Journey into Amnesia

By JP Fox

In a dispute over child custody, Judge Pankhurst offers Joni Cartwright the unenviable choice, the horrible decision-that of choosing which parent she must live with-Joni is so distressed by the ordeal and the seemingly insurmountable odds stacked against a once happy family, the girl takes her problems t

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookTrail Publishing
• Release date: Nov 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781959082071

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Copyright © 2022 JP Fox

Paperback: 978-1-959082-06-4

eBook: 978-1-959082-07-1

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022914617

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names herein bear no reference to any person, living or deceased.

Ordering Information:

BookTrail Agency

8838 Sleepy Hollow Rd.

Kansas City, MO 64114

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 1

Joni Cartwright sat sullenly in the passenger seat. Her eyes were set firmly on the windscreen, not observing the oncoming traffic or anything else that passed by. Neither did she care should she reach her destination safely. In fact, were the car to break down or run out of petrol, or that someone should rear-end them would be preferable to going to court. And having to listen to her Mum and Dad present reasons to the Judge why they each should have custody of their twelve-year-old daughter was embarrassing, and distressing besides. It was bad enough having to hear her parents argue at home. Now they had argued openly, in front of strangers, even if those strangers were respected members of the legal profession: a judge, a child services representative, and lawyers. And the stranger who takes notes on that machine! Why can’t my parents just say we’ll stop fighting, and then stop! Just stop and go back to loving each other. Why can’t they! Why won’t they!

‘Joni, please put your seatbelt on. You know the rules.’ Her mother spoke softly. The child put her hands to her forehead and made a face; it appeared she had a headache. Her mother asked what’s wrong, Joni? Headache? No, she replied, just a bit dizzy. It’s nothing! Abruptly she pressed her arms even tighter to her chest and kept her stare straight ahead, determined not to make eye contact with her mother.

‘If the police pull me over, sweetheart, we’ll be late for Court. That might be used against me…us.’

‘Well, that wouldn’t do, Mother, now would it? Why can’t you and Dad just patch up and…and let us live together. We are supposed to be a family, aren’t we?’ Joni argued sarcastically.

‘Joni, things aren’t that easy. They are more…complicated. Oh, I’ve tried to do the right thing, Joni. Your father and I don’t…don’t see eye to eye on…well, on some things.’ She ended with a sharp burst of frustration. ‘Now please do your seatbelt up!’ Joni glared at her. ‘I hope the car breaks down and we never reach the court. Never!’

Amanda Cartwright swung the vehicle into the kerb and applied the brakes hard. She began to reach for the belt. Joni slapped her hand away. ‘I don’t want to go! Can’t you see how hard it is for me? How can I choose between you and Dad? Really, Mum? How can I?’ She covered her face and cried. Her mother went to touch her shoulder but Joni moved away cuttingly and turned her body to the side window. She fingered the door handle as if to get out. Amanda gripped her arm. ‘Joni, I know this is crazy. It shouldn’t be I…I know it is wrong…but the judge says you must decide. If you don’t, he will. Do you see that?’ Joni responded angrily. ‘You and Dad put me in this position. I never wanted us to break up our family.’ She paused to rub her tears away. ‘If the judge asks me who I want to live with I’ll say, my parents. That’s the only answer I’ll give.’ With that, she pulled the seatbelt around her body and secured it with a strong-willed metal-snap. Amanda resigned to her child’s decision. She hit the blinker to move into the traffic.

‘You know I’d love you to choose me…but that’s because I love you and want you with me. Your Dad wants you, too. I understand that. It’s natural. He loves you just as much as I do. The powers that be make these rules. I’m not supposed to influence you. That’s why I have been a little distant lately—’

‘A little? You mean a lot, Mum, don’t you? This past week has left me as though I had no parents at all. Dad can’t be nice in case it influences me to pick him. And you act as though you don’t know me. Is that what the judge meant, that you treat me like an orphan? I’m sick of it. Sick of you. Sick of Dad. And sick of that cruel judge who’s making me decide. I hate judges! All of them! I’d like to know how he’d feel if he had to choose which parent he wanted to live with.’ She stopped herself short to think about that. ‘Maybe…I’ll ask him. Yeah, see what answer he has! Yes, I’ll do it. Go faster, Mum! Now I can’t wait to see the judge.’

