Wrath (16 page)

“Feeling any different?” Toby's eyes were bloodshot under his gingery eyelashes.

“Mustn't've worked,” I shrugged.

He laughed. “Just give it a bit more time.”

Ross's house was a few blocks away. His parents were wealthy, and there was a long, semicircular drive leading up to the front door. I remember there was a big garden, but what was in it I had no idea until today; as we turned into the drive, the colours of the flowers and the trees seemed to pop in my face. Hibiscus, frangipani, palm trees—I hadn't realised there were so many greens! I stopped and picked a fallen flower from the ground. Its petals arched away from the centre, the stamens stretching towards me like tiny arms. The colours! There was red, but that word wasn't enough; it was luscious, velvety, deepening like rich, strong blood as it flowed into its throat. I had never seen anything so beautiful.

Toby sniggered. “It's kicking in, man. Enjoy the ride.” I turned my head to speak, but the movement of the trees above and around me—so gentle, so different to each other—made me forget what it was I had been about to say. He grabbed my arm. “Let's go around the back way.”

“No,” I managed to breathe, my voice so loud, my breathing fast. “I want to walk. No, I want to run!” and I turned right onto the footpath without a glance back, the stones crunching beneath me. It was as though I'd been looking at the world through a light haze, and it had suddenly lifted, and I could see everything—sharp, unique, new. Energy raced through my veins, and I had to run.

Down the road, skirting the main street, waiting so long when a car came; darting between cars, too impatient to wait and knowing they couldn't hurt me, and then the sand, the beach, the waves. I bent and pulled off my shoes and threw them over the little wall behind the café, and then I was off, the sand light and warm under my feet. I ran like never before, loping smoothly with no effort. Every wave surged at me, diamonds of water hurtling at my approach. I was a king, a master of the earth! My body would not tire! I would run like this forever, past the straggling beachgoers and past the boats snuggled together at the marina until there was only me, the sand, the sky and the vast stretch of ocean.

From far away, I could hear my breath rasping, but my pace never slowed. Gulls scattered from my path, screeching and wheeling, and I felt that with just a little more effort, I could have leapt into the sky and soared and banked into the wind with them.

At last, I slowed and flung myself down on the sand. The sun had dipped low, and I lay there marvelling at whatever had created that vast sprawl of colour and light, every cloud edged in gold, nestling plumply and softly in the heavens, waiting for night.

I must have dozed for a while, and when I woke, it was getting cold and the wind had whipped up the sand, blasting it against my bare legs. I got to my feet and turned back. The sky had darkened, and the first few stars were out. The desire to run had gone, and I was covered in sweat, my head thumping dully.

I trudged back the way I had come, the feeling of power ebbing now, and in its place, the memory of Karol and her friends. The more I thought, the angrier I became. That guy was just like Reid, sneaking in under my guard. Some part of me knew this wasn't right. I had no claim on Karol, and I certainly wasn't her boyfriend in anyone's eyes but mine—but that didn't stop me. If I had run into him then, I know I would have smashed him. I didn't care how old he was or how much bigger, I would have flattened him.

My head was really pounding, and my mouth was dry. By the time I got back to the café and put on my shoes, it was dark and the streets were pretty much deserted. Not much happened in town on a Sunday night.

I put my hand in my pocket to buy a drink, and I felt the little plastic packet and pulled it out. The tablet glowed dully in the dimness. I raised my hand to throw it away. To take it home, perhaps to be found by Reid, was too dangerous; I had contained my pot smoking to when I was out with friends for the same reason. But then some little kid could pick it up and think it was a lolly.
What the hell. How bad could it be?

I opened the edges of the little bag and swallowed the tablet. I still felt angry because of Karol. I thought that maybe it would make me forget all that and take this bloody headache away at the same time. I leant back on the wall of the café and watched the stars. The sky was black, and the sea breeze had whipped up the surface of the water and made the masts of the yachts hum and make that strange ticking noise they always did in the wind. The moon rose higher, and still I sat.

