The Inevitability of Stars by Kathryn R. Lyster - Chapter Sampler

7/28/2019 The Inevitability of Stars by Kathryn R. Lyster - Chapter Sampler

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the

Inevitability ofStars

K ATHRYN R. LYSTER


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DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was

reported unsold and destroyed by a retailer.Neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment

for this book.

First Published 2013First Australian Paperback Edition 2013ISBN 978 174356049 5

THE INEVITABILITY OF STARS 2013 by Kathryn R LysterPhilippine Copyright 2013

Australian Copyright 2013New Zealand Copyright 2013

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Australia 2067.

This book is sold subject to the condition that shall not, by way of trade orotherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the priorconsent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in whichit is published and without a similar condition including this condition beingimposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in anyform. This edition is published in arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A..

This is a work of ction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either theproduct of the authors imagination or are used ctitiously, and any resemblanceto actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales isentirely coincidental.

Published byHarlequin Mira

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Nothing can help me but that beauty.

There was a dawn I remember

when my soul heard something from your soul.

I drank water from your spring

and felt the current take me.

Rumi


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Prologue

The day is hot, the air thick with the smells of the rainforest.

Trees, tangled and lusciously wrapped in vines, dwarf the humanswalking by. Two children lead the way, their steps fast and full

with delight. The boy runs ahead, bouncing off the path to stand

amid the snaking roots of a giant tree. The girl races to join him,

jostling to fit into the perfect arc up against the trunk where two

python-like roots, taller than the children, slither in opposite

directions, forming a smooth-skinned wall. She sticks her tongueout and pushes him to the left. He moves, giving in to her, giving

up his position.

This must be the oldest tree in the world, he says.

Says who? This isnt the whole world, you know.

He frowns and folds his arms. You dont know everything, Sahara.

Her fringe is sticky with sweat and she pushes the hair off herforehead with a chubby, mud-streaked thumb. Yeah, but one day I

will. Im gonna visit lots of other countries so I will know everything and

Ill always know more than you, so there. Sahara rests her head against

the tree and closes her eyes. We should listen for the worms inside the

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Kathryn R Lyster

Worms dont live inside trees. You made that up.

No I didnt. Theres worms in all plants, silly. I cant believe you dont

even know that.Rip tries to hear the rustling of worms inside the ancient tree.

He turns his left ear to the root, gritting his teeth against the cold

of its surface. He listens for a while, trying to hear behind the

layers of croaking frogs that seem to be all around him. I dont hear

anything, he says.

Rip, come on!His eyes snap open at his mothers voice. Hes alone now in the

roots of the tree and his foot catches on a stone as he tries to run

to join the others. Sahara reappears, her red jumper blurry in his

vision as his eyes fill with tears.

Youre not meant to cry, youre a boy, she says.

Rip stands up, sniffling as blood gathers under the nail of hisright big toe thats been pushed halfway back on itself.

Your mums calling us, Ill race you to the waterfall, Sahara says, her

shoes squishing down on layers of leaves and mud as she goes.

Rips eyes have dried and his mother holds his small foot underthe brackish water, pressing the nail back down into place.

I told you to wear shoes, she says.

Yeah, I heard her in the car. She said youd hurt yourself if you went

barefoot, Sahara calls out from the flat rock platform behind them.

Rip watches his mother take his foot out the water and place

it on her knee. She gathers up the ends of her skirt and folds the

material around his foot.

Is that better? She asks.

Rip nods and forces a smile; he wants her to wrap his whole

body up in the daisy print skirt and keep him there forever. This

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The Inevitability of Stars 9

Sahara splashes past them, heading for the place where the pool

becomes shallow and the water gathers speed before it plunges

over the edge.Were not meant to go that close!Rip warns her, causing his mother

to turn towards the girl.

Sahara hops out of the river and squats to the left of the

drop-off. She strokes the iron-red moss and laughs.

Were not allowed!Rip shouts, pulling his leg out of his mothers

lap.Youre such a wuss! she screams back, over the sound of the

falling water.

Stop it you two, Rips mother says, Sahara, come back here please.

Youre not my mother, so you cant tell me what to do, Sahara says.

She bends and crawls forward, closer to the cliff.

Rip looks to his mother, searching her mouth for signs of whatsabout to happen, but finds none so he sets his eyes on Sahara. He

walks, his toe stinging with the rush of water under the nail, but

he keeps on until hes next to her, closer to the waterfall than hes

ever been.

See, its not even scary, she says.

