"Shit!" The expletive slipped from my lips, almost reflexively, as my feet lost their grip on the slick, muddy ground of Myrtle Forest. Just moments after stepping through the Portal's shimmering veil and into the chaos of a storm, I was grappling with the earth, my hands slapping down into the cold, wet muck to prevent a full-on tumble.
The sirens were a harrowing backdrop, their wails intensifying as they drew nearer, slicing through the sound of the relentless rain. I squinted through the downpour, my gaze sweeping over the mud-drenched vicinity. The entrance to the small toilet block, now just a gateway to further turmoil, offered no shelter, no respite from the mounting dread.
"Where are you, Gladys?" The question was a whisper torn away by the howling wind, a fragile thread of hope in the storm's fury. I pressed on, hugging the building's wall, seeking some clue, some sign of my sister amidst the deluge.
My pace was urgent, a rapid dance with desperation as I skirted the edge of the structure. The world seemed reduced to the rhythm of my heartbeat, the lash of the rain, and the urgency of finding Gladys.
As I rounded the corner, time seemed to slow, my breath catching in a tight chest. There it was—Gladys's car, an oddly angular shadow against the toilet block, its door flapping open like a broken wing in the violent wind. "Shit," I breathed out again, the word a soft echo of my racing thoughts.
The sight of the car, deserted and askew, ignited a flurry of scenarios in my mind, each more unsettling than the last. The deepening frown on my face and the creases marking my forehead were telltale signs of the worry gnawing at me. The storm outside mirrored the turmoil within, each flash of lightning illuminating a landscape fraught with uncertainty and danger. In that moment, standing in the tempest's embrace, I was a sister consumed by concern, poised on the edge of actions born of desperation and love, ready to brave the storm's wrath to find Gladys.
Approaching the car, a sense of urgency pricked at my skin, sharper than the raindrops lashing around me. "Gladys," I called out, my voice sharp yet hushed, a desperate whisper against the storm's roar, hoping against hope she might hear and respond.
Leaning into the open door, a quick scan confirmed my fears—she wasn't there. The car's interior, damp and abandoned, offered no clue, no hint of her whereabouts.
With a heavy heart, I withdrew from the empty vehicle, my eyes darting around, piercing through the curtain of rain, searching for any sign of her. Could the dense trees nearby offer her shelter, or had she ventured further into the forest's deceptive embrace?
Then, a sound—a car door slamming shut—jolted me back to the pressing reality. Adrenaline surged, mingling with the cold rain soaking my skin. What do I do? The question echoed in my mind, a tumultuous blend of fear and determination. With a reflexive gesture, my fist met the car's side in a thud of frustration.
The knowledge that the police were now on the scene tightened the vice of anxiety around me. Time was slipping through my fingers, each second critical, each decision pivotal. I can't go after her, I reasoned, the forest trail beside the vehicle looming as a daunting, uncertain path. Yet, returning the way I came was equally untenable, a direct path to the officers now scouring the area.
With my heart pounding, a beacon of raw, frantic rhythm in my chest, I felt my body react, almost of its own accord. My legs propelled me, not towards the forest, but back towards the toilet block—a structure that suddenly seemed like the only available sanctuary in this maelstrom of uncertainty and fear.
Tucked inside the musty confines of the toilet block, the voices outside sliced through the tension like a blade. "Karl, check this out," called a female officer, her voice piercing the heavy air and sending a shiver down my spine.
A hard lump formed in my throat, the name 'Karl' reverberating through my mind like a dire omen. Detective Karl Jenkins? The thought was a stone in my stomach, the implications of his presence tightening around me like a vice.
"Well, this doesn't make sense," came Karl's unmistakable reply, a statement that spurred my curiosity despite the gnawing fear. His voice, familiar yet foreboding, spoke of confusion, of puzzles unfolding just beyond the thin barrier that concealed me.
I edged closer to the door, my every sense strained to catch the fragments of their exchange, desperate for any scrap of information that might reveal their thoughts, their progress, their suspicions.
The female officer's voice floated in, muffled and distant, "Just end here... just disappeared." Her bafflement was a small comfort, a sign that our tracks, our traces, still defied easy explanation.
Karl's analytical mind pieced together the scene with a logic that was both impressive and terrifying. "There wouldn't be much left of that wall if they'd driven into it," he reasoned, unwittingly brushing against the truth of Luke’s otherworldly escape.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing my spiralling thoughts. They were discussing the very anomaly I had exploited, the wall I had traversed from another realm. That makes sense, I consoled myself, clinging to the sliver of advantage our secret knowledge provided.