Things were so perfect on the outside and so stuffed up inside. I felt so alone out there on the beach—Dad gone, Mum not the same person, and Katy, once my other half, had become a distant acquaintance, like an old friend you waved to at school but didn't care enough about to talk to. And now Karol. I had to laugh a bit wryly at that. What a tosser I was! As though she would be interested in me! Everything I loved left me.

It was time to go. I got to my feet and walked back through the dark streets. The flicker of a television was visible through the odd window, but mostly everything was dark. It must have been later than I thought. I felt strange. My head was still aching, and instead of feeling amazed by everything around me like I had been feeling earlier, I just felt like a ghost sliding through the streets alone.

No lights were on as I walked up the drive. Reid's car was in the carport though, so I figured they were all asleep. I stopped uncertainly with the key in my hand. I just didn't want to wake anyone up and start a long conversation. “Where were you? Why are you out so late? I told you we'd be home by tea time,” and so on and on and on. I just wanted to get inside and into my bed and to sleep, and maybe this dull rage I felt somewhere deep down would be gone in the morning.

Just then, a car sped past the house, and I twisted the key, its noise covered by that of the car. I pulled off my shoes and closed the door as quietly and slowly as I could. Tiptoeing down the passage, I passed the lounge and the dining room noiselessly. I was nearly there! I just had to get past Katy's door and then the bathroom, and my room was next. I knew my way pretty well in the dark, but I forced myself not to rush and kick something over.

I stopped. Katy's door was open. I could see it in the soft moonlight through her window. She never slept with it open, and I could see her inside, crying softly, sniffing and drawing in shaky breaths. I opened my mouth to whisper to her, and then I heard Reid's voice, low and soothing. Frozen, my mouth still open, I remembered hearing him once before from inside a bedroom—Mum and Dad's bedroom in our old place.

I staggered, stepped forward and switched on the light. Reid was sitting on the side of Katy's bed, dressed just in his pyjama pants. His round body, covered in ginger hair, turned, surprised, one of his hands outstretched towards me and the other on Katy's shoulder. Katy was sitting in bed, blinking in the harsh light, her face red and swollen. The moment seemed to stretch. Once again, I could see details so clearly—the pulse jumping in Reid's throat, the bitten-down nails on his hand, the tree outside rasping lightly at the window—and then rage, hot and powerful, surged through my body.

I lunged at Reid, my outstretched hands aiming for his throat. He jerked sideways and fell to the floor but was up again in a second, and his fist caught me hard on the ear. I hit the dressing table, and it crashed backwards, the corner catching my leg. I was dizzy with pain, but it felt a long way off. I felt powerful again, unstoppable. I pulled myself up, half-tripping over something rolling under my foot—Katy's baseball bat. Scrambling to my feet, I clasped the end of the bat in both hands and braced myself against the wall.

Reid stared at me, his eyes bulging, and as I raised the bat, he lurched towards me, face contorted and hands raised. A mist covered my eyes, a red film.
So you really
do see red!
I had time to think, time to act! Not like that time so long ago in Dad's shed. As he came at me, I stepped to one side and swung with all my strength. Ah, the sweetness of that moment! Years of anger—at Dad, at Mum, even at Karol and that guy today—all surged together to focus on the start of it all: Reid!

The bat smashed into Reid's temple, and he stumbled towards me. God, he'll kill me now! I swung again, wildly, again and again. I could hear screaming, but I had to keep going. Something pulled at my arm, but I shook it off. There was someone else there in the haze between me and Reid.

“Out! Out of the way!” I tried to shout, but only a roar came out as I kept hitting and hitting till I sank, gasping, onto the floor.

I lay there, my head, my heart and my blood pounding. My breathing slowed gradually, and I felt the carpet pricking my face, my jaw and head aching, my shoulders and arms throbbing and a soft, strange moaning in my ears. I opened my eyes and looked at Katy. That sound was coming from her, huddled on the bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring into space, rocking and mumbling to herself.

“Katy!” I whispered. She didn't look up. I rolled painfully on my side, and my foot touched something.
Christ! Christ!
I pushed myself up onto my hands, my eyes staring but my mind not working.

