Desperate Plea

“Some truths won’t fit through the front door. You’ve got to pry open the side window and hope no one’s watching.”

“You can't drink that in here,” the Uber driver told me, momentarily taking his eyes off the road to glance in my direction with a mix of concern and disapproval. His eyes flicked down to the paper bag in my hand and then quickly back to the windscreen, clearly calculating whether he should say more.

“Just keep driving,” I instructed him between gulps from the open bottle of wine I held tightly in the crumpled brown paper bag. The taste had long stopped being enjoyable. Now, it was just warmth and numbness. The urgency in my voice was unmistakable. “We're almost there.”

The city blurred past in a haze of headlights and shadows, the buzz of late-night Hobart washing across the windows like a film I couldn’t quite focus on. My mind was a carousel of dread, spinning with everything I still had to do. Every thought led back to the two anchors dragging me forward. I needed to tell either Luke or Beatrix what had happened—that I was now a Guardian of Belkeep, and that things were spiralling faster than I could explain. And then, worst of all, I had to retrieve Cody’s body.

Even the word “retrieve” felt wrong. It was a person. He had been a person. Someone I’d laughed with. Trusted. Lost.

“They heading to your place?” the driver laughed, a casual remark thrown out as several police cars screamed past, lights slicing through the night, sirens rattling the windows.

My stomach twisted into a hard knot. “Shit!” I muttered, voice low but sharp as I peered through the windscreen. I watched the convoy of flashing lights take a sudden turn—Luke's street. My throat closed.

The wine, already too warm, felt like it curdled in my mouth.

“I can walk from here,” I told the driver abruptly, sitting up straighter and eyeing the nearest place to get out. My heart thudded against my ribs like it wanted to be anywhere but here. That turn—those flashing lights—meant I wouldn’t be able to do either of the things I had come here to do. And without them, everything started to fall apart in my hands like wet paper.

“Huh? We're almost there,” he replied, puzzled, his eyes flicking to the navigation on his dash, then back to me. His tone was light, but I could feel his uncertainty.

“Just pull the fuck over!” I snapped, the pressure finally spilling out, raw and unfiltered. I reached for my handbag, fumbling, knowing I had to move fast. If the police were at Luke’s, if they had already been tipped off, I needed to be gone. Now.

The driver, startled but compliant, flicked the indicator and pulled to the side. The tyres crunched over loose gravel and the glow of the sirens still glimmered faintly in front of us.

“Are you sure?” he asked as I threw open the door, his voice coloured with unease. He looked at me like he was finally putting the pieces together—the wine, the anxiety, the urgency that didn’t quite belong to a casual night out.

“Want some?” I offered him the bottle, half-laughing, half-desperate, the action more reflex than anything. I held it out limply, a small truce between strangers before fleeing the scene of my own life.

Face flushed, the driver shook his head quickly, hands gripping the wheel like it might save him. “Can't. Driving,” he muttered, eyes now glued ahead.

I shrugged. Not out of defiance, but resignation. I was losing control of everything—this was just one more thread slipping through my fingers.

I pulled the bottle out of the paper, gripped it by the neck, and took one more long gulp. It no longer made me feel better, but it still made me feel something. That had to be enough.

Crumpling the empty paper bag in one hand, I tossed it onto the passenger seat and slammed the door. The clang of it was sharp and final. I waved the driver on with a jerky hand, trying to look less shaken than I felt.

He hesitated for a second, watching me through the rearview, then pulled away slowly, red tail lights shrinking down the street until they vanished around the corner.

I was alone.

And not in the peaceful, meditative sense. This was the other kind of alone—the raw, ragged, you-don’t-belong-anywhere kind. The wine settled in my stomach like regret.

I pulled my coat tight around me and stared down the street, where Luke's house stood hidden behind police vehicles, headlights, and questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

This had been the only plan. Now it was dust.

I took a shaky breath. I had to improvise.

Because if I didn’t find a new path forward—if I didn’t act soon—I risked not just losing Cody’s body to the bureaucracy of Earth’s law, but losing myself entirely in the collapse that had started the moment I became a Guardian.

In the not-too-far distance, I noticed a hasty car leaving the small turning circle by the side of the road opposite Luke's house. It skidded slightly on the loose gravel, tyres spitting up a plume of dust that twisted and danced in the fading light like a warning signal. The way it accelerated—abrupt, desperate—set every nerve in my body jangling. I froze on the spot, one foot half-raised as though caught mid-thought. Something about the urgency in the car’s departure unsettled me. My heart pounded in my chest as I stood there, watching the taillights blur into the gathering dusk, a terrible cocktail of dread and determination swirling in my stomach. Whoever had been there, they hadn’t wanted to stay.

I needed to act, and fast.

