Red Centre (4 page)

Chris flipped the card back over. He studied
the picture on the front. Red rocks. Palm trees. A vast landscape.
Finke Gorge National Park.

Finke Gorge National Park campgrounds. A few
four-by-four camper trucks and tents dotted the rocky, red soil.
Dry, thin trees provided the only refuge from the harsh sun. It was
easy to see why they called this place the Red Centre. A couple of
campers milled around, trying to escape the heat of the day. Many
rested under the shade of the trees, too hot to move.

Nestled amongst the rocky terrain, a
weather–beaten, wooden ranger station displayed the only evidence
of authority/safety in this vast land.

Lisa stood at the front of the ranger
station. She gave directions to a young family—mother, father and
their two young daughters, twelve and ten years old. They all wore
matching baby-blue tee-shirts, and baseball caps with the word
“BAKER” written across the front.

Mr. Baker had spread out a large map of the
area on the hood of his large, white four-by-four. He was animated
as he engaged in conversation with Lisa. She was pointing out the
best campsites for them to stay the night—Boggy Hole was their
destination. A twenty-seven mile trek across challenging and remote
terrain. After a moment the four of them scrambled into their SUV,
as Chris pulled his Cherokee in beside them.

Lisa watched on as Chris approached with a
photo of Shawn in hand. “Mr. Canada?” she said in an upbeat
voice.

Chris passed the photo to her. “My son,
Shawn.” He glanced around the camp grounds, letting Lisa look at
the photo. He continued, “He was backpacking around here a few days
ago. May have spent a couple of nights here.”

“
Yeah, I don’t really
remember him.” Lisa handed the photo back to Chris. “The police
have already questioned all the rangers about his
disappearance.”

“
Do you recall if he was
here with anyone else?”

Lisa shook her head. “I’m pretty sure he was
here by himself but, like I said, I don’t really remember him.
People come and go here all the time.”

“
Isn’t it your job to keep
track of people?” Chris snapped. The lack of information and
assistance was taking its toll.

Lisa folded her arms. Not impressed.

“
Sorry.” He breathed in.
“Do you recall if there were any … rough characters,
suspicious—”

“
No. There were no ‘rough
characters’ or ‘suspicious’ people that would target your son. This
is a low crime area. It’s families and retired couples driving
through, holidaying. Not serial killers and kidnappers.”

Chris scratched the side of his face, his
stubble starting to come in. He tugged on his shirt as the sun beat
down on him. “Please, if you can recall anything about the time
Shawn was here.”

“
Sorry. There was nothing
out of the ordinary.”

Chris turned slightly from Lisa. His eyes
darted from campsite to campsite. Nothing unusual. As Lisa said,
families and retired couples on holiday.

“
Do you mind if I look
around?” Chris said.

“
Go right ahead. But stay
on the walking tracks and don’t crush any of the vegetation. And
don’t bother people. Okay?”

Chris nodded as he moved away from her.

She called after him. “And don’t get
lost!”

***

Chris walked under the scattered shade of
the thin trees and climbed the rocky terrain. Sweat beaded his
forehead and trickled down his soaked back—his body fighting to
keep cool. He sipped frequently from a single bottle of water.
Wandering aimlessly, not really sure what he was looking for. But
what else could he do? Even if he didn’t find anything the very
effort of moving, looking, searching, provided the smallest level
of reprieve from the desperation he felt. He felt sick to his
stomach. Searching was his medicine.

He stood on the edge of a small cliff,
looking out over the vast landscape. A large valley of trees, rock
formations—red boulders on top of each other, rocky cliff faces,
small hills—lay before him. Awe inspiring.

Barren.

Nothing could survive out here for very
long.

A gentle breeze blew
against Chris’ back. It felt good, a small relief from the heat.
The singing of birds in the trees was his only company. He leant
against a tree, absorbing what this strange land had to offer. His
mind was blank. He didn’t know where to go from here.
Where are you, son?

