April Read online

  Quickly, I hurried down the corridor, following the arrow to the end where I could see double doors and another sign indicating Intensive Care. A woman in a white uniform was pushing a trolley along, heading for the doors. Ahead of her they opened, and a nurse, looking at his watch as he came out from the ICU ward, nodded to the woman with the trolley, then walked into the men’s bathroom.

  I silently slipped in behind the woman with the trolley. She’d turned and was heading off to the right, towards another door at the far end of the long ward. I didn’t know when she’d wheel back this way. Or when the nurse who was taking a toilet break would be back. All I knew was I didn’t have much time.

  The door at the far end of the ward opened, and I saw Mum.

  My heart was torn. Half of me longed to run up to her, the other half wanted to scream at her: how could you think of switching Gabbi off? And how could you think I put her in the coma?

  My anger almost evaporated when I saw how thin and hunched over she was, as if crushed. In the few months since I’d seen her, my happy-go-lucky, youthful, pretty mother had vanished, and in her place was this sickly-looking stranger. My blood was pounding louder than ever in my ears. I stood, indecisive.

  Uncle Rafe walked into my view and put his arm around Mum. He was much greyer and thinner, too, since I’d last seen him at Burger Barn with his solicitor, when I’d hidden myself from him.

  I could see past Mum’s bowed head to where a priest was leaning towards her, saying something to her as she wept.

  Any second now and the medical people would be there to do their job.

  I could make out four beds hidden behind curtains. Tiptoeing, I lifted the white curtain around the first bed. An old man with his mouth open and his eyes closed lay on the pillow. I moved on to the next one and peeked in. A boy wrapped in bandages and hooked up to all sorts of drip stands lay there stiffly.

  I lifted the curtain on the next bed. It was empty. Drip stands clustered at the head of the bed and two monitors showed blank, dead faces.

  I felt sure this had been Gabbi’s bed. What if they’d done it a little earlier than Boges had said? What if it was ten thirty, not eleven thirty? What if that was why Mum was crying and Rafe and the priest were trying to comfort her? Had I been too late to save my little sister? I opened my mouth because I could feel a terrible scream rising up through my body. I didn’t care any more about whether I was caught or not. But just before the scream hit my throat, I heard something that made the urge fade away.

  Somewhere close by I could hear one of Gabbi’s favourite songs from when she was really little, playing.

  ‘All the pretty little horses,’ sang the voice, ‘blacks and bays, dapples and greys, all the pretty little horses.’

  It was the nursery rhyme she’d always loved when she was a baby. Mum used to sing it to her.

  My fingers were trembling as I drew back the curtain around the last bed.

  There was my little sister, eyes closed, her thin face almost as pale as the pillow on which she rested. A tube snaked up her nose, and her chest was rising and falling to the sound of an automatic machine. A monitor next to her was showing the slow, steady ‘blip’ of her heartbeat. Beside her was a small CD player, softly singing the song I recognised.

  I was shocked at what I saw. It was like my little sister had been hollowed out—as if only her shell was left. Mum had tied a little blue ribbon around her forehead with a bow, so she looked even younger than nine. If it hadn’t been for the slow and steady rise of her chest and the electronic monitors that surrounded her, I might have even thought she was already gone.

  Tears stung my eyes as I picked up her small, cold hand. I put my mouth close to her ear, willing every part of myself, my heart and my strength into the words, ‘Gabbi, listen to me. It’s Cal. I’m here and I’m telling you it’s not your time to go. You have to get better. You have to come round. Please. I didn’t hurt you. We both know that. I want you to know that I’m safe. And you’re safe too. I’m so sorry I haven’t been in to see you, until now. When you’re well again, I’ll explain to you why. So hurry up and get better, will you? I’ll be back just as soon as I can, but I can’t find out the truth about what Dad was investigating in Ireland unless I know that you’re going to be all right. I can’t do this without you! Tell me you’re coming back! Please, Gabbi, I need you, I miss you. Tell me you’re not going to die!’