Rip grabs hold of her arm and takes another step forward. Saharashakes him off and steps closer now too, her right foot in front of

her left. Rip squints at the distance between Sahara and the edge,

where the rock disappears. Theres a strange, unfamiliar current

running through him, a thrill of adrenalin up his spine. He jumps

forward, past Sahara, and lands triumphantly, a metre from the

edge. He looks out at the expanse of bush, thick and jungle-like

from up here. He imagines all the birds and possums hiding in the

leaves and then he looks down into the deep ravine below. He feels

his head being pulled forward and he screams out for his mother.

Shes too late to catch her son and Rips cheek hits first, followed


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Kathryn R Lyster

Rip sees his mothers hands reaching for him, but something

happens before they can clasp him. He sees her moving, slipping

with the water to the gorge below.

Rips soul steps out of his skin. He is sucked up, beyond the clouds,

to a place of thick cream and syrup gold. There are no edges or

objects here, just a formless, nameless embrace. He calls for his

mother, a voice responds: You cannot follow her, you must go back,back down to Sahara. Rip wrestles with the voice, but the stroke of

a soothing wind overcomes him. You must stay with her, the voice

says. And, just as his mothers head dips below the surface, Rip

sees the canopy of forest whizz past him and the spread of rock

and river gets closer until hes suddenly returned to his small-boy

frame. He comes back into the searing pain in his face and the

shock of his eyes staring helplessly over a precipice.

Mum he says, but its too late.

They are well away from the water now, sitting together onSaharas jumper.

Sahara puts her hand on his knee and squeezes. Shes she just

fell.

Rip is frozen, his mouth too sore for words. A whip bird hops

in the undergrowth next to them, flitting among the branches.

Sahara moves closer to him at the sound of rustling. The birdpunctuates the silence with a cracking call, a long whistle and a

snapping, unforgiving flick at the end.

Rip wants to hear another bird calling back, but there is only

this one bird, calling out into the still, fading day. I reckon it lost its

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His busted-open cheek has stopped bleeding; he feels his heart-

beat there, where the bones are bruised and crying. Saharas hand

is still stuck, stranded, on his knee. They havent moved off therock, but hes thought about it, wondering if it takes longer to

walk back to the car or to bash a path through the bush to the

bottom of the waterfall.

Maybe shes turning into a mermaid down there, Sahara says.

Mermaids only live in the sea, even I know that, Rip says, the sky

blushing apricot and a flesh-coloured pink as the sun begins to set.

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Rip

Rip folds his bandaged wrists up against his chest, left on right, like

something he saw as a kid in a book on ancient Egypt. A mummi-fied pharaoh. Isnt that how they were arranged after death? His

eyelids grow heavy with the new shot of drugs swimming in

his veins.

Why are you here, Rip?

I dont know.

Do you remember what happened?Rip turns to face the nurse. The light around her is hazier

now; shes glowing in a strange yellow sort of way. His wounds

are aching. Pain pushes through the morphine fog thats got

hold of his brain, dull and throbbing like footsteps on the inside

of his skin.

Do you need more pain medication, is that it?He winces; its the agony but also the way her lips keep softly

rounding out his name like she knows him, like his stories matter

to her.

I knew your mother, young Rip. I know it happened a long time ago,

i h h did hi ?


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No. Rip rolls over, turning his back on the nurse, trying to

get free of the probing questions that are shaking up the kaleido-

scope inside him. Her. The way she sucked on her hair, the mustysmell of her skin, the pinkness of her tongue. Every way he turns,

searching for air and space in his mindhe finds only her. Older.

Younger. Laughing. Crying. Lost to him now.

Night creeps around the edges of the bed. When his eyes open,the curtains are drawn like mountains keeping out the light of a

fluorescent sun behind. The agony in his wrists is spiking, threat-

ening to burst at the carefully hand-sewn seams. He tries to say

something, but his voice is mute and only hot air rushes out of the

gaping hole his mouth makes.

Rip stretches his toes against the starched sheets that are pulledtight across his body like a straitjacket. His skin itches but he

cant scratch, not with the self-inflicted injuries. He kicks out of

the claustrophobic bedding and rests his feet on the cold floor,

wondering if his legs will hold him upright. Hes lain for three days

in the bed like a sick sloth, vomiting, crying, dreaming and slowly

coming round to the fact that his attempt to end his life failed.His steps are unsteady; the signals from brain to muscle mis-

firing after days of intravenous drugs. He walks towards the door,

wondering how much longer the night will stretch its darkness

across the sky. He catches a glimpse of a body in the bed next to

his, breathing in spurts. Rip walks on, trusting that his feet will

fall one in front of the other, they must he cant bear the con-

finement of the hospital bed a second longer. He moves slowly

with no rhythm, like a gangly puppy that does not yet know its

own legs. He looks up past his ankles to the faded white cotton of

his gown; his eyes burn with salty tears. He tries to lift his hands

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Kathryn R Lyster

Come on, love, back to bed.

