The Dark Part of Me (24 page)

‘Hi, Bomber.’

He stared at his feet and mumbled, ‘Heard you were in here.’ Out of his rapper gear, he seemed smaller, kind of deflated.

‘How are you?’ It felt mighty strange being nice to Bomber.

‘Fucked. Thanks to that fucking faggot weirdo, my kidney’s fucked, man.’

‘I’m sorry.’ What else could I say? ‘He didn’t mean it.’

‘Like fuck he didn’t,’ Bomber seethed. ‘I was there when he killed Matty Taylor.’ He pounded his fist into his palm. ‘Bam! Smashed right into his skull.
Scrawny little cocksucker. Like fuck he didn’t mean it. He meant it then and he means it now. Man, I can’t wait to get my hands on him as soon as I’m out of here.’

‘He’s not gay, Bomber. Just because he doesn’t pump weights and jerk off to porno all day.’

Bomber snorted. ‘Nah, man. Don’t tell me the fucker’s not bent. It’s so fucking obvious.’ He flapped his hands in imitation of Danny. ‘Just ask Woody. Oh
yeah, man, Woody knows.’

‘What does Scott know?’

Bomber ignored my question. ‘You’re mates with his sister, right?’

‘So?’

‘Well, you tell whatever-her-name-is that I’ll be coming to beat the crap out of him. He’s dead meat, man.’

‘Aren’t you a bit old to still be playing the school bully?’

‘Nah, you listen to me.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I’ve got a good idea where the fucker’s got to. You see, way back, before he turned butt-poker, we were
all mates, Danny, Woody, Muzz and me. Real good mates.’ He drummed two thick fingers against his temple. ‘He thinks he can outsmart the cops, well, I reckon I can smoke the cunt out of
his hole.’

‘You’re so full of it, Bomber.’ I said, walking away. ‘You’ve always been full of it.’

But the rest of the morning in the ward Bomber’s threat played on my mind. Sure, he was a first-class shit-stirrer but there’d been genuine menace in his voice and I was worried he
knew something about the cave. His cryptic line kept resurfacing –
Just ask Woody. Oh yeah, man, Woody knows
– until the shrink came by and asked me to describe how I felt
about my parents’ divorce.

That afternoon, Randy picked me up from hospital in my car. Mum was waiting for her Christmas cake to come out of the oven so she’d sent him instead. Randy carried my
overnight bag as we walked across the carpark. After being cooped up for so long, the sun-glare off the tarmac gave me an instant headache. I slumped back in the seat with my feet up on the dash
and wound down the window. I was in no mood for chit-chat but as soon as we were on the road, Randy started.

‘So, how’re you feeling? We’ve been worried about you,’ he said, as we chugged down the overpass past Suncorp Stadium. ‘Janice, your mother, she thinks you need a
change.’

I stared out the window at the Fourex brewery, sniffing at the rich, yeasty air blowing in soft around me. ‘What? Like a sex change.’

‘No,’ Randy chortled. ‘A change of direction.’

‘Oh. I see.’ We were stopped at the lights. In front of us was a supermodel couple in an open-top beamer. They were eating soft-serve ice-creams and laughing. I hated them.
‘But I am changing direction.’

‘Great. A positive attitude is the first step.’ Randy thumped the steering wheel and grinned across at me. ‘So, you’ve been thinking about going back to
university?’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’ His smile faded. That shut him up for a while. I zoned out the window, watching the khaki blur of eucalypts skid by as we puttered through Auchenflower, then Toowong. Going
past Shoppingtown, Randy turned to me, one hand on the wheel.

‘I know what you need.’ He was beaming like a born-again. ‘Inspiration. Don’t you get excited just thinking about all the wonder out there, waiting to be discovered? I
mean, how could anyone get bored when you can learn how stars are made or dream about fourth dimensions or imagine life on other planets or decode your own DNA or contemplate the awesome
possibilities of string theory?’ He blinked, excitedly. ‘Don’t you think?’

‘I dunno.’

‘Just look at all the beauty in the world.’ Randy waved his hand out the window as we skirted around the concrete monolith of the Green Hill Reservoir. ‘The millions of
different colours of coral in the ocean, the velvet touch of a rose petal, the fascinating lives of ants, the unsolved mysteries of the human mind, that deep midnight blue of the sky on a
winter’s night, the lovely squeak of sand between your toes at the beach.’

‘Whatever you reckon, Randy.’ We were turning right into Fleming, the old rollercoaster road. Randy took it slow.

‘But, that’s all there is,’ he said. ‘The here and now. The proverbial bug in amber. You’ve got to live it to the full because there’s probably not much
afterwards except a few of your old molecules zipping around in outer space. C’mon, Rosie. What do you think? What’s the point? What’s it all about, hey?’

I thought hard for a decent comeback. ‘Oblivion.’

Randy pulled into the drive and yanked the handbrake. He undid his seat-belt and pivoted around to face me. ‘You mean, just being? Not thinking about the past or the future?’

‘Yeah, I s’pose.’ I got out of the car. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

‘No problem, Rosie. Hey, let’s talk about this more later, OK?’

While Randy parked my car in the garage, I went inside. Mum was in the kitchen licking cake mixture out of the bowl. She rushed over and hugged me. I stood stiff in her embrace, annoyed that
she’d set Randy up to brainwash me.

‘Are you alright? How are you feeling? Do you want something to eat? How ’bout a nice cup of tea or some Christmas crackle?’ She was being way too nice.

‘I want to go to bed.’

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you go lie down in my bedroom with the air-con on? It’ll be quieter in there.’

I spent the rest of the afternoon dozing on Mum’s floral spread, despite the muffled sound of drilling coming from the courtyard. Around six, Mum came in and woke me in a flap. The cops
had dropped by to ask a few questions. I went out in Mum’s chenille to find them drinking tea in the courtyard. Mum hovered about offering them Christmas cake and smiling her head off. For
once, Randy stayed out of it.

