Empath

Chapter One

The car descended into a fog as I navigated the curves of the mountain road. Misty tendrils, like coils of smoke, brought leafless trees in and out of focus. I couldn’t help but think how appropriate the fog seemed in light of my mood and the purpose of my journey.

My foot sank down on the accelerator and the car surged forward with a groan. I careened around a bend, craving the sensory abandon of speed, my safety no more than an afterthought. The craggy branches of the eucalypts that lined the road merged with the fog, becoming a blur.

It was night and there were few streetlights on. Yet I knew this road well. It had been carved into my memory since childhood, this distant world with its promise of escape. I could barely see where I was going but couldn’t seem to lift my foot from the pedal. The closer I came to my sanctuary, the greater my need to leave it all behind. If only the same could be said of my nightmares. They, I knew, would be with me forever.

My rickety old Corolla rocketed down one long stretch of road and a part of me wished the car would clear the edge of the mountain, sending me soaring to the ocean below.

My eyes narrowed and my heart stuttered out thud after thud as I jammed my foot down on the pedal. The road stretched on as I flew across its surface, my focus on the barely visible horizon. The trees at the edge of the mountain grew nearer by the second…closer, closer, leaving less and less time to pull my foot back from the pedal, hurtling me towards the inevitable until—from nowhere, it seemed—the stark outline of a human figure appeared in the middle of the road. The headlights illuminated a face for a moment: startled eyes, a shock of black hair, striking features made ghostly by the glare. I shrieked and slammed my foot down on the brake. The car skidded for several terrifying seconds before shuddering to a halt.

Gripping the steering wheel, I sat for several seconds with my heart pounding in my ears. Images, dotted with light beneath my eyelids, teased me with things I wasn’t sure I’d seen. The vision of a ghostly young man’s face, so alarmingly handsome and with eyes of such intense green I wondered if they could be real. I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to see clearly, though the headlights provided a limited view of the shadowy world outside the car.

The road was deserted.

I shook my head, blinking to make sure I was seeing right. What the hell just happened?

Was I hallucinating? If someone had been there, where was he now?

And, my conscience taunted, what might have happened if he hadn’t been there to stop you?

A tingle ran down my spine and I tensed, on alert. Someone was out there. I knew because I could sense them. Nearby. Someone had to be there for me to feel the strange, weaving warmth, the rapid pulse in my veins. And sadness, so deep and powerful I clutched my chest against a sob.

Then, just as fast as they had come, the sensations vanished.

I rolled down my window, replaying Mum’s words about not talking to strangers or stopping on a deserted road. But on impulse, I acted, pushing her voice into the depths of my mind. Hello? I called feebly, wiping my clammy, shaking hands on my jeans.

My foot itched to return to the accelerator, to flee as fast as I could, but I couldn’t be sure the person wouldn’t reappear.

That sensation, the sorrow. My eyes stung and I blinked back tears. I’d never felt anything like it. But it had come and gone so quickly. And that beautiful face… had I imagined it?

Stop it, Lucy, I muttered, shaking it off and returning my window to its closed position, shutting out the eerie night air. Pull it together.

I gave the illuminated stretch of road one last, fearful glance, pressed my foot to the accelerator and drove off into the night. The only sounds were the roar of the engine and the rhythmic pounding of my heart. The only image in my mind was of a hauntingly beautiful face.

Chapter Two

Duruga, an Aboriginal word meaning falling star, was speculated by the townspeople to mean the town itself was the fallen star. A sparkling jewel in its resting place at the end of the peninsula, nestled securely between two mountains. An hour and a half’s drive from Sydney, the sleepy coastal town barely qualified as a feature on any generic Australian map. It was a fishing village, self-sufficient and sustained almost entirely by the revenue brought in by the fishermen who were all local inhabitants. There was a lagoon on one side of the village and the ocean on the other, which stretched out towards the horizon.

When I was younger, just thinking about the remote village made me yawn. It boasted nothing to entice city-dwelling teenagers to spend any length of time; there were no movie theatres, shopping centres, cafes or anything in the realm of entertainment. They didn’t even have a real supermarket.

