The Sister (83 page)

The sound of his mother's voice drew him back.

Don't go any further, Bruce!

Miller opened his eyes; the glare forced him to shut them again. Blinking, he tried to sit up.

"Don't . . ." Stella leaned over and restrained him with light fingertips against his chest. "You almost died, you need to rest."

His voice lodged in the dryness of his throat and failed. He swallowed hard and winced at the soreness in his chest. Confused, he pinched at the skin of his thigh beneath the bedclothes. Not entirely satisfied he wasn't in the throes of some elaborate dream he'd concocted to fool himself into thinking he was still alive; he pinched again, this time harder.

Noticing the movement under the covers, she said, "What are you doing under there?"

"Just checking to see if I'm still alive…" The last jumbled remnants of his memory jostled to make sense. "But how . . . how long have I been here?"

"Since yesterday," she said.

"What happened to Kathy?"

"You saved her."

Almost overcome with relief, voice barely above a whisper, he said, "I did? Thank God…"

"Yes, you did. I thought you told me you couldn't swim."

He frowned and said, "I can't."

"Well, you did a good job of pretending you could when you swam—"

"Whoa, I did not swim," he insisted, concentration knitting his brow as he collected his thoughts. "I bounced along the bottom, and then pushed her up out of the water, that's what happened. I didn't swim!"

"But you
did
, you were struggling on your back with one arm round her, holding her head clear. Don't you remember? You got her as near to the shore as you could, then you both went under. You must have panicked. I don't know how you did it. You propelled her up out of the water - a guy in a boat grabbed her, but then you went under again. You were gone for ages. When help arrived, they found you half out of the water in the reeds on the other side, unconscious. If you didn't swim, how did you get there?"

"I don't remember exactly." A shape, a form, just before he'd let go in the murky waters… A flashbulb went off in his memory -
The bright copper coloured hair . . . No, it couldn't have been. That would be crazy.

"I think you're mistaken about what happened," he said.

"Still in denial, eh?"

He changed the subject. "Where's Kathy? Is she here, in the hospital?"

"No, she isn't, as I was coming down the hill; a four wheel drive with blacked out windows came past on a fire road; they'd almost caught you up before you went in," she poured herself a plastic cup full of water. "As soon as Kathy was out, they resuscitated her and took her with them."

"Who did?"

"The Sister and a younger woman, I'm guessing her daughter."

"Where was I?"

"You were still in the water. By that time, the emergency services were coming down the fire road. I think they just wanted to get out before anyone challenged what they were doing."

"You saw her?"

"Yes, I recognised her from Ryan's funeral," she looked at Miller, and paused, as if considering the credibility of her next statement. "I didn't try to stop them taking her. I know this probably sounds odd, but I just felt everything would be all right."

"It will be. She's like the last survivor of a forgotten tribe . . ." Miller's voice trailed off as his thoughts caught up. "I often wonder why it is that God made such people. Was it by design, or accident?"

"You're getting too deep for me now. Come on, you need to rest," she said. Picking up her bag, she stood, ready to leave.

"Wait, she – they – Tanner and
Marshall, what's happening about that? They must have said something about Kathy?" he asked.

"I telephoned
Marshall and asked if we could extend the paperwork to cover a few more days and after I'd told him she was responding very well to being with us, he agreed."

His thoughts touched on Tanner. If
Marshall had agreed to a few more days, he might not like it, but he couldn't object.

Miller sighed, "I'm so tired; I could sleep for a week, but at least we know she's in good hands."

"I'll leave you to get some rest. I'll be back later." She took no more than six paces and stopped, delving into her handbag. "Oh, by the way . . . they gave me this." She held out a clear, sealed plastic wallet.

"What is it?" he said, raising himself onto an elbow.

"They told me you were holding it so tightly in your hand that they had to prise it from you." She patted his arm. "I'll leave you to it."

Mystified, he took the bag and held it up in front of him. Something inside was wrapped in tissue paper. His forehead creased in puzzlement, as he pulled the seal apart and reached in to retrieve the object. Placing it on the bedclothes in front of him, he slowly stripped the thick layers away. An edge exposed; he hardly dared to conceive its meaning, his heart hammered, expectant.
What?
Feverish, his fingers tore at the rest of the paper, setting the object free. Joy and confusion mixed with surprise when he realised what it meant. His face lit with wonderment, and he beamed as he held it, felt its curve against the inside of his palm.

It was his seashell.

The meaning of many things he'd never understood before became clear. He'd cheated death so many times. Now, what Kirk had said to him once summed it up perfectly.
I escaped, but I never got away.

"Kirk, old friend," he whispered. "Maybe that's so. Maybe I'm not
meant
to get away. Maybe this is my life; only ever a heartbeat away from dying. Maybe I haven't escaped, but I have bought myself some more time.

An hour later, he discharged himself from the hospital.

The jangling sound of a telephone infiltrated his dream, louder and louder, until finally he sat up, exasperated at the thought that a dream phone call could wake him. His mobile buzzed almost immediately, spinning in a clockwise arc on the bedside table. The caller display told him it was Tanner; he disconnected the call. It immediately rang again.

"Yes!" he barked and was met with silence. He checked the display. It wasn't Tanner. He softened his voice. "Sister . . . Is that you?"

"No, it's Rosetta. I'm coming to collect you. Bring Kathy's sister. It's time to set things right."

"How is she, Kathy?"

"She's better. I'll see you soon."

Stella's hotel room was opposite his. He knocked on the door.
Come on!

