CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

The loudish pop of a Christmas bon-bon brought lighthearted cheers from Ethel and Lyle Bartholomew. Mitch was compelled to join the celebration, although it felt rather odd to him. He hadn’t celebrated the holiday with family for nearly twenty years, and most since had been spent overseas in a country not known to observe the occasion. Regardless, he delicately unfolded the paper crown the bon-bon contained and placed it on his head. He felt ridiculous but not as ridiculous as Lyle looked from across the table. They were worn for Ethel.

Earlier in the week Mitch bumped into her at the supermarket. Having seen the packets of frozen dinners and ready to eat meals piled into his shopping basket Ethel politely reminded him of their traditional Christmas Eve dinner he’d been attending for the past two years.

“You don’t remember them do you Mitch?” she asked knowing full well he didn’t. How could he? His timeline had been different to hers since July 1990.

“Is there anything I need to know Ethel?”

“Usual time, six o’clock, we always do a roast and tend to watch the carols on the television later in the evening.” She neglected to mention anything about the ridiculous paper hats.

As a child Christmas was a happy time for Mitchell. His brother and parents would celebrate all week, Brian even taking time off work to be with the family. A summer holiday would usually follow and it was always Mitch’s favourite time of the year. After his fathers death, then his mothers, Mitch worked through most Christmases - the money was great - and whilst abroad spent the majority of the season in bars with other expatriates. Without his family the holiday had lost its meaning.

The Bartholomew’s atrium was decorated with sparking gold and silver tinsel and colourful baubles slung across the window frames and doorways. Predictably, a live Christmas tree sat in one corner emitting a series of twinkling lights. Earlier, as Mitch accepted a freshly poured beer from Lyle, he sank back into a comfortable rattan chair and the memories of those Christmases past came flooding back. On reflection, perhaps the ridiculous paper hats weren’t so bad after all.

Ethel’s table was decorated beautifully with candles and holly, with a large turkey resting under a ceramic cloche taking pride of place as a centrepiece. Lyle was instructed to carve the bird and judging by the meat’s tenderness, Ethel had timed its oven time perfectly. They all enjoyed a lovely dinner together. Ethel and Lyle were excited with Megan and the children visiting tomorrow, and of Alison enjoying her fourteenth white Christmas in New York. At one point Lyle even suggested Ethel and he make the journey to America next year to celebrate with their oldest daughter. Because that is what Christmas is about: family.

Mitch thought of his brother, ashamedly the first time in a long while, and what he would be doing for the holiday. He had no idea where he was and even if he wanted to get in contact again. Wouldn’t even know where to start. Given the lovely night he thought what a pity they’d lost contact with each other.

Sarah on the other hand would be at home with her mother and Christina: undoubtedly enjoying a lavishly cooked meal and preparing for the next day. How many Christmases had Christina spent in her wheelchair now and how many presents had she gone without. No swing sets, no bikes, no toys other than those fitting into her lap. The past five weeks were difficult for Mitchell with Sarah. He’d tried avoiding her as best he could, he couldn’t keep getting close to her, but he couldn’t ignore her entirely after the special night they shared at his house. It was a night he would remember forever and one they both deserved. But so much had happened since.

Kym Ho and Thi Mai had been to Australia, and Albert had fallen in love for the second time with the same woman. Determined now to return to Vietnam and start a new life with her. What a difference those four days made to Albert. His conviction in leaving the past alone had once been so solidly determine Mitch felt he would never be swayed. That had all changed now; Albert wanted to spend his remaining years with Kym Ho. Mitchell wouldn’t deny him that chance any longer. He wasn’t certain the plan would work but had to try. For Albert.

But he needed to help Christina.

As the Carols came on the television, and they all sat down to enjoy their pudding on the lounge - so uncouthly for Ethel - Mitchell decided he couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer. He would make the run to save Christina tomorrow then focus his attention on helping Albert by destroying the plate forever. The slim notion of reuniting with Julian was fading. Thi Mai’s wise counsel showed him it was time to let it go.

