The character struggled, swore, and eventually climbed his way out of my manuscript.

“YOU!” he yelled.

I sighed. This was going to be one of those writing days.

“You – arsehole!” he yelled at me.

“Hi, Les,” I said, trying to act as though I hadn’t heard the abuse.

“Don’t patronise me, you towering, festering heap of dogshit!”

Maybe I shouldn’t have given him such a way with words.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Did I mention that the right side of his face is a weeping old burn that’s never quite healed, he’s lost his right foot, and his right hand is more claw than useful extremity? No? Huh. I stay silent, appalled by the stink that comes through with him.

“WHY?” he yells, pleading.

I shrug uncomfortably.

“It’s all part of the story – it’s necessary, Les.”

“Bullshit! I had to get blown up for – what? Huh? For entertainment?”

“The story’s important. It has to – draw the reader in, keep them guessing.”

“And blowing me up was an example of keeping things interesting?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And killing Lucy?”

“She had to die, mate.”

“I’m not your fucking mate!”

Ye gads. Is this how God feels every time someone prays?

“Look… if she stayed alive, she would’ve become boring, unreal, the Reader would’ve hated her – and so would you.”

“BULLSHIT!”

“It’s all part of the story, Les, trust me – it turns out good in the end. You’ll like it!”

“I’ve lost everything I ever cared about – lost my girlfriend and my job – you made me a cripple – and it’s going to be ‘good’ in the end?”

“Yup.”

“Fuck you. And fuck your bloody Reader. Bunch of bloodthirsty barbarians! You’re just – playing with us, aren’t you? We’re just some entertainment for your tiny fucking brains, aren’t we?”

I definitely shouldn’t have made him so talkative. And what’s with the overuse of the F-word?

“Look, Les,” I say, reaching for him, “I’m sorry, OK? I know it all really sucks, right now. I cried when I wrote that scene where Lucy died. I wish it could have been different. I’m sorry you had to lose her, and your livelihood. I understand your anger. But – it had to be this way. The story wouldn’t come out any other way.”

“YOU – you could have made it come out different! You’re the AUTHOR, you have that power, you know you do, don’t blow me off with lame -”

“I don’t. Some things just have to be, Les. I’m sorry. I really am. But you’ve got two choices here – take the crap that happens and build something out of it, or don’t exist. Because I can’t tell a story about a place where nothing bad ever happens. It’d be boring as batshit and nobody would ever read it, and you still wouldn’t exist, not really. You’d have a – shut up! – a kind of twilight existence, right, where you kind of exist but mostly don’t. If you want to truly exist, you need to be read, to be loved, to have people holding their breath as you teeter and crying with you as you fall. THAT’S the magic that makes you truly alive.”

He slumps, out of arguments but not ready to accept reality, either.

“I hate you.”

“Uh huh… I know.”

He climbs, laboriously, back into his life – and cries.

The Sunday after my embarrassing encounter, I’m sitting in church and trying desperately not to yawn through the sermon. Then I catch sight of something that fixes the yawns right up. Over the other side of the church, in the very front pew, is Mark. Mr Let-Me-Pretend-I’m-Manly. Paying attention, and NOT yawning. My stranger with a sense of humour is stalking me?

After church, Mrs Catrick pulls him straight over to me and starts to introduce us.

“Don’t worry, Auntie, we’ve already met.” he says, and holds out a hand. I take it uncertainly and shake.

“Oh, lovely!” she says, smiling – not picking up a hint of awkwardness, “at school, dears?”

“No, on the street!” Mark says, grinning at me, “a man tried to steal her bag and she -”

I cough and raise my eyebrows, hoping to God he’ll take a hint.

“ – asked him so nicely to leave her alone that he ran away!” he finishes, smirking at me.

I can’t help it. I laugh, and Mrs Catrick looks bemused but happy to see us getting along.

I grab us a few bikkies and slices from the morning tea spread, and we sit down on the steps of the church, a bit away from the adults.

“So…” I ask, trying to make sense of him turning up here and now, “Mrs Catrick’s your aunt?”

He nods.

“And you’re living with her because…?”

“My mum and dad are divorcing, and ducking flying crockery made studying hard.”

I sober. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be – they’re both arseholes. I’m happy to get out of there.”

I put a hand on his arm.

“So – Mrs Catrick thrown anything yet?”

He snorts.

“Give her time – I’m still on good behaviour, remember?”

“Wow – when do we see the real Mark?”

He shrugs.

“So,” I ask, “why didn’t you out me to Mrs Catrick? Burst of altruism?”

