Beyond Carousel (30 page)

‘Last night he just stopped at an intersection and wouldn't follow us anymore. Something inside him wanted to go south. Eventually we just knelt down and gave him a ruffle. Then he took off into the night like a freakin' dire wolf.'

‘So cool,' whispered Tommy.

We all took a breath and looked around at the quiet, brooding centre.

‘Should we check this place out?' asked Taylor.

‘I think Tommy needs to get going,' I replied.

‘Right now?' asked Lizzy.

‘Oh yeah. I have to get to uni and back up this footage, then do some editing and meet up with Genna I guess,' said Tommy.

‘You're a busy guy, Tommy,' said Taylor.

He nodded and smiled. Taylor and Lizzy gave him a
big hug, one after the other.

‘You get back to that library first and foremost, yeah?' said Lizzy. ‘No more cruising around looking for adventures.'

Tommy laughed. I hugged him, too.

‘Thanks for the lift.'

‘Oh man, it was no problem. Do you want your disco bike out of the back?' he asked.

Taylor and Lizzy raised their eyebrows in unison.

‘It's cool,' I replied. ‘Just the bag.'

Tommy took it from the tray and handed it to me.

‘See you back in Perth, Nox,' he said.

I nodded and we shared a look that the Finns probably noticed.

Tommy climbed back into the ute and took off with a big smiling wave. As he pulled out on the highway we heard the beginning of ‘Baba O'Riley' bouncing back out into the suburbs.

Carousel had lay dormant and steadfast since our departure. Too far from any concentration of Artists to be ransacked. Too creepy to be entered by anyone travelling solo. Fatefully sheltered from the fires and storms that had chased us across the city. It welcomed us back without fanfare or emotion. I felt nostalgia, but it wasn't akin to the warmness of a childhood bedroom or grandparent's garden. More similar to how I felt seeing my old high school. There were good memories, but
also bad ones, and confusing ones, and a whole swirling mixture of others. And time moved slowly there, as it always had in Carousel.

We moved out of our original entrance into the hall between the east end and the west.

‘Pretty weird,' said Lizzy.

‘Pretty weird,' I nodded.

‘Should we go see Rocky?' asked Taylor.

‘Definitely,' I replied. ‘But I need to talk to you guys about something first.'

‘Okay,' said Taylor, pensively.

We took a seat at an island couch and I got a flashback to the first time we met. I had been nervous then, as I was now. The Finns looked at me and waited.

‘Okay, so, none of us really know what is going to happen tomorrow, right?' I asked.

The two of them nodded.

‘But if the portals do open, and it's only Artists with work that can go through, there's a chance I might not be coming with you,' I said.

‘Why?' asked Taylor, immediately.

‘I guess there are a couple of reasons. Firstly, the taxi that brought me here was meant for another Artist. An illustrator named Stuart. Tommy has met this guy, and thankfully he made it through okay, but I still bullshitted the driver that morning. It wasn't me he was supposed to be sheltering,' I said.

Lizzy took a breath and thought this over.

‘What else?' asked Taylor.

‘I don't have any work to present,' I replied.

‘What about your short stories?' asked Lizzy.

‘They're back at the beach house,' I replied.

Taylor stared at me. Lizzy groaned.

‘You forgot them!?' said Taylor.

‘No. He left them there,' said Lizzy. ‘Didn't you, Nox?'

I nodded. Taylor shot up and stormed across the dusty floor.

‘They don't matter, Taylor. Those stories were just some stuff I played around with to kill time. You know that I could have left here at any time. It was the same for Rocky,' I said.

Lizzy was quiet next to me.

‘I'm just not an Artist like you guys. I'm not even sure if I want to be anymore,' I said.

‘You still don't get it, do you?' said Lizzy, quietly.

Taylor stopped and looked at her sister.

‘Get what?' I asked.

‘It doesn't matter whether you want to be an Artist or not. You don't get a choice one way or the other. We are what we are, Nox. Some people just decide to fight against it,' said Lizzy.

She was staring at me like only a Finn could.

‘You're a writer, Nox. Both of us have seen that. And it's not an easier life, or a cooler life. It's just a life like any other.'

