Fire in the Sea Read online

  Cover

  Myke Bartlett was born in Perth. He is a journalist and a film reviewer. He currently lives in Melbourne with his wife and a Boston Terrier called Moxy.

  mykebartlett.com

  Teaching notes available at textpublishing.com.au/resources

  textpublishing.com.au

  mykebartlett.com

  The Text Publishing Company

  Swann House

  22 William Street

  Melbourne Victoria 3000

  Australia

  Copyright © Myke Bartlett 2012

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright above, no part of this publication shall be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  First published by The Text Publishing Company, 2012

  Design by W H Chong

  Typeset by J & M Typesetting

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

  Author: Bartlett, Myke.

  Title: Fire in the sea / Myke Bartlett.

  ISBN: 9781921922749 (pbk.)

  ISBN: 9781921921513 (ebook : epub)

  Target Audience: For secondary school age.

  Dewey Number: A823.4

  Contents

  Cover

  About the author

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Part One

  Part Two

  Part Three

  Acknowledgements

  For my grandparents Joan and Bart, an inspiration

  part one

  the

  boy

  who

  came

  back

  1

  SOMETHING IN THE WATER

  Somewhere there were fires burning. Black smoke rose to the east behind the grey hills, then slumped west over the Perth suburban plain, the breezeless air taking it nowhere. Ash dusted squat brown houses and dry-grass yards, where dogs sneezed beside blackened barbecues.

  The sea breeze had switched off three weeks ago, as summer tightened over the city. Only twice since then had Sadie Miller seen even as much as a white cloud. Nothing ever stirred, ever changed, ever happened.

  ‘Okay,’ Heather was saying. ‘Shuffle the pack and try to focus your energy into it. Think about any questions you want answered.’

  Sadie blinked, looking at the oversized cards in her hands. Her cousin had been pestering her about a tarot reading since the holidays started, but it had taken a month of boredom for Sadie to crack.

  ‘You know it’s not normal, talking to stationery.’

  ‘C’mon Sadie, you agreed.’

  It was an afternoon like any other. The four of them, lazing on the terraces at Cottesloe beach. Kimberley arranged on a carefully laid-out towel, touching up her lip gloss. Her twin Heather, twenty-two minutes younger and twelve times as serious, turning over tarot cards. Tom sitting away from them, staring out across the glaring white sand.

  Sadie had tried finding refuge in her book, but the heat boiled any meaning out of the words.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’m thinking.’

  It wasn’t just boredom. Sadie did have questions she wanted answered. So she willed magic into the pack and, under instruction, split it into three parts. With some attempt at ceremony, Heather turned the first card over. It was a picture of the Earth. Heather consulted her book to find out what this meant. The next card was the Knight of Cups. Again, the book came out. Sadie began to lose interest. There was some excitement—from Heather, at least—when a card predicted romance. Tom shifted on his towel and Sadie made sure she didn’t notice.

  Then, inevitably, there was the death card. That one, Sadie thought, needed no research. Heather dropped her practised boredom, her hands twisting in jerky circles. ‘Um. That’s a really good card to get, seriously. It means change. Things are going to, like, totally change for you. Maybe—’ She stopped talking, realising what she had said. ‘I mean, you know…’

  Sadie did know, and it wasn’t the future she was thinking about. It was six years since things changed, like, totally. Six years since she woke up in hospital, with her parents gone. And every day she missed them more, not less.

  ‘It’s all just fairy dust and voodoo anyway,’ she said. ‘You know these cards are coated in plastic. Very mystical.’ She was joking, wanting to break any tension, but as she stood up, she accidentally scattered the cards with her foot. Now it looked like she was having a go.

  ‘You’re so bloody sure about everything, aren’t you?’ Heather plugged in one then the other of her earbuds and sank back behind tightly-folded arms.

  Kimberley raised a plastic bottle of pink liquid to her glossy lips and sighed with purpose. She was never less than immaculate, her blonde hair untousled by salt or sweat. It seemed she might have something to contribute, but instead she declared:

  ‘Raspberry water is my life. It literally is.’

  Sadie grabbed her mask and snorkel from beside her towel and pulled her dress off over her head.

  ‘If anyone wants me, I’ll be underwater,’ she said.

  Sadie clambered down the salty rocks on the south side of the rocky groyne, keeping clear of the fishing lines and the purple crabs skittering between barnacles. She tightened the strap on her mask and dived in. A shallow reef jutted out a small distance from the shore, then dropped away into sudden depths. Sadie swam along its bony edge, where ribbons of kelp rose up from the dark water. Small silver fish sparked about her. The voices of the fishermen above dissolved beneath the comforting rumble of breakers.

  Here she was, at last, herself. Here there was no one to offend. One more year of school and she would be gone. To Oxford. Melbourne. Anywhere. She drifted happily in her solitude.

  A large shadow shifted in the kelp, startling her. Instantly, it was gone. Sadie broke the surface, nearly choking on the water in her snorkel, and looked around for a diver’s flag.

  Something brushed against her legs and she ducked again. A lithe, dark form retreated into the depths. Way too fast for a diver.

