Part of the way down, Uncle Martin directed the torch toward a sign called “Botting's Lookout”. He appeared to think for a moment, before turning and shouting, “Not here. It is not the right place”. And so downwards we continued, on the steep stairs until eventually, we came to the Federal Pass walking track.
“Let’s just leave the flowers here and go back,” I said, my teeth chattering with cold and fear.
Uncle Martin’s head swivelled toward me, reminding me of a possessed person in a horror film.
“Haven’t you realised yet that you are not going back?” He smiled, showing his very white teeth.
“Why should you get everything and I get nothing?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. I had wondered this myself.
“My sister”, he spat, “was such a do-gooder, because she was ashamed and guilty. You see, she inherited the family home, and the house in which you now live”. He turned away briefly, and pulled out a sharp knife.
“Don’t worry, I don’t intend to use this, this is only for persuasive purposes. You will jump yourself”.
It was strange how he talked to me; detached and cold, and yet, burning with an inner anger.
Luckily, I had learnt my lesson and I was not wearing high heels, but some comfy trainers. I thought: I have to make a run for it. My thoughts must have played across my face, because Martin (I had stopped thinking of him as an uncle at this point) came up behind me and growled very quietly, very close to my ear “don’t even think about it”.
With him behind me, we began to stumble in the dark, with only the inadequate light of the torch, dotting the ground and the darkness.
It seemed, according to the reflecting signs that I could see that, we were heading in the direction of the “Ruined Castle”, the large rocky outcrop that is famous for its fantastic panoramic views, and near where mum was found.
I plodded along like an automaton, but after about fifteen minutes, I got myself together enough to speak.
“Martin, I found mum’s diary in the freezer, and in it, she says that she is actually your mother too”.
He hit me with the torch then, hard across the top of the head. His anger, I felt, was just barely controlled. I felt pain explode inside my skull, but I was driven to continue.
“She was only 16 when she had you and she believed that she was in love“
“I don’t care anymore. I simply hate the lot of them, and I intend to make sure that I get what I deserve”.
I agreed with him there.
“What happened to my parents? Where is my father?”
He laughed, “it was simple really. I just had to buy your father a new jacket for his 60th birthday, which cleverly had a tracking device within it and I left it up to your mother to do the rest…… She had no idea, she was so happy that I showed an interest in the old boy…….. I did have to ruin the zip on his ratty old jacket though”. He laughed in an unhinged manner.
“The tracking device allowed me to know exactly where they were and deal with them at the opportune time. Of course, I also had to doctor your father’s bushwalking notes, to lead the police in the wrong direction. That was easy enough….. I didn’t know about your mother’s diary….. I only learned of it when I identified your mother’s body. But that doesn’t matter now”
“That was strange!” I blurted “Why did they call you? Why didn’t the police call me?”
“Because, Sis”, he said this word dripping with irony, “because I told them you were a suicide risk”.
“That is why the social worker visited me!” I almost shrieked.
“Well, yes, I wanted them to be prepared for the actual event…. which is coming very soon”.
I chose to ignore these words and said instead, “What about your wife and children? What if they find out about you? What if you go to jail?”
“Which wife and which children Sis?”
I was lost for words.
“You met Hannah and my two daughters, but you also happen to live next-door to my other wifey, Annika, and my son. The location came in very handy when searching for documents in your suitcase and……. general surveillance. Although, it was the risk that I enjoyed the most…… we, Annika and I, actually met skydiving”.
I was quiet for a moment, stuck to my core by the corrupt and diabolical things that he had done to my family. His own family. I simply could not comprehend it. And yet, here I was, cold and miserable, lurching along a bush track, with trees looming like swaying towers overhead, with a murderer who also happened to be my brother. This was real. Real.
“Annika searched your bag the first time…. that first night that you returned from England, but she didn’t do the job properly. I had to return in the morning…. the problem is, you almost caught me.”
I thought back to the clicking gate and the Lycra clad runner.
