The Special Ones (17 page)
Lucille helps me into my leaving dress. ‘Is it okay?’ she asks as she fusses over the layers of heavy skirts.
The sleeves are a little on the short side and the waist is roomy, but it’s wearable. ‘It’s wonderful, Lucille, thanks.’ Any anger I once felt towards her has gone now. It seems pointless.
‘You need gloves, of course,’ says Lucille and it’s while she’s searching for some that I notice a pair of scissors on a chair behind her. Shielding the chair from whatever cameras may be watching, I quietly pick them up. I’m not sure what makes me do it. It’s just reassuring to slip my hand deep into my pocket to feel the smooth, cold metal.
Felicity is exhausted from being up for dinner and doesn’t protest too much when I insist that she go back to bed. Even Lucille says nothing. Maybe it’s dawned on her that if Felicity were to die, she’d be completely alone in here.
Felicity starts to sniffle when I say goodbye and covers her face with her pillow. I kneel beside the bed, my own tears rising as I give her the only hug Esther is allowed to give – the one that means goodbye. I can feel the heat of her feverish skin through the fabric of my leaving dress. ‘Just hold on a bit longer, Felicity,’ I whisper into her ear. ‘I’ll come back for you.’
She uncovers her face. ‘Really?’
I wish I could tell her what I’m hoping will happen.
Harry is waiting for me on the other side of the front gate. We’ll get you out of here as soon as possible, I swear.
But I can’t say any of this so instead I simply nod and wipe her sweaty forehead with a damp cloth one more time.
The late summer sun is already half-set when Lucille and I walk out onto the verandah. I feel her watching as I take off my slippers and place them near the door. Esther doesn’t have any boots – she’s never needed them – so I will make the journey to the gate bare-footed. Then I turn to Lucille and smile. ‘Shall we?’
Lucille nods. She looks tense.
Together we walk down the steps. My legs tremble – maybe from excitement. The steps have been the edge of my territory for so long that I half-expect to feel some invisible barrier rise up. But nothing happens, and a moment later I’m standing on the ground, the earth pushing up against my feet.
Almost immediately, I topple over. The ground is uneven and spongy and my legs, already wobbly with nerves, fail me. Lucille bursts out laughing as I pick myself up, and I laugh too. The mood changes.
The evening air brushes across my bare arms and face like silk. The smell of the plants and the soil, the colour and height of the sky, the sound of my own breathing: everything seems brighter, stronger, more intense than I ever remember it being.
At the wall that separates the kitchen garden from the farm, Lucille stops. It’s as far as she can go. ‘Come back soon,’ she says, all stiff and formal and Lucille-ish again, but then her lip quivers.
I hug her, probably a little too tightly for an official hug. ‘Take care of Felicity,’ I say and Lucille nods. ‘Everything will be fine,’ I promise, before giving her one last smile. Then I walk past the eucalyptus trees, leaving her, and the house, behind.
I look around curiously as I make my way through the farm. It’s simultaneously familiar to me and completely unknown. There are the vegetable beds where the Felicities pick the tomatoes, radishes and beans. Behind them are the beehives, five of them, lined up side by side like dolls’ houses. In the distance, straight and golden, are the few stalks of wheat and oats that survived the storm. I see where the peach tree once was, the stump still pale and fresh. There is where the one remaining goat sleeps and, over there, the empty chicken coop.
And suddenly there’s the gate – its metallic surface gleaming, loops of wire at the top. I’ve only seen it once before but it’s somehow very familiar. It’s appeared in a lot of my dreams, especially recently, although in them it always remains closed, no matter how hard I push. It’s hard to believe that soon it will be unlocked and I’ll be able to walk through and find out whatever it is that’s waiting for me on the other side.
I turn to look back in the direction I’ve come. Lucille is standing between the sentinel trees, still as a statue, although when I wave, her hand flutters back at me. Behind her, catching the sunset on its shingled roof, is the farmhouse. It’s been my prison for the last two years, but it’s also been my home and, while I haven’t felt safe there for a long time, in this moment it seems far more secure than what’s out
there
.
Fear seizes me – a kind of panic. I can’t go. Harry might not be there waiting for me. It’s likely – very likely – that I’m about to die. I should stay. Stay here, where
he
is always watching over me, protecting me, suffocating me. Except that he doesn’t want me here any more.
I have to go.
My hand is trembling as I push against the gate – so much so that I’m not sure I’ll be able to open it. There’s a noise too, like a distant drum, but then I realise it’s the sound of my pulse in my ears. My breath comes in short, jagged bursts, catching in my throat with each inhalation. The gate swings open easily.
I think for a moment I might fall again, my legs are shaking so much. But I force myself to take a step. And another. And then another until I am through.
Esther stands just outside the front gate, no more than a few arm lengths from where I am crouching in the shadows, balaclava on, blanket in hand. Tucked in my back pocket is the gun. I watch her carefully, noting every little detail. The way she holds her body suggests that she’s somewhere between fear and excitement. This is not surprising. She knows that she is about to come face to face with me.
As I stare at her, I notice something that makes my heart race. Usually the ones who come through the gate look grey and empty, their souls already detached and off searching for their next bodily form. But Esther doesn’t look like that. She glows just as brightly now as she did the first day I laid eyes on her.
She has always been the perfect one. The one who was the most like me. Which is why her recent behaviour has been so difficult to fathom.
A single glance and I know whether someone is good or bad, whether their life will mean anything or if their existence is pointless. When my brother was born, for instance, I remember leaning over his crib and sensing how weak he was. I wanted to help but my parents didn’t understand, and wouldn’t let me do what was needed to make him strong.
