Wreck Page 6

  By the time she reaches him I am making my way to her. Portia bends down, then turns to us with a big smile on her face.

  ‘He’s breathing,’ she calls.

  This news gives me a burst of energy. I run past her and over to Knox. I don’t have to bend down to see him breathing. I can hear him, snoring. Dad limps towards me.

  ‘I checked both of them when we first arrived,’ Dad says. ‘They’re exhausted. Oliver is hurt – his ribs, I think. We were smashed against the rocks on the way in.’

  Dad’s voice breaks again. I look up.

  ‘I held Knox all the way so he wouldn’t take on water,’ Dad explains. ‘It was hard even though he had the vest on. The water was so powerful.’

  ‘What about …?’

  Dad shakes his head and stops me finishing. ‘I’ve never experienced anything like it. The ocean was just so strong. Uncle Oliver had Christian only for a few moments before …’ Dad pauses and swallows and his voice cracks. ‘He was swept away. He just couldn’t hold onto him.’

  I look out to sea, hoping to see Christian out there, swimming into shore.

  ‘He’s a strong swimmer,’ I say.

  Dad’s mouth forms a straight line. He nods, but doesn’t meet my eyes.

  I look over at Portia. She is staring at me. Her chin quivers.

  ‘What is it?’ she asks. She stands there and waits for us to say something.

  ‘Christian …’ Dad falters. ‘We were separated. He’s missing.’

  ‘He’s a really strong swimmer,’ I say. I sound like a broken record and it comes across wrong, like I don’t believe he could have made it, but I do. If anyone could have survived that storm, it’s Christian.

  Portia and I look out to sea. Dad places his hand on Portia’s shoulder, then walks over to Uncle Oliver and sits down beside him. Dad’s talking to him but it’s so soft I can’t hear him. Uncle Oliver guards his left side as he tries to sit up.

  Portia looks back at Knox.

  ‘He has shoes,’ she says. ‘I’ll take them and search other beaches.’

  ‘Yes! We need to search the whole island.’ The thought of searching lifts my hopes. We might find Christian on the next beach. I walk down to the water and let the waves bubble over my feet. It stings the cuts but I know the salt water is good for them. When Portia sees what I’m doing she does the same. She grimaces as the first wave touches her skin. When the blood is all gone Portia and I go to Knox.

  Portia shakes him. He’s heavy lidded, but tries to open his eyes. His eyelids look swollen. It scares me that he’s so sleepy and I wonder if his lungs are full of water. I lean down and cop the full brunt of alcohol fumes being exhaled. He’s still drunk. I know it’s not his fault the boat went down but I can’t help but blame him for lying here in Christian’s life jacket. The very thought makes me feel horrible. Knox was so out of it he probably doesn’t even remember the boat sinking. He certainly wouldn’t remember Christian slipping the life jacket over his head. It was Christian’s choice to do that, but the anger I feel at Knox makes me want to drag him back into the sea and drown him. It’s not fair that he is lying here and Christian is not.

  ‘I need to borrow your shoes,’ Portia says to Knox. She doesn’t wait for him to respond. She undoes the buckles of Knox’s sandals, puts them on her feet and takes off towards the cliff face.

  ‘Which way are you going? We need to know so we can find you … you know, just in case something happens and you don’t come back.’ Seeing Portia take off on her own makes me feel sick. ‘What if you slip? Or what if there are wild animals? Maybe you should carry a weapon.’

  Portia smiles, but she still looks sad. ‘I’m sure I’ll be okay. But it’s a good idea to have a plan so we know where we’ve searched.’ She crouches down and draws a circle in the damp sand. ‘This is us here.’ She marks the spot with a cross. ‘And Jacki and Selena are in this cove here.’ She marks another cross on the map then looks at me. ‘Maybe while I’m away you could go and get them and bring them here so we’re all together,’ she says.

  It’s a good idea, but those rocks are razor sharp and Portia is wearing the only pair of shoes. I look towards the water. The headland juts right out into the sea and the thought of swimming out of this cove, far enough to clear the rocks, and back into the cove next door isn’t something I’m prepared to try. The cliffs it is.

