The Good Daughter (23 page)

Rebecca shakes her head. ‘I don’t know where he’d be.’

Aden says quietly, addressing Nigel, the two of them beginning to play off one another, ‘Maybe when there’s no women home, he starts on the animals?’

‘He might.’

‘That’s low,’ Aden says.

‘Real low.’

They’re standing a few steps within the door, a place Rebecca’s father has always found handy to store things for the truck. There are cardboard boxes stacked up, toolboxes in a line against the skirting board, air filters wrapped in plastic, an oxyacetylene bottle strapped to a trolley and, balanced on the top of the trolley, an open ratchet set. Nigel reaches over and takes a foot-long steel extension out of the box. He swings it back and forth like a pendulum by the side of his leg. He pulls a cheerful, innocent smile. He passes the metal bar to Aden.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Mr Kincaid says.

Aden takes the bar. He sways it to test its weight. Rebecca stares at him.

‘Or maybe it’s a neighbourly thing he’s doing?’ Aden says. ‘We should go out and help him bury the dogs. That would be a neighbourly thing to do, right?’

‘And you could get a look around,’ Nigel says. ‘See the Kincaid property. Wait till you’ve seen the family plot.’

‘Any unmarked graves up there?’

‘Could well be now.’

Colour is returning in patches to Mr Kincaid’s face.

‘Yeah, well, I guess I’m not gunna be invited back in the daytime,’ Aden says. ‘Bastard kids only get the night-time tour, I reckon.’ Aden turns to his father. ‘Is that right? Bastard kids only get the night-time tour?’ He holds the steel bar in both hands. He tosses it, and catches it.

‘Put that down, you fool.’

‘Me? Foolish? You’re the one trespassing. Renters have rights. I looked it up.’

‘What do you reckon you’re going to do with that?’

‘I dunno … Maybe you could give me some tips?’

‘You’ve always been a stupid kid.’

‘I don’t think so … I’ve not hurt anyone, I’ve got no skeletons in my closet, and I’m not gunna spend my life paying people off. I actually think I’m not gunna have to do much at all, just wait for you to keep digging yourself in the shit, and passing out dirty cheques.’

‘Let me tell you this,’ Mr Kincaid says, and steps forward, ‘I’ll drown in shit before I’ll give you one more cent.’

‘I could arrange that.’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Ah, yeah.’

‘Hit him,’ Nigel says.

Aden steps forward.

‘Aden … ?’ Rebecca says, feeling her throat constrict. ‘Don’t.’

There’s the sound of a car pulling in at the gate. Rebecca sees through the open door the reflective strips of a police car.

Nigel says, ‘Who called them?’

Aden puts the steel bar down, and, without warning, Mr Kincaid lunges at him. They stumble back and land heavily against the wall. Aden is winded, but manages to shove his father off him.

He finds his balance and punches Mr Kincaid in the face. Mr Kincaid staggers. Aden walks back with him. He punches his father again, cleanly this time, and Mr Kincaid falls. Aden suddenly looks to be the true fighter among the three men. In those seconds, watching him, Rebecca questions all she knows about him. It’s as though she’s only ever seen him on his best behaviour. This Aden is a stranger to her. The two men walk into the middle of the lounge room. Mr Kincaid leans forward in early defeat. He wipes his bleeding nose as a way to wave the white flag, but Aden backs up and kicks his father square in the chest. Mr Kincaid is propelled backwards. He lands heavily against the window. It cracks with his weight but doesn’t shatter. Headlights swing across the front of the house and shine through the window. Mr Kincaid regains his balance and rushes Aden, but Aden simply braces, pulls back his fist, and punches his father in the face. Mr Kincaid stops as though he’s hit a brick wall. He topples backwards. The window takes another hit. This time the glass smashes and falls in large shards onto the floor. It splinters. Mr Kincaid slides down the wall. The glass grinds beneath his shoes. Car doors slam. The curtains are ripped from the rods as Mr Kincaid tries to stand. Aden takes a handful of his father’s hair and reefs his head back. ‘You think you’re something?’ he hisses in his face. ‘Wanna see what I can do?’

‘There is quite a family resemblance, isn’t there?’ Nigel says.

Aden and his father begin to wrestle amid the broken glass. Magazines go sliding and a framed picture of a Kenworth Bulldog is knocked from the wall. The two men get up, only to crash back together into the bookcase.

Teddy and Luke Redman walk in the door. They’re both in uniform, and have that cop attitude about them, like it would take a bomb in their lap to get them excited.

‘Okay,’ Teddy says, ‘that will do.’

