Parallel Roads Read online

  Sliding out of the driver’s seat and slamming the Hummer’s door shut behind him, he strode along the paved pathway lit dimly by garden lights, breathing deep of the honeysuckle and old rose scents that lingered in the air. He paused, peering into the darkness. The part-time gardener under his employ must have been busy these last couple of days. Even in the shadows he perceived there were some new, unidentifiable plants; he could smell their sweet aromas.

  At the double oak doors, he keyed his six-digit security code into the touchpad. He frowned when the numbers were declined. On his second attempt he failed again. Damn it! A third attempt gone wrong would sound an alarm.

  Glowering, he rapped on the door. He had no choice but to wake his housekeeper or his sister to let him in.

  The copper-haired woman who opened the door a crack and glowered out at him wasn’t his housekeeper or sister, not by a long shot. ‘Who is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s Jessie. Where’s Mrs Grayson?’ he snapped.

  Her eyes narrowed behind her tiny glasses. ‘Jessie? I don’t know anyone by that name. And I have no idea who this Grayson person is. You have the wrong house.’

  This can’t be happening.

  ‘I doubt that,’ he said fiercely, ‘since I own this house.’

  ‘Get off my property before I call the police!’ she hissed. The door snapped shut in his face before he even had a chance to force entry into his own home and figure out what the hell was going on.

  He shook his head, staring in helpless rage at the home—his home—he was locked out from. Had his house been taken over by squatters while he’d been away? And what of his staff? His sister?

  Fuck!

  He sprinted back to his car and thrust open its door. Retrieving his phone, he rang his sister. The too familiar, automated voice droned in his ear, ‘This number is disconnected.’

  He ran an outspread hand through his hair, a rush of fear and adrenaline forcing bone-deep weariness to the backburner. He should be the one calling the police, and yet gut instinct told him that wasn’t a good idea. He’d already learned the hard way to trust his intuition.

  He reversed out of the driveway with a squeal of tires. Stamping on the accelerator, he shot forwards. If his sister wasn’t here, he knew of only one other place she’d stay.

  Their family home.

  The small weatherboard three-bedroom legacy was, at best, a shrine that preserved their mother’s memory; at worst, a painful reminder of her sins. Mostly he’d refrained from selling the house because of his sister. She clung onto the dim, but still lingering memories of a mother she’d barely known.

  He was only grateful Lolita didn’t recall the parent who’d lapsed into depression and alcoholism. He’d rather she believed their mother had been an angel on earth before she’d been made an angel in heaven.

  The forty-five minute drive to the suburb of Blacktown seemed to take forever, with night roadworks delaying him even further. He sat at the stop sign, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, his heart pumping and sweat beading on his brow, despite the cool night air.

  When he at last turned into the street and slowed further to pull into the cracked concrete driveway of his mother’s house, he braked the Hummer to a stop and looked around with a bewildered frown.

  A sense of unreality slipped into his psyche, like he was walking inside a time capsule the moment his headlights hit the gum tree that stood tall and proud in the front yard—the one and same he’d had cut down and taken away last month.

  A dog ran to the fence boundary, sticking its blue-spotted muzzle through the mesh as it bayed warning.

  Jessie froze, gawping. It really was Tilly, the neighbour’s dog.

  It had been not even a week ago that someone had taken an apparent dislike to the blue cattle dog’s incessant barking and thrown her toxic bait. She’d died on the way to the vet’s.

  Hadn’t she?

  He didn’t visit this house all that often, but by chance he’d dropped by to check on things before his trip to Brisbane. That was when the grief-stricken elderly neighbour had told him about the dog.

  Getting out of the car on muscles gone tight with shock, he stepped towards the trio of semi-circular, concrete steps. He raised his hand and rapped on the door, trying not to think about the fact he just might well be going crazy, after all.

  A light flicked on inside. ‘Lolli?’ he yelled, reverting to the nickname his sister had told him a time or two she hated, though he knew she secretly held dear the pet name only he called her.

  He heard shuffling footsteps before the exterior light set him and half the front yard awash with brilliance. He shielded his eyes as the door swung wide and a thin, raspy voice said, ‘It’s almost two in the morning, what the—Jessie?’