What repelled me as a child was the thing I’d come to crave the most. I spent sleepless nights in limbo, wondering desperately what to do to stop the pain, the constant invasion. The gift. I scoffed at the name, one that sounded as though it had been bestowed on me by God. But such a cruel thing, the burden of carrying the emotions of others, had propelled me to this barren place. To seek out isolation and solitude. I doubted God had been the one to endow me with it.

I sighed, still shaken from my earlier scare, as the car turned around the last steep curve before Duruga came into sight. After a moment, the dense fog broke and the tiny town became visible beneath a fine, misty veil. All was silent and still, the perfect quiet interrupted only by the occasional birdcall or the eerie sound of the wind rustling the nearly bare winter branches.

I neared the end of the decline and drove past the battered sign that stated Welcome to Duruga, entering my new home. Mum’s parting words echoed through my mind. If you get lonely, don’t hesitate to call. I’m worried about you, Lucy. It’s not normal, not at your age, all alone up there in the middle of nowhere. You just come home any time you feel like it, okay?

I sighed as I glanced out the car window at my surroundings, realizing I’d been parked in the narrow driveway for some time. The wind travelled through the long and silent street, whistling past the car, making me shudder. For a moment, I considered starting the engine and driving back the way I’d come.

But returning to Sydney wasn’t an option. This was my only option, I reminded myself. An end to the past. An end to the pain.

A beginning.

Chapter Three

"He’s dead," Mum whispered, reaching for me like a helpless child.

I nodded, feeling like I was dreaming as I stared at those little hands so feebly outstretched. I went to her in silence, putting my arms around her tiny frame, but it was as though she wasn’t there. I couldn’t feel her, or anything else.

"I know," I heard myself say. In fact, I had known long before I arrived home. The evidence radiated through the walls, through the autumn air, coiling in through my car window as I pulled into the driveway.

"What are we going to do?" Mum raised her head to look at me. Her eyes were saucer-round, glazed, and I felt the beginnings of panic crawl into my stomach.

I turned away, unable to look at those eyes any longer. I had the unnerving sensation that she was on the edge of insanity and it was my job to pull her back. The panic was now a hot pulse and I withdrew my arms, unconsciously stepping backwards.

"Lucy? Where are you going?"

Away from her, inhaling the fresh air filtering in from the hallway, I could breathe.

"Lucy?"

The uncertainly in her voice broke my heart. Yet I was strangely calm, as though frozen on the inside as I spoke.

"I’m going to call the ambulance."

Chapter Four

Once I unpacked the few possessions I had and all the essential items such as food and toiletries, it was almost my usual bedtime. So, with nothing else to do, I crawled onto the hard, unused mattress and picked up the book I was halfway through. When I grew tired, I tried to sleep, but it was impossible. The house was cold and, though I’d spent many summer holidays there as a child, somehow unfamiliar. Even the smell was foreign, and the wind howled outside my window all night like a dog chained to a post. I felt misplaced, disconcerted.

Duruga was more of a summer town. During the colder months, the freezing air blowing in from the ocean was only compounded by the wind-tunnel effect of two surrounding mountains. The wind blew through the valley, making a ghostly wailing sound, drowning out the growl and crash of the waves.

I got up several times throughout the night: once to get another musty blanket from the cupboard above the vanity dresser, once to get a glass of water and once to make a trip to the bathroom. When I caught sight of my reflection as I washed my hands, it startled me. I had always been a small, thin person, but grief caused me to lose a fair amount of weight. My pale skin, almost ghostly in the unflattering glare, was a stark contrast to the auburn hair framing my face. My eyes were as large and as dark as they had always been, but they had become sunken. Joyless.

Another set of eyes, startled and vivid in colour, flashed in my memory. How close had I come to killing myself, or someone else, that night?

I hurried back to bed and threw an old jumper over my head, blocking out even the slightest glimmer of light. I tried to think about how good it would be to begin my final semester of school. At least I’d have something to occupy my mind and distract me from my misery.

You just come home any time you feel like it, okay? my mother’s voice whispered in my memory as I finally drifted into a light sleep.

