went way out of the city, to an ATM in a suburb I hardly knew. I withdrew some of my savings. If the police traced the withdrawal, they’d think I was hiding there instead.
I looked around and saw a police car cruising down the street. Instinctively I jumped into a doorway, waiting for it to pass. Eventually the police car sped up and left, and I kept walking.
All the way back on the bus, I worried about Mum and my sister. I wondered how much longer I could live like this.
17 JANUARY
349 days to go …
Twice, street people—a couple of old drunks and later a man and woman with gaunt faces—had tried to break in, but I’d replaced the boards on the side window by nailing them from the inside using half a brick and some old nails I found in a jar. The back door still had a sliding bolt that I used to lock it up. If necessary, I could make a quick getaway by crawling through the hole in the floorboards to under the house. I’d also found a piece of carpet to pull over the hole.
My shoulder was still sore, but the gash on the back of my hand had become a dark pink scar by now. Sometimes I’d look at it and remember that night out on Treachery Bay. It seemed like months ago now, but if I could get through that night OK, I could get through this.
I’d bought hair gel, transfer tattoos, scissors and some fake piercing studs. By the crackedand blistered mirror in what was left of the bathroom, I hacked at my hair, shortening it and plastering it down. I smoothed the temporary tatts onto my forearms and stuck the fake studs on—one just under my lower lip and the other on my left eyebrow. I’d already lost a bit of weight and when I finally checked my reflection, I didn’t look much like the kid in the newspaper anymore.
I stared at the unfamiliar image in the mirror. I felt lonely and miserable and so angry that Mum believed I could have hurt Gabbi. I had to try and convince her of my innocence. I turned on my mobile and called her.
‘Mum?’
‘Cal! Where have you been? What are you doing? For God’s sake come home!’
‘I can’t, Mum. It’s too dangerous for me. And I don’t just mean the cops.’
‘Just come home! I’ve been going out of my mind with worry about you. Where are you? Where are you staying? Who’s looking after you?’
‘It’s OK, Mum. I’m taking good care of myself. Please don’t worry. Look, let’s get this straight right now. I came home and I found Uncle Rafe unconscious and Gabbi not breathing. I didn’t touch either of them.’
‘Cal, Rafe heard your voice. Gabbi was screaming out, “No! Cal! Please, Cal, don’t!” Those were the last words she said before we lost her to the coma.’
My mother’s voice trembled, and before bursting into inconsolable tears, she whispered to me, ‘And the police found your fingerprints on the gun, Cal.’
Frightening images of the last few days began to flash across my mind like an out of control torture slideshow. Storms, sharks, Memorial Park, the thick weave of the sack over my eyes, the angel, the crazy guy, the cemetery vault, Gabbi lifeless on the floor, the blue-black steeliness of the gun … Rafe’s gun.
‘What gun!’ I demanded. ‘Stop crying and tell me what you’re talking about?’ I shouted at my sobbing mother.
She seemed shocked at my tone and her sobbing slowed.
‘Cal, your uncle was shot,’ she said in a serious and slow voice. ‘The gun was left behind. It has your prints all over it.’
‘That was Rafe’s gun! I found it at his place the other day when I went looking for my mail.’
‘You mean you broke into Rafe’s house?’ mymum said in exhausted disbelief. She inhaled and exhaled loudly.
‘I had to! To get the drawings! He lied to you, Mum. The envelope was for me!’
‘Cal …’ my mum sighed.
‘I found the gun in his drawer,’ I said, ‘and he came back for it when he was supposed to be out with you at the solicitor’s! Where would I get a gun from, Mum? Think about it! You
I looked around and saw a police car cruising down the street. Instinctively I jumped into a doorway, waiting for it to pass. Eventually the police car sped up and left, and I kept walking.
All the way back on the bus, I worried about Mum and my sister. I wondered how much longer I could live like this.
17 JANUARY
349 days to go …
Twice, street people—a couple of old drunks and later a man and woman with gaunt faces—had tried to break in, but I’d replaced the boards on the side window by nailing them from the inside using half a brick and some old nails I found in a jar. The back door still had a sliding bolt that I used to lock it up. If necessary, I could make a quick getaway by crawling through the hole in the floorboards to under the house. I’d also found a piece of carpet to pull over the hole.
My shoulder was still sore, but the gash on the back of my hand had become a dark pink scar by now. Sometimes I’d look at it and remember that night out on Treachery Bay. It seemed like months ago now, but if I could get through that night OK, I could get through this.
I’d bought hair gel, transfer tattoos, scissors and some fake piercing studs. By the crackedand blistered mirror in what was left of the bathroom, I hacked at my hair, shortening it and plastering it down. I smoothed the temporary tatts onto my forearms and stuck the fake studs on—one just under my lower lip and the other on my left eyebrow. I’d already lost a bit of weight and when I finally checked my reflection, I didn’t look much like the kid in the newspaper anymore.
I stared at the unfamiliar image in the mirror. I felt lonely and miserable and so angry that Mum believed I could have hurt Gabbi. I had to try and convince her of my innocence. I turned on my mobile and called her.
‘Mum?’
‘Cal! Where have you been? What are you doing? For God’s sake come home!’
‘I can’t, Mum. It’s too dangerous for me. And I don’t just mean the cops.’
‘Just come home! I’ve been going out of my mind with worry about you. Where are you? Where are you staying? Who’s looking after you?’
‘It’s OK, Mum. I’m taking good care of myself. Please don’t worry. Look, let’s get this straight right now. I came home and I found Uncle Rafe unconscious and Gabbi not breathing. I didn’t touch either of them.’
‘Cal, Rafe heard your voice. Gabbi was screaming out, “No! Cal! Please, Cal, don’t!” Those were the last words she said before we lost her to the coma.’
My mother’s voice trembled, and before bursting into inconsolable tears, she whispered to me, ‘And the police found your fingerprints on the gun, Cal.’
Frightening images of the last few days began to flash across my mind like an out of control torture slideshow. Storms, sharks, Memorial Park, the thick weave of the sack over my eyes, the angel, the crazy guy, the cemetery vault, Gabbi lifeless on the floor, the blue-black steeliness of the gun … Rafe’s gun.
‘What gun!’ I demanded. ‘Stop crying and tell me what you’re talking about?’ I shouted at my sobbing mother.
She seemed shocked at my tone and her sobbing slowed.
‘Cal, your uncle was shot,’ she said in a serious and slow voice. ‘The gun was left behind. It has your prints all over it.’
‘That was Rafe’s gun! I found it at his place the other day when I went looking for my mail.’
‘You mean you broke into Rafe’s house?’ mymum said in exhausted disbelief. She inhaled and exhaled loudly.
‘I had to! To get the drawings! He lied to you, Mum. The envelope was for me!’
‘Cal …’ my mum sighed.
‘I found the gun in his drawer,’ I said, ‘and he came back for it when he was supposed to be out with you at the solicitor’s! Where would I get a gun from, Mum? Think about it! You
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