Prologue

      Kensington, Melbourne, June 1974.

      Jared could never quite understand why Sarah was so frightened. As he looked through the small grubby window towards the factory on the other side of the street, it didn’t fill him with any anxiousness at all. The dark, deeply shadowed three storey shoe factory was striking, yes, but not angry or malevolent. It wasn’t waiting to leap out and eat them as his sister was convinced it would.

      He leaned over and stroked her hair. “There’s nothing to be scared of.” She continued to sob. “Shush, I’ll stay right here, but you don’t want Dad to come in.” Genuine foreboding touched his voice though he tried to keep it hidden from her.

      She lifted her head slightly, the blanket still pulled down tightly over her head. “It’s going to get me.” Her voice quavered, and Jared’s heart leapt with compassion.

      Leaning closer he met her eyes with calm resolve. “I’m staying right here. If it comes it has to get through me first.” He felt her hand reach for his and she burrowed deep into the covers. “But Sarah, it won’t happen, the warm light will come soon and everything will be ok.”

      Between sobs, she choked out a few words. “How long?”

      “Just a few minutes now.” It was at least half an hour away, but she didn’t have a watch and if it served to calm her then Jared thought the lie was worth it.

      Looking out of the small bedroom window he could see the angry building framed against the dark night sky. The few dull street lights only increased the shadows of the factory's windows and made it look more menacing. It was the dead of winter and the deep mist that shrouded everything only heightened the sense of foreboding. It didn’t make him anxious though; the emotions he gleaned from it were more to do with sadness, a peculiar sensation that he couldn’t quite explain.

      It was cold in their tiny bedroom and he shivered involuntarily, looking back at his bed longingly. Without releasing Sarah’s hand he reached backward for the quilt that draped down to the floor. He’d stay with her until she slept and if she was still awake at 10pm, he’d show her the tiny light as he always did, and tell the story he’d made up to calm her.

      Jared wasn’t angry or annoyed with Sarah; he loved her, he empathised with her fear, and he could see how the building could make her feel that way. As he stared at the depths of the shadows and wondered what was in there, he missed the soft creaking of the floorboards. It was a tiny nuance he’d trained himself to hear, but this time it didn’t register.

      The bedroom door sprung open and the figure of his father loomed over him. There was no empathy in the posture or bearing, only a vicious anger. Jared shrank back, startled. Though he wanted to dive away, he didn’t release his sister’s hand. Instead he did what he always did if he was caught out of bed, though the action terrified him; he lifted his head in mock defiance. That way he’d be the target of the man’s rage, not Sarah.

      The voice, when it sounded, seared through Jared, rattling every fiber of his being. “What are you doing out of bed?” Though David’s voice was calm, almost sweet, the belt in his hand, folded in half, came down in a powerful stroke across Jared's shoulder. The sound was impossibly loud, crackling around the room, and a searing pain swept down Jared’s back. “Answer me, you little shit! How many times do I have to tell you to stay away from her?”

      Retreating to that place deep inside where a tiny part of him felt protected, the rest of him faced the vicious rage of his father. He sobbed out a stammering reply, “I’m sorry, Dad, we were just talking. I was trying to be quiet.”

      The booming voice bore into him relentlessly. “When I tell you to go bed, that’s what you do!”

      Sweeping down, the hulking bear of a man grabbed Jared’s pajamas by the collar and threw him towards his bed. The buttons ripped and the boy struck the wall next to his bed before falling limply onto the narrow mattress. He was stunned and disoriented for a moment as wind was driven from his lungs. Though shocking, confronting, and horribly frightening, this wasn’t the first time he’d been attacked like this.

      Though his neck seared with pain and his thoughts were muddled and chaotic, Jared quickly flipped over and dove under the covers, facing the wall. To have lain still or cowered once he landed only inflamed his father further and provoked more whips of the belt or worse. If he cried, the shouts of ‘cissy’ or ‘fag’ ensued and the blows went from coldly delivered to berserk. Jared had learned very early, via concussion and broken bones, what provoked the escalating tirades. Now, as he often did in these moments, he thought of his mother, those vaguely remembered images of an angel. The now blurred memories gave him a little more fortitude.

      Then reality returned. Despite facing the basest and most vile of treatment there was no anger, rage or bitterness in the boy, and the reason for that was Sarah. Throughout his childhood, his father had been completely indifferent to her, ignoring her almost totally. His unrelenting, irrational anger and disdain was always on Jared. While that continued, while Sarah was safe, he could deal with everything else that was thrown at him. She loved him without question; she was his safe harbour in this horrible storm.

      He lay very still, staring at the wall, but though there were no shadows or creaking of the floorboards, he knew his father was close. Next to him a alcohol laden voice whispered with silky venom. “If I hear you move in here again, I’ll beat you so can’t move, then I’ll tie you up to the clothesline and you can rot there all night.” There was a brief pause. “Do you understand me, boy?”

      Without turning to face him, Jared replied quickly and solemnly, “Yes I do, Dad. I’m sorry.”

      Again there was a pause, and at the sound of footfalls, Jared thought that his father was leaving. He risked a furtive look over his shoulder and saw with a sharp stab of fear that David was still lingering over him. Against the dim light cast by the hall light he saw movement, and his father seemed to swell in darkness towards him.

      The open handed blow that hit him in the back of the head was shocking, not for the pain, but because this was new. Once Jared had quietly and dutifully acquiesced to his father’s demands that was always the end of the violence. Often there was another verbal threat as he departed, spat out through slurred words, but that was always it. The slap from the base of his father’s hand was hard enough to thrust Jared’s head deep into the pillow and cause his thoughts to swim unsteadily.

      Genuinely stunned and terrified now, Jared had enough composure left to lie completely still. Next to him Sarah sobbed quietly, her ragged breath serving to focus his thoughts. With the most profound relief he heard the bedroom door slam shut and the sound of heavy footfalls retreated down the short corridor. Jared let his breathing relax and with enormous concentration he tried to reach past the sound of the deafening blow that still seemed to hammer through his mind.

      Eventually he regained composure. Sarah’s sobs faded and he knew she’d drifted into sleep. It was then that he finally allowed his own feelings to swell up, and facing into the pillow he cried uncontrollably. Within the overwhelming emotions there was nothing for him to long for. There was a vague image of his mother long gone, but this was all the life he knew. The only good thing in his life was his sister, and for her he would endure.

      Looking across the room, dimly lit by the streetlight outside, Jared stared at her narrow cot, relieved that she hadn’t been exposed to this new violence. He felt sick though; a terror that engulfed him and no matter where he tried to place his thoughts it would not be quelled.

      As the fear continued to swell within him he couldn’t lie still. His eyes were drawn to the bedroom door and through the murky darkness it seem to swell and open repeatedly. Risking the wrath of his father, he rolled out of bed and backed up to the window. If his father came back, he’d drop to his knees. At least then he’d know when the blow would hit.

      Minutes passed and no movement disrupted his frantic vigil.