The morning in bixbus unfolded with a languid pace, a rare luxury in my often tumultuous life. I had been savouring the tranquility, the simple pleasure of a moment’s peace amidst the chaos that typically surrounded me of late. Yet, such moments were fleeting, always on the brink of being swept away by the relentless tide of duty and destiny. "Shit! I gotta go," the words tumbled out of me as I caught a glimpse of the time on my phone. The device, stubbornly clinging to a reality that no longer matched my own, hadn't adjusted to Clivilius time, but my internal clock screamed urgency, an undeniable sense that I was precariously close to tardiness.
Activating the massive, transparent portal screen was second nature, a routine action that belied the extraordinary nature of stepping between worlds. Leaving Paul behind, I stepped through with a haste born of necessity, the familiar rush of transition enveloping me. The abrupt stop on the other side, a mere hair's breadth from the Owens' living room wall, served as a jarring reminder of the physical realities that awaited at each journey’s end. "I really need to keep that door closed," I chastised myself, the words a muttered reprimand for my carelessness. Securing the door behind me, I closed the portal, a boundary between the mundane and the miraculous.
Stepping out the front door, the world beyond awaited, unchanged by the wonders that lay just beyond its perception. The sight of an unfamiliar ute parked beneath the sprawling canopy of a large gum tree caught my attention, a stark intrusion into the familiar landscape. Its owner, a man named Adrian, presented a study in contrasts—his slim, long-legged frame exuded a casual ease, yet the cigarette dangling from his lips spoke of a nonchalance that felt out of place in the serene morning.
"Hey there, Adrian!" My greeting cut through the morning air, a veneer of cheerfulness plastered over the urgency that pulsed beneath. I offered him a smile and a friendly wave, the universal sign of benign intentions, despite the whirlwind of thoughts churning in my mind. As I descended the front verandah steps, my haste was momentarily arrested by the sight of Gladys, her figure bent in what seemed like a meticulous selection of flowers by the side of the house. The incongruity of the scene struck me—Why the hell is she picking flowers? The question ricocheted through my mind, a puzzling distraction from the task at hand. After a brief moment of scrutiny, confirming that she was indeed engaged in floral procurement, I gave her a cursory hello, pushing her presence to the back of my mind as I focused on the more pressing matter before me.
The ground underfoot felt soft and yielding, a testament to the early morning's dampness, as dark clouds began their slow march across the sky, heralding an impending change. Approaching Adrian, who lingered by his vehicle with a languid detachment, I sensed Gladys quickening her pace to catch up. Her voice, a whisper barely audible above the morning's tranquility, carried a note of caution. "I think he's high as a kite," she confided, her words tinged with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
"Good," I whispered back, the response slipping out almost reflexively. Part of me clung to the hope that Adrian's possibly altered state might render him more receptive, more pliable to the extraordinary revelation that awaited him. The weariness of having to persuade, to coax individuals through the Portal had taken its toll, each journey a negotiation between skepticism and wonder. The thought that a more straightforward, unembellished introduction to Clivilius might suffice danced at the edge of my consciousness. Maybe a more direct approach might work if he's high, I mused silently, the strategy unfolding in my mind like a new path through familiar territory.
This internal dialogue, a constant companion, reflected the dual nature of my existence—always balancing the mundane with the miraculous, the ordinary with the extraordinary. The prospect of guiding someone through the threshold of worlds without the usual dance of disbelief appealed to my sense of efficiency, and perhaps, my growing impatience with the charade that often preceded the crossing. Yet, beneath the pragmatism lay a deeper thread of empathy; understanding the disorientation and awe that awaited Adrian on the other side, I treaded a fine line between manipulation and guidance, ever conscious of the responsibility that my role as a Guardian entailed.
"This isn't your property," Adrian's voice sliced through the air with a clarity that belied his apparent state. As I drew closer, he took a long, deliberate drag on his cigarette, the unmistakable scent of marijuana mingling with the fresh morning air, setting a backdrop that was anything but ordinary. "What am I doing here? Where are the Owens?"
