The Garden Order

“You’d be amazed what hope looks like when it arrives in a cardboard box marked ‘tube stock’.”

Resting my weary head atop two pillows, I lay in bed, cocooned beneath the weight of my doona and a silence thick enough to muffle even my own thoughts. The only sound in the room was Snowflake’s rhythmic purring—a gentle, grounding hum that vibrated softly against my ribs. My hand moved almost instinctively, stroking her silky fur in slow, repetitive motions. The sensation was familiar, hypnotic. After everything that had happened, this tiny ritual—the weight of her against my side, the warmth of her small body—offered something close to peace. It wasn’t joy. It wasn’t relief. But it was something.

There had been no further knocks on the door since the early hours of the morning. I had frozen in place when it happened, the echoing rap of knuckles on wood slamming through the silence of the house like gunfire. I hadn’t moved. I hadn’t even breathed, not properly, until the footsteps had faded. It was my own stupid fault—I’d flicked the kitchen light on without thinking, and the glow must’ve spilled out through the cracks in the blinds like a beacon. A flashing sign that read: She’s in here.

That lapse in judgment still played in my mind on an endless, shameful loop. A single second of thoughtlessness could have cost me everything.

Since then, I had stayed in bed, wrapped in stillness and shadow, save for the occasional venture to feed Snowflake. Every movement I made was deliberate, cautious, as though the walls themselves might report me. The hours slipped by, unmeasured and indistinct. I listened. I waited.

Earlier, unable to resist the gnawing urge to know if the danger had passed, I had inched my way to the living room and eased the curtain aside just enough to peer through. The sight that greeted me sent my heart plummeting: the same unmarked police car parked exactly where it had been since dawn, unmoving, eternal. The silhouette of a lone officer sat motionless in the driver’s seat, like some silent sentry.

He hadn’t moved.

He was still watching.

It was a quiet siege, and I was its prisoner.

Now, back in bed, I stared at Snowflake. She’d curled herself around an old bottle of shiraz—empty, naturally—which she had dragged closer sometime during the morning. Her body pressed against the dark glass as if it gave her comfort. Perhaps she’d taken to it in Chloe’s absence, finding something warm and familiar in its shape. It was both ridiculous and heartbreakingly sweet.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. The cat had the wine. I had nothing.

I reached out and brushed a smudge of dust from the label. The bottle’s presence was absurd, symbolic, and yet part of me wanted to pull it into my chest and sob.

Instead, I watched Snowflake breathe. In and out. Soft and steady.

Tears prickled the corners of my eyes, building slowly, then spilling without warning. They rolled across my temples and into the pillow, unnoticed by anyone but me. The ache that had made a home behind my sternum flared again, pressing against my ribs with the quiet insistence of grief.

The chaos had stopped—for now—but the weight of what remained was somehow heavier. With each heartbeat, the truth pressed down: I was still trapped. Still hunted. Still not free.

And despite the warm body curled beside me and the temporary quiet of the house, I had never felt so alone.

My mobile vibrated on the bed beside me, its sudden buzz a jarring intrusion into the heavy silence of the room. I dabbed the last of my tears away with the sleeve of my jumper, smearing the residual salt into the fabric, and reached for the phone. A message from Luke blinked on the screen.

11:37AM Luke: Check out the website I'm about to send you. Use Paul's credit card details that I gave you before. I need you to order as much as you can, several thousand dollars. Critical.

My brows knitted in confusion. I blinked a few times, rereading the message as if repetition might unlock some deeper clarity. Critical? What on earth could Luke possibly need that was both expensive and urgent? My curiosity stirred, laced with a twinge of apprehension. He wasn’t the type to exaggerate.

I waited, staring at the screen, as if willing the next message into existence.

11:39AM Luke: Deliver it to my parents' address in Adelaide and forward me the order confirmation and expected delivery date.

Adelaide. A growing sense of disquiet pulsed beneath my skin, my mind beginning to race with questions. What was he planning? And why the secrecy?

Letting the phone fall back onto the pillow beside me, I exhaled slowly and gave Snowflake a final pat. She was now fast asleep, her body rising and falling in a steady, peaceful rhythm. I envied her calm. Carefully, I rolled to the other side of the bed and sat up. My body felt stiff, every muscle reluctant to move after hours spent tense and curled under blankets.

The wardrobe door creaked as I pulled it open, the sound oddly loud in the hush of the house. I rifled through layers of clothes—jumpers, scarves, and a few things I hadn’t worn in months—until I unearthed my battered old laptop, wedged beneath a pile of washing I had meant to do last week. Or was it the week before?

As I settled back onto the bed, the phone vibrated again.

"Finally," I muttered to myself, fingers already poised to unlock the screen. As I suspected, it was the website link and the Adelaide address.