  Her face remained calm and still, but I could see a tiny blue vein pulsing in her temple.

  I squeezed her hand even tighter. ‘Tell me you’re not going to die! You don’t have to talk. Just tell me in some way! No matter how small the movement, I’ll see it. I’ll get it. I swear!’

  What happened next is hard to describe. Had I imagined it or did I see her whole body somehow expand slightly—as if something rippled through her?

  A voice behind me shocked me back to the reality of my dangerous situation.

  ‘Cal!’ My mother stood at the end of the bed, her eyes wide with shock. The handful of tissues she was holding dropped to the floor. ‘My God, Cal! What are you doing here? What have you done to yourself? What are you doing to Gabbi?’

  ‘Mum,’ I started to say, ‘Mum—I had to come. I told you I was going to come. You can’t do this. You can’t let the doctors turn the machines off!’

  I took one last look at Gabbi. Her eyelids fluttered. Definitely fluttered.

  ‘Look! Look, there! See? Did you see that? Look! Gabbi’s responding!’

  My mother’s hand hesitated, hovering above the red emergency button by the bed.

  ‘Did you see that, Mum?’ I repeated. ‘Her eyelids flickered!’

  But she wasn’t looking at Gabbi—she wouldn’t take her eyes off me.

  ‘Cal, I have to do this. I’m calling the medical staff!’

  ‘Mum, I didn’t do any of the things they said I did. You must believe me!’

  I knew I had to move fast. Any moment now and the staff and security would be racing into this area.

  ‘I’m the same Cal I’ve always been,’ I continued.

  ‘I blame myself,’ she interrupted. ‘Something happened when you were very young—I should have told you. It’s affected you, Cal.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said. ‘Please, I don’t care, just take a look at Gabbi—her eyes. Look! It’s happening again!’

  Again came that delicate flicker of her long lashes on her pale cheeks.

  Mum looked quickly from me to Gabbi, then back again. But she missed the moment.

  ‘I can’t see anything,’ she said, her hand again moving back towards the red button. Just as she was about to press it, Rafe suddenly appeared behind her.

  ‘No, Win, don’t! There are things I want to ask before—’

  But he was too late. My mother had deftly avoided his restraining arm and pressed the button. ‘Stop trying to protect him, Rafe. He’s dangerous!’

  Immediately the emergency alarm bell started ringing.

  ‘Please, Cal,’ she begged. ‘Come home. Deal with what you need to deal with! You are my son, regardless, and I love you no matter what! But I cannot protect you from the consequences of your behaviour. Just come home. Please!’

  I shouted over the deafening alarm, ‘How could you even think of switching off Gabbi’s life support?’

  I ripped the Celtic ring off my finger and pushed it onto Gabbi’s middle finger, so that she’d know I’d been there. One day, I promised myself, I’d make my mother understand.

  ‘You haven’t been here! You haven’t seen her wasting away! You haven’t had to watch her suffering!’ Mum shouted at me. I let go of Gabbi’s hand, and turned towards her.

  Then I saw something terrible. Mum flinched as I moved towards her—she jumped back like she thought I was going to hit her or something! She was frightened of me! Did my own mother think I was there to harm my sister?

  Such confused feelings swirled inside me that I thought I might explode. The pressure of th
e ringing alarm bells seemed to be getting louder in my ears and the need to escape completely dominated my thinking.

  I could hear running feet in the corridor beyond the double doors. The crash team was racing, responding to the alarm.

  It suddenly struck me: if Gabbi dies—if they switch her off—there is no point in running. I should just hand myself in. Why run? What would be the point any more? I’d have no family left to save.

  But something deep inside me said: while there’s life there’s always hope. Live, it commanded, and find the truth.

  That did it. I was outta there!

  The tears and anger in my mother’s voice faded as I skidded out of the ICU and into the corridor, straight into the team of doctors and nurses who were racing towards me, white jackets flying, stethoscopes jumping. They didn’t take any notice of me as I ducked and weaved around them.

