Jasper Jones (23 page)

It’s only when Jasper rises from where he’s been sitting all night that I frown and tilt my head and I see it. There. Low. On the trunk of the tree. He’s had his back to it all this time, completely concealing it. I hold my breath and question myself. Doubting my eyes. Making certain it’s not some whiskey apparition. Or that I hadn’t seen it there before tonight.

No. No, I would have noticed.

Which means, of course, someone has put it there. Recently. My chest tightens.

“Jasper?” I say, tentatively. And he emerges from inside the tree’s hollow base on the other side.

“What?”

And I point and he looks and it is clear he has not seen it, it is clear it is not his doing; it’s not born of
his
sense of guilt. He steps up to the tree trunk urgently. He kneels. Touches it. Runs his fingers over it lightly. I meet him over there, and we examine it carefully.

We don’t speak, we just take it in. Right there, scratched into the tree. A single word.

Sorry
.

***

We barely speak as we trudge back. I imagine Jasper’s mind is turning and churning like mine. I wonder what he’s feeling.

I stumble along behind, my legs heavy and disobedient. My guts are still sickly and tender. I’m tired and queasy, but I’m still buzzing around that word.

Sorry
.

Jasper was right. Someone
had
been there. Tonight, maybe. Someone had pushed through, someone had invaded that glade. Somebody else knows about his space.

Not only that, but someone has more or less confessed.
Sorry
. An admission of guilt, carved into that tree. Cut into its body, like a tattoo. A word with so much weight. A word that now can’t be taken back.

I think about
how
it was written. What was its nature and purpose? To brave the searches, to risk being caught, means that it must have been etched with strong feeling. So was it remorseful? Regretful? Angry? And who was this apology for? Laura Wishart? Her family? Jasper Jones? God?

One thing is certain, they’re here. Whoever has done this is still in Corrigan.

It also means they’ve been back there and found her missing.
Gone. Taken from where they left her, all traces removed. I wonder if they suspect the police of having found her. Or, if they know about Jasper Jones, whether they assume it was his doing. I wonder then if this means trouble for Jasper. And if this means trouble for Jasper, then it might mean trouble for me.

We approach Mad Jack Lionel’s place. The lights are out and it is eerily quiet. Could it
really
be him that did all this? Has he just been out, carving his misgivings? Jasper pauses at the gate again, staring at the house, which slumps dim and deep into the property. I urge him to move on. It’s still dark, but there can’t be long left. We need to hurry.

When we reach the center of town, I’m surprised and worried by the amount of activity. Jasper must be too, because he turns to me as we duck and slip behind a building to dodge the lights of two oncoming vehicles.

“This is strange, Charlie. The patrol cars are back. And they haven’t been out this late since the first night. Maybe they got a tip. Maybe they’re out to make an arrest.”

My chest is drumming as we press our backs flat against the wall.

“Are you sure? It might be a bunch of blokes driving home from the Sovereign. Maybe they just closed up,” I whisper.

“I’m positive, mate. Lickered-up miners don’t drive slow like that. And I’ve seen them cars before. It’s a patrol, Charlie. For certain. We got to be careful, orright?”

I nod. We move out. Walking as quietly and alertly as we can, close to shrubs and buildings. We cut across properties and empty allotments, slipping behind covered areas. My legs are still leaden, but my mind is a little sharper, my vision a little clearer. There’s a sour taste in my mouth. My sweat feels oily. I long to get home. I wish I’d never left.

The closest call comes at the intersection of Simpson and Bourke Streets, where the patrol car appears without us hearing it first. Seeing the lights, Jasper tackles me down hard and we roll into a drainage ditch at the roadside. I hold my breath as the sheet of white passes. We stay down. Jasper shifts and turns to me.

“I don’t get it, Charlie. This is real strange. There’s never bin cars out like this. Specially this late. And they don’t usually come through here. I don’t know what’s goin on. But we should probly get back in a hurry, that’s fersure.”

“It’s not far now. I’m only a few streets away,” I say quickly, distressed.

I pause, on the cusp of saying more. I want to suggest we split up. I want to tell Jasper he should leave me here and get home as quickly as he can. I know it would be the best idea. But I can’t bring myself to do it. Even though I know what it would mean if Jasper were caught out. But I can’t do it. I can’t. The thought of being out here on my own scares me rigid. And I hate myself for it. I feel like a grubby piece of shit. Selfish and spineless.

Jasper has no intention of separating. He smiles and winks at me.

“We’ll be right.”

Just as we move to rise, Jasper deftly shoves a palm onto my back and shoves me back down hard as another car whispers past. This time it heads up the lazy hill that stretches toward my street.

“Shit. That one was close,” I say.

“C’mon, quick. We’ll stick to this side,” Jasper hisses. We run, crouching, soft as we can. Gravel and sticks crackle underfoot and sound loud as fireworks in the tense, hot air. Thankfully, no more cars threaten as we make our way to my street. We round the corner. It almost feels triumphant.

And then we see it. We both stop abruptly.

Jasper swears and slinks away immediately, and I press back toward him. He grabs my arm. Holds me firm. Keeps me where I am. They haven’t seen us. Yet.

“Charlie, don’t say nuthin.
Nuthin
. Unnerstand?”

I nod fast. Swallow heavily.

“But what do I do? What do I do?” I hiss, panicking. My eyes sting.

“You keep walking. You make somethin up. Just don’t say
nuthin
about me. You’ll be orright, Charlie. It’s fine, mate. They won’t suspect anythin. You haven’t done nuthin wrong.”

I breathe out. Look down the street. Then I turn back. Now there’s no choice. He can’t come with me any farther.

“You’ve got to go, Jasper. Quick! You’ve got to get out of here.”

He’s already shrinking away.

