Steady Hands

"The terrifying thing isn't what you're capable of doing. It's discovering how little you feel whilst doing it."

"For fuck's sake!" I swore, the exclamation escaping as my foot collided with one of the precarious stacks of nature magazines lining the narrow hallway of the Owens' home.

I'd been pacing for the last ten minutes, twenty minutes, an hour—time had become elastic, stretching and compressing in ways that made no sense. My nervous energy had nowhere to go in the confined space, my mind running through the plan on an endless loop, checking for flaws, searching for weaknesses, finding none but still unable to stop the compulsive mental review.

The sudden contact sent a jolt through me, and gravity asserted its dominance. I found myself tumbling to the floor, the magazines sprawling out in front of me like a mocking reminder of my own clumsiness. They fanned across the worn floorboards in chaotic array—Karen's collection. Years of Australian Geographic, Nature & Health, Wild—a conservationist's library scattered because I couldn't control my own body.

Duke's face flashed through my mind unbidden, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the image. Not now. Not yet. There would be time for grief later, or there wouldn't be, but either way, I couldn't afford it now.

Henri. Think of Henri.

In a fit of frustration, emotions spilling over, I unleashed my anger on the periodicals, tossing every goddamn magazine I could see into the open maw of the Portal against the hallway wall. Each magazine flung felt like a release, a futile attempt to rid myself of the desperation clawing at my insides.

The Portal swallowed them without protest, the swirling colours rippling slightly as each publication disappeared into Clivilius. Australian Geographic, March 2016: gone. Nature & Health, Spring 2017: gone. Karen's carefully curated collection, her connection to the natural world she'd devoted her life to studying—all of it vanishing into another dimension because I was having a breakdown in her hallway.

The violence of the action felt good. That was the disturbing part. I found myself almost laughing—a harsh, bitter sound that echoed off the walls—as the last magazine spun through the Portal like a frisbee.

This was what I'd become. A man who threw other people's belongings into alternate dimensions. A man who was about to kidnap a tradesman and force him into dimensional slavery.

The Owens had trusted me. Chris, with his gentle demeanour and encyclopaedic knowledge of Tasmanian ecology. Karen, with her insect collection and her warm smile and her complete faith that I was a friend. They'd gone through the Portal by some twist of fate, but all I felt was relief that fate had done the hardest part for me. I'd watched their cottage become a crime scene in the making—blood traces from a minor accident, disturbed furniture, abandoned lives—and I'd felt nothing except satisfaction that my plan had worked, even if not the way I had intended.

And now I was using their empty home as a base of operations for my next abduction.

My pacing did little to ease the ache in my heart or the nervous energy escalating within me. The hallway, now stripped of its paper clutter, felt smaller than before, the walls pressing closer with each circuit. Up and down the empty corridor, I retraced the steps of my restless journey, the details of the strategy replaying like a song I couldn't get out of my head.

It was a simple plan, really. Elegant in its brutality.

I had promised Nial a hundred thousand dollars in cash, but my pockets were barren of such wealth. The lie weighed on me, yes, but not as heavily as it should have. Not nearly as heavily as it would have a week ago, before Duke, before Jamie's hatred, before I'd learned that morality was a luxury reserved for people whose worlds weren't collapsing.

The real agenda was to coerce him into Clivilius, where he could contribute to building secure fences for the settlement. In my mind, I could see them rising from the Clivilian soil—tall, strong, impenetrable. Fences that would keep Henri safe, that would protect the settlement from shadow panthers and whatever other horrors might exist. Nial's fencing business—Triffett Fencing Solutions, established 2003, well-regarded throughout southern Tasmania—would serve as a legitimate source for supplies, minimising the risk of raising any alarms when materials went missing.

As for his wife, a ruse using Nial's phone would keep her at bay, thinking he had gone away for a few weeks for work. I'd already composed the text messages in my head.

Guilt was an emotion I could no longer afford. Guilt was what got dogs killed.

"It's the perfect plan! I'm certain of it," I muttered to myself, the conviction in my voice wavering beneath the weight of doubt. The words, meant to be reassurance, felt hollow, echoing in the empty hallway.

