The Miranda Contract (19 page)

Dan raised his eyebrows, looking down at Miranda’s hand as she shifted gears and accelerated back onto the highway. She caught him smiling, but ignored him and passed the slower traffic, heading out of the city. It didn’t matter which side of the road was the right one, and that’s why she liked double and even the triple lane roads. It was all about the slipstreams, moving ahead like she would back home on her trail rides, navigating her way forward.

“You can stop smiling,” she said, finally. A quick glance at him reassured her that he was going to live. The cuts on his face were almost fully healed. He looked exhausted still, but that wide, white smile was still there. “You told me to drive. Back there, you told me to get us out of the city.”

“I guess,” he said.

“You did.”

“I just expected a bit more jerking around,” he said. She cut him another glance and saw the mock-innocent eyes now.

“Are you flirting with me?” she asked.

“Hell, no,” he shot back, finally looking away from her. He rested his feet on the dashboard, hunched up like a teenager. Miranda enjoyed the shift in atmosphere. Dan was arrogant but he had a lot to learn.

She sighed, easing ahead of another car. The lights of the city were behind them and a calmness spread through her mind. No more of these extraordinary people with their unbearable, convoluted plots. She thought of Sully and her manager. She thought of the fans and the media.

Everyone would be wondering where she was.

“My dad taught me to drive stick,” Miranda said.

Dan shifted his legs. He ran his hand through his hair and raised his eyebrows again.

“I said, my dad taught me to drive stick. Back home,” she said again.

“I thought you’d have a chauffer.”

Idiot. She smiled, despite herself.

“Seriously? I’m not that girl.”

Dan smiled too. He shrugged.

“My dad drove a truck,” Miranda said. “Okay? Deliveries and stuff.”

“Fair call,” Dan said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dan shrugged again.

“Can you stop shrugging?” she asked. “Seriously, can you not do that so much?”

He sat up and picked off the GPS unit from the stolen car’s dash. Short flashes of blue light arced from the device and up along his fingers. Miranda watched them, like little flecks of lightning. They started bright but faded quickly as they vanished up his bare arms. She noticed his eyes were closed. After only a few bursts of electricity, Dan dropped the GPS over his shoulder where it clanged to the floor in the back. Useless.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

She could tell he was about to shrug, but his body straightened and he took in a breath. She watched his chest lift. He seemed like he could go to sleep. Behind them, his grandfather was probably being helped out of the boot of a car, furious as Hell.

“No,” he said.

“Would it hurt me, if I touched you when you did that?”

“You wanna try it?”

Miranda shook her head. The traffic was thinning out. Beyond the lights of the highway, darkness swept across the land. The ocean was out there somewhere, and houses and farms, and normal people.

“Would it?” she asked again.

Dan let his hand slip to the gear stick. His bare skin lay warm against her own. It was a normal kind of touch and she surprised herself when she didn’t flinch. He strummed his fingers and she slipped her hand around his, squeezing it gently.

“Thanks for saving me,” she said softly.

A sound escaped his mouth, something like a half-laugh, but his breathing had slowed. He squeezed her hand back, but said nothing.

Chapter 27

Dan

T
he sounds of
the highway were well behind them, muffled by the rain and distant rumblings of thunder. Dan knew the storm would hit soon. He could feel the fury building across the bay behind him, hidden by the trees and the darkness of night. Ahead of him, Miranda held her shoes by her side as she walked barefoot towards the light of the house. Her pace hadn’t changed at all, despite the mud and uneven road surface. She hadn’t really said anything since leaving the car. Dan followed behind her.

The house was his house. Once upon a time.

Miranda stopped at the gate and looked around, pushing the strands of wet hair out of her eyes. Dan looked past her to the house. He could only see the one light on, the one in the laundry, but he knew she was home. The garden either side of the path was wild with herbs and discarded junk. He was embarrassed by the sprawl and hurried past Miranda, striding towards the door and hoping the whole night would hurry up and move on.

He rapped on the security door.

Eyes closed, he waited. How many times had he tried to get away from this place, he wondered. How many times had he dreamed of running away, of pretending to be someone else, living a normal life?

Miranda stood behind him, off to the side, looking out to the paddocks which were eventually consumed by the night. She still clung to her shoes and every now and then she sniffed.

“I’m sorry,” Dan said softly.

The door opened with the sliding of bolts and clicking of locks. Dan stepped back, the porch light suddenly all around them.

She was surprised to see him of course. It was 2am and his face was bruised and bloody, his clothes drenched with rain. A normal mother would have pulled him inside, full of questions and touching. But Theresa wasn’t a normal anything.

Instead, she stayed hidden behind the security door, slightly back as if he would lunge at her or try to force himself inside. They both remembered years ago when he thundered his way out, while she grabbed at him to stay.

