Portraits of Celina (26 page)

Try to kick. To lash out.

But it’s hopeless, so hopeless.

I keep at it, and at it and at it, determined not to give in, until finally, I am spent.

Drenched with sweat. Chest heaving.

My head lolls back against the wall, and all that’s left for me to do is sob, to cry and cry and cry, my nose streaming.

Eventually, I don’t have the energy even to cry any more. My tears and snot dry across my cheeks, my chin, my neck – I can’t wipe them away – and beneath the tape that binds my mouth, my teeth take on a life of their own, chattering so fiercely that it’s the only thing I can hear.

I’m alive
, I tell myself, teeth rattling my jaw.
I’m alive
. He could have killed me, but he hasn’t. That has to be a good thing, right? And if he hasn’t killed me, then maybe he hasn’t killed Amelia either. Maybe Amelia is in this dungeon too.

Celina!
I implore.
Help me. Please. I’m here because of you – you guided me here. Please help me
.

But try as I might, I can’t sense her presence and I feel utterly deserted.

How did I get myself into this? Poor Mum. No one would be able to claw themselves back after something like this. This time, fate will have landed a king hit, and there will be nothing left of her to pick up off the ground. It will be the end for her. The end for our whole family. Just like it was for Celina and her family.

My eyes feel droopy and I think I am about to drop off to sleep, when I hear a noise. I concentrate, try to work out where it is coming from. A door slides open, confirming my suspicion that I am in the back room of Bud’s studio. There are footsteps on floorboards. Is it Bud returning? My entire body convulses at the thought of it.

I search frantically for some way to escape, should the chance present itself. Although the room is in darkness, a single strip of sunlight now blares across the floor to one side of me. From below a closed blind perhaps. The warble of magpies and the lonely caw of a crow suggest it must be early morning. Wind rushes through trees and rattles the window, making me start.

If I
am
in Bud’s studio, then I am still at Lakeside and Annie or Bob or Oliver could be close by. They are my only chance and somehow I have to use this to my advantage.

There are more noises, coming from quite close by now. Nothing sinister, only the sounds of someone moving about, going about his or her business, but each
clunk
or
plink
or
scrape
shoots prickles through me. Why doesn’t he come and check on me? What’s he playing at?

I scrunch my eyes and will someone to come to my rescue, try to conjure up a knight in shining armour. But it’s futile.

I don’t know how long I lie there. Waiting. Listening. Praying. My bladder is full and painful, and I am contemplating relieving myself on the floor, when I hear the sliding door open again and then a voice.

“Morning, Bud. My, doesn’t that look great. It’s coming along, isn’t it?”

Annie! Hope balloons within me.

There is no response from Bud of course. But I presume he is writing something.

“Yeah. Think it’s great,” says Annie. “Are you coming up to the house for some lunch today? I’m making mango salad … No? Well, I’ll leave you some for dinner – I’m going into town soon. That girl from the O’Malley’s place has gone missing … the younger one …”

Me! That’s me. They know!
I cling to this tiny morsel as if it is my last meal.

Annie continues. “Disappeared yesterday afternoon. Quite bizarre as her older sister went AWOL on Friday night – passed out somewhere, wrote herself off good and proper, and turned up home not long before dark yesterday, just as they realised the other sister wasn’t to be found …”

Amelia! Back. I am filled with relief. But then confusion. How can that be? I saw Bud dragging Amelia away. Heard her screams. Felt her fear. Celina showed it all to me. She led me here. I felt her.

Why would she do that if Bud never had Amelia in the first place? What is
Celina
playing at? These thoughts tornado through my brain, until I hear my name mentioned and I tune back into what Annie is saying.

“Yes. Bayley. The one Ols is sweet on. He’s pretty cut up about it …”

My heart pangs.

“They think she may have gone off searching for her sister. The police are combing their property. They may turn up here later. I hope she didn’t head off for the gorge.”

There’s a pause, and I am guessing Bud is replying.

