grooming routine, some people backed away and other parents would pull their own children closer. Because I was also the last one to be picked up, the other parents felt the need to smile pitifully and offer rides home. Unable to speak, I would only reply with shy nods.

Watching my friends getting picked up made me feel as if I’d swallowed something sharp. After an entire day of complaining about what their siblings did to them, they could spend half an hour close together in the car and argue some more. Aaron and I never did this. We didn’t say mean things or hit each other.

The days started to get shorter. I was waiting at the edge of the curb, away from my friends. We had just gotten out from school and I didn’t want to be next to people or talk. Without saying goodbye, I started walking down the street. I knew that only a few noticed and it was really hard not to turn back to see who was looking but my face was deep under tears. On a wooden pole on my way I saw a poster. All the phone numbers underneath were gone and one corner was unstuck. From my backpack, I took out a marker and completely covered the word ‘green’ then wrote ‘blue’ above it. I threw the backpack on the ground and opened the zipper. There should have been some tape in there somewhere. Determined to find it I took out my notebooks but I still couldn’t see any tape. Behind me, a pair of steps was slowly approaching.

‘Did you lose anything?’ asked Jonathan who lived next door.

‘Do you have some tape?’

‘Yeah,’ he said looking through his backpack.

I took the tape from him and stuck a piece on the loose corner. When I turned, Jonathan was putting the notebooks back in my backpack. I stretched my hand to give the tape back and he told me I could keep it.

Jonathan’s mother and my mother used to take turns to take us to school or pick us up. This stopped after my brother disappeared. Aaron was too young to go to school and my mother would take him with us in the mornings. Strapped in his seat he would look out the window and name the colours of the cars passing by.

Jonathan helped me put the backpack back on. I thanked him and started walking down the street.

‘Do you need a ride home?’ he asked.

I didn’t answer, I just kept walking. With the marker in my hand, I wrote on every poster that came my way. I don’t know how long I walked for but even though it was almost winter, I could feel my shirt stuck to my back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a car pull up next to me. My mother got out of the car and came to me running.

‘Are you going to make me look for you too?’, she asked. ‘You can’t just leave school like that.’

I looked straight at her and for the first time in a while, she looked back. From her pocket, she took out a used tissue and wiped my face.

‘Let’s go home,’ she said opening the door of the car.

‘I can’t come home right now. I have to fix the posters and look for Aaron.’

‘Please Eve, get in the car.’

She never really said please before and the word almost hit me. I went past the door and got up in the front seat unsure if I was legally allowed to sit there. She shut the back door and came behind the wheel. We didn’t speak but it felt like we were both in the car, together again. She drove straight home without stopping to give posters.

When we got home there was an Arts&Craft paper bag on the counter. My father was putting groceries in the fridge which were bought by Aunt Grace since my mother no longer paid attention to these necessities.

‘This is for you,’ my father pointed at the bag.

Inside it was two drawing pads, a piece of wood and water-soluble pencils. I had stopped drawing since that day but I didn’t think they would notice.

 

 

 

Five years later my parents and I were having dinner. I was allowed to cook now and was preparing roast beef with mashed potatoes. My mother and my three-year-old brother Alan were in the backyard. Alan had just discovered gardening and the pleasure of digging. The TV in the living room was on Chanel 7. Something made my father get up from the kitchen table quickly and I followed him in front of the TV. Two boys that were playing in a park in Penrith had disappeared the week before. The two families were holding pictures with their children offering a reward to anyone that had valuable information. My father was not looking at the TV but through the living room windows at my mother and Alan whose pants were covered in dirt.

Throughout dinner, my father smiled and was encouraging Alan to use the spoon himself but I could see he was holding back tears.

Two weeks later I came back from school, a police car was parked in our driveway. The door was ajar so I pushed my body inside. My mother was holding Alan in the middle of the living room and my father was on the couch with a cop on each side.

‘Just wait in your room please,’ my father said.

‘No! You have to tell me.’

‘They think they found Aaron.’

‘They think?’

‘They may have found Aaron’s…’

‘Where?’

‘Megalong Valley.’