“Pure self-interest,” he says, “Aunt Rosie would never let me associate with such an unfeminine girlie if she knew!”

I sigh.

“I am a bad influence,” I say seriously, “I’m not sure I’m such a good person for you to be hanging with, you know.”

He laughs.

“Girl,” he says, “at my last church, I found out that half of my goody-goody mates were really on speed and pot and other stuff… all behind their parents’ backs. And most of them were having sex with boyfriends and girlfriends their parents didn’t even know about. So come on, tell me all the horrible things you’re into!”

I goggle at him.

“Drugs? Fuck! I mean – oh crap, see what I mean?”

We look at each other and laugh wryly.

“So,” he asks, raising an eyebrow, “where’s the happening joint?”

“What, for drugs and sex, or just hanging out?”

“Wow, you are a forward young lady! Aunt Rose’d have a coronary!”

I smirk.

“Well, there’s the beach…” I say, grinning slyly at him.

He frowns.

“I’m 400 k inland, and there’s a beach? Geez, and I thought the drug scene was intense in Sydney!”

“Come on, city boy.”

I take him down to the river beach. It’s autumn now, so the only people there have fishing rods and focus.

“I know it’s lame,” I say, “But… it’s my favourite spot. I come down here and watch the birds, and… chill, you know?”

“I like it!” he says, and lies down on the grass. “I need a straw hat, and I’ll feel just like Huckleberry Finn!”

God help us. Huck Finn?

I think there’s somethin’ crazy goin on in your head behind your eyes…

“Hey Mum – some of this old stuff aint too bad, ya know…”

“Oh, Lord, what are you listening to now, child?”

“Umm… Baby Animals? Cute and fluffy, huh?”

She snorts and wanders off. I put the headphones on and keep ripping her CDs to mp3.

“You know,” she says over dinner, “We thought some of that stuff was Satanic when I was younger – Alice Cooper, Meatloaf, Poison… I never could let go of their CDs, though, when I joined the church. Not that anyone really cares too much anymore. Funny, huh? God, you should have heard the uproar when we found out George Michael was gay…”

I laugh.

“Alice Cooper Satanic? Mum, he’s a golfing fiend! Ha – get it, golfing fiend?”

“Oh, sure, these days you laugh! Back in my day he bit the heads off chickens and conducted Satanic rituals backstage!”

“Did he really?”

“God knows…” she says, looking thoughtful, “but I thought maybe he did… and damn did I want to get backstage and find out!”

I collapse into giggles.

“Hey, he’s not my bio-father, is he?”

She looks round-eyed at me.

“Are you asking if I slept with Alice Cooper?”

“What, can he do the Virgin Birth style thing?”

She laughs and shakes her head.

“No, I didn’t sleep with Alice Cooper, and besides – he’d calmed down by the time YOU were born. Nah, your dad’s more likely to be Kurt Cobain.”

It’s my turn to look shocked.

“NO! I didn’t sleep with him either! Crikey, girl, what DO you tell your friends about me? ‘My mum’s shagged every man-slut in Sydney’?”

“Nup.”

“Thank God.”

“Just all the rock stars.”

“You – brat! You don’t, do you?”

I giggle and run to my room, and a choc-chip muffin whistles past my ear and smacks into the wall.

“That was your dessert, brat!” she yells after me, laughing.

“Why avoid sex before marriage?”

“Because God wants us to have sex only with people we’re married to?”

“And we get this from?”

“Don’t commit adultery.”

“What’s adultery?”

“Sex with a married person not your spouse.”

“Am I the only one who sees a flaw in that logic?” I demand, sitting up.

“Oi!” protests Mark. His head had been resting on my stomach.

Then Mark sits up too, and looks hard at me.

“What’s with the sudden fascination with sex?” he asks.

“I’m a teen,” I say, getting embarrassed because – I just realised – I’m talking about sex with a boy, “Aren’t I supposed to be thinking about it?”

“Not if you’re a good little christian girl, apparently.”

“But good little christian boys can’t help it?”

“Exactly.”

I look around for something to throw, but I’ve got nothing. I settle for thumping the grass next to me.

“It’s just – I never really thought much about what we learn at church, you know? Just accepted what they told me cos it seemed to make sense. And then you start talking about ‘what if I was gay’ and stuff, and they do a youth group session like last night’s which is full of – of crap! – and suddenly I can’t see the sense anymore. It’s all – stupid!”

Mark sighs.

“Yeah, it is.” he says, and flops back down onto his back.

“Thanks a bunch, mate. No wisdom? No bible verses?”

