Jill Jackson - 04 - Watch the World Burn (13 page)

‘You’ll get used to it,’ said Layla quietly, as Jill rolled over in bed when footsteps sounded again in the corridor.

Jill punched her pillow into some kind of shape that might work. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Did I wake you up?’

‘Nah. Still coming down off the mania. That shit don’t let you sleep. I’ve done three days straight in the past.’

Yeah, I feel ya, thought Jill.

‘How many times have you been admitted, Layla?’ said Jill. She rolled onto her side, tucking the light blanket under her chin.

‘Eighteen.’

‘Oh my God. I mean, sorry.’

‘Yeah. It’s pretty shitty. I mean I like it here, but I’m not like Lynne and Camilla. Fuck knows how many admissions they’ve had. No sooner they’re out than they’re threatening suicide to get back in. The place can become addictive, I guess.’

‘So, is it mania each time you’re admitted?’ asked Jill.

Layla propped herself onto an elbow and leant over to her drawer. When she opened it she sighed hard. ‘Fucken thief.’

‘Again?’ said Jill.

Layla nodded in the deep blue light, a sardonic smile on her face.

‘But that had to have happened when we were at dinner,’ said Jill.

‘Uh huh,’ said Layla.

‘Well, everyone from Lyrebird was there, so it has to be someone from another ward,’ said Jill.

‘It was him,’ said Layla.

Jill figured that the mania must come with paranoia for poor Layla.

‘It’s not always the mania,’ said Layla.

‘Huh?’

‘That I get admitted for. Sometimes I get psychotic with it, like last time. A coupla times it’s been depression. But mostly it’s the mania.’

‘What happens?’ asked Jill. ‘I mean – don’t tell me if you don’t want to. Um, sorry.’

‘It’s sweet. I don’t mind,’ said Layla. She bit the head off a jelly snake, grabbed a handful from the packet and lobbed the rest of the bag to Jill. Strings of coloured jelly flew from the bag onto Jill’s bed. She gathered them up, then bit into a red snake.

‘I stop going to TAFE and start spending money all over the place,’ said Layla. ‘I can’t sleep, and I get these crazy ideas, which seem really smart at the time. Sometimes I go out and score speed, and then the shit really hits the fan. I have sex with just about anyone who feels like it. Usually I don’t come home for a couple of days, and Mum and Dad start looking for me. They found me in our local supermarket carpark this time. It was three in the morning and I was giving the stray cats a sermon about Jesus Christ our saviour.’ She laughed. ‘Fucked up, hey?’

Jill didn’t know what to say. ‘So you’re studying hairdressing, right?’ she tried. Lame, Jill.

‘Yeah, for ten years!’ Layla laughed. ‘The people at college have been cool, though. Each time I drop out, they let me back in. One of my teachers resigned, though, when I stripped naked in her class, and they still wouldn’t kick me out.’

Layla was on her stomach now, her head down the end of her bed, closest to Jill’s. Her knees bent, she kicked her feet behind her in the air. ‘Hey!’ she said. ‘You want me to do your hair?’

‘What? No. What?’

‘You know, cut it. I’m really good.’

‘I have a thing about people standing behind me with scissors, Layla. I’ve been going to the same hairdresser since I was fifteen.’

‘Whoa. She must be an old bat by now.’

‘Thank you very much.’

Layla laughed. ‘Oh fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. How old are you anyway?’

‘Thirty-four.’

‘And why are you here?’

Jill sat up, pressed her back into the headboard, her knees into her chest. ‘I’m a cop.’

‘Well, shit, I knew
that.
I come from a great family, but I grew up in a pretty rough place. You get to be able to spot police.’

‘So, it’s really that obvious, even here?’

‘I don’t know – I could have said army, maybe. You’re pretty uptight.’

‘Yeah. Well, I’m here because my partner just got killed.’

‘Your partner or your
partner?’

‘Both.’

‘Damn. That’s fucked.’

‘Fucked.’

‘How did he die?’

Ohgodohgodohgod.
‘Um, burned to death.’

‘Oh, fuck! I saw that on the news. Someone killed him. Set him on fire!’