Because my father and one of the detectives, Mr Burton, became friends over the years, I was allowed to accompany them. After a long drive, we arrived on a farm. The entire place was surrounded by police. My father remained in the car. Behind the farm was what looked like a barn. Inside were surgical instruments and mattresses on the floor. The sheets were no longer on the mattresses and they were still kept in their plastic covers. Mr Burton said they kept them like that so they wouldn’t need to change them if the ‘patients’ would piss on them or bleed out. This was the place where the elite would buy organs for their sick children. Only one of the children from Penrith survived but without a lung. The other didn’t make it. Mr Burton didn’t tell me why.

On the floor were laid out children clothes. Mr Burton said they knew which belonged to the boys from Penrith but the rest of the clothes were a mystery. I walked near them and I recognized Aaron’s shirt. The shirt was blue.

 

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Thursday December 21st, 2017, 5:00pm UTC-04:00, Atlanta, Georgia

 

Jet lag was a bitch.

 

Colby’s shoulder twinged as she took a seat on the hotel bed. Instinctively, she rubbed the spot through her clothes and let out a long yawn. Thank God she would get to her sister’s house the next day to sleep on a more comfortable bed. Right now, she was too tired to contemplate finding a way there. Seeing as her sister had a newborn and was probably just as tired, Colby had insisted a hotel was fine.

If it wasn’t for the fact she’d promised to Skype Sienna when she arrived, Colby would have already crawled under the covers to sleep. Instead, she dug out her laptop. Finding Sienna’s icon once it was all connected, she noticed it said she was away but tried to call anyway. No answer. What time was it in Australia again? Colby had already forgotten. Her girlfriend was a nurse though, maybe she’d gotten caught up at work.

Closing Skype, she headed to the Facebook homepage instead. Colby had yet to sort out her phone, so she figured a Facebook message would just have to do for now. Clicking on Sienna’s name in her inbox, she typed a quick message.

Hi babe!

Am safe in my hotel and am about to take a nap.

Talk to you later! Can’t wait for you to get here too!

Love, Colbs.

Sienna had barely been able to wrangle time away from work and was due to fly out in three days. She’d barely make it in time for Christmas and that was her being lucky. Colby was about to close the window when she realised she should maybe make a general status update to let everyone know she had landed safely. When she loaded her newsfeed, a headline in the sidebar caught her attention.

International Intervention in Australia Leads to Quarantine at Royal Prince Alfred Hospital

Fear gripped Colby for a moment; that was where Sienna worked. Maybe she’d been made busier by it all though—surely she wasn’t quarantined? Her mouse flew so quickly to the link that it froze for a moment before the page finally loaded.

 

INTERNATIONAL INTERVENTION IN AUSTRALIA LEADS TO QUARANTINE AT ROYAL PRINCE ALFRED HOSPITAL

Thursday 21st December 2017, 8pm UTC+11:00

Thomas Dasher

Australia has been rocked by news of a virus that has spread rapidly through the Emergency Department at Royal Prince Alfred Hospital. Scrambling to organise a reaction, Australia’s lack of a National Centre for Disease Control has no doubt hindered efforts to contain the virus. Sources tell us that along with patient zero, three nurses and two doctors are thought to be infected and anyone else who has been in contact with patient zero or the other infected have been quarantined, causing a whole department to be closed off.

Specialists from the US and China have been flown in to study this as yet unrecognised virus. All we do know about it so far is that it causes periods of psychosis, in which the infected are prone to attack, bite and scratch those around them. If you are worried about someone you know, authorities encourage you to call the number listed below.

 

Thursday 21st December 2017, 7:45am UTC+11:00, Sydney, Australia

Colby roused from her sleep when she felt the bed dip slightly behind her, followed shortly by a hand brushing through her hair. Forcing her eyes open, she yawned before smiling sleepily up at Sienna, who returned the gesture with a different kind of exhaustion. The nurse had just come off a twelve-hour shift and had obviously been run off her feet since 7pm the night before. Colby rolled over and then sat up against the headboard to wrap an arm around her girlfriend, who leaned in eagerly.

‘Big night?’

‘It was crazy, Colbs. We had a man admitted who must have been on a cocktail of drugs. He was thrashing and trying to bite everyone. It took six of us to strap him down to a bed.’