Lawrence Cartwright was talking to his lawyer when mother and daughter entered the foyer. Amanda’s attorney, Salli-Anne Blake greeted her and immediately suggested they find a niche to talk. A short man in uniform approached and said with politeness: ‘The judge has been delayed with another matter. He wishes to convey his regret to you. There’ll be a thirty-minute delay.’ The women acknowledged the apology with a respectful nod. Joni stayed near but kept glancing at her father. Casually she moved towards him, her eyes beckoning him to meet her half way. He was reluctant to do that and let her know by facial expressions that he was not allowed to persuade her decision. All she wanted was a hug.

The door swung again. Enter Claire Sunning. She moved with the swaying motion of a model on the catwalk. Her long fingers glittered with diamonds; her ears displayed the sparkling red of rubies, and around her neck hung an exquisite silver pendant, an heirloom from her grandmother, no doubt. She modified her arrogance to a facade of royalty, stopped by Lawrence’s side and virtually posed for a greeting kiss. Lawrence leaned forward to whisper something, upon which the woman turned to see Amanda further down the corridor. Joni wasted no time; she imitated the woman with her own version of a strutting model and pushed her way between her father and the woman. Claire had no choice but to step back a pace. She was miffed by the intrusion; her ego was challenged.

‘How rude!’ Sunning responded, raising her voice. Joni replied even louder.

‘Don’t I get a hug, Dad? Or will the judge not like that?’ Without another word, she threw her arms around his waist. He took hold of her hands and bent to her level.

‘Joni, Joni. You know how hard this is for me; you know I can’t be seen to…’ He looked deep into her face, sorrowfully. ‘I really do want you to live with me. Your mother—’ Again, Joni purposely raised her voice.

‘Dad? Will you go to Mum and take her hand and tell her you want to come home? All of us together. Please?’

The clash of personalities Sunning and Joni exposed, caused others to look around. Amanda’s attorney took stock of the kerfuffle and said something to Amanda. Lawrence’s lawyer spoke to him. Amanda instantly strode towards the group, believing there was too much conspiring going on.

‘And Dad. Tell that woman to go away,’ Joni begged. Lawrence Cartwright shook his head and with regret, he said, ‘We’ll talk after the judge makes his final decision. I’m sorry, darling.’ Amanda stepped up and said firmly, ‘Joni! Come please.’ The child came away dejected. She knew her Dad was following ‘procedure,’ or as someone had said ‘protocol.’ She turned to face the rich woman, to tell her to go away and break up someone else’s family. ‘Go’ was as far as she got; her mother’s grip tightened to speed up the disengagement from the others. She marched her daughter back to her attorney. Joni insisted she wouldn’t make a choice. Amanda began to cry, but quickly sought refuge in the hand Salli-Anne offered. The forty-something lawyer couldn’t help being amused by the child’s idea. A little assistance to win the case wouldn’t go amiss, she believed. As it was, the decision could go either way. Salli-Anne asked: ‘Joni, did your father…did he ask you to choose him?’ Joni shook her head. ‘No, my parents are not supposed to do that. And you shouldn’t ask me, either. You are not working for me!’ Amanda told Joni not to be insolent. Her daughter crossed her arms defiantly. Amanda turned away in tears only to find the eyes of Claire Sunning, who had moved noiselessly across the room.

‘If it’s any comfort,’ the woman said, ‘I think the child should be with her mother.’ Amanda queried Sunning’s statement with a steady stare in the other’s dark eyes. She was persuaded to believe Sunning displayed a patent detachment from family life; and wondered if the woman had children of her own. If she did, they were to be pitied.

‘Joni should be with you, Amanda. For what it’s worth, that’s what I believe.’ Sunning nodded imperially and turned away. Salli-Anne asked, ‘What did she say?’ Amanda repeated the sentiments.

