Head Spinners (12 page)

The world is a vortex and I'm going to fall off. I grip the floor with all I can. My heart hammers out of control. I have no idea how I came to be up here, but I can't think about that now. Breathing is pretty much all I can manage. Breathing and not throwing up.

My arms are weak, shaky, but I manage to crawl to the wall and rest a shoulder against it. The hardness of the floor is my lifeline.

Maybe the guy in the hard hat will come back this way. Or a new guy in a hard hat. Right now, I'd settle for an old woman in a sunhat. I'm not fussy. Over my racing heart, I listen for the sound of footsteps, but I can't hear any. No one knows where I am.

I'm not sure how long I stay sprawled on the floor, waiting for help. It's long enough for the spinning to slow. I concentrate on my breathing. Start thinking again.

At least, I think that's what I'm doing.

I have no idea how I came to be up here, but that doesn't worry me so much as how to get down again. I can't head back the way that I came. There's no way to open the door from this side.

At the end of the corridor I see a green sign marked with an arrow and the word elevators. I decide to follow. At least I haven't thrown up.

Concentrating on the floor, I begin to crawl towards the sign, sliding my shoulder along the wall. My arms are shaky. Small silver dots mark nails in the floor, and I find myself counting them, giving my mind something to think about.

Something other than where I am.

By the time I've counted to fifty-four I reach the corner. I'm feeling better now, light in the head but not as dizzy.

This hall is different from the others. It's even more cold and windy here. Windows still line one side, but stop at a gap in the middle. The lifts, I hope. I put my head down again and crawl forward. It's easier this time. My arms are stronger, and I actually feel like my breathing is under control.

When I judge that I'm close to where the lifts should be, I take a deep breath and look up.

It's a lift alright, but not the kind I was expecting. My stomach lurches as the sense of height hits me.

In front of me is a wire cage big enough to bring up building materials. It must be the worker's lift. It has a wooden floor. Diamond-shaped wire is the only thing that separates it from the open sky.

I push my shoulder hard into the wall, and let my head sink to the floor.

My only way down is to face the vortex.

But I can't do that. There's no way I'm getting in this lift with only bits of wire between me and the wide open sky. Only planks of wood stopping gravity from sucking me down. I don't care how long I have to stay up here. I'd rather die than ride in that thing. Maybe I'm
already
dead.

I check up and down the hall for more signs that might help me out of this. They all point this way. Maybe I'll go back to that weird old door and find a way through. I take a breath and start into a shuffling U-turn on all fours.

I'm halfway round when something in the lift catches my eye. A green, round button with an arrow beside it pointing to the floor. It's like a sign. A small piece of encouragement when I need it most.

It makes me think of Mr Tan and the way he tried to help me. The way he made it seem as if we were in this together. I can almost hear him encouraging me now.

You can't run away from your fears forever.

They're not as bad as you think.

I promise everything will be alright . . .

It's enough to make me stop. Wonder. Even from here I can feel the height, so much emptiness between that button and the ground. But if I could go in there I'll get down faster than any other way.

As soon as I start to see the possibility, something rises within me. Not the vortex yet, but a sense that maybe, somehow, I can do this.

The idea's inside me now. I don't want to back away. Still on all fours, I inch myself towards the lift. I'm not nervous now as much as curious. How close can I get before the world starts spinning? How much longer until my arms start to shake? I try not to think about the open space just beyond the lift but I can feel it swirling. Waiting to pull at me.

I'm about two metres away from the lift when I see a gap between the edge of the floor and the lift. It's only a few centimetres but beyond it, I feel so much space.

So much height.

It hits me like a ten-metre wave, lifting up my strength and tossing it away, leaving me tumbling, twirling, turning. Lost in the vortex again. My whole body's weak by the time I start thinking again. I feel sick to my core. But something has changed. Something is different now.

I've come too far to let this get the better of me. I'm not going to run away. As long as I can move, I'm moving forwards.

It's like stepping out of my body, leaving the fear behind. I place a hand on the wooden floor of the lift. It holds my weight without budging. At least there are no gaps in the wood. I pull a knee forward. Hand then knee . . .

I can hardly believe I'm here in the lift. No one else would believe it either. Especially not Indigo. I'm not myself anymore. I'm braver than I was.