‘I really don’t think I can–’

‘Why aren’t you out there looking for who did it? Oh, sorry – Jill! Wait!’

Jill took the first exit available. Before Layla had even made it out of their room, she’d climbed the railing and dropped from the edge of the veranda. One bare foot caught something hard underneath the leaf matter and Jill stifled a shout. With no other thought than to get away from the image of Scotty melting, she bolted into the forest.

The forest floor dropped sharply away from the hospital unit. With her foot throbbing, Jill half-fell, half-ran down the incline, grasping at bush branches as she tumbled, trying to slow her pace. The darkness was as complete as anything she’d ever experienced. Blind. Again. Her chest heaving, eyes wide, trying to see something, anything, she tumbled down the steep slope.

Jill sat up.

Vomited.

Put her hand to her head in the dark.

Lay down again.

What’s going on?

She began to whimper, remembering. She must have slammed into a tree, knocked herself out.

Shivering, Jill prepared to climb back up the hill. She would much have preferred to have spent the night down here, waited until light, then found a way through the forest, around the hospital and out to the main road. She seriously considered it. Two points changed her mind. Number one, the nurses in Lyrebird would soon be getting other staff involved in trying to find her and, when they couldn’t, they’d call in the cops; her family would be informed she was missing; their cops would call her cops, and fucking forget it. Number two, even if she managed to make it to the road without anyone spotting her, what kind of freak motorist would stop to pick up a woman in pyjamas hitchhiking out the front of a psychiatric hospital?

Nope, she had to get back up there soon, and face all those people, feeling like a complete dickhead. Like a psych patient, for God’s sake.

Wet and cold, her foot and head throbbing, she scrambled back up the stupid hill.

Troy stared at the ringing phone. What new misery would this bring? The possibilities ran through his head. Would it be the cops calling to tell him Chris was locked up again? After not coming home last night, Christopher had finally called to say he was staying at Makayla’s. Telling Chris that was not okay had made no difference.

Or would this be Elvis, asking him to come in for another interview? Troy knew the cops’ strategy would be to now ramp up the pressure.

Maybe it would be his mother, phoning for money. She always chose the most fucked time possible to call.

Troy picked up the phone.

‘Troy, my boy!’

Caesar O’Brien. His boss.

‘Hail, Caesar,’ said Troy.

‘Guess where I am?’ asked Caesar.

‘The White House?’ said Troy.

Caesar laughed. ‘The restaurant, you idiot. They’ve packed up their shit.’

‘Really? When are we opening?’

‘Friday night, but I’m going to need you in here tomorrow, to sort shit out.’

Troy sighed, thinking about everything going on right now. ‘Wouldn’t that be great.’

‘What?’

‘To sort shit out.’

‘Yeah, well, that’s your job, Troy, my boy. I want the kitchen cleaned, rosters drawn up, arses on seats for the weekend. You’ll have to call everyone on the reservations list, make sure they’re still coming. No one will know for sure whether we’re open or not,’ said Caesar. ‘You get any drop-outs or doubtfuls, you call people from the list from the night of the fire. Offer them their on-the-house meal. Mrs Caine is costing me a fucking fortune,’ he said. And I hope she’s not going to cost me a hell of a lot more than that.

After ending the call with Caesar, Troy wondered what to do next. Last night’s conversation with Lucy hadn’t gone down too well. He’d decided that he didn’t want her studying with Mona Caine at her house, and he’d asked Lucy if she was thinking of working with Mona again. When she’d said they had plans for this afternoon, he’d asked her to study here instead. Lucy had become all super-snoop immediately; flustered, Troy could think of nothing to say to explain his request. He didn’t know what to tell her about her friend’s father – there was nothing concrete he could really say. And he didn’t want to tell her the rest of the whole hideous story. Lucy was an expert at wheedling things out of him. And despite the fact that she was more sensible than any woman his own age, she was still only fifteen, and he couldn’t tell her that he was suspected of two murders.

How ridiculous. He had the same thought every time he considered Elvis’s suspicions.

‘No – tell me, Troy, why don’t you want me to go there?’ Lucy had demanded last night.

‘I just think her father’s a bit weird, that’s all,’ said Troy. ‘I’d feel better if you were here.’