The first time I saw Esther, I understood everything about her. Anyone who shone like that must be truly good, truly pure. But she’s made so many mistakes lately. Broken so many rules. I have been tolerant, but there must be a limit.
I inch a little closer to her, put my hand on the grip of the gun, just in case. I only ever have one bullet in it, and even that is not really necessary. They always obey me without question. They practically climb into the boot of the car without me needing to do a thing.
It’s tempting to step from the shadows right now. Reveal myself. But waiting is an important part of renewal. It’s best if they relax, just a little.
Esther is still very tense. Her breathing is shallow and her head swivels constantly from side to side, inclined slightly in that bird-like way of hers. I know every detail about her, every mannerism. Some nights I’ve examined her sleeping face so intensely that her skin and bone have melted away and I’ve been able to look straight into the thoughts flickering in her mind. My favourite places to watch are the hollows on each side of her head, where the flesh dips inwards. How often have I imagined pressing a finger against those indentations, to feel the thoughts pulsing beneath the surface. Esther: the only person I can think about touching without feeling repulsed. The only person I’ve ever
wanted
to touch.
Not that I need to make physical contact to tell what she’s thinking about. I know that already. I shape her everything, her days and her nights. I am the negative space around her. The air. The molecules. When she moves, she moves through me. I am unavoidable. Inevitable.
Each time she turns her head it’s as if a stream of tiny stars is released, billowing out around her. She looks so beautiful in her white renewal dress, the final traces of daylight in her hair. An urge comes over me – strong and raw. It’s like the one I had that Christmas when my brother and I were given a puppy. My father placed it directly into my arms. ‘It’s your responsibility.’ I remember the feeling inside me so clearly – the scrabbling and scratching sensation, like something was trying to free itself, feelings that were so much like the puppy’s own movements. It was so confusing that I squeezed and squeezed, trying to control it all until the puppy finally stopped moving.
My heart is beating so rapidly that it takes considerable effort to slow everything down.
Leave her standing there for one more minute
, I tell myself.
Wait until your breathing has calmed.
Like everything, renewal is about control and timing. These were difficult things for me when I was younger. Even now I still feel impatience flare sometimes. There’s so much stupidity and ignorance in the world. So many people sleepwalking through their lives. Sometimes I long to scream at them to wake up. But I’ve trained myself to wait, to hold back.
The secret is breathing, and I take a deep inhalation now. Focus my energies on the task ahead. It’s disappointing and inconvenient that things have come to this with Esther. I’ve enjoyed watching her in this current form. But it’s just a body, after all, a non-permanent shell. It is, like everything else, only temporary.
Esther takes an uncertain step forward. Stops. It’s so quiet that I can hear the rapid in and out of her breath. It’s time for me to appear. But before I can there’s a rumbling noise, growing rapidly louder. It’s something driving, very fast, towards us. A moment later, around the curve of the track, a motorbike roars into view. It pulls to a stop just metres away from Esther, dirt and pebbles spraying from beneath the wheels.
At first, I’m simply annoyed. But then the driver pulls off his helmet and I reel back, winded by disbelief. He’s shaved off his beard and his hair is stubble-short, but I recognise him instantly. So does Esther. ‘Harry!’ Her glow is suddenly even brighter than before.
He shoves a second helmet at her, his eyes scanning the trees, passing right by me. ‘Get on, quick!’
My shock mutates into anger and my impulse is to leap from the bushes and shoot Harry, before forcing Esther down the track into my car. But my hand is shaking too much to risk it. How deep does this betrayal go?
Esther holds the helmet against her stomach, like a basket. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’ Her voice shakes with emotion.
‘Of
course
I was coming. Now, please,
get on the bike.
’ He sounds agitated. Nervous. It’s a side of Harry that Esther, unlike me, hasn’t seen before.
I narrow my eyes. They’ve arranged this meeting somehow, right under my nose! My fury expands until I feel it will split my skin. I must stand very still now; one tiny movement and I will surely explode.
Harry revs the engine and as Esther gathers up her skirt, the pale skin of her calves is revealed. I feel sick.
Harry holds out a hand. ‘Come on, grab hold.’
But Esther stops. Shakes her head. ‘We can’t just leave them here. Felicity needs to –’
Harry’s voice is urgent. ‘We have to go
now
.’
This is the moment for me to act. Now, while she’s hesitating. I aim my gun at Harry. But it’s so dark where I’m standing, and rage is making my hand tremble. I can’t be sure I’ll hit him.
‘I promise they’ll be out tonight,’ says Harry desperately, his hand stretching out. ‘
Please
. You have to trust me.’
Esther stands very still, frowning, and then to my dismay she nods. ‘Okay.’ She takes his hand and swings her leg over the bike, her skirt hitching up around her thighs.
My horror roots me to the ground, unable to do anything but watch as Harry drives off with Esther –
my Esther
–sitting on the back of his bike, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist.
It’s not until they’re out of sight that I think to pull the purple glass bottle from my pocket. My hand is shaking so much that the liquid nearly spills as I take a sip. My surroundings fade, and then Esther is standing before me, encircled by light. The first Esther, from the photograph. My vision.
‘
You’re angry,’
she murmurs, her voice like distant chimes.
‘Of course I’m angry!’ The tonic mingles with my blood, making it burn. ‘They
betrayed
me.’
‘There is no time for anger. It only immobilises you. Great change is coming and we need to be ready,’
the vision says, raising her hands. ‘
Very soon the Special Ones will move to a new level of being. The entire world will know and revere us. It’s what we have been striving for.’
I am
fury
, but her words quieten me a little. Ease some of the tension in my muscles. I find myself barely even breathing, for fear of missing a single word.
‘This Esther doesn’t need to be renewed. You have seen that for yourself. She is still full of her wonderful spirit.’