‘We’re out of time,’ Nathaneal announces. ‘Jordan, listen to me. You do not have to die today if you agree to help me find Ebrielle.’
‘And if I don’t agree?’
‘We leave.’ He points to the doctor who’s stopped everything and is staring up at the clock on the wall with a look of death on his own face.
‘Wait!’ I recall the stunning landscape he showed me. ‘My life wasn’t all peachy, you know. You gotta understand, my life sucked. Why would I want to return?’
‘What if I said you would return to a far better life this time around?’
‘Can you assure me of that?’
‘Once we find Ebrielle and she returns to Avena, you will have a Guardian Angel. Trust me; your life will improve dramatically.’
‘You sound so sure, but, dude, how can I trust someone I only just met?’ I take a breath quickly. ‘I suppose life wasn’t too bad when it was going all right, but … How would I know what to do? Where to look?’
‘I will be with you every step.’
I stare hard at the tall stranger before me. He says he’s an angel. I suppose he is. And if anyone has a trustworthy face, it’s this one, but what would I be getting myself into? ‘You said every step?’
‘You have my word.’
I remind myself how this could all be a reaction to the anaesthetic and these two ‘angels’ could be figments of my imagination. ‘This is a dream, right? I’m doped up on morphine and having a crazy hallucination.’
‘If that is the case, why not give me your promise?’ Nathaneal shrugs.
‘If you guys are real, will I wake to find I’ve sold you my soul?’
‘Free Will is the governing law of Avena.’
‘You call this “Free Will”? Dude, this is an ambush.’
‘I’ll come to your room while you’re still in hospital, and you’ll remember everything and know this was real.’
‘How long will it take to find this girl and get my new life?’
‘Hurry and make a decision, lad,’ Isaac calls out. ‘I’ve stalled for as long as I can. Your doctor fears brain damage.’
‘Assure Dr Mac that won’t happen.’
Isaac gives Nathaneal a look that says, ‘What do you think I’ve been doing for the last twenty-six minutes?’
‘Quickly, Jordan, yes or no?’
‘Will there be danger?’
‘Yes.’
‘Could I die for real?’
‘The destiny of your species is to die.’
Isaac shakes his head. ‘He’s pulling away from me!’
‘My second life will be better, right?’
‘I promise you, yes.’
Is he telling me the whole truth?
‘What is your answer, Jordan?’
‘What do you think, Thane? Of course it’s yes!
13
Ebony
On Monday morning I wake at dawn with a dream lingering in my subconscious. It’s a dream I’ve had several times recently, in which I can just make out a beautiful white house shimmering on the edges of my peripheral vision.
Shaking off the dream, I dress quickly, pack a small lunch, saddle up Shadow and ride over to the Langs’.
‘Today, my beautiful friend –’ I lean forward to pat Shadow’s elegant neck and whisper in his ear – ‘you will have a chance to stretch your long Arabian legs and we will fly together as if you have wings.’
Usually I enjoy the ride down the Langs’ long driveway. In autumn it’s especially lovely, with the changing colours of the liquidambar and golden ash trees lining both sides, but today I’m keen to start on our trip. It’s a substantial distance, but with Amber for company the journey won’t seem half as long.
We meet outside her front gates and put Shadow and her horse, Pandora, into a steady canter along Gunalda Road.
‘It’s pretty sad what happened to those best friends,’ Amber says as she tries to get at an itch under her helmet. ‘Their story has been the hot topic in chat rooms ever since.’
‘They were best friends?’
‘Years ago,’ she confirms. ‘Way before you started.’
‘There must be more to it. Adam Skinner stabbing anybody is beyond me. He has everything going for him.’
‘I know! He topped our grade two years running and he’s planning to study law and become a solicitor like his mother and stepfather.’
I nod because I know this too, from Careers Day last year when Mrs Skinner-Holmes gave a talk.