Things had changed since then.

“Mum, I need to stay for a while.”

Her eyes showed the whites. Her fingers, blue and creased with age, wrapped around the edge of the frame, but she made no effort to open the security door. There was no sign of the Theresa from earlier in the week, no sign that she saw him as anything other than a threat.

Dan wanted her to remember. He felt exhausted, felt desperate for her to shake off her cyclic manic-depression, to wake up from her medicated torpor.

“I really need some help,” he said and sniffed. “Please?”

He could feel himself losing control, the weight of the night crushing his throat so he couldn’t talk anymore. And the tears were coming too, even though he’d promised himself never to come back, never to ask for help from her again.

Dan suddenly slammed his hands against the wire mesh of the door, shocking his mother back inside in a flurry of locks and muttered prayers. He whipped around and walked back to the path, his face down, not daring to look at Miranda. She followed him around the edge of the house through clumps of weeds and lavender and other plants that were wet and heavy.

He came to a window and reached up, feeling the edges. He pulled out a strip of metal, shining in the moonlight, and slotted it into the edge of the window. He moved quickly, with practiced ease. The metal lifted the latch on the inside and he pushed the window up, breathing out finally, a mist forming in the night.

“Was that your mom?” Miranda asked.

Dan nodded, wiping his face with his sleeve, wet against wet.

“Let’s get inside,” he said, and waved her over closer. “Put your foot up here. Watch the edges.”

She stepped up into Dan’s linked hands and reached her fingers over the window edge. He lifted her up a bit and she scrambled inside, feeling her way into the dark room, first onto a desk by the window and then carefully to the floor. Dan followed after her, scraping his already damaged hand as he scuttled inside.

Shaking the hand, he muttered under his breath and walked to the other side of the room, flicking on the light switch. He stood by the door, relaxing a little as the light showed up the bedroom which hadn’t changed. Behind the door he could hear the sounds of his mother as she moved like a ghost around the house, but out of the rain and surrounded so suddenly by the reminders of his childhood, he switched off caring about his mother.

Miranda dropped her shoes on the desk and pulled at her wet hair, straightening it while she looked around the room. They both glanced at the posters, the scattered action figures, frozen in a battle that would never be completed. There was a layer of dust everywhere and Dan wondered if anyone had been in the room since he had left.

“Yours?” Miranda asked, as she picked up the guitar leaning against the end of his bed. She sat down and studied the strings, tightening one, then another, her face full of concentration. Her fingers moved like they owned the instrument, and in a way Dan’s never had.

She smiled then, and put the guitar down on the bed.

“You’re not as cynical as you pretend to be, Dan,” she said, and stood up, looking around some more. “I like your room.”

“Thanks,” Dan said.

“Can I borrow your shirt?”

She picked up a shirt from the back of his chair and pulled at her wet top. Dan looked down at his own clothes and smiled. He had left home at fourteen but he figured his old clothes would fit her.

“Help yourself,” he said, and then stepped back to the window, kicking off his wet shoes and pulling at his socks. “I’ll just … uh … check the window while you get changed.”

She laughed, and Dan smiled, despite feeling like an idiot. He pressed his forehead to the cold window pane and looked outside. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Miranda’s reflection in the window. He knew he should turn away or close his eyes, but he didn’t. And watching her change made him feel a little at peace.

“Come here.”

Dan turned around and looked at her sitting on the bed. She wore a white t-shirt and track pants and sat cross-legged, eyes down, tuning the guitar.

When he sat down on the edge, she passed it to him.

“What?”

“Play me something,” she said.

Dan shook his head and passed it back, but she folded her arms and refused to take it. He felt awkward holding it out to her, and the way she smelled, the way she looked at him, the way everything seemed to shout at him to seize the opportunity, made Dan move next to her, like he was being reeled in. He pulled his legs up and sat across from her, like two school children, Indian style. His mind tried to lock on to a song, one he wouldn’t mess up.

“I can’t.”

He shifted the guitar to the side and looked at his hands. The bandage he’d managed to wrap around his right hand was wet and dirty. The tips of the hand were still red. No matter how much he wanted to pretend they were sharing a moment, Dan knew it was just a dream. Reality was a psychotic grandfather and a showdown in the morning.

“I don’t remember anything,” he said.

And he wished it was true.

The guitar moved back to Miranda and he realized he was holding his breath.

Miranda’s voice was light as she sang softly. It floated in the space between them. Just a word, followed by another. But so much more.

The chords melted with her voice as the words of Janis Joplin materialized. She kept her eyes down, singing to the strings, and although her voice remained low the power behind them was undeniable. Dan reached out and touched her knee as she shifted into the chorus. Her head lifted eventually, their eyes met, and she stopped singing, although her fingers continued the music.