He feels the hands of a nurse on his back, hes unsure which

one; they are still a blur of white uniforms and red smiles.Shes tended to him every night for days, but the morphine has

thinned the memory to the consistency of clouds. She ushers him

into his room and tucks the sheets firmly around him and under

the mattress.

The ward is quiet, except for the ticking of a large metal clock that

marks the passing of each excruciating second.

And then, Get your bloody hands off me, will ya? Who died and

made you God? I raised this kid and not you or none of the fancy white

coats are gonna tell me what I can or cant do around here, got it?

Rip glances over to the kerfuffle in the doorway where hisfather is jostling with a nurse. Dad, dont, he calls out.

His father saunters over to the bed, a can of Bundaberg Rum

and Cola in hand. Whats this then, boy?

Its nothing, Im fi ne, Rip says.

Well, you dont look bloody well fi ne to me. You look a right sorry

mess.Im not

Dont you bloody start. Youve caused enough trouble ending up in

here. Never thought Id be Jimmy Oatley with me bloody only son trying

to top himself. Jesus.

Rip pushes his untouched lunch tray over to his father. Jimmy

pierces the skin on a bowl of custard and scoops the yellow goop

into his mouth. He watches his father start on the fish and beans

thatve had the green steamed out of them.

Spose its about that wretched girl, then? Shes a rotter if ever I saw

one. Always was, always will be. She had a mouth on her like no girl

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You dont understand. Rip turns away from his father as he chews.

I got more of a clue than you, boy, Jimmy says. You been harping on

about her since she left you and its got you nowhere. Take a hard look atyourself, why dont ya? She dont want nothing to do with you, you need

to get that through that thick skull of yours.

Rip sits up against the pillows, breathing deeply with the effort.

I know I fucked up, okay?

Jimmy leans in close and grabs Rips face, squeezing his lips

together, holding tightly until saliva trickles down his chin. Riplooks into the red, engorged eyes of his father, the stench of rancid

booze engulfing them both.

Youre a no-hoper piece of shit, Jimmy spits. Youll never amount to

anything, you couldnt even kill yourself right. He lets go of Rips face

and bangs a fist against his chest. Youre dead to me, boy.

Memories wash over Rip like a crashing dumper out at Broken

Head when the surf s so rough it pulls him down and for that brief

momentsuspended underwater, salt and sand in every crevice

he wonders if hell ever make it back to the surface. Hes not really

asleep, not fully awake, floating somewhere in the abyss of hislife before, in a soup of his life with Sahara. Its too thick; theyve

known each other for so long. He thinks back to the day when it

all unravelled like a silkworms cocoon unpicked and destroyed by

childrens fingers

Theyre stretched out on the sand, limbs touching, hair knotted

and bleached from the long summer. Sahara is sleeping, her

cheek resting on his outstretched arm. His hand strokes her back,

running a finger along hot skin and under her bikini strap. Sand

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Kathryn R Lyster

of his body, right in so his chest is up against her and their legs

are entwined. Theres no room for even a breath of wind to come

between them now. Hes drowsy but he cant sleep, not with herlithe, tanned body laid out like this. He bends his head and smells

her: sunscreen, coconut and painttheres a dab of gold swiped

across her shoulder. Rip embeds his fingers in her messy sand-

blonde hair and parts the strands, pulling harder now, willing her

eyes to open.

She rolls over, squinting at the sun thats right above them. Hekisses her forehead. Swim? She pulls herself up onto her elbows.

Rip runs his tongue along her arm, starting at her wrist and

moving upwards to her neck, wetting her dry skin and tasting the

ocean. She frowns and stands up quickly. He watches her saunter

off towards the water, desperate to keep hold of the moment that

seems to be slipping away.Sahara!Rip jogs down to meet her at the shore, where foam is

already surging at her knees.

She pushes her unruly hair from her eyes and he takes her right

hand in his, heart pounding.

I love you, he says.

I know, I love you too. Im going in, my skins on fi re.She walks forward and Rip keeps hold of her hand, pulling her

back.

Just wait I mean Ah. Rip takes her other hand and grips it

firmly. If I dont say this now Ill never get it out. I think we should get

married.

A small wave slaps at their legs.

Say something. Rip steadies his hands at her waist, squeezing the

flesh around her bones to bring her back to him and his proposal.

Those words like caged birds released; he thought theyd fly but

theyve dropped like stones to the ground.

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volcanic rocks and pandanus trees. I cant, she says, turning away

to head towards the rocks.