‘It’s a ruse, Amanda. You can’t trust that woman; she’s giving you false hopes, trying to put you off guard. What we have prepared to say to the judge is the defence to stick by. It’s your personal devotion to Joni, that’s what will impress the judge!’

‘I think I believe her,’ Amanda replied pensively. ‘I think she really wants me to have Joni, and not Lawrence. I believe Claire is that selfish. She doesn’t want…Joni…anyone, to come between her and Lawrence. I wonder…does Lawrence know that about her?’

The short man in uniform reappeared earlier than expected. ‘The judge is ready now, ladies.’

Chapter 2

‘M r and Mrs Cartwright, would you please come forward,’ Judge Pankhurst waved warmly to Joni’s parents. Warily, Amanda and Lawrence approached the bench.

‘In cases of this kind I usually offer a piece of advice to the parents. You realize, don’t you, this is extremely hard on your child. If you can’t agree to settle your differences and live together…you place your child in the unenviable position of choosing whom to live with. Since you are both contesting sole custody your child virtually has to reject one of you. I just want you to consider the gravity of the situation. It’s not too late, I sincerely believe that. You can reconcile matters if you both want to. I’ve seen couples get back together before today, believe me. If not, one of you will need to convince me the young child will be better off with you, and not your…future ex-partner.’

In the ten minutes that followed each parent was given the opportunity to state their case. Joni sat respectfully, even compliantly, because she had a new agenda, and deliberately made movements to attract the judge’s attention. And when she did she’d make a staring match out of it. The judge wondered what the child’s motive was, having to wrest his eyes from hers so as to concentrate on her parents’ personal pleas for custody. When they finished Judge Pankhurst shook his head worriedly before addressing the small gathering.

‘I… I believe, really believe, that you both present sincerity, honesty…in your expressions of concern for your daughter. Personally, I think you’d both make fine guardians. Mr Cartwright is prepared to share custody, which was not his first request to this court. Mrs Cartwright’s main concern is that her husband’s new partner, Miss Sunning, will be, and has already been a bad influence on her child. This is not a consideration here. Miss Sunning is not…how should I put it…she’s not living with Mr Cartwright, and so far there’s has been no mention in this hearing that they plan to marry, although one might assume they would, or at least live in the same house at some time. So, Miss Sunning is not on trial. Still, the decision is a tough one. The child needs the best possible care and…I believe each of you is an excellent candidate. This only makes it all the more difficult for me to make my decision.’

He dismissed them and called Joni to the bench, out of earshot of the others. ‘Joni, I know this is very hard for you. But…can you see yourself living with your mother or your father? Could you be happy with your choice?’ The child shook her head, whispering, no.

‘Ok,’ he said solemnly, ‘please take your seat again.’ Joni gave him one last defiant stare, and turned away. Without exception, all those present exhibited uneasy expectations.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ stern-faced Pankhurst continued, ‘let’s all have a time-out. I need to get some fresh air and do some thinking. Might do us all some good. Please be seated again at eleven-thirty. Thank you.’

In the foyer, Lawrence went up to Amanda and Joni. ‘Amanda, I’d like to take Joni for a few minutes. Maybe have a milkshake together.’ Amanda gripped the girl around the waist. ‘Actually, I…we… were about to do the same. There’s a…a little café across the street.’ Joni felt her mother shake as she seized upon an excuse to refuse his request. She looked from one parent to the other, hoping they might show the love in their eyes they used to show.

‘It’s not much to ask, Amanda. And I am asking…not demanding my rights. Nothing’s been settled yet, has it? What do you say?’ Amanda’s face was near to flooding. Her eyes asked Lawrence, What are you doing? What happened to us? Why this woman, this stranger? But the words didn’t come out. If only, she pleaded inwardly, if only he’d lean over and kiss me. If only he’d take my hand and Joni’s…and walk out of this crazy building together.

‘I have a better idea!’ Joni chirped, ‘why don’t we all go. Together. Have a milkshake together. It might be the last time we…all sit down…together.’

Amanda’s and Lawrence’s eyes agreed. They chose a table near the window.

