Sliver Moon Bay: The Looking
lots of noise. It’s fun. But all of a
sudden the birds fly off and everything’s quiet. In the quiet, the
surf becomes loud. The tide’s spilling, in and out, along the sand,
swishing closer and closer, in regular intervals. It’s making me
sleepy. And it reminds me. Are we being watched today? No, I don’t
think so. He’s probably home, depressed. Sad, about the dog. It’s
weird thinking about Assassin dead. He was a nice dog. He liked me.
And Starling. Couldn’t stand Chris. Yes. He was a nice dog.
    At any rate, old Drake’s not
here right now. I don’t see him. No cigarette smoke wafting down
the dune. Or maybe I’m wrong. The wind’s turned so I wouldn’t be
able to smell him if he’s here. So he could be hiding up there in
the dune, lurking above us, somewhere in the bushes, burrowed in
the sand like a giant mole rat. But one that sees real well. Of
course, he could be in his garden, spying from there. But I don’t
think so. I really suspect he has other things on his mind.
    Into all this, a scream
explodes, tearing the very air it fills. The scream lasts a good
while, cartwheeling down the dune towards us like massive
tumbleweed. It stops everyone in their tracks. Even the birds are
falling from the sky.
    Starling looks up at me from
her sandcastle.
    ‘Mummy,’ she says, points up
the dune. ‘Mummy calling.’
    ‘Yes, it is Mummy calling. We’d
better go home, darling.’
    I pick her up and we amble up
the dune as fast as we can. Mummy calling, Starling repeats, one,
two, three times. Then we’re pedalling up the path. We crush twigs
and roll over stones and Starling’s bouncing in the basket like a
rag doll, looks like one with her oversized helmet head lolling
about. But I can’t slow down. The echo of that scream won’t let me.
It keeps screaming in my head. Outwardly, everything is quiet. So
quiet I hear my own heart beating the shit out of my breath. My
heart and my breath are fighting each other. They’re making me
angry cause they should be working as a team. To spite them, I fly
along the path. I’m scared. But at least I’m not alone. His breath
is here too, labouring somewhere close. So I was wrong. He has been
watching us, after all.
     
     

 
    12
     
     
    Chris gets there first. Old
Drake second. One after another, the men come out of the bushes,
flying towards Lilian. By the time I get Starling extracted from
her basket, they’re hovering over Lilian slumped on the steps of
the back porch. Chris is holding her in his arms. Old Drake
disappears inside the house.
    ‘What’s going on? What’s
happened?’
    Chris looks at me, looks at
Starling. Lilian’s crying.
    ‘Stay out here,’ he says, nods
towards Starling, towards Lilian. He’s getting up, giving up his
seat for me.
    I take over. Chris disappears
inside the house. He’s walking through to the front door. He opens
it and slams it shut behind him.
    ‘What’s happening, Mum?’
    Lilian bursts into tears, full
on.
    ‘It’s White Sox,’ she sobs,
oblivious even of Starling who’s standing there with her helmet on,
reflecting sunrays with her oversized headgear, and looking
puzzled. An insane thought pops into my head and for a moment I
imagine Starling is a visitor to this world. She looks like an
alien meeting new species for the first time, craning her massive
head to see it better. It’s how you’d imagine it goes down.
    ‘What about White Sox?’ I say,
taking Starling’s helmet off. She throws herself at Lilian, burrows
into her shoulder.
    THE. CAT. IS. DEAD. Lilian
mouths to me soundlessly over Starling’s head.
    ‘How?’
    KILLED. BY. AN. ARROW.
    Inside, new noises erupt.
    ‘You going to deny it, dad?
It’s your arrow, man! What were you thinking?
    Old Drake mutters something
intelligible. But I have to know.
    I get to the front door just as
Chris smacks old Drake in the face with White Sox. The cat is dead
alright. It’s bled out. The front door is stained with its blood
and there’s a puddle of it
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