Darkness

By Matthew Nicholls

In the town of Mulwulla, in the south west of NSW all is quiet. Then the town drunk, Billy Williams hears someone talking on the phone. Life is going to change for everyone including Angela Smith, one of the local constables, who will find the man of her dreams. In this little slice of paradise a devil lurks. As the young policewoman heads towards the aisle death stalks the town.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: May 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781482893601

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Matthew Nicholls.

ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4828-9359-5

ISBN: Softcover  978-1-4828-9358-8

ISBN: eBook       978-1-4828-9360-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

For my boys, Josh Ben and Toby and many thanks to

Rachel for her support and guidance.

Chapter One

Amelia stood at the door of her father’s place, tapping her foot. The wind whistled up the stairwell, the florescent light flickering nervously as she waited for him to answer her knock. The shadows seemed to get closer every time the light spluttered off and on and she always felt a little uneasy at night here. She had almost run from the bus stop as the battered Wrightway’s bus wobbled up the main road. The bushes at the front of the block of units were creepy. Although she knew it was just her imagination she felt eyes watching her.

Rapping a little harder on the roughly painted white frame she noticed her grimy hands. Amy felt messed up. The bus trip into Mulwulla was a bumpy, smelly ride. She stared at the blistered paint feeling tendrils of anxiety wrap around her heart, concentrating, willing it to open, staring at the number one crudely drawn in black marker on the dirty white paint above the door.

Who is it?

It’s me, Dad.

Amy?

She heard the lock turn, the door swing open with a creak and the music bleed into the dark stairwell.

Hey dad.

Hey sweetheart. What are you doing here?

Amelia did not answer. She walked into the unit, tossing her back-pack into a corner. Things hadn’t changed much around here she noted. The rock posters covering the walls, the old plaid lounge he had bought from the Salvos, the bong on the glass table.

Mum kicked me out, again.

Alby Langdon grimaced.

Phil?

Amelia nodded.

Yeah, Dad. He can be a real prick sometimes.

Alby frowned.

What have I told you about language?

Sorry.

And you’re right. A real prick.

They laughed easily. Amelia loved her dad, for all his faults.

So, have you eaten?

I had chips on the bus.

Delicious. How about some pasta?

Amy waited a second.

Want me to make it?

Alby smiled.

That would be great.

Amy grabbed her back-pack. Inside it were some clothes, her schoolbooks and her PSP. She lugged her pack to the towel cupboard and shovelled it down to the bottom shelf next to the garbage bag that was tucked into a corner. She unzipped a side pocket and fished out her night-clothes that lay neatly folded at the top. For a moment the urge to shower, to wash off the bus trip, welled up but hunger and the need to talk conquered that thought. At least there were a couple of clean towels, she sighed.

The girl went to the lounge room, pausing for a second in front of the cracked mirror that hung lopsidedly off a piece of frayed string. She pulled a face. She had her mother’s eyes, she knew it; everyone told her that little nugget as if it were a badge of beauty. Hopefully not her sarcasm she felt like blurting out at them. Or her bad taste. She kept moving, stood at the doorway, hands on hips.

You want some bog sauce with it?

Her father was seated on the lounge with an X-Box controller in his hands. He glanced up for a second.

Yeah.

Amelia went into the kitchen area, separated from the lounge room by a counter and cabinet, dirty glass reflecting her blonde hair and sharp-featured face. A mish-mash of crockery and cooking utensils, stacked ungainly like modern architecture, defied gravity as she scrambled around the cupboards. Standing on tiptoes the girl stretched up to the crusty wooden box and took out the mid sized pot, went to the sink and filled it with water. A broken bag of spaghetti hid behind various sauce bottles and Amelia dragged it out. She dug around into the top drawer for some matches.

Hey dad, throw us your lighter.