The link loaded slowly, the internet dragging its feet as if protesting the request. When the page finally appeared, I let out a short laugh. “That’s interesting,” I murmured, tilting the screen so Snowflake could see, even though I knew she didn’t care. She lifted her head momentarily at the sound of my voice, gave a single disinterested blink, then burrowed back into the folds of the duvet. Still, I spoke aloud, half to her and half to myself. "I'm guessing Luke wants me to order plants."

It was a garden supplier’s site, full of seeds, seedlings, and tube stock. Rows of leafy greens, woody stems, and bursts of vibrant colour sprawled across the screen. A curious sense of calm began to settle over me. It was the first time in days that I had focused on something so… normal. The gentle absurdity of it—shopping for saplings while police stalked the perimeter of my life—only made it feel more precious.

11:46AM Gladys: What exactly am I getting?

I tapped the message out and hit send, not holding my breath for a swift reply. Luke wasn’t exactly known for his timely communication, especially now that he might be halfway across the world—or dimensions—wandering about in Clivilius. The very idea still hadn’t fully settled in my brain.

Still, I dutifully browsed the catalogue. I clicked through pages of maples, oaks, birches—deciduous trees that reminded me of parks from my childhood. I imagined shade beneath the branches, dappled light dancing across picnic blankets, Cody laughing as Snowflake chased butterflies through knee-high grass. A fantasy, surely. But it was a beautiful one. Something worth clinging to, if only for a few minutes.

12:11PM Luke: Anything. Everything. Surprise me.

“Figures,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head with a wry smile. That was Luke, all over—cryptic, frustrating, but never without intent. I had no doubt there was some strange logic behind it. I just wasn’t privy to it.

I loaded the shopping cart generously—varieties of native shrubs, ornamental grasses, flowering climbers, even a citrus tree or two. The pages were filled with life and growth, a stark contrast to the shadow hanging over my reality. Every plant added to the cart felt like a hopeful gesture. A small rebellion against everything that had gone wrong.

As the list grew longer, the pressure in my chest began to ease ever so slightly. I imagined those plants rooted in foreign soil, thriving somewhere far away from here. I imagined Chloe there too, perhaps prowling through the grass, with Snowflake sunbathing in a patch of light. A place untouched by police cars and portals, by secrets and sorrow.

Just green.

Just peace.

Just… us.

And for now, that dream was enough to keep me going.

The vibrating phone jolted me back to my room, severing the fragile thread of my daydream. The vivid tranquillity I had constructed—fields of flowers, laughter, safety—evaporated in an instant, replaced by the flat grey hum of reality. The screen of my laptop flickered back into focus, its blue light casting sharp edges on everything around me. I exhaled slowly, bracing myself as I picked up the phone.

12:43PM Luke: I'll send you Adrian's credit card details. He has two of them, so max one out. We may as well use it before the accounts get frozen.

My heart sank.

The words punched through the quiet like a shard of ice to the spine. I stared at the message, rereading it, wishing it had said something else. But the words were as clear as they were damning: before the accounts get frozen. There was no escaping the reality of what we were involved in. Whatever adrenaline or sense of purpose I'd found moments earlier, it dissolved into something far heavier. I wasn’t just assisting Luke. I was now fully embedded in this mess. And I wasn’t sure there was a way back.

My gaze drifted across the bed to Snowflake, still curled contentedly beside the half-empty bottle of shiraz like it was a familiar friend. Her body rose and fell in quiet rhythm, utterly unaware of the looming danger. I swallowed hard.

“There’ll be no safety for you here,” I murmured to her, the words barely above a whisper. They stung more than I expected. It was a confession, really—one I hadn’t wanted to admit aloud. For either of us.

Dragging my focus back to the laptop, I squared my shoulders and moved onto the next task. I shifted to the tube stock section of the site, my fingers poised above the touchpad with fresh resolve. These were different from the trees I’d previously selected. Tube stock—young plants already started in nursery cells—offered faster growth, hardiness, and most importantly, practicality. No need to wait months for a seed to sprout in an environment that might not be kind to it. These would bring instant life to whatever patch of dirt Luke and the others were scraping into a home.

I filled the digital shopping cart with methodical care: wattles for nitrogen-fixing and their hardy blooms, native flax for fibre and resilience, clumps of native grasses for stabilising soil and building habitats. Each selection felt like more than a plant—it felt like a statement of intent. Growth. Survival. A future.

My fingertips hovered above the touchpad as I double-checked everything. I could hear the faint tick of the wall clock. Outside, the street remained unnervingly quiet. No knocks. No engines. Just the low, distant buzz of a world still spinning while mine felt frozen in this surreal moment.

I entered Adrian’s card details. My breath caught in my throat as I clicked ‘confirm’.

A loading circle spun slowly on the screen—agonisingly slow.

Then finally:

Your order has been successful!

I blinked. Relief swept through me like an unexpected gust of warm wind. “What a relief,” I whispered to Snowflake, who stretched in response but didn’t stir. She hadn’t the faintest idea that her human had just committed credit card fraud on a scale large enough to land her in prison.