His cell began to ring. His wife, Kate,
calling. His thumb hovered over the slider. He didn’t have any good
news to tell her; hesitant to answer. Conversations with his wife,
or anybody for that matter—but especially his wife—regarding their
son was hard. Harder than thinking about it. It stirred up a whole
range of new emotions. He felt as if he needed to provide a
solution, to fix it, make everything right.

He couldn’t not answer it. His thumb gently
slid across the screen, as he slowly moved the phone to his
ear.

Her voice was soft and concerned. “Are you
there?” Kate stood in her kitchen. It was night on the other side
of the world. She was in her early forties, attractive, with long,
strawberry-blonde hair. Her kitchen was upscale. Expensive
appliances. She held the phone to her ear.

“
I’m here.” Chris tucked
his left hand into his pocket and looked at the sky. He was
reserved.

Kate fiddled with an open packet of small,
white pills on the countertop. She fought back tears. Even though
she knew it wasn’t possible, she had high hopes that Chris would
give her good news. His reserved speech was a clear indication
things weren’t going so well, and there were no leads. Her eyes
wandered up to a family portrait on the wall. It was Chris and Kate
and their three teenage children—Shawn and his two younger sisters,
Melissa, fifteen and Sarah, thirteen.

They listened to each other breathe. Their
silence brought more comfort than talking, at least for now. They
were both hurting. They had met in their freshman year of college
and had been together ever since. She was an English major and he
was studying business.

Her eyes wandered over to another photo
beside the portrait. It was of two infant twin boys. “We can’t lose
him too, Chris.” Her voice wavered. She stared at the photo of the
boys. A tear rolled down her cheek. “He’s all we have left to
remember Aaron.”

Chris breathed in deeply. He knew she was
right, but he didn’t have anything to say. They had started a
family soon after marriage. They were overjoyed when they heard
Kate was pregnant with identical twin boys—Aaron and Shawn.

Their joy turned to heartbreak when, at
several weeks old, Aaron passed away to SIDS. Maybe that was why
Shawn was so full of life: he felt he owed it to a brother he never
knew to live life to the fullest. It was his duty to make the most
of his life.

Aaron’s passing was devastating for Chris
and Kate. Their whole world turned upside down. Joy to sorrow.
Every time they held Shawn, they would mourn for Aaron. Kate felt
especially mournful. She felt she had failed as a mother. It was
her duty to protect and provide for her new son. Her once bubbly
disposition changed forever. She slipped into depression, fighting
it for years.

Time did heal the wound, and she returned to
mostly her former self. Shawn was at least a window into what Aaron
would have been like. Losing Shawn now was like losing Aaron all
over again.

Reliving the nightmare of eighteen years
ago, she remembered that tragic night when she opened the boys’
bedroom door to crying. A distressed Shawn screamed from his crib,
as though he knew something was wrong. She would never forget that
moment. She checked Aaron in his crib and saw his tiny, lifeless
body lying there. Deafening silence. She frantically applied CPR to
his fragile body, tears streaming down her face. She dared not stop
to call 911. Her body shook uncontrollably while she worked
hopelessly on her baby son. And then, he was gone. He was gone
before she entered the room, she knew that. His small life taken so
quickly. Gone in a heartbeat. She was alone, with only Shawn as
comfort. Chris was away that night on an out-of-town business
trip.

Chris would also never forget that night.
The phone call from Kate. The worst call in his life. The weeping,
the desperate plea for him to be with her. He wished the call had
never come. That he could somehow take back time. Maybe if he had
been there and not been away working ... Maybe together they could
have saved Aaron. It was reminiscent of how he was feeling at this
moment. All the way in Australia, with his wife on the edge,
wanting to be held, to be comforted. They couldn’t lose Shawn as
well. They couldn’t lose both their boys. Kate would never recover,
and neither would he.

“
Why has this happened to
us? What have we done to deserve this?” Kate blurted out through
tears.

Chris bit his lip. This wasn’t the first
time these questions had come up in their conversations. He felt
they were having the same conversation as when he was in a dingy
hotel room, finding out Aaron had just died.

“
I don’t know.” His answer
similar to that fateful night. Only now he was older, wiser—more
cynical. “Shit just happens. No matter what you do.”