Dusk had crept in unnoticed, a quiet, creeping thing, and now it sat heavy over the street like a blanket soaked in sorrow. The air was colder, still. The kind of stillness that presses in behind your ears. The kind that makes you feel watched.

As I moved forward, my boots crunching softly against the uneven gravel, my thoughts moved faster than my feet. I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting someone to be there—watching, judging, waiting. But the street was empty, save for the faint hum of distant engines and the occasional sharp cry of a magpie settling down for the night.

My stride faltered as my eyes caught sight of the pulsing red and blue glow reflected in the windows of the house next door. My gaze slid toward the source—Luke’s driveway. A police car sat there, idling, its presence like a dropped anchor in the calm. The spinning lights sent rhythmic flashes across the glass panes, making the front of the house look like it was being interrogated. I could just make out movement inside—shadowy figures crossing behind drawn curtains. The police. They were already inside. The floor seemed to tilt beneath me.

The bottle of wine in my hand suddenly felt much heavier.

Knowing that a visit to Luke was now entirely out of the question, but equally driven by a sick mix of curiosity and concern, I changed direction. Veered right. Crossed the road without looking. I needed distance—but I also needed eyes on what was happening. I had to know.

The street was quieter on this side. Less exposed. I kept to the shadows cast by a crooked row of hedge bushes, their wiry branches reaching out like twisted fingers. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked once, then went silent. I felt like a ghost, like something slipping through the cracks of a world that had already moved on without me.

Nearing the dirt-laid rest spot that overlooked Luke’s property like some half-forgotten lookout, I spotted a car tucked under the feeble yellow light of a flickering streetlamp. Its paint was dark, matte, and nearly invisible against the evening. The silhouette of the person inside was faint—a figure hunched slightly forward, attention fixed downward. There was a faint glow in the interior, probably from a phone or tablet, casting pale light over their features.

Squinting into the half-dark, I tried to make out who it was. A knot twisted in my gut.

Detective Lahey!?

The recognition slammed into me like a jolt of electricity. The slant of her shoulders, the taut ponytail—no mistaking it. It was her. Sarah bloody Lahey. The last person I expected to see parked like a ghost across from Luke’s, watching.

I didn’t pause to second guess myself.

Fuelled by instinct, adrenaline, and probably far too much wine, I approached the car and yanked the passenger door open without warning. Sarah’s head snapped up in shock, her mouth already halfway to a curse before she recognised me. I slid into the seat beside her as if this we had been best friends for years, the worn fabric groaning beneath me. I didn’t wait for an invitation. Desperation had long since kicked down the door of etiquette.

Taking another heavy gulp of my wine, I barely noticed how sharply she turned to me.

“Gladys!” Lahey cried out, her voice a mixture of surprise and disbelief.

“Sarah,” I said, my voice hoarse but steady as I extended the open bottle of red wine toward her. The gesture was both an offering and a plea. “I need your help.”

For a moment, everything outside seemed to blur—the lights, the movement, the cold air that slipped in through the cracked window. The sound of shouting rang out distantly from Luke’s house. Raised voices, quick commands, boots on cement. The police had entered.

Inside the car, the contrast was stark. We sat in a strange kind of stillness, the cabin filled with the hum of the heater and the faint crackle of the police radio feeding through the dashboard. Sarah didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Her face was frozen in a grim tableau of confusion and concern, her eyes flicking from the wine to my face to the chaos beyond the windscreen.

The silence between us was thick, like a room gone suddenly heavy with smoke. I could feel the weight of what I was asking, unspoken though it was. Help me. Believe me. Save me.

Her expression hardened slightly, eyes narrowing.

“Gladys, what the fuck!?” Sarah’s voice finally shattered the quiet, sharp and incredulous.

Ignoring her exclamation, I took another long swig from the bottle. The wine offered a momentary escape—one I knew was slipping fast through my fingers. But for now, it dulled the edges. Just enough to keep me from falling apart.

Suddenly, a loud gunshot sounded from the direction of the besieged house, shattering the tense quiet like a hammer through glass.

“Luke!” I cried out instinctively, the name leaving my lips before I had time to process the fear curling like smoke in my chest. My voice cracked, raw with terror, blending with Sarah’s own cry—a shout not of a detective, but of someone whose heart had been caught in the line of fire.

“Karl!” Sarah choked out the second mention of his name, her voice thick with panic and fear. Her hand, already fumbling at the door handle, tore it open. She spilled out of the car in a flurry of motion, stumbling as her foot hit the gravel. Her boots scraped noisily against the rough stones, and she caught herself with one hand on the door frame, her other already reaching instinctively for her badge, though there was no one to present it to.

