The Shadow House(50)

‘I’m scared,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘Something’s coming. Please, I don’t want to be here anymore.’

Five minutes later, Renee had switched off every button, unplugged every cord and cable. She carried every last component of the gaming set-up out of his bedroom and into her own. Monitor, keyboard, mouse, speakers, case, headphones, webcam, USB sticks, toolkit, smartphone, laptop, even the GoPro she’d bought for his birthday: she put everything in sight on the top shelf of her wardrobe and pushed it to the very back. Gabriel’s desk was completely clear of everything except pencils and paper. Tomorrow, she would take Gabe to the clinic. She would stay by his side. She would do everything it took.

And she would fit his door with a brand-new barrel bolt. On the outside. Just in case.


The next morning, Renee got up early, showered, dressed and made a big pot of coffee. Then she pulled some eggs from the fridge, a loaf of bread from the pantry, and for the first time in two weeks she made breakfast for the team. Then she warmed up the pastries she’d bought especially for Gabriel, put them on a tray with a glass of freshly squeezed juice and carried the whole lot to his bedroom. Today would be a good day. Today, everything would change. Finally, she would get some answers and Gabriel would get help.

Just as she was placing the tray down on the floor, the front door opened.

‘Ren,’ said Michael, standing in the doorway. Water dripped from the hood of his waterproof coat. The rain hadn’t slowed overnight.

‘Can you take your jacket off, please?’ said Renee, knocking on Gabriel’s door. ‘You’re getting the floor all wet.’

‘Ren,’ he said again.

Sliding the new bolt across the door, Renee realised that something about her husband’s face was odd. He was smiling.

‘I have some news,’ he said.

‘Okay,’ she said, warily. ‘Good news, I take it?’

‘Yes,’ said Michael. ‘Very good.’

‘Well, that’s nice.’ For a moment, she felt a glimmer of hope. They hadn’t shared a smile in years. ‘Can you just wait a second while I give Gabe his breakfast?’ Without waiting for a reply, she picked up the tray from the floor, nudged the door with her hip and pushed her way inside.

When she saw the empty room, the tray slipped from her grasp.

Gabriel wasn’t there.





ALEX





21


The more I stared at the farmhouse, the closer I wanted to get. I had no idea what I expected to find, but I knew that I wouldn’t get any closer to the truth without going up there and taking a look around.

Pasting a smile on my face, I knocked on Jenny’s door. When she answered, though, I almost changed my mind. Caught unawares, my neighbour looked frail and forlorn.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, trying not to look at her head; her scarf had slipped a little to reveal a small patch of hairless scalp. ‘Were you taking a nap? I can come back another time.’ I wondered at the treatment she was receiving but couldn’t bring myself to pry.

‘No, it’s fine, I was just resting.’ She adjusted the scarf and smiled at Kara, sleep-soft on my hip. ‘Hello, little one,’ she said, her face lighting up. ‘What a lovely surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Well, I …’ A flush crept into my cheeks. ‘I was just wondering … you know that thing you said last week? About babysitting? I was thinking that if you’re not busy – I mean, obviously feel free to say no if it isn’t a good time, but I was hoping that …’

Jenny beamed. ‘Would you like me to watch Kara for you?’

‘Yes. I mean … yes. I’d just really love to go for a run. She’s already fed and changed, and I’ve got everything set up downstairs. Would you mind?’

‘Of course!’ Jenny clapped her hands together. ‘Oh, I thought you’d never ask.’

‘Thank you. I promise I won’t be long.’

An hour or two, I’d decided, would give me more than enough time.


In the thick of the woods, gigantic red angophoras towered and twisted above me, their trunks knotted and gnarled like creatures in a Guillermo del Toro movie. Cabbage palms shimmied in the breeze; banksias bounced at head height. Long strips of paperbark littered the ground like scraps of fabric on a sewing room floor.

I strode quickly over the rutted ground, following the signs, sticking to the trails.

Bones, doll, blood.

The witch took the farmers’ son.

That poor woman. If I lost Ollie like that, I would die. I thought about his quivering chin, the crack in his voice. You love her more than you love me.

I swallowed a lump in my throat. That’s not true. I love you both the same.

Did I, though? I knew I should, but when Ollie was glowering at me or sulking or yelling ‘Everything bad in my life is because of you,’ perhaps I did love Kara more. My sweet tiny bundle of a baby girl; the way she clung to me, needed me, chose me above everyone else, every single time. The gorgeous, clean-slate smell of her. But then, on other days when Kara was screaming and I hadn’t slept for a week and my body felt feeble, it was my smart, funny boy who I adored most. His independence, sense of humour and all our shared history. We had habits and routines; we’d moulded to each other long ago. And his hugs, when they came, were more precious for their scarcity.