‘HELP ME,’ Aubrey says.

The room is full of huge white pillows. Sidney expands, grows heavier, as she tries to stuff the pillows, like giant marshmallows, into boxes that are too small. She dream-knows that if she can pack all the pillows impossibly into the boxes, she’ll be able to save Aubrey.

‘Please help me,’ Aubrey cries.

‘I can’t find you.’

Peacocks scream.

Christos is here! No. Just a dream. She sat up in Nan and Pop’s bed. Something scratched and squeaked. Mice, rats? She scrambled for the lamp. It didn’t work. She found her phone, the torchlight app. Nothing in the room. An auditory hallucination?

She couldn’t get back to sleep, couldn’t find a comfortable place for her mind to rest. She got up and went to the kitchen for a bottle of water. The clock ticked 3.00 am. The moon was still big outside the window. The wind teased a final glow from the embers of last night’s bonfire.

She went to the toilet, shivering and rubbing the goosebumps on her thighs as she urinated. The water pump moaned when she flushed. There were cracks in the dirty-white-and-green soap on the basin. Psycho slut … He only said to scare her … Sniffing up tears, she took one of Faye’s sleeping tablets and headed back to bed.

A distant dog barked. Trucks grunted and hissed along the highway. Wind howled around the house, rattling things that were loose. As the Temazepam was zonking her into sleep, what Christos had done to her slipped from her mind. She thought instead about Dean Cola, about Aubrey, and, finally, about the moon, tides, and blood.

A rooster crowed. The smell of damp ash from the bonfire filled her nose. Her stomach was a ball of rubber bands; her eyes felt grainy, her mouth dry. The road dust caught in the back of her throat felt like the start of a cold. Coughing, she reached for her phone. Nothing from Aubrey. A 5.00 am message from an unknown number (Christos, not so easy to delete): kisses and love hearts. She left on her Supergirl pyjama top, but swapped the shorts for track pants, and pulled on the denim jacket.

She opened all the curtains, hoping for a flood of light harsh with reality, normality — sanity, or something like it. But there was disorder in the colour of the sky, indistinguishable: white, grey, or blue?

She phoned Aubrey. It rang out, went to voicemail. You’ve got Aubrey. You know what to do at the tone.

Breakfast first, or just get the fuck out of here? The thought of food nauseated her. The sticky jar of instant coffee and the ant army marching across the kitchen bench sealed the deal. She tried to remember the dream she’d had about Aubrey, but it had been washed away like footprints in sand. Perhaps the memories from last night were just part of that dream. The diary, Aubrey’s desperate call, the full moon, burying old Liberace, the bonfire. The Temazepam hangover wasn’t making things clearer.

No peacock cries. She looked down at her bare feet — her toes were freezing red. Socks, a priority. She headed to her suitcase in the lounge room. It was getting light quickly. Dewdrops glittered on a giant spider web spun between the house and the maple tree.

She’d thrown her diary on the bonfire, reduced it to ash with Faye’s lifetime of belongings. But she’d kept the cassette that had been attached to the diary; it was still on the lounge chair. Through the windows, she could see the big black circle in the yard where flames gold and red had licked the darkness, spitting sparks like dancing fairies up against the stars.

Beyond the circle, in the middle distance, a police car bobbed along Broken River Road. Routine check? Not unusual. Nothing to do out here, nothing ever happened, nowhere to go. They’d do a U-turn in a minute and head back towards the highway.

The cop car kept coming. It turned into the driveway. Sidney shoved the cassette into her case, hiding it underneath her clothes as if it was something unlawful. She pulled on gloves as the car crawled towards the house. There was a fluttering like a trapped bird in the cavity between her chest and stomach. Christos had sent the police. She was going back to hospital. Run to the river, hide somewhere — her thoughts, not Voices.

The car pulled up just inside the gate. The driver’s door opened, a grab of police radio. A tall, broad-shouldered officer with dark hair stepped out, and stretched.

Sidney held her breath, listening to the pounding of the bird in her chest, and the ticking of the clock. A magpie carolled. Voices shifted inside her head, preparing to say something, yell something. ‘Shh, please not now.’

Bang, bang, bang. She was expecting the knock, but still it made her jump.

The unused front door was stuck; she had to jiggle it and pull hard to open.

Mahersy — Sergeant Gareth Maher, according to his name badge — stood on the step, chewing gum. ‘Sidney Madsen!’

She didn’t correct him. She willed her face calm and pulled the denim jacket across the Supergirl ‘S’ on her chest, vulnerable without a bra underneath.

His husky-dog stare lingered on her gloves. ‘Sorry about your mum.’

She nodded and struggled to swallow.

‘Christos here?’

She frowned as he looked over her shoulder, leaning in close enough for her to smell him. Still a swimmer. Chlorine, underneath green-and-dirty-white aftershave. Her stomach clenched, and she took a small step backwards.

‘Heard there was a bit of a fire out here last night. Not supposed to burn off at this time of year. You should know that.’

She looked towards the deserted dairy farm.

‘Could let you off with a warning, I s’pose.’ He relaxed his stance, bent a knee, leaned his left arm on the doorframe so she could see his flexed muscles through his shirt. ‘You look well.’

She glanced at the Fairlane. Mahersy must have thought she was looking at his ringless hand.

‘Divorced. Two years back.’

She cleared her throat, but her voice still sounded scratchy. ‘Kim Carmichael?’

‘Nah. Donna Doherty. Took the two kids with her up to her oldies’ place in Mildura.’

‘Sorry to hear that.’

‘You’d know how it is. Fireys’ hours aren’t much different to coppers’.’ The disdain in his tone suggested there was more to their break-up than shiftwork.

‘No need to tell Christos about the fire. Don’t want him to worry.’

Mahersy tilted his head.

‘Just burning some of Mum’s stuff.’ She crossed her arms and waited for him to leave. He didn’t. ‘Thanks for checking on the house.’

He still didn’t go. His icy gaze slid over her body before he turned to survey the property. He was going to tell Christos. ‘Fancy a drink for old times’?’ she said. ‘Tonight?’

He brightened. ‘Here?’

‘Sure.’

‘I knock off at three today.’

Acid climbed her stomach walls, but she forced a smile.

‘I’ll drop back about four.’

Swallowing a gag reflex, she watched him swagger back to his car.

<let’s see blood let’s see blood run cut blood out do it do it do it>

Mahersy waved as he swung into the driver’s seat. She shoved the door shut, locked it, and ran to the toilet.