  He stumbled backwards, his heart thumping. He shook his head as denial tore through him. ‘Mother?’

  Chapter Four

  ‘Jessie, what’s wrong?’ She stepped out and ushered him inside. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

  You don’t know the half of it.

  He shook off the sensation that he really had lost his mind, reminding himself that everything unexplainable had happened since he’d climbed into the roof cavity of the abandoned house. Somehow it was all interconnected.

  I just have to find out how.

  He walked unsteadily into his mother’s house, breathing deep of its cosy smells and homey warmth, hoping against hope to calm his frazzled nerves. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to regroup. The last time he’d seen his mother in this house, it had smelled of stale booze, musty cigarette smoke and a whole lot of despair.

  Christ, the last time he’d seen his mother she’d been gaunt and aged beyond her years, with death nipping hot at her heels.

  ‘What happened to you?’ his mother asked hoarsely. ‘You’ve changed—for the better.’

  He spun around, taking her in, all the while feeling like he was living in some weird dream state and that at any moment he’d wake up. ‘What do you mean?’ he rasped.

  His eyes narrowed as he observed her, realising she looked good too. Real good, considering she’d been dead seventeen years. And although it was obvious she was older, it was from living in her skin longer, not because alcohol decayed her from the inside out.

  His mother lifted a hopeful hand. ‘You’ve gotten clean, haven’t you?’

  ‘Clean? You mean drinking?’ No Mother. I’ve always left that honour to you. ‘You know I drink only rarely.’

  ‘Come here, Jessie,’ she opened her arms. And as he stepped into her motherly embrace, she murmured, ‘I’m so proud of you. And we both know I’m not talking about the booze. I’m ashamed to admit it, but that was a hard lesson you learned, no thanks to me.’ She pulled back, clutching his face with bony fingers, her eyes watering. ‘Not to mention that monster who drank and drove.’

  He frowned. What exactly did she mean by that? And if it wasn’t booze she thought he was into, did she think he was into drugs? He inwardly shook his head. No. Way.

  His mother’s eyes glittered with tears as she rasped, ‘Lolita would have been proud, too.’

  He jerked back, his belly roiling. ‘What? Where’s Lolli? What the hell is going on?’

  His mother’s face paled, her eyes going wide. ‘Jessie, don’t. That’s cruel.’

  Emotions boiled over. ‘Cruel?’ His hands curled into fists. ‘Cruel is standing by and watching my own mother drink herself to death. Cruel is then burying her years before I should have. And last but not least, cruel is being left with no choice but to bring up my baby sister on my own because of your selfish desire to kill yourself slowly!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ she whispered hoarsely, a hand fluttering over her chest and mouth agape. ‘I kicked the habit after Lolita—’ Pain washed over her face at Lolita’s name, her sentence going unfinished.

  He swallowed, anxiety building again. ‘Where is she, Mother? Where’s my sister?’

  He watch
ed his mother backpedal before she dropped weakly onto the sofa a few yards behind. ‘She’s dead.’ She lifted her head, face ashen. ‘Killed eighteen months ago by a hit-and-run driver under the influence of alcohol.’ She waved a hand in the air. ‘That’s when I gave up drinking for good and when you started your drug habit.’ She looked up, visibly confused and pained all in one. ‘But you know that.’

  ‘No!’ He shook his head. This was impossible, illogical. Senseless. He spun on his heel and threw open the front door, his mother shouting out his name behind him.

  Oh, god. Is she even my mother? Really?

  Her footsteps padded behind him, stopping at the doorway. ‘It’s the drugs, Jessie,’ she yelled hoarsely as he strode back to his Hummer and clutched open the door, ‘they’ve made you forget. They’ve done exactly what you hoped they would.’

  Sitting back in the driver’s seat with his mother’s slender frame silhouetted in the doorway of the house, he felt the tears come. His hands fisted on the steering wheel. In this time and place—this dimension?—his mother had given up the bottle because of her daughter’s death. In another dimension, despite having a son and daughter alive and needing her guidance, being abandoned by her husband had been the bigger issue, where only drinking could soften her reality.