Rip follows behind, kicking sand up with each step, hopingthat a miracle will swoop down and save him from whats unfold-

ing. His eyes are fixed on the creases just under the triangle of

shiny green material, where the full rounds of her ass meet her

long legs. He feels a pang in his body and runs to close the distance

between them. Im sorry, I didnt mean it, he shouts.

You did or you wouldnt have said it. Sahara jumps up onto the

rocks and keeps climbing higher, away from the beach.

Can you just stop? Its not a big deal, just forget I said it, okay? I just

got carried away. Please, come back down.

Sahara turns, her waist-length hair flying wildly in the breeze

thats starting to pick up. You dont get it.

Get what?

Get me, she says. Youre so happy to have this mediocre life, Rip, and

sometimes I just want to scream at the thought of spending the rest of my

life here.

Whats wrong with here?

Sahara throws her hands in the air, palms straining. Its notenough, its boring. Im so sick of everything. Ive lived in Byron my whole

life and I cant just stay here and rot in this town with

With me?

No, I mean, I dont know. Im an artist, Rip, I need to know about

the world. I need to be inspired. I want to do something with my life. I

want to be someone.Rip counts the boulders between them and looks up at her eyes

that are shining fairy wren-blue in the midday light. Her hair

wraps around her shoulders and coils at her hips.

Why cant you just be yourself? he says.

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Kathryn R Lyster

He can feel the air change, somethings brewing in the sky and

the beauty of the clear day is over.

Youre good enough as it is, you know you are. You dont need anyoneto tell you how to paint, youre already doing it.

Sahara shrugs. Its hard to explain, but it feels like you will never

know the depths of who I am. Theres this passion inside me, this yearning

for something and I cant get peace until I know what that is.

Rip feels dread envelop him; he looks up at the quickly gather-

ing clouds.I wish this day never happened, Sahara says, looking at the ocean.

What does that mean? Rip hears nothing but the wind rushing

in his ears. Hes mesmerised by her toes searching for the best way

down. He wants to grab her, pull her from the rocks and shake

this strange mood out of her.

Time slows as she nears the bottom, the beat of his heart bursts

loudly into his consciousness. Finally shes on the sand again, her

body in front of his.

I dont understand, he says.

Thats the whole point, Rip. We want different things. Sahara

smoothes the blue stone around his neck. Her eyes are teary. She

holds his face in her hands.

Dont do this, Sahara, Rip whispers as the first drops of rain fall

from the bruised sky.

A storm is coming; the clouds are thick and low like punched-up

marshmallow faces, contorting and screaming above their heads.

A flash of lightning far out to sea on the horizon, then thundercracks like a broken egg over the bay, fierce and deafening.

Were meant to be together, Rip says, his voice raised against the

turning weather.

No, its over, Rip, she says.

Th li h i i ld d l i S h h h li

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hard against his skin, then shes off, sprinting along the sand and

up the stone steps, stooping under the gnarled arms of the craggy

trees that line the cliff face. He sees her lit up as another bolt oflightning hits, closer this time. The sky unloads its offering just

as Sahara reaches Seven Mile Road and Rip dives into the waves.

The clock ticks on. A nurse shakes Rip gently from his fretful

imaginings. He feels her hands on him and they jolt him back to

his bed in the ward of the hospital.

Just breathe. There you are love. Big breath in, thats it. And another,

there you go.

Rip stares up at the nurse, shocked by the middle-aged face

thats nothing like Saharas. He flings the sheet off his drenchedbody. He needs his shoulder-length hair drawn back but theres

no band or string on either of his wrists like there should be, just

bandages and pain. The strands are caught up in the sweat on his

neck and face, stuck and annoying.Aaagh,I need to get out of here,

he says.

You just stay put, young man. This is the best place for you right now,

okay? Let me get you some water or some apple juice, thatll help cool you

off. Just sit up now, come on, thats it. She helps Rip up to sitting,

propping two pillows behind his back. Ill be back in a sec, you just

focus on that breathing, okay?

Rip nods, but his mind is planning other things. As soonas shes gone, he seizes the drip in his hand and jerks it out of

his skin. He stems the rush of blood with his singlet and forces his

body out of the bed.

He yanks his legs into his jeans, finds his boots and hurries out

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Kathryn R Lyster

In the bus shelter on Shirley Street, Rip sits to catch his breath.

The worlds spinning too fast. The late-afternoon sun shines right

into his eyes and his stomach turns at the smell of dried blood onhis jeans. He watches the cars pass bywhite, black, red, red, red,

silver, blue, whitefeeling he could be here forever if he doesnt

move soon. His body doubles over and acidic bile splatters on the

concrete. His torso cramps. The hammering of tyres on tar is

hurting now, his head pounds and he needs water.