Turning west on to North-West Highway One, the traffic increases, so we ride single file. We pull in at an off-road amenities park later in the morning. Truck drivers often stop to catch a nap here, but now it’s quiet.
‘How much further?’ Amber asks as she rummages around in her backpack for something to eat.
‘According to these directions –’ I bring out my map and point to a small lane near the Windhaven National Park – ‘we should arrive around noon.’
‘Just giving us enough time to do our business and make it home before being missed.’
It’s amazing how similarly we think. Last night I told Mum I’d be out riding all day with Amber, letting her assume we would be sticking to the trails in the local forests where we usually go.
The last thing I want is to hurt my parents. If this man turns out to be a criminal, I don’t want him anywhere near Mum and Dad, so if I’m going to do this, it has to be discreet.
Amber bites into a juicy red apple. ‘So, what’s so fascinating about this lane?’
‘A house.’
‘A house, huh?’ She frowns, lowering her apple, then gasps suddenly, ‘It’s not the one in your dreams, is it?’
She should know me better than to ask such a ridiculous question. This is one area of our friendship where we agree to disagree. ‘You know dreams are simply brainwaves that become active while you rest.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘They’re the body’s natural way to release stress. And they’re not real events or predictors of your own or someone else’s future.’
She shrugs. ‘Psychics and mediums would disagree with you, girlfriend.’
‘Well, I disagree with psychics and mediums.’
I am dying to tell Amber everything; it would help relieve the knot in my stomach that’s been tightening since we started out this morning. I’m just not sure what her reaction would be. Will she still think I’m the same person? Will she be uncomfortable around me as she wonders, as I can’t seem to stop doing now, who my birth parents are, and if they’re out there somewhere grieving for their missing child?
It would be great, though, to have someone to talk to and share my concerns about all this.
She notices my hesitation. ‘Best friends don’t keep secrets, and I can tell when you’re scared, and when you’re lying, hon.’
‘I’m nervous, I’ll grant you that, but I’m not lying. I don’t lie.’
‘Ah, but you’re clever at omitting pertinent information when you want to keep a secret. Come on, spill. What are you worried about and why are you worried about telling me?’
This is all the encouragement I need, and I tell her about my conversation with Mum and Dad on Saturday night and how I’m not their biological daughter.
‘Oh, my God!’ she cries out.
‘So there I was, two days old and wrapped in a black cashmere blanket being handed to a grieving couple to raise, just like that.’
‘Oh, my God! Oh, my God!’
‘Can you say something else?’
‘You’re adopted,’ she says, then swallows deeply. ‘And all these years you had no idea?’
I shake my head a little. She covers my hand with hers on the picnic table. ‘That’s lousy, hon. They should have told you.’
I shrug.
‘It makes no difference, just so you know.’
I smile at that, because it is good to know. ‘Amber, my parents would be devastated if this information became public knowledge.’
‘Of course, especially because of the way it transpired.’ She squeezes my hand and catches my eye. ‘I won’t tell anyone. I swear.’ She then gives me one of her rare and beautiful smiles. Her eyes are welling with tears. ‘Could your parents get into trouble over this?’
‘I don’t think so. I hope not. They were thinking through a fog of emotions at the time.’
‘So no one’s going to take you away, are they? I mean, just let them try!’
I warm inside at her eagerness to protect me. ‘No one can take me away, Amber. At my age, legally I’m allowed to live by myself if I want.’
She reaches across the timber slatted table and pats my hand. ‘That’s a relief, but, hey, do you think this man Zavier was telling the truth?’
To ensure we have time enough to return home before dark, I start packing up and collect Shadow and Pandora from where we left them grazing. ‘That’s our goal today, Am, to find something to prove I was born in his house, like he told my parents, and hopefully not find proof the house was, or even still is, being used for some baby-smuggling business.’
We swing into our saddles and set off along the highway once more.
‘What if he’s still living there?’ Amber asks.
‘He’ll be in for a surprise, won’t he?’