‘Well, if that’s it, you don’t have to worry,’ she’d said. ‘Mona’s father works nights. Yesterday he’d left by the time I got there.’

‘Okay, cool, then,’ said Troy. That would have to do for now, until he thought of a better explanation to keep her away from Caine. ‘Do you know what he does?’

‘Contract cleaning. He cleans office buildings,’ said Lucy.

‘How do you always know this stuff?’ he’d asked.

‘It’s a social thing,’ said Lucy. ‘When you speak to people, you ask them things about their lives and you tell them things about yours. It results in the formation of a thing called friendship. You really should read up on the concept.’

‘You don’t need any more school,’ Troy had replied. ‘You’re too much of a smartarse already.’

Now, in the kitchen by the phone, Troy considered that he might take Lucy around to Mona’s today, after all.

‘You’re going to be late for group.’ Sam Barnard stood at the foot of Jill’s bed.

‘What? I’m not going today.’ She put her pillow over her head. ‘Everything hurts, and I only just got to bed.’ She spoke through the pillow.

‘Do you really think I could hear any of that?’ said Sam.

Jill removed the pillow. ‘I said, everything hurts and I only got to bed an hour ago.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I heard you the first time.’

Jill threw the pillow at him.

‘You have to go to group,’ he said. ‘We’ve only got you for a week, and you obviously need to get something out of being here. Besides, it’s the rules.’

‘Well, get out, then, so I can get dressed.’

With an eyebrow, Sam gave her a you-don’t-have-to-be-rude look.

‘Please,’ said Jill.

‘See you at two,’ he said. ‘My office. You’ll be skipping the afternoon groups all week. I’ve cleared an hour for you each day.’

Jill groaned.

With still an hour before she had to see Sam, Jill sat alone on the veranda. No point going to her room now – she’d only fall asleep. The other Lyrebirds were fixing after-lunch coffee and tea. She’d already noticed that people in here drank as many hot beverages as they did in gaols.

She stretched. She was glad she’d gone to the group this morning. It had been pretty great, actually, which was a big surprise. Progressive muscular relaxation, they called it – PMR. Years ago, Jill had tried meditation, but as soon as she’d started to let go of her tension a feeling of terror would strangle her and she’d have a full flashback. Twelve years old, blindfolded in the basement, her vagina in agony from the last rape, the smell of her nipples being burned. The meditation teacher had called an ambulance.

So, she’d not been exactly thrilled when she entered the gym and had seen the three words on the whiteboard. She just figured she’d fake it. Hell, maybe she could even get some sleep. But Clarissa had asked them to focus, not to let go. The aim was to concentrate on each muscle group, tensing it, noticing what the tension felt like, and then releasing the tension, feeling it leave, noticing the sensations in as focused a way as possible. Jill was good at focusing minutely. And at instructions. She’d tried it. It was fucking great.

They were supposed to practise. So, now, she squeezed her left hand into a fist, remembering Clarissa’s instructions. She stopped when Justin walked onto the veranda, a bottle of water in his hand, and took the seat next to her. Fatso suddenly skidded around a corner in the hall behind them, lolloped across the deck and barrelled straight into Justin.

‘Oof,’ he said. ‘Good girl, good girl.’ He rubbed at her nuzzle.

‘She really loves you, doesn’t she?’ said Jill, giving the big dog a scratch.

‘All dogs do,’ he said. ‘I’ve got three at home. Sometimes they’re the only reason I keep going.’

‘Well, all I can say is that I’m glad it was you rather than me she ran into just then. I couldn’t take another beating today.’

‘You do look like you got bashed, you know,’ he said. ‘You sure you didn’t have a bitch-fight with Layla and made up the whole story about your run through the forest?’

‘She’d look a whole lot more fucked up if that were the case, smartarse.’ Layla had arrived.

Justin laughed. Jill smiled. You have no idea, roomie, she thought.

Layla held a backpack. She dropped it onto her favourite chair. ‘Don’t let anyone sit there, Jill,’ she said. ‘I’m just going to grab a coffee.’

Camilla, June, Doug and Lynne arrived together and found their seats. June still had the sunnies in place; she hadn’t even taken them off during PMR.

