Rather than pass, though, the vehicle drew level with me. It was Gary Koslovski’s black ute – no-one else in town had a shiny black machine like that. It stopped and the electric window went down. A dark body leant across to the passenger side.
‘Do you wanna lift, girl?’ His lips and teeth stumbled over the word ‘lift’ enough for me to know he’d had a few drinks. I wondered where Karen was, why he was alone.
‘No, thanks.’
‘Come on, jump in.’ Gary’s face was lit luminous green by the dashboard and eerie shadows pooled below his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks.
‘No, it’s okay. I’m nearly home.’ My heartbeat sped up. I had a feeling he didn’t want to help me or give me a lift.
‘Hey, I’m just being friendly. Don’t worry.’
‘No, really, I’ll be home in a minute. Actually, I think my ride will be along soon.’ I started walking again, looking straight ahead.
The ute began to crawl along beside me and a wave of fear washed over me.
‘I know who you are,’ he called through the window.
What did he mean? Of course he knew who I was. Everyone knew everyone in this town. I knew him just as he knew me. By linking a few people together, or even a few distances, we knew each other; we were connected, by degrees.
‘You’re his girl,’ he said.
I walked on, searching ahead for our driveway, but the headlights dulled everything beyond their reach.
Gary revved the engine. ‘You’re that killer’s daughter.’
The road fell away under my feet and I stumbled sideways toward a ditch. The ute stopped with me, its engine rumbling under the hood.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against ya.’ He laughed then, and I could hear the malice in each deep chuckle.
My feet slipped on the loose gravel but I regained my footing and began to walk quickly, trying to get in front of the bonnet so he couldn’t talk at me. But as soon as I strode ahead, the ute moved up beside me, roaring and throbbing.
‘You know he did it, don’t you?’ Gary yelled. ‘He killed Dylan. I heard a shot when I was in the rainforest.’
Adrenaline surged through me and my heart knocked against my sternum. This man could easily grab me and do whatever he wanted to me. I had no way of escaping unless I ran into the bushes and hid in the dark like a frightened animal. My mind was racing, planning my survival. I glanced ahead, longing to see the Kingfisher Farm sign glowing in the headlights. But a wallaby sign appeared instead. That meant I still had another hundred metres to go, at least.
Gary yelled through the window. ‘You can tell him from me: He’s not gonna get away with it. Do you hear me, girl?’
I began to run, thinking erroneously that this would somehow get me away from him. The next thing I knew I was floundering forward, my knees hitting the hard dirt, rocks puncturing my shins and palms as I landed heavily.
The ute stopped.
I looked up, frozen, waiting to hear the car door open. Fear gripped me and wrenched me away. I detached from my body and watched myself lying there on the side of a dark road with a rumbling ute beside me. Pragmatic, decisive thoughts of survival flew through my mind with a stunning clarity, as if I thought of them every day. Like getting up and getting myself away, running through the undergrowth and squatting in safety.
They say when you’re in real danger your life flashes before your eyes, but I’d heard somewhere that it is actually just your brain flicking through your filing cabinet of experiences, looking to see if this particular situation has happened before, trying desperately to find a solution, a way out. It had always struck me as tragic that people thought this utilitarian, primal survival instinct was the brain’s way of having one last happy look at life.
As I waited for that door to open, something in the headlights caught my eye – the shape of a person coming toward me. Relief flooded over me. A helpful stranger. I thanked God and whomever else I could thank. The stranger approached rapidly: a woman in a white dress. Time slowed and I was keenly aware of each nanosecond passing. The figure was closer now, walking in the middle of the road, toward us, and into the headlights. Then I recognised the person. She was as familiar to me as my own face. This was no helpful stranger.
This was my mother.
The ute continued to idle next to me, but I was fixated on the figure of Mum, growing larger, glowing in the headlights. Did he see her? He had to be able to see her, she was right there. The engine roared and the tyres flicked up gravel. Gary accelerated away, right into that vision.
Right into her.
I screamed and held out my hand as if to stop the collision, bracing myself for the inevitable thud of body on metal. But, of course, cars make no noise when they drive through vapour and Gary Koslovski sped away, his headlights carving the night and leaving me in his dark wake.
I cried as I jogged along the road, praying that the headlights would not come back. I’m not sure if I was more shocked by Gary Koslovski’s menacing behaviour or by seeing my mother appear again, so very clearly, before my eyes.
The stubborn cloud hung over the moon, so when I finally made it to our driveway I decided to use the tiny light on my phone to illuminate the undulating terrain. I also checked for service, thinking Kevin could get to me in a matter of minutes if I needed him – or maybe Matt.
I stumbled through the dark, jumping at every shadow or tiny scuffle in the bushes, terrified that Gary was going to jump
