 
The Last Conversation

Robert Neville

Published by Robert Neville at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 Robert Neville

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Table of Contents

About Robert Neville

Part I

1 February 1998

15 February 1998

22 February 1998

2 March 1998

6 March 1998

12 March 1998

13 March 1998

18 March 1998

20 March 1998

24 March 1998

27 March, 1998

3 April 1998

8 April 1998

10 April1998

13 April 1998

19 April 1998

21 April 1998

30 April 1998

4 May 1998

10 May 1998

14 May 1998

28 May 1998

9 June 1998

12 June 1998

15 June 1998

16 June 1998

27 June 1998

28 June 1998

Part II

29 June 1998

11 July 1998

12 July 1998

17 July 1998

20 July 1998

24 July 1998

25 July 1998

29 July 1998

30 July 1998

5 August 1998

8 August 1998

13 August 1998

15 August 1998

20 August 1998

21 August 1998

Part III

8 September 1998

5 October 1998

Epilogue

6 July 2000

Eulogy in full
Part I
1 February 1998

_Good morning and welcome, I would like to thank you all for coming._

"So why the fuck are you here?"

Christine Goldstrom did not answer right away. She sat in a chair opposite him. The front door was closed, as was the room's only window, and the cigarette smoke hung thick in the air between them.

A ceiling fan turned slowly, bringing some relief from the heat in the room. Ash rode the currents of air, a small piece dancing, floating in smaller and smaller circles before landing on her stockinged knee.

Frustrated, she flicked the ash away, still not answering.

She realised this was a bad idea; she should never have come. She had known it since pulling up in the small parking lot, leaving her Peugeot in front of a faded sign. 'River Gardens – a supported community of the Salvation Army'.

She had no idea what a supported community was; it sounded like a nursing home or a place to help disabled people, only she had never seen one so shabby before. Cracks spidered through the brickwork of the buildings and graffiti covered the leaning wooden fence that marked the property's border.

She had gotten out of her car and walked through the small gate. A row of small flats marched off to her right, a common veranda joining them to the large building on her left. A signpost indicated that the large building housed the meeting room and cafeteria. A smaller sign on the first flat said 'office'.

She had knocked on the office door and waited. A noticeboard next to the door had a list of Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous meeting times, indicating that this clearly was not a nursing home.

The door to the office had opened and a large woman had looked out at her. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, hello, I'm looking for Gary Burton," she had said in her most polite voice.

The woman had looked Christine up and down, shaking her head. "What would someone like you want with him?"

"I have a meeting with him. What room is he in?"

The woman had shrugged, leaning out of the office door and pointing down the veranda with her thick finger. "Number eleven, last one on the right. Can't miss it."

"Thank you."

She'd harrumphed and watched Christine walk down the veranda.

Christine had walked to the end and knocked on the door with the tarnished numerals '11' screwed into the flaking wood. After a few moments, the door had opened, and Gary Burton had stared at her, his eyes squinting against the sunlight.

"Hi, I'm Christine Goldstrom; we spoke on the phone."

He'd swayed a little, seeming to look past her at the empty space behind her. A glass of amber liquid had swirled around in his left hand and a cigarette dangled off his lower lip. Nodding, he'd ushered her in, pointing to an armchair before sitting down.

The first words he'd uttered was that question. "So why the fuck are you here?"

She felt like she could barely breathe with all the smoke. She had asked if they could talk outside, but he had shaken his head and repeated the question.

"Could we maybe talk outside?" she asked hopefully.

"No. I'm not allowed to drink outside where the other residents can see me. Now answer the question; why are you here?"

He continued to watch her from his chair in the corner. It was hard to make him out; the curtains were closed and the light from the single bulb in the fan struggled to penetrate through the gloom and the smoke.

From where he was sitting, his cigarette ignited at the tip, a circle of glowing embers amidst the shadows. She heard him breathe in and the circle grew brighter.

Lowering the cigarette, he started to breathe out and then he began coughing loudly. He exhaled in short, stunted gasps, the smoke punching its way out of his mouth, breath after breath until there was nothing left. Having escaped, the smoke drifted upwards to merge with the cloud already there, further blocking out the feeble glow of the light bulb.

Flicking the excess ash from his cigarette into an ashtray, she heard him take a drink from his almost empty glass.

"Well I've asked you twice why came to see me, three times if you count the other day on the phone. Is it too hard a question to answer?"

She went to speak, but there were no words.

Pursing her lips, she flicked another piece of ash from her skirt, watching as it drifted down to join the rest on the stained carpet. Her eyes stung from the smoke as she watched him and waited. In the ten minutes she had been here, she had begun to understand why patience was a virtue. It was taking all she had not to rush over to open the window or the door and just bask in the sunlight and fresh air.

He barely seemed to notice.

"You don't look like a slut, so I doubt you're here for a bit of my cock. Or are you? Maybe you're one of those rich bitches who find fucking a degenerate 'exciting'."

Brushing a stray hair from her fringe away from her face, she continued to wait, silent. She felt it best not to respond to such a vulgar comment.

He took a final drag of his cigarette and crammed it into the ashtray. His leaned forward as he spoke, his face coming into the gloomy light, his thin bloodless lips pulling back into a grin.

"Is that it? Would you get 'excited' fucking me?"

She hadn't been expecting that. Coughing, she drew herself up straighter. "I...um...no, that is not why I'm here, Mr Burton."

"Then tell me why the fuck you are here or I'll just keep on thinking it's this one. You want to be on top or bottom? I'm easy either way. Although with my condition, you'll probably have to do most of the work."

She felt her face redden, partly from embarrassment and partly from annoyance. This was not going as she'd expected. He was nothing like she'd expected. In his chair, Gary shook his head. "Well maybe you've come to—"

"I...I have not come to do anything with you. I was sent here...to try and help you."

"Who sent you?"

"My church did. I wanted to do some evangelical work, and my minister suggested that I come here and see you."

Gary sat there, silent for a moment, thinking. "Why would you think I'd need help?"

"I...I've been told of your situation."

He smiled, but there was no humour in it. "My situation? What exactly is my situation?"

Christine swallowed. "I...I was told that you were...you were dying?"

"Yeah, been doing that for years now. So, what? It don't bother me none. Besides, what could you do to help me? You got a cure for AIDs?"

"No, I do not have a cure."

"So how the fuck are you meant to help?"

"I...I can be here if you'd like to talk. Maybe offer some support?"

Gary took another sip of his drink, not responding, dragging the silence out. Christine breathed deeply before sitting back, unable to speak again.

Putting his drink down, he made as if to stand up. "Well, thanks for the offer but I don't need any bloody help. I could use a fuck though. You wanna help me out there?"

"Mr Burton, if you could please—"

"The name is Gary. Call me Gary."

"OK then...Gary. I've come to help you in any way that I can emotionally and spiritually. If you want...physical comfort, then I suggest you look elsewhere."

He laughed, setting off another coughing fit. She reached into her bag and took out a handkerchief, handing it to him.

He waved her away, coughing into his hand and then wiping his palm on his shorts. Breathing deeply to stop himself from coughing again, he leant back and resumed his leering, scratching at the stubble on his chin.

"Like I said, I don't need any help. I got all the help I want. Too bloody much of it, if you ask me. Everyone wants to help the fucking dying. Where was everyone when I didn't have a terminal illness? That's my question. As soon as everyone knows you don't have long to live, they're all there to try and help. Got it completely fucking backwards."

Christine stood up, preparing to leave. "Well, I am sorry to have bothered you."

"Well you did."

"And I am sorry."

"Bullshit."

"I am. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Like I said, I don't need some bitch trying to help me out just so she can stand up in church and pretend to be the new fucking saint of Australia."

"Excuse me, but I am not trying to be the new..."

She halted, just catching herself before she swore. As she stood frozen, mid-sentence, he laughed.

Cursing beneath her breath, she regretted the outburst and tried to regain her composure. She moved to the door and opened it, flooding the interior of his room with daylight.

It was petty, but she enjoyed seeing him cringe from the brightness, bringing one hand up to shadow his eyes. In the daylight, she could see that next to his glass sat a half-empty bottle of scotch.

"I must go, Mr Bur...Gary. I only came by today to introduce myself. I am sorry if I upset you. I...I won't come back if you don't want me to."

He stopped laughing. Scratching his chin again, he blinked to adjust to the sunlight and watched her.

Christine tried to meet his gaze but couldn't. There was something there, some emotion that she couldn't place, something that made her uncomfortable.

Reaching into his pocket, Gary took out his cigarette packet and removed another cigarette. After pulling out his lighter, he lit the cigarette and stuck it between his teeth.

Grinning, he smiled at her, the cigarette dangling between his lips.

"Yeah, why not have some company? Come round any time you like. I don't really go anywhere."

Her brow furrowed. She paused, processing his statement. He took a drag on his cigarette, watching her.

"Was there something else?" he asked.

"Ah, no, nothing. I might come by next week, if that's all right?"

"Whatever. I'll be here."

He leaned across to the dresser next to his armchair and turned on a radio. Sitting back comfortably, he took another drag of his cigarette and closed his eyes.

He didn't say anything, but the dismissal was plain.

She left the room, closing the door behind her, not sure if she'd wanted to slam it. She leaned against it, her eyes closed, breathing deeply. The air felt clean, not just from the smoke but also from him.

From inside the room, she heard him coughing again. It was the only sign she could see that he was dying.

She needed a coffee – a strong one. As she walked back to her car, all she could think to herself was that it had begun, and there was no going back now.
15 February 1998

_Good morning and welcome, I would like to thank you all for coming._

Coming here today to say farewell to someone we all cared about

It was a hot day, one of the hottest days they'd had all February, and Christine was sweating profusely. Running her hand across her brow, she watched Gary. It was her third visit and she was determined that this time, he would not get the upper hand.

They weren't in his room, and she was thankful for that at least. In this heat, even he had had to admit that his room was like an oven.

Instead, they were in the hostel's garden, a small square of lawn surrounded by a few straggly trees in weed-filled beds. They sat on white plastic lawn chairs, the type you found at a discount store and always felt like one of the legs was just about to give way.

Gary had of course chosen the chairs that were not in the shade, forcing her to sit in direct sunlight, the sun beating down relentlessly. Still, it was better than being in his room, both for the heat and air quality.

Christine was sweating. She hated sweating, but she was determined. She longed to take off the light knitted cardigan she wore. Instead she kept it wrapped tight around her. She wore a modest blouse underneath, but before when she'd started to take off the cardigan, she had felt Gary's eyes on her and quickly buttoned it up again.

When he looked at her, she felt naked.

Gary seemed quite relaxed. He sat in the lawn chair opposite her, one leg extended before him. The cotton khaki shorts that he wore ruffled as the occasional breeze passed them by, and his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a small spattering of black wiry hair across his pale, bony chest.

A thin gold chain hung around his neck. She hadn't noticed it in her previous visits due to the gloominess of his room. A ring was threaded onto the chain.

"That's a nice ring. Where did you get it?"

"What, you think I fucking stole it?"

"What? No...I didn't mean that. I was wondering if someone had given it to you or whether it was a family heirloom."

He pulled the chain outwards, holding the ring between his fingers. It was a thick band of gold with some small scrollwork along the edges; from its size she could see it was cut for a man's finger. "Someone gave it to me."

"How come you don't wear it on your hand?"

"Cause I like it around my neck. You the fucking fashion police?"

"No...I...never mind." She fell into silence again, unsure of what to say or how to respond. She was determined...but it was slipping.

He took another drag on the cigarette in his hand. It didn't bother her as much out here, but the look of him blowing smoke through his nose still made her feel uncomfortable. His eyes regarded her, like they always did. Even though this was the third time she'd visited him, she still couldn't determine what emotion lay behind those dark brown irises.

"So, Mother Teresa, what shall we talk about today?"

Christine shrugged. "We can talk about whatever you like. Maybe you could tell me about yourself."

"Like what?"

"I don't know; tell me about where you grew up?"

"In a house, like most people."

"Very funny, Gary; tell me about your childhood, your family."

His face grew still, smoke curling out between his teeth. "Oh, I don't think you'd like that story."

Christine leant forward, smiling. "I'm sure I can handle whatever you tell me." She waited, determined that this time she wouldn't back away first.

"I'm warning you, it's pretty fucking rough. Not everyone has had an easy life like you."

Images of hospital wards, needles, vomiting for hours and crying into a clogged drain flickered through her mind, but she quickly dismissed them; she was good at that. She could also see this as a deflection, but she couldn't avoid biting. "What makes you think I've had an easy life?"

"Let me guess. Parents are still together; your dad had a good job while your mother stayed home and looked after the house, which they own. In fact, they probably own more than one, isn't that right?"

"Actually, my mother works as well. She volunteers at..."

"People with money volunteer and call it work. People without money call it community service. Did you go to a private school? Church every Sunday?"

"I went to a good school and yes, we attended church, but that does not—"

She stopped as she saw Gary shake his head dismissively. "Rich parents, good school, such a hard life," he said sarcastically.

Christine stiffened. "Just because my parents worked hard and were successful does not mean my life was easy."

"And what did you do with all their hard work?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you go to uni? Have you got a job?"

"Yes, I went to university. I did a Bachelor of Accounting and I work in the finance department of my local diocese."

"Your local disease?"

"Die-oh-sees," she pronounced phonetically. "They govern the local network of churches."

"Fuckin' hell. You work for a church; you got sent here to do churchy work. You are a regular fucking nun, aren't you?"

"Nuns are Catholic. I'm an Anglican."

"And you work for a church, whoop-de-fucking-do."

"I don't 'work for a church'. I run the entire eastern region's finances. I may be wasting my time right now talking to you, but do NOT say that I have wasted my life."

"Well if you're wasting your time coming to see me, why the hell do you keep coming back?" Gary said, looking up at her, smiling.

She was standing almost on top of him, not that she could remember moving forward. She felt her nails digging into her palms and the dizziness felt worse. Squeezing her eyes shut to try and push him out of her mind, she picked up her handbag. "I...I need to take a walk," she said as she started to move away from him.

"You really don't like that question, do you?" he called out to her as she left their square patch of lawn.

She was angry. She'd been so determined that today, at least, he wouldn't get under her skin. She had failed. Again.

She saw a small dirt path at the back of the hostel that led into more gardens, a 'rainforest' setting of palms and wildflowers. Ahead, she could hear water and soon after the path opened out near a park alongside the Parramatta River.

Here, the plants were better maintained, by council workers and not the hostel's residents. Usually, the plants would have soothed her. She had always enjoyed gardening and tended the plants she kept on the balcony of her apartment with care. Even a garden filled with weeds and rubbish like the hostel's would lighten her mood.

Behind her though, she could hear the crunch of dirt beneath feet and the flip-flop noise of a pair of thongs. He was whistling as well, just to make sure she knew he was following.

Ahead, she saw a small jetty poking its way into the river and she made her way onto it. Staring out at the Parramatta River, she prayed that he would have turned around by now. That he would return to his room and leave her alone.

Stopping his whistling, she heard him climb up to sit on the jetty's railing.

She was sweating again, from the walk. She opened her cardigan and let the breeze off the water cool her.

She knew he was waiting for her to say something, waiting for her response, but she was no longer in the mood.

Instead, she looked out over the water, watching what she assumed was a father and son sailing a small catamaran. Above her, a lone seagull called out, asking if she was there to throw scraps of food.

She continued to grip the railing. The wood was rough beneath her palms, the once pristine paint stripped off by countless hands and the briny air, leaving only small flecks of white that clung to the recesses.

Chicken wire had been strung between the railings, but it was rusted. Here and there the holes had stretched out where it looked like someone had kicked it.

Yet the condition of the pier did not bother her, nor did the lone seagull that continued to circle above, pleading in false starvation. A ferry pushed its way through the chop, heading towards Sydney, making the small catamaran bob in its wake, but she paid it no mind. Looking down, she could see her reflection in the water. And a little to the left of it, she could see his as well.

She could hear the soft rattle of his breathing, the brisk walk making him want to cough. Though she knew that it was probably the salt off the water and the barnacles that clung to the jetty, she was sure she could smell him.

She heard him move, and he was right behind her. Closing her eyes, she listened for what he would do next.

She heard a small click as he spun the wheel of his lighter. The sound of the flame flickered in the breeze, like tearing paper.

She heard him inhale, then exhale. Smoke curled around her head before being whipped away by the wind. Closing her eyes, she wondered again why Reverend Thomas had sent her here. Of all the places, of all the people he could have sent her to talk to, why the hell did he choose Gary Burton?

Opening her eyes, she turned around quickly, forcing him to step back or risk being struck. "Do you enjoy insulting me, Mr Burton?"

She was proud of herself; her voice had been pleasant during the entire sentence.

"I told you to call me Ga—"

"I call my friends by their first name and my acquaintances by their last. And you didn't answer my question."

He grinned, stepping back and hopping up onto the railing. "Very well, miss etiquette, the answer is yes. Why shouldn't I get some enjoyment out of this? I may as well get just as much out of this as you are."

"Get as much out of this as I am! What could you possibly think I'm getting out of listening to you insult me? All I'm trying to do is offer a little comfort in your..."

Her face blanched, her voice trailing away. He watched her, unperturbed.

"Last days. I can say it, so why can't you? You're not the one who's going to die; I am. It's the reason you're here, isn't it?"

"I'm here to..."

"If I got better right now, there's no way you'd still hang around. You're only here to be charitable, to feel good about yourself for comforting a dying man."

"That is not true."

"Bullshit it isn't. These meetings aren't about me. They're about you feeling good about yourself."

"No, they are not."

"OK then, tell me. Why are you here?"

Christine stood there, silent. She turned around, looking back out across the water. The catamaran had disappeared; the water was getting rougher and they must have stopped for the day. The seagull was still there, crying out, joined now by two of its friends.

"I think the more important question is why you ask me to keep coming back," she said, looking over her shoulder. "It's obvious you doubt my intentions and you do your best to make these encounters uncomfortable."

"So, this is an 'encounter', is it? I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment."

"Don't play with my words, Mr Burton. I do not appreciate it."

He raised his arms in mock-submission, the grin still on his face. She stood there, waiting. Turning his face, he took another drag on his cigarette, looking out across the river.

"Bloody hot, isn't it?"

At the mention of the heat, she remembered how hot she was. Her blouse was sticking to her back, and her fringe was slicked against her forehead.

She grabbed the edge of her cardigan to take it off just as he turned back around. His eyes flitted to her breasts and she hesitated, buttoning the cardigan back up instead. His grin deepened.

She leant back against the railing. Eyes closed, she wished she was back in her apartment, the air conditioning on full, an iced tea on the table and a good book in her lap. She wished she was in a prisoner-of-war camp, being tortured and starved. She wished she was in hospital, hooked up to machines and needles and horrible treatments. She wished she were anywhere but here.

Opening her eyes, she saw him still sitting there. The heat got hotter.

He turned again, to look out across the water.

"It's like buying a car," he said as he watched the water. "When you buy a car, you take it for a test drive. Not the bullshit one at the dealership where you check everything is working and drive for about ten minutes.

"I'm talking about the real test drive, after you've bought it. You find some old country road and open her up from a standing start, revving through the gears and flicking gravel out the back. You take the corners sharp, feeling where she starts to slide. You check her top speed and how long it takes her to get there.

"You do it so you know how far you can push it before it gives. Because you need to know what it can and can't do, what its limits are."

She did her best to keep the venom out of her voice. "So, I am the second-hand car in your little story?"

Gary smiled, flicking his cigarette butt into the water and turning towards her. "That all depends. You could be a new car. Ever driven anyone's stick?"

She returned his look, trying to keep the polite smile on her face. "That's none of your business. Either way, this car is not for sale."

"Oh, every car is for sale, Chris; it's just that some are more expensive than others."

"The name is Christine, or Miss Goldstrom, and even if I was for sale, I'd be out of your price range."

"I knew a car like you, once. It was an '83 Ford Meteor, a rusted-out heap of shit. The passenger-side door didn't open, and the engine only had a few hundred kays left in it before it died. The guy wanted four grand for it."

"What is your point, Mr Burton?"

He lowered his head, so she could just see the bottoms of his eyes. "My point is some people just don't realise that they ain't worth the asking price."

Her face was aflame, anger, shame, indignation and pure hatred igniting the skin in her cheeks as she stood there.

He leant back, arms wide to bask in the glow of her fury, laughing.

"I do not deserve this, and you know it."

His laughter faltered, and he looked at her. For a moment, she thought she'd almost seen guilt on his face.

"Well, what do you want then?" he asked defensively.

"You know what I want. I want to help you. But I'm not able to do that if you keep mocking me."

He looked out over the water, staring at the waves. Christine stood there waiting.

"I don't want any help."

"Then why do you ask me to come back?"

He didn't answer, just continued staring straight ahead. Rolling her eyes, realising that he wasn't going to talk, she straightened her cardigan and began walking away.

"Unless you're willing to talk, really talk, there's no point in my coming. I'd like to get to know you, but I'm tired of playing games."

As she reached the end of the jetty, he spoke. "I like to come here at sunset, when the tide is coming in."

She paused – not sure what was happening. Slowly turning, she made her way back to where he was standing. He watched her as she came back, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it while waiting.

She resumed her place at the railing. He took another drag of his cigarette. He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head.

"You see, when the tide comes in, all of the shit and garbage from the harbour comes with it. It comes down the river and collects in places like this little cove here, with the pier jutting out into the middle of it.

"You can't see the water. All you can see are plastic bags and old chip packets, broken tree branches and cigarette butts. The oil and petrol from the boats mixes with the dirty foam from the sewer run-off so everything's covered in a frothy shit-stained rainbow.

"It reminds me of the garbage bay in Star Wars, you know the one where the little eye pops up through all of the filth and something tries to drown Luke Skywalker and then the walls start closing in?

"Sitting here on the jetty, I sometimes feel like I'm the eye, with the garbage all around me, half expecting the fucking sandstone walls to move closer."

He paused for a moment before continuing, "And then, less than half an hour later, the tide changes and it all slowly gets pulled back towards Sydney, to be sucked out to Botany Bay and ride the Pacific Ocean. And the waters clear until the tide starts to come in again."

He fell silent, sucking on his cigarette. Christine stood there, not sure what to say.

He turned to her, taking another drag of the cigarette and blowing it out through his nose. "You said you wanted to know something about me, and now you fucking do."

Christine paused, hesitant. "Gary, I'm not sure what that means. Why do you like coming here at high tide? Why do you like the cove being filled with rubbish?"

He stared at her for a long time, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. Sniffing, he coughed and spat over the edge. "Because that's my life, Miss Goldstrom; that's my fucking life. Only for me, the tide never goes out. Not yet anyway. And when it does, I won't be there to see it all drift away."

She stood there, silent.

Shaking his head, he finished the cigarette and flicked it into the water to join the last one. "I need a drink. I'll see you next week."

And he walked off, leaving Christine on the jetty, waiting for the tide to come in.
22 February 1998

_Good morning and welcome, I would like to thank you all for coming._

Coming here today to say farewell to someone we all cared about

I did not expect there would be so many here

They were in his room again. She had asked to sit outside but he'd refused. As a small concession, Gary agreed to keep the curtains and window open. It barely made a difference to the late summer heat though.

Christine sat on one of the only two chairs in the room, a wicker sofa with one leg propped up by an old edition of the Yellow Pages. There were four pieces of furniture in the room: a bed; the chair she was sitting in; the overstuffed armchair Gary sat on across from her; and the dresser Gary used as a liquor cabinet. None of the pieces of furniture matched and all were owned by the hostel. In the corner was a pile of clothes Christine assumed was his 'wardrobe'.

Christine leaned back in the chair, turning her head to the side to look out the window. She had moved the sofa as close as she could to the window, so at least every third breath tasted clean. Outside, rhododendrons lined the wall and obscured most of her view of the garden.

Gary stood in front of the dresser examining a glass, running a finger along the inside to clean it. Content, he poured himself a large measure of scotch.

Looking at Christine he smiled, offering a drink. Politely, she shook her head. Shrugging, he raised the glass to his lips and downed the alcohol in one go.

He winced as it burnt his throat and then his stomach, but it didn't stop him from pouring another.

"Is there a reason why you drink so much, Gary?"

Gary looked at her, his eyes blank as he thought about the question. Looking down, he noticed the glass was about to overflow. Putting the bottle down, he looked at the full tumbler and shrugged.

"Why? Does my drinking bother you? You a tea-totaller?"

" I quite often have a glass of wine with dinner but I don't think I've ever drank the way you do."

"Then I guess we're just different. I haven't got time for soft drinking. It's whatever gets me drunk the fastest."

"Why do you try to get drunk as fast as you can?"

"Because after you leave me, you go to your church or your Bible study or visit your family. What do I do? I sit here in this shit-hole of a place, bored out of my fucking skull because there's never anything good on TV. It's a lot easier to die when you don't notice it coming."

Christine paused, thinking.

"But you're never drunk when I come to visit."

Gary smiled, putting the drink down next to the armchair.

"That's true. I generally tend to hold off until after you've gone."

"If you can hold off for that long, why not just keep going and not drink?"

"Maybe it's because spending an hour with you would drive anyone to drink. Or maybe I just wait out of respect. It ain't that interesting talking to someone who is off their face."

"Have you thought about the effect the alcohol might be having on you?"

"Umm . . . hello. I got AIDS, what the hell is a bit of a drink going to do?"

"Well I don't think alcohol is a recommended treatment for AIDS."

"Neither's heroin, but that does the job too."

"You . . . you use heroin." Christine's face had paled as she spoke and Gary chuckled.

"Yeah, every now and again if the pain gets bad enough. I don't use that much, just a little smoke from time to time."

Christine swallowed. "Ok then."

"What, you never had to deal with a 'junkie' before?"

"Well . . . to be perfectly honest, no. But that doesn't really change anything, does it."

"Well I'm glad I haven't upset your morals."

Christine ignored the comment, realising she would probably lose any debate about drugs. "Have you thought of finding something other than using drugs to fill in the time?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Join a support group. Take up a hobby. Contact your family maybe?" She slipped the last part in there, hoping he would answer.

Gary picked the drink up again, staring into the amber liquid. Raising the glass, he drank until it was empty, a small trickle of scotch dripping down his chin.

"I don't have any family anymore."

Christine sat there, silent, unsure how to respond to that. Putting the glass back down on the floor, Gary leant his head back and relaxed.

She continued to wait patiently, watching him as he stared at the ceiling. Above them, the ceiling fan continued to spin; she was beginning to think it was never turned off. Instead it just kept spinning around and around forever. A small piece of sticky tape was stuck to one of the arms, clicking against the housing as it spun; an aural accompaniment to the eternal circle.

The wicker sofa creaked as she shifted her weight, disturbing Gary. He moved his gaze from the ceiling to her. His eyes were red, bloodshot, but she could not tell if it was from the alcohol, the smoke in the air or an emotional state.

"If you're thinking of asking me about my past, Chris, you can forget it. We talked about it a few weeks back."

She ignored the incorrect use of her name, seeing it for the distraction he had meant it as. She was not about to be distracted when she was finally back at the subject she wanted.

"Actually, you very cleverly avoided the subject by insulting me. But now that you have brought it up..."

Gary stood up, picking up his glass and moving over to the dresser.

"Isn't it time for you to be going soon? The hour's almost up and I am already two sheets to the wind."

"I am not a psychologist. I don't clock in on my visits. I can stay back."

He moved closer and placed one hand on each of the wicker sofa's armrests. Leaning down, he stared into her eyes, his face inches from hers.

"Are you sure you want to spend any more time than necessary with me?"

She could smell alcohol and cigarette smoke on his breath, clouding the soft scent of soap beneath.

Swallowing, Christine continued to look into his eyes, the irises so dark a brown they were almost black. The circles under his eyes formed dark shadows, contrasting with the pale skin pulled taut across his forehead.

"If it's something important, such as getting to understand you, then I'm happy to spend extra time here."

He continued to stare at her, not making any movement to back away.

"Like I told you before, it's not pretty. Are you sure you want to go there?"

"We have discussed this before, if I remember. Something about a test drive? I am ready, Gary."

His lips curled back into a sneer and he stood up, moving back towards his own chair. Christine released the breath she had been holding; unaware she had been holding it in the first place.

He poured himself another drink before sitting down again. He did not take a sip but placed it on the floor next to the armchair.

"Where do you want me to start?"

Chris thought for a moment. She had doubted he would talk about his past, so she wasn't prepared for him to be open.

"You said you have no family anymore. What happened to them? Where is your father?"

He paused for a moment before answering.

"I wouldn't know. My mum met him one night when she went out with her friends. They were together for a month before she got pregnant and he split."

"So, she raised you by yourself?"

"No, she got together with another guy. He was a real piece of work, always hitting her. He sent her to the hospital a couple of times and started beating me when I turned ten."

"That . . . that must have been hard"

"I suppose, but I cleared out of there when I was fifteen."

"You ran away?"

"Yeah."

"Where did you go?"

"Sydney. I lived on the streets, I wasn't there long...you never last long when you first start out. I got arrested for bag-snatching...I was so pissed when mum didn't show for my court hearing. I found out later that son of a bitch had put her in the hospital the night before with three broken ribs."

"What happened then?"

"They sent me to juvie. They tell you it gives a teenager a chance to become rehabilitated before they get into worse trouble but that is bullshit. It's just another name for a prison, only with younger assholes. I thought it had been bad at home, but at least the son of a bitch didn't try and rape me."

Gary paused, letting what he had said sink in. As the colour began to return to Christine's pale face, he raised his shirt.

Across his abdomen, Christine could see several silvery thin scars starting at the bottom of his ribcage and descending to below the waist of his shorts. He ran his hand across the lines of raised flesh before pulling his shirt down.

"A screw driver did that. They sharpen them on the concrete so they really fucking hurt. Sometimes they would piss on them as well, to make sure the wounds got infected. Worse fucking place I've ever been in; even worse than adult prison.

"They released me to go to my mother's funeral. They had found her with a fractured skull and a crushed windpipe. The prick had taken off and she wasn't found for four days."

Christine worked some moisture into her mouth, not sure if she should ask him to go on. "I . . . I'm so sorry to hear that."

"It doesn't matter, I'm over it now. In fact, it turned out to be good for me."

"What do you mean?"

"At the funeral, I got away from the dickhead who was meant to be watching me."

"What did you do then?"

"I just kept running, ended up out near Liverpool selling gear."

"Gear?"

"Heroin."

"Is that when you got arrested again?"

"No, it was a pretty good business and we were making shitloads of money. Course, there is always someone wanting their piece of the action. When a guy I knew was stabbed to death right in front of me, I moved back into the city, doing whatever I could to make a quick buck and a quick fix. I was a dumb fuck, sharing needles and doing other stupid stuff. You can guess what happened from sharing the needles, which brings me here."

He finished, reaching down to pick up his tumbler and take another sip. Placing it back on the floor, he crossed his legs and watched her.

She sat there for a moment, thinking. Leaning forward in her chair, she swallowed before responding.

"So, when did you go to prison? You said before that the reform school was even worse than adult prison but you never mentioned going to adult prison."

"What? Oh yeah, sorry, I must have forgotten. I was there for a few months after an armed robbery."

Christine nodded, still trying to process it all. Gary shifted in the chair and hooked his leg over the arm.

"So, could you handle it all fine?"

Christine paused; she was unsure whether she should ask but decided she would anyway. "Gary; please do not be insulted by this question, but was any of it true?"

Gary stared at her, blankly, causing Christine to wish she could take the question back. She jumped as he erupted in laughter, leading to a fit of coughing. Leaning forward, he covered his mouth with his hand and waited until the coughing had eased.

Leaning back again, he smiled and shook his head.

"Shit. I thought I had you going there too."

"You did. I just wanted to make sure."

He raised his glass to her and finished his drink. Getting up, he went to fix himself another drink.

It was hot in the room, and Christine took out a small Chinese fan she had brought. Flicking it open, she began to beat the air, forcing the currents to eddy around her face, cooling her.

The sweating subsided, marginally, and she felt refreshed beneath the layers of clothing she wore as the air blew her cardigan open.

Looking up, she saw Gary standing next to the cabinet, watching her. Dropping the fan, she quickly pulled her cardigan closed again.

Shaking his head, Gary returned to his chair.

"How big a sleaze do you think I am?"

"It's not that. I..."

"Hey, I don't care what you think of me. But for your information, nice as they are, I wasn't trying to check out your tits. I was trying to read what was written on the fan."

Leaning out from his chair, he picked the fan up off the floor and opened it. Reading what was written, 'Beautiful Vanuatu', he closed it and handed it back to her.

"I . . . I didn't think you were looking at me."

Gary laughed.

"So even when you don't think I'm looking at you, you still close up like a fucking nun."

"I am just very..."

"Frigid? Self-obsessed?"

"Self-conscious; I don't want to give anyone the wrong idea."

"So, you don't want me to check you out?"

"Preferably not, no."

"Then wear a darker blouse. White may be the colour of purity, but it is also easy to see the bra you're wearing underneath. It's nice by the way, very lacy."

She stared at him, indignant. He just took a sip of his drink and grinned.

"Wear something darker and you could lose your little jacket thing."

She looked at him, confused at the comment. There was nothing sexual in it, or his gaze. He was simply watching her, studying her.

Shuddering, she preferred when it was sexual. Then she didn't feel like one of those small bugs children burnt beneath magnifying glasses.

He ran his hand over his head, the lank brown hair running through his fingers. As he did so, she noticed his watch.

Startling, she looked at her own. It was past five in the afternoon.

Standing up, she put her fan away.

"I'm sorry, I have to go."

Gary stood, holding his drink steady as he grinned and bowed.

"But of course. My lady must be off to church in the morning. My lady needs her rest for her fervent...praying."

She smiled, becoming immune to his humour.

"Gary, tomorrow is Tuesday; not many people go to church on Tuesdays."

Bowing in submission, Gary opened the door for her.

"Out of curiosity, what church do you go to? Just in case I feel the need for some . . . fervent praying myself."

Christine smiled as she walked out of the door, not expecting such a breakthrough.

"It is Saint Clément's. If you'd like to come on Sunday, I can pick you up. The minister, Reverend Thomas, Frank Thomas, is really nice and..."

Gary slammed the door in her face. Stunned, she stood there for a moment, trying to work out what had happened.

Inside, she heard Gary turn the radio on, as if nothing had happened.
2 March 1998

_Good morning and welcome, I would like to thank you all for coming._

Coming here today to say farewell to someone we all cared about

I did not expect there would be so many here

But I guess it makes sense when you think about it.

Returning the novel to her handbag, she leant her head against the back of the train seat. Buildings sped past on either side of her, the soft click-click-click of the tracks soothing her, lulling her.

Another train went past, the wind screaming and the tracks screeching in staccato as it rushed by, interrupting her thoughts and startling her. She called them 'Gary trains', and found it appropriate.

It was almost dusk, the setting sun glancing off the train's window and bathing the train's interior in a wash of reds and oranges. Office windows glittered, breaking the grey buildings into squares of gold. It was beautiful, in an urban sort of way and usually she would appreciate it. Right now, she could hardly care.

Her eyes were sore and she longed to be able to close them. Her bottom lip ached from where she had been biting it. She had bitten it so often of late she was sure it had started to scar. Yet above all, her head ached. Reaching up, she rubbed at her temple to soothe the pressure that had been coming more often for a few weeks now.

She called them her 'Gary headaches'.

She just wanted to get home. She wanted to never think about Gary again. He was invading all aspects of her life. At Bible study, they prayed for her success with bringing him to God. Her friends asked her how it was going and she had told them she was still building rapport. She hadn't even broached the subject of God yet and had been meeting with him for a month.

She had even started imagining him now. Last Sunday when the congregation was exiting the church after the service, she was sure she saw him standing across the street, watching the church. When she had blinked, he was gone.

'No, Chris, enough about Gary. Stop thinking about him!' she thought to herself. Flaring her nostrils in obstinate exhalation, she took her book out and again tried to read. It was to no avail as truncated sentences and carefully constructed imagery slipped past her, her concentration continually wandering to other matters.

Outside the window, the sky's brightness fled into the encroaching dusk and the train lights flickered and then came on. One of the lights was dying, the fluorescent tube flicking on and off attempting to ignite. The slight 'tink' kept interrupting her line of thought, distracting her and making the throbbing in her head worse. It was a 'Gary light'.

Pushing the sound of the flickering light and the occasional passing train from her mind, she focused on the book, forcing the words to form conducive sentences. She had only just begun the novel but the way she was going, it would never be finished.

A loudspeaker informed her they were reaching the next station, the voice echoing through a hail of static. The train slowed and people around her began to rise. Rising with them, she was herded into the exit by the crowd of people, becoming a part of the formless mass of cattle in suits and black skirts. She walked away from the car park and bus stop, pulling free of the crowd and enjoying the openness.

Two blocks from the station, she walked into Donelli's Automotive. Giovanni, or 'Jim' as he was known to his friends, was locking up the office as she walked into the workshop. He smiled at her. "Thought you were going to be here around two?"

"Sorry, I . . . I had the day off and decided to catch a train to Wollongong, get away from it all for an afternoon."

She was not sure why she lied; the truth was she had had another frustrating meeting with Gary. Maybe she was ashamed of the poor performance she had achieved with him thus far. Jim was one of the members of her Bible Study praying for her success.

Today's visit with Gary had not been productive. After what she had felt was the breakthrough of her previous visit, she felt today was the perfect opportunity to start talking about faith and try and get him to open up. Instead, Gary had attacked and insulted her from all directions until she had simply got up and left.

Regardless of whether Jim knew where she had been that day, he never said anything about it. "Fair enough; service was easy, nothing there to worry about." She thanked him, paying for the service and picking up the keys. As he pulled down the shutters he called out "see you in church Sunday,".

Getting into her car, she pulled away from the kerb, waving to Jim as she left. Flicking through the radio stations, she selected the CD player when it was apparent nothing decent was on. It had been 'Gary radio'.

Soft jazz started, filling the interior cabin and soothing her as she merged into the flow of traffic. Gridlock surrounded her, accompanied by the soft serenading of a saxophone. A solo pianist came on as she inched her way down Victoria Road, mixing with the smog and occasional horn. Turning off the main road, she headed through the back streets to Concord. She was tired, longing for sleep that for once was not troubled with bad dreams. Yet after the disastrous session with Gary today, she felt she needed more guidance.

Lowering her window slightly, she let the cool evening air play against her face as she neared the church. St Clément's looked like a house; the central building discernible only by the cross that rose from its roof. A sign notifying the public of the service times was nestled amongst a small rose garden.

Entering the driveway, she drove around to the rear car park. Turning off the engine, she got out of her car and locked it before entering the church. The solid oak double doors were open, fixed in place by small wedges. It was church policy that from nine in the morning to six o'clock at night, they were to remain open, inviting anyone who wished to enter to do so.

It was past six and the doors should have been shut. Yet for some members of the church, such as Christine, the doors never really closed. Reaching inside the door, she switched off the buzzer before it sounded. Kicking out the wedges, she closed and locked the doors behind her. Her heels clicked on the polished floor as she made her way to the small rectory at the back of the church, straightening a chair as she passed the table used to serve coffee and tea after church services.

Reaching the rectory door, she tapped softly. Not hearing a reply, she slowly opened it and entered, already feeling comforted. An oil heater in the corner kept the room pleasantly warm, making Christine realise how cold it had been outside, autumn starting right on time. Soft carpeting, red with small flowers woven into it, silenced her feet as she walked towards the desk. Off to the right, armchairs in various colours and shapes, donated over the years by parishioners, formed a semi-circle around a coffee table, a King James Bible resting neatly in the centre.

Reverend Thomas sat in a large overstuffed leather armchair behind his large mahogany desk. He was old; his grey hair slowly thinning on the top and the skin adopting the shine all balding men have. Thick plastic reading glasses rested on the bridge of his nose and a tarnished wedding ring clicked against the desk as he read.

Looking up from the sheath of papers he had been reading, he jumped, startled, before smiling at her. Lines pinched the corners of his eyes and mouth, adding to the wrinkles that were already there. "Christine, I am sorry. The Synod has asked me to give a speech about women preaching within the church and I must have lost track. I did not even hear the buzzer."

He motioned for her to sit and she pulled a chair over to the desk, sitting and resting her handbag in her lap. "I switched off the buzzer and closed the front doors for you. It's six thirty."

He got up, moving over to a small dresser which held an electric kettle and some cups. "Thanks for that. Would you like some coffee?" She nodded, letting the warmth and his idle conversation relax her. Even now, she could feel the headache begin to ease and she was glad she had decided to come here instead of going directly home.

He handed her a cup of coffee before sitting back down. Taking a sip, he watched her over the rim of his mug. "How was your meeting with...I am sorry, I have forgotten his name again."

"Gary. Gary Burton. It...it was not pleasant. He deliberately goes out of his way to vex me and he seems to be able to do that very well. I was happy our meeting finished early today or else I don't know what I would have done."

"You left?"

"No, he sent me away like a child." She felt a stab of guilt again, but worse than when she had lied to Jim. She did not want to admit she had been the one to end the visit, desperate to get away from him. "Honestly, Frank, I don't know how to get through to him. We are completely different. He is a foul, disgusting man who wants nothing more than to wallow in his own filth and misery."

Reverend Thomas nodded, silent. She saw him looking at a picture on his desk. A young woman with puffed up hair and bright clothes smiled out at him. It was a picture of his late wife who had died many years ago, before he had moved to her church. "Is he really like that?"

"I know I shouldn't judge others, but whenever I see him, he is either smoking or drinking. He freely admits to using heroin when he can afford it and he seems to take great pleasure in insulting people."

Reverend Thomas nodded again. "Was it for good? The sending away I mean; did he send you away for good?"

Christine hesitated before answering, surprised he had ignored her comments so blatantly and he would press her on the issue of her lie. "No...it was just for today. I'm to meet with him again next week. Reverend Thomas...I understand I asked to do this, but surely there is someone else I could talk to, someone less...like Gary."

"You dislike it that much?"

Christine laughed. "Dislike? Hate is more the word. My only day off work each week and I spend it talking to that...that animal."

Reverend Thomas sighed, leaning forward in his chair and taking another sip of his coffee. "Christine, the Bible says God and all of his angels rejoice more when one sinner comes to God than when a hundred Christians repent. This man is dying, with little time left."

"But I'm not good with strangers. I have never been very good with evangelism. Why can't one of the others do this, one of the youth leaders? Someone who actually knows what they are doing."

Reverend Thomas smiled. "You remind me of my wife. She used to tell me she could never be the dutiful minister's wife as she did not have the patience, yet all the parishioners dearly loved her. It was the fact she questioned herself that gave her the strength to persevere. You remind me of her, did you know that?

"To be honest, Christine, I don't think anyone else would have the patience or compassion needed to do this. How many people would listen to that man's abuse and stay? Not many, I can tell you but I know you, I know how much strength is in you, strength to persevere.

It is for this reason that when you came to me, I entrusted you with this task. If you keep persevering, I am sure God will see you though."

Christine nodded, looking downtrodden. Coming around to the front of the desk, Reverend Thomas took her hands within his own, smiling down at her. "Remember Jesus had to watch as his friends abandoned him and the people he loved called for his blood. Always remember He understands what it is you are trying to do, and He is grateful.

Christine did not respond and Reverend Thomas reached up and stroked her hair. "Would it help if we met together afterwards, so you can find a way to let off steam?"

Christine nodded, finishing her coffee and placing it on the desk. "That would be nice, Frank, thank you. It is getting late, I should go."

Reverend Thomas nodded and moved back around to his side of the desk. "I will pray for your success."

She left the rectory, leaving Reverend Thomas to his notes. Heading back out towards the car park, she felt her thoughts returning to Gary and the headache began to return.
6 March 1998

_Coming here today to say farewell to someone we all cared about_

I did not expect there would be so many here

But I guess it makes sense when you think about it.

I am sure this passing has brought sadness, pain, and sorrow.

Christine tapped her foot as she waited outside Gary's door. She had knocked twice already, but so far, she had been kept waiting. She heard a radio playing behind the door, but nothing else.

Sighing heavily, she knocked again, banging her fist on the plywood. The lock rattled inside the door-jam with the force of her pounding. She heard someone clearing their throat behind her and she turned.

The large woman she had met that first day was standing in the doorway of the office. She was wearing navy pants and a cream blouse and had her arms crossed in front of her. "He ain't in there."

Christine smiled politely, stepping away from Gary's door. "Do you know where he went?"

The matron shrugged her shoulders, forcing her double chin to form into a third. "Not a clue, love. He wanders off sometimes."

"Is it ok if I wait for him?"

"You can do what you like, it's a free country. Well it was, anyway. You want a cuppa?" Christine nodded and followed the woman as she walked back into her office.

The office was a small square room, no bigger than Gary's; a battered old desk sat in one corner, the fake pine laminate peeling at the corners. Christine smiled at herself as she looked at the tiny office chair sitting behind the desk, wondering how it was able to support the woman's weight.

Shaking her head, she pushed the thought away, reprimanding herself for being mean. The woman had walked over to a small kitchenette and flicked on the switch for the electric kettle. Another door on the back wall opened into a bathroom, just as it was in Gary's room.

Turning in a slow circle, Christine realised, except for the kitchenette, the room was identical to Gary's. "The place used to be a block of units, bedsitters run by the Department of Housing," the woman said, noticing Christine looking around. "When the Salvo's took it over, they turned this one into an office. The name's Judy by the way."

"Nice to meet you Judy, I'm Christine. What is this place anyway? Is it a hospital?"

"Nah, no one 'ere is sick, except for Gary, and he's been dyin' for months, he has. It's a supported community, like the sign out front says."

"What's a supported community?"

"It's like a rehab, but not. People who've had it tough can stay here, and there's a social worker who helps them out. We also run groups every day for the residents to attend. Difference here is you can go to work, or TAFE, or down the shops whenever you want."

"Does Gary attend the groups?"

Judy chuckled at the suggestion. "I don't think so love. Could you imagine him in a group? It'd be like chucking petrol on a fire!" Judy made a 'kaboom' sound, her arms mimicking an atomic explosion. She laughed harder, her chins wobbling in a way that suggested she laughed like this often.

"Are there rules here, for the residents?"

"Yeah, no drink, no drugs, no stealing and no sex. Well, no sex with each other, you can diddle yourself as much as you like," she said and started cackling again. Christine smiled politely. The image of this overly large woman 'diddling' herself made her feel squeamish.

"Then how does Gary not get thrown out?"

Judy did not answer, busying herself with pouring the water from the kettle into the mugs. "He got himself a special deal, on account of him being sick. As long as he don't cause trouble with the others, he can do what he wants. You want milk or sugar?"

"I like it black," Christine said and then hesitated. "I mean no milk or sugar."

Judy paused and looked at her as if she were simple. Christine smiled, weakly. She hoped she had not offended Judy, who looked Aboriginal. "I like it black too," Judy said. "Especially if they're six-foot-tall and have got a nice bum. But I have milk with me coffee" Judy roared with laughter at her joke, her whole body shaking as she opened the little bar fridge where the milk was kept.

Christine forced a laugh. She realised it was silly to think Judy may have been offended because she said she liked 'black' coffee. When Judy had settled down, Christine resumed their conversation. "Wouldn't Gary be a temptation for the other residents, with all his alcohol and...other things?"

"That's why he is in the last unit, to keep him as far away from everyone as we can. He's alright though, once you get to know him. He don't bring his drink outside, and no one else knows about the other stuff so I'd keep it to yourself if I was you." There was some heat in Judy's voice and Christine nodded. She had not planned on trying to get Gary kicked out; she was more curious than anything.

"How did he end up here?"

"We get a few people straight out of prison. They don't stay here long, just enough time to get themselves on their feet and then they take off or get thrown out."

"What was Gary in prison for?"

"Not my place to say, love. If Gary wants you to know, Gary will tell ya." Christine nodded, accepting the mug of steaming black coffee. She brought it to her nose; it was instant coffee, cheap instant coffee. Not wishing to be rude, Christine took a sip, hiding the grimace from the bitter taste.

"So, what do you do love?"

Christine relished the opportunity to talk. It meant she could put the cup of coffee down and not drink it. "I'm an accountant. I work for the Anglican Diocese and do most of their financial planning."

"Geez, we could use someone like you here. Folks 'round 'ere' got no idea what to do with money."

"It's quite easy, setting up a budget."

"Easy for you maybe, but we don't get the sharpest tools in the shed comin' round 'ere" Judy said, taking a long swallow of her coffee.

"Gary seems quite smart."

Judy nodded. "Gary really coulda been somethin'. But now I'm talkin' out of turn again."

"He talks to you?"

"Sometimes, depends on 'is mood. But you can't go six months day in, day out with the same people without opening your trap every once in a while."

Christine nodded. "He usually just insults me."

"So why you 'ere then?"

"I...." she didn't answer, instead wondering why she kept getting asked that question. "I was sent by my church, to try and bring him to God."

Judy chortled. "Love, he lives in a refuge run by the Salvo's. There's a minister 'ere at least once a week. If he wanted to be saved, he has all the people he needs to talk to. What Gary needs is a friend, someone who can crack through that thick skin of his."

Christine looked down at her cup of coffee. "I don't think I have enough training for that."

"Good. He don't need someone who's trained. He needs someone who's honest. I ain't ever seen anyone who can chew up and spit out a counsellor like Gary can. The social worker 'ere had two cracks at him and now pretends Gary doesn't exist and Pankaj is a really nice bloke."

Christine nodded, taking another sip of coffee and wincing. Looking at her watch, she realised she only had another thirty minutes left before she had to go. "I should try and find Gary. It's been nice talking to you, Judy."

Christine rose from where she had been sitting. Judy stood up as well, leaning a hand on the table and groaning as she stood. "No worries, you come back again. Not many people here I can have a normal conversation with."

Christine moved towards the kitchenette with her cup.

"Take it with you love, just bring it back when you've finished."

Christine nodded, thinking she would have preferred to have tipped it down the sink. She walked out of the office. During their talk, the sun had almost set and the sky burned pink and orange above her. She walked to the end of the veranda and knocked on Gary's door again, but there still was no response. Clutching the horrible cup of coffee, she headed towards the only other place she had been to with Gary.

From the hostel, it was just a short walk through the gardens to reach the river. Sprinklers hissed deep within the flowerbeds, competing with the crunch of crushed pebbles beneath her feet. She saw a small red dot glow for a second on the pier and knew she had found Gary. He looked up at her as she came near, but he didn't speak.

She walked past him and onto the wooden planks of the pier, her high heels clunking on the timber. She squinted as she looked across the water; the sunlight reflecting off thousands of windows on the opposite bank. She could barely make out the row upon row of houses climbing the hills on the other side of the river, each striving to catch a glimpse of the water.

She heard Gary cough from behind her, not a cough to get her attention, but the phlegmy cough that bubbles out of a sick man's chest. He stopped coughing and she heard him spit whatever had come up into the water.

"The tide's almost in," he said from behind her and she felt him move to stand to her right. She looked at the water surrounding the pier but couldn't find it. It was just like Gary had said, an undulating floor of garbage, the discarded refuse of Sydney making a perpetual Mexican wave.

She heard the clink of his lighter and turned her head, watching him light up a second cigarette. "Is there any chance you could not smoke, Gary?"

He looked at his hands, one eyebrow arched, before shaking his head and flicking the lit cigarette into the river. She was about to make a comment about littering, but looking at all the rubbish bobbing along happily, she realised it would be a moot point right about now.

"You know, I didn't even realise I was lighting up." Christine's brow furrowed at his comment, trying to make sense of it. "It's automatic now; pull out, light, smoke, repeat." He laughed, bitterly, before continuing. "I remember when I was at uni they taught us how the more someone does something, the less concentration it takes until, one day, it's automatic and they do it without thinking."

He coughed again. "Oh, my throat is dry." Without thinking, Christine reached into her handbag and pulled out a bottle of water. Without thinking, Gary accepted it and took a drink.

They stood there as the sun went down; sinking behind them and the windows in front lost their stolen brightness, going a dull grey until someone turned a light on inside of them. The tide reached its peak, the rubbish piling further into the cove, the water stained by human hands. It was so common and idiotic, so clichéd or passé - she was not sure which - human existence imposing on nature to hold its garbage.

The last of the light disappeared from behind them and the air cooled against her skin, causing her to shiver. "It's cold, you should go inside," she said absently.

She felt Gary jump beside her and turned to look at him. There was a cigarette in his hand and his lighter was poised to strike. His eyes glistened for a moment before he threw the cigarette away, unlit. He nodded and walked away.

Christine followed Gary back through the gardens to his room, stopping quickly to pour the rest of the coffee into the garden as she walked. He walked quickly, batting drooping palm leaves from his way. The sprinklers had shut off; the garden dripping with moisture, the flowers hanging proudly after a long day in the sun.

Christine watched from his doorway as he strode to the dresser and picked up a bottle of scotch, not bothering with a glass and sculling directly from the bottle. Gary turned and jumped slightly, noticing she had followed. As he looked further down, a grin crossed his face. "Been talking to Judy, have you?"

"How did you know?"

"You're holding that coffee mug away from you like it's poison even though it's empty. Only one woman I know makes coffee that bad it could kill a man." Christine smiled, raising her hands in a 'you got me' pose. She moved inside and sat down, placing the mug on the floor next to the chair.

The grin slipped off Gary's face so fast Christine wasn't sure it had been there in the first place. "Look, Chris...I really ain't in the mood for talking tonight," he said as he reached inside the dresser and pulled out a small tobacco tin. Christine nodded and stood up. It was getting late and she should be heading home anyway.

She left Gary fussing with the tobacco tin. Walking up the hallway, she was passing Judy's office when Judy called out from inside. "Oi, where's me cup!"

Christine halted. "Sorry, Judy, I left it in Gary's room. I will just go get it."

Christine hurried back along the hallway. She didn't knock on Gary's door, just turning the knob and pushing it open. Gary had frozen, a piece of foil held in one hand and his lighter flickering underneath.

"Christine, what are you doing?"

Christine couldn't move, her eyes focused on the small crystalline powder sitting on the foil, bubbling angrily and giving off a pale smoke. "I...ah...I forgot...the mug...what is that?"

She felt stupid for asking; she could only guess what it was; heroin. She was just hoping for something different. Gary looked down at the foil and let the lighter go out, the smoke quickly dissipating. "I...I am not having a good day. The booze just ain't going to cut it."

Christine nodded, slowly backing away. She closed the door quietly and, silently, walked towards the hostel's entrance, the coffee cup still sitting on the floor next to the chair in Gary's room.
12 March 1998

_I did not expect there would be so many here_

But I guess it makes sense when you think about it.

I am sure this passing has brought sadness, pain, and sorrow.

But it has also brought us together, here, today

Christine was just finishing stirring the cream into the pasta sauce when she heard the knock on the door of her apartment. Resting the ladle on the side of the saucepan, she left the kitchen and opened the door.

Her father, George Goldstrom, was holding a bottle of red wine. Her mother, next to him was holding a plastic shopping bag, the translucent plastic showing the outline of a chocolate Vienetta dessert, a favourite of hers since childhood.

She hugged them both then returned to the kitchen, knowing her parents would follow. The sauce was bubbling more than she liked so she turned the heat down, stirring the sauce one more time to make sure nothing was getting stuck to the bottom of the saucepan.

"Wine glasses?" her father said. "You have lived here how many years and still I can't remember where you keep them." She turned and saw he had opened the wall cabinet doors to the right of the fridge.