Mitch finished his pudding softly humming Christmas carols to himself while the Bartholomew’s sang them with vigour. It was getting late and Mitch had made up his mind. After thanking them both for a lovely evening he politely took his leave; promising to pop by in the afternoon to see Megan and the children. Mitch wished Ethel and Lyle a very merry Christmas then left.

Peanut stirred when he returned home and refrained from raising her eyebrow as he poured himself a scotch. He would only have the one because tomorrow he would be up early to run seventeen kilometres.

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5.00 am Mitch bound out of bed. He’d been up for an hour, so excited he couldn’t sleep. He likened it to the night before a big fun run...but this wasn’t going to be fun.

He dressed and left the house quietly, the sun only an ominous orange glow on the eastern horizon. He was nervous and lightly stretched his arms and legs on the way to the plate. Mitch didn’t have the running app today only his watch, and worked the equation again though his mind. Checking he knew every detail: seventeen point two kilometres, eighty-six minutes, five minutes per kilometre to safely arrive at the school on time.

At the plate Mitch recalled the cyclonic storm hitting his office in Kuala Lumpur and with one step, found himself in the afternoon sunshine of September 2007. He took a deep breath, depressed the stopwatch on his watch and set off running.

The streets were busy, it was midafternoon now, the serenity of an early Christmas morning gone the moment he stepped off the plate. In a way that helped him focus and he easily entered the steady running pace he’d been training at. Approaching the shopping centre bustling and full of life, he checked his watch to see the digits ticking past.

0:05:03. On time. Perfect pace.

The car park was a sea of vehicles and Mitch cut diagonally through them trying to save valuable seconds. Darting between parked cars while dodging the moving ones. On the other side he slipped into a rarely seen path cutting through the thick vegetation and immediately forced to duck under some low hanging tree branches. His heavy strides snapped twigs on the ground forcing his feet to find balance between the smooth car park and rough bush path. He’d used the track before in training but the vegetation seemed thicker today casting less light on the path. His concentration increased, careful not to lose his step, and shortly after entering he emerged onto a paved footpath adjoining the main road.

He checked his watch. 0:08:40.

Mitch knew the footpath went all the way to the bridge a little over four kilometres away. He pinned his ears back, steadied his breathing once more, and entered a running tempo practised many times for this section of the trip. The sky was very bright now, cloudless and blue, and a procession of cars passed him hurriedly as he progressed mechanically along the straight stretch of road. The running was rhythmical and with the exception of a small hill slowing him slightly, Mitch maintained his pace and breathe until reaching the turnoff for the bridge.

As discovered months before, the footpath hugging the road for kilometres deviated through a cutting in the bush re-emerging one hundred metres at the other end to intersect the suspended walkway underneath the road bridge. Mitch followed the path accordingly, increasing his pace slightly on the downhill slopes then joined the footbridge after navigating two large steel bollards placed in the middle of the path.

He soon saw the quiet water of the river below perfectly still and glasslike. Not a breath of wind. Only the precision landing of a pelican disturbed the peacefulness. Its enormous wingtips breaking the water before its webbed feet softened its fall. The bird effortlessly broke into a paddle leaving only a small wake in its path. The sun bounced from the fractured surface reflecting off the bridges’ concrete pylons. But there was no time to enjoy the view and he darted his eyes forward ensuring nothing was in his path to slow him.

Like the many times before, Mitchell’s footsteps landed heavily on the deck reverberating off the concrete above. They seemed louder though today, perhaps due to the idle traffic on the roadway above. While he couldn’t see it Mitch knew the road was chocked with a jam of cars and trucks caused by an accident further up the road. They would be there for at least another hour.

He checked his watch. 0:32:45

From the downloaded map and his own investigations Mitch knew this path looped back under the bridge to re-emerge on the opposite side of the road before creeping up the steep hill. But Mitch had found a bush track spearing off to the left immediately after the bridge winding around the riverbank. It was a shorter route leading at a set of stairs built into a rock crevice a few kilometres further up. The stairs led to a fire trail which in turn lead to streets at the back of Sarah’s suburb. It was the shortcut he initially calculated would save over one and half kilometres from the run.