They’d read my hospital records so it was easy to act like I didn’t remember anything. They asked me about Danny – how long we’d been friends, when I’d last seen
him, if he’d mentioned anything about Bomber. I lied, saying I couldn’t remember when I’d last seen him. They asked me if I had any idea where Danny might be hiding and I shook my
head and said, ‘Sorry, I haven’t the slightest.’

After they left, I went back to bed in my own room. I got thinking about Bomber’s threat again. There was no use telling Hollie. With Mr Bailey back at the ranch and the cops no doubt
tracking her every move, she’d have no way of getting to him. More than that, I didn’t want to frighten her because she’d probably just lose it. She’d been acting so bizarre
lately. I had to warn Danny myself, but I’d do it later, in the middle of the night when all the burbans were dead to the world. I set the alarm for midnight and tried to get some
shut-eye.

I snapped on the lamp and slipped out of bed. One minute past midnight on Christmas Day. I chucked on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, and tied my hair back in a ponytail. After
so much snoozing, I felt fresh and sparky. I crept through the darkened house. As I passed Mum’s new fibre-optic Christmas tree, glowing red to purple to orange in the dark, I didn’t
even stop to check out my presents.

Outside, the air was thick and muggy, not a murmur of a breeze through the tree-tops. It was like the earth had stopped breathing to listen for life on other planets. I ducked across the lawn
and in through the side door of the garage. Not wanting to wake Mum and Randy with the car, I grabbed a torch off the shelf and my old kid’s bike and wheeled it out onto the drive. I hopped
on and pedalled away through the moon-washed streets to Hollie’s place. As I rocketed down Fleming, I threw my head back to the sky, which was deep and black as old blood. My T-shirt billowed
out behind me and my hair lashed about my face. I was flying – the wicked witch on her broomstick. On my way up the last hill, sweating and pumping at the pedals, I looked across at the
ascending row of slumbering houses which lined Hollie’s street. In each front window was a plastic Christmas tree, multi-coloured lights blinking on and off, out of sync with each other. The
only real tree was Hollie’s. I could just see it, tall and erect in the front casement window at the very end of the street. It was decorated with nothing but fairy lights which didn’t
foxtrot or do the rumba, but shone cold and bright as stars.

A car was parked outside Hollie’s house. From its shape and size, it wasn’t Mr Bailey’s Lexus. My spine tingled as I dismounted and dropped down into a ditch hidden from the
road. I dumped the bike and scurried along the eroded trench. To my right, the bush throbbed and pulsed. When I was abreast with the parked car, I popped my head up over the verge. Inside, the
cabin was in darkness but I could just make out a silhouette. I clambered up the incline and hauled myself onto the bitumen. With my heart thumping like crazy, I cut across the corner of the
cul-de-sac and hid behind a lantana bush. From this position, I could see there were two men inside the car. The cabin light came on and they bent their heads over something. They had to be the
cops, on the prowl for Danny. I turned and scrambled up the track, under a cover of thick scrub, towards the cave. Above the tree-line, the red lights from the TV towers blinked like a warning to
go home, but I pelted up the steep incline, fumbling through the dark, until I reached the cave. I stepped up to the entrance, rubbing my hands against the rough surface of the rock, feeling my
way. Quiet as a bug, I dropped to my knees and crawled inside. It was so black I couldn’t see my hands in front of me, but I could feel the earth cool and smooth between my fingers as I
headed deeper into the cave. At the egg rock, I sat up and switched on the torch. A pair of eyes, red and glistening, swooped down upon me. I screamed. There was a flurry of wings beating about my
ears, hissing and flapping. I folded my arms around my head and crouched into a ball, burying myself small and hard as a stone, digging my toes into the earth.

‘Rosie-Maroo?’

‘Danny?’ I stood up, swinging the torch towards the back of the cave. He was leaning against the far wall, wearing a grubby T-shirt. The light shone hard against his thin arms and
his wiry legs. His skin was streaked with mud. Slowly, I walked up to him and pressed my palm against his hollow cheek. I exhaled, my muscles softening with relief. He grinned his wide
white-toothed smile and touched me the same, rubbing his dirty hand over my face.

‘Rosie-Maroo,’ he repeated.

‘Danny-Dilly.’ I smiled. ‘Are you OK?’ He was close enough for me to inhale the dank, grassy smell of his skin, the stink of his unwashed hair.

‘The spirits of the cave are looking after me.’ He was speaking in his weird pseudo-aboriginal way and it made me nervous.

‘Danny, listen to me.’ I looked into his eyes and felt this strange sensation like drowning. Anxious to say what I had to say and get out of there, I squeezed his hand, then let go.
‘I came to warn you about Bomber.’

‘What about him?’

‘I think he knows about the cave. He’s coming up here.’

Danny nodded and walked to the middle of the cave. He lit a candle. In the centre was a pile of ash and twigs, the remnants of an open fire. Peering closely, I saw what looked like the charred
remains of a small animal; a blackened head, a white flash of bone exposed here and there along its body. Danny crouched down and fished a chunk of fleshy bone out of the embers. He tore strips off
it with his teeth.

‘What is it?’ I said, disgusted.

‘Bandicoot.’ He chewed away. ‘Want some?’ He offered me a bit of grizzled meat.

‘No, thanks.’ He shrugged and continued munching. ‘Danny, there’s something I want to ask you.’ He looked at me, eyes possum-bright, quizzical. I took a deep
breath. ‘What happened between you and Scott?’

Danny scowled and kicked his toe in the dirt. ‘Why don’t you ask him? He’s
your
boyfriend, isn’t he?’