Chapter 3

‘S o as to ascertain how Joni feels in this matter of custody I will ask the young lady formally, which of her parents she wishes to live with. So, Joni, please tell us your decision.’ Joni aimed her eyes straight at the judge.

‘I wish to live with my parents.’

‘Yes, I understand that, but which one?’

‘Both of them, Your Honour.’

‘If you want that outcome your parents will have live in the same house. That is not their wish, my dear.’

‘I answered your question, Your Honour. That is what I want. I choose neither of my parents,’ she enunciated, ‘I want to live with both of them. In the same house. All of us together. Which of your parents would you choose, Your Honour?’ The riposte took His Honour by surprise. He looked directly at the girl’s parents. He called them and their representatives to the bench. ‘I’d like to know who put the child up to this. Who will speak first?’ He was met with shaking heads and shifting shoulders.

‘Miss Blake?’

‘Your Honour, neither I nor Mrs Cartwright put words in Joni’s mouth.’

‘Mr Cartwright, do you also know nothing of this?’ Lawrence answered resolutely, ‘No, Your Honour,’ for himself and his attorney. The judge leaned back to study their faces, submitted to the stand-off then waved them away. He eyed Joni. ‘In that case, I’ll give you twenty-four hours to decide, young lady. If not, I will. We’ll adjourn until two pm tomorrow, at which time, regrettably—he switched attention to the parents—another family will be torn apart. But be assured that neither of you will have sole custody. It is not in the child’s best interests. One more thing, whoever gets primary custody of Joni, that parent will not take the child out of the State, unless it is agreed by all parties, including the child.’ He left for his chambers while those remaining in the room sat pondering his words, except for Joni. She sat quietly smug; she had bought a little more time.

The journey home was, except for the hum of the engine, a silent one. At a set of traffic lights, a taxi drew alongside. The driver, a man of large features, bulbous face, meaty hands, whose belly rubbed against the steering wheel, glanced right. Joni caught his eye and saw the eyes of a man whose worries were etched on his face, for his face was sad-looking. She wondered if he, too, had family problems and missed his daughter; she wondered if he also craved for someone to talk to, someone to give him a little comfort. On the passenger seat was a giant crossword puzzle from the morning newspaper. The lights went green; the man gave Joni the barest of smiles and drove off. The last thing she saw was the sadness in his eyes. As they neared the house Amanda asked cautiously: ‘Why did you do that, Joni?’ Joni had to gather her thoughts. ‘Do what, Mum? Oh! You mean…to the Judge?’

‘Yes.’

‘Because it’s true, Mum. I want to be with you and Dad. Didn’t we have a nice time in the café? It was very pleasant. There were no arguments, no fighting or shouting. It was very polite. Maybe we can do it again. Together. Our family.’

‘You heard the judge, darling. Tomorrow is the deadline.’

‘Then I will run away. Find a cave to live in. Push the bear out, or a lion if there is one, and live on wildflowers and berries and…and grass.’ They got out of the car.

‘You’ll have a job finding a lion around here, sweetheart. Unless you include Claire Sunning in that category.’ She laughed a nervous laugh at her own barb. Joni agreed with her mother but didn’t say so; she threw her arms around her mother. ‘Mum, why is life so hard? Why can’t we be happy? You know I love you. I love Dad, too…but if I have to choose, really choose, I’d pick you.’ Amanda held her daughter and cried. Between her sobs, she said, ‘You’d have trouble finding a cave around here as well.’ Amanda unlocked the door. ‘The judge was right, about joint custody, that is. How would you feel, Joni?’ The child shrugged. They sat on the settee, holding hands.

‘Not sure, Mum. But I will not live with that Claire person. That’s for sure!’ The phone rang. Amanda answered to Lawrence’s deep voice.

‘Hi. Thought Joni might want to talk to me.’

‘I’ll ask her. I…don’t think she doesn’t want to talk to you, Lawrence. She doesn’t hate you.’

‘No? I’m thinking she must hate us both.’

‘No, she does not! She hates what has happened to us.’

‘Ok. Can you put her on?’