‘Jesus,’ Colby muttered, now brushing her fingers through Sienna’s ginger hair. ‘I don’t know how you do it. I couldn’t be a nurse, you see all the crazy shit.’

‘Truthfully, I rethink it every day,’ Sienna admitted. Her fingers idly traced a cut along her arm and Colby zeroed in on it.

‘Babe, what happened?’ The blonde carefully took hold of her girlfriend’s wrist to tug it over and inspect the angry scab.

‘It was that patient, I didn’t realise until after we’d managed to get him strapped down and sedated that he’d scratched me. Figured it was better not to cause a fuss so I disinfected it and kept on going. You know what administration is like about injuries.’

Huffing, Colby started to slide off the bed and tugged Sienna with her. She knew all about the issues with hospital administrations reluctance to take responsibility for nurse injury. Even though she gave a playful whine, Sienna still followed her into the bathroom. Colby dimmed the lights and started running a bath, making sure to pick Sienna’s favourite scent before stealing a short kiss.

‘Sounds like you deserve some pampering.’

A small grin crossed the redhead’s face and Colby reached out for the hem of her shirt, slowly guiding it up and over her head. Once her girlfriend’s pale torso was exposed, she ghosted her fingers over the freckles that had even painted Sienna’s waist. Making quick work of the buttons on her jeans, Colby quickly had them off and tossed into the corner of the bathroom.

She couldn’t help a soft chuckle at the sight of Sienna, wearing a matching bra and panties set even though she’d been on a twelve-hour shift.

‘You just have to match, don’t you?’ Colby traced lightly over her girlfriend’s collarbone, enjoying the blush that spread over her freckled cheeks. Sienna just nodded, but the dimples that indented her cheeks gave away the smile she was fighting. Colby smoothed her fingers over the silky material until she reached the clasp which she expertly unclipped and tugged away. A few short seconds later, Sienna was completely nude and Colby could tell she was fighting that adorable but shy urge to cover herself.

‘You’re beautiful.’

Sienna’s blush darkened and instead of replying, she decided to return the favour. It took less time to strip Colby of the satin nightdress she’d been sleeping in, baring her tan skin free of any undergarments. Impulsively, Sienna reached out and slapped Colby’s generous ass, making her girlfriend laugh softly.

‘Sorry, can’t help myself.’

‘I wouldn’t want you to,’ Colby assured warmly. Linking her fingers with Sienna’s she tugged her over to the tub, twisting the taps off before the two of them sank down into the warm water.

‘How long do we have before you have to go?’ Sienna asked, leaning back into Colby and humming with pleasure as her girlfriend’s hands slowly trailed down her body.

‘About an hour. And I’m all packed so all I need to do is spend that hour focusing on you. We might only be apart for a few days but I’m going to miss you so I plan to indulge.’ She nibbled on Sienna’s neck, making her giggle.

‘What am I going to do without your cheese?’

Colby hushed her, capturing one nipple between her thumb and forefinger before squeezing. It made Sienna gasp, pressing against the blonde, who responded by easing her fingers between the nurse’s legs.

An expert in reading Sienna’s body language, it wasn’t long before Colby felt her squirming with the build-up of pleasure. Only today, instead of crying out, Sienna bit down on the blonde’s shoulder as her orgasm rushed through her. Colby winced as her teeth broke the skin but kept working her through it, leaving the both of them panting when the moment ended.

‘Shit, Colbs—you’re bleeding! I’m so sorry!’ Sienna rinsed the mark with a handful of water, flinching when Colby winced again. The blonde responded by pressing a kiss to Sienna’s forehead.

‘Relax babe, it’s okay. It was pretty hot, though maybe next time you could avoid breaking the skin.’

‘I’d better put something on it.’ Sienna fretted and before Colby could stop her, she was standing up. Not that the blonde didn’t appreciate the view, eyes lingering on her girlfriend’s shapely behind for a moment before she too rose up out of the water.