"Next one along, dad," she advised as she turned the stove off and began pouring the sauce over the chicken breast and vegetables already on each plate.

"Ah, yes, here they are," he said as he opened the cupboard and took three glasses out. "Why don't you keep them in the other cupboard? That is where they are meant to go."

"No, that's just where mum keeps them at your house. It's not a designated wine glass cupboard. Besides, I like to keep my cookbooks in there; they all fit."

Her father shrugged and rustled through her drawer for a corkscrew. "None for me thanks, dad. I'm having water."

Her mother's brow furrowed. "You always have a glass when we have dinner."

"Well, tonight I am not."

"And why, pray tell, not tonight?"

Christine placed the now empty saucepan into the sink. "I am meeting with Gary tomorrow and want to have a clear head."

"Meeting with Gary, she says," her father said in an odd voice as he poured two glasses of wine. "Meeting with a boy! Should your father be worried?"

"Hardly. I have told you about Gary, the man I am seeing for the church? Tomorrow I plan to bring up God and I am not sure how it is going to go."

Her mother picked up two of the plates to take to the dining table, a small round table with a glass top Christine forever struggled to keep clean from dust and finger marks. "You have been meeting with him for a month and you haven't mentioned God yet? What on earth do you two talk about?"

Chris smiled, "We've talked about buying a car."

George harrumphed. "You found talking about buying a car interesting? You who have the NRMA on speed dial?"

Christine shrugged. "I don't know, we have just had general conversations. He..." the image of smoke rising from a piece of tinfoil came into her mind. "He is different. He is very defensive, especially about his past. He...he drinks a lot and can be very difficult."

George smiled. "I think I do need to be worried. Don't young girls always go for the bad boy types?"

Emily sat down and started handing out the cutlery piled in the centre of the table. "I don't think Christine has ever 'gone for anybody'."

"That reminds me," her father said. "Do you remember Clint Bloomfield?"

Christine rolled her eyes. "Yes, dad, you used to joke I was in love with him even though I thought he was gross. What about him?"

"He just had a little girl, they came into the chemist last week because she had a funny rash. Emily, what did I tell you her name was?"

Emily's lips pursed. "Julia, and I don't think that is the most appropriate bit of information to bring up."

George looked confused for a moment, then chagrined. Christine felt annoyed and said "people can have babies, mum. Good luck to Clint, though I pity the woman who has to kiss that pimply face."

Her father perked up at her comment and they started eating. Feeling it was her obligation as host, Christine filled in the silence.

"So, mum, how are all the old ladies?" Her mother volunteered for a charity that raised money for the Sydney Children's Hospital Network; she had done so since Christine was fifteen.

Emily sighed. "You know Christine, when I first started volunteering at the charity shop, that used to be a funny joke as I was the youngest there by a good 10 years. Now, I am one of those 'old ladies'."

"Sorry," Christine said. "How is the charity shop?"

"It is good; busy. I found a community group who work with people with disabilities and we are going into the recycling business together."

"The what now?"

"Recycling. When people donate old electrical items, we are going to set up a workshop to strip them down, take out all the copper wiring and cobalt and the cathode ray tubes and sell it to a local scrapyard. There's good money in it."

"Apparently, I have been volunteered to help build the workshop," her father said with a mouthful of chicken. "They are putting a big shed out the back of the shop, one of those kit jobs. Expect me to be sued for it falling apart on someone's head in the not too distant future."

Christine smiled. Her father, a pharmacist, was always helping her mother's charity, sometimes with donations, sometimes manning a barbeque at a fundraising event. He also always complained about it in his usual sarcastic tone.

"If we can make a bit more money, then why not," her mother said defensively. "It all goes to a good cause."

Her mother had used to work at the pharmacy until just after Christine went to high school. It was not long after that her mother had discovered the charity and within two years, just like she did at home, she was running the charity shop and always looking for ways to raise more money. There were many weekends when Christine would not even see her mother and her dad had always said he worked only half as much as she did and his work was only half as important; he just did the work which paid the bills.

They talked some more, her father talking about the pharmacy and her mother about the dramas happening with the women at the charity; an endless source of conversation. As they neared the end of the meal and her parents got ready to leave; her mother driving as she had only had one glass of wine, the conversation turned back to Gary.

"Do you enjoy meeting with him?" her mother asked.

Christine thought about it. "I am not sure. Why?"

"Well it is just not something you have never really done before."

"What, talking to people?"

"Evangelism. You help at church but have never really been involved in any of the outreach programs. Why the change?"

Christine shrugged. "I just wanted to, that's all."

Emily's brow furrowed and she looked on the verge of asking more when she decided not to. Christine assumed she did not think it was important enough to press her on, which was fine with her.

"Well good luck tomorrow," her mother said as she hugged her goodbye. "I expect to see him at church this Sunday. No pressure."

Christine smiled. No pressure indeed.
13 March 1998

_But I guess it makes sense when you think about it._

I am sure this passing has brought sadness, pain, and sorrow.

But it has also brought us together, here, today

It is times like this some of us may question our faith

"Have you given any thought about what will happen afterwards?" They were sitting in the garden, at her request. Maybe after what Christine had walked in on during the last visit, he felt guilty.

Christine did not care, she was just glad to be outside where it was clean; much more preferable to the smoke in his room. Much more preferable to sitting in his room and being unable to take her eyes off the small tobacco tin she could see jutting out from beneath the dresser.

"When I die?" he asked. He was lounging in the lawn chair, a cigarette held between his fingers.

She nodded, hating that word."

Gary shrugged his shoulders. "Who cares? No one else does."

"I am sure somebody cares if you live or die. A relative? A friend?"

"Would you care, Chris?"

"It is Christine, and yes of course I would care. But you didn't answer my question; have you given it any thought?"

"I guess I have a little bit. It is pretty easy for me. I don't own much so the will thing is easy. No one really cares about me so I don't have any final goodbyes to make."

"I meant...after you die?"

Gary laughed, taking another sip of his drink. "Ah, you are finally getting around to it. All right Chris, give us the sales pitch."

Christine looked confused. "What do you mean? I don't have a sales pitch."

"Yes, you do. You are about to try and sell me on God."

"I am not trying to sell you on God. I am offering you a way to save your life."

"Ah . . . religion. Guaranteed to save your soul, reduce your waistline and get you feeling good about yourself and all for only twelve easy payments."

Christine ignored his grin and his comment. "Do you think it wise to dismiss salvation so easily?"

"I have not dismissed anything yet. Go ahead, give me your pitch and I will tell you how it goes." He sat forward in his chair, snubbing out his cigarette and clasping his hands beneath his chin, watching her intently.

Swallowing, Christine put down her bottle of water. "Well...when you...pass on, if you have not been..." She drew a blank, not knowing what to say next. She scratched her cheek, studying the flowerbeds.

Gary sat back, shaking his head. "No offence, but you are pretty bloody shit at this, aren't you?"

"I am sorry, I am trying my best."

"If you're not any good at this, then why did your priest send you?"

"Reverend Thomas said it would be good for me to learn."

"Good to learn? So, you have never done this before?"

"Not really, no."

"Oh, I get it; I am just a practise dummy then. If you get it right, then good for you; but if you don't, well that's ok too because it was only practice. I was not important anyway. I have gotta be honest here, you're not making Christianity sound very bloody good."

"No, I do not mean that at all. I am sure Frank sent me here because he thought it was well within my capabilities."

"But you just admitted you don't know what you're doing. So, what does that mean? Am I meant to be an easy conversion? Obviously, a man like me must be thinking about the afterlife a lot, so convincing me should be simple, right?"

Christine could feel her anger rising. It had taken all her courage to broach the subject and he was dismissing her out of hand. "No, it does not mean that at all."

"So, let me see if I have got this straight. You want to save me because you need the practice before you are sent out to try and save people more important than me. This practice should be easy because I am plagued by thoughts of death and the afterlife, but if it doesn't work out, then it still doesn't really matter because who would want someone like me in heaven anyway. Seriously, what kind of fucked up religion are you trying to promote?"

"Will you just shut up and let me talk!" She screamed at him, instantly regretting it. Some of the other residents were in the garden and they turned to look at them before returning to their own conversations.

Gary pulled out another cigarette, grinning as he lit it and inhaled. "Sorry, I will shut up. I promise I won't interrupt again."

Sitting back down in her chair, unaware she had stood, she took another sip of her water, trying to calm down. "Reverend Thomas thought it would be good for me to come. Maybe he thought I needed to learn humility because Lord knows you have humiliated me enough."

He smiled at that but let her continue.

"Nevertheless, I was sent here to save you."

Gary shook his head. "I hate when people say that, 'I was sent to save you'. Judy tried it here for the first month or so before she finally gave up, and she had the same bullshit belief."

"Why is it...why do you hate it?"

"Because it is so fucking arrogant; only through me and my God can you find redemption. Without me and my God, you are nothing. It goes the same for any religion; you all sit on your holy fucking pedestals reaching down to us as if we should be grateful."

Chris went to say something, but Gary raised his hand to silence her. "I want to tell you a story. Back when I lived in Newcastle, I had a friend who would go and evangelise within the community. This guy was a top bloke, real easy-going and friendly. Anyway, he went to visit this Muslim family which lived two houses up from mine.

"When he got there, he was full of religion, hell bent on bringing the true word of God to these blasphemers. He was issuing decrees in the name of Jesus and warning the father of the family he was risking his children's salvation.

"The father, a third generation Muslim and one of the gentlest people I have ever known, broke my friend's nose. But that was only after my friend had called him a terrorist. I know he said it because he was yelling so loud I could hear it from my house.

"And why did this happen, you might ask? Because both of them, like you, were too fucking arrogant about their religion. So, do not tell me you were sent here to save me, especially when you were only sent to learn 'how' to save people."

Christine was silent for a moment, thinking, not wanting to provoke any further argument from Gary.

"So, what does that mean then, Gary? Should we just abandon all religion and become atheists?"

Gary took another drag of his cigarette before responding. "Alright, I'll bite. But listen up cause you might fucking learn something."

Christine felt the heat rising in her chest, but she gritted her teeth and grated out a half polite "go on."

"Someone once said religion is man's way of reaching up to God and faith is asking God to reach down to us. Remember the Tower of Babel? We are only human, so what gives us the right to define what we can and cannot do and how we should treat our faith?"

Christine shook her head. "But religion unifies faith. It gives it communal meaning. If there was no religion, then nobody would know what to put their faith in," Christine argued.

Gary thought for a moment, nodding. Christine was silent, waiting for a reply and thrilled she had been able to stump him. "The Pope, over a century or two ago, issued a holy decree stating it was not a sin if someone was to assassinate an excommunicated queen, which at the time was the Queen of England. So, was religion unifying faith or someone using the faith of others to get what they want, such as a dead queen?"

"I am not Catholic, Gary."

"Ok, let's look at the Anglicans. Apartheid in South Africa was founded by the Anglicans due to a single verse in Joshua where it says God made the people black for their sins. Or look at the problems in Northern Ireland between two religions of the same fucking faith. Or the Sunni Muslims and the Shiite Muslims trying to kill each other. The principle doesn't change, Chris, no matter what religion you belong to. The next time you try and bring this conversation up, and I know there will be a next time, do not tell me you were sent to save me. It's insulting."

Christine did not know what to say. Her mind was racing but none of the thoughts seem to connect. In her head, she had run through this scenario a thousand times. She had expected 'why believe in a God who lets bad things like me getting sick happen?' or 'why would God want someone like me?' but she had never expected theology.

Gary watched her from his lawn chair, taking a puff from his cigarette and shaking his head. "You get anything better to say? Want to talk about something else?"

Christine shook her head. All the advice her bible study group had given her, none of it fit here.

"Then I guess I will see you next week. Honestly Chris; this was a major fucking disappointment. Try harder next time." He left her there, breathing hard in her own deck chair and a new headache forming. Silently, she picked up her things and retreated.
18 March 1998

_I am sure this passing has brought sadness, pain, and sorrow._

But it has also brought us together, here, today

It is times like this some of us may question our faith

And some of us may be strengthened by it

Christine smiled as she opened the door for Jim. He was late as usual to Bible Study and he shrugged his shoulders apologetically.

"In my defence, I am always on time when it is at my place," he said ruefully.

"Actually, I remember a time when we were all waiting outside your house for twenty minutes before you got home from work to let us in and start," she retorted.

Jim laughed and made his way into the living room where everyone else was waiting, raising his arms in submission to the humorous mockery and fake watch-tapping.

Christine handed him a mug of coffee, a cappuccino with two sugars. Christine would have preferred to have made instant coffees, even made up a percolator jug, but Sanella had asked for her to use the cappuccino machine and Christine always found it hard to say no.

Jim thanked her and took a sip, adding a small foam moustache to his real one.

"So now you are all finally here," he said to the jeers of everyone else. "We were still working through Exodus. I think we did Chapter 16 last time."

With so many people in Christine's small apartment, the couch was full and most sat on dining chairs. Christine sat down on one while as everyone pulled out their bibles and they turned to the relevant chapter. Andrew started reading and Christine tried to concentrate on the bible passage.

Once he was finished, Jim took another sip of his coffee and began. Jim always led the Bible study; he was not an assistant minister or a church elder. He was just someone who seemed to lead and others followed.

"So here in Chapter 17, the people of Israel have made camp in the desert and they don't have any water. The people are starting to feel overwhelmed and thinking they have escaped Egypt just to die of thirst. They get angry at Moses and he asks God for help. God tells him to hit the rock and water will come out. What do we think of this passage?"

Sanella sat forward. "Well it is pretty similar to the last passage we read. In that one, the people were hungry and started to complain and God provided quail and manna for them. So, this passage probably means the same as the other."

Christine sat up straighter on her dining chair. While she had not been paying much attention while Andrew was reading, this was a passage she knew quite well. She had heard this passage read out many times as a teenager. But she disagreed with Sanella. There were significant differences in the two passages.

She went to speak but Ramon started talking. "Here again God is providing for their needs. In the first one, they need food and they start to worry and God provides. Here they need water and they start to worry and-"

"Does it sound to anyone else like the Israelites were a bunch of whingers?" Andrew asked, chuckling to himself and his comment was followed by polite laughter.

Ramon paused for a moment, looking slightly annoyed before continuing. "It really reinforces that no matter how much we worry, we should trust in God to provide for us."

Christine slumped in her chair as the conversation moved on to looking at different examples of God providing. She felt it was too late now to point out that in the passage about the manna and the quails, God had set limits about how much they should take to see how much they listened to Him and in this passage, He provided the water without question.

Christine blinked when she Jim mentioning her name. "Sorry, what?"

"I was just talking about the work you have been doing with that Gary guy."

Christine felt her spirits sink. "Gary Burton."

"Reverend Thomas mentioned he is a bit of a tough nut to crack."

Christine nodded and looked around the room. She could see all the others looking at her, expectantly. "He...he knows a lot about religion. I think he might have even been a Christian when he was younger."

Andrew smiled. "Ex-Christians are the worst. They know all of our lines and they have come up with all sorts of reasons to ignore them to stop believing."

Ramon nodded in agreement. "Then maybe it was God's will we are looking at this passage tonight."

"What do you mean, Ramon?" Christine asked.

"Well, God provides what we need when we ask Him. Maybe you needed a reminder that God will help you in your mission."

"Well said," Jim interjected. "We are getting near the end, how about we close in prayer and pray for Christine's success."

The others bowed their head and Jim led them in prayer. Christine found her head staying up, unnoticed by the others who had their eyes closed.

She felt another headache coming on. 'He does not always provide what we need,' she thought to herself but would never have said it aloud.
20 March 1998

_But it has also brought us together, here, today_

It is times like this some of us may question our faith

And some of us may be strengthened by it

For most of us, it is a time to think on the past

Christine walked into the hostel's grounds, waving to Judy as she walked past. She would have stopped for a quick conversation but she had spied someone talking to Gary at his door only a few moments before.

As she came closer, the man left the doorway and Gary closed it. The man started walking towards the exit, which meant Christine walked straight past him. He was dressed in slacks and a shirt and tie. He was tucking a folder into a small briefcase as he began to walk towards the entrance of the hostel. Chris smiled at him as he walked past. He smiled back, politely. As he passed, she read the name tag pinned to his shirt. Jerome Toledo, Probation and Parole.

Chris slowed, taking in the information. Absently, she reached Gary's door and knocked.

"Did you forget something, Jerome," Gary said as he opened the door. Seeing her, he blinked. "Oh, it's you."

"Don't sound so happy to see me, Gary."

"What? No, it is not that. I just thought you were someone else."

"Jerome."

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"You just said his name."

"Oh yeah, that's right."

"Who is Jerome?"

"He is an old friend."

"You have friends who work for Probation and Parole?"

Gary grinned. "No, I guess not, he is more of an acquaintance. You wanna come in?"

"Sure."

Christine entered the room and sat down while he poured himself a drink. Unconsciously, her eyes flicked to the bottom of the dresser, but she could not see the tobacco tin. She assumed Gary had hidden it while the Probation and Parole officer had completed his home visit.

Chris did not speak until they were both settled; until she was ready. "Gary, I have been thinking."

"All on your own; no mummy or daddy or minister to help you?"

Chris ignored him; she was getting used to his quips and she hardly felt the sting now. Besides, it was not important.

"I have been thinking that lately we have started to become friends and maybe..."

"What, you wanna further the relationship. Sure, I'll fuck ya. I think I have a condom here somewhere." He started pretending to check his pockets.

She blushed. Getting used to his quips was not the same as being used to them. "No, Gary. I was thinking maybe you could trust me. I was thinking maybe it was time you told me the truth."

Gary looked at her, his eyes guarded. Without his eyes leaving her, he took a sip of his drink before answering. "What exactly didn't I tell you?"

"You have never told me anything about your past."

"Are we onto this again? For Christ's sake, I thought you were going to be geared up for round two of Bible bashing."

Christine had no intention of going back to Bible bashing just yet. "I want the truth, Gary. How am I supposed to be your friend if you lie to me? There has to be some trust between us."

"What the hell makes you think I want a friend? I don't need any friends. "

He spat the words, his eyes squinting at her. She wanted to be affronted but lacked the emotion. Instead she smiled. He was the one angry, not her. If felt nice. She grinned. "I think you do want a friend. I do not think many other people would put up with your abuse. And if you did not want a friend, you wouldn't keep wanting me to come back."

"I am just trying to see how long it takes you to give up. Before you find someone else to practice your Christian routine on."

Chris shook her head. "I don't believe that."

Christine leaned forward, looking into his eyes until she felt him trying to look away. "Now, I have not lied to you and you have my complete trust but I do not have yours. It is time for you to choose, Gary. Either you tell me the truth right now, or I leave and never come back. It will not bother me because, like you said before, you were only practice."

He stared at her, breathing heavily. Christine thought she saw pain in his eyes for a moment, but then he sneered at her. Taking a long swallow of his drink, he stubbed out his cigarette before answering. "I would question you being honest with me, but whatever. So, what do you want to know?"

"Where are your parents?"

"They're both dead. My mother died when I was young and my father . . . my father died ten years ago."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"No."

"Where did you grow up?"

"In Hornsby."

Chris stared at him, shaking her head. "You told me you had a friend when you lived in Newcastle. Are you lying now or were you lying then? This is your last chance."

Gary stared at her, a muscle in his jaw working. "I . . . I grew up in Newcastle."

"Good. I will not have you lie to me again."

"Is there anything else?"

"What did you study at university?"

"Why would you think I went to uni?"

"You mentioned it during one of our visits; the theory of automatic thoughts. I am assuming it had something to do with psychology, but I am still curious."

"I need to be more careful about what I fucking say. If I knew you were taking notes..."

"I don't take notes, Gary, but being sober definitely helps the memory. What did you study?" She felt a thrill of elation rushing through her. She had no idea she could control the conversation like this, having always been the passenger in Gary's little rollercoaster from hell.

"I studied religion; psychology was just an elective I took."

This time it was Christine's time to snort with laughter. "You took religion?"

Gary smiled, spitefully. "Yeah, I wanted to become a fucking minister and decided to study religion as part of a Bachelor of Arts before going to theological college. That's why I was able to whip your ass last time we spoke. That shock you?"

"A little, though it does explain how well you knew theology; did you finish uni?"

"No, I dropped out."

"How come?"

"I became a Buddhist."

Chris ignored the remark. "It is because you went to gaol?"

"Who told you I went to prison?"

"Jerome did."

"You spoke to Jerome?"

"No, but generally you only get a Probation and Parole officer if you have been to prison."

"There are plenty of reasons he could have been around. I might be on a good behaviour bond; I could be doing community service."

Christine stared at him, deadpan. "Community service? You?"

Gary snorted. "Yeah, all right, I will give you that one. But I am just saying there are plenty of reasons."

"Was he here for any of those reasons?"

"Well . . . no."

"So back to the original question; what did you go to prison for?"

"Why didn't you ask Judy?"

"I did, but she wouldn't tell me. She said if you wanted me to know it, then you would let me know it."

"Well I don't want you to know it, so lay off with the fucking questions."

"Gary, either you tell me what you went to prison for or I leave. The choice is yours."

"Look, it isn't something I want to..." Chris got up from her seat, picked up her handbag and began to walk away. Gary cursed under his breath before calling out. "Murder, I went to prison for murder. Are you happy now, you nosy bitch? I killed someone."

Chris paused, thinking. Turning, she studied his face for a moment before shaking her head. "No offence, but you really do not look like a murderer to me. Goodbye, Gary."

He cursed again as she walked away, raising his voice even louder. "His name was Daniel Sevido. He lived in a flat near Chippendale. The judge sentenced me to sixteen years but I was released after ten due to good behaviour and the fact I was dying."

She paused again, thinking. "Can I trust you, Gary?"

"Probably not, but you can look it up in the papers if you like. I killed him on the 17th of September 1987."

"And the other things you told me? Was any of it true?"

"Some of it might have been." His voice was resigned as he answered and Chris knew he was being honest.

"Why did you feel the need to lie about it? I would not have left."

He looked up, his eyes cold and his hand gripping the tumbler, leaving his knuckles a pale white. "Did it ever occur to you maybe I never told you because I don't want you to know? That maybe you don't deserve to know? Now please, leave me alone."

Chris was surprised. He seemed upset; she wasn't sure if it was because she had the upper hand, or because of talking about his past. Hesitantly, she moved towards the door.

"Chris?"

She stopped and turned, nervous.

"Would you really have not come back if I had not told you the truth?"

She smiled, moving the strap of her bag back onto her shoulder.

"And let you win? You should know me better than that. I will see you next week, Gary."

As she closed the door, she heard glass smash on the other side of it and she almost laughed. Knowing she had won almost made her headache go away.
24 March 1998

_It is times like this some of us may question our faith_

And some of us may be strengthened by it

For most of us, it is a time to think on the past

To support each other through this difficult process

"So, Christine, how is it going?"

Christine was already sitting in one of the chairs in the rectory as Reverend Thomas sat down opposite her. As he settled, he shivered, pulling his cardigan closer around him. Instinctively, Chris put her cup down and went to turn the heater up. "It went really well, Frank. I think he is finally starting to open up to me."

"He is receptive in coming to God?"

"What? Oh that, no...that did not go very well. Did you know he once studied to become a minister?"

"He told you that?"

"Yes, he is starting to be more honest with me."

" What else did you talk about?"

"A little bit about his past."

"Oh yes, did he talk about his family?"

"He said he was an only child and both his parents were dead. He told me he had been to prison for murder. At first, I didn't believe it, but he gave me a name and a date so I could verify it if I wanted."

Reverend Thomas appeared to have stopped listening. She reached into her bag, pulling out two sheets of paper, each containing a newspaper article she had printed off the night before. Handing them to Reverend Thomas, who started when she put them in his view, she leant back in her chair. Reverend Thomas's lips moved as he read, a trait she had always found endearing in him. She didn't need to watch his lips though to know what he was reading. She had read the two articles at least twenty times since printing them out.

MAN CHARGED FOR BRUTAL MURDER

A 21-year-old man faced Downing Centre Local Court yesterday, charged with the brutal stabbing murder of 22-year-old Daniel Sevido of Chippendale.

Sevido was stabbed seventeen times outside of his rented townhouse two days ago. His body was found approximately twenty minutes after the incident occurred. He was pronounced dead at the scene by ambulance. Later that day, Gary Burton of Newcastle attended Newtown Police Station and confessed to the murder.

While Sergeant Crowe was unable to provide specific details, he reported the murder weapon had been recovered and charges would be laid against Mr Burton. When Burton appeared before Magistrate Stewart, he declined legal representation and pleaded guilty to murder. A sentencing date has been set for November 23.

The parents of Mr Sevido were present at court and said they were glad their son's killer had been caught and would face punishment. "Daniel was such a good boy, he did nothing wrong to anybody," Mrs Sevido said after the hearing.

Putting the first page down on the coffee table next to him, Reverend Thomas read through the second article; the one which discussed Gary's sentence.

NO REMORSE SHOWN AS KILLER SENTENCED TO SIXTEEN YEARS

Gary Burton showed no remorse today as he was sentenced to 16 years prison for the stabbing murder of Daniel Sevido. Sevido was found dead outside of his Chippendale home on the evening of March 12. He had been stabbed seventeen times with a hunting knife.

An hour after Sevido was murdered; Burton attended Newtown Police Station and confessed to the murder. Information provided at sentencing indicated he still had the murder weapon with him and handed it to the police.

Burton refused any legal representation and offered no further statements before sentencing was carried out. Magistrate Stewart stated the ferocity of the crime 'chilled him', with the autopsy report indicating Mr Sevido was also stabbed post-mortem. However, the magistrate also said he did take into account Mr Burton's confession and guilty plea, reducing his sentence from 20 years to 16 years.

The parents of Mr Sevido wept openly at the verdict, reporting the sentence was too light. "He took our son," stated Mr Sevido. "He gets sixteen years and I lose my son forever."

Burton's fiancée, Claire Ashton was also in court and wept at hearing the verdict. She declined to be interviewed, but did state "Gary was a good man, I don't understand how he could have done this."

Burton will be eligible for parole in ten years.

Placing the second article with the first, Reverend Thomas looked at Christine. His face was ashen, his voice slightly trembling. "Did...did he say why he killed that man?"

She sat back down, picking up her cup. Reverend Thomas leant forward in his chair, waiting for her to answer. "No, just that he had done it. I still can't believe it is true. He is probably the nastiest person I have ever met but he does not seem to be the murdering type."

"Not everyone is as they first appear. If he says it is so, then you must act as if it is."

"I suppose. It still does not make sense though. Maybe I will look it up. I still know almost nothing about him, his past, his family, or why he did it."

"My child, whenever someone works with others, it is very easy to get caught up in their story. As always, the devil works best with smoke and mirrors. Try not to be distracted from your main goal. Who he was and what he did are nothing compared to that."

"Yes, Frank. You are right."

He sat back, sighing. She sipped her tea, thinking. "You said your last attempt at bringing him to Christ did not go very well."

"What, oh yes. I started to talk about it and he put me on the spot, asking for my sales pitch. I . . . I froze. Then somehow we got into a theological argument and it ended with him getting very angry at me."

"A theological argument?"

"Yes, about the differences between faith and religion. I wish I had known before he had studied to be a minister. That might have given me some warning about what I was getting myself in for."

"Was he open to the possibility of being saved?"

"I . . . I don't really know. He did not like religion in any way and I could see him refusing to come to God for that reason alone. But if I could take religion out of the equation, then maybe . . . "

"You don't sound convinced." Reverend Thomas said, concerned.

Christine took another sip before responding. "Well, as I said; he sounds very angry towards the church and towards me. Maybe he . . . maybe he feels the anger is deserved."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he is dying of AIDs, he has spent a large part of his life rotting in a prison cell and I can't imagine his life was much better before committing the murder."

"Be careful not to make too many assumptions; there is every possibility Gary Burton had a good home life and decided to throw it all away." Reverend Thomas said heatedly. Clearing his throat, he continued. "We must not make those types of judgements as it clouds our ability to relate to others."

Christine shrugged. "Either way, good home life or not, his life certainly hasn't turned out the way he might have planned it. So maybe he . . . I don't know . . . maybe he blames God."

"Blames God?"

Christine was quiet, clearing her throat and pulling at a thread that had come loose at the hem of her skirt. "Well, if God knows everything and controls everything, then it is part of God's plan for him to die. I could understand why he might be angry at God and not want anything to do with him."

Reverend Thomas shook his head. "Christine, we have talked about this before. Pre-destination is a tricky subject, but I do not think God works in that way. The earth is a place of sin and pain, most of it our doing. What did Gary do to become infected? And if he has spent time in gaol, then that was probably because he committed murder and deserved to be punished. God is not at fault in any of that."

Christine shrugged her shoulders again. "Maybe, like I said, I don't know if he thinks it, just that he might."

"Do you think you have a chance of saving him?"

"I don't know. As I said, the last time I tried it went quite badly. Maybe if I approach it differently, he might be more receptive. I just don't know."

"And what about you Christine?" Reverend Thomas asked.

"What about me?"

"What you do with Gary is stressful. How are you coping with everything that's going on?"

"I'm coping fine, Frank." Putting her cup down, she leant forward, changing the subject. "Reverend Thomas, how did you hear of this man?"

Reverend Thomas took a sip of his tea, considering the question. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, he just does not seem like a person you would know."

"My child, in all of my years of experience as a minister, the one thing I have learnt is we never truly know anyone. To be perfectly honest, it is a rare thing to even know oneself. But if you must know, he was mentioned to me by another minister who runs a church near the hostel. When you came to me, his name was the first thing that popped into my head."

She sat back, taking another sip of her tea. "I suppose you're right; in particular about not knowing anyone. I mean, never in a million years would I choose to spend time with a man like Gary Burton, but I have to admit I find our conversations interesting. He has a whole different perspective on life; it's generally depressing and angry, but it is interesting."

"As I said before, remember to stay focused on what is important, which is bringing this man to God. You're there for a reason, remember?"

"Yes Frank, thank you. This has been helpful."

He took the cup from her and placed it on the small table next to the kettle; raising his hands when she protested she would wash the cups up. Together they walked through the church, outside. "Would you like to speak about Gary again in a few weeks?"

"I would like that Reverend, thank you. And I'll stay focused. I'm there to do a job."

"Not a job, Christine, a gift. You take care of yourself. And say hello to your parents for me." Christine thanked him and got into her car. As she drove home, she thought about his advice; to stay on target and not get lost in the gritty details.

She knew though she would not take his advice. She felt like Gary was a puzzle and if she could work him out, everything else in her life would make sense.
27 March 1998

_And some of us may be strengthened by it_

For most of us, it is a time to think on the past

To support each other through this difficult process

Death is often a topic which makes us feel threatened

The cold was not as bad today; despite the cool wind blowing off the river. The previous few days cold had promised that autumn was well and truly here; the days slowly heading away from the summer heat and towards the cold nights of winter. Not today though, today was glorious.

She had felt refreshed on her drive over; she had not had a headache for three days and was enjoying being able to sing loudly to the radio.

As she entered the hostel, she waved hello to Judy, still smiling when she entered the room. "It is a glorious day, Gary. How about we sit outside in the garden?"

"How about we not?"

That was all he had said as he smiled back and took a sip of his drink. That was all he had said, and the visit went downhill from there. Trying not to be phased by his coldness, Chris took a seat in the wicker sofa, noticing the half-empty bottle of scotch sitting on top of the dresser. On the floor next to his armchair, an ashtray was overflowing with discarded cigarette butts.

While she was getting herself settled, he rose to pour himself another drink. "Did you check if I was lying to you?"

"I . . . I did. Thank you for being honest with me."

"It doesn't bother you? Being in a room with a convicted murderer?"

"You have not done anything to make me feel threatened yet so no, it does not bother me."

Gary looked at her, his eyes bloodshot from the alcohol. Sneering, he showed his teeth. "And until last week, you didn't believe I was a convicted murderer. First lesson you need to learn, not everything you believe is true."

Not realising it, Chris had leant back to move away from him. "Well...I am pretty sure the hostel does not allow any weapons. Besides, if you did attack me, somebody would hear me scream."

Not taking his eyes off her, Gary picked up the bottle of scotch, his hand gripped around its neck. "Don't you think this would make a good weapon? One smack over your head and you are out cold. No screaming, no anything."

Chris was breathing heavy, sweat breaking out on her forehead and trickling into her eyes, making them sting. Gary looked at her for a moment longer before lifting the bottle to his lips and swallowing.

"Don't worry, Chris, I am not going to hurt you. If I did, they would chuck me back in prison and I'm not in the mood to die there."

Christine bit her bottom lip, focusing her attention on trying to slow down her heartbeat. She only relaxed when he sat down, putting the bottle on the floor next to him. "Usually you don't start drinking until about halfway through our session."

Gary watched her, thinking about his answer. "Usually it takes that long before we get to the personal stuff. I figured after you went and read the newspaper articles; you would get stuck in straight away. So, I got in early as well."

"Do you want me to 'get stuck in'?"

"If I did, I wouldn't have gotten drunk, now would I? But that won't stop you, will it?"

Chris tried to smile at his comment, but there was still coldness in his voice and she had not completely calmed down yet. "I would like to know why?"

"No, you wouldn't."

"Don't you think that is me for decide, Gary?"

"No, it is not for you to decide. It is my fucking life so I decide what you get to know and what you don't."

Chris paused, nodding. Shifting her position, she tried a different tact. "Then maybe you can tell me how you killed him."

Gary stared at her, confused. "You are one sick bitch, aren't you?"

Chris tried to smile but found she still could not. "I am just trying to understand what happened, understand why you did it."

"Didn't the papers say?"

"They said you stabbed him, but that was all."

"Well, that is what happened. He came home. I stabbed him and he died. Case closed."

"They also said you turned yourself in that same day and pled guilty at the trial, indicating you felt remorse about what you had done."

"Then they would be wrong. I admitted I did it, but I never said I felt sorry."

"But you can see how it could be assumed you felt some guilt?"

Gary leant forward as he answered, causing Christine to lean back again. "Don't you think if a person felt guilty about what he did, he wouldn't have stabbed the guy seventeen times? If he was feeling guilty, do you think he would have kept on stabbing him even after the guy was dead."

Christine felt the blood drain from her face as she leant back. The papers had mentioned both of these, but to hear Gary say them, as if he was saying he needed to do a load of laundry, chilled her.

"But what could he have done to make you want to do that?" The words spilled from her mouth, ignoring her head which was screaming at her not to provoke him further.

Gary stared at her for a few more minutes. Picking up the bottle of whisky, he leant his head back, taking another drink. He coughed as it burned his throat, but he kept drinking anyway. After a few minutes, he laughed bitterly and shook his head. "I think it is time for you to leave, Chris. Why I killed that man is my business, not yours, so you can just drop it."

Chris nodded. Her heart was still racing and she could sense the edge to his voice was only getting deeper with the amount of alcohol he was consuming. There was to be no more talking today.

Rising, she collected her things and made her way to the door. As she opened it, she turned, hesitating. Biting her lower lip, she looked at Gary. "I have one more question, Gary, and then I will leave."

Gary watched her, his eyes guarded. "What is it?"

"You know you are going to die and soon you will be judged. If you cannot feel guilty about what you have done, how can you have any hope to be saved?"

Gary stood up from his chair, the bottle of whisky still in his hand. He sneered again, his teeth visible back to the canines, the stench of alcohol sweeping over her. "You still don't fucking get it, do you? Look around the room; do you see any medication, any tablets or any pills? There's all sorts of stuff you give someone with HIV to prolong their life, retrovirals and other shit. Now ask yourself, why the fuck would a man dying of AIDS not be taking any medication?"

Christine stared at him blankly. Her eyes darted around the room and realised he was right, he had a number of bottles of whiskey, packets of cigarettes and his small tobacco tin of heroin, but no actual prescription medication.

"Well?" he shouted at her. Chris shook her head, not able to answer.

"I don't have any medication because I don't want to be fucking saved. I look forward to hell."

Chris stood back at the anger in his voice, her eyes glued to the bottle of whisky held in his hand. He smiled at her and brought the whisky bottle to his lips, his other hand reaching out to slam the door. On the other side of the door, she could hear him moving back to his chair. She was breathing heavily, the image of the bottle crashing into the side of her head running through her mind over and over again.

But he was not going to hit her. He was just going to get blind drunk. As she turned to go, her hand brushing the wall to keep her stable, she wondered if there was any difference.
3 April 1998

_For most of us, it is a time to think on the past_

To support each other through this difficult process

Death is often a topic which makes us feel threatened

A subject we often try to avoid

"Good afternoon, Miss Goldstrom."

"Good afternoon, Mr Burton." Chris kept her voice light, a smile on her face. Gary had seemed to have forgotten the meeting where he had threatened her, but Chris had not. This was the second since then and both times Gary had met her sober, offering to have their meetings in the garden.

Gary closed the door to his room, locking it behind them as they made their way out towards the garden. Chris was happy they were slowly moving most of their meetings out into the garden; his room was choked with cigarette smoke, the stench of it getting into her clothes when she walked past his door.

"So, what do you want to talk about today? Or is that a stupid question?" Chris smiled at the comment, remaining silent as they walked past the cafeteria. She had not raised it at the previous meeting, for fear of what had happened before.

"I was wondering if you could tell me more about what happened."

Gary rolled his eyes, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. Lighting it, he left the cigarette dangling from his lower lip as he spoke. "There isn't much to tell."

They were past the communal kitchen and she could not see anyone in the garden, yet she kept her voice low all the same. "Gary, why did you kill him?"

He hesitated, his foot slowing for a moment before continuing. She had planned to ask this later, once they had been talking for a while and some of the ice had been broken. Yet after leaving the subject out of the last visit, she could not stop herself. This had become personal and she had to know why he had killed another man. Oddly, her need to know why scared her more than any answer he might give.

He inhaled deeply on the cigarette as he sat down in one of the lawn chairs. She pulled another chair close to his, facing opposite, and sat down as well. The smoke from the cigarette curled around his face as he watched her before answering.

"Why do you want to know why I killed him?"

"Because I do not understand why you did it. During the trial, you never offered an explanation and apart from the...apart from the meeting a few weeks ago, I have never seen you violent."

Gary looked down, not wanting to meet her eyes. "About that . . . Chris, I...I am sorry. I understand I was drunk but that was no excuse."

"It is ok, Gary. It is forgotten," she lied, knowing that going into that would distract her. "Apart from that one time, you have been rude and insulting but never even remotely aggressive. I just cannot understand how you could have stabbed someone seventeen times."

"Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but I did."

"But why, from what I can gather you did not even know him."

"I knew him, but we weren't friends. Not even acquaintances really."

"Then why?"

Gary paused, closing his eyes as he took another breath of cigarette smoke into his lungs and pushed it out through his nose. When he looked at her, his eyes were bloodshot. "Because some people deserve to die."

"And Daniel Sevido was one of those people?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he did."

"Gary, humans do not have the right to end another person's life."

"That is bullshit. We may not be God, but there can still be justice."

"Is that why you killed him, because you thought it was 'just'?"

Gary stared at her coldly, flicking the cigarette butt into the garden. "Nice try, but I have already told you I am not going to tell you."

"But I still don't understand. Judgement comes after we have died. Until then, there is no excuse for taking another man's life."

"Are you sure about that? The Bible says if it has been proven a man has committed a crime and the crime was witnessed by at least two people, then that person can be executed. To say we have no right would be challenging the word of God and you would not want to do that, would you?"

Chris paused, about to argue the point before realising he meant it as a diversion. "Regardless of what the Bible says, you still have not told me why he deserved to die."

"Yes, I did."

"You said it was for justice. What was just about stabbing him seventeen times?"

Gary looked at her. "A rapist is sent to prison where he is raped himself. Wouldn't you say that is justice?"

"An eye for an eye? That might make sense, but Daniel never killed anybody."

"For fuck's sake, Chris, will you just leave it alone? He got what he deserved."

"Nobody deserves to be stabbed to death."

"He did." The anger in his voice stunned her, and she leant back into her chair. He looked at her, his head lowered so he was looking up at her, the dark brown of his eyes shadowed, blackened.

Gary leaned forward in his chair and Chris realised his cheeks were wet. Spittle had collected at the corner of his mouth, his lips pulled back as he snarled at her. "That son of a bitch got everything he deserved, and that is all I am going to say. If you ask me why again, then this will be the last conversation we ever have. Only unlike you, I am not bullshitting when I give you that ultimatum."

He stood up, in his haste knocking the lawn chair over. Chris started to stand and he turned towards her, his gaze telling her to stay there. Frozen, half in and out of her chair, she watched as he left the garden and made his way back to his room. Even when he was gone, she was not sure if she should move.
8 April 1998

_To support each other through this difficult process_

Death is often a topic which makes us feel threatened

A subject we often try to avoid

Lately, I have been reading a lot of Bible passages to try and help me understand.

"Can we take a break?" Christine asked, interrupting Jim as he spoke.

The other people in her lounge room jumped at her voice; it had been the first time she had spoken since welcoming them into her apartment and seeing who wanted coffee. Christine smiled apologetically for speaking over the top of Jim.

"I am sorry, but my brain isn't working properly at the moment," she said with a touch of irony. "Would anyone else mind if we took a break and re-caffeinated ourselves?"

The other members of the bible study looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders, nodding. Jim slid a piece of paper into his bible to mark the passage they had been looking at and placed the bible on the carpeted floor beside him.

Christine thanked them and got up from her seat. Her back was sore from sitting too long in the dining chair; the carved mahogany and satin cushions looked nice but were not the most comfortable things to sit on.

She made her way into the kitchen to put the kettle on. She didn't need more coffee, she could already feel her heart racing and her stomach churning from the three cups she had had already today, but she had needed to get away from the conversation for a while.

Sanella followed her into the kitchen to help. "Where do you keep the coffee mugs?" Christine pointed to one of the overhead cupboards and put the jar of coffee powder back down onto the bench. On cue, she heard Sanella speak; her head still inside the cupboard doors as she pulled out mugs. "Good idea to stop for coffee. I could really use a cappuccino right now."

Shaking her head, Christine plugged the espresso machine into the power socket and turned it on. Opening the cupboard below, she took out the stainless-steel jug used to froth the milk and placed it on the bench. "Sanella, is it ok if you make the cappuccinos? I just need to go to the bathroom."

Before getting a response, knowing Sanella would be all too happy to play with the espresso machine, she left the kitchen and made her way down the hall and into the bathroom.

She stood in front of the sink, staring at herself in the vanity mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and she could feel a slight tremor along the back of her neck which added to the throbbing in her head. Undoing the clasp on the vanity mirror, she swung it open to reveal the medicine cabinet behind it. Row upon row of medications were lined up in front of her; ibuprofen, cold and flu tablets, paracetamol, codeine, a tube of Canesten, aspirin, a Vicks inhaler, and more.

She ignored them all, instead picking up the small box on the top shelf, opening the packaging and pressing two Cafergot tablets into her hand, the medication her doctor had given her for when the migraines were really bad. Her head was already pounding and she knew the bible study still had at least another half an hour before it was meant to finish; not including the fact the group regularly went over and she had just delayed it by asking for a break.

Popping the tablets into her mouth, she swallowed them down with water from the tap. Leaving the water running, she splashed it onto her face, pressing her knuckles against her eyelids and feeling the heat of her forehead.

Turning the water off, she dried her face with the hand-towel and closed the medicine cupboard. Leaving the bathroom, she detoured into her bedroom for a moment, needlessly straightening the corner of her duvet. Through the wall, she could hear the others in the lounge room talking about religion, politics, and current events. Listening to the people talking made her think of the conversation she had had with Gary that day.

He had been so calm, so self-assured, even as the words came out of his mouth. "I am sick of waiting for death." She had been shocked at them. They weren't the words that had started their conversation; in fact, they had been already talking for half an hour when he had dropped them into the conversation.

"What do you mean, you are sick of waiting for death?" she had asked.

"I have been dying for so long, sometimes it gets boring."

She thought about this for a while before responding. "Some people find knowing they are going to die gives them a greater appreciation for life."

"Oh, I appreciate life, don't get me wrong, but I have been waiting for years now and it still isn't here. After a while, I think everyone would get sick of hanging around."

"I...I don't know about that."

"Most mornings it is the same thoughts; 'is this the day it all starts to happen', 'is this the day my symptoms start getting worse?' Think about it, having these same thoughts for nine long years. It is enough to drive a person insane."

She had almost been honest with him. She had almost told him that for so many years, she had had the exact same thoughts. Instead she had asked, "So do you wish you were dead already?"

"I don't really have much to live for."

Christine felt slightly insulted by the comment. "You have our conversations."

Gary smiled at her. "Yeah, I have those, but for how long. Two hours a week, maybe three. There are a shitload more hours in the day I have to fill up."

"Oh, be honest Gary, I know you spend those days apart thinking up witty things to put me off-guard or insult me."

"Sorry to burst your bubble love, but I really don't. I am just naturally gifted at pushing your buttons." He grinned, but she ignored it.

"You didn't answer my question, though."

"What question?"

"Do you wish you were dead already?"

"I did answer it."

"No, you said you didn't have much to live for. That doesn't mean you want to die."

"Touché," Gary said before pausing to think about it. "Well I guess I am not 'wanting' to die, or else I could have done something to speed the process along. Maybe just sick of being in limbo."

Christine thought about it for a moment before speaking. "Are you more scared of dying, or what happens while you die?"

Gary rolled his eyes. "Oh shit, here we go again. Another Bible-bashing."

Christine shook her head. "Not when you die, Gary, while you die."

"I don't get it," Gary said, confused.

"The time between being relatively healthy and being dead. When the body starts to shut down, you become weak, too weak to do things for yourself. When you become helpless, until eventually it's like you are not even there anymore."

"Fucking hell, that's pretty morbid." Gary said, his eyes widening.

"Gary, I am here to talk to you about dying. I think you could expect the topic to get a little morbid every now and again."

"Yeah, but I never had anyone else think about that part of it before. Why would you think of that?"

Christine hesitated, before answering. "I...I don't know. I just thought about it. Are you saying you haven't thought about it?"

"Of course, I have thought about it. I try not to; it is scarier than actually being dead. So, I guess there is your answer. I am more scared of the dying than being dead. Having to leave this place, stay in a hospital, all of that shit. Frigging scares me to...well, you get the point."

Christine nodded at his response. The conversation had lightened following that; Christine again trying to find out more information about Gary's past and Gary again being elusive.

Christine jumped as someone knocked on the bedroom door, bringing her out of her reverie.

Sanella poked her head into the bedroom and smiled. "Coffee is ready."

"Great," Christine lied. She followed Sanella back into the kitchen where a tray of cappuccinos were sitting, giving off steam. Sanella had found her cocoa shaker and had drawn little shapes into the froth on top. Christine randomly selected a fern design and moved back into the lounge room. She walked past the dining chair she had been sitting on and sat down instead on the sofa. The others each picked up a mug and kept talking.

"Have I told you how much I love that painting, Christine?" Sanella said as she plopped down onto the sofa beside her. Christine held her cappuccino out from her to stop it spilling as she felt herself bounce up from the movement; Sanella was not a light woman and the leather cushions could only handle so much pressure at one time.

Christine looked up and saw the painting Sanella was talking about hanging above the mantelpiece. It was a painting of fishing boats, done in an abstract form. "You have, Sanella, almost every time you come here."

Sanella took a sip of her cappuccino and shook her head, not noticing the foam now clinging to her top lip. "I just can't believe you found such a bargain. Only $350.00, and from a flea market in The Rocks no less! I never have much luck when I am looking for things for my apartment."

Christine smiled falsely. Sanella had said the exact same thing almost every time as well. She found it funny how it had not annoyed her before, but now she found herself much more irritable. Before she had a chance to respond though, Jim asked if they would like to continue.

The others nodded and moved back to the seats. Andrew, who had been sitting on the sofa, looked at Christine for a moment, surprised, before sitting down on the dining chair. Christine sipped her cappuccino and pretended not to notice. It was her apartment, why should she have to be uncomfortable the whole time.

"So, we were talking about the ten commandments," Jim went on. "Specifically, thou shalt not put any other god before Him. We were talking about how we do this all of the time and people were giving examples."

"I guess a prime example of this is money," Andrew said to the nods of others. "We all work day in and day out to earn it, spend so much of our time thinking of how to spend it. I know I get worried every time they talk about an interest rate rise; heck, I have even prayed it wouldn't happen. It is amazing how much time we spend thinking about money."

"Yeah, and it is not like you can take it with you when you die." Rhonda stated from where she sat on the ottoman.

"Exactly, but we idolise it while we are here," Andrew agreed.

"And what about vanity?" Sanella piped up. "So much time spent worrying about how we look and what we are going to wear. Girls getting eating disorders trying to look like those supermodels or wearing disgusting clothes hoping to look 'sexy'; it is ridiculous."

Christine took a sip of her cappuccino, hiding the smile behind the act of swallowing. Inside, she predicted Sanella's fascination with vanity was because she had always been plump and had probably never been thought of as attractive. As soon as the thought came in, she chided herself for having it.

Jim nodded and smiled. "A great example, can anyone think of another?"

Christine could feel her mouth making the sounds but did not seem able to stop them. "What about the church?"

The rest of the bible study group startled again, more so this time than when she had asked for them to take a break. "What do you mean, Christine?" Jim asked.

"Well, some would say the church worships itself as a false god." she said, looking around the room. She wanted to laugh as they all stared at her as if she had grown a second head. She wanted to laugh but did not because it really would not have been appropriate. "I mean, look at the lengths the church went to in trying to cover up their abuse of children. All done to protect the image of the church when the Christian thing to do would be to confess these sins."

Christine knew she should just shut up, drink her cappuccino and let the group continue, but the conversation with Gary that day and her headache would not let her settle.

"So, what are you saying Christine," Sanella said, looking quite disturbed. "Are you saying you are not happy with the church?"

Christine shook her head. "No, I am not saying that at all, just that we Christians are quick to apply our standards to other people, but not always to ourselves. We use God's name when going to war to say our side is righteous when half the time it's just about power or land or oil. Then when we hear about other countries going to war against each other, we pray God will show them the way and stop killing each other, like we are better than them when we do the same thing all the time."

Jim coughed, interrupting Christine's train of thought. "The Bible does say that before removing the splinter from a person's eye, we should remove the plank from our own so you do have an interesting point." Christine smiled, surprised she had found an ally in Jim. The smile soured as he continued. "However, I am not sure we have time to discuss this tonight if we want to finish what the meeting was meant to be discussing."

She understood what he meant. 'I am not sure we have time' was just a polite way of dismissing her comment.

Christine took another sip of her cappuccino, but it suddenly tasted bitter. The rest of the group continued on as if nothing had happened; but Christine did not seem to hear anything anyone said until they all started to stand back up.

As the bible study members made their way out of her apartment, she noticed Jim was lingering behind. Christine made a fuss of collecting the coffee mugs and smoothing the comforter across the back of her leather sofa, but he did not take the hint and leave with the others. "Christine, I . . . I just wanted to know if you are feeling alright?"

Christine finished putting the coffee mugs onto a silver tray and carried them into the kitchen. Placing them on the counter, she placed her fist into the small of her back and stretched, feeling the muscles relax. "I am fine, Jim. Why would you think otherwise?"

"Well, what you talked about before, about the church being hypocritical. It did not sound you were fine to me."

Christine turned to face him. "Are you trying to say the church has never been hypocritical?"

Jim thought for a moment and then nodded. "Of course, the church has been hypocritical. The Christian faith has had a very bloody history. But that should not make you turn away from it. It has changed now, it is changing now. What matters is how we are Christians today, in our own lives."

Christine shook her head. "But not at the expense of ignoring reality."

"What reality?"

"Have you ever listened to what some of the people say after church during morning tea? Some of the comments make me sick, some are just downright racist; people going on as if they are better than others because they are Christian. Vanity is alive and well within our religion." Christine wanted to add she should know, it was pointed out by Gary at almost every meeting they had; however, she left this last point silent.

She could see Jim was thinking, his face becoming pensive. "Maybe you are right. I might talk to Reverend Thomas about this; suggest a sermon on how Christians should not be judgemental of others."

Christine wanted to roll her eyes but stopped herself. "Jim, it is fine; don't worry about mentioning it to Reverend Thomas. I am tired and I had a bad day today. I . . . I was just blowing off some steam."

Jim looked at her, hopeful it was the real explanation. "You sure? I was worried it might be something else."

Chris's brow furrowed. "Like what?"

"Reverend Thomas and I talk sometimes and he mentioned this man you have been talking to, this Gary, has been challenging you when you bring up religion. One of the dangers of doing evangelical work is even though you are there trying to bring them to God, sometimes their arguments can seem pretty persuasive and pull us away. I have seen it happen."

Christine smiled, moving forward to hug him. "Go home to your wife and kids, Jim. I am sure she's missing you. I will admit Gary has given me some interesting things to think about, but me bringing this up had nothing to do with him."

Jim nodded, stepping back and rubbing her arm. "I'll take you at your word. On a different note, I have noticed the change in you. Usually at Bible study you don't say much apart from agreeing with other people's comments. That was the first time you have really put forward an idea like that."

"And it went down so well too," she said, tartly.

"I think people were just surprised, that's all. I was a bit too, to be honest. But I also think it's an interesting topic for us to discuss another day. And can I offer you a piece of advice?"

"What's that?"

"Whoever is asking the questions controls the conversation. If he is asking you, you are having to justify Christianity. If you are the one asking the questions, then he will have to reflect on his own spiritual situation."

He told Christine he would let himself out and she returned to cleaning up; hearing the door close behind him.

She stood there for a long time, mulling over what Jim had said. She liked Jim's advice and thought she could use it.

Putting the coffee mugs in the dishwasher, she saw the espresso machine on the kitchen bench. She shook her head; it was a nightmare to clean.

When she was finished, she opened the lower cabinet she kept it in and paused. Smiling, closed the cupboard and took the espresso machine down the hall to her linen cupboard, putting it on the top shelf behind some blankets. "I guess the next time we have Bible study at my place, I will have to tell Sanella it is broken."
10 April 1998

_Death is often a topic which makes us feel threatened_

A subject we often try to avoid

Lately, I have been reading a lot of Bible passages to try and help me understand.

It talks about how death is a part of life,

Christine knocked on Gary's door and smiled as she entered. Gary watched her from his seat; he was nursing a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

"Good afternoon, Chris, how are you today?"

Christine sat down. "It is Christine and fine thank you, how are you?"

Taking a sip of his whiskey, he smiled at her. "Delightful, some guy was arrested this morning so the place has been filled with all sorts of gossip about what crime he committed. Kept me less bored for at least an hour. What do you want to talk about, current stock market prices?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about religion again."

Gary rolled his eyes, leaning back into his arm chair. "Ah, I was wondering when we would circle back to that. Well go on then."

Christine smiled, hesitantly; remembering how she had felt after the last time it had been discussed. As a result, she had decided on a different approach. "Well, actually, I was wondering if you had any questions about religion, or faith, I might be able to answer."

Gary paused, his head tilted to the side, looking at her. "I'm not going to get a sermon?"

Christine shook her head. "No sermon, just a conversation."

Gary rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "Alright then, I will go back to my earlier request. I want you to give me your best sales pitch."

"No sales pitch, Gary, just a discussion. Do you have any questions?"

