A small, blonde figure in checked pyjamas cautiously picked his way through the deserted ward. He stopped outside Charlie’s room and peered through the observation window. At seven years old, Thomas was a bit of a handful at times, but the nurses adored him. He had been a long term patient, suffering violent epileptic episodes that left him exhausted and bedridden for weeks at a time. The doctors had no idea what was causing his sudden onsets and his parents found it hard to deal with his condition. Their visits became less and less frequent and finally stopped, as time went by.
Debbie looked up and saw Thomas’ face pressed against the glass. She gasped at the sudden appearance. Gwennie looked up at Debbie’s alarm, saw Thomas’ face and motioned for him to come inside the room. The little child, seeing Gwennie and her invitation, beamed and quickly ran around to the door and pushed it open.
Gwennie swept him up into a hug and said quietly, “And what are you doing out of bed, young man?”
Thomas held onto Gwennie’s neck and looked down at Charlie, asleep in her bed. “What’s wrong with her?” Thomas enquired, worried.
“This is Charlie, Thomas, and she is very sick,” Gwennie taught. “And this is Charlie’s mother, Debbie.”
Debbie smiled at Thomas and he held out his hands for her to take hold of him.
Gwennie looked surprised and said to Debbie as she took the child, “You are really privileged. Thomas doesn’t normally go to anyone he doesn’t know.”
Debbie sat back down in her chair next to Charlie, Thomas still holding onto her neck. The little boy cuddled close to her chest and fell asleep.
A worried nurse came searching a few minutes later, peered through the glass at Charlie and saw Thomas asleep in Debbie’s arms. Her face softened and she entered the room.
“Thank goodness I found him,” she said, relieved. “I will take him back to bed if you like, Mrs Myers.”
“He’s asleep and no trouble. I would hate to wake him,” Debbie replied, stroking his soft, blonde hair.
The nurse smiled, looked at Gwennie and relented. “Okay, but if he wakes, call me and I will take him back to bed.”
*~*~*~*
“I am telling you, she was officially pronounced dead! Ten staff witnessed it,” Clement said animatedly.
“Then how do you explain her living and breathing in her bed, as we speak?” Lithgow retorted.
“Well, either the young intern got his vitals mixed up – hardly likely, since an experienced RN operated the defibrillator – or the chemical cocktail somehow created a response and restarted her heart,” Clement mused.
“You sound like one of those crazy evolutionist professors, first there was nothing and then it exploded,” Lithgow ridiculed.
Ignoring the remark, Clement continued, “There is still a lot we don’t know about the human mind. It would be ignorant of me to assume there is nothing still to be discovered about our human situation. We don‘t understand death or what happens. There is some evidence to consider the possibility of a soul, even. We are learning all the time in this field and making new discoveries, but one thing you can be sure of… the more we learn, the more we realise we don’t know.”
“Okay, because all this happened in your department, I expect you to have a report on my desk tomorrow evening, so I can take it to the board,” Lithgow demanded, rolling his eyes.
“I have given the police a description of Fields and made a statement. I don’t know how I am going to explain to the coroner that she came back to life!” Lithgow’s brow creased.
*~*~*~*
Gwennie’s eyes were getting heavy. She looked across at Debbie, her head lying back against the top of the chair, still holding Thomas’ little sleeping form. She was fast asleep also. Gwennie checked her watch. 4am. She stiffly unfolded herself from the chair she was sitting in, stood and quietly walked around the room. Her eyes glanced at Charlie’s form lying in the bed and then flicked up to her face. Her sky blue eyes were open and she smiled at Gwennie.
“Hello, Gwennie,” she said in a tired, hoarse whisper. “Can I have a drink of water, please?”
*~*~*~*
CHAPTER 42 - PRESENT DAY
Damon felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. “She died?!” he exclaimed incredulously.
Gwennie relayed the story to him over Debbie’s mobile phone. Damon sat on the floor of the wheelhouse, not believing the fantastic tale that was being relayed to him, his ear pressed hard against the earpiece.