‘I was supposed to be pampering you,’ Colby reminded her as Sienna wrapped her up in a towel and made her sit on the closed toilet. This time, she gritted her teeth as Sienna dabbed at the wound with some kind of antibacterial ointment and carefully taped some gauze over it. Once the nurse was satisfied she’d done a good enough job, Colby scooped her up to carry her playfully back into the bedroom.

Somehow Colby had managed to tear herself away from the gorgeous red-head in order to make it to the airport in time to check in for her flight. Knowing Sienna had probably fallen asleep while Colby was on her way there, she messaged her sister to let her know she was waiting for her flight and killed some time on her phone. She wouldn’t have it for a little while once she landed in America.

 

Her seatmate was a handsome guy who looked a little too dressy for the occasion. For the life of her, Colby couldn’t understand why he would wear a suit for the almost fourteen-hour flight. They were only about an hour in when he’d stuffed his suit jacket up in the overhead locker and another hour later he’d unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up, smiling sheepishly at her.

‘I’m Alex,’ he introduced himself. ‘Headed to LA on business, but probably should have reconsidered the business-wear on a long-haul flight. Not so comfortable. Is it too obvious I’m new at this?’

‘Colby,’ she answered with a chuckle, taking the hand he offered and shaking it, ‘Only stopping briefly in LA on the way to Atlanta. First-time Aunt, visiting her nephew. A suit wouldn’t have been my choice for such a long flight but hopefully you’ll make it through.’

Considering they were going to be stuck with one another for quite a few hours more, Colby was relieved to find they had enough in common to get along. The in-flight dinner had just been packed up when the turbulence started and even though she wasn’t the most nervous of flyers it soon saw her anxiously ripping at her nails with her teeth. The plane jolted sharply and one hand flew out to grab Alex’s wrist tightly, ragged nails tearing through his skin along the way.

It was another moment before she could even gather herself enough to apologise, unlocking her fingers and realising that she’d injured him. ‘Sorry!’ Was all she got out before the plane jerked slightly again and made her go green. Alex jabbed the flight attendant button and requested a sick bag for Colby, pulling out a tissue to dab at the scratch beading with blood.

‘Don’t worry about it. Can’t blame you for being antsy with this kind of turbulence. Lean over now, just focus on breathing.’ He soothed, even rubbing her back. Count on a long flight to turn strangers into friends.

Fortunately, the flight had evened out again soon after that and Colby managed to sneak in a nap before landing in LA. After exchanging their Australian numbers, she and Alex went their separate ways. Finding her flight lounge, she now turned to a book to kill the hour and a half before her next flight to Atlanta.

 

Thursday December 21st, 2017, 5:10pm UTC-04:00, Atlanta, Georgia

Colby’s heart pounded hard as she stared at the computer screen, white noise fizzing in her ears. What if Sienna was one of the infected nurses? She scrambled for her phone before remembering it was currently useless. Her shoulder twinged in pain again, objecting to the lunge across the bed and she remembered.
The bite.

Yanking her shirt off, she ran into the bathroom and ripped away the gauze with a shaking hand. Her breath fogged up the mirror as she panted in fear, leaning in to study the bite mark as though it would show her an exact answer. The skin around the small teeth shaped scabs was red and swollen. Suddenly it felt hot and she thought it seemed to be giving a pulsating throb, as though it had taken on a life of its own but Colby couldn’t tell if that was paranoia.

Sweat broke out on Colby’s forehead and instinctively she lifted her hand to her mouth, about to anxiously chew on her fingernails when she remembered Alex. Oh no. She’d scratched him on the flight. Suddenly she couldn’t remember if scratching someone would be sufficient enough to pass on the virus, nails were dead matter, weren’t they? But she’d been chewing them, maybe her saliva still gave it a chance of spreading. Standing there staring at her own reflection, tears streaking down cheeks too numb to feel them; panic clouded her mind and she struggled to come up with any answers to the questions it just kept repeating.

Did she call someone? But who was she supposed to call? God her neck was so itchy. Colby’s fingers grasped at the edge of the sink, squeezing tight as she sucked in a deep breath. It didn’t help. Was Sienna in quarantine? Was Sienna infected? Had she infected Colby? Had Colby infected Alex? Was it even possible for her to infect him through a scratch?

 

And what the hell did she do now?

 

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