Gary shook his head, his brow furrowing slightly. Chris smiled, she felt good so far, controlling the conversation so Gary could not trap her. "Fine, then tell me why your religion is the right one?"

Christine paused, unsure how to answer. "Well I guess it is a matter of faith it is the right one."

Gary smiled, "so I could be Hindu, or a Mormon, and still go to heaven?"

"Well, no."

"But you just said it was faith. If I have faith in either of those, isn't it the same?"

"No, it's not."

"Why not? Unless your religion is the right one. So back to the original question. Why is your religion the right one?" Christine paused again, amazed at how quickly Gary had brought the question back in on itself. She did not respond right away, using the time to gather her argument. She felt she would need to do that a lot during this conversation, pause and reorganise. However, she wasn't prepared to give up.

"Well, a lot of the Bible has been historically proven."

"Creation has been proven? Really? So maybe you haven't heard of a thing called evolution, dinosaurs, or the big bang theory?"

"No, creation has not been proven, but neither has the big bang theory."

"I always liked the big bang theory," Gary said cheerfully. "Or maybe I just liked the name."

Christine stopped her head from shaking at the comment. "Evolutionary theory also has its flaws."

"All right, fair point. So, what has been proven?"

"Certain events in the Old Testament have been validated by historical texts and archaeological findings."

"That doesn't mean your religion is the right one, it just narrows it down to three."

Chris's brow furrowed. "What do you mean 'narrows it down to three'?"

"Well, the Torah is the Old Testament, and the Koran and the Bible uses the Old Testament. So, Christians might be right, but so might the Muslims and the Jews. Although there is historical evidence of a Buddha as well, so maybe it should be four."

"There is also historical proof Jesus existed and was crucified."

"Along with thousands of other people, but they aren't holy figures. And for that matter, there is historical proof Mohammad existed too. So that doesn't give you enough to prove your religion is the right one."

"Which is why I suppose it comes back to a matter of faith as to which is right. Personally, I believe it is Christianity."

"But why?" Christine had no answer for that. How do you quantify faith? How do you put it into words? Having faith is to believe in something which cannot be known.

Christine sighed before responding. "I guess I just do. I trust the Bible."

"Do you trust your church?"

"Yes, of course."

"And you trust your minister?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I am just asking."

"But why?"

This time Gary paused before responding. She saw his brow crease for a second time and it looked like he was biting his lip before he answered her. "Because your church and your minister go against the very religion they are promoting."

Christine did not know how to take that, so she deflected back with a question. "What do you mean?"

"Well, just look at the deification of the saints. Some Christian religions have patron saints and their family members must wear a necklace with an image of that saint around their neck. Other Christian religions even have saints for specific things, such as the patron saint of illnesses they pray to for healing. Hell, there is even a patron saint for lost causes! He was big in jail."

Chris rolled her eyes. "I have told you before, I do not believe in anything like that. I am not Catholic or Orthodox."

"Even the Anglican church does it."

"The Anglican church does not have patron saints."

"Really, what is your church called?"

Christine paused, realising the trap. However, she felt he deserved the answer. "It is called Saint Clements."

"Ah, there you go, Saint Clements. So, your church, your place of worshipping God, is named after a saint, but you still say you don't worship saints?"

"So, what if my church is named after a saint?"

"Do you know who this Clement guy was?"

"I...I don't know." Chris said, honestly.

"Was he one of the apostles?"

"No."

"That's right, he was actually the fourth Pope, I looked it up after you told me which church you went to. There are also rumours he performed miracles and was eventually thrown into the sea with an anchor tied to his leg because he was a Christian." Gary was speaking fast now, his eyes lit with an energy Christine rarely saw. "So, he was made a saint by other men. Other men decided he was a holy man, more holy than the rest of us and so given the title of saint.

"There is even a feast day for the guy where thousands of Christians around the world celebrate and praise him. Sounds a hell of a lot like fucking worshipping someone to me. So even if you aren't Catholic or Orthodox, then explain why you go to a Church named after him and call him a Saint?"

Christine had no answer. Swallowing, she realised she might lose the situation again and needed a different tactic. "So, if this is how you feel, why were you studying to be a minister?"

Gary paused, not expecting the change in topic. Exhaling sharply, he sat back in his chair. "Obviously, I believed in all that bullshit once. Now I don't."

"What changed?"

"What changed? I killed a guy, got HIV, went to prison and am waiting to die. Kinda alters your perspective?"

"Did you lose your faith before you killed Daniel Sevido?" Christine almost didn't ask, given the vehemence of his rule but felt it did not count as a 'why' question.

"No, after that."

"When you found out you had HIV?"

"No after that as well."

Christine leant forward in her chair. "So, what made you stop believing in God?"

"What makes you think I have?"

"You believe in God still?"

"Never said I didn't. Just said I don't want to be saved. I don't like the hypocrisy of the whole frigging thing."

"The hypocrisy of the bible?"

"No, not the bible itself, but the religions which are supposedly based on them. It is the same with almost any religion. In jail, they have a shitload of religious books and I had a lot of spare time so I read a few of them. The Koran is an incredibly peaceful and loving book and yet some forms of Islamic religion use it to oppress their people. Same with Hindus who have a beautiful faith and yet it is used to create a caste system that is a fancy word for slavery."

"So, you have nothing against God specifically?"

Gary paused, surprised by the question. "Well, no, I guess not."

Chris smiled, not expecting this breakthrough. "And you do believe in God?"

"I...I don't know, to be honest. I would not say I am an atheist. But I would not say I am religious either."

"You're agnostic?"

Gary smiled bitterly. "There you go with the labels again. Agnostic is no better than Buddhist, or Charismatic. I am me, and I have my own thoughts and feelings."

Chris nodded, seeing the difference.

"What about you?" Gary asked.

Chris jumped slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Do you have faith?"

"Of course I do."

Gary watched her, not speaking. "I'm not too sure about that one, Miss Goldstrom."

"Gary, if I did not believe in God, why would I be talking to you about it?"

"Because you have to." Chris looked at him blankly. "You were sent here by a church. They don't send people to play chess with. They send people to recruit. You have to try and convert me."

"But what makes you think I am not here for that?"

"How many times have you been here, Chris?"

"It's Christine, and...I don't know...quite a few."

"A hell of a lot of times but how many time have you brought up God?"

"Well...this would be the second or third time."

"So, if you are here to bring me into the fold, why only two times out of a bunch of meetings?"

Chris thought about it for a moment before responding. "Well, maybe I hesitated about bringing it up again after the reception I got last time."

"Bullshit."

"What do you mean bullsh...why would you think that?"

"We used to get people coming into the prison all the time trying to convert us, trying to bring all the inmates to God, or Jehovah, or whatever bullshit they were selling at the time. And we would make fun of them, ask them trick questions; hell, some of the boys would outright threaten them. But they would just keep coming back for more. It would take them months before they would finally give up and try somewhere else.

"The reason they took all of that crap, over and over, was because they were passionate about what they were doing. They wanted to save those people. So, for you, either you don't want to save me or you just don't believe it."

Chris sat upright in her chair. "I do want to save you."

"Do you? Then why are you so blasé about the whole thing? There is no way the other Jesus-freaks would let me get away with half the stuff you do, and they would be having heart attacks with the arguments I have with religion. But they also would be bringing it up every single time they came."

Christine slumped back down in her chair. "Maybe...maybe I just have a different style. Maybe I'm trying to not come across as a 'Jesus-freak' as you put it."

"Maybe you aren't one."

Christine did not respond right away, instead leaving it for a moment. "Gary, why is it every time I try and talk about your religious beliefs, we end up talking about mine?"

Gary smiled. "Because you're more interesting than me, I guess. Besides, this whole thing is about you, so why not put the focus there as well."

Christine rolled her eyes, "we have discussed this before. We are not here for me, I am here for you."

"Then guarantee me this will be the last time we talk about religion. Because if we are here for me, and we are here to talk about what I want, then you should respect my wishes not to talk about religion."

Christine did not know how to respond. She felt like a gauntlet had been thrown, however neither option appealed to her. "And if I do not agree to those terms?"

"Then you have to admit to me you might be here a little bit for yourself as well."

Chris sighed, shaking her head. "Fine, Gary. Maybe I am here for my own reasons too."

Gary smiled; not a smile of victory or malice, but a smile she almost thought he would give an equal. "That's good, Chris. Maybe now we can start being honest with each other."
13 April 1998

_A subject we often try to avoid_

Lately, I have been reading a lot of Bible passages to try and help me understand.

It talks about how death is a part of life,

It is not for us to question who or how or why.

The Sevidos' lived in a quiet house in Sydney's south-west; it was quite a drive for Chris as she preferred to spend her time in Sydney. Occasionally she would head south to Wollongong, or north towards Pittwater, but almost never west.

She had hoped to arrive around lunch-time, but her first appointment this morning had taken a lot longer than expected. She had almost decided to reschedule meeting with Mrs Sevido, but felt it best to keep the meeting, especially after it had taken so long to convince her to meet with her in the first place.

Locking her car, she walked up the driveway. A well-kept lawn met the red paved driveway neatly; along the front of the house were small garden beds with tended roses; champagne, yellow and pink. The late afternoon sun shone off the red terracotta roof tiles, matching the driveway. She hesitated, unsure if she should be doing this. But Gary had told her he would not tell her why and she had to know.

Walking along the footpath, she reached the porch and rang the doorbell. Inside, distant, a tune began to play; she listened hard but did not recognise it. A muffled 'coming' came from behind the mahogany front door and she saw movement behind the frosted glass. The door opened a crack and a short woman peered out at her suspiciously. She had black hair, streaked with grey, pulled back tightly into a bun, brown eyes watching her amidst the olive skin of her cheeks.

"Good morning, Mrs Sevido. My name is Christine Goldstrom. I rang up last night to ask if I could talk to you, about your son Daniel."

Mrs Sevido hesitated for a moment before opening the door to let her in. "My husband will be home soon. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Tea would be lovely, thank you." The hallway floor was cream tiles, the walls painted a slightly darker shade. Photographs covered the wall, Chris wanted to stop and find a photo of Daniel but thought better of it. Sighing quietly, she followed Mrs Sevido into the kitchen, sitting at the kitchen table when offered.

"You have a very beautiful home. I could not stop admiring your roses. I have a small garden on the balcony where I live, though no matter how I struggle they do not bloom like yours and probably not for as long either."

Mrs Sevido smiled. "You are young woman; too busy to be spending hours in garden. Me, I have time." She spoke with an accent, the 'have' coming out almost as 'haff'. Christine guessed she was Eastern European, possibly from the Balkans.

Mrs Sevido filled the kettle and got tea cups from the cupboard. Spooning tea into a porcelain tea pot, she talked about her roses, for which she was especially proud of. She brought the tea pot and cups over to the table, only sitting when Chris declined milk or sugar.

Sipping her tea, Mrs Sevido regarded her over the rim of her cup. "Why you want to know about my son?"

Chris took a sip before answering, choosing her words carefully. "Gary Burton was released from prison four months ago; he is staying at a place called the River Gardens Supported Community and . . . and he is dying. He has AIDS and has been told he probably only has a few months. My church occasionally does work with the dying and I have been meeting with him."

Mrs Sevido did not speak, and Chris frowned. "Gary Burton was the man who..."

"I know who he is." The words came out as a growl. Chris was taken aback by such rage in so small a woman. "I thank Jesus and the Holy Mother Mary my prayers are finally answered. He is dying of AIDS? I hope he suffers greatly before the devil takes him." She looked like she wanted to spit on the floor.

Taking another sip and grimacing, Mrs Sevido pulled herself together. "It still does not tell me why you want to know about my son."

"Mr Burton . . . Gary . . . .is hesitant when asked about Daniel. I thought maybe if I could understand a little about their relationship, I could understand why he committed such a crime."

"There was no relationship. They were not friends."

"I am sorry? They did not know each other?" Chris placed her cup on its saucer, leaning forward.

"Danny, my only child, was returning to his apartment from the university. He was studying at Sydney University and shared a flat with some friends close by. Burton was standing in the driveway of the apartment block. As Danny walked past, Burton pulled out a knife and stab him. He stab my son over and over, then walk away, leaving my son to die. An hour later he show up at the police station, still in the clothes stained with my son's blood and carrying the knife that killed him."

"Do you have any idea why he killed him?"

"We went to the sentencing. There was no trial because he pleaded guilty. My husband, he spoke to the judge about how what Burton had done had affected us. To me it seemed ridiculous. As if the judge would not know. Burton took our son, our beautiful boy.

"When the judge gave his sentence, Burton said nothing, he did not care. He is not human. He is the devil." Chris felt obliged to defend him against the comment but wanted to know more. Biting her lip, she remained silent.

Mrs Sevido rose from her own chair, pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiping at her eyes. Sniffing, trying to smile, the handkerchief disappeared and she took a photo down from the wall. "This is my Danny, eight months before he was killed." The photo was of a boy and girl on the beach. He was wearing blue shorts and sandals, dark brown hair ruffled in the wind as he smiled beneath wraparound sunglasses. The girl was resting her head on his shoulder, her hair almost masking what looked like a bruise on his neck.

"Who is the girl?"

"That is Anna. They were to be married once he finished university."

"Did she go to university with him?"

"No. She lived in St. Mary's and worked as a secretary. He stayed in Sydney while he did his studies so they did not get to see much of each other."

"Would I be able to talk to her? If she still lives nearby, that is."

"She died a year after Danny. After he died, she was so sad. She began to mix with some bad people, taking drugs to make her feel better. Then one night, she lock herself in her room and overdosed. She left a note; all it said was 'better this way than to suffer'. Her parents moved not long after, I don't know where; too many memories, not enough good ones."

Chris wanted to rise, walk around and shake off the bleakness that was thick in the room. She could see Anna, tears wet on her face, lying on the floor of her room, the note on her desk. A poor parody of the bikini clad happy spirit sticking her tongue out at the camera.

Mrs Sevido's voice broke her out of her reverie. "I do not mean to be rude, Ms. Goldstrom, but I think you should leave. I am old, and do not like to remember these things."

Chris nodded and followed her to the door. Mrs Sevido walked her to the car and they watched each other, waiting for the other to speak. An old van drove up the street slowing in front of the house and pulling into the driveway. Opening the door, a large man stepped out, his thick arms covered with white dust. His work boots, caked in plaster, raised little clouds as he walked over to his wife.

He leant down, kissing her on the cheek before smiling at Christine. "Hello," he said in a deep voice and similar accent to his wife.

"Goren, this is Christine. Her church appointed her to look over Burton's death. She was trying to understand why Danny died."

His face hardened, the plaster dust turning his features into stone. "There is nothing to understand. He did what he did for no reason, and there is no need for my wife to go through it again. Now, if you do not mind."

He squeezed his wife's hand and walked to the front door, kicking off his work boots and slamming the door behind him.

"I am sorry. My husband never really got over Danny's death. When Burton did what he did, he did not just kill my boy. He killed Anna, he killed Goren, he...he killed a part of me too."

Christine nodded, not sure how to respond. Mrs Sevido was telling the truth and listening to this made her realise Daniel's murder was not just a puzzle for her to solve. It was real people.

Mrs Sevido smiled as Chris got in the car. Putting on her sunglasses, she pulled away from the kerb, making her way back towards the motorway.

She was disappointed. The visit had not given her the answers she was looking for and without being able to talk to Gary more about it, she was not sure if she would ever understand why Gary had done what he did. Part of her still questioned why she needed to. Part of her now felt guilty about intruding into the Sevido's grief. Maybe Reverend Thomas was right and she was focusing on this as a way of avoiding other things.

As she drove away, she could already feel a new headache forming.
19 April 1998

_Lately, I have been reading a lot of Bible passages to try and help me understand._

It talks about how death is a part of life,

It is not for us to question who or how or why.

It is important grief does not cause us to become distant from our beliefs

"So, before we finish the service, let's all stand and sing 'As the deer pants for the water'" Reverend Thomas spoke from his little lectern at the front of the church, ending his sermon on charity. All around the small church, the sound of movement started as the parishioners began to stand.

Christine stood as well, her arm bumping gently against her mother's next to her. She reached out with her hand and steadied herself against the back of the pew in front of her, feeling a little light headed after sitting for so long.

"Are you all right?" her mother whispered to her, noticing the slight wavering.

Christine nodded. "I'm fine."

Her mother's brow furrowed but then the small band at the front of the church, a piano, guitar and flute, began to play.

"As the deer pants for the water, so my soul longs after you" began to echo around the white plaster walls. Two rows in front, Mrs Delahunty was singing in her opera voice, which to Christine had always sounded more like a whinnying horse and she cringed at the 'you'.

Christine mouthed the words. She had never liked her singing voice and she did not really like this song. It was slow, a favourite of the oldies at the church but she preferred some of the more upbeat hymns.

As she continued to pretend to sing, she turned to look around the church. Most of the congregation were focused on looking at the lyrics projected onto a wall near the front, which she found ironic as she was sure everyone could recite the words with their eyes closed.

She was looking off to the right, at the small stained-glass windows that had fascinated her since childhood when she noticed a change in light in her peripheral vision. She turned around further just as someone walked out of the church and the door started to close. They had left before the song was even halfway through and Reverend Thomas would start to make his way down the aisle to say goodbye to everyone as they left.

She did not get a good glimpse but was able to see lanky black hair and a rumpled tee-shirt. The height and build were also familiar. She was sure it had been Gary.

She turned to her mother and said she needed some air. Her mother looked at her concerned again but could not argue as they were only up to the second verse. She leant back so Christine could pass and Christine made her way to the exit as fast as she felt was polite.

She pushed open the door of the church and hurried out into the carpark. She could not see anyone there.

'Idiot,' she thought to herself. 'Gary doesn't have a car so if it was him, he wouldn't be in the carpark; he would probably be making his way back towards the bus stop.' She left the carpark and walked down onto the street. Off to the right, towards the bus stop as predicted, she saw the figure walking, already more than a block away.

"Gary!" she called out, hoping it was him and she was not yelling out to a complete stranger. She started to half jog after him; it was not easy to do even in the modest heels she wore.

Gary seemed to ignore her at first but turned the second time she called out. She smiled to herself, feeling a small sense of pride that she had been right. 'I probably wasn't imagining it the last time I thought I saw him across the road from the church either,' she thought.

Gary stopped and waited for her to catch up, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. She could see they were cinched tightly around the waist with a belt and were baggy through the legs; most likely due to him losing weight as he became more unwell.

"I knew it was you," Christine said happily. "How come you did not stay until the service had finished?"

Gary shrugged. "I only came to hear the sermon. I was curious to hear what inspires such a lack of evangelical passion in you."

Christine felt her brow furrowing but she stopped her mouth before it could resemble anything similar to a pout. "Well, it's great you came. You should come back. I could introduce you to some of the congregation and to Reverend Thomas."

Gary took a step back and raised his hands. "I'm fine, Chris. I got what I needed and now I am going to head back home."

"Let me at least give you a lift, save you catching the bus."

Gary shook his head. "The bus is fine. Besides, I think I can see your mum looking for you. That was her sitting next to you?"

Christine turned around and she saw her mother standing on the side of the road, looking both ways trying to locate her. Christine sighed and waved at her. Her mother waved back; it looked hesitant and Christine knew she would have to answer all sorts of questions.

"I suppose I should get back Gary, but before I let you go, I have two questions." Gary looked at her, his eyes guarded. "Firstly, what did you need?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said you got what you needed. What was it?"

Gary shrugged. "Just to be reminded why I gave up all this religious crap a while ago." Christine felt herself slump. It was not the answer she had been expecting. "And your other question?"

"Why do you call me Chris? You never call me by my proper name, Christine."

At that question, Gary smiled. "It throws you off balance, makes it easier to play with you."

"Really?"

"Well, I don't know. Maybe. Maybe I call you Chris because to me that is what you look like?"

"I look like a boy?" Christine said defensively.

Gary looked down at her chest briefly. "There's enough there for me to know you are not a boy."

Christine felt her face colouring. "Then what do you mean?"

"You came to see me to try and change me, to 'save me'. Maybe I am trying to change you, get you out of all that stodgy politeness. Chris is a more relaxed name. Christine sounds so formal. Does that answer your question? Besides, it shouldn't matter. You know who you are, so what I call you makes no difference, does it?"

Christine did not reply, thinking about what he said. Gary mumbled something about being late for his bus and started walking away. Christine turned and made her way back towards the church.

Her mother was still waiting out the front of the church, her arms folded. "Who was that man?"

Christine turned back around but Gary was no longer in sight. "That was Gary."

"The man you have been meeting with? Why didn't you bring him back here?"

"Bring who back here?" said another voice and Christine turned to smile at Reverend Thomas as he approached them.

"That Gary person Christine has been meeting with."

"Gary was here?" Reverend Thomas asked, his eyes widening slightly. He looked down the road the same as Christine just had. "What was he doing here?"

"He listened to your sermon. That was him leaving while everyone was singing the final hymn."

"That was Gary..." Reverend Thomas said quietly before blinking and shaking his head. "Well next time, tell him to stay around for some cake."

"I will," Christine said as Reverend Thomas walked back to where most of the parishioners were gathered.

"Are you going to come back over?" Emily asked. Christine looked at everyone, her father talking to Jim and Ramon but she felt no motivation to join them.

"No, I think I might go home."

"You're still coming over for dinner on Tuesday?"

"Yes mum, I will see you then." Christine kissed her mother on the head and started walking towards the car park. She waved at the members of her bible study and her dad before getting into the car and driving off.

She turned right instead of her usual left, hoping Gary would still be waiting at the bus stop but he had already gone, a bus turning the corner three streets up ahead.
21 April 1998

_It talks about how death is a part of life,_

It is not for us to question who or how or why.

It is important grief does not cause us to become distant from our beliefs

To become distant from others

George Goldstrom looked up from his paper as Christine entered the lounge room. Smiling, he tipped it down enough for his daughter to lean down and kiss him lightly on the cheek. "Hey dad, anything interesting in the paper?"

"Not much, it must be a slow news week." She stood, rustling his thick grey hair out of its neatly combed place. Grinning, he returned to his paper as Christine put her handbag down on the side board and took off her jacket.

Emily Goldstrom popped her head into the lounge room. As she saw Christine, she smiled. "I thought I heard you come in. Come set the table."

Christine followed her mother out of the lounge room and into the kitchen. As she opened the drawer to take out the cutlery, she looked at her mother wryly. "You know, I'm a grown woman. I have my own apartment, my own job, my own car; why do I still have to set the table?"

"Because you only have those things because I gave birth to you, which means you have to set the table until I die, as gratitude."

Christine smiled, taking the knives and forks through to the dining room, her mother following soon after holding two plates and balancing a third in the crook of her arm. "Dinner is served," she said proudly.

It was apricot chicken which had been one of her favourite dishes when she was a child. She preferred Thai now, but mentioning that would not have changed there being apricot chicken or lasagne the next time she came here.

Her father came in from the lounge room and said grace. For a while, the only sounds were the clinking of cutlery and the polite chewing of food. Christine chided herself for being ungrateful; her mother did cook an amazing apricot chicken.

"So how is work going?" George said into the silence.

Christine looked, startled by the first words thrown into the silence. "It's good. Busy as always. I . . . I have cut back my hours so I am only there three days a week now."

Her mother harrumphed and Christine looked over at her. "What does that mean, mum?"

"Oh, nothing. I just find it interesting," her mother answered, spearing a piece of chicken onto her fork. "I was speaking to Margaret Thornton the other day and she told me you missed your last appointment with Dr Hennessey and haven't been able to rebook because you were too busy at work and here you are saying you have cut back your hours?"

George's brow furrowed. "You missed your appointment with Dr Hennessey?"

Christine looked at her mother coldly. "Maybe Dr Hennessey needs to have a talk with Margaret about the concept of patient confidentiality. She has no right to tell you if I attended or not?"

"Margaret was just worried about you," Emily said defensively.

"I don't care."

George put down his knife. "Christine, why did you miss your appointment with Dr Hennessey? You know how important they are?"

"Because I am no longer seeing Dr Hennessey; I changed specialists four months ago. I just didn't tell Margaret because I wanted to see if she really was blabbing about me to mum. Obviously, I was right."

"Who are you seeing?"

"Someone else. Someone I can trust to keep my private information out of gossiping mouths. Don't worry, I checked them out before I went there and they know all my medical history. Is that ok with both of you?"

George looked between the two of them. He had spent his whole life as a pharmacist and Christine knew if she took the professionalism angle, he would side with her. "Well, I guess so," he said. "Margaret probably should not be talking about patients without their consent. Just as long as you are still having your check-ups."

"I am dad and everything is fine."

George nodded. "Well then, that is settled. So, what are you doing with your extra time then?"

"I have been seeing Gary more."

"Oh, the one Emily said came to church last Sunday?"

"Yes, him."

"So why are you seeing him more?"

Christine was halted by his question. It was valid, but she could quite put an answer to it that made sense. He still drove her up the wall most days and yet she was now seeing him twice a week instead of once. And she couldn't remember what had made her decide to increase the meetings. "Well, I haven't been able to convert him yet, so I am seeing him more at the moment until he is saved."

"Is that how you are going to save him, by pestering him into turning to God?"

Christine smiled. "The Lord knows he pesters me enough. What's wrong with getting a little back at him?"

"What do you talk about?"

Again, she couldn't think of an answer. What did they talk about? She still barely knew anything about him, and after the conversation near the beginning when she had told him about her family, she hadn't disclosed any information.

Scooping up some of the stew, she put it in her mouth to stall having to give an answer. Chewing, she thought back on their conversations. They argued a lot, but that probably wasn't something she wanted to tell her parents. "Well, we have talked about how he came to be where he is."

As soon as she said it, she wanted to take it back. So far, her dad had been very supportive of her decision to see Gary, but she wasn't sure he would be as supportive if he found out about Gary's past. In her mind, she prayed he would not ask the question.

"And what was it?"

She shook her head, her prayer unanswered. "What was what, dad?"

"What led him to be where he is?"

"Well . . . he has AIDS, doesn't he?"

"How did he get AIDS?"

"He . . . we haven't really talked too much about that. He said he got it from sharing needles."

Her mother choked on the sip of wine she was drinking. "You never told us he was a drug user."

"So what, mum? He still deserves to be saved. Besides, he smokes heroin, not injects, so I think he was lying about how he got infected." Her mother just looked at her, her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide. She didn't reply; she didn't know what to say.

"Geez, if I knew you were going to get so upset about that . . . I better not tell you he's a convicted murderer." Again, as soon as Christine had said it, she wanted to take it back, but at the time she was feeling petty and the look on her mother's face was priceless. Except this time, it was her father's time to choke, coughing up a piece of apricot. Chris took a sip of her wine to hide the smile creeping onto her face.

"He . . . he killed someone."

She took another sip; she thought it ironic how you can enjoy the commotion you have caused while at the same time wishing you could take it back. "Y...yes. A man named Daniel Sevido."

Her mother threw down her napkin and sat back in her chair, folding her arms. "Well I certainly don't want you to see this person anymore. I'll call Reverend Thomas tomorrow and tell him this is not appropriate."

Christine cut her off before she could finish. "I told Reverend Thomas I would see him, and I will. I make my own decisions, mum."

"Why did he kill that boy?" George asked. It was one of the things Christine had always admired her father for; he always went to the heart of a matter. She did not admire it greatly at this moment, though.

"I don't know. He won't tell me and he never gave a reason when he was convicted; at least, none they put in the newspaper."

Emily watched her over the rim of her glass; her nails tapped the side and filled the room with clinking. She didn't speak; content to let her husband express their shock.

"Dad, it is fine, I am completely safe."

"How is it safe? Do you have a guard there at all times? Is he heavily sedated?"

Chris thought for a moment about making that glib comment, 'with all the alcohol he drinks, he certainly is sedated', but decided against it. "I see him in the gardens of the hostel."

"Has he ever been violent towards you?"

Christine thought back to when she had been afraid he was going to hit her with the bottle of scotch. Instinctively she swallowed, and then quickly tried to cover it up by taking another sip of water. "No dad, he has been the perfect gentlemen." She lied, but it was better than the alternative of making her father even more worried.

George angrily stabbed a piece of chicken, his fork scraping against the plate. Pushing it into his mouth, he chewed noisily. "I think I will talk to Reverend Thomas about this, it's ridiculous he would send you to a man like that."

"Frank supports me in seeing him. You should too." Christine said defiantly.

"Does he know what kind of . . . person you are seeing?" George responded.

Before she could answer, Emily spoke. "Christine, I know you said you needed to do some outreach work, in particular with . . . certain types of people, but this is going too far. Your father and I want you to stop seeing this man."

"I'm sorry, mum, but that is not going to happen. He is finally starting to open up to me. I really think I have a chance to save him and I refuse to stop trying. He came to church on Sunday so I'm obviously starting to have an effect on him."

George put his fork down heavily on the table. "Christine, I don't care what you want, I am your father and you are going to . . . " his voice faltered as he saw his daughter rub her temple. "Are you ok darling?"

Chris smiled inside. She didn't have a headache at the moment, miraculously, but knew this would get them off her back.

"It's nothing dad, just all this yelling is starting to stress me. Can we just have dinner?"

Her father hesitated, watching her. Relenting, he nodded, picked up his fork and began to poke at the chicken on his plate.

"I still plan on speaking to Reverend Thomas."

"Fine, dad, you do that. But I will keep seeing him regardless." George nodded unhappily and Christine felt the tension in her shoulder blades dissipate.

They continued to eat, in silence from then on. When they had finished eating, Christine declined dessert and her parents did not press her. Walking her to the door, she leant up to hug her father, kissing him lightly on the cheek. He hugged back, tightly, and she smiled, remembering how her head had fit so perfectly into his collar bone when she was a child and he would carry her.

Stepping back from the embrace, she quickly hugged her mother. Her mother hugged her back tightly, she always hugged with more force than her father.

"When do you see him next?" George asked. Christine closed her eyes and sighed, wishing he would not keep pushing the issue.

"I saw him yesterday and I won't see him again until Friday."

"So, you'll be at work tomorrow then?"

"Yes dad," she said exasperatedly.

"You know we only worry because we care about you," her mother said.

Christine nodded, recognising that the frustration she felt at the comment was unfair. "I know mum. Thank you. I'll call you later."
30 April 1998

_It is not for us to question who or how or why._

It is important grief does not cause us to become distant from our beliefs

To become distant from others

No matter how hurt or angry we feel

Chris waved to Gary as she made her way over. She had stopped by his room and found the door was locked. Gary was out in the garden, lounging on one of the lawn chairs, waiting for her, his eyes closed and a cigarette draped between his fingers. As she neared, he opened his eyes, raising the smoke to his lips. "You're late."

"By five minutes."

"That is still late. I never expected someone like you to be late."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, really. Just that uptight people are pretty punctual."

Chris smiled, pulling a lawn chair closer to his. "Maybe I am not as uptight as you think I am, Gary."

Gary smiled. "Maybe you aren't. It seemed like a nice day, warmer than it has been for a while so I figured we could hang out here. Where were you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why were you late?"

"I had some things to attend to."

"Such as?"

"Such as things that I had to attend to."

"Why won't you tell me where you were?"

"Because it is personal but I tell you what, you answer my questions and I will answer yours."

Gary smiled again, stubbing out the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray sitting next to the lawn chair. "Who goes first?"

"You of course," she responded playfully. "I have no doubt as soon as I tell you where I have been, you would refuse to answer any of my questions and make some condescending remark about me being too trusting."

"Touché; what are we going to talk about today?"

"Do you regret what you did?" She blurted it out, quickly, nervously.

Gary's face went cold. "I thought I told you not to ask me about that anymore."

"No, you told me not to ask you why and you will notice my question is about whether you feel guilty about what you did and that question is fair game according to the rules you have set previously."

Gary leant back in his chair, muttering something about how she 'should have been a fucking lawyer'. Chris ignored it, crossing her legs to get more comfortable. "Well, Gary, do you?"

Gary closed his eyes, pressing his fingers into the sockets. Shaking his head, he pulled his hand away and looked at her. "I spent ten years in prison for killing him. I would have been in there longer but they let me out because I am dying. What do you think?"

"I think that would mean you regret the consequences your action brought you, but that does not tell me whether you regret the action itself."

"What the fuck does it matter?"

"It matters, Gary. It matters a lot. Who you are as a person, the way you view the world, whether you have feelings, all of it matters."

"Well then I guess the answer is no. I don't regret killing him."

Chris paused, sensing the hostility in his voice. Uncrossing her legs, she changed tact. "Do you think about it? What you did?"

"Sometimes...not really. Again, what does it matter?"

"Do you think about it more now you are dying?"

Gary laughed, all the hostility gone from his face. After a few moments, he began to cough, the laughter cutting away as he struggled to draw in air.

When he calmed down and was able to breathe again, he was still smiling. "This is going to get religious again, isn't it?"

Chris blushed, averting her eyes. "What makes you think I am going to talk about religion?"

"Because it has been a while since you have. Were you going to bring it up?"

"Gary, I'm a Christian and I think of things in Christian terms. When I think about you murdering someone, I can't help but think about whether you have tried to make it right with God. I want to help you do this."

"And how exactly are you planning to do that?"

"I am not sure. But the first step is you must be repentant. If you are truly repentant, then God may forgive you."

"And if I don't want forgiveness?"

"That is just absurd. Why would you not want to be forgiven?"

"How do you know God won't understand and agree with what I did?"

"Because God does not condone murder, especially the murder of an innocent man." As soon as the words came out, she wished she could take them back. She knew that once again she had gone too far.

Gary leant forward, his upper body invading her personal space. His bloodless lips were pulled back and the skin was stretched tight across his skull. "Geez you've got some nerve sometimes. You come here to what is the closest thing I can call a fucking home and you look me in the face and judge me."

"But Gary, I thought that..."

"You don't know shit."

"How can I know more unless you tell me?" The question was a risk and she knew it. He stared at her, his nostrils flaring.

"Alright, I will tell you. I remember everything that happened that day, as if it only just happened and my hands are still covered in that bastard's blood. I remember waiting for him to come home, standing outside the small block of flats where he lived. I remember as he came home, coming down the street towards me. I just stood there, my hand in my pocket, my thumb kneading the hilt of the knife.

"I remember stabbing him. It was quick, a fluid motion that made me barely notice what I was doing, let alone try and stop it. I remember he didn't scream, he didn't do shit. He turned his head and looked at me as I pulled the knife out and shoved it back in. That is all he did, he just looked at me. I am not sure if he even fucking winced.

"And I got angry. I wanted him to scream, raise his arms to try and stop me, cry like a baby, fucking anything. I just wanted him to realise what I was doing and I wanted to see his fear. But he just stood there and I got so pissed off I fucked up my aim and instead of stabbing him in the gut, I got the chest and killed him.

"The son of a bitch died and I wasn't even finished. You asked me before what I regret and that is it. I spent ten years in prison and I suffered every fucking day of them and he did not suffer at all. I regret he didn't scream as the knife went in. And I kept stabbing him, hoping maybe somewhere he could feel it. It was fucking stupid, I know, but God I wish I could have heard him scream."

His lips had curled back as his voice became louder, his body slowly rising until he stood over her. Chris's eyes were wet with fear and she clutched her arms to her chest, her knees rising to attempt a foetal position.

She heard Judy's voice coming from the office, yelling out about the commotion. She noticed out of the corner of her eye some of the other residents had opened the doors of their little units to watch. But Chris paid no attention to them. The world had shrunk to just herself and Gary. She stared at his hands, clenched into fists so tight his nails were digging into the soft flesh of his palm, a small drop of blood sliding from between his knuckles.

Gary stared at her, equally oblivious of what was surrounding them. He jumped when he felt a hand grip his shoulder, hard, and spin him around.

"How dare you! How dare you, you fucking bastard!" the voice screamed and an enormous fist swung out of nowhere, crashing into Gary's nose. Christine heard something break and blood arced into the air as Gary fell backward.

Chris blinked at the voice and the punch, looking up to see a man standing above where Gary now lay. Her eyes clearing, she realised it was Mr Sevido.

Goren knelt down onto the ground and grabbed Gary by his shirt collar. His fist came down again, splitting Gary's lip, then his eyebrow, then his cheek. He kept screaming "you fucking bastard, you killed my son you fucking bastard."

Gary lay there, stunned, staring up at Goren, not trying to block the blows raining down.

Christine noticed movement around her and saw some of the residents come into the garden and pull Mr Sevido off Gary. She heard Judy shouting from a few metres away for someone to call the police.

Gary blinked and seemed to come back to the present. He held out an arm towards Judy and told her to stop. His eyes never left Goren, who was openly sobbing.

"My son did not deserve to suffer. He did not deserve to die. When Miss Goldstrom come see my wife and tell her you were here, I thought, maybe I go there, maybe I see he suffers too and it would be enough. I thought maybe then I could grieve. I was wrong, Gary Burton. You will never suffer enough for what you did. Not even hell will be punishment enough for you."

Judy came closer. "What the bloody hell is going on here? Who the hell are you and what are you doing striking one of my residents?" The large woman seemed unafraid of Mr Sevido, despite the violence she had just seen him capable of.

"It'th all right, Judy," Gary mumbled. "Leave him be." He looked at the two residents who were still holding Mr Sevido's arms. Gary got to his feet, rubbing his hand across his mouth and nose, more spreading the blood rather than stemming the flow. "Let him go. He had a right to do that."

He flinched as Mr Sevido spat on him, the sound stunning everyone, including Chris.

"You truly are the devil, Gary Burton. When you are dead, I will come to your grave and piss on it." Mr Sevido shrugged off the arms of the two residents and started to walk away. His face was still streaked with tears but he did nothing to hide them.

Gary stared after him, not attempting to wipe away the spittle that covered his cheek, turning pink as it mixed with the blood on his face. Chris saw him lick his lips, grimacing at either the taste of blood or the pain from his split lip.

In all that had gone on, Chris had not moved from her seat. She was not sure she could move. After a moment, Gary noticed her. Turning, he stared at her, Mr Sevido and his bleeding nose forgotten. Blood spilled into his mouth as his lips curled back, staining his incisors red.

"You told him where I lived?" His speech was muddled from the broken nose and split lip.

"Gary...I..."

"You spoke wid dem. You talked to de Sevido's?"

"I am sorry, I-"

"You bitch! You stupid fucking bitch!" Judy tried to intervene but Gary put his hand out and the gesture stopped her. "Do not even try and explain why you d'ought d'at was ok. You crossed d'e fucking line, Chrisdine."

"You have to believe me. I had no idea he would come here and try to see you."

His tongue licked at his lip, tasting his blood. Chris shrank back into her chair as she watched his eyes, his anger turning them black. "Maybe you should stop coming over here, Chris. D'is isn't good for eider of us."

As he moved to turn away, she stood up, reaching out to grab his arm. "Gary, please...I am so sorry..."

He pulled his arm away, spinning to face her. She shrank back again, pulling her hand close to her as if burned. "It doesn't matter, Chris. No matter what you say, it doesn't matter. Everyt'ing d'at he said was true. I know it and you know it. D'at is how you see me; as an animal, as a fucking monster."

"That is not true. I..." She stopped as he raised his hand again to his nose; it was still bleeding. She felt guilt burn through her as he winced at the pain.

Gary looked at her staring at the blood on his hand and sneered again. "Now I understand. Id's not what I have done d'at makes you afraid of me. Id's whad I am now."

Chris saw the connection he had made and shook her head. "Gary, it is not like that at all."

He flicked his hand upwards, the movement only meant to silence her. Drops of blood flew into the air, spraying the front of her blouse. Instinctively, she pulled back, raising her arms to protect her face.

Gary shook his head, his voice quiet. "Yeah, id's not like dat at all. I d'ought you were different but you're no fucking different ad all. Don't come back here again."

He walked away from her, leaving her standing motionless on the lawn. The other residents had started to move back towards their units, slowly, sensing the show was over. She heard Judy saying something to her in what she might have thought was a soothing voice, like you would talk to an injured animal.

Blinking, she pulled her hands away from her face. A drop of blood had landed on her wrist, slowly trailing a rivulet down her forearm. Within the crimson liquid, she saw her own reflection. Her pale face cast a sickly red, the dark circles under her own eyes. She wasn't so different after all.

In her head, it felt like something snapped.

Lowering her arm, she started after him, pushing away Judy's hand. She reached his door just as he entered his room, pushing it open hard so it slammed against the inner wall. "I am sorry, but you are not going to get away from me that easily, Gary Burton."

He turned, surprised, and angered, that she had followed. "I d'ought I dold you to-"

She pushed him in the chest and he stumbled backwards. She heard Judy coming towards them, her large frame not as fast as Christine's. Chris turned and slammed the door shut, locking it.

"What d'e fuck are you doing?" Gary asked, looking almost as stunned as when Mr Sevido had been striking him.

"No, Gary, not this time. You don't get to talk, I do. Now I'll admit it was a mistake telling the Sevidos' where you were staying but I only went to visit them because you left me no choice."

"No choice?"

"That is right, I had no choice. You wouldn't tell me a damn thing about what happened with Daniel. How am I meant to understand and help you if you won't tell me? So, I had to find it out for myself and I went to see the Sevidos to do just that. I was hoping I might be able to understand why you would want to kill someone but I didn't. I didn't get any information. All I did was accidentally let them know where you were staying and I'm sorry about what just happened."

"And you d'ink d'at makes it alright?"

"No, of course it doesn't make what just happened alright, but at least I am bloody trying. I want to help you Gary, I really do but you are not making it easy."

"You don't want to help me. D'is whole fucking d'ing was never about me."

"Gary, what is it going to take before you realise I do care about whether you live or die." Christine said, exasperatedly.

"If you cared, then why d'e hell did you look so freaked and pull away when some of my blood got on your shirt?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" she growled and stepped forward. She grabbed his head, pulling him towards her, crushing her lips against his. She felt him wince as the pressure reopened the cut on his lip, but she did not ease up. He tried to pull back but she clasped her fingers in his hair, pulling his head closer to hers, mashing her lips against his. It was not much of a kiss, and even as she was doing it, all sorts of alarm bells were going off in her head, but she just gripped the hair at the back of his head tighter.

When she felt him relax, his own hands reaching around to hold her in the small of her back, she pushed him away. 'It was not a kiss and he was not meant to start enjoying it', she thought to herself.

He was breathing heavily and so was she. She could feel his blood on her lips, feel it trickle down her chin and run down the side of her neck. She could taste it in her mouth, a salty metallic taste that was gritty against her teeth.

"I pulled away because it flicked at me. I would do the same if you flicked water at me. And I don't know anyone that enjoys having blood on them?"

He stared at her, stunned. Ignoring the look on his face, she continued. "I do not think about you the way everyone else does. I do care about what happens to you. I think you are an asshole, but you only act that way because you are scared. If I was dying...well I would be scared too, but you seem to be scared of something else as well. What that is, I don't know and until you let me in, I can't help you face your fears."

He took a step back as she moved towards him, poking him in the chest with her finger. "But one thing is certain, Gary Burton; you do not get to tell me whether I can see you or not. You lost that privilege a while ago. I have put up with too much to just let this go. I will see this to the end, wherever that may lead. I will see you next Thursday, all right?"

He nodded, staring at her, still appearing unable to speak. She turned around, unlocking the door and opening it, leaving Gary standing there, stunned. As she stormed through the door, she almost knocked Judy over, who had been banging on the door.

"Oh love, what have you done?" There was sadness in Judy's voice as her eyes looked Christine up and down.

Chris blinked, confused with Judy's tone. Then she felt the stickiness on her face and neck, the blood already starting to dry and crack on her chin. Her stomach clenched and for a moment she felt like she was going to vomit. Her head began to swim and she put her arm out to balance against the doorjamb.

Then she blinked again and it all seemed to make sense once more. "I haven't done anything Judy. I will be back next Thursday at the usual time."

She walked away, feeling the blood continuing to dry. She itched to rub it off and knew she had a packet of facial cleansing wipes in the car. But she felt at that moment, trying to remove it while Judy watched, it would be an admission of weakness. A part of her realised that made no rational sense but another part of her realised she really did not care.
4 May 1998

_It is important grief does not cause us to become distant from our beliefs_

To become distant from others

No matter how hurt or angry we feel

At the sense of someone we love being taken from us

"Christine, what were you thinking?" Reverend Thomas' voice was heavy with both shock and concern.

"I...I don't know. It just sort of happened."

"Just sort of happened? You went behind his back to meet with the parents of the boy he murdered, got him beaten half to death and then you kissed him!"

"You haven't told my parents, have you? If they knew what had happened, especially given Gary was bleeding at the time..."

"Which is exactly my point, what were you thinking? What you did was...I don't even know how to describe it."

Christine laughed nervously over her cup of coffee. "I think you are over-exaggerating, Frank. I did not really . . . kiss him. I was just trying to shock him."

"And that was the best you could come up with. It was reckless."

"You never said about my parents..."

Reverend Thomas shook his head in exasperation. "I'm not going to say anything to them. I know how Emily would react if she knew what you had done."

"Thank you," Christine said meekly. "I know it was crazy but I had to do something to shock him; he was going to send me away."

"Maybe . . . maybe that would be for the best."

Chris put her cup down on the coffee table, sitting back. Reverend Thomas watched her, waiting to see her reaction. "Why would you think it would be for the best?"

Reverend Thomas sat forward, hesitant. "I . . . Christine, you seem to be getting a little too involved. Going to visit the family of his victim, becoming obsessed with his past, and becoming obsessed with him."

"I'm just trying to understand him."

"You are meant to convert him, not counsel him. You're becoming far too involved. Maybe it would be better if one of the other members of the church took over."

"It wouldn't work. It has taken me this long just to get him to trust me. If someone else took over, he would just close up. We don't have time to play around, Frank, he is dying!"

"Don't you think I know that!" Chris sat back, stunned at the intensity of his outburst. Blinking, he looked around the room, abashed, before sitting down again. "I . . . I am sorry, Christine, I got a little carried away. Yes, I'm aware there is not much time. It is why so many of us were praying for your success. But I am afraid that so far, there has not been very much success and from what has been occurring recently, it seems to be working the other way."

Christine looked at Reverend Thomas, puzzled. "What do you mean working the other way?"

"Some of the members of your bible study mentioned your criticism of Christians. The purpose of evangelical work is to strengthen your own faith at the same time as bringing others to God."

"Frank, I . . . "

Reverend Thomas' voice took on a concerning tone. "Christine, I sent you to Gary to bring him into the faith, not for him to lead you astray."

"Gary is not causing me to have a crisis of faith."

"So, you have spent most of your time trying to convert him? That is mainly what you talk about?"

"Well . . . no . . . but"

"No but what? Instead of talking with him about Christ, you are sneaking around behind his back looking into his background."

Christine shook her head. She felt confused, doubtful. "If I understand his past, then maybe I can-"

"His past is irrelevant, Christine, irrelevant. All that matters is the task at hand, saving his soul. If you cannot stay focused on this task . . . then again I must tell you I am becoming concerned."

Christine considered what he was saying. Her fingers ached; when she looked down, she realised her hands were gripping her coffee mug tightly, turning her knuckles white. She felt nauseous and she breathed deeply, forcing her hands to relax and willing herself not to be sick again today.

Putting the cup down on the coffee table, she looked at Reverend Thomas. "I understand you're concerned but I am focused on the task. Gary is repentant, I can see it in his eyes, but he just won't admit it. There . . . there is something in the way. Something stopping him from fully opening up; I don't know what it is but it's there.

"It's because of this I can't just try and talk to him about God directly; he is too defensive for that. I need to be subtle, which is what I am doing. Frank, please don't send someone else. I know I can save him. I'm the only one who can save him."

"Only you can save him? That sounds like the vanity you were talking about at the Bible study session."

"What I meant," Christine said, heatedly, "is I am in the best position to help him because we have developed a rapport. I have been able to get him to come to church, that has to count for something."

"You did not even know he was coming so don't try and take the credit for that." Reverend Thomas sighed, looking old and tired. "If he chooses to turn to God, it will be by His will, not yours. What you are saying just proves my point. You are too close to this, Christine. I . . . I'm going to ask Andrew to take over."

"Frank, no-"

"That is final, Christine. We are not Catholics and we don't have confession. I am not bound by any professional requirement to keep what we have discussed from your parents and I will tell them if you continue to persist with this. "

Chris sat there, silent, not knowing what to say. Not wanting to say anything. Reverend Thomas leant forward, reaching out to take her hands in his. "Christine, I know this is hard. I apologise because I think I gave you an impossible task. To get it perfect the first time is a rarity. Most people, when they face difficulty become obsessed; the only thing in their minds is that if they don't succeed, the poor soul will go to hell. One boy I knew became so obsessed with the person he was trying to save they almost came to blows, screaming at each other like they were no longer friends.

"One thing all of them learn, sooner or later, is that if the person wishes to be saved, they will make that decision by themselves and no amount of forcing will work. And it does not matter who helps the person come to God, only that they have."

Christine nodded, gripping his hands briefly before letting them go. "I . . . I just thought if I could just save him, then it would mean I . . . then what was happening to . . . oh, I don't know, I just don't know."

Before she could stop herself, she began to cry. Whether she was crying for Gary or for herself, she was not sure; she just knew she could not hold it in any longer. Reverend Thomas moved to kneel beside her, taking her head in his hands and pulling her close. He stroked her hair as she cried.

As she let go of all the emotion that had been building in her for months, she heard him softly praying. For some reason, it almost made her laugh. Almost. Instead she continued to weep bitter tears.
10 May 1998

_To become distant from others_

No matter how hurt or angry we feel

At the sense of someone we love being taken from us

I have also been looking for understanding in other places

Christine tapped her foot as she waited within the Student Services Building. In front of her, the last of the students moved up to talk to one of the receptionists, asking for a change of subject, for an extension on an assignment, for whatever. Chris did not really care what they were there for. She just cared about how long it took for them to get what they wanted.

The air conditioning system within the building was still switched onto the summer setting, despite the last few days being extremely cold. Above her and to the right, a vent in the wall pushed out ice cold air, making her shiver beneath her cardigan.

In front of her, a nervous looking student picked up her bag and moved away from the counter. The male receptionist looked up, nodding his head and smiling, inviting her to come forward. Glad to no longer be in the path of the vent, she placed her bag on the counter and smiled.

"I have a rather strange request. I am looking for some information concerning a former student here."

The man behind the counter was tall, ash blonde hair unkempt and hanging down into his eyes. "I am sorry, but all of our student records are confidential."

"I understand but I was wondering if I could talk to one of his former tutors or lecturers. I do not want to know about his marks, just what he was like."

He looked at her again, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and chewing on it. "This is highly irregular; can I ask why?"

"It's a long story."

He shrugged, turning his body to face the computer terminal. "Well, I can try. What was his name?"

"Daniel Sevido."

His hands hovered above the keyboard, his head turned towards her. "What do you want to know about Daniel?"

"Did you know him?"

"We weren't friends but I took a couple of classes with him."

Chris silently thanked God beneath her breath. Smiling, she leaned forward on the counter. "Is there any chance we could talk, maybe get a coffee?"

The man studied her; he was not very attractive, his face patchy with stubble that refused to grow in a uniform state and eyebrows that were too thick for such small eyes. She smiled, raising her hand to trail against her neck. He smiled, his face blushing.

"Sure, why not? My lunch break is in about fifteen minutes, I could meet you at the little café out near the library?"

Chris smiled back at him. "I will see you then. My name is Christine by the way."

"I'm...my name is Jarrod. Jarrod Crowley."

Christine thanked him again and left the Student Services Building. She made her way over to the small café and bought a coffee before sitting down. The decision to come here had been a spur of the moment thing; now that she was not meeting with Gary she had two spare days a week to fill in.

She looked around, watching the students. She had completed her degree mainly by distance education and thought coming to an on-campus university would have been fun. Popping two tablets into her mouth, Christine washed them down with another sip of her cappuccino. She did not feel a particularly bad headache but thought it prudent to try and head it off at the pass.

She felt slightly nervous, coming here. After the disastrous outcome of her visit to Daniel's parents, she almost did not follow through with this next step in finding out more information. In the end, her need to know had won out. It had occurred at the same time she had decided to continue seeing Gary regardless of what Reverend Thomas wanted. She worried about his threat on telling her parents, but it was a risk she was willing to take.

"S...sorry I am late." She jumped at the voice. Looking up, covering her eyes to cut the glare from the sun, she saw Jarrod standing in front of her, nervously shifting from foot to foot. "The students always seem to appear in droves just when you are about to go on break."

She smiled, pointing to the chair opposite her. "Not to worry. Take a seat."

Jarrod sat down in the chair, reaching into the small Hessian backpack he carried and pulling out a thermos and a sandwich wrapped in cling wrap. Looking at her, he raised his thermos.

"Would you like some green tea?"

"Thank you no, I just had a cappuccino. I apologise for interrupting your lunch break, by the way."

He smiled around a mouthful of his sandwich. "That's ok; it is not often I get to have lunch with someone. I mean sometimes I will have lunch with my supervisor, but she's nowhere near as pretty."

As he realised what he was saying, he tried to stop, choking on his sandwich. Smiling again, she waited until he had cleared his throat before glossing over his comment.

"What are those people doing over there?"

Jarrod turned around to follow where she was pointing to. Two people in very bright clothes and painted faces were handing out leaflets and packages to the students walking by. "Oh that. It is a condom drive; every now and again the student association will hand out leaflets on safe sex and free condoms during lunch time."

"Does it work?"

"Yeah, it does. When I was doing my undergrad degree, HIV was a big problem at the uni. I know of three or four people who got infected; really nice people. Then when they really started pushing condoms and safe sex, the number of reported people getting HIV went way down. Now the condom drives are more about the rise in chlamydia infections."

"That's good to hear," she said, not really interested but trying to put him at ease. "What do you do here Jarrod?"

"Oh, this and that. I started off doing a double degree in science and law and then my supervisor convinced me to do a PhD in law. When I finished that, I sort of just hung around, doing some teaching and working in the student office."

"You don't want to become a lawyer?"

"I started doing my College of Law, but soon realised that while I loved the law, I couldn't stand being around lawyers." He chuckled as if he had made a joke. Chris smiled politely, not sure how it was meant to be funny. "So...er Christine was it? What did you want to know about Daniel?"

"Anything you can tell me. What was he like? Who did he hang out with?"

"Well like I said before, we weren't really friends. We kinda weren't in the same social standing if you know what I mean?"

"Not really?"

Jarrod looked at the ground for a minute, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Let's just say I went to university for the education while he came for the social life."

"He liked to party?"

"More like he loved to party." Jarrod chuckled again and Chris smiled politely again. "He was pretty much the opposite of me. While I went to lectures and took notes, summarised all of the textbooks and handed every assignment in on time, he was constantly getting extensions. We weren't really friends, but he pretended we were?"

"He pretended?"

"He knew I took it seriously and studied hard. When it got near exam times he would pretend to like me and try and convince me to let him borrow my notes. I let him once and never saw them again. After that, I did not make the same mistake."

"It sounds like you didn't like him."

Jarrod paused, thinking. "It is not that I didn't like him, he was a nice enough guy. I just...we were different, that is all. I studied, he didn't. I get nervous around people, obviously." He said that last part as if it was a joke but she could sense it wasn't. "Daniel never had any problem with public speaking or with talking to women."

"Talking with women?"

"As in he was a real ladies man."

