More Than A Journey Home

Chapter Three - Third Discovery

The door scrapes the floorboards as Mason pulls it towards him. As he takes his first tentative steps over the threshold and into the wide front foyer, he closes his eyes and just breathes. The air in the house is stale and warm, having had no fresh air in the past week. He can smell the wooden flooring beneath his feet and, to his immediate left, the scent of wax on the Dry As a Bone coats, indicative that they still hang exactly where they always have. The scent of clay is clinging to the boots left upon the floor and most likely coating the welcome mat he was standing upon. There is a heavy presence and silence that wraps him up like a straitjacket, tightening his chest with every breath he inhales. He wasn’t sure what to expect; he was imagining the odour of death to hit him square in the face as he opened the front door and is extremely grateful that everything is familiar and unchanged.

He opens his eyes and takes in the dimness, the natural light of morning being held at bay by the curtains his mum always pulled closed every night and opened again first thing in the morning. The lounge room is immediately to his right, and with a glance, he ascertains the furniture is the same as it was when he left. The couches look more worn now in places that were already fraying the last time he rested his body there. The fireplace looks untouched, like it hasn’t been alight over the winter months. A fairly substantial quantity of alcohol stands upon the sideboard, bottles straight and even like soliders lining up for inspection. Labels facing forward and generous amounts of liquid remain in them all. Moving through the lounge and into the dining room, Mason notes nothing of change here either. Furniture still the same, neat and tidy as his mother would have left it. However, as he looks closer at the table and chairs, he sees a fine dark powder coating them. Fingerprint dust maybe? Would make sense. The house was declared a crime scene, and he knows the police have been through the home and the property once Bryce raised the alarm about his parents.

Mason moves through to the heart and hub of the home. The kitchen. His mother’s genuine pride and joy, her favourite place to be above all others. Dust motes swirl lazily in the shafts of sunlight that peek through the half-open window blinds. Mason can envision his mother busily moving from fridge to cooktop, table to sink and back again. Always busy preparing not only for himself and his father but the shearers as well. This was her scared place, her cave. Beth CoalBriar loved nothing more than to cook and watch the pleasure on the faces of those who were lucky enough to partake in anything she prepared. It was something Mason had taken for granted, he now realised. How he would give anything to be tucking into her famous scrambled eggs with bacon and tomato and a drizzle of béarnaise sauce over thick buttered toast. Or her Canadian pancakes with maple syrup soaking into the fluffy circles of goodness that danced upon your tongue with such sweetness it would make you groan out loud with culinary delight. Mason’s stomach grumbles loudly, and with it feels a tug of urgency to be fed. He approaches the fridge on the off chance something could be worth feeding his ravenous appetite. As he opens the door, he soon discovers that all that’s left is out-of-date milk, fruit and veg that wrinkle and curl upon themselves, and cheese that has mould covering the surface with intricate patterns.

Glancing down the hallway leading off the kitchen, a heaviness settles. A sadness for the loss of his mother grips his heart and steals his breath. His parents’ bedroom sits just off the hallway. The door closed thankfully. The main bathroom stands across the hall and further down is his father’s study door, most likely locked as always. Last of all is the laundry, where the machines would run day in, day out, washing not only for the family, but the workers as well. This part of the house was never an area that Mason ventured. To him, it was always his parents’ wing, and for now he had no desire to step foot down that hallway. No intention of opening their bedroom door and seeing what lay within.

Mason glances up at the wooden staircase that leads to the top floor of the house, where there are three more bedrooms, one being his, and another bathroom. As much as Mason would love a shower right now, food is the only thing on his mind. He needs to head into town. The sooner, the better.
The car keys to the station’s vehicles rest in a glass bowl on a baker’s hutch near the front door. Placing his bag on the kitchen table, Mason turns to head out when he suddenly hears a noise. He stands still to listen closely. It sounds like a thump, a knock on wood, but distant, and something else he cannot quite place. “Is anyone there?” he calls out, feeling stupid. There was, of course, no answer, and, after a few more minutes, Mason decides it is nothing more than the old timber moving around as the house warms with the morning sun.

The keys were exactly where he knew they would be. Heading out to the barn where the cars are kept, Mason sees his mother’s small Volks Wagon bug she loved so much. It has two flat tires and mud caked up around the wheel houses and down the lower sides of the doors. Usually, his father would keep the bug in immaculate condition, knowing how much Beth loved the old girl. Thomas only ever wanted the townspeople to see his wife driving a car that was worthy of of her stature as he saw it. This meant always clean and well-maintained, even if Thomas did find the VW a bit embarrassing as Beth’s choice of transport. If Thomas didn’t have time to tend to the car himself, he would order one of the station hands to do it, or as Mason got older, he often found himself tasked with the job. To see his mum's car in this state saddened Mason. It was just another sign of things not being right.

He climbs into his father’s Nissan Patrol, which starts first up and thankfully is half full with diesel. Mason takes note that this vehicle, too is dirty inside and out. The list keeps adding up. With a small groan from the body of the car placed in motion, Mason slowly backs out of the barn and turns the patrol towards the 2km long driveway that will lead him out of the property and onto the road heading into town.