****

The next morning, the sun attempted to make an appearance through the dreary grey clouds, and I took the welcome rays as a good sign. I’d planned to get settled in for a few days before worrying about getting a job; I had some money saved so finances weren’t an immediate concern. I planned to grow my own garden out the back of the house and spend only the smallest amount of money possible on basic essentials. But such plans seemed a bit ambitious when faced with the miserable weather and the reality of actually living there.

After breakfast, I went in search of the bicycles, which were stored somewhere in the garage. They were propped up against the wall behind some old boxes, covered in cobwebs, which I brushed away hurriedly with a broom.

I almost laughed when I saw the two bicycles in all their glory. One was a sun-faded yellow with ‘80s-looking neon paint splashed along the sides bearing a word that was so faded it could no longer be read. The other, a sparkly pink frame with a rusted basket on the front, was adorned with a few forlorn-looking plastic flowers. Aside from that, they appeared to be in working order.

Skimming over the road, I took in my surroundings and a smile stretched across my face. The houses were mostly small, old-fashioned and quaint. Some bore water signs and little tags tacked to their doors and letterboxes reading Paradise, Blue Lagoon, Sailor’s Dream and the like. Every few seconds, the roar of waves meeting the shore soothed me with its peaceful rhythm.

A scattering of local businesses contributed to Duruga’s survival and I passed most of them that morning. The camping ground, where families and teenagers hung out during the summer, the Duruga Art Gallery, the Community Hall, the tiny grocery store and Alfie’s Fish and Chip shop. The most recent addition was the Duruga Beach Inn, which boasted a charming ocean view, where, from memory, residents and visitors alike spent most of their leisure time.

There was little else to do in the realm of social pursuits.

As I turned the corner, where the Inn was situated at the end of the street, a gust of wind threw me backwards on my bike. I steadied myself and took in the view of the beach, the water glistening in the weak sunshine. The wind coming off the sea was strong and I felt the need to shield myself but was too afraid to let go of the handlebars in case I toppled over.

A tiny grocery store came into sight as the bike rounded a turn. My eyes needed to focus on the road ahead but the scenery kept a breathtaking hold on me. The bike jolted to a standstill. Before I had time to think, I fell sideways, landing painfully on my right leg, my face missing the gravel road by millimetres. I lay there in shock for a few moments before I heard a voice calling out from nearby.

You all right? the voice asked, a distinctively male baritone.

I looked around from my position on the ground but couldn’t see anyone.

Uh…I think so, I replied to the disembodied voice, struggling to push the bike off. I wriggled out from under it, my leg stinging as it scraped along the road.

A man, in his mid-to-late forties, stood a fair distance from me just past the fish and chip shop. He hovered near the park at the foot of the mountain, looking as though he wanted to come closer but hesitated. His hair protruded in grey tufts around his ears and he had a thin, wiry build that was simultaneously muscular. What struck me most were his eyes—they were a piercing grey colour and bore straight into me.

Good, I heard him say. His voice was gravelly and deep. A lopsided smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. You should be more careful on that bike. You could have a serious accident.

As he spoke he took a step forward and I braced myself for the onslaught. But after a moment, despite his proximity, I realized I was unable to sense anything. Nothing at all. The man’s smile widened and I found the corners of my lips twitching in response.

I…I will. I w-wasn’t looking where I was going, I attempted to explain, but he waved a hand in dismissal.

My name’s Eli, he said. I was surprised I could hear him over the whistling wind. The strange emptiness remained like a chasm in my chest. You’re not from around here.

Uh, no. My name’s Lucy. I’m from Sydney…my family owns a place here and I’ve come to stay for…for a while.

Eli nodded, thankfully not asking any follow-up questions.

"Lucy. His voice held a note of reverence that felt vaguely familiar. Well. We might be seeing each other again, then." He stared at me a moment longer, his brow furrowed as though he were deep in thought. Then he cleared his throat and strode away towards the park without a wave goodbye.

I collected my thoughts and my bike and began to head towards the grocery store, feeling dazed and more than a little puzzled over the sudden lapse in my senses. Ever since my gift blossomed at the onset of puberty,