Somehow, it's easier now, even though the breeze is still blowing. I'm in the lift and I'm still okay.

I can't reach the down button from my crouched position. So I lift my hands from the ground, kneel tall and bang the green button with my fist before I can think about what I've done.

The doors close and the lift lurches. I hug my knees for dear life, scrunching my eyes shut and waiting for the world to start spinning.

But it doesn't. The only movement I feel is a slow, steady downward one. I gather my last shred of courage and open my eyes. On the other side of the wire the city sprawls before me. The world seems so simple from up here. So neat. It's the first time I've seen anything like it. Cars move like beetles through a maze of streets. People trail along like ants. That's my world down there, my life.

Beeping sounds as I near the ground. The lift clunks to a stops and the door slides open to reveal two fat men in hard hats carrying what looks like a shower screen.

‘What you doing in here?' one of them asks.

I'm not sure how to answer that, so I don't. On hands and knees, I pad out onto the ground. Sweet, solid, stable ground. The concrete smells like sawdust.

‘Hey, kid, you alright?' The two guys stare at me with their mouths open.

‘I am now!' I stand up and brush the dirt off my hands.

I pull myself together and stride around the side of the building, not looking back to see if they're still staring.

It's not until I've made it to the front of Grand Southern Towers that I stop. With one hand against the wall, I look up. I can't even see the top, but I know I was up there only minutes ago. I can't believe that just happened. I can't believe I'm still alive.

I faced the vortex and survived.

Now I just have to face my class. Maybe I'll be in time to go up again with them.

It couldn't be as bad as what I just went through. The public lifts will be enclosed so I know I can handle them. And the observation deck, well . . . At least that should have carpet on the floor if I feel the need to crawl.

My class won't believe it. And Mr Tan. He'll get a real surprise.

I stride across the lobby to the bank of lifts. But there's nobody there. Maybe they've gone up already? I'm trying to summon the courage to face the lift alone when I hear a familiar voice behind me.

It's Mr Tan. He has his back to me and is waving his hands as if he's a traffic controller and our class is a jumbo jet. I'm surprised that they're only just coming out of the Interactive Centre. It felt as if I was up the top for years.

I duck behind a pillar and manage to join the tail-end of our group without Mr Tan noticing. Everyone's walking slowly, with their shoulders slumped. Big Mouth Bruce is dragging his feet, not saying anything for once.

Indigo turns to me and sighs, ‘Well, at least
you're
happy, Alice.'

Me, happy? Traumatised maybe. And a whole lot relieved. As far as I can tell, no one seems to have noticed that I was missing.

Before I can ask Indigo why I should be happy, Mr Tan comes close and fixes his black eyes on me. ‘Well, Alice, I guess you're off the hook this time. You'll have to face your fears some other day.'

‘What do you mean
some other day
?' I blurt out. I don't care how strange it sounds.

‘Wake up, Alice,' says Indigo. ‘The public lifts are broken. So no one's going up.'

It takes a while for her words to sink in. No one's going up? I just stand there spluttering. I'm not sure if I want to cheer or scream. If I'd stayed with my class and not snuck away, then I never would have left the ground?

Mr Tan watches my reaction, a small smile on his lips. ‘I don't think the day's been a complete waste, though,' he says.

Even though I want to look away, I can't.

‘I'm proud that you didn't run from your fears, Alice. That's the first step in dealing with them. Wouldn't you agree?'

And then, he winks.

We take the corner so fast
that my shoulder bumps against the door. I'm pinned back in my seat as Dad accelerates.

‘Where are we going?' I say. ‘The shops are the other way. What about the rolls for lunch?'

‘Making . . . a slight . . . change of plans,' mutters Dad between gear changes.

Oh no. Not again. I should have stayed at home.

We're swerving in and out of traffic like they do in the movies; I just grip the doorhandle and wait to see what happens next.

It's not going to be boring, at least I know that much. My dad does stuff like this all the time. Well, not the stunt-car driving, I mean the sudden change of plans.

Usually his craziness is more weird than dangerous – like the time Mum brought takeaway noodles home and Dad threw the whole lot straight into the bin. Or the time my class was going to the zoo. Dad took one look at the bus driver and insisted on driving me himself. I'll never live that one down.

