This story was originally posted to the Neighboursfans .com forum with the comment that it was inspired by a discussion about "pushing the big reset button with regard to Paul." Lord only knows what was going through my head at the time. Set in late 2006.
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Part 1 (written 19th October 2006)
The car seems to glide down the road, the outside world rolling by like painted scenery on the set of an old movie. The driver looks ahead of himself, his eyes fixed on some indeterminable point.
"He's dead! Don't you get that? He's not coming back... ever. And it's all his fault!"
The road to retribution had been littered with the lives of so many, why should his own family be any different? Only pure, blinkered arrogance could have made him think otherwise.
"I'll see you in Hell, you murdering bitch!"
The anguish of a woman who after a solemn visit by the police, saw her life fall apart around her. The driver can almost visualise the woman's husband tying the noose and slipping it over his head.
"I only wanted to be a good daughter!"
The voice repeats in his memory. He'd set the example. All of his plots, all his machinations... add a girl desperate to connect with her father and it was a blueprint for ruination.
The driver stares. Somewhere behind him, a siren can be heard. He doesn't hear it.
A field of green, uniformly marked by poignantly inscribed tablets of grey stone and black marble. One such tablet reveals the name Hoyland, but the driver doesn't see it. In his mind's eye, he rests his hand on the freshly dug grass.
He grips the steering wheel.
It's supposed to be a place of peace. Instead it's a nightmare of ghosts, all staring at him sadly. For what they were, for what they could have been... for what he ended.
His face begins to twist, the first expression of emotion visible.
Having seen one child buried, he would have done anything not to experience that again. But the cycle of madness has no ending. It mocks him as he mocked everyone else around him. What has he done?
Tears glisten in his eyes. By reflex he blinks them back. Show no weakness.
He can stay in there no longer. He turns away, trying to escape the ghosts of his guilt. But there is no escape, no escape in sight.
"I only wanted to be a good daughter!"
Once upon a time his family name was spoken with respect. Now it is utterly reviled. His legacy is death, his bequeathment destruction.
"I'd tell you to go to Hell, but you're halfway there already."
When had he completed the journey?
The car continues to glide. The driver turns the wheel slightly, then slowly lowers his hands.
At one-hundred and thirty miles an hour, a gleaming new sports-car smashes into an old elm tree on the edge of Lassiters Park.
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Part 2 (written 27th October 2006)
Paul's eyes stare unblinking, adrenaline flooding his body, his heart racing at what feels like a million miles a minute. It takes a long moment before he realises that he isn't surrounded by the mangled wreck of his car, that broken glass isn't embedded in his flesh.
At last he blinks, then appears to recognise his surroundings. Releasing a large breath he didn't realise he was holding in, he pushes the bedsheets off himself and swings his legs over the side onto the carpeted floor.
Legs!
He has legs, two of them. He flexes one of them and waggles his foot about experimentally. Perfect working order. He feels a little silly at performing the test, but shrugs it off.
The display of his bedside clock glows at him in retro crimson LEDs. At least he hasn't overslept again, that would really have made this the perfect start to the day. Still feeling his heart beating rather faster than it should be, Paul nervously rises to his feet and heads off to the bathroom.
"ANDREW!"
A boy, about fifteen years of age, appears from the half-open door of his bedroom. "A little louder, mum, I don't think they heard you in Darwin" he deadpans.
"I wouldn't have to shout if you'd come through when you're told to," his mother replies exasperatedly.
"Maybe if you woke me up at a slightly less indecent hour," Andrew mutters as he passes her and moves straight to the breakfast table.
"I heard that!" she admonishes.
"I was up at six-thirty sharp," a higher-toned voice chimes in, it's owner already tucking into the most important meal of the day... Cocoa Pops.
"That's because you're an unbelievable suck," Andrew tells her, grabbing a slice of toast and jamming it in his mouth as he flops down onto a seat.
