Someone in the front row calls out a question. ‘Why wasn’t the factory searched earlier? It can be seen from the farm. Wouldn’t that have been a fairly obvious place to start?’
‘The factory was a considerable distance from the main crime scene,’ the commissioner replies quickly. ‘It wasn’t, in the department’s opinion, an obvious site to search extensively.’
‘But isn’t it true that the police did search there, a week ago, and found nothing?’ another reporter presses. The crowd murmurs in agreement.
The commissioner shuffles some papers uncomfortably and concedes the point, but says with the volume of tips they’d received, they’d ‘had to rationalise certain aspects of their investigation’.
I start to seethe. Nothing about this investigation has seemed rational to me. I had to fight for them to take me seriously, to listen to me at all. Yesterday, when I rang to say I was sure the girls were hidden in the factory somewhere, I could practically see them rolling their eyes at each other. In the end, I think they only agreed to go out there because I swore I would stop calling if they did.
‘Check underground,’ I pleaded. ‘He used to leave us in the cellar.’
Suddenly, the police commissioner reaches out and claps me on the shoulder, making me jump. ‘We have this remarkable young lady’s persistence to thank for their eventual discovery,’ he says heartily. ‘She insisted that we search the factory premises again. Said she had a hunch. We went back with thermal-imaging equipment and, sure enough, there they were beneath the floor. The entrance was completely obscured by rubble.’
I fix my eyes on the edge of the door again, praying that no-one will ask me anything. It doesn’t work.
‘Tess – can you explain to us why you thought the girls were there?’ someone calls from the back of the room.
It’s what I’ve been dreading – because I know I can’t explain it in a way that sounds believable. How as that woman had screamed at our gates, I’d suddenly remembered the tower I could see from the farmhouse, the word OWN spelled out in bricks up its side. If I say that, someone will probably accuse me of claiming to have visions. ‘We used to get locked up in the cellar as punishment,’ I say, keeping my explanation as short as possible. ‘And I often used to look at that tower from the farmhouse. It seemed the logical place for him to take –’
‘I’m sorry, Tess,’ someone else butts in. ‘But don’t you think that’s just a little too coincidental?’ It’s a guy in a grey suit and although his tone is polite, his expression is unbearably smug.
Everyone goes quiet, waiting for my answer. When I first emerged from the farm, these same people swarmed around me, congratulating me on my escape, acting like I was a hero. Now it feels like they can’t wait to trip me up and pounce. I wish I’d been better prepared before I came here. I could’ve worked out my answers, like I used to do for evening chat. But unlike Esther, I have no remembering book to help me with this sort of thing.
‘Not to me, it doesn’t,’ I say evenly.
The guy in the grey suit continues to push. ‘You know, some people are saying that this proves you knew where they were all along. And that you’ve only revealed where they were being kept because you think it’ll help your leader.’
‘People can think what they want,’ I retort. Irritation and frustration are starting to seep through my wall of calmness and control. ‘The important thing as far as I’m concerned is that the girls are out of there. Now we can focus on the next step: finding him.’ My face burns as I swing around to face the police commissioner beside me. ‘I have a question too. What are you doing to find the person behind all this? Have you got any closer?’
The commissioner starts off on a long-winded, evasive reply, but I don’t bother to listen. I already know the answer. They’re no closer to finding him than they were when I first left the farm.
My only hope now is that Harry is watching this and that it’s as clear to him as it is to me that we can’t rely on the police to help us.
‘Of course,’ adds the commissioner, ‘the crucial factor in our further investigations is Harry Fernard making himself known to us.’
There’s no doubt from his tone that the police still consider Harry their number-one suspect. If he were to present himself now he would be arrested, I have no doubt at all. Don’t do it, Harry, I mentally will him. Stay away.
