CHAPTER 36

written by I love music

Ideas and suggestions by Skykat

Dreams

Hush now. Rivers will run with or without you or I to mind that they may or nay. Close your eyes and rest awhile. Sleep. The chattering streams still wind excitedly down the green mountains on their long journey out to the vast oceans and Mother Nature still spins the wheels of time. The warm kisses and tender buds of spring, the glorious burst of summer bright with her raiments of wide blue skies and flowers stretching far beyond the horizon, the autumn leaves falling, old, thin and withered now, but burnished brown, red and gold for all that, the snowflakes swirling and glittering in the pale winter sun.

The years pass by. We grow, we live, we love, but we never truly left yesterday's hopes and wishes and fears behind. Ah, mock the memories if you will, deny them if you can, laugh at the child you used to be. But when you're all alone and the night is silent, sit and see the moonlight filtering through the clouds.

And tell me then you never had a dream.

Hayley hadn't spoken a word since the fright. Cassie anxiously steered her indoors, her friend clinging so tightly to her arm that she winced in pain. Despite her reassurances that the ghost had only been someone dressed up as Lady Eleanor Hartwell, the White Lady who reputedly haunted Whitelady Woods, Cassie doubted Hayley had taken in a word. She was ashen-faced still and trembling like a leaf.

"Do you want something to drink?" Cassie asked uncertainly, suddenly out of her depth.

Outdoors, with Hayley so reliant on her, she had been strong but back here among the party crowd Cassie's new-found confidence upped and left her like a wraith. Hayley's crew had laughed at her far too often for it not to have left its mark and Cassie was only human.

"Do you want...anyone...?" Cassie tried when Hayley didn't answer. Cassie looked helplessly around.

For who, she did not know. Or should that be for whom? Adam Kerr maybe. She frowned. Why was she worrying about grammar at a time like this? What did it matter if anyone laughed? Hayley needed real friends with her right now. What use would creepy Adam Kerr be? Hayley might think he was the bees' knees but Cassie had never liked him or the way he'd pawed her the time they had gone to the movies, when she'd been so pathetically grateful to have a boyfriend that she'd actually agreed to a date when she actually despised him. Nor had she liked the way he'd looked her over tonight when she'd been wearing nothing but the bathrobe after she'd showered. Nope, Adam Kerr was the last person Hayley needed around, Cassie decided, gaining a new resolve as something made her forget her unease and stung her into action.

It was obvious nobody else intended to help!

Not a single one of the so-called "friends" that Hayley had so carefully selected to be her party guests. Or The Beautiful People, as she referred to her exclusive circle, who sneered at lesser mortals such as Crazy Cassie and who had received gilt-edged invitations bearing the only half-joking message in bold copperplate"You, Being one of the Beautiful People, are Cordially Invited to Hayley Smith's Strictly no Dags, Dropkicks or Uglies Party of the Year".

Cassie had only got to the party by default, because Martha "Mac" McKenzie had insisted on her being there and Hayley wanted popular, pretty Mac in her circle. She was well aware that she was scorned by the sophisticated. Yet the very same sophisticated were now too wrapped up in their own enjoyment, too busy laughing, talking, eating, drinking, dancing, pashing, too shallow, Cassie thought angrily, to let Hayley's being crook spoil their fun. They glanced at their hostess briefly, one or two looking quickly away and pretending they hadn't noticed anything amiss, most salving their consciences by muttering vague niceties about how they hoped Hayley felt better soon and it was a good thing Cassie was with her.

Several times Cassie was on the verge of blurting out "Yeh, right, because it means you don't have to be, doesn't it?" But she bit her tongue. No point in making waves. Hayley was in shock and it wouldn't do any good to disturb her further. She was a million miles away, her heartbroken gaze oblivious to everything and everyone. So lost, so sad, so lonely. And none of them cared.