‘You feeling any better, Jill?’ asked Camilla, lighting a cigarette. ‘That’s a horrible scratch on your forehead.’

‘I don’t know how you didn’t break your neck, jumping off here like that,’ said Lynne, nodding at the railing. ‘Look how high it is.’

‘Lots of people have done it,’ said Camilla. ‘This used to be the Kingfisher Unit, but they were making so many trips out to the bushes every day to get their stashes of booze that they swapped units.’

‘No shit?’ said Justin.

‘Why did you jump?’ said Lynne.

Jill’s pulse began to beat loudly in her ears. I cannot discuss Scotty with these people. ‘Ah–’ she said.

Layla walked over to her seat and put down her coffee cup. ‘You want to do it now, Jill?’ she interrupted.

‘Do what?’ asked Jill.

‘Your haircut.’

‘Um, no. I said no last night.’

‘Yeah, but you weren’t thinking straight then,’ she said. ‘Well, obviously. Besides,’ Layla dragged an upright chair over to the edge of the veranda, ‘I told you all about my sad story and how hard I’ve had to fight to become a good hairdresser. You’re not going to reject me now, are you? That could devastate me.’ She picked up the backpack and dropped it next to the chair. Justin laughed. ‘Come over here, Jill,’ said Layla. ‘A haircut will make you feel better.’

‘She really is good,’ said Camilla, blowing smoke with the wind, away from the group. She seemed practised at the gesture.

‘Actually, she’s great,’ said Lynne. ‘Half the nurses come around here to get their hair done when Layla’s admitted. Remember that nurse, Deanne Reynolds, Camilla? She came here the morning of her wedding. Got her hair done and all of her bridesmaids’.

Justin watched the conversation with a smile, his eyes dancing under his ball cap.

Layla had dragged a coffee table next to her chair, and on it she unpacked a towel, a comb, spray-bottle and three pairs of scissors.

Jill watched her in horror.

‘Do it,’ said June, lifting her sunglasses to look Jill in the eye.

‘You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,’ said Jill, standing and making her way over to the chair.

Fatso barked.

‘Wow. You look different,’ said Sam Barnard, closing the door to his office behind Jill.

‘Yeah, I guess,’ said Jill, dropping into the green chair. That was an understatement. She’d often asked herself why she even bothered to visit her hairdresser every couple of months. For twenty years she’d been wearing her blonde hair just past shoulder length, but almost always pulled back in a ponytail. That wouldn’t be happening for a while.

The Lyrebirds had kept up a constant banter while Layla snipped away behind her. At first she’d used PMR to try to forget about what was happening, but she soon found herself laughing and listening to the others. And when Lynne had asked Justin why he was first admitted to the hospital, she waited keenly for what he would say. It seemed remarkable that so many people here could tell their stories so easily, and even more remarkable that others would come straight out and ask them about it. But it was obvious that Justin hadn’t told his story before. The conversation faltered; the snipping stopped.

Justin’s cap hid his eyes. He continued to nuzzle Fatso’s belly with his foot.

‘Sorry, Justin,’ said Lynne. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘It’s okay, Lynne,’ said Justin. ‘Sam reckons I should be talking about it, anyway.’ He stood. ‘Be easier if I show you first, though.’

Justin wore a football jersey and baggy jeans. For the first time, Jill wondered whether he might be hot in those clothes. The weather had been beautiful here throughout the daylight hours. ‘I’m warning you, though, it’s not pretty,’ he said. He lifted his jersey.

Lynne gasped, and Jill heard Layla’s sharp intake of breath behind her. A raised white scar the width of a thumb ran from Justin’s breastbone down the centre of his torso and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. Jill noticed how skinny Justin was under all those clothes, and then she spotted the other scars. They were much smaller, but at least six or seven of them covered his stomach and chest. Justin swivelled and Jill saw three more scars marking his back.

‘I got stabbed,’ he said. ‘Twenty times.’ Justin dropped his jersey. Nobody spoke. ‘I was out with a girlfriend I had at the time,’ he went on, staring out into the forest. ‘It was a birthday party for one of her friends, Phillip. He was turning eighteen. I’d never even met him.’ He shook his head. ‘I’d had my own eighteenth the month before. Some dickheads had crashed my party, but we were able to kick them out without a big problem.’