“Nup. I got nothing.”

“Great!”

Mark grins suddenly.

“Hey, this whole sex preoccupation isn’t because of a new thang, is it?”

“What?”

“You don’t have a crush on some tower of studliness at school? At church?”

I laugh. The guys I know at school play footy, wear their school trousers as far down their bums as they dare, and act like undiluted arsehole. The guys at church are – prissy. Good. Cotton-wooled half to death. They wince if I say ’shit’ and God only knows what they’d have done if they’d seen me on the train that day I met Mark. They’d probably make the sign of the cross whenever they saw me and pray for me lots. Umm… yuk?

“That’s crazy talk!”

Mark snorts.

“Nah – it’s just – no-one really does it for me yet, that’s all.”

“Mmm – I feel your pain.”

“You do? Cos I know you certainly float someone’s boat!”

Mark rolls his eyes and sighs theatrically.

“It’s hard being a sex god!”

I can’t help it. I burst into laughter, and every time I look at his pouting face I laugh harder.

“You don’t think I’m sexy?” he asks, semi-seriously.

I get myself under control by biting my tongue till the pain stops me laughing.

“You’re sexy dressed emo, if that helps? But hey, half my class are drooling over you, isn’t that enough?”

“Really? Who?”

“I think your latest conquest is Lisa…”

“Oh God… she’s like a mouth on legs!” he wails.

“Poor boy,” I mock, sniggering.

Trent sighed. Psychotic marsupials, a mystery virus, and a dead little girl.

“Why me?” he asked the wall.

“Because you’re too stupid to say no?” Larsson walked into the office, grinning.

“Thanks. Your confidence in me is overwhelming!” Trent said.

Larsson sat down on one of the lounge chairs – still more gingerly than most people would, Trent noticed. He put his feet up on the coffee table and looked appealingly at Trent.

“Does your hospitality extend to making coffee for an invalid?” he asked.

“Usually,” Trent said drily, “I invite people in first.”

Larsson shrugged.

“The door was open. Next time you want to talk to yourself, close the door so people know it’s a private conversation.”

Trent snorted.

“Fine. White with two?”

“Three.”

Trent made the instant coffees and handed one to Larsson.

“So, you’re out?”

“Yup – I don’t like hospitals. They smell bad. And the night nurses have tempers like wounded goats.”

“Umm… bad, huh?”

Larsson laughed.

“Any ideas yet on what did this to me?”

“Not a thing. I got hold of the lab results for you and Jessie – nothing the specialist lab could identify. It’s not Hendra, or anything else we know of.”

“Great! So we have a virus turning my koalas crazy and killing people, and we have no idea what it is?”

“Yup. But I do have some slightly better news? A friend of mine in England is a microbiologist – I managed to convince him that he needs an Aussie holiday in the sun. So he’ll be over in a few days, once he gets the visa sorted out.”

“That’s good work!”

“Well, it wasn’t that hard – his daughter’s over here, right here in Sydney actually – he hasn’t seen her for a couple of years.”

“So, are the airfares going on my bill?”

Trent grimaced.

“If he can help, they will. All we need now is access to a lab for him.”

“Hey – Gary at work – he’s a PhD student, doing biology… he’d have access to a lab, wouldn’t he?”

“Would they let him bring in a stranger?”

“He might be able to pull some strings – specially if he doesn’t mention a completely different project…”

“Check it out?”

“Sure.”

Jessie woke up feeling good. She froze, unaccustomed to the feeling and panicked that it would go away. The light shining in her window didn’t stab through her eyes into her brain. Her body wasn’t full of aches and pains screaming for her attention like a bunch of kids in the back seat of mummy’s car. She lay still and basked in the warm glow of restedness.

A few peaceful minutes later, she started gingerly moving fingers and toes, then whole limbs. They were stiff and a little achey, but a huge improvement over every wakeup in recent memory. She stretched, and a wound at her neck pulled.

“Ow!” she said, grimacing. Oh well, one pain made the rest being gone seem real.

Breakfast lay on the table at her feet – clearly the kitchen staff had come and decided not to wake her.

“Two miracles in one day?” she murmured to herself, “What next, the Easter Bunny?”

“I do have chocolate…”

She swung her head around, and cried out.

“Dammit, Trent, my neck’s killing me, you bastard!”

Trent grimaced apologetically, and walked in.

“Sorry, Jessie. If it helps…” he brought a box from behind him, “They’re really nice chocolates…”

Jessie laughed.