In a daze Rip heads for the only place he can remember,tripping occasionally along the well known route. He ends up

next to a weather-beaten post box emblazoned with the number

twenty-five. He makes it down the garden path before heaving

again, this time on the red tendrils of a banksia that has lived

longer than he has. He strips off his dirty blue singlet and wipes it

over his mouth and chin. Rip steps out of his boots onto the plushlawn. The grass sends shivers up into his body, cooling the heat of

drugs in his system.

Fighting the urge to collapse and bury his face in the ground,

he pushes the front door open and stands, weary, in the doorway.

The slipping sun catches on a glass frame opposite the door, a

family portrait that takes him by surprise. Hed forgotten. Ripsees her faceshes six, hair cropped short like a boy. How he

longed to be part of the portrait and the family in it that felt

so much better than his own. He wanted to belong but didnt.

After dinners and picnics at the beach, Rip had to march his small

legs home to the chilling emptiness of his fathers house. Now,

years later, the yearning is different. Rip goes up close to the

photograph and touches Saharas face. He covers her with a thumb

and sighs.

Even in the semi-dark, Rip knows the way: past the bathroom,

across the kitchen and second door on the left. He turns the

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inhales. Like an old trunk locked for decades, the room gives up

its secrets. He falls onto the single bed and sinks into the soft worn

covers, scrunching the pink pillowcase against his face. Where isshe? He touches the scar on his cheek, running his fingers into

the dented tissue. It feels a part of him now, like he imagines the

sores on his wrists will one day merge into his body, be absorbed

and finally accepted.

Music wakes him, gongs sounding and deep chanting voices. He

leaves the room, rubbing his eyes, his body feeling like cement.

He turns the corner and bumps into a life-size angel statue that has

moved into the hallway since he was last in the house, her open

hands offering up an array of shining gemstones. The chanting

male voices echo in his brain as he finds his way to the kitchen.A woman looks up from a battered mixing bowl where shes

furiously beating together sugar and butter. Sun streams in through

the dusty lace curtains. Rip can hear the whip of her spoon under

the music.

Rows of bangles and purple crystal bracelets knock against the

bowl. Well, if it isnt Jesus Christ himself, risen from the dead.Morning, Jan, Rip says.

Thought Id let you sleep it off, she says. Im making you a cake, your

favourite.

Rip tries to smile, but he cant quite find the right emotion to

guide the muscles. How did you know I was here?

Well, the puke in my garden was a dead giveaway. I checked on you a

few times in the night, to make sure you were, you know

Rip blushes. Sorry, its the drugs. They really knocked me.

She stops stirring. So how are you anyway? He takes in the

familiar clutter, the assortment of Jans deities, fairy statues and

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Kathryn R Lyster

Well, obviously I tried to kill myself, so I dont really know how

to answer that question. A small blue figure smiles at him from a

wooden altar on the wall, set either side with frangipani flowers.You can light that candle if you want. She points to a box of matches

next to him.

I remember you used to tell us about this guy, but I dont remember

his name.

Oh, that theres Krishna, hes an Indian one. Go on, light the candle.

What does it mean if I do?Jan stops stirring. It means anything you want it to mean, love.

We can all do with a bit of wishing and hoping in life. Thats what

I reckon.

But you always used to tell us about all these rituals, every day it all

had to be done the same way.

Well, I was a silly old fool then, wasnt I? Jan cocks her head.You need to start deciding what life means, rather than waiting for it to

decide for you. Thats yourproblem, love.

Rip puts the matches down next to the candle, unlit. He sees

the arch of Saharas eyebrows in her mothers face.

Itll be all right, come here, come on.Jan opens her arms and pulls

Rip into her, stuffing him right up against her body. Youll getthrough this, I know you will, you hear?

Rip breathes in the heady mix of perfume, cocoa and lavender

oil. No one has held him for a long time. I feel like if you let go Ill

break, he whispers.

You may bend, but you will never break, Rip Oatley. There is a gift

in everything, even this.

She lets him go and he feels the loss of her warmth already,

like hes been tossed back into the void. He watches her open a

packet of flour and measure two cups into a sieve. She spills the

fine white powder on the bench top.

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in the oven. The voices drone on and on in circles of unrecogni-

sable words that probe deeply into him.

Please, the music, Rip says.Of course, love. Silly me, blasting the Tibetan Monks to high heaven

and here you are feeling like a dogs breakfast. What do you want? Rain-

forest sounds, whale song, Ive got some lovely Celtic instrumental.