  He forced back sweeping desolation. There’d be time for bleakness to overtake him later. He fired the motor and reversed out of the driveway. He had a long drive ahead, and questions that needed to be answered.

  ***

  It was after midday when he drove back into Mirraway, feeling little better than death warmed up. His eyes were gritty and burning, his concentration just about zero.

  What am I doing? I shouldn’t be driving. I should be damn well checking myself into a psychiatric hospital.

  He drove past the service station he’d called into on the way back to Sydney. On seeing it and not the ancient mechanic shop, he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or upset, or just plain angry that things had gotten to this point.

  Whatever was going on, he was here to find out. One way or the other.

  It seemed beyond surreal to be pulling in front of Tara’s small restaurant. He cut the engine and staggered out of his vehicle with his keys in hand. And even in his weary state he couldn’t help but smile when Tara came running out and flung herself into his arms.

  ‘You came back!’ she squealed. She sobered as she searched his face. ‘You’re exhausted. Come on, let’s get you inside.’

  Two men were sitting at separate tables, one enjoying steak and vegetables, another piling some kind of creamy pasta into his gob. Jessie’s mouth watered at the delicious scents and as Tara led him through the diner, into the kitchen and up the stairs, his belly suddenly growled.

  Tara clucked her tongue when he stumbled up the last step. ‘Jessie, you’re a damn wreck. What’s going on with you?’ She shook her head. ‘Wait, no. I don’t want to know. Well, not yet.’

  He managed a relieved smile. He didn’t have the energy or mental alertness just then to rationalise the bizarre events he’d undergone. Besides, would Tara believe him if he even did try and explain the unexplainable?

  Yes. He had a feeling she’d be one of the few who just might.

  She took hold of his forearm and pressed him through the lounge room with its black vinyl two-seater sofa and matching armchair. A large potted peace lily framed one side of a small, flat screen television.

  ‘You need to look after yourself better,’ she added softly, veering into a bedroom of soft moss green, and then into an ensuite in the same colour scheme.

  She took his keys from his hands and placed them on the vanity. Turning back, she began to unbutton his shirt. His arms didn’t seem to want to work when he tried to help; instead he swayed on his feet.

  She looked up. ‘You’re still in the same clothes,’ she chided throatily. ‘Am I a bad girl for wondering if I can smell sex on you still? Smell me on your clothes?’

  He closed his eyes, jaw clenching as his cock jerked into life. Seemed some parts of his body didn’t need to rest.

  Her soft hand brushed his bristle-roughened cheek. ‘I won’t take advantage of you, Jessie,’ she whispered, a smile in her voice. ‘I’m not that crass.’

  His eyelids flicked apart. ‘I wouldn’t complain.’

  Her laugh was like a balm to his senses; his shot nerves. She turned away to operate the shower lever and get the temperature right, and he managed to shrug off his shirt then unbuckle his belt, stepping free from his pants and boxers.

  The water temperature sorted, Tara’s stare returned to him before drifting down his body. She stilled on his substantial arousal before she tore her eyes away, a flush staining her face.

  She really was an enigma. Shy, self-conscious and caring one minute, sexy, passionate and impulsive the next. She was … perfect.

  ‘Have your shower,’ she said huskily, ‘I’ll get rid of my customers and come up as soon as I can.’

  He stepped into the shower stall, releasing a heavy, appreciative sigh at the cleansing heat pouring over him. ‘I don’t deserve you,’ he mumbled, ‘you know that, right?’

  At the silence, he turned around. She was already gone.

  Hands splayed on the tiled wall, he leaned forwards and closed his eyes, simply enjoying the feel of the hot water sluicing away the dirt, the sweat … the sex? And for a few moments at least, he felt revived, until the inescapable blanket of weariness descended over him once again, thick and suffocating.

  Shutting off the water, he grabbed a towel, half-heartedly drying himself even as he stumbled out of the ensuite and towards the big, inviting bed with its rose and leaf embroidered comforter and plump stack of pillows.