"I..." My attempt to explain was half-hearted, my hand waving in a futile effort to dispel the smoke that seemed to mark the boundaries of our surreal encounter. "The Owens need your help," I managed to say, the words feeling both inadequate and absurd in the context of our meeting.
"My help?" He echoed, skepticism etched into every syllable, the joint pausing at his lips as if punctuating his disbelief.
Glancing back at Gladys, I sought an ally in this increasingly complex tableau. The recent complications with Portal entries, coupled with a growing concern over police scrutiny, cast a shadow over what I had hoped would be a straightforward mission. You don't really need to care. You just need to get him to Clivilius, I coached myself, trying to suppress the rising tide of doubt. Leave no evidence behind, and everything will be fine.
Gladys's noncommittal shrug was less than reassuring, her indifference momentarily amplifying my sense of isolation in this endeavour. Good use you are, I chastised her silently, the sarcasm lost in the unspoken void between us.
Facing Adrian again, I steadied my resolve. "This is going to sound a little crazy, but we're all grown adults here, and I'm fairly confident you can handle the truth." The words, once spoken, felt like a leap into the unknown, an invitation to cross the threshold of belief and skepticism.
Adrian's response, a cough muffled by the haze of his exhale, was tinged with a cynical amusement. "You and your weird girlfriend here are the ones asking me to meet you on someone else's property, and you want to talk to me about truth." His words, sharpened by the irony of our situation, underscored the absurdity of our predicament.
"Girlfriend?" The question slipped out, my confusion momentarily redirecting the conversation. The thought of Gladys being mistaken for anything other than a reluctant accomplice was almost comical, a misunderstanding that under different circumstances might have been amusing.
"Just show him the Portal," Gladys interjected, cutting through the haze of confusion and redirecting my focus to the task at hand.
Adrian's skeptical gaze, the peculiar juxtaposition of his casual drug use against the backdrop of an extraordinary revelation, and Gladys's impulsive suggestion coalesced into a moment teetering on the brink of the surreal. As the concept of revealing the Portal to Adrian loomed before me, the weight of the decision pressed heavily. The simplicity of her suggestion, to just show him the Portal, was both a solution and a leap into the vast unknown of consequence and reaction. This moment, suspended between the ordinary and the extraordinary, was a testament to the tightrope I walked as a Guardian, constantly navigating the fine line between secrecy and disclosure in a world that was never quite ready for the truth of what lay beyond.
With every ticking second, my patience thinned, the luxury of contemplation a distant memory. Determined, I led the way to the small shed, a sense of finality propelling my steps. The weight of the Portal Key in my pocket felt heavier than before, a tangible reminder of the worlds that lay beyond the mundane. Adrian, curiosity piqued or perhaps just bemused, trailed behind me. As I retrieved the key, the shed's nondescript side transformed, alive with buzzing, swirling colours—a spectacle that defied the dreariness of our surroundings. "That's where the Owens are," I announced, attempting to lace my voice with a casual authority that I hoped would mask the absurdity of the situation.
"Fuck me!" Adrian's exclamation, punctuated by the near loss of his joint, was a mix of shock and disbelief. His words, "I know I'm a little high, but it's not a fucking psychedelic," betrayed a skepticism that no amount of marijuana could dull. The reality of the Portal, so vivid and undeniable, clashed violently with the everyday logic we all cling to.
"I need you to walk through that and help them with a small building job. It won't take very long," I found myself lying, the words tasting of desperation. "They've already got all the materials. They just need your skills." The fabrication, necessary though it felt, left a bitter residue, a stark contrast to the truth that lay just beyond the colourful vortex.
"You must think I'm a fucking nutter," Adrian retorted, his disbelief morphing into a defensive retreat. Watching him hasten to his ute, a sense of failure washed over me, a tide of frustration and self-reproach. My heart sank, the futility of the situation laying bare the folly of my approach. What a bloody stupid idea this was, I berated myself, the silent curse a testament to my miscalculation.
"Adrian! Wait!" The urgency in my voice was real as I chased after him, a last-ditch effort to salvage the situation. But the finality of the ute's door slamming shut, a barrier as definitive as any portal, marked the collapse of my plan.
