The Betrayal of Bindy Mackenzie (49 page)

The police have had many questions for me, and have given me much to think about.

I think the following exemplifies what their detective work has uncovered.

It is a copy of some encrypted notes which were discovered on Try's computer. The notes had been sent by Try to her ‘superior' in the relevant ‘criminal gang'. They update him on Try's efforts. His response could not be retrieved.

Note that ‘M' is Maureen (of Maureen's Magic), ‘E' is Eleanora, ‘MP' is Markus Pulie (that is, Finnegan), and BM is, of course, me.

This is a description of a ‘meeting' with my mother
This happened almost in a dream.

I was in the hospital, in recovery, but I did not know that at the time. I had just regained consciousness. My focus was hazy. I saw flowers, windows, some curious, violet ornaments. I saw a man in blue rush past glass and I thought of the giant blue cat.

Then I saw my mother. She must have seen me open my eyes, because she was standing by the bed, crouching, leaning close to me.

I spoke.

‘Why did you do it?' I said.

My voice was hoarse and faint, but my mother heard me. She sat on the edge of the bed now, and put a hand on my forehead.

‘It's okay,' she said, ‘you've been poisoned, but you're okay now. Don't worry, just rest for now.'

‘Why did you do it?' I repeated.

She smiled gently. ‘It wasn't me, darling. You mustn't worry about who it was for now.'

‘I mean, why did you move out to the city and leave me behind for the year?' My voice broke into pieces as I said this,
and I found myself crying into my hands. My mother let out a small cry, and gathered me into her arms.

I heard her murmuring, ‘Bindy, I'm so sorry.'

Through my tears, then, I spoke a lot of nonsense.

I remember saying, ‘I know Dad wanted to do it, but why didn't you stop him? You always stopped him before. You always went behind his back and took care of us. I thought you always would.'

My mother was rocking me slowly, saying, ‘I'm so sorry,' over and over. And words continued tumbling out of me.

‘You went behind Dad's back for Anthony this year,' I said, ‘but not for me. You stopped loving me, didn't you? Because you spent last summer with the girls from school, Emily and her friends, and not with me. And you liked them better than me. I know you did because they're better than me. And you wouldn't help me get professional driving lessons when Dad said I couldn't have them. And then I crashed the car! And you
agreed
to move out to the city with Dad. Why did you agree to that? Why did you leave me behind? Why did you stop loving me this year?'

My mother kept rocking me, saying, ‘It's okay, it's okay,' and I could feel the shuddering of sobs in her chest.

Eventually, I was exhausted, and lay back on my pillow. She looked down at me with her red, teary eyes, and was quiet for a while.

Then, she said, ‘We thought we were going to lose you, so I wrote you a letter. You can read it if you like. When you feel up to it.' She put a pink envelope on the table beside my bed. ‘But for now,' she said, ‘please rest, and know that I will never let you down again.'

She leaned closer and whispered, ‘I could never stop loving you, Bindy.'

Then she brushed her hands over my eyes so that they closed, and sat on the bed watching me.

I think I let my eyes flutter open for a moment, and when I did, I believe I saw my father standing behind the glass, staring in at us.

I fell deeply asleep.

Final Words
A month has passed since my release from the hospital.

I wish to express my heartfelt gratitude to the excellent staff at the Baulkham Hills Shire Hospital. Apart from their prompt treatment at the critical phase, they have been very conscientious in these last few weeks. I have to return for regular check-ups: there is the possibility of complications following acute arsine poisoning, not to mention chronic arsenic poisoning. But so far, there are no signs of long-term ill-effects.

Meanwhile, the officers of the Hills District law enforcement are unravelling the wicked scandal! They come by occasionally to ask me more questions. They are still gathering evidence for the prosecution of Maureen, Eleanora and several other members of this criminal conspiracy. (Apparently, the ‘gang' extends across the nation, and largely consists of computer criminals.) Try herself was a reasonably new member of this gang, and has entered into a plea agreement: she has given the police as much information as she can about her superiors and their plans, in exchange for a reduced sentence. In fact, her information had led them to the man behind the whole scheme. He's a computer
programmer named Elias Brandy. I hear he has freckles and a red beard, and he pretends to be extremely perplexed by the allegations made against him. But the police have not fallen for that. They've seized his computers, and talked to computer crime agencies around the world—it turns out he's part of a gang of notorious ‘cyber-pirates'. They've stolen billions from around the world and are implicated in over twenty-five murders. Apparently, Try is terrified of him.