She giggles, but it gets me thinking. What if he is? He could be affiliated with a big-time crime organisation! The house is in a pretty remote area.
‘Amber, you have to turn back right away. I didn’t think this through. I could be putting you in danger.’
‘You’re not doing this on your own!’ she exclaims emphatically. ‘What sort of friend do you think I am?’
‘This could get ugly.’
‘Forget it. We stick together. Where you walk, I walk. OK?’
There’s no arguing with the conviction in her voice, so I simply nod and promise myself to keep Amber out of danger.
At noon we turn off the highway into the first of a series of country roads. It’s not long before my stomach flutters at my first glimpse of the Windhaven River. This river forms the border between the two council districts Windhaven and Cedar Oakes.
It’s weird to think I’ve never been outside the valley where I was born. I must be the most sheltered sixteen-year-old that’s ever lived!
And now that we’re riding along the riverbank, the scenery changes dramatically from open farmland to hills of stunning pine forests. My mood soars. ‘It’s beautiful here,’ I murmur, vowing to see more of the world once I’ve finished school next year.
After what seems like an age, we finally locate Willow Tree Lane and, whoa, it’s so beautiful we both stop to stare. Lined on either side with stately poplars and scarlet oaks, this country lane has a manicured look – expensive and private. ‘This is it,’ I tell Amber.
She leans forward to give Pandora a ‘good girl’ pat. ‘Nice,’ she says, scrunching up her nose. ‘It screams “Private property” and “Keep out”, don’t you think?’
Our eyes connect and we burst into giggles for no other reason than we’re more than a little nervous. ‘You can pull out now, Amber, and I won’t blame you.’
‘Not happening,’ she says, and tugging on Pandora’s reins she takes off, click-clacking down the brick-paved lane.
I catch up, quietly relieved not to be doing this alone. We ride side by side, content to have a few silent moments with our own thoughts. A light breeze rustles the crisp autumn leaves. The lane itself is strangely pristine, devoid of dust, debris and, amazingly, even fallen leaves. At this time of year that’s majorly remarkable. I study the trees more closely. There don’t appear to be any bare branches. The trees have not shed any leaves, almost as if time has caught them in a vacuum.
I should listen to myself! What am I thinking?
We stop at the end of the lane in front of a set of black iron gates with a silver letterbox built into one of the brick pillars. Engraved on the front in fancy calligraphy is a name:
ZAVIER
Beyond the gates a sweeping driveway curves out of view behind leafy trees and manicured gardens. An ominous chill runs down my spine as I stare through the gates. I’m not normally superstitious. I know there are no paranormal states, but I am startled by the thought that this residence is evil. It makes me want to turn Shadow around and gallop all the way home. But I’m not ready to leave yet, not without trying to get answers.
Damn it, I’m being silly. It’s a flare of panic, that’s all. I’ll burst into a fit of laughter next. I do that when I’m nervous. I take a deep breath to pump some oxygen and sense into my brain.
A light touch on my arm makes me jump. It’s only Amber. She’s frowning. ‘Are you all right, hon?’
I nod, not ready to speak just yet. She seems to sense this. ‘We know where Mr Zavier lives now, so if you want to come back another time …’
‘No, I want to do this now.’
Amber’s blonde eyebrows lift as she forces a smile to her face. ‘OK. Remember, I’m right beside you.’
We leave Shadow and Pandora tethered to the left pillar of the gate, which opens at the touch of my hand on the handle. It swings wide enough for us to walk through in single file, and closes behind us automatically.
‘Neat trick,’ Amber says.
‘The whole place is probably electronically monitored.’ I search for the eye of a surveillance camera. ‘They could be watching us now, assessing whether we’re undercover cops come to break up their black-market baby-napping ring.’
A paved footpath leads away from the main driveway to meander through a tall rainforest garden. The canopy grows thick and adds an ominous dimension that rekindles the chill that ran down my spine at the front gates. I start to feel breathless, the urge to run away kicking in, but finally the house swings into view.