  I nod and agree that I’ll do it.

  ‘I’m going to walk in this direction and search the beaches.’ She draws an arrow in an anticlockwise direction to indicate which way she is going. She looks at me and tears flush her eyes. ‘Wish me luck,’ she says.

  Seeing her tears chokes me up. My voice has disappeared so I nod. Portia turns and heads to the rocks and starts climbing.

  Bringing good news to Mum and Aunty Selena motivates me to make it back to them. If I just take it slow, and place my feet carefully to minimise any damage, I should be right.

  Portia is moving quickly now that she has shoes on. When she reaches the top she turns, looks down at me and waves.

  ‘Please find him,’ I whisper, choking up again.

  Then Portia is gone.

  I pause for a moment to fight back my tears. I turn out to sea hoping to see Christian, moving, breathing, swimming. Alive.

  My gaze comes back to the beach. Dad and Uncle Oliver sit close together, as they have done their entire lives. Knox is still asleep, drunk, and no help to anyone whatsoever.

  Dread fills me as I turn towards the opposite cliff and size it up. Just looking at it makes my limbs ache.

  My pain increases with every step. My feet sting while I’m climbing and throb when I stop. I try to shut it out. One foot moves in front of the other and I make progress slowly but surely. When I haul myself over the top, I sit for a moment on the edge and look out. The sea is a deep blue, the horizon sharp against the sky. White lines mark where the waves break, close to the sand. Nothing out there catches my eye. No debris from the yacht, no Christian.

  Portia is also nowhere to be seen. I swing my gaze in the direction she said she was going and picture her on the next beach, making her way down to Christian, telling him we are here too, on the next beach over, and him being ecstatic that we made it.

  He’s a strong swimmer. He could be here.

  Hobbling across the razor-sharp rocks is worse now that they’ve started to heat up. The sun has risen higher in the sky and has more punch. Mum and Aunty Selena look tiny from up here. They sit side by side on the sand, like Dad and Uncle Oliver, looking out to sea. Mum’s arm is around Selena’s back and Selena rests her head on Mum’s shoulder.

  At first I think to yell out to them, tell them that the others are waiting next door, but I stop myself. Aunty Selena might get the wrong idea and think Christian made it. Christian is missing and that isn’t news I can shout from up here. I want them to climb up to me, to save me from climbing all the way down and then back up again, but it feels too cruel to tell them that the others are next door, to give Selena her family back, only to take Christian away again when she reaches the top. This is news I have to deliver to her with care.

  Treading carefully to reduce damage to my feet, and with the weight of telling Aunty Selena that Christian is missing, the climb down takes ages. The cliff face is in full sun and sweat starts dripping off me. I should have drunk more water from the tiny rock pools before coming down.

  Mum turns around before I reach her. She gasps when she sees my feet.

  ‘It’s the rocks. They’re like knives,’ I say.

  Mum’s eyes are red from crying and Aunty Selena is sniffing and wiping her face.

  ‘I have news,’ I say. ‘The others have washed up in the cove next door.’ Mum’s eyes light up, her hands fly to her face and her mouth opens to whoop with joy, but then she stops.

  Selena is holding her breath. It’s like she already knows. Mum’s face drops, waiting for my next words.

  I pause for too long, suddenly unable to form the words. A lump form
s in my throat and I can’t swallow.

  ‘What is it?’ Mum says.

  ‘Dad, Knox and Uncle Oliver are there. They’re all okay, although Uncle Oliver is hurt …’

  Aunty Selena stares at me.

  ‘Christian?’ Mum whispers.

  I shake my head. ‘He’s missing.’

  Seeing the horror on their faces makes me cry again. Mum stands up and hugs me.

  ‘He might be here somewhere,’ I say through my blubbering. ‘There’s a chance.’