“Listen, I’ll come round soon. Remember: don’t say nuthin. G’luck, mate.”

And he slips away.

I am shit scared. Poison dribbles into my chest and seizes it.

I am in real trouble.

I stare down the street at the scene that confronts me. The scene I’ve been dreading. There, illuminated by the glow of our dim peach veranda lights, are two police cars angled across our lawn. Another two cars sit across the road, their lights on too. And a cluster of people stand out the front. I recognize our neighbors. And An Lu, standing cautiously to the side, his hands behind his back. I don’t know why, but seeing his quietly dignified figure suddenly embarrasses me. Then there’s my mother. Someone has her by the shoulders, dipping their body in a comforting manner. My father stands with a group of men on our lawn. He is nodding and thumbing his chin.

I am a dead man walking. I pause. I can’t escape this. My heart is fluttering. My brick is back and made of heavier stuff than ever. It’s a jagged lump of pig iron. Cold. I want to run away. Sneak in from the back maybe, then come out the front and ask what all the fuss is about. But I can’t. It’s too late. I’ve got to get brave. I’ve got to stride up to them, I’ve got to take it like a man.

But I’m about to be skinned alive. I’m about to be beaten with blunt clubs. I am about to be disemboweled. I have never known trouble like this.

And just as I move forward, I am spotlit from behind. I jolt and freeze. I am caught, guilty, covered in white. Red-handed. Red-faced. This is it. This is the moment. And it’s dreamlike, surreal, but nothing like I’d imagined. My ears pin back like a frightened animal. It’s a patrol car. And before I can think to react, their horn peals, piercing the
night. I see the heads of the folks on my lawn turn toward me at once. I hear the car door slam behind me. My first thought is to distantly hope that Jasper has made it out without being seen. Then I see my mother break her loose embrace and begin running messily my way. She’s screaming my name in a way that cuts through me and makes my spine spark. She’s sobbing. Her hair is ruffled and her clothes are tousled. Her breasts jounce about and her face crumples as she runs right up to where I stand. I don’t even notice the man gripping my arms. But I notice her kneeling down and beating at my chest. Then clutching hard at my face.

“Charlie! We were so afraid! We were so
afraid
! Where have you
been
?” Her face is wet and glossy. Her makeup runs dark columns down her cheeks, a shadow of her tears. She holds my head in her hands and shakes it.

It’s only now that I understand the real gravity of being missing. Of being gone. It’s only now that I get a taste of what absence can invite. The angry, taut knot of not knowing.

For some reason, my mind pulls away and I think of the other side of town. I think of Eliza Wishart not knowing where her sister is, living with that button of panic in her chest. And to think that I have the means to take that away hurts me like nothing else ever has.

And I think of Laura. The heavy ghost. So horribly vivid in my mind. And I think of that single word of apology, of admission and regret, tattooed into that eucalypt where she no longer hangs.
Sorry
. I look at my mother’s face and all I can think about is Laura and Jasper and their plans to leave this town, to start again in the city, to fill it up and live big together. And I just think it is such a
shame
. No one deserves to have their dreams end like that. Then I think of Mrs. Lu, and I think of Jeffrey leading her out of the hall just hours ago. And it’s too much. Far too much. This whole horrible alloy of sadness. And everything spills out of me. Like a stutter at first, and then I’m at it like my mother. It all catches up. I crumble and I weep. At the worst of moments, when I’m headlit and center stage, when all of Corrigan
is staring at me, I’m blubbing like a girl. And I can’t stop. My mother cradles my head roughly. She smells like wine and perfume and something sour and sweaty I can’t pinpoint. My shoulders are quaking. I’m glad Jasper’s gone. If he were here to see this, I’d die.

The thought of him finally allows me to straighten my back a little. I sniff and get some control. I look over to our veranda, that soft light. I’ve got to be strong enough to hold out against their questions.

My mother grabs my hair and shakes me again, speaking forcefully through her teeth.

“You stupid,
stupid
boy! Everyone was so afraid. Everyone was so
afraid
, Charlie. Where did you go? Where have you been? What
happened
?”

By this time, my father and a fair portion of the neighborhood have surrounded us. I’m so embarrassed. By all of this. All of them talking around me and about me like I’m not even here. Like I’m a child who doesn’t know any better. Their mild admonishments and bullshit concern suddenly just make me angry. It’s like I’m surrounded by clucking parents. I want to kick at their shins and tell them to piss off and run back to my room. They don’t know what I know. The lights behind me have attracted insects. I slap something away from my cheek. Some idiot kneels down and grabs me under the jaw and places his palm on the top of my head. It’s Keith Tostling. He inspects my face, particularly my eyes. Like he’s a bloody physician, which he’s not. I don’t know who he’s fooling, or impressing—everybody knows he shears sheep for a living. I shake him off and take a step back, bumping into the man who had my shoulders. I accidentally stamp on his foot.

“Whoa, easy, sport.”

Finally, my father presses through and puts a hand across my shoulder. He does that thing where he thumbs my cowlick. I’ve never loved him more than now.

The sarge leans toward my father and says they’d like to talk to me now. My father nods.

“Of course.”

We walk into the house. He looks at me strangely. I can’t quite place his expression. Confused and thoughtful, maybe. He doesn’t say a word.

I look over at An Lu, who is returning to his home, his hands behind his back, his chin on his chest. I wonder what he’s thinking. There’s something about his posture that convinces me he’s judging me poorly. I feel so ashamed. I feel like everyone in this town is disappointed in me.

And that’s when I resolve it, with my father’s hand on my back. When Jasper Jones goes, when he leaves town after this mess is over, I’ll be going with him. I’ll be leaving too. Leaving Corrigan behind. For good.

wasn’t killed.