My fury finally breaks through the delicate walls of my self-control, flooding out like a deluge. Because of all these people and their stupidity, I may never get to see or speak to Harry again. And I’ve had enough of being bombarded with questions. I’m tired of everyone assuming I have all the answers. Without really being aware of it, I find myself pushing back my chair and storming out of the conference, chased by the persistent flash of cameras.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
What am I supposed to make of what Esther’s done? What she went on TV and said? Her actions are almost impossible to interpret. There’s less than a finger’s width of liquid in my purple bottle now but my need is great and so I allow myself three drops on the tip of my tongue. The vision flickers before me like a faulty light bulb, her voice barely louder than a whisper. ‘Don’t you see? This isn’t a bad thing. This will help us.’
I think I detect a note of annoyance in her tone, though I can’t be sure – then she fades altogether. But her words give me hope and as I continue to watch the news reports that evening, I see that she’s right. That despite my initial shock, the discovery of my possessions does indeed work to my advantage.
When the girls are asked who kidnapped them, they say, of course, Harry. But even better and more unexpectedly, when they’re asked who put them – and kept them – under the factory, they say that was Harry too. Clearly, my vigilance in keeping my face in darkness when I visited paid off. Or maybe this is what they were told to say by the police when their statements were taken – I am sure such things go on. Whatever the reason, it is a piece of excellent fortune for me.
It’s enough to put anyone in a good mood.
The next time I access the computer in Esther’s kitchen, there’s another good sign: Esther is sitting there drinking a glass of water. She isn’t facing the screen completely, but she’s so near that it feels like I could touch her! I am careful, however, not to come too close. If she can indeed see my thoughts, I must be careful. Her glow is even brighter than usual, but the expression on her face is dark and glowering.
She has a pencil in her hand that she taps on the bench, first on one end, then on the other. Tip, tap. Tip, tap.
‘Come on, Tess,’ says the mother, refilling her cup. ‘You need to put this behind you. Start enjoying your freedom.’
‘I’m not free,’ mutters Esther. ‘I can’t even go out the front door without someone taking my photo.’
‘Then why don’t you do a bit of shopping online? Order some new clothes. I already said you could use my card.’
‘I’m not in the mood for shopping.’
I hear the mother sigh – the sort of long, drawn-out sound that people make when they want others to know of their frustration.
‘Have you checked the mail today?’ asks Esther, glancing at the clock. ‘It’s usually arrived by now, right?’
The mother gives a little nervous cough. On the computer screen, I see Esther frown. ‘I know you’ve been holding back my mail.’
‘I’ve been checking it, yes,’ admits the mother. ‘But now that we know Harry got you interested in the cult by writ–’
‘That wasn’t Harry!’ snaps Esther. ‘Doesn’t anyone listen to what I say?’
‘Well, I haven’t found anything from him, if that makes you feel better,’ says the mother. ‘All I’ve been holding back are the letters from obsessive weirdos. You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff people send. The other day someone sent a stinky old wooden pipe!’
Esther inhales deeply. ‘Mum – has anything arrived for me today?’
The mother hesitates for a moment and then I hear he
r clacking off out of earshot. A minute later, her footsteps grow louder again and a parcel appears in the camera view – a rectangle wrapped in brown paper and secured with a frayed-looking piece of string.
‘I was actually planning to take it to the police,’ says the mother. ‘It looks very –’
But Esther, ignoring her, has already begun to rip off the paper. The mother’s head comes into view as she leans in to see. ‘Oh! You bought yourself a phone!’ she exclaims delightedly. ‘Well, that’s –’ She’s interrupted by the sound of her own phone ringing faintly in the background, and gives Esther a squeeze as she hurries off.
Esther sits very still, the box in her hands, a strange look on her face. Slowly, she opens up the lid. The phone is a temporary prepaid one, the sort used by travellers and drug dealers. As she removes the phone from the packaging, something falls out. It appears to be a small, tightly folded piece of paper.
Esther picks it up and flattens it out. Her breathing, I notice, has suddenly changed and I strain to see what’s on the paper. It’s a twenty-dollar note.
