‘I guess I should thank you,’ he said.
But there was no gratitude in his voice. He stood shakily, his feet spread wide for balance. He offered me his hand. I stared at it for a second.
‘Come on,’ he said.
I took it and he dragged me up, but did not let go. ‘It’s better this way,’ he said and shoved me backward into the waterhole.
It wasn’t like the time I saw my mother, when I hit my head and blacked out. This time I felt every second of the fall, felt my body meld into the effusive flow – a surprisingly soft landing – and then the whiteness closed over me. I realised the complete power of the waterhole. It had me in its grip. Those souls hiding below in the cavernous dark tunnels beneath the boulders could have reached up and grabbed me. I might have been a piece of driftwood; my pathetic flailing limbs made no impression on the mighty arm of the water as it tossed me to and fro.
It was easy to give up the fight and let the waterhole take me. I was tired of fighting anyway. Things would be easier that way and, best of all, I would have a chance at seeing my mother again, if there were any chance at all. I let my body go limp and felt myself being thrashed from side to side. The current made a whirlpool as each molecule of water jostled to be released from behind the rocks. Soon I would slip into one of the tunnels and get stuck, just like the others.
I opened my eyes and saw nothing but white, not the light that people speak of when they are near to death, but the white of the water swirling all around my head. I closed my eyes again, my lungs crying out for air, willing my mouth to open and inhale.
I waited for the moment that everyone talks about, the moment where you know you are going to die. I was there with Dylan, and my mother. This seemed fitting, it seemed right. But my life didn’t flash before my eyes. My brain wasn’t trying to search for a way out. The moment didn’t come. Something lifted me, unseen hands, my mother’s hands, and I felt air on my face. Involuntarily, I gasped for breath and groped for something solid to hold onto. The water had hurled me against the rock, bruising my hip, and I felt something solid below my feet. I pushed up and my fingers gripped the side of a boulder. Some rough edges allowed me to claw my way up and drag myself to safety.
I lay there, catching my breath, the rain hammering on my back. After a few moments I heard voices calling my name. I pulled myself up, expecting to see Gary. He was gone, but I could see Matt and Kevin climbing over the boulders toward me. I knew I was safe. It was alright. The waterhole couldn’t keep me. And it couldn’t keep Dylan either.
I twisted around to the pool where I saw Dylan’s shirt still floating and sinking beneath the surface.
Matt reached me first and crouched beside me. ‘Sunny,’ he said, panting, water pouring down his face. He helped me to my feet and held my upper arms. ‘I thought you’d come here. I was worried you might …’ He embraced me.
Kevin came up behind us. ‘I’m so glad we found you,’ he said, pulling me close, hugging me so tight I couldn’t inhale.
‘I’m sorry,’ I wept. ‘I’m so sorry about everything.’
‘It’s okay. Everything is going to be alright,’ he whispered into my ear.
As he held me, I glanced across the waterhole. In the distance I saw her walking away, an ethereal white shadow. Her long dress, her hair falling down her back. She turned and gazed at me, making sure I understood that the time had come, making sure I knew she was leaving me, and that this would be the last time.
But I don’t want you to go.
I felt her gaze, sad and knowing. I nodded, warm tears coursing down my face. I understood; it was time. I let her go then, and she drifted away, melting into the rain.
‘Sunny,’ Kevin said, stepping back. ‘What is it?’
I nodded and turned to the water, pointing.
‘We found him,’ I said. ‘We found Dylan.’
Afterwards was okay.
They found Gary later that day hiding out in the bush, drenched and trembling like a lost child. He offered himself up to the police, meek as a kitten according to rumours, and was taken into custody. It didn’t look too good for him. People were talking manslaughter and prison. I guess he’d been right about that outcome.
I had to talk to the police, of course. Kevin too. There’d be a trial or inquest in the coming months. Gossip buzzed through Kelly’s Crossing about Gary and the violence that went on behind the closed doors of the Koslovski house. People forgot about their suspicion of Kevin and acted as though they’d never even doubted him. Business as usual. But who was I to judge them for that?
Kevin told me that the day Dylan had come to him with a bloody nose was just one of many times Gary had hit him, or so Dylan had said. Kevin had offered him an old T-shirt and Dylan had cleaned himself up in the laundry.
‘He must have shoved the shirt under the sink. Probably didn’t want to take it home and let his mother see it. She used to blame him for making Gary angry.’
That part I found cruel. He was just a kid.
Afterwards.
The world took on a different hue. Afterwards was the post-rain verdancy of the forest, the hot, wet fury of summer and the frenzied industry of insects animated by the overabundance of water.
And, finally,