"There's still this second set of tracks," the female officer's voice rose in volume.
"Shit!" The curse slipped from me, a whisper of dread. The mention of a second set of tracks—a clear sign they were on Gladys's trail—tightened the knot of anxiety in my chest. I was cloaked in shadows, yet felt starkly exposed, the walls of my temporary refuge seeming to press in closer with the weight of impending discovery.
In that cramped space, every sound amplified, each moment stretched taut with tension, I was a sister ensnared in a web of fear and determination, bracing for what might come next in the relentless pursuit of finding and protecting Gladys.
"It's here!" the woman's voice pierced the tense air, a declaration that sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through me. Their discovery was inevitable, yet the confirmation hit with the force of a physical blow.
"They must have taken off on foot. There's nobody here," Karl's voice boomed, analytical yet laced with an undercurrent of frustration. His deduction was a double-edged sword, offering a sliver of respite that Gladys was not there to be caught but also indicating their readiness to pursue.
In that moment, a loud crack of thunder rolled across the sky, its rumble magnifying within the confines of the toilet block. The sound was a startling intruder, merging with my escalating heartbeat, each thunderous beat echoing the turmoil inside me.
Startled, I jostled against the hand dryer, an inadvertent nudge that sent a broom crashing against the sink. The clatter was jarringly loud in the cramped space, a reckless giveaway of my presence.
"Shit!" The curse was a whisper of dismay, a reaction to my clumsy betrayal of silence. I was teetering on the edge of discovery, every sound amplified, every breath a potential alarm.
Karl's instinct was swift and authoritative. "Police!" His voice was a clarion call, demanding and assertive. "Come out slowly with your hands up." The command was clear, a directive that left no room for ambiguity, his law enforcement training kicking in with full force.
With a surge of panic-fuelled clarity, I made a split-second decision. Dashing into the furthest cubicle, I moved with a quiet desperation, gently closing the door to create a barrier, however flimsy, between myself and the imminent threat. Locking it silently, I sought to become invisible, to blend into the very fabric of the space that concealed me.
Huddled in that small, confined space, I was a blend of racing thoughts and stifled breaths, a mixture of fear, frustration, and an unwavering determination to evade capture. The looming possibility of what lay beyond that thin cubicle door was a palpable presence, as I stood silent and immobile, waiting for the next move in this high-stakes game of hide and seek.
The squelch of slow, heavy footsteps invading the block sent a wave of panic through me. Each step was a countdown, drawing closer, threatening the fragile veil of my hiding place.
Grimacing in disgust at the surroundings, I made a swift, silent decision. The toilet seat clacked softly as I closed it, then I carefully perched atop, trying to minimise my contact with the less-than-sanitary surface. My body tensed, ready for flight or concealment, whichever became necessary.
Outside, the wind's mournful howl through the rooftop vents mingled with the fierce clamour of thunder, a tumultuous symphony that mirrored the chaos unfolding within and around me. Do it, Beatrix, I urged myself, the command a silent mantra. The stakes were too high, and the pressing need to evade capture and find Gladys propelled me towards the only route of escape I had left, fervently hoping Luke's use of his Portal Key wouldn't interfere with mine.
As I slid my finger across the activate button of my Portal Key, a wash of colours burst forth, transforming the drab cubicle into a kaleidoscope of escape. A fleeting moment of relief sparked within me, a tiny star in the overwhelming night of my predicament.
Then, a loud thud shattered the tense silence, a sound so forceful it seemed to vibrate through my very bones. Wood splintered, tiny projectiles flying through the confined space as the door was kicked open with daunting force. My eyes, wide with shock and fear, locked with Karl's for a split second, an eternity encapsulated in a brief exchange of glances before the door swung shut again.
Time stood still, then rushed forward. I didn't pause to consider, to weigh my next actions. With the door rebounding closed, I seized the moment, the colours in front of me not just an escape but a lifeline. I leapt, diving into the swirling vortex on the cubicle wall, landing amidst the soft dust of Clivilius. Close! I mentally commanded, the word a gasp of relief as much as an instruction, urging the Portal to seal shut behind me, cutting off pursuit, leaving the danger behind, if only for a moment. In that instant of transition, the collision of worlds, I was a fugitive, a sister, a desperate soul seeking refuge, propelled by an unyielding drive to protect, to survive, to persevere.