Esther stares at it with a very strange expression on her face. One that I, even with my intimate knowledge of her facial arrangements, can’t fathom. Perhaps she’s wondering, as I am, why anyone would send her money. But that doesn’t seem quite right. There’s something else in her eyes – excitement.
Then I know. I know who sent this parcel to her, although the significance of the money is a mystery. And something else is clear too. Despite everything that I’ve revealed about Harry, the truth about his sordid background, the fact that there was never anything special about him, somehow Esther is still very much under Harry’s spell.
Heat begins to rise from my chest, creeping steadily up my neck, across my face. How much more of this can I be expected to stand? Esther’s glow is suddenly so bright that I can hardly look at her. And there’s a sound too – her heart beating, steady and true. I lean in to listen to its music, hoping that I might have confirmation that I am her deepest devotion, after all.
But her heart’s rhythm is not for me. There’s not even an echo of my presence in there. I, who have done so much for her! Who revealed to her the pathway of her own immortality, who brought devotees flocking. Who dedicates every moment of his current life to freeing her from a mundane existence and showing her who she truly is. Instead, her heart beats for that impostor. The fill-in has somehow forced his way into the place where I belong.
My bitterness transforms into something fierce and venom-filled. I have been cheated of what belongs to me – what has belonged to me since the beginning of time. It is too much to stand.
I lift the purple bottle to my lips and drain it of every last drop.
The vision comes on strongly, her aura burning with a dark-red intensity that pushes me back. She swells in size until I am enveloped in a shining cloud of her wrath. Her hair whips and lashes around her face as she raises her hands, hands curled into tight knots, eyes narrowed into dark slits. ‘You have let Harry take advantage of us. He is nothing and you are everything, yet you have let him outsmart you.’
Her anger and my own are intertwined, spinning and merging. I try to calm her, calm myself, but we’re too caught up in it, too tightly wound. The feelings come from somewhere dark and deep. I’m a child again with a struggling puppy in my arms. I’m locked in the cellar with a boiler hissing in the corner – a monster that can only be kept at bay by throwing huge handfuls of dirt at it.
‘Harry has not beaten us yet,’ I insist. ‘No-one believes in him. Everyone thinks he’s a criminal.’
‘Not Esther.’ This vision is merciless; her darkly glowing eyes bore into my head, melting my skull and turning my brain into bubbling lava. ‘Nothing you have done has made any difference to her feelings. You are losing your hold on her.’ Her voice is like the howling of a bushfire wind, an invisible wall of hot fury that spews white hot sparks into the air. ‘Don’t you understand what that means? Once we have no hold on her, once she no longer belongs to us, her soul will become mortal and the Special Ones will cease to exist.’
The storm is inside me too – a whirling, devastating gale growing with intensity with every passing moment, fuelled by so much hurt, so much betrayal, by an irreparable sense of loss. Esther, who had seemed so close, is now further away than ever. She’s changed and I am no longer sure I’ll be able to change her back. Sorrow washes over me. I wish that I could start over.
And then, just like that, it’s suddenly so obvious: starting over is exactly what I must do. There’s no point trying to force this current version of Esther to go in the direction I want. She’s a tree who’s grown past the point where mere pruning can help maintain her shape. She needs to start from a seed again. And I need to accompany her on the journey – from the very beginning.
I do not even need to say my thoughts out loud for the vision to hear them. ‘Yes,’ she breathes, an angel once again, shimmering and gold. ‘Yes. You are right. If the Special Ones are to survive, then you and Esther must renew together.’
My heart rate quickens. I am not afraid of dying – it would be ridiculous to fear something so temporary. My excitement comes from understanding that I have found the answer. All my frustrations melt away and even though I am not sure exactly how it will be carried out I have not a single doubt that it will be.
It’s almost as if it’s already happened.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
There’s a knock at my door and then Mum pops her head in. She lights up when she sees me sitting at my desk, my old laptop open in front of me.
