Authors: Mila Gray
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passes slowly, but then, at four, after four hours’ standing,
I suddenly remember I haven’t called Jessa to wish her
luck for the performance. Shit.
I turn around and make a hand gesture through the
glass at Riley. He comes to the door.
‘What’s up?’ he shouts.
‘Can you cover for me for five? I need to call Jessa.’
He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head at me.
‘It’s opening night tonight,’ I plead. ‘I said I’d call and
wish her luck. I totally forgot.’
‘OK, fine. Just hurry it up,’ he says, striding towards
me.
He raps his knuckles against my helmet as I walk past
him into the guard post. ‘And no phone sex,’ he yells over
his shoulder as he takes up position where I’ve been
standing.
Once inside the post I put my gun down and pull out
my phone. It’s totally against protocol to make a call
while on duty, but it’s four a.m., no one’s around, and
Riley’s done it before when he forgot Jo’s birthday, so he
owes me one. And as for the phone sex, I save that for
when Riley’s in the shower and I have the room to
myself.
Quickly I dial Jessa’s number. It rings and rings with
no answer so I hang up and try again. This time I let it
ring through to voicemail, but before I get to leave a
message I catch sight of something out of the corner of
my eye.
My head flies up. I ring off and put the phone down on
the side, grabbing instinctively for my weapon. Riley’s
walking forwards, holding up his arm and waving.
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Out of the shadows I see the shape of a man, bundled
up, head bent, walking purposefully towards the gate.
When he steps into the light I see he’s wearing a long
brown chapan – a traditional Afghan coat. Through the
glass I hear Riley yelling at him, ordering him to stop.
‘Come in post one.’
I start and hit the comms button on my radio.
‘This is post one,’ I say, watching the altercation out-
side the window, my thumb easing the safety off my
weapon.
‘This is post four. Be advised. A minivan has just pulled
up against the compound wall.’
‘Roger that,’ I say, glancing at the camera feed. ‘Be
advised we have a single foot mobile approaching post
one.’
‘Roger that.’ I recognize the voice of the gunny ser-
geant, my direct commanding officer. ‘Interrogative,’ he
asks. ‘Do you have a visual on any weapons?’
I scan the man. He’s stopped walking towards the gate
and is now placing his hands on top of his head as per
Riley’s barked orders. I can hear Riley now yelling at him
to lie face down on the ground with his arms and legs
spread. The man doesn’t appear to be listening, or maybe
he just doesn’t understand English. He takes his eyes off
Riley for a moment and his gaze drifts towards me. For
an instant that seems to stretch into infinity, we lock eyes.
A smile appears on his face and then his eyes lift to the
sky. Just then his coat flaps open and I catch a glimpse
of the blocks of explosives strapped to his chest and the
spaghetti tangle of wires before the coat falls closed
again.
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Fuck. Riley doesn’t seem to have noticed. He’s squint-
ing against the glare of floodlights.
Radio static bursts in my ears. ‘Interrogative. Do they
have weapons?’
I don’t answer. I’m running to the door, my gun
already at my shoulder, my finger halfway depressed on
the trigger.
‘Riley!’ I yell.
I’m running straight towards him now. He turns. Just a
heartbeat. That’s how long the pause is between Riley
turning at the sound of his name and the blast that comes,
but it’s long enough for me to see the realization flare
across his face, long enough for me to read the terror and
disbelief that chases it, long enough for the image to
imprint itself on my retina like a branding iron on skin.
‘Bomb!’ I shout, but the word is sucked away in the
roar of the explosion. I’m picked up, thrown backwards,
blinded by a flash of white light. I’m hurled against the
side of the gate post. A wave of heat surges overhead and
everything fades to black.
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Jessa
I missed two calls from Kit before the performance and
I’ve heard nothing from him since. As soon as I wake, I
reach for my phone to see if he’s replied to any of my
messages or left a voicemail or email, but there’s nothing,
just a blank screen, reminding me unnervingly of that
moment at the end of a movie just before the credits roll.
There’s nothing from Riley either, though maybe that’s
not so surprising as Riley’s always been useless at staying
in touch. I sit up and dial Kit’s number. It rings straight
through to his voicemail, and at the sound of his voice
telling me to leave a message, I close my eyes, feeling a
stab of pain spear me between my ribs.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘It’s me. Call me back. I love you.’
I hang up and put the phone down, staring at it.
Something doesn’t feel right, something’s niggling at me,
but I push the thought away with a shake of the head and
get out of bed. It’s just before seven and I’m due at the
hospital to help out Didi’s father in less than an hour.
I fumble for my clothes, my legs a little shaky. I blame
it on the adrenaline from last night that’s still pumping
through my body. It was such a rush being on stage
again, seeing my name in the programme, hearing the
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applause at the end – I can’t wait to tell Kit all about it.
But more than that I can’t wait to tell him about the shock
of looking up and seeing not only Kit’s dad and sister
in the front row but, seated two rows behind them, my
parents too.
For one heart-stopping moment as I took my bow I’d
thought my dad was going to storm the stage and drag
me off it. I waited backstage too nervous to show my face
until Kit’s dad came and got me and convinced me it was
safe. And there they were, my mom and dad, waiting for
me outside the back door of the theatre with a bunch of
flowers, all smiles, telling me how proud they were of me.
My dad even hugged me.