Without looking up, Alby reached across the glass bong and arced the yellow lighter into his daughter’s outstretched hand. As the water started to bubble she sang softly to herself. Her thoughts were of horses and running but there were dark stains left by years of relaxed parenting. With a bemused grin she considered her father. He was fun, kind and generous when in the money but he could be pretty hopeless at times. She was old enough now to understand who he was, what he did, but he was a gentle soul and she sometimes just wanted to hug him. In ten minutes she had produced two bowls of pasta drowning in a weak sauce, scraps of mushroom and onion struggling to surface. With practiced skill she juggled the hot plastic bowls and placed them on the edge of the table.

Amy settled down on the lounge, her bowl balanced precariously on the edge of the chair arm. Alby had his cooling on the coffee table as he completed a level of zombie killing.

Got you, you smoker. He put down the controller and picked up the bowl and a fork.

Great spag bog, darl. He mumbled through mouthfuls.

So, how are things, dad?

Not bad. How’s school?

Ok. English is good. History not so good.

He kept eating but watched her sideways.

Any… boyfriends?

Dad.

I’m just checking. You’re starting to grow up…

I’m only twelve.

Still.

There’s this boy… he’s always annoying me.

Baby, he’s interested in you.

Dad.

Amelia blushed to her roots.

Have you got any work?

Alby nodded, spooned in more food, and said nothing.

Amy knew her father was involved in funny things. Some of his mates were not really very good men. One or two bikies hung around at times and even Phil, who ended up being her mum’s new boyfriend, lived on the edge of polite society, as she heard from time to time from her nosy aunts.

Is it honest work?

Now Amelia. You’re not trying to lecture me?

Dad. I just worry about you.

Amelia decided not to push it. She knew her dad was just her dad. She loved him for who he was.

Now sweetie, you happy to crash on the lounge?

Yeah dad. I’ve got some things.

Alby got up, stretched, and headed towards the front door.

I have to go out for a bit. You ok here?

Sure dad."

Leave the bowls in the sink. I’ll wash up when I get back.

Sure, Dad.

And there’s ice cream and chocolate topping.

Amelia had already picked up the controller.

Sure dad. See you.

Under the sea… under the sea… under the sea… .

The sound of The Little Mermaid rolled over and over like waves on the beach. Amelia had fallen asleep half way into her favourite DVD. She would never admit it but she had watched Ariel since she was a kid and had always secretly dreamt of being her. She sang like a gorilla, her dad said, but Amelia loved swimming. She was on the swim squad at the Cotter Olympic Pool and trained there in the mornings before school. Once Amy had reached the regionals and there were trophies on her dad’s bookcase, proudly displayed.

The dream began in the ocean, singing with friendly crustaceans and the sun shining from beyond the surface of the sea. As she slept in the big chair facing the TV, her fantasy was twisting in a strange way. The Sea Witch had turned into a dragon, breathing fire. Amy was swimming across a boiling ocean as the flames licked at her feet. With a cough she rolled over and her eyes opened. The curtains, those dreadful oranges and lemons patterned drapes, were being consumed by fire.

Smoke stung her and she found it hard to catch her breath. Still dozy, the girl tried to get up but the smoke, like a blanket floating above her, forced her to her knees. Crackling, spitting noises cut through the fog and as she crawled towards the kitchen she heard a roaring sound. Amy did not want to look. She knew the dragon was behind her. She fell awkwardly as she reached the tattered linoleum floor of the kitchen and began to whimper.

Through tears, the girl saw boots. Large and black boots, like a giant’s. Amazingly, she started to rise. Someone was pulling on her Ben 10 pyjamas as she floated, rising like a puppet before arms wrapped around her.

Dad?

A voice answered.

Shh little one. It will be ok.

She was lifted up onto shoulders and the man walked a little unsteadily to the front door, more bothered by the heat than the girl’s weight. With a grunt he struggled for a moment, then pulled the door open. Amelia looked back. Within the billowing cloud of grey and black she saw him. The dragon, eyes like traffic lights in the mist, roared and she threw her face into the neck of the man, smelling the sweet air and hiding from the heat.

She felt light as a feather as she drifted in and out, bouncing down the stairs, floating to the ground as a face stared at her. Then she closed her eyes.

Is she ok?