I was actually about to shut it just before she walked in, having tried and failed to see if I can trace the phone’s origins. My computer seems unbearably slow. Plus it’s still almost impossible for me to sit in front of a screen and not expect a message from a follower to appear. Or worse, from him.
‘You’re charging the new phone, I see!’ Mum says, spotting it next to me as she comes in. She sounds so thrilled. So relieved. Laptops and phones symbolise normality to her. A return to my former life.
But, for me, the phone means something very different. It’s finished charging now, so I unplug it and show her. ‘What do you think?’
‘Is it meant to look retro?’ she says doubtfully. ‘It’s kind of ugly.’
She’s right. It’s chunky and old-school. But it’s also the most beautiful object I’ve ever seen. Harry sent this, I think, looking at it in my hand. He’s going to call me on it. It’s hard to believe these words are true, because I’d started to accept that he’d disappeared forever. And who could blame him, given all the terrible things that have been said about him?
‘Well,’ my mother says brightly, ‘I’ll leave you to make some calls. Dinner will be about an hour, okay? Dad’s bringing home pizza.’
Pizza again. I’d offer to cook, but whenever I do Mum acts like I’m criticising her. So I just say, ‘Great, yep,’ until she pulls the door shut behind her. Harry might call at any minute and I don’t want to be arguing with her when he does.
Speaking on the phone to Harry. My heart thumps at the thought of it. What will I say?
That I miss him. That we can’t blame ourselves for everything that happened, even if the rest of the world does. And that I have to see him again. We need to talk about what to do next.
I’ve set the phone to vibrate rather than ring. When it starts to shudder beside me, I snatch it up so quickly that I almost knock it to the floor.
‘Hello?’ My pulse thumps.
‘Hi. Tess. It’s … me.’
Tess. It’s the first time I’ve heard him use my real name. For a moment, I can’t speak.
‘Are you okay?’ he whispers, sounding concerned.
‘I’m fine. I just – I haven’t –’ I take a deep breath. Channel a little bit of Esther and pull it together. ‘It’s really good to hear your voice.’
‘Yours too,’ he says, and I can hear – feel – his smile. ‘I’m so glad you answered. I’ve bee
n trying to work out how to get a message through to you. I didn’t think you’d be online and I figured your parents were probably checking your mail, but I thought I’d try sending the phone anyway and hope that you’d get it.’
‘I got it.’
I close my eyes, blotting out my bedroom, eradicating the phone, pretending that he’s actually here beside me, close enough that I can feel his cheek against mine. The gap that silence formed between us has disappeared. But my happiness and relief falls apart with Harry’s next sentence.
‘Tess – I’m calling to tell you I’m on my way to hand myself over to the police. I should’ve already done it, but I wanted to speak to you first.’
My mouth goes dry. ‘What? Why?’
‘Because I’m tired of living this way.’ The pain in his voice is raw and hard to hear. ‘Hiding from everyone, staying quiet. I hate everyone thinking I’m too scared to face up to what I’ve done.’
‘Harry, no!’ I say in a panic. ‘You’ll get blamed for everything. They’ll put you in prison! And if I try to stick up for you, they’ll say you’ve brainwashed me.’
‘Maybe you have been brainwashed,’ he says with a sad chuckle. ‘Maybe you’re the one not thinking straight, and everyone else is right about me.’
‘No.’ Tears have risen dangerously close to the surface. ‘I know you, Harry. You’re a good person.’
‘Yeah,’ he says bitterly. ‘Kidnapping a bunch of girls is a really good thing to do.’
I can’t stand hearing him talk like this. ‘But you had no choice! He would’ve killed you if you hadn’t. He’s obviously insane!’
‘I should’ve stood up to him anyway,’ Harry growls. ‘I bet you would’ve, if you’d been in my position. You’ve got this determination about you. A kind of toughness.’
I feel my face flush. ‘No, that’s Esther, not me.’ There’s a pause.
‘I think,’ Harry says slowly, ‘that in some ways you’re more like Esther than you realise.’