“Okay. I’ll tell the police,” says Annie.

What? Tell them what? What has Bud said?

“Ols and Bob are going to join the search. Apparently, Ols has been meeting her at the bend in the lake with the willows. He seems to think she might have been heading this way.”

Another pause.

“Wouldn’t say why. Just a hunch. She rang him yesterday afternoon. Quite upset. Irrational. They had a fight. Poor kid. I think he’s worried that she’s hurt herself – blaming himself … God, she’s a nice girl too. A little intense, but a good soul. I hope she’s okay. That family has had more than its fair share of grief.”

There’s a quiver in Annie’s voice, and tears slide down the side of my face and into my ear as I wait through another aching silence. What is Bud telling Annie?

“Not sure. We only found out after breakfast. The gran rang, then the police. I think it flipped Bob back to that other awful time – he went as pale as the moon when he heard. I swear if I didn’t know better, you’d think that family is cursed … Yeah. You’re right … He and Ols took off straightaway, but Ols asked me to come and see you, insisted; he thought you might have seen her – said that you’ve seen them out by the lake a couple of times.”

Yay, Oliver
.

“Okay – well, keep a lookout and expect the police later. I’ll be heading off shortly.”

The door slides shut, and I am left alone with Bud. No Bob. No Annie. No Oliver. No knight in shining armour. Not even a ghost.

And I realise that I am lying in the warm puddle of my own wee.

The minutes trickle by. What is he waiting for? I am desperately hoping that he goes away and leaves me, at the same time as I am desperately wishing he would walk through the door, so I don’t have to endure the agony of waiting any longer.

There’s a creak like that of a door opening and then the room is cast into sudden brightness as a light is switched on.

My eyes blink painfully at the glare.

And he’s there.

I see his boots first. Black. Paint spattered and muddy. They clomp around the stack of crates and stop a metre or so away from me. Trembling, I keep my eyes downcast, fixated on the paint splatters and how they are like fireworks on a night sky. Striking. Vibrant bursts of colour. Pretty almost.

“So you’re awake.” It sounds as if he is growling through a mouthful of stones, and I am jerked away from the fireworks. But I don’t look up, nor do I reply.

He kicks my leg. “Look at me.”

I obey.

He seems different. Less stooped. Stronger. Dangerous. The fear I thought I saw in his eyes the other day at the lake has been replaced with a raw confidence, a maniacal glint.

“That’s better. Now what are we going to do with you, I wonder? Stupid girl. Why did you have to mention Celina, hey? Stupid. Stupid.”

He squats before me, yanks my hair back, turning my face up to his. “Why?” he spits, his breath horrid. “What do you know, you little whore?”

I squirm, try to wriggle free from his grip, cower away from him as best I can.

“Not so brave now, are you? Tell me! Tell me what you know!” He lets go of my hair, but lets fly with a cracking slap across my face that sends my head smacking against the floor. “Tell me, whore. Tell me.” And then he’s on me and I swear he is about to strangle me, but instead he rips the tape clumsily from my mouth, the skin stripping from my lips.

“Tell me. What do you know?”

“Nothing,” I whisper.

“Tell me!”

“Can I have a drink? I’m thirsty.”

“Tell me … what … you know.” His words are distorted by a rising anger. “Tell me.”

I don’t know what to say. Damned if I do; damned if I don’t. “Ce-lin-a,” I stutter, testing the impact of the word.

“Celina!” he roars back at me. “Always Celina. Ruined my life that little slut. But what do
you
know about her?”

“She was my mum’s cousin.”

“No kidding? Well, there’s a headline for you. Tell me something I don’t already know. And stop staring at me like that. You’re just like her. Thought she’d come back from the dead, that night on the lake – scared the crap out of me. But it’s not only in the looks that you’re the same. Witches the pair of you, wheedling your way into the family, casting your spells over the lads. Now tell me what you know.”

I decide to play cagey. “What’s there to know?” I say. “Please, a drink?”