"But he was engaged?" Christine thought back to her conversation with Mrs Sevido and the picture she had painted of her son which was so different to what Jarrod was describing.

"He was? Well, he never acted like it or mentioned her to anyone. He was always going out to parties and getting laid. He used to tell me about it when he was trying to be my friend. I never wanted him to, but he would anyway. He used to tell me I should come out with him because I was 'sure to score'."

Jarrod took another bite of his sandwich and stared at her as he swallowed, his brow furrowing. "Look, Christine, I am a little curious. Why do you want to know so much about him?"

"Like I said, it's a long story."

"Have you ever tried to read a law textbook? I can handle a long story." Chris laughed at that one, causing Jarrod to smile.

"Well...you know what happened to Daniel?"

Jarrod's smile slipped from his face and he touched something beneath his shirt around a chain. "That was a horrible business. But what has that got to do with this?"

"My church sent me to talk to the man who killed him. He is dying and I'm trying to work out why he killed Daniel."

Jarrod nodded, deep in thought.

"I guess it was not that long a story at all, was it." Jarrod smiled at her joke, but this time he was the one who did it politely.

"Look, Christine, like I said, I did not really know Daniel. Nevertheless, what happened to him was pretty awful and if it happened to someone in my family, I don't think I would like someone digging into their past to try and find a reason why they died."

Chris nodded. "I understand completely. If I had my way, then the man who killed him would simply say why he did it, but he won't tell me. I have talked to Daniel's parents and I must say they painted a slightly different picture of what Daniel was like."

Chris's mind went back to Mr Sevido standing over Gary, his face full of righteous anger. She shuddered at the memory.

"Are you ok, Christine?"

She blinked, not realising she had drifted from the conversation. "I...I'm sorry, Jarrod. Sometimes my mind slips away from me. You were saying."

"I was saying even though Daniel may not have been the best guy in the world, especially if he did have a fiancée he was cheating on, that still doesn't mean he deserved to die."

"I could not agree with you more, Jarrod. That is why it is so difficult. I just can't understand it and the more I talk to people about Daniel, the more clouded it becomes."

"What about his fiancée? Couldn't she help you?"

"No. She died a year after he did. Apparently when he died, she did not take it well and started taking drugs. She overdosed not long after."

Jarrod shook his head, staring at his cup of tea. "That's a shame." Jarrod looked at his watch. Smiling apologetically, he packed up the rest of his sandwich. "I am really sorry, but my lunch break is over. I hope I was some help."

"Yes, thank you Jarrod. You were a great help. Can I ask you one last question?"

Jarrod nodded as he started putting his thermos back into his backpack.

"Did you know his killer, Gary Burton?"

Jarrod shook his head. "No, sorry. From what I remember, he was not from around here. It was one of the things that shocked so many of us when it happened. The killing was just so random. A lot of people started going around in pairs afterwards just to be safe.

Christine thanked him and watched him walk back towards the student centre. She reached up to rub at the throbbing in her temple. Smiling, she thought to herself at least this time she had not told anyone where Gary was staying.

She got up and started making her way back towards where she had parked her car. As she walked, she felt her phone vibrating in her bag. Taking it out, she answered it.

"Hello?"

"Christine, it's Andrew. That guy is a psycho."

"What? Who?"

"Gary Burton. He is crazy. He just threw me out!"

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I got to his room and introduced myself and he flew off the handle. He started shouting you were a hypocrite for not coming back and he . . . he called you a few names."

"Did you explain to him why you were there and not me?"

"I tried. I told him there were concerns in the church over some of the recent events and Reverend Thomas thought it would be better if I talked with him from now on."

"And what happened?"

"He flipped out even worse. He...well he called Reverend Thomas a few names as well. Then he threw a bottle at me and told me to get out. He said if Frank wanted him saved so bad, he should 'man up and come himself the gutless bastard'. How did you put up with him?"

Chris could barely hide the chuckle; picturing Andrew ducking as a bottle of scotch went sailing across the room.

"Christine, I am worried about him. You aren't going back there, are you? I . . . I don't think it is safe for you to see him, he is too explosive."

"He has never been violent towards me." She lied but was feeling like it was only a half-lie. Gary had been enraged many times but she was starting to sense he was not the type of person who ever lost control. After how he responded to being beaten by Mr Sevido, she was starting to think he was not capable of real violence, his criminal history notwithstanding.

"You're going to go back, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure you know what you are doing? I don't think Reverend Thomas is going to be very happy."

Chris smiled. "No, he probably won't. But that is for him to deal with. "
14 May 1998

_No matter how hurt or angry we feel_

At the sense of someone we love being taken from us

I have also been looking for understanding in other places

The existentialist Yalom describes a life as being like a rock hitting a still pond.

"Hi there; long time, no see," Christine said as she popped her head through the doorway. Judy jumped as Christine spoke, her knees bumping the bottom of the battered old desk in her office.

"Oh, you scared the living daylights out of me!" Judy said, putting her hand to her ample chest.

"Sorry."

"That's all right love, I could use a break. Want a cuppa?"

"Tea, if you have it."

Chris had learnt very quickly that Judy's coffee was a dangerous option, no matter that the last time she had it was with four sugars and milk. It was still horrible.

She entered the room properly and sat down while Judy fussed around in the kitchenette making their drinks.

The chair Christine sat on was next to Judy's desk, and she looked at the piles of paper strewn across the cracked laminated surface. There were old electricity bills, wage slips, invoices for food stores, and all the other costs and debits running a hostel would create. The computer, a battered and dusty thing which still proudly displayed a Windows 3.0 logo, blinked off, the excel spreadsheet disappearing and being replaced by flying toasters.

Judy came back from the kitchenette, holding two mugs. She set them down on top of the paperwork, the coffee spilling. "Oh, bugger it. Can't do 'em any harm." Judy said as she reached under her arm. Christine heard some thin plastic crinkling and Judy proudly displayed a half open packet of Tim Tams. "Can't have a coffee without a bickie!"

She took one out and popped it into her mouth whole. She offered the packet to Christine who declined.

Christine took a sip of her tea as Judy sat down. She grimaced; where the coffee was strong enough to tar bitumen with, the tea was barely strong enough to be called hot flavoured water.

Judy sighed, popping another Tim Tam in her mouth and staring at the confused mess of paperwork strewn across the desk. "Lord, I hate all this pencil-pushing crap."

"What are you trying to do?"

"Oh, the head office wants a look at our spending. Usually, I just chuck it all into the computer; it does all the thinking for me and then I just hit print. But the bugger's stuffing up again."

"It's an old computer, have you thought about upgrading?"

Judy laughed, her chins wobbling and she only stopped laughing to pop in yet another biscuit. "Love, I been asking for a new computer for years. Ain't happened yet, and I'll probably be dead before it does. Besides, a new computer is the least of the problems around here."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the hot water system's about to go again, it always makes that banging noise just before it goes on the blink, and there are termites in the meeting hall. Not that we can afford to fix that either."

Christine remembered when she had been sent to a church in Coalcliff by the Diocese. It had been in serious financial problem and she had been sent there to help them reorganise their books. The church was falling down around their ears, but after five months, Chris was able to turn it around again. "Mind if I have a look."

"That's right; Gary said you were an accountant, aren't you?"

Chris nodded.

"Be my guest, love. Can't make it any worse, probably make it a lot better."

Judy heaved herself out of her chair, picking up her coffee and the rest of the chocolate biscuits before moving over to sit on the small sofa opposite. Chris moved into the swivel chair Judy had just left, tapping the mouse to bring the computer screen back up. It was an old version of excel, Christine hadn't used it since she was a kid.

"Can the Salvation Army provide you with some account keeping software. They are much better than Excel."

"Refer to previous statement about money, love. Salvos ain't got enough to rub two sticks together."

Christine nodded, sorting the bills and invoices in front of her into more organised piles. Judy watched her work from the sofa, occasionally sipping her coffee.

"So, what happened between you and Gary."

Christine paused, not sure what she meant. Was she talking about the incident in the garden with Mr Sevido, or the fact she had not come to see him for over two weeks. "I...I was taken off his case for a while."

Judy snorted. "Gary's not a case, love. He's a human being."

"I know. My minister thought Andrew would be better able to handle Gary."

"That bloke in the jeans three sizes too small. Comes in here all smiles and praise this and praise that. Gary took one look at him and went to town. Hell, I would have bloody thrown a bottle at him if I had to talk with him."

Christine smiled, although she felt it was mean spirited to do so.

"They agreed for you to come back then?" Judy asked, taking another bite of a Tim Tam.

"I don't know," Chris said honestly. "I decided I wanted to keep coming back. I still think I can help him."

She felt Judy's eyes boring into her back. "You're not here for him, love, don't think I can't see that."

Christine didn't answer at first, cataloguing the bills in each pile in order of dates. "Why do you think that?"

"Cause if you were here to see him, then you wouldn't be in 'ere with me, now would you."

Christine smiled, weakly. "I...I am a little nervous. You know what happened the last time I was here."

"Yeah, everyone here knows about that. Not often we have one of the residents bashed half to death. When you came out of his room with blood all over your face, I thought he might have clocked you one as well. Lord did I start to go off at him. I almost threw him out. He may have friends in high places that let him stay here even when he uses drugs, but nothing would have kept him here if he had hit you."

"Did he...did he tell you what really happened?"

"He tried to, with me shouting at him to pack up and get out. I didn't believe him at first but he promised me he would never want to hurt you and he looked to be telling the truth about that. Though I am not a hundred percent sure it's true. I mean, kissing him, Lord Almighty! He might have been a looker when he was younger and not sick, but nowadays I seen zombies that were more attractive. And with his face covered in blood to boot!"

Christine blushed, clicking on the excel documents scroll bar to get to the top of the page. "I...I was trying to shock him."

"So, give him a slap, call him a prick. But kiss him, that's just loony. Have you gotten yourself tested since?"

"No."

"Well hop to it. If you had a cut in your mouth, there's a bloody big risk of infection. I would be getting to a doctor quick smart. They got some prophalacti-thingeys you can take too, though it might be too late for them."

Chris nodded, not having any intention of going. She began to examine the amounts entered into each column, pulling a small calculator out of her handbag and checking the sums. In less than ten minutes, she had entered nineteen keystrokes and the excel spreadsheet had fixed itself.

"Two of the formulas were wrong. It's all fixed now. But I could rig an easier balancing system if you like?"

Judy put down the now empty packet of biscuits and stood up, moving to Chris and kissing her on the top of her head. "God bless you love, you're a genius. I'd love it if you could make something that made a bit more sense. This finance stuff is all gobbledygook to me."

Christine smiled and stood up, allowing Judy to sit down in the swivel chair and check the sums on the screen. "Judy, you said before that Gary has friends in high places, what did you mean?"

Judy spoke to her while she hit the down arrow key, hard. Christine winced at the sound. "Well he gets to stay here, don't he? This is a short-term hostel, but he's been here for months. He drinks and smokes his stuff, but we all just turn a blind eye. You don't get that sort of treatment unless someone's looking out for you."

"Who in the Salvation Army is looking out for him?"

"No idea, love. I just work here. Head office tells me to do something, I do it. I got enough problems working with the normal residents without worrying about Gary bloody Burton. I thought maybe someone gave the Salvo's a right big donation for taking him in but if they did, this place hasn't seen a dollar. I doubt that's the case, seen as no one but you and his parole officer ever visit. And Mister Tight-Jeans" Judy chuckled.

Christine nodded, picking up her cup of tea and taking another sip. It had gotten cold, which had not improved the flavour.

"Absolute genius you are, 'cept now you got no reason not to go and see him." The smile left Chris's face and she bit her lower lip. She moved into the kitchen and rinsed out the cup. Sighing heavily, she patted Judy on the arm before moving towards the door.

As she was about to step outside, Judy spoke again. "You need to be careful, Christine. Men like Gary, they could break someone like you. Having said that, a woman like you could break Gary in a heartbeat. I don't know which one will break first, but I don't think either is going to end happily."

Christine turned and looked at her. "He hasn't broken me yet, and he's too strong to crack."

"He ain't strong; he's hard. Men think it's the same thing but it ain't. Put enough pressure on something hard, and it will snap. Put pressure on something strong, and it will bend. You keep this up with him, then you better be strong. Ain't nothin' like seeing someone you care about die. I did it with my husband, nothing more painful."

Christine stared at Judy, tears coming to her eyes. She nodded, trying to swallow the cricket ball that had somehow become lodged in her throat. Rubbing her eyes, she started to walk along the hallway down to Gary's room, far more terrified then when she had first entered the hostel.

She knocked on his door, tentatively, and heard a grunt from inside. Taking a deep breath, she opened it.

Gary was sitting in his usual armchair, a packet of Chinese take-away half-eaten on the floor beside him. His nose looked like a swollen potato and his eyes were still black, the left lid swollen almost shut. The cut on his lip was still there, scabbed over now; as she looked at it, she remembered the taste of his blood in her mouth again.

Then his eyes showed recognition and he smiled, looking just like the 2 weeks before, when everything was still good between them. "It's you. That's a shame; I was hoping to see dear old Andy again."

"I can tell him you changed your mind."

"No, it's alright. How is he anyway? He left in kind of a hurry."

"He is fine, Gary, and it's not amusing. You threw a bottle at him."

"It was an empty one. I would never throw a full one, you know that. If it shattered, it would be a waste of good scotch."

"Even so, Gary, it wasn't the best thing to do."

"Yeah, suppose not." They exchanged pleasantries and small talk for a while, easing back into conversation with each other. In some ways, it felt like there had never been a break in their conversations, no intermission to the talks that had come to dominate her life. They didn't discuss anything important, instead letting the ebb and flow of their wit and quips return to their natural order.

"Did you miss me?" Gary asked.

"How could I miss you Gary, when I have had nothing but Andrew in my ear screaming about how crazy you are. It's like I never left, you just got a different voice."

"I don't know if that was an insult."

"I don't know if it was a compliment either. Do you have any idea how many people told me to give up, to not come back?"

Gary's smirk fell from his face at that, his eyes becoming both softer but more intense. "So why did you Chris? Why did you come back?"

Chris shuddered. It was too much like the first question he had asked her, right at the start. 'Why are you here?'

Chris shifted her position, unconsciously chewing at her bottom lip. "Gary...things were said the other day that...well, that were not very nice. That goes for the both of us. I do want you to know I'm sorry for telling the Sevido's where you were staying."

Gary looked at her, the cigarette in his hands and the screeching of the warring rosellas outside forgotten as he stared at her.

Shrugging, he took a drag of his cigarette. "Don't worry about it. Maybe the whole thing was therapeutic for them. They got to see the guy who killed their son slowly wasting away to nothing and it gave the old man a chance to get one in for the family. He got in a good one too; the bastard broke my nose in two places. They said it was lucky he did not fracture my cheekbone."

"I'm sorry about that too."

"It doesn't matter Chris. I am sorry for everything as well. If I scared you . . . I didn't mean to."

She shook her head. "So many people have told me you are dangerous, you are violent, a monster. But I can see the truth. You would never hurt me, would you?"

Gary looked down, shaking his head. "Not physically no, but there are many other things that can cause pain, things I can't control."

"Like you dying?"

"Yeah, that too."

"Judy tells me I need to be careful with you, that you are dangerous for me. She also says I am dangerous for you. I think she sees us as two broken individuals and if we really hurt each other, it could destroy one or both of us."

"She's a smart woman, that Judy."

"I think she's wrong. I think you're stronger than that. Do you think I am?"

Gary looked up. "I tried everything to get you to stop coming and you just wouldn't give up. You are one of the strongest people I've ever met."

Christine felt her eyes well up, a tear falling down her cheek. It was the greatest compliment anyone had ever given her. "Thank you, Gary."

He shrugged. "Of course, it could be you are just stubborn as a mule. But either way, I still can't see why you would want to keep coming back."

"Because I am not done yet, Gary, and neither are you."
28 May 1998

_At the sense of someone we love being taken from us_

I have also been looking for understanding in other places

The existentialist Yalom describes a life as being like a rock hitting a still pond.

It creates ripples that flow outwards, hitting the edge of the pond and flowing back.

Gary was waiting for her in the garden, a scotch in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He was wearing a jumper over the top of his usual tee shirt. He was still wearing shorts though, his pale thin legs crossed. She noted they were getting even thinner, though she did not think it was possible.

She sat down opposite him, not speaking. Instead she leant back against the lawn chair and lost herself in the sound of the birds, the Rosellas and Lorikeets calling out from the garden, competing with the Indian Minas and seagulls and generally losing. The sun was directly overhead and a month before it would have been uncomfortably hot, but on the cusp of winter, it gave a relaxing warmth.

She heard Gary slurp at his drink as she spoke, her eyes still closed. "I thought you weren't allowed to drink outside where the other residents could see."

"I'm not, but there's no other residents around."

Christine remembered what Judy had said about Gary knowing people in high places, her curiosity piquing again. "Gary, do you know anyone who works for the Salvation Army?"

"Yeah, I know Judy. I believe you met her," he said sarcastically.

"I meant other than her."

"Nope, not a one; not really the kind of people I like to hang around. Bit too churchy for me."

"I'm not too churchy?"

"When was the last time you mentioned God to me."

"Do you blame me? When has it ever gone well for me?"

She heard Gary chuckling. "You have given up then? Am I a lost cause?"

"No one's a lost cause, I am not sure I want you to be converted anymore?"

"Really? Don't want me to annoy you up in heaven?"

"Not at all. If you became a Christian, I would no longer have a reason to come here to talk to you." Gary looked at her suspiciously, but she had been genuine in her comment. "My plan is to convert you on your deathbed just before you die. I would really appreciate if you played ball then given it would be my last shot."

Gary laughed. "Don't tell me we have become friends?"

"I think we've shared too much to just be acquaintances." The taste of blood came back for a moment.

"I guess we have. Not many people I would count as a friend anymore. At least now there is more than just Judy. So why did you want to know if I knew any Salvo's?"

"I was just curious why the Salvation Army lets you stay here. I assumed you had some friends in high places."

"Definitely not, Judy is only five-foot-seven. Don't know any others. Besides, I don't openly use. I do it in my room with the door closed and don't talk about it with any of the other residents."

"You talk to the other residents?"

"Fuck no, they are all a bunch of crims, druggo's or pissheads." Gary laughed and Christine smiled. They continued to sit in the sun for a while longer, not talking, just enjoying the sun and each other's company. Slowly the sun moved behind the trees behind them and the afternoon wind kicked up from the neighbouring river. It caused Chris to shiver, another reminder they were on the border of the winter months.

She opened her eyes and noticed he was also shivering. "We should go inside; this cold is not good for you, not in your condition."

He looked at her, his eyebrows arched in mock confusion. "My condition?"

"Yes, your condition. If you caught a cold now, it would probably kill you. Your immune system is not that strong."

"Would that be a bad thing? Me dying?"

"Of course, it would be, Gary. Now we are friends." He looked at her again, draining the last of the scotch and dropping the glass next to his chair. Smiling, he crossed his legs, scratching at a cut on his calf.

A stronger wind replaced the previous one, setting a number of the Rosellas to flight. "Honestly, Gary, it is too cold to be out here."

"It's not much warmer in my room."

"Why don't you have a heater?"

He shrugged his shoulders and stubbed out his cigarette butt. "Fine, I will get a heater. I think Judy might have one."

"No time like the present."

Gary rolled his eyes and got up from his chair, following Chris out of the garden. The sun had not yet set, bars of light slanting through the rhododendrons striping the path with gold. Gary knocked on Judy's door before hollering out. "Hey Judy, you got company, so hurry the hell up."

He smirked as he finished and leant back outside of the doorway. From inside, they heard Judy say something back, the pitch of her voice stuttering as she chuckled. Judy opened the door and leant forward, as if to cuff Gary over the ear. Gary leant back, doing a little back step.

"Come on Judy, you know you're too old and fat to catch me."

Judy grinned. "I will have you know this is all water weight. I just happen to be a very thirsty girl, and you ought to watch it, you skinny runt." Judy looked at both of them, crossing her arms beneath her enormous breasts. "What do you pair want, anyway?"

"Hi Judy, I was wondering if you had a spare heater," Christine said, feeling oddly formal.

"Yeah, no worries. There should be one in that cupboard over there. Go have a look, but don't steal nothing, mind."

Gary grinned. "What would I steal? Your vibrator?"

"Don't be dirty, Gary, and besides, that's at home," Judy chuckled again, laughing harder until her chins wobbled when she saw Christine's face had gone pale.

"I'm only kidding love. You need to loosen up. I been around Gary too long not to have a laugh. He should have come and got the heater weeks ago, that end room's the coldest of the bunch; draught's coming through every wall."

Gary came back from the cupboard with a small bar heater in his hand and thanked Judy. As they left, Christine noticed the sign for the hostel's common room.

"Is there any food in there? I could go for some lunch."

Gary looked at her as if she had gone mad. "Lunch? It is half past three in the afternoon."

"Well I didn't get to eat lunch and I am hungry."

"Why didn't you eat before?"

"I was busy."

"Are they working you hard at the churchy place? Can't eat, must pray, can't eat, must pray."

Even Chris had to smile at his little joke. "As a matter of fact, I did not go to work at all today. I had something else on."

"Such as?"

"Such as something else."

"You were having sex with one of the clergymen behind their wife's back, weren't you?"

"No, Gary, I was not having sex with anyone."

"Well unless you tell me what you were doing, then that is what I am going to think. My little Chrissie fucked a married guy."

"Firstly, I am not your 'little Chrissie' and secondly if we do not go get some food I might have to start eating my feet."

Gary grinned at her. "There is a microwave in there. I keep some frozen meals in the communal freezer if you are ok with that."

They walked in and Gary showed her in the freezer which food was his. He left her pulling out a frozen mini pizza and sat down. While the microwave was humming away, Christine made two cups of coffee in Styrofoam cups from the communal coffee tin. Not sure how Gary had his, she made it black like hers.

Gary had chosen a table in the far corner, away from the few other residents who were watching an old television. Christine took the mini pizza out of the microwave and, balancing it on a tray with the two coffees, made her way over to Gary.

"You need two coffees?"

"One is for you, smart alec."

"I didn't ask for one. Who needs coffee when you've got alcohol?"

Chris shook her head but pushed the cup towards him anyway. "Well you can't drink in here." Gary ignored it and waited while she took a bite of the pizza. "So where did you go today?"

"I went somewhere and that is all you need to know."

"Christine, I want to help but how can I do that unless you tell me about your life. There has to be some level of trust." Chris looked over the top of her coffee cup, ignoring the parody in his voice. He grinned at her again as she deliberately took a sip, not answering. "Fair's fair, Chris. If I have to tell you, then you have to tell me."

Chris rolled her eyes and swallowed. "Fine, I went to a doctor's appointment."

"Is everything ok?"

"Yes...it was just a check-up. I was due for a prescription."

"Drugs! My little Chrissie isn't a clergy fucker, she's a druggie."

"Again, not your 'little Chrissie' and I'm also not a druggie."

"So, what were the drugs?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters, Chris. You complain all of the time about the drugs I take, so I think I have a right to know what you are taking."

"Gary, I would hardly say my prescription is in the same league as heroin. My medications are not addictive."

"Neither are mine."

"I am pretty sure heroin is addictive."

"It's true some people do become addicted to illegal drugs but there are also some people that don't."

"Name one person who uses as much as you and never became addicted to an illicit drug?"

"Sigmund Freud. He used to give cocaine to his patients to help with depression and he used it himself a lot. When he realised some of his patients were getting addicted and it was playing with their emotions, he stopped prescribing it. He also stopped using it but stopping had no effect on him."

"I don't know about that, Gary. It might explain some of the weird theories he made up about human sexuality."

"What, are you trying to tell me you aren't envious of my penis?"

Chris looked at him blandly, trying to hide the smile. Gary smiled openly, reaching for the coffee and taking a sip. He grimaced, unused to the taste, before taking another sip. Placing it back on the table, he pulled his cigarette packet out of his pocket and lit another cigarette.

"For starters, your example was for cocaine not heroin. And you are definitely addicted to alcohol and cigarettes?"

"Oh, I am massively addicted and I would call anyone who smokes or drinks too much an idiot."

"Yet you drink and smoke too much."

"But that is different. I will be dead long before those things will start killing me. Now stop avoiding the question, what was the prescription?"

Chris took another bite of the pizza, chewing slowly. She could tell him about the bottles of tablets in her handbag, oxytocin and alprazolam, ibuprofen, Cafergot and codeine, but she didn't want to. In truth, she usually wanted to take those bottles of pills out and throw them as hard and as far away as she could.

"Christine, I am waiting."

Putting the pizza down exasperatedly she named the only other prescription medication she knew the name of. "Alright, I will tell you. It is a drug called Yaz." Now she just hoped he did not know what it was.

"You're on the pill? I change my mind again, you are a clergy fucker."

"I am not a clergy... I do not have sex with anyone."

"But you're on the pill? Why would you be on the pill if you're not having sex?"

"There are other reasons to be on the pill. Some women have disturbed menstrual cycles. They might experience discomfort or might be very irregular. The pill can regulate your period and sometimes remove the discomfort. Now can we please talk about something else?"

"Is that why you take it? To 'regulate your cycle'."

"Can we not talk about my 'cycle' please." Christine asked, her face growing red.

"I don't buy it. You just don't want to get pregnant."

"For your information, I can't get pregnant," she whispered, looking down.

Gary did not seem to notice her change in tone and continued bantering. "Try again Chris, if you ain't had sex and you ain't fucking the clergyman, how would you know you can't have children?"

"Because I can't, ok!" she said loudly, instantly regretting it. She breathed out, flattening her palms on the surface of the table. "Two years ago, I was diagnosed with cervical cancer and they removed my uterus. So, no kids for me. Now can we please change the subject?"

Gary's face was pale. "I...I am sorry. I didn't know."

"It's fine. To be honest, I did not think you would know what Yaz was. That is why I chose it."

"So, what were you getting a prescription for?"

"Gary, just leave it!" The people watching the TV turned around again and she made a mental note to make sure she did not keep raising her voice.

"Ok, I'm sorry."

They sat in silence, Chris eating her pizza and Gary smoking his cigarette. After a while, the tension became too uncomfortable and Chris felt she needed to break. "Gary, tell me something about you?"

Gary looked at her. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Tell me something about when you were young."

"I did not lead a very interesting life."

"I don't take very interesting medication but it was enough to fascinate you." Gary smiled, nodding in acknowledgement of a good quip. It was enough to break the tension and Christine felt her shoulders relaxing.

"There really isn't much to tell. I went to school. I had friends. That is about it."

"Did you have lots of girlfriends?"

"What are we, two fourteen-year-old girls?"

"Just answer the question, for Pete's sake!"

"No, just the one girlfriend."

"Claire?"

He fell silent for a moment, staring into the coffee, wishing it was scotch. "How did you know that?"

"They mentioned you had a fiancée in the newspaper article. What was she like?"

"She...she was great. We did everything together; went to high school together, went to the formal together, went to youth group together."

Chris almost choked on a mouthful of pizza. Coughing, she took a gulp of coffee to help it down her throat, burning her tongue in the process.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, honestly, I just had an image of you at youth group."

"Like I told you before, I was a regular little Christian boy back then. Me and Claire even ran the youth group for our church for a while..."

"Which church was that?"

"The church we went to."

"I meant what was the church called?"

"I know what you meant. I get to not answer questions too." Chris sensed hardness in his voice. Curious, she left it alone, more interested in the romance.

"How did you propose?"

"We took a holiday up north, somewhere near Coffs Harbour. We played with dolphins, we went surfing and then as the sun was setting, I popped the question on the beach."

"Do you know what happened to her, after you went to prison?"

"Why, you haven't been trying to contact her as well, have you?"

Christine shook her head. "No, I didn't even think of that. What a great idea."

"Well, there would have been no point. She's dead."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it happened a long time ago."

"Would it be rude of me to ask how?"

"She...died in a car accident, on the pacific highway just outside of Newcastle." There were tears in his eyes and Chris reached out to touch his arm. Blinking, she felt tears in her own eyes.

Pushing his fists into his eyes, he rubbed at his face and looked up. Looking around the common room, he kept his gaze away from Chris.

Suddenly, he started smiling. "You know what? In all the time I have been staying in this hostel, this is the longest time I have spent in this common room. I have to say it is really quite...shitty."

Chris laughed, looking around and nodding her head in agreement. They continued on with the conversation, but about lighter things, such as what subjects they had done at school, pets they had owned. The awkward moment had passed and they had no intention of bringing it back.
9 June 1998

_I have also been looking for understanding in other places_

The existentialist Yalom describes a life as being like a rock hitting a still pond.

It creates ripples that flow outwards, hitting the edge of the pond and flowing back.

They are like a sine wave, getting smaller and smaller over time but never truly disappearing.

Christine sat down at the table opposite her mother, who was blatantly ignoring her, twirling her fettuccine around her fork for much longer than was needed before bringing it to her mouth and chewing.

Christine stabbed at her own pasta, the sound of the fork scraping against the china bowl tinkling through the room. Her mother looked up at the sound but did not say anything.

She saw her dad look between her and her mother and roll his eyes. "Looks like the snow season is off to a good start; always dicey to book for the June long weekend but I guess it paid off this year for some." The most he got from either of them was a grunt of acknowledgement.

"A funny thing happened at the pharmacy today," he said, trying again.

Chris smiled, a fake smile designed mainly to infuriate her mother. "Yeah, what was that?"

"A man came in asking for some calamine lotion and some numbing gel. He asked if they could be used at the same time. I asked him why and he said he had been bushwalking when he had to go to the bathroom."

"As he was peeing, the dirt beneath his foot shifted and he fell over and his crotch landed smack bang into a patch of nettles." He winced briefly before going on.

"So, he was itchy as all hell," he continued. "But he said that when he rubbed in the calamine lotion, he got...ah...friendly. The skin stretched and the next minute he was rolling around on the floor in agony. So, he had to choose between an itchy crotch or a burning one."

Christine laughed, feeling glad for a moment she was a woman. "Was the numbing gel to stop him from getting excited before he put on the calamine lotion?"

George took a sip of his wine, nodding. "That was the theory; it should work, as long as he doesn't stay up to watch the late-night movie on SBS."

Christine laughed again and across the table from her, her mother put her fork down on the placemat angrily. "Do you really think this is the most appropriate dinner conversation?"

Her father waited before responding, chewing a spoonful of fettuccine. "Well you two are hardly speaking, so I had to think of something to fill the void."

"Then why don't we talk about what we are not speaking about," Emily said primly.

Christine rolled her eyes, her shoulders squaring as she prepared for her mother's barrage.

"Christine, why are you still seeing that man?"

"Because I choose to."

"Andrew told me about what that...that piece of filth did to him."

"And what did he do, mum?"

"He threatened him, he threw a bottle at him! Andrew said he had never been so scared in his whole life."

"It was all just a show; he is not violent."

"Not violent? He murdered someone!"

"Yes, but that was almost ten years ago and he did his time in prison. He has been punished for what he did, so he deserves a chance to be saved just like everyone else."

"It is not safe for you to see him, Christine."

"I am completely safe. He has never thrown a bottle at me, he has never attacked me. Obviously, he and Andrew did not get along."

"I still don't want you seeing that man."

"Well isn't it lucky I am a fully-grown woman who can make my own choices. Besides, Reverend Thomas has accepted I am still going. "

Her mother snorted. "I would hardly say accepted is the right word. Tolerating would be more appropriate. I spoke to him about it after church last week and I could tell he wanted you to stop as well."

"Well if he wanted me to stop, then why didn't he tell me that?"

"Because he can't be seen to be giving up on someone, can he? I can tell you he is definitely worried about the effect this has been having on you."

"And what effect is that mum?"

"Your work, for one."

Her father's ears pricked up at this; he had been happy to keep out of the argument until this point. "What has been happening at work?"

Chris shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing has been happening at work. Work is fine, dad."

Her mother stared at her; Christine could hear the air being pushed through her nose. "That is a lie, Christine and you know it. I spoke with Uyen from your office the other day and she said you were barely coming to work anymore."

"I told you I had reduced my hours to three days a week."

"Once a week is not three days, Christine," her mother said hotly.

"So what? I have plenty of annual leave saved up; I am using that to slow down."

"Why do you need to slow down, are you feeling all right?" Her father's voice had a touch of fear in it, and that just made Chris feel angrier.

"Everything is fine, I have just had a lot on. I am no worse or better than I was the last time I saw you."

"Then why all the days off?"

"Like I said, dad, I have had a lot on."

Her mother cleared her throat, her pointed look towards George indicating she was not happy about being interrupted. "Uyen told me about what you have had on. You are now seeing that man three times a week. You are letting him take over your life."

Christine rolled her eyes, "I am not letting him take over my life and can you please not be so melodramatic. Dad, can you tell her I am fine and she doesn't have to worry."

Her father remained silent. Chris rolled her eyes and stabbed at her pasta, pushing a large clump of fettuccine and pasta sauce into her mouth to ward off future conversations.

Emily watched her, waiting until Christine had swallowed before she spoke again. "Are you still going to your mystery doctor's appointments?"

Christine's rolled her eyes, the muscles in her neck tightening. "He is not a mystery doctor. I just haven't told you his name so you will stay out of my business."

"I am your mother. I have a right to know if you are ok."

"That's true if I was eight. You had no right checking up on me when I was seeing Dr Hennessey, and I am not going to give you the chance to do the same with my new doctor. If you want to know how things are going, you should ask me."

Her father put his fork down gently. "So how are things going?"

"Everything is fine, dad. Everything has been fine now for two years. When will you two just drop it?"

Her father reached over and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. "I will drop it when I stop caring about my daughter."

Chris wanted to stay mad at him, but she couldn't. An involuntary smile came to her face, the same embarrassed smile she would get when she was eleven and her father would tell her about what great things she would achieve in life.

George leant back and continued to eat his pasta, his work at heading off another screaming match between mother and daughter completed. Emily was still significantly less satisfied than her husband.

"I am an adult, mum. I don't need you to protect me anymore. I don't need your help, I can look after myself." Her mother fell silent. Christine continued to stare at her until she saw Emily nod in acquiescence. Nodding herself, she took another bite of her pasta.

They finished the meal in silence, her mother rising to clear the dishes away. George took his glass of wine and moved into the living room, Christine following him. He picked up the remote control for the stereo and put on some music. It was a string quartet, playing the Adagio No. 7 and Christine instantly felt the muscles in her neck soften and the tension in her head ebb away. She leant her head against the back of the leather sofa, feeling the cool material on her neck, and let the slow haunting music wash over her.

She thought it amusing, that a collection of notes and the drawing of a bow across string could ease pain in ways that codeine and morphine and all the other opiate derivatives could not. She opened her eyes and saw her father watching her from where he was sitting in his favourite armchair.

Despite the music still playing and forcing her spine to relax, she felt her shoulders tensing under that gaze, the feeling of expectation pressing her into the couch. Her father didn't state any expectations though, it was not his way. He just looked at her and she felt it all on her own.

"I am fine dad, honest."

"I didn't say anything Christine."

"You don't have to."

"And you don't need to listen to what I haven't said." He said, smiling at his own wit. She smiled, wryly, taking a sip of her wine and leaning her head back against the couch. "What do you talk about with him?"

Christine shrugged. "I don't know, we talk about his life, about my life. We talk about what is happening in the news, sometimes we talk about religion. Anything and everything really."

"It sounds like you are friends."

"Of course we are friends; I wouldn't still go if I didn't enjoy it."

"Is it just friends or do you have feelings for him?"

She paused, thinking. She had not considered how she felt about Gary, only that she enjoyed spending time with him. To be honest, she preferred spending time with him over most other activities she did but was not sure if that meant she had 'feelings for him'.

"I don't know. Given the medical side of things, it would not make a lot of sense. I think it is just close friendship."

Her father chuckled. "Well I can't say having my daughter become 'close friends' with a convicted murderer was one of my ambitions for you."

Christine smiled as well. "No, but it does make for great dinner party stories...well probably not. You do support me in this, don't you dad?"

Her father stared into his wine. From inside the kitchen, they heard the dishwasher start up, letting them know it would not be long before Emily came to join them. "Does it matter whether I give you my support or not. As you said, you are a grown woman and can make decisions for yourself."

"You almost sound like you believe it too."

"Of course I believe it Christine, but that doesn't mean I am not going to worry about you. I have had twenty-six years practice and it is a tough habit to crack."

Chris got up from the sofa and moved over to her father, kissing him on the cheek. As she straightened, her mother came into the room.

"Well this seems cosy, doesn't it?" Her voice was terse.

"It is, mum. Dad was just telling me he trusts me to make my own decisions."

"Is that so?" Emily arched her eyebrows at her husband.

"Yes, that's so. I will worry about her, I will worry for her, but I will not get in her way. Neither of us should."

Emily's lips compressed, but she nodded. That was the way with Christine's parents. In day to day decisions, Emily reigned supreme, but when it came to important, life altering matters, George had the final say.

Or as he put it to her when Christine was young, 'your mum leads the battles, I decide the wars'.

Christine looked at her watch and realised it was getting late. Her father had to be back at the chemist tomorrow morning and she, despite feeling guilty, was already predicting she would not be going into work tomorrow.

"I better go. Thanks for dinner mum."

They stood up and walked her to the door. Her father hugged her, softly, his hugs losing the protectiveness they had once held for her when she was a child. Her mother hugged her as well, but it was tighter, not letting her go.

"I am fine, mum. You raised a smart girl. Don't worry about me and Gary, I am safe. It is good for me to see him, even if you don't understand how," she whispered in Emily's ear.

Her mother stiffened beneath her arms and then she felt the slight nod of the head, almost imperceptible. Her mother hugged her tighter and then stepped away.
12 June 1998

_The existentialist Yalom describes a life as being like a rock hitting a still pond._

It creates ripples that flow outwards, hitting the edge of the pond and flowing back.

They are like a sine wave, getting smaller and smaller over time but never truly disappearing.

Death can feel like a great shock, something that changes our world

The headache was back; despite the two oxytocin tablets and the prednisone she had taken only hours earlier. She knew she should take a break, move away from the computer screen and give her eyes a rest, but she didn't.

Reaching absently to her left, she picked up her wine glass and took a sip of merlot. Swallowing, she hoped the alcohol would mix with the pills and take the edge off; knowing it was also medically unsafe to do so.

'I guess I can say I am walking on the wild side,' she thought to herself as she took another sip. 'Gary would find that amusing.'

Gary Burton. He was the reason she was still awake. He was the reason why she was sitting in front of her computer, as she had done the previous night and so many nights before. He was the reason she was rereading the same newspaper articles over and over, hoping to glean some small piece of information from them that was not readily apparent; like they were some kind of cryptic crossword clue.

Putting her wine glass back down, she clicked 'reload' on her web browser. Waiting a few seconds, the same article she had read a hundred times came back up. It was the article about Gary turning himself in.

Just like the time before, and the countless times before that, she could not find anything useful. She read through the article again anyway, trying to ignore the throbbing that was growing behind her eyes and branching into her temple. She knew there was something she was missing.

Then again, if she knew what it was, it wouldn't be missing.

Below the newspaper article, there was a link to related articles from the same newspaper. Moving the cursor down, she clicked on the link as she had done so many times before. Like so many times before, the only other related article, the one which talked about him being sentenced, blinked onto the screen.

Again, she read through the article, her eyes quickly skimming over the words and getting frustrated. There had to be some clue as to why it happened. As she did so, her eyes picked out a sentence in the article it had skipped just moments before.

Burton's fiancée, Claire Ashton was also in court and wept at hearing the verdict. She declined to be interviewed, but did state "Gary was a good man, I don't understand how he could have done this."

Claire Ashton, Gary's fiancée, the one he said had been killed in a car accident. It had happened after he had been sentenced, but at least it would give her something to search for.

She moved away from closing the browser and searched for the Newcastle Herald and clicked onto their webpage. Clicking on the 'search archive' icon, she typed in Claire's name and hit search. She hoped something different, something new would come up. It felt like a physical blow when the screen flicked up 'we are sorry, but no documents matched your search'.

Resolutely, she typed in Gary's name and was dismayed when again it returned no search results. Breathing heavily, she picked up her glass of wine and took another sip

Staring at the screen, she moved the mouse up to close the window. Pausing, she shrugged her shoulders and thought she would give one more name a try. She typed in 'Daniel Sevido' and hit search. It loaded within moments, '1 of 1 result found', with the heading of a newspaper article just below.

'Local hero rescues crash victim'

Excited once more, Chris clicked on the link, eager to see the rest of the article. She could have screamed when the screen asked for a login. She breathed deeply through her nose as she became a member on the site. Her breath was not as even when she had to rush to the lounge room to get her purse for her credit card, so she could pay the $1.95 to read the article. Within five minutes though, it was there.

LOCAL HERO RESCUES CRASH VICTIM

A local resident of Newcastle was hailed as a hero yesterday as he risked his life to rescue a man from a burning car.

Daniel Sevido was returning from a trip to the North Coast when he reportedly lost control on the F3 Freeway. His car went through the embankment and caught fire.

The local man, who did not wish to be named, was also returning from a holiday with his fiancée when they saw the accident and stopped.

"The car was on fire and the guy wasn't moving," stated the anonymous hero, "I just climbed in through the broken passenger window and pulled the guy out."

Only minutes after Sevido was pulled from the car, the flames ignited the petrol tank, causing the car to explode. Police stated if the local resident had not pulled Sevido out, he would have perished in the fire.

"He saved his life," stated Superintendent Hadnam.

The reluctant hero sustained severe lacerations to his abdomen as a result of his heroic efforts. He was taken to Mater Hospital for stitches and was discharged later that day.

Mr Sevido also sustained severe cuts and lacerations and was kept overnight at Mater Hospital for observation.

When interviewed, the local hero stated, "I just did what anyone would have done. I was more scared than brave to be honest." When interviewed in hospital, Sevido stated, "It is nice to know there are still good people out there."

She stared at the screen, more confused than ever. Leaning back into her chair, she closed her eyes and let the information just float around. A car accident involving Daniel being rescued during and the rescuer received severe lacerations to his abdomen. The image of Gary's scars, silvery traces arcing their way down from his ribcage to just above his waist flashed into her mind.

Opening her eyes, she read the article again. 'So, Gary rescued Daniel, but what the hell does that have to do with killing Claire?'

Her breath exploded from her chest, leaving her lungs burning. Not waiting to close the browser window, Chris ran from the room, grabbing her car keys and rushing out of her apartment.

* * *

Chris saw Gary jump as she slammed the door to his room open.

"I know why you killed him."

Gary stared at her, his face shifting from confusion to anger to nervousness too quick for her to perceive which was which. Hesitantly, he nodded for her to come in and take a seat as she entered.

She was breathing hard, having rushed from her car, feeling too triumphant to walk at a normal pace. Gary moved back to his chair. A pizza box was on the floor beside the armchair, the lid of the box up revealing only half of the pizza had been eaten. "I am sorry for interrupting your dinner."

"I am sure you are. What are you doing here? You weren't meant to visit until Monday and unless I fell asleep for a long time, this is still only Saturday night."

Chris cleared her throat, moving to take a seat. She watched him as he picked up a slice of pizza, stared at it for a moment and returned it to the box. Nervously, he wiped his hands on his tracksuit pants, yet another grudging acknowledgement of winter's presence, and looked up at her. The skin around his eyes, usually shadowed now, had turned white, his pupils large, filled with fear.

She knew she was risking everything. He had told her never to mention the why again and here she was doing exactly that. "I...I know why you killed Daniel Sevido. He was the one who infected you."

"No, I told you I got infected while I was in prison. You met his family; does he look like someone who had HIV?"

Chris paused, hesitant. "I . . . I talked to a friend of Daniel's at the university he went to. I am sorry, but I had to. I did not mention anything about where you lived...this time, I learnt that lesson." Gary looked at her blandly and she coughed nervously. "Right, well anyway, he said Daniel used to cheat on his fiancée and there used to be condom drives to tackle the high number of HIV infections while he was at uni. It was very possible he could have contracted HIV at the same time if he was sleeping around and not using protection."

"So, it was possible, but not probable. And that doesn't explain how I would have been infected. I'm not really into anal sex."

"Gary, I found the article about the car accident. The real car accident."

Gary went silent, swallowing. Leaning forward, he reached for the bottle of scotch sitting on the dresser before sitting back, leaving the bottle untouched.

"You told me Claire died in a car accident near Newcastle. I did a search in the local newspapers for her name but I came up with nothing. I thought it pretty strange someone dying on the highway would not have warranted an article. But there was nothing."

"Right, so what, it wasn't reported in the papers."

"But Daniel Sevido's accident was. The one where he crashed his car just outside of Newcastle."

Gary closed his eyes, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Chris, please stop."

Chris didn't hear him, too wrapped up in her revelation. "The article said he was pulled from the car before it went up in flames by a local resident who was returning from a holiday up north with his fiancée. The resident requested he remain anonymous, but it did mention he had to be taken to hospital himself as he had received extensive lacerations to his abdomen due to climbing through the broken window to get to Daniel."

Gary unconsciously reached down to touch his stomach, a finger slipping between the buttons of his shirt to finger one of the thin, silver scars. His eyes were open now, bloodshot, but he had stopped crying.

"But it didn't make sense, why say Claire died in a car accident when there is no report of it? Why kill Daniel if you had saved him from a car accident only nine months before. What did Daniel do?"

"He didn't do anything, Chris, so leave it alone."

She didn't hear him. Her breath was rapid, and her heart was beating fast. "That was when it clicked. He was bleeding; you were bleeding. I know the likelihood of infection from an open cut is low, but not if you have an open wound as well. Judy mentioned I should have gotten tested after we...you know, and if I had a cut in my mouth, the risk of infection was really high."

"Fuck, Chris, you didn't get tested? I didn't ask you if you did because I figured it was a stupid question. Why the fuck didn't you get tested?"

"Gary, that is not important right now. I only mentioned it because it made me realise that when you pulled him from the car, his blood mixed with the cuts on your stomach and infected you."

She sat back in her chair, smiling, triumphant. "And that is why you killed him; because he killed you." She stopped talking, waiting for a response.

Gary stared at the carpet; new tears falling down his cheeks. "I didn't kill Daniel because he infected me."

"Yes, you did. You said before it was an eye for an eye. He did this to you, so you did that to him."

"I did it because he infected Claire! We had just gotten engaged. We...we had decided that if we knew we were going to get married, then it would be ok to have sex. We...we lost our virginity on that trip and we came across that car accident on the way home."

Chris leant forward, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Oh, Gary, I am so sorry."

He pushed he hand roughly away. "Get the fuck off me!"

Chris jumped at the rage in his voice. He looked at her, spittle on his chin. "I asked...I asked you to leave it alone. I asked you to drop it."

"I couldn't. I tried, I really did; but I couldn't. Even when Reverend Thomas told me to, I couldn't."

Gary laughed, but there wasn't any mirth in it. "So, you haven't figured everything out then."

Chris paused, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. I...I want to be alone."

"Gary, what did you mean by that?"

"I said leave it alone. I know you couldn't leave it alone before but please, for your sake, I am telling you now, just drop it. "

"Please Gary, I need to know."

"Why? Why the hell do you need to know?"

Chris paused, not wanting to answer. Tears welled up in her eyes and unconsciously she dug her fingernails into her palms, using the pain to push the answer away. "I need...I need to understand. That's all."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"Please Gary...I am sorry, but I need to know."

"Even if it hurts? Because if I let it all out, if I tell you everything, your world will never be the same. Your world will be fucked."

Chris swallowed; she was afraid but had no idea why. Closing her eyes, she forced back the tears and the fear. She had come this far. She had to go on. Meeting his eyes; Chris nodded. "It already is fucked. But I still need to know."

Gary's face fell. "Then I guess it is time we went for a drive."

Gary stood up, taking his keys from the liquor cabinet. Moving to the door, he opened it and waited for Christine. She got up, slowly; her mind was spinning, not expecting this.

She walked out of his room and he locked it behind them. As he turned and followed her out to the car park, she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. She could smell cigarette smoke emanating from him, but, strangely, not the sickly-sweet smell of alcohol.

He had been sober, even though he had been alone for hours since she had left.

Reaching her car, she unlocked it, so Gary could get into the passenger seat. Getting in the driver's side, she closed her door, unconsciously engaging the door locks as she always did. She turned and looked at Gary. His face was in shadow, the roof blocking out the light of the full moon. The whites of his eyes glowed, the pale creaminess shot through with blood.

They pulled away from the hostel in silence. Gary had his arms crossed, staring out the passenger window, occasionally giving directions. Chris was not sure what to say, was not sure about any of this, so she just drove.

The radio was up loud, so she turned it down a little. "Is there any station you want to listen to?"

Gary remained silent, so Chris selected an easy listening station. A minute later, she turned the volume down even lower. A minute after that, she switched it off; leaving the car silent except for the tinny sound of the engine.

"Do you like my car?" It was not the best start, but the silence was hurting her eyes.

Gary shrugged, telling her to turn left at the next set of lights. Chris frowned, angered there was still silence. "My parents bought it for me as a combined 21st and graduation present."

Gary ignored her. Chris frowned as, strangely, she found herself missing the insult. She looked at him, really looked at him. His skin was paler than when she had first met him. The flesh around his neck and shoulders had shrunk; his collarbone prominent beneath his shirt.

He was dying. He had been dying in front of her eyes and she had not even noticed, or maybe she had just pretended not to notice. Not wanting to look at him anymore, she turned back to face the road, her face basked in the orange glow of a traffic light.

She slammed on the brakes, the tyres squealing for a moment before the ABS kicked in and stopped her from skidding. Tyres screeched behind her and a horn sounded. Looking up, she watched as the lights glowed orange for at least a full two seconds before finally changing to red.

Chris cursed beneath her breath. Both cars would have had plenty of time to make it. Gary just sat there, watching the cars pass by in front of them. "Gary, what did I do? I only wanted to know the truth."

He turned towards her. The shadows beneath his eyes had gotten darker. He was shivering and she noticed it was cold. Realising this could make him sick, she flicked on the heater.

He took no notice, just continued to stare at her. He was still crying and there was no smile or grin, just bared lips showing his teeth. "Maybe, I didn't want you to know the truth. Maybe I wanted to keep it private. God knows you have been lying to me this whole time. But you won't stop pushing. I realise now. You won't stop until you know everything. I just wish it wasn't going to be so hard for you. "

His voice was pained, scaring her and confusing her more. One moment she was sitting at her computer finally understanding the truth and the next they were at a set of traffic lights and he was scaring her with information. It felt as absurd as it sounded, yet she was still scared.

The light turned green, but she was still looking at him and trying to decide if she should respond. The driver of the car behind her pressed loudly on their horn. Startled, she cursed under her breath again and accelerated. They returned to silence and he resumed looking out the window, occasionally telling her where to turn.

They made their way around Sydney, slowly altering course to head towards Randwick. They drove the rest of the way in silence and it was only just before they reached their destination Chris realised he was heading for her church.

Chris parked the car in the small parking lot around the back; Gary was out of the car before she had even switched it off, walking around the back of the church. Quickly, she picked up her bag and she got out of the car, pressing the alarm behind her and hurrying after him.

She caught up with him as he reached the front door of the granny flat behind the church. Instead of knocking, he started looking around in the small garden of pot plants that lined the path and wooden fence. He squatted down next to an old white ceramic pot with a small cactus and stuck his fingers into the dirt near the main stem. He cursed as the cactus pricked him but moments later he was standing up, a dirty silver key in his hands.

'How did he know there was a key there?' she thought to herself. She did not have long to contemplate this as he was already inserting it into the door lock.

"Gary wait..."

He turned around, the tears returning to his eyes. " Just remember that you chose this." Quietly opening the door, he entered Reverend Thomas's house.

Biting her lower lip; unsure of what to do, Chris closed her eyes. She still was not sure what was coming and she was no longer sure she wanted to know. But Gary was right; she may not want to know, but she needed to and would not stop until she did. Entering her minister's house, she softly closed the door behind and followed him towards the sound of a television.

Reverend Thomas was asleep in his armchair, a cold cup of tea sitting on a table next to him. Gary sat down in an armchair opposite him, staring at him but not speaking. Christine moved forward and turned off the television, startling the minister. He looked up, seeing Chris and smiled. "Hello Christine, you startled me. What brings you here so late? Did I leave the front door open again?"

"Spare key in the cactus pot." Reverend Thomas jumped as Gary spoke, turning towards the voice. As he saw Gary, his face paled.

"What...what are you doing here?"

Gary smiled, but there was no warmth in it; his lips pulled back to reveal his canines. "You're not happy to see me? I thought since you had sent Chris to save my soul, you must still have some concern."

Chris watched them, unsure of what was going on. Slowly, she moved to the sofa where Gary was sitting. Dropping down next to him, she watched as they stared at each other; Gary with contempt and Reverend Thomas with a look of terror.

"You...you know each other?" she asked.

Gary smiled at her question. "You amaze me Chris; you can find out why I was sent to prison, you can find out why I killed Daniel and how I got infected, but you can't work out this?"

Chris sat there, silent; thinking. Gary knew where he kept a key hidden in a plant given to him by his late wife. "You knew Frank before you went to prison? You were close?"

Gary laughed. "Were we close? Yes, Chris, we were close. Why do you think he would keep encouraging you to come even when I was being such a bastard to you?"

Reverend Thomas cleared his throat, "Gary, this is not the time nor the place."

"Why isn't it? You have been lying to her and everyone else for this long, why isn't this the time to put it all out on the table? Besides, Chris here seems hell bent on knowing the truth, so I think you kind of owe it to her."

Reverend Thomas's shoulders slumped. "Gary...Gary please, I was trying to help you. Why are you doing this?"

"If you wanted to help, you should have come yourself, not sent someone else."

Christine continued to sit there. She felt her breathing become faster, but not with excitement like earlier in the night. She was confused and scared and angry that everyone else but her knew what was going on. "Frank . . . Frank, please. What is going on? How do you know Gary?"

Reverend Thomas sighed, shaking his head. "Christine, I am so sorry."

Christine exhaled. "You used to minister at a church up near Newcastle. You knew Gary before he went to prison. He went to your church. But you told me you did not know him. You told me he was someone you had heard about. Reverend Thomas, how do you know Gary?"

Reverend Thomas looked at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. "He's my son."

Gary simply smiled. "You see, Chris, it's all about trust. Dear old dad here used to be called Frank Thomas Burton. I guess he thought maybe I was too stupid to work it out, or I would not tell you after he saw me at the church. And you trusted him to be honest with you. I guess you were both wrong."

"Gary, that is enough." Reverend Thomas said, his tone reminiscent of her own father's when he was being stern with her.

Gary's head whipped around to look at him, furious. "Enough? Enough? This is nowhere near enough. I don't give a shit whether you want her to know or not because this is not your choice, this is hers."

Licking his lips, Reverend Thomas tried again. "Gary, please, this is between you and me. Christine does not have to hear this. I want to explain, but . . . in private"

While Chris was refusing to leave, Gary exploded. "You want to fucking explain? Explain what? How you left me? How you abandoned me? How you were so fucking ashamed to have me as a son you changed your name and moved so no one would ever know about me?"

Reverend Thomas cringed as his son attacked him; each accusation causing him to shrink further into his armchair.

Gary ran out of breath and looked around him; he could not remember moving to stand over his father. Pressing his eyes shut, he moved back to the sofa and sat next to Christine. "The...the night I turned myself into the police, dad drove down from Newcastle to visit me. Usually they don't let people into the police cells except for solicitors, but because he was a minister; the cops let him through.