  Mum doesn’t say anything. She holds me tight and rubs my back as a feeling of hopelessness engulfs me. I can’t bear to think of life without Christian. He’s as kind as Knox is mean. He cares about people; he cares about me. I wish he was my brother instead of Knox. I hate Knox. It’s his fault. If he hadn’t been so drunk Christian wouldn’t have given him his life jacket. If Knox had been sober everyone would have made it to the lifeboat in time. We wouldn’t have been separated, we’d all be together now. Christian wouldn’t be missing.

  Death scene: A boulder is dislodged from the clifftop and rolls down, landing on top of Knox’s stupid hungover head, killing him instantly.

  Barefoot, heart thrumming, one shoe in each hand, I run. I slam my palm onto the lift button. I watch the numbers light up as it approaches my floor. By the time it reaches level twenty-five I am holding my breath, expecting Zel to come flying down the hallway behind me.

  Ding.

  The doors slide open. I dash into the lift, turn and press ‘G’. The doors close. My insides are wound so tight it’s hard to breathe. Each floor number illuminates as we pass.

  17

  16

  15

  It’s taking so long.

  14

  13

  12

  The lift stops and the doors open. A man dressed in a black business suit holding an overnight bag and a briefcase steps in. He glances at my feet before turning his back to me and facing the door. I exhale as quietly as possible and realise I’m still holding my sandals. I drop them on the floor and slide my feet into them. My fingers catch on knots as I rake them through my hair in an attempt to neaten up. I must look a wreck, and completely out of place, dressed so casually here inside Regal Towers.

  We make it to the ground floor without stopping again. The gentleman exits first, and makes his way to the reception desk. I beeline for the enormous revolving doors, keeping my head down and not looking at the concierge. I’m surprised that it’s already daylight outside. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, whether it is easier to find me during the day or if it means I can blend in better because there will be more people around. I decide on the latter and feel relief. I’m definitely safer in a crowd. It’s still early, though, and there aren’t many people around. I’m not safe yet.

  I don’t know where to go, so I turn left out of the building towards the river. The sun isn’t quite up. It must be about six o’clock. I think about heading to uni to find Relle, but the image of Simon lying on the floor flashes through my mind. I decide to keep well away from anyone I know.

  The walking eases the tightness in my chest and my mind starts to clear. I make my way to the south bank of the Yarra where I look less conspicuous and can get my bearings.

  I have no money, no phone, no ID … The only place I can think of going, once it’s open, is the library. At least I know where it is and I can hide there for free and get information. I can further research the Chisel family and this mysterious boating accident. I wish I hadn’t been so rushed when I wrote my article. I wish I’d cared more at the time, but all I could think about was O-Week. If I’d done my job properly maybe I would have found reports of other messages being found too.

  There are more and more people in shorts and t-shirts walking along the river – I’m definitely blending in better. I pull my shoulders back and take a long, deep breath. It feels good. I do it again, trying to make my body relax. I keep walking, struggling to process everything that has happened in the past six hours. Six hours? It feels longer.

  There are so many things I don’t know, so many things I need to know.

  Darryl and Simon have been murdered. Had I not seen Simon with my own eyes, his vacant stare … I wouldn’t have believed it. I wish I could unsee it. Tears fill my eyes but I’m too tired to wipe them away. I leave the path and find a place on the grass under a tree. I sit down, bury my head in my hands and cry. A few walkers glance over at me. I move around to the other side of the tree so I’m facing away from the water, away from passers-by, in a bid for privacy.

  I think of my parents, still on the plane, flying to see my sister, Caroline. I’m so glad they were away when that man came looking for the note. I can’t begin to imagine what might have happened …

  I think of Zel, up in Room 2507, sleeping, or maybe not. Maybe he’s awake. Will he look for me? Was he going to kill me after all of this? I don’t believe he was. But who is he and what is his agenda? There was something gentle about him, something kind. But can I trust my gut instinct about that? My brain says no. My brain says trust no one, run for your life. But who am I running from? And why? What is so important about that note? Zel seemed to make a decision after I told him about the family coat of arms. What could it reveal about the Chisels?