We haven’t spoken much since I moved back home,
but my mom was right, my dad is definitely calmer. If I
didn’t know better I’d think the doctors had prescribed
Zoloft or something, he’s that mellow, but my dad has
always been anti-drugs – any kind of drugs, not just the
class A kind. I guess therapy with Didi’s dad must be
working. I’m glad. I am. But there’s a long way to go
before I forgive him for everything. A very long way. One
day soon I’m going to have to talk to him about Kit and
also tell him that I’ve decided not to go to USD – but I’m
waiting until I know for sure he’s not going to go postal. I
don’t want to cause a relapse or anything.
Once I’m dressed, I pick up my phone and slip it into
my back pocket. Why hasn’t Kit called? The nagging feel-
ing is back, more insistent now; it feels as though some-
one is behind me, tapping me angrily on the shoulder
trying to force me to turn around. Once again I shrug it
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off. I’m being stupid and paranoid, that’s all. He’s fine. Of
course he’s fine.
I’m halfway down the stairs, gathering my hair into a
ponytail, thoughts a million miles away, when a blur
outside the window pulls me up short.
I take another step, the view clears, and when I realize
what I’m seeing,
who
I’m seeing, my stomach plummets
and the air leaves my lungs like a final exhalation. My
arms fall slowly to my sides. My body’s instinct is to turn
and run back upstairs, to tear into the bathroom and lock
the door, but I’m frozen.
Time seems to have slowed. Kit’s father hasn’t moved.
He’s standing at the end of the driveway staring up at the
house, squinting against the early morning glare. He
takes a step down the driveway towards the house, and
that’s when I know for certain that either Kit or Riley is
dead.
I grab for the banister to stay upright. Memories,
images, words, flicker through my mind like scratched
fragments of film: Kit’s arms around my waist drawing
me closer, our first kiss under the cover of darkness just
by the back door, the smile on his face the first time we
slept together, the blue of his eyes lit up by the sparks
from a Chinese lantern, the fierceness in his voice when
he told me he was going to love me forever.
Come back to me
. That was the very last thing I said to
him.
Come back to me
.
Always.
The very last thing he said to me.
Then I see Riley as a kid throwing a toy train down the
stairs, dive-bombing into the pool, holding my hand at
our grandfather’s funeral, grinning and high-fiving Kit
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after they’d enlisted. The snapshot of him in his uniform
on graduation day. The circles under his eyes the last time
I saw him. The grin on his face when he told me he was
going to be a dad.
The door buzzes. I jump. But I stay where I am, frozen
halfway up the stairs. If I don’t answer the door, maybe
he’ll go away. Maybe this won’t be happening. But the
doorbell sounds again. And then I hear footsteps on the
landing above me. My mother’s voice, sleepy and con-
fused. ‘Jessa? Who is it? Why are you just standing there?’
I turn to her. Her hand is pressed to her mouth.
Standing in her nightdress, her hair unbrushed, the blood
rushing from her face, she looks like she’s seen a ghost.
No. That’s wrong. She looks like she is a ghost.
The bell buzzes for a third time.
‘Get the door, Jessa,’ my mother says in a strange voice
I don’t recognize. It startles me enough that I start to walk
down the stairs. I feel calmer all of a sudden, like I’m
floating outside my body. This can’t be happening. It’s
not real. It’s just a dream.
I find myself standing somehow in front of the door. I
unlock it. I open it. Kit. Riley. Kit. Riley. Which is it?
Kit’s father blinks at me. He’s been crying. His eyes are
red, his cheeks wet. He’s still crying in fact.
‘Jessa,’ Kit’s father says in a husky voice, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Who?’ I hear myself ask. ‘Who is it?’
‘Can I come in?’ he asks, his attention now fixed on my
mom.
‘Who? Who is it?’ I repeat.
My mom’s hands are on my shoulders. She’s trying to
pull me away from the doorway, but I refuse to budge.
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I’m distantly aware that I’ve started crying and a voice in
my head is snapping at me to pull it together, but I can’t.
‘Who?’ I yell.
He closes his eyes as though praying, and when he
opens them it’s disorientating because I see Kit – the same
cobalt blue eyes rimmed at the edges with black.
The blood is pounding in my ears is so loudly I barely
hear the name.
I fall away from the door, reeling backwards as though
he’s slapped me, my brain whirring, struggling to process
what he’s just said. The room spins like a carnival ride
and I find myself on my knees. In the background some-
one is crying. A rough, keening sound as though they’re
being hollowed out with some medieval torture device.
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Kit
When I come to, it takes me a few seconds to piece to-
gether where I am. I stagger blindly to my feet, confused
and lurching like a drunk, aware only distantly of a sting-
ing sharp pain drilling through my side and that my
brain feels like a ten tonne weight rattling loose inside
my skull. An explosion. The pieces start to come together,
fragments of memory jarring loose. A bomb. Oh shit.
Riley!
My ears are ringing, the roar of the blast still echoing
through me. I cough my way through a cloud of dust and
debris towards the door. Riley. Fuck. Where is he? I
stumble frantically towards the gate but nothing remains
of it, only rubble and thick black smoke eerily lit from
behind by the floodlights. For several seconds I just stand
there, coughing, my eyes streaming, trying to understand.
Where’s the gate gone? Where’s Riley gone?
I turn in a circle on the spot. Where the hell is he?
‘Riley?’ I yell.