"They led me into the box, a tiny concrete room with a chair bolted into the floor. He was sitting there on the other side of the plastic window; watching me. I didn't know what to say so I just sat there, silent.

"He asked me if I had done what they had charged me with and I told him I had. He asked me if I had meant to do it and I told him I had. He asked me if I was sorry and I told him I wasn't. Then he nodded, got up and walked out."

He turned away from Chris, the tears in his eyes matching those in hers. Leaning against the armrest, he screamed into his father's face with all the hurt and rage only an abandoned child could have. "That was ten years ago and not another fucking word. Just three stupid fucking questions and that was all it took for you to disown me!"

Reverend Thomas just sat there, barely having the courage to breathe. Gary drew in ragged breaths, his rage temporarily spent. Chris had never seen him this tired before.

Instinctively, she reached out to take his hand. He smiled and clutched it. "He left me, didn't even come to the sentencing. He drops his surname Burton and starts using his middle name Thomas and moves three hours south to Sydney and takes up another ministry at your church.

"You kept telling me you want to know the truth, Chris, and that is all the truth I have. Reverend Thomas, your minister, your patron fucking saint, has a no-good, AIDS-infected, murderer for a son."

Chris sat there, silent, the tears still flowing. Reverend Thomas watched them, watched Christine, the grief evidence on his face. Chris wasn't sure if he was grieving for the loss of his son, the loss of her, or the loss of his ruse.

"That is not true, Gary. I did not just abandon you. I sent Chris to try and save you." Reverend Thomas said, weakly. "I did what I could to try and help you."

Gary paused, looking at him. Sweat lined his face, the flush on his cheeks making the circles under his eyes seem darker. "You think I didn't know why she was there? I already knew you were at St. Clements. Claire told me when you moved away, back when she used to visit. Then Chris confirmed it for me in March. You know what I did to Chris, to try and get her to go away. And you kept pushing her to keep trying. You forced her to ignore how much of an asshole I was 'so you could help me?'

"And what was the end plan, huh Dad? What if she had succeeded? What if I had agreed to come to your little church? That it wouldn't blow up in your fucking face.

"If you want to help me, then you should have come your fucking self. I did not deserve this. Chris did not deserve this. You were too gutless to come yourself."

Gary stood up, his fists clenched, the anger back. "You may not be going to hell, but that is where you belong, you fucking prick. Chris, I will meet you in the car."

Chris watched as Gary left the room. Reverend Thomas made a move to stop him and then went still; his hands clenched impotently at his sides.

She looked at him; for the first time, really looked; noticing the slight paunch around the waist, the grey hairs, the creases around his mouth as he frowned.

He tried to smile, sensing the tension. "Christine, I...I can explain."

Chris stood up; silent for fear she might say the wrong thing. Slowly, she turned her back on her minister and started to leave. She heard him call out her name but she kept walking. As she reached the front door, she could hear him begin to weep.

She paused, her eyes closed as she tried to come to grips with everything that had just happened. Opening her bag, she took out her car keys and stepped across the threshold. She closed the door on Reverend Thomas' sobbing and it felt like she was closing the door on her old life.

She found Gary collapsed on the cement near the car, wheezing and clutching at his chest. The night was cold, and his short gasps sent plumes of warmth from his body.

She ran to him, dropping her bag and helping him up. Pushing her away, he shuffled towards the car, coughing heavily. Leaning against the bonnet, he spat; thick yellow phlegm staining the concrete.

She unlocked the car and they got in. He was still coughing, and she was worried. "I am taking you to the hospital."

"I am not going to a bloody hospital. Worse than a fucking prison. At least in prison you're allowed to get out of bed. Just take me back to the hostel."

She did not want to argue, fearing any more excitement could make him worse. She felt he would have given in if she pressed the point; it was all he could do to keep breathing after his small speech. She moved into the centre lane, driving past the turn off to the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital. The radio was still off, so they drove in silence.

"Can I smoke in your car?"

"I do not think a cigarette is the best thing for you right now."

"For fuck's sake, I don't need a frigging lecture. Can I smoke or not?"

"Fine," she said. He pulled his cigarette pack from his pants pocket. Lowering the window a touch, he lit his cigarette. The first drag sent him into a fit of coughing.

"Shit." He threw the cigarette out the window and raised it again. For a bit longer, they drove in silence.

"Gary, I am sorry. I had no idea."

"Of course, you didn't. Nobody had a fucking clue."

"Did you ever tell him why you killed Daniel?"

"I would have told him if he had asked, but it didn't matter to him. The moment I said I wasn't sorry, I was no longer his son in his eyes and he did not give a shit why I did it." His voice was breaking up; he was starting to cough again.

She looked across and saw tears in his eyes. He was biting his lower lip to stop them, but they were still there. Scared, because she had no idea how he was feeling, or how he was going to react next, she reached out. Her hand clasped around his and froze, her eyes pointedly watching the road.

Still crying, he slipped his fingers between hers and gripped hard, his other hand coming across to rest on top and stop her from letting go. Silently, they drove back to the hostel hand in hand.
15 June 1998

_It creates ripples that flow outwards, hitting the edge of the pond and flowing back._

They are like a sine wave, getting smaller and smaller over time but never truly disappearing.

Death can feel like a great shock, something that changes our world

But it is important to remember, to continue what was before

The sun was shining strongly, the day warmer than it had been for weeks. The July winter winds had not started yet and Christine watched office workers enjoying their lunch in Hyde Park where only a few days ago, it would have been too cold to do so.

She was wearing running pants and a light sweatshirt. She had come into Sydney to do some jogging but after only a hundred metres had stopped short, breathing hard. It had been a long time since she had been jogging, and she wasn't used to it; her side had a stich and she felt dizzy. From the small backpack she was carrying, she pulled out a bottle of water and took a drink.

St. Andrews Cathedral stood in front of her. She remembered all the times in which she had come into Sydney, gotten off at Museum to jog in Hyde Park and had made this church her end point, admiring its architecture and stained-glass windows as she did her warm down stretches.

The building hadn't changed; it had the same wrought iron fencing and intricately sculptured steeples on the roof. The bell tower was exactly as she remembered it; same as it had been for over a hundred years. But for Chris, it no longer held the charm it once had. It was just a building; a pretty building, but nothing more interesting than Town Hall or most of the structures in the Rocks. The religious mystique had lost its charm.

It felt like all religious mystique had lost its charm. She could remember her first trip to Sunday School, nervous at first until the woman running it opened the Big Book of Bible Stories and she became lost in its pictures, Noah's tiny ark rolling on an all-consuming ocean, Samson with his beautiful long hair saving the day using the jawbone of a donkey for a weapon. The idea that that memory felt false, just a child listening to children's stories, terrified her.

She felt lost, more than any other time in the last four months, more than any other time in her life. Instinctively, her mind thought of calling Reverend Thomas, the minister she had known for the past eight years. Reverend Thomas, the one she had gone to for guidance as a teenager when her world had been falling apart. The one who had helped her maintain and strengthen her faith for all these years.

Reverend Thomas, the minister who had told their church he had moved from his last parish because his wife had died. The minister who had lied to her, to his son, to everyone.

She angrily pushed the thoughts of him from her mind and started walking, then running. She felt dizzy but she did not care. She ran faster and faster until she was sprinting through Hyde Park, barely stopping to wait for the lights at Castlereagh Street. She didn't stop or turn as she reached the end of the park, just kept running.

She had no direction, and she was realising she didn't just mean in terms of where she was jogging. The thought that she needed to talk to someone came to her again, but this time, Reverend Thomas did not come into her head. This time it was Gary.

She stopped, her chest heaving and her arm reaching out to take hold of a traffic light pole to steady herself. The thought of Gary made her cringe. In the past four months, everything she had believed, everything she had felt was truth and good was gone. He had swept it all away with a grin and a sarcastic comment. He had destroyed everything she believed in.

Even as she thought that, she shook her head. This was not his fault. He had not asked her to visit him. He had tried to push her away and while she had thought it was because he was incapable of having a positive relationship with anyone, she realised now he did not want her to get too close to the truth. He knew what it would do if she found out and did not want to challenge her belief in Reverend Thomas, her belief in the church, her belief in her faith.

Except she had kept looking when everyone had told her not to. She had pressed, even when he had asked her to stop. And finally, when she had discovered almost everything about him, he had asked her if she wanted to know it all and she had said yes. She shook her head, trying to force it all away. She wanted to run again, but the burning in her calves prohibited it.

She sat down on the steps of a nearby building, her legs giving way as tears, as hot as the day around her, burnt her cheeks. She crushed her hands into her eyes, trying to make them stop, repeating the vow she had made to herself six months ago that she would no longer cry, yet knowing she was not going to succeed.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and she looked up. A man with a kind face was standing above her; it was hard to make out his features as the sun was directly behind him, casting him in silhouette and blinding her.

"Can I help you?" she said, her voice thick and choked.

"I was going to ask you the same thing." It was a soft voice, tender, and despite it belonging to a stranger; Chris began to feel calmer with just those short few words.

"I'm...I'm alright. I have just had a pretty eventful week."

The man nodded, the dark outline's head moving. "My week has been pretty busy too. Do you mind if I sit with you while I eat my lunch?"

Chris's frowned at the request. "You eat your lunch on the steps at an intersection? "

She heard the man chuckle and then he moved, sitting next to her and pulling a paper bag out of a small knapsack.

"It sounds strange, I know. But I like to watch the people as I am eating. And besides, every now and again it gives me the chance to maybe cheer up someone who is sad."

Christine smiled, shrugging her shoulders and moving over slightly on the step to give him more room. He opened his paper bag and pulled out a salad wrap. Chris didn't speak as he started to eat, lettuce crunching in his mouth. She wasn't sure if she should go, or if that would seem rude. In truth, the idea of moving scared her, for she had no desire to move in any direction.

"See that man over there, coming out of the building with the red door?" The man pointed across the street. His hand was gnarled, the knuckles of his hand standing prominently from the dark olive skin stretched over them.

Chris looked up and saw a man in a navy suit standing near a red door. She nodded to the stranger beside her. "Every day I watch him go to lunch. I bet you he walks up the street, then he will walk back down, then back up and around the corner. In about five minutes, he will come back with a bag of McDonalds and a sad look on his face."

Chris thought this prediction odd, but she had nowhere to go and nothing else to do so she watched the man. He went up the street and around the corner to the right. A minute later, he reappeared, his hands stuffed in his pockets and continued down the block until he disappeared behind another corner.

The stranger beside her chuckled as the man reappeared about two minutes later and walked back up the block, moving up the street and going around the corner to the left. Not long after, he had returned, one hand holding a bag of McDonalds and the other a soft drink.

The stranger laughed as the man disappeared back inside the red door. "He does the same thing every day. Up the street, down the street, up the street and returns with McDonalds. Every day, without fail. Pretty strange, huh?"

"About as strange as sitting at an intersection to eat lunch or starting a conversation with a complete stranger."

"Very true, very true," he replied cheerily, taking another bite of his wrap.

Christine continued to stare at the red door. "Why do you think he does that?"

"I wondered that myself for a while, so one day I followed him. He goes to a sandwich bar up the street to the right and stares at the menu. Then he leaves and goes down and looks at the menu of a little noodle house in Sussex Street. Eventually, he shrugs his shoulders and goes back to McDonalds, and orders a large fillet'o'fish meal."

The man took another bite of his salad after giving his explanation. Christine thought about it for a while before responding.

"He is too scared to try something new."

"Maybe, or maybe he thinks new is bad, whereas old is safe. Maybe he just likes chips and fish burgers."

Christine nodded, becoming silent again.

"Do you want to talk about what is making you upset? My guess is that it has something to do with a relationship?"

"Do you always try and counsel the people you meet at this intersection?"

"Not all of them, no. Just those that need some guidance."

"Are you a priest?" Chris asked, surprised at the coincidence.

"Sort of. I am an imam."

"An imam?"

"A Muslim priest."

"Oh," the response escaped her before she could stop it, afraid of how it sounded. "I am a Christian."

"So? Affairs of the heart happen for Christian and Muslim alike. People are people, faith is faith."

Christine nodded, her head dropping to look at the pavement below them. "To be perfectly honest, I don't even know if I am a Christian anymore."

"Want to switch over to our side?" The imam laughed when he saw her face, shocked. "I am only kidding. Why do you say that?"

Chris paused, trying to find the simplest way to explain it. 'I met someone who hates Christianity and I am inclined to believe him.' 'My minister is a hypocrite.' 'God lets shit things happen.'

Instead, she chose none of these.

"I...I have found out some things lately, some things about someone who I thought was good and honest, someone who I thought personified Christianity."

"Did this person hurt you?"

"No, yes, I don't know. He lied to me, and not just a little lie, although he thought it was."

The imam nodded. "Most people think it's the small lies that are acceptable. Usually they are the ones that hurt the most. But still, why the crisis in faith?"

The question stunned Christine. "I just explained why."

"No, you didn't. You told me someone lied to you and you questioned your faith in him. But that should be different to your faith in God, Allah for me or Jesus for you." Christine's eyes returned to the pavement as the imam continued. "There is the saying, don't shoot the messenger because you don't like the message. I think there should be another saying; don't reject the message because you don't like the messenger."

Christine nodded, unable to reject such strong logic. The imam stuffed the last of his wrap in his mouth, the sounds of his chewing deafened by the honking of a taxi as it was cut off by a bus.

The imam swallowed and took a bottle of water out of his bag. Taking a sip, he stuffed it back inside and stood up. "I have to get back to the mosque for prayer. If you ever want to talk again, just stop by this intersection around lunch time."

He slung his knapsack over his shoulder and headed up the street. Chris watched him leave, his figure soon becoming lost in the crowd of people heading back from their lunch breaks.

She looked across the street and saw the man in the navy suit standing outside the red door. He was smoking a cigarette; she assumed he had finished his McDonalds. Waiting for the light to go green, she crossed Market Street and headed towards him. He was just finishing his cigarette, flicking the butt into the gutter when she reached him.

"Hi, you don't know me, but I wanted to say something I thought you might like to know. The short soup is the best thing at the noodle house. Avoid their egg noodles, they are too oily."

He stared at her as though she was crazy and truth to tell, Chris felt like she was a bit. But for an instant, she saw his shoulders loosen, his blinking slow. To her, it was an involuntary thank you.

Smiling, she walked past the man in the navy suit and up towards George Street, where she would get on a train at Town Hall to go home. As she reached the next block, she saw the imam on the other side of the road, waiting at another set of traffic lights.

The imam saw her and waved, smiling.

She smiled and waved back.

The message was still good, and she knew she couldn't shoot the messenger because for Gary, she was that messenger. And as she had planned all along, if she could get Gary to believe in God, maybe she would start believing again too.
16 June 1998

_They are like a sine wave, getting smaller and smaller over time but never truly disappearing._

Death can feel like a great shock, something that changes our world

But it is important to remember, to continue what was before

He says that when we remember them, they continue to ripple on.

The warmth of yesterday had gone as storm clouds and strong winds had blown in from the west the night before. The gusts off the river had picked up, blowing through the hostel's gardens and moaning underneath the verandas. Winter was back, and Chris felt maybe it had only left so she could have that talk with the Imam.

Christine clutched her jacket close to her, not letting the wind catch it and blow it out behind her, robbing her of the scarce body warmth she had been conserving. She stood next to the car, shivering, her teeth chattering. She had been standing there for the past few minutes, replaying over in her mind the events of yesterday. After the conversation with the Imam, she felt resolute in continuing to meet with Gary, but now, standing here, she felt uncertain.

She stared at nothing for a few more minutes until the cold was unbearable, forcing her to move. She was too stubborn to turn around and get back into her car, so she headed up the small concrete path to the front of the hostel. Her knees hurt as she walked; the cold and the time spent standing still causing her joints to freeze.

She turned the corner around the communal kitchen and looked to the end of the veranda, to the small green door that was closed. Gary's door.

Before she could take too many steps towards the door, Judy stuck her head out of her door. "Thought I heard your shoes"

Chris stopped, forcing herself to smile. "My shoes?"

"Yeah, only person around 'ere wears high heels. I heard them clickety clackin', and I guessed it was you. How are ya, love?"

Chris wasn't sure how to answer. She wasn't sure if Gary had spoken to Judy and told her what had happened. If he had not said anything, she did not want to give anything away. "I'm...I've been better. I have not been sleeping well."

"Probably explains why you look like death warmed up. You trying to give Gary a run for his money? Anyway, did you bring in that program?"

It took Christine a moment to register what Judy had asked. A program? What program? Her eyes widened as she recalled the last conversation she had had with Judy, when she had said she would bring in a new template for her to do the budgets on.

"You know, I have had that CD in my handbag since the day after I told you I would make it, but every time I was here, I have completely forgotten to give it to you." She pulled a CD case out of her handbag, the thin rectangle of plastic scrawled across the top with 'Budget' in thick black texta.

Judy took it, holding it like it was a prize possession. "You little beauty. By the way, Major Southwell was very impressed with my finances for the last quarter. He said they were finally correct. Course, that means the old bugger won't fork out for a new computer for at least another year." Judy chuckled at this.

Chris laughed politely. "Well, that should make it easier. You would still be better off with some accounting software though."

Judy nodded, her chins jiggling up and down but her eyes looked like a new computer program was the last thing she wanted. "Well, before you go love, one of the residents here is having a problem I thought you might be able to help with."

"What type of problem?"

"He wants to get a job, but he needs his licence and he can't get that until he starts paying off all his fines."

"How am I meant to help with that? I don't know anything about State Debt Recovery."

"I figured that and we got people here who can help him fill out the forms. His problem isn't setting it up; his problem is paying for it. He says he is crap with his money. I thought you might show him how to set up a budget. A pen and paper one, mind you, not like this beauty here," she said raising the CD case, 'but some way for him to keep track of where his money is going so he can start paying off the debt."

Chris thought about it. For her, a trained accountant, it would be relatively simple to work out a basic budgeting system.

"Sure, but not today ok?"

Judy nodded. "Yeah, no worries love. I will let him know you are happy to help. His name's Damien. I'd be careful though, I think he fancies you?"

Chris looked at her, perplexed. She had not met any of the other residents here, spending all her time with either Gary or occasionally Judy. Judy chuckled. "He likes it when you and Gary talk outside or that time in the common room. He would hang around like a bad smell just so he could watch you. Nothing sinister like, he's got a mild intellectual disability and a heart o'gold."

Chris searched her mind but could not place anyone hanging around when she spoke with Gary. Then again, she had not noticed Mr Sevido until he had knocked Gary out of his chair.

She waved goodbye to Judy and headed back towards the last green door. It was unlocked, as it always was when she came to visit him. She was about to turn the handle, when she hesitated, moving her hand away and knocking lightly.

Gary opened the door moments later, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The heat from inside the room struck her as he moved aside for her to enter. Sweat popped through every pore in her forehead, slicking her hair.

"What's with the knocking? You haven't knocked for ages and all of a sudden, rat-a-tat-tat."

"I had not noticed. It was rude of me, to assume your unlocked door meant I could just walk in anytime I want to."

"You can, and you know it. Scares you though, don't it?" he grinned at her, and she tried to laugh. "Even at your parents you have to knock when you visit."

"Maybe I am just scared about what I might see when I open it."

"My days with a donkey are over Chris, although I did see a nice Pekinese one of the visitors had yesterday."

"That's disgusting."

"Very true, my most sincerest apology."

"Apology tolerated. How have you...how have you been since the other night?"

Gary sat back down, not in his chair where he had always been during their conversations, but on the edge of the bed. He kept the blanket clutched around his shoulder despite the stifling heat. "I have been fine; a bit worried,"

"About your health?"

"What? Oh yeah, that. A little bit, it was pretty full on."

Christine thought back to when she had dropped him back off at the hostel, their hands only letting go of each other as she turned the car off and they had to get out. She had walked him back to his room, not wanting to leave him, still trying to convince him to go to the hospital but knowing it was a wasted effort.

As she got him inside and turned on the heater, he had crashed onto his bed, pulling the blankets over him. She had sat there, with him, while the warmth returned to his body; her mind focused on making sure he was alright. If she focused on him, she would not have to process what had just occurred.

They hadn't spoken; Gary didn't have the energy to. Within minutes, he had fallen asleep, the exhaustion overpowering him. She had stayed for a while, checking to make sure his breathing was stable before she left. Looking at him now, she saw he still looked exhausted.

Gary saw her watching him and smiled. "And what about you, Chris, how have you been?"

She knew the question wasn't about her health. She wasn't sure what she should say. That she hadn't slept properly since that night; she had barely eaten. Should she tell him her work had called because she hadn't shown up for two days without calling them, that she had told them she needed to take some extended sick leave?

Should she tell him she had taken her phone off the hook because she was sick of Reverend Thomas trying to call her to explain? That she had pretended to be out when her mother came to her house when she found out she was taking sick leave?

No, Gary didn't deserve any of that. "I have been coping. It's been...a lot to process."

Gary looked down at his hands, two small, moving lumps underneath the blanket. He said something, but Chris couldn't hear. She leant forward in the chair she had sat down in but even then, it was hard to hear. Sighing, she got up from the chair and made her way over to the bed, sitting down next to Gary, her left leg bent and resting on top of the covers.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"I said I shouldn't have done what I did. I shouldn't have told you."

"I asked for it."

"Literally maybe, but honestly, if you could go back to when I asked if you wanted to know, would you still have said yes?"

Chris paused, twisting one of the rings on her finger as she thought. "I...I would like to think yes, I would still have wanted to know. Reverend Thomas lied to me. He lied to everyone. I am sure he was trying to do what's best for everybody, but..."

"He wasn't doing what was best for everybody. He was doing what was best for himself. I know the congregation at our old church. They would not have abandoned him just because of what I did. But he was too proud to bear the brunt of the whispers, all the rumours about me. He ran and he hid and that was only for himself."

"He did send me to save you, doesn't that count for something."

"Why do you think he sent you?"

Christine thought about the question, not speaking for a while. She wanted to say it was because Reverend Thomas believed she would have the most success, but even she doubted that logic. "Because he didn't think I would ask questions. He thought I would just do whatever he said."

She felt tears coming to her face, tears of shame and tears of rage. "He thought I was a sheep."

Gary reached out and grabbed her hand. His fingers were hard, bony, and cold. "You're not a sheep, Chris. That was his mistake. You're stronger than anyone has ever given you credit for. You deserve more respect than that"

Chris nodded, the tears tracing salty lines down her cheeks. Gary leant back against the headboard, his eyes closing as he started to fall asleep.

She repeated the words in her head, like a mantra, and it helped push the tears back. 'You are stronger than anyone has ever give you credit for. You deserve more respect than that.'

The words echoed in her ears and as she repeated them, she felt her shoulders tense. Curious, she repeated them slower, feeling her shoulders hitch again when she came to the word deserve. A memory came, unbidden, Gary standing before her, telling her she didn't deserve to know the truth before slamming a door in her face.

"Gary, when you kept telling me I didn't deserve to know everything, that was for my benefit wasn't it?"

Gary opened his eyes, the effort of doing so visible to her and making her feel guilty. He nodded. "You didn't deserve to have to know the truth, about my dad. I am guessing you didn't go to church on Sunday?"

Chris shook her head. "I didn't go to bible study last night either."

"All because of what you found out. I have turned your world upside down."

"I didn't have the right to know the truth?"

"Of course you had the right, and I almost told you in the beginning. At first, I wanted to tell you just to shock you, but that was not fair. You were only here to try and help me, not to have everything you believed challenged. Hell, I think that is why I tried so hard to push you away to begin with."

"You didn't think I could handle it?"

"No, you made it pretty clear you could handle it when you put up with me. I didn't think it was fair; dad brought you into this without letting you know all the facts, and that was not right."

"Gary, I am sure he had..." Chris faltered, almost about to say again that Reverend Thomas had had the best intentions.

Gary's eyes tried to harden again, but he didn't have the energy. "It doesn't matter, Chris. If he wanted to help me, he should have helped me. And he should not have brought you into this."

"He was afraid."

She did not mean it as a defence, or a justification. It was simply a statement of fact. But at the same time, could she really blame him for doing what he did because he was scared. Gary had deliberately antagonised her because he was afraid she would find out the truth and it would crush her. Reverend Thomas was afraid of everyone finding out about his sordid past.

And Chris, well the reason she had started to see Gary in the first place was based on fear. So how could she judge anyone?

"We are all afraid, Gary. I...I have never told you why I wanted to start doing evangelical work. Maybe it is time I told you some of it."

Gary watched her. "I assumed you were doubting yourself and maybe by trying to convince me, you could convince you."

Chris smiled. "That obvious, huh?"

"You were pretty hopeless at selling God."

Christine nodded. "But that is only half of it. I told you I had cancer a few years back. At the time, they did not think I would pull through. I honestly believed I was going to die. But the surgery and the chemo worked and I am still here.

"I did not just ask to do some evangelical work. I also asked to do it with someone who was dying. I felt the need to confront that fear, to see how someone else confronts that fear. Because I didn't know if I could face it, not alone and maybe I could help someone else face it when they needed to."

Chris paused for a moment. "I...I think dying scares you, I know it scares me. I think it scares Reverend Thomas, or Reverend Burton, or whatever I should call him now. But maybe, if we use each other for strength, we won't have to be so scared."

Gary smiled at her and took her hand in his. For the second time in a row, she held it while he fell asleep, taking comfort from his grip.
27 June 1998

_Death can feel like a great shock, something that changes our world_

But it is important to remember, to continue what was before

He says that when we remember them, they continue to ripple on.

And when we engage with others, when we share our memories and the things they taught us.

Christine opened the door into what was now the familiar blast of heat Gary lived in. He was lying in bed, where she usually found him now. He was coughing, like he usually did now.

Gary looked up as the door opened, his eyes excited. It seemed to her that as he recognised who it was, his expression changed to dismay and then worry.

"Chris, what are you doing here?"

Christine shrugged, closing the door to the chill outside. "Sunday nights are pretty boring when you stop going to church. I thought I would come for a visit."

Gary's eyes flicked between her and the door, nervously.

"Gary is everything ok?"

Gary flinched, startled. He started to nod and then a coughing fit overtook him. His breath was wheezing in and out and the force of the coughs almost shook him off the bed.

Christine got up to get him a drink. Her mind noticed the usual bottles of scotch on the sideboard were gone so she took the glass and filled it with water from the little sink in his adjoining bathroom.

Gary gripped the glass with bony strength as he gulped the water down, some of it spilling down the stubble on his chin. "Thank you," he choked out and then finished the rest of the glass.

Christine took it off him and refilled it once again from the sink. She dragged one of the chairs over to the bed and put the glass of water on it so it would be in reach of his bed. She sat on the bed and raised her hand to wipe at his forehead.

His skin was slick with sweat and felt like it was on fire. "Gary, you are getting sicker. You need to go to a hospital. Or at least see a doctor."

"I am fine." Gary said stubbornly. "Why aren't you at church?"

Chris snorted. "I...I can't go back. I don't think I could stop myself from attacking Frank. I don't want to see him, I don't want to talk to him and I especially don't want to listen to him preaching."

"So, go to another church. There's plenty of them around; hell, try something different; maybe charismatic."

Christine shook her head. "Not yet, I...I don't think I am ready to try organised religion again." She noticed Gary looking at the door again. "Are you expecting someone?"

Gary flinched again. "What? No, why would you think that?"

"You keep looking at the door."

"No, I don't," he said as his eyes flicked towards the door again.

"Whatever. What if I asked my doctor to come here and check on you? I am sure he would."

"I don't need a doctor, Chris."

"Gary, you have been sick since we went to Fa...your dad's house. You aren't getting any better.

"I have been sick for over 11 years now. This is just one more type."

"This one will kill you."

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

Chris started to say something when there was a banging on the door. She heard Gary curse under his breath and close his eyes. She felt her back stiffen and she drew back from him.

"I thought you weren't expecting anyone."

"I...I lied. You didn't say you were coming over."

Christine's mind cycled through the possibilities. His parole officer, his father, another woman; part of her noted the last one caused her to feel jealous.

The banging on the door came again. "Gary, what the fuck!" came through the cheap plywood. A man's voice, so no reason to be jealous.

Christine made to get off the bed to answer the door but Gary's hand shot out to grab her arm. "No. Wait. Ignore him and he will go away."

But he did not go away. Moments later, Chris watched as the door handle turned and then the door swung open. It hadn't been locked when she arrived and she had not locked it when she entered.

A man wearing a hoodie poked his head in through the door. He saw them on the bed and cracked a smile. "Geez Gazza, how did someone as ugly as you get someone this hot into your bed?"

He stepped all the way into the room and closed the door. Quickly he unzipped his hoodie jacket and took it off, revealing a tee shirt underneath. He was wearing black jeans and sneakers and had a tattoo running up his left forearm. "Fuck, its hot in here," he said as he shook the edges of his jacket to fan the air.

Gary cursed under his breath again. "Chris, this is Mark. 'Boof' to most people."

Mark, or 'Boof', grinned at her, scratching at the thick goatee on his chin. "Pleased to meet ya. How do you know this dickhead?"

Before Chris could answer, Gary spoke. "This is Chris. She is a friend I met since getting out."

Boof nodded and sat down in one of the armchairs. "Wish I had met someone like you when I got out,"

"You know each other from prison?"

Boof nodded, looking around. "Yeah, we were cellmates for a while. What happened to all the good stuff?"

Chris saw he was looking at the sideboard and had noticed the lack of scotch that she had previously. "Yes, Gary, what happened to all the booze?"

"I haven't been able to get out to the bottle shop lately."

"Shit Gazza, you should've asked me to pick some up on the way here. I mean, I deliver all your other sh-"

"It also wasn't helping with the cough." Gary cut in, but not before Christine had already worked out the rest.

"You're Gary's dealer?"

Boof laughed. "Nah, that ain't me. I just know people. Gazza wasn't really a hard-core criminal – well apart from the whole murderer bit. He don't know many people. Me, I'm Mr fucking popularity."

"So, you buy it for him? Isn't that risky?"

Boof shrugged. "Crossing the road is risky. Gary's a mate. He helped me out in prison, so I figured I would do him a solid. Besides, it ain't like I don't get paid for helping."

"How did he help you out in prison?"

"He was a gentle lover." Boof said, deadpan, before bursting into laughter. "Just messing with you. They let you do TAFE courses in prison to give you qualifications for when you get out to 'lead you away from a life of crime'. Gary convinced me to enrol in some and helped me with the book stuff; I wasn't great at school. I was able to get my OH&S and forklift tickets and now I work in a distribution centre. Only illegal thing I do now is hook Gary up when he needs it."

Boof looked at his watch. "So, we doing this thing? I gotta start work at 5am tomorrow."

Christine got up. "I will wait outside thanks." Gary tried to say something but she was already opening the door and walking through it.

She gasped at the cold as she pulled the door closed behind her, shutting in the heat. The sweat on her brow seemed to freeze and she pulled her cardigan around her tightly as the wind tried to cut through her.

She walked into the garden, not for any purpose but to walk. She waited until she heard Gary's door open again and then she saw Boof walking out to the front, zipping his hoodie back up and burying his hands in his jacket pockets against the cold.

She walked back to Gary's room and opened the door, slamming it behind her.

Gary was still in his bed. She looked around the room but could not see anything Boof had bought.

"I...I'm not going to use while you are here, Chris."

"Does it matter whether you do it in front of me or after?" She replied.

"Chris, you have known about this. It helps me."

"No, Gary, medication helps people."

"This works the same."

"How? How does heroin work the same as medication?"

"It helps with the pain."

"What pain? You have a fever. You cough. These have only been really bad since we met with your dad but you have been using this for as long as I have known you. What was the pain back then? What did you need an opiate for then?"

"I..." Gary stopped, unable to answer. "You don't know what it's like."

"I don't know what 'what' is like?" she asked, her voice raised.

"What is like to lose everything; to lose Claire, my dad, my life, everything. I did not want to live but I was too gutless to do anything about it. I figured I would just let the HIV take its course; vicarious suicide. But it has been over ten years and I am still not dead. That's a long time to wait to die. It helps ease the pain of the waiting."

"Some people would love to have eleven years to live. Some people would love to have a year. They wouldn't just try and hide from it with drugs."

"Some people have something to live for."

"Then live for me." Chris shouted. She did not even realise what she was saying until it had already come out.

"What?" Gary said, looking uncertain.

"I...I came here to help you through your final days. I thought you had fought this disease and it had almost won. Then you mentioned you never tried to fight it at all and I was confused. Why the hell would anyone not seek treatment? But it didn't matter. That was your wish and I had to respect it.

"But now I see why you really do all the things you do. You're a coward. Yes, you got a shit deal but you know what, lots of people do. But they keep fighting. And you, you are a decent human being. You tried to protect me. Apparently, you helped Boof. Judy seems to like you. But none of that, none of us, are important enough for you to even try and fight. Maybe you are scared you might get hurt again. Maybe you think you can't trust anyone. But to be too scared to try. To just hide behind heroin and alcohol and everything else. That's just weak."

Christine reached behind her to open the door. Gary sat up in bed, trying to swing his legs out from the covers. "Chris, wait."

"Why? You said the last time I was here I was stronger than others gave me credit for. That I deserved better. Well maybe you are right. Maybe I deserve better than to be someone's second choice to heroin."

She opened the door and was gone before Gary could say anything further. Her hands shook with rage and frustration and sadness. She was tired and could not take anymore. She was done with the Burton family, father and son.
28 June 1998

_But it is important to remember, to continue what was before_

He says that when we remember them, they continue to ripple on.

And when we engage with others, when we share our memories and the things they taught us.

We carry those ripples forward into other people's lives and so they live on

Chris stared at her bedroom ceiling. Her doona was in a tangle on the floor, kicked off along with the sheets. Lying on top of the mattress, her skin pebbling from the cold, she fumed.

She closed her eyes, trying to sleep. After returning from Gary's unit, she had gone straight to bed; if she was asleep, she would not have to think. She could stop silently cursing the day she had ever met Gary Burton. But sleep had refused to come. Out of the window, she could see the sky beginning to lighten as morning was soon approaching.

Her head ached from lack of sleep, from too much stress...from everything in her life. Her hands would not stop shaking and it had nothing to do with it being cool in her bedroom. Growling to herself, she went into her bathroom to find something to help with the tremors.

She took down a bottle of pills and was unscrewing the lid when her mobile phone rang. She jumped, causing half the pills to bounce out the top of the bottle and land in the sink. Cursing, she watched as many of them dropped through the plug hole and out of sight.

She thumped the bottle down onto the sink and moved back into the bedroom where her phone was on the charger. She expected it to be her parents asking why she had not been at church, morning or evening service, for the second week in a row. Or maybe it was Father Thomas trying yet again to contact her.

The number lit up on the screen was neither of those. It was a number she did not recognise.

She pressed the answer button and held the phone up to her ear. "Hello."

"Chris love, it's Judy." Judy's voice was subdued, quieter than Christine had ever heard it.

Chris dropped to the bed. "What's happened to Gary?"

"One of the other residents found him about a half hour ago. They didn't know what to do so they called me emergency mobile. I live just around the corner from the hostel. He had collapsed outside near the front car park."

"What was he doing in the car park?"

"That's what I asked the bloody idiot myself. He said he was going to the train station to get a taxi; they don't like to come to the hostel. He said he was trying to find you, he was going to someone's house to find out your address."

"Is...is he ok?"

"They took him in an ambulance about five minutes ago. I asked him why he didn't just bloody call you and 'e said he needed to prove it to ya but he never said what."

"Where did they take him?"

"Closest hospital is Concord. Gary told me to tell you something."

"Yes."

"He said to tell you he flushed it. Don't know what he meant. Don't want to know. But he said you needed to know that. He said you were right. He did have something to live for. By then the ambulance was here and Gary was coughing blood and they rushed him off quick."

Christine hung up the phone, not even saying goodbye to Judy. She unplugged her phone, went into the kitchen to get her wallet and keys and left the house, her mind calculating the quickest route to Concord Hospital, hoping it wasn't too late.
Part II
29 June 1998

_He says that when we remember them, they continue to ripple on._

And when we engage with others, when we share our memories and the things they taught us.

We carry those ripples forward into other people's lives and so they live on

In our hearts, our minds, our memories, the way they changed who we are, they live on

Chris shifted in the plastic chair next to Gary's bed and felt something crack in her lower back. She had been at the hospital for two days, first waiting outside of the emergency department in one uncomfortable chair before following him up to the Intensive Care Unit and an equally uncomfortable but different coloured seat.

She stood up and stretched. The nurse monitoring Gary's status looked up from her charts and smiled at her. Christine smiled back as she made her way into the hall and then into the visitor's bathroom.

She stood at the sink and splashed water onto her face, trying to wake herself up. She looked up into the mirror above the sink and saw small circles had begun to form under her eyes.

Her shoulders had rounded, as though the constant pressure and shocks of the past two weeks had given her a stoop. A muscle in her neck twitched, shuddering as she breathed in.

She put her hands under the tap and then ran her wet fingers through her hair, trying to untangle the knots that had formed there. The cold water worked somewhat; now she felt only half-exhausted.

Rolling her head and feeling the twitching muscle stretch out, she left the bathroom and re-entered the ICU. In Bay 19, Gary had opened his eyes. Christine stopped, holding her breath.

He tried to speak, but found his body was not awake enough for such a feat yet, his mouth still content to be asleep. Silent, he lay there and watched her. Christine smiled and moved forward once again, reaching out to take his hand.

He tried to frown, but his mouth still would not move. Flexing his fingers, he found his limbs were awake and closed his fingers over hers. His eyes looked around him, from left to right, staring at the curtains that divided his bay from those on either side, studying the nurse that continued to watch the monitors hooked up to his fingers and chest.

"You are in the hospital," Christine said and instantly regretted it. It was a stupid thing to say. Of course he was in a hospital. What other place would have nurses and hospital beds and needles taped to your forearm?

She knew he would want more of an explanation, but she wasn't prepared to give it just yet. Watching him lying there, his throat struggling to suck in air, getting increasingly laboured, the sweat pouring from his body as the fever peaked, it was too much to live through the first time, let alone relive it while explaining.

Gary reached up with his free hand to remove the oxygen tube from his nostrils, but Chris took this hand as well; only the slightest pressure was required to force his hand against the cotton blanket. Chris smiled again. "You had me very worried, Gary Burton. Judy told me you were trying to come find me but decided to stop for a lie down in the car park."

He forced his lips to move, his voice husky. His throat burned, but he ignored it. "Did...did she tell you...what I did with..."

Chris nodded. "She did and I don't think this is the best place to mention it."

"I...I wanted you to know I chose you. Your friendship means more to me than . . . the other stuff."

Chris smiled at him, surprised at how happy hearing that made her feel. She noticed movement in the corner of her eye and turned to see the ICU nurse come to stand next to his bed on the other side of Christine.

Eyeing her suspiciously, Gary tried to sit up in bed but gave up when he realised he did not have the strength. "Good morning, Gary, I'm Balwinder. Good to see you are finally awake."

Gary's brow creased and he stared between Balwinder and Chris. "How...how long have I been asleep?"

"Almost two days now."

His eyes widened. "Two days?" he said quietly.

"It was good you were asleep," Balwinder interrupted. "It meant we didn't have to worry about you getting up to mischief, like trying to pull out your oxygen tube." She absently slapped his hand away again from the tube as she spoke. A soft smile played across her face as she went about her business.

Chris appreciated Balwinder, whom she had spoken to on and off over the past two days. She had not batted an eyelid when Christine had explained Gary had AIDS. There had been no special ward, or special infection rooms. All Balwinder had done was check there was a brightly coloured sticker on his chart to indicate this and everything else had seemed like it would be for every other patient.

Balwinder took a vial from the medications trolley and moved over to the drip connected to Gary's right wrist. She replaced the empty vial with the new one and marked it on her medication chart. "You have PCP, it comes from a type of fungus that lives in most people's lungs but mainly affects those with AIDS when your CD4 count gets below 200. Your CD4 count is about 110. We have been giving you cotrimoxazole prophylaxis to help; it should break the fever and help to clear up your lungs. But until you are fully recovered, you will need to keep having oxygen."

'Until you are fully recovered.' The words rang false in Chris's ears. No one ever fully recovers, not from anything. A broken ankle will eventually turn into arthritis, the treatment of cancer can cause other medical problems, and recovery in people with a terminal illness is an oxymoron.

She shook her head, knowing Balwinder did not mean it that way. What she had noticed in the ward over the past few days was that the nurses here were always cheerful; an attempt to balance out the stress of an intensive care ward.

Gary cleared his throat, wincing. "I...I don't want any treatment."

Balwinder did not look up from the medication chart she was writing on. "I know; she told us. We are not treating you with anti-retrovirals, as per your request. We are treating the PCP and also some oral thrush we noticed was developing. Besides, given your CD4 count, even if you were to try anti-retrovirals the treatments would most likely not have any effect now."

Balwinder picked up a small bottle and a medicine cup and moved back towards the bed. "Now you are awake, the coughing will probably start up soon. This is to help with that," she said as she poured out a measure of the amber liquid.

Gary hesitated. Chris felt bone tired, but despite this, anger was rising from her stomach. "Gary, don't argue with her. Just take the medicine."

Balwinder had moved back to the bed. "You should like this, it is liquid morphine. It helps relax the muscles in the throat as well as take away some of the pain in your chest."

"Thanks all the same but I don't need anything. I am fine, really." Gary said stubbornly.

"The doctor says I have to give it to you." Balwinder said politely, but just as stubborn.

"And I am saying that-"

"For fuck's sake, Gary, just take the medicine." Chris said hotly. "I have been here for two days now not knowing whether you will live or die so just do what she asks you."

Gary turned his head to look at her, spots of colour rising to his cheeks. Closing his eyes, he went to speak but started coughing instead. Balwinder stood waiting with the medicine cup still held out.

Gary took the cup, grudgingly, and swallowed. Within moments, his face looked less pained. He took a deeper breath and didn't cough. Impressed, he handed Balwinder back the cup which she placed in a small plastic bin fixed to the medicine trolley.

Looking up at Chris, he grinned. "What's so funny?"

"You just swore Miss Goldstrom."

Chris's face coloured and she masked the blush by sitting down next the bed and arranging her skirt. By the time she had finished, Balwinder had returned to the station at the end of the bed. She started writing in a chart and Christine felt this was the closest they were going to come to privacy while he was in the ICU.

"I am sorry for yelling at you, Gary, but you would not listen."

"I...I am sorry too, Chris." They sat there for a while in silence, Chris sitting in the chair and Gary lying on the bed. From outside the room, she heard a loudspeaker request a doctor to come to the nursing station.

Gary had almost drifted off back to sleep when she spoke. "Gary, I don't want you to die."

Gary opened his eyes and looked at her. "I don't think that is an option, Chris. The nurse just said I am too far gone for treatment anyway."

"No, she said they probably would not work. Would not is not the same as will not."

"Chris, I am going to die no matter what. You knew I was dying before you met me. Hell, we're all dying, whether it happens in the next week or the next century, it isn't going to change."

She looked at him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her eyes wet with tears. "How can you be so casual about dying?"

Gary looked away, not meeting her eyes while he answered. "I don't know how, I just am. I have known I was going to die for ages and maybe I just got used to it."

"I...I do not think I could ever get used to it." He turned back, hearing the sadness in her voice. A small tear had escaped her eye and was trailing down her cheek. He squeezed her hand, twisting in his bed to use his other hand to wipe the tear away, his thumb brushing against her skin.

"It's amazing what you can get used to when you have to. You got used to me, didn't you?"

Christine smiled. "I don't know if I 'had to' get used to you. More I chose not to give up. But I am starting to see that that is what you have done. You have chosen to give up instead of live."

"What was the point of living? I was in prison; my father had disowned me and I had infected Claire."

"And now?"

"Now? I...I don't know."

"I could understand if the side effects from treatment were horrible and you felt it was better to have a shorter life which you could enjoy than a longer life feeling horrible. I could understand if there was no chance of treatment working but there are no horrible side-effects and treatment may still work, even with your low CD4 count."

"But again, Chris, what would be the point?"

Chris looked him in the eye. "What about me? Can't I be the point?" Gary stared at her, their gaze not breaking for what felt like minutes for Chris. She would not look away though.

Gary sighed. "Is this an ultimatum thing, like with the heroi..." he looked briefly at the Balwinder at the base of the bed. "The other stuff."

"No ultimatum Gary. You have the right to choose what medical treatment you want and either way, I will still be your friend. But the idea you might die not because you have to, but because you are too scared to find a reason not to. It...it just feels wrong."

Gary looked down at the blankets for a long while. "Ok Chris, I will think about it. But I will be honest, it won't be easy on an empty stomach."

Christine looked up but before she could ask, Balwinder said "The lunch cart has already been through. Nothing proper now until dinner." Christine stiffened a little bit, knowing Balwinder had obviously been listening, but she relaxed when she countered the nurse probably heard all sorts of emotional conversations working in ICU.

"I will get something from the cafeteria. I could probably do with some food as well." Gary nodded and Chris left him there.

It did not take her long to reach the hospital cafeteria; she knew these corridors and buildings well. At the cafeteria, she chose two sandwiches as well as two tubs of yoghurt in case he found the sandwich too difficult.

When she returned to his bed in the ICU ward ten minutes later, she found him sleeping once again. Except this time, it just looked like sleep and not an unconscious fever.

"He lasted about five minutes after you left" a voice said behind her and she turned to see Balwinder standing there. Chris shrugged and went to sit back down in the plastic chair. "No, you don't. Leave his food on the dresser. We have a waiting room over there with much comfier chairs. You can eat there and get some sleep. We will come get you when he wakes up again."

Christine made to protest but felt too tired. Sleeping in the plastic chair was an impossibility. She nodded and started to walk towards the waiting room Balwinder had pointed to. As she did, she heard Balwinder speak again behind her.

"Also, just to let you know, he asked to trial the anti-retrovirals."
11 July 1998

_And when we engage with others, when we share our memories and the things they taught us._

We carry those ripples forward into other people's lives and so they live on

In our hearts, our minds, our memories, the way they changed who we are, they live on

I only came into their world recently and suffice it to say it was a pretty rocky start.

Christine knocked lightly on the door of the office, waiting for Judy to open it. She pulled her cardigan closer around her shoulders as she waited, the July winds bringing the temperature down by another few degrees.

Judy opened the door with a smile on her face as always and ushered her in. A wave of heat hit her as she stepped over the threshold; two bar heaters were on full at either end of the room, bathing the office in a soft orange glow that competed with the stark fluorescent bulb.

"How you holding up, love?" was all Judy said as she made her way into the kitchenette to make them both cups of coffee.

Chris sank down into one of the chairs next to the computer desk. Her eyes felt like they had lead weights tied to them and her back ached. She had been so relieved when he had been transferred to a general ward and she had seen it had an armchair next to his bed. "I'm fine, thanks. A bit tired."

Judy looked over her shoulder and chuckled. "A bit tired, darlin' you look like you been 'it by a truck and then it reversed back over ya. Heck, even Gary didn't look as bad as you when I visited him last week and he almost died."

Chris smiled, but it slipped away soon after as it took too much energy to maintain. Judy handed her a mug and Chris, her mind sluggish with sleeplessness and worry, took a sip before she could stop herself. Wincing, she swallowed the horrible tasting liquid.

Judy sat down in the other chair and took a sip from her own mug, smacking her lips together afterwards. "Now that hits the spot. Don't know why people need that fancy stuff. Home brand is good enough for me."

Chris smiled, not savouring the taste but enjoying the feeling as the caffeine ignited her blood and filled her with some much-needed energy.

Judy took another sip at the same time as Chris did and watched her over the rim of her mug. "How you really doing, love?"

Chris took another sip, the flavour almost bearable now. "Better now. For the first few days I barely slept I was so scared that each time he drifted off he wouldn't come back. But since the medications started to kick in, he has been breathing better. "

"Not what you thought you would be getting yourself in for?"

"Yes...no...I don't know. I was sent here because he was dying but if he died now..."

"I heard he started on the AIDS medication as well."

Chris nodded. "He has but it is still too early to tell whether it will increase his CD4 count. The main medication is for the PCP and bringing down the symptoms. But his immune system is so compromised it would not take much to drag him down to a point he could not recover. And I haven't even finished saving him yet."

Judy reached over and patted her arm. "You have saved him, love. Maybe not the way your minister wanted, but he has been saved from 'imself. You done good with him, you hear."

"That doesn't make it any easier to watch him die." By the end of the sentence, she was crying, her eyes filming over until she almost dropped the mug when she tried to put it back on the desk.

Judy took the mug from her hand and placed it on the desk, pulling Chris up and wrapping her huge arms around her. Chris sobbed, her whole body moving with each inhalation and exhalation. She sobbed until she felt all the energy she had in her had been shaken out, even the false energy Judy's horrible brew had given her. And when she was done, she sobbed some more.

And Judy just kept holding her, stroking her hair and telling her everything would be all right. After what felt like hours, Chris wiped her nose with the back of her hand and moved out of Judy's embrace.

She laughed, bitterly. "I guess you think I am pretty stupid, huh Judy?"

"Why would I think that love?"

"Me getting so upset he is dying; I mean, what did I expect? That he would get some miracle cure? That I was trying to save a dying man who was only really faking it?"

"Maybe, maybe not. No harm in hoping for those things though. Truth be told, I don't know if I could do what you have been doing. I put up with him while he was here, but I don't know if I could watch him go through the final bit."

Chris nodded, appreciative of Judy's honest response. Wanting to change the subject, she reached into her bag and pulled out a sheaf of paper.

"This is for Damien. I worked out a budget for him. I also did some checking and he should speak to Centrelink because he is entitled to another thirty dollars a week."

Judy took the papers from Chris and laughed. "Geez Louise, you made a budget and found him extra money. He was in love with you before, but I am sure there will be a marriage proposal after this."

Chris smiled, appreciative of how Judy had moved with the conversation and not focused on her tears. She picked up the mug and took another sip. It had been too long since the last one and her mouth had forgotten how to properly cover the grimace. Even as Chris's face coloured, Judy chuckled, her chins wobbling contentedly.

"Hehehe, only one person ever liked my coffee and that was my husband. Course, I think it was what finally killed him, but he died a happy man."

Chris laughed, reaching over to touch Judy's arm and thank her for lifting her spirits. Yet the touch broke the spell, and quickly the mood sank back down into sombreness. "Gary won't be coming back here."

Judy took a sip and nodded. "I figured that. I have already packed up all his things, except for the grog which I threw out. It's in the box in the corner."

Chris looked over and saw an old cardboard box with a few clothes and a pair of thongs thrown in it.

"I told him he should have moved months ago. That end room always had too many drafts, but he wouldn't listen. Are they transferring him to a hospice?"

"No."

Judy's face paled. "Oh, he isn't leaving the ward?"

"What? Oh no. He gets discharged tomorrow. He is coming to stay at my apartment."

Judy took another slow swallow of her coffee. "And he agreed?"

Chris felt her shoulders tense at the question, ignoring the look on Judy's face. It had been hard enough when she had brought up the subject with Gary. In her mind, she remembered him just sitting in the bed, looking at her when she suggested it.

"Chris no, you can't do that," he had said.

"Yes, I can."

"No, Chris. You really don't want me at your place."

"Yes, I do," she had said while looking into his eyes so he would not see any hesitation.

"Well I won't allow it."

"Gary, you need someone to take care of you."

Gary's face had darkened at her comment. "I do not need anyone to take care of me. I have survived for more than ten years without any help and I don't need any now."

"Gary, you survived because you weren't sick. You're CD4 count is in the toilet and like it or not, you aren't as strong as you once were."

"Then fine, I will see about getting a day nurse to help me if necessary."

"So, you don't trust me then?"

Gary had hesitated at that, realising how close he was to offending her. "It is not about trusting you. It is about trusting this. We are getting along great right now. If you have to wait on me hand and foot and put your life on hold, what if it ruins it?"

"It won't ruin our friendship and I am not putting my life on hold. I had some holiday time coming up as it was, so I may as well use it."

"Good idea; why don't you take a holiday?"

"There isn't anywhere I want to go right now."

"Chris, please..."

"I want to help you Gary."

"You have helped me...more then you could ever imagine, but I still think it would be best if I went back to the hostel. I mean, there isn't even anywhere for me to sleep."

"Yes, there is, you would sleep in my bed. I bought a new couch with a foldout sofa bed. It will be fine; I don't mind sleeping on it."

"Chris, no, I won't let you do that. I will just go back to the hostel."

"You can't."

Gary stopped again, surprised and confused by the bluntness of the response. "What do you mean I can't?"

"Because you can't; I have already told Judy you aren't going back, and she has given your room to a new resident." She had been impressed with herself at that, the lie slipping so easily from her.

Gary had blinked, not sure if he was more stunned or annoyed. Chris continued to meet his gaze, forcing his away. "You should not have done that, Chris."

"I wanted to."

"I am serious Chris, you shouldn't have done that. I don't want to put you out."

"I am serious as well. I want you to stay, Gary."

Gary shook his head, closing his eyes. When he opened them, his eyes were red. "Do you understand what you are asking for? I agreed to take these drugs but you heard the doctors. The chance of them working is almost zero. I am not going to get better. In fact, I will probably get a lot worse. Do you really want to have to deal with that? Do you really think you can handle it?"

This time Chris hesitated, her eyes wetting in response to Gary's. "I have to handle it."

"You don't have to. You don't have to put yourself through this."

A tear slid down her cheek and Gary reached up to wipe it away as it reached the line of her jaw. Shaking her head, she pushed his hand away. "I will be able to handle it and even if I can't, it still doesn't matter. I want you to stay with me. So please Gary, stay."

Closing his eyes, Gary gave in, nodding. Smiling, though the tears were still falling, Chris reached out and squeezed his hand.

After that nod, Gary hadn't argued anymore, but it had also seemed like some of the life and spirit had gone out of him; Chris felt guilty for taking that away from him, but she still felt this was for the best.

Blinking, she pushed the memory and the guilt away, looking up to see Judy continuing to watch her over the top of her mug.

Chris took another sip of the coffee, grimacing. "Honestly, Judy. Do you put coal in this coffee?"

Judy smiled, but it was not her usual genuine smile. "My secret little ingredient. Love, you sure you can handle this?"

Chris raised herself up in her seat. "I...I don't know. But I am going to try."

Judy nodded, downing the last of her coffee and taking both of their cups back into the kitchenette. "Well, anytime you need to have a chat or a cry, you know where I am."

"Thank you. It's nice to know I have support."

Judy came back into the office and started rummaging through her bookshelf. After a few minutes, she pulled out a stack of crumpled and different coloured pieces of paper and dumped it on the desk next to Chris.

"And just to make sure you do come back, some of the other residents had some questions."

Chris looked down at the pages and saw financial questions written in broken English and badly spelt-words. She picked up the stack of pages and held them to her chest, a badge of honour, a simple raft she could hold onto, a perfect excuse to visit Judy.

She stood up and kissed Judy on the cheek, but Judy pushed her away, shaking her head and blushing. "Enough of that, pet. You'll have me crying. Now off with you, and don't forget Gary's stuff, it's been cluttering up this place for too long.

Chris touched her arm again in thanks. Dropping the questions from the residents into the box with Gary's belongings, she left the office, the cold air outside slapping her in the face and helping to wake her up almost as much as Judy's coffee.