But it was a good plan. I'd anticipated every variable, accounted for every potential objection, constructed a scenario where Nial's own curiosity would make him careless. The hundred thousand dollars was the hook—large enough to be extraordinary, specific enough to sound real. The mysterious "friend" in Collinsvale provided plausible deniability. The Portal itself would do the actual work once I got him close enough.

Have I always been capable of this? The thought slithered through my mind. Or did Duke's death break something fundamental in me?

I didn't know. Couldn't know. And in this moment, with Nial's ute about to pull up outside, it didn't matter.

The sound of tyres rolling across wet ground cut through my contemplation. Peering through the front screen door, I watched Nial park his ute beside the large gum trees, their leaves glistening with the remnants of a recent rain shower. The sight of his vehicle, so mundane and yet so pivotal to my plan, sent a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through me.

He was here. Actually here. The theoretical was becoming real.

Nial climbed out of the ute, and I could see him taking in the property, the cottage, the surroundings. He looked uncertain, his body language broadcasting hesitation even from this distance. Good. Uncertain meant he was already doubting himself, already looking for reassurance. I could work with that.

Wiping my face clear of residual tears—when had I started crying again?—I forced a smile onto my face. The action felt like putting on a costume, a mask for the world to see. But I'd had years of practice at this. Mormons learned to smile through anything.

You just need to get him inside. That's all you have to do.

My gaze shifted momentarily to the swirling colours on the hallway wall behind me. The Portal rippled and danced, a physical impossibility made manifest. It was my weapon, my tool, the means by which I would save Henri and damn my soul in the process.

Each step towards the door felt like wading through treacle. This was theatre. This was strategy. This was survival.

"Hey Nial," I greeted him as cheerfully as I could muster, stepping onto the front verandah. The pounding of my heart left no room for patience, and I covered the distance between us before he could take a step, closing the gap with an eagerness I disguised as friendly enthusiasm.

Get close. Establish rapport. Make physical contact.

"Hi Luke," replied Nial, accepting my hand with a firm shake. His grip was solid, working-man's hands, calloused and strong. His presence, so real and tangible, was a reminder of the stakes at hand. This wasn't some abstract plan anymore—this was a real person, with a real life, real family, real autonomy that I was about to strip away.

But Henri needed protection.

"I'm glad you came," I told him, dropping my hands to my sides. My fingers commenced a nervous tap against my legs, a rhythm born of anxiety I couldn't quite suppress.

"No worries," replied Nial. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't more than a little curious about the job."

There it was—curiosity. Exactly what I'd been counting on. His voice carried a hint of suspicion, an undercurrent of wariness, but the curiosity was stronger. That's what would get him inside.

"Good. That's... that's good," I stammered, my words fumbling. The stammer was genuine, but it worked in my favour—made me seem less threatening. My eyes averted from Nial's gaze, afraid he might glimpse the calculation running beneath my anxious exterior.

"The Owens' home?" Nial inquired, his voice carrying subtle nervousness. He was looking around, taking in the property with the assessing eye of someone who worked with his hands.

My mind raced. Did he know the Owens? Had they hired him before? Tasmania was a small place—everyone knew someone who knew someone.

"Oh, I've got the plans lying on the kitchen table. You'll love them!" I said, giving Nial's shoulder a playful slap. "Shall we?" I gestured toward the house.

Physical touch. Redirection. Forward momentum.

"So, a hundred thousand?" Nial asked as we walked in step.

"Cash," I replied calmly, projecting a confidence I did not feel.

"Must be a pretty important job then."

"Probably the most important you'll ever do," I said, my eyes fixed on the front door. And it was true, wasn't it? In a sense? Building fences in Clivilius to protect a settlement from inter-dimensional predators—that was probably the most important work Nial would ever do. The fact that he didn't know it yet, that he wasn't choosing it voluntarily—those were mere details.

I was getting good at this. At lying. At convincing myself that my lies contained nuggets of truth.

Nial's heavy work boots made a solid clomp as he ascended the wooden steps leading to the verandah. The sound was steady and reassuring, a counterpoint to the erratic beat of my own heart. Each footfall brought him closer to the doorway, closer to the hallway, closer to the Portal that waited like a hungry mouth.

My hands were steady, though. That was the strange thing. My heart was racing, my mind was screaming, but my hands were steady. The cold, strategic part of me had taken control of my body.

