Beyond Carousel (24 page)

‘It's beautiful here though,' she added, shaking her head.

I thought about it and looked down over the garden to the abandoned train tracks and beyond.

‘I have to ask, were you seriously hoping to go shopping that day at Carousel?' I asked.

Sophie laughed and rolled her eyes.

‘Taylor grills me about this constantly,' she said.

I smiled.

‘I had actually only just finished my Residency and had no idea that it was Boxing Day. Carousel was the closest shopping centre and I badly needed some supplies. So I thought I would try my luck,' she replied. ‘To be honest, the place was so creepy and abandoned that I was kind of glad the door didn't open.'

‘It totally was,' I replied.

There were footsteps behind us and Taylor emerged from inside. She wandered over to us and messed up my hair.

‘There's some lunch inside for you, Nox. I would make a move before Lizzy destroys the lot of it,' said Taylor.

I was pretty sure she just needed to talk with Sophie, but I was starving anyway, so I headed inside and found Lizzy by the kitchen bench. She was eating an orange and staring off into space while Chess slept off his beach adventures on the floor.

‘Hey,' I said.

She smiled in reply. There was an array of fresh fruit and vegetables ready to eat on the counter.

‘Everything cool?' I asked.

‘Yeah. We'll sleep here tonight and leave for Fremantle in the morning,' she replied.

The thought of seeing Georgia again sent a ripple of nausea through my stomach. I tried to ignore it and started on the lunch.

‘We'll need to leave ourselves enough time to get back to Carousel,' said Lizzy, cautiously.

We shared a glance. I knew what she was saying.

I had wiped the idea of leaving with the others from my mind. It was easier that way. I still had the short stories from Carousel, and I guess none of us really knew what would happen on September second. Not even Ed. But deep down I knew I was different to the other Artists. Maybe not a Patron like Rocky or Rachel. But not a sheltered Artist either. For a while, writing the novel had made the bridge seem narrow. I had started to think that maybe it was all just a matter of timing, as Tommy had suggested way back in the hills. But not anymore. I realised now, without a doubt, that I could have left Carousel at any time. That my presence in this world was an accident, not fate.

It should have made me low, but instead I felt a lightness and clarity. My only concern now was finding Georgia and getting her and my friends back to their Residencies. Art had been a burden ever since I had lumped at Carousel. It had hovered over every moment, reminding me that writing was primary, while living
came second. I felt guilt when I wasn't writing, and struggle when I was. The rare days when I managed to wipe it from my mind had felt like the final moments of a dreamy summer holiday. Sweet and warm, but with the lingering dread of school the next morning. If this was the life of an Artist, they could keep it.

I decided that after September second I would return to the beach house. Chess could come with me. He would miss Lizzy, but be happy by the ocean. Maybe one day we would meet some other Patrons somewhere and together we could build a weirdo life together by the sea. While the others were outside I took out my short stories and stashed them in a cabinet in the study. When the time was right I would take them out and read over what I had written in Carousel. Remind myself of Rocky and the Finns, and all that had happened while we were stuck in there. The whole thing was way overloaded with emotion and I tried not to dwell on it too much. Plus we had things to do.

Our bikes were grindy and rusted from our journey from the Auroraport. There would be newer ones around if we decided to look for them, but we were short on time and these bikes had been good to us. So we greased them up and checked over the brakes and tyres. Sophie seemed to be into this stuff. She also rigged up a pedal-powered light to each of the handlebars and found a set of walkie-talkies, setting them to charge via the solar panels. They didn't have the greatest range, but the casino debacle
proved how screwed we were without them.

Sophie's artwork from her Residency was a small still life of an abandoned family breakfast. She had been living rent-free with a host family in their big riverside house as part of her real-world residency. When she drifted downstairs on the morning of the Disappearance, the chatty breakfast she had become accustomed to was replaced by silent, creepy limbo. It reminded me of a documentary I had seen about nine-eleven. An engineering team were going through some of the neighbouring buildings that had escaped the destruction. They had waited weeks, or maybe even months, before being able to get inside. I remember them describing how, when the first plane hit, people working there had dropped everything and run. One engineer spoke of an abandoned breakfast meeting where plates of pastries and fruit lay frozen in time beside pots of coffee on a table caked with ominous grey dust.