  Back down the corridor, I heard someone—a nurse—crying out. ‘Mrs Ormond! Mrs Ormond! Your daughter’s responding! She just moved! She’s responding! I just saw her eyelids move!’

  ‘Win!’ I heard Rafe call, ‘It’s true! She is! It’s true!’

  An intense wave of joy washed over me. She was going to be OK. I felt so happy that tears came to my eyes. ‘Go Gabbi!’ I yelled out loud, and triumphantly!

  Curious faces turned to look at me as I raced past them. There was nothing I could do about the security cameras mounted on every corner, except keep my face turned away as I fled.

  I was almost back at the reception area when the alarm bells stopped ringing. The brief silence that followed was quickly shattered by a loudspeaker announcement as monitors hanging in every corridor and waiting room suddenly came alive, flickering on, and the face of a stern, official-looking man appeared.

  ‘Attention! Attention! This is not a test. We are experiencing a serious security breach. Do not approach this person,’ he commanded as a security camera picture of me by Gabbi’s bed flashed up in a box beside him on the screen. ‘He is a wanted criminal and is considered extremely dangerous. Staff, remain calm. Please proceed with your patients to the designated evacuation areas … Attention! Attention!’

  I raced past the reception area and towards the big exit doors. I pushed past them, flying down the few steps as a squad car screeched to a halt at the curb almost in front of me! The cop in the passenger seat turned in my direction and our eyes locked. Of all the cops in the city it had to be him! The cop who had tripped over Boges in the old St Johns Street house, when he was trying to arrest him … The cop who, more importantly, I jabbed with a tranquilliser before stealing his capsicum spray. This was unbelievable!

  ‘That’s him!’ he yelled. ‘The little low-life who stuck a needle in me! He’s the kid the whole state is after! Grab him!’

  He fumbled with something as he climbed out of the car, giving me more time to get away.

  ‘Stop him! Police! Don’t let him get away!’ he shouted into the street.

  I weaved around the startled people, who really couldn’t get out of my way fast enough.

  Not daring to take the time to look back, I ran around a corner and kept going. My mind was whirling—thinking about Gabbi finally coming around, and seeing my mum for the first time in ages, who felt like a stranger to me. My excitement conflicted with my sadness, and now I had the panic of being chased again.

  Behind me I could hear the squad car revving up and coming after me. It was a busy street but I was an easy target. Somehow I would have to lose them.

  I made another fast left-hand turn down a side street. They switched the siren on and continued after me. I raced towards the end of the street but then my heart sank when I saw what was ahead of me.

  I’d run myself into a dead end!

  A tall cyclone fence blocked my escape into the green sports field that was behind it. The squad car was close. I had no choice. I hurled myself up the fence, got to the top, and was about to swing my leg over when my backpack slid off me and crashed down to the ground!

  Everything, all my arsenal, was in that backpack. I made a split-second decision. I would have to go down and get it! With the squad car almost pulling up beside me, I jumped back, snatched up the bag, hurled it over the fence, then threw myself at the wire netting again.

  Capsicum-spray Cop was on to me like a flash!

  His hands grabbed my leg—the leg that still hadn’t fully recovered from the lion gash. The pain made me scream and kick out with strength I didn’t know I had. I heard him yell as my kick connected with his face, and I twisted and wrenched myself free, scrambling over the top of the fence, landing heavily on the grass on the other side.

  I felt like yelling ‘Yes!’ and doing a victory dance! But I had other things on my mind. I had to get the hell out of there. And I knew it wouldn’t take them long to reverse the squad car and drive around to the other side of the sports field to catch me.

  I cut across the centre, running as hard as I could. Once on the other side I had to climb over more cyclone fencing.

  Just as I jumped down onto the footpath I heard the approaching siren. Damn!

  The cops were there already!

  I looked around for a way to escape. Just a little way ahead I could see a narrow walkway. I swerved into it and kept running all the way to the other end. As I reached another corner, I glanced back to see the squad car parked in the distance at the end of the walkway. Capsicum-spray Cop was jumping out of the car. But he was too far away, and too slow, to have a hope of catching me now.