The engine's roar was a harsh goodbye, a sound that seemed to echo my own turmoil. As Adrian wound down the window, his parting words, "But I think you two are the fucking whack jobs!" hung in the air, a judgment that, in the moment, felt like an unassailable verdict on our entire endeavour.
Shouting a frustrated "Shit!" into the void left by Adrian's departure, I spun to face Gladys, my emotions a tempest of irritation and disbelief. Her immediate reaction, a blend of accusation and confusion, only served to fan the flames of my frustration. "What the hell just happened!? I thought you knew what you were doing,” she blurted, her words sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife.
"Fuck off, Gladys! I'm not perfect," I growled back, the heat of my frustration boiling over. I began pacing in tight, aimless circles. Each step was a futile attempt to walk off the anger and the embarrassment, to somehow distance myself from the debacle we had just created.
"What do we do now?" Gladys's voice, tinged with concern, penetrated my storm of thoughts. "Do you think he'll tell anybody about what he saw?" Her question, valid and fraught with implications, momentarily halted my pacing.
"Doubt it. He already thinks we're crazy. He'll likely rationalise it as just a hallucination of sorts," I reasoned, attempting to convince both Gladys and myself. The hope that Adrian's disbelief in what he had witnessed would serve as a safeguard, that the extraordinary nature of the Portal would be dismissed as a product of his intoxicated state, was a thin thread of reassurance.
"So we just let him go, then?" Her question hung in the air, a verbal mirror reflecting the gravity of our situation.
My circling resumed, a physical echo of the mental gymnastics I was performing as I weighed our options. The implications of letting Adrian go, the potential risks to the camp, the Shadow Panthers, and Duke, began to pile up, each consideration adding to the weight on my shoulders. My eyes stung, a physical response to the stress and the strain of the moment. Abruptly, I stopped, a decision crystallising amidst the whirlwind of my thoughts. "No," I said flatly, the word cutting through the uncertainty. "We're going after him."
"We are?" Gladys's voice was a mix of surprise and apprehension.
"Come with me, Gladys. You're driving," I instructed, the command leaving no room for debate. My stride toward her car was purposeful, each step fuelled by a newfound resolve. The decision to pursue Adrian, to rectify the misstep, was born not just from a desire to protect the secrets of the Portal and those who relied on it but from a deeper sense of responsibility for the repercussions of my actions.
As we pursued Adrian's ute, Jamie’s aversion to being a passenger in Gladys’ car suddenly seemed prophetic. The car’s interior became a capsule of tension, my grip on the seatbelt a testament to the unease that Jamie had often expressed. Each jerk and swerve under Gladys’s unpredictable driving style sent a silent prayer for safety coursing through my mind. The imaginary brake pedals beneath my feet, my desperate wish for control, bore the brunt of my anxiety as we hurtled down the road.
Catching a glimpse of Adrian’s vehicle ahead brought a fleeting sense of victory, the quiet roads and his unexpected adherence to the speed limit momentarily aligning with our pursuit. However, this feeling of triumph was ephemeral. As if sensing our approach, Adrian pressed on the accelerator, his vehicle pulling away with a defiance that echoed my escalating worry.
"He's going left," I found myself directing Gladys, my voice tinged with urgency as I pointed towards Adrian’s ute veering towards the highway. The blink of his indicator was like a beacon, guiding us yet warning of the unpredictability of his actions. "Keep following him,” I urged, my resolve hardening despite the gnawing concern for what lay ahead.
Gladys, with a nod, shifted us into the left lane, her movements precise yet fraught with the same tension that gripped me. I braced against the door, the solidity of the car’s frame offering a scant sense of security as we merged onto the bustling highway. The sight of Adrian’s swerving ute, a dance of danger on the asphalt, heightened my apprehension. His reckless proximity to a 4WD in the adjacent lane, a near-miss that drew a profane rebuke from its passenger, was a jarring reminder of the potential consequences of our chase.
