Murdock

This is quite a generous preview – seven chapters. Murdock is definitely my strangest novel, but I love it all the same. The plot’s greatest strength is that it has no sense of where it is going – which allows this unbridled charm to seep through, and such is why I am offering a quarter length preview. I want people to finally enjoy this hypnotic, care-free, paradoxical island paradise as I have – and occasionally still do. The Murdock Isles are a worthwhile haunt when the mind has nowhere else to go. Enjoy!

N.J. Wrigley

“Tell me, Cal, what did you see on the 23rd of April 2012? What happened on that day?” 

“Oh, I’ve been through this too many times. I’ve talked to a hundred people like you, and you wouldn’t believe me anyway, just like they didn’t! I’m just another dishonest freak to you. You lot just think I’m crazy” 

“No one is calling you crazy. I just want to help you help yourself.” 

“I don’t need helping.” 

“One more outburst like last week’s and they’ll send you to a juvenile ward. You need help, Cal, and I can give it to you. I just need to ask you a few questions. Standard procedure.” 

“Oh, I know all about your damned procedure.” 

“Then I’m all ears.” 

“April the 23rd was the day that my parents were killed – on our boat – the Wild Harlock. They were shot. They were both shot.” 

“How far out to sea, again?” 

“Yeah, I know what it sounds like but I’m telling you; I heard the shots. I know what a gun sounds like.” 

“Well, did you see any other vessels?” 

– Silence 

“Look Cal, I’ve read the police reports. You were rescued by local fishermen. They found your parents deceased, no gunshot wounds. Coroner’s report states that your parents died of dehydration.” 

– Silence 

“The fishermen said that your boat’s propellers were in disrepair, caught in an old net. You and your family were drifting for days. There is camera evidence and witness testimonies of you leaving shore a week before you say your parents were killed. The fishermen found you five days later on the 28th.” 

“I remember drifting. I drifted for those five days; I don’t disagree. But I did not leave the island a week before. We went in the morning. We were going to come back in the evening. I will tell you why I drifted. I was a ten-year-old with both of his parents dead beside him. He had no idea how to operate the engines, or read the map, or the damn compass.” 

“Your propellers were—” 

“Oh, and you believe everything fishermen say, do you? Because fishermen also say that poor little Cal Landley was fending off the sharks and hunting seagulls for breakfast. Poor little Cal Landley was purifying seawater with a plastic bottle in the sun. There was a god damn cargo-hold full of fresh water and tinned food… See, fishermen say whatever the police tell them to.” 

“Okay, Cal; I get the point.” 

“Really? Because I don’t think you do!” 

“I’ll tell you what I think… You were just a boy – a young boy. You underwent a great period of stress. Now in times of such trauma, the mind, and the young mind particularly, can act as a shield – in that it erases certain memories that could do you harm. Even, replacement memories can be fabricated to provide a less distressing reality than the—” 

“Yeah, like two butchered parents are the stuff every kid likes to dream about. What I saw – it was real – and I have not forgotten!” 

“Cal, I sincerely believe that you are suffering from dissociative amnesia. Your memories aren’t going to come back, nor do I think that would be the best outcome. Your mind saved you from experiencing the long and slow deaths of your parents; it gave you the stark opposite, even. Now I do not know if that is a blessing or a curse, but trust me, Cal, the sooner you accept this diagnosis, the sooner we can help you out – and your aggression.” 

“I said it before. I’ll say it again. I don’t need help.” 

“Our time here is up, Cal, but think on it! Your Grandmother won’t be making these decisions for you now.” 

“Will do, Mr McCarthy.” 

“Oh, and Cal, I would get some ice on that eye of yours. I’ll see what I can do about the principal.”  

End. Recording. 

Welcome to the Murdock Isles, just another paradisaical paradox situated somewhere on the eastern edge of the Caribbean. Don’t even waste your time looking on a map! You wouldn’t have heard of us… but rest assured that we have most certainly heard of you. 

You see, Admiral Murdock, the man who unearthed or rather stole these islands from the native Tawa, was the most patriotic bastard to have ever set sail on the Caribbean Sea, and this little island turned out to be his perfect colonial playground. 

After he had most graciously extended his white-gloved hand and twenty-one-gun salute to the locals, he set to work on recreating Britain in miniature. We often refer to this place as Little Britain, and yes, we have all seen the show. We drive on the left-hand side of the road and go to school in fancy uniforms. For all intents and purposes, we are exactly like Britain was – in the nineteen-fifties! 