The ambulance officer, a young bloke with flaming red curls, smiled.

Yeah, Dan. She’s fine. A few burns, superficial, some smoke inhalation, shock of course, but considering…

Good.

The officer glanced over his shoulder, and then stared at Daniel.

What happened?

Daniel McKenzie, a solidly built man of about forty was wrapped in a grey, regulation blanket. Burn cream had been spread on his hands and face where he had brushed against the fire. His hair was sooty and singed and he had a bedraggled look.

I was out for a drive when I saw… smoke. Guessed what was happening and ran up the back. I kicked in the door and found her there.

You didn’t see her father?

Father? Didn’t have time to look. I grabbed her and just made it out. I thought the gas might have been on. By the time I got her out the fire was too intense.

The girl, Amelia, doesn’t know if her dad was in there or not.

The man shook his head, the singed locks lifelessly bouncing, his steel blue eyes staring out.

I didn’t get a chance.

Detective, she was lucky you were passing by. Another couple of minutes in that and she wouldn’t be alive.

The medic trundled off back to the girl, leaving Daniel to ruminate. He almost hadn’t seen her there. The smoke was filling the room quickly but then he’d noticed the curled up girl in the kids’ pjs and he’d grabbed her and scarpered. The crackling of the paint seemed to follow him out the unit, the sound of popping reminding him of gunfire. He was lucky, just as the girl was lucky. Now, of course, he had a ton of paperwork to fill out but at least the young girl was alive. The thought of her burning in the fire trembled down his spine.

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You are so lucky.

Angela Smith sat on the new fold out lounge between Mrs Carter and Fiona. Because she was in the middle she had sunk down to the inner springs and her head was now level with Mrs Carter’s enormous bosom.

Thanks Ange.

Yeah Hell. Terry’s a spunk.

Teresa said this with a slight slur in her voice and a lip curled like Elvis Presley. She had been drinking coolers like they were cordial and now she swayed in her chair. Her mouth had a slight lime green colour, which matched her eyeliner.

Yeah, he is.

Helen Carter grabbed the bowl of nuts on the raffia table before they were tipped over as the tipsy girl tottered, defying gravity as she stretched out her arm. Angela thought she looked like a high wire walker, balancing above the dirt. After regaining her equilibrium Teresa perched precariously on her chair the blinking look, that only the almost drunk can make, etched on her face.

Fiona laughed.

He’s got a great bum.

Fiona!"

Mrs Carter’s breasts heaved as she leant across Angela to face Fiona. Angela was worried for a moment that she would be poked in the eye.

Helen Carter, straight backed with legs tucked underneath, was a pleased as punch. She loved being envied.

Mum. You can’t deny the truth.

The girls burst out in gales of ribald snorts.

I don’t want to hear about it.

Mrs Carter had always been a strait-laced person. Her daughter’s friends were not even allowed to swear in front of her. Angela thought how hard it must have been to ignore Helen’s active sex life. Starting at sixteen, Helen had always had a healthy interest in sex. God, Jim had been staying the night on a regular basis for the last six months.

So, when’s this wedding on again?

Teresa. The thirteenth of June. Remember darling, you’re in the bridal party.

Oh yeah. Thanks Mrs C.

And my little niece is going to be the flower girl. Helen grinned at the thought. This wedding was going to be perfect—even if it killed her.

Sian? Sara’s little girl?

Yes. Hey Fi, you want to help with the gown?

Fiona, even with a few drinks in her, looked more elegant than ever. She grinned her perfect smile at Helen.

Do I have a choice? She shrugged. Yeah sure, Hell. How about Saturday?

"Saturday arvo, about 3. I’ve got to meet Jim in the morning. We’re going bed shopping.

Try before you buy?

Teresa!!! Mrs Carter was not amused.

So is everything organised, Hell?

Angela was surprised how keen Helen was to get married. She had always maintained she was not going to get rushed into it, like so many others had in Mulwulla. Not for the first time her friend wondered if there was a reason for the hurry.

It’s going to be the biggest thing in Mulwulla since the Miss Forestry pageant.

