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About
the Author Neil
McInnes lives on the New South Wales North Coast where he indulges in his three
main loves…fishing, golf and writing. Neil has written a number of books for young adults but The Awakening is his first venture into the area of adult mystery stories. Chapter One
The
late morning sun burst from a cloudless sky reflecting a blueness that almost
blinded the senses. The boy and the bike seemed as one as it sped down the
dusty, uneven track that snaked along the riverbank between paper bark and river
gums. The bike was new, a Malvern Star, bright green and fast. A Christmas
present earned for the many unpaid hours spent working in his father’s
hardware store over the past 12 months. The boy was filled with melancholy. This was the
last day of freedom before returning to school after the summer holidays.
Freedom to enjoy life away from the nuns, his parents and all those who made
life miserable for this adventurous and sometimes-mischievous 12-year-old. His
two weeks of bliss, holidaying on Aunt Shirley’s farm, a short distance from
the Murrumbidgee River, was about to end. The
boy was heading towards his favourite swimming hole. This was his private place.
During the floods of ’52 a large section of riverbank had collapsed at a bend
in the river creating an artificial beach and billabong. The build-up of fallen
trees and sand banks would ensure that what had been created would remain until
the next big wet when the Murrumbidgee River would no doubt change its course
once again. The
boy sat up on the bike seat taking his hands off the handlebars, his open shirt
billowed in the cooling breeze. He knew it was foolhardy to ride this way, on
the uneven bush track but he didn’t care. He struggled to fight back the tears
that formed patch marks on his tanned face. This was a holiday that he did not
want to end. The
thought of his secret swimming hole cheered him. The area was completely cut off
from view from the opposite bank and access could only be gained along the bush
track by bike or on foot. Because of the privacy he could go skinny-dipping and
dry off laying naked on the beach, which was fun. This day, however, would be
different. As
he neared the water hole he suddenly realised people were swimming on the other
side of the river. When he rounded the bend above the beach he could hear loud
voices and laughter. He dumped his
bike behind some bushes and hurried to a large tree that had fallen across the
track. From this vantage point he could see several people swimming and wading
across the river further upstream. There
were two men and a girl. She was leading the others across the river. The girl
was giggling and the boy guessed she had been drinking. The river was quite
shallow at the bend and, while they all seemed good swimmers, the current still
carried them down stream from where they had entered.
The boy watched in annoyance, as he could see where the current was
taking them. Where they emerged from the river they would discover his secret
swimming hole. The
girl reached the sand bar that concealed the beach and water hole from view. She
stood up and squealed with delight with what she saw. “Look
at this!” she yelled. She was
wearing only her underclothes. He grinned to himself, thinking what his mother
would say. “Disgusting
little hussy, she will burn in hell for her sins.” Burning
in hell seemed to be the common retribution his parents deemed necessary for
serious misbehaviour, including his own. The girl plunged into the water hole,
closely followed by her two male companions. The
boy decided to stay until they left. As he watched the three frolic in the water
he guessed they were not much older than his own teenage brother. He could see
they were doing things that were rude and the girl seemed to be encouraging
them. He
knew plenty about sex from the kids at school and what he had managed to read on
the subject at the local library. Not that his parents ever discussed the matter
with him. For a 12-year-old boy anything sexual was a mortal sin and temptation
was overcome by reciting the rosary, then repenting ones’ sins in the
confessional on Saturday afternoon. The
girl stood up, undid her bra and threw it up onto the beach. Her short blond
hair was wet and it gave her a boyish look. Her body glistened in the hot
sunlight. She raised her arms as if to show her companions her half-naked body
then dived under the water. He had seen women’s breasts in medical and art
books, and dirty pictures some older boys had shown him, but this was the first
time in the flesh. The girl captivated the boy; she was beautiful.
The
boy watched spellbound by the events below him. He had a front row seat to the
first real sexual event in his life. An experience that even his adventurous
nature was finding a little overwhelming. His mates at school would be bowled
over by this story. Then again, they probably wouldn’t believe him. At school,
Mickey Brennan had a reputation as a storyteller and he had to admit he was
sometimes guilty of exaggerating, and even fantasising about his real life
adventures. Suddenly
the girl broke from her two companions, climbed from the water hole and lay on
the sand. He knew the exhilaration she was feeling with the sun on her semi
naked body. As her companions left
the water, she jumped to her feet and ran towards the fallen tree where he was
hiding. “Gotta
pee,” she called back to the others. He
froze. The fallen tree gave some protection but she was coming straight for his
hiding place. She stepped up onto the tree trunk and looked around. She was no
more than six feet away. She turned and looked down into the fork of the tree
where he was lying. Her body was silhouetted in the noon day sun and he could
not see her face. “Look
what I’ve found,” she called back to the others. He
shut his eyes and waited. When he
opened them again she was gone. He heard her call back to her two companions who
were heading in his direction. They scaled the fallen tree and looked down to
where she was sitting on the grass. “It’s
more private down here,” she called out. She
was now completely naked. They had little interest in their surroundings, though
they were close enough for the boy to hear their heavy breathing. “You
can go first Benjy,” the young man nearest the boy babbled nervously.