He shakes his head. Hed forgotten about the erratic sound-

scape of Saharas home.

Silence it is then, Jan says, turning off the stereo. You lie on thecouch and cover up with that blanket. There you go, get comfy, love, after

what youve been through.

He nestles into the couch, relieved. He hears her talking, but

sleep pulls him under and theres nothing he can do to resist the

undertow.

I am deserving of Love. I am an infinite being of limitless poten-

tial. I am light. I have the ability to heal my own body. I know

what love feels like, in every cell of my being. I nurture myself

every day in every way. I create my reality with happy thoughts.

My mind is positive and clear. I welcome abundance into my life.Rip shuts the book and tosses it aside. He runs his fingers over the

gap on the bookshelf where Jan pulled it out for him. He reads

the titles: You Can Heal Your Life, Multi-dimensional Reality, Change

Your Thoughts and Change Your Life, Resting in the Heart. Jans book-

shelf towers over him, the books are arranged in colour order so

that a rainbow, red to purple, flows down to meet him. He lies

back on the carpet. Do these actually work?

As true as anything on earth, Jan says. Its all available in every

moment. Were evolving, you know. Better times are ahead.

Rip shakes his head. I hear that a lot around here and I dont really

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Kathryn R Lyster

Jan studies him curiously. What are you going to do? I mean weve

had this talk a thousand times. You know shes not coming back.

I know, I just had to get out of the hospital and I sort of ended up here.Rip presses his lips together; theyre chapped and crusted at the

sides. He chews on the inside of his cheek to quell the pain in his

wrists.

I heard you got hooked on the weed. I wish Id done something, I just

didnt know things were as bad as that.Jan shakes her bracelets back

into place.I didnt either until they were, I guess. Rips bottom lip is

trembling, he clamps down on it with his teeth as tears well up

in his eyes.

Its hard kiddo, I know. Youve had a rough trot but you need to make

a plan for your future and get on with things. Its time to move on.

Rip looks over Jans shoulder to the giant canvas hanging on thewall behind her. Its late in the afternoon and the light isnt quite

bright enough, but the strokes left by Saharas brush take him by

surprise. He peers into the white streaks of paint, mingling and

rising up into the bold outline of a unicorn. Hed watched her

paint this one, he remembers the curve of her back bent over the

floor, slung with an old pink dress. Her skin was pale, it mustvebeen winter. She was crouching, the arches of her feet exposed to

him. She wouldnt talk, or couldnt, until the creature was out of

her and he was spellbound, seeing the rise and fall of her brush,

her breath, witnessing it all move through her.

Do you miss her? he asks.

Of course, what do you think? Shes my only child. I miss her but

thats life. You teach your kids to have wings, so you gotta let them spread

those wings out and use them. Shell be back, I know it. This land is in

her bones, its a part of her. Its magic and that magic will call for her when

the time is right, but for now shes exploring. We both have to be okay

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Rip sighs, turning his body away from the soft black eye of

the unicorn. I couldnt live with all of Saharas paintings around me like

this. A pang of guilt strikes him. I, ah, I burned the ones she gave me.A few days before I did this to myself.

He holds out his wrists for his own inspection and the wounds

seem to smart, to suck in under his gaze like oysters in lemon

juice. They respond to him and it turns his stomach.

Do you want me to do a tarot reading for you, love? Jan asks.

Im getting very accurate readings with my clients at the moment, Im inthe fl ow.

Rip looks from his wrists to Jans purple cardigan, the unicorn

looming behind. Not really, he says.

Jan bends down to where hes sitting on the carpet. She tucks

his hair behind his ears and rests a palm on his forehead. Sometimes

we have to hit rock-bottom before we get the message. Thats all this is.These bandages, the drugs, its just the bottom, okay? Theres always a

reason, even if we cant see it.

Rip feels the tug of something pulling at him, from the inside

and it scares him. But what if its just a mistake, like what if I was

actually meant to die?

The word hangs in the air between them.Then youd be dead, simple as that. Jan kisses the crown of his

head. It wasnt your time, youre still here and the rest is a mystery.

So you think everything happens like its meant to, then? This big plan

for our lives just rolls out before us and we have no say in anything? No

control over what happens?

Jan pauses. Its both at the same time. Its the plan of the creator and

what your soul came here to experience and its also your own free will

and choice.

But it cant be, that doesnt make sense. It cant be both. Rip stretches

his neck and looks to the ceiling.

