What had it been? Twelve hours? Nate’s hospital room was a profusion of floral tributes, silvery balloons with bright ‘get wells’ in pink hearts, cards sprouting on available surfaces, one sobbing sister, and stoic parents seats pulled close. The patient lay amid the colourful cardboard and foil garden with a doped grin plastering his slightly dazed face. His shoulder sported a thick bandage, tentacle IVs and machinery marking his progress in bleeps. A bright white plaster covered his forearm.
Nic loitered by the ensuite. “I can come back later.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Nic. You’re part of the family,” Nate’s walrus of a father boomed from a bedside chair. “We’ll escort Lily down to the optimistically titled dining facilities. Give you a moment. Nate’s fine. Us O’Connors are made of stern stuff.”
His attention slid to his daughter in evidently wasted hope. Nate’s mother, a small quietly spoken woman, who bore the brunt of three larger than life males with determined reserve, smiled at Nic and patted Lily. On sighting him, Nate’s sister rallied.
“We never blamed you. Not for a second. I hate what they’ve been saying!”
She leaped up, ran over and buried her face in his chest. At sixteen, she wore the cusp of womanhood, the potential of her family’s genes obvious in her budding beauty. She’d always nurtured a crush on Nic. One he tolerated with a mixture of acute embarrassment and the knowledge touching his best mate’s sister broke some unwritten, but firm law.
He emulated Nate’s mum, offering a shoulder pat and wishing he’d brought tissues. Parts of her rubbed him, an effort he was certain was deliberate, copper hair tickling his bare arm. Yet, despite the contact, Lily’s proximity had not the least effect. Nothing like Mira’s, which resembled stepping on a pheromone land-mine. At minimum.
Mrs O’Connor rose and delicately extracted Lily on the way passed to Nic’s immense relief. The clinch went on so long, it bordered on indecent. He’d had no idea how to disengage without offending her. Her mother winked and guided her sniffling charge away. He pretended not to have caught the longing gaze Lily bestowed behind her back.
Mr O’Connor gave him a spine-jarring thump enroute out the door. “Don’t listen to the bunkum, son. We know if you wanted to shoot Nathan, you’d have done it long ago. Hell! You asked me the right second, I might’ve loaded the gun myself.”
“Thanks, Mr O. I’ll give you a heads-up when I next feel the urge.”
“At least give me a chance to finish a cup of the cafeteria swill that calls itself coffee. And don’t mention it. I’m certain your old pa’ll make a hasty arrest.”
“Nicky boy,” Nate slurred, beckoning him close with his good hand. “Barney inquired if you’d shot me. I laughed myself hoarse. And that was before the exceptional narcotics kicked in.”
“Are you going to be all right? The row team’s screwed without you.” He took a seat, vinyl crackling.
“Yeah. This year’s championship’s down the gurgler. Unless you can come up with a replacement? I’ll be aces next year, though. We’ll join the uni crew.”
“No-one’s taking your spot. Did you see anything, Nate?”
“You mean aside from the bountiful Mira leaning over me with a look of dismay?” he said with a leer. Nic didn’t have the gumption to share the true reason: that’s because her cousin shot you. If only he could find proof. “It’s all a bit of a blur. I passed out with the pain. I don’t recommend getting shot. It’s an utter bitch. Doesn’t help we were pretty wasted. How’d that turkey get your gun?”
“It’s a long and woeful story. My fault, absolutely. I’m so sorry, man.”
“Have you seen the cards from my well-wishers?” Nate looked incredulous as he attempted to pull himself upright via the overhanging bar. Too weak, he gave up before Nic could rise and offer help, waving him away. “I couldn’t let Mum read most of them. The messages and suggestions for my recuperative benefit are too obscene. Riley Stanley even went to the trouble of visual aids.”
He wriggled brows conspirationally like some back alley pimp. “Delightfully explicit photos. You want to look, check the drawer there. Between Bible pages probably recounting commandments on chastity and modest behaviour. I don’t think she’s been familiar with either concept since she was ten. It works for me.”
“You’re going to hell. You know that, right?”
