Crow Shine Page 8

  I remember standing at her graveside, crying, my chest aching with the pain in my heart. Why have I chosen to forget everything that led to this? I recollect her friends and family casting me glares and suspicious eyes. Barbed comments like, You barely knew her and What did you do that drove her to this? Was it my fault? How did she die? Am I really paying so much money to avoid a memory of something heinous? To hide some terrible guilt from myself? Ease a bit of pain in my life? I’m a monster.

  What happened to her? To us? What were we together? We must have loved each other deeply for me to feel this pain on her death, but all in so little time. Just one month. Has it really only been a month of forgetting, or am I misremembering that now? How can I be sure of anything? This cool, white nothing surrounding me feels eternal.

  I can’t remember what it is I’ve forgotten and it’s driving me insane.

  By this time tomorrow the magic will be done, of that I’m almost certain. I won’t remember the terrible beauty of this last day, her funeral, all the love and sadness around her, despite their disdain for me. Everything will be gone. I’m a fool.

  I drag a notepad and pen from the desk drawer and quickly write down everything I remember before it fades forever. It’s all I have left now and I need to make sure I don’t lose it, so I can get back out there, ask everyone what it is I’ve done. They’ll tell me. I don’t have to give away the magic, I can quietly drop hints, ask questions askew, reminisce with them and piece together what it was I was too weak to allow myself to recall. I can fix this.

  *

  The mist has lifted and the world moves on again. I have no idea what it was I paid so dearly to forget, but whatever happened left me with nothing but grief. I’m hollow inside with loss.

  There’s a note on the kitchen table, frantic scrawls talking about a funeral and love and recriminations and things that make no sense at all. But this aching hole in my heart needs to be filled. I have to go out and find my friends, start asking questions.

  I remember the Time-Maker, waggling one finger at me. “Consequences!”

  She was right.

  In The Name Of The Father

  Rain battered an arrhythmic tattoo against dirty glass and the old priest cursed the winter breeze slicing through every gap. Lamenting that his hands would never be warm again, he continued to rummage, searching, fingerbones clicking through stretched parchment skin. A door scraped open, watery light pouring through the tatty garage.

  “That’s enough, Barrett.”

  Barrett stood quickly, drawing breath as he drew courage. “I know what you’re doing! No one believes me, but I know. I won’t let you!”

  The young priest in the doorway smiled, feral, predatory. “Won’t let me? Really, Barrett, as if it’s up to you.” He drew a long, bright blade from inside his jacket.

  Barrett’s old knees turned to water. Cursing his age, his fragility, along with the unusual cold that prevented his hands working fast enough, he had no choice but to float to the ground in a haze of fear. Everything slowed, treacle paced. He felt warmth spread through his groin and tears spilled at the final indignity of it all. He began muttering frantically, his reedy voice stronger than it had been in years, “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name . . . ”

  *

  “Oh, Greg, there you are. What were you doing out there?”

  Greg kept his hands out of sight, turning to the kitchen sink. “Sorry, love, just throwing out some useless old rubbish.”

  “You hardly need to go through the garage in this weather. It’s been there for a year, it can wait till the rain stops, surely?”

  Greg smiled, keeping his body between his wife and the pinkish water swirling across the white ceramic. “Of course, love, it can wait. I’m just a little restless, I suppose.”

  “Well, don’t keep busy by catching a cold! Did Geoff Barrett find you? He came round looking for you again. I don’t know why he hangs around so much. He should be enjoying his retirement, shouldn’t he?”

  “I didn’t see him. You can’t blame him sniffing around a bit, this was his parish for years. He’ll come back if it was important.”

  “I think he has issues with you. I don’t think he likes you.”

  “That doesn’t really matter, love.”

  “You should head into church, service starts soon.”

  “I should. You going into town?”

  “Yes. I’ll see you tonight.”

  *

  Sweat rolled across Greg’s skin despite the cold. He heaved the axe up, let it fall, a rhythm of labour. Eventually he loaded a gruesome cargo into a wheelbarrow, pushed it through the garage door, his dark shirt and bright white dog collar swinging on the hook as he passed. He trudged across soggy grass and red mud, squinting against the rain. When he upended his load the pigs pushed and shoved each other excitedly, fighting for the choicest morsels.

  Leaving the barrow out to be rinsed by the insistent rain, Greg went back into the garage and began gathering bits and pieces from various boxes. Wallets, badges, hats, shoes, ephemeral trophies all. He muttered as he worked.

  In the shelter of the garage eaves he flicked a match into a rusting oil barrel, packed with wood, paper and all he had gathered. The match met rising fumes, a concussive orange cloud blooming up.

  *

  “Mr Gregory Easton?”

  Greg laughed. “You know who I am, Bill!”

  “Yes, I know, but this is official police business. Best we try to do it right.”

  “Oh, sounds serious. You’d better come in.”

  Bill ducked his large frame in through the front door, taking off his blue peaked cap. “I’m sorry to bother you, vicar, but we need to make some enquiries.”

  Greg gestured to armchairs in the front room. “Of course. Tea?”