"Maybe you should get some rest?" Cassie suggested gently, swallowing a lump in her throat, close to tears as sympathy overwhelmed her. No doubt Hayley's crew would say it was the sort of thing a dag would do, pity someone who'd always treated them badly, but, stuff it, Cassie would rather be a dag than be a part of their false world.

Music boomed all around as they walked up the sweeping marble staircase and although she'd been inside Hartwell Mansion before (albeit a handful of times and then admitted with great reluctance by Hayley who would have had her wait outside except Martha strongly objected) Cassie caught a breath. The vastly wealthy Smith family had kept many of its stunningly beautiful original features when they'd purchased the mansion some six or seven years previously and with its grand marble staircase, magnificent chandeliers and the antique mahogany grandfather clock in the front hall gleaming in their glorious light, it was like stepping inside a fairytale. She could almost picture herself in satin ball gown and diamond tiara gliding elegantly towards her waiting prince, almost hear the waltz music and see the dancers...

A loud bang and swishing noise from outside jolted her suddenly out of her reverie and Cassie chided herself as she narrowly stopped them both from tumbling back downstairs. It was only fireworks - God only knew how and when they'd been acquired when fireworks were illegal - but someone had a whole heap of them and had been busy setting them off in the grounds.

"You okay, Hayles?" She asked guiltily.

Hayley stared at her blankly, not even seeing her, and Cassie shivered, wondering if perhaps she should have called a doctor. After all, she was hardly an expert in medicine, was she? What if she'd done untold damage by taking it upon herself to simply prescribe rest? And how the hell was Hayley meant to get peace and quiet in the middle of a party anyway?

But to Cassie's enormous relief, as if sleepwalking and seemingly unaware of Cassie's presence, the moment they reached her room Hayley let go of her arm, slipped fully clothed between the silk sheets and despite the noise, somehow, perhaps because of all the alcohol she'd downed earlier, perhaps exhausted by the shock, managed to fall into a deep sleep.

Cassie threw the duvet with its expensive hand-embroidered Italian cover over her friend's shoulders and, not liking to leave her alone, settled in the easy chair and, picking up the remote switched on the flat screen TV built into the wall, clicked on the new romcom channel, quickly pressing the mute button before it even had a chance to utter a sound. A movie flickered brightly into life as she gazed enviously round Hayley's bedroom. It wasn't the first time she had seen it; she, Martha and Hayley had even gossiped and changed here earlier, but the spaciousness and luxuriousness never failed to impress her and she couldn't help but compare it to her own tiny box-room at her grandmother's, wishing she'd been as lucky in life as Hayley yet knowing in her heart of hearts she wouldn't swap her Gran's love for all the money in the world. But it didn't hurt to dream, did it? Ugly and stupid as she was, she couldn't expect any guy to ever fall in love with her - Cassie bit her lip, remembering what happened with her uncle and now Kane Phillips - but she could always dream. Dreams were all she had. All she would ever have. Well, she'd keep them. In dreams, nobody got hurt and everybody had happy endings. Not even Kane Phillips or her uncle could take away her dreams. Cassie turned her attention back to the TV screen and, gleaning from the sub-titles of the romantic comedy that the hero, a geeky toy factory worker, was pretending to be the factory owner to impress the heroine, a plain toy store clerk, who was pretending to own the toy store to impress the hero, Cassie kicked off her shoes, drew her knees up to her chin and was soon immersed in the story.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Molly watches. Oh, it's silly, when you're all grown up, to think she still does, but...

One hand raised as though in greeting, the beautiful ebony-coloured doll still sits on the book-shelf on the wall, on top of the three My Best Fairytales books that have been laid flat on the end, her head askew, one side of her black hair loosely tied with five-year-old Hayley's favourite pink hair-slide. For her childhood room is just how she remembers the sunny afternoon her parents died, when Fiona, the lady who worked for DOCS, told little Hayley to choose three best toys to take away with them. Except it's dark and lit by moonlight now and the pile of freshly washed clothes have been moved from the bed to the little white dresser and there are still seven Barbies tumbled in the toy basket because this time Hayley, Freddie Teddy, Princess Barbie and Pink-and-Pretty Barbie never went away.

