Diamond Eyes (50 page)

He rose and signalled her to follow him to her rug, which he rolled back to reveal a trapdoor with a latch that lay flush to the parquetry floor. Opening and lifting the door, he revealed a ladder down to an old cellar and a flickering light below, which drew her attention like a moth to a flame — seven flames to be precise, all blazing from rag wicks and wine bottles.

Greek Gods,
she thought, but he slapped a hand over her mouth before she could say it.

Silence, please,
he pleaded with his eyes as well as his hands.
There’s already a dreadful racket down there in my sanctuary. All those workmen.

Workmen? She listened, but couldn’t hear so much as a spider rolling a fly in its web.
What is that?
she asked.
A dungeon or a wine cellar?

First one, then the other. All answers you seek are down there.
He scrambled down first, proving the ladder was strong enough to take her weight, but she couldn’t spare time enough to risk it herself — not with Ben and Mira out there somewhere, needing her help.

He looked up, asking for her to follow, but she shook her head.
Show me later. I have something urgent —

No, wait!
He signalled for her to stay, then vanished briefly into the flickering darkness. Upon his return, he held a thick wad of paper; almost a full ream. At first, Sanchez guessed it might be his play, but it appeared to be blank — the top page at least.

He scrambled awkwardly up the ladder with the pile of papers tucked tightly into his armpit, and handed them up to her, since he needed both hands to climb out.

She took the opportunity to flick through them and found every page filled with Braille — all five hundred odd pages. At least now she knew who must have taken the missing Braille typewriter. No doubt it was down there somewhere in Fredarick’s secret sanctuary.

He kicked shut the trapdoor but didn’t bother to tidy her mat. ‘Safe to talk now,’ he said, still shaping words awkwardly with his clumsy tongue. ‘After you read it.’

‘Now?’ She gaped at him, wondering if he was kidding, but he peeled off the first sheet and pushed it up to her face.

Firmly, she pushed the page away again, but only so far as her personal focal length.

Aside from the complex array of depressions on one side and bumps on the other, the page still appeared to be blank, but she could read Braille from sight without needing to explore it with her fingers — and Mira’s name leapt out at her.

He poked her cheek with his bony finger to return her attention to the document, then flipped back a page to take her to the top of the scene.

Overwhelmed by the significance of the passage as a breakthrough, Sanchez slumped in her chair to read it again. Aside from speaking about himself in the third person, the document promised insights into his perspective that exceeded all hopes.

‘Is it all about that incident with Mira?’ she asked, knowing she’d have to filter through it to sort out the facts from his fabrications. ‘Or is it mostly fiction?’ Either way, it would provide something solid to discuss in future sessions.

He shrugged. ‘Echoing from yesterday to tomorrow, this tale is a lie that tells the truth.’

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know what that means. If you claim to hear the future, like Freddie, then don’t you mean “echoing from tomorrow to today". you know, backwards in time?’

‘If you speak of the echoes that plague me, then yes. But I spoke of my testimonies.’ He patted the pile of paper. ‘How else can a poor wretch such as me explain it?’

He swivelled her chair around for her until she faced the window, then threw back her drapes. Outside she saw the bustle of the festival in full swing, but in the glass itself — for the first time in weeks — she saw her crystal-clear reflection.

Bewildered, she felt as if she’d just woken up.

‘Yesterday was a dream,’ he said. ‘Anything could happen; all futures were screaming at us at once.’

‘No, that was all real,’ she insisted. ‘It happened!’

He nodded. ‘History is stone. Tomorrow is fluid. And on the cusp in between is the storm of life, causing ripples.’

‘So that “me” I couldn’t see clearly was —’

‘My fault. Yesterday’s dreams were becoming nightmares — so I listened to sort the whispers from the shouts. And I did things that distorted some of the echoes, those repercussions in time, until the noise of it all became bearable.’

‘But you’re deaf!’

‘No, you’re silent. Your voice is so fast, it leaves the moment.’ He closed her drapes and returned to the trapdoor. ‘Tomorrow has dictated itself and now one clear vision is set with all the players in place.’ He crouched with his fingers poised to open the latch. ‘All the world’s a stage,’ he laughed. ‘Time has come to read your part and act —’

‘Fredarick, wait!’

