A Hundred Thousand Lies

"There's a version of yourself waiting in the dark—sharper, colder, capable of things you never imagined. All it takes is one loss to shake hands with him."

The transition back through the Portal had been mercifully brief—a violent lurch of reality folding in on itself, colours bleeding into one another like ink dropped in water, and then the sudden, jarring solidity of my study floor beneath my knees. I'd stumbled through gasping, my lungs rejecting the familiar Tasmanian air as though it had become poison. The house was silent. Empty. Jamie was still in Clivilius, cradling Duke's lifeless body, and I was here, alone, with nothing but the echo of his words reverberating through the hollow chambers of my chest.

"This is all your fault. You don't fucking deserve to touch him. Ever!"

Duke was dead. My beautiful, curious, mischievous Duke, who'd poked his nose into everything, who'd followed visitors like their shadows belonged to him, who'd been so impossibly alive just hours ago—was gone. Torn apart by a shadow panther that never should have existed. A shadow panther that had attacked our small camp because I had decided to activate a Portal Key. Because I'd opened doors that should have remained sealed. Because I'd been reckless and arrogant and thought I could control forces I barely understood.

The image was seared into my mind with the permanence of a brand: Jamie sitting by the riverbank, Duke's small, bloodied form cradled in his lap, his hand moving through fur that would never twitch with life again. The stillness of death. The profound, terrible silence of it. And Jamie's face—oh God, Jamie's face—contorted with a grief so raw it had transformed into rage, all of it directed at me like a spear finding its mark.

It's too fucking late for sorry.

I'd killed Duke. Not directly, perhaps not even intentionally, but the chain of causation led inexorably back to me. My choices. My Portal Key. My settlement in Clivilius. My decision to bring my partner and brother to an alien world without fully understanding the consequences. Every link in that chain bore my fingerprints, and now an innocent creature was dead because I'd been playing God with forces beyond my comprehension.

The guilt was a physical thing, a creature with claws that had taken up residence in my chest cavity, shredding everything soft and vital. I could feel it there, a constant, gnawing presence that made breathing an act of conscious will. My hands were shaking—had been shaking since I'd seen Duke's body—and I couldn't seem to make them stop.

But beneath the grief, beneath the horror and the self-recrimination, something else was stirring. Something cold and sharp and ruthlessly focused. It was the same quality that had allowed me to survive my Mormon upbringing in Broken Hill, to navigate my mission with a smile whilst secretly questioning everything I'd been taught, to build a life in Tasmania on my own terms whilst maintaining the façade of the dutiful son whenever I called home. The part of me that could separate emotion from action, that could see three moves ahead whilst everyone else was still processing the present moment.

That part of me was now fully awake. Duke was dead. Jamie hated me. But Henri was still alive. Henri, Duke's beloved younger brother. Henri, who would be next if I didn't act immediately.

The thought crystallised with the sharpness of ice forming on a windowpane: Henri needs protection, and he needs it now.

My mind was already racing ahead, constructing scenarios, calculating probabilities. The shadow panthers had attacked our settlement. That meant nowhere was truly safe—but some places were safer than others. If I could build something secure, something fortified, somewhere the unknown wildness of Clivilius couldn't intrude...

My hand found my phone before I'd consciously decided to reach for it. My fingers scrolled through contacts until I found the name I needed: Nial Triffett. The fencer who'd worked on our Berriedale property three years ago. The man who'd complained about Duke following him everywhere whilst secretly slipping the dog treats when he thought I wasn't looking.

The irony wasn't lost on me. Calling the man who'd been charmed by Duke to help protect Henri from Duke's fate.

I pressed dial before doubt could creep in. The phone rang once, twice, three times. Each ring felt like an eternity, a space in which I could still turn back. But there was no turning back. Not if I wanted to save Henri. Not if I wanted to prevent Jamie from losing everything.

Even if he's already lost me, a small, broken voice whispered in the back of my mind. I crushed it ruthlessly.

The phone felt heavier in my hand than it ever had before. Each second of ringing was loaded with the weight of what I was about to set in motion.

"Hello, this is Nial," the calm voice on the other end echoed through the line, oblivious to the storm raging within me. How could he sound so serene when my world was crumbling to ash? The normality of his greeting was jarring, almost offensive in its ordinariness. He had no idea he was speaking to a man whose life had just imploded, whose dog had just been torn apart, whose partner had just looked at him with pure hatred.

Despite the tremors coursing through my hands, I summoned a smile. It felt grotesque on my face, a rictus of false cheer, but I knew from years of missionary work that a smile could be heard through a phone line. It changed the shape of your words, made them warmer. More trustworthy.

"Hi Nial. This is Luke Smith. Not sure if you remember me, but you did a small fencing job for me a few years ago, out in Berriedale."

Nial's response was surprisingly prompt. "With the small dog that followed me like a shadow and had to keep poking his nose into everything, yeah?" His voice held a chuckle, a recollection of canine antics that brought fleeting warmth to the conversation.

The words hit me like a physical blow. Duke. He was talking about Duke. The dog who was currently stiffening with rigor mortis on a riverbank in another world whilst my partner sobbed over his body. The dog who would never poke his nose into anything ever again.

My throat constricted. Behind my eyelids, I could see Duke's tongue lolling from his mouth, could see the dark halo of blood in the Clivilian dust.

Be brave. Be bold. Do it for Henri.

"That's the one," I replied, mirroring the lightheartedness, though my eyes squeezed shut against the memories. The cheerfulness in my voice was a lie, but a convincing one. Years of hiding my true feelings from my Mormon family had taught me how to project whatever emotion was required.

Be brave. Be bold. Do it for Henri. I repeated the mantra in my head. Henri was all that mattered now. Henri was the one thing I could still save.