Sophie told me that she knew immediately upon seeing the breakfast that morning that something big had happened.

Taylor had framed the painting and hung it central in the sunroom. I helped Sophie take it down, then watched her roll it casually into a mailing tube and stuff it into her bag. We harvested what we could from the gardens and packed it up to take with us. Lizzy and I each took long and amazing hot showers in the outdoor wash area. My mood brightened when I saw that the wooden shower
door was gnomed by a faded old dude from the garden. The rainwater felt silky and magical against my dry and dusty skin. Afterwards Taylor trimmed my hair, helped bandage my knees and gasped at the crazy rainbow bruise that had surfaced across my shoulder.

‘That fucking airport,' she had said and I wondered how much she knew about Lizzy and the auroras.

Before we knew it a fat yellow sun was plunging into the ocean out the kitchen window. We finished up and gathered at a table for dinner. Taylor heated some homemade tomato sauce they had bottled and we ate it with pasta, mushrooms and a garden salad. She and Sophie watched on in amusement as Lizzy and I shovelled it down like animals. After dinner we sat by the fire playing Scrabble and drinking Sophie's mulled wine as sheets of drizzle washed over the windows to the west. Taylor and Lizzy rediscovered the chatty ping-pong banter that had filled their bedrooms growing up and later charmed their crowds between songs. I felt warm and a part of things and my thoughts drifted to Rocky and Carousel, for once with nostalgia rather than sadness.

Next came fruit and pots of melted white chocolate. Then fingers of single-malt whisky and liqueurs. Then rambling and hilarious ghost stories and retrospective birthdays toasting. Then a pot of tea that nobody touched because we were already asleep. Then just darkness and our thoughts, and a hangover that, for once, might be worth it.

We blew into Fremantle on an icy northern wind. One bridge was still intact, the other busted apart by a floating cargo liner. A city-bound train stood rigid and ready at the station. Doors still open. Something furry darting inside as we rode past. The heritage streets were wide and empty like a western. Alfresco furniture clinked and clattered outside cafes and restaurants. Where tables were missing we found them across the street, hurled up with their umbrellas by giant gusts of winter wind.

There were no signs of Bulls that we could make out. Instead the port town had been overrun by birds. Seagulls perched hawkish and dirty on hotel balconies. Flocks of river birds thundered across from the Swan to fill the sky with shifting patterns of silver and black. Tiny wrens bombed down from rafters to circle us before disappearing back into hidden nooks. Chess skipped along at our feet, fighting every instinct to bark, chase and scatter them all.

We drifted the main streets with no real plan of how we might find Georgia, or anyone else for that matter. The stores we passed were mostly intact or already open at the time of the Disappearance. Nothing we saw suggested that the town had been heavily inhabited like the city and elsewhere. Eventually Lizzy pulled up between the old market building and football stadium. At a roundabout a statue of a famous footballer had been caked in white by the birds. Lizzy circled the guy and looked around, then rolled over to join the rest of us.

‘So, what's the plan?' she asked.

Our search had landed inevitably on my shoulders.

‘She was hoping to meet up with some Artists that were living in the west end of town. There are these big old Victorian houses down there,' I said.

‘Doesn't sound creepy at all,' said Taylor.

‘Which way is that from here?' asked Lizzy, keen to keep moving.

Sophie found west and pointed it out for us.

We set off and bumped down a road littered with Norfolk pine needles. This led to a park and then onto the fishing boat harbour. We walked our bikes across the thick spongy grass and out onto the decks and promenades of the marina. The air was thick with salt and the remnants of long-forgotten fishing hauls. Most of the boats we could see were still tethered neatly to their moorings. Beyond them, though, we glimpsed another giant cargo liner that had gently run aground,
this time on a southern swimming beach. Past the breweries and seafood restaurants was a maritime museum and the start of the Victorian buildings.

