Page 52

B

The courier van jolted down the dirt road, creaking with every pothole and rut I bounced over.

The headlights danced erratically over the wild scrub that spilled over the edges of the track, casting jagged shadows that flickered and disappeared as I sped past. The road had been just dirt the last time we’d come to Stanage Bay, and the fact that it hadn’t changed after two decades told me everything I needed to know.

The town was remote, forgotten, and perfect.

The moon hung high above, draping the world in a pale silver glow, and the track ahead stretched into darkness, empty and rugged.

No houses. No fences. Just endless bushland.

When we’d driven along here all those years ago, Alice had leaned out the car window, mooing to the cows and delighted by the horses grazing in the paddocks that had flanked the entrance to Stanage Bay.

The van’s lights highlighted a weathered sign ahead, and I eased off the accelerator.

“Hey, Alice,” I murmured. “They still have the cattle grids over the road.”

I could still hear her laugh, high and sweet, as if she were sitting right beside me. Every time we’d driven over the grids, she’d tried to talk, and when her words wobbled, she’d break into giggles. The smallest things had filled her with so much joy.

God, I missed her laugh. I missed her.

I slowed as I drove the van into what passed for the main street of Stanage Bay.

The headlights swept over a handful of weather-beaten buildings huddled together against the emptiness, as if the town itself were bracing against the void.

Stanage Bay was still a forgotten hamlet clinging stubbornly to the edge of nowhere.

And I had no doubt the locals liked it that way.

The town’s only shop was smack in the middle of town.

Its windows were dark, and a faded CLOSED sign hung crookedly on the glass door.

Alice and I had ventured into that shop several times .

. . back when I was a different person. A happier person.

Back when I was looking forward to a quiet vacation with Alice.

Away from the world. Away from our cruel memories.

I could still picture the two of us inside that little shop, the old floorboards creaking under our bare feet as we picked out groceries.

Alice’s face had lit up as she’d grabbed ice cream, chocolate, and crisps .

. . the kind of treats that we didn’t discover until we were in our twenties.

I’d tossed wine and cigarettes into the basket, hoping she wouldn’t notice and tried to pretend I wasn’t just as excited.

Damn, I still don’t have any cigarettes.

A bitter laugh slipped out as I glanced over my shoulder.

“Did you plan this, Alice?” I muttered.

She’d hated my addiction, but I used to tell her there were a dozen other addictions that were way worse.

The road narrowed as the town vanished behind me, the dirt giving way to loose gravel. My grip on the wheel tightened as a flicker of unease curled in my chest.

What if the shack isn’t vacant ?

This had to be Alice’s final resting place. The only place.

And if someone was there . . . well, they would have to be dealt with.

At the end of the track, I turned onto a narrow driveway which was little more than twin tire tracks cutting through weeds and wiry grass. Shrubs and branches scraped against the van’s sides, clawing at the metal like fingernails.

The driveway curved, and then the shack came into view, bathed in the harsh glow of the van’s headlights.

The windows were dark, thank goodness, and the building was smaller than I remembered as if time had shrunk it into itself, weathered and brittle like an old man.

The roof sagged, the paint had long since peeled away, and the windows were clouded with salt crust and grime.

I rolled down the window as I pulled around to the side, and as the van’s tires crunched and popped on the gravel, the sound seemed to echo about the stillness.

The ocean came into view, and I stopped the van.

Just like all those years ago, the scenery was breathtaking. The moon hung low, its silver light spilling across the water in a shimmering path, while the waves whispered against the shore in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. A magnificent backdrop for what I had to do . . . for Alice.

I killed the engine, and the world fell silent. Cool ocean air drifted into the van, cutting through the faint metallic tang of the interior. As I let the quiet settle over me, I turned in my seat to glance back at Alice. Toward my one true love.

“Hey, Alice,” I said, my voice soft. “I wish you could see this place. It’s beautiful. Just like I remembered. I told you I’d find somewhere perfect for you. Somewhere peaceful.”

Her body lay beneath the tarp, but I could easily picture her.