As I brushed the ochre dust from my knees, my eyes surveyed the empty surroundings. Everyone had moved along since my last visit and Paul's distinct voice carried in the wind from the direction of the Drop Zone.
One step was all I managed in Paul's direction before the weight of my situation anchored me in place. With Gladys entangled in a perilous chase and the police scouring the Collinsvale property, the luxury of time was not on my side. Conversing with Paul, as comforting as it might have been, could not take precedence.
You could ask Sergeant Charlie for help, the fleeting suggestion darted through my mind, a tempting prospect yet fraught with risk. But the echo of Charlie's stern admonition not to make contact reverberated in my memory, dousing the spark of that idea.
Leigh? The question hung in the air, my body stretching, a series of cracks along my spine breaking the silence as I mulled over my limited options.
A deep, resigning breath escaped my lips as I acknowledged the stark truth: We need to work this out ourselves. It was a silent concession to our autonomy, a recognition of the thin line we tread between seeking assistance and maintaining the fragile web of secrecy that enveloped our actions.
With a determined step, I crossed the threshold of the Portal, entering the Collinsvale property. My entrance was so abrupt that I nearly collided with the wall directly in front of me. Stopping just in time, I felt the cold, unyielding surface of the barren wall mere inches from my face, its starkness a harsh welcome.
I spun around in a swift one-eighty, my movements tinged with a hint of desperation. My left foot inadvertently struck the door, propelling it to swing shut with a click that echoed ominously through the room. The sound, small yet significant, marked my silent re-entry into a world fraught with tension and peril.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the surge of adrenaline coursing through me. Two officers, their figures outlined against the archway that bridged the cluttered living room and the dining area, were engrossed in examining the contents of the clear plastic bags they held. I froze, my breath caught in the tight clasp of anxiety, wondering if the sound of my entrance had betrayed my presence.
They were absorbed in their discussion, their attention fixed on the items they had collected, seemingly oblivious to my presence. A wave of relief washed over me as they exited the room, their departure allowing me to exhale the breath I didn't realise I'd been holding.
The immediate danger may have receded, but the intrusion of loud voices from outside yanked my focus to the window. Treading lightly, I navigated toward the large pane that offered a view of the front veranda and the expansive yard beyond. The raised voices, a distinct tone of contention between a man and a police officer, piqued my curiosity and heightened my alertness.
From my position in the room, the scene outside remained obscured, the angle and distance denying me a clear understanding of the unfolding dispute. With a surge of caution, I glanced back, ensuring the door to the living room was securely closed, a barrier between me and potential observers who might traverse the adjacent hallway.
The closed door wasn't just a shield; it was a possible escape route. The smooth wooden surface stood as a silent sentinel, ready to serve as my portal back to Clivilius should the need arise. In this moment, nestled within the walls of a unfamiliar space now fraught with danger, I was acutely aware of the delicate balance I navigated—a blend of observation and readiness, each sense attuned to the slightest hint of discovery, every thought shadowed by the prospect of a swift retreat.
With meticulous care, I lifted each foot, placing it down with the utmost caution as I inched closer to the window. My body was low, almost merging with the shape of the couch to avoid any detection. The lace curtains brushed against my face as I peered out, seeking a clearer understanding of the tense dialogue unfolding just beyond the glass.
The voices were more distinct now, yet their clarity battled against the drumming rain assaulting the corrugated iron roof of the front deck. Craving a better grasp of the words exchanged, my fingers gingerly edged the window up an additional inch, the minimal movement a calculated risk to enhance my eavesdropping without revealing my presence.
"I need to search the truck," asserted an officer, his tone firm yet courteous as he offered the sanctuary of his broad umbrella to the man I deduced was the truck driver.
"It's just a standard delivery," the man countered, his voice tinged with a blend of annoyance and urgency as he thrust a paper into the officer's grip.
A silent curse slipped from my lips, "Shit," as anxiety surged within me. My mind raced, grappling with the sudden realisation of our connection to the scene outside. Had Luke and I inadvertently tied ourselves to this delivery by using our real names? The memory of our fence order nudged its way to the forefront of my thoughts, mingling with the fear of our potential exposure.
"I'm sorry. I can't let you leave yet," the officer's words to the driver were firm, a declaration that the situation was far from resolved.
As I crouched there, a witness to the interaction that could very well ripple back to me and Luke, a mix of dread and resolve settled over me. I was caught in a limbo of observation, the stakes mounting with every word exchanged outside. In that moment, the room felt both like a sanctuary and a trap, each passing second a thread in the tightening web of our entangled circumstances.