As she pulled out of the parking lot and drove back to the hospital, she smiled. Gary was coming home tomorrow. Coming home to her.
12 July 1998

_We carry those ripples forward into other people's lives and so they live on_

In our hearts, our minds, our memories, the way they changed who we are, they live on

I only came into their world recently and suffice it to say it was a pretty rocky start.

And even now when I have to say goodbye I don't regret a minute of it.

Chris opened the boot of her car and took out the two plastic garbage bags that held the sum total of Gary's life.

The two bags contained a few shirts, shorts, underwear, socks and a jumper. A pair of thongs pushed against the plastic in the bag that also contained a few books and his wallet. His only other pair of shoes, his sneakers, had been on him when he was admitted to hospital.

She closed the boot and looked at the passenger door. He had not opened it. She hesitated, worried he would refuse to get out of the car.

She saw through the window that he was staring forward. She assumed he was thinking as the only thing visible through the windscreen was the brick wall of the underground carpark for her apartment building.

After a torturous amount of time, he opened the door. Chris let out the breath she was not aware she had been holding.

He started to get out of the car and she moved forward to steady him. She thought he might be indignant about her offer of help but his legs trembled slightly and she saw gratitude on his face.

They walked over to the carpark elevator and she hit the button for her floor. They did not speak. Chris wanted to bounce on the balls of her feet in equal parts nervousness and excitement but willed her body to be still. Gary just stood there breathing heavily, the short walk enough to exhaust him.

The lift opened and they made the short walk to the front door of her apartment. Unlocking the door, she pushed it open in front of her and held her arm up in a flourish.

"Welcome to casa de Christine," she said, hopefully.

Gary smiled and walked inside.

Her apartment was immaculate. She had spent most of yesterday cleaning each of the rooms from top to bottom. She knew he probably would not care but it felt important to her. She had occasionally had a friend stay over but had never lived with anyone before.

Even if this was not how she had pictured her living with someone, it still excited her. It felt grown-up, something that should have happened years ago.

She closed the door behind her and guided Gary to a couch that dominated her lounge room. It was a large three-seater with a tartan print cloth. Two smaller leather armchairs were pushed into the corners and a leather two seater was wedged next to the wall and the entertainment unit.

Gary sat down heavily on the couch, his hand instantly splaying out and rubbing the scratchy fabric. He looked around the room and smiled.

"Not sure about your decorating style," he said. "The couch kind of sticks out like dog's balls."

Christine felt her back tense. She felt proud of the couch despite having to acknowledge that it was quite ugly. It had been the only sofa bed the furniture store had in stock and could deliver before Gary was discharged. "I think it looks nice."

Gary shrugged. "I didn't realise your family was Scottish. Your parents must be proud you so boldly promote your clan's tartan. Is this where I will be sleeping?"

Chris relaxed as she realised that Gary had only been joking and not critical. "You get the bed," she said and pointed up a hall to where her bedroom and the bathroom was. "You were the one who almost died so I felt you deserved it."

Gary shook his head and looked down. "I don't deserve any of this, Chris."

Christine sighed and sat down next to him. Before speaking she readjusted her skirt so the sofa's fabric was not itching her leg. "We have been through this, Gary, and I don't want discuss it again. You are staying here."

Gary nodded and reached over to squeeze her hand in thanks.

She looked at his two garbage bags of possessions next to the door. "I cleaned out a set of drawers in the bedroom for you but you may only need one drawer."

He looked over at the bags himself and grunted. "Two bags? I didn't think I had that many clothes."

"One has your books and thongs in it."

Gary shook his head. "They weren't my books. They belonged to the hostel. You're gonna have my parole revoked for theft."

Chris sucked in a sharp breath, her mind thinking about how quickly she could have them returned to Judy when she saw Gary chuckling. She glared at him.

"That's not funny, Gary," she said. "I want this to be perfect."

He reached out and squeezed her hand again. "Chris, you just let a dying man come stay in your apartment. You have a disgustingly ugly and very itchy couch sitting in your lounge room like a giant Scottish turd. I don't think that this can be perfect but it is better than I could have imagined."

She squeezed his hand and covered it with her other one. His hand felt icy cold and she noticed that he was shivering. "Let me put the air-con on to heat and make some dinner."

He nodded and she left him on the tartan sofa. She went into the kitchen and started making some soup.

She tried to stop herself but she kept poking her head around the corner, checking to see if he had tried to make a run for it. On the third time, she realised he had fallen asleep.

She went back into the kitchen and kept cooking. She smiled. He was right; the ugly sofa and the sick man in her apartment were not perfect but it was a good thing. She had not had a headache in four days.

* * *

Father Frank Thomas Burton sat in his car, staring impotently out through the windshield as the rain sheeted down. Gary had not been there. Another man was living in his room at the hostel and he had not taken kindly to being woken up so late.

He had only just found out his son had been in hospital; George and Emily mentioning at the evening service he had become quite unwell and Christine had been spending a lot of time at the hospital.

He had felt an urge to try and make contact again, if only to see Gary one more time in case he died. He had called the hospital and been told Gary had been discharged. He had come to the hostel only to find Gary no longer lived there. The guy living in his room had called the office manager, someone named Judy, who had told him Gary had moved in with a woman who had been visiting him. She did not say who, but he knew it was Christine.

Gary was in good hands, being taken care of. He had contemplated going to Christine's but the thought of not only confronting Gary, but Christine as well, was too intimidating.

So, he sat in his car, watching the rain beat down on the windscreen, slowly being obscured as the glass fogged up. He had nowhere to go, nowhere to be. So instead he sat, and he watched, and he prayed.
17 July 1998

_In our hearts, our minds, our memories, the way they changed who we are, they live on_

I only came into their world recently and suffice it to say it was a pretty rocky start.

And even now when I have to say goodbye I don't regret a minute of it.

So, let us remember the good times

"It is the sofa bed, isn't it?"

Chris looked over at Gary who was sitting up in her bed, an annoyed expression on her face. Reflexively, she stopped knuckling the small of her back and let her hand fall to her side. "What are you talking about?"

"The sofa bed; it is giving you a sore back."

"No, the sofa bed is fine."

"Then why do you keep rubbing your back?"

"Because it's sore."

"Because of the sofa bed."

"No, not because of the sofa bed."

"Then why is it sore?"

"It is sore because of the...it's just sore. Have you taken your cough medicine yet?"

Gary held up the empty medicine cup, widening his eyes to make them childlike. Chris rolled her eyes. As she took the medicine cup to wash it out, she had to stop herself from rubbing her back again.

"Chris, come lie down and I will give you a massage."

She paused. "A...a massage?"

"Yes, a massage. They are wonderful things. They were developed by a guy named Sven from 'Sveden'. They help relieve sore backs."

Chris rolled her eyes again. "When did you learn to give massages?"

"I took a course while I was in school."

"You took a course?"

"Yeah, it seemed interesting at the time."

"Well, thanks anyway, but I don't need one."

Gary rolled his eyes at her this time, shaking his head as if she was being unreasonable.

She sat on the edge of the bed, allowing her back to rest. Chris noticed a tissue had fallen off the bedside table; as she leant down to pick up the tissue, she could not stifle the groan.

"Chris, just go get some bloody oil or moisturiser and lie down."

"Gary, I really..."

"I don't care. You owe me."

"What do you mean I owe you?"

"You gave away my room at the hostel and forced me to stay here. You can do something I tell you to for a change."

Chris looked at him, hesitant.

"Chris, I am giving you a massage because your back is sore. You don't have to be naked or anything."

Chris blushed, nodding. Going into the bathroom, she brought back a bottle of moisturiser and placed it on the bed side table.

"Now take off your shirt and lie down."

"What, you just said I didn't have to be naked?" she said, mortified.

"How is wearing a bra and undies and pants and socks naked? It will just be like your top half is going to the beach and you are wearing a bikini. I will turn around while you do it. But I cannot massage you through your shirt."

Gary turned to face the other way, taking the bottle of moisturiser and pouring some into his hands.

Chris did not move, nervous. As he rubbed the lotion between his palms to warm it, she shook her head and removed her blouse. "Are you ready?"

She lay down on the bed, her arms lying tightly down her sides, her head facing away and her heart in her throat. "Y...yes."

Warming the lotion a little more, he turned and slowly started working on her lower back, identifying the knots within the muscles and easing the tension out of them.

Involuntarily, Chris started to relax. "You really are pretty good at this, aren't you?"

"Like I said, I took a course."

"They taught massage at your school."

"No, they taught it at TAFE."

"And what made you interested in taking it?"

"Claire. I was always giving her massages and she liked them, so one day she said maybe I should take a course to increase my repertoire."

Feeling his hands slow on her back, she turned her head, so she could look at him. "You still love her, don't you?"

Gary stared at her back, his hands moving methodically as he thought. "I don't think I could ever stop loving her. I was going to marry her. But she is dead, and there was nothing I could do about it. But yes, I suppose I do still love her."

"When did she die?"

Gary was silent for a moment longer. Reaching up, he undid the strap of her bra as it was in the way. A small voice in her head started shrieking at this but she ignored it as he spoke. "I'm not sure. I stopped contact with her; it was too hard, knowing I had infected her."

"Are you sure she was infected?"

"Chris, we were sleeping together."

"I know that, but sometimes people can have unprotected sex without infecting the other person."

"True, it is possible, but not very common."

"Did you ever find out for sure she had been infected?"

Gary stared off into space for a while before answering. "I told her when she came to visit me in prison. The next visit, she confirmed it."

"I don't understand; I thought it took a long time for a person to reach a highly contagious stage."

"When someone first contracts HIV, their body is completely invaded by the virus and the viral load stays high until the immune system wakes up and starts fighting it. Then the viral load drops right down and only increases as the immune system is progressively damaged. Downside is that for the first few months after being infected, the few months where you have no idea, you are highly contagious; which is how it spreads so fast."

Gary stared off into space, his fingers kneading a particularly stubborn knot just above her left shoulder blade. "We had just gotten engaged, like I told you. Claire had gone on the pill to make sure she would not get pregnant just in case we did decide to have sex.

"We didn't have to worry about STDs because both of us were virgins. So, after I proposed and we both knew we would only be with each other, we felt there was no reason not to. On our holiday, we found a small cove up near the headland that was hidden from the main beach and made love there for the first time.

"It was on the way back from that holiday that we came across the accident and I pulled Danny from the car. Because we had only just started having sex, it was new and exciting and we were having sex as often as we could, always without condoms."

Chris turned slightly onto her side, one arm pulled in close to her side to cover her breasts as her other hand reached out to take his.

"Gary, you can't blame yourself for Claire's death. How could you know you had been infected?"

Gary nodded, pressing his thumb into his eye to press a tear back inside. "I know that. But it doesn't change the fact she became infected because of me. If I hadn't pulled him from the car, if I hadn't had sex with her . . . "

Chris remained silent, knowing it was theoretically true.

Shaking his head, Gary pulled his hand away and returned to massaging her shoulders. Moving back to lie on her stomach, Chris lay there, silent, waiting for him to speak again. "When she came to the police station, she could not believe I had killed him. She couldn't stop crying, pleading with me to tell her it was all a lie. I...I was so cold towards her. I figured it would be best for her if she thought I was a monster.

"I told her I had cheated on her. I told her I didn't love her anymore and I didn't want to marry her. When she asked me why I killed Danny, I told her it was because the woman I was cheating on her with was also sleeping with him and I got jealous.

"She worked out the truth once I told her I was HIV positive. She wouldn't believe that I had slept with someone else. She said I should tell the judge, but I didn't. I was still so raw from dad walking out. She kept visiting though, right up until they moved me to another prison – you get moved a lot in prison – and I did not put her on the phone or attendance list so she did not know where I had transferred to.

"I can still see her face, when she confirmed she was HIV positive. I was such a coward; she was dealing with me being in prison and then the diagnosis and I just shut her out, unable to deal with the grief. Such a fucking prick" His voice was so quiet Chris could barely hear it, the sound of his words being drowned out by his ragged intake of breath.

Gary could not hide the tears now, his voice quavering as he tried to fight it.

Chris rolled over, tears in her own eyes, sitting up to embrace him. Pressing him tight against her, she pushed his head onto her shoulder, stroking his hair as he let his emotions go. Eyes closed, she felt his tears wetting the bare skin of her back, burning her. She held him there, not letting go until he was spent and then holding him still.

"Chris, you do realise the only thing between you and me is a tee shirt and an undone bra?" Gary asked, in what she assumed was a way to change the subject.

Chris nodded, still stroking his hair. "Which is nowhere near as important as what you must be going through."

Gary laughed for a moment, before constricting his throat muscles to stop the coughing from starting. "What happened to the Christine Goldstrom that came into my room a few months back?"

Chris thought about it and flames started to burn her cheeks as she realised she was not entirely comfortable with the situation. "I guess she grew up. Ah...could you turn your head to look the other way?"

Gary turned his head, letting his arms fall to his sides from where they had been holding her, his eyes never leaving the wall until she told him it was ok to look. She lay back down on the bed and he continued, focusing on her neck and shoulders.

"You know, it would be great if your hair was a little shorter or a little longer."

"Why is that?"

"Well if it was shorter, it wouldn't get in my bloody way and if it was longer, then you could tie it up, so it wouldn't get in my bloody way."

Chris smiled, faintly. She didn't like to think of her hair. "I lost most of it to the chemo. I promised myself I would never cut it again after they gave me the all clear. It has taken three years to get to this length. "

"Well I wish it would grow faster."

"Just shut up and massage," she demanded and he laughed. She lay there, more naked than she had ever been in front of a man, enjoying the sensations as the tensions that had been building for months were slowly pushed away, kneaded into relaxation.
20 July 1998

_I only came into their world recently and suffice it to say it was a pretty rocky start._

And even now when I have to say goodbye I don't regret a minute of it.

So, let us remember the good times

Let us revel in the past

Gary watched Christine as she moved about the lounge room, straightening the magazines on the coffee table. She smoothed the afghan throw rug she had bought that morning and draped over the sofa bed, hiding its horrible pattern beneath soft grey wool.

In the kitchen, three pots were simmering away on the stove and the wall oven glowed as a chicken was slowly roasted inside.

Nodding, she moved into the dining room and moved one of the wine glasses, so it was in line with its counterpart on the other side.

'God, I could use some wine,' she thought to herself as she stared at the Swarovski crystal. She didn't go and get a glass, though she had had a bottle of Riesling chilling in the fridge since that morning.

She moved to the kitchen and checked on her cooking. It was going fine, nothing was burning or needed stirring. Pressing her hands to her stomach, she moved back into the lounge room where she saw Gary smiling at her.

"What is so funny?"

"You are, I have never seen you look so nervous before."

"Are you sure about that? I was pretty nervous that day Mr Sevido came."

"True, but you weren't flustered like this. It's like watching a bird hop around everywhere."

She gave him a dirty look and he laughed. "Sit down already. They aren't going to be here for another ten minutes."

Her face paled, 'I only have ten minutes?' Shaking her head, she sat down on the sofa bed.

Gary watched her from the suede armchair in the corner. A green-and-yellow crocheted blanket was wrapped around his legs; she had seen it at the markets being sold as a 'nanna blanket' and had thought it would be hilarious to see Gary with it.

He hadn't felt as amused, but he did admit it helped to keep him warm. Warm, she felt like she was inside the oven with the chicken. The thermostat on her split-cycle air conditioner was set to its highest setting and she could feel sweat trickling down her back.

She looked across at Gary, at his pale face, sunken cheeks, and saw him shiver. Wiping her brow with her sleeve, she reminded herself she was comfortable with the warmth.

"Why are you so nervous? Don't your parents come over for dinner a lot?"

Chris blinked at the questions. "I'm not nervous. "

Gary looked at her, his dark irises piercing her. "They don't know I am staying here, do they?"

Chris blushed. "No, as a matter of fact, they do not. But that doesn't matter, it is my home and I choose who gets to live here."

But even with saying that, she felt her stomach knot even tighter and she had to fight the desire to go to the bathroom. In the back of her head, she could feel a headache brewing.

There was a knock at the door and she yelped, involuntarily, springing from her chair as if caught doing something inappropriate. Gary chuckled from his chair in the corner.

She went to the door and opened it, letting her parents inside.

"Hello darling, how are you - good Lord, why is it so hot in here?" George asked as he came into the apartment.

Chris smiled, nervously. "It's hot? I didn't notice."

George looked at her as if she was insane, but her mother pushed him further in so Chris could shut the door. The cold air from outside was like a balm for her, but even as she relished the chill, she closed the door all the quicker to keep the heat within the apartment.

Her parents made their way into the kitchen and her father placed his keys on the counter, shrugging out of his jacket and leaning it over one of the kitchen stools. Her mother took off her cardigan and did the same.

They hadn't seen Gary, and Chris foolishly hoped it would stay that way. She looked over to where he was sitting and he smiled at her, remaining silent.

She was surprised at that; Gary always liked to stir trouble. Her brow creased, and she continued to look at him until George noticed where she was looking. When he saw Gary, he started, taking a step backward.

"Hello, we have company," he said as he smiled and made his way over to Gary. He extended his hand and Gary pushed himself out of the chair, shaking it. "Hi, my name is George."

"Gary." Gary said as he shook his hand then collapsed back into the chair, shaking his head as if he was dizzy.

"Not feeling well? It's probably the heat in this place." George said cheerily. "Christine, why in God's name is it so hot in here?"

Gary spoke and George went silent; Chris marvelled at Gary's ability to do that. He spoke barely louder than a whisper and yet people stopped to listen. "She is keeping it this hot for my benefit."

George raised his hand to scratch at his chin. "Got the flu?"

"No, AIDS, and your daughter is worried if I get too cold, it will kill me."

Chris closed her eyes, wishing she could beat Gary over the head, wishing she could have cancelled this bloody dinner. When she opened them, Gary was watching her, a small smirk on his face. 'Maybe he hadn't changed that much', she thought.

"You're Gary...you're Gary Burton," came her mother's voice from beside her, incredulous.

Her father started again, this time taking two steps back. "You invited him to dinner?"

Chris did not respond, waiting for Gary to finish dropping his bombshells. "Yes, I hope you don't mind. Your daughter told me you were a pharmacist and I was a little worried about all these medications I am on and whether they might be interacting with each other. She suggested I come to dinner and I agreed."

Chris watched him, waiting for him to make another comment but he didn't. He just drew the crochet blanket back up over his legs from where it had slipped when he stood up to shake her father's hand.

George stood there for a moment, a blank look on his face, before shrugging his shoulders and sitting down on the sofa bed. He was still so surprised with Gary being there, he hadn't noticed the new piece of furniture. "Ok, what would you like to know?" he asked.

Chris breathed a sigh of relief and turned to her mother. "Do you want to help me in the kitchen mum?"

Emily pursed her lips together but relented and followed her into the kitchen.

Turning off the stove, Chris pulled several large spoons out a drawer and handed them to her mother, who started transferring the peas and mashed potato and other vegetables into the serving bowls.

Chris was taking the chicken out of the oven, listening to the soft babble of conversation from her father and Gary, when her mother spoke. "I don't think there is enough pumpkin soup here for all of us, if you were planning to have it as an entrée."

Chris's stomach flipped over; she was impressed at how her mother could put so much judgement and questioning into a simple, innocent statement.

"The soup is for Gary."

"Good thinking, I would not trust him with a knife either."

Chris felt the heat rising in her chest, matching the heat of the apartment. "That isn't funny, mum. The fact of the matter is he can only eat soft foods; he has oesophageal candida."

"Oesophageal what?"

She took out a carving knife from out of the knife block on the bench and turned to face her mother. "Candida . . . thrush; he has oral thrush and it has extended into his throat. It is very common for people with AIDS. The medication has finally started to work but it is still painful for him to swallow."

Emily shuddered and Chris felt her blood rising again. Instead, she picked up a pair of tongs and with the knife, started carving the chicken. Within minutes, it had been neatly sectioned into eight pieces plus the oysters and she had taken a spoon to scrape out the stuffing.

Her mother had finished putting the vegetables into the serving dishes and ladled Gary's soup into a bowl. Chris smiled, forcedly, and picked up the serving platter with the chicken sections and carried them into the dining room, her mother following behind with the tray of other serving dishes.

"Dinner is served, gentlemen," she said into their conversation and they stopped speaking abruptly.

Her father stood up and inhaled deeply, over the top. "It smells delicious, honey." Chris helped Gary get out of the chair. When he had his footing, she stepped away and let him walk to the dining room. As she moved away, she saw her mother watching her.

Gary sat down in front of the soup, his eyes on the rest of the food in front of him. "It must be horrible to see all that food and not be able to have any." Emily said, watching Gary.

Chris's face darkened and George, seeing the tension building in her eyes, sat down at his place quickly.

Swallowing, she pushed the anger down and forced a smile onto her lips. "Actually, I think I would prefer to be having the soup," she said. "It's amazing how nice soup can be. And there is such a variety to soft foods: soup, broth, custard, jellies."

"Baby food."

Chris was about to yell at her mother until she realised it had been Gary that had spoken. Her eyes widened and he chuckled.

"To be honest, Mrs Goldstrom, I would love a bit of chicken right now. But the only way I could eat that would be if you stuck it in a blender first, and it really doesn't look appetising after that."

Chris sat, enjoying watching the colour leaving her mother's face. She picked up her knife and fork and turned to her father asking him to say grace. As her dad gave thanks, she looked at Gary, who had his eyes closed. She turned to watch her mother and saw her still staring at Gary.

George finished speaking and they started to eat, serving themselves from the food in the centre and digging in. Gary watched them, slowly sipping on his soup. Her father seemed content to eat, heaping his plate with extra peas and mashed potato. Emily barely touched her food; instead she continued to watch Gary as if he could at any moment kill them all using only his soup spoon.

After a while, apparently satisfied he was not going to murder them, she turned to look at Chris. "I suppose you are no longer working at the Diocese?"

Chris filled her mouth with peas so she could not talk and gave her mother a look of apology, the sincerity clearly lacking. Her mother pursed her lips and waited. Swallowing, Chris took a sip of her wine before responding, "I am taking some annual leave."

Emily put down her knife and fork. "Interesting how you are taking annual leave when you don't have any left. Why not just be truthful and say you are on leave without pay?"

George looked at his daughter, a forkful of chicken hovering in front of his mouth. Chris sighed, having forgotten her mother had spies everywhere. "Alright, yes, I am taking leave without pay. But I had some money saved up, so I am not in any trouble."

Her father put down his fork, the chicken still untouched. "Christine, that money was to be for a deposit on a house, you can't just be frittering it away."

"I am not frittering it away, dad."

"Not going to work isn't really the most conservative saving strategy."

Gary coughed, interrupting them. "You do not have to worry about your daughter and money. She will be well compensated for helping me."

Emily dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. "What exactly is that meant to mean, Mr Burton?"

"It means exactly what I said; I have some money which I plan to give your daughter to help pay for the time she is taking to look after me."

George harrumphed, "I'm sorry lad, but I doubt you have enough saved to subsidise a person's wages."

"I have about 85 thousand; pretty sure that should cover it."

Chris' jaw dropped. "You have that much money and you were staying at the River Gardens? With no treatment or proper care?"

Gary shrugged his shoulders. "It suited my needs, so why waste good money."

Emily took a sip of her wine and placed her glass back on the table hard, the crystal chiming. "I don't think I would like my daughter having your money."

Gary's face coloured, spots of red on the pasty skin of his forehead. "And why is that?"

She laughed as if the question did not need to be asked. "Who knows how you came by that money, it could get her into trouble."

"It was an inheritance from my great aunt. She never had children of her own. I was to receive the money when I turned 21, but I got locked up. So instead it just sat there and earned interest. I was going to give it to a charity, but after everything your daughter has done for me, I plan to give it to her."

"And what exactly has she done for you?"

"Mother!"

Emily turned to stare at her daughter, her chin raised. "I am just asking what other sacrifices you have made. You have stopped working and going to church. I am surprised you haven't asked him to move in."

"As a matter of fact, he moved in two weeks ago." She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. She looked across at Gary, and his eyes were closed, his head shaking.

Her father pushed his plate away from him and stood up, walking around the table. He paced a full circle, Emily watching triumphantly, before stopping to look at her and Gary.

"You let him move in? Are you two together? You haven't..."

"No dad, I haven't slept with him. I wanted to make sure he was being looked after properly."

"Well you heard him, Christine," her mother said. "He has 85 thousand dollars; you don't need to spend your time looking after him."

"I...I didn't know he had so much money." Chris swallowed, knowing this was the answer her mother had set her up for.

She didn't speak though, leaving that for George. "And what else do you 'not know' about this man, this stranger you have let into your apartment?"

"I know enough, dad. Money was not an issue."

"But he didn't tell you, did he; what else is he not telling you? You can't trust him, he is a convicted murderer for Pete's sake."

"And he served his time."

"That doesn't mean you can trust him. I mean, how much do you really know about him, about where he comes from?"

Chris stood up, squaring off against her father. "Well as a matter of fact, he-"

"Chris, no." Gary barely spoke above a whisper but it halted her. She looked down and saw him staring into her eyes.

"But if-"

"It is not your place to tell."

"Tell me what?" her father demanded.

Chris stared at Gary but he refused to look away. After a moment, she sighed and nodded. "Never mind."

"No, that is not good enough. Not when you let him move in here and live with you." He stepped towards her and placed his hands in hers. "Honey, you have been through so much in your life, I don't think the stress-"

He didn't get to finish; Christine screamed in his face and pushed him backwards. His foot caught on the leg of a chair and he fell to the ground. Her mother stood up, her hands clasped to her throat in shock; her husband lying dumbfounded on the ground.

"I can handle this; do you understand me! I am sick and tired of everyone handling me with kid gloves, like I am some kind of china doll. You act like I am not capable of making rational decisions."

Her father picked himself up off the floor. "But Christine, this is madness. Why you would do all this just for...for him."

"Why wouldn't I? He is the only one who doesn't treat me like a child, who doesn't hold his punches. It's refreshing. I care about him and want to help him. And more importantly, it is my choice, not yours. "

Her mother dropped her hands from her throat, her face on fire. Chris knew she had a well prepared 'how dare you' guilt trip ready to go, but before she was able to speak, Gary made a strange guttural noise and collapsed, sliding off his chair and crashing to the floor.

Chris cried out in alarm and dropped to his side, lifting him from the ground and dragging him to the bedroom. She kicked the door shut behind her and placed him on the mattress.

As she stood up to get the phone, she saw Gary's eyes open, a grin on his face. She paused, her brow coming down and her arms instinctively crossing themselves.

"You...you just faked that, didn't you?"

Gary nodded. "You weren't going to get anywhere, and the yelling was giving me a headache."

She heard knocking on the door and she shot Gary a dirty look before moving to the door and turning the handle. Her father was on the other side, his face looking concerned. "Is everything ok? Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

Christine wanted to laugh; only minutes before he was angry with her for having anything to do with a convicted killer and now he was showing genuine concern for Gary's wellbeing. Instead, she pushed him back and exited the bedroom, closing the door behind her. "He is just tired, that's all. He needs rest. Could we finish this conversation another time?"

Her mother moved forward as if to speak, but George held his hand up to stop her. "Christine is right, Emily. This is her choice. I...I don't quite understand it, but we should support her in this."

Emily bit her lip, fuming. She did not speak though.

"Thank you, dad," Chris said, "And I am sorry for knocking you over."

Her dad smiled. "You should have played rugby."

Chris laughed and hugged him. She did not feel like continuing with the dinner so asked if they could do it another time. They talked for a few minutes more before seeing them out. By the time she returned to Gary, she thought he would be asleep, but he was still awake.

"Well that was an experience," she said, trying to smile.

"The soup was nice, but I think you need to work on your conversation style."

Chris laughed, nodding. "I didn't think I would knock him over. I guess I don't know my own strength."

"You don't," he said, matter of factly. "Chris, what did he mean about you having gone through enough in your life?"

Chris's hand moved from her neck to press at her temples. When she looked up at Gary, her eyes were red. "He didn't mean anything by it."

"Chris, I know about you having cancer and the hysterectomy, but there's more, isn't there?"

Chris sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I was diagnosed with leukaemia when I was twelve. It went away and came back so I pretty much spent most of high school in and out of hospital. After it finally went into remission, I had three years before I had the cervical cancer diagnosis, which was actually a metastatic cancer. That's why they are always worried about me; they are worried it will come back."

"And has it come back?"

Chris shook her head, "Gary, not you too."

"It is a pretty reasonable question. You have a medicine cabinet that looks like a pharmacy; your hands won't stop shaking sometimes, and you go to the doctors a lot."

Chris smiled and reached forward to hold his hand. "Well I can honestly say my leukaemia is not back."

"You do know that even if you were sick, it would not change anything between us. I have too much fun annoying you to stop for something as irrelevant as a major illness."

Christine smiled. "I will keep that in mind, Mr Moneybags."

Gary looked at her for a long moment, not speaking. "Would knowing I was not poor have made a difference?"

Chris thought about it. "Probably not; I was more focused on you being an arsehole than being rich. Now you need to get some sleep and I need to go clean up."

She leant forward and kissed him on the cheek, leaving him to get undressed and into bed.
24 July 1998

_And even now when I have to say goodbye I don't regret a minute of it._

So, let us remember the good times

Let us revel in the past

Let the memories soothe us

"Tell me about the accident."

Chris felt his hands slowing on her spine. He was giving her another massage; they had become almost a daily routine, and she was sitting forward over a chair, her lower back stretched to make the muscles more accessible. Gary sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward to press the lotion into her skin, to harass and force the muscles to un-knot.

Chris waited, not wanting to press the matter if only for the fact he might stop massaging her and the sofa bed was still causing her back to ache every morning.

"I...we were coming back from a holiday, the one I told you about when Claire and I...well anyway. It was January, stinking hot. There were a lot of bushfires that year on the mid-north coast and I remember thinking if ever there was a day for a bad one, it was a day like this.

"It was windy too, crosswinds made it hard to keep the car going straight. Claire was worried, thinking we should maybe pull over or stop.

"I...I kept going. It was Sunday afternoon and I was hoping to make it home on time so we could go to church. I...I can't believe I was such a fucking loser, but I was a bit worried about the fact we had had sex and wanted to go to church to show God I was still a good little Christian."

Chris didn't respond, waiting for Gary to continue.

"We came around a bend in the freeway and there was Daniel's car, a blue Ford Laser. I had seen car accidents before, but this was insane.

"They told me later Daniel had lost control of the car and had struck the sandstone embankment that marked an off ramp. He had then spun across the road, hitting another car and rolling over a couple of times before landing back the right way up on the median strip.

"When I saw the car, I thought there was no way someone could have survived. The front left of the car was just gone, crushed into the sandstone and strewn across the freeway.

"The roof had caved in, shattering all the windows of the car. The other car he had hit was fine, a cracked front bumper and a broken headlight, but the woman who had been driving was screaming.

"I pulled over and opened the door. I remember feeling the heat hit me, the air so dry it burnt your throat. I could smell smoke, but not bush smoke. It was an oily smell.

"Claire...Claire told me not to go near the car, but I couldn't help it. It's funny, I used to fucking hate rubber-neckers, those people who would slow down and gawk at accidents, but I just had to see.

"At first, I thought he was dead. Like I said, I didn't see how anyone could have survived that crash and he was covered in blood. But then his head moved.

"He groaned, one eye opening and looking straight at me. I didn't see his mouth move, so he must have only whispered it, and I don't know how I heard over that woman from the other car screaming in the background, but I heard his voice, clear as day.

"He said 'help me.' So, I did."

Gary stopped, his hands no longer moving on her back. She stood up, unhooking her leg from around the chair so she could turn and face him, not caring she was only wearing her bra and as usual it had been unclasped for the massage.

She took his hands in hers, her thumbs rubbing slow circles in the thin flesh between his thumb and forefinger. His face was flushed; spots of red where for the past few days she had seen only grey translucent flesh.

Collecting himself, he continued. "I climbed onto the hood of the car; there was no way I was going to be able to get any of the doors open to pull him out so I went in through the windshield.

"I remember the heat beneath my knees, I am not sure if it was hot from the day, the engine, or the fire already starting up inside, but I remember having to force myself to ignore the burning.

"There was glass and bits of twisted metal everywhere and I felt it scratching and cutting me as I crawled in through the windshield. His seat belt was still on, so I had to squeeze into the passenger seat to turn around and unbuckle it.

"Daniel was in shock, his head lolling from side to side and his mouth opening and closing but nothing coming out. I got the seat belt off and pulled at his arms to move him but he wouldn't budge.

"The steering wheel had collapsed inward and a branch from one of the trees in the median strip had come in through the side window and punctured his side.

"So I pulled out the branch; I know you shouldn't do that but I had no idea how I was going to cut the branch away from the tree. As soon as it came out, he just started fucking gushing; blood was everywhere."

He paused again, his eyes filming over. Instinctively, Chris reached up and wiped away his tears.

"I took off my shirt to try and stop the bleeding and it was soaked in seconds. His blood, his dirty fucking blood was pouring over my hands.

"I half climbed back outside the window. I remember hearing Claire screaming at me, screaming about some flames and when I looked at the engine I could see them, little orange flickers that were slowly growing bigger.

"I turned around as best as I could and pulled Daniel into the passenger seat; if I was going to get him out, then he had to go sideways before he could come through the window.

"That's...that's when I got the scars, the bits of glass and metal in the windshield frame and one the bonnet cutting into me. As I got him a little to the left, I would inch back, doing my best to ignore how much it hurt as the cuts grew deeper.

"Slowly, I got him from behind the wheel and started to pull him out through the windscreen. He was almost out when his foot caught on something.

"I stood up outside the car, leaned in and grabbed him under the armpits and yanked that bastard out. I pulled so hard I broke his ankle and we both slid off the hood and onto the ground next to the car.

"I was holding him, his body pressed to mine, his puncture wound sliding against the cuts on my stomach.

"I don't remember much after that except hands pulling me back as the rest of the car went up in flames. I mean I remember it, but it's just a blur; the ambulance coming and taking Daniel away, the fire engine putting out the fire before the wind carried it into the national park.

"I remember a reporter talking to me at the hospital, but all I could think of during that time was Claire, and her screaming for me. I remember her hugging me after they had stitched me up, crushing me angrily to her chest and telling me I was incredibly brave and I should never do that again."

He drifted off into memory and Chris watched him. The colour had again left his face, leaving only pallid skin.

"Gary, how did you find out you were HIV positive?"

"A few months after the accident, the university was having a blood drive and I donated. Three days later, I get a call saying there was an anomaly in my test results and could I come in to provide another sample."

Gary laughed. "I thought maybe they had found out I was anaemic or something. But when I went in for the retest, there was the nurse that had taken my blood the first time, the head of the blood unit, and a frigging counsellor."

"The head of the unit told me straight out their tests indicated I was HIV-positive and they needed another sample. I didn't even feel the needle as she took more blood. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak

"I remember the looks on their faces though; the nurse had a look of pity on her face, the unit leader had a look that said she thought I had known I was HIV positive and had been trying to contaminate their blood supply. The counsellor, well she was just trying to do what counsellors do and look supportive.

"I remember I wanted all of the people out of the room but they said I was not allowed to be left alone. I asked the unit leader to stay; I couldn't stand people feeling pity for me, even then, and the false look of the counsellor shitted me."

"Once I had been given some information and they had booked me in to come back in two days, I left."

Gary stopped talking again, staring off into space.

"It's weird, I stepped out of the blood bank walked down the road and nothing was different. Newcastle had not changed one tiny little bit and it felt like it should have.

"The only thing that did change was me and Claire. I...I couldn't talk to her, I didn't know what to say. I wanted to tell her, but at the same time, that would mean telling her I might have infected her. Instead, I shut her out, I lied to her, saying I had low iron, or I was anaemic or some other bullshit."

Gary shook his head. "I never really got up the courage to tell her, not until after...after what I had done. That whole time though, she was on me, trying to get me to tell her whatever big secret she knew I was holding back. I tried to ignore her and when that didn't work, I yelled at her.

"Hell, I remember one time when I got it into my head that maybe she had infected me. I mean, I hadn't slept around and I didn't use any drugs, so it was only logical I got it from her.

"She came to visit me and I threw her out of the house. I accused her of cheating on me and called her a slut and a whore and said I never wanted to see her again. She...she was crying, begging me to tell her what was wrong and why I was saying those things when I knew they weren't true.

"She was right, too. I knew it was bullshit, I knew I didn't get infected by her, it was just easier to think that then have to tell her the truth, best way to be a coward is to attack everything before it gets too close."

Gary's breathing had become laboured and he leant back onto the bed.

"I...I can't talk anymore...I need rest."

Christine got up from her chair and shifted his legs into the bed. She wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or pretending to be tired so he didn't have to talk anymore. She took his hand back into hers and felt his pulse, weak and thready beneath her fingertips. His eyes were closed and his mouth open, his breath wheezing slightly in his throat.

He was asleep; Chris stood up, unsatisfied with the conversation but knowing it would be hours before he awoke again to talk more.
25 July 1998

_So, let us remember the good times_

Let us revel in the past

Let the memories soothe us

Let them bring about a sense of closure

They had finished breakfast and Gary seemed to have a little more energy today. As she took the dishes into the kitchen, he followed her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I am walking. Why, haven't you seen a man walk on two legs before?"

"I meant why are you following me?"

"Because I want to help."

Chris paused, looking at him. "Don't worry about it, go sit down and take it easy."

Gary looked at her, his jaw set. "I may be sick, and I may be weak, but I am not an invalid. I can help you clean up. I will sit on one of the stools and wipe up."

With that, he got one of the stools and dragged it over to the sink. He had tried to lift it, but he wasn't able to.

Chris watched him move the stool and sit down before she turned on the tap and poured detergent into the sink. She got a tea towel for him to dry with but before she gave it to him, she spoke. "Ok, but on one condition."

"Which is?"

"If you are strong enough to wipe up, then you are strong enough to talk."

"Talk about what?"

"We didn't finish our conversation last night."

Gary's face fell, the small traces of colour left in his skin draining away. "I would really prefer not to."

"'Prefer not' is different to 'cannot'. Your choice, live like an invalid or keep talking." She extended her arm with the tea towel, putting it within his reach but easily able to move it back if he tried to take it.

Gary said "fine" and took the tea towel.

The water had reached the top of the sink and she turned off the tap, opening the cupboard and pulling out some washing up gloves. As she pulled the gloves onto her hands, she turned to look at him.

"I have a question about what you said last night."

"Which is?"

"You said you first thought Claire had cheated on you and that was how you got infected, but then you realised it wasn't true. But that didn't mean you knew it was Daniel."

"Who else could it have been? I hadn't slept with anyone else, I didn't use needles and I hadn't had a blood transfusion, so Sevido was the only one who could have infected me."

She put the first bowl into the water, running the dishcloth around the inside to remove the last of the broth they had had that morning. "Still, I don't think it was enough evidence to kill a man."

She placed the bowl in the dish rack and Gary picked it up, shrouding it in the tea towel. "Of course it wasn't. I made sure it was him before...before what happened."

"How did you make sure?"

He finished drying the bowl and put it on the counter, reaching for the second bowl she had just finished washing up. "I thought it had to have been him, but I had no idea where he lived, how to contact him, anything. All I could remember was he had told me he was a third-year marketing student at Sydney University.

"I told Claire I was going to a men's group meeting; you know, where a bunch of men go away for a week and talk about manly issues and God. I came to Sydney and went to the uni, looking up the tutorials and hanging around at the classes until I found him."

The cutlery was stacking up, untouched. He was still drying the second bowl, the cloth rubbing the same side of the bowl in circles as he became lost in thought. "I went and spoke to him; he didn't remember me at first and I had to bring up the accident. Once I had done that, he was all smiles; introducing me to his friends as the man who had saved his life. He took me out that night to a club, shouting me drinks, trying to convince me to hook up.

"I told him I was engaged and he laughed, saying 'what does that matter? Check out the serious hotties in here man!' I still said no so he went off by himself, picking up some girl." His brow furrowed. "What was her name? Bridget something..."

He put the bowl down and reached for a handful of butter knives and spoons. Chris rinsed out a glass and put it into the dish rack quietly, not wanting to disturb his train of thought.

"He asked me if I was ok to get a cab to my motel and then he left with her. I met up with him the next day as he wanted to show me Sydney; he bragged about the sex they had had. He had gotten her number, but he wasn't interested in her anymore.

"I lied about being interested in her and asked if I could have it; we had spoken a little at the club. He gave it to me as if it was nothing."

"Why did you want her number?"

"Well, by then I was pretty sure he had AIDS; I had been reading up on it like crazy and I was almost certain the bruises on his arm and stomach were Karposi's sarcoma, which is common in people with HIV. I wasn't a hundred percent sure though, so I didn't say anything at the time."

He put the cutlery on the bench and looked down, his hands playing with the tea towel. Chris watched him, remembering the photo she had seen of Daniel at the Sevido's home, remembering what looked like bruises on Daniel but she had thought nothing of it.

She jumped a little when Gary spoke next, not expecting the heat in his voice. "He didn't use a condom, the fucking prick. I called her and asked her and she told me. Then she asked why I wanted to know; what the hell could I say. I said nothing, just that Daniel had gotten some form of infection and thought it might have come from her. She told me to get fucked.

"I feel guilty about her; I used to have nightmares. I would be back in that nightclub and I would see them walking out and I would tell her not to go, not to have sex with him, that he was infected, that he would kill her too. But she couldn't hear me, the music at the club was too loud and he was whispering something in her ears. Sometimes the girl was Claire; sometimes it was me. I had that dream for fucking years . . . I still do sometimes."

Chris reached out to touch his arm, the rubber glove wetting his shirt. "Gary, you just said you weren't sure. Besides, it was Daniel's responsibility, and hers. She had sex with him and should have told him to use a condom."

Gary nodded, shrugging his shoulders at the same time. "I guess, but it doesn't make me feel any less guilty."

Chris stroked his arm once more through his shirt before reaching for the saucepan she had used to heat their broth in that morning. Gary reached out to take a glass to dry and kept speaking.

"I was certain two days later. I was following him, and I saw him go to the chemist. He asked to pick up his script of zidovudine."

"Zidovuine?"

"The chemical name for AZT, the anti-retroviral medication for the treatment of HIV; I heard him say the name when he asked for his script to be filled. He was saying that instead of its brand name Retrovir in case someone heard and knew what it was.

"I left the chemist and went to his house and waited for him."

"That was when you stabbed him?" she asked.

"No, I spoke to him first."

"You spoke to him? The papers said you just walked up and stabbed him."

"I spoke to him. He saw me coming and he smiled and waved. I yelled out to him before he got too close, I screamed 'why didn't you wear a rubber you fucking dog!' He stopped, looking around in case someone else could hear.

"'What the fuck are you talking about?' he said quietly, moving closer so I wouldn't have to yell. I told him I had called Bridget and she had told me they had not used a condom. He said he didn't like using condoms, that it didn't feel as good."

"By that stage he had reached me and I stood in front of him. I put my hand up to stop him, and I told him I knew he was HIV positive. He went white and pushed my hand away, storming past me.

"'I don't know what you are talking about mate, now fuck off,' he said. I grabbed his arm, ripping his bag out of his hand. He tried to stop me but I pushed him away and opened the bag, pulling out the Retrovir.

"I held up the medication and told him to try and explain it. He didn't though, he just slumped his shoulders and nodded. I asked him how long he had known for, and he said for a while. I asked if he had known before the car accident and he nodded.

"I...I was floored by the nod. I never thought he would admit it, I had been sure he didn't know at the time. But the shock did not last for very long before my anger took over.

"I grabbed his shirt by the shoulders and screamed at him, 'why the hell didn't you say anything? I could have taken medication to reduce the chance of infection. I would not have infected my fiancée! I wouldn't be fucking dying!'"

Gary's hands were shaking, his jaw clenched as he spoke. Chris gently took the glass he was meant to be wiping up out of his hand before he could drop it; Gary did not even notice. He was lost in his memory; Chris didn't think she could bring him back to the present even if she wanted to.

"He...he told me he hadn't spoken up because he saw how people with HIV were treated in hospital and he didn't want to be treated that way. He said it was because he knew his parents and fiancée would come and visit him in the hospital after the accident and he didn't want to be put in an AIDS ward where they would find out.

"I said again that he had infected me, and Claire, and possibly that girl Bridget, and he got angry. He said he felt guilty about me, because I didn't deserve it, but he didn't feel guilty about the others.

"'So fucking what about them,' he said. 'That bitch should have made me wear a rubber. She chose to take the risk.'

"I...I couldn't speak. I just stared at him in confusion, not understanding how someone could use that as a justification. And he looked at me, with such a righteous look on his face, like he was blameless, and said it wasn't his fault that Claire was infected because I should have used a condom. He said it was my fault she was HIV-positive.

"That did it for me. It was at that moment I decided I was going to kill him, and I did."

"I thought you had already decided to kill him?" Chris asked.

Gary shook his head.

"But you had already bought the knife?" She said, confused.

"The knife...it wasn't for him," Gary said, his eyes filming over. "It was for me. I had decided that after confronting Daniel, I was going to find some beach somewhere and cut my wrists, empty my dirty blood into the ocean before it could do any more damage."

"You were going to kill yourself?"

He nodded, the tears still coming. "Funny huh, after I went to prison, I could never work up the courage to do it, but before I killed Daniel, I was ready to go."

"What stopped you from going through with it after you had stabbed Daniel?"

"After I...after I had killed him, I looked down at the knife and it was covered in his blood. I knew that no matter how much I washed it, there would still be some trace of him on the blade, and there was no way I was going to let any more of his blood inside me."

He broke down completely then; the emotions of the memory sweeping him away. Occasionally he would sob a name; Claire, Bridget, once he even said her name. Chris let him cry, taking off the rubber gloves and holding him while he grieved, though she was unsure if it was for the past, for those who had died, for those who would die, for his own impending death.

Chris held him for a long time, letting him lose himself in his past, letting him cry. She cried as well and it seemed to make things better, for a while.
29 July 1998

_Let us revel in the past_

Let the memories soothe us

Let them bring about a sense of closure

Let us put aside our anger, our pain, our sorrow

Christine closed her eyes, enjoying Gary's hands on her shoulders, on her neck; the daily ritual massage. She was sitting on the floor between his legs; without a shirt and her bra undone as usual. By now she barely felt self-conscious.

His hands felt good on her neck and as she relaxed, she looked over at the alarm clock beside the bed.

"It's time for your medicine," she said, cutting off the massage. She slipped on a shirt, leaving her bra undone, always facing away from him, before getting up. She came back with the cough syrup and the PCP medication. She did not think he needed the cough medicine anymore as his cough was better than at any time she had known him, but she made him take it anyway.

Gary motioned for her to sit back down on the floor and she did. She pointed at her neck and leant her head forward. Gary mumbled something about her being bossy and started to work his fingers into the nape of her neck.

"How come we have never discussed any of your boyfriends?" Gary asked as he pressed his thumbs into the bottoms of her skull.

"Because it would be a short conversation," she replied.

"Why is that?"

"I haven't had any."

"None?" Gary asked, sounding incredulous.

"Nope. None."

"Not even when you were at school?"

"I got sick when I was in Year Seven. By the time I was thirteen I was bald and looked like a corpse. Needless to say, there weren't many takers."

"What about some of the other sick teenagers?"

Chris smiled bitterly. "There was one boy there, his name was Ashton. I had a major crush on him and used to find excuses to talk to him when we were there for chemo at the same time. But he was not interested. Just because he was hairless and sick did not mean he wanted to date someone who looked the same."

"What happened to him?"

Chris shrugged. "One day he stopped coming to the hospital. Dad told me later his treatment hadn't worked."

A silence fell over them and Christine closed her eyes, letting her body focus on the feeling of his fingers slowly pushing down either side of her spine until they reached the hem of her pants.

"Any other crushes?" Gary asked, breaking the silence.

Chris paused for a moment, thinking.

"There was a guy that used to be at our church. I met him when I was about 18 and the leukaemia was finally in remission. His name was Rami. He had the most amazing brown eyes and I believed at the time he was the one I was meant to marry."

"What happened?"

"Well, he was 28 and married with a child on the way, so not much."

"Fair enough."

"I have been on a few dates," Chris said, feeling like she needed to defend her pathetic record in some way. "but it never seemed to click. To be honest, the most passionate kiss I've had was with you."

She felt his hands slow on her neck, and she imagined he was remembering the kiss in the garden, a collage of blood and anger, like she was at that moment.

"I am sorry then."

"Gary, what do you have to be sorry for?"

"Well it wasn't what you would call a great kiss."

"I don't know about that. A kiss should be memorable and I am certainly not going to forget that anytime soon. And it was spontaneous, another good thing in a kiss."

"Chris, my face was covered in blood."

"Well, yes, I could have done without that."

"Sorry. The next time you kiss me without any warning whatsoever, I will make sure I have a clean face."

"Or maybe if you just kept your face clean, I could kiss you any time I wanted."

"That sounds rational, except for one problem."

"What's that?"

"That would involve me caring about hygiene."

Chris smiled. "Then I guess we won't ever be kissing again then."

Chris felt his hands start to massage her scalp. Closing her eyes, she was startled when Gary spoke again.

"Chris, why did you kiss me?"

"I had to prove a point."

"Don't you think it was a bit extreme?"

"With you, Gary, everything is extreme. Fight or flight and all that stuff; it's in our nature to either attack or run away when confronted with an aversive situation."

"Am I an aversive situation?"

"Not anymore, you don't swear as much."

"Shit, I am sorry. I never realised my fucking swearing bothered you."

Chris smiled. "It was pretty fucking annoying actually, Gary."

Gary laughed, going silent for a while as his hands moved off her head and down beneath her shoulder blades. She moved her arms away from her body, so he could reach down the sides of her ribcage.

She felt his hands on the inside of her bra, his fingers only inches from her breasts. A small part of her mind registered this with alarm while another part felt completely safe. It was not sexual, even if they were talking about kissing.

"That doesn't answer my question." Gary said.

"Of why I kissed you?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I don't know. I wanted to shock you. I wanted to prove a point; I don't know. I just did it."

Gary went silent again, his hands moving from her ribs and up her back and neck and onto her head. His fingers glided through her hair, pressing gently into her skull. "Do you ever think you are missing out?"

"By not kissing you more?"

"By being single? By looking after me instead of trying to find Mr Right"

"And what exactly am I missing?"

"Well . . . you know . . . "

"Not everyone craves sex, Gary."

"Oh sure, everyone knows you're a hardcore nympho deep down. Don't think I didn't see the rubber maid's uniform in your closet."

"Of course you did, it was next to the leather riding crop and the huge stack of dirty magazines, wasn't it?"

Gary laughed. "But seriously, I don't just mean the sex. I mean all the other stuff as well, the intimacy of just holding someone or kissing them."

Chris shrugged. "I don't know. I have never really found a person to do that with, so I can't really miss something I've never had."

Gary hands reached for either side of the bra and redid the clasp. "Well, I guess we are different, because I miss the hell out of all of it. But either way, I am pretty sure all of the knots have been worked out and it is time for bed."

Chris nodded, pulling her shirt over her head once again. Standing, she felt Gary reach out and grab her arm. She turned to look at him; his face seemed serious. "Gary, what are you doing?"

"I am stopping you from going and sleeping on that foldout. Every bloody night you sleep on it and I spend hours the next day getting all the kinks out of your spine. I am not going to let you go and ruin all my hard work again."

"And where do you suppose I sleep?"

"In your bed; I will sleep on the foldout."

"Gary, no. You need to get proper rest."

"So do you. I am not letting you sleep on that foldout."

"Well, I am not letting you either."

"So what then; we sleep together?"

Chris paused, looking at the queen-sized bed. She sucked her lower lip in her mouth as she considered. "It is pretty big."

"Chris, don't be silly. Take the bed and I will take the foldout."

"Gary, I said no."

"Then again, what are we going to do?"

Chris thought, looking at Gary. "Do you snore?"

"No, but I do cough frequently."

"Actually, you haven't coughed in a day and a half," she said absently. Crossing her arms, she noticed her right hand to twitching slightly.

She squeezed it between her left arm and her ribs, breathed deeply and said, "I get the left side."

She watched as he sat back down on the bed, swinging his legs in and pulling the covers over them. When he was settled, she started to walk out of the room.

"Christine Goldstrom, don't think I won't come out there." Gary said in a mock-stern voice.

"I am getting my pillow you idiot," she called back. She went into the lounge room and picked up her pillow. She paused, looking at the tartan sofa. It was uncomfortable and an absolute pain pulling out each night and putting away each morning.

Turning, she made her way through the apartment, turning off the lights. She turned the air-conditioning down; happy Gary no longer needed the house to be like a sauna and made her way back to the bedroom.

Her phone was flashing on the dining table and she picked it up and read the message. It confirmed everything was arranged to meet tomorrow morning. She felt a pit form in her stomach briefly and the right hand shook harder.

She texted back 'ok' and put the phone down. Slowly, clutching the pulled in front of her, she re-entered the bedroom.

Hesitantly, she moved around to the left side of the bed as Gary watched her. He asked again if she was sure she wanted to do this and when she nodded, shook his head.

Sliding under the covers, Chris reached over and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

They lay there, silent.

"Well, this is awkward, isn't it?" Gary said.

"It is. Maybe we should talk."

"What about?"

"I don't know. Have you had sex since you were released?"

"What the hell kind of question is that for two people sleeping in the same bed for the first time?"

Christine shrugged before realising her could not see it in the dark. "I don't know, you said before you missed the hell out of it, so I am just asking if you did."

"And who would have sex with me? The 'hi, I'm a convicted killer with AIDS' pickup line just ain't pulling them in like it used to."

"You could have...you could have paid for someone."

"I can't believe you are asking me this."

"Well, have you?"

"No, I have not visited a prostitute. I said I missed the intimacy. I didn't mean I miss the sex."

"You don't miss having sex?"

"Chris, I remember when I used to lead you around in little circles. What the hell happened?"

"You got nicer."

"No, you just got meaner."

"You didn't answer my question."

"You and your fucking questions. Fine, I suppose I do miss the sex, but no more than any of the other stuff."

"Like what?"

"What do you mean like what?"

"Give me an example of what you miss. What do you miss the most?"

Gary thought, the silence hanging in the darkness between them. "Well this, actually; just sleeping next to someone. Claire and I used to do it all the time because our parents didn't think we were having sex. At the time we weren't, but we loved just lying next to each other, kissing and talking until we fell asleep."

As he finished speaking, the quiet filled the room again.

She could sense him next to her in the way the mattress dipped slightly to her right. She noticed the way that the doona did not drop down but continued across to his body, leaving an empty space and then his arm, his leg, him.

Her stomach started churning again but not for the same reason as the text message.

In the darkness, she shook her head resolutely and softly said "Gary?"

"Yeah, Chris?" His voice came back equally soft. Not like he was drifting off; more that he was matching her mood.

"You had a shower today, didn't you?"

"Yeah, why?" he said, sounding confused. "Worried I am going to stink up the sheets?"

Before Gary could say anything else, she moved to close the space. Her left hand, the one that was dependably still, reached up and found his head in the darkness, pressing against his cheek to turn his head.

Chris kissed him, softly and then again. She was not sure why she was kissing him, possibly because of the talk of intimacy or the massage or the text message. Maybe she just realised she wanted to.