There is a reason people do not come to these islands for such reasons as fun. It is because we won’t let them. As one of the last surviving territories of the relic that is now the British Empire, we seem to have made it our national responsibility to uphold the values of said imperialism; I am looking at you Monarchist Street! Yet, the sad truth is that I am not even exaggerating. The establishment is truly absurd. Arrive at the port not speaking the Queen’s English and that stingy little man in the passport booth will quite literally bully you off the island. Now, pair that with the ferry company’s generous discount on departure tickets and you have a rather successful anti-tourist operation. The American accent has all but vanished from these shores, consigned only to TV shows and movies – which the adults all pass off as bad comedies. I even heard lately that there’s been some virus sweeping over the globe, and – well – here we’re still trying to keep the locals from catching our smallpox and flu. Perhaps, that one may be a slight exaggeration. I only wished that I could say the same for the rest!  

The school bell orated summer’s arrival, and I relished in the sun, letting my bag slump and fall from my shoulders. I smelt freedom, and I heard the distant surf calling to me. The cove by my grandmother’s place, my home, whispered my name.  

“Cal,” I heard a delicate voice call to me; a soft hand graced the rear of my back. 

“Maya,” I whispered. 

Suddenly, serenity turned on me, and I was wrestled down to the grass. My horrified face looked up to one of pure mockery; his blonde hair covered his, no doubt, sly eyes, and I watched as his mouth twisted from a maniacal grin and into a puckered kiss. “Maya,” he laughed in between awful kissing sounds. 

“Jake – Jake? God damn it!” I grabbed him by the shirt and locked my legs with his, pulling him down. He toppled over me, and all I could hear were his delighted chokes of laughter. “Where the hell is Maya?” I growled. 

“Don’t worry! She’s coming – just had to talk to her physics teacher. But hey! How did your therapy thing go? Did they find out what’s wrong with you yet?” his laughter resumed. 

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Dissociative…” 

“… Amnesia,” we said together. 

“Man, those quacks! They’re all the same. Who’d you have this time?” 

“Doctor McCarthy.” 

“A new one, huh? They must have shipped him in… I can’t believe that they pay for all of this. I mean… I bet if they just gave you all that wasted money, you would never need therapy again.” 

I laughed as I sunk back down into the warm bed of grass. “If they wanted to fix me, then these backwater islands would have given me a lobotomy already—”  

I had barely closed my mouth, before an obnoxious roar came from across the car park. It was followed by the shrill screams of many mothers and young school girls. “Speaking of lobotomies,” Jake almost growled as a spoilt triumvirate of brats raced their dirt bikes towards us, dodging both students and teachers alike. Their tires burnt as they came to a halt, and the sun curved into their visors, hiding their faces with its bright sheen… but I could tell that they were staring at me. I could feel their eyes upon mine. The one in the middle gripped his bike’s throttle; his bloodied knuckles whitened, and a loud and inescapable noise threatened me as he revved his engine. Jake looked back to me – to my black eye. “Don’t let them get to you,” he said. “Just stay calm.” I heard him begin to hyperventilate, and his fists clenched. “If they come, we will just have to fight them off again, lure them into the school’s kitchens… and get a knife – one of those big chopping ones.” 

“Jake, we’re not going to kill the principal’s son. After all, this is the only public school on the island.” 

“Yeah, that’s true, hey! But even so, it’s not like you or I will be able to pay to go to college afterwards, get a degree. People like us, Cal, we’re destined to become… fishermen, craftsmen, and artists. Floating on the poverty line for the rest of our lives, baby. We’re never getting off of this rock.” 

“Well, why would you want to?” I laughed softly, and we both relaxed again, much to our rivals’ dismay. We heard them race off to their beautiful homes – perhaps their greatest and only personality trait.   

“Here’s to suffering in paradise,” he sighed dreamily. 

“Live and die!  I’ll drink to that, Jakey.”   

By the time Maya found us, we had both fallen into a light slumber, and somehow Jake had wrapped his arms around me. We awoke to her jumping in between us, and her hair whipped across our faces and into our open mouths. I heard Jake splutter and cough; he lurched to the side and sneezed, scaring away a number of kids who had been gawking at us.  