“OK, you’re forgiven. Now, I need to have brekky…” she took the lid off the largest bowl and sighed. “Cold porridge. And, hey, look,” opening the next one, “peaches! I hate peaches. Fine. Chocolate for breakfast. Did you bring coffee?”

“Uh huh. Cappuccino, three sugars. Good?”

“Perfect. You’re a doll.”

The next morning, I stare at my cereal and wonder if I can convince Mum I’m too sick for school. I’m in the middle of dragging a spoonful into my mouth when I hear a tap on the kitchen window. I look up – it’s Mark, and he’s grinning at me and beckoning me outside.

“A minute!” I mouth at him.

I bolt my brekkie, run to my bedroom, chuck on a clean uniform, and race down the hall and outside.

“Geez, took you long enough!” he says, smiling, “Come on, let’s get walking!”

“Walk all the way?”

He shrugs.

“We’ve got time…”

“Does this mean you forgive me for that crap yesterday?” I ask, tentatively, but I’ve gotta know.

He frowns, and my heart sinks. I was meant to pretend it never happened, I guess.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and puts an arm around my shoulders, “it was stupid, I shouldn’t have yelled at you, OK? It’s all so screwy, my head’s messed up, and I yelled at you instead of getting myself sorted. Except…” he frowns and looks down at the footpath, “I don’t know if I’ll ever get this sorted, it’s too big and messy.”

“You’re apologising? I’m confused.” I say, smirking because it looks like we’re cool again.

“Fine. We’re both morons. Happy?” he says and pokes his tongue out at me.

“You are such a child.”

“Are not.”

****

A classmate, Lisa, comes up to me after maths and walks beside me to the caf.

“Hey, are you and Mark together?” she asks, finally.

I laugh. Darn, of all the days to get a question like that.

“Nah, we’re just friends,” I tell her.

“Oh. OK.” she says, and wanders off without bothering to tell me why she’s interested.

“So… let me get this straight…” Trent said, tapping the pen against his chin, “Native marsupials are turning vicious and attacking people randomly?”

“Seems that way.”

“Any attacks on other animals? Other natives, dogs, cats?”

Larsson shrugged.

“But they’ve always been vicious, really, right? No one in their right mind tries to pat a possum?”

“Only in mating season, or when they feel threatened,” Larsson said, frowning, “This… aggressiveness… it’s new. They never really had many predators, they’re vegetarians – they don’t fight except for mates, and scrapping about food. It’s… odd.”

“And people who get bitten get virus-like symptoms?”

Larsson nodded.

“So maybe a virus is causing this? Like a mutation of that Hendra virus that killed the vet?”

“Could be. That’s why you’re here.”

“Gee, thanks. So should I keep my distance in case you get a taste for blood – or brains?”

Larsson snorted.

“If I do, I’ll find someone attractive to bite!”

They laughed.

“So,” said Trent, “Can I grab a look at your chart?”

“Copy the whole thing, for all I care,” said Larsson, shrugging.

Trent grabbed the chart at the end of the bed and started to copy it into his notebook.

“HEY!”

The nurse in charge that shift had just walked in.

“That’s private information you’re stealing, mister!”

“With my permission!” Larsson said.

“That’s hospital property!”

Trent finished the last few figures and held it out to her.

“All finished, ma’am.”

“I’ll have that notebook too, young man.”

“Sorry, ma’am, can’t do that – private information belonging to my clients. Larsson, do you give permission for her to access this information?”

“Hell no!” said Larsson.

“But it’s hospital property!”

“Oh really? You don’t really have much idea at all, do you? You haven’t a legal leg to stand on, so go away and stop upsetting the patient!”

The nurse glared at the two of them and stamped out.

“Bet my morning pills contain arsenic now.” Larsson said, chuckling. “The poor thing!”

“Poor thing? She’d take off a head with a glare, if she could!”

“You handled her nicely, though.”

“Oh, well… that was nothing compared to some people I’ve dealt with. You should’ve met my last client…”

****

“Jessie?”

The woman sitting in the bed looked up from her magazine and frowned. She was young, Trent realised, and attractive – even in a pair of flannelette cow pyjamas and bed hair.

“I’m Jessie,” she said, “But – who the hell are you?”

Well, she didn’t dally around being polite, did she?

“I’m Trent Williams – I’m a private investigator looking into these animal attacks. I was hoping to ask you a few questions, mind if I come in? I don’t want to disturb you…”

“Oh, cripes, I’ll just die if I don’t find out what Neighbours character screwed which this week,” she said, grinning. “Come in, make yourself comfy – oh wait, don’t, get me a cup of coffee first from the cafeteria, will you? This stuff tastes like coffee-flavoured horse piss. And get me a danish if they have anything as classy as that. Please?”