Nate’s grin faltered after a moment. “You warned me. I didn’t listen. Enough said. Tell you what, though?” Nic leaned forward and nodded. “You’re right. There’s something seriously messed up with those Arkady’s. No matter how blistering she is, anyone who goes anywhere near Mira is totally tapped.”
His little brother and father were there at a clan gathering right now. He experienced a sinking feeling. “What do you mean?”
“Anatoly showed up this morning after surgery, before my parents even got here. Couldn’t have made it faster if he’d teleported. Offered to put me up in a private hospital at his expense, call in some big-wig mate who’s the best surgeon going around. Arkady Senior didn’t seem phased by any of it, kind of like he expects trouble and is ready to step in on demand. If that doesn’t smack of guilt, I don’t know what does.”
Nic couldn’t help but agree. “Anatoly’s certainly smooth.”
“Slipperier than a muddy eel.”
Nate exhaled tiredly, the drugs taking a toll. Nic rose and deposited the magazines on the bedside table, along with a large bag of peanut M and M’s purchased from the kiosk on the way in. A glowing buxom model spilling from a string bikini pouted up at them from the cover.
“Exceptional! I haven’t read the latest edition.”
“Yeah, you surely want it to ‘read’ the articles. Anything you need, Nate. Anything at all, don’t hesitate.” He leaned in and gingerly hugged his best mate, clasping the good hand.
“Thanks, brother! You’d better run, before Lily comes back and drools all over you. Not that it’s not hilarious to watch, but Mum adores you. Probably has the church booked and the gift registry planned.”
Nic made a show of gulping -- only a slight exaggeration -- and high-tailed it out of there. Some country mothers were ferocious in their matchmaking. Still, they paled in comparison to the Arkady parents. Finally arriving on the doorstep to his house, Nic halted in his tracks, key suspended. He’d feverishly mulled over events on the trip home. Was that really what Anatoly and Hanna were up to?
It seemed an impenetrably strange approach, the usual custom to invite the object of approval over for dinner. Maybe force reluctant teens together on family picnics, use thinly veiled hints about dates to the movies and dances, arrange ‘accidental’ run-ins at the supermarket or dry cleaners and such.
But the Arkady’s had exploited the optimal means at their disposal: bucket loads of money. And when Nic declined to take the bait, they’d inveigled his brother, making the pool deal impossible to refuse. Sasha’s threats compelled Nic to step in and protect Sam. It was inevitable, like they knew his hyper-responsible nature and manipulated him from the beginning.
Were they all working together to trap him? Surely there were a million guys more suitable for their daughter; one’s who even liked her beyond blatant lust. The only thing he and Mira had between them was clothes. His mind finally broached the most puzzling aspect: what had she meant by that reference to a curse?
Perhaps sexual attraction was a sin where they came from, a metaphorical scourge and it was her task to cleanse his tainted soul of evil desire. If encouraging purity before marriage despite temptation or some completely unrealistic hooey was the aim, they were using the wrong deterrent. She was an almost irresistible challenge to virtue.
Besides, it was far too late for practically every friend he had and that consisted of roughly the entire population of teens in these parts. The outdoorsy life seemed to warrant the consistent shedding of attire. He’d happily shed more often if he could spare the time and avoid the subsequent entanglement. But then, where did a homicidal cousin with an amorous
fixation fit?
And for the barest moment, he swore she’d experienced the explosive magnetism of their touch too. The intensity with which she briefly returned his stare literally burned. Nic shook his head. The debate hurt his brain, so frustrating with no obvious solutions.
Those blasted people made him paranoid. It was stupid. And he really needed to concentrate on schoolwork, his English exam in two miniscule days. He got the comparison between ‘Blade Runner’ and ‘Frankenstein’ well enough, but was useless at analysing poetry. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.
“Hello?” Nic tossed Hank’s spare keys into the bowl Sam had fashioned in year eight ceramic’s class, the only other sound the ticking of the hall clock. It read one-thirty p.m. The foyer echoed emptily. “Dad? Sam!”
Stubborn silence confirmed it: his brother and his father had been missing for five-and-a-half hours.
***
Chapter Seventeen