With a wave, he hushed her to keep the solitude of his private place intact.
Please don’t hate me,
he signed, pleading with his eyes again as well as his hands.
You did say you enjoyed a little tragedy.

Sanchez sighed, but didn’t try to stop him from sliding down the ladder. She didn’t have time. She’d send one of Freddie’s search teams back to fetch him up and extinguish the flaming wine bottles that he was using down there as his lights.

In the meantime, she had to rush back to check on the progress of the staff she’d assigned to ping Mira’s GPS.

She pushed Fredarick’s play aside on her desk, determined to read it first chance she got, but as it landed, it knocked over her statue of the Greek King Sisyphus — condemned to an eternity of pushing his boulder uphill — causing the glass boulder to roll off his shoulders and smash on the floor.

B
en skidded to a halt in the driveway of his beachhouse. ‘We can’t stay long,’ he warned, unclicking his seatbelt. ‘Leave your toga in the car and follow me.’

Mira nodded and untangled herself from the bedsheet, feeding it over her shoulder in a long twisted ream. Ben switched off the engine and hurried out to open her door.

‘Say hello to Killer, Mira.’ He clapped his hands and Mira heard the dog bounding clumsily towards her. She’d already been warned to expect a large, affectionate dog, but he came at her yowling — not quite a bark and not quite a growl. She stepped back in fear.

Ben clicked his fingers and Mira heard claws tapping on the path.

‘He’s sitting in front of you now. If you crouch and reach out, you can pat his head.’

‘No, thank you!’

Through her glasses, she could see the week-old version of the huge dog sunbaking on the other side of the driveway, his tongue lolling out, sound asleep. His mouth looked big enough to swallow her hand.

‘He’s never hurt anything bigger than a flea, even as a puppy,’ Ben said. ‘His name was a joke because of that, but, sadly, he’s getting so old and arthritic now, he can’t even do that much.’

Mira tucked her fingers into her armpits. ‘I’ve never touched a dog. I’ll wait in the car while you get your things.’

‘No, you won’t. Killer, this is Mira.’ Ben put his arm around her. ‘Killer, keep-safe Mira. There: I just gave him the command to protect you, no matter what.’

The dog barked and Mira jumped.

‘Politely! She can’t see you, old buddy.’

The dog sniffed closer to her, as if he could tell there was something different about her.

‘Hello, Killer.’ Mira relaxed a little, but still kept her fingers safe. ‘Is he really that well behaved?’

‘Yeah. Sorry I can’t say the same about my mother.’

‘You’re afraid of her; why? Does she beat you?’

Ben laughed. ‘No. Mellow by name, Mellow by nature. We just don’t see eye to eye much since I came home from jail — the first time.’

‘Did you grow taller? Or shrink?’ Mira pictured him on a rack, being stretched like the prisoners a century ago at Serenity; or perhaps starved down to skin and bone.

He chuckled again and ushered her towards the front door of the house. ‘I suppose it was a bit of both; from her perspective, my heart shrank while the chip on my shoulder grew bigger.’

‘How does having a chip on your shoulder make it harder to look in her eyes?’

‘Because he hides behind it,’ answered a woman from nearby, ‘and he won’t talk to me. Will you, Ben-Ben? You just drive off and leave me holding my breath — amongst other things.’

‘I’m here to fix that, Ma, and half a day early you might notice?’

‘Oh, yes? And did you notice your car in the garage? It came home this morning without you.’ She drummed her fingers on the doorframe. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been in trouble with the police again?’

‘Can we talk about this inside?’ Ben asked.

‘You haven’t introduced me to your friend yet.’

‘Sorry,’ he said, sounding flustered. ‘Mira, this is my mother, Mellow, or just Mel. Ma, Mira’s … Well, she’s the victim of an injustice that makes mine look like a bloodied nose at kindergarten.’

‘And she trusts you well enough to let you drive her car, does she?’ Mellow interrupted. ‘Is that wise, given your track record?’

‘Forget the cars, Ma. That thing I gave you this morning is hers, so if you want an explanation of what’s been going on with me, the police and everything, could you get it for us, please?’

