More Than A Journey Home

Prologue

Prologue

Thomas and Beth CoalBriar are dead. A long time friend and neighbour makes the gruesome discovery of what appears to be a murder/suicide.

A tall solitary figure disembarks from a soil-caked, air-conditioned Greyhound bus and stands facing north, glaring down an endless driveway of thick red dirt towards a homestead now wrought in mystery. The dust swirls around his feet, coating his shoes in a thick layer of rusty orange. The Australian sun beats down upon his head, relentless, unforgiving, and a river of sweat slicks his skin and runs down his back, soaking his shirt to a darker shade of blue.

Fifteen years have passed since he last set foot on family soil, yet it feels like only yesterday. His promise never to return is now just a distant dream. Mason is here to deal with the fallout and get the hell out of Dodge as fast as he can.

Making his way along the family’s private access road, the air hangs heavy and desolate. The property lies in ruin and decay. Weeds choke the paddocks, and it appears nobody has slashed the dry brown grass in years. He passes carcasses of sheep lying desecrated and alone. Dry, bleached bones mark their final resting place. Mason wonders what the hell has been going on here, and as he draws closer to the homestead he feels dread and despair licking at his soul.
Mason is 35 years old and considered a catch by most of the female population. With jet black hair, piercing green eyes, and powerfully built at just over 6 feet tall, he is an imposing figure and one to be reckoned with. His hatred of the property and all the memories he would rather forget, have not dimmed since he left. Arriving in front of the house that was once his home, Mason feels anything but imposing or comfortable. His only welcome is the shade afforded him by the slowly sinking sun dipping behind the peak of the house roof, offering him some relief from the intensity of the afternoon heat.

He drops his worn, army green duffel bag to the ground, removes his wide-brimmed hat, now stained with sweat, and slowly sinks to the ground. Now that Mason is here, he isn’t ready to head inside, worried about what might greet him in the depths of the darkness and the stories the walls might want to tell. The uppermost hinge leaves the front screen door slightly ajar and lopsided. What lies behind that door scares the hell out of him. The past looms large within that house. The fights, the disappointments, the resentment and the never-ending pressures that finally took their toll and led to his leaving. Nor does he want to clean up the mess or enter their bedroom where their bodies had lain.
Slowly, he stands and grabs his duffel from the dirt. Turning his back to the house, he makes his way over to what once were the shearing quarters.
He isn’t going into the house today; he may just never go in there again.