Page 67 of The Vanishing Place
“And this lot,” said Effie, gesturing toward the room of people.
There were eleven of them in total, the whole shebang: Criminal Investigation Branch, the Armed Offenders Squad and the dog team.
“They’re doing their jobs,” said Lewis. “Morrow’s a good detective. Hard. By the book. But she knows what she’s doing.”
Effie let out a sigh. “I know. I’ve been watching her.” She turned to Lewis. “But even the best detectives can’t catch ghosts.”
March 2005
“I hate you.”
The words broke from her in a whisper, and Effie shoved him hard in the chest, her hands thumping into a mountain. But Dad barely moved. He just stood there in the garden, useless and stinking of sweat and animal shit.
“You missed it.” Her voice shook, and she blinked back hot tears. “You missed his birthday.”
“Effie—”
Dad reached out but she stepped back from him, her legs trembling.
“You were gone for five days.” She clenched her fists. “Not three.” She pointed at the steps. “He sat there on that bottom step, waiting for you. He sat there all day, holding on to that stupid slingshot you made, but you didn’t come. Cos you’re nothing but a stupid, shitty—”
“Effie, I’m—”
“You promised to take him hunting.” Then she shouted, “You promised!”
Dad looked at her and she hated him, the anger so hot that her cheeks and neck burned.
“I’ll take him tomorrow,” he said. “Aiden will like—”
“You don’t know what Aiden likes.” Effie was panting. “You don’t know anything about him.”
“Effie, that’s enough.”
“Where do you go anyway?” she spat.
Dad didn’t react, he didn’t say anything, and Effie wanted to hurt him. She wanted to wound him with something.
“I bet there’s some girl,” she sputtered, the flood pouring out of her. “Some girl that you’re fucking? A—”
He hit her then. His palm collided with her face, and a white pain exploded through her cheekbone. Effie touched her cheek, then she looked up at him—his face wet with tears—and she ran. She ran past him, through the garden and into the bush. Past tree after tree, heart thumping, until she couldn’t run anymore. Until the weight in her lungs and legs was too heavy to hold up.
Effie lurched forward, coughing, then she screamed into the ferns, so loud that the bush stilled and the kereru stopped singing. She punched a fist into the earth, cursing him, then she punched it again. She beat her knuckles into the dead leaves, over and over, until her fingers burned. Then she collapsed, defeated, and rolled onto her back. Seconds passed as she stared up at the cover of fronds, then minutes. Eventually, as she lay in the damp leaves, the heat in her started to dilute.
Half an hour later—the wet earth long soaked through her clothes—he found her.
“I brought you a jacket,” he said.
Effie closed her eyes. “Piss off.”
“And some green tea.” He held up a flask.
“I hate green tea.”
“Come on.” Asher took a step closer. “You’ll catch a chill.”
She opened her eyes.
He knelt down next to her. “I saw what happened.”