The girls laughed. Helen’s mum grit her teeth.

I don’t know why you’re laughing Helen. And you, Fiona, you won.

Fiona smirked.

Yeah. I got a free dinner out of it.

The girls knew that Fiona got more than that out of it. One of the judges, a bloke from the Sydney branch of the forestry company, had ended up taking her to the motel fifteen kilometres out of town and spending the night with her. But he did buy her champagne and a pair of small but tasteful earrings.

The flowers are ordered, the limousines are booked, the bridesmaid dresses are almost finished.

How about the groom?

Come on Fi. All Terry has to do is get his mates into suits.

And buy the rings, dear.

We’ve already done that mum.

Oh, and he has to organise the booze.

Mrs Carter grimaced again. It was bad enough that they were having a winter wedding-all because Jim wanted to be back for the football. The Mulwulla Tigers were certainties for the semi-finals and Terry was the full forward. The uncomfortable thought of a bunch of drunken twenty-two year old footballers going wild did not fill her with joy.

I’m not happy about that, Helen.

Mrs Carter had that look on her face; the same look when Helen had told her Jim was going to stay the night. But she knew her mother would give in. She and Helen had been alone for nearly fifteen years and she was wrapped around Helen’s finger like a band-aid.

The girls talked for a few minutes until Mrs Carter gave out a few hints and the friends decided to call it an early night. Angela and Fiona offered to take Teresa home but she was adamant that she had somewhere to go. Mrs Carter called a cab. In this town that meant Big Phil and his Metropolitan Taxi service. Everyone knew the number and they’d hardly packed up their things before the horn sounded outside the Carter residence. They kissed Helen and her mum and made it out into the cool night. Angela saw a carpet of stars and then she struggled with Teresa as she stumbled on her high heels like a stilt walker at the circus.

So are you seeing anyone? Fiona whispered to Angela as they poured Teresa into a cab.

Angela waited.

See ya, Tess.

See ya, Ange.

The young woman was drunk. Her bra, a frilly black thing under her top, was sticking out like fancy armour plating.

Hey Fi.

Fiona had that world weary voice friends of drunks and bored parents get.

Now you be careful, Tess.

I’ll be fine.

I’ve got a joke

Teresa’s eyes were like glass marbles, her smile wider than Heath Ledger’s.

What do they call a hobbit in a porno?

I don’t know, Tess.

Dildo Biggins

She snorted as she said this, her nose running and laughing like a clown at the Show. Phil looked at her with benevolence. He was pushing sixty and had seen it all many times over.

I’ll get her home, girls.

Thanks Phil.

The taxi crawled out into the street; it’s brake lights throwing a red shade on the girls pallid faces.

So are you?

Angela did not blink.

No one I can mention.

Oh. Like that.

Not like that. It’s just… complicated.

Whose life isn’t? Fiona also waited. The night was quiet and the street glistened with a faint patina of damp.

If I tell you something you promise you won’t tell anyone.

Angela was expecting some stupid story about Fiona’s drinking and sexual exploits. Her friend was bright, bubbly and a bit of a slut.

I’ve been sleeping with Terry.

And Angela was not disappointed.

Shit Fi. How long?

Only for about a month. Angela had a suspicion. When they had been out in a group Terry and Fi had stayed right away from each other, like repelling magnets.

And I think I love him.

Oh, please Fiona. Give it a break.

Fiona looked shocked.

What?

Angela had had a long night. She was in no mood for bullshit

You and I both know you’ll be sleeping with someone else next week.

Fiona pondered this for a minute. Then she nodded.

Yeah. You’re probably right. Don’t tell Helen, ok?

They parted at the end of the drive with promises to catch up next week. Angela walked to her small hatch back and climbed in. By rights she should have walked. She had had a little to drink and could have been booked. Better wait a little. She sat in the bucket seat, listening to Lily Allen by the light of the dashboard and thought about Fiona.