‘Yeah, better pull it up when they start breaking furniture,’ Nigel says. He gives Teddy a broad smile. He squeezes one eye shut in an exaggerated wink. ‘All taken care of, by the way, sergeant. Nothing for you to worry about any more. All up in smoke.’

‘What’s going on here?’ Teddy asks him.

‘Not much,’ Nigel says. ‘Usual evening activities in Kiona.’

Mr Kincaid gets unsteadily to his feet, but Aden grabs him around the waist and they stagger and sprawl in front of the two policemen. Teddy and Luke lift their feet as though at the beach, avoiding getting wet in the waves.

The phone starts ringing, but it’s only a background distraction.

Teddy steps over Mr Kincaid and puts himself between the two fighting men. Aden gets up, walks around Teddy, and kicks his father in the torso. Mr Kincaid crawls away on hands and knees. Aden kicks him again.

‘Aden!’ Teddy says.

Mr Kincaid pulls himself up with the help of the kitchen table and makes his way towards the back door. He’s bent double, blood streaming down his face. Aden follows.

‘Aden, leave him!’

‘Why?’ Aden swings around and says, ‘Because you got what you wanted? Who says I’m finished?’

‘It’s done,’ Teddy says.

‘It’s not!’

At the back step, Aden kicks his father again, and Mr Kincaid falls forward. He tumbles down the steps and out into the yard. Aden disappears into the darkness.

At last Teddy moves with purpose. He motions for Luke to go out the front door and around the house.

Rebecca runs to the kitchen window. Light from the open back door spills outside. It illuminates the spot where the dog died, and where Aden is kneeling with his father pinned under him, straddling his chest.

‘You think people don’t know what you are!’ he is shouting down at him. He grabs his father by the jumper and twists it up under his neck. ‘What makes you think you’re better than everyone else? Did you think I’d never grow up?’

Mr Kincaid writhes under Aden. Teddy steps down into the yard. Mr Kincaid twists his body to be free. Aden has edged his hand up under his throat. Teddy takes Aden by the shoulders.

‘Aden, it’s over,’ he says. ‘She’s okay.’

Aden squeezes harder. Mr Kincaid’s eyes bulge. He claws at Aden’s hand. Aden’s arm trembles with the effort of single-handed strangulation. Teddy pulls Aden off.

Aden shoves him away. ‘Don’t tell me when it’s over!’

37

Two birds with one stone. Zach has them in his sights. He has the shot. The breeze blows in his face; it carries their voices to him. He is down where he should be – flattened out on his stomach, tasting rather than smelling the dirt, the dry grass. Rocks and hard bits of clay bite into him. The trees off in the distance shimmer black. The stars are bright. It’s shameful, though … because Zach can’t do it. He can’t take the shot.

Here he is, trembling, covered in cold sweat, tears blurring his vision, panic washing over him. He rolls onto his back and lays the rifle down beside him. He puts his hands over his face and begins to cry. His breath is hot and damp between his fingers.

He is his mother, sobbing in the bedroom, crying in the kitchen – he is as crazy. He feels her there with him, lying next to him, speaking in a soft voice, promising not to do anything quite so foolish next time … Nothing so crazy as to stage her own murder.

A plover cries off in the distance. A sheep is bleating somewhere. A sheep is always bleating. The shouts from the yard have increased. Zach turns and looks. The men are dark, lurching shapes in the backyard, thick black figures that fall down and get up again. Aden is now fighting the copper. Rebecca is a slim outline in the doorway. Zach likes her better up close, with form and shape, colour and texture. Zach lifts the rifle to see her.

A voice cuts through Zach’s dazed state. The voice is spoken in the dark, too close for Zach to properly grasp.

‘Put the weapon down,’ it says.

Zach’s heart skips a beat. He freezes.

‘Put the weapon down!’ the voice screams.

The fighting in the yard stops. The men turn and look.

‘Put it down! Put it down! Dad!’ the voice shouts towards the house, ‘Get down! Get down! There’s someone up here with a gun!’

The voice is Luke Redman’s. Zach can’t move a muscle. He can’t look. The backyard empties of men. They run for cover. It won’t get any more critical than this. Zach can’t help but feel the day has reached its logical conclusion.

‘Put the weapon down,’ Luke says, this time with some distance and control.