  Since losing the cops, I’d hidden out in an empty warehouse near a small printing factory. Everything that had happened at the hospital played back in my mind, and for once I was happy thinking of Gabbi in her bed.

  She was safe—at least for the time being, and I had found myself somewhere to sleep for the night. I really wanted to go back to St Johns Street, but knew it wasn’t wise. Or Repro’s place would have been great. I wouldn’t be able to do that until I’d somehow earned back the money I owed him.

  The place I was in now was OK, but I was only going to stay until I could think of a better alternative.

  I pulled my sleeping-bag out, and the book in the paper bag that Melba Snipe had given me tumbled to the dusty floor.

  I’d completely forgotten my promise to her that I’d deliver the book to her friend, Elvira. Melba had been really good to me. It was important to keep my word to her. I’ll make my way there tomorrow, I decided.

  271 days to go …

  The address Melba had given me was in a suburb that was several kilometres from the city—Greenaway Park, on the Canterbury River. Ages ago, back in the days when we were a family and I was a little kid, we used to go fishing there.

  I pulled my hoodie around my face and headed off to keep my promise.

  The house was a small weatherboard place, the last one left in a street by the river that was dominated now by modern mansions. Mrs Snipe’s friend obviously wasn’t interested in selling her house to the developers. I placed the wrapped-up book in her mailbox, as promised, then wandered to the grassy reserve next door that led down to the river.

  The sound of gentle water lapping the edge of the riverbank was comforting—I was standing in the exact place that Dad and I, and often Boges, used to come years ago to decide where to drop a line in. That was back when Boges and I were little, before Dad bought the boat Rafe and I had lost in Treachery Bay, and when all the houses on Chester Road were just like Elvira’s. Most of the time we’d fish from the jetty, alongside locals and, on the odd occasion, some serious anglers.

  The jetty was still there, crouched over the water. It looked a little worse for wear; its piers were rotting, and there was a distinct tilt to one side. But what caught my attention was the old blue boathouse at the bottom of Elvira’s backyard.

  Built on the riverbank, it reached some way over the water. I slid down the bank to take a closer look, stepping onto the narrow timber deck that ran along one side of it.

  Cautiously, I stepped up t
o the peeling, four-panelled door, and rubbed a dusty window to peer in. Through the cobwebs on the other side, I checked out the gloomy interior. There was no boat in there, although I could see the dark water rippling where one might once have bobbed, sheltered from the elements.

  With a twist of the old-fashioned brass door-knob and a bit of a kick, the door opened and let me inside. I looked around first to make sure no-one was watching, but I needn’t have worried. The river was deserted and the rise of the land behind me would have made it very hard for anyone to see me from any of the houses.

  I eased my backpack off my right shoulder, wincing at the stinging pain that still mysteriously came and went in it. The floorboards, although uneven and in some places pretty dodgy-looking, seemed quite capable of taking my weight. The boathouse had flooring to the halfway point, ending in a step down to the water where a boat could be moored. A narrow ledge of flooring continued on each side of the dark, slow-moving water, and two old timber gates hung slightly open, over the river.

  High, dusty shelving lined the walls, and a workbench held a couple of paint tins, a pair of wellington boots, and an ancient life jacket. Several rusty jag hooks hung from the ceiling, alongside a mess of fishing paraphernalia—old reels, rods and nets. The best thing I could see was a light bulb hanging down, plugged into a power point over the bench. I switched it on and the old bulb flickered for a second before pinging out. That was fine by me. I wouldn’t have dared put the light on during the night anyway, but I was stoked to have electricity. There was a deep sink for cleaning too, and when I turned the tap on, the pipes knocked around for a bit, and then a trickle of rusty water came out, finally running clear.

  I had power and running water, under cover. Seeing as I wanted to stay near Gabbi until I had more news, I’d found my new home.