She was a gorgeous girl, our Fiona. Angela had always felt the scratch of jealousy on her skin when she was out with her. But she also knew that the blonde with the swaying hips, the one that blokes noticed when they went out, wanted to have what Helen had. Ever since primary school she had taken a fancy to Helen’s things. They had met when Fiona took a Spice Girls pencil case from Helen’s bag. They had been friends ever since.

At one point she used to hang around Hell’s family as if trying to take up the job of daughter. Helen’s mother knew how bad it was for Fiona and had been welcoming and forgiving. Angela admired Mrs Carter. For all her bossiness she had a big heart. She was so nice to Fiona, especially as she was a single mother, raising Helen by herself. Now Fiona was banging Helen’s fiancée. No surprise there. That would pass. Angela snorted in derision at the thought of Terry O’Donnell. Like all men he thought with his dick. He was such a boy. Fiona and Helen could have him.

Lily Allen had finished singing 22 when Angela turned the keys to the ignition. By the time she had reached her unit, in a dark brick building that had sprung up no more than ten years ago during a boom in the money market that lasted just long enough for the units to be built but before they had been fitted out according to the plans, Lily was using language that would have made Helen’s mother very cross.

As Angela stepped out of the shower she noticed her mobile chirping. Glancing at it she saw a text from Daniel. Was something wrong? She was not on shift tonight, was she? Angela thought back with a tinge of alarm. When she read the message she gasped, pulled on some clothes and ran out into the night again.

By the time she reached the scene, McKenzie was in conversation with the fire chief. Angela surveyed the scene. The building was a burnt out skeleton, Hu’s Laundry a shattered glass front haunted by fire twisted washing machines. A gaggle of local firemen, both the squadies and volunteers, were either spraying the building or shifting fallen bricks. Out in the distance the young woman saw a pretty girl wrapped in a blanket and sitting in the back of the ambulance. The smouldering ruins of the unit and the dry cleaners still glowed—the charred framework being sprayed with water in a hissing that reminded Angela of a snake.

Dan.

Angela.

He gave her a half smile. His face was dirty and she found it difficult to resist the urge to wipe it.

Are you ok?

Sure. Never better.

Angela looked around.

What happened?

Not sure yet.

He turned back to the girl.

I have a job for you.

Sure.

Amy needs to be taken home to her mother.

Angela looked at the girl, almost invisible in the voluminous blanket.

She was in the fire?

Yeah. Her dad’s missing. We’re about to go through the wreckage and search.

You think…

Don’t know. But she shouldn’t be here.

Angela nodded.

Ok. She paused, touched his arm.

You ok here?

Yeah. I’ve rung Mick. He’ll be out soon. Just take her home.

Angela walked towards the ambulance.

I’ll call you later.

The girl didn’t look at her. She was staring down, lost in sorrow when Angela approached.

Hi.

Angela was as gentle as possible.

Are you Amy?

The girl still ignored her.

I’m Angela. Ange for short.

Amy peeked up at her. Maybe the soft face, gentle blue eyes and smile broke through a little.

Hi.

I’m a policewoman.

Oh. You’re so young.

Angela almost laughed. She was always hearing that.

For the next few minutes the two started a very hesitant conversation. After that Angela was able to persuade the young girl to go to her car and they made their way to her mother’s house.

Is Phil there?

Phil?

Mum’s boyfriend. I don’t like him.

The girl curled her lip and Angela waited. But the girl said no more.

Who is he?

Who love?

That man.

He’s a policeman.

He saved me.

Yes. He did.

Amy paused for a while as if talking tired her out.

I saw the dragon.

The dragon?

In the fire. When the policeman pulled open the door. It wanted to eat me.

It didn’t though, did it?

No.

Angela pulled up to the house. It was run down and a pile of car parts, engines and exhausts like a modern sculpture was displayed on the front lawn. A woman, in a pink dressing gown, stood shifting from leg to leg.

Mum.

She hugged her mother and the woman kissed her head and stroked her hair. Without a word they went into the house, the girl glancing back for a moment.

