The Void
The Void
Christine Bernard
Contents
The Void
Copyright
Please note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Christine Bernard:
The Void
By Christine Bernard
Copyright
COPYRIGHT 2019 CHRISTINE BERNARD
ISBN 978-0-6399846-4-3 (ebook)
978-0-6399846-5-0 (print)
All characters; events and establishments in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author.
Cover Design by: Warren Bernard. www.flatwhiteimages.com
Please note
This book is set in Australia, and, in order to retain authenticity, uses local spelling and slang. Words like colour, centre, and realise are therefore not spelling mistakes, but part of the language conventions of the country.
This book is dedicated to Tyler.
Just like this book, he was made in South Africa, but born in Australia.
And to Warren, my soul mate, for moving to another country with me and for always being up for an adventure. Here’s to the next chapter in our lives.
Prologue
Two down, three to go. I always knew they wouldn’t last, but some had already surprised me more than others. I zoomed in on pod one, and increased the volume. The pods were interesting to me, each one in their own way, but I had a strong suspicion there would be only one winner at the end. The difference between the contestants was glaringly obvious, and with each passing minute their inner strengths were showing signs of depletion. I wasn’t surprised. I’d already tried this challenge myself and failed dismally. I hadn’t had the motivation for money, so I knew they’d last a little longer. Watching them unravel had been interesting, and for someone who had always been so against reality TV, I was now glued to the screens. I had barely slept since they’d been in. I could watch the tapes back whenever I wanted, but there was something far more exciting about events unfolding in real time, especially since some of them seemed so close to their breaking point. The fresh faces that had gone in at the start had changed far quicker than I had thought they would. They seemed to have aged inside, the lack of sleep and activity aging them at triple speed. I was already an old codger, so it was good I was on the outside looking in. As I watched, I wondered what would happen if I prolonged their stay without them knowing. It would make for good telly, wouldn’t it? To see how much further they would push themselves, and to see what the mind was capable of. It would be fascinating. Was it legal? Probably not. I was already pushing the boundaries with this idea. Sure, there was no actual show yet, but that didn’t matter. It would get snapped up after they saw the footage. I already had some incredible moments on film. And hey, if the show didn’t get picked up, I’d just pay the contestants myself. What could go wrong?
I peered in again, switching over to pod three. As I did, a sudden pain shot through my arm, and my chest tightened almost instantaneously. I was old enough to have experienced many medical issues, but this was unlike anything I’d felt before. It felt as if someone was squeezing me, and I couldn’t get out of their grip. I shut my eyes and drew several deep breaths to calm myself. When I opened my eyes again, I felt moderately better. The squeezing had eased to a slight embrace, as if an invisible man was holding me. I tried to shake him off. What the hell was that all about?
Chapter 1
Ryan
I tried to explain to my father what I did for a living for the hundredth time, although I wasn’t sure why I bothered. We were sitting in his living room, a place I abhorred, while my mother made tea for us. My parents were great—they were—but they seemed years behind the rest of the world.
“Dad,” I said through gritted teeth, “I’ve already told you what I do. Anyway, what do you tell people when they ask you?”
He shrugged. “I tell them you’re into computers.”
I chuckled. “Dad! That’s completely wrong. Is that why Uncle Pete asked me to fix his laptop the other day? That’s not what I do.”
“I know. I know. It’s only what I tell them. I know what you do. You work on the Tube. I just don’t really know what you do there.”
“It’s called YouTube, and I don’t work on it. I upload videos to it. I’m a social media influencer. I show people the best products on the market. My latest video reached over a million viewers. Pretty impressive for a guy who works in computers, huh?” I smiled and turned to my mother, who had come in with a tray of tea. The tray rattled as she walked, and as she put it down, I noticed not all the cups were clean. I wiped mine with the edge of my sleeve when she wasn’t looking. She’d always been so particular about cleanliness. “Thank you,” I said to her. “Mum, you know what I do, don’t you?”
“Sure, you get free stuff sent to you for reviews.”
I sighed. She made it seem so trivial. “Well, yes, but that’s not all I do. I have access to a huge audience. Companies come to me because they can trust me. It’s actually a pretty big deal.”