But that's not the worst thing he's done.

When I was eight and we were at the park, Dad saw this kid who was there on his own and decided to give him my bike. Just like that. Helmet and everything.

He. Gave. My bike. Away.

It didn't matter that he bought me another bike the next day. By then, the damage had been done. I even tried dialling triple zero to report a case of child abuse, but Mum stopped me before I could explain to the lady on the other end of the phone what it was like having a loopy dad.

Whenever I complain to Mum she just sighs and smiles.
I know he's hard to understand, Danny,
but he means well . . .

Which is another way of saying that I just have to live with it.

As long as I don't die right now in a fiery car crash, that is! Dad might be well-meaning, but he sure isn't a stunt-car driver. He overtakes a car right in front of a truck coming the other way.

We're going to crash. ‘Dad, what are you
DOING
?' I scream.

We just make it back to our side of the road as the truck flies past with its horn blaring. ‘All under . . . control,' pants Dad, and changes gears again.

Yeah right.

The only thing ahead of us now is a big hippy van. Dad plants his foot. The van makes it through a set of lights just as they change to amber. Dad swears.

For scary seconds we keep flying forwards and my heart thumps HIT THE BRAKES in Morse code. I grip the handle on the door and plant my feet into the floor because I'm sure we're about to crash. We're flying at eighty kilometres an hour towards a set of red lights.

At the very last minute, Dad does hit the brakes and we screech to a jolting stop. The bonnet of our car is poking out onto the pedestrian crossing. People peer in at us as they pass. I pretend not to notice.

Dad turns to me and jiggles my seatbelt buckle.

‘All secure, Danny?' he asks. ‘No twists in the belt?'

I don't like the sound of that.

He revs the engine like a crazed petrolhead. The lights change, and we're off like a rocket. We're ahead of the pack now and speeding down a clear, straight road.

Soon we reach the hippy van. It has flowers and psychedelic swirls all over it. Even its windows are painted. Dad overtakes it easily so I'm totally unprepared for what happens next.

As Dad hits the brakes again, my seatbelt jerks tight and it's suddenly hard to breathe. Our car is screaming to a stop, and I hear a different screech coming from the hippy van behind us. Then . . .

Crunch.
We jerk forwards with the sound of tearing metal.

The next thing I know, everything is white.

Where am I? My arms are pinned down by a giant marshmallow. For a moment I think I'm going to drown in puff. Then I realise what's happened. It's the airbag.

Dad pushes it away from my face. ‘Danny, are you okay?'

I'm fine. No thanks to you,
is what I want to say. But I just nod and keep my mouth shut because if I open it, I know I'll start yelling.

Dad checks over his shoulder at the van jammed into the back of our car. He pulls out his mobile, fighting against his own airbag, and presses triple zero.

‘Yes,' says Dad. ‘There's been an accident on the corner of Hampton and Station Streets.'

The airbags have deflated enough for us to get out of the car. I feel sick when I see the crumpled metal and broken tail-lights scattered across the road. It's hard to see the hippies inside their van because of the painted windows and shattered windscreen, and I start to worry that someone might be really hurt in there.

People have gathered around to help. At least two of them are talking on their mobiles.

‘You okay?' asks a man, rushing up to us. He doesn't wait for an answer, but keeps going straight for the van and tugs one of the doorhandles. The door doesn't budge.

Dad puts both hands on my shoulders and steers me towards a bus shelter. But before we get there I hear the revving of an engine and we turn to see the hippy van's wheels spinning up clouds of smoke. The driver must be trying to reverse away from our car. At least that means they're okay. They're not going anywhere, though, because the front of their van is snagged on the back of our car.

‘Wait here, Danny,' says Dad, and pushes me into the bus shelter. ‘Don't come out until the police get here.'

‘Hold on. But,
what are you doing
 . . .' I pull away and glare at him. This is all his fault, and, as far as I can tell, the dangerous part is all over now anyway . . .
or didn't you notice, Dad?

He holds my shoulders and looks into my eyes. ‘Promise me, Danny. What did I say?'

I keep glaring because I don't want him thinking he's got away with any of this. Mum's not going to take his side on this one.