  “Er, no, thanks. I’d best keep it brief.” Bill sat heavily into a creaking chair. “It’s old Geoff Barrett. The staff at Green Havens say he hasn’t been seen all day. We know he often keeps in touch with you, so thought it best to check if you knew anything.”

  “No, sorry. Been missing all day, you say?”

  “Yes. The Havens staff say these days he’s always going on about things that don’t make sense, wandering off, stuff like that. The dementia setting in.”

  Greg nodded, his face sympathetic. “Well, he’s an old man, I suppose. That’s why I came to take over, after all.”

  “So, you haven’t seen him?”

  “Well, I was working out the back this morning and my wife told me that he’d been around asking for me. But I didn’t see him. I figured he’d come back if it was anything important.”

  Bill took out a notepad and biro. “Right. When was that?”

  “About eight o’clock this morning apparently.”

  “Your wife around now?”

  “No, she’s in town today. Won’t be back until about five.”

  Bill stared at his pad. “So he knocked on your door around eight, asked for you, then wandered off again?”

  Greg shrugged. “That’s about it, I suppose. I’ll ask Jenny to give you a call if there’s anything more to it than that, but I don’t think there is.”

  Bill stood. “Fair enough, vicar. Thank you very much. I suspect the silly old bugger’s gone walkabout somewhere and got lost. Comes to something when an old bloke can get lost in a tiny place like this after forty years. Hopefully he’ll turn up before anything happens to him.”

  Greg smiled, moving around to open the front door. “Fingers crossed. Poor old fella.”

  *

  “I wondered if it was worth the effort, to be honest.”

  Greg smiled, tucking into his dinner. “It’s just a wintery snap, Jen. It’ll pass.”

  His wife shook her head. “I wondered if the roads were going to be passable. Then I spent all day in town worried that I wouldn’t be able to get back.”

  “That’s why we have the big four by four, love. You’d be hard pressed to get stuck anywhere with that th
ing.”

  “I still can’t get used to this, you know. An hour each way to town, most of it not even sealed. I know you’re happy out here, doing good work and all that, but I do miss the city.”

  Greg looked up, his eyes soft, cheek distended as he chewed. “But I’m getting so much more out of this community, love. I’m doing things here I could never do in the city.”

  His wife smiled. “I know. And I support your choices. You’re a good man, Greg.”

  Greg laughed softly. “And you’re a good and patient woman, Jen!”

  “I’m sorry if I seem a bit melancholy. I spend the day in town and even that seems like a bustling metropolis compared to being all the way out here. I suppose this weather is making it worse.”

  “You’ll feel better when it dries out and warms up a bit.”

  “Ha! Then I’ll be moaning about the heat and the bloody flies and the red dust all over everything!”

  Greg looked up again, a boiled potato on his fork. “It’s worth it, Jen. Really it is.”

  “I know. Just tell me it won’t be forever. Like you said at first, two or three years and then we’ll look at going back to somewhere a bit less . . . rural.”

  Greg nodded, not looking up. “Sure, love.”

  *

  Early morning mist drifted, knee high, swirling gently in the cold air. A metallic cough from the diesel engine rattled through the stillness, sending chickens scurrying. “Drive carefully.”

  Greg leaned out the window, kissed his wife. “I will.”

  “What time do you think you’ll be back?”

  “Hard to know, love. Should only take me an hour or so each way if the going’s good. I’ll try to be back after lunch.”

  Jenny pulled her cardigan tighter against the early chill. “Got your thermos?”

  Greg nodded. “It’ll warm up soon. The rain’s stopped at least. I’ll be fine.”

  “What are you going to read to them today?”

  “I don’t know. They like any stories really. The Good Samaritan maybe. It’s more just to remind them that we’re here and that we care.”

  Jenny laughed, without humour. “They know we’re here, love. They wander in pretty regularly to get their booze.”

  Greg tutted. “Not all of them, Jen. Come on, don’t buy into that stuff. There’s a lot of people out there who have lost their way, but I like to think I’m helping them get back on track. And the elders always appreciate my help.”

  “Just be careful and don’t be out too long.”

  “I won’t. See if you can’t shake off that grumpy mood before I get back.”

  Greg drove off across damp mud. Jenny stood, watched him go, her eyes hooded. Casting a slow look around the property she sighed heavily before heading back inside.

  *

  The four by four stood with the doors open, old delta blues blaring from the CD player. Empty beer cans lay in the passenger footwell.

  “You supposed to be a good fella!”

  Greg laughed, swinging the shovel again. It rang a hollow thud against the young man’s head. He slumped against the ropes holding him tight to the stunted gum tree. Greg leaned on the shovel, watching blood and drool run from the man’s wide, dark nose. After a moment he splashed water into the battered face from an old fashioned canteen. The head rose groggily, eyes mixed, unfocused. When he saw Greg’s smile the young man’s mouth opened wide, a tortured wail ringing across the dry river bed, bouncing around the scrubby hills.

  Greg laughed. “Yell all you like, mate. Yell louder! No one for miles.”

  He swung the shovel again.

  *

  “Bill Collins came round this morning.”

  Greg didn’t look up from his sandwich. “Hmm?”

  “He was asking after Geoff Barrett.”