“That’s cool,” he said. She gave him a mocking smile and wound up the song, wiggling a little as she moved to put the guitar away, dislodging Dan’s hand.

“Cool?”

“No, I meant that was… you know, beautiful.”

“But you hate my music.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I was a bit…”

“Maybe you don’t know what you like,” she finished for him. “One day I’m going to sing something of my own, you know. Right now I’ve got everything, you’ve said it yourself. But the songs aren’t mine.”

“You should sing like that, like you just did.”

“Maybe you should sing,” she countered. “I know you used to.”

“I can’t.”

“You won’t.”

He knew she was right. She knew she was right.

“So my mum is kind of insane,” Dan said, smiling to distract.

Miranda shrugged.

“What about your mum? Does she put heaps of pressure on you, lives her life through you? I bet you’ve got some stories to tell.”

“No,” she said simply, her gaze still locked on Dan’s, daring him to answer her.

“Oh, right,” Dan said, unsure of how to untangle himself. “It’s getting late.”

She shrugged again.

“What?”

“Who are you supposed to be?” she asked.

“You’ve asked me that before. Hell, you’ve seen me in action, seen my psycho family, what more can there be?”

“When are you going to do something for yourself?”

He wasn’t sure if she was being serious. She wasn’t smiling, but she worked in show business, knew how to act and play the audience.

“Serious, you want me to be selfish?” Dan laughed. “All my life people’ve said I’m selfish. Are you kidding? I always do things for myself.”

He went to stand up but she reached out and took his wrist.

“What do you want right now?” she asked.

The lights flickered and Dan felt a tremor through the electrical network as lightning struck a router box a few miles away. Thunder rolled across the bay.

“I’m not going to kiss you, if that’s what you mean,” Dan said, laughing in the lightly strobing light. She didn’t blink. She watched him, took him in, and he wanted to stop everything, right there.

“Oh thank God,” she said finally, releasing him. She rapped him on the shoulder with her fist as the lights steadied. He winced in mock pain.

They sat silently on the bed, just breathing.

Dan found himself pushing his mind outward, searching the grid absently, dulling his other senses, trying to distance himself.

“You can though,” she said, refusing to let Dan wander off. “If you want.”

She didn’t look like the pop princess. There was no glamor, just honesty. Dan rubbed his shoulder. Torn.

“Ah, you’re Miranda Brody,” he said finally, and he felt a little removed, like he’d suddenly gotten older. “Even I know you’re way, way out of my league.”

She looked hurt, her jaw moved a little, but she kept her eyes on him.

“I’m just a girl.”

“You’re not just a girl,” Dan said slowly. “And I’m not just a boy.”

He looked away and stood up.

Miranda scooted up the bed and turned her back to him as she lay down. She put her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. Dan stood with his hands across his chest, trying to work out what he was supposed to do.

“You’ll be here, won’t you?” she asked. “All night?”

“Yeah,” he said softly.

“Don’t let the bad guys get us, Dan.”

He breathed out. She seemed so far away from him now. He stepped to the door, turned off the lights.

“I won’t.”

Of course he couldn’t sleep.

The electricity was shooting around his body, intertwined with his nervous system, making him twitch if he stayed still for too long, and generally keeping him on edge. Since cracking the restraining cuff he had been holding on to as much energy as he could siphon, just in case he needed to let loose at whoever would come after them next. But the energy was rogue, too erratic and pulled from too many sources, not all of them of equal quality or power. He felt like he had gorged himself on junk food: seedy, full but not satisfied.

And there was only one way to purge his system and start afresh.

Outside his bedroom window, Dan could hear the distant roll of the ocean. It was dark out there, and cold and a storm was coming. He should stay there, inside, but he knew he wouldn’t.

Miranda slept. She had her knees drawn up slightly and hugged his pillow to her chest. Dan caught himself watching the way her lips were parted, the way her shoulders lifted and dropped with a steady rhythm. She was alive and that was good. She needed him and that was good too.

With a sigh he turned to the door and tested the handle. It was locked. Whatever happened on the other side, Miranda would be safe. He remembered the nights of his past in that room, a small sanctuary tacked on to a mad house. His mother lost it finally, terribly, after he was arrested. For his whole life she was on a precipice, teetering between a normal life and the absurd. Blue skin wouldn’t have helped, of course, and being a single mother complicated things further. She hid herself away and reluctantly pushed him out to school when it was time. He knew it was only because the police had come around and told her that she couldn’t keep him at home forever. They were nice about it, but the uniforms and the flash of official badges had sent her into a spin.

But that was the past.

It was time for Dan to let all of that fall aside. The present was more important. He checked the door again and grabbed a beach towel which hung on the back of the door. A wetsuit would have been better, but even if his steamer was still in the wardrobe it would have been too small.