‘Lawrence?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Is Claire the one for you? Is she good for you?’

‘That’s a strange question.’

‘I don’t hate you either, Lawrence. I never wanted this. I want you to be happy.’

‘And you don’t think anyone else can make me happy, is that it?’

‘No, I just don’t think she will. I don’t believe she’s capable of making anyone happy.’

‘Sounds like jealousy, Amanda.’

‘Jealousy? Of course I’m jealous! But not because of Claire. I’m jealous for our marriage, Lawrence. Separation doesn’t have to mean the end.’

‘A little late for that?’

‘No, I don’t think so. Even the judge believes it’s not too late. You heard him say so. I…said things I regret, Lawrence. I don’t really understand what happened. We stopped talking—’

‘Will you put Joni on, please?’

‘Will you marry her, Lawrence?’

‘I’m not sure what I’m doing, Amanda. Now, will you get Joni!’

‘Is our relationship at an end, Lawrence?’

‘You are persistent, aren’t you?’

‘Have you a relationship with her, Lawrence?’ There was a long pause before he answered.

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No, I do not, Amanda.’

‘I’ll get Joni for you.’

Later, Amanda and Joni washed the lunch dishes. Amanda asked about the phone call.

‘Oh, he asked was I upset by Claire, and would I visit him if the judge favoured you. Stuff like that.’ Amanda nodded appropriately. ‘Your father loves you very much.’

‘Yeah, he said he did. Over and over. So I asked him, do you not love Mum?’—Amanda stopped drying—‘He said he did love you but not in the same way. So I asked him why he wanted me all to himself. He said he was angry at the time. He changed his mind in the courtroom, he said. He’d be very happy to share me with…with you, Mum. Do you think he loves Claire?

‘Not…sure. He didn’t say yes…or no,’ she replied, trying to relay her husband’s feelings as best she could.

‘I asked him.’

‘What’d he say?’ Amanda replied with more animation.

‘Said love was a complicated thing. That he wasn’t very sure of late.’

‘Not sure? Of what?’ Amanda persisted with even keener interest.

‘Aw, just the way he said it. He wasn’t very…not ve-ry…you know what I mean, Mum?’

‘No, I’m not sure what you—’

‘—I think what he was trying to say was, he didn’t love anyone like he loved you.’

For the rest of the afternoon, Joni moped around the house, going from room to room as if looking for something she lost but knowing she wouldn’t find it, no matter how hard she searched or how much she wanted to find it. Nor could her little dog, Chestnut, cheer her up. Her mother invited her to prepare dinner. She said she wasn’t hungry; she’d just lie on her bed. And no, she wasn’t hungry when dinner was made. When the light faded, Amanda asked her to watch TV with her; that too got the thumbs down. For a while she tried to distract her thoughts from the impasse she faced by letting her parrot Rainbow out of its cage; she even tried to teach it a new word, but that lasted only minutes. At nine o’clock her mother went to check on her and found her dressing for bed.

‘I wish tomorrow didn’t come, Mum. I wish I could sleep forever.’ Amanda stroked her blonde tresses. ‘Will I brush your hair,’ she comforted, and picked up the brush. ‘One hundred strokes before bedtime for beautiful hair, remember?’ Joni sat with drooping eyelids and said ‘Yes, I remember.’ Rosa, her best friend, had lovely hair. The phone call from this morning filtered through her mind. Her friend called before school started; something about a new girl joining their class. Her eyes got heavy. Somewhere, in the faraway distance, she thought she heard an owl hooting.

Chapter 4

Whether her mother kissed her goodnight or not, Joni could not remember, although it was customary. And before the goodnight kiss, they invariably had a girlie chat. Neither did it seem as if hours had passed since she put her head on the pillow. Yet she was wide awake as though she had slept a long time and felt fresher as a result. The first thing that struck her was the vibrant colours that greeted her. Normally, she’d wake up not wanting to get up, or more often than not, awakened by her mother saying how late it was, that she’d miss the school bus and that she needed to get a move on. Not so this time. She was wide awake and eager for the day.