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Kathryn R Lyster

A beat reverberates from the rocks at the end of Main Beach,

spinning the air with threads of drums and sound. The gathering

crowd is loosening up, giddy with the spontaneous cacophonyof instruments at sunset. Rip stares out over Belongil Beach;

dogs zigzag into the waves, fetching sticks and racing along the

sand, tongues lolling out. Around him, the rocks are littered with

people watching the slow turning of the sky to pink over the vista

of ocean and the hills behindMount Warning in the distance,

an impressive volcanic peak. The drummers pound out theirtune; Rip has his back turned to the gathering of people dancing,

vibing and soaking it all in. This is what they came to Byron Bay

for, but Rip just wants to disappear.

A joint appears in front of him. He lets it pass into his hands,

the smoke into his lungs, the day slides away.

Rip!A young girl with bright auburn hair crashes into him,burying her head in his neck, her knees squeezing at his waist.

Oh my god, what happened to you? Are you okay?

Nothing, Im fi ne, Rip says, waiting for the last tip of the sun

to sink.

She takes the joint from him. Im super glad to see you.

Its all good, Im heaps better. Rip squirms out of the warmclutches of her body.

Course you are, good as new. Here, have a swig on this Crownie. Kai,

bleached by the sun, passes his longneck beer to Rip. Stop getting

so heavy, Vi, hes fi ne, just chill out.

Violet kicks her foot against her boyfriends surf board. Piss off,

Im allowed to be upset, okay? He practically almost died and you dont

even give a shit and hes meant to be one of your best mates.

Rip finishes the beer and sets the bottle against a rock. He gets

up and walks away from the arguing couple, back to the throng

of people jiving around the drummers. Every night the samea

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some he knows, most are strangers: tourists, families, hippies. Lots

of dreadlocks, flowing clothing and arms weaving in the air. Rip

sniffs incense on the wind; its coming from one of the many vanslined up in the car park for the night. He glances over to an orange

VW, overflowing with youngsters not much older than himself

sharing a loaf of white bread and stick of butter, some eating on

the mattress in the back, others leaning out of the van. The space

under the mattress is filled with a frying pan, toilet rolls, towels,

mud-crusted shoes, boardies, cooking oil, a bag of tired, over-ripetomatoes and a few well worn books. The dashboard is covered

in drying flowers, feathers and loose CDs; crystal pendants hang

from the rear-view mirror and a guy inside the van smiles at him.

Caught out, Rip looks away and moves deeper into the crowd,

past the drummers and to the edge of the rocks. He wants their

freedom, their resilience to be able to go somewhere new, but hedoesnt have the guts. He glances across at Main Beach winding

into Clarkes, and then The Pass stretching to the lighthouse thats

just begun to seep its light over the bay.

Shes long gone from here, but everything reminds him; even

the glow from the headland spilling into the coming night sparks a

memory of their bodies sheltering from the wind, his arms envel-oping her. Inanimate objects, animals, faces, the well trodden

streets and corners of their youth sing to him still, of her. There

are no blank spaces for Rip around here. He stuffs his hands into

his pockets at the sound of his name being called and joins the line

of his mates leaving the beach with their skateboards, surfboards,

beers and dogs.

The knock at the door brings cheers from everyone but Rip who

stays slouched on the couch as the pizza boxes arrive in the room

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from the box, elastic stringy cheese stretching then snapping, and

hands it to Rip. He waves away the food and blinks at the TV

screensurfers catching monster waves off a coast somewhere.Thats heaps epic! Yeew! Are you seeing this guy, Rip?

Rips grunts.

Its this new kid, heaps young too. From up north, the Sunny Coast.

Rip pulls his black hoodie off and instantly the chatter drops

off around him. All eyes are on him, awkward and unsure.

Kai is the first to speak. Thats pretty rough, dude, he says,staringat the hospital bandages that are now grubby and discoloured.

Youre okay now though, right?

Rip feels the uncertainty in those words. His eyes are locked

with Kais, briefly, before others cut in and offer their well wishes.

Everyone, Im totally fi ne. It was just a mistake and Im better.

Its all good.Where are you sleeping? Kai asks. You can crash here if you want.

Rip stands quickly. Im gonna head now, maybe see if my old mans

around. Or Ill sleep in my van. No stress, Ill work something out.

Rip side steps his way out, desperate for air and the anonymity

of the dark outside.

His fathers house is quiet. Rip hovers by the back fence, breath-

ing in the night. He hears the bats in the palm tree above, their

chatter noisy as they claw at fruit. He breathes out. Why does life

have to be so hard? Whats the point? A shower of fruit falls down

around him.

