Dark Angel (18 page)

‘I can see that,’ I sighed. I’d closed my eyes and could make out tiny orange hexagons floating on the backs of my eyelids. I loved the weight of Orlando’s wet arm along my shoulder. ‘You’re saying the whole thing is pure theatre.’

It’s extraordinary how the human brain operates. Or
my
brain. I can swing from one point of view to the extreme opposite in seconds. One moment I’m believing Zoran is the devil incarnate, next thing he’s a showman staging a theatrical event. All I could think was – yeah, what a relief!

Then Orlando has to go and spoil things.

‘And with someone like you, Tania – someone with a vivid imagination, plus a sensitivity to flashing lights – that’s all it takes to throw you into major meltdown, end of story.’

S
omeone like me! This was the phrase that did it – the reason why Orlando and I had our biggest fight ever.

Skip the details. They were spectacularly immature and vicious, and neither of us came out in an even halfway decent light. It blasted at full volume from the changing rooms at the hot springs through the drive back into town, all the way to his house, which was empty at the time.

Then we made love. Either that or split for ever.

The making love threw us back together like we were both whirling inside a giant metal drum, emotionally bruised and battered by what had been said, yelled and spat out until a centrifugal force flung us into the centre and we clung to each other in desperation then in lust.

There were no words, only gestures, an intertwining of our bodies, hot limbs locked, eyes closed, my head thrown back against the pillow, Orlando’s weight on top of me.

And nothing was said for a long time after, as we lay on our backs staring up at the ceiling, waiting for our fragmented thoughts to piece themselves back together.

‘I don’t ever want to lose you,’ he sighed at last.

I turned into him, rested my arm across his chest, kissed him gently.

‘What are we going to do?’

‘Nothing.’ I kissed him again.

‘When I go to Dallas, when you’re in Europe, what are we going to do?’

‘I’ll still love you.’

‘Yeah, but will you?’

I could tell he was thinking about all the slick Italian slimeballs, intense French painters and angst-ridden British poets I would meet. In my mind I had a picture of the stick-thin fashion models and boho fabric designers he would be getting creative with in Texas. ‘Yes, I will,’ I promised. For what could possibly beat lying in his arms staring up at his white ceiling dappled with evening sunlight and shadows?

The real world drags you back. Monday was school, with Holly and Aaron, Leo and Tarsha and a whole group of classmates cornering me, Jude and Orlando for gory details about Grace.

‘Where exactly is she?’ ‘Why does she want to stay?’ ‘Is she out of her mind?’ ‘What do her parents plan to do about it?’ These were the sort of questions fired at us.

Orlando was our spokesperson. ‘Back off, guys. Grace has done what she’s done. She’s old enough to make up her own mind.’

‘But shouldn’t we get her out of there, find her some counselling?’ Tarsha wanted to know. Dig beneath her alternative styling – strands of shocking-pink hair falling over one eye, lip piercings, regulation black skinny jeans and tops with goth emblems – and you find a practical, grounded core. ‘Grace needs help, she really does.’

‘That’s my plan,’ Jude said quietly. Today he looked more tired and ill than ever, as if the least physical effort would be too much.

‘I think it should be Mr and Mrs Montrose taking that action,’ Leo said.

Holly and Aaron agreed. They said they both knew something about the pull of Black Eagle Lodge and the power that Zoran Brancusi seemed to hold over the members of his commune. They’d experienced it first hand.

‘How do we know the Montroses haven’t tried it already?’ Tarsha asked. ‘Listen, if it was me deciding to quit school early to join a sect that nobody knew anything about, my parents would be the first people hammering on their door.’

‘But it might take more than that to change Grace’s mind. There’s a history of stuff like this,’ Aaron said. ‘Remember Waco and the cult leader guy?’

‘David Koresh,’ Tarsha reminded him. ‘He took child brides and brainwashed entire families. They held out against a government siege until everyone was dead. Is that what this is? Are we really talking Scientologists, Moonies – a dangerous cult right here on our doorstep?’

‘I don’t think we should assume anything.’ Orlando spoke up with his latest theory about Zoran using Black Eagle Lodge as a spectacular stage set to rehearse and promote a world comeback tour. ‘Grace has fallen for the whole rock-star lifestyle, and unfortunately she also met a guy named Ezra up there.’

‘That’s news to me.’ Leo hadn’t been in the loop and he sounded pissed. ‘So this is all about a guy?’