Trent walked down the corridor, heaving a sigh. God help any man this chick married.

Larsson woke, and his room was in twilight. He was alone… but his throat was dry and scratchy.

“Wonder if I’m allowed to move yet?” he muttered to himself, and looked around. A glass stood on the side table, half-full of clear liquid. He shrugged, sat up slowly, and reached for it.

With a wince for stitches obviously not out yet, he brought the glass to his face and sniffed. Smelt like water. Close enough. He sipped and smiled as the luke-warm liquid moistened his mouth and throat. Better. He edged himself back to lean on the pillows, but stopped as something caught under the covers. He lifted the sheet and groaned.

“Shit. I hate catheters.”

“Good afternoon, you’re awake!” a cheery voice broke into his mutterings. A nurse had walked in and was checking his chart.

“Just moaning about the catheter.” he said apologetically.

“Beats waking up in a pool of urine, though, doesn’t it?” she grinned.

Larsson laughed.

“So, you’re awake, you’re using sentences, and you’re sitting up – this is nice to see!” she said, popping a thermometer in his mouth.

“Mmmph.”

The thermometer beeped, and she took it out.

“38! Oh, that’s wonderful! Looks like you’re getting better! Need more water?”

“There was a little girl – Kelly? She was bitten at the same time I was. Do you know if she’s alright?”

The nurse’s face sobered.

“I’m sorry, she was a very sick little girl – she caught the same virus you did. Her body couldn’t handle the extra strain, she… died two nights ago.”

Larsson closed his eyes.

“God, the poor thing… her poor parents… it’s all my fault, I picked her to pat the damned koala…” He covered his face with his hands. “Her poor parents, I’m so sorry…” he said, muffled.

“Hey -” the nurse said gently, sitting on the bed, “It’s not your fault. You tried to do a nice thing, that’s all. The koala wasn’t dangerous, was it?”

“Not before.”

****

The next time the nurse came in, Larsson handed her a piece of paper with a name and phone number.

“Would you ring this man, please, and ask him to come in to see me? It’s very important.”

“Well…”

“Please?”

“Oh… alright.”

****

“Larsson Jenner?”

“Um… huh?”

“Should I come back later?”

“No, I’m… awake, uh…”

“I’m Trent Williams. A Ms Klein said you wanted me to visit? Said it was very important?”

Larsson struggled awake and sat up.

“Trent! Sorry, I was half-asleep, it didn’t occur to me who you were.”

“No worries. So – got a mystery for me?”

“Shit, her temperature’s up again!”

“It’s almost time for the next dose…”

“Give it now, we have some leeway in the dosage times… doctor has plus/minus 15 minutes here.”

Jessie stirred impatiently, tossing from side to side. One forearm slammed against the metal guard on the side of the bed.

“God, she’s going to have some impressive bruising if that carries on.”

“Jessie, darling, you’re in the hospital… my name’s Susan, I’m a nurse who’s looking after you. It’s OK, you’re a little bit sick, but we’re taking care of you.”

Jessie opened her eyes and blinked.

“Turn the lights down, the other guy’s photophobic.” Susan whispered to her workmate.

The lights dimmed.

Jessie groaned.

“Crikey, I feel like I got hit by a truck,” she said.

“Uh huh, I’m not surprised – you’ve been running a fever for a couple of days, it’s been all we can do to keep it down!” Susan said.

“Oh.”

“Now – we just need to adjust your cannula, it’s gone wonky because you were tossing and turning before…”

Susan reached for Jessie’s hand, and wiggled the IV needle to re-align it with the vein.

“ARGH! That hurts, you stupid bitch!” Jessie yelled, and slapped with her other hand, “Get the fuck away from me!”

Susan retreated, wide-eyed. She’d handled violent patients before, but they usually showed some warning of turning nasty.

Two security guards rushed in, summoned by the other nurse.

“God, I’m sorry,” Jessie said, crying, “I didn’t – I don’t normally go off like that, I know you couldn’t help it…”

Susan took a deep breath.

“It’s OK,” she said a little shakily, “It happens when we’re sick. Do you mind Karl holding you while I try again? It’ll help me feel better about approaching you.”

Jessie shook her head.

“I wouldn’t hurt you – I don’t think. But yeah, I understand, restrain me.”

Karl placed a firm hand on each of Jessie’s wrists, and Susan fixed the needle. She sighed as she straightened up, and promised herself a stiff drink after work.