I looked away and felt my conviction fading. I thought
back to those long hours in the mini-mart. When the world was crumbling and writing had somehow sheltered me through.

‘You're writing something tonight,' said Taylor. ‘I don't care if you want to or not. You can do it for me and Lizzy. And Rocky. And those guys in that boat,' she said.

I took a breath.

‘Okay,' I replied.

Eventually Lizzy put a hand on my shoulder.

‘We're rooting for you, Nox. We've only ever been rooting for you.'

The novel still had a way to go, but I had reconnected with it during my time at the mini-mart and, with one night to go before the end of the Residencies, it was the only thing I could really see myself writing. So there I was, sitting at a table facing the glass-filled east entrance, Rocky's kooky garden beside me, the final day of Perth's bizzaro hiatus fading into darkness above us.

I had showered and eaten and changed into some clothes sourced by Lizzy. Taylor had made me espresso and told me to radio whenever I needed more. The two of them were undoubtedly mad at me, but beneath this I felt their support and belief. I think they knew that my decisions had stopped being driven by fear. There had been other motivations, and maybe some that weren't totally admirable, but the world had thrown a whole bunch of stuff at me, and, for the most part, I felt as though I had responded. I think the Finns were mainly mad at me for not wanting to make it home for myself. Now that I was back at Carousel, and with the deadline
looming, I realised that I really, really did.

So I sat there with my receipt books and a notepad and I wrote, and I wrote, and I wrote. It wasn't like a flood or an avalanche, or anything remotely poetic – just a steady flow of sentences and paragraphs. Each one maintaining a tone and building on the last. No tinkering or second-guessing. Just the continual forward momentum of a character negotiating what, to me at least, felt like a complicated and interesting world.

The writing felt like a job, but in a good way. I wasn't waiting for something brilliant to manifest and define me as a true Artist or offer membership to some illusive, imaginary club. I was simply using the skills I had to write the best sentences, paragraphs and chapters that I could. And it felt about as natural as anything I could remember.

Taylor and Lizzy surfaced at different points throughout the night. Taylor kitted out in a fresh hoodie and jeans alongside her trusty and nostalgic All Stars. I hadn't known Taylor before Carousel, but couldn't help but think that she would be returning as a different person. She held a confidence now that seemed greater than her stage presence or celebrity. For Taylor this surfaced now in her calm and in her silence. I think that meeting Sophie may have been a part of this. Their relationship had enabled her to solidify who she was, and also who she wasn't. As I watched her quietly tending to Rocky's garden in the early hours of the
morning I realised that Taylor Finn had been as fragile as anyone to have lived in this mammoth concrete oasis.

Lizzy was a coiled bundle of hope and excitement. For two years I had been in awe of her patience and acceptance. Nobody had played ball in this world like Lizzy Finn. But now, swapping from black jeans to blue, then back again, she was like a jittery kid waiting to cash in her savings. The aurora jet that saved them from the Bulls had also reminded Lizzy of her love for her former life. Lizzy was the indie rock star at the peak of her relevance. She had the whip-smart girlfriend, the cool mum, the warehouse apartment and the calendar full of travel. Two years away from these things in the apocalyptic vacuum of Perth had been akin to a lifetime. Now Lizzy buzzed like a teenager who knew their secret list of hopes and dreams had somehow already manifested, and that each hour was steadily ticking them closer.

But these very same hours were dragging me towards a lonely abyss.

I had written a lot. More than I thought possible, really. But above me now, where I refused to look, was the violet glow of morning.

I raced onwards, while Taylor and Lizzy hovered nervously in my periphery. The Disappearance happened two years ago at six fifty-two am. Suddenly the numbers on my lucky barman's watch read six forty.

I finished the paragraph and the chapter, and sat back
to take stock. The Finns watched me intently as the sun peeked its rays across the floor. I took a long, steadying breath.

The novel wasn't finished.

I was close, but all out of time.

‘Nox?' asked Taylor.

I looked at her. Then Lizzy. I shook my head.

Lizzy bombed towards me.

‘Pack it up. Bring it with you anyhow,' she said.