"Maybe we should stop," the suggestion escaped my lips before I could fully grasp the weight of it. The pursuit, driven by a need to rectify the situation, was veering into recklessness. Gladys, sensing the urgency in my voice, began to decelerate, her actions a silent agreement to the unspoken risks that loomed with every turn of the wheel.
"Wait!" The urgency in my voice startled Gladys, her reaction instantaneous and drastic. Her foot, heavy on the accelerator, propelled us forward with a jolt that pushed me forcefully into the back of my seat. "Jesus, Gladys!" I exclaimed. However, my irritation quickly faded, replaced by a focused alertness as I noticed Adrian's vehicle slowing down. "He's pulling over," I pointed out, redirecting Gladys's attention.
As we eased the car to the side of the road, trailing behind Adrian's ute, I couldn't help but glance upwards at the sky. The dark storm clouds, now ominously close, seemed to mirror the brewing tension below. "Stay in the car," I instructed Gladys, my voice firm, leaving no room for discussion. The atmosphere was charged, a thunderous clap resounding above us as if nature itself was bracing for the confrontation to come. "Things are going to get messy," I muttered under my breath, a reluctant acknowledgment of the inevitable clash.
What am I doing? The question echoed in my mind, a moment of self-reflection amidst the escalating situation. Approaching Adrian, especially given his evident agitation, felt like walking into a storm of a different kind. Yet, as I cautiously moved towards his ute, my resolve firmed, driven by a sense of duty that often demanded navigating through uncertainty.
The driver's door swung open abruptly, its sudden movement halting before Adrian could react. I stood frozen for a moment, the flow of traffic on the busy highway a backdrop to the standoff.
Gathering my courage, I prepared to close the distance between us once more. The ute's door creaked open again, this time with a deliberateness that signalled Adrian’s readiness to confront whatever lay ahead. He emerged from the vehicle, his movements embodying controlled aggression. His advance towards me was marked by a wild glare and fists clenched, a clear indication of his readiness for confrontation.
In a desperate attempt to quell the mounting tension, I instinctively raised my hands, palms outward, in a universal gesture of peace. Taking a few cautious steps back, I aimed to establish a buffer between Adrian's palpable anger and my own rapidly fraying nerves. "Hey... Adrian," I started, my voice strained with the effort to sound both calm and authoritative, a delicate balance aimed at defusing the volatile situation.
But any hope of de-escalation was brutally interrupted by the sudden, inexplicable surge of Gladys's car forward. Adrian's face, previously set in a mask of fury, contorted into an expression of utter surprise as he whirled around, his body tensing in a futile attempt to brace for the impending impact. The collision was swift, sending him sprawling onto the bonnet with a thud that echoed my internal outcry: What the fuck, Gladys!?
My mind reeled, unable to voice the shock that gripped me as I witnessed the scene unfold with surreal clarity. Instinct and concern propelled me forward, intent on rushing to Adrian's aid, my heart pounding with the urgency of the moment. Yet, as I scanned the environment for a possible escape route, the realisation that the surroundings offered no viable space for Portal activation anchored me in a mire of frustration and desperation.
Compelled by a mix of duty and panic, I found myself executing an awkward dance of necessity around Adrian, my steps uncertain as I navigated the chaotic aftermath of the crash. My objective became singular—reach the safety of his ute's front seat, a haven amidst the storm of unfolding events.
The sharp knock of my shin against the ute's doorframe elicited a wince, a fleeting acknowledgment of pain that was quickly overshadowed by the urgency to secure myself within the vehicle. Clambering inside, I slammed the door shut with a force that betrayed my inner turmoil, hastily engaging the lock as if it could shield me from the consequences of our actions.
Seated behind the wheel, I found myself momentarily frozen, the echo of my own question ricocheting through the confines of the ute: What the fuck am I doing? The breath that left me was heavy, a mix of disbelief and resignation as I grappled with the surreal nature of my actions. The logical part of my mind seemed to recede, giving way to a primal instinct for survival and protection. My fingers, trembling slightly, found the keys that Adrian had conveniently left in the ignition. With a turn, the ute roared to life, a mechanical heartbeat that pulsed in tandem with my own racing pulse.