‘Promise me, Danny,' says Dad again, and checks over his shoulder.

I roll my eyes. ‘Okay. I won't move until the police come.'

‘Great. Okay, good,' says Dad and disappears.

I sit down on the bench in the shelter and check myself for blood and broken bones. Anything that might count as proof when I report this as child abuse. I don't even find a scratch. Pity.

I'm so sick of the weird stuff my dad does. He's the one who caused all the trouble and now he thinks that just calling the police will fix everything. But from what I've learnt about the police in the past week, it's a mistake to expect any help from
them
.

I stand up and check out the accident scene, but it's just a whole bunch of people standing around doing nothing, so I sit back down.

So much for fresh bread rolls. Now I have to sit here in this bus shelter, waiting for the police to show up. Why does weird stuff always happen to me? In some ways I'm not as freaked out by all this as I might have been. It's not half as strange as the other stuff that's been happening these past weeks.

I haven't told anyone what's been going on, so it's good to have a chance to think it through. I settle in and let my mind drift back to the night of my thirteenth birthday.

That's the night my life changed forever.

As birthdays go, my thirteenth was a good one – a new racing bike, a movie with my mates and dinner at our family's favourite pasta place.

Dad had a bit too much red wine and kept asking me, ‘Do you feel any different now that you're a teenager, Danny? My thirteenth birthday was really big for me.'

‘Nup, no different,' was my answer, no matter how many times he asked.

In the end my little sister Amber squeezed my arm and giggled, ‘He feels like a teenager to me, Dad!'

By the time I got to bed I was really tired, weighed down with lasagne and two pieces of blackforest cake with ice-cream. I must have fallen asleep straight away, because I woke up later with a head full of dreams. I rolled over and tucked my pillow under my chin the way I like it. The next thing I knew I was dreaming again . . .

I was looking down at my bed from above, looking at
myself
lying in bed – arm out of the doona, pillow tucked just so . . . I'd never seen myself in a dream before and the detail freaked me out – my hair kinked up at the back, my chest moving slowly. It was so
real
.

I watched my sleeping self roll over . . . and the next thing I knew I was awake, lying on my back in bed, and feeling just a tad spooked.

I'd had my fair share of unsettling dreams, of course – teeth falling out or being stuck in the mud, for example. Sometimes I even got to fly really close to the ground, a bit like surfing one metre off the grass. But I'd never seen myself from the outside before.

It was the first time, but not, as it turned out, the last.

The next night I dreamed again that I was looking down at my sleeping self. But I could think more clearly than I usually could in dreams. And I noticed all the small details of the scene. A fly was rubbing its feet together on the windowsill. My doona was about to fall off the bed. The dictionary I'd spent ages searching for the week before was wedged between the back of my desk and the wall.

And even though I was in a dream fog, it suddenly hit me. I was
seeing
all this, not dreaming it. I was hovering above myself, looking at it all for real.

A realisation like that can really shock a person.

I wokeup, fighting with my doona, falling out of bed, then crawling to look behind my desk.

Freak-out big time . . .

My Japanese dictionary was just where I'd seen it, between the back of my desk and the wall. Was it possible that I'd noticed the dictionary some other time, and this had just been a dream? I didn't think so. As weird as it seemed, it felt
real
.

I didn't sleep much that night.

When I tried looking it up on the internet the next day, I wasn't sure what to type in.
Dreaming real things
brought up a whole heap of music lyrics, and
looking at yourself when you're asleep
found pages to do with ‘looking after yourself'. At first.

As I kept scrolling, strange new words began to appear:
astral projection, lucid dreaming, out of body experiences . . .

There were words to describe what had been happening to me.

In fact, there weren't just words to describe my strange dreams, there were whole chat forums about whether or not it was possible. There were heaps of books on the subject.

The internet is an amazing place. There were even sites explaining how to make it happen and what to expect.

As you fall asleep, picture yourself in the place you'd like to reach. There's no danger in astral projection. If you wake up, you will simply return to your body.

By the time I went to bed the next night, I was all set and ready to astral project outside, not just in my room.

Once I'd decided I wanted to do that, it was easy as a piece of pie. All I had to do was think
I'm going outside tonight.