Vanished, James Delargy [i like reading books txt] 📗

phones there would always be contact. Earlier today, while in Hurton, Phil had texted that he wanted to come see him. What Lorcan wondered was why? As a concerned colleague? Out of curiosity? Or an ulterior motive? It was a long way to come for a catch-up. He believed he knew why Phil wanted to meet. To find out if he had the information. Or if he was selling it.

22

Naiyana

She eventually fell asleep beside Dylan, her unease over her husband’s whereabouts defeated by exhaustion. It didn’t last long. The all too familiar rumble returned like a woodpecker chipping at her skull. But this time it seemed different. The sound was not coming from deep inside the earth but through the air. The chug of an engine. Faint but definitely not her imagination at play. Lorcan was back. She felt relief but also anger. Where had he been? How dare he leave them out here alone for so long? The questions replaced the woodpecker by tapping at her brain. She waited for the engine to draw closer, followed by the creak of furtive footsteps in the hallway. But the sound didn’t get any closer. In fact, it disappeared.

Now she was wide awake. With Dylan sound asleep she ventured outside. The air had a chill but remained temperate. She found no sign of Lorcan or the ute.

But she was sure she had heard it. Using the light from the gibbous moon overhead she walked towards the crossroads, only the whisper of the wind in the air and the crackle of sand underneath her sandals accompanying her. She felt a strange peacefulness out here alone, looking for her husband as if looking for love once again.

As she approached the crossroads the peacefulness began to wane. What if it wasn’t Lorcan but someone else?

Maybe they could help her find Lorcan.

Or maybe they wouldn’t. She was out here all alone. Defenceless.

Reaching the crossroads she contemplated if she wanted to find the source of the noise or if it was best to conclude she was crazy. Crazy but alone. It was a close call. She had an aunt in Geelong who had been committed to an asylum, so madness may run in the family, if that kind of shit was hereditary.

She looked up and down the dirt thoroughfares leading from the crossroads but there was no movement and no noise. Her only company was the kangaroo skeleton. But even it had a role. As a local landmark. Her role was less clear. Mother, yes. Wife, sometimes. Cleaner, no thanks. Was this a sign that she needed to go back to Perth? Rediscover her purpose? At least there she had the Internet to fall back on for answers. Out here she was crippled into ignorance and isolation.

Her thoughts were disturbed by the familiar rumbling. The mysterious noise that was knocking Dylan – and all three of them, really – out of sorts. She wanted to return to the house and Dylan and bed but she needed answers. It was time to solve this mystery. Ignorance was not a state she enjoyed. Orientating herself towards the sound she made for a tin and brick dwelling by the side of the road.

23

Emmaline

The drive back had been precarious, with only a faint crescent moon to guide her.

And there wasn’t much to come back to, just a dour, empty caravan that seemed to reek even more, as if the previous tenant had snuck in after she’d left and helped themselves to a pack of twenty.

She regretted not asking Matty back. All that awaited her here was work. Fun, but not FUN.

While she had been in the pub a couple more files had arrived on her phone from HQ. Four YouTube vlogs posted by Naiyana Maguire under the username NeeM999. The report also noted a further one hundred and twenty-three relating to previous campaigns Naiyana had been a part of. They had all been banned and taken down. Emmaline would get to them another time. What happened while Naiyana was in Kallayee was her focus right now.

Rather than concentrate on house repairs like Lorcan’s amateur videos, they focused on the struggles of moving there. The first two were narrated only, but by the third she was on-screen. They had been given the title: Outback Motherhood. They were styled as a raw account but managed with an experienced and skilful touch, hiding the full story, the pep in her voice betrayed by a tiredness around her eyes that make-up couldn’t hide completely. Trying to force the narrative.

The vlogs were mementos of the family’s life there. Shots of the town, colourful skylines and abandoned shacks to go along with a commentary on the hardships, before in the third video Dylan made an appearance, playing with his toy trucks on a mound of dirt, not acknowledging the camera, his face unseen.

At the end of the same video, Lorcan could be heard, telling Naiyana to put the phone down and help him with something, irritation in his voice and in her answer. It hadn’t been edited out of the otherwise professional vlog, possibly on purpose. It gave a sense that all was not well, that nerves were frayed, mother and father – and even Dylan – perhaps withdrawing from each other.

In the final video, a more honest piece about the lack of showers and tips on how to wash using a bucket and cloth, the video captured a rising brown swirl in the background. A small dust devil, which would have been the most interesting thing in the wide shot but Emmaline had spotted something else. She paused the video and squinted at the screen. The paused shot showed a scene of the house for the first time, Lorcan on the roof hard at work laying bricks. But behind it all, deep in the background there was something else. A figure in the distance spying from around the side of a house, the dark shape of a head