The sudden, violent rattling of the door handle, followed by a hard thump against the window, jolted me from my frenzied thoughts. My heart skipped a beat, fear and surprise intermingling at the resilience of the glass. Adrian’s face, pressed close to the window, his eyes clouded with anger and confusion, was a stark reminder of the reality I had thrust us both into. My rational mind, seemingly adrift from my more primal instincts, dumbly motioned him towards the passenger side, as if this simple gesture could somehow diffuse the volatile situation we found ourselves embroiled in.
The passenger door burst open with a jarring creak, Adrian’s forceful entry breaking the tense silence. "Get the fuck out of my ute!" His command, fierce and filled with a raw energy, nearly propelled him onto the seat beside me as he reached in with determined hands. The air was thick with the weight of his demand, his presence an undeniable force that demanded compliance.
But I was not about to yield, not to the threat of violence nor to the fear that gnawed at the edges of my resolve. My foot, almost of its own accord, slammed down on the accelerator, a desperate bid for escape, for control over an increasingly uncontrollable situation. Adrian, caught off guard by the sudden movement, scrambled to secure himself inside the vehicle, his expletives a harsh soundtrack to our frantic departure.
As I steered the ute onto the highway, the closeness of an oncoming vehicle, its horn blaring a warning, underscored the peril of our escape. The stakes were higher than ever, each decision a gamble, each turn of the wheel a potential disaster.
Yet, amid the turmoil, a small, persistent thought emerged, a beacon in the tumultuous storm of my actions: The Owens. The mission, the purpose behind this madness, refocused my scattered thoughts. Delivering Adrian to Clivilius seemed the only path that made any sense, the only outcome that could possibly justify the risks I was taking.
This realisation, though it came as a whisper amid the cacophony of our escape, was a lifeline. It anchored me, offering a semblance of clarity as I navigated the treacherous road that lay ahead. The Owens’ property represented not just a destination but a responsibility, a duty that I had to fulfil, despite the unforeseen complications Adrian’s resistance presented. In that moment, with the road stretching out before us and the echoes of our confrontation still ringing in the air, I understood the gravity of my role, the weight of the decisions I made, and the lives they affected. The journey to Clivilius was more than a mission; it was a test of resolve, a measure of the lengths to which I would go to protect the balance between worlds, even as I struggled to maintain my own.
“There’s a fucking chopper in the air," Adrian's voice broke through the tension inside the ute, his announcement sending a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through my veins. He wiped his hands across the fogged window, pressing his face against the glass as he tried to discern the shape in the sky through the curtain of relentless rain. His actions, born out of a mix of curiosity and concern, underscored the gravity of our situation, the reality of our predicament crystallising with each beat of the chopper's blades overhead.
My concentration was abruptly divided as my phone erupted into a demanding ring, the sound slicing through the heavy atmosphere within the ute. Snatching it up and activating the speaker, I braced myself for more bad news. "Gladys," I called out, hoping for an ally in this escalating madness.
"We can't go back to the Owens'," her voice was direct, her statement cutting off any plans I had been formulating around that very idea.
"Why not?" I questioned.
"Police are there."
"Shit!" The expletive slipped out, the frustration and desperation tightening its grip on me. "Where do we go then?" I asked, my voice tense as my mind scrambled for alternatives, all the while our separation from the safety of the Owens' property growing with each second.
"The Owens' sounds like a fucking great idea to me," Adrian chimed in, his comment laced with a sarcasm that felt wildly inappropriate given the dire circumstances. His subsequent action of finally securing his seatbelt was a small, but telling, acknowledgment of the seriousness of our predicament.
I barely registered his remark, my focus solely on the road ahead, the weight of our situation bearing down on me. The possibility of a safe haven was slipping through my fingers, and with it, my control over the unfolding events.
"Shit! The police are behind us!" Gladys' voice, now tinged with panic, shattered the tense silence that had settled in the wake of our conversation. Her words were a cold splash of reality, the imminent threat of law enforcement's pursuit adding another layer of complexity to our already fraught endeavour.