You’d think she was the one with the bottle, I mused bitterly, downing another mouthful of wine to swallow the sudden lump in my throat. I tried to brace myself with logic, to wrap myself in some kind of rational blanket. Luke’s a Guardian. He’ll escape. He’s faster, stronger. He knows what to do… Right?

But hope’s voice faltered in my mind, drowned out by a rising tide of dread.

Because Cody had been a Guardian, too.

And Cody was dead.

My stomach turned. Without warning, the memory slammed into me—Cody’s lifeless body crumpled beneath the stairs, neck twisted unnaturally, his blood soaking into my world and staining it forever. The sharp tang of iron filled my throat just from the thought of it. My gut clenched in protest.

A hot surge of bile clawed its way up my chest.

Stumbling out of the car, I barely made it two steps before I collapsed to my hands and knees. The wine bottle dropped beside me with a dull thud, rolling slowly across the gravel. My palms scraped against the cold, gritty surface, but I didn’t care. I heaved violently, my body rebelling as if it too were trying to purge the nightmare that clung to me.

The wine, the fear, the grief—all of it surged out in ugly, choking waves. I coughed, spat, retched, until there was nothing left inside me but a hollowness that pulsed in time with the pounding in my head.

Wiping the remnants of saliva from my mouth with the back of my sleeve, I staggered upright, fighting the dizziness that pressed against my temples. I didn’t want to look at the vomit steaming against the stones. I didn’t want to smell it either. Moving away from the stink of it, I circled round to the driver’s side, letting my shoulder slump against the cool metal of the car. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the wind dry my sweat-slicked forehead, trying to hold myself together with sheer force of will.

Then, movement.

Sarah was returning, her stride brisk and stiff, the heels of her boots crunching with sharp urgency. She didn’t look at me straight away—her face was set, eyes wide and unfocused, lips parted as if she were still somewhere back in that house.

“Who is it?” I asked, breathless, my voice catching on a sob that hadn’t quite escaped yet. I leaned more heavily against the car, raising the now-light bottle to my trembling lips. My curiosity warred with my dread. Surely it wasn’t Luke. Not Beatrix. Not—

Pale-faced, Sarah took a deep breath, her chest rising in a visible shudder. “I don’t know,” she exhaled, her words a mix of confusion and defeat. She opened the driver’s door and slid in stiffly, her body moving like she’d aged ten years in the last five minutes. Her hands gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, holding it like it might disappear if she let go.

I moved slowly, deliberately, around the bonnet and eased myself into the passenger seat. The car’s interior still smelled faintly of her perfume, a sharp citrus and cedar, but now it was mingled with sweat, fear, and exhaust fumes from the idling engine.

“I need to know,” I pressed, trying to inject strength into my voice, though it quivered under the weight of uncertainty.

“I didn’t even fucking recognise her!” Sarah suddenly snapped, the volume making me flinch. Her voice cracked on the last word as she lifted her head from the wheel and turned towards me, her expression raw.

“Her?” I echoed, heart stumbling over itself. My chest tightened. That single word changed everything. Her. Not Luke. Not Karl. But… a woman?

“It's not your sister,” Sarah said softly, her tone shifting. The edge of panic softened into something sadder, quieter. “It’s not your sister,” she repeated, as if she had to say it twice to convince both of us.

Relief hit me like a wave—cold, immediate—but it didn’t bring calm. Just more space for the guilt and dread to flood in. My hand shook slightly as I brought the bottle to my lips again. I drank slowly this time, savouring the last few mouthfuls like they might be my last.

Sarah was still watching me, her eyes narrowing.

“What the fuck do you want, Gladys?” she asked sharply, her patience unravelling, the question laced with exhaustion, suspicion, and disbelief.

I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t know how to. I wasn’t ready to unpack it all—the portals, the Guardians, the body waiting beneath the stairs like some grotesque inheritance I hadn’t asked for.

Another sip. A pause.

“I need Cody’s body,” I said at last, the words escaping my lips in a rush. They felt obscene spoken aloud. Like some taboo broken.

Sarah turned to me slowly, as if unsure she’d heard me correctly.

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

I held her gaze, my jaw trembling but set. “I need Cody’s body.”

Staring at me in bewilderment, Sarah’s face twisted. “No,” she said at last, shaking her head slowly, emphatically, like a teacher refusing a dangerous request from a child. “I can’t help you.”

Her voice was calm but final, clipped in a way that left no room for further negotiation. To her, this was madness. To her, this was grief speaking in delusions and trauma.

But to me?

To me, it was the only thing that still made sense.

I sat back in my seat, the silence between us stretching thin, taut like a rubber band on the edge of snapping. My hands trembled slightly, the cool glass of the wine bottle slick against my skin. In the growing dark, the red and blue flicker of the police lights cast long, warping shadows through the windscreen, making everything feel distorted, unreal. My thoughts were racing now—ragged, sharp, insistent. Time was slipping through my fingers like water.