At end of the footbridge Mitch turned left without hesitation and headed toward the bush track entrance. Scrubbed into the edge of bush was a small dirt track no more than two feet wide. The kind of track formed by frequent usage but never properly cleared or fully maintained. Foliage scattered the path and rocks and tree roots lay everywhere. He recalled from one of his scouting trips a series of wooden beams positioned in a ‘Z’ formation at the paths entrance; a barrier to prevent kids taking motorbikes or other large items onto the track. But it wasn’t there today. Perhaps he’d been mistaken?

He dismissed the concern and kept running shifting his attention from flat surfaces to the uneven terrain of a dirt and rocky track. His pace inevitably slowed, his eyes forced to watch the path directly under foot but also meters ahead. The last thing he needed was to slip or twist an ankle. It was taxing his concentration.

The track inexplicably became very narrow and in some places, even vanished. Mitch was forced to carve his own way through the ever-thickening bushland while trying to pick up the trail again. He slowed down the longer that took, threatening to put him behind on time. He couldn’t remember the path like that when testing this run weeks ago? But it soon found itself again becoming wider and more defined. It was still uneven under foot and Mitchell often nearly slipped on a rock or patch of green fernery.

Until he eventually did slip.

Just as the track widened it disappeared entirely. A large tree growing at a sharp angle against the slope of the riverbank turned vertically in search of sunlight. It jutted out not only blocking the path but removing it entirely. In his haste Mitch made a quick decision and wrongly chose to pass the tree on the underside. Running past, he ducked below the thick trunk wrapping his right arm around its girth trying to almost swing himself around the tree. As he did though he lost his footing completely and when his arm could no longer support him, fell down the steep riverbank. He slid very fast down a sheer embankment covering ten meters before managing to right himself.

Instinctively, Mitch threw his hands at the ground in an effort of finding something to stop his slide. His feet too were angled at forty-five degrees trying to gain some purchase by cutting into the ground. They didn’t. His hands similarly had little success except for collecting splinters on the slide and scratches from the many rocks they dislodged. Mitchells’ thighs and calves were scratched and bleeding as they involuntarily scrapped along the bushy ground. At last Mitchell came to a halt when the ground flattened out slightly and he managed to catch hold of a clump of bushy grass.

“Shit!” he screamed. 

Mitch looked down the bank. The river was maybe thirty metres below him. He looked back up the bank, the path, the one he was supposed to be on about forty metres above him - it was hard to judge exactly. He was stuck halfway between the river and where he needed to be. Shit!

He checked his watch. 0:41:20

Less than an hour to go.

He rested for a moment weighing up his options. To go down to the river would certainly mean a slow trudge through mangroves and mudflats taking him further from the track and leading him God knows where. The alternative was back up the riverbank, back to the bush track and continue to the staircase and fire trail. He chose the latter knowing it would get him back on course quicker than wadding through the mangroves. Although his legs hurt the scratches were only superficial and after a while would stop stinging. Mitch didn’t have time to complain so began the slow climb back up the riverbank. The ground was very steep this far from the river’s edge and he needed to almost crawl up the hill. He splayed his feet sideways, digging the sides of his running shoes into the dirt while his hands scratched at the ground looking for rocks and any vegetation to grab onto. It was a slow process, and a tiring one too.

Raising his head from his lizard-like crawl, the track couldn’t be seen such was the angle of the bank. All he could see was the large tree causing him to fall that he now guessed was twenty-five metres above. He decided to attack the slope on the diagonal making the bank easier to scale and taking him further along the track he was originally traversing. It was a good decision and Mitchell quickly covered the remaining distance: joining the track nearly one hundred metres further from where he unwillingly left it.

Safely back on the path Mitchell had a good look at his legs. There were heavy grazes running down the left side of both, the dirt smudged blood appearing more menacing than it was. In a few days Mitch knew bruises would blacken the area even more. No time for that though: he took a deep breath and checked his watch.