The sun was trying to beat a path through the thick foliage, the green of which radiated into her eyes a hue she hadn’t seen before. Fronds, shaped as pears are, taller than a giraffe and wider than a rhinoceros, danced through the open window, which window enlarged to accommodate their size, and on into her bedroom, to the rhythm of cascading waters. Crimson flowers popped up all around the edges of the pear-shaped leaves and shook loose onto the floor to form a carpet of celebrity red. Joni slipped out of bed and realized she was already dressed in jeans and top so she didn’t have to bother with looking for clothes. Immediately, the fronds bent to make an arch that invited her to an opening where the window used to be, and no sooner had she passed through when a new species of leaves folded back and smoothly changed into the shape of fingers that urged her forward, deeper into the forest. Everything seemed so unreal, yet so alive; the plants moved from their base upwards in swaying, rippling curves; all the flowers looked at her inquisitively, some asking what was a girl doing in the forest, and others inquiring did the girl know where she was going and did she have a map because whoever comes here without a map never finds their way out again. Long sinewy stems with multi-hued buds dipped down to feel her pink skin and brush against her golden hair; Joni thought she heard other flowers express delight with her, she the newcomer into their domain. There was no way a flower or a plant could speak, the awestruck girl concluded, but the voices she heard were clear and distinctly feminine ones. So she thought that all flowers in the world must be of the female gender, only for a few seconds, however. There had to be boy flowers as well, she concluded; it was a scenario she had never considered in her twelve years of life, until now. The grass under her feet was soft and tickled her toes so much that she wished for shoes, in between giggling and brushing off tubular bits of grass that resembled yellow worms. But she had forgotten to wear shoes. To stop from being annoyingly tickled she pulled an unusually large and thick leaf from an unusually small bush, tore it in half as she would a sheet of newspaper and covered each foot. The new shoes were so comfortable she felt as though she floated just above the ground, the way a hovercraft glides above the surface.

The sound of the waterfall drew nearer and nearer. Soon she felt the spray on her face and neck. The shoes seemed to be in control of where she went because there was nothing she could do to avoid the vast lake that approached. Behind her the thick forest of greens and reds of plants and trees and the yellow carpet grasses gradually faded into the background and became a mural the like of which she had seen in her schoolyard, a project painted on a wall by the children to promote awareness of the need to protect the earth’s flora and natural forests. From a living, breathing plantation the scenery seemed to stop moving in order to become a wall of colour that blended into the far, unreachable distance.

Straight ahead was the waterfall. No ordinary waterfall, either. The bubbling, foamy, streaks of liquid flowed up, not down as one would normally expect. The picture in front of her was illusory, to say the least, for it appeared the liquid spiralled upwards in one long continuous movement. At the top of its excursion, it seemed to stop momentarily as if it were an elevator designed to run up and down the outside of a tall, glassy building. And as if someone had pressed the button for a ride, the head of the spiralling water joined with its tail and began its descent in curving, graceful motions. It was then Joni gave the phenomenon a name: the Liquid Crystal Elevator. It was so beautiful to watch she hadn’t noticed she wasn’t moving. Instead the shoes she crafted kept her in hover-mode in the middle of the lake. The lake was so vast she couldn’t see the edges where the water might lap against the ancient cliffs, or wet the beach with the fresh tide. She took long pensive gazes into the distance; wherever her eyes turned that’s where the Hover Leaf shoes swung. She hoped to see something familiar. Nothing was apparent. As she continued to turn full circle and come back to the position she started from, she realized the connection between her eyes and the Hover Leaf. Her eyes controlled it. Wherever she looked that’s the way the gadget moved. Whenever she wanted to study an object, like the waterfall and its luminous attraction, the Hover Leaf stopped in obedience. She decided to experiment, to test her theory. She aimed her eyes far ahead of where she rested, way into the distance, expecting to see mountains beyond the shoreline. Common sense told her the lake had to end somewhere, so she projected her thoughts to such a point. The weirdest thing happened. The Hover Leaf began to speed up. And speed up even faster. The water beneath her feet glistened like silver lights streaking through space. Fearful, she yelled out at the top of her voice: Stop! The Hover Leaf reacted so violently to her command that she thought she would plunge into the water, and as she had learned in her science class, the effect would be like striking against concrete. But no such thing occurred. Fortunately for her. Next time, she promised, she’d give the command to slow down gently! Then she realized she had closed her eyes when she panicked and screamed, Stop! Her eyes did not control the Hover Leaf! It was her! Her own will, her own command, to go or to stop!

