Page 150 of The Vanishing Place
Effie dug her nails into her palms as the door inched open, candlelight leaking in, and the girl appeared.
“Anya.”
The girl held a finger to her lips and shook her head violently, fear creeping into her eyes. Then she gestured for Effie to go with her.
Effie nodded and followed in silence. When she reached the door, the girl took her hand, and Effie felt the touch of skin deep in her stomach. She had to force herself not to crush the bones in the child’s fingers.
Without a sound, they stepped from the bedroom and into the guts of the small dark hut. Then Effie gasped—too loudly—and Anya flashed her a frightened look.
Shh,she mouthed.
Daniel was there, his sleeping body lolling across the couch, his right arm hanging down, fingers brushing the floor. Anya pointed at the door, her palm damp in Effie’s, then she guided Effie across the room. The girl’s steps were so light, so impossibly quiet, that Effie feared it was a dream.
Then there was a groan, and Effie glanced across at Daniel, fear flooding her chest. Just one sound and the sleeping figure would transform into something dangerous. Anya tugged at her arm, and together they forged a path to the door. One step at a time. Quiet as mice. The door creaked as Effie pushed it open, and her heart stopped. Daniel was going to wake up. His fingers were going to grip her arm. And they would never leave.
No one ever leaves here. This is the vanishing place.
But then, miraculously, they were out in the cool night air. Anya released Effie’s hand and scurried along the deck, her small body eaten by the darkness, and Effie held her breath. But seconds later, Anya returned with two head-torches.
“Run,” she whispered.
For meter after meter, neither of them spoke. They just ran, hand in hand—two white dots in the dark—deeper into the trees. Eventually, the sounds of the bush—the call of morepork and thescrape of climbing possums—drowned out the thump in Effie’s veins and she stopped. She bent over and gulped at the night air.
“Thank you,” she panted. “Thank you.”
Anya tugged at Effie, digging her small fingers into her arm.
“Come on,” she puffed. “We need to find Mum. She’s at the other hut, but Lewis is getting her.”
“Lewis?” Effie couldn’t move.
“At Peter’s hut, where he keeps Mum. It’s farther away.” Anya’s voice was hurried and shaky. “Come on. We need to meet Lewis and Mum at—”
“Anya.” Effie held the girl’s hand. “Stop. Stop. I don’t understand. Adam said you were in foster care.”
“I lied.”
“But…” Effie frowned and shook her head. “The burns on your arm?”
The smallest smile tugged at the corners of Anya’s mouth. “I burned myself on June’s shitty oven. On the stupid wire shelf. Then Lewis suggested the smoker thing. He said it would be convincing.”
“Lewis is here?”
“We came to get you.”
“The police?”
Anya looked down, her torch illuminating her feet. “Nah.” She kicked at the dead leaves. “Just me and Lewis.”
“Jesus. Why on earth would…” Effie hesitated, realization stopping her, and she looked at the girl.
“Lewis didn’t know,” said Effie. “He didn’t know about any of this, did he? Peter, and all of them.”
Anya shook her head.
“Why didn’t you tell—”
“I didn’t think he’d believe me,” she said. “Or I thought maybe he’d tell that big police lady and she’d make me stay behind in Koraha.”