I could still remember every curve of her body, every worry line on her face, the way she used to look at me before time, nightmares, and the cruel march of disease had taken their toll.

Before she became a living reminder of all that I’d failed to protect.

“No more running, my love,” I said, tightening my fingers around the steering wheel. “No more pain. Just peace. For both of us.”

A lump rose in my throat, sharp and unwelcome. I forced it down, swallowing hard. Emotions were a weakness I couldn’t afford. Not now. Not with so much still to do. Grief, guilt, and regret were all just useless noise.

Keep it together. It’s almost over.

I pushed the door open and stepped out of the van.

The air bit at my skin, crueler than I'd expected, raising goosebumps across my bare arms and stealing the breath from my lungs.

We used to combat the cold nights with a worn flannel blanket draped over our shoulders, bodies pressed together on our sagging sofa.

She'd always loved to hug, and it was like she melted into me, making us complete.

Two broken women fitting perfectly together, creating a fortress against the world and all the evil bastards that haunted us.

The sound of the ocean pulled me back. The waves rolled in softly, their steady rhythm a quiet symphony. We used to joke that the sea was washing our sins away, carrying them out into the endless expanse of water.

I walked to the side of the van with the gravel crunching beneath my boots and pulled open the cargo door. The tarp stared back at me, lifeless and still.

My back twinged as I stood there, considering the weight of what came next. I exhaled sharply and leaned into the cargo hold. “Let’s get this over with.”

As I pulled her closer to the edge, the tarp crinkled under my grip and snagged on the corrugated floor. My hands trembled as I reached beneath her, slipping my arms under her knees and shoulders just like I had near the end when she was too weak to walk.

Back then, she’d been light as a feather. Fragile and tiny in my arms. But now her weight was solid.

And I’m getting fucking old.

Gritting my teeth, I lifted, but my back seized, and a sharp pain shot up my spine. I staggered, nearly dropping her as I put her back down.

I tried again, forcing everything I had into the effort. My arms burned, my knees wobbled, and my back screamed like a bitch.

With a strangled cry, I stumbled forward, lowering her again, gasping for air. Panic blazed in my chest, hot and suffocating.

“Fucking hell!” I screamed, and my voice ripped through the quiet night as I glared up at the moon.

The half-moon hung high, serene and silver, casting light on our beach . . . on my failure to hold her. I doubled over, hands on my knees, trying to steady my breathing.

I had to keep going. For Alice.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, horrified at what I was about to do.

As gently as I could, I tugged the tarp closer to the edge of the van. The fabric slid across the metal floor, and with a final pull, her body tipped over the edge. I cringed at the dull thud as she hit the sand and grass below.

“I’m sorry. So, so sorry, my love,” I murmured, wiping my sweating palms on my jeans.

Crouching, I grabbed the tarp and dragged her toward the shack.

The soft, uneven ground made dragging her body harder, and with each step, her weight seemed to become heavier.

Four wooden steps led to the back porch, and by the time I'd hauled her up them, my arms shook and my back was pure agony.

I eased her onto the weathered boards as gently as I could, then collapsed into one of the timber chairs facing the water.

My lungs burned as I sat there, gulping in the salty air. The chair creaked beneath me, its wood worn smooth by decades of fishermen watching the tide. When my breath finally steadied, I forced myself up with a groan and tried the back door. The handle rattled uselessly. Locked.

“Bloody hell.” I made my way around to the front, battling through knee-high weeds that slashed at my legs like tiny whips. The front door was locked too. I almost laughed. Who were they trying to keep out? There would be nothing worth stealing inside.

Sighing, I retraced my steps to the van and grabbed my bag. As I returned to the back porch, my back twinged with every step.

How the hell am I going to dig a grave for her?

Shoving aside that impossible question, I used the butt of the gun to smash the tiny window in the door. I reached through to unlock the door and swung it open.

The musty scent of damp wood and dust confirmed the shack hadn’t been used in a long time. Good. The darkness was absolute, and I fumbled for the light switch. Nothing.

“Of course,” I muttered, pulling out my phone.