This is all for you, Denni.
She pulled up at Madison’s house. The last time Eliza had come here had been two days ago, after being released from custody. Before going home she’d climbed into the Masons’ house through Cierra’s window – the same way Tom always had, thanks to the broken latch on Cierra’s window – and left one of Denni’s dolls in Madison’s room.
She took her glasses off once again and left the Landcruiser running. She pounded on the front door, working herself up into a flurry, letting the tears flow.
A moment later, Madison answered the door. She was wearing her school uniform – she must have been filming a video.
She had her iPhone in her hand, brandished like a sword. Her weapon.
Her weapon, against Eliza’s new armour.
‘Uh . . . Eliza?’ Madison said, thrown off balance by Eliza’s transformation.
‘It’s me, Monica . . .’ Eliza said hurriedly. ‘Eliza is in the hospital. Butch attacked her.’
Madison swayed, holding the door. ‘So it’s true?’ she whispered. ‘Butch took the girls?’
‘Yes, and I think I know where they might be. I need someone they trust: will you come with me?’ Eliza spoke in a hurry. ‘Please, before it’s too late – you’re the only one who can help me. Quick, come with me.’ Again, she used her teacher’s voice, direct short commands.
Madison hesitated, then nodded. ‘I’ll grab my jacket.’
‘We don’t have time!’ Eliza turned and ran to the four-wheel drive. ‘Quickly!’
As Eliza knew she would, Madison followed, a few steps behind, climbing up into the passenger seat. ‘What happened to your face?’ she said.
She took a shaky breath. ‘Butch is . . . scary when he’s angry.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Madison. Her face was flushed. Her phone was in her hand, but she didn’t call the police.
Of course Madison wants to be there before anyone else, she wants to film the whole thing, thought Eliza.
It was hard to drive without her glasses. She squinted from the effort. She was so close to the end! The end of everything she’d set out to do.
‘Did Butch say anything about Bree?’ said Madison.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Eliza.
‘Detective Badenhorst said Bree had been dead for three days when we found her, but . . .’
‘But what?’ said Eliza.
‘She texted me, yesterday morning. She was about to do it. She was really going to kill herself. She told me what time she’d do it and everything! So I could organise the vigil.’
‘You’ve been in contact with the girls?’
‘Not really . . . Georgia was the one who had the phone. We all agreed she’d be the one who’d use it most wisely, the only one who wouldn’t get cold feet. When they found her body, I assumed the phone had been lost . . . but they must have switched the phone, because Bree texted me with it yesterday morning . . .’ She stomped her shoe in the footwell. ‘I don’t know where Jasmine and Cierra are.’
Eliza’s hands on the steering wheel were starting to ache from how tight she held them there. Suddenly all she could think about was killing Jasmine’s cat. Who knew cat blood could be so warm?
And why had she done it? It was stupid. The police would know it was cat’s blood. If anything, it’d direct suspicion away from Butch.
She was making mistakes. Like a stupid little girl. Making mistakes.
Soon. Soon it would all be over. Justice. And strength. Both would be hers.
Warm blood, and the feeling of Wren’s arm breaking in her hands.
I have permission to do what it takes!
The Landcruiser bumped along over the haunted bridge and through the outskirts of Limestone Creek, until oak trees and poplars gave way to the white gums and candlebarks and paddocks full of bracken fern, and above it all the stepped outline of the hazy blue Great Western Tiers. All of them were up there. Projection Bluff, Liffey Bluff, Drys Bluff, Billopp Bluff . . .
Eliza pulled off the main road and onto the bumpy four-wheel-drive track of a forestry road. She slowed right down, driving to the conditions, and rolled down the windows – the cussik-cussik of green rosellas, the harsh cry of a cockatoo.
‘Do you know where you’re going, Monica?’ said Madison, as the Landcruiser pitched from side to side. Doubt had crept into her voice.
‘I know exactly where . . .’ said Eliza. ‘Tom showed me. Butch wouldn’t have had any difficulty getting Jasmine to follow him.’ She said it firmly, allowing no argument.
The gradient grew steeper, in a series of undulations through rocky soil and red dirt. Eliza pulled over at a rocky outcrop – a clearing in the canopy – that offered a view of Limestone Creek.
‘I think this might be close. Can you help me?’ Without waiting for Madison’s reply, she climbed out of the ute and then up into the tray. ‘Come up and help me.’
‘What is it?’ said Madison, climbing out of the car. ‘Is this where they are?’
Madison screamed as a wombat, heavy and broad, snuffled off into the undergrowth of ferns and grasses. Then she laughed at herself, shakily smoothing out the skirt of her school dress.
Eliza stood upright on the tray of the Landcruiser, her white dress billowing in the breeze, weighed down by the contents of her pocket. ‘Come up here.’
Madison followed, reaching out for Eliza’s hand for help.
Eliza allowed Madison one final view of Limestone Creek. Her little kingdom, and the chaos she had caused. She could hear the helicopters, the hum of traffic, thumping music from the paddock beside the community hall.
Madison looked out over the town, her deep red hair catching the wind, her shoulders rising and falling with excited breath.
‘Can you see that?’ Eliza said softly, leaning over the cab of the Landcruiser, pointing into the bush some distance away. Her other hand was in the pocket of Monica’s dress, on the cold metal of the handcuffs.
Madison shuffled to stand beside her. ‘What is it? All I see is the bush.’
‘Maybe if you lean forward . . . put your hands here,’ said Eliza, pointing at the black steel of the cab guard.
Madison put her hands where Eliza wanted them and Eliza moved quickly, slamming Madison’s head down on top of the cab, bloodying her nose, dazing her. Quick as a snake, she cuffed Madison’s wrist to the cab guard.
Madison groaned, tried to feel her nose, then realised her wrist was cuffed. She tried to yank away, but the cuffs shackled her to the cab guard. ‘What are you doing?’ she screamed.
Eliza pulled Madison’s phone from the pocket of her school dress and stepped back, out of reach. She weighed the phone in her hand, before taking a photo of Madison.
Madison’s eyes widened, blood dripping out of her nose. ‘You took them, Monica?’
Eliza took her glasses out of her pocket and slid them onto her nose. Now she could see Madison in sharper focus: the terror, the blood running from her nose, the panicked breathing.
‘Eliza! You’re Eliza!’
‘Where are Jasmine and Cierra?’ said Eliza. ‘You know where they are.’
‘I don’t! I don’t!’
‘Doesn’t matter. You’ll tell me soon.’