"You should try doing things without making them a chore, Andrew. This house would run a lot more smoothly if you did." The mother returns to the hob, checking on the gently grilling rashers of bacon.
"Yes, much more smoothly," the younger child parrots.
"Hey kids!" Paul announces his presence as Andrew gives his sibling a bored looking glare. They each greet their father, one more enthusiastically than the other. Paul glances over his wife's shoulder. "Looks great, but-"
"No!"
"What?"
"No, you're not skipping breakfast again because it'll make you late for work, because A, I took the trouble to cook this and I'd appreciate it being eaten, and B, you don't have to be in the office until ten this morning, remember?"
He furrows his brow slightly. "Not really!"
She turns her head and is immediately concerned. "You look awful."
Paul snorts. "Thanks very much!"
She ignores the comment. She could have said that less bluntly. "Honey, those shadows under your eyes are going to turn into well-packed luggage if you're not careful." She lowers her voice a little. "Did you have that nightmare again?"
Paul uncomfortably shifts on his feet. "Can we not talk about that?"
She opens her mouth, then bites her tongue. This is something for when Andrew and Anne have left for school. Fishing out the bacon and tipping the fried eggs out of the pan, she passes the plate of breakfast to a reluctant Paul. "If you won't talk, then eat."
"When did you get so bossy?" he mutters as he gets a knife and fork and sits down with the kids.
Chrissie looks at him again as he eats. It's not just the shadows, he's been far more irritable and careless lately too. She knows Paul will try to fob her off, but this is more than just a few restless nights. Much more.
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Part 3 (written 4th November 2006)
Paul had expertly deflected the expected Q&A session, but knows that Chrissie won't let this lie for long. Not that he blames her for wanting to know, but how can he explain it when he can't even work it out in his own head? The dreams are so vivid, they feel almost as real to him as anything he's experienced while awake.
"Paul!"
He looks up as he hears his name being called. Susan trots over from next door, determined to catch him this time.
"I'm running late, Susan, what is it?" he asks, slightly tersely as he unlocks the car door and opens it.
"I was just wondering if you'd made up your mind about the class. I do need to know by this evening."
Paul looks at her. "Class?"
"You know, the workgroup for the Business and Admin students."
The dam breaks and the memory pours back into his brain. Susan had asked him a week ago if he could organise the talk on the business ethics module. Some kind of interactive discussion. He'd been highly dubious about it, had almost laughed out loud. But Susan had claimed that in actual fact he was the ideal person to tackle such an issue. He could speak from experience about what crossing that line meant. It gave him a unique perspective that probably wouldn't be touched on by some stuffy lecturer from Eden Hills. Telling a bunch of kids exactly how he screwed up wasn't high on his list of priorities, but he'd promised Susan he'd think about it.
"Are you sure about this?" he asks her, pained. "I don't think anything I have to say would help them."
Susan knows this is still a sensitive subject, but has a feeling the workgroup could be of just as much benefit to Paul as the students. Talking about his past could help him put it all into perspective. Although having never met Paul before he was released, Chrissie had talked of him so much in the intervening two years, she felt like she knew him. And she knows from those chats that his confidence was hit for six by prison life.
"You turned your life around, Paul. Even after being on the wrong side. I'd say that proves something," she answers sympathetically.
Paul isn't convinced, but nods his head with a sigh. "I'll give it a try."
"Thank you" Susan smiles at him.
Paul finds himself and motions to his car. "I really have to get going now, so..."
Susan grins. "You get away. I'll see you and Chrissie tonight." She starts to go back to number 28.
Paul's about to duck inside, when he pauses. "Tonight?"
Susan looks over her shoulder. "Dinner... remember?"
Paul looks blank for a moment, then shakes his head a little. "Yeah, tonight. See you then," he acknowledges before slipping into the driver's seat and shutting the door. As he rests his hands on the steering wheel, the sensation of hitting a tree at speed jolts through him. Perturbed, he starts the car and carefully drives away.