I believe Try will serve seven years.

My mother is looking after me beautifully. You see, I am writing these, the final words in this project, in the living room of our old home at 24 Clipping Drive, Kellyville.

Mum evicted the tenants, and she and I moved in. The really marvellous thing about this is that my personalised letter stationery is now valid again!

Anthony is staying with his friend Sam in the city, and my father remains, rather tragically, in his little one-bed apartment.

Sometimes, in these days of recuperation, I turn to the letter that my mother wrote when she thought I was not going to make it. I'll scan it in below.

My Bindy,
I just want to tell you how little you look in this big hospital room. I just want to gather you up and take you home with me.

It's too late to write this letter, isn't it? All year you've been sending me e-mails, and each time one arrived, I grabbed my phone and called you. No wonder you ignored my messages. You wanted me to sit down and
write
, to think
about you and your questions—all I wanted to do was chat. I wanted to hear your voice.

It was such a little thing for you to ask, but I have failed.

Just as I've failed you all these years. I know how much you admire your dad, and how he takes advantage of that. I should work harder to protect you from that—I've been realising this all year. How he sent you that cruel e-mail on your birthday. How his wallpaper was almost poisoning you . . . well, it
could
have been.

He does mean well. He's not a wicked man, and he loves you very much. It's just that he doesn't really understand kids. He thinks of you as someone fascinating, but I don't think he really understands you. And he's completely caught up in his own world.

Which is why I agreed to move into the city with him this year. I thought you and Anthony might be better off learning to live your own lives, without being in the shadow of your father all the time. I've been regretting my decision all year. I feel as if I've abandoned you both, rather than given you freedom.

Bindy, you work so hard, you're so creative, and you're unlike anyone else. It's a miracle that a pair of hopeless people like your dad and me created a person as extraordinary as you. I'm so proud of you.

You are the strongest, toughest girl in the whole world. You are so very sick, and they say you might not wake up.

I don't believe them. They don't know who you are.

You're my little girl.

Bindy, please wake up.

Lots of love,
Your Mum

So, apart from looking back over that letter, there is plenty to keep me busy here.

My teachers at Ashbury have agreed to send quantities of school work so that I can begin to catch up. I am
devouring
the work! I have got my passion back! It is me again! (My mother comes in now and then to make me stop and rest. It's a real nuisance but she means well.)

I also have numerous visitors.

My father comes occasionally, but of course he is a busy man and often has to travel interstate. He always looks very sheepish. (He can't seem to take in that it was
not
his wallpaper that poisoned me, even though we have confirmed that there was no arsenic in his house on Gilbert Road.) He never stays long, is very awkward with my mother, and he really only talks about his property development. But the other day he kissed the top of my head, and gave me the gift of a Mont Blanc pen. I was delighted.

Anthony and Sam also visit often, and bring movies to watch. They also bring their movie camera. They are interviewing me and the members of the FAD group, and plan to make a documentary about the events of my year.

Astrid, of all people! came by the other day. She brought along a gift certificate for me to get my eyebrow pierced. How droll. I think I will do it. She told me many tales of running from the police, and said she now thinks she's not a reincarnated carnation, after all, but a reincarnated dove— something about a rooftop she flew from while the police were in hot pursuit. I admit, my attention drifted.

There was another, more precious, gift that Astrid brought with her. It seems that my FAD group decided to
create another Name Game—just for me. It gladdened my heart.

Other members of the FAD group have also dropped by. They tell me that FAD has been cancelled at my school. The old FAD groups have been transformed into Study Groups. Apparently,
my
group has permission to continue going to the Blue Danish. I can't imagine how little study they're doing! Things will have to change when I get back.

I will conclude by expressing my utmost gratitude to my FAD group, and to Ernst von Schmerz. Together, they have saved my life.

I have read through the entries the FAD group wrote in the hospital waiting room while I was unconscious. I must say, I agree with Sergio: their attitude
was
rather morbid. I considered deleting the entries from this project, but have retained them for their authenticity.

I have nothing but affection and gratitude for that group, but, truly—you think a little arsine gas is enough to finish me off?

You don't know Bindy Mackenzie.