Circling the island bench for what felt like the thousandth time, a sense of déjà vu enveloped me, each turn a repetition of dwindling hope. I pointed the Portal Key at the living room wall once more, my movements mechanical, driven by the desperation of the situation. I slid my finger across the button, the air around me charged with tension, a tangible representation of my growing despair. My chest tightened with each futile attempt, a physical manifestation of the frustration that threatened to overwhelm me. Again, there was no response from the device. No ball of energy shooting from its end. No wall exploding in a spectacle of colour, just a bland vacancy that mocked my efforts.
The phone on the bench vibrated loudly, its sudden noise a jarring contrast to the stillness of my failed attempts. My impatience and frustration reached a boiling point, culminating in a loud huff as I swiped the phone from the bench. The notification screen greeted me with a message from Gladys. I silently read her name at the top, a sliver of distraction in the sea of my turmoil.
11:07AM Gladys: I'm at Collinsvale. Where are you?
Shit! Nial's Bunnings order. The realisation hit me like a wave, a forgotten obligation surfacing amidst the drama of the morning. I scolded myself, feeling the weight of my oversight. My shoulders ached from prolonged tension. I can't leave here until I know what's going on with my Portal Key, I firmly told myself, the resolve hardening within me. Knowing that the luxury of almost instant travel to the Owens' property was currently beyond my grasp, I typed out a quick reply to Gladys.
11:09AM Luke: Bring it around home. Sorry.
11:09AM Gladys: Seriously!?
11:10AM Luke: Yes please. I'll get you some wine. I promise.
The negotiation, if it could be called that, hung in the balance. "Come on, Gladys," I murmured softly, an undercurrent of hope in my voice as my fingers tapped the benchtop nervously. The wait for her response felt interminable, each second stretching out before me.
11:12AM Gladys: I want two bottles
A smile broke across my face, a brief respite in the tension of the day. Easily persuaded. The thought brought a chuckle, a moment of lightness. Confirming the deal, I typed out my response.
11:13AM Luke: Done
Making a concerted effort to cease my anxious pacing around the living room, I began the arduous task of preparing the house for an abrupt departure. The echoes of our recent struggles were everywhere: a broken window in the back room, a smashed light in the study, traces of Beatrix's blood smattered along the hallway and door frames. Despite our best efforts to clean it all up, these marks of conflict rendered the house less like a home and more like a battleground. With the unwanted attention of a detective now part of our reality, the urgency to relocate our belongings to Clivilius felt not just practical, but necessary.
As I gathered, sorted, and packed our lives into as many bags and boxes as I could find, the weight of our situation pressed heavily upon me. Each item I touched was a reminder of the life we were being forced to leave behind, of the safety and security that had been shattered as easily as the glass of the back window.
Staring at the three-seater couch downstairs, I wrestled with the logic and emotion of the decision to empty the house. The rational part of me knew that moving our belongings to Clivilius was the smart move. The tents there are huge, I reminded myself, trying to bolster my resolve with the practicality of the plan. They can easily fit a few couches, especially in those central, shared spaces. The thought of making the new, albeit temporary, accommodations a little more comfortable offered a small relief.
Yet, as I stood there, contemplating the logistics of moving a couch among other things, a deeper, more poignant realisation took hold. This wasn't just about physical comfort or the strategic necessity of consolidating our resources. It was about clinging to a semblance of normalcy, about creating a space that felt like home in a world that was becoming increasingly unrecognisable. The couch, an ordinary piece of furniture under normal circumstances, had become a symbol of the life I was desperate to preserve, a life that was slipping through my fingers with each passing moment.
"Hey, Luke," Gladys's voice pierced the silence, her sudden presence in the room jolting me from my thoughts. The element of surprise sent a wave of adrenaline through me, momentarily heightening my senses.
I turned to face her, my expression morphing into one of suspicion. "How–" I started, my confusion palpable. The ease with which she had entered, combined with the disorienting swift passage of time, left me grappling for answers.