I hesitated as Lizzy grabbed my backpack and zipped it open. Together we piled the notepads and books into my backpack. Taylor teetered behind us with tears in her eyes.

‘Get the bikes!' said Lizzy.

Taylor spun around and wheeled over the three new mountain bikes that had stood ready through the night. I shouldered the backpack and we climbed aboard. Rocky's garden sat tranquil and awesome beside us. His new hacky sack resting neatly within the foliage. The three of us stole a final look at it, then raced down the hall for the door that marked our arrival.

We stood outside on a narrow concrete walkway. The morning was cold, but bright with sunshine. Taylor's hair tickled past my forehead. Lizzy's breathing was fast and shallow in my ear. All of our eyes were on the barman's watch.

Eventually, inevitably, the one turned into a two.

A breeze touched our faces. It was warm and nostalgic. As if everyone we ever knew had just brushed past us.

For a moment nobody moved. Then Lizzy lifted her head and looked around at the walkway. Taylor and I followed.

Nothing had changed.

We glanced at each other, then pulled on the door into Carousel. It opened without issue and we stepped back inside.

Lizzy led us down the small corridor and out into the hall. It was silent and empty. Abandoned stores lined the walkway as far as we could see. Familiar islands blipped
up selling juices and mobile phone covers. Barren couches sat ready for tired shoppers and staff on their lunch break. But nowhere were there people.

I noticed Lizzy's shoulders slump just a fraction. ‘We should have been inside. Not out on that walkway,' she whispered.

‘Wait,' said Taylor. ‘Look at the shelves.'

I followed her gaze to the island beside us. The fridge was neatly stocked with waters and soft drinks. The counter lined with jars of fresh cookies.

‘Holy crap. The stores are closed, too,' said Lizzy. ‘Aren't they!?'

She was right. The shops beside us were closed over with transparent rollers. I turned and looked down the length of the hall. It was the same all the way along. Carousel had been wide open when we arrived, not closed like it was now.

‘Do you have your album?' I asked.

Taylor reached into her pocket and pulled out a small red USB stick.

‘Check your bag,' said Lizzy.

I pulled it off and unzipped the front. My messy pile of unfinished book lay inside.

‘It's still there,' I replied.

‘Oh my god,' said Lizzy, hopping excitedly.

‘Wait. Shouldn't there be people in here? Security or something?' asked Taylor.

‘Let's go to the dome,' said Lizzy.

We raced down the glossy halls of our weird old home. Past Myer and Dymocks and JB Hi-Fi, and a dozen other places where we had spent so many days. We slowed as the corridor opened up before us. Crystal morning light radiated out from the dome ahead. It was ethereal and almost beautiful, the way it funnelled down and spread throughout the centre. The open dome meant that the outside world would always be a part of Carousel. It had seemed stupid for as long as I had known about it, but standing there with the Finns it suddenly made simple, perfect sense.

I looked at the Finns beside me and felt as grateful with the world as I had ever done. Taylor turned my way and was about to say something when a voice broke in.

‘What are you doing in here?'

We jumped and turned to see a middle-aged security guard walking towards us.

None of us said anything right away.

‘Hey?' said the guy.

‘Hey, yeah sorry, we were just about to leave,' said Lizzy.

The guy looked us over in a way that wasn't super reassuring.

‘What's in your bag?' he asked me.

‘Nothing. Just some notepads,' I replied.

He grunted and unclipped his radio.

‘You can wait here for the police,' he said.

‘Whoa, it's cool man,' said Taylor. ‘We just came inside by mistake.'

‘Sure,' he said.

It was pretty condescending. He lifted up his radio again.

‘What a dick,' said Lizzy.

‘What did you say?' asked the guy, stepping forward.

It wasn't exactly the welcome home we had dreamt about.

‘She said you were a dick, arsehole.'

The four of us turned around to the source of the noise. Rachel was standing across the hall with a cleaning bucket and a face full of attitude.

‘Holy shit,' whispered Taylor.

The security guard looked at her disdainfully.

‘They came in through the back door, which you fuckwits left open again after your smoko last night,' said Rachel.