“Charlie is awake, but very weak. She wants to talk to you.”
“Hello, Damon,” Charlie said hoarsely, struggling to sound coherent.
Damon’s heart jumped when he heard Charlie’s voice. “Hello, Charlie,” he said, tears streaming down his face. “It is so good to hear your voice, sweetheart.”
“I am feeling so tired. When will you be in to see me?” Charlie struggled.
“As soon as I can. I am so longing to see you, sweetheart,” Damon said softly.
“Me, too. Bring Johnny and Pooch with you, too,” Charlie faltered.
Gwennie took the phone from Charlie. She had worn herself out. “I will keep you informed on her progress,” Gwennie said to Damon.
“Thank you, Gwennie,” Damon said, hanging up the phone.
Gwennie had heard Charlie’s comment about Pooch and wondered how Damon had processed that last surprise. The nurse came in soon after Charlie had woken up. She took Thomas from Debbie and put him back to bed. Debbie had gone home exhausted, but at least she could rest now, knowing Charlie had pulled through. She wondered about the road ahead for her daughter.
She, too, had heard Charlie’s comment about Pooch.
*~*~*~*
It was almost four hundred and fifty miles from Thursday Island to Bathurst Bay. Elishia had watched the computer screen images of the sea floor for close to ten hours now and she was becoming tired.
The sea floor had sandy ripples, with all kinds of debris lying upon it. Reef of every size and shape zipped past. Sea caves and large schools of fish came into view and disappeared again. Occasionally, the alarm would sound and a wreck would appear. She would stop the image and investigate with MRI focus, only to discount the wreckage as insignificant. Most of the wrecks were modern, usually a fishing boat that had come unstuck on an uncharted reef.
She stopped the image moving once again when the alarm sounded and selected MRI focus on a mound on the sea floor. Further investigation showed a Japanese World War II bomber that had crashed and sunk, the rising sun logo still clearly visible. She huffed and set the image going again. Elishia decided she would take a break soon. Her shoulders and neck were becoming stiff from peering at the screen. Her temples ached and she rubbed them with her index fingers, being cautious not to stab herself with her long finger nails.
The image suddenly stopped moving. The depth showed 150 feet and the coordinates suggested this was where they had picked up the net around the propeller. As she watched, she could see the end of a net, before it suddenly disappeared. She clicked down the file button and was about to fast forward the next couple of hours, when an enormous tail flicked onto the screen. The horror suddenly dawned on her, and she realised this must have been the monster that took Pooch. She felt lightheaded, sat down and put her head between her knees, until the bilious feeling slowly subsided.
When she sat upright, the screen had started to move again. She stood, steadied herself against the bunk holding on with one hand, the computer mouse in the other, her cursor hovering over the exit command on the file dropdown screen. Suddenly, the alarm sounded again. She clicked on the exit button and silenced the alarm. She had had enough for one day and this was probably just another wrecked fishing boat anyway.
Elishia opened her door and took the covered plate from the floor in front of her cabin. This was Johnny’s usual routine at meal times. He would leave a plate of food for her at the door, so she could eat in her cabin and continue working. Tonight, she even considered eating with the crew
, feeling the need for a bit of company. She looked around at the galley and seeing that it was deserted, shrugged, picked up her plate and took it into her cabin. She wasn’t feeling hungry anymore, anyway, after her sighting of Pooch’s killer. She sat in the quiet, picking at her food.
Looking for a distraction, she rebooted the computer and started the sea floor images again. With one hand picking at her food and the other operating the MRI focus, she concentrated on a large mound on the floor of the ocean. Her mouth suddenly went dry and her eyes dropped onto the faded name of the vessel sitting on the sea floor.
Tarus Jones.
*~*~*~*
Doctor Clement decided to take on Charlie’s case himself. This had the potential to become a mine field and he didn’t want a subordinate complicating his life just before he retired, by doing more damage.
The nurses in the MHU ward looked at each other in surprise when Clement entered Charlie’s room and began examining her progress records. This was an unwelcome turn of events, to have the head of department so close at hand. He was such a stickler for procedures and proper ward etiquette that the staff felt on edge having him around.