“You guys! I can’t believe that you two waited for me all this time. This must be a new level of friendship – one that I’m apparently not used to!” Maya’s voice was so sweet that it was painful to listen to – for the both of us. 

“Just friendship?” Jake asked slyly. 

 Maya pushed him and released a cruel kind of laugh, before she stood up and offered us her hands. “Let’s go,” she said. “We’ve got a summer to start… and a very special birthday to celebrate.” 

My grandmother’s house was an old colonial building, set inside a dense forest with a path down to an isolated cove below. I had been living here since my parents died, and she was all I had left, as far as family went – besides Jake and Maya, of course. And you would certainly think that those two were my family. Sometimes we would camp out in my garden for weeks at a time, surfing and exploring the cove, until the sun went down and Nana came calling us for dinner. God knows, Jake had his reasons for coming here, and Nana certainly gave him the love that he needed. But Maya? I don’t really know why Maya came to stay as much as she did; her dad was wealthy, having risen from the local Tawa, much to the abhorrence of the authorities and the other typical colonial folk. But perhaps, she just stayed because we treated her the same as ourselves, and for the older people such as Nana, that was a rarity. 

We were each greeted, one by one, with a great hug and a kiss. “Come on in, my children,” Nana cried. She was towered over by all of us, but that did not stop her from treating us like we were still little, and so she began to fuss over my bruised face. “Callie, look what those nasty boys did to your precious face. It’s still swollen. I’ll get some more ice…” As she walked to the fridge and stopped to read the calendar, I saw my friends, perched atop the table and snickering to themselves. Nana’s voice came again, “Now, those boys think that just because they have money falling from their pockets, they can do as they please. And forgive me, Maya! I know that you have certainly had your test of suffering just like the each of us, and it is in that suffering that we are made who we are, and you can either let it defeat you or raise you up. Those that live on Monarchist Street are but hollow people, trapped in miserable lives of socialite madness… and that’s far more than just the money at work.” 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Jake piped in. “I’ll drink to that!”  

Only a second had passed, before a full glass of water was beside my friend. Nana winked to him. “And drink, you shall.” Moments later, I felt the touch of ice on my cheek. 

Then, we put our uniforms to rest and got changed. The cove was calling, and we answered it gladly.  

Halfway down the garden, I heard my grandmother’s plea. “Stay safe – and – and look out for each other.” She was met by the cute smiles of both Jake and Maya, but I simply stood still; there was something different in her voice – a quiet desperation. She was worried! It was enough to make my heart to flutter. 

The silky water danced at our feet, and the soft sand curved around us in a white crescent moon which slowly released the day’s sun in a gentle cradle of heat. Then beyond the beach, extended tall stone cliffs that protected this cove from the rest of the island’s savages – such as the principal’s son and his friends. Vibrant vines embraced these pinnacles like snakes vying for warmth, and palm and other jungle trees lined the clifftops. This was the Murdock Isles’ best kept secret. 

I looked to my friends; our surfboards were in our hands. Then we eyed the waves. Our mouths each curled in anxious anticipation, as they did every time before we surfed. There was silence between us, but our minds seemed to act as one, and before we knew it, we were each racing out to the deep. 

The bliss was all mine, as that familiar tunnel wrapped itself around me. My board raced through, and I carved my hand across the water, watching the faint reflection of myself shimmer into being. I heard the distant cheers, and wild howls, and whistles of my friends; yet this wave – it brought more than just exhilaration; it represented far more than that. It was the loss, the suffering, the peace of the memory… And sometimes, only sometimes, I would see the man who taught me how to surf, standing in my reflection’s place. He smiled to me now, and I trailed my hand to his face. Then he was gone, and yet another salt tear found its brethren in the sea. 

As the evening came and the sun set fire to the waves, we found ourselves drifting in the shallows. We held each other’s boards to form a steady triangle. From our boards, we stared into the darkening sky, but then Maya’s eyes found mine, and lingered there, until she asked in a serious voice, “Do you know what’s happening tomorrow?” 

“He’s turning eighteen, Maya. What kind of question is that?” Jake cut in. 

“I’m going to the station at dawn!” I replied. 

“The police station?” He stared at me blankly. 