  When I am more composed, I shuffle around the base of the tree to face the water again. A woman is walking by. Thin white cords hang from her ears to a phone she carries in her hand. She’s listening to something while she exercises, her mind absorbed, completely unperturbed. She’s the picture of freedom. I envy her. That was me yesterday.

  Yesterday … My whole world has changed since yesterday. I’m being hunted. Simon and Darryl are dead. It’s like the planet has tilted and is spinning on a different axis, strange and wrong. Less joyous, less good … less safe.

  This situation can never be made right. It’s too late for that. I try to figure out what to do next. I need a plan. My mind keeps coming back to the police. Zel says they can’t keep me safe. But why? Isn’t that their job? Is he saying that to stop me from contacting them? I need to find out who Zel really is and what agenda he is pushing. Perhaps that will help me make a decision. I think this like I have options, but with no money or phone, and too scared to contact friends and family, the reality is far from it.

  First, I need information. I pick myself up off the ground and head towards Flinders Street Station. The giant clock says it’s eight-thirty. The car and pedestrian traffic is at its peak. I move with the crowd over the Flinders and Swanston Street intersection and down past the Town Hall. Everything looks sharp. The grey stones against the pale blue sky, the green man that says walk, the faces of those around me, the facades of the buildings. Beautiful, acute details. Maybe it’s the last time I’ll see these things …

  What would Simon and Darryl tell me to do? What would they have done if they had known yesterday would be their last day? They were good people. How can such bad things happen to such good people? It’s all so senseless and it riles me that everyone here in this street is just going about their day, not knowing or caring that my friends are gone.

  The walk down Swanston Street to the State Library doesn’t take long. People sit on the steps outside. I run past them and just about smack into the doors. The library is closed.

  A sign with the opening hours tells me it’s closed until ten. That’s over an hour’s wait; it’s seventy-five minutes for Zel, or someone else, to find me. Right now, it feels like the difference between life and death. I sit down on the ground behind a column, hidden from the street, and wait.

  When the doors finally open I’m wired. I haven’t slept, haven’t eaten or drunk anything since yesterday and adrenaline has been charging through me since I walked into my ransacked house last night. My mouth is so dry it’s hard to swallow. My heart is doing soft, nervous flutters. I need water. A guy with a beard sits behind a counter. He looks at me and smiles. I almost burst into tears.

  ‘I’m sorry, I d
on’t feel well, could I please have a glass of water?’ My voice sounds weak and breathless and it embarrasses me.

  The guy stands. ‘Yes, of course. Take a seat over there.’

  Green leather chairs and sofas line the walls. I sit myself down and the guy comes back with a plastic cup of water. I take a sip and then gulp it all down.

  ‘Can I call someone for you?’ he asks.

  I shake my head. ‘No, I’ll be fine. Thanks.’

  He turns to leave.

  ‘Actually,’ I say, ‘I need to look up something online. Can I get a computer?’

  ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘Make your way through those doors and see whoever’s at the counter.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I feel better after the water, and for some reason calmer after speaking to someone. He was so quick and willing to help me. Another good person.

  I walk through the doors and can’t help but look up. I’ve been here a few times before, but still my jaw drops open for a moment at the size and grandeur of this place. The polished wood floor is so shiny it reflects the lights above. I find the information desk and get what I need from the lady. I still feel knotted up inside but my voice has evened out and no longer sounds breathy. I choose the computer furthest from the entrance. It boots up fast and the clock marking the session starts ticking. I have sixty minutes to find out what I need. My fingers tap over the keys with familiar ease.

  I type Christian Chisel boating accident and press enter.

  When I researched the Chisel boating accident two days ago I found a few articles, but I need more. Six pages of links come up. I click on the first.

  Page no longer available.

  I go back, choose another.

  Page no longer available.

  This happened the day before yesterday too. I scroll through the list and choose a link to the most well-known paper.

  Page no longer available.

  When I’ve exhausted all of the links to the major papers, and found nothing but unavailable pages, I widen my search. This time I choose a smaller paper and have more luck.