‘Why don’t you just say “Fetch"?’

‘Come on, please?’

The latch clicked and the hinge whispered a hiss.

‘Take her through to the patio,’ Mellow said. ‘I’ll bring it down in a minute. And don’t go near the phone on your way through. I only just fixed it.’

Ben nudged Mira’s elbow as a signal to walk. She closed her eyes as she passed through the ghostly security mesh, and reopened them to find herself in a large airy living room with purplish-white furniture. Three walls were glass, through which she could see the ocean curling in long violet waves onto a foggy beach and peninsula. To her left was a small tidy kitchen with a view over a placid lagoon, while upstairs she saw a balcony with five doors to other rooms. From the nearest door emerged a short, wiry ghost dressed as a nurse. Compared to Ben’s ghost herskin was much darker, but mostly Mira was surprised by how small Mellow was compared to Ben.

‘Nice piano,’ Mira said, attracted by its elegance. ‘This is much bigger inside than it looked from out there,’ she added, trying to think of something more polite to say.

‘I just cleaned it,’ Mellow replied. ‘Please leave it a while to set the shine.’ Invisible footsteps padded away from her, then up the stairs. Mira waited until it sounded as if Ben’s mother had made it to the top, then leaned closer to whisper to him. ‘You didn’t warn me she was a nurse.’

‘In a geriatrics’ ward. She’s never worked with patients like you, Mira.’

‘Oh.’ She scratched her cheek, unsure if that was a good thing or not.

‘This way.’ He led her past a brick pillar and the piano to a wide pane of glass that looked like a window — until he slid it sideways to make a door.

‘That’s loud!’ She clamped both hands over her ears. ‘Is a storm coming?’

‘No, what do you … Oh, you mean the waves? Sorry, that’s the Pacific Ocean.’

She lowered her hands, surprised to notice the waves she could hear sounded virtually synchronous with the ones she could see from a week ago. ‘Is it always like this?’

‘Pretty much. Except when there is a storm coming. Would you prefer to stay inside? The glass door acts a bit like a volume switch.’

‘No, I like being out here. It smells like home. It’s a little hard to hear anything else over the waves, but I’ll get used to it. Do you have many birds here?’

Claws pattered across the tiled floor and joined them on the timbered deck.

‘Not when
he
‘s here.’

Mira followed the sound of the dog as far as a sun lounge and stooped to check if it was dry enough for her to sit. A wet tongue slurped her nose. She yelped and fell sideways.

‘No!’ Ben scolded. ‘Sit!’

He grabbed Mira’s arm and helped her up.

‘Are you talking to him or me?’ she asked.

‘Him, sorry. But if it makes you feel any better, that was a kiss — his way of showing he likes you. I’ll pack some dog food and he can come with us — not that we’ll need his teeth where we’re going, just his ears.’

‘Oh, but …’

The dog whined and leaned against her.

‘Oh!’ She startled, but relaxed when she realised he hadn’t bitten her. ‘He’s soft like a kangaroo!’

‘I’d say fat like a wombat, and obviously as pushy sometimes. Go chase the gulls, Killer.’

The dog left her and Mira heard claws clicking across the timber, along with Ben’s shoes, then a hinge creaked and the sounds changed as the dog reached the sand and began to squeak.

‘Gosh, he sounds like he needs oiling!’

Ben chuckled. ‘That’s the sand. High silica content is what keeps so much of Straddie from being developed. You don’t get much of a feel for it at this end of the island, but a bird’s-eye view is all national parks and sandmining.’

‘He doesn’t hurt the birds?’ she asked.

‘With his poor old legs, it’s more like letting the seagulls play with him. If his arthritis gets any worse I’m afraid I’ll have to put him down. The vet says I should have done it already, but he still enjoys life. I simply don’t have the heart yet.’

‘Sometimes I don’t know who’s the bigger kid — Killer or Ben,’ said Mellow as she rejoined them.

‘Killer’s better at communicating than me — and at cleaning up after himself.’

Ben walked to Mira’s side and guided her to an upright chair at a round timber table. Mellow’s shoes clacked noisily to the other side of the table, where she dumped something heavy onto its surface.