  Sadie, you idiot.

  Sunset was feeding time, everyone knew that. It was less than six months since the last surfer had been taken by a white pointer. She could see the headline now: Sadie Miller. Shark Victim.

  The shadow buckled and turned back towards her. She swam frantically back to the groyne. It buzzed past her, so close that she was spun sideways in its wake. Ahead, she could see Tom climbing down the rocks to the water. He had seen her panic. Everyone had.

  Then she was skinning her knees on the rocks. Tom was grasping her hand and yanking her out of the water.

  ‘You okay? What happened?’

  Sadie snatched back her hand, getting to her feet and tearing off her mask.

  ‘Nothing, I’m fine. I’m an idiot. I’m fine.’

  There was no sign of anything in the water. But Sadie was haunted by a glimpse of that shadowy thing. Something fast and sleek, but not a shark. Something with arms and legs.

  As always, they stayed late. Kimberley refused to budge from the grass until the last of the good-looking boys had gone.

  They waited half an hour for Aunt Margot in her BMW. Above, the bright car-park lights snared small galaxies of insects. As Margot leaned over to open the passenger door, her daughters whinged at her for being late and cool air spilled out of the car.

&n
bsp; ‘Need a lift, sweetie?’ she trilled.

  ‘I’ve got my bike,’ Sadie said, nodding at the ruby-red three-speed leaning against her hip.

  Kimberley pulled the passenger door shut, leaving Sadie and Tom watching the tail-lights as the car pulled away.

  ‘I’ll drive you home,’ Tom said, nodding at his Land Rover.

  ‘I’ve got my bike, idiot.’

  Tom nodded. Sadie sighed.

  ‘Tom, I just called you an idiot. Come on, give me something, please.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I mean, you know, punch back occasionally. Show some signs of life.’

  Tom said nothing.

  ‘You can put your bike in the back.’

  She wheeled her bike in Tom’s direction, then released her grip on the handlebars so that he had to dart forward and catch it.

  ‘You put it in the back,’ she said, waiting. For something, anything. But he only nodded, already leading the bike away. She followed him, furious. She wasn’t sure where this sudden fire had come from. It wasn’t Tom’s fault, not really. Sometimes it felt like anger was always there, simmering in her boots. Waiting for the smallest excuse to rise up and consume her.

  Tom didn’t start the engine. He turned the stereo on, filling the cabin with hip-hop: angry, jangling rhymes about life in the ghetto. Sadie opened the glove box and started pulling out CDs.

  ‘Why do you listen to this crap?’

  ‘I like it.’

  He stared at his knuckles on the steering wheel, willing himself to say more. To lean across to Sadie in the passenger seat. But the distance from his seat to hers was wider than the parking space. She was watching the sea and the lights of Fremantle Harbour. Darkness stretched on forever. He knew what she was thinking. Anything worth doing or worth seeing was happening somewhere else.

  He just needed a chance. A chance to be noticed.

  Sadie punched him lightly on his left shoulder, then rubbed the wound and let her hand drift down to his.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I was being a bitch.’

  The funny thing was, he didn’t want her to apologise. An apology was worse than a putdown. ‘It’s cool.’

  ‘No it isn’t. You’re my best friend.’

  Sometimes, he thought, being friends felt a whole lot like nothing. His fingers meshed with hers on the wheel. He could pull her in and kiss her. She would be surprised, in the moment, but then it would make sense. She would see him, would feel it too.

  But she was already easing her hand away and looking out through the windscreen.

  ‘Hey, check that for an outfit.’

  An old man walked along the pavement towards them. He wore a soft cap pulled down over a head of thick white hair, a blue paisley silk scarf and a suede vest buttoned over a long-sleeved shirt. The leather strap of a beige canvas satchel was pulled tight across his chest.

  ‘That look would totally suit you Tom. I’m serious. No more baggy jeans.’

  The man paused at the edge of the terraces, turned and looked out to sea. He seemed transfixed by the twin lighthouses on the invisible horizon.

  Then, suddenly, there were two other figures on the grass. Neither Sadie nor Tom saw them arrive—they were, at once, just there. One knocked the man to his knees. The other grabbed him by the throat. Choking him.

  ‘Hey!’ Sadie was shouting. ‘Do something!’

  It took Tom a moment to realise she was talking to him. ‘Right, yeah, sure.’ He fumbled with the car keys. Sadie threw her door open and ran towards the commotion.

  ‘Hey! Hey!’

  The figures on the grass turned to look at her, casual as anything, and it occurred to her that she was running towards danger, instead of chasing it away. But she kept going.

  Behind her, an engine roared. Tom’s Land Rover jerked forwards and its lights snapped to high-beam.

  Now Sadie could see the attackers. There was something not right about their faces, something withered and horrible. Something demonic. She wondered if they were wearing masks.

  Recoiling from the light, the attackers reeled away down the terraces in impossible arcs, crossing ten metres of sand in two or three bounds, like flickering shadows. Almost immediately, they were in the black water, gone.

  When Sadie reached the old man, he was lying face down. She turned him over. There were vivid red welts around his throat. His pale blue eyes looked back at her. He was trying to speak.