A nervous giggle escaped me, tinged with disbelief. I quickly forwarded the confirmation email to Luke, my hands still trembling slightly.

And then, as I stared at the laptop screen, the absurdity of it all hit me like a freight train.

Plants. Wine. Police. Portals. Fraud.

A dry, crooked smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as the thought slid into my brain, bold and undeniable:

You really are a fugitive now.

And God help me—I wasn’t sure whether I was terrified or exhilarated.

With the unrelenting presence of the police outside, their watchful eyes fixed on the house like vultures circling a carcass, a deep, sinking realisation settled in my gut—I couldn't stay here any longer. Not for another hour, not for another minute. The pressure of their silent surveillance was suffocating. The knowledge that Adrian's credit card use would raise a red flag, leading authorities directly to this address, this bedroom, this laptop—it clenched around me like a noose tightening. Every keystroke, every click had etched a digital trail back to me. And worse, if I lingered, I wouldn’t be the only one caught in the blast radius.

My parents. I couldn’t drag them into this, not after everything. Whatever protection their ignorance offered would vanish the moment I spoke the truth. There was only one option left. I had to leave—permanently. I had to follow my sister to Clivilius.

"Or Cody," I whispered aloud, my voice catching in my throat as I turned the small Portal Key over between my fingers. The cold device felt strange and foreign against my skin, a powerful token of a different life. One I hadn’t asked for, and wasn’t sure I deserved. I stared at it for a long moment, its unassuming simplicity belying the enormous choice it represented.

"If Cody hadn't stolen your sister, the decision would have been a heck of a lot easier," I muttered to Snowflake, my voice a bitter murmur that filled the empty room. She blinked up at me from the bed, her tail curled protectively around her paws. I placed the device gently on the bedside table beside her. "I'm sorry, but I can't leave my sister either."

The air seemed to grow heavier with the finality of my words. No matter how much I longed for comfort, for Chloe, for Cody, my loyalty was split—ripped clean in two.

Resolved, I crossed the room and yanked my suitcase from under the bed. The sheer weight of it made me stumble. "This was a stupid idea," I grunted, heaving the bulky thing onto the mattress. I stared at it—an absurd monument to wishful thinking. There would be no leisurely transitions, no gentle relocation. This was an escape. It needed to look like one.

I swapped it for my old travel backpack. Smaller. Lighter. More discreet. I tossed in the barest of essentials—clothes, toiletries, a few keepsakes I couldn’t leave behind. As I zipped it shut, my eyes roamed the room.

Every object became a portal to a memory—framed photos, worn books, the chipped mug Beatrix had given me last Christmas. My breath caught in my throat. I was packing not just to leave, but possibly to never return. The quiet hum of the fridge, the distant bark of a neighbour’s dog—these banal sounds felt suddenly monumental. Precious.

Snowflake mewed softly, her little head tilting as if sensing the shift in the air.

“I know, baby,” I whispered, kneeling beside her. “We’ll go soon.” My hand rested gently on her back, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing. She didn’t resist. She never did.

Pulling on warmer clothes, I crept toward the living room, peering through the blinds. The officer was still there, seated in the same position across the street, his presence now a looming shadow over everything. I clenched my jaw. It had to be now.

I slipped quietly out the back sliding door, the soft creak of the runner sounding like thunder in the hush of late afternoon. The cold hit me immediately, sharp and unforgiving. I crossed the timber deck quickly, the soft thud of my steps muffled by the wood grain slick with condensation.

The back fence loomed ahead—my final barrier.

I reached for the top, the wood damp beneath my fingers, when something made me pause. I turned back instinctively. And there she was.

Snowflake.

Perched behind the glass door, her white form silhouetted against the shadows inside. Her eyes met mine—wide, bewildered, and heartbreakingly trusting. She didn’t understand. How could she?

The sight unravelled me.

A single sob tore from my throat, and I fell to my knees, one hand gripping the fence, the other pressed to my chest as though trying to stop my heart from breaking in two. Tears welled behind my eyes, warm against the biting cold on my cheeks.

"I'll send Luke back for you," I promised, my voice cracked and trembling. “I swear it.”

I blew her a kiss, her nose pressed gently to the glass. That was the last image I would carry with me. Her tiny pink nose. Her eyes, full of questions.

And the space where Chloe should have been.

“I’m so sorry,” I choked, the words catching in my throat. “I’m sorry I have to break up the pair of you.”

It felt like betrayal.

But what choice did I have?

I forced myself to my feet, chest heaving with the weight of it all. With a final, aching glance, I gripped the top of the paling fence and hauled myself over, scraping my palms on the rough wood. I landed hard on the other side, the backpack jolting against my spine.

For a moment, I didn’t move. Just stood there, heart pounding.

Then the voice in my head—quiet, steady, resolute—cut through the fog.

There’s no turning back now, Gladys.

And this time, I didn’t argue.