"Front door was open," Gladys offered an explanation, her tone matter-of-fact.
"Open?" The word echoed out of me, my mind racing to the worst possible scenarios. My eyes widened, the panic that someone else might be in the house, an intruder lurking in the shadows, momentarily seizing my thoughts.
"Not open, open," Gladys clarified, catching the edge of alarm in my voice. "Just unlocked."
Her clarification brought a wave of relief, washing over me like a cooling breeze. "You had me worried there," I admitted, letting out a loud exhale that carried the weight of my temporary fear.
Gladys's response was a shrug, her nonchalance a stark contrast to my momentary panic.
"So," she began, drawing out the word in a way that signalled her curiosity was piqued. "What's with all the packing? Why not take it straight to Clivilius?" Her gaze swept the room, taking in the clutter of boxes and bags, her fingers absentmindedly brushing small clumps of dirt from the couch.
Her question and the casual gesture of cleaning the dirt from the couch brought a silent frown to my face. That dirt, so inconsequential to her, was a tangible reminder of Duke's existence.
"My Portal Key isn't working," I snapped, the frustration and helplessness I felt bleeding into my tone, sharper than I had intended.
"Do you know why?" Gladys's question followed, her attention shifting from the task of cleaning to me. She moved along to the recliner, her actions methodical as she began to dislodge the dirt that had clung to the fabric.
Feeling the frustration and anger bubbling up inside me like a tempest, I knew I needed to divert Gladys's attention before the emotions overwhelmed me, before the burning behind my eyes turned into something visible. Desperation clawed at my insides as I reached into the near-permanent home of my wallet in my front trouser pocket, retrieving the cash I had taken from Kain's wallet—a reminder of the lengths I was willing to go for the cause.
"Move the truck onto the vacant block and then you can take Jamie's car to go and buy yourself some wine," I said, my voice a mixture of command and plea. I thrust the wad of notes under her nose, a tangible symbol of dismissal and necessity. The truck, temporarily in Gladys's possession until my Portal Key decided to function again—if it ever would—left her with little else to do here. The thought sent a shiver of anxiety through me, the reality of our situation, the dependency on such a small device for such significant parts of our lives, was terrifying.
"Sure," Gladys responded, her voice carrying a note of surprise, or perhaps it was just acceptance. She snatched the cash, her fingers quickly thumbing through it as she counted, the action so mundane yet so starkly contrasted with my current Portal Key dilemma.
Anticipating the direction of her next question, I interjected, "spend all of it," cutting off her inquiry before it could fully form.
Gladys, with a nod, shoved the notes into her back pocket, a simple gesture that marked the acceptance of the task. As she glanced over her shoulder, leaving the room, her gaze inadvertently caught mine. For a moment, her eyes lingered on me, witnessing the vulnerability I so desperately tried to hide—a single tear I hastily wiped away before it could betray the turmoil inside. She hesitated, perhaps sensing the depth of my struggle, before disappearing up the stairs.
The front door closed with a loud bang, a definitive sound that marked Gladys's departure. The noise echoed in the empty space. Left alone with my thoughts, the weight of my predicament pressed heavily on my shoulders. The brief interaction, the exchange of cash for a temporary reprieve, felt like a bandage over a gaping wound. It was a fleeting solution, a momentary distraction from the relentless tide of challenges I faced.
Slowly making my way to the recliner, I moved through the room as if each step was a journey through the memories that clung to every piece of furniture, every corner. Ignoring the little dirt that remained on the dark fabric, I allowed myself the simple act of sitting down, letting my body sink into the cushy softness that promised a brief respite from the turmoil of recent events. The recliner, an island of comfort in a sea of chaos, welcomed me, its familiarity a balm to my frayed nerves.