“To collect my inheritance…” 

Jake’s eyes were empty for a long time, and I could tell that he was searching my words for meaning. Then I saw his eyes light up, and his face almost began to glow. His mouth twitched into an intermittent grin. “The Wild Harlock! You’re getting your boat back, aren’t you?” He soon began to howl with laughter, flailing his arms to his chest. “We’re going to have a boat!” he screamed.  

I smiled at him, looking away from Maya who had seemed to take great offence to his excitement – offence on my behalf. She suddenly swiveled around on her board and kicked him in the side. His laughter turned into a groan, and he slumped lifelessly into the water. I heard a pained gurgling from beneath us, and our boards slowly drifted apart. 

“Jake!” Maya shouted. “How could you be so… thoughtless? That boat is—” 

“He can’t hear you, Maya,” I cut in. “And, besides, I need to move on eventually. This is how I move on!” 

She looked at me incredulously. “Are you sure, Cal? I mean – that boat – you went through a lot on it. It must have left a scar on you!” 

I set my gaze beyond the cove. “Perhaps, you’re right. But like Nana said, our suffering makes us who we are. If I can’t accept my scars with honesty, then I am nothing!” 

We dried off, as we climbed the steep path back to my garden. Our boards cleared the way through the shrubs and estranged branches, and our voices were exuberant things, awaiting the surprise of whatever Nana had cooked up for us. The wind held us in anticipation, since it was blowing any wayward aromas far away from us… and any noise too for that matter. 

When we reached the foot of the garden, I saw Nana in the kitchen, but she was not alone!  

A tall man stood with his back turned to us. He gave a series of papers to her, and she saw us as she took them. A conflicted smile crawled across her face. She was talking to the new therapist, Mr McCarthy, and she always became upset when she had to speak to them. It reminded her of that day, and whilst she only saved so many kind words for my father, she had lost a daughter as much as I had lost my mother.  

McCarthy turned around and waved to us. My friends smiled back sweetly, as they did so often – but silently, “Who’s the stranger?” they hissed. 

“My therapist!” I spoke. 

 I saw Jake’s eyes turn to mischief. “I should go and speak to him.” 

“About what, Jake?” Maya scowled. 

“He’s a new one! Surely, Cal has exhausted this island’s supply of therapists by now. I need to know if he’s been shipped in – and who’s paying him, you know.” 

Jake ran off with a spring in his step, and I was entirely afraid that he was being serious. Yet, then a violent roar sounded, and it knocked Jake from his stride. We heard bikes – motorbikes. They came from the other side of the house… 

I saw Nana and the doctor frown to each other, before they disappeared from the window to investigate. Jake held his hands up to them, almost begging for them to return. Yet, now the footsteps came from the around the side of the house, and I heard three helmets being thrown carelessly to the ground. The figures that emerged wore twisted smiles upon their faces and walked in a triangular formation, led by Jeremiah – the principal’s son. I did not know his friends, and neither did they know me. But they should not have come here! 

First, they circled Jake like a pack of wolves, and then, suddenly, Jeremiah grabbed him by the steel pendant that he always wore, and the chain became a quick garrote to his neck. The other two drones kicked his surfboard away and began to stamp on it; they were fools to think they could break it. I saw Jake squirm, and his fists began to flail. By luck alone, he caught Jeremiah in the side of the jaw, releasing them both. Yet, his necklace broke away with the intruder, who now held it up to his glassy eye. He began to hiss, “You always enjoyed taking a beating – you sick freak.” Jeremiah made as if to throw the pendant; his arm flicked up in a feint, and I watched as my friend desperately tried to stop him. 

“No… No! Please Jeremiah!” Jake cried, but the boy pushed him into the ground and laughed, and then he threw the necklace into the deep and dark forest slope. Jake sunk to his knees and stared at his hands, as if he himself had just committed some horrendous deed.  

I turned to Maya. “Go!” I told her.  

“No! We stick together.” 

“Maya, please! Just go…” My voice sounded raw, and my innermost emotions rushed through. I knew that she could hold her own; that did not scare me. I was afraid – afraid of her seeing me and what I was about to do. 

I took two slow steps forward and lurched into the next, before my entire body erupted into a blistering sprint. My eyes burnt into their target, and my throat released primal, guttural sound.  