If Zach thinks about it … yes – there’s six of them – including Zach; six males at Rebecca’s place, six dogs at her house. And which of them are the German shepherds? Which one is the boxer? And which one is the mongrel cross? Zach must be the pointer, back from the grave: a ghost. It’s retribution. In one way or another all these men have laid their boots into him. Squeezed his throat. Made it hard for him to breathe. The thing that bursts with sweet clarity at a time when he should be concentrating on other things is the irony of it. Rebecca’s not a member of this savage little pack; she’s so human. How could he have teased her for being the very thing she’s not? It’s Zach who has in him the ability to be cruel – this dog-like aggression, pack-like mentality. He can’t even guarantee he’ll be reformed when he gets back with his mates. When he’s in a group he reverts to animal behaviour. Zach struggles with the concept. He struggles with the moment.

Luke has his weapon aimed at Zach’s body – Zach can see his silhouette out of the corner of his eye. Luke stands with his legs parted, both hands on his gun. The light from the house and yard gives one side of him more definition than the other. Half of him disintegrates into the darkness. Teddy’s figure appears by the side gate.

If Zach knew change came with age – if he could look to his father as a source of hope, if he knew that it wouldn’t always be this confusing, this hard, this mired in the shit. But his father only confirms things never change.

‘Put the weapon down,’ Luke says, louder this time.

Zach wishes Luke wouldn’t ask again … He’s making things so much worse. Each time he asks he takes things deeper, making it harder to climb out. They needn’t be so afraid. Zach has no true bad intentions. He hadn’t planned to kill.

How will Zach face his mates after this? How will he fit in? He needn’t worry about getting back with his friends and reverting to schoolyard behaviour– there will be no
mates
to go to. His dad will probably go to jail. The lineage will be complete – like father, like son, like grandson. And vice versa.

‘Lower the gun!’ Luke demands, getting frustrated his requests aren’t being met. He steps closer. ‘Lower the weapon or I will shoot.’

Zach doesn’t want to be this kid, this person, in this place. He doesn’t like living inside himself any more. If he could transcend his body, his mind, his thoughts, his instincts – all of it, and be something new, someone new – then, and only then, would everything seem all right. Then he could approach Rebecca reformed. Free of any history, without regret. Calm. Stand before her as someone else. She’d like him then. She would accept him. He wouldn’t have fucked it up.

‘If you do not lower the weapon
right now
I will shoot …’

Zach tightens his hold on the weapon. He hears a soft
tick
, a dog’s claws on lino. Luke has taken the safety off his weapon. Not such a bent cop after all: he’s tried his best, on this occasion anyway, to be good.

From inside the house, there is the sound of Rebecca screaming. Zach forgets everything and looks above the riflescope.

‘Don’t move!’ Luke bellows.

Rebecca screams again. This time her voice is muffled.

Zach begins to lower the gun.

‘Don’t move, I said!’

‘I’m putting the weapon down,’ Zach calls. His own calm surprises him.

‘Zach?’

‘Yes.’

‘Put the gun down!’

‘I am.’

‘Zach?’

A torchlight comes on and shines in Zach’s face. Zach is blinded by it.

‘Put the gun down. Put it down!’

Zach runs his hands over the ground around him, and lays the rifle down beside a tussock.

‘It’s down,’ he says.

‘Move away from it.’

Zach crawls forward. His face is shoved to the ground. He tastes the dirt. He tastes blood. ‘You idiot!’ Luke shouts.

A knee presses into the centre of his back. The torch drops onto the grass and rolls away. Zach’s hands are reefed up behind him.

‘I could have killed you!’ Luke’s hands are shaking; the trembling shows in his voice. ‘What the hell are you doing here!’

The cool air burns Zach’s lungs. He is handcuffed and led by Luke past the farm ute. The dead dogs are piled up in the back – paws and ears, glistening bits of intestine.

Zach and Luke walk together into the yard. On the path glass cracks underfoot. The police car is parked in the driveway. Zach shies as another torch is shone in his face.

‘What was that about?’ Teddy says.

‘He was lying in the grass like some bloody sniper!’

‘Take the handcuffs off him.’

‘You didn’t see him!’

‘Take those bloody things off him – the ambulance is on its way.’

‘What was Rebecca screaming about?’

Zach walks inside. Aden is lying in front of the TV in the lounge room. Rebecca is wrapping what looks like a curtain around him. She is struggling to handle his unconscious body. Blood covers her hands. A smear of fresh blood runs from her cheek to her ear. She is concentrating on being careful. Zach sees then the piece of glass sticking out from between Aden’s shoulderblades. She wraps the fabric around it, either side of it, winding carefully. Blood pools beneath Aden – it has spread out towards the coffee table and wet the edges of a scattered pile of magazines. Nigel stands to one side, watching.