January (12 page)

We jumped on our bikes and sped off. 

‘Cal, please tell me why we’re going to the cemetery.’

‘The key opens the Ormond vault,’ I called out to him. ‘It’s where my dad is, along with my grandparents and a stack of other ancient Ormonds, going right back to 1878. All of us end up there.’

‘You guys have a mausoleum? Creepy … So, all the coffins and ashes are stored there, instead of being buried?’

‘Yep.’

The way things were going, I thought I might be joining them early. That fear made me pedal harder. I was going to survive this. I’d carry on my dad’s work and unravel the huge secret he’d stumbled on.

The key felt sticky in my sweaty hand as we hurried in through the heavy iron gates. The cemetery was a peaceful place with trees and small gardens intersected with footpaths. All around us were graves, some like low garden beds with just a simple headstone, while others were more elaborate with angels perched on
pedestals, stony wings outstretched. I wondered if the Ormond Angel was among them. I didn’t think so. I was with Mum and Rafe when we placed Dad’s ashes on a shelf in the family mausoleum, and I knew for a fact that there was no watchful angel there.

The sombre, stone, windowless building with its solid iron door, corroded by the weather, stood cold before us. In the stonework, above the door, was our family name and coat of arms, also weathered by wind and rain.

‘Hurry, man,’ said Boges. ‘I can see a uniform heading this way. Must be security.’

I stepped up the stairs, pushed the key into the lock and tried to turn it. It wouldn’t budge.

‘Hey, you two! Get away from there!’ called out the guard.

‘Come
on
, dude. Hurry up!’ said Boges.

‘I’m trying!’

I finally got the lock to turn and started to push the door open.

‘Get out of there! What do you think you’re doing?’

With the half-open door behind me, I turned to confront the cemetery guard.

‘It’s OK,’ I explained, holding up the key. ‘We’re family.’

The security guy had come right up to the mausoleum steps. Even though he was standing two steps below, he was still taller than me.

‘Only the legal custodian of this grave has right of entry. Show me your certificate.’

‘But his father is in there,’ Boges said. ‘He has every right—’

‘He has no right! He could be anyone claiming that. You two better make yourselves scarce.’ He pulled out a portable radio. ‘You can leave now, I can have my partner down here to drag you two out, or I can call the cops. What’ll it be?’

I pushed the door open further and caught a glimpse of the long shelf where my grandfather’s coffin lay, but there was something else there. Something that certainly hadn’t been there when I’d last stepped through the door.

The security guard grabbed me, pulling me down the steps. He slammed the iron door shut behind me. Now his partner had joined him—a stocky, mean-looking man with a red face.

‘Get out of here before I call the cops. Bernie?’

Bernie grabbed Boges. ‘They’re probably just a pair of ghouls sussing out a place to live.’

‘Ghouls?’ I asked in disbelief.

‘Weirdos who break into the big tombs and squat in them. Nasty sickos that we have to dispose of,’ said Bernie, tightening his grip on Boges.

‘Get off me,’ said Boges, shaking free. ‘We’re going.’

The security guys watched us as we unlocked our bikes and took off. I slipped the key back into my pocket.

‘That was a waste of time,’ said Boges.

‘Not quite. I saw something in there.’

‘Right. A ghoul,’ Boges laughed.

‘No, I saw a large plastic container with a red lid—exactly the same as the ones I saw in Rafe’s house. He’s using our vault as a storeroom.’

‘I’d love to know what he’s storing in there,’ said Boges, as we neared my street.

‘I think I know,’ I said.

Just before we parted at the corner, I dangled the key in front of Boges. ‘You know we’re going back there,’ I said. ‘To make sure.’

‘When?’ Boges looked hesitant.

‘When there’s no-one around.’ I said.

‘I don’t like where this is heading.’

The first thing I noticed when I walked in the house was again how unusually quiet it was. Mum had left a note on the fridge.

I stood in the kitchen listening to the silence. It was the silence of something coiled up in hiding, motionless and ready to attack.

‘Gabbi?’ I called. ‘You here?’

No-one answered.

‘Gabbi?’ I called again.

Nothing.

I walked further into the house, cautious now, ready to run.

What I found on the floor near the kitchen made me drop my backpack.

Uncle Rafe … lying in a pool of blood.

I rushed over to him. He was unconscious, and blood seemed to be seeping from the back of his head. Had he been shot?

I ripped open my backpack, thinking my beach towel might stop the bleeding. I was about to ring an ambulance when an awful thought struck me. If Uncle Rafe was injured, then Gabbi too might be …

‘Gabbi!’ I screamed, running down to her room. ‘Gabbi?’

My little sister’s name froze on my lips.

There she was, lying in the doorway of her bedroom, crumpled like a broken doll.

I fell to my knees, my ear to her chest. She wasn’t breathing!

‘Gabbi!’ I pleaded. ‘Talk to me!’

I panicked, trying to remember how to do
CPR, like we’d been taught at school. Short, sharp bursts of pressure on her chest, pinching off her nose, breathing into her mouth. My fingers trembled, and I tried to calm myself down by remembering to count slowly between each breath.

‘Start breathing!’ I cried, watching her body exhale the breath I’d just blown into her. I wanted to ring an ambulance, but I couldn’t leave my sister alone and cold on the floor.

‘Breathe! Damn you!’ I shouted at her. My heart was pounding. Gabbi couldn’t die! Violent sobs shook me. Was she responding? I watched her chest—I could swear it was rising by itself now. I pushed tears from my eyes. She had to be OK!

I heard something downstairs.

For a second I thought it might be Mum and I was about to call out when I heard the voice again.