  “Yeah, he came round yesterday arvo. Apparently the old man wandered off. They found him?”

  Jenny shook her head, taking a deep breath. “No, he hasn’t turned up anywhere. They’ve organised a search with all the local police.”

  Greg shook his head. “Poor old bugger.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “Dunno. Bill reckons he went wandering off and got lost. The retirement home staff say he’s been going a bit doolally lately.”

  “Don’t you care?”

  Greg looked up. “Of course I care, love. But what am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know. Bill said I was the last one to see him. After he came looking for you.”

  “Don’t let that bother you, Jen. It’s not like there’s anything you could have done.”

  Jenny hugged herself, her face tight. “I could have asked him in for a cup of tea or something. Shown him some human kindness. I just told him you were working out the back and closed the door on him.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, love.”

  “But he kept coming around. Saying things like he needed to keep an eye on us and he needed to watch you closely.”

  Greg laughed. “He just had trouble giving up his parish of forty years to a young city bloke like me, that’s all. He was an old man going a bit mad. It’s very sad, but it happens.”

  “Was?”

  “What?”

  “You said he was an old man.”

  Greg looked into his wife’s eyes. “Goodness me, so I did. Maybe I don’t hold out much hope if he’s been wandering about in the bush for twenty four hours. Frail as he is, you know.” Greg sniffed, swallowed hard. “Oh dear.”

  Jenny stood and came around the table, putting an arm around her husband’s shoulders. “It’s all right, love.” She kissed the top of Greg’s head. “You just care too much sometimes.”

  Greg nodded slightly and took another bite of his sandwich.

  *

  “It’s not good news, I’m afraid.”

  Greg frowned. “Come in, Bill, come in.”

  “What is it?” Jenny asked, voice quavering.

  “I’m afraid we’re listing Geoff Barrett as officially missing. The search has been scaled back. We’ve covered a bloody big area over three days and turned up nothing.”

  Jenny made a small sound of despair, covered her mouth. Greg squeezed her shoulders. “So what now?” he asked.

  Bill Collins shrugged. “Dunno really. What are we supposed to do? It’s hard to believe that a seventy-five year-old man can wander that far. Of course, there are that many places to get lost out here. We could walk within five feet of him and not see a thing. The case will stay open, but it won’t be the first unsolved disappearance around here.”

  Greg nodded solemnly, squeezing his wife again as tears escaped over her ruddy cheeks.

  Bill cleared his throat. “We wondered if you might, er . . . ”

  “What is it, Bill? I’m here for the community.”

  “Well, we wondered if you might be able to say something in church this Sunday. Something tactful, you know. Old Geoff was well loved, been here a long time. Especially being who you are, a man everyone trusts, and his successor. It’ll be better coming from you.”

  Greg nodded again. “Of course. We’ll make this Sunday a service in his honour.”

  *

  Jenny wandered around her house, smiling for the benefit of several dozen guests. She served sandwiches, party pies, sausage rolls. She kept boiling and reboiling the kettle for tea. She listened to all the townsfolk gossiping about what might have happened, how the old man was going quickly mad. Was it Alzheimer’s, was that just a form of dementia, did it even matter? Where could he have gone, just wandering off like that? And didn’t the vicar give a lovely service this morning, such a nice young man, inviting everyone back for morning tea as well. If anyone was going to replace dear old Geoff, at least it was a sensitive and caring young man like Gregory Easton.

  By midday Jenny’s jaw ached from gritting her teeth in a rictus smile. All these people, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with nothing better to do than gossip. It wasn’t their fault, she couldn’t blame the
m. And she couldn’t blame old Barrett for wandering off into the wild blue yonder, for that matter. But she could blame Greg. Why did he have to come out to this godforsaken piece of scrub? She admired his desire to do good, to spread the word, to help people. But she wasn’t sure how long she could take it. No matter how she tried she just couldn’t get used to it. She would have to be honest with Greg and talk about it.

  *

  “Do you have to go out there again?”

  Greg kissed his wife’s forehead. “These people really do benefit from my ministry, love. It’s what I’m here to do.”

  Jenny sighed. “I know, but you should concentrate on the community here, shouldn’t you?”

  “I can split my time between the indigenous communities and this one, Jen.”

  His wife rubbed her eyes. “I think I’m still a little bit shaken up by old Geoff Barrett disappearing.”

  “It is disturbing, love, I know. But we have to try to carry on.”

  “Do you have to stay out overnight?”

  Greg shrugged. “Well, it’s a long way out. It’ll take me at least three hours to get there and I want to stick around for a while. I don’t want to risk driving back in the dark.”

  “No, of course not. God, Greg, it’s such a long way.”

  “Nothing will happen to me, Jen. I promise. I’ll be back around lunchtime tomorrow.”

  As Greg headed for the door Jen took a deep breath. “When you get back . . . ”

  “Yes?”

  “When you get back I want to talk about our situation here. I don’t know if I can take it, Greg. Not for another two years. Maybe not for another two months.”

  Greg’s face clouded, anger swimming across his features. “I can’t just up and leave, Jenny. This community has been through enough upheaval as it is. I’ve only been here a bit over a year.”