“Good morning, Charlie,” Clement said. “My name is Doctor Clement. I will be taking over your care. I see you have been talking on the phone.”
Charlie looked at the old man before her with suspicion. Clement’s bedside manner soon put her at rest and she began to trust him. After Clement spent time reviewing Charlie’s case, he turned his attention to a case note that had been entered after Charlie’s phone call with Damon.
Clement mused, the reason for her Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was apparently witnessing the death of this man called Pooch. Yesterday, according to the case note, she asked to see the deceased, as if he was still alive. Clement drew in a breath and then let it out again. Hmm, there are two possible scenarios here, Clement thought. One, she has blocked the event, or two, the ECT has erased that part of her memory. Clement decided to carefully probe Charlie to see what she remembered of the event. He sat down in a chair next to Charlie’s bed.
“Charlie, what can you tell me about why you are here?” Clement enquired.
Charlie thought a while and then looked confused. “I am not sure,” she finally confessed tiredly.
“Tell me of any recent memories, anything you remember,” Clement continued.
Charlie took on a look of intense concentration, her brow furrowing. She told him about Damon’s troubles with the government closing the fishing grounds and having to sell their fishing licence. How Damon had to take on charter work, just to keep Annemarie afloat and how he hated rich playboys climbing all over Annemarie. She even related Damon’s drinking excessively to dull the pain.
Clement sat with one ankle resting on his opposite knee, balancing a clipboard and writing as he talked. “What about recent memories? Like since being in here… what do you remember about being here?” Clement probed.
Charlie took on a faraway look and said, “I feel too tired to talk anymore.”
She closed her eyes and fell asleep.
Clement ordered the nurses to record on Charlie’s progress sheet anything she said that indicated she recalled any memories of the recent past. He walked out and the nurses relaxed back into their usual, efficient routine.
*~*~*~*
Charlie dreamed of sliding down a black hole. Pooch’s face came into her mind, smiled then faded below a black blanket; dark beings lunged at her, claws extended, gripping at her heart and mind.
She awoke with a start. Something had shaken her from the nightmare. She felt a small body lying next to her, his hand holding hers.
He looked into Charlie’s eyes and earnestly said, “Do the bad dreams come to you, too? When they come to me, the nurses hold my hand and they go. I could see you having a bad dream and I just wanted to hold your hand and make them go.”
Charlie rolled onto her side and took the little boy into a hug. “Thank you. Yes, I was having a bad dream. How did you know?” Charlie asked.
“The monsters come in my dreams just before the dark blanket. Then I feel really bad and can’t get out of bed for the next few weeks. The nurses give me needles and after a while I feel good again.”
“What’s your name,” Charlie enquired.
“Thomas. Thomas Albert Jaxon,” the little boy replied. “I am seven,” he announced matter-of-factly.
*~*~*~*
Elishia excitedly moved the image back and forward, left and right. There was no doubt. She could make out the name clearly. She recorded the position: 13 degrees, 46 minutes, 38.6 seconds south; 143 degrees, 43 minutes, 37.08 seconds east. About an hour north by sea from their current position. She reached into a bag lying on the floor and removed a device. It was a round tube about six inches in diameter, two inches thick and an internal diameter of four inches. A wire, coiled into a pigtail, protruded from its side. At the end of the pigtail was a USB connector. She removed the magnetised sensor from the vessel hull, using her full force to break the magnetic attraction. She placed the sensor over the new device and the magnet grabbed it, with a thunk. She placed the sensor against the hull again and the magnet pulled the new device and the sensor tightly against it, with another thunk.
The MRI intensifier was in place. She was ready.
Once they were in position, she would find it.
*~*~*~*
Damon’s mind was still reeling at Charlie’s last comment, "Bring Johnny and Pooch with you, too."