Orlando shrugged. ‘Sorry you have to hear this, Jude, but I’d say that plays a major part in what’s happening with Grace right now.’

‘Then, hey, what can we do?’ Losing interest, Leo and Tarsha drifted on into their science class and we followed.

Today’s hot topic for discussion: is it possible for a Creationist to use scientific method to disprove Darwin’s Theory of Evolution?

I was getting through the week, recovering from Black Rock, blocking the voices and dropping the psychic speculation. In other words, I was siding with Orlando about my Friday night experience. We were good together, sharing special times, trying hard not to think about the future.

There was only one small crash on the hard drive: the time when we were biking out one evening along the cycle track by the river and Orlando said out of nowhere, ‘I feel bad for Jude.’

‘Me too.’ Through sudden lack of concentration I hit a snaking tree root, took off and landed hard on my front wheel with a thud that jarred my wrists and elbows.

‘He looks like he lost ten pounds.’

‘I know. What can we do?’

‘I guess I’m lucky.’ Slowing down to my pace, Orlando narrowed his eyes and seemed to concentrate on the shimmering water in the middle distance.

‘In what way, lucky?’ I couldn’t escape asking the question even though I didn’t like the way this conversation might be going. Twigs snapped and gravel crunched under our wheels.

‘That
you
didn’t reply to that text.’

‘Which text?’ I almost yelped.

‘From that Daniel guy. I’m lucky he’s not turned into another Ezra.’

‘Yeah,’ I gasped. My sun god seemed to hover above my head. He cast a deep, dark shadow, making me veer to the left, hit another root then steady myself before I hit a tree.

Orlando didn’t say another word. But he’d mentioned Daniel’s name and he’d been probing for sure. And I hadn’t come up with the necessary reassurances, the heartfelt protests and protestations. No, I’d almost crashed my bike then come up with a lame ‘Yeah’, for God’s sake.

I’ve come to a definite conclusion – no way am I good at deceit.

Thursday night I was home alone. Dad had flown out to Wyoming for two days to cost out a new construction project and Mom was visiting
her
mom in Miami. Orlando was pleading work, always a red rag to a bull with me – ‘Tania, I have to read Mimi Rossi’s biography of Coco Chanel. How will it look if they invite me for interview and I haven’t read her book?’

So the knock on the door just before eight brought me running downstairs in the hope that he’d abandoned Coco for me; I was disappointed at first to find a forlorn Mike and Alice Montrose standing on my doorstep instead.

‘We’re sorry to disturb you, Tania,’ Mrs Montrose began.

They looked awful, both of them. Sure, they were putting on a dignified pretence in their smart casuals, with fixed social smiles, but inside they were broken.

‘Come in,’ I said. I led them into the sitting room, moved a couple of Dad’s doorstop histories from the sofa and plumped up the cushions. ‘Sit down. Would you like a drink?’

‘No, thanks.’ Grace’s mom was the one doing the talking. Her husband sat silent and staring throughout, like a small animal fixed in your headlights the second before he becomes road kill. ‘We thought long and hard about coming here,’ Alice sighed. She placed her hands neatly in her lap, one on top of the other. Her ankles were crossed. ‘It didn’t seem fair to put you under pressure, Tania.’

‘It’s no pressure. Are you sure you don’t want a drink – beer, wine, coffee?’

She shook her head. ‘We understand from Jude that you had a traumatic experience yourself last week on Black Rock. We sure don’t want to make that worse.’

It breaks your heart when decent people continue to be decent when all they want to do is cry and tear out their hair, fight somebody tooth and claw to get their daughter back. ‘How can I help?’ I said.

‘Grace didn’t even say goodbye,’ Alice sighed. ‘If there was a note – some kind of explanation – maybe we would understand. But she just took off; she didn’t say who she was going to meet, where she was going. And she never came back.’

‘Aimee!’ The woman’s voice is wailing her daughter’s name, knowing that she’s gone for ever. Trees around the log cabin crackle and burn
.

This was weird and getting weirder. I wanted to reply to my ghostly voice, to tell her I was OK. But instead I blocked my ears and made myself focus on the here and now.

‘I’m sure Grace will call you,’ I tried to argue but even I wasn’t convinced. ‘Give her time.’

’You’ve been to Zoran Brancusi’s lodge, Tania,’ Grace’s mom went on. ‘Can you help us understand what has happened here?’