0:46:12

The running continued. This time a little slower but as the track levelled and became wider as remembered, Mitch quickened the pace when he could. He seemed to be back on track and steadied into a nice rhythm with controlled breathing as he’d trained for. The sun was at his back now and the temperature warming up. He sweated heavily. It mixed with the blood and dirt and he imagined looking like a Neanderthal trudging through the bush. Thankfully the track found some consistency allowing Mitch to pick up the pace even further. In the back of his mind he had an extra thirteen minutes. The slower pace and near catastrophic fall might have taken away eight of those minutes at best; so he was probably still on track.

But just as he again settled his composure relaxing into a steady rhythm, he came to the rock crevice holding the staircase. But there was no staircase. Just a fracture in the rock face about six metres high.

What the fuck?

Mitch had seen this staircase for himself. In fact, during one of his many trips checking the proposed route, he’d discovered it by chance and climbed up and down the steps. It was the whole reason he chose to come this way: it would cut both time and distance from the run. But today it wasn’t there. Mitch quickly released he’d outsmarted himself. He hadn’t been thinking laterally enough and not done his due diligence. He wasn’t thinking fourth dimensionally.

The staircase Mitch discovered was a prefabricated steel structure designed to slot neatly into the rock crevice. It was narrow at the top but splayed wider at the base and angled at a steep sixty-degrees. Handrails ran the length on either side and the entire structure was anchored securely to the rock face at various points. The path leading to, and away from the staircase, had been widened, cultured even, inviting bush walkers to use the trail regularly with easier access. Mitch could only surmise the staircase had been installed sometime over the next five years! There was nothing he could do about that now.

He checked his watch. 0:51:50

Mitch paced across the base of the rock face determining options and his best plan moving forward. If he returned to the bridge and used the original pathway that would take at least fifteen minutes. He just didn’t have that time. He was already behind schedule. He looked up at the cliff towering over him. It wasn’t that high he reckoned, maybe six metres? But height wasn’t the problem. It was width. Mitchell looked closely at the divide and noticed steel brackets bolted on each side of the rock face. They were grey, galvanised, equispaced on a diagonal slope up the length of the crevice. Most were camouflaged by the rock and only when the sun peeped through the tree line did Mitchell notice them. They were the brackets to secure the future staircase placed in situ before the arrival of the greater metal structure.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mitchell said out loud. He must have arrived only a matter of days before the staircase would have been fitted.

With no time to contemplate the irony, he chose to climb the cliff face by using the brackets as foot holes. The problem was the ones at the very base of the crevice were too far apart. Mitchell couldn’t get his feet onto them evenly. The engineer quickly emerged. He scouted the area looking for something very common in the bush - fallen tree branches. His idea was to find two lengths of timber to place between the brackets on either side of the crevice to form a trestle. He could use them to make his way higher up the wall.

As luck would have it Mitch found two branches nearby the prefect length….about time something went right….and placed them between the brackets. Carefully putting his left foot on the bottom support directly over the bracket, he placed his right foot onto the beam proper. He then used the brackets higher up as hand holds to lift himself. He repeated the process for the second beam and quickly one third of the way up the crevice. The further up the wall he climbed the closer the brackets came together making it easier to ascend. Alternating between the left and right wall, transferring his weight from his left to right leg, he traversed the gap like a spider. Mitch soon reached the top of the rock face and looked around. The landscape plateaued from there onwards leading out through lightly vegetated bushlands to the fire trail and suburban roads beyond.

He checked his watch. 0:58:03

Mitch ran fast and put the past twenty minutes behind him. He steadied his breathing focusing on the maze of roads leading to Christina’s school. They were committed to memory. At the fire trial a right-hand turn would be coming up which would re-join the paved footpath. Mitch knew the distance from the fire trail exit to the school was a little under eight kilometres. The planned thirteen-minute buffer had well and truly depleted and having just stolen a glance of his watch ticking over the one-hour mark, he knew things would be tight. He needed to step up. His five-minute kilometre pace now critical. The remaining roads were paved and mostly flat and the easiest of the run, but now into the back half of the trip it was down to Mitchell’s determination.