But, as always in the dream, the night-cooled air steals in through the open window where the sky blue curtains are fluttering timidly in the breeze...

That early summer, sky blue replaced pink as her favourite colour, which had replaced yellow, which had replaced orange, because it was a summer of changes and growing and being Hayley, not just Mummy and Daddy's little girl or Will's little sister or baby Nick's big sister.

Her favourite colour changed to blue because of the blue butterfly that darted erratically around the garden before landing on her nose making her giggle with its tickling and Daddy, who'd been helping her plant freesia bulbs, said it was because her blue eyes were pretty as the summer sky and sky blue had always been his best colour. And down at the open-air market with her parents next day, a week or two before her favourite colour changed back to pink because it had always been pink really as she explained gravely to Daddy so as to let him down gently, she chose sky blue curtains for her room while Will chose curtains that had pictures of red racing cars, and the plump curtain lady with the smudged lipstick and spectacles that hung down on a silver neck chain wrote down the measurements for the curtains to be altered and said they were both excellent choices as she offered Hayley and Will a toffee each (Nick was too young to eat toffee, Mummy explained to Hayley) from a crumpled paper bag, unaware the toffees had begun to melt until they stuck to their teeth.

The bedroom curtains have been changed several times since then but again it's the turn of the sky blue that flutter with the moonlight and the air is perfumed by the fresh laundry smell of the clothes her mother has washed that morning but hasn't yet had time to put away. Because she got into a car with her husband, to slip to the store for a short while, they said. Except they never returned to collect Hayley, Will and Nick from Mrs Holland's where they were playing on the garden slide and splashing in the paddling pool and with Mrs Holland's two children.

The fire was too hot, Will told her one day in the Children's Home, but Hayley didn't know what he meant, and she petulantly stamped her foot and told her seven-year-old brother he was stupid, nobody carried fires in their cars, and she didn't like them being dead, why didn't they come back? Will put his hands on her shoulders and she opened her mouth to scream because she thought he was going to shake her. But he didn't.

"It'll be okay, buddy," he said, using the nickname Daddy always used when she was upset, trying hard not to cry, and she was so shocked because Will never cried and never called her by Daddy's nickname that the scream froze.

"I want them to come back, I want them to come back" she intoned instead, holding Freddie Teddy tightly to her chest, afraid of this alien new world. "I want them to come back, I want them to come back..."

But they never did. Never. Until...

Oh, she's dreamed this dream so many times before! And at first she thinks it's a dream, like she always does, and it feels so real like it always does, but this time...

She sits up, woken by the coolness of the breeze kissing her forehead and riffling through her hair, back in her old bed with Freddie Teddy cradled in her arms. As if knowing, she rests her chin on Freddie's soft head and looks to the window. Sure enough, the same voices carry on the shoulders of the night.

"It's okay, buddy, we're back! Where are you?"

"Hayley! Hayley, it's us!"

She stifles a laugh, a silent laugh but, just as in the dream, she doesn't register the silence. Then.

She shivers with happiness, at the Xmases-and-birthdays' excitement in Mum's voice, at hearing Dad calling her by the familiar nickname after all these years, she throws back the duvet, vaguely aware that her footsteps make no noise as she runs towards the tremulous fingers of moonlight that dance on the walls and glisten on Molly's face. She draws back the sky blue curtains. She can't see them, but they sound so close they must be just outside. She shouts back in answer...

But her words make no sound. Not a breath, not a whisper, not the smallest ripple disturbing the calm summer night. And her parents' voices brushed now with sighs float through the darkness, so near and yet so far away.

"She didn't wait then."

"Why would she? She has a new family, a new life, plenty of cash. She's disowned us. "

"Nick and Will didn't."

"Hayley did though."