“You better know something.” His twisted hand grabs my hair again. “For your sake, you little Celina double, you better know something.”

“I know she’s dead.” He pulls harder. “I know you …” He tugs harder still. My hair feels as though it is about to tear out of my scalp. Tears sting my eyes. “I know you did it. You killed her. You
killed
her!” I am yelling now, screaming.

He lets go of my hair and marches away – agitated. He starts to pace, mumbling something to himself, his mumblings becoming louder and more intense. And I know I’ve done it. That I am as good as dead.

I am oddly resigned.

Sorry, Seth
.

Sorry, Mum
.

Sorry, Amelia. Gran
.

Oliver
.

My heart is breaking, not because my life is about to end, but for the pain that I am about to cause my family. Misery sinks into my skin, creeps through me.

But as my spirits sink to lie on the floor beside me, I am filled with a strange serene presence. An icy presence that has the hairs on the back of my neck rising. I feel altered. Peculiar – as if I have somehow left my own body.

“You killed my parents too, don’t forget that!” I say.

But the voice is not mine.

Bud pivots slowly and glares at me. “What did you say?”

“You – it’s your fault. You killed them just as surely as you pushed me off that cliff.” My mouth is opening and the words are coming out, but it’s not me saying them.

It’s Celina. Not here to save me – here to get me freaking killed.

I will her to shut up.

Bud’s anger flares. “It
is
you! I knew it. I knew it.” He lunges at me, waves his fists in the air, rigid with fury. “I don’t know how, but you’re back. I could feel it – the moment the lights were switched on in that bloody house. Couldn’t leave well enough alone.
Forget the past
. That’s what Hetty said – her dying words to me. I had no idea how she knew, but she did.
Keep your mouth shut and forget the past
. But it won’t go away. All these years since Hetty’s gone, I’ve kept my word, haven’t uttered a single word, but still you’ve come, come back to haunt me.” His eyes dart all over the place. He takes a step away. “What to do? What to do?” he mutters.

“You’re going to pay,” Celina says through my mouth. “That’s what. You are going to suffer, like I did. Like Robbie, and Mum and Dad. Like I’ve been making you suffer these past weeks. It’s been great watching you squirm.”

“Stop!” Bud hisses. “Stop!”

“Wait till Robbie finds out what an arsehole of a father he has. A murderer. A liar. A sick monster. Wait till he hears what you did with me.”

Bud lets out an almighty wail. He goes down on one knee, then the other, and I think that Celina’s broken him.

But I am wrong. Bud takes several long breaths and rallies himself. He raises his head and glowers at me.

“It was brilliant, wasn’t it? The way I hid you. No one ever guessed – no one ever even suspected,” he says, his voice that of a madman. He tilts his head and gazes into my eyes. And I have a sinking feeling that I am not going to like what I am about to hear. “You always went on about how you were going to travel – take Robbie away from us, waste his life bumming around with you. Thought you’d appreciate it.”

“You’re sick. It was sick.”

“It was art. And the perfect place to conceal the evidence. I couldn’t risk it being found in that sinkhole. It was fine for a time, but you had to be moved and it was brilliance. Like da Vinci, Picasso. Sheer brilliance. Hiding you in plain sight for everyone to feast their eyes on.”

I don’t like this. I wish I could block my ears.

“Parts of me, not me – you sicko.”

Shut up, Celina
.

“Bones, hair, bits of your clothing. They are all you, my dear. I always liked symmetry and this seemed like perfect symmetry. I was fulfilling your destiny. I thought you’d be grateful that I gave you back to your parents and your precious Robbie.”

“It drove them mad. That portrait – made with my hair, you sick bastard. And only days before my birthday. It’s what tipped them over.”

“No, I think you overestimate your power. I was simply sharing you around – like you used to like sharing yourself around. Don’t think I don’t know. Do you realise that there is a little piece of you in every work I’ve ever created? A bit of bone, a scrap of nail, a lock of hair …”