Dark Confluence (2 page)

*

She struggled to wakefulness, disorientated by her unfamiliar surroundings. The room was bathed in a diffused half-light, except for an array of flickering, twinkling lights off to one side. She groped for her glasses, cursed when she could not find them, and cursed again when her hand knocked
over
something, causing it to fall clattering to the hard tiled floor. Immediately, she heard soft steps, and a figure
materialised
at her side. A figure clad in a blue cotton tunic and pants.

She felt cool hands on her forehead and wrist, followed by a quickly muttered “Oh, you are finally awake; I’ll fetch the night shift doctor.”

Groggily, Jen tried to take in her surroundings. She was obviously in a hospital and hooked up to various monitoring devices. Around her, she could now hear the soft voices of staff at the nurse’s station, and even less distinctly, the breathing of the other patients – five others in various stages of sleep or wakefulness in the curtained-off cubicles of her ward. The headache that had previously hammered at her temples was now just a faint echo of the ferocity of earlier in the day. However, it was now nightfall, and Jen had no idea how long she had been asleep.

Suddenly, a man in a white coat appeared out of the gloom, picked up her chart from the base of the bed, studied it for a moment and then peered at her over the tops of his rimless glasses.

“Awake are you, Miss McDonald?” His voice sounded foreign. He turned on the light near her bed, and as he moved closer, she saw that he was Indian. “You’ve been asleep.”

“How long?”

He studied the chart again, “You were admitted into emergency just before noon today, Miss McDonald. We gave you a sedative so you could rest and so we could run some tests on you. ” He consulted his watch and made a note on her chart, “It’s just after two in the morning.”

“Oh! What sort of tests?”

“X-ray, CAT-scan, etcetera. We wanted to investigate that nasty bump on your head and check for neck vertebrae damage.”

Jen’s fingers flew to her head to encounter tightly bound bandages.

“Don’t touch it,” the Doctor advised her. “The lump will go down naturally, however, you are very lucky. You could have easily fractured your skull or bruised your brain.”

Jen stared at him, “And the tests revealed what?”

“Nothing of concern,” he hastened to reassure her, “Topical swelling where the lump is, but no injury to the brain – we found no clots or abnormalities.

Jen nodded, “My headache has faded.”

The Doctor studied her, “Good! It could have been far worse. Now, we’ll keep you in a little longer for observation, and if you are still improving, we’ll let you go home around mid-morning tomorrow.”

He studied the chart again, “Now, Miss McDonald, is there someone we should ring? We got your details from the police; they checked your car’s registration. However, there isn’t anyone listed as next of kin.”

Jen shook her head, “I live alone.”

“What about friends? Any family who could collect you?”

Jen shook her head ahead, “I am quite alone. I have distant cousins in Scotland, but no family here in Queensland.”

“Well then, we’ll call a taxi for you at the appropriate time, and arrange for a district nurse to call in and check on you for the next couple of days.” He smiled suddenly at her frown, “Standard procedure, Miss McDonald. Now, any other aches and pains?”

Jen gingerly moved her neck and shoulders, “I feel a bit stiff.”

“Whiplash...again that will fade, there is no vertebrae damage. If it’s troubling you, we can give you a neck brace.”

Jen shook her head, “No trouble, at least not whilst I’m lying down, however...”

“Hmmm…”

“I need to visit the ladies,” Jen said embarrassedly.

“I’ll call a nurse,” the Doctor was brisk and business-like. “When you return, make sure you rest some more, and press your buzzer if you need further assistance.”

“Where is it?” Jen turned her head to look and winced a little.

“Here.” The doctor walked over and placed a small, hand-held device on the bed. “This will call the nurse. Now you must excuse me, Miss McDonald, because I have other patients to attend to.”

*

Jen was released from hospital a day and a half later, and the taxi deposited her, along with the groceries she was able to salvage from her car, outside her small, white and unassuming house. Everything looked normal. The garden beds still sported spring bulbs, although most were past their prime. Sadly, the few tulips that had survived summer looked decidedly ratty. Time for a replanting, Jen decided, yet the stiffness in her neck and shoulders warned her that any strenuous work in the garden would have to wait awhile.

Her gaze drifted to the house, checking that all was well. She frowned over the peeling paint and the guttering that was starting to show some holes. The house badly needed renovating. However, repairs would have to wait until she received payment for the work she had done on the last book. Her older Queenslander cottage seemed sturdy enough, so she decided that she had some leeway.

Stiffly, she climbed the half dozen steps that led to her verandah and sank down on the wooden seat, which afforded her a panoramic view across her garden, and further out to a lush green vista of the Blackall Range. Over thirty years ago, when she had first come to the Sunshine Coast hinterland, she had tried to buy a place overlooking the coast and the ocean. However, such properties were rare, and given that she had expended her small budget in coming to Australia, her modest house amongst the green hills would have to suffice.