“I wish I got free stuff. I can make videos, too,” my father said. I decided not to tell him he’d probably do quite well if he were to try this. There was something about my father that people gravitated toward. The things that irritated me most about him were the things other people found endearing.
“Don’t listen to your father. I think what you’re doing is fantastic. I’m very proud of you.”
I changed the subject before I got too annoyed and listened to my parents talk about their weekend plans. A spot of gardening for my father, and a trip to the hairdresser for my mother. One plan each, and yet we spent the next hour discussing it in detail. My father liked to talk about his endless pursuit of weed removal, while my mother discussed different hairstyle options despite her continuing with the same style she’d had for thirty years. It was riveting stuff. I listened, or, at least, I pretended to, because despite wondering if I was adopted every time I saw them, they were my parents. It often felt as if we were from different planets, but they weren’t bad people.
“Well, I better get going. I have a meeting to get to,” I said the moment my father finished what felt like the longest story in the world. Who knew there were that many ways to get rid of weeds
? I stood up, and the three of us made our way to the front door.
“You have meetings at Yute Tube?” he asked, and I resisted the urge to correct him. I was starting to think he might be having me on.
“Yes, we have meetings. Like I said, it’s an actual job.”
He nodded. “Well, see if you can get me some free herbicides for the garden.”
“Dad, that’s not how it works.” I groaned. “It’s…oh, you know what, never mind. I better get going. Thanks for the tea, Mum. I’ll see you both next week.”
“Sure you don’t want to stay for something to eat?”
“No, I have to head off.”
There was no meeting to go to, and I felt a little bad at the deception, but I was tired of my parents thinking I didn’t have a real job. I knew the word ‘meeting’ would resonate with my old-fashioned father. Perhaps I’d even throw in the word ‘payday’ next time. Not that I really knew what that was either. I’d never had a proper job, and I cringed as the thought crossed my mind. This was a proper job. I was falling into my father’s ways. I couldn’t help myself. It always happened when I spent too much time with him. It was why I only visited once a week for tea. I did quite well for myself, and for the most part I was generally proud I’d managed to snub the system my father had complained about his whole life. Was that why he pretended not to know what I did? Was he just jealous? Whatever the reason, I needed to go home and unwind. The visit had left me feeling strange, and I had no idea why.
Home was a fifty square meter apartment that the owner had advertised as perfectly pocket-sized. Despite this, the price tag was hefty, and my parents couldn’t understand why anyone would choose to pay so much for a place so small. They had a grand home, but growing up in Waratah was enough time for me to know for sure it was not where I wanted to live forever. No matter how many times my parents stood up for their area with words like safe, relaxing, quiet, all I heard was boring, boring, boring. I might pay too much for my miniature apartment, but Newton was right in the heart of the city I loved so much. Better yet, I lived on top of a thriving café, where I was served free coffee every day. My father said it wasn’t right I didn’t pay for it, but he didn’t know the effort I put in for these guys. I was almost certain my Instagram photos of their coffee had doubled their clientele.
It took me just over an hour and a half to get home, but I would wait before letting Mum know I had arrived. It should take me two hours, and she’d complain I was going too fast, which I probably was. I couldn’t help myself. The roads were quiet on Sundays, and the urge to get home as fast as possible had surged me forward. I flopped onto, or more like into, my red beanbag and sighed in contentment. The beanbags were one of the reasons my parents rarely visited, and why I drove out to them once a week instead. My mother had barely been able to get off it the first time she’d visited, much to my father’s amusement. For me they were the most comfortable faux-sofas in the world. They were also cheaper and took up less space than regular furniture would. However, when my phone rang, I was admittedly grateful it was still in my pocket. Getting off these things was a little time-consuming.
“Yo,” I said once I saw the name of the person calling. Jon and I were worlds apart in personality, and I was sure we wouldn’t hang out if our families weren’t such good friends.
“You want to make some money?”
I chuckled. “Who doesn’t?”
Chapter 2
Jon
A torrent of rain came down, and I jumped up to close the sliding door of the balcony before rain poured in all over my cables. Every day I told myself to sort it out, but I never seemed to get around to it. Who had time for cable management anyway? I wished we could move our TV cabinet to another part of the room, but there wasn’t space for it. Everything looked different before Keri moved in. Now we played a constant game of real-life Tetris, trying to see which items best fit in which space. She was always trying to get rid of stuff, or begging me to move further from the city, but I wasn’t going to give in. I liked it here. Anyway, in a year or two I planned on having enough money to move somewhere nicer. As I closed the sliding door, I heard the front door open and breathed a sigh of relief that I was no longer on the phone to Ryan. Keri was going to freak when she found out what I had done.