Jeremiah was about to kick Jake, before I smashed into him. My shoulder caught his liver, and he reeled back in pain. I clawed into his leg and brought him down to the grass. I pounced on top of his torso, pinning my knees into his gut. He should not have come here, because this was my domain, and there would be no teachers this time to save him…   

My single protruding knuckle was repeatedly brought into Jeremiah’s eye socket, which was now little more than a pool of blood. I felt Maya’s cold stare, as my right arm came down, again and again, never missing its mark, yet never achieving anything more than the last. Insanity, it was. 

What finally stopped me was his stare. Not the broken faced and bloody stare beneath me. Nor was it Jake’s mouth, held ajar. But it was the stare of Mr McCarthy, who stood like a pinnacle of power on the porch, his cane held sternly in line with the tie of his black suit. I was commanded by his frame; he did not have to say a single word. 

Then, I was wrestled to the ground by Jeremiah’s friends. I felt their fists, but I felt nothing. No pain. No shame. No remorse. The adrenaline had corrupted my senses.  

It ended when Nana came from behind the doctor. She watched the madness for but a second; then she struck it away. “ENOUGH!” she screamed. I felt the violence cease in a single terrified moment, and the two boys stood up with wide eyes. Jeremiah slurred himself to consciousness, and I heard his startled moans as he felt about – felt his new face. Nana rushed down the porch steps and onto the grass. She pointed to the boys. “You dare come into this home, inflicting violence in your wake? Did you not satiate yourselves last week?” She dragged Jeremiah to his feet and grappled the back of his skull, displaying his face to his friends; his blood soon gloved her hand. “Look at him. Look at what your foolishness has done.” She released him, and Jeremiah fell forwards. Nana looked away now; only McCarthy could see her face, and her words came slowly and painfully, “I tell you – and I will tell you once – you do not want to war with him. Not with my Cal…” 

She motioned for the therapist to see the boys out, and then I saw Jeremiah open his mouth. His words were slurred, but they were still potent. He spoke to my grandmother, “Well – haven’t you – spawned yourself – a deranged little family! It’s a good thing – his parents died. Less Landleys – the better. I’d be doing the world – a favour – if I got rid of one more.” 

 My Nana turned around to him slowly, and never before had I seen a human face so contorted in rage. Her mouth trembled fiercely as she spoke. “The world? A favour? The world has no care for you here. The forces at work, on this island, are greater than you could possibly understand, Jeremiah Carson. You are not of the Murdock Isles; you came here from elsewhere; you do not share in our heritage. And I do not need to live on Monarchist Street to know that your ‘fellow’ neighbours despise you, abhor you with a passion. Your wealth means nothing to them. It creates no brethren, save for one of your youthful delusions – and if you do not rid your self-importance soon, then you will begin to find this once playground of yours a most unkind and inhospitable place.”   

Mr McCarthy swiftly led the boys away, and he did so with a great authority. Nana ushered us inside, and we heard the bikes depart, swiftly followed by the therapist’s car. 

We were each silent as we ate, and I knew why Jake and Maya were quiet; I caught them stealing glances to my one bandaged knuckle. And Nana caught Jake grasping at ghosts; his hand would occasionally move up to his chest, out of habit, to hold his pendant. It meant a lot to him. “We will find it, dear,” Nana reassured him. “After supper!” 

Nothing was said about the fight or the boys, and I was glad. The shame of my actions was finally catching up to me. I went too far this time, and I didn’t want to stop. The pain in my knuckle was now cursing at me. I told myself that it was just an accident – that I was still only a child – that I was helplessly innocent… 

Tomorrow, however, would be a different tale! 

~ 

There was a certain fantastical element to the fresh air that made it feel either as morning dawn or twilight dusk. We were searching for Jake’s lost necklace… High and low, we searched for it – on the garden grass and down the steep and wild slope. We cut away the vegetation with one of Nana’s old colonial swords that hung above the fireplace. Even through the silken sands, we trawled – and under the waves too. Eventually, the tanks ran out of gas, and we had to give up on the search. We rose from the deep waters that seemed to stretch on forever like another sky. Then, up onto the boat, we clambered. A firm hand pulled us up. 

“Where is it?” he asked. 

My voice tried to reply, but no speech came. 

“I don’t know.” I heard the voice of my mother. I looked around, and my friends were gone. The cove was gone. We were out to sea. 

My parents embraced each other in a hug. Their voices were mute, but I saw the immense love that they had for both each other and myself. They extended the hug to me, and I raced forwards to meet them. 

BANG. 

BANG. 

I awoke. 

A dream.