As I settled in, my breath catching in my throat, a single strand of white fur caught my eye, its tip ensnared in the fabric on the arm of the recliner. Carefully, I picked it up, the action both deliberate and tender. Bringing the fur to my nose, I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes to better savour the moment. The scent was unmistakably Duke's, that familiar dog smell that had become as much a part of this house as the walls that sheltered us. For a moment, Duke's furry brown and white face hovered in front of me, vivid in my mind's eye, his pink tongue lolling from his panting mouth, a picture of joy and boundless energy.
I could almost feel the weight of his body, his paws performing a delicate balancing act on my thighs as if he were right there with me. The sensation of his rough tongue running across my cheek elicited a broad smile from deep within me, a spontaneous reaction to the memories of his affection. A light chuckle escaped my lips at the thought, a sound of pure joy amidst the sorrow, as I playfully fought to push his face away before he could lavish me with more of his enthusiastic kisses. Duke always was the more affectionate of the two boys, his presence a constant source of comfort and love.
Then, as quickly as the memory came, it faded. Duke leaped from my lap in my imagination, his skinny front legs extending outward like a sugar glider, landing with a soft thump on the carpet before vanishing from my view. The vividness of the memory was so acute, so real, that for a fleeting second, I half-expected to see him there, looking up at me with those trusting eyes.
Pressing the strand of white fur against my chest, I felt the pounding of my heart, a physical ache for the loyal companion I knew I would never hold again. The weight of that realisation, the permanence of the loss, settled over me like a heavy cloak. "I'm so sorry, Duke," I whispered into the silence, a vow of remembrance and regret. The words were a tribute, a soft-spoken prayer for a friend whose loyalty and love had been a beacon of light in the darkest of times. In that moment, sitting alone in the quiet of the house, the depth of my grief for Duke was a poignant reminder of the fragility of the bonds we forge and the pain that their breaking brings.
Taking a moment to gather my thoughts and steady my breathing, I continued with the grim task of stripping the house of its contents. The realisation that, apart from one of the beds and one of the leather couches in the upstairs living room, nothing else warranted staying any longer weighed heavily on me. It was a poignant acknowledgment that the house, once a sanctuary, had been reduced to little more than a shell, its essence to be carted away for the sake of safety and secrecy.
Standing in the solitude of the study, I found myself staring at the blank wall before me, my fingers twitching with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. The thought of the Portal Key continuing to malfunction loomed large in my mind, a spectre of isolation and immobility. "Just bloody do it already!" I chided myself, the stern self-admonishment a reflection of the internal battle between fear and the necessity of action.
Emboldened by a surge of determination, I listened to that more confident part of myself, the part that refused to be cowed by uncertainty. My trembling finger slid across the small button at the end of the device, an action that felt both defiant and desperate. Then, with a bright flash that momentarily banished the shadows of doubt, the study wall came alive with comforting swirls of colour, a beautiful spectacle that heralded the portal's activation.
Without hesitation, I stepped through the newly opened portal, the urgency of confirming its destination to Bixbus pressing heavily on my mind. The transition was instantaneous, the familiar sensation of passing through the portal a strange mix of disorientation and relief.
As I emerged on the other side, warm swirls of dust danced about my feet, the sight of the Drop Zone not far off bringing a wave of calming relief. What the hell had happened? The question echoed in my mind, a silent query amidst the tranquil scene that greeted me. My eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for any clue, any indication of what might have caused the earlier malfunction. Yet, finding nothing out of the ordinary, I was left with nothing but an accepting shrug and a burgeoning hope that such a failure would never repeat itself.
Back in the study, the relief of knowing my portal passage was restored mingled with a new uncertainty. Could objects traverse as freely as before, or had the recent malfunction altered something fundamental? This question lingered, adding a layer of complexity to the already daunting task of emptying the house.