“
Don’t you say that!” Her
voice slightly raised and annoyed, choking through extra saliva in
her mouth, her face wet from tears. “You have to find him,
Christopher! Please! Just bring him home.” Kate slid to the floor,
leaning her back against the kitchen cabinets. “Do it as fast as
you can.”

“
What do you think I’m
doing here, Kate?” His voice slightly raised now also. “I’m not on
vacation. I’m doing all I can!”

Kate brought her knees up to her chest,
resting her face on them. She sucked in air, sobbing.

Chris lowered the phone for a moment to take
a breather. He couldn’t bear to hear her helpless crying. He was
barely keeping his own shit together and he had to be strong for
her.

He glanced around to see if he was still
alone, swatting at some flies buzzing him. He placed his cell back
to his ear. “I’m sorry. I haven’t had a lot of sleep in this place.
This place is hell.” He removed his hand from his pocket, rubbing
his short hair back and forth. “I’m struggling here, Kate. No one
knows anything. No one wants to know anything. It’s a different
world here.”

Kate lifted her head, her eyes red and full
of tears, her voice soft and mumbly. “I wish I could help you.”

“
Just hang in there. Look
after yourself and the girls,” Chris said in a concerned, unsure
voice. “Did you see Dr. Atkinson?”

Kate nodded her head up and down slightly.
“I saw him this morning.” She held back matted hair from her face.
“Sometimes, I don’t think I can go on if we don’t find Shawn.
Sometimes I think that—”

“
I’m going to get him
back. Whatever it takes. Okay?”

“
I know,” Kate said with
restrained hopes. Another tear broke the barrier of her eye and ran
down her cheek. She caught it with the palm of her hand and quickly
wiped it away.

***

Chris made his way back to the ranger’s
station. The sun was getting low in the sky. It would be dark soon.
As he approached the Cherokee, he noticed a beat-up,
rusted-out—what used to be teal-colored—old truck, a 1960
International Harvester, blocking him in. Slowly moving around it
he checked inside. Empty. The driver must be in the station.

Just as Chris past the truck, Roy Lambert
stepped out from around the front of the Cherokee. He had been
waiting for Chris to return. In his left hand he gripped a beer, in
the other, a large, twelve-inch screwdriver. His hands were covered
in black grease, dirt. In fact, he was covered in filth.

Roy took a swig of his beer, let off a
belch. “You the fella messing with Frank?”

Chris stopped. This couldn’t be good. He
loosened up his fingers. He wasn’t sure what the fat man was going
to do with that screwdriver.

“
I’ve heard ya been makin’
trouble,” Roy said with a slight drunken slur.

“
I don’t want any
trouble.” Adrenaline coursed through Chris’ veins. Blood pumping.
His pulse thumped the side of his head. That was all Kate
needed—two missing family members.

Roy smiled, showing his blackened teeth—what
was left of them anyway. Too many barroom brawls and not enough
trips to the dentist. A foul man. He tapped the screwdriver on the
hood of the Cherokee. “Whatta you doing here, city boy?”

Chris didn’t break eye
contact with Roy. Like two cats ready to fight—if one moves, it’s
all over. With peripheral vision, he searched the surroundings.
Anything to use as a weapon? Only the sandy dirt under foot.
Throw it in his eyes. Have to get the
screwdriver. Kick to the groin. Will it take down the tough,
Australian redneck?

“
You hear me, Yankee
bastard?!”

“
Hello, Roy!” came a
deadpan woman’s voice from behind. Lisa stood at the door of the
station. “You shouldn’t be drinking here, Roy.”

Roy glanced back at Lisa. He drank more of
his beer, finishing the can. Squashed it in his hand and tossed it
to the ground.

“
You can’t litter either,”
Lisa chastised.

His eyes moved back to Chris, not fazed by
Lisa’s warning. “I wouldn’t wanna see anything happen to ya fancy
ride; or ya fancy face!”

“
You drunk, Roy?” Lisa
said.

“
I ain’t
drunk!”

“
I don’t want to have to
call Mackenzie again.”