The joy on Ethel’s face became his inspiration. Recalling the difference he’d made to their lives, he knew the same changes would come to the Martinellis’. Mitch thought of Christina, her smile, her sweet disposition on life. She deserved better than dealt and he was resolved to help her. Having zig-zagged his way left and then right, cutting through a few front yards and taking any opportunity he could find to shorten the distance, Mitch felt he was back on track.

He checked his watch. 1:18:40

Mitch was back on track; but he was also tiring. The energy expelled climbing back up the riverbank and traversing the cliff was taking its toll. While he trained, and trained hard, the abuse from the bush was wearing him down. He arrived at an abandoned corner store known to be four-kilometre from the school. There wasn’t far to go and Mitch was buoyed by the thought. He ran as fast as he could now focusing only on reaching Christina. His pain would pass in time; Christina’s perhaps wouldn’t.

The side street he was about to exit joined the main road heading into Sarah’s suburb and led straight down to Christina’s school. It was the home stretch and Mitch knew in a few minutes he would see the school at the bottom of the hill. Noticing a gap in the traffic, he took the opportunity to cross the road and get on the same side as Christina leaving the schoolyard. The traffic had markedly increased, more parents now on the road picking up their children, and as their cars drew closer to each other, Mitch was glad he made the move when he did. He saw the school at the bottom of the hill, still probably a kilometre away.

He checked his watch. 1:33:02

It didn’t look that far but Mitch knew it would take him five minutes to get there.

He kept running…

And breathing..

And watching.

Looking over his left shoulder he suddenly saw the speeding car on its way to strike Christina. It was a few hundred metres behind but would be upon him quickly. He was still over two hundred metres from the school. There was no other option. Mitchell was now sprinting as fast as he could and stealing glimpses over his shoulder. He gradually veered from the footpath and onto the road of oncoming traffic. Running down the centre of the right lane. He did that to be in the right position at the right time if he was to help Christina.

He checked his watch. 1:37:15

It would have to be now or never.

Mitchell heard the car coming. Its’ engine gurgling louder than the others and travelling faster than it should be. He noticed in the split second he looked back that the driver wasn’t focused on the road. Rather, his head tilted toward the front passenger seat looking down for something. Mitchell could only think of one thing to do and choose to do it immediately.

He swerved sharply to the left the exact moment the car was about to pass…

…and threw himself in front of the vehicle.

There was a spine-chilling thud and crack of bones snapping. Mitchell’s legs were swept out from under him, his limp body thrown about from the hips as his legs became wedged against the grill of the metallic monster. He heard the screech of tyres leaving their mark on the road before his head thumped violently onto the bonnet of the car. The blackness didn’t come immediately; but it did creep up on him quickly.

Mitch didn’t get to check his watch but it soon counted through the 1:39:00 mark.

≈

Mitchell didn’t see the purple and blue light. He didn’t see the flashing red light of the ambulance rushing him to safety. And he didn’t notice the ominous glow of the white lights in the emergency room.

He did however see the symphonic colours of the Aurora Borealis. Red and blue and green, dancing before his eyes. He also saw Juliana’s smile and the mulberry scarf in every photo she’d sent him. He was cognisant of the muffled sounds around him but focused only on Juliana’s beautiful smile and fought to be with her again.

Wires from his finger, chest and temple were connected to an LCD monitor hanging above his head. Its screen split in thirds, computerised lines ran perpetually left to right impregnated by rhythmic nodes upward and down. They meant nothing to the layman, but to the trained nurses vigilantly monitoring their movements, they told of a fight. The ECG strip tracking Mitchell’s pulse would suddenly drop sounding an alarm. But just as quickly, it returned to normality. His oxygen saturation level similarly dived and only seconds later spiked as if in shock.

The band of professionals ultimately gathered at his bedside debated the accuracy of the readings, each forming their own option of the results. But it was a junior nurse that surmised the situation best.

“This guy’s going nowhere. He aint done yet.”

Mitchell was fighting for life.

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