“I didn’t find any documents in the house, or in your suitcase, that would invalidate the will that your parents left with me before they visited you in England last year; leaving all their property to the next-of-kin. That Sis, will be me. Of course, I helped them with the wording.”
I didn’t mention the will in the safe. I also thought, that it seemed like Martin hadn’t considered what would happen if his foul deeds were uncovered. He was acting grandiose, and supremely confident.
“Where is my Dad?” I asked suddenly.
Your father also …. fell…..from Mt Solitary, but he was dead before he hit the ground. Your mother…my mother”, he said in such a cold and detached manner that I shivered, “put up a bit of a fight, before she …fell…and she also managed to leave her watch as a clue, it seems. She then managed to crawl into that cave, as the police said and die there. I took care of your dear old dad myself”.
As I stumbled along, it was cold and it was dark and even without a murderer pointing a knife at me, it would have been spooky and otherworldly out here. I saw, or maybe imagined, eyes watching me, and I started to think about yowies and bunyips, and drop bears. OK, I know that these are all mythical beasties…..But right here, right now, I wasn’t so sure.
Suddenly, something swooped with eyes like great lanterns and Martin lost his footing for a moment and dropped the torch.
You never know until the moment arrives, whether you will flight or fight. Perhaps it was the flight of the owl which persuaded my reptilian brain to take flight. All I know is that, I was surprised to find myself running along the dark track and then full pelt into the ancient, eucalypt forest.
I can’t tell you how long I raced, zigzagging and ducking wildly through the dense bush, as a sense of time deserted me. It could have been 15 minutes or two hours. Eventually, though, I came to a little gully with a running stream through it, and I threw myself down on a flat rock which was shining like a beacon in the suddenly visible moonlight.
I was panting hard, surrounded by silence, except for the wind rustling in the trees and the sound of an occasional mournful, night bird.
What to do now? Then, I noticed that, I was still clutching the flowers. So, I placed them upon the rock, and thought about mum and dad.
I realised that I was probably lost. Not good. But it seemed that I had, for the moment at least, got away from the lunatic, who was my half-brother; formerly known to me as Uncle Martin. I tried to think what to do. If I tried to go back where I came from, he might be waiting for me somewhere. If I continued through the bush, I may get hopelessly lost (perhaps, I was already) and I might die out here, and Martin would inherit everything; having killed mum, dad and me.
No. I couldn’t let that happen.
However, I currently did not know where I was. I peered into the dark and as I looked harder, I noticed that the light of the moon was making a pathway toward some giant tree ferns. I began to follow this path of light and managed to fall down an incline, and into a sea of leaves at the bottom. From this position, I noticed random dark rocks on the ground nearby, that looked like pieces of coal. I remem
bered that there used to be mining in this area and an old railway track. I stumbled about tripping and sliding in the gravel, but I concentrated on following the blobs of black coal on the ground. After some time, this led me to the remains of the old railway track, and a path.
Right through the night I walked; sometimes, I passed patches of rainforest and at other times, the bush would open up and towering eucalyptus would stand about like soldiers waiting for a battle cry. Later, I followed a path along a steep ridge with an immense drop to one side. The sky above was clear and studded with stars and the whole landscape was grand, and wildly beautiful. Strangely, I did not feel afraid now.
At some time during that long night, I saw down below me, a mob of kangaroos in the distance, travelling in a great hurry. What marvellous and comical creatures they are, I thought! Another time, a dingo padded past me in the dark, it looked at me briefly with flashing eyes, but it was soon swallowed by the bush. Or, perhaps, I imagined this.
After many hours, the descent became very steep and I saw the first glimmerings of dawn erupting in the East. I could tell that I was approaching civilisation, as I jogged along an open track, which had the marks of human hands upon it; there were arrows pointing to various paths, and repairs here and there to the well-trodden track.