A two inch gap opened; the frown on her face disappeared when she saw it was him. Her was hair turbaned in a towel and she checked it was securely wrapped before stepping back to allow him into the room.

"Are you coming in? I have to warn you, the house is a mess—"

"Stella, Rosetta is on her way to pick us up to see Kathy. We need to be ready."

"I'll race you," she said and shut the door.

With just enough time to freshen up, pack and ping a quick email to Carla, he checked his watch.
No way would she beat him.
He turned on the shower.

Using his phone, he drafted an email and pressed the send button.

Hi, just touching base I haven't heard from you for a while. I won't call you in case you're spying on someone, ha ha. Ring me this evening.

Miller.

He debated on whether to add an 'x', and decided not. As he pressed the send button, there was a knock. Throwing the last of his belongings into a small carrier bag, he opened the door.

Stella had beaten him in getting ready. She looked immaculate in the clothes she'd been wearing the day before; hair tucked up into a silken scarf; make-up faultlessly applied.

"How did you…?"

"When I have to get going, I don't mess about. Unlike some," she grinned.

An hour later, they were on the road. The trip didn't seem to take anywhere near as long as Miller's blindfolded journey.

"You decided you can trust us enough not to tell anyone where you live then?"

Rosetta glanced sideways at him. "It was never a question of trust. What you don't know, you can't tell anyone else. After this, we are moving on, so it really doesn't matter."

Miller looked at Stella, turned down one corner of his mouth and shrugged his shoulders. She mirrored his gestures and raised an eyebrow.

Rosetta smiled, crinkling her eyes, and met Stella's gaze in the rear-view mirror. "Your sister is so much better . . ." she said.

"It would be a miracle if that were true."

Rosetta's eyes came back from the road to the mirror again, still smiling. "Oh, ye of little faith . . ."

Open heath gave way to woods and then forest; where the sun streamed flickering beams through passing trees; light and dark strobed in and out in equal measure. Miller, drawn by the rhythm into abstract thought, glanced at Stella. She appeared to be sleeping. He closed his eyes.

Rosetta slowed, and without indicating, turned from the road into a narrow lane. Deeper into the woods the density of the trees increased, closing up their leafy overhead canopies until the sky could be seen no more. Gloominess prevailed. The uneven road bounced and jarred him from his daydream. Miller opened his eyes. Stella stretched her arms wide, fists clenched and shivered. Guessing they were close, she remained silent, contemplating. A narrow gap in the earthen bank presented itself, and Rosetta turned into it. Ahead, the track led out into the sunshine.

"How does the postman find you?" he laughed.

"Nobody finds us. We have no need of mail delivery. What we send, we deliver ourselves, one way or another." Her eyes blinked at the sudden increase in brightness. "And what we need, we collect."

Tyres crunched over gravel as she slowed, wildflowers and weeds, overgrown and undisturbed by traffic, brushed against both sides of the car with a gentle rasp.

Around a long slow bend, nestled among a copse of trees, a house came into view. With walls of stone and leaded windows, under a heavy slate roof, it was an oasis of civilisation amongst the wilds, its gardens neat and clipped. A flash of light reflected from a lower window, dazzling him. Vision blurred; he leaned back into the seat to avoid the glare, and watched his own arrival in his mind's eye. He sat forward with a start. On the cusp, understanding lingered at the edge of his consciousness, as elusive as the shadows that had dogged him all his life.
Pusty umysl.
He cleared it all from his mind.

The car drew to a halt. Miller appeared to be in a trance. Stella glanced at him and waved a hand before his eyes. He was gone, yet still he followed Rosetta, in through the front door, past the lobby into the hall. At the first door on the left hand side, she turned to Stella and said, "Sit in there, please."

"Is he all right, Rosetta?"

"He'll be fine," she said and smiling reassurance, led Miller down the narrow passageway towards the last door on the right as she'd done before. At the end of the corridor, brilliant light shone through the window and fuzzed his vision. Kaleidoscope colours preceded Sister's appearance in the doorway. As he advanced towards her, his viewpoint switched, and he watched himself coming forwards. Rosetta withdrew from his side, trailing behind. Shadows formed and gathered to the left and right of him. Three dimensional and no longer dark, they emerged from the washed-out watercolour hues of hair and clothes and creamy flesh, becoming lit and exposed in the brightening light, as he neared the window.
Am I seeing through her eyes?

With only two paces remaining between them, his view switched back. The shadows at his shoulders resumed their darkness on the periphery of his vision, but he felt no danger. Her gloved hand extended; she smiled at him.
I know what to do!
Snatching her hand, he gripped her wrist. Eyes flashed. Receding . . . Caught between here and there, he understood at last.
I wasn't controlling the bird that day. She was.

"Where's Kathy?" Stella asked when Rosetta returned.

"She's upstairs, sleeping in the room right above us." She lifted her face to the bowed ceiling.

"How can you be sure? We've only just walked in," Stella said. "And you've been gone at least three quarters of an hour…"

"Oh, Stella, you'll be seeing her soon enough. I think it's best my mother enlightens you."

She fell silent. Intrigued, but reluctant to push for an answer, she changed the subject. "I'd go crazy if I had to live all the way out here, away from it all. Doesn't it drive you mad?"

Rosetta considered the question. "No, not at all, there's always something to do." She indicated a tray in the far corner of the room. "See that?"

"What about it?"

"One of the first things I learned from my mother … you don't need props, but some people like it, if you have them."