In desperation she pounds her fists against the glass, but her fists make no sound; with silent tears and silent screams, she says "I love you!" over and over but the words are buried too deep for even herself to hear, and all the while, just as they always did in the dreams, the beloved voices are growing fainter.

"Hayley died a long time ago. See? She's already dead."

And as her parents' faint voices are heard no more, she looks down, and just like in the dream, she sees an ethereal white figure standing below the window beckoning to her until suddenly she is the figure beckoning, turning, running deeper and deeper and deeper into this dark fog of thick woods and muddy tangled bracken, further and further into the damned and the lost...

At last, too late, far, far too late, she finds her voice, gives a strangled cry as something grabs her arm...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mac? You okay? You've been quiet a helluva long time. I'm gonna need to move soon."

To Kane Phillips' amusement, a gentle snore was his only answer. He tore his gaze away from the sky and craned his neck to check out Martha McKenzie instead. And he liked what he saw. When hadn't he? Droplets of sea spray glistening on that beautiful face with long lashes and full red lips, she slept as soundly as though she were safely at home tucked up in a warm, cosy bed, not stranded as they were on a tiny island in the middle of the sea.

But a sharp stone had been digging mercilessly into his shoulder blades for some time and the arm that had been cradling her head for so long ached to be free. Maybe though he could last out just a little longer. Besides he liked being so close to such a hot chick and the steady sleeping rhythm of her body against his aching arm. He smiled down at her serene visage and, at an awkward angle, reached out to tenderly tuck a stray piece of dark hair behind her ear. In an odd kind of way the night was peaceful, with its sighing wind and rushing moonlit sea and they had found a shelter of sorts in a small cave, the damp, cloggy sand preferable at least to the hard, unrelenting rocks. They had with them too a supply of water collected from the freshwater pool, the Volvo bottle filled to its brim, as was some kind of deep, square plastic container that he'd also scavenged from among the rubbish that had been washed up on the shore, Martha's raging thirst soon winning out over her anxiety of what germs the items might contain.

Cold, hungry and exhausted they may been, but they were as comfortable as their reduced circumstances would allow and in the breath of the night the island was theirs alone.

The Baystormer had rolled way along the coast from Summer Bay and was busy attacking another coastal town, looked like either Pioneer Bay or Settler Point, its distance lending an eerie silence as it played out like some theatrical show for his sole entertainment, and he watched for a little while before the pain in both his arm and back eventually became too great. With a sigh of relief, he slowly withdrew his stiff arm from under Martha's soft, warm neck and pushed her body gently away, startled when warm, sticky blood suddenly began to gush forth from her right hip like a fountain. Jeez! What the ---- had she done to herself?

Quickly he loosened the waistband on her trousers to find out only to draw in a sharp breath as something sliced a deep gash into his thumb and made him turn his attention instead to unzipping her pocket where his hand first clasped round Hayley's long-dead mobile phone - and then pulled out the obvious reason for the bleeding. Why in hell's name had Martha McKenzie been carrying a Swiss army knife to a party?

But questions could wait. Copious amounts of rich red blood were pouring out from the wound and it was best not to take any chances. He dropped the bloodied knife and peeled off his shirt to make a tourniquet.

But the split second when he lost sight as he pulled the shirt up over his head was all the time that Martha McKenzie needed to raise herself to a half-sitting position and grab the knife, which she was now pointing straight at him.

Still holding the crumpled shirt in his hands, he stared at her in bewilderment.

"You sick, sick b-----d! Touch me and I'll kill you," she promised breathlessly, her eyes filled with hate, ignoring the blood drenching her hip and soaking the sand beside her like a river, although her face was white and her brow creased in pain.

"For Crissakes, what's the matter with you?" He yelled back, watching the knife, transfixed. The slightest wrong move by Mac and either of them could get hurt.

"I was a fool to give you a second chance. I promised my friends I'd deal with you," she added, fighting hard to find her breath with each word.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I know what happened with Cassie and Hayley."