But further details of my idea—what I believed to be a brilliant one—rose to the surface of my thoughts, compelling me to speak before doubt could claw its way in.

“You know they’re going to discover you were there when they find his body,” I said evenly, my gaze still locked on the chaos unfolding outside Luke’s house. I kept my tone flat, almost casual, but I knew the weight of my words. “It’s inevitable.”

A flicker of something passed across Sarah’s face. Guilt? Fear? She closed her eyes tightly, her forehead furrowing as she brought her hand up to press against it. Her knuckles were pale. Her other hand still clung to the steering wheel like a lifeline.

“If you help me, I can make your problem go away,” I continued, more softly this time, as if coaxing her toward the edge of something she already knew she couldn’t avoid. “You don’t have to go down with him.”

Sarah didn’t move for a long moment. Her breathing was slow but uneven. Then she finally spoke, her voice low and guarded. “How?”

Her tone betrayed her reluctance, but the curiosity was there. A thread. A crack in her resolve.

Reaching into my trouser pocket, I withdrew the Portal Key. The device felt warm against my palm, alive almost. It wasn’t just a piece of tech. It was a key in every sense of the word—unlocking places, futures, decisions. Consequences.

Sarah’s eyes dropped to it instantly, her brows knitting into a sceptical frown.

“With that?” she asked, scepticism clear as crystal in her tone, not even waiting for me to explain.

I nodded silently, the corners of my mouth tightening. My fingers clenched around the bottle again and I tipped back another swig of wine, the warmth doing little to soften the chill that had settled into my bones.

Sarah's stare lingered on the device, then shifted to me.

“What is it?” she asked after a beat.

Instead of answering directly, I turned the wine bottle toward her again in offering.

Her brow furrowed deeper, clearly unimpressed. “I meant the thing in your hand,” she clarified, motioning to the Portal Key with a tight-lipped expression.

“I know,” I said, a faint edge of mischief playing at my voice as I continued to offer her the wine instead. You’re going to need it, I told her silently, the words passing between us in the unspoken language of people who’d known each other long enough to hear thoughts even when they weren’t voiced.

Sarah hesitated. Then, with a look that was half resignation and half curiosity, she accepted the bottle and brought it to her lips. The last of the shiraz disappeared in a single, final gulp. She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve, then gave me a sharp look that said, Now what?

I leaned forward, my movements deliberate, and picked up the small notebook that had fallen onto the floor at my feet earlier. It didn’t appear to be anything special to look at—probably just one of Sarah’s ordinary notebooks. But right now, it was about to become a window.

Balancing it on my knees, I slid my finger across the small button on the end of the Portal Key, just as I had done before.

A bright ball of energy shot from the tip of the device, humming as it zipped forward and collided with the closed notebook. Colours exploded outward in a mesmerising bloom—iridescent waves that shimmered and pulsed like something alive. The light danced across the interior of the car, throwing ribbons of movement against the dashboard and windows.

Sarah gasped. Her eyes widened in astonishment as the surface of the notebook transformed, opening into a cascade of otherworldly motion.

“What the fuck!” she shouted, nearly spitting out her last mouthful of wine in shock. Her hand instinctively reached out to touch it, fingers trembling as they hovered above the glowing page.

But before she could make contact, I snatched the book away and silently, mentally, ordered the portal shut. With a blink, the colours vanished, the spectacle dissolving into nothingness as quickly as it had appeared. The car returned to its mundane state, the interior suddenly darker for having held such light.

Sarah sat back, blinking rapidly. “Jesus Christ,” she breathed. “What was that?”

“Proof,” I said simply, setting the notebook aside and retrieving the now-empty wine bottle from her lap. “Drive.”

She stared at me. “Drive where?”

“Anywhere. Somewhere private,” I replied. My voice was steady now, fuelled by the remnants of adrenaline and a growing resolve. “We need to talk properly—and you’re not going to want to be anywhere near this street when the questions start.”

For a long, breathless second, I thought she might still refuse. That the weight of what I’d just shown her would trigger something primal in her—fear, suspicion, self-preservation. But then she turned the key, the engine giving a low growl as the car came to life beneath us.

She didn’t speak again, but her hands moved with purpose, guiding us away from the flickering police lights, the gunshot echo, and the street where everything had gone to hell.

The silence stretched between us, broken only by the sound of tyres crunching over gravel and the low thrum of the engine. But the quiet wasn’t empty. It was full. Pregnant with the things she hadn’t asked yet, the answers I wasn’t sure how to give.

She was taking me somewhere quiet, somewhere no one would find us. Somewhere we could talk.

And she would listen.

Because now, she had seen enough to realise—

This was real.