‘I thought we’d never find it,’ Amber murmurs, pulling aside a moss-covered vine. She hooks her arm through mine. ‘Not bad! Sandstone, right? I like the timber veranda with the white rails. It has a colonial look, don’t you think?’ She seems unaware that I’ve not spoken yet, not moved a fraction, or even taken a breath. ‘Ebony?’
Unconsciously I step backwards and, taking notice of the pressure building inside my chest, I open my mouth. My breath rushes out in a gasp and Amber runs to my side. ‘Ebony, what’s wrong?’
‘I’ve been here before. I don’t know how I know this, I just do. And …’
‘And … ? And what?’
‘It’s the same house as in my dreams.’ I look at her and ask, ‘What does this mean, Amber? What could this mean?’ I go on to answer myself. ‘I have memories of being inside this house. I remember a red room with mushrooms, and fairies pointing wands at mice.’ I shift my eyes from the house to her. ‘How is this possible?’
She looks lost for words. ‘I don’t know. How could you remember it when you were so little?’
‘I don’t have any memory of Willow Tree Lane, the driveway or this path through the forest.’
‘Do you still want go inside?’
I nod and she whispers, ‘Wait here.’
She runs off around the side of the house. I don’t know where she’s gone, but she returns quickly, breathing fast. ‘We could be lucky.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Well, there’s no car in the garage, no clothes drying on the outside line and no pets in the yard.’
I look at her blankly. She raises both her arms. ‘I don’t think anyone is home.’
‘Oh, OK, but we still have to be careful in case we’re wrong.’
She nods and we walk up the steps of the front veranda, where I pull on an elaborate doorbell. When no one responds, Amber tries the door handle, but it seems firmly closed. She takes a step back and looks to see if there are any open windows, and I try the door handle, just to be sure. Just like the outside gates, it opens as soon as my fingers curl around it.
‘That’s creepy,’ Amber says, both eyebrows lifting high.
I shrug. I have no idea what it mean
s.
We walk into a pristine, white-tiled foyer, then a living room where white leather sofas sit on either side of a brick fireplace. A baby grand piano, in front of a window dressed in white curtains, completes the picture.
Beside me, Amber’s mouth hangs open. I put my knuckles under it and gently push her chin up. She smiles at me and I shrug. ‘We should hurry before someone returns.’
She nods and we start working the living room, checking bookcases, a bureau, an antique chest of drawers, but find nothing. In the adjacent kitchen the minimalist style continues, with spotless white cupboards and a black marble worktop clear of all appliances except for one of those automatic espresso machines. We rummage through the bathroom and laundry; even the study produces nothing. There’s not even dust in this place. The man who returns here occasionally either doesn’t use the facilities or is literally the cleanest person alive.
Amber moves down a hallway while I wander back into the living room to check behind paintings for a wall safe, but again I find nothing. I start to wonder if I’m going to find anything here when Amber calls out from a bedroom, ‘I found something you have to see.’
I walk into a white room, the only furniture a wooden rocking chair, also painted white. ‘What did you find?’
Her eyes roll up to the ceiling. Mine follow, wondering what on earth she’s on about. I see it and gasp, inadvertently bringing my hand up to cover my open mouth.
‘Well?’
I try to put words together that make sense, but no words can make sense of this. The high ceiling is painted red, with small clusters of brown mushrooms and fairies standing around them pointing sparkling wands at inquisitive little mice.
‘It’s exactly how I remember it,’ I whisper, ‘right down to the very same shade of red sky.’ It’s a memory that is definitely mine. And the only way I could have imprinted it in my mind is if I was lying on my back when looking at it.
The way babies do when they lie in their cots to go to sleep.
14
Jordan
Dazed and disoriented, I wake from a deep sleep with the sound of someone calling my name from a great distance. ‘Jordan! Come on, kiddo, wake up.’