The urgent flicker of the police lights and the relentless wail of the siren became a backdrop to our desperate escape as we wove through the labyrinthine roads—Collinsvale Road, then onto Collins Cap Road. It was Gladys who broke through the cacophony of panic with a suggestion that felt like a lifeline thrown in turbulent waters. "Myrtle Forest! Go to Myrtle Forest."
Adrian's immediate protest, "Oh, hell no!" was a gut reaction, his voice laced with fear and defiance. Yet, his objection was a distant echo against the pounding of my heart as I veered onto Springdale Road, executing a sharp turn that looped us back, my mind racing as fast as the ute.
"What am I going to do at Myrtle Forest?" The question burst from me. The panic in my chest mirrored in my voice, a tangible manifestation of the dread tightening its grip on me.
Adrian, caught in his own whirlwind of concern, hissed, "Where're the fucking cops gone?" His eyes darted in every direction, searching for any sign of our pursuers. The brief glimmer of optimism in his voice at the mention of the chopper was now all but gone.
Gladys's delayed response, pointing out the large toilet block at Myrtle Forest as our potential salvation, did little to ease the knot of anxiety in my stomach. My mind raced with the implications of her plan. The realisation that the police might have ceased their chase to prepare road spikes was a problematic consideration. "Shit," I cursed aloud, frustration and fear colliding as I envisioned the possibility of using the toilet block to transport both the ute and Adrian to Clivilius—a desperate measure for a desperate time.
But what about Gladys? The question hammered in my brain, its urgency underscored by the realisation that her options were dwindling fast. "What about you?" The concern in my question was genuine. “Are you coming too?”
Her response was immediate, her voice threaded with terror. "I can't." The finality in her words was a stark reminder of her sacrifices being made in the name of escape.
"There's no time to go back now," I pressed, the panic in my voice spiking. "You'll get caught." The reality of our situation was closing in, the window of opportunity narrowing with each passing second.
"Shit!" Gladys' exclamation was a mirror to my own despair, a shared sentiment in the face of the looming consequences. The weight of the decisions before us, the paths chosen and those forsaken, bore down with a gravity that threatened to suffocate. In that moment, the line between salvation and sacrifice blurred, the fate of each of us hanging in the balance as we hurtled toward an uncertain future.
The ute's tires churned up mud, betraying our hasty arrival into the small carpark of Myrtle Forest. As I slowed, my gaze darted about, desperate to locate the toilet block that was pivotal to my plan. The rattle of the seatbelt buckle from the passenger side punctuated the tension, a reminder of the precariousness of the situation.
There it is! The sight of the toilet block sparked a silent triumph within me, a fleeting moment of hope. My foot slammed down on the accelerator, the ute lurching forward with a force that caught Adrian off guard. His attempt at fleeing was abruptly interrupted, his body thrown backward, his elbow colliding sharply with my side. "Fuck!" The exclamation was ripped from me, a sharp intake of breath following the stab of pain. Yet, there was no time to dwell on the discomfort; adrenaline surged, propelling me forward, compelling me to act despite the pain.
With a determined motion, I wound down the window, bracing myself against the cold, wet blast of air that rushed in. Leaning out, I focused intently on the wall of the toilet block, my brow etched with determination, as I activated the Portal. The colours burst forth in an array of beautiful chaos, a testament to the power at my fingertips.
Retracting back into the ute, I called out to Gladys with a sense of finality, "I'm going in!" The urgency in my voice was mirrored by the swirling vortex of colours that now adorned the toilet block's wall, a gateway to safety, to Clivilius, waiting just ahead.
"What do I do?" Gladys's voice, laden with panic, reached me over the roar of the wind and the engine. The desperation, the fear of the unknown, was palpable in her shriek.
"Gladys... Run!" It was the only advice, the only command I could offer in the moment. Our connection, tenuous as it was, snapped the moment the ute crossed the Portal’s threshold, the line going dead, leaving me with the weight of her fate and mine entwined in those final words.