A light flicks on inside the house, Rip hears movement. The

back door slams. He crouches down and stays perfectly still like

prey, hidden by the shadow of the palms, the familiar quiver of fear

in his throat. His fathers footsteps approach. Gunfire explodes in

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see his fathers breath, steamy in the cold night and the shaking of

his hand that clasps the old rifle. The ghostly creatures flap over

Rips head. He holds his breath.Rats of the skies, those things. Nothing but pests, they are, Jimmy

mutters to himself. He staggers back inside the house.

Rip waits for the porch light to flick off again then picks up a

lifeless black bat. He finds a plank of wood and digs a shallow hole

in the ground around the base of the tree. He places the animal

carefully, wings folded up, and fills the hole in with sand. Rip patsthe grave then covers the small mound with fallen palm fruit. He

curses his father.

Rip pushes his hoodie into the soil, plumping it into a feeble

pillow. The moon is high and almost full; thin wisps of cloud float

across the top of the shining silver sphere and tiny pin-dot stars

glimmer around it. Rip lies down, shivering.

Jimmy strikes his son swiftly on the side of his head.Get up, he growls.

What the hell do ya think youre doing camping out here like a criminal?

The days well on its way and Rip crawls to his feet. He dusts

the sand and dry grass off his jeans, feeling a sudden compulsionto vomit.

Answer me. Jimmy grabs Rip roughly by the arm.

Nothing, I just fell asleep.

Creeping around, were ya?

Rip shakes his head, remembering the gunshots last night.

I told you not to come back here and I meant it, you hear? Go inside,

pack your stuff and clear off. Im going to a job and thered better be no sign

of you here when I get back.

Rip follows his father across the garden where life has given up;

the plants his mother carefully tended have long since conceded

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Kathryn R Lyster

house. He steps through the back door, remembering the beds of

birds of paradise, red geraniums and climbing jasmine that used to

run along the exterior walls. Jimmy exits through the front door.Rip jumps as it slams shut.

The small weatherboard cottage, beaten down by the tropical

rain of the bay and years of neglect, is the only home Rips ever

known. Paint is peeling off the walls in big mustard-coloured

welts where water has leaked through the ceiling during down-

pours. The brown carpet is stained and thick with a coat of mudand who knows what else. The blinds have been closed for the

twelve years since the funeral, blocking out the world. Theres

no sign of his mother in here, no photographs, none of her paint-

ings. Rip peeks into his fathers bedroom: mounds of clothes, an

unmade bed and a cupboard with a few coathangers.

Rip swigs from an orange juice container in the fridge.The kitchen walls are flecked with stains that are yellow, brown.

The counter is covered with beer bottles and rum cans, too many

to count; dead cockroaches lie upturned and the garbage bin is

overflowing.

Rip abandons the kitchen for his bedroom. The single bed

looks smaller than usual, too small for him now. In the cornerstand his old school desk and bookshelf, still laden with textbooks.

Somehow I grew up but this place stayed the same, he thinks.

Rip pulls a bag out from under the bed and throws it on the desk.

The contents of the room mean nothing to him but the task of

packing helps to still the anxiety, so Rip begins to fold up his

clothes. A dozen T-shirts, two pairs of jeans, another hoodie, two

boardies, tracksuit pants, his Converse, a spare pair of work boots,

two flannel shirts, a cap and thats it. He tips the drawer of undies

and socks on top and zips up the bag.

He hoists it onto his shoulder and walks out, then stops and

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and goes to the bed where he feels under the mattress. He pulls

out a stash of photos, almost twenty years old. They are the only

record of his mother, ends singedevidence of the fire his fatherlit after the funeral to burn the remnants of his wife: all photo-

graphs, her clothes, everything that reminded him of her, he

burned it all in a backyard bonfire that called police to the house.

Rip pulled these raggedy few from the fire, right before the whole

lot was consumed by the flames.

The shiny photographic paper reveals her in angles that nevershow her face. He sees her pregnant, swollen belly silhouetted in

the sun, the side of her ear and hair, staring at the ocean. She is

there, but not fully. Rip fiddles under the mattress again and his

hand finds the small wooden box. Inside are his mothers posses-

sions, pulled off her after they fished her body from the pool at

the base of the waterfall. A gold wedding band. Dolphin earringswith moonstone inlays. A hanky embroidered with the letter A.

Theres something else under the bed. Rip grits his teeth and

bends down one last time, searching for the small figurine. He

finds it; the plastic replica of Saharas horse she always had with

her. The little black horse toy went wherever she didto school

in her pencil case, to the beach wrapped in her towel, to Christ-mas dinner in her pocket. Hed found it a few weeks after she

left for Sydney, at the bottom of a handbag shed forgotten at his

house. Rip shoves the horse in his pocket before he disappears

into a vortex of old memories.

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The Inevitability of Stars by Kathryn R. Lyster - Chapter Sampler

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