And so she did. It was wonderful now. She could slow down or speed up at will. After a few minutes land came into view, land that waved to and fro, or so it seemed. No, it wasn’t as waves of the sea rise and roll. As she drew closer the ‘waves’ morphed into the shimmering, undulating horizon of hills. Nearer and nearer the leaf craft brought her until pink cliffs became visible, pink as the flamingo. After a while, the colours varied between pink and purple and black, as though the cliffs had been punished by huge fists that bruised its face. The adrenaline that rushed from her kidneys brought with it anxiety, but oddly, she wasn’t afraid. The cliffs took on the appearance of a human face, with sad eyes drooping and a mouth that took on the shape of an upturned canoe. Nearer and nearer the leaf-shoes carried her until she could make out what looked like a figure standing at the base of the perpendicular cliff face. At this point, Joni imagined being behind a camera, and peering through the eyepiece at the speed she moved brought the figure gradually into perspective.

It was a woman. Her hands were raised as though appealing to someone. Joni swung the camera further up the beach, to where the woman was facing. A man stood tall and erect and bold. Adjusting the lens of the camera made his face clearer, much clearer. It was her father! Bubbling with excitement she swung the camera back to the woman. It was her mother!

They were arguing. She hated when they argued. Instantly she was on the beach. The sand she trod on was the whitest sand she had ever seen in her whole life. At first, the grains irritated her feet. Then it felt smooth and inviting. She could not explain the sensation until she looked down, only to see the hover shoes had vanished. She was actually walking on terra firma, back to normal again. But nothing about this place was normal. The desire to see her father was strong; but not when he was quarrelling with her mother. Determined to intervene, she first started to run to her mother but the faster she ran the further away the figure became. Panic showed on her disillusioned face. Calling out Mum, Mum, was useless because the space between them became thick glass, a thick glass wall of deafness. In desperation, she ran back to where her father had been but he had turned his back on her and soon became a tiny black dot before the dot disappeared.

Joni slumped onto the beach and cried. She looked out upon the endless lake and then to the cliffs rising perilously high above. She felt trapped. Trapped on a deserted beach wondering how she would ever be rescued. Even the amazing hover shoes that could take her back across the lake had abandoned her! All that remained of them were two brown, dried and wrinkled leaves, the natural consequence of late autumn. Drawing on new hope, she ran her fingers instinctively in the sand. At first, the sand didn’t respond so she decided to press harder. The word HELP scrawled in monster letters might attract the attention from a helicopter, or maybe someone on the top of the cliff might see the message and rescue her? Still, the letters wouldn’t form in the sand and she couldn’t understand why. Confused, she got up and dragged her feet along the beach, but as soon as she made an impression the hole filled in just as quickly. Then she saw there were no footprints, not hers, not her parents, none. How, she begged, could I have got to where I am without making indentations in the sand? Everybody leaves footprints behind, even when the tide washes over the sand there’s an impression, although it soon fades. The more she thought about the craziness of such a thing, the more she began to think that her family was also fading away, that one day there’d be nothing left of her family. This only made her sobs louder.

Trying to be brave and face the awful situation took a lot of strength to stand up and make a decision to search for a way out of this deserted land. The beach stretched endlessly up and endlessly down. The cliff was absolutely beyond her climbing skills, and the lake seemed to be motionless, like looking at a picture of a lake, for there was not the lapping of water caressing the sand, nor the slightest hint of a wave or a white horse frolicking. The lake, as though painted by an artist with a glass brush while her back was turned, was so immense that even the notion of swimming across it was totally out of the question. It was as if she were gazing at a tranquil mural on a museum wall; it was pleasant to look at but the whole scene was silent, deathly silent, which only detracted from its tranquillity, even libelling it.