"I remember it well," said Nial. "What can I do for you?"

Here it was. The moment of commitment. Once I spoke the next words, there would be no taking them back. The money I was about to promise didn't exist. The job I was about to describe would be built on deception. And I was going to do it anyway, because the alternative—losing Henri too—was unthinkable.

"I have an urgent job that I need done in the next couple of days," I replied.

"Hmph," scoffed Nial. "That's not enough lead time. I need at least two weeks."

Predictable. Two weeks was an eternity. Two weeks was long enough for another shadow panther to find our camp, for Henri to become a target. The solution was simple: money. Enough money to make the impossible possible.

"You'll be well compensated for it," I said. The lie slipped out smoothly, coated in sincerity I didn't feel. The stakes were too high to be hindered by scruples. Morality was a luxury I could no longer afford.

"How much?" Nial inquired, curiosity cutting through the skepticism. The hook was set.

My mind performed rapid calculations. Too little and he wouldn't take me seriously. Too much and he'd become suspicious.

"One hundred thousand dollars," I replied. The number hung suspended, questioning its own audacity. It was absurd. Impossible. I had nothing close to that amount. But the lie served its purpose: desperate urgency wrapped in the appearance of unlimited resources. "In cash," I added, committing fully.

Cash suggested legitimacy whilst avoiding paper trails. Cash implied serious intent. And cash had an almost magnetic power over people—tangible in a way electronic transfers never were.

Silence on the other end. I could almost hear him recalculating.

"Shit! What sort of job is it?"

This was where it got tricky. I couldn't tell him the truth. I needed a cover story—something that justified the urgency and the price without inviting questions.

"It's... uh... it's a pretty big job. Look, why don't you meet me in Collinsvale, and we can go over the rough plans. Tell me what you think before you give your yay or nay."

If I could get him to the site, let him see the land, he'd be far more invested. Harder to walk away from something once you'd stood on the actual ground.

"Oh, you're not in Berriedale anymore?"

Damn. He'd remembered too much, been too attentive. I had to keep my story straight.

"Yeah, I'm still in Berriedale. Just helping a friend out." The lie emerged smoothly. A friend. Vague enough to discourage follow-up questions.

I wondered, distantly, if this was how it started. If this was how good people became capable of terrible things. One small lie, one tiny compromise, and you told yourself it was justified. Then the next lie came easier, and the one after that easier still, until you looked in the mirror and barely recognised the person staring back.

But Duke was dead. Jamie hated me. And Henri needed protection.

"Cash?" Nial echoed, seeking reassurance.

"That's right. One hundred thousand of it," I asserted, forcing certainty into my voice. "On top of the cost of materials."

The cognitive dissonance was staggering. Part of me was watching this unfold with horror, appalled at how easily I was lying. That part still clung to values I'd been raised with. But that part was small now, drowned out by the voice that insisted survival was more important than morality.

And somewhere deeper, in the darkest recesses of my mind, there was a part that felt almost exhilarated. The same part that had always seen patterns others missed. This part recognised the elegant focus of what I was doing—playing chess whilst everyone else played draughts.

That should have terrified me. Instead, it just felt necessary.

"I'll meet you there in thirty," declared Nial.

He'd committed. The first piece had fallen into place.

"Great. I'll text you the address."

"Okay," said Nial, concluding the call.

The line went dead. The sudden silence was deafening, a void that immediately filled with everything I'd been holding at bay. The strategic part of my brain retreated, and grief surged back to fill the space.

I inhaled deeply, the air thick with the weight of my own deception. My hands were shaking again, worse than before, the adrenaline draining away and leaving me hollow.

What had I just done? I'd promised a hundred thousand dollars I didn't have for work I couldn't pay for to protect a dog from creatures that shouldn't exist. The plan was insane. Built on lies and desperation.

And I was going to do it anyway.

I clutched the sides of the bench, knuckles whitening. The cool stone beneath my palms was the only solid thing in a world that had become unmoored. Tears welled up, hot and insistent, blurring my vision.

Duke's face appeared in my mind, unbidden. Not the dead Duke from the riverbank, but Duke as he'd been before. Duke dancing around my feet whilst I made breakfast. Duke stealing Henri's toy and running circles around the house. Duke curling up on the couch with his head in my lap. Duke alive, Duke whole, Duke who I would never see again.

Thick, black billows of guilt smothered my mind. I'd killed him. Maybe not with my own hands, but I'd set the events in motion as surely as if I'd held the blade myself. And now I was lying and scheming and descending into behaviour that would have horrified the Luke Smith of a week ago.

But that Luke Smith was gone. He'd died on a riverbank in Clivilius. What remained was something harder, sharper, more dangerous. Something that could lie without flinching. Something that understood, with brutal clarity, that nice guys finished last and good dogs died whilst people agonised over moral quandaries.

"Why!?" I screamed out in agony, the anguished cry tearing through the quiet of the house. The sound echoed off the walls and came back to mock me with its futility. Why had I opened the Portal? Why had I become a Guardian? Why had I left Jamie alone with Duke's body? Why had I thought I could control any of this?

Why, why, why.

There were no answers. Just the empty kitchen and the crushing weight of guilt and the knowledge that despite everything—despite the horror, despite the lies, despite what I was becoming—I would keep going. I would meet Nial. I would secure the settlement. I would protect Henri. Because the alternative was unthinkable.

For Henri, I reminded myself. It was for Henri.

And if I had to lie, cheat, manipulate, and deceive to keep him safe—if I had to become someone Jamie would despise even more than he already did—then that was the price I would pay.

I pushed myself upright, wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, and reached for my Portal Key. Thirty minutes. I had work to do.