Chapter 29 #2
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him acknowledge the weight of everything he fought for—the hardship, and the cost.
God knows I fought for them.
I fall into silence, lost in thoughts. All those years with Dad, enduring his moods, his silences, his abuse.
Because that’s what it was. Abuse. Heath fought to keep the house after Mum and Dad were gone.
Fought to keep food on the table. Fought to keep the Deep Sea.
And he did. Heath was just a teenager competing against grown men when he took over the boat.
He fought and fought and fought. For me, for him, for Jonah.
Do I blame him for what he’s done?
No, I realize. I really don’t. Maybe my legacy is letting Heath keep his.
Don’t I owe him that?
I sigh heavily, exhausted. Heath hesitates before reaching for my hand, squeezing it.
“Maybe this journo did find out about this business down here,” he finally says. “But so what? You think we’re gonna kill him for it?”
“Yes.”
Wounded, he mutters, “I’m not a murderer, Min.”
“Someone is.”
“Dad was. Dad’s gone.”
“They’ll take your fishing license,” I finally say. “You’ll be banned throughout Australia. And the fines…” I look up. “What do you reckon the fines are for illegal shark hunting and abalone poaching? You’d lose it all,” I say, looking around the house. “All of it.”
“Who says they need to know?”
It runs in our blood, Minnow.
Maybe it’s time it runs out.
I know you. And I know you don’t mean that.
“How much do you earn?” he asks carefully. “As a journo?”
“Why?”
“…You can make more.”
We stare each other down. I think of the Wicked Woods. Of Trav. The ocean roars in my ears. I place my palm against it, stuffing it down.
“Do you miss it?” he prods. “Fishing?”
When I don’t answer, he looks down at his hands, examines them. “You belong here, Min. You always did.”
He’s right. But I left Kangaroo Bay because I didn’t want to be another ghost of a woman.
Then it happened anyway.
Didn’t it?
I rest my elbows on the table, place my head in my hands.
I feel like everything I ever fought for turned out not to be worth much in the end.
I left town to escape the violence. I left so I wouldn’t become another ghost floating around, silent and agreeable and scared.
I had hopes I’d expose the liars and bullies and abusers, and gain my voice.
But I lost it anyway. To Joy, to Oliver.
And I still haven’t found out what happened to Mum. Or Chris. I’m still wordless and broke, and the ocean keeps calling.
Heath wraps his arm around me and for a long time, we’re quiet. Then I mumble two words into his shoulder. “…How much?”
“Enough to buy your own place,” he says. “Enough to buy anything you want. Or need.”
“I need to find out what happened to Mum and Chris and why.”
“And we’ll do that,” he says. “Together. But stay.”
I want to. I do.
But for now, I get heavily to my feet, staring at the table, dazed and exhausted. I squeeze Heath’s hand as I step past, heading for my bedroom, and mutter good night under my breath.
I sit on my bed, waiting for Jessie to come trotting in. She dives on and tucks her chin on my knee. I stroke her head, thinking.
—
The ocean is screaming. It’s angry, thunderous, hungry. The water presses in around me, squeezing the air from my lungs. Drowning me. I’m lost in the depths, pulled deeper and deeper into an abyss that feels alive and hungry.
The water around me shifts. I sense it before I see it.
The shark.
Its silhouette slices through the black, cutting through the water like a blade. It’s coming for me, eyes locked on mine with unblinking hunger.
I thrust my hand out, thrash away, but it keeps coming, closer, closer.
The ocean roars again. But beneath it, something drifts up from the depths. A distant sound, just beyond my reach.
Laughter.
I thrash awake in the dark, sweating. I sit up, eyes darting around my bedroom.
How many times have you watched it?
I’m missing something…There’s a clue in the video. I know it.
And in the quiet dark of my room, I finally know what it is. I snatch up my phone, but my hands are sweating so badly, I drop it on my knee.
Swearing, I wipe my palms on the sheet before grasping the phone tight, turning the volume all the way up, and replaying the video.
I watch Hannah Striker lash out, thrusting her arms to fend off the attack. I watch the horror in her eyes as the black fin rises high above her head, teeth reaching for her jaw.
It’s only a moment. It happens so fast that it’s not surprising I missed it. It’s during the attack when the shark goes for her head. There’s an eerie lull as she bobs in the water, part of her jaw ripped off.
I hold the phone to my ear.
And listen as hard I can.
And there it is.
The missing clue. I rewind it, breathless, pausing the attack just after her jaw is ripped away. Underneath the rush of water and the white muffled noise, something clear rings out.
Laughter.
The person filming the video is laughing.
And I know that laugh.
I know who’s filming.
Shaking, I pull the phone away from my ear and place it on my knee. I stare stupidly at the video, shaking my head over and over. I know who it is. And I can’t believe I didn’t realize sooner.
For a long moment, I pause in the dark, shocked. There’s a heaviness in my stomach. A sudden coldness that breaks out over my skin.
But this time, it’s not the video. It’s something else. Something’s wrong. My body goes rigid when I realize what it is.
Jessie.
She’s not on my bed.
I stare blankly at the empty space where my dog sleeps. Jessie never gets up during the night. It’s like a warning repeating over and over: Jessie never gets up during the night. Jessie never gets up during the night.
Where is she?
I throw the covers back, muscles tense, skin clammy. Jessie. I grasp my phone, flick the flashlight on, slide my feet to the floor, breath coming out in panicked gasps. Jessie!
I bolt to the door.
And I hear her.
Whining. It’s coming from the backyard. I rush out my bedroom and reach the kitchen, panting. I fling myself to the back sliding door, and shine my light against the glass, praying I’ll see her there.
But she’s not there.
Something else is.
The sliding door rushes open, and a shadow flashes in my vision.
It reaches out with two hands, dragging me outside.
I swing around so fast I lose my balance.
As I go down, I aim my light toward the shadow, but the person kicks my phone away, and I grunt as the phone spins free of my grip.
I flounder, struggling to get myself upright, kicking and kicking.
Panic flashes through me and I strike out in fear, swinging my fists.
I scream, and a hand clamps around my mouth, the other hand yanking me back violently.
My skull hits the ground, hard. Gasping, I flatten my palms on the dirt, try to heave myself up.
Jessie.
The blow comes from above, striking the back of my head so hard my cheek slams onto the dirt. I flip over to my back.
And I watch a heavy fist come raining down.