Even
for a boy with his adventurous spirit, the experience was becoming too much and
he was scared. He hid himself as far from sight as possible. He would wait it
out until they left. While he had no wish to see the events that were unfolding
he could still hear their voices. There
were only muffled sounds for what seemed an eternity then he heard the girl cry
out, “I feel sick. I don’t want to any more, Jake.” “You’re
nothing but a slut and a whore, Debbie Pemberton, and the whole town knows
it,” the person called Jake shouted angrily. The
boy raised himself up on his elbow to see what was happening just to see the
girl brandishing a tree branch and striking Jake across the back. Jake
fell to the ground, obviously in pain and shocked by the sudden violent response
from the girl. Then Benjy laughed. Jake
sat stunned by his mate’s reaction to the incident, and the betrayal and
insult of his laughter. “You
bloody bitch!” he screamed as he staggered to his feet. He moved towards the
defiant and still naked girl, his fists clenched and his face twisted in anger.
The boy anticipated the eventual violent outcome that was about to occur. He
turned his face away and covered his ears, but even then heard the smack as Jake
struck the young girl in the face. The
punch knocked her off her feet and she fell backwards, striking her head on a
tree stump. There
was silence for a few moments as the two men stood and stared in horror at the
girl lying motionless on the grass. Her head was propped up against the tree
stump where she had fallen, her blond hair already streaked with blood.
“You
fuckin’ idiot, you killed her,” Benjy mumbled in a hushed voice. The
two men began to argue. “Let’s get out of here!” Benjy called as he headed
towards the fallen tree where the boy was curled up in terror. “We
can’t leave her here like that,” Jake cried, still standing looking at the
girl. “Come
on Jake,” Benjy called back angrily. “We’ve got to get back across the
river.” He
heard the two scramble over the fallen tree; then, from a distance one of them
called to his mate something about a bike. The boy was terrified. They must have
found his bike in the bushes. What happen next was a blur. His only thought was
to get away from there. The place that had been a haven for him over the past
two summer holidays was now a place of evil. The
next thing the boy remembered was riding his bike back down the track he had
travelled earlier. He had no idea of time. He was down over the handlebars like
a racer, his lightweight bike bouncing perilously over the rough track. It had
grown dark and a cold wind had sprung up. Had he been there all day?
Suddenly there was a flash of light and a noise so loud the boy thought
his ears would burst. A crack of thunder and lightning had blasted across the
rolling black clouds that filled the summer sky. A thunderstorm was moving in
from the south. From
the fallen tree, the track travelled for about two miles before it joined the
road that crossed the river on an old wooden bridge. As he neared the junction
he heard several cars crossing the bridge. People in cars meant safety. He would
stop one and ask for help. In
the darkening afternoon light the boy completely misjudged the junction and
joined the road at exactly the same time as a large white car came off the
bridge. There was a sickening thud as the front wheel of the bike struck the
rear mudguard of the car a glancing blow. The
boy sat stunned, but unhurt, on the ground. His bike was on the side of the
road, the wheels spinning wildly, the front one badly buckled. The
car came to a skidding halt, sending dust and stones in all directions. The boy
struggled to his feet and was dusting himself down when the driver jumped from
the car. As the dust settled around him the boy realised that it was one of the
men from the river. It was Jake. “Are
you alright?” Jake called out. The boy did not respond; he was in shock. “The
bloody kid’s OK Jake, let’s go!” It was Benjy who had also alighted from
the car. A
moment later the car drove off in a cloud of dust. There
was a blinding flash of lightning, and, seconds later, a clap of thunder, so
loud the ground shook beneath the young boy’s bare feet. He stood motionless,
oblivious to the violent storm erupting around him. Large raindrops began
thumping into the dusty river soil. The approaching squall sounded like a
speeding train coming through the bush. The rain began falling in sheets,
cooling the hot summer air, the smell of fresh rain on the parched bushland with
its tinder dry undergrowth, was overpowering. The
boy turned his face to the blackened sky, his eyes closed, as if urging the rain
to wash away the memory of this terrible day. Two miles away in a grassy recess
by a bend in the river, lay the battered body of a young girl; the same summer
rain falling on eyes, open in death.
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