"Cassie and Hayley?" Phillips gave a short laugh, convinced this had to be some kind of joke. Sure, he'd made out with Crazy Cassie but it had been her idea and, sure, he'd given spoilt little rich girl Hayley a scare by pretending he wasn't going to let her go, but she'd been amusing herself by coming on to him and then treating him like dirt. "Mac..."

"Don't you dare move!"

The clear threat in her voice froze him. Waves rolled and crashed in the seconds an eternity passed between them. Her heart beating like a drum, she looked down at the knife, unable to believe what she was prepared to do. And, misreading the gesture, he made the big mistake of relaxing.

"Jeez, Mac, you know, for a minute there I really thought..."

His eyes widened and a strange shuddering gurgling emitted from his throat as the ice cold blade plunged into his bare flesh of his chest and he slumped helplessly forward.

Sometimes, if they managed to sneak on board, he and his brother Scotty would hide in the ferry dunnies and cross the river from the slums and hell houses of Summer Hill to the richer, classier town of Summer Bay - not exactly a fun way to travel if the dunnies got smelly, as they often did, and there was the additional problem of how to get back without paying too, there being no certainty they'd make it past the security on the return trip. If the slow guy was on the tickets however it was a breeze. And there he was!

"Hey, there, Tommo!"

"Good to see ya again, Tommo!"

Tommo grinned his usual vacant grin at the two apparently friendly kids, his tombstone dentures way too big for his mouth, his innocent ice blue eyes wary. In his experience, kids especially kids this age (Scott was maybe twelve although with his sturdy build he could and often did pass for fourteen or even fifteen and Kane a cheeky, skinny nine-year-old) weren't always so friendly. Kids this age often laughed at or, at best, stared at him. Dogs growled suspiciously at his gait or snapped at his ankles. Unsympathetic people lost patience when he didn't understand and yelled at him. Life had taught him to expect the worst.

Tommy Dixon was a gangly man in his mid to late forties who had been working on the ferries since he was seventeen but his name badge still bore the legend "TOMMY Dixon, Trainee", his employers deeming it wise should, as sometimes happened, an incident arose that Tommy was unable to deal with, in which case a colleague would quickly be despatched to the scene with the pacifying apology to any angry customer "TOMMY'S's just learning the job".

"Tickets please. If you don't have your tickets already you can buy them from me." Tommy carefully intoned the sales patter that he'd been taught from day one and which he rehearsed in front of the mirror at home where he lived with his elderly mother every time he put on his uniform for the start of each new shift.

"Jeez, Tommo, ya forgot us already?" Scott Phillips pulled himself up to his full height like a man of the world. "WE don't pay!"

Tommo stroked his chin and gave a long, low laugh and as he always did when confused.

"We're the captain's kids," Kane said helpfully. "Don't ya remember, mate?"

"Sure he does," Scott said. "Best give us our free tickets quick-smart, Tommo. Don't want ya gettin' in heaps with the old man now, do we?"

"D'ya think he ever gets it in the neck over us when they count the dough the end of the day?" A return ticket safely tucked in his pocket with a warning from Scotty he was dead meat if he lost it, Kane turned to look back at the simple-minded Tommo who was painstakingly counting coins into a very patient lady's outstretched palm.

"Who gives a flying ----? The bloke's doolally," Scott replied, and in the excitement of running up on deck Kane soon forgot his brief concern.

One day he was gonna be a sea captain and sail his very own ship, maybe sail out to every ocean in the world. Nothing could beat the sea wind running through his hair and caressing his face like a mother, nothing could beat the music of the roaring waves and mewing gulls or the tugging of his heart for a dream he yearned to follow...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Kane...?"

Silence. Nothing but the roar of the wind and the sigh of the sea. Her trembling hands stroked his face as she wept softly. What had she done?

Oh, hush now, safe and warm in the arms of sleep. Wheels of time still spin. Rivers will run and seasons begin anew. Let the stars climb the velvet sky and the dream tree shed its leaves down on to the quiet earth. Hush now. Let the dreams fall. Be still.