Her mind wandered back all those years to when she had arrived in Australia fresh off the Qantas flight from London, via Sydney. She had travelled to Australia chasing dreams and a man she had known only through correspondence. Although her green nook amongst the hills seemed an adequate dreamland, the man proved to be more elusive. He had up and left, seemingly after her last letter to him. The letter informing him that she was migrating to Australia. Jen still had those much folded, much worn, yellowing letters that he had sent her. She did not know why she still kept them. Perhaps, they were a keepsake of days when she was more trusting, more naive and more innocent. Perhaps, more importantly, as an abject lesson in not to trust handsome strangers with a glib tongue who came from far, away and exotic lands. Perhaps, she also kept them as a reminder that no matter what life threw at her, she was able to stand on her own feet. For a time, he had broken her heart, but Jen was stubborn enough not to give in, and she made the best of what at the time had seemed a bad situation.

Now, older and wiser, Jen looked back and thought that a one-way ticket to Australia seemed a particularly foolish thing to do. However, the past could not be undone and she had settled into her new life. Although the nearby township of Emerald Hills was not Scotland, it was as fair a place as anywhere, and being on the range, afforded a cooler, milder climate than the humid coastal settlements below.

Reluctantly, Jen got to her feet, and fishing the keys from her lap, opened her door. Inside smelled musty, so she began opening windows and airing the house, along with removing rubbish bags that she should have taken to the outside bin at least a day earlier. She put away the groceries that she had been able to rescue and was thankful that she still at least had some tetra packs of long-life milk to use. Unfortunately, the bottle she had bought the other day had split and spilled open onto the backseat of her car, giving the inside of the vehicle a new and decidedly off-putting aroma of soured milk.

Her few small chores complete, Jen kicked off her shoes and sank back onto her old and cracked leather sofa. She took off her glasses, closed her eyes, and rubbed her forehead gingerly. At least, the hospital had removed the bandages, assuring her she was safely on the mend. She did feel tired and it bothered her that she still could not recollect what she had seen on the road to make her brake so hard. She grimaced, attempting to remember, but all she was able to achieve was to bring her long dormant headache back to pounding reality. Discouraged, she locked the door and securing the few windows she had opened, took a painkiller with a glass of water and went to bed.

*

Chapter 2

Carma Bright closed the front door of her small shop on the main street, secured the bolt and walked around the corner to the back of the shop where she had parked her hybrid car. Her ankles ached from standing behind the front counter for so long. However, the ache had been worth it, because sales had been good today. In the lead up to St Valentine’s Day, she had sold a good number of expensive scented candles, and those folksy cardboard cards (imported directly from China) had proven to be winners at seven dollars each. Even better, her homemade soaps (infused with essential oils guaranteed to drive one’s lover wild with passion) had virtually flown off the shelves, reducing her stock to such alarmingly low levels that she was determined to brew another concoction of them tonight after the Emerald Hills Green Action Group meeting.

The EHGAG meeting, scheduled this week to be in Rod’s back shed, was supposedly to be about promoting to the community the importance of the rare Green Mottled Dust Moth - an insect that had only recently been discovered fluttering about the weedy side entrance of the local bookstore. With the discovery of the moth, the action group had taken the bit between its teeth and all were hell bent on closing down the bookstore in order to protect what was obviously a vital breeding location. All except Carma, who although she privately harboured doubts about the authenticity of the moth, had bigger fish to fry.
Much
bigger fish to fry!

As she drove unhurriedly through the streets, her mind drifted back to the very strange conversation she had with a very odd, yet very beautiful woman, who had called into the shop to see her just a few days before. She was tall and so very beautiful, with the palest of skin, hair the colour of spun gold and the greenest eyes Carma had ever seen – so green that, Carma had been convinced that the woman was wearing coloured contact lenses. Carma’s knees had buckled at the sight and if she had not already been in a relationship with Ebon, who was currently in Botswana ‘reconnecting’, she might have made a pass at the beautiful stranger.

Moira, she had named herself, and Carma had detected a very faint accent that she could not identify. The woman had gently taken Carma’s hand (making her spine tingle with excitement at the recollection) and led her to a quiet corner of the shop to talk. What the woman had spoken of had caused Carma’s pulse to race and she had no reason to disbelieve her, so convincing she had been.

“Take the power underground, Carma,” the woman had softly commanded, “I can assure you that these small magics that you do will be strengthened, amplified, just like this...” and the woman who had called herself Moira had spun a web of pure light right before Carma’s astonished eyes with just her fingertips. Carma’s hand had trailed through the glittering light and as she touched it, the web fell away, dissolving into a fragrant mist.

“How did you do that?” Carma had exclaimed excitedly, immediately recognising Moria as a fellow practitioner of the hidden arts, although adept of far greater skill and talent, than she had ever dreamt to be.

“You could do the same and more,” Moira had replied as her hands spun an even more complex tracery of light. “True magic, power, wealth and influence are all within your grasp”.

Carma had gaped at her, “I could do the same?”