I came to a road, but something made me turn toward a sign to the Kedumba pass. My feet were blistered and sore and I was thirsty, and hungry, but I ran along, in the slowly growing light of the early morning, until I came to a chain wire fence. I could see a jumble of unmatching buildings, and with a great sense of relief, I realised that, I must be behind the Queen Victoria Hospital in Wentworth Falls. Back in the early 1900s, tuberculosis patients used to be treated here; now it was a nursing home.
Scratched and dirty, I was presented to the Matron of the hospital, who listened to my story with eyes like flying saucers. She rang the police, and I waited, perched on a hard, wooden chair. Beyond tired.
I could hear their feet as they thumped along the timber floor of the hallway. The door crashed open and a police officer stepped forward.
“You are under arrest for the attempted murder of Martin Johns. You are not obliged to say or do anything unless you wish to do so, but whatever you say or do may be used in evidence. Do you understand?”
Noooo! I cried in shock.
“Do you understand?”
I nodded, dumbfounded, “yes”.
I was taken away in handcuffs.
Chapter 6.
“As Time is over you, and mystery,
And memory, the flood that does not flow.” Kenneth Slessor, Five Bells.
So, it seemed that Martin had fallen down and twisted his ankle after the owl startled him. I almost giggled when I was told this by a very young, dark haired police woman, with a nose that you could hang a skirt on, because, usually, it is the girl in the story who has to go and fall over, and twist her ankle.
However, he didn’t tell the police about the owl, he said that he had fallen when I tried to stab him with a knife! He said that, I had run off into the bush, with the knife and the flowers, after he had started to yell out, and some French tourists had come running to help.
Anyway, with the help of the French tourists, Martin had made it to the police station. He told them that, it was me, who wanted to take the flowers into the bush, as a tribute to our mother. But when we got to the bottom of the Golden Staircase, I began to rant and became upset, because, he would now inherit the properties. And I was angry, he said, because, my mother had never told me about having a son. Then, he said, I had tried to stab him with a knife. Apparently, he had cuts on his hands from trying to defend himself. From me!
He referred the police to my mother’s diary. He wasn’t lying, he was her son.
What a bloody nightmare! And what bad luck for me that, those French tourists had turned up at that particular time; they could back up some of his story.
I sat down in the cell, which stunk of urine and fear and tried to think what to do. I could only tell my side of the story: the real story. That’s all. I fell asleep and dreamt that I was a lab rat, in a cage, that was too small for my body.
In the morning, I awoke feeling dirty and bruised and thought longingly of my London life. I just lay staring at the dirty, white wall, until the door rattled and two police came in to tell me that the knife had been found in the bush, by a man named Cael: my father’s friend, who trained search dogs.
Apparently, they had found no fingerprints on it.
“A man was also found dead last night, in a rental house in Leura, although, it seems that he passed away several days ago” said Constable Antoniou. She of the nose. “Our investigations have revealed that, the man was your mother’s elder brother, Vincent Johns, and that, he actually travelled here on the same train as you last Sunday”.
My memory pulled up the image of the tired old man, who had sat in the same carriage as me. How sad, to be in the same carriage as my mum’s brother, and not even have an inkling! Obviously, I don’t have any psychic powers.
I hoped that I would not be blamed for his death too.
“His death was from natural causes”, continued the officer. “However, there was another development in the case last night, as Martin Johns “de facto wife” came forward, and confessed to the whole plan, to which she had been a party”.
“The intention was to bump off your parents and then make your demise look like a suicide. As next-of-kin, Martin Johns would then inherit all your parent’s property and possessions”, squeaked the other Policeman, who looked like an oversized elf.
“We picked him up this morning”, added the police woman with the nose, that, looked kind of architectural in the morning light. “So it seems that you can go on home”.
I thought sadly about my parents, now lost to me. I thought of Tristan, a black cat who needed looking after and about my great grandmother who had come from the other side of the world to make the Blue Mountains her home, and grow a family here. For now, this place would be my home too.
For now.
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