With no apparent way out, she started up the beach. The sand felt different. Kind of sticky. It was hard to lift her feet. Very hard. She started sinking. Panic set in. It was quicksand! Joni had heard of people sucked down by quicksand, stories people read and relayed them to her. She had not read of such things herself but she had seen a man suffocate that way in a movie. Another story where a horse got sucked down. Now she felt her ankles had ropes around them, stifling the muscles in her thighs, forbidding her to move. Her eardrums echoed the gentle splashing of water. Panic returned as she struggled to move her legs that were buried past her knees. Into her head came the memory of her father’s voice telling her quicksand will not kill people because it won’t drag a person completely under. That was wet quicksand. What about dry quicksand? That was the dangerous stuff, her Father had said. Is this dry quicksand, she heard her voice, on the verge of screaming, ask. A strong breeze blew across her face and lifted her long hair. The lapping of water restarted and got louder; it bade her to look to where the noise came from. At the lake’s edge, a little boat bobbed on the new waves the wind stirred up. How it got there was a mystery. A rope hung from its bow and lay on the sand just a metre from the quagmire she was trapped in. If only I can reach the rope, she whispered. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she recalled the theory of lying flat if caught in quicksand. Probably was her father who told her since he told her about quicksand anyway. ‘Didn’t matter who,’ she told herself bravely, ‘the important thing is it might work and I may be able to reach the rope.’ So she did that. Leaning forward to where the end of the rope lay she thought positive thoughts. If I can dig my fingers into the sand and haul myself out…just try, Joni, she called out to what little strength she had left. If I don’t get out I might not sink, but the sun will beat down on me, the tide may wash over my head. This must not happen! I have to find my parents, have to save our family!

Joni dug her fingers into the sand as deep as she could and once having lost sight of them she urged her upper body to start pulling. And joy! Slowly, little by little, her legs began to rise and kept rising until her whole body was in the horizontal position. The rope, although near, was as far away as the length of her forearm, and by stretching forward and drawing her body along the sand, she was able to grab hold of the loose end, first with fingers, then with one hand, finally with two hands until her chest was on compacted sand. The relief was inspirational. Nevertheless, her breathing was fast but short, so much so she sucked in grains of sand by the beach load; then came the coughing and spitting and retching. The wind got stronger and changed direction. Now it was blowing a gale on the lake. Now it took hold of the little boat, and since Joni was holding the rope it dragged her along the sand at a violent rate. Out of sheer survival instinct, she pulled herself to her feet and leapt into the water after the boat. The water was deep, and turbulent, and frightening. Somehow she grabbed at the side of the wooden boat and pulled her body onto it, whereupon she fell into its shape, wet through and exhausted. Raising her eyes above the level of the boat, and, peering through the wind-swept sand, Joni watched the hole she escaped from fill with water.

Chapter 5

A storm in its direst anger raged on the once-calm lake. Winds howled as with the plaintive cries of a wolf caught in a snare. Blackness covered every square millimetre of airspace within a hundred kilometres, continually being fractured by jagged stripes of lightning. From overhead, thunder growled a grisly warning to stay indoors to any who might dare to venture out. For Joni, however, that was not an option. She was right in the thick of the tempest, in a tiny boat, being heaved about as a vulnerable cork, clinging to the plank that functioned as a seat; and the water that sloshed around her feet climbed ominously higher in the little boat. She screamed for help, that her parents please rescue her. And yet she knew they had vanished, and even if they were near, how could they, how could anyone, save her from this awful peril?

In between gasping and spitting liquid she thought she heard a voice, a girl’s voice. It was so clear, even amid the pandemonium that only nature can produce. Joni concentrated her every fibre to listening; then to thinking she must be losing it to have imagined hearing another human. She wailed in her hopelessness. Yet, there it was again. The same clear voice. The words spoken were unmistakable.

‘Joni, I’m over here. Behind the waterfall. Use the oar. Row to me.’ Joni could not believe her ears. It was Rosa, her best friend.

‘Listen and