‘It’s difficult to describe. There are lots of things that might make you want to stay. It’s a fabulous house, for a start, with a recording studio and priceless art on the walls. And Zoran – he’s charismatic. Then there is this guy called Ezra.’

‘Tell us about him,’ Mrs Montrose pleaded.

‘
I’m coming, Aimee. Don’t be scared!’ She runs into the flames, disappears inside the burning house
.

I fought to keep my pulse rate steady, tried to block the images, the despair.

‘The first time Grace saw him he was in costume for the Heavenly Bodies party – his face was painted and he had dreamcatchers hanging from his belt.’

‘What type of costume is that?’ She frowned in prim non-comprehension.

‘Some kind of shaman – Native American. He was really romantic-looking. His eyes are kind of almond-shaped, with long, dark lashes, and his hair falls down over his forehead.’

‘Not like Jude then.’ It was the first time Mike Montrose had spoken and we turned our heads sharply towards him. ‘Jude is grounded, sensible. He wouldn’t mess with face paints and stuff.’

‘Ezra’s exact opposites with Jude,’ I agreed.

‘Why did he hit on Grace?’

I shrugged. ‘She’s gorgeous – you know.’ Botticelli angel, Venus rising from the waves. Lots of fathers refuse to acknowledge that their daughters are out of braces and braids and into training bras. Mike Montrose has always been one of these.

Grace’s mom spoke, right on target. ‘Do you think this Ezra guy cares for her? Will he make her happy?’

‘The last time I saw her she seemed … elated.’ I struggled to find the right word. ‘The relationship is new, so it’s pretty intense.’

‘And?’

‘In between the highs she seems to dip down a little. So no, I wouldn’t say Grace is happy exactly.’ Maybe I should have softened this, I thought later, remembering the stricken looks on both their faces. With this comment I’d confirmed the bipolar thing in their minds.

‘Last question, Tania,’ Alice said after the longest time. ‘We want your honest opinion. Should we drive up there to Black Eagle Lodge and try to speak with our daughter?’

‘Would it make things better or worse?’ Grace’s dad added quickly.

A second figure is silhouetted in the burning doorway. He doesn’t speak, just raises an arm to shield his face then runs into the flames to rescue his wife and daughter. I rise from the ashes
.
I am Aimee incarnate
.

‘I think you should try,’ I said quietly.

‘The security team wouldn’t even let them through the gate,’ Jude told me two days later. ‘They gave the Montroses the message loud and clear – Grace doesn’t want to see them.’

We were sitting round the table – me, Jude and Dad. Jude hadn’t been in school for two days, his asthma was so bad again.

‘And she won’t answer phone?’ Dad checked.

‘She’s out of signal, or else she has it switched off.’ Jude knew this all too well. I think he’d given up trying even to text Grace.

‘So is it true she doesn’t want to see them?’ Dad insisted. ‘Or do they
want
you to believe this? I know Grace long time. She is not this sort of girl.’

‘You haven’t seen her lately,’ I reminded him. ‘She’s definitely changed.’

‘Her dad went crazy,’ Jude told us. ‘You know what a quiet, easy-going guy he is? Well, he tried to drive his car clean through the barrier until one of the security team fired a bullet into his tyre. They said to turn around or else they’d call the cops.’

‘They fired at the Montroses?’ I gasped. ‘Is it legal? Can they do that?’

‘Zoran owns thousands of acres up there. Apparently he can do whatever’s needed to keep out intruders.’

‘And Grace doesn’t want to talk for sure?’ Dad was still stuck on this.

‘I guess the only way we could find out is if we decided to drop in there like Bobby Mackey and his smokejumper guys.’ I was only half joking as I pictured white parachutes opening out and floating down from a clear blue sky. We’d be swaying in harnesses, gazing down at the tree canopy, seeking out the helipad for a smooth landing.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Dad warned. ‘And you, Jude – you don’t try driving up there alone. And, Tania – you too. Men with guns. Security cameras. All bad.’

‘So what do we do?’ Jude wanted to know.

‘We wait. Grace will come out when ready.’ It was the best Dad could do as he went outside to answer a phone call from Mom, though obviously not good enough for Jude, and not good enough for me either.

Jude was gone when Dad came back after his phone call. ‘How you feeling?’ he asked me, clearing a space on the coffee table for him to sit down on the couch, take off his boots and put his feet up.