The driver's heavy sigh was a tangible wave of surrender to the situation. As he lit a cigarette, the glow briefly illuminated his resigned expression, indifferent to the rain's onslaught.
Having absorbed the key details of the conversation, I carefully nudged the window shut. The need to consult with Luke pressed urgently against my thoughts with a sense of immediacy as I retreated to the room's shadowed corner, seeking a semblance of privacy among the haphazard stacks of science and nature magazines.
Crouching there, a blend of urgency and caution governed my movements. I retrieved my phone, its screen a beacon in the dimness, and dialled Luke's number. A wash of tentative relief swept over me as the dial tone hummed in my ear—a hopeful indicator that Luke was within reach, somewhere on this tumultuous planet of ours.
When the dialling ceased, replaced by the subtle sound of breathing, a surge of mixed emotions coursed through me. The repetitive plea in my mind, 'Luke, please pick up,' halted abruptly, giving way to a torrent of words as I began to speak.
"I'm at the Collinsvale property," the words tumbled out of me, a rush of confession to Luke, my heart pounding with every word. "The police are taking it very seriously, Luke. They've bagged evidence and everything."
My focus fractured as a loud metallic rattling from the truck outside pierced the tense silence, a jarring reminder of the ongoing activity just beyond these walls.
"Get the fuck out of there, Beatrix!" Luke's voice cut through, sharp and urgent, a clear command that snapped my attention back to the imminent danger. His tone was laced with an intensity that mirrored my own rising panic.
The murmur of soft voices began to swell from the adjacent room, their approach like the ominous crescendo of a suspenseful score. Time was running out.
"I will as soon as I hang up. Where are you?" I pressed, urgency knotting my voice, seeking his location, a plan, anything to anchor the growing dilemma.
A brief silence filled with the sound of rain hinted at Luke's hesitation or perhaps his caution. "I'm at the property," he finally revealed, his words striking me with a blend of shock and an odd sense of solidarity.
"Where?" The question leaped out, my eyes widening in disbelief and a flicker of respect for his audacity. Luke's presence here, in the lion's den, was as reckless as it was brave.
A small, involuntary smirk crept across my face, a momentary lapse in the tension. But then, I came here too, I acknowledged silently, a thread of kinship weaving through the worry. Here we were, both ensnared in a dangerous dance of our own making, each step fraught with risk, yet bound by a shared determination to navigate the storm we'd summoned.
"I'm going to save that fencing order," Luke's voice came through, laced with a resolve that didn't quite mask the absence of specifics about his location. His determination was palpable, even through the phone, yet it left me grappling with a mix of admiration and frustration at his vague response.
"Let me help you," I blurted out impulsively, the words escaping before I could tether them to any concrete plan of action. The urge to be part of the solution, to not just stand by, was overwhelming, even if I hadn't fully conceptualised what that involvement might entail.
A sudden thud echoed nearby, a sound of something heavy making contact with the floor, followed by an unmistakable expletive. The proximity of the noise jolted me, an urgent reminder of the ever-present danger lurking just beyond my hideout.
"No! Go to Clivilius. You need to continue with the missions Paul is giving you," Luke's voice came through, firm and directive, attempting to steer me towards a path he deemed safer.
An officer's voice cut through the background, "Better bag that too," sending a cascade of chills down my spine.
"And you need to find your sister!" Luke added, the weight of his words amplified by a significant pause, underscoring the dual urgency of our mission and the personal stakes at hand.
"Luke, stop being such a stubborn prick. You can't do all of this yourself," I retorted, my voice a mixture of concern and reprimand. Despite my scolding, doubt clouded my mind, echoed by the view of the closed living room door. What awaited me on the other side? More officers, more obstacles?
Luke's response carried a surge of tension, his voice rising, "You think I don't know how much trouble we're in? But if we lose that fencing delivery, those caravans you are sourcing are the camp's only line of protection." His words, a blend of fear and determination, painted a stark picture of our predicament.
Then, silence. The line went dead, leaving me enveloped in a sudden, oppressive quiet.
"Luke?" The word slipped out in a hiss, a futile call to a now unresponsive device. The phone's black screen mocked me, a silent witness to the abrupt end of our connection.
I tried to redial, but the lack of a dial tone hinted at Luke's deliberate choice to go dark, a strategic move to avoid detection.