Daniel Pierce had been down in the engine room to take care of a few maintenance tasks Pooch had not gotten around to. Damon checked on his work a couple of times and he seemed to know what he was doing. Pierce had found another issue and sought Damon in the wheelhouse. He wanted to know if he should repair it or wait for their return to Thursday Island. As the two men were talking, the galley hatch opened and Elishia entered.
“I need to move the vessel to another anchorage,” she said, as she handed Damon the coordinates on a piece of paper.
He raised his eyebrows. “How soon do you want to move?” Damon asked.
“As soon as possible, please,” she replied.
“Well, there is your answer on the repair,” Damon said to Pierce.
Pierce glanced at the coordinates Damon had placed on the wheelhouse consol and turned to go back to the engine room. He opened the engine room door, swung his foot over onto the ladder access, closed the door behind him and descended down the two deck levels to the engine room floor. He removed his mobile phone, checked for signal, entered the coordinates into a text message and then pushed send.
*~*~*~*
CHAPTER 43 - THURSDAY ISLAND 1882
Patch walked alone around the back of the island. Since meeting Elizabeth, he had been preoccupied with thoughts of her and people were starting to notice. Aunty relayed Elizabeth’s fall down a cliff face and he had become incensed that Davis was at the root of it.
He had to get a grip.
After all, Elizabeth wasn’t interested in him and he was just making himself a laughing stock, moping around. He stood on a cliff edge looking out across the bay. A small, rocky shore was directly below him, maybe a hundred feet down he guessed. He lowered himself down and sat on the cliff edge.
“Jesus, I love being here among these people,” Patch said, as his thoughts wandered aimlessly. “Aunty Rosa is like a mother to me and I have grown really fond of Warrammarra and Nirrimi, too,” Patch continued. “But I feel like there is more. I feel like there is something just around the corner that you want me to do. Please, Jesus, show me Your will for me… or at least the next step.”
Patch threw a small rock out over the cliff and watched it splash into the water, far below.
“That’s a really dangerous place to sit, sir,” a voice came from behind him, frightening the life out of him.
Patch spun around to see Elizabeth Jennings standing there with a concerned look on her face.
“I thought I was the onl
y one who came out here and talked aloud to myself,” she joked. “By the way, that cliff face is not safe. I know, from experience.”
“M..Miss Elizabeth,” Patch stammered.
He nearly tripped over himself getting up and Elizabeth jumped forward to steady him from going over the edge. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had fallen over the edge. The sight of Elizabeth had given him wings and he would have just floated right back up anyway.
“Are you going back down into the village?” she asked.
“Yes, I am,” Patch replied.
“May I walk with you? I have to see Merinda,” Elizabeth asked.
Patch walked with Elizabeth. Before long, they were laughing and conversation came easy. Once Patch had gotten over his butterflies and his gawkiness, Elizabeth really enjoyed his company.
Elizabeth went silent and she looked like she was tussling with something.
“Are you alright, Miss Elizabeth?” Patch queried, a bit concerned.
She looked down at the ground as she walked. “Tell me about your Jesus, Mr Belgrade.”
*~*~*~*
Davis sailed past Jennings late Friday afternoon. Jennings waved a neighbourly wave at him and Davis took it as an invitation. He turned his vessel around, dropped anchor only a couple of hundred yards away and waved back. The reef turned out to be a gold mine and there was plenty to keep everyone busy.
*~*~*~*
Robert Jennings sat in his study, going over the accounts ledger. The weeks had flown by since John had married Sissy and the news of his first grandchild on the way had brought a new joy to the household. John and Sissy had moved into a small house on the edge of the village. Elaine and Elizabeth visited Sissy most days.
The shell harvest had slowed down as more and more boats came into the area. Robert tallied up all the expenses and then looked across to the profit column. The sale of the month’s taking of shell, split down the middle, half for Davis and half for himself, was enough to pay all debtors. He had a decent sum left to live off. If things kept going like this, he would be clear of his debts in three years. He had kept an eye on the amount of barrels coming from Davis’ side of the operation into the storehouse. The amount never went over one hundred and forty barrels, but often was less. He would continue to keep a check.