NIGHT LIGHTS – Chapter 1
I’d never seen my dad scared before.
It must be why I agreed to do this. It’s the only reason I can come up with for why I chose to follow him to the car five hours ago, why I agreed to climb in and partake in whatever the hell this is. In all of my sixteen years, I’ve only ever known the unshakable slab of a man his mates call Tugger, the rough-and-ready bloke who loves a beer as much as car racing on the TV.
But at lunchtime I found him whimpering.
And shaking.
Honestly? Curiosity has driven me here as much as fear.
I needed to keep a brave face in front of Kannika when Dad barked at us to drop everything and leave the cabin immediately. My sister’s only six years old. She’d been getting antsy about the way the adults were arguing, puzzled by weird words like traitor and nutjob being hurled around. I kept assuring her things would blow over soon – grownups disagreed sometimes, and things would settle down. “Just a short drive,” I told her. “Into town and back again.” It’s what we used to do when Nika was a toddler, when croup got on top of her and she got so worked up she could barely breathe. Mum would bundle us into the car at midnight and tune into the classical music station, then drive us around and around until Nika calmed down and drifted off. I came to appreciate the lulling cocoon of our slow-moving car, the smear of traffic lights through heavy eyelids.
So I assured Nika it was okay to crawl into the back seat with nothing but her stuffed bunny in one hand and a half-eaten muesli bar in the other.
Uncle Marty would be okay, I promised. A little drive would definitely calm Dad down.
And then, wouldn’t you know it, they both went and made a liar out of me.
***
I press the phone’s handset against my ear, leaning forward in my chair to peer through a gap in the curtains. The evening rain has finally moved on, leaving behind shiny roads and the monotonous tap tap tap of dripping gutters. Night is crowding in, damp and heavy, a cool mist lingering around streetlamps in orange smudges. The dank smell of wet concrete slips into our room from underneath the door.
A car slows near the motel driveway. I suck in a hopeful breath. It’s a sedan, though. Silver. Not ours, not even close. My breath seeps out of me as the car rolls on towards the intersection, fat tyres hissing on the wet road. Someone heading home for a normal dinner in their normal house with their normal family. I’m struck by a yearning so strong it makes my throat ache.
Another two rings. Still no answer.
Come on!
The motel car park isn’t full. The neon VACANCY sign is mirrored in the puddles of empty parking spaces, two letters burnt out and missing: VACA_ _Y. I almost laugh. Vacay? This doesn’t feel like a vacay in any sense of the word. It’s so far from the family holiday my parents planned it’s not even funny.
My thoughts are quickly pulled into places I don’t want them to go.
Scratching on the roof—
Grey face at the window—
The lights, the lights, the li—
I crush my eyelids shut as a shudder ripples through me. I try to focus on whatever the hell I’m supposed to do next. My parents disappeared hours ago. I have no idea when they’re coming back. Will Uncle Marty be able to find us? Is he on his way here with Scout?
Dad’s phone goes to voicemail. I hang up without leaving another message and dial Mum’s number instead.
“Answer,” I mutter, trying to remember if I saw either one of them grab their phones as we scrambled out of the cabin.
“Owen,” comes a small voice from behind me. “I’m hungry.”
My sister is bunched up against white pillows at one end of the bed. Her face is painted with reflections of the cartoon she’s watching on TV, contorting her features into a ghoulish dance. Blue light bounces across the polyester bedspread, up onto the wall behind the bed.
Can anyone see it from outside?
Dad doesn’t want us drawing attention to ourselves.
I peer through a crack in the curtains again. There are lights on behind other windows, a young couple smoking on the upstairs landing. We’re not conspicuous. No one knows it’s a freaked-out teenager in this room trying to figure out how he’s going to feed his little sister something more than complimentary motel biscuits.
“Just a sec, Nik-nak.”
I squeeze the handset so hard the plastic creaks. Mum’s phone goes to voicemail as well. I hesitate a moment after the beep.
“Where are you, Mum?” I keep my voice low so Nika can’t hear. “Why did you run at the service station? I don’t get what’s going on. What do I do? What should we do?”
I scan the small room with its jarring palm tree wallpaper, then take another peek out the window.
“We need to go back to Wooralla and find Uncle Marty,” I say. “And someone’s gotta feed Scout! Can you call me at the Tropicana Motel? Or maybe it’s Motel Tropicana. I don’t know the number.”
It suddenly hits me that I don’t know what town this is. Where’s my head at? Why didn’t I ask my dad before he rushed out of here after checking us in?
I scrabble for the motel’s info folder on the coffee table. “Umm … it’s Motel Tropicana in Warragul. Room Eight.”
