Chapter 21 Marc #4
The crocodile’s eye explodes in a mist of red. It judders in agony.
Marc turns his head. Riley looks back at him.
The barrel of the old revolver steams a little in the cold.
Riley blinks rain from her eyes and sights again.
It’s best to make sure. She pulls the trigger and it clicks.
‘Gun’s wet,’ she shouts, eyes wide. She pulls the trigger over and over and it clicks uselessly.
Marc and Riley keep their eyes on the still form of the crocodile as blood pours from its eye socket. ‘Is it dead?’ Riley shouts.
The crocodile stirs and Marc catches his breath.
A sound comes from its vast depths like a sigh or a low growl.
The crocodile backs away, turns its great weight slowly uphill, back into the storm.
Its thick black tail drags behind, clearing a swathe on the forest floor.
Marc hears a faint squeaking as it retreats into the distance.
Riley helps Marc slowly upright. ‘Here.’ She puts his arm over her shoulders. ‘Put all your weight on me.’
‘We’re lost,’ he says. ‘Riley, we lost the way so long ago …’
‘It’s ok, Oliver Olive.’ She strokes his wet hair. ‘We’re nearly at the road.’
Ahead through the trees Marc sees the black sheen of wet asphalt. He must be dreaming because he sees their van pulled askew into Leahy’s turnout. He thinks he hears Kimble yelling.
Marc stares at a thick, corded neck. He has never been so glad to see an ugly rose tattoo. The van shudders and jolts down the hill.
‘It keeps burning,’ Marc says. He meanders between consciousness and unconsciousness, between English and French.
Linus hushes Marc, cradling his head. ‘Nothing is burning. You’ve got hypothermia, I would say. Both of you.’
Riley is belted into the seat beside him. She bounces like a ragdoll with the van. Marc takes her and holds her steady. He pushes her pale face. ‘Wake up.’ He is afraid that she’s dead but she stirs and looks up at him with those eyes – his daughter’s eyes.
‘Riley,’ he says.
‘Oliver Olive.’ She reaches a trembling hand. ‘Did I really do it, to the children that night?’
‘You know you did,’ Marc says. ‘The night you made me leave.’
‘No,’ she says. ‘They are with me in Nowhere House. Hallie, Rufus, Whitey, Peach, Una …’
He wonders how often she has recited these names to herself in the dark. ‘I can’t help you, Riley,’ Marc says. ‘But you can help Silvie. She’s sick. You need to consent to donating your kidney. Say it now. Tell me you constent.’
‘Why?’ her voice wanders.
‘In case you die.’
‘So you didn’t come back for me.’
‘No. I came for her.’ Marc is exhausted. ‘Please.’
‘Is she like you?’ He can’t read the feeling in her voice, maybe he never could.
‘She’s not like anybody else in the world.’
Riley touches his cheek. ‘I hoped you’d have love. But I have to get back home as soon as I can. To my own little ones.’
Marc steels himself. He holds her hand tightly.
‘You were a child,’ he says. ‘We were both just children when it all happened. It wasn’t your fault.
But this is now. You can save my daughter’s life.
’ Marc takes a deep breath. ‘Your children would want you to help,’ he says softly. ‘I know they would.’
Riley’s face goes still with shock. She turns away from him, stares at the window, the driving rain.
Her mouth moves silently, in some unheard conversation.
He has lost her, Marc realises bitterly.
He judged it wrong. Or maybe she wouldn’t have helped anyway, no matter what he said.
He sees now that Riley herself is beyond help.
Marc lets himself collapse at the waist. He stares at the juddering floor of the van. It was all for nothing, in the end. The world is soft at the edges now and pointless. Nothing is real without Silvie.
A hand lifts his chin gently.
‘Don’t touch me,’ he says into her palm.
Riley raises Marc’s face to meet her gaze. ‘I’ll do it, Oliver Olive,’ she whispers. ‘I consent.’
‘Thank you.’ The relief is almost more than his body can take. Marc surrenders to black. But he sees that there is fire in the air, encircling them both in flame. It will never stop burning.
