What was left?

CHAPTER 1 — AFTERMATH

I am still on my own. It’s my skinny arse that’s on.

There were a lot of cars at the cemetery. They brought him in on the back of an old pickup and buried him with a bottle of Jim Beam and a pound of weed. Some of his friends wanted to smoke it right there. Mostly they stood around, quiet and uneasy, wondering who had done it and why. He had served an accidental purpose. That was the truth of it.

That night I went down to the club and stayed a couple of hours. There was a strange group sitting in front of us — a very young girl, a huge Māori boy wasted beyond function, and two others about the same age. One swung bling and kept his head shaved. The other was harder to place. He couldn’t keep his hands off me.

I was alive, imprudent, and drunk. I thought about leaving with him, then didn’t. I shouted in his ear to follow me anyway. We ended up in a cubicle. The bass thumped through the walls. He didn’t last long. I remember thinking it must have been a while.

We came out flushed. No one noticed. Sweat covered everything.

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CHAPTER 2 — COVER STORIES

The group was still there. As the girl walked past, her hand brushed my arm. I thought, why not. I was tired of Chris. Maybe a girl would be easier.

She gave me an address in Sandringham. Said not to worry — people behaved themselves there. I drove over. The bling guy was already inside. She cut lines on a plate. Clean. Strong. I was wrecked fast.

Everyone seemed ordinary. Jerry was there — quiet, educated, polite. The Māori boy had been left at his mother’s place. A good boy, she said. Always looked after her.

The girl drifted in and out of rooms. Another girl appeared upstairs and settled onto Jerry’s lap. I followed the first one into a bedroom. I woke the next morning in my own bed with no idea how I got there.

I rolled a joint and got fucked. Tried not to think about the boy who’d died for nothing.

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CHAPTER 3 — DISAPPEARANCE

Nobody knew who I was. That was the point.

My handler was already on a plane. I was just another girl who liked to fuck and snort. A message came through, brief and careful. I deleted it. The suggestion was simple: disappear.

I went to Bali. Then Thailand. Slept with strangers. Let time smear things out. Flew back like nothing had happened.

Nobody noticed I’d been gone. If they did, they assumed rehab or a bust. It didn’t take long to reconnect with the crew I needed. Slimy. Careless. Necessary.

They were the only ones who might know where the boys were.

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CHAPTER 4 — THE LONG GAME

I’d been in their scene long enough to pass unnoticed. That was my mistake and my advantage. There was no backing out now.

The ex’s death was expected. Someone always paid. Better him than me. The order had gone out. End of story.

One of us had to stay inside it. Pretend. Absorb the dirt. Either that or blow everything wide open.

The past in the bush was too messy to touch directly. This had to be done sideways — something that caught attention, stroked ego, promised reward.

He was a slimeball. That much was clear. We knew he’d been contacted, that advice had been given. The records were gone. That didn’t matter. People remembered.

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CHAPTER 5 — THE BENCH

A senior figure hesitated, then agreed. Not happily. Not cleanly.

What was proposed sat outside the rules. Everyone knew it. Nobody wanted responsibility for stopping it.

The sentence was heavy. Deliberately so. The reasons said what they needed to say and no more. Someone else was credited. Someone else was exposed.

The story died quietly. No follow-ups. No noise. Files closed.

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CHAPTER 6 — PRESSURE

The appeal was a performance. Money moved. Egos swelled. Outcomes were decided long before anyone spoke aloud.

I played my part. Listened. Fed lines where they were needed. Let people believe they were clever.

I drank too much. Used too much. Stayed functional, just. When it got close, I swam at night and didn’t care who saw.

Cold cases rot the inside. This one was frozen solid.

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CHAPTER 7 — WHAT WAS LEFT

My name was still mine. I held onto it.

I remembered who I’d been before the work, before the pretending. Before I mistook endurance for purpose.

In the end, agreements were reached. No testimony. No theatre. Men who thought they were untouchable learned otherwise.

Before I left town, I went back to the cemetery. The grass was flattened where people had sat. Empty bottles. Half-smoked joints.

I stayed a while.

Sorry, buddy. You got in the way. You weren’t meant to be there. You couldn’t have known.