  ‘Wa-watch out…’ he croaked. He was English, Sadie realised, and she thought of her grandfather.

  ‘Watch out for what?’ she asked.

  ‘F-f-for m-m-men w-with w-w-wet sh-shoes.’

  He must be delirious, she thought. Tom was standing by the car, hands in pockets.

  ‘What are you doing, Tom?’ Sadie shouted. ‘Call an ambulance!’

  2

  MR FREEMAN

  By the time the ambulance arrived, Sadie might have been frantic if Tom hadn’t beaten her to it. While he paced and swore and clenched his fists with such energy, Sadie felt herself grow calmer. Remembering her first-aid classes, she rolled the old man on his side and checked his pulse. His breathing was ragged and irregular.

  The paramedics loaded him into the ambulance and Sadie jumped in too, yelling at Tom to follow in the Land Rover.

  ‘Name?’ One of the paramedics had a clipboard.

  ‘Sadie. Sadie Miller.’

  He frowned. ‘He doesn’t look like a Sadie to me.’

  ‘Oh. I don’t know his name.’

  ‘You just jump in an ambulance with any old sick bloke?’

  ‘I guess so. I didn’t really think about it.’

  The paramedic whistled. ‘A regular Florence bloody Nightingale.’

  Fremantle Hospital was a collection of brick buildings at the edge of the harbour town, beside a football oval and an old jail. On arriving, the man was taken away and two nurses tried to make Sadie sign a small library of forms. When she said she was sixteen, they asked about speaking to her parents. Sadie wished them luck. Her parents had been dead six years but, now she thought about it, her cousin was pretty good with the tarot cards. Maybe she could dig out a ouija board?

  The nurses looked embarrassed. There were things Sadie knew she shouldn’t joke about. But they were the things she most needed to joke about. That was what got her through.

  A policeman had questions too. He was Sergeant Bradbury, a large forty-something-year-old man with a thick red moustache and a button popped from the belly of his shirt.

  ‘Did you get a good look at these attackers?’

  ‘No, well, sort of. They were tall. And thin. But they were wearing masks, I think.’

  ‘What sort of masks?’

  ‘I’m not sure. They were kind of like skulls, or maybe demons.’

  ‘Demons, right. Let’s leave that. Did you see where they went?’

  ‘Um, yeah. They went into the sea.’

  The policeman paused. ‘They went swimming?’

  Sadie’s mouth dried up. She realised it didn’t make any sense. Why didn’t the attackers just run off up the bike path? Why attack the old man in the first place? And what about that shadow by the reef? She had seen something, there was no getting away from that. Was that just coincidence?

  ‘So, we’re looking for three demons who like a midnight swim.’ Bradbury put his book away. ‘Not a great help.’

  When Sadie phoned home, Nan answered, sounding half asleep. The television was on in the background and Sadie could picture the two of them dozing off in their armchairs after the first evening bulletin.

  ‘I’ll get Grandpa to come and get you.’

  ‘Tom’s here Nan, it’s fine. He can drop me home.’

  She could hear her grandmother rel
ax. ‘We’ll wait up.’

  Sadie sat in the waiting room beside a man holding a bloodied napkin to his forehead. One of his eyes had disappeared behind a puffy, purple bruise. Across from her, a worried-looking mother held a crying baby. There was no air-conditioning, or it was broken, and the stagnant harbour air filled the room with a warm stickiness. Walls and foreheads gleamed.

  It was the first time Sadie had been inside a hospital since the accident. Did that explain the rumbling nausea in her gut? The bad electricity in her fingertips? There was a strange magnetism shifting in these walls, drawing her in unwanted directions.

  After a while, Tom stood up and said he was going for coffee. Soon after that, he came back empty handed and asked Sadie if she had any change. He was still wearing his board shorts.

  Before she could answer, a man in a blue three-piece suit tapped her on the shoulder. He was short and almost bald, with a crimson cravat tucked neatly under his chin.

  ‘Do excuse me, it’s Miss Miller, isn’t it?’ he asked. He had an English accent, like the man at the beach.

  ‘Sadie, yes. Who are you?’

  ‘Apologies. Terribly rude of me.’ He stuffed a damp handkerchief in his breast pocket and crammed his greasy palm against Sadie’s. ‘Horace Frobisher. I’m Mr Freeman’s lawyer.’

  ‘Is that his name, the old man?’

  ‘Hmm? Yes. I don’t suppose he said anything to you, when you were with him?’

  Bradbury had asked the same question. Sadie felt even more ridiculous answering it this time. ‘He said I shouldn’t trust men with wet shoes.’

  ‘Ha.’ Frobisher laughed brightly and, Sadie thought, unconvincingly. ‘How strange. Most unusual.’ He noticed Tom standing by, still waiting for change. ‘You are?’

  ‘Tom Fitzgerald.’

  ‘Hmm. Not important.’ The lawyer blinked and turned his attention to his leather satchel. After some jostling, he extracted a business card, a fountain pen and a small, hardbound address book. He gave each one to Sadie in rapid succession. ‘Write down your phone number, will you? Mine is on the card.’