Chapter Text
January, 1955
Perth, Western Australia
(Boorloo Duchy, New Holland)
William fell asleep.
Red checked his watch—5:20 AM. On the dot.
It was funny: Red didn’t even need to look at William to know when he had fallen asleep. This morning, they had been lying in bed, reading. William had had his head on Red’s arm, his book propped up on Red’s chest while Red held his book above him. Around five he would usually adjust, shift onto his back, keeping one hand holding Red’s. And then when sunrise hit, Red would feel him go slack, and it would be like… almost like being alone in the room. No presence. Like he became part of the furniture.
Chestnut would worry at William sometimes. She would whine and nose at his hands for a little while. Checking if he was okay. On some level, she had accepted that William was fine and he would wake up again, but it was like on some days she had to check.
“Come on, sweetheart.” Red placed his bookmark and got to his feet. Chestnut wagged her tail, waiting. Red carefully scooped her off the bed, setting her gently on the carpeted floor. The vet had warned that she shouldn’t be jumping off the furniture anymore. She hadn’t damaged anything, but she was getting older. She had to be careful.
It was for the same reason Red loaded her carefully into the back of the car to drive her to the beach. The sand was easier on her joints.
The car had been a birthday present from William. It was a Holden FJ, an absolute beast of a thing that had a long waiting list to even get the chance to buy one. Its price was high enough that William had refused to tell Red how much he had spent, and it was a shade of cream that, while beautiful, had already proven to be impossible to keep clean.
It was an extremely typical William gift.
Red loved it.
The sun was coming up over the city by the time they got there. The faintest hints of the evening were still over the ocean. Chestnut trotted out happily into the sand, and to the water, just getting her feet wet. The sand was white here, like back in Corsica. Red wondered if she remembered that.
As he walked slowly along the beach, carrying a book, waiting when Chestnut got distracted by the water or a bit of sand that smelled particularly interesting or the odd other person who was walking down the beach, Red let his mind wander. It was already warm. It would be hot today. It would be mid-winter back in Ohio. He wondered what Dorothy and James would be doing. He hadn’t heard from them since July—his winter, their summer. They had gone to Lake Erie for a vacation. They hadn’t mentioned his inviting them to come visit him in Perth.
He wrote often, getting maybe one letter back for every three he sent. They were often short, to the point. “James is good, children are good, hope you’re well.”
Red tried not to let it bother him. Most of the time, it didn’t.
But he did get mail sometimes. A postcard or a letter from Julias would arrive every week. Julias had kept pushing back his holiday, always claiming there was more to do around their place, until there were no more excuses left. He was in France now, visiting his son. The latest letter had even included a photo taken on one of those fancy instant cameras William had insisted Julias take with him. It was an extremely dark photo: Red could only just make out a young man with extremely large pointed ears and… was he on a roof? William and Red had not been able to figure it out. They would have to ask Julias when he got back.
For all the cajoling it took, it did seem like Julias was enjoying having leisure time. Red was glad for that.
Usually, Red had no plans in the mornings. It was his own time. He would work on their home, or read at local cafes, or exercise, or go for long walks in the hills. This was one of the first mornings in a long while he actually had something he needed to do. Something he had been meaning to do for a while.
Carefully, he pulled the envelope from between the pages of his book. It was the same cream colour as his car, and had William’s elegant handwriting on it.
It contained a secret, William had told him. In case Red needed to blackmail him. So Red could have power over him. If he needed it. If he wanted it.
He took off his shoes so he could stand in the wet sand, the water only touching him on every third wave, far from the dry vegetation in the sand dunes. He placed his hat beside his shoes, and put the book on top of it.
He held the envelope in one hand, still without even the smallest crease on it. He didn’t want to crumple it, even now. It felt too important.
Chestnut had happily found a divot in the dry sand and was lying in it, watching him, panting a little.
With the other hand, he felt for the lighter in his pocket. He flicked it open, and called forth a flame.
The flame crawled quickly across the envelope and the letter inside, shielded from the sea breeze by his hand. The paper deformed, turning black, to amber, and into grey ashes as the flames took it. He even saw a little edge of green on the flames. Perhaps it was his imagination. Or oil in the paper.
He let go of the corner before the flame reached his fingers. The wind caught it immediately, pulling it from him, the ashes scattering into smaller pieces and whipped into the air, with the last bit of the envelope, just enough for his thumb, falling into the ocean at his feet. It floated, just for a moment, before a wave over the top pushed it down into the churning water and sand below.
The ashes were gone by the time he looked up again.
Would he ever have used it?
Red wasn’t sure. He would like to think he wouldn’t have. But then, there were a lot of things he had done that he never thought he would do.
Chestnut was pressing her nose to his shin. Her tail wagged when he looked down at her.
“You ready to go home?”
She wagged her tail again. She licked his shin.
“Yeah.” He reached down to scratch her behind the ear. “Me too.”