With a mix of urgency and caution, I crouched low, navigating through the room. My movements were deliberate, each step calculated to avoid the clutter of magazines and the mundane obstacle of the coffee table situated near the room's heart. My destination was the window that offered a view of the truck and the unfolding drama outside.
Leaning forward, my gaze fixed on the stationary vehicle, I strained to see through the curtain of relentless rain. And then, there he was – Luke, his movements reminiscent of a shadow, blending with the environment in an almost ninja-like manner. My eyes tracked his progress until he disappeared from my line of sight, obscured by the truck's bulk.
A sudden movement caught my peripheral vision – an officer, turning sharply, heading toward Luke's last known location. "Shit!" The word was a whisper, a soft exhalation of rising panic. My mind raced, weighing the scant options, the potential outcomes of this dangerous game of cat and mouse we were both entangled in.
Despite Luke's clear directive for me to stay out of it, the gnawing sense of urgency within me couldn't be quelled. Luke needed help, whether he admitted it or not. My hands, almost of their own accord, pushed the window open once again, grasping for the nearest substantial object—a weighty book that felt solid and promising in my grip. With a swift motion, more instinctual than calculated, I hurled the book through the window, watching it descend with a satisfying thud onto the rain-soaked wooden slats of the front veranda.
The sudden noise had its intended effect. The officer paused, his attention diverted from Luke to the unexpected disturbance. From behind the blinds, I became a shadow, a wisp of movement just beyond perception. My heart raced, the adrenaline coursing through me was both a catalyst for action and a reminder of the peril I was flirting with.
I was acutely aware of my appearance, starkly out of place in this high-stakes tableau. The last thing I needed was for the officer to spot me, to realise that the figure lurking behind the window was not one of his own.
Time seemed to stretch, the officer's silhouette framed against the grey, rain-drenched backdrop as he weighed his next move. His decision process was interrupted by another book I sent flying through the window, a desperate bid to keep his focus away from Luke.
"Who's there?" His voice cut through the sound of the rain, sharp and demanding, as he took a step toward the house. The tension in his tone mirrored the tightening in my chest.
With the blind meticulously returned to its original position, I retreated deeper into the living room's relative safety. The officer's view through the window was obstructed, forcing him to take a longer route if he intended to investigate further. In the back of my mind, a thread of hope spun out, wishing that my diversion provided Luke with the precious seconds he needed, though I harboured doubts about the existence of any coherent plan on his part.
The resurgence of loud voices outside snapped me back to the immediate reality, reminding me of the other officers' presence, whom I had momentarily dismissed from my mind. My focus shattered, and in a clumsy bid to move swiftly, my foot caught on a stack of nature magazines. The resulting cascade of paper and the jarring thump of my body hitting the floor broke the room's tense silence.
Scrambling across the carpet, I sought refuge in the room's corner, a strategic position that allowed me a clear view of the door while keeping me concealed. The walls seemed to press in, the space shrinking as the gravity of my situation settled heavily upon me.
With the Portal Key in my trembling hand, I aimed it at the door, a lifeline within my grasp. My finger slid across the activation button, a familiar motion now laden with a desperate urgency.
"Shit, Luke!" The words slipped out in a hiss, frustration and fear intermingling as my finger frantically swiped across the activation button, each attempt as futile as the last. The pounding in my chest escalated to a deafening crescendo, overshadowing the rising clamour of voices outside just as the ominous silhouette of a foot appeared in the doorway.
In that moment, my mind was a maelstrom of panic and desperate hope. Close your damn Portal, Luke! The thought was a silent scream, an internal plea for him to sever whatever connection might be interfering with my escape.
With what felt like the weight of the world pressing down on me, I made one final, desperate swipe across the Portal Key. My breath hitched, time seemed to suspend, and then, miraculously, a small ball of light burst forth, colliding with the door that exploded into a vivid spectrum of colours, a vibrant gateway amidst the encroaching peril.
Instinct took over. I launched myself towards the luminescent door, the Clivilius dust rising to meet me as I tumbled through. The familiar yet alien terrain greeted me, a welcome contrast to the room I had fled. Without hesitation, I mentally issued the command to close the Portal.
Landing on the other side, the dust clinging to my skin, I lay there for a moment, allowing the reality of my narrow escape to sink in. The portal's closure severed my connection to the immediate danger but also to Luke and the unresolved situation I'd left behind. Lying in the Clivilius dust, I was safe, yet the turmoil of my emotions — relief, guilt, worry — swirled within me as tumultuously as the storm I'd just evaded.