She felt his body tense and then relax. When she felt him stop resisting, felt his arm snake around to the small of her back and pull her closer, she didn't pull away.

He rolled onto his side and her right arm slid underneath him to stroke his back. As she continued to kiss him, she realised it had stopped shaking.
30 July 1998

_Let the memories soothe us_

Let them bring about a sense of closure

Let us put aside our anger, our pain, our sorrow

Let us focus on those connections we have

Christine sat on the bed looking at Gary as he slept. His breath wheezed in and out as he dreamt; the cough was gone but his difficulty with breathing was still there, if slightly better than before. Every now and again he would swallow and for the past week, he had done so without his face scrunching up in pain. The medication for his oral thrush was working and it was almost gone.

'I should be thankful for that, it tasted bad enough last night,' she thought to herself, remembering the taste of starch and flour. She had not thought anything of it at the time, too caught up with the passion of their kissing and how it had made her feel.

She reached out and stroked his hair, ignoring the fact it had thinned dramatically in the months she had known him; ignoring the reasons for why he was losing hair and why he had oral thrush and PCP.

She did not know how she felt about last night, and thinking about what was to happen this morning, she did not think she could have picked a worse time to kiss him than last night.

Her hand started to shake and she flexed her knuckles to calm it. As her hand moved away from his hair, Gary's eyes opened and he looked at her. He smiled, for a moment, but then it left. "Should we talk about it?"

Chris's shoulders stiffened at the question. "About what? Your bad breath?"

Chris helped him sit up in the bed before moving to the bathroom to get his medication. He didn't object or question when she handed it to him and only winced slightly as the large tablets went down. She saw him look up at her, about to start speaking again.

"I can't talk now. I need to have a shower and get ready. We are having visitors today."

Gary's brow furrowed. "Who? Your parents again?"

Chris smiled, falsely. "It is a surprise."

She moved into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Turning on the shower, she left the water hot enough to scald. As she washed, she noticed pleasantly that her body was not sore. Sleeping on a proper bed did have its benefits.

Turning off the shower, she wrapped a towel around her head and another around her body.

As she came back into the bedroom, she saw that Gary was not there. She heard noises coming from the kitchen and assumed that he was making breakfast.

She got dressed and brushed her hair. She went into the kitchen where Gary was spreading some vegemite on toast for her to eat. His own bowl of porridge was steaming on the bench; his throat was not quite up to toast yet.

She smiled her thanks at him and took a bite of the toast. The kettle clicked off and Gary started to pour the hot water into the two mugs of coffee he had waiting.

"So now can we talk about it?" Gary asked again.

She was thinking about how to avoid the question when the doorbell rang. She jumped slightly at the noise and then dropped her toast back onto the table. "Sorry, can't talk. I have to get that."

Christine felt her stomach churning as she made her way to the front door. She knew who it was going to be and by the time she reached out for the handle, the anxiety had pushed sweat onto her face.

'Why did we have to kiss last night?' she chided herself. "Why did I have to invite her to come down today?' She opened the door and stood back.

The woman at the door was tall, with reddish-brown hair that fell past her shoulders and held up at the sides with butterfly clips. She was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt and her eyes lit up behind the blue framed glasses as she smiled.

"Christine?" the woman asked.

Chris nodded. "Yes. Hi. Come in. It is nice to meet you in person. Gary is in the kitchen."

Except Gary was not in the kitchen. He was halfway through the lounge room towards the front door when he saw her.

Christine heard the sharp intake of breath and watched as he dropped his mug of coffee. The mug fell to the carpet and bounced; not breaking but spilling his black coffee all over his tracksuit pants, socks and the carpet.

"Shit," she heard him say. She was not sure it was because of the coffee burning his feet, the mess he had made or the fact that Claire was standing in the room.

"Hi Gary," was all that Claire, his ex-fiancée, said.

"Claire, you're...you're alive?" Gary said, stunned.

"Of course I am alive, what gave you the impression I was dead?" Her voice was strong, a little nasal but happy. Not bitter or sarcastic. "Still only HIV positive. Seems like I've been that way forever now but no AIDS yet; touch wood." Chris was surprised at Claire's tone; there was no bitterness.

"But how?" Gary asked, confused.

"They have some great treatments now to prolong HIV's progression in the body. Didn't they offer you any medication when you were in prison?"

Before Gary could speak, Chris interrupted, "He refused all treatment; the fact he has survived this long is a miracle. He has only just started trying the medication, but it is probably too late." Gary blinked, his eyes moving to Chris as if he forgotten she was there. Chris' stomach jumped and her throat felt large at the thought.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she put on a smile. "You two must have a lot to talk about. I will leave you to it."

Before either Gary or Claire could say it was fine for her to stay, she had grabbed her car keys and handbag and was out the front door. She heard Gary call out to her but she was already walking down the hallway to the elevator.

Inside the lift, she leant against the wall and took a deep breath. Her eyes stung but she could not understand why.

Getting off the lift at the carpark level, she got into her car. She put the key into the ignition but did not turn it on. She did not know where to go. She had taken indefinite leave from work so could not go there. She had no doctor's appointments today and she had never been interested in shopping; she usually found clothes shopping to be a chore than enjoyable.

She was still sitting there when she noticed the sheaf of papers in her handbag. It was the list of questions from the residents at River Gardens in relation to money and budgeting Judy had asked her to turn into an information fact sheet for them. She had not gotten around to working on it; most of her time spent looking after Gary or going to her own appointments.

The thought came into her head again 'is this what I really want?' and just like last time, she pushed it away. The question was irrelevant. Gary had no one else, and she had started to care for him.

She pulled the sheaf of papers out of her bag and looked at the first one.

Question 1; 'I am looking to find a flat but I don't have any money for a bond. Is there anyone that can help me get one?'

She had left her laptop in the apartment and had no desire to go back there. Turning the key in the ignition, she started the car and drove to a nearby internet café. She felt her stomach rumbling in hunger; the single bite of toast was not an adequate breakfast.

She ordered a sandwich and a cappuccino from the coffee shop next door, paid to use one of the computers and got to work.

Before long, she was lost in the questions. They appealed to her, questions about money and savings and taxes. Things with numbers were simple, an equation only had one correct answer and you could rely on that. You couldn't rely on life, or people. They were like chaos theory at its most incomprehensible.

She checked her watch after she had finished all the questions. Gary and Claire had had over two hours to get reacquainted. She thought of going for a long drive to give them more time however curiosity over how it had gone won out. Getting back into her car, she returned to her apartment.

Inside, she heard voices coming from the lounge room. Claire was still here.

Gary and Claire looked up at her as she came into the room. She felt nervous.

Claire smiled and said, "Gary, can you give me and Christine a moment?"

Gary looked from one to the other and then nodded. He picked up the empty coffee cups and mumbled something about washing them up.

Christine sat down on the armchair opposite the horrible tartan sofa bed where Claire was witting.

"So, did it go well?" The words seemed loud, inappropriate, but Chris did not like the quiet between them. And it was quiet, not silence, a simple waiting-for-the-right-moment to speak which Chris thought she may have jumped too early at.

"As well as it could have, I suppose. I can't believe he thought I was dead. "

"The first time he mentioned you, he said you died in a car accident."

Claire shook her head. "Why would he say that?"

"Because for him, you did. Daniel's care accident. By saving Daniel, he allowed himself to get infected and then infected you. Also, he didn't want me to know what really happened."

"But you worked it out anyway?"

"That was how I found out. He said he killed you in a car accident, but there were no fatal accidents involving a Claire in any of the Newcastle papers. I just did a search for Daniel's name because I couldn't think of anything else to do, and wham, there was the truth. At least, half of it."

"You mean Reverend Burton?"

"Reverend Thomas now and yes, I did not see that one coming."

Claire shook her head. "I was so angry with him, in the beginning. I begged him to go see his son, to go to the trial. Instead, he threw himself into his ministry, trying to absolve Gary's sin with his own works."

"You mean he did until he decided to run away and hide."

Claire blushed. "That may have been my fault. Like I said, I was angry at him, so I started becoming vocal, telling everyone he had abandoned his son and he was a hypocrite preaching forgiveness when he didn't practise it. Within a few months, I had almost entirely destroyed his church and he fled more to get away from me than anything else."

Chris's eyes widened, impressed at the tenacity of the woman in front of her. "You knew what had really happened from the beginning?"

"Of course I knew. The whole story Gary tried to feed me about him sleeping around was ridiculous. I told his father why Gary had done what he did, hoping it would convince him to go see him."

"But he wouldn't."

Claire shook her head. "No, he wouldn't. And Gary wouldn't budge either; they are as stubborn as each other. He wouldn't let me tell anyone else why he had killed Daniel, not even his solicitor. I was angry with both of them and trying to come to terms with having HIV and then Gary was transferred and I lost track of him."

Chris smiled; she had never really looked for any similarities between Frank and Gary. As she thought about it though, she realised they had the same chin, the same ears.

Claire had gone silent for a moment before breathing heavily. "I don't know, I shouldn't judge. When I try to think about how I would feel if I got a phone call telling me my daughter was in prison, I don't think I would be able to handle it either."

"Your daughter?" Chris's eyes had furrowed, but before she could ask her next question, Claire answered it for her.

"My husband has two children from a previous marriage. His wife died before we met, so they call me mum. My daughter Zoe is thirteen, and my son Corey is nine." Chris nodded, letting it sink in. "But enough about me; I had to answer all these sorts of questions from Gary. I want to know about you."

Chris shrunk into her chair. "There's not much to know."

"Not much to know? You have taken Gary in, you look after him, you were intelligent enough to find a way past his crap and find the real him, something I couldn't do on those visits to the prison. And I am pretty sure that he has fallen in love with you."

"No, he is in love with you. He told me he would never stop loving you."

"He loves me. He is in love with you. Huge difference. I love Gary, but not the way I used to. He feels the same." Chris felt her face flushing, but she wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or happiness. Claire continued to watch her, waiting for her to respond but Chris did not know what to say.

"You guys haven't talked about this, have you?" Claire said after the silence had sat for too long.

Chris shook her head. "We...we kissed last night. It wasn't the first time, but the first one didn't really count. Last night we really kissed...and maybe a bit more. Not sex but...more than kissing." She felt herself blushing again, "did he tell you?"

Claire snorted. "He's a man, they never tell you anything. What did the kissing mean to you?"

Chris shrugged. "I don't know. It's all confused." She remembered the feelings of fear and passion. The feelings of warmth and need in equal measure.

Claire stood up. "Then I should let you two have a chat. I am going to be down here for a few days; I organised to catch up with some friends. Would it be ok if I came back again?"

Chris nodded and walked Claire to the door. When they reached it, Claire hugged her. "I want to thank you for this. For bringing Gary back from that place where he was."

Chris smiled, hugging back. Closing the door, she hesitated for a moment before going in to check on Gary. He was in the kitchen. It must have been the slowest washing up of two coffee cups in history.

He smiled and said "so now can we talk? And don't think I didn't realise bringing Claire in was just to distract me."

Chris smiled, recognising his sarcasm. "That's right, I searched for her for two weeks, found her and called her three days ago because I had that kiss last night all planned out and wanted to have something to avoid you with the next day."

"Well, your plan failed. So, let's talk about the kiss."

With those last few words, she felt her neck tense up, her walls rising and stomach flipping over with fear. Her right hand was shaking again and she clasped it with her left. "We kissed, so what?"

"Chris . . . " Gary said but she did not respond, the words she wanted to say caught in her throat, fighting with other words, words she thought could protect her. "Chris . . . "

"Gary, I . . . exactly what about me kissing you do you want to talk about?" The words she thought could protect her won out.

"Well, maybe the reason why you did it, for starters."

"I don't know why I did it; the full moon, the wine at dinner, the conversation . . . I . . . I just know I did it."

"So, what now?"

"Does it have to change anything?"

"Chris, is there even a point to that question?"

"I suppose not. So how about you Gary Burton? What are you thinking?"

Gary hesitated, watching her. Waiting, she eventually raised her eyes to meet his. "All I know Chris is that for me that wasn't new. It was something I have missed for a long time and something I hope will happen again. But that is me, not you. And right now, I want to know what you feel about it."

Chris hesitated, looking away, watching him pick up a glass of water out of the corner of her eye. "I . . . do you love me, Gary?"

Gary's eyes widened and he choked on the water, sending him into a fit of coughing. "I . . . I hadn't really thought about it."

"I only ask because I don't know if this should go anywhere. I mean, what is the point of loving someone who is dying. What would be the point? They would just be setting themselves up to be hurt."

"So, you don't love me, then."

"I didn't say that."

"So, you do love me."

"I didn't say that either. Gary . . . I . . . this is new for me. And everything I just said is true. There is no point."

"Is last night something you would want to repeat?"

"Over and over," she whispered. Chris looked up, her eyes wet. Swallowing harshly, she tried to smile. "But it is still never going to end well."

"Chris . . . I . . . if I could do one final thing in this world, it would be to make sure you won't be hurt."

"But you can't."

"No, I can't. When you . . . when you first came to the hostel, I never thought I would worry about hurting you. I never thought you would care and I hated you for that. Because you made me care; you brought up things I wanted to stay buried and I hated you for that too. You prevented me from simply dying."

"I'm . . . I'm sorry, Gary."

Gary smiled, gently, touching her face. "Don't be sorry. Don't ever be sorry. I needed to bring those things up. If you hadn't come along I would have died angry, unfulfilled. Now . . . now I die with a little bit of dignity, a little bit of happiness. I thank you for that."

Chris looked up. Her cheeks were red and her eyes were wet. "Gary . . . I don't know if I can handle the dying part."

Gary pulled her close, comforting her as she wept. Stroking her hair, he kissed her forehead gently. "We'll handle it together. The bit that comes after, that bit I don't know."

He leant down and kissed her. At first, she pulled away, but as she felt his lips on hers, she stopped. The words she had wanted to say were still in her throat, but they no longer needed to be said. They continued to kiss, softly, not with the passion of the previous night but with the tenderness of two people quietly grieving.
5 August 1998

_Let them bring about a sense of closure_

Let us put aside our anger, our pain, our sorrow

Let us focus on those connections we have

Even if those connections are in the past.

Christine paused at her front door, leaning her forehead on the cool wood. She felt tired, the space behind her eyes throbbing. Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out her apartment keys to unlock the door.

Her hand was shaking and the first two attempts to put the key into the lock failed. Gritting her teeth, she concentrated and got it on the third go. Opening the door, she was surprised to hear voices.

Entering the apartment and closing the door behind her, the sounds grew louder, the sound of several conversations occurring all at once. As she rounded the corner, she saw the lounge room was full of people: Jim; Ramon; Andrew; Sanella; Peter; Lisa; and the rest of the Bible study group. She did not know what to say or do. She did not know why they were there.

She heard Gary's voice from the kitchen. "Sorry Sanella, I can't find an espresso machine anywhere. Are you sure she had one? Instant is going to have to do." Gary came out of the kitchen and spotted her. "Oh hi, Chris, you have guests."

"What are you doing here?" It came out harsher than Chris intended and Sanella's eyes widened.

Jim smiled at her. "It's Bible Study. Tonight was your turn to host."

Christine blinked and then blinked again. "I haven't been to Bible Study for weeks now."

"I know. We weren't sure you would still want to host so I have been calling you all week. I must have left a dozen messages on your mobile."

Christine shrugged indifferently. She had seen the calls and ignored them. She had ignored the messages too. They had started not long after Reverend Thomas had stopped calling and she had assumed he was trying to get to her through Jim.

"Yes, umm, sorry. I have been busy lately."

"No worries, Christine. I am sure Gary has been taking up a lot of your time." Chris stiffened and Jim raised his hands in placation. "With you looking after him, I meant. Is it still ok if we have Bible Study seeing as we are all here?"

Christine was about to say no when Gary said, 'I don't see why not."

Christine's eyes widened as she looked at Gary. The others seemed surprised by his answer as well. Gary noticed her staring and gave her a little smile and a wink.

"Great," Jim said before Christine could object and people started sitting down. Sanella sat down on the new foldout sofa next to Gary and sniffed; Chris assumed she did not like the cheap fabric and was making it known. Or maybe it was having to sit down next to Gary, who was breathing heavily and clutching his nanna blanket around his legs.

"So, we are up to the start of Numbers chapter 20, if everyone remembers," Jim said before looking at Chris who was slowly sitting on the other side of Gary to Sanella. "Umm...we were all meant to read it before tonight but maybe we should go through it again together for Gary and Christine's benefit."

Christine was about to say thank you when Gary spoke. "Moses getting water from the rock. Don't need to go over it for my sake."

Jim started at him for a moment before his eyes flicked towards Chris. "Would you like us to read it?" Chris shook her head, Gary's comment reminding her of the passage. "Ok then," Jim said. "This sounds the same as the story of Moses and the rock in Exodus. What happened this time that was different?"

"Well for one," Peter said, "in Exodus he was told to tap the rock with the staff but this time he was told to just talk to the rock. It seems a bit harsh though, just because he did not do it the proper way to not be allowed to lead the people into the promised land."

"But aren't they the same event?" Lisa asked. "In both passages it refers to the place as being called Meribah."

"No, they happened about forty years apart. They were different events." Gary said. Everyone stopped talking, again looking surprised he had spoken. It annoyed Chris, it felt arrogant they were surprised Gary could be a part of the conversation.

"You sound pretty confident." Ramon said, smiling.

"Why wouldn't he be," Chris said hotly. "What with his father being -" She felt a pressure on her leg and looked down. Gary's hand was squeezing her thigh. She looked up at his face and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

Everyone's eyes were glued to Gary's hand on Chris' leg, the familiarity of the movement. Chris reached forward and put her hand over his, trapping it in case he tried to move his hand away. She felt her fingers tremble against the back of his hand and she gritted her teeth, concentrating on stopping the tremor.

Jim cleared his throat. "Well, Gary, what do you think was different?"

Gary shrugged. "This time Moses stuffed up."

"How did he 'stuff up'?" Sanella asked.

"God told him to talk, not tap. He didn't."

"So he got it mixed up. Pretty big consequence for 'tapping not talking', don't you think?"

"I guess it is more about the context."

"What do you mean?" Ramon asked, appearing genuinely interested.

"Well, the first time it happened, it was right after they left Egypt. They were all used to seeing miracles happen, the ten plagues, parting of the red sea. Everyone knew God was acting through Moses and God was real. The first time, God told him to gather the elders and tap a rock. There was not a lot of theatrics. Everyone knew it was God working through the staff.

"But the second time, it was a whole new generation of Israelites who had not witnessed the miracles. All they knew was wandering around in a desert. So, when they complain, God tells Moses to go the rock and ask for the rock to bring forth water. Essentially, it was pray to me in front of the rock and poof, the water appears. This would renew the people's faith in God.

"But instead Moses adds some theatrics, tapping it twice with the staff. He also says, 'must we bring you water out of this rock?' meaning him and Aaron. So that implies the water came because of some magic powers God had given Moses, not because God was wanting to give water to His people. Because Moses made it looks like he made the water instead of God, he got in trouble."

The room was silent again, but this time from what seemed like contemplation. Lisa leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "So why would God still make the water come out of the rock if Moses was making it look like it was his holy power doing it?"

Chris was stunned. It was a genuine question she wanted answered. That she wanted GARY to answer. Usually everyone looked to Jim for the deeper level theology. Chris glanced over at Jim to see how he was taking it and saw him sitting there, quietly, watching Gary, looking curious.

Gary shrugged his shoulders again. "He still didn't want His people to die of thirst so the water came out of the rock but he punished Moses for his arrogance. I read once that this was the first example of man taking the power of God and manipulating it for their own benefit. That it is the first example of the formation of religious pageantry rather than just having trust in a higher power."

"That's interesting," Jim said, sounding sincere. "You clearly know your Bible."

Gary shook his head. "My Torah actually, although this bit is the same. The thing I read was an essay from a prominent rabbi."

"Oh, are you Jewish?" Sanella asked and Christine rolled her eyes.

Gary chuckled. "No, not Jewish."

"But you are not a Christian?" Jim asked, more seriously.

Gary looked over at him, taking his time to consider the question. "I honestly don't know."

"He has faith, just not in religion." Christine said, feeling proud of Gary's responses during the Bible study.

Jim nodded. "I remember you saying that before, Christine. I can also see why you found discussing religion with him to be quite a challenge. He clearly knows his stuff." Gary nodded back, taking it as a compliment.

"But can I ask you another question, Gary?" Jim asked and paused until he had received consent. "You said this was the first example of religious pageantry but that does not take away the validity of the religion, does it?"

"Not at all."

"And I know you can identify all sorts of religious pageantry from when Christine and I used to talk, the deification of the saints, church history using religion as a way to manipulate so if you don't mind, I would like to just say upfront I agree with you a lot of the religious ceremony has been added on by man, just like Moses did with the tapping of the rock."

Gary nodded again, interested in the conversation. "So, what's the question?"

"Is it important to practice the religion, even if you disagree with the religious rituals and ceremonies added on by man? Could you just tolerate the ceremonial aspects even if you don't agree?"

Gary's brow furrowed, not sure where it was going. Chris felt she knew and was going to interrupt but Gary responded before she could speak. "Yes, I guess you could."

"So why then are you getting in the way of Christine practicing her faith?" Jim asked. He spoke clearly, with no hint of malice but Ramon and Lisa still drew in a sharp breath at the directness of the question.

Gary did not immediately respond, seeming to think about the question. For Chris though, her reaction was more immediate. "Jim, how dare you come into my house and try and make Gary feel guilty I have not been going to church. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

She saw Sanella's eyes widen at her language but she did not care. All she could feel was anger; it had boiled up out of nowhere and now seemed to be consuming her.

She felt Gary's hand squeeze her leg again, trying to calm her, but she pushed it away. "What makes you think Gary is getting in the way of me practicing my faith?"

Jim raised his hands in what she thought was meant to be a calming gesture. He looked alarmed, as if he had not expected this reaction, at least not from her. "I did not mean to upset you, Christine. It's just you haven't been to church in weeks; bible study either. You stopped taking any of my calls."

"I know Reverend Thomas is worried." Sanella added.

Jim's eyes widened. He reached out as if to silence either Sanella or Christine but before he could, Chris spat out "fuck Reverend Thomas."

Shocked murmurs went around the room.

"Christine, how can you say that?" Sanella exclaimed.

"How do you know I haven't just changed to a different church?" she asked, ignoring Sanella.

"Why would you change churches?" Andrew asked, his voice low, as if speaking softly might calm her down.

"Because I want nothing to do with Reverend Thomas, that lying gutless hypocrite."

"Chris, please stop." Gary asked, his voice loud enough to cut through her anger. She turned to him and she saw fear in his eyes. She saw something similar in Jim's.

"Why should I? Why do you feel the need to keep protecting him? After what he did to you?" Her voice was softening, the rage dissipating as she looked at the hurt on his face.

"What he did to him? Reverend Thomas sent you to save his soul." Sanella said, hotly. "He tried to help him and we're here trying to help you. Frankly, I am starting to wonder why we all bothered."

Gary closed his eyes, sighing. She knew he could see the rage boiling up in her again. She turned, staring straight at Sanella.

The anger was back, as if it had never left. "Sanella, have you ever thought that by not talking, it would help hide to people that you are an ignorant little bitch?"

Sanella pulled back as if slapped, looking hurt and horrified. Jim reached out and took Chris by the arm. "Now, Christine, that was not called for."

"Get the fuck off me!" Chris screamed, wrenching her arm free. "You people come into my house and judge me; judge Gary. Acting like you are all so bloody high and mighty, putting Reverend fucking Thomas on a fucking pedestal. Well here's a newsflash for you. His name isn't Reverend Thomas. It's Reverend Burton, he just changed it when Burton became inconvenient. Get him to explain that one to you."

"Enough!" Gary shouted and Chris stopped, stunned, the rage gone again in an instant. "This has all gone too far. I...I think maybe we should all call it a night."

There was hurried agreement from all the members of the Bible study; Chris thought some of them may have run for the door. She saw tears running down Sanella's face. She blinked, feeling like someone had just punched her in the stomach; guilt. 'Did I do that?' she thought to herself.

Jim was the last to leave. "I...I am sorry. This was a bad idea. I...I was worried. But this is not how I thought it would go."

Gary looked at Jim for a long moment. "You knew, didn't you?"

Chris blinked, looking between Gary and Jim. She blinked again when Jim nodded. "He took a leave of absence and told everyone that he was sick. It was the first time he had ever taken leave since I have known him and I was worried. I had a meeting with him a few days after you came to visit and he...he told me everything. He was worried he had hurt you, Christine, and that he had destroyed your faith. I told him I would try to get into contact with you to see how you were."

"Tell him I'm fine, but I have no desire to talk to him." Chris said, her voice cool.

Jim nodded and said, "Well I guess I should be going. I hadn't told anyone the truth but I am sure it is going to come out after tonight. Which is unfortunate."

"Why, because everyone will see Reverend Thomas for the coward he is?" Chris asked, not attempting to conceal the spite in her voice.

"No," Gary responded. "It's just like in Number 20. God reprimanded Moses away from the people. He was still their leader and they needed to have faith not just in God but also in Moses. It was the same reason I did not want you to know, Chris. Because questioning the minister leads to questioning everything."

"Rejecting the message because of the messenger," Chris said aloud, not realising she had spoken.

"Well put, Christine." Jim said, sadly. He made a half hand wave and started to make his way through the front door.

"Jim," Gary called out before Jim had closed the door. Jim paused, turning to look at him. "We pray most nights, if it makes you feel better."

Jim stared at Gary for a long time before nodding. "I don't know if Frank would ever tell you but he is ashamed of his behaviour with you too. He told me he regrets not supporting you when it all happened. I said he should tell you that but I think he is too scared."

Jim nodded again and closed the door softly behind him. As the lock clicked into place, Chris turned towards Gary to see how he was reacting to what Jim had just said.

Instead, she saw Gary turn towards her, a look of concern on his face as he moved closer to her. "What the hell was that?"

It hit her then. Everything she had said. How she had acted. She could remember the sudden, intense rage; how it had come and gone so quickly.

She shrugged, weakly. "They...I got so mad. I don't know why. Did I really call Sanella an ignorant bitch?"

Gary nodded. "And you said fuck more times than I usually do. I thought you were going to hit Jim at one point."

Chris sat down on the couch and put her head in her hands. "I...I should call them...apologise."

Gary came over to her and took her hands in his. "Later. Let them get home first. Your hands are shaking."

Chris pulled her hands out instinctively. "I...I'm just upset and tired. I think I might go to bed. Do you mind sleeping on the foldout tonight?" She got up and moved into the bedroom before Gary could reply.

She heard him cleaning up the coffee cups from the group. She heard him sneak into the bedroom and through to the ensuite where his medication was kept to take his myriad of pills. She heard him move around the apartment and switch off the lights. She heard him pull out the foldout and the creaking of the frame as he got between the covers. Later, she heard him start to sleep, but it wouldn't come for her.

Her hands kept shaking for hours, no matter how hard she tried to get them to be still.
8 August 1998

_Let us put aside our anger, our pain, our sorrow_

Let us focus on those connections we have

Even if those connections are in the past.

Many of you may have guessed that I myself am not well

Chris kicked the door closed with her foot, her arms laden with shopping bags. She heard Gary talking and then say goodbye. He got up from the couch, putting the phone on the coffee table and reached out to help her with the bags.

"How was the doctor?" he asked as he placed the shopping bags on the counter.

"Who was on the phone?"

"It was Claire. She was seeing if she would come down again to visit and maybe have dinner. She wanted you to meet her husband and kids."

"What did you say?"

"That I would talk to you about it. You look frozen. You're shaking." Gary said, picking up on her terseness.

"It is freezing outside, Gary. It is winter; generally, the time when the weather is cold."

"Alright alright, I was just asking," Gary started putting the shopping away. It struck her as odd, that someone else would know where she keeps everything in the pantry. It was like he lived with her, which was stupid because he obviously did. It was different though; when her mother tried to help put things away, she always put them in the wrong places.

She stopped and watched Gary as he worked. His skin had more colour than it had in weeks, almost to the same level of pale he had when they first met. He was also breathing easier, with little to no wheeze audible.

Stiffening, she left the kitchen to sit in the lounge while he put the rest of the groceries away. "Coffee?" he called out from the kitchen.

"Wine is preferable," she called back.

"At one in the afternoon?"

"It's night-time somewhere in the world." She heard an answer mumbled back but when he came to sit next to her, he had a glass of red for her.

"So how was the doctor?"

"What's your fascination with my doctor's appointment? Do I get so excited over yours?"

Gary shrugged, biting into a biscuit he had brought with him from the kitchen. She noticed he also barely winced now when swallowing.

"Well for one, you come to my appointments, so you already know what happens whereas when you go, I get left behind."

"And for two?"

"I don't know. Only thought of one but it sounded more intelligent to say, 'well for one'. Do you remember when I used to be the evasive one and would play semantics with my answers?"

Chris took another long swallow of wine. "The doctor was fine. Said the same thing as the last time. Nothing has changed."

"So why do you need to see him so often?"

"For Pete's sake, you are worse than my mum. So is the doctor. After all my medical history, he worries as well and likes to keep checking for things."

"So, everything is fine?"

"I just told you, Gary, nothing has changed since I last saw him or the time before that."

Gary nodded, taking another bite of the biscuit. She looked at the coffee table and saw he had bought more for them to share and reached for one herself.

"Speaking of your mother, you should call her."

"Why?"

"Because she has called here today at least ten times. She said she was trying your mobile as well but it was switched off."

"Where did you tell her I was?"

"That you had a medical appointment and then were going to go shopping."

"Fuck, Gary! Why did you tell her I had a medical appointment?"

"Because you had a medical appointment; was it meant to be a state secret?"

"No but now she will want to know all about it and she will keep pestering me. You have met my mother."

"I have. I even spoke to her on at least ten occasions today. Maybe you should just tell her what is going on?"

"What does that mean? Nothing is going on with me. I just wish everyone would stay out of my fucking business!"

Gary took another biscuit, not responding.

"What did you and her talk about? I did not take you for a gossip."

Gary looked at her confused. "Chris, she called here again and again and again. I told her you were shopping and that worked the first few times but then she started arguing that shopping would not take that long. I then said there was also a doctor's appointment."

"And now she is using you to get information about me, is that it?"

"What? No? Why are you being so paranoid?"

"That wasn't Claire on the phone when I got in, was it? It was mum? You just did not want me to know you are talking with her."

Gary shook his head. "I don't lie to you Chris."

"Except when it comes to your past, your family, how you got HIV, you know, the little things."

Gary stiffened. "Fine, I don't lie to you anymore. I tell you the truth, something I wish you would do."

Chris growled and reached for the phone. She cycled through the menu and dialled the last number that called.

"What are you doing?"

"You said I should call my mother," she said at the same time she realised the caller ID was not her parent's number. She went to hang up but before she could, she heard Claire's voice answer the phone.

"Hello?"

Chris froze, unsure what to do.

"Gary, is that you?"

Chris cleared her throat. "Claire hi, umm, no it's Christine. Gary said you wanted to bring the family down for dinner."

"Oh yeah, I was thinking maybe this Saturday?"

"Umm...yeah...that sounds great...see you then." Chris hung up in the middle of Claire's goodbye.

Gary had a rueful smile on his face. "Is this where you say, 'I'm sorry for not believing you Gary'?"

Chris instead got up and walked out of the lounge room. "I'm tired," she called over her shoulder. Entering the bedroom, she flopped onto the bed and bit her lip to stop crying. She waited for Gary to follow her in, but he didn't. She heard him get up and move into the kitchen, presumably to put her wine glass in the sink. Soon after, she heard the kitchen radio turn on and a stool move as he sat down, probably reading. A part of her was thankful he had given her space. A part of her needed him there.

She was drifting off when she heard the phone ring. Instantly awake, she moved to the door and was about to go through when she paused, waiting just inside.

She heard Gary pick up and phone and answer. "Hello...yes she is home...no, she can't talk, she's in the shower." Chris was impressed, there had not even been a pause in his lie.

"I don't know why she needs a shower at four in the afternoon. Maybe she got sweaty while out shopping, she did have like four layers on because it was so cold outside...yes I will tell her to call you when she gets out of the shower...Emily, if you want to know how her doctor's appointment went, you should ask her...I have to go Emily, I am cooking dinner and I don't want it to burn...ok, bye."

She heard him turn the radio back on. Looking at the alarm clock next to the bed, she confirmed what he had said. It was 4pm. She had been asleep for three hours. She did not think she had more than blinked and she still felt tired.

Opening the door, she went into the kitchen. Gary was sitting at the bench reading a book; one of the crime novels from her bookshelf. He looked up over the top of the book. "Sorry if the phone woke you."

Christine shook her head and slumped onto another of the stools, leaning forward to wrap her arms around him. One hand reached out to stroke her arm as he kept reading. She did not think he was really looking at the book, just waiting for her to talk.

"Why did you tell her I was in the shower?"

"Because telling her you were asleep in the middle of the afternoon would have set her off." Gary said before starting to imitate her mother, "Gary I think you need to move out, you are obviously stressing her if she needs to have a nap. She is not your carer, blah blah blah."

Chris smiled; Gary did a good impression. "I will call her in a few minutes."

"Ok," he said, still pretending to read the book. "You still look tired. "

She pulled away. "Look...sorry about before."

"Which part?"

"All of it. I'm just...I don't know. You are right, I still feel tired."

"Then call your mum, fob her off and go back to bed."

"I can't," Chris said.

"And why is that?"

"Because I heard you tell mum you were cooking dinner and I am hungry. You don't want me to tell mum you lied to her just to get her to leave you alone."

Gary smiled, dog-earring the book and putting it down. "Are all Goldstrom women as annoying as you and your mother?"

Chris smiled. "Only the best ones."
13 August 1998

_Let us focus on those connections we have_

Even if those connections are in the past.

Many of you may have guessed that I myself am not well

And I hope when I go, I show the same strength, the same grace.

"Chris, I want you to do something for me," Gary said as he trailed his fingers along her arm. Claire and her family had left a few hours ago after a truly enjoyable dinner; Chris had enjoyed hearing numerous embarrassing stories about Gary.

After cleaning up and packing away, they had gone to bed. Soon they were kissing, something which still amazed Chris. Only a few months before she had detested Gary and now being around him caused so many different feelings she felt most of the time confused. It had ended with Gary having to pull away, coughing and struggling for breath. The improvement in the PCP had stalled and lately he had started getting breathless again.

So instead they were lying next to each other under the covers where it was warm, embracing, their hands slowly moving across each other. Gary trailed his fingers across her skin, his hand caressing her breast or back or arms in equal measure.

Chris had removed her shirt, the first time she had done so without lying on her stomach for a back massage. She kept the sheet and covers pulled up, self-conscious about having her breasts exposed. She smiled slightly at this, remembering being stiflingly hot keeping her cardigan closed in the middle of summer lest Gary view her breasts. A few months ago, she could not have imagined being topless in her bed with any man, let alone allowing him to touch her. However comfortable the touching had become, being visibly naked was still felt like too much.

So instead she focused on the sensation of his fingers trailing along her bicep up to her shoulder, barely noticing he had made a request, a lazy "mmm' her only response.

"Chris, I want you to help me write a will," Gary said softly.

She sat up as if the words had been screamed, pushing his hand away from her and pulling the sheet around her.

"Is this because your breathing is getting worse again?"

"I don't know, maybe a little. But also, because I haven't changed it since before."

"Before what?"

"Before coming here. Well, to be honest, before going to Riverside Gardens as well. I had always thought Judy would help me but I never got around to asking her."

Her heart was pounding, throbbing through her temples until she could feel it pounding in every part of her head. She closed her eyes but this only seemed to add to the pressure. Opening them again, she saw Gary still lying on the bed, watching her.

"What if I don't want to help you?" she said.

Gary paused, thinking about it. "OK then. Well, could you get me one of those will kits from the post office the next time you are out. I would be happy to get it myself if you ever let me out of the apartment."

Chris shook her head. "It is still too cold and besides, that's not what I meant. I mean what if I don't want you to write a will."

"Why wouldn't you want me to write a will?"

"Because that is not who you are; you spent nine years in prison, you have fought HIV and then AIDs for ten years without medication. You are now finally taking the medication and apart from the last few days, you have been getting better. Even your doctor has been amazed at how your body is responding to the retrovirals. Writing a will is just... it is admitting defeat."

Gary shook his head again. "Chris, I am dying. Yes, the medication has slowed the process down so now instead of days or weeks, I might even have months, but it is going to happen. That's why dad sent you to me in the first place. It isn't giving up, it is...I don't know...it is being practical."

"How do you know they won't make some medical breakthrough? Find a cure for AIDs? The medications you're taking now could keep you alive until then."

"I don't know if they will find a cure, but it would be years before all the trials were over and it was approved. And you heard the doctors, me taking the meds is slowing the inevitable, not stopping it."

"Then you are a fucking idiot." Gary's head moved backwards, shocked. Claire did not care, feeling anger rising in her out of nowhere. "You shouldn't even be dying. You should be like Claire and have years ahead of you."

"Chris, I..."

"Why didn't you get treatment earlier?" she asked, sitting back down and leaning towards him. "When I got sick as a teenager, I got treatment. It was horrible; I lost all my hair and spent days throwing up. When I got sick again a few years ago, I lost the ability to have children. I can't even guess how many times I have had chemo and radiotherapy; I let them fill me with poison over and over again. But I did it. I did it and I got better. Why couldn't you do that too?"

"Because you had something to live for; I didn't . . . "

"And now what? You want to write a will because you are just giving up again?"

Gary shook his head. "This is why I thought moving in would be a bad idea."

"What do you mean?"

"I have had years to come to terms with my death. It wasn't easy, I got angry, I hated the world, I blamed everyone. You helped take away that anger, but I have still come to terms with dying. You, on the other hand, are only now having to deal with this, way before you should have to."

Chris sat up even further, her shoulders squaring off. "I am pretty sure I had plenty of opportunity to get used to dying. I almost died, lots of times."

"It's not the same. You would have thought there was a chance you would go into remission. There would always have been hope."

Chris paused, thinking. "I know what it is like to feel there is no hope. But you do have hope. The medication IS helping you."

"And I have promised to keep taking it. I don't want to die. You have given me something to live for, I will last as long as I can. But I know it is coming. I am ok with that too. You aren't."

Chris felt her hands shaking. She scrunched her fingers up and buried them under the covers. "What are you saying? I am not strong enough to deal with death? That I want to back out?"

"I...I saw how you were in the hospital when I was there. I realise it would have brought up bad memories of when you had been sick, but you looked terrified. Like it was all too real. As I get worse, I will have to go back. You will have to go back."

Chris looked at him blankly. "Gary, I made a commitment to you and to Reverend Thomas...argh, I need to stop calling him that...to your dad that when I first started seeing you, I would see it through. I made another commitment when you came to live here. Neither of those commitments have to do with me once having leukemia."

"So, none of this has anything to do with you fearing death?"

She paused again, thinking. "I...I don't know...I guess it depends on the type of death you are talking about."

Now it was Gary's turn to look confused, so Chris continued. "I...I don't want you to die because...well...God this is selfish...I don't want you to leave me."

"I don't want to leave you either." Gary reached up and took her hands in his. The movement caused the sheet to drop, exposing her breasts, but this time, she made no move to recover the sheet. "But we don't have a choice about that, not anymore. Yes, I could have done things differently and maybe we would not be having this conversation. But if I had done things differently; you would never have been sent to me. In some ways, I am glad things turned out how they did. I got to meet you. But none of that changes the fact I need to have a will. I want to make sure everything is done right."

Chris shook her head again, the frustration building once more. "What the hell does that mean, 'done right'?"

"If I don't have a will, then everything I own goes to my next of kin."

"So."

"So, my dad gets everything."

Chris's mouth dropped. "Oh."

"That's right, and there are other people far more important in my life to have that money. So, I need a will. It is not about admitting defeat, it is not about giving up; it is about making sure that the right thing happens afterwards."

Chris nodded, feeling tired. "I don't really need your money."

"Who said I was giving it to you?" Gary asked wryly. Chris looked up sharply and he laughed. "Well a little bit of it will go to you, to repay for you looking after me. Most of it will go to Riverside Gardens, to help them keep doing what they do. So, Chris, will you help me write a will?"

She got up, not bothering to put a shirt back on. Moving over to the cupboard, she reached up to the top shelf and removed a small wooden box.

Returning to the bed, she took the lid off and ruffled through the contents until she pulled out a stack of Will Kits.

Gary looked at her, surprised. "You keep Will Kits in your bedroom?"

"When I was diagnosed with cancer three years ago, there was a chance the treatment would not work. I made a will then. Well actually, I made three wills; I kept making mistakes. After the third time I had to go back to the post office to get another one, I just asked them to give me a stack."

She handed the Will Kit to Gary, who stared at it, turning it over in his hands. "So where is your will now?"

"When the doctors told me the leukemia was in remission, I celebrated by burning it out on the balcony. I thought hanging onto it would be bad luck." Chris smiled at the ridiculousness of it. "I was hoping I would never need to make another one."

Reaching over to the bedside table, she picked up two pens she kept there for doing crosswords and handed one to Gary before reaching into the wooden box to pull out another of the forms.

Gary looked at her oddly, his eyes asking the question of why she also had a pen.

"If writing a will is not giving up, just making sure what we want to happen after, happens, then maybe it is time I write a new one as well...just in case."
15 August 1998

_Even if those connections are in the past._

Many of you may have guessed that I myself am not well

And I hope when I go, I show the same strength, the same grace.

I hope that I felt the same passion for life.

Chris was breathing hard, her head pressed against Gary's chest. She could hear his own laboured breathing and with her ear pressed against his sternum, she heard his heart pounding.

Her hand was under the covers, gripping him. He felt hard and hot and it excited her. Not as much as what his fingers were doing to her but all of it was taking the experience to another level.

She felt herself building towards an orgasm and she pressed her body closer despite this limiting his ability to use his hand. Her mind still found the concept of having an orgasm with a man novel and strange. She had orgasmed before but only by herself and these felt different.

She looked up and found his mouth with hers and kissed him. She could hear the struggle in his breath and she hoped it was due to excitement and not illness.

She pushed his shoulder and he rolled onto his back. She moved so she was on her hands and knees above him and kept kissing him. She felt her breasts dangling so just her nipples were rubbing against his chest, slick with his sweat.

She felt his penis and instantly froze. Now that she was in this position, she realised that there was nothing between him and penetration and her muscles tensed. She felt the head pressing against her labia.

She didn't know what to do. She had not planned this but now it was here and everything was confused.

She felt his hands on her hips and he lifted her upwards. Before she knew what was happening, he had tipped her sideways, her shoulder crashed into the mattress and she lay against his side, his thigh and not his erection between her legs.

She breathed out heavily, unsure how to react.

She listened to Gary trying to slow his breathing down. Against her thigh, she felt the erection soften, his penis going limp.

She shuddered as his fingers trailed up her spine; her body had not calmed so quickly.

"Why did you stop?" she asked.

"Because we almost went too far." Gary replied.

"Too far?"

"Chris, one thrust up or down and we would be having sex."

"You...you don't want to have sex?"

Gary laughed. "You have no idea how hard that was for me to move you."

"So why did you?"

Gary turned his head to look at her. "Did you want to have sex?"

Chris did not answer. She did not know. In the heat of the moment it had felt a natural thing to do. But then when she had felt him pressing up against her, it had become more real, more terrifying.

"I...I don't know. Part of me did."

Gary moved his arm so her head was now on the pillow. He slid his body until he was out from under her and sitting up on the side of the bed.

"Part of you is not good enough. Especially given your beliefs."

"My beliefs"

"Should you have sex before marriage?"

"No, but..."

"That is your belief. You should not just give that up because 'part of you wanted to'."

"Is it really that different to everything else we have been doing?"

Gary chuckled and asked, "are you talking mechanically, emotionally or morally?"

Chris shrugged. "Any of them"

"Then it is really different for all three. I...I am sorry that I put you in that position. I think I got carried away."

He got up and left the bedroom, uncaring about his nakedness. She heard the shower turn on and the door open as he got in.

She lay in the bed. Her skin was cooling now that the heat of what they had been doing had dissipated and she pulled the sheets up to cover her body. Her mind kept coming back to that sensation, the head of his penis against her, pressing into her, only the slightest pressure needed for it go from being outside to inside.

She shuddered and again was not sure what was causing it. She looked at her hand and saw only a small tremor, no bigger or smaller than what it had been for the past few days.

She got up and put on a dressing gown. Moving into the ensuite, she took down her collection of pills and swallowed them one by one. In the shower next to her, Gary turned the water off and she absent-mindedly handed him a towel. He thanked her as he dried himself off in the stall.

Wrapping the towel around him, he stepped out of the shower into the small space with her. She looked into the mirror as he came to stand behind her. She could not see anything as it had fogged up; Gary had not put on the fan before starting the shower.

She felt him reach around to hug her from behind. It was probably her imagination but she swore she could feel his penis pressing against her rear. Given the height different, if it had been his penis it would be pressing against her coccyx.

"I am sorry about that. It won't happen again," he said into her shoulder.

She nodded, unsure if she was unhappy or relieved by that.

"We can still do some stuff?" she said and instantly berated herself for sounding eager.

She felt his head move as he nodded and then he left the bathroom.

Chris showered and got dressed. By the time she made way into the kitchen, Gary had their breakfasts ready. She looked at the clock and realised they were running late.

"We better hurry if you are going to get to the specialist on time."

Gary smiled. "Otherwise we won't get frustrated by having to wait forty minutes."

They ate quickly and headed out the door. Within the hour, all thoughts of that morning had gone. The latest test results from Gary's specialist showed that his worsening breath was just an aberration and his blood results were continuing to improve.

His specialist was happy with the results and Chris was happy with the results. She struggled to show it though.

She had noticed the tremor was also happening in her foot.
20 August 1998

_Many of you may have guessed that I myself am not well_

And I hope when I go, I show the same strength, the same grace.

I hope that I felt the same passion for life

I hope I am blessed to have so many people come to celebrate my life.

Chris watched Gary as he read a book on the couch. She watched his chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. She looked at his cheekbones, still pale but less sunken than when she had first met him.

She watched his eyes as they scanned the words he was reading. They were the only things about him that she believed had not changed though they often sat in a friendlier face.

She had her right foot tucked underneath her as she sat at the other end of the couch. It stopped the tremor. With her hand, she tapped out a rhythm on her thigh as she watched Gary.

She coughed slightly to get his attention, but he was too engrossed in the book. She coughed louder and he looked up, smiling.

"I want to have sex," she said bluntly. She had not meant it to be blunt but as she opened her mouth, it just came out.

Gary's smile faltered. Slowly, he dog-eared his page and closed the book.

Chris blushed. "Sorry, that did not come out how I wanted it to. I have been thinking about how to say it all day, but I don't know, it feels...embarrassing. Who just asks someone else to have sex? Well I suppose everyone does, otherwise no one would have sex, but...you know. Anyway, I got nervous and it came out direct. So sorry. But I want to have sex."

"Is this about the other day?" Gary said.

"You mean the other day when we almost had sex and then you stopped it? No, I watched a raunchy movie last night and can't get it out of my head," she said sarcastically.

"I told you why I stopped it."

"Because you didn't think I was ready."

Gary shook his head. "No...well maybe. I don't know. I just think it would be wrong of me."

"Why would it be wrong?"

"Well for one, Chris, you don't believe in sex before marriage."

"So, beliefs can change."

"And I have always stopped there because you don't believe in sex before marriage. Not just on a religious level, but a moral one."

Gary shook his head and breathed deeply. "You deserve better than this. You deserve better than someone who has ruined your life to take away the last of your beliefs."

"How have you ruined me?"

"Before you met me, you had a job, you went to church; you had a life. Now you go to a different church because of what happened with dad, taking away all that support you had and-"

"Gary, I think you and I know that when I first met you, my faith was not the strongest. The new church I...we...are going to has changed that. If anything, you helped me find my faith again."

"I always thought you denied you had lost faith."

"Well, I deny a lot of things."

"Like why you lost your faith in the first place."

Chris felt her neck stiffen and she wanted to look away from the direct stare he was giving her. "For fuck's sake, Gary, now is not the time to discuss that. We are talking about having sex, not about my crisis of faith."

Gary shook his head in what she assumed was exasperation. "Fine, we'll just continue to ignore the elephant in the room. Let me continue discussing why I have ruined your life. Because of me, you lost your church and no longer talk to your friends from there. You no longer work so you can look after me.

"You barely speak to your parents anymore. You swear now. I sometimes think you have become a completely different person to the Christine who first came to visit me but I know that is not true. That person is still in there and that person does not believe in sex before marriage. That person would be amazed at this whole situation."

"Gary, I think I know what my beliefs are."

"Do you believe in sex before marriage?"

"Well...no...I mean, I didn't...but..."

"You can't honestly tell me that part of you does not still think sex is something that should be between a husband and wife."

"Gary, you have had your fingers inside me; there isn't much difference between a finger and a dick." She blushed as she said it, surprised at her crassness.

Gary paused, his eyes closed. "Chris, there is a huge difference."

"Don't we have tickets on ourselves?"

"What?" he said confused. "Oh, ha ha, very funny. When Claire and I decided to have sex - and we had fooled around a lot before then - it was because we were sure we were going to get married."

Chris spoke as the thoughts were forming in her head. "Then marry me."

If she had had time to think, she doubted she would have said it, but she already had. Now it was out there, she felt it was right to continue. "Why didn't I think about it before? We should get married. I will be right back."

Before Gary could speak, Chris got up from the couch and went into the kitchen. Grabbing the phone, she dialled a number she knew by heart and waited. He picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi Frank."

At first, she thought Father Thomas had hung up, but then she heard him sobbing. "Oh, Christine, it is good to hear your voice, it has been too long. You no longer come to church."

"This is not the time for talk about church. You need to come here, quickly."

"Why, what's the matter? Is it Gary?" his voice sounded worried and Chris felt pleased, wishing only he could show this much concern while Gary was present.

"I don't have time to talk, just come," and she hung up.

She turned around and saw Gary walking into the kitchen behind her. "Did you just tell my dad to come here?"

Christine nodded. "You need a minister to marry you. I suppose you could use a celebrant but I don't know any."

Gary sputtered. "Chris, are you...are you nuts? This is insane."

"Why is it nuts? I actually agree with you. Deep down I really don't want to have sex outside of marriage. I have also dreamt of one day getting married, so this is two birds with one stone."

"Then marry someone. Go find someone who will give you a long and happy life. You deserve that certainly more than you deserve this," he said, pointing between him and her.

"I don't want someone else. I want you."

"A few months ago, you detested me."

She raised her hand. "A few months ago, you challenged me in ways I had never been challenged. True, you were an asshole... but I have spent my whole life with people being nice to me and treating me like I was breakable. You didn't realise there must have been a reason I kept coming back."

"I thought you were stubborn."

"Well, I suppose I am, but I also felt like you respected me, at least when I stopped falling for your traps. You thought I could handle you being an asshole."

"I was being an asshole so you wouldn't come back. But you did keep coming back. I...I did respect you. I do respect you. But don't you think this is a little impulsive? To go from being perfect strangers, to fighting, to proposing marriage in what, a few months?"

"My parents got married three months after they met. Dad told me he knew the day he first saw her she was the one for him. We have known each other for longer than they did."

"They were also two perfectly healthy functional human beings."

"Yes, without the need to speed things along as they had many years ahead to look forward to. Our situation only accelerates the need to 'be impulsive'."

Gary went to speak again, but Chris held up her hand. "You say you might be gone soon. Well so might I, I could get hit by a bus, die in a fire, have the cancer come back. You are the only person I want to be with, or you might be the only one I have the opportunity to be with. I am sorry this has come out of left field, but it does not change anything. I...I think I need to do this."

Gary looked at her for what seemed like minutes, his eyes furrowing. Finally, his shoulders slumped. "You will still have to convince my dad. Good luck with that."

Chris let out the breath she had been holding and nodded confidently.

They spent the next twenty minutes in silence, waiting for Frank to arrive. When the knock on the door came, she got up and let him in.

He looked older than when she had last seen him; the night Gary had told her the truth about his past. The lines around his eyes had deepened, and dark patches had started to form beneath the lids. His lips were pale, bloodless, and his cheeks sallow as he looked at the person who had once been one of his most fervent supporters.

"Christine, I came as fast as I could. How is Gary?"

"He's fine; he is in the lounge room," she said as she closed the door. He followed her into the lounge room, slowing as Gary came into view.

She saw a confused look cross his face at Gary's apparent wellness; remembering that Reverend Thomas had not seen Gary since he had started taking medication.

She sat down, pointing to a chair for Frank to sit down as well. She watched him look at his son. Gary turned from looking at his father to Chris. "This is your show, he said."

She looked at him, her bottom lip tucking in between her teeth. "Am I the only person who wants this?"

Gary stared at her, his eyes becoming wet. He shook his head before whispering, "No, I want it too."

Reverend Thomas just looked at them both, confused. "Thomas, Gary is fine, or at least he is fine at the moment."

"But you said I needed to come straight away. You said he was not well."

"No, I didn't. You asked if he was unwell and I did not answer. I just said you needed to come here and you assumed whatever you wanted."

"And you? Are you well?" Frank asked, looking at her seriously.

"I am just fine," she replied, not looking away from his eyes.

"Then why am I here?"

"I want you to marry us."

Frank's eyes widened and he snorted with laughter. The laughter stopped when he noticed Chris's face was completely serious. "I am sorry, but it can't be done."

Chris was not to be perturbed. "Why not?"

"Well, for one. It is illegal; there must be a month's notice before-"

"I don't care about the law. I want this to be right with God, not the government."

"But you have to. It is the only way."

"It says in the bible that for two people to be married, they must profess their commitment to each other under God, and adhere to that commitment. I am sure it does not say anything about the laws of a country that has only existed for about two hundred years. "

Chris watched Frank look over at Gary, who was staring back at him, his face as serious as hers. He cleared his throat. "Marriage is a holy thing, Christine. You cannot enter into this lightly."

"That is not your concern, but mine and God's. I want to commit to Gary, and he wants to commit to me."

"Christine, if Gary has put you up to this to try and get back at me, then please . . . do not -"

Gary growled. "Do you think I would put Chris up to this? Is that how low you think I would stoop just to hurt you? I fucking love her, you dickhead."

Chris reached out and grabbed Gary's arm, stopping him from getting up and leaving the lounge room. She turned towards Frank, tears in her eyes, confusing him.

"Frank. I came to your church and did everything you have asked me to since you took over the ministry. You have guided me in my life and my faith. You led me to Gary.

"And you lied to me. You lied to the whole parish. But worst of all, you lied to your son. Now, he thinks this is just as crazy as you do, but he is willing to go through with it for me. And I would hope you would do the same. Do this because I ask you."

Letting go of Gary's arm, she leaned forward in her chair, staring at Frank. "And if you won't do it for me, then I will tell everyone the truth. I will bring you down and I don't give a shit who gets hurt. I spoke with Claire, and she gave me some useful tips."

Frank looked down at the carpet. "Everyone already knows. After the bible study here, there were too many questions. The diocese has appointed a temporary minister to assist on Sundays because people stopped coming to church."

Christine felt a tinge of guilt but pushed it down. "I am sorry it happened that way. But it was you who lied in the first place."

