thirteen

I stand at the crossroads, at

the corner of Grey and O’Neira. I’m flooded with so much static I don’t know what to do with it. My hands curl by my side, my neck forces my head back. The night stops.

In a swift flash I gather the black sky from above and pull it down into my gut, swallowing it whole. It cuts deep inside and then it’s rising, burning a stinging path up my windpipe.

I scream. I howl.

The sound reverberates inside my head, bounces and multiplies. I try to shake it off, make it stop.

I choke, I scream, I howl.

I’m bent over, hands on knees, close to vomiting. My heart pounds but I’m finally quiet. A few people stand on the stairs of the Diabetic, faceless plastic figurines. One raises an arm and points. I thought I was done with this.

I stumble over to a wall and lean against it until I get my breath back. I’m still puffing when my phone rings. For one deluded second, I think it’s Wildgirl calling me from the train, but it’s not.

‘Ortolan?’ I try to sound normal. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Jethro, are you all right?’

I swallow. ‘I’m glad you called. Can I come over?’

‘I thought long and hard about whether I should tell you I saw Wildgirl.’ Ortolan positions the heater to blow on her slippered feet. We sit downstairs, in the dark and empty shop, so we don’t wake Diana.

‘I decided not to tell you before you played. I’m sorry. I should have made sure I told you afterwards.’

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘It wouldn’t have made a difference. I think she hates me.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true.’ Ortie stirs sugar into the tea and hands me the cup. ‘From what you’ve told me she’d be angriest at her mum.’

‘Her mum was probably right. It’s best for Nia if I stay away from her.’

‘With all due respect, Jethro, I think that’s bullshit.’

I accidentally swallow a mouthful of scalding tea. Ortie hardly ever swears.

‘If Nia’s mother actually met you, then she’d quickly realise what I already know. You’re polite and sensitive, and you always try to do the right thing by people. And according to my friend Kara—you remember the blonde woman from last night?—you wear a pair of jeans very well.’

I scald my mouth again. ‘You better watch it,’ I say, trying to deflect my embarrassment. ‘I’ll get a big head.’

‘Not a chance.’

Ortie reaches out and absentmindedly fiddles with a dress hem. ‘I sort of understand where her mum is coming from. I lie to Diana sometimes if she needs protecting from a certain truth. I’m not excusing what she did—it was misguided—but I do understand that…tigress feeling.’

‘It’s done now,’ I say. ‘Everything is fucked.’

‘I think you can still save it.’

‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘I’ve got other things to worry about.’ I stare at the phalanx of draped mannequins guarding the front window.

‘You mean Paul?’ asks Ortolan, and I nod, but I don’t tell her about Doctor Gregory and the blue people.

‘I don’t want to add to your worries, Jethro,’ Ortolan hesitates. ‘But I need to talk to you about Blake.’

‘Oh no,’ I say. ‘What happened?’

Already I’m thinking of possibilities: Diana cutting up her bedspread, or filling the bath with tinned spaghetti, or running a flying fox from the first-floor window. All things she’s tried to get me to agree to in the past.

‘Diana said that Blake took her out of the house last night.’

‘No,’ I say straightaway. ‘Blake wouldn’t do that.’

‘That’s what my first thought was. But Diana said very clearly, several times when I asked her, that Blake took her to see the Queen of the Night.’

‘The Queen of the Night? What’s that? Is it a movie?’

‘No, Diana said it’s a person.’ Ortie sighs. ‘I know, it sounds like a game or something made-up. When I asked Diana if she meant a real or pretend person, she said real. Not that that means anything.’

‘It’s not like her to lie to you, though. She tells you everything.’

‘That’s true. She also tells me she had a tea party with the moon.’

‘I’m so sorry, Ortie. I thought Blake could be trusted.’

‘It’s not your fault. But can you ask Blake about it? I’ll feel better if I know exactly what happened.’ Ortolan goes to the lacquered desk in the far corner.

‘Here.’ She hands me a piece of ribbon. I take it, confused. ‘I think this is going to help you solve a few things.’

Blake isn’t in her bedroom when I get home, so I double back to Paul’s room at the front of the house. The room is unsurprisingly empty and stale. Paul still hasn’t been home. No satchel. I check under the blow-up camping mattress. Nothing. I’m not sure what I’m looking for anyway. My throat still feels raw.

I message Thom to see if Paul crashed at the cottage last night, but he could be behind the brick walls of the Datura Institute for all I know. I can’t believe this has been happening right under my nose.

There’s an inner tube in the far corner, and a messy stack of papers being held down by a tin of baked beans: a stash of flyers, some for our gigs, some for other bands, black market sales, and a two-month-old ticket for a party at the old municipal pool. Nothing with the Datura Institute logo on it. Then I see Paul’s spidery handwriting on the back of the pool party ticket.

Velodrome

Sunday, darkest night

I stare at it. There’s only one velodrome in Shyness. It’s close to my old high school. As far as I know the cycling track and club has been abandoned for years. Although I probably wouldn’t know if something was there. The last time I was close by was that night with Nia, on our way to Orphanville. We were stopped by three Kidds dressed as pirates.

And one of them did say something about the velodrome.

I strain to remember the pirate captain’s exact words.

She said: As soon as I saw you I thought you were off to the velo. The bike place. The dog place.

I’ve underestimated how eerie the walk to the velodrome is going to be. As soon as I cross the misty creek I regret not riding. The creek and the corridor of parkland have changed in six months. More dead trees have toppled, the undergrowth has rotted flat, trying to meld with the ground.

My mind can’t settle: Paul, Nia, Paul, Nia. He’s been lying to me. He’s caught up in something to do with Doctor Gregory. She’s gone.

I should have said something different to her at the station. I should have told her that I can’t believe I ever got to kiss her. But I didn’t say anything right. And now she’ll find some other guy. She’ll change her mind, because that’s what people do. They change their minds, they don’t call. They wait a few days so they don’t look too keen. When there’s an obstacle they give up too easily. They wonder why someone would ever be interested in them. The memories that once seemed so certain fade and become more like fantasies or dreams.

Ahead lie the dark buildings of Orphanville. The night is cloudy, with no illumination from the moon, and the towers are darker than I’ve ever seen them.

The velodrome is further away than I thought.

I pass the bridge where we met the three pirates and I run until the towers pass silently. I finally spot a smudge of light in the distance. As I draw closer to the velodrome, my eyes sharpen and my ears sharpen; everything moves into clear focus.

The velodrome fits into the basin of a man-made hill the shape of a small volcano. Light bleeds from the lip. Something, some sense or instinct, prickles the back of my neck. I reach the top of the hill and look down. Two trucks are parked near the centre of the bowl, with floodlights running off their batteries. The lights are focused on a huge cage. When I see what’s inside, I understand why the pirate called this the dog place.