Authors: Gabrielle Lord
January (17 page)
I’d had the nightmare yet again. The same
terrifying
images and feelings had disturbed my sleep: being lost and helpless, shivering with fear and cold. I woke up in a sweat, and filled with despair.
It was starting to get light and I got up and washed my face with cold water. How could a toy dog be terrifying? It didn’t make sense. But the reality I was living was also a
nightmare
-Gabbi saying I was the one who hurt her, Rafe saying he heard me in the house, my prints all over the gun, my own mother not believing me … there was no escape.
Another week had passed and I was finding things really hard. Life in hiding seemed to get worse.
Every morning, I’d spread the drawings out on the floor and study them. These were my work, my focus. I made notes, and scribbled down any ideas that came to me. I knew that in some way, they were connected to me, to my family.
Most days I’d go outside the back door where the lopsided tin roof—all that was left above the old verandah—sheltered me, and there I’d have something to eat from the supplies Boges had given me.
Then I’d go back to the drawings …
Time passed so slowly. Under the cover of darkness, I slipped out to buy more food, and batteries for my torch.
I’d struggled to sleep the last couple of nights and was really feeling it.
I decided to copy the drawings for myself. I wanted to learn them, from the inside, hoping that they would reveal their secret to me. But what could I use as paper?
I pulled a black marker out of my bag and stood by one of the walls. I looked down at the commando angel carefully and began copying his image directly onto the wallpaper. His form began to take shape as I bent low and stretched high to capture the size of his intimidating stature. Soon he towered above me.
I moved further along the wall and drew the monkey next, with his ball in hand, then the waiter carrying the tray of cards, the Roman
emperor and the Sphinx, the cupboard and the number five, then the rose and the boy … I looked around at my surroundings and there was no answer. The images that I’d stared at non-stop since I found them at the mausoleum all glared at me from the walls, as if begging for my help.
I don’t know
!
I glared back.
Help me, Dad!
I whispered in my head.
What were you trying to say when you drew these
?
I felt hopeless and pathetic. In frustration I began pulling off the wallpaper I’d just drawn on, tearing the giant angel down, ripping off his wings, tearing down the monkey and the Sphinx …
I fell to my knees and looked up at the mess I’d made. The image of the waiter was all that remained on the wall. He stared down at me, between half torn-off sheets of paper, and held out his tray. He offered me the jack and the ace of hearts. 21. 21! His two cards made a perfect 21 combination. A blackjack!
Why did the waiter have the winning combination on his tray? I needed help from Boges.
Being alone for so long in that decrepit old house was sending me crazy. The days were all blurring into each other. The drawings hadn’t revealed anything else and I was no closer to finding out who had attacked my family and why. It had been too dangerous for Boges to meet with me and so he was trying to keep away until the heat died down. Time was ticking, and I was getting nowhere.
Back at the house I’d heard rats scampering about upstairs and thought I could smell
something
dead up there. The hot weather was making it worse.
I had to get out, so I’d taken the risk of
sneaking
out again in daylight.
I ordered something to eat in a small
sandwich
shop in a factory area. I sat at the table staring at the television, enjoying the first decent meal I’d had for a long time. Nobody took any notice of me, until I nearly fell off my stool. I pretended it was because I had almost dropped my bag but it was because my mother’s face had suddenly filled the screen of the small TV set that sat on the shelf behind the counter.
‘Please call me again, Cal,’ she pleaded. ‘We can sort this out. You must be ill. I don’t blame you, and your uncle doesn’t blame you either. We beg you to come home and help sort this out. There are good doctors who can help you deal with this.’ The camera panned back and there was Uncle Rafe, head bandaged, and arm in a sling, standing beside my mother as she spoke, a steadying hand on her shoulder.
I was speechless.
Mum
, I wanted to say,
why don’t you believe me? What’s wrong with you
? Surely she knew her own son?
My mother spoke again. ‘We understand you’ve been under tremendous pressure lately. Just come home so we can deal with this together.’ She started crying and Rafe put his
arm around her, pulling her close.
I wanted to ring again, but I knew it was pointless.
My face flashed up on the screen again. But this time I didn’t run or duck for cover—I didn’t need to. I didn’t look a thing like the fresh-faced schoolboy on TV anymore. He was history.