Reverend Thomas nodded. "I think I am happy everyone knows. I feel I can finally make it right with God."

"How about you make it right with your son and with me; do this for us."

She watched as a tear slid down his cheek. Finally, he nodded. "I will need a Bible."

Chris leant over to clasp Gary's hand before getting up to retrieve one of the Bibles from her bookshelf. Behind her, Gary started coughing. In front of her, the bookshelf started to go fuzzy for a moment.

"Do you really want this, Chris?" Gary asked her. Chris closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, her vision was clear. She reached out and took the Bible from the shelf.

"I do, Gary, I really do."

When she turned around, she saw they were both standing. She handed the Bible to Frank and moved to stand beside Gary.

Frank looked at them both, his thumb tracing circles on the cover of the Bible. Chris could not tell if he was horrified by this or feeling something else. She did not really care either way. His face was grey, lacking expression as they stood in front of him and he commenced.

"We have come together in the sight of God for the joining in marriage of this man, Gary Burton, and this woman, Christine Goldstrom.

"Our Lord Jesus Christ said of marriage that 'From the beginning of creation God made them male and female. For this reason, a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one.' So that they are no longer two but one. Marriage is the symbol . . . "

The words washed over them as they watched each other, Chris smiling, nervous; Gary stoic, nervous. Frank spoke of marriage; what it meant, what they were expected to do, and how it was a gift.

She had seen and helped her church in dozens of weddings and knew the words. She knew what they meant and let them fill the air as they waited patiently.

Reverend Thomas paused, and they turned towards him. "I suppose I can skip over the 'if any person here knows a reason why they should not be wed' part, as there is no one here, and you have already heard my objection. Besides, as this is not a legal marriage, I suppose there isn't any objection. So, let's get on with it."

Frank turned to Gary. "Gary Burton, do you take Christine to be your wife, to live together according to God's law? Will you give her the honour due to her as your wife and, forsaking all others, love and protect her, as long as you both shall live?"

Gary did not hesitate. "I will."

Frank turned towards Chris. "Christine Goldstrom, will you take Gary Burton to be your husband, to live together according to God's law? Will you give him the honour due to him as your husband and, forsaking all others, love and protect him, as long as you both shall live?"

Her breath caught as she was about to speak. As long as you both shall live. It had a special meaning for them. Breathing out loudly, she answered. "I will."

Frank told them to take hands and prayed for the marriage. He asked if they had any vows and Gary interrupted him.

"I, Gary Burton, in the presence of God, take you Christine Goldstrom to be my wife; to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, as long as we . . . " He hesitated, and she saw his eyes wet with tears. Breathing through his nose, he gritted his teeth and continued past the final lines. "As long as we both shall live. This is my solemn vow and promise."

Chris took his right hand and repeated the words, her cheeks red with joy.

"I don't suppose you have a ring?" Frank asked.

Gary reached within his shirt and pulled out the silver chain he wore around his neck, the gold ring it held swinging in the air. Undoing the clasp, Gary dropped the ring into his hand. Inset within the band were three small diamonds, chips of white against the deep glow of the gold.

Holding it up, Gary looked at her, tears in his eyes. "When I got engaged to Claire, she said it was not fair that only she got a ring, though I told her I didn't want one. Hell, I didn't even want to wear a wedding band. But she got it for me on our anniversary, as well as the chain for me to hang it on."

He looked at Chris, to gauge her reaction. "This ring was the last good thing about my life before . . . well, before everything. It's the only important thing I have from my life before. I would be honoured if you would have it."

Chris smiled through the tears that wet her cheeks, nodding. Frank took the ring and continued.

"Grant, Lord, that this ring may be a token and constant sign of the pledge of love and faithfulness which these two persons make to each other; through Christ our Lord."

They both said amen and Gary took the ring back off his father. He took her hand and slid the ring onto her finger; it slipped on easily as it was sized for his hand. Into her other hand, he pressed the chain.

"Christine, with this ring I wed you; with all that I am and all that I have I honour you; in the name of God. Amen."

Taking the ring off her finger, she threaded it onto the chain and put it around her neck, the tears still coming unbidden. "Gary, I receive this ring, in token of our marriage. May God enable us to grow in love together."

Chris finished hooking the clasp and the ring settled in the rise of her breasts, bare centimetres from her heart. Gary's eyes were clear now and colour had returned to his face as he smiled.

Frank took both of their right hands and held them together. "Those whom God has joined together let not man put asunder. Before God and in the presence of . . . well me . . . by solemn consent and promise, by the giving and receiving of a ring, and by the joining of hands, Gary and Christine have now accepted each other in marriage. In the name of God, I . . . "

Frank blinked back tears of his own. "In the name of God, I declare them to be husband and wife."

He continued to speak, but Gary had taken Chris's face into his hands and kissed her, the words lost to her ears as their marriage was blessed.

Breaking the kiss, Gary saw Frank already moving towards the door, about to leave. Squeezing Chris's hand, he let go and hurried over.

"Dad . . . "

Frank paused, his hand resting on the door handle. Turning, he looked back at his son. "What do you want, Gary?"

"I . . . I wanted to say thank you. You have no idea what this meant to Chris."

Frank regarded him, his face still bereft of emotion. "And what did this mean to you?"

Gary stepped back, not expecting the question. "It . . . it means just as much to me. I love her, dad."

Frank shook his head sadly. "I can honestly say I never expected this when I sent Christine to you. I...I don't know what to think of it. I...I don't know whether to laugh or cry."

"You sent her for all sorts of reasons, dad. So I could find my faith, so she could regain hers. So you could...achieve something, I suppose. For the most part, those goals were achieved." He waved his hand around the room, indicating what had just happened. "This...this right here is proof of that."

"She told you she had lost faith, did she? Did she tell you anything else?" Reverend Thomas asked him, sounding tired.

Chris felt her shoulders tighten and stared at Gary. Gary stared at Frank for a long time. "She has told me enough."

"Then you know there is no good ending here. There is only pain and loss on all sides. You may have restored her faith, but she has lost all her supports. She is going to need them. I hope you are sufficient compensation."

Gary watched him leave, unsure how to respond. Chris walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist in consolation as he watched his father walk out of the apartment and into the cold night air. She could hear how heavily he was breathing, the breath rattling in his chest and the sound nothing like the regular breathing she had noticed earlier that evening.

She watched him close his eyes, struggling to slow his breathing. She squeezed his hand and he opened his eyes. She smiled at him and he smiled back, raising her hand and kissing the back of it reassuringly.
21 August 1998

_And I hope when I go, I show the same strength, the same grace._

I hope that I felt the same passion for life

I hope I am blessed to have so many people come to celebrate my life.

I hope I will see them again in heaven.

She led him into the bedroom and stood in front of him, shifting from foot to foot, her hand trailing along the cloth of the doona cover. Her bottom lip was clasped between her teeth and she could not look at him.

She saw on the clock that it was past midnight. A new day.

Moving forward, he took her hand in his, his other hand cupping beneath her chin to raise her face. Their eyes met and Chris tried to smile, nervously, the movement on her lips only brief.

He leant forward and kissed her, pulling her body against his as his hand trailed down her back. Her hand reached up the back of his neck until her fingers were running through his hair.

Still kissing, Gary started to lower himself onto the side of the bed, Chris following until they were sitting next to each other. Chris' hands moved to undo the buttons of her blouse but Gary took her hand away, shaking his head.

"Do you remember, a while back, I told you about a friend who was trying to sell an old car?"

Chris felt her brow furrow. "I remember. Do you think this is an appropriate time to bring up your 'learning how to drive a stick' joke?"

"No, I was meaning the other part."

"You told me some people are not worth as much as they think they are."

Gary smiled. "I...I loved that car; it was my first. I worked for six months straight at a fish and chips shop to earn enough money to buy it. It broke down at least once a week and I was forever fixing something that went wrong with it.

"Selling that car was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. The money I spent on it and the amount I got for it in the end didn't matter. It was what that car meant to me; hell, I nearly cried when I had to watch it drive away."

Gary looked up, gripping her hands, his eyes serious as he stared into hers. "If I had to choose between you and that car, I would give it away in a second."

Chris smiled, her eyes wet with tears. "I am not over-pricing myself?"

He reached up and stroked her cheek. "You're worth more than I could ever pay."

She took his head in her hands and pulled him close, staring into his eyes. "Maybe you don't know your own value, Gary Burton."

They kissed, their hands constantly moving, but slowly, as if any fast movement would ruin the moment. Chills went up Chris's spine as her blouse was slowly peeled away.

Gary leant down, brushing his lips across her collarbone. He felt her tense, the small of her back arching, and he pulled away slightly. When he felt her relax, he started to kiss her neck, her shoulders, her chest.

She felt her breathing become faster, sensing his doing the same. She moaned as he took her nipple into his mouth, his hands running along the soft skin of her lower back.

She grabbed at his head and pulled his face up to hers, their bodies pressing tightly against each other. Chris leant back, Gary moving forward to lie on top of her, his weight pressing down on her. She reached down to undo his pants, reaching inside and listening to his groan as her hand wrapped around his penis, hot and hard beneath her skin.

He kicked his pants off and sat up to pull off his shirt. She reached up to run her hand over his chest, feeling the sparse hair on his chest, the indentations between each of his ribs. Her other hand reached down and pushed at the waist of her own pants.

She felt a thrill of fear as her underpants dropped off her left foot and she lay there naked before him, wearing only the chain with the heavy gold ring attached. They had not turned off the light, but she did not feel self-conscious. Looking down, she saw his erection sticking upwards, bouncing slightly as he breathed in an out and another rush of adrenaline ran through her.

He reached down and started massaging her feet. He ran his hands up her calves and over her thighs. Her breath hitched as his palm brushed against the outside of her vagina, his fingers exploring as he lowered his body down so he could kiss her.

She reached around his waist, pulling him closer. She felt his fingers withdraw from inside of her as he rested his weight on his elbows.

She felt his erection pressing against her, rubbing against her. She held her breath, waiting for him to push forward. Feelings of fear, excitement and anticipation coursed through her.

She wasn't ready when he pulled back, sitting back up. It was a few seconds before she opened her eyes to see him sitting there, a stricken look on his face.

"Gary, what's wrong?" Chris asked, her arms instinctively coming up to cover herself.

"I . . . I don't have a condom." He looked as if it was a personal failing.

Chris laughed, sitting up and kissing his mouth. "Gary, it doesn't matter."

"Of course it..." he yelped as she reached up to grab a fistful of his hair. He became quiet when he saw the tears in her eyes, her laughter gone.

" I think you know it doesn't matter. I think you have known for a long time now." The tears came harder. Gary nodded, reaching out to pull her against his chest. He held her there as she cried, stroking her hair and kissing her head softly.

After a while, she wiped the tears from her face and looked up at Gary. She kissed him again, harder, crushing her lips against his, trying to regain the sense of urgency. But the romance was stained, tarnished by the tears.

Gently, he pressed her down onto the bed, moving on top of her once again. He pulled his face away from hers until she stopped trying to kiss him. Only then did he lower himself down and slowly kiss her neck. The sense of lust and sexual need had gone, replaced with a sense of connection and intimacy that, while uncomfortable, felt more appropriate.

She stared into his eyes as he entered her. With the tears and the slow kissing, she was no longer lubricated and it hurt, a sense of rubbing and stretching and heat. She sucked in a breath and winced slightly. He froze, afraid he had hurt her. He tried to pull back, but Chris wrapped her hands around his lower back, holding him within her.

She closed her eyes, breathing slowly, getting used to the sensation of him inside her. He started to move again, slowly, going a little deeper with each gentle thrust. The sensations changed, the initial discomfort subsiding.

The sensations were almost drowned out by her head and emotions. Feelings flickered through her so fast she barely recognised them. Fear and joy, sadness and love and amazement. She was crying again but had no idea why; only knowing the tears did not hurt.

They made love, regaining the romance that had been lost. They kissed each other slowly as Gary continued to thrust into her, his hand raising up to cup her breast.

He began to move faster, and their bodies became slick with sweat. Chris' breath was coming faster, her chest and face flushed pink.

Gary kept his face still, it seemed he was trying to focus on taking even breaths. She could hear a slight wheeze coming from his throat and she felt his chest spasm slightly as it pressed against hers.

She had no idea how long they had been having sex but she could see him struggling. She waited for him to slow down, to pull back, to need to take a moment to get his breathing under control. Instead he leant down and kissed her again, speeding up.

She did not feel him climax like she had read in romance novels; instead she heard him moaning and his rhythm become disjointed and then his semen turned everything slick. He slowed and then stopped thrusting.

She inhaled through her nose and smelt the sex in the room, a smell she had never smelt before. Because she had never had sex before. She held him tight against her as the reality of the moment swept through her. She bit her lip to keep from laughing, her eyes shut tight to keep the tears from beginning again.

She did not hear him call her name the first time. The second time, she slowly opened her eyes.

He was still on top of her; she could still feel him inside her though he was softening. He stared down at her, his face looking worried. "Chris, are you ok?"

The tears came, but not with the sadness she had expected. She smiled at him. "I will be, Gary, I will be."

He looked at her, his face pale, his hair slick with sweat. She could see his muscles shaking as he tried to support himself. "I . . . I love you, Chris."

She brushed the tears away from her face and reached up to stroke his cheek. "I love you too, my husband."

Gary rolled off her and into his back. They lay there for a long time, Gary continuing to try and control his breathing and Chris trying to freeze everything in her mind. Her vagina felt sore but not in a bad way. Her thighs felt slick from their lovemaking and her skin began to pebble as she cooled down.

She reached down and pulled the sheet and doona over them, twisting onto her side so she was lying half on his chest. Her leg bent and curled around his. She could feel his penis, sticky and warm, pressing against her lower thigh. Her head lay on his sternum, the wiry hair of his chest scratching her cheek. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment as he started playing with her hair, content neither of them were talking.

'I am a woman now,' she thought to herself and then automatically dismissed it as a stupid, childish thought. Having sex did not make you mature or a different person.

But she did feel different. Physically she had felt things she never had before. Going over the entire night, both having sex and having Frank marry them she felt both emotionally charged and overwhelmed.

"How...how was it?" she heard Gary ask her, nervously. Nervousness seemed like such an odd tone coming from him.

Without thinking, she moved so she was sitting on top of him, leaning forward so the chain and the ring swung back and forth between her breasts and his face. "Absolutely horrible," she said as she leant down to kiss him.

The kiss was passionate and playful, as if the previous sex had removed a weight of expectation and now she could just relax. She flexed her hips and felt him getting erect against her stomach.

She reached down to stroke his penis, getting it hard once more. She positioned it against her vagina and pressed down, feeling she initial sense of pressure as he pressed against her labia before she opened, and he entered her.

She leant down to kiss him again and as they kissed, Chris began to move her hips, feeling him moving inside her again.

She reached out and clasped her fingers through his, closing her eyes. Whether her body had gotten used to it or his cum was providing extra lubrication, there was no longer any pain. Leaning forward slightly, she felt her clitoris rubbing against his pubic bone and the pleasure of sex increased.

She moved faster, twisting her hips slightly as she moved forward and backwards on him. Gary was content to lie there, letting her control what was happening, watching her as she bit her lip to keep from crying out as her own orgasm hit.

She continued to move, rocking her hips slowly as she felt her body tingling.

She opened her eyes and looked down. Gary's face was red from struggling to stop himself coughing.

Before she could say anything, or get off him, he lost control and the coughs racked his body. The violence of the exhalations caused his body to spasm and she felt him thrusting into her unintentionally, violently as he struggled to regain his breath.

She did not move, holding herself slightly off him as his breathing slowly came under control. His erection dissipated, and she felt him slide from her as he coughed again.

She got up to get him a glass of water, not caring she was walking around naked with the light on. He took the water thankfully and drank half the glass before handing it back to her.

Her hand shook as she took it back but she put it down to the adrenaline of what they had done and from her orgasm. He had made her orgasm before, with his hand and once with his mouth, but that had felt different. Stronger.

Her thighs were starting to feel uncomfortable, so she went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet, getting some toilet paper to wipe herself. She looked at the paper, the semen she had wiped from herself pinkish from what she could only guess was some slight bleeding from the initial lovemaking. Given how much of it there seemed to be, she guessed the sheets would be stained as well and would need to be changed tomorrow.

A part of her mind thought back to ancient times, when the parents would inspect the sheets for blood to ensure the marriage had been consummated. She would have made her ancestors proud.

As she flushed the toilet and get back into bed with Gary, her mind went back to the first time she had kissed him, his face covered in blood, the iron tang on her tongue. Instead of being repulsed, she squeezed her legs together, causing a pleasant pressure on her vagina and snuggled closer against his chest.

There was no more talk; they just held each other until they drifted off to sleep.
Part III
8 September 1998

_And I hope when I go, I show the same strength, the same grace._

I hope I am blessed to have so many people come to celebrate my life.

I hope I will see them again in heaven.

Know that you were always loved

The phone call came early in the morning, before Father Frank Thomas was awake. As soon as he heard the ringing and saw the time on the small digital clock on his bedside table, he guessed what the call would be about. There were only a few limited reasons why the phone would ring at all since the parish found out about Gary, and even fewer reasons why it would call before 6 o'clock on a Saturday morning.

He picked up the receiver and noticed his hand was shaking. "Hello,"

A voice spoke, and he listened. "Thank you," he said. "I will be there soon." He hung up the phone and picked it up again, his hand shaking less now. Dialling the number for the local taxi service, he spoke again when they answered. "I need a taxi to take me to Royal Prince Alfred Hospital please. As soon as you can."

He gave them his address and waited, steeling himself for what was to come. It had been a long time coming but was the end was finally here.

* * *

"Hello?" George Goldstrom's voice was thick with sleep. It was 6:30am on a Saturday and presumably one of the only mornings a week he did not have to be up early.

"Hello, Mr Goldstrom. It's Gary Burton." Gary's voice was tired, strained.

A pause for a second and then his voice fully awake now and urgent, "what has happened to Christine?"

"She had a seizure this morning, a little after 3am. She is at Royal Prince Alfred Hospital."

"A seizure, what do you mean a seizure? Why would she be having a seizure?"

Gary breathed out, slowly. The pay phone's handset felt cold and hard against his cheek and heavy from the weight of its metal cord. "I think it would be best if you and Emily came to the hospital."

He could hear movement on the other end of the line then the sound of a woman's voice in the background. It became muffled as he assumed George had put his hand over the receiver. A short while later, the muffled sounds stopped, and George spoke again. "We can be there in about twenty minutes. Which ward are we going to? Oncology? ICU? ED?"

Gary cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak. "She is in the ICU at the moment, but they are planning to move her to the palliative care ward soon."

"The pal care ward? Why would she be . . . " George tapered off as he answered his own question.

"They said they were going to put her in bed 23. They will have moved her by the time you get here. Her doctor said he would stop by after he had completed his rounds."

"Gary, why is she being moved to the palliative care ward?" George asked again, angrily, like Gary was playing a trick on him. In the background, Gary heard Emily start to sob.

"She's dying; she's been hiding it for months now. The doctor will be able to explain it better than I can. It hasn't really been explained much to me yet either. Room 23." Gary hung up the phone as the sobbing in the background started to turn into wailing and he could hear George's breathing becoming ragged. He felt it best to leave them to their grief.

The hospital corridor where the pay phone was situated was cold and Gary shivered. In his rush to get out with the ambulance, he had not thought to put on more than what he had worn to bed, a long sleeve shirt, a pair of tracksuit pants, and some socks. The vinyl floor underneath his feet felt hard, his toes numb, much like he was feeling inside.

He walked back into the ICU, oblivious to the bustle of nurses and doctors around him. There was no activity in the curtained section where Chris slept. She had not woken up since her whole body had stopped shaking uncontrollably on the ambulance gurney.

He closed his eyes and he could remember being woken up with an elbow to the face. He had cried out in pain and then asked Chris why she had just hit him. That was when he had heard the sound, a guttural frothy noise mixed with someone strumming a guitar string that had been wound too tight.

He had called out to her again, this time in alarm. The room had been dark so all he felt was her thrashing around. He thought she may have been having a bad dream; she got them often but usually she would wake up when he started talking to her.

This time she didn't. The thrashing had continued along with that fucking horrible sound. The bedside table light was on her side of the bed so he had gotten up and flicked the wall switch. The overhead light came on, revealing Chris's body tangled in the sheets, only the whites of her eyes showing and spittle bubbling out of the corner of her mouth.

He had screamed and jumped back onto the bed, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her, first softly and then harder, trying to wake her. Her body felt like iron beneath his hands, all her muscles tensed and thrumming.

She did not wake; she just kept twitching and making that noise.

He ran from the room to the phone in the kitchen. He had called the ambulance and then gone back to her. He had gotten her onto her side and put his fingers in her mouth to make sure her tongue was not obstructing her airway. She had bitten down hard, causing his finger to start bleeding heavily.

The ambulance officers had to bang on the front door for several minutes before he realised they were there. The paramedic gave her an injection of something and within minutes, the seizure started to lessen. As they strapped her to the gurney, one of them looked as his finger and said it may need stitches.

"I've got AIDS," was all it needed for Gary to say for the ambulance officer to let go of his hand and go back to helping Chris, changing gloves when he thought Gary was not looking. When he saw the paramedic looking suspiciously at Chris, he stated she was not infected.

Gary didn't care what they thought of him; Chris' shaking had stopped, and the sound was gone.

Gary moved to the side of the hospital bed and sat down, the legs of the plastic chair squeaking against the linoleum floor. He reached through the railings on the side of the mattress and took her hand, his own finger stitched and bandaged in the emergency department.

Chris' hand was soft again, the muscles now relaxed, and felt warm. He looked up at her face but there was no recognition she had felt him touch her.

At the hospital, they moved her from emergency and into ICU. While there, they had found the palliative care flags in her patient file and started organising the transfer.

Gary had known she was sick; all the medical appointments and medications and the tremors that she tried so hard to hide. He had even suspected that whatever was wrong with her was terminal. He had waited for weeks now, before they kissed, before they had sex, for her to tell him, knowing he had to wait until she was ready.

He had thought she would tell him after that night, the night they had had sex, but she had closed off again. She kept telling him she just wanted to enjoy the concept of being married to him. She also seemed to find sex an acceptable method of distraction.

Waking up to a seizure in the middle of the night was not how he had expected to find out just how sick she was.

An orderly came into their cubicle and started readying the hospital bed to be wheeled out. Gary let go of her hand and got up, moving out of the way and then following behind, into the maze of hospital corridors.

In room 23, a nurse came in and checked Chris' vitals and left again. Gary sat back down and took her hand once more.

He closed his eyes and leant his head forward. It was quieter here in the palliative care ward. He enjoyed the silence. He knew it was only a matter of time before everything was going to start getting loud again.

* * *

"Christine has brain cancer. The tumour is located in between the parietal and frontal lobe on the right side, although parts have spread down into the orbitofrontal cortex and the hypothalamus."

Dr Goh spoke softly, but clinically. Gary assumed this was the type of conversation he had had hundreds of times with the families of his patients. He was a short man, wearing a suit but no tie. He stood next to Christine's bed. She had not woken up.

"What treatments have been tried?" George asked, staring straight at the doctor and not looking at his daughter. Gary noticed his throat seemed tight, like he was trying to stop from swallowing.

They had arrived ten minutes earlier, looking wild-eyed, Emily still crying. As they rushed up the hall, demanding to know where Bed 23 was, one of the nurses had paged Dr Goh and he had arrived only a few minutes after them. They had started interrogating Gary for information, asking so many questions on top of each other he had no chance to answer. Gary had been relieved when he had seen the doctor enter.

"The tumour is non-encapsulated; it looks like an octopus with tentacles spreading in many directions. With some of these tendrils pressing around the optic nerves and other areas, surgery was not possible. There was little chance all the tumour could be removed and there was serious risk of blindness or death if we tried.

"This is an aggressive cancer. We have been using steroidal treatments to slow down its growth and for a while it was working. We have also been using medications to reduce the associated risk of stroke and to minimise Christine's discomfort."

"What about chemo? Radiation therapy?" George asked, still not swallowing, his eyes tight.

"You have to understand that nearly right from diagnosis, Christine was aware this cancer was terminal. Given its location, shape and aggressive nature, there was no way it could be successfully treated. Christine was given the opportunity to try chemotherapy but was told this measure would only be to give her more time and may not help. Christine decided not to undergo chemotherapy and so we focused on the medications I have already mentioned."

"What do you mean she refused chemotherapy?" Emily asked, her voice shrill. "How can someone refuse treatment?"

"Christine told me about all her other treatments. She strongly expressed a desire to avoid chemotherapy and the associated side effects. Her words were, 'better to live less days healthy than more days sick.'"

George was silent and so was Emily, the gravity of Dr Goh's words pressing them down. Gary, having had more time to come to terms with the situation, asked the inevitable question.

"Will she wake up?"

Dr Goh shrugged. "It is hard to tell. The seizure occurred because the tumour started to block the blood flow to parts of the brain, possibly the corpus callosum, possibly the motor cortex. There is no way of telling what damage was done when this occurred. She might wake up, she might not. If she does, she may have lost certain functions, such as the ability to speak, or see, or move parts of her body, it is too early to tell."

Dr Goh took a deep breath in before releasing it again. "You have to understand we are at the end stage here. If the tumour has grown to the size that it is causing seizures, there is not long left."

"How will it happen?" This was Emily's question and Gary was surprised to hear her ask it. He looked at her, cheeks wet with tears, eyes red and puffy. But her throat was now doing the same stoic refusal to swallow that George's was.

"As I said before, she may not wake up and she may continue to remain in a coma until her body gives out. There is the possibility of further seizures and that one of these will damage the brain stem and kill her. The best-case scenario is she will wake up and over the next few days or weeks, she will slowly deteriorate, losing her appetite, wanting to sleep for longer and longer periods until eventually she won't wake up.

"I...I am sorry to be giving you this news. I am also sorry you are only finding out about this now. I know she has been having symptoms for quite some time, headaches, blurred vision and tremors. I advised her repeatedly to tell you all what was going on, especially as some patients with these types of tumours can experience severe mood disturbance, delusions, paranoia, impulsivity and even personality change. I told her it would be better for others to know so they could prepare but she did not want anyone to know and I am bound by confidentiality."

"Did she say why?" George asked.

"Because she wanted this on her own terms," Gary answered, not realising he spoke out loud.

Dr Goh nodded. "I encouraged her to engage with her previous oncologist. He is a colleague and I have the utmost respect for him. She said if this time there was no chance of getting better, then she wanted it to be different. She...she did not want to be the same scared little girl who was sick all those other times."

Emily's hands came up to her mouth and she started to sob. George reached out and pulled her to his chest, his eyes still not leaving Dr Goh and his throat still not swallowing.

Gary felt a cough tickling his throat and he realised he was shivering. A nurse had given him an old pair of slippers to keep his feet warm but he was still only in a tee-shirt when he was used to wearing at least one or two jumpers.

He reached up and pushed his fist into his Adam's apple, trying to quell the cough so it would not come out and disturb Emily's grief.

"I have to see my other patients now, but I will be back later to check on Christine." Dr Goh said.

George reached out and grabbed the doctor's shoulder. He let out a breath through clenched teeth before speaking. "Thank you."

Dr Goh nodded and patted his hand, pulling it from his shoulder at the same time.

They stood in silence around Chris' sleeping figure. Emily had started to cry again, and George absently put his arm around her. Gary sat down on the chair again and reached out to take her hand.

"Don't you touch my daughter," Emily said coldly.

Gary instinctively drew back and looked at her. "I'm sorry?"

"I said don't touch her. We...we wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."

Gary was stunned, the comment not making sense to him. "She...she was sick before she met me."

"Everyone knows stress makes it harder for the body to heal itself. Since she met you, she has abandoned all her friends, her job, her church. She became the personal slave of a murderer, a drug user and from what I have heard, a downright nasty person."

"Emily, stop..." George said quietly.

"No, George, I will not stop. This man used her. This man used my little girl when she was sick and now she's..."

"I loved her, Mrs Goldstrom, and she loved me."

Emily snorted. "Love, what the hell do you know about love? You killed a man in cold blood. You took advantage of my daughter's illness."

"I did not take advantage. We loved each other. That is why we got married."

"Oh, shut up about your sham little wedding with your sham minister of a father. It was completely ridiculous. But I can understand it now, thanks to that doctor."

Gary did not answer. He was still trying to process what she had been saying when she continued.

"Yes, this relationship with you all makes sense now. George, you heard the doctor. Personality change, emotional disturbance, delusions and impulsivity. This relationship was just a symptom of her illness."

Gary shrunk in the chair, unable to speak, horrified someone could say something so horrible; horrified it may be true.

"Emily, that is enough!" George shouted, and Emily went quiet. "I don't give a flaming stuff about why Christine chose to be with Gary or why she chose to...get married in the way she did. But she is our daughter. And she is dying. And I will not have us arguing in front of her. She deserves better than this!"

They moved back into silence. Gary went to reach for Chris's hand again but stopped, too scared to do it now.

George sat down next Christine and took her hand. He looked exhausted. "We have been here before, Emily. Not knowing if she would live or die. Well, this time we know what the outcome will be, and we have to...we have to move forward with this. Nothing else matters but helping Christine."

Emily's tears had returned. "What do we do, George? How do we say goodbye to our little baby? We always worried about her dying but we have never really had to face it."

Gary cleared his throat and mumbled. "We have spoken about it."

"You said she had not told you." George said, looking at him suspiciously.

"She...she hadn't. But we had spoken about my wishes when I died, and she told me hers, always saying it was hypothetical. I know what she wanted to happen."

"Then I will be happy to listen to you but understand Gary this is not your decision. It is ours."

"I am her husband."

"You have been her husband for two weeks. I may not understand why Christine did what she did, but I refuse to believe her actions were a result of her illness. However; irrespective of why you two married, enduring guardian is a legal matter and what you and Christine did has no legal standing. I am her father, so I am her legal guardian."

"Actually, I am." A voice said from near the door.

Gary looked up, surprised he still had the capacity to be stunned yet feeling it anyway.

His father was standing in the doorway, looking hesitant to come in the room.

"What did you say?" George asked, a hint of anger coming into his voice.

Reverend Thomas stepped into the room, his hands fumbling with each other.

"I said I am her enduring guardian."

"Don't be ridiculous," Emily spat. "We are her parents. You are just the liar who led my daughter to be corrupted by your son. Why are you even here? How did you know where Christine was?"

"The hospital called me. I am her emergency contact."

"But why you?" George asked.

"Because, well, up until about two months ago, I was Christine's minister. She came to me when she was first diagnosed and asked if I would be her enduring guardian if needed and if I would be her emergency contact."

"But why you? Why not us?" George asked; his voice slightly higher.

"Because she did not want you to know; she did not want you to worry and to pressure her into treatments she did not want. She did not want her entire life to become all about being sick once again.

"Christine came to me because she said she trusted me and because I had not been around for most of her other illnesses. I had only recently come to your church when Christine developed ovarian cancer and had the hysterectomy. She...she said my role was to be her 'Switzerland', a neutral party."

Emily snorted. "Neutral, ha! You were the one who sent her to your son."

Reverend Thomas looked at the ground, nodding. "Yes, I was. Christine came to me and told me she did not feel ready to die. She said working with other people who are dying would help her learn to cope with her own death. I suggested she could volunteer in a hospice but she believed watching old people die would not be the same.

"She asked if I could find someone who was terminally ill who was around her age. I thought of Gary. I...I have been keeping tabs on him since he was convicted, through friends and acquaintances. Everything I had been told was he did not have long to live. I...I thought it would be a simple solution."

Gary watched him, processing what his father had just said. 'I have been keeping tabs on him since he was convicted'. He had many questions to ask about this but before he could speak, Reverend Thomas continued.

"Christine's hope was she would be able to hide her sickness until right near the end. I am sure Dr Goh described the likely outcomes. She was hoping she would go to sleep at home one night and not wake up. She would text me every morning to let me know she was still alive and text again before going to bed. If I did not receive a text message, I was to come around or send an ambulance. Only when she was either too sick to hide it, or she had passed away, was I to contact you and let you know."

"You would have kept it from us until she was dead." Emily said, shocked.

"Dr Goh and I both repeatedly encouraged her to tell you. But she was adamant. These were her wishes. She hoped there would still be enough time for her to say goodbye, but not to have her last few weeks or months consumed with the fact she was dying."

"It all changed after Gary moved in, of course. She said she was no longer texting me as Gary would be there to call the ambulance. I...I did not know if she had told you Gary, or..." he paused as he looked at Gary who shook his head. "I also did not know if she had changed her mind about me being her enduring guardian, but she did not say anything so I kept her confidence. Until this morning when I received the phone call from the hospital. I called your house to let you know but when I received no answer, I assumed Gary had already called you."

He stopped talking and there was silence as each of them in the room processed the information.

Eventually George inhaled and exhaled deeply and shook his head. "Well nevertheless, we know now and we can take over from here. We will find out what needs to be done and...and do it."

"Chris would want to be at home if she could." Gary said.

"Nonsense, Christine deserves the best medical care. We can have her transferred to a private facility and-"

"Chris hated hospitals. She spent half her life in and out of them. When I was sick a month or so ago, you could tell how uncomfortable she was when she came to visit. There is no way she would want to die in one if she could avoid it. "

"Well it is not your decision, Gary."

"No, it isn't," Reverend Thomas said. "It is mine."

"Reverend Thomas, or is it Reverend Burton now? I can hardly keep up. We are her parents. When Christine wakes up, we will get her to sign enduring guardian over to us."

"That won't work. Even if she wakes up, if she has progressed to the point of having seizures, she may no longer has the capacity to make medical decisions on her own. She can't make that decision."

George exhaled sharply. "Look, if I need to take you to court to have the enduring guardianship removed, then I will. There is no way we could trust you after everything that has happened recently."

"You don't have to trust me. She wrote everything down and we had it notarised by a justice of the peace. Her desire is to die at home if possible. She cashed in her life insurance policy and set up an account with enough money to pay for in-home supported care for up to six months. She provided me with everything but a will.

Gary remembered them writing wills together; her reluctance to write one. He remained silent as Frank continued.

"George and Emily, I...I understand this is all a lot to take in. I also understand that after recent...revelations...it would be very difficult to believe anything I said, but it is the truth. I...I may have chosen to send her to Gary for my own selfish reasons and I did not ever want for her life to be turned upside down like it has been. But I will see this through. I will make sure Christine's wishes are carried out."

Gary could see George and Emily wanted to argue further, but Frank reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. "Christine wrote you a letter to explain this. Maybe we could go down to the cafeteria or to the chapel and go through it."

"I can't leave my daughter," Emily said hoarsely.

"I will stay with her." Gary said. George turned to look at him, staring at him for a long time before nodding.

"Come get us if she wakes up."

Gary nodded, watching them follow his father. He took her hand in his and pressed it against his face. He felt his stomach clenching, a feeling he used to get when he was having a bad day in the hostel, that sense of pain and loss that had made him want to drink, to smoke, to use.

He felt tears sting his eyes as he sat there, the room quiet. Chris's hand was warm against his cheek and he focused on that warmth.

He was so focused on the warmth he almost did not notice when her thumb began to move.

"Where am?" he heard a croaky voice whisper.

His eyes shot up to look at Chris. She had her eyes open, the right side open slightly more than the left.

He smiled through the tears, rubbing at his eyes to clean them away, trying to put on a brave face. "You are in the hospital, you had a seizure. We...we weren't sure if you would wake up."

Chris blinked, slowly. She licked at her lips. Gary took a cup of water from the bedside table and brought it to her mouth, moving the straw between her lips to drink. She swallowed, once, twice, then let go, breathless.

"Thank...."

She closed her eyes again, not moving for a while. Gary had almost thought she had fallen back asleep when she uttered, "pa-ents."

"They...they are speaking to my dad. He had the letter you wrote them. They know everything now. We all know everything now."

Chris opened her eyes and looked at him. Her mouth moved to form words and on the fourth attempt she was able to say 'sorry."

Gary smiled. "Nothing to be sorry about, Chris. I understand why you did it. I...I think your parents do too, at least your dad anyway. They...they asked me to go get them if you woke up. Do you want me find them?"

Chris shook her head, slowly. "Stay." She moved her head, more forcefully now. She licked her lips and Gary gave her some more water. She was able to take four swallows this time.

She moved her shoulders up as if to sit up. Gary found the button on the bed to raise up the back until she was in a sitting position. A nurse came in and Gary asked her to find Chris's parents in the chapel to let them know she had woken up.

They sat in silence for a few minutes more as Chris seemed to regain her strength.

"You...meant to die first," she finally said.

Gary smiled, forcing it on. "Sorry for disappointing you."

Chris smiled. "I was...meant to see what...like, to die. To...to get me ready."

"The whole evangelical thing was just a sham was it?"

"No, I...I was angry with God when...found out. Meant to convert you and...convince myself at the same time."

"Then you achieved your goals, just maybe not in the way you expected. I really think I should get your parents, if only so your mother does not kill me."

Chris smiled, nodding, her eyes closing. Gary hurried out of the ward and down the cafeteria as fast as he could.

George and Emily were openly crying in the middle of the cafeteria and George was holding the letter she had written them in his hand. Emily looked up at saw him and he just pointed back the way he had come with his thumb.

Emily started running, past him and back towards the ward, George following in her wake. Gary paused before turning back, allowing his father to catch up and walk beside him back to the ward in silence.

Emily and George were standing on either side of the bed, each holding one of her hands.

"Sorry," she whispered to them and George laughed, that strange sounding laugh you make when you are sobbing. His face was a mess, covered in tears but he tried to smile.

"Oh honey," he said, leaning down to hold her. "You never have to be sorry."

Emily climbed onto the bed and lay beside her daughter, weeping.

Gary heard a noise from the door and looked up to see his father standing there. He beckoned Gary over and Gary got up, moving towards him.

"I think they need some time with their daughter."

Gary hesitated, nervous that if he left now, the Goldstrom's would not let him back in. His father put his arm around his shoulder and gently pulled him through the door. "You will have time to come back. Christine and George will see that it happens, even if Emily can be...less receptive. You look like you need a cup of tea."

As Gary was led by his father down to the hospital cafeteria, he thought on the irony that the last time his entire world had fallen apart, his father had left him in a police interview room, abandoning him. This time, with his life falling apart again, all he wanted was for his dad to make it all better, even though he knew he couldn't.
5 October 1998

_I hope I am blessed to have so many people come to celebrate my life._

I hope I will see them again in heaven.

Know that you were always loved

Goodbye Christine Goldstrom, I will never stop missing you

Gary sat down in the chair heavily. He was tired, exhausted, drained. He was so tired he took a sip of the coffee Judy had made for him and almost forgot to wince at how bad it tasted.

It had taken Chris three weeks to die. One week of lucidity, then another small seizure, then progressive levels of tiredness, then another seizure which took most of her speech and made her get very angry all the time, then more tiredness until she had just gone to sleep. Then a further two days before she stopped breathing.

Gary did not feel like he had slept the entire time. In the six days since she had passed away, he had barely slept more than a few hours. He had kept himself busy, assisting her parents with the funeral arrangements, packing up of all the medical equipment in Chris' apartment, attending his own medical appointments as he had promised Chris he would do before she passed.

His eyelids felt as heavy as bricks, but sleep seemed like a million miles away. His mind would not stop; questions and thoughts racing, crashing into each other in a way that highlighted to him how the lack of sleep was affecting his judgement, though drinking Judy's coffee was better evidence he was not of sound mind.

It had been a good death, as far as deaths went. She had had enough time for the people she cared about and who cared about her to come and say goodbye, but not enough time for lots of fussing. Not enough time for others to pressure and guilt her into trying chemotherapy to prolong what was obviously inevitable. Her specialist and home nurse made sure it was as pain free as possible.

In those three weeks, he had rarely left her side. Neither had Emily and, when not at work, George. Emily had seemed to develop a grudging respect towards him, admitting he did care for her. He had almost thought he was hallucinating when she apologised to him for the comments she had said at the hospital.

After the funeral this morning, George had even shaken his hand and told him he could see Gary had loved his daughter. That might have been why they had not yet asked him to leave Chris' apartment, something he knew he had to start thinking about even if he did not want to.

"It was a beautiful eulogy, love," Judy said as she sat down in the plastic chair opposite him. Absently, he reached up to his pocket and touched the crumpled paper he had written it on, those 45 lines he felt were woefully inadequate to do Chris justice.

She took a sip of her coffee and sighed. Again, Gary was too tired to think and took a sip of his own.

"I told ya you would come around to my coffee. Did you know Christine gave me her fancy espresso machine about two months back? She just came here one day, said she was on the way to an appointment, and said she wanted me to have it."

"I tried it, bloody complex thing it was and the coffee, my lord, it was 'orrible. It tasted too fancy. I had to put in five teaspoons of sugar just to drink the bloody thing. Which is bad for the diabetes, so I gave it to the salvo's. You just can't beat a good instant."

Gary nodded, not really wanting to respond, recognising Judy was filling in the silence with chatter to give him time to think.

Judy took another sip of her coffee, sighed and shook her head. "Beautiful eulogy," she said again.

Gary closed his eyes, the action seeming to make his eyelids hot and tight. "I am not sure many people were happy I got up and spoke, most just saw me as the criminal son of a lying minister who ruined her life."

"Well why not? That is what you are, except for the life-ruining bit." Judy said matter of factly. Gary opened his eyes and looked at her, blinking.

"Don't give me that look, you know me. I don't sugar coat nothing that ain't edible. That whole congregation is dealing with the news of you and your dad and for most of them; this was the first time they got to clap eyes on you. I'd be a bit nosy if I was in the situation."

Gary shrugged, taking a sip of the coffee. The conversation had woken his mind up a little and this time he winced. Judy noticed and passed over a packet of Tim Tams. "If you can taste the coffee, giving you a biscuit won't be a waste."

Gary took the biscuit, taking a bite if only to wash away the bitter taste in his mouth.

"What are you going to do now?" Judy asked, popping half a chocolate biscuit into her own mouth.

Gary shrugged. "Not a fucking clue. I have to find somewhere to live for now."

"Don't think about coming back to this place. Your room was taken the very next day. Besides, you weren't the best influence on the other residents."

"I...I quit that stuff. The hardest drugs I take now are retroviral medications."

"And you are still taking those?"

Gary nodded. "Chris made me promise three times I would keep taking them even after she passed. I don't really have a choice."

"Well they seem to be doing the trick," Judy said, passing across another biscuit. "You actually look like you put a bit of weight on, and I can see a colour in your face other than just deathly white."

"Doctor says my T-cell count is coming back up and the last of the PCP cleared up while Chris was sick. He said my immune system will never be back to what it was, but I could survive a cold or minor infection now."

"Good to hear. That girl came here to save your life and that is exactly what she did."

Gary harrumphed. "She was meant to watch me die. And supposedly restore my faith in God."

"Well, didn't she?"

Gary shrugged. "I don't know. I started to not hate the concept of God. But what was the point? I started to look forward to things only to watch her die. I pushed people away for so long and when I finally want to be around people again, the prick leaves me all alone again."

"All alone, what the hell am I? What about Claire, that lovely women I met at the funeral. I even saw you talking with your dad after the ceremony, as well as Christine's parents. Seems to me there are more people in your life now than there was before you met her."

Gary shook his head. "But none of you are her, are you? She's gone. She gave me a reason to live and I started taking medication, I started getting better. And then she fucking dies on me. I was happy to wait for death before. Is that what I have to look forward to again? Only this time much slower because she fucking made me promise to keep taking the medication?"

"Gawd, you are a bloody idiot," Judy said, taking a bite of another biscuit. "You know what she told me when I visited her before she passed? She told me being with you, talking with you, made her feel alive, like she was a real person. She told me meeting you helped her understand how to die. That it isn't about dying, it is about living as much as you can until you can't. I thought you had learnt that too.

"You think I don't miss my Roger? Do you think I don't still cry myself to sleep thinking about him? He passed three years ago this November and I still miss him like buggery. You will miss her, I will miss her, but take what you learnt from her and keep going."

"Just move on," Gary said heatedly.

"Not move on. There is no moving on. If I could go back to before my husband died, I would do it in a heartbeat. I am talking about living despite the fact we can't be with them no more. I am talking about living as much as you can until you can't."

Gary sat there silent. Slowly, he brought his mug up for another sip and grimaced. "Honestly Judy, can't you at least buy something better than international fucking roast?"

Judy smiled. "I work for a charity. Half the time I buy the bloody coffee cause there ain't no more money in the budget."

"Then I will buy you a lifetime supply of something better. Still instant so it meets your standards, but...better."

"You planning to keep visiting me?"

Gary shrugged. "I have to find something to do. Dad has decided to move, now that he is officially retiring. He asked if I wanted to come with him. I told him we weren't at that stage just yet."

"Do you reckon you will get there?"

"Who knows? These last few weeks, he really stood up for Chris? I respect that."

"So where does that leave you?"

"Well seen as you won't let me move back in, any chance of a job?"

"I can't afford International bloody Roast but I am meant to be able to afford to hire an extra staff member? What would you do anyway?"

"I have a counselling degree, and a welfare certificate. I got them in prison. I saw how much Chris enjoyed answering the questions of the residents here, she even did them when she got back from hospital; before the second seizure anyway. I don't know, maybe if I helped out here, it would be like continuing her work."

Judy thought about it for a while, munching on what Gary thought was her fifth chocolate biscuit. 'So much for her diabetes,' he thought.

"What if we made a deal? I remember you saying you had a bunch of money from an inheritance."

"Yeah, it's in my will to be donated to this hostel when I die. But it won't be enough for me to keep living off unless I get a job. I looked at the 'for rent' section in the paper yesterday and units are fucking expensive."

"Then come work here for free and I will let you stay at my place."

"Your place?"

"Yeah. All the kids have moved out and with Roger gone, it's pretty lonely. You'd have to put up with me family most weekends but if I ask them nice, I suppose they could put up with you. You don't pay rent, but I don't pay you. Should make it affordable for you to be a volunteer."

Gary thought about it for a while. "Can I buy my own coffee?"

Judy chuckled. "I am sure we can arrange something." She raised her mug. He clinked his against hers but remembered not to take a sip. He felt like maybe he could sleep again and was soon starting to doze on the couch. He did not hear Judy get up or put a blanket around him.

Leaning forward she kissed him on the head. As she closed the door to the office to let him sleep, she said "God bless you Chris for bringing him out of that dark place. God bless you Gary for doing the same for her."
Epilogue
6 July 2000 -

Frank Thomas Burton grunted as he got out of his car. Instantly, he felt frozen by the July winds that tore through him. It was his second winter in Goulburn and he still could not believe just how much colder it was than Newcastle or Sydney.

He locked the car and made his way up to the front gate of Goulburn Correctional Facility. He had been volunteering here for over a year now. It was nothing like he had expected, but the work made him feel good.

Gary had asked him once if he met with prisoners here as some sort of penance and Frank had not known how to answer that. He suspected the answer was almost entirely a yes.

Thoughts of Gary made his heart rise until it was in his throat. He had only gotten back yesterday from the funeral and he was still struggling to come to terms with the idea his son was no longer alive.

Gary had started to look well again and for a while, Frank thought he may have a few years left. He had been wrong; Gary had almost lasted two more winters before contracting pneumonia and failing rapidly.

He felt so alone; his wife had passed many years ago, then the fiasco with Gary had made him be rejected by his parish for a second time. Now Gary was gone. He had no family, very little friends. He imagined it was what Gary must have felt like all those years in prison.

He entered the visitors' area and moved over to the metal scanners. Emptying his pockets of keys and wallet he realised he forgot to leave his medication in the car. The correctional officer looked at him suspiciously as he dropped it into the plastic tray.

"They are for my heart. I can take them back to the car or you can hold them here if you want?"

He was hoping the correctional officer would just hold onto them and if it had been one of the officers he knew, they probably would have.

It was a new officer and he told him to take them back to the car. Frank's shoulders slumped.

Slowly, he made his way back out into the freezing cold wind, throwing them onto the driver's seat when he got the door unlocked, his cold shaking hands taking several turns before he got the key in the lock. Then he walked as fast as he trusted to get back into the visitor's centre without falling over.

Back inside, he saw one of the prison social workers in the waiting area. Smiling, he returned to the metal detectors and made his way through, picking up his keys and wallet on the other side. He did not have to worry about a mobile phone because he did not own one.

The social worker smiled at him warmly and came across to him. "Hey Frank, how are you doing? I heard about your son."

Frank shrugged. "I am doing ok. It was a beautiful service. Only one little incident."

He lost his train of thought as he said, 'one little incident.' It had not been a little incident. Mr and Mrs Sevido had come to the funeral to celebrate Gary's death. Frank had known they would attend as Gary had expressly requested his obituary be put in every newspaper with the details of the funeral. Gary had known they would come and had told him they deserved this little bit of closure if it made them feel better.

Frank had not expected to watch Mr Sevido spit on Gary's grave and despite being in his 60's with a heart condition, he honestly thought he would have tried to thump Mr Sevido if Judy had not held him back.

Everyone had stood shocked until Judy took charge, telling everyone to let the Sevido's be and it was Gary's wish that they were to express how they felt anyway they want. It didn't stop her giving the Sevido's an earful herself after she herded them across the cemetery, but he was realising there were not many people Judy did not boss around. It was probably for the best, most of the people that had attended the funeral were current and past residents of Riverside Gardens and many them had a history of violence.

Afterwards, Frank had asked her if she had told the Sevido's the truth about why Gary had killed their son and she had shaken her head. "Believe you me, after that spittin', I wanted to, but it's not my place to tell them. Gary did not want them to know. Why heap more pain on top of pain?" Judy had started weeping then. "Gawd, I am going to miss that boy, pain in the neck though he was."

Frank had thought to comfort her but within moments she had been surrounded by her family, children and grandchildren and extended family.

Instead Frank had simply stood there, feeling impotent and alone.

"Frank? Frank!" the social worker said, pulling him out of the memory.

"Sorry, what did you say Venita?" he said, apologetically.

"I said I have a special case for you today; someone new. I don't think he is very religious, but he could definitely use a friend."

"What's wrong with him?" he asked, bringing his mind to the business at hand.

"You know I can't talk about him specifically, Frank. Confidentiality and all that. Just meet with him. I have already told the guards to bring him to the visitors' yard."

Frank nodded, grimacing. The visitors' yard; the outdoor visiting area. Not the inside visitors' hall he was hoping for. The arthritis in his knees would be screaming by tonight.

Venita led him out to the yard even though he knew the way and then left him. Frank sat there shivering, pulling his jacket tighter around himself while he waited.

It was not long before a guard brought in a man in his mid-thirties. His hair was tied back in a pony tail and he hugged his arms together against the cold. The green jumper and tracksuit pants did not look like they would provide much protection from the wind.

The man left the guard and sat down on the other side of the metal picnic table Frank had seated himself at.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, cupping his hands around the end to light it as another gust tore through the yard.

Taking a drag, he breathed out, the smoke whipping away in the wind. "So, who the fuck are you?"

Frank could see it in him. The sickness. He knew it well. He had seen it in Christine, he had seen it in Gary. He saw it now when he looked in the mirror. It did not matter if it was cancer or AIDS or heart failure, when death grabbed a hold, it was only a matter of time.

"My name's Frank, Frank Burton. I volunteer here sometimes, talk to people."

"Yeah, what about?"

"Well, sometimes I talk about God. I used to be a minister before I retired."

"I ain't interested in any Jesus-freak bullshit."

Frank could see the fear in his eyes. He had learnt in his time coming here that being tough, being strong, was important. You got 'fucked with' if you were weak. And the sickness was making him weak.

"I don't have to talk about God. We can talk about anything you want?"

"Look, I told the counsellor bitch I didn't want any counselling. There's nothing wrong."

Frank nodded. "Good, because I am not a counsellor. I am just someone who has no one else to talk to."

The man looked at him suspiciously; Frank knew this was not what he was expecting. He waited until the man spoke again.

"Well what the fuck you want to talk about?"

"How about what's wrong with you?"

"There ain't nothin' wrong with me. What the fuck has that bitch been telling you?" The fear in his eyes was stronger now. It was the same with almost every one of the prisoners Frank had spoken with since starting to volunteer here. He wondered if Gary had that same fear when Christine had started to visit him; that fear of being exposed. Then again, Gary had been open about his illness.

"Venita has not told me anything so calm down." he said, calmly. "She just tends to get people to talk to me who are sick. I...I have some experience in that area."

"Well, I don't know what you are talking about. Think of something else to talk about."

Frank sighed. He thought if he did this as penance, it was challenging enough to be penance-like. He knew it wasn't the only reason why he kept coming back. Ironically, it seemed to make him feel closer to Gary.

"How about I just talk then, not about God or being unwell or anything else. Let me tell you about my son and an amazing woman named Christine..."

He told this story all the time. And like all the other times, he saw that as he spoke, the prisoner slowly relaxed, letting some of the defences go. It was the vulnerability of the story, he thought, or the lack of black and white in his and Gary's choices that hooked them in.

Frank did not mind. He wasn't lonely when he had someone to talk to and he loved to talk about the son he had pretended not to have for all those years.
Eulogy in full

Good morning and welcome, I would like to thank you all for coming. Coming here today to say farewell to someone we all cared about

I did not expect there would be so many here but I guess it makes sense when you think about it. I am sure this passing has brought sadness, pain, and sorrow. But it has also brought us together, here, today

It is times like this some of us may question our faith and some of us may be strengthened by it. For most of us, it is a time to think on the past, to support each other through this difficult process.

Death is often a topic which makes us feel threatened, a subject we often try to avoid. Lately, I have been reading a lot of Bible passages to try and help me understand. It talks about how death is a part of life, it is not for us to question who or how or why.

It is important grief does not cause us to become distant from our beliefs, to become distant from others. No matter how hurt or angry we feel at the sense of someone we love being taken from us/

I have also been looking for understanding in other places. The existentialist Yalom describes a life as being like a rock hitting a still pond. It creates ripples that flow outwards, hitting the edge of the pond and flowing back. They are like a sine wave, getting smaller and smaller over time but never truly disappearing.

Death can feel like a great shock, something that changes our world. But it is important to remember, to continue what was before. He says that when we remember them, they continue to ripple on. And when we engage with others, when we share our memories and the things they taught us, we carry those ripples forward into other people's lives and so they live on. In our hearts, our minds, our memories, the way they changed who we are, they live on

I only came into their world recently and suffice it to say it was a pretty rocky start. And even now, when I have to say goodbye, I don't regret a minute of it.

So, let us remember the good times. Let us revel in the past. Let the memories soothe us. Let them bring about a sense of closure. Let us put aside our anger, our pain, our sorrow. Let us focus on those connections we have, even if those connections are in the past.

Many of you may have guessed that I myself am not well and I hope when I go, I show the same strength, the same grace. I hope I am blessed to have so many people come to celebrate my life.

I hope I will see them again in heaven. Know that you were always loved.

Goodbye Christine Goldstrom, I will never stop missing you.

###

Thank you for reading my book, The Last Conversation. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to leave me a review at your favourite retailer.

Robert Neville
About the Author

Robert Neville has been practising as a psychologist for more than a decade and has a passion for exploring emotion and how people process life events. He brings his clinical knowledge into his writing. Robert lives with his wife and family in southern New South Wales, Australia.