  All but tumbling on top of the bed, he didn’t take the time to snuggle under the covers. Pulling a pillow beneath his head, he closed his eyes and let the darkness fall around him.

  ***

  What the hell? What am I doing back here?

  The roof stretched endlessly in front of him, endlessly behind him. But it was even gloomier than he remembered; beyond creepy, with shadows looming all around and a heavy white mist creeping inexorably inwards.

  ‘Jessie!’

  His breath caught at someone calling his name. No. Not someone. ‘Lolli?’ He half-ran across the beam, in the direction of her voice. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Yes. Jessie, help me. Please, help me!’

  He ran faster, stumbling past the gaping holes with the ends of the ladders sticking through as though they were arms about to snatch and pull him under. ‘Where are you?’ he yelled, panicked now, his heart thumping in his chest. ‘Tell me where you are!’

  ‘Jessie, stop. I’m down here.’

  He fell to his knees at the next manhole, aware there was no ladder. Instead Lolita’s bloodied hands gripped the edges of the ceiling hole and she was slipping fast.

  She looked up at him, her green eyes burning in her face that was parchment-pale, when Jessie yelled, ‘Grab hold of me!’

  She managed to grasp one of his hands, then the other, but her delicate weight slowly, inexorably pulled him downward, his toes scrabbling for purchase on the beam behind him.

  Her long red-gold hair flared outward in a sudden and mysterious draught that somehow highlighted her fierce expression. ‘Don’t abandon me Jessie. You have to save me. Promise you’ll save me.’

  That was when he realised they weren’t alone. Far below, much farther than any ladder could possibly reach, their mother sat on the mustard-coloured chair, an empty bottle of wine beside her and another one in her hands. She stared straight ahead, twisting the bottle around and around in her hands, oblivious to what was unfolding above her.

  ‘Mother, help us,’ Jessie gasped.

  Lolita shook her head. ‘She can’t hear us, Jessie. She can’t hear us …’

  As his sister and everything around them began to fade, he yelled hoarsely, ‘I’ll save you, Lolita. I’ll save you!’

  ***


  He jerked awake with a gasp, his throat dry and his palms slippery. His pulse thundered in his ears when he peered at his hands in the darkness broken only a little by a half moon outside the open window.

  Sweat. That was all. Not blood.

  It was just a dream.

  And yet, somehow, he couldn’t shake the feeling his sister had come to him in his unconscious state.

  ‘I have to go back,’ he said aloud, his voice hoarse and somehow disconnected from this reality he lived.

  ‘Jessie, what’s wrong?’ Tara asked sleepily, lifting her head from the pillows and looking at first him, then the clock. ‘It’s two-thirty in the morning.’

  At the back of his mind he calculated the hours he’d slept. Near enough to fourteen. He sat, anxiety pulling at his gut with the feeling he needed to get back to the old house and into his own world … dimension … whatever the hell it was called. He turned to her shadowy profile. ‘It’s … nothing,’ he rasped. ‘Just a bad dream.’

  The mattress dipped as she reached out and flicked on the bedside lamp. Light pierced the room. She touched his arm and asked gently, ‘Are you okay now? You don’t look so good.’

  But his attention was no longer on Tara, his gaze drawn to something else entirely. A white fog seeped slowly under the bedroom door—not unlike his dream. Only this was reality.

  Her nose wrinkled. ‘What’s that smell?’

  Oh shit.

  ‘Tara,’ he said carefully, no longer ignoring the bad feeling he’d had from the moment he’d woken, ‘we need to leave. Your house is on fire.’

  ‘What?’ She bounced from the bed and onto her feet, her face ashen beneath the bright light pooling across the bed. ‘You’ve got to be fucking with me,’ she said hoarsely.

  But she knew as well as he did that this wasn’t even close to funny.

  She threw a long t-shirt over her nakedness, thrust on a pair of lace panties and grabbed her clutch purse. Jessie raced into the bathroom and dragged on his jeans before pocketing his car keys from the vanity. His mobile phone and wallet were still in the Hummer. And he had no time to waste dressing into anything else.