“Is that Mummy?” Nika asks, sitting upright. She reaches for the phone. “Mum-mum?”
I place the handset back in the cradle and conjure up yet another lie. “Mum’s okay. She had to go, but she says she’ll see us soon.”
“Is she bringing dinner? My mouth tastes yucky from the biscuits.”
We don’t have toothbrushes or toothpaste. We don’t have clothes. I don’t have my phone, wallet, or even my asthma inhaler.
What was Dad thinking, dumping us here and taking off?
At least Nika’s hungry again after fighting off the virus she’s had for the last week and a half. If I had to deal with her puking and earaches on top of everything else, I’d probably lose the plot.
“I’m not sure when Mum will get here,” I explain. “It might be late. I’ll see if I can buy us something from the vending machine in the meantime.”
I attempt something resembling a smile. We don’t have money. And I don’t know if this motel even has a vending machine. I only hope I can keep stalling until Nika gets tired enough to fall asleep. Then I can deal with our empty stomachs in the morning.
As I turn back towards the window, I catch movement in the corner of my vision. A shadow shifts inside the pokey bathroom. The door hangs halfway open, the edge of the sink and mirror visible from where I’m seated.
My stomach tightens. I glance at my sister – a vulnerable lump beneath the bedspread – then back into the darkness beyond the bathroom door.
Something followed.
My breath catches in my throat.
How did it get in?
I lean forward in the chair, ready to scoop up Nika. My eyelid twitches and I’m forced to blink.
A shadow darts between the two double beds.
I lurch out of the chair so fast it topples behind me. Nika flinches, clutching for her bunny. I jerk around, my heart thumping against my ribcage.
There’s nothing on the floor except one of Nika’s discarded purple gumboots.
I bolt to the bathroom and shove the door open all the way, swiping my palm down the wall for the light switch. The overhead fluorescent hums to life, casting an artificial glow over the green tiles. The floor is clear, shower empty, the frosted window closed and braced with a length of wooden dowel along the sill. The boy staring back at me from the mirror looks pale and wild, pupils dilated and red hair ragged, dark rings circling both eyes.
There’s nothing here.
I do a three-sixty.
There’s nothing here!
I cram the balls of my hands into my eye sockets and rotate them in tight circles. I haven’t slept properly in days.
“Owen,” my sister says. “What are you doing?”
I drop my arms and switch off the bathroom light.
“Nothing. Just thought I heard the shower dripping.”
I really need to sleep tonight so I can think clearly tomorrow. Right now, I’m so wired it seems impossible.
Who else can I call? My older brother Zach is overseas, and I don’t know the phone numbers of any relatives off the top of my head. Except Uncle Marty, of course, and he’s not answering. (Why isn’t he answering?)
If I had my phone, I could try searching up some of the numbers online. My hand travels to my pocket out of habit, even though my phone is charging on the kitchen counter at the cabin. I take that phone everywhere. How did I get so swept up in the panic that I managed to leave without it?
My gaze flits towards the bathroom again.
Nothing there.
We’re safe here.
We’re safe.
Except we have no food, no money, no parents. No way of getting back to Wooralla. No way to get home to Melbourne. We moved from one desperate situation to another.
My fingers find the scrunched-up diner receipt in my pocket from a week ago. Zoey scribbled her phone number across it in red pen with a short message: 'In case you get bored.'
I shove the crinkled paper back into my jeans. I can’t call her, not after our last conversation. And despite how messed up this situation is, it feels disloyal to involve anyone who isn’t family.
Trailing over to the bed beside Nika’s, I sit on the edge of the mattress and kick off my shoes. We’re not going anywhere tonight.
I lie back and stare at the ceiling, replaying today’s events over in my mind, hunting for clues. Reasons. Trying to get inside my dad’s head.
We didn’t talk for most of the car ride here from Wooralla. I only managed to ask two questions before Dad shut me down.
“What happened to Uncle Marty?”
My words sounded feeble and unsure, worn down by the last nine days of confusion. My voice should have been stronger. Demanding. Then Dad might have given me a straight answer.
“I don’t know,” Dad told me, his gaze darting between the rear-view mirror and the road. “I couldn’t find him.”
Even from the back seat I could see the look Mum shot my father. She knew he was lying but she didn’t argue, instead bringing her hand to her mouth to gnaw the skin around her thumbnail.
“Where are we going?”
“No more questions, Owen!” Dad barked. “Just let me drive.”
What the hell are we running from? I wanted to shriek.
I was scared shitless of the answer.
Jesus.
Why did we leave Uncle Marty behind?