This was old Fremantle. Towering facades of decorative brickwork and grand late-Georgian entrances. I think most of the buildings were part of a university now, but maybe there were other inhabitants too. These were the type of streets you could walk often without ever knowing what lay inside each door.

Lizzy yelled a hello and we listened as it bounced around the concrete.

Nothing came in reply.

We passed a couple of cafes and a restaurant where the doors stood ajar and the shelves were emptied inside.

‘There's gotta be somebody around here somewhere,' said Taylor.

She looked up at the buildings. Most had three storeys and likely dozens of rooms inside. There was a thud from somewhere behind her. Lizzy was kicking at one of the large arching doors. Taylor sighed. It was weird to see them reversing roles from Carousel.

Sophie and I moved over to help her.

The door was heavy and wouldn't flinch for any of us.

‘Wouldn't you leave it open if you were living here?' asked Taylor.

The three of us stopped and looked at her.

‘Think about it. You probably wouldn't have a key to begin with and even if you did it's not like you can
go to Walmart to make copies for your friends. If I really wanted to live in one of these weirdo Tim Burton mansions, and I managed to find a way inside, I would be leaving the front door open rather than running down fifty levels whenever I got a visitor,' said Taylor.

‘Depends on the visitor, I guess,' I replied.

‘Yeah, but this place is way deserted compared to, like, anywhere else we have seen,' said Taylor.

‘Okay. Do you guys want to check the doors over that side of the road while me and Nox try this side?' suggested Lizzy.

‘Sure,' answered Sophie for her.

We set off riding door to door like posties. Nothing opened on the first street, but halfway along the second Lizzy and I heard a screech and turned to see Taylor and Sophie peering inside the doorway of a tall grey building titled
Humanities
.

‘It wasn't locked?' asked Lizzy as we joined them in the doorway.

‘Nope,' said Taylor, knowingly.

I stepped past them and looked around at the shadowy space.

There wasn't much to the entrance. Just a dusty reception area and a large wooden staircase heading up to the second and third levels.

Sophie leaned over the reception desk.

‘Look. Torches,' she said.

She picked up a regular looking torch and tested it
out. The light came on first go.

‘For the trip up the stairs?' I suggested.

‘Hello?' yelled Lizzy, abruptly.

The three of us jumped and Taylor glared at her. There was no answer. We rested our bikes by the staircase and took out our own torches.

‘Switch your radios on, too,' said Taylor.

We fumbled around and clipped them to our pockets and belts. I glanced at Taylor and saw the anxiety that had swiftly consumed her face. She had lost us once already and wasn't planning on having it happen again.

The stairs creaked beneath us but weren't layered with dust like others I had seen. On the first level we found tutorial rooms, some toilets and a long room at the back of the building that was strangely empty.

‘What's the deal in here?' asked Lizzy.

We torched around the dim space, finding nothing but floorboards.

‘Did you say that Georgia was an actress, Nox?' asked Sophie.

‘Yeah,' I replied.

The three of us looked at Sophie.

‘Don't you think this looks like a drama space,' said Sophie. ‘You know, like for workshops and rehearsals.'

‘Oh yeah. It totally does,' said Taylor.

I was starting to freak out at the idea that Georgia could actually be there somewhere. What the hell was I going to say to her? When I replayed the invitation to
join her in Fremantle it felt blasé and casual. Not the trigger for some dramatic reunion.

Lizzy led us up the second flight. There were more classrooms and a line of offices for academics. One side of the building had been altered some time ago to form a small lecture theatre. The whiteboard at the front was scrawled with text about some type of theatre movement. The writing was faded, but from how long ago we couldn't tell. The staircase to the final floor had a sign reading
Staff Only
. We headed up there and finally found where the Artists had been living.

What was once a lunch area and meeting room had been transformed into a kind of bohemian sleepout. There were mattresses on the floors and a pile of sheet and blanket sets. Couches circled tables full of candles and books. There was a kitchenette with some portable gas cookers and a scattering of canned food. Clothing racks lined with an assortment of men's and ladies' jackets, pants and jumpers. We quietly wandered the abandoned space until Taylor spotted a fourth staircase. It was smaller than the other three and led us out onto a gusty rooftop terrace.