My hands gripped the white desk, the surface cool and unyielding under my fingers. With a determined grunt, I pulled the desk toward me, its weight more formidable than I had anticipated. Shit, this thing is heavier than I realised. The effort it took to move it even slightly was a burdensome reminder of the physicality of my task. After making another hefty pull, I paused, my breath heavy with exertion. The memory of dismantling the desk six months ago surfaced, a task undertaken in a moment of wanting change, craving a different perspective from the mundanity of my then-routine.
I had moved it from the back room to this room, drawn by the desire to gaze out the window that overlooked the main road. There was something inherently relaxing about watching the native hens emerge from the nearby thick scrub to feed by the roadside. It was a simple pleasure, a momentary escape from the complexities of life. The desk, in its assembled state, hadn't fit through the doorway, turning what I had hoped would be a straightforward task into a painful exercise of deconstruction.
"Actually," I mumbled to myself, a faint smile playing on my lips as I recalled the ordeal. Dismantling it had indeed been the easy part, a process of undoing, of breaking down into manageable pieces. It was the reassembly that had tested me, the challenge of putting all the pieces back together in a way that made sense, that restored its purpose. That was always the challenge. While I had the strength and determination to tear things apart and start anew, building things, creating order from chaos, was definitely not my forte.
This realisation, while not new, hit me with renewed force as I contemplated not just the physical task of disassembling the desk once more, but the broader metaphor it represented. In our efforts to navigate the dangers we faced, to dismantle the threats and rebuild a semblance of safety, the real challenge lay not in the tearing down, but in the rebuilding.
But now is not the time for rebuilding a desk, I mused to myself, a light chuckle escaping. Channelling what felt like an endless supply of determination, coupled with a reasonable addition of grunting for good measure, I pushed and pulled the heavy desk through the portal into Clivilius. The effort was monumental, each step a testament to the will to persevere. Stopping to wipe the salty sweat from my brow, I realised that the desk and I had barely made it more than a few metres beyond the portal before the thick ochre dust of Clivilius clogged our path. "This'll do," I grumbled, giving the desk a slap across its white surface. It shone bright under the warm sun of this new world, a stark contrast to the dim study it had once inhabited.
"Guess what?" Paul's voice suddenly broke through my focus, causing me to jump. His presence was unexpected, a sudden intrusion into the solitary task I had set myself.
"I'm not particularly in the mood," I responded tersely, my voice betraying the mix of still-raw emotions and the physical exhaustion that gnawed at my edges. Paul's exuberance, normally a welcome respite, felt overwhelming, his energy almost too much to bear in my current state.
"We can access the internet," Paul blurted out anyway, his excitement undimmed by my lacklustre response. In one fluid motion, he jumped up, sitting on the edge of the desk I had just transported through sheer will.
"Get off," I scowled, my patience frayed, swatting him across the back in a brotherly gesture of annoyance. The desk, despite its journey, was not yet ready to bear the weight of new discoveries, nor was I.
Paul pouted as he slid off, his movement slight, a mere shift given the closeness of his long legs to the ground even when perched on the desk. His reaction, so typical of our interactions, seemed out of place in the vastness of Clivilius.
"What's your problem?" he asked, a hint of genuine concern beneath the casual inquiry.
I sighed, the weight of my exhaustion making it difficult to articulate the depth of my feelings. "I'm just tired," I admitted. It was the simplest truth, an acknowledgment of the weariness that permeated both body and soul.
Paul's impromptu decision to help move the desk wasn't just surprising; it was a testament to the unpredictable nature of our relationship. Pushing me to the side with determination, he grabbed hold of the desk's edge and gave it a firm pull. The desk's stubborn refusal to budge more than an inch from his effort brought a smile to my face, and I couldn't help but chuckle at the look of surprise and mild indignation on my brother's face.
"Help me carry it to the Drop Zone," Paul said, the grin on his face widening as his hands mimed the motion of lifting. It was a request, but one that carried the heavy weight of expectation.