‘Linus and I agreed it was insane,’ Kimble says. ‘But we still came to get you.’ She shifts, trying to get comfortable on the plastic hospital chair. ‘Couldn’t see a thing, rain falling like park railings. And then the van stalled, just by Leahy’s turnout. Can I have your pudding?’
‘Sure,’ Marc says. He makes to pass it to her but his hands still haven’t lost their shake.
‘It was Linus who realised,’ Kimble takes the pudding and peels back the foil. ‘He said to me, “Marc knows this place. You realise that, Kimble? Marc is keeping things from you.”’
‘And I said—’ Kimble puts pudding in her mouth and closes her eyes. ‘I said, Marc would never lie to me like that. He would never trick me, persuade me to do a fake project for his own selfish reasons—’
‘Kimb—’
‘I told him,’ Kimble says, raising her voice over Marc’s, ‘we trust one another, he and I. We’re a team. He would never do that.’
‘Kimble …’
‘I’m still talking.’ Kimble spoons pudding into her mouth.
‘The road was basically a river. We couldn’t move.
Then you came out of the trees, with her.
We got you into the back seat, and then the engine started again right away.
That place is so weird.’ She pauses. ‘You weren’t wounded, there wasn’t any blood. ’ She is disapproving.
‘Sorry,’ Marc says. Kimble appreciates blood: it means that the situation is serious enough to deserve her attention.
‘So.’ Kimble focuses on the spoon and the pudding. ‘She’s your sister?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you lied to me about this whole thing. About the documentary, about who you are.’
‘Yes. The first part. The second part – no. I didn’t lie about who I am. You know who I am.’
‘Ok.’ Kimble rises from her chair.
‘Kimble.’ Marc closes his eyes. ‘I messed things up for you with Margot,’ he says. ‘I made you miss your trip. I did it on purpose. I was scared you’d leave me. That you wouldn’t be my friend anymore.’
‘Marc,’ Kimble says. ‘You can’t keep people around like pictures on the wall. One day we might not be friends anymore. I can’t promise that won’t happen. But we’re friends now. Ok?’
‘Ok.’ Marc swipes a hand across his eyes. ‘I’m such an asshole.’
‘That’s true,’ she says, taking the edge of his blanket between finger and thumb. She stares down at it. ‘Try not to be too much of an asshole when you meet her.’
‘Who?’
‘Margot. She’s coming out to Boulder tomorrow.’
‘Oh,’ he says. ‘That’s great.’ After a moment, he says, ‘I’ve got to check on—’
‘They’re still doing tests,’ Kimble says. ‘Scans, tissue typing, I don’t know, to see if she’s a match. I asked as I came in. Why haven’t we talked about that?’
‘I thought,’ Marc says carefully, ‘that I should stop putting my problems on you. I’m trying to learn boundaries.’
‘Jesus,’ Kimble says. ‘There are boundaries and boundaries, Marc.’
‘This one has to work, Kimble. It has to.’ He can’t stop the tears.
‘Um,’ Kimble says. ‘Ok. Do you need a—?’ She leans forward and puts her arms stiffly around him. They stay there for a moment.
Kimble sits back. ‘I didn’t like that.’
‘No,’ he says, shaken. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Ok,’ Marc says. ‘Let’s not do it again.’
Kimble nods and there is a stretched silence. ‘So can I get you anything before I go?’ she asks politely.
‘No, thank you,’ Marc says. ‘I have everything I need.’
She pokes the spoon into the empty pudding pot.
‘There is something else, actually. You should know that I’m editing the footage.
’ Kimble licks her finger. ‘In fact, I’m making the documentary.
By myself. If you want I can credit you as an exec or whatever.
I’ve wanted to produce and direct for a while and this feels like a good opportunity.
I’m assuming you have no problem with that. ’
‘No problem,’ Marc says after a moment. ‘Good idea.’
‘Great. My agent will be in touch. Also, I’m paying Linus ten thousand dollars, if we can get it.’ Kimble stands. ‘Bye, Marky Mark.’ With her pointing finger she quickly traces a circle on the back of his hand. Love. ‘I’m glad you’re alive.’ She walks away quickly down the ward.