Reid's leg was sprawled next to me, and he lay on his back, the side of his head a pulpy mess. Thick, dark blood oozed across the bridge of his nose where brighter blood congealed. Mum was lying across him, her face on his shoulder, turned away from me.

I've killed him,
I thought.
He's not just unconscious,
he's dead!
His eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling.
Oh, Mum! What have I done? I hated him, but you
loved him
. She lay quietly, not even crying, with her arm so protectively across his chest. There was nothing I could say to her. I got to my feet groggily and sat down.

He had to be stopped. Dad wasn't here to protect Katy like he should have been, but I was. I put my arm around Katy's shaking shoulders. “It's over, Katy. He can't hurt you.”

She stopped shaking, stopped breathing even, and turned to face me. Her eyes were huge, filled with tears, looking at me as though she didn't know who I was, and then her hands flew up, and she raked her nails down both sides of her face, screaming at me unintelligibly.

Shocked, I jerked back and slid from the edge of the bed onto the floor, staring at her. Then I turned away and looked straight into the dead, white face of my mother.

*

I can't really remember what happened after that. At some point, I was somehow in the passage, dialling Emergency and speaking calmly to someone on the other end, but it wasn't really me; it just looked like me.

I was huddled somewhere a long way away.

My new course starts next week. I'm going to do English, Mathematics, Human Biology, Physics, Chemistry and History. Mrs Shiels says it's a good, broad course that will get me into plenty of university courses if I do well enough. I don't really think about that side of it. One day at a time. Just today. The future is a foreign land.

Monday arrives, and Owen walks me across the yard and across neat squares of concrete to the cottage, and he knocks at the door. The cottage looks so neat, almost like something you'd see in a fairy tale—the cottage in the middle of the woods. There are some vegetables growing in beds on either side of the door. The only thing ruining the picture is the barbed wire on top of the perimeter fences and on the roof.

A stocky boy opens the door wide. “Hi, sir,” he says, studiously not looking at me. He has the long, droopy face of a basset hound.

“G'day, Bruce. Boys,” Owen says as we step inside. Closed doors face onto a central room, a combined lounge, kitchen, dining room and study. “This is Luca. He's the one who'll be working in here every day.” A couple of boys nod, their faces impassive; the rest don't react at all. There is a silence that goes on too long, and then a boy, taller than the rest, steps forward.

“Hi, Luca. I'm Damien, and this is Norbert, Jamie, Jason and Bruce.”

The boys nod but make no eye contact.

“Well, I'll be back at 12.30,” Owen says and leaves. As soon as the door closes, a couple of the boys go back to the kitchen, but the others sit at the computers that are spaced around the perimeter of the room. One of the doors opens, and I see a neat bedroom with posters on the wall, and another boy comes out. Damien takes pity on me again and calls from across the room, “Mr P will be here in a minute. He'll sort you out. Just grab a seat.” I go and sit at the table, trying not to feel too much like a complete tool, and look at each boy.

Jason is Asian, short and slim, with black-rimmed glasses. He's sitting nearest me, and I can see he's working on some sort of maths program with equations clustered across the page. He's tapping rhythmically, and I turn to a boy slumped in his chair. He looks as though he's half asleep, but his fingers are flying over the keys, his head turning slightly from side to side as he takes notes from the screen. Norbert. Right. Norbert's blond and has a tat written in that old Gothic printing on one of his forearms. I crane my neck a little to read it.
Wir sind das Volk.
Whatever that means.

Someone drops a cup in the kitchen, and the boys all stop and laugh. “You dopey dickhead, Jamie!” Bruce, the one who opened the door, says, but I can't remember any more names. Easy to remember his name—Bruce the basset hound. They're cleaning the kitchen, sweeping the floor and stacking dishes into a cupboard.

It's a pretty neat setup for a bunch of boys. There are bars across the windows, but they are the only things that really remind you that this is prison. There is a television, lounge chairs and a table with cards laid out on it—very cosy, but it makes me feel like an intruder. After all, I'm younger than any of the boys here, and I have the privilege of being in their cottage without really earning that right.