Justin sat back down in his seat. Fatso plopped down onto his shoes. Justin fondled one of her ears. ‘There were only these three guys, but they were really pissed and Phillip’s dad wanted them out. Phillip and two of his mates sort of pushed them out the side gate onto the front lawn. I went along to watch.’ The rim of Justin’s cap dropped increasingly lower, along with his voice. ‘That’s when the other cars pulled up.’

‘Oh, shit,’ said Doug.

‘Yep,’ said Justin. ‘About twenty blokes poured out. They just ran in and started bashing the shit out of Phillip and his mates. His dad came out and they got him on the ground and started kicking him in the head. I couldn’t just stand there. I tried to drag this bloke off the dad and I felt myself getting punched in the back. I turned around and this Kiwi bloke was standing there, swinging punches. At least, I thought they were punches. Everyone started screaming and I woke up four days later in the ICU.’

‘That’s horrible,’ said Layla. ‘Sorry, Justin.’

‘So, that big scar – what the hell did you get stabbed with?’ asked Camilla.

‘No, that’s from the operation. They had to open me right up to sew up my insides, stop the bleeding.’

‘Fuck,’ said Layla.

‘Sorry, Justin,’ said Jill.

‘And that’s my happy story,’ said Justin. ‘The doctors fought so hard to save my life, but sometimes I wish they hadn’t.’

‘Don’t say that,’ said Layla. ‘We’re glad you’re here. Well, not here, but you know–’

‘Actually, I’ve been getting better,’ said Justin. ‘This place has really helped. I’ve had four admissions, and I was much worse when I first came in. I came back this time because it’s around the time it happened. The anniversaries fuck me up.’

I hear you, thought Jill. Camilla nodded. June dropped her head.

‘Right, well. That’s not fucking fair at all, but I’m glad you told us, Justin,’ said Layla. ‘Maybe now when I catch you stealing my lollies I won’t kick your arse so hard.’

Justin smiled, his face pale.

‘That shit again?’ said Camilla. ‘They’d better up your Lithium, Layla. I reckon you just eat them all yourself.’

‘One day I’ll catch you, Justin,’ said Layla.

‘Can’t wait,’ said Justin.

The snipping began again. Startled, Jill turned around.

‘Hold still,’ said Layla. ‘I’m almost done.’

Jill froze. She’d just noticed the deck covered in her hair; it was not so much the amount, but the twenty-centimetre lengths that floored her.
Oh, fuck.

But it was the girl in the mirror that shocked her the most. She burst into tears.

‘Oh, no! Do you hate it?’ asked Layla, behind her in their bathroom. ‘Everyone thinks it looks great.’

‘It doesn’t look like me.’

‘Well, it is you. You look great.’

Jill fingered her fringe. She’d never had a fringe. Now her hair brushed her eyelashes.

‘Too long?’ asked Layla. ‘I can trim it, but I love long fringes. More mysterious,’ she said.

Jill plucked at the hair curling around her ears, reached around to the base of her neck. She felt completely naked. Her hair fell just to her collar.

‘What’s with the curls?’ Jill said. ‘My hair’s straight.’

‘With the length gone, the weight’s gone,’ said Layla. ‘It just lets your natural kink through.’

‘My natural kink.’

‘Yeah,’ Layla laughed at Jill’s flat tone. ‘And they’re not curls; it’s more just a bit of feathering. It frames your face. You look great.’

‘It makes my freckles stand out more.’ Jill smudged her thumb across her turned-up nose.

‘They’re cute.’

Jill sighed. Cute. Fucking hell, she did look cute. She also looked more like her sister Cassie than she ever had in her life. But cute? Cute meant innocent, and innocents get killed. She stepped on the thought – she wasn’t going to die because she’d had her hair cut. ‘I’ve still got my gun,’ she said.

‘Okaaay,’ said Layla. ‘God. I’ve never had someone hate a haircut that much.’

Jill laughed. ‘No, I don’t hate it, Layla. Thanks for doing it. I think I’m probably going to like it. I just have to get used to it.’