My eyes rolled in a mixture of exasperation and resignation. "Fine," I conceded, recognising the futility of arguing. Together, we positioned ourselves at opposite ends of the desk, our hands finding purchase under its weight. The initial lift was marked by small grunts from both of us. The journey was slow, punctuated by several stops as we paused to catch our breath and muster the strength to continue.
"Did you hear what I said before?" Paul asked, breaking the silence that had settled between us as we focused on relocating the desk.
"Do we really have to talk while we move?" I responded, the effort of carrying the desk making my words come out through gritted teeth.
"Yeah," Paul insisted, undeterred. "It's exciting."
"Fine," I huffed, a reluctant agreement to engage in conversation despite the physical exertion. "You talk. I'll listen."
As I begrudgingly allowed Paul to dive into the narrative of his recent adventures with Beatrix, Nial, and their endeavours with a router, my body was a contradiction of emotions. On one hand, impatience gnawed at me, urging me to dismiss the details as trivial. On the other, curiosity piqued, luring me into the intricacies of his tale. Despite my efforts to maintain a façade of disinterest, Paul's animated recounting of the events drew me in, his enthusiasm infectious even against my will.
The technical jargon of wifi signals and the logistical nightmares of fence supply orders required my full attention. My eyes narrowed, not out of disinterest, but in an effort to piece together the puzzle Paul laid out before me. The frustration within me wasn't directed at Paul's storytelling but at the urgency to grasp the full implications of their technological experiment.
"The downside," Paul noted, his voice cutting through my swirling thoughts, "is that because the router still had to be connected on the earth side, Beatrix had to keep her portal open the entire time."
His words acted as a catalyst, a peculiar coincidence emerging from the fog of details. "And this was today?" I couldn't help but interrupt, the timing of their experiment aligning too closely with the issues I had faced.
"Yeah. This morning," Paul confirmed, his casual acknowledgment igniting a spark of realisation within me.
"Interesting," was all I managed to say, my response so soft it was almost lost in the breeze. My mind raced ahead, weaving together the fragments of information into a hypothesis that demanded exploration.
"What is?" Paul's curiosity was evident, his question an anchor pulling me back from the precipice of my thoughts.
"We would need to test it," I said, more to myself than to him, the idea taking form, solidifying into a plan that held the potential to unravel the mystery of today's anomalies.
"Test what?" Paul’s confusion was palpable
"Fuck's sake, Paul, keep up, will you," I snapped, frustration and excitement mingling in my voice as I headed back toward the portal with renewed purpose. My mind was ablaze with possibilities, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to align.
"But you haven't really said anything," Paul protested, his bewilderment a distracting contrast to my burgeoning clarity.
Halting in my tracks, I turned to face him, the intensity of my gaze pinning him in place. "When Beatrix next arrives, tell her to contact me. I have an experiment of my own to conduct with her," I declared, my voice imbued with a certainty that brooked no argument. Beneath the surface, excitement bubbled, a rare feeling of anticipation at the prospect of uncovering new avenues of understanding. In that moment, the frustration and fatigue that had clouded my day began to dissipate, replaced by the invigorating thrill of discovery and the promise of collaboration.
Paul's mischievous grin, a telltale sign of his innate ability to sense the unfolding drama, added a palpable tension to the air. "Speak of the devil," he teased, his gaze flicking to the portal behind me. The anticipation in his voice was infectious, prompting me to turn with a mix of eagerness and apprehension.
As my heels sunk slightly into the soft, ochre dust, my heart skipped a beat at the sight unfolding before me. A large vehicle, with a caravan in tow, emerged from the portal, its appearance heralding the start of something new, something potentially groundbreaking. The vehicle's arrival through the portal, a feat of technology and magic combined, never ceased to amaze me, yet today it felt like a prelude to an even greater revelation.
Beatrix, stepping out of the car, was a sight to behold. She pulled her silver hair back, securing it with a hair tie, an action so mundane yet so mesmerising under the circumstances. Strands of her hair rebelled against confinement, dancing in the breeze, adding a touch of normalcy to the extraordinary.