“What the hell? Where did this rain come from?” she said as she closed the door behind her. As she approached me, she left a trail of water with every step. I decided not to say anything as I needed her on my good side at the moment, but it was hard not to bite. Keri’s hair was the one thing I both loved and loathed about her. The big afro style suited her, and it turned heads whenever we went out. Hell, it had turned my head all those years ago. Now, I wasn’t so sure about it. She had no idea she was dripping rain, mostly because it was coming from her hair, and for some reason this annoyed me.
I forced a smile. “From the sky perhaps?”
She groaned. “Ah, I didn’t think of that. You’re a pain, you know that? You should be nicer considering I came bearing gifts,” she said as she held up a bag.
I wiggled my nose like a dog as she got nearer. “Chinese? I am lucky to have you.” Thank goodness she wasn’t going to cook again. She’d gotten it into her head recently that she wanted to learn how to cook wholesome, happy and hearty meals—her words—and most nights have consisted of me wolfing down toast after throwing away yet another failed attempt.
She leaned in to kiss me. “Good day?”
“Not bad. I had Ray the x-ray today,” I said as I sat back down in the living room. She took a seat and rummaged through her bag for her comb. I’d once stuck it in her hair and spent an amusing hour watching her while she tried to find it.
“Don’t call him that,” she said. “Oh, my hair is soaking wet.”
“Well, it is raining. Your hair is like a natural umbrella. And I’m not being mean about Ray, but I’ve never seen a guy so skinny. I gave him an eating plan today but I’m not sure it’s going to help. Poor guy. Guess what size dumbbells he used today?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters, I’m his trainer. It’s my job to make sure he gets stronger. Four kilograms. Four! Can you believe it? I tried to get him to go up to five, but he couldn’t lift his arms up. It took everything I had not to laugh.”
“You’re his trainer, which is exactly why you shouldn’t be mean. It’s not as easy for some people as it is for others.”
“It’s not easy for me either. I work hard to get my body this way, and I’m sorry but dumbbells that light are not going to do much to the guy.”
“Hey, I use the same size dumbbells,” she said.
“First, you don’t ever work out. Second, you’re a girl.”
She sighed, then got up and headed to the kitchen, where she poured us each a glass of wine without asking me if I wanted one. We’d had this argument before, but while I’d called it presumptuous, she’d called it being nice.
“He’s trying. I think it’s brave. Hell, now that I know how much you talk about your clients, I’ll never go to a personal trainer ever again. I’d be mortified to know they talk about me when I’m not around. How are you going to cope without the gym for two weeks?” she asked as she handed me the glass.
“Do you seriously think I can’t cope? Come on! It’s two weeks.”
“When last did you not go to the gym for two weeks?”
“Last year! When we went to Fiji.”
She chuckled. “You used the gym at the hotel!”
“That doesn’t count.”
“Honestly, Jon, what are you going to do? You’re going to go out of your mind.”
“I don’t need a gym to work out. I’ve got a whole plan of exercises to do that don’t require gym equipment. Your boyfriend is not as daft as you seem to think he is. Anyway, I was thinking of maybe bringing in a kettlebell for my one item.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“No. Why not? It’s a good idea. We�
�re going to need something to do in there to keep us busy. I have the sickest workout based just on kettlebells.”
“You want me to work out with you every day, that it?”
“Of course. It will be fun. We can time each other. See who does the best.”
She stood up, then sat back down. In our small apartment that was the equivalent of pacing. “Jon, come on, that’s not fair. We’re only allowed one item between us. Why do you get to choose what it is?”
“Like you said, I’ll go crazy without working out. Anyway, you know I only want to look good for you.” I flashed her the old charmer, the nicknamed she’d fashioned for me when we’d first started dating. I’d lucked out in the genetic pool, and my smile was easily my best feature. We’d been dating for years already, but I was pretty sure I saw her face soften as I smiled at her.
“You’re full of it,” she said in a gentler tone.
“You love me, though,” I teased.