I held the front screen open, ushering Nial inside. The door's familiar creak seemed louder than usual.

"Thank you," said Nial, stepping into the doorway. Gripping the doorframe, he paused and turned back to me, and a rush of panic coursed through me like ice water. His hesitation was a wall threatening to block my carefully laid plans.

No. No, no, no. Don't stop now. Just a few more steps.

"Look, Luke, I'm not sure I can do this," he said, shaking his head. The words hit like a blow. Everything hinged on getting him into that hallway. If he walked away now, Henri would remain vulnerable, the settlement would remain unprotected, and I'd have lied and schemed for nothing.

"Oh?" I asked, attempting to conceal the panic. "What's wrong?"

"I dunno. It's just... it's a lot of money. And in cash," Nial explained, exhaling deeply. His concern was written across his face in lines of uncertainty and doubt.

His suspicion was rational. Completely rational. No legitimate job paid that kind of money in cash with this little notice. He was right to be wary, right to question. Everything about this screamed "scam" or worse.

But I couldn't let him walk away.

"I get it," I said with a short chuckle, injecting warmth into my voice. "I suppose I have been a little mysterious about it all, haven't I?"

"Maybe just a little," agreed Nial, his face softening slightly. His shoulders relaxed fractionally, his grip on the doorframe loosening.

There. Right there. That's the moment.

I smiled widely. "I promise it's legit. It'll all make sense once you see the plans."

"You sure?"

I nodded eagerly.

"And the Owens? They're not home?"

"Come, let me show you," I replied, sidestepping the question and urging him to continue into the hallway. Don't answer directly—redirect, refocus, keep him moving forward.

"Okay." He stepped fully into the house, and I moved in behind him, closing the screen door with a soft click that sounded like a cell door locking.

"The kitchen's just down the end of the hallway and to the left," I directed, my voice bright and helpful.

A pleased grin spread across my face as Nial's pace slowed, his attention irresistibly drawn to the mesmerising colours of the Portal that still swirled across almost the entire length of the hallway wall. His eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly in an expression of wonder.

Perfect. Exactly as I'd planned. Humans couldn't help themselves when confronted with the impossible. They had to look, had to try to understand, had to move closer.

"That's a remarkable piece of work," said Nial, unable to pull his eyes away. He'd stopped walking entirely now, transfixed by the swirling colours, leaning slightly forward to get a better look.

"I know. I've seen it a dozen times now, and I still think it's spectacular," I said, moving up beside him. His focus was entirely on the wall now, his body angled toward it.

He was close enough. Right at the edge. All it would take was one good push.

Sensing the moment, I lunged at him. It was a calculated move, strategy and desperation colliding into a single moment of violent action. Having learned from earlier encounters—from the Owens accident, from that first clumsy attempt with Kain that had nearly failed—my shoulder collided forcefully with Nial's side at precisely the right angle, with precisely the right force.

The impact was solid. Physics and body weight and the element of surprise all combined into a single, irreversible action. I felt his body shift, felt the moment his balance tipped past the point of recovery, felt him begin to fall toward the swirling colours.

Unable to stop the inertia, and with nowhere to grab onto, Nial fell into the spectacular artwork and vanished. His expression shifted from wonder to confusion to terror in the span of a heartbeat, and then nothing. Just the Portal, still swirling peacefully as though it hadn't just swallowed a human being whole.

The hallway was suddenly, profoundly silent.

Closing the Portal with a thought, I breathed a deep sigh. Despite Nial's larger frame, that was much easier than with Kain, and exactly as straightforward as I had hoped for.

Now, that's phase two of the plan done.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the now-blank wall where the Portal had been, waiting for something—guilt, remorse, horror, anything—to break through the numbness that had settled over me. But there was nothing. Just a hollow sense of accomplishment and the knowledge that Henri was one step closer to being safe.

I'd done it. I'd actually done it. I'd kidnapped a man, pushed him through a dimensional gateway, trapped him in another world where he'd have no choice but to do the work I needed. And I'd done it without hesitation, without the shaking hands or moral paralysis that should have stopped me.

What have I become?

But even as the question formed, I knew the answer didn't matter. I'd become what I needed to become. What my brother and partner needed me to become. What Henri needed me to become. What survival required.

And I wasn't done yet.