"Beatrix!" My voice carried across the distance, laden with urgency and a keen anticipation. The moment demanded swift action, and I could scarcely contain the excitement bubbling within me.
"Can you two unhitch the caravan?" Beatrix's request cut through my thoughts. Her struggle with the disobedient strands of hair, a battle against the elements, mirrored our own struggles against the odds.
"I need to test something with you," I insisted, brushing aside her practical concerns with a wave of determination. The experiment I had in mind, sparked by Paul's earlier revelation, held the promise of answers, of understanding that could redefine our approach to the challenges we faced.
"How am I supposed to move the caravan back to camp if it's not connected to a vehicle?" Paul's query, practical yet tinged with frustration, underscored his logistical challenges.
"You've got other vehicles here," Beatrix suggested, her tone a mix of exasperation and practicality as she attempted to tame her hair once more. "Surely one of those has a tow bar you can use."
Paul's grunt, a vocal expression of his frustration, reflected the tension that underpinned their interactions.
"You're doing a lot of grunting today," I teased, a light chuckle escaping me as I gave Paul a playful slap across the shoulder. It was an attempt to diffuse the tension, to inject a moment of levity into the urgency of our tasks.
Despite Paul's initial reluctance, he shifted his attention back to the immediate task, his movements methodical as he began the process of unhitching the caravan. Beatrix's offer to bring another vehicle equipped with a tow bar was a testament to her pragmatic approach to the challenge.
As the caravan was uncoupled, the car bounced slightly. The metallic clinks, each a testament to Paul’s determination, underscored the physical reality of our situation, a stark contrast to the theoretical musings that occupied my thoughts.
Turning back to Beatrix, I was eager to explore the implications of my recent technological mishaps. "I can't go through your portal, nor you through mine, right?" I asked, seeking confirmation of our known limitations.
"Right," she replied, her cautious tone matching the narrowing of her eyes.
"So, what if that also means that I can't open my portal if you have yours open, and vice versa?" I posited, laying out my hypothesis based on the day's events and Paul's recounting of their experiment.
Beatrix's gasp was immediate, a spontaneous reaction to the implications of my suggestion. "The router," she whispered, the word heavy with realisation, as if my words had unlocked a new perspective on the problem.
"Exactly!" My response was animated, buoyed by the alignment of our thoughts. "I'm pretty sure my Portal Key wasn't working at the same time that you had your portal active with that blasted router." The pieces of the puzzle were aligning, each revelation shedding light on the mysterious malfunction I had encountered.
"Shit," Beatrix uttered, her expression mirroring my own concern. Her eyes, wide with the dawning comprehension of the potential ramifications of our discovery, reflected a shared sense of urgency. This revelation wasn't just a technical curiosity; it hinted at underlying principles of our portal technology we had yet to fully grasp.
The urgency of the situation and the potential breakthrough in our understanding of how the portals interact with one another sharpened my resolve. "I have a small truck with fence supplies to bring through. Beatrix, go somewhere safe on earth and wait for two minutes. Give me enough time to get this truck here. I'll leave my portal active for another few minutes, and in that time, you keep trying your Portal Key." The plan was clear in my mind, each step calculated to test our theory with precision.
"Yeah, good idea," Beatrix agreed, her voice carrying a mixture of anticipation and a dash of apprehension. The potential of our undertaking wasn't lost on either of us; this was more than a mere experiment—it was a step towards unravelling the mystery that had plagued me.
"What about the internet?" Paul attempted to interject, his voice tinged with desperation. The connection to the wider world, to the flow of information it represented, would be a lifeline for him, yet at this moment, it was a distraction for me.
"Not now, Paul," I snapped, perhaps more harshly than intended. My focus was like a laser, honed in on the experiment and its potential to shift our understanding of portal technology. The intricacies of our digital connection to the earth had to wait; we were on the cusp of a discovery that could impact us in a drastic way if we didn’t get it right.