Chapter Two

Jim glanced out the shop window. A young mother walked across the street, her large breasts swaying under a pink jumper. His eyes following her movements like he was at the tennis. She was pushing a pram and from where the storekeeper stood he could see that her jeans were a little tight and a small belly popped over the edge. Young Jenny Saville. Jim remembered when she was a little girl. She used to come in for her dad, Stan, when he wanted paint for that falling down house of his. She wasn’t so little any more. Jim licked his lips and twirled the gold band on his left hand unconsciously. Marriage had its ups and downs but he would never cheat on Helen. It was just the ache of a loneliness that he was only dimly aware of. Jim walked up to the glass, looking through the large lettering that announced his shop to the world, and dreamt of freedom.

Out of nowhere a man stepped up to the other side of the glass, glanced around as if anxious about something and sidled into the store. He seemed to pass the wheelbarrows and screen netting rolls as if he was a ghost and Jim hurried back behind the counter, taking one last look at the young mother before diving into the cool of his habitat.

Can I help you?

The man was about thirty, but he had a look, Jim could not quite place it. He felt… wrong somehow. His eyes darted around and the thin lips were tight and did not fit the smile he gave the storekeeper. Not exactly dirty, just a little shabby, but he had a sharp face and tiny black eyes. Jim felt a little nervous.

Yeah mate. I’m looking for some hosing.

What kind?

The man pondered for a moment.

You got any with ahm… holes?

Perforated. For watering a garden?

Yeah. Perforated.

The way he said that, Jim almost felt he was being got at. But when the man pulled out a wad of twenties Jim ignored his foreboding.

Down this way.

The man followed as Jim made his way to the back of the store. Past the paint, Jim glanced up… it was at times like this he wished he’d installed the security camera instead of the fake one with the amusing sign announcing all thieves smile for the camera. When the man moved all Jim could do was keep a half eye on him.

You growing vegetables?

Yeah. Veges.

You might want some sort of… pest control.

Oh, I’ve got that alright.

Again Jim felt like the conversation was going in a manner he did not get, like swimming in a river that pulled you in a direction you could not control.

We have three kinds of hose. Just depends what you’re growing.

The man didn’t answer. Instead he examined them closely. But he still flicked his head from side to side as if in a constant state of fear.

I’ll take this.

Jim rolled off twenty metres then lugged it on his shoulder back to the front of the shop.

As they stood at the counter, Jim tallying up on the register, the man looked around.

You got any shovels?

It was later, as he shut the shop up for his lunch, Jim realised what the man reminded him of. A ferret. Jim’s dad had kept ferrets. Jim still had the scar from where he had foolishly stuck his finger through the wire of the cage. It took ten minutes of screaming agony before they could pry the bugger off. Jim’s dad then gave him a walloping for being stupid.

Fucken ferrets.

Still the shovel and hosing were a good sale on a quiet day. Jim thought about a beer as he felt the dryness in the air, a smoky taste from the recent fires. It might be cold and the snap of winter was in the air but the drought was still on. Not good for business. Jim thought about getting into his car and just driving off. What was on the other side? Then his mind went back to the little ferret faced bloke. What was he growing? Jim had a suspicion. He’d seen it before. Small farmers had often turned to illegal crops to supplement their income. That bloke was no farmer, not from around here anyway. Not someone you’d want to mess with either. That kind of bloke was liable to take your finger.

Feeling pangs, Jim decided now was as good a time as any for lunch. He took out his keys, a dangling noise that he used to use to distract his children with, and went outside. Looking up at the clock tower of the town hall he saw it was almost twelve.

Jim crossed the main street, noticing one or two lonely utes, parked in the 45-degree angle parking area at abstract angles to the white lines, trying hard not to notice each other. There were a few people out at this time of day. Later on there would be the mothers taking their kids home from school and the workers from various offices that dotted the town centre. He recalled the times when this had been a bustling little place but the drought, the highway that had been extended up near Bega and the move away from the area by the young people of the town had all contributed to its steady decline.

He pushed open the door of THE STOCKMAN and made his way inside to the lounge. He passed Billy and old man Lawson, heads together as if conspiring. Probably wondering how they can sponge