Burnington Gaol

T W E N T Y - N I N E | Adeline

"So have you got any idea how far away the auto-repair shop is?" I asked Billy, looking up into his light brown eyes. "Lucy said it was somewhere in the south."

"Al's Auto-Repair?" He asked. "Sure do. About a mile, maybe more. Georgie works there part time. He's quite good with all that stuff."

"Really?" I asked him. "Lucy warned me that the place was dangerous. Something about criminals and ex-cons working there. Drugs."

"She'd be right," Billy said. "The place is a dive, but don't worry, I'll protect you."

"With your scrawny little frame? Just because you're tall, doesn't make you tough."

"Don't make me kick your ass to prove you wrong."

We took a left at the end of the beach front and headed away from the cafés and diners, down into the northern suburbs. The rich lived here; you could tell from their front gardens – trimmed grass with marble statues of young boys, faces round and eyes wide and gleaming. Some gardens had roses, others had silver stones. All tended to by servants and paid help.

Billy and I teased each other through those streets, laughing and shoving, playful. There was something about those neighbourhoods – something safe, something deceitful, something plastic. It was the sort of place where young families go to live, but it also felt like the devil could live there, in the skin of a hardworking family man or a housewife. It was just too perfect – Satan in a Sunday hat.

And then we entered the south.

The buildings began to crack and peel. The gardens became unkempt. Weeds had burst out of the earth and danced along in the autumn breeze. Trollies and pale toys, left in the sun; bare-branched trees looming over us with menacing faces. We'd walked much more than a mile.

"Billy," I said to him, "how much further?"

"Not far. Trust me. The neighbourhood looks worse than it is."

Ahead of us, past the crumbling houses and the gutted cars, a particular piece of land stood. On it was a house, much like the others, but with slightly different features. The windows, for one, were smashed and boarded up, the sunlit glass tangled in the overgrown weeds below. The front door had no handle or lock, and the fence had been torn down messily, some remnants still standing. There was something haunting about the place, something that screamed for me to leave.

"Here we are," Billy said, holding out his arms.

I frowned.

"This is the place?"

"In all its fame and glory."

"It's a house."

"It's abandoned. Al couldn't afford renting out a proper store, so he moved here temporarily. See?"

Billy pointed down the long driveway to the shed in the backyard, where a taken-apart car stood, glaring at us with dim headlights.

"I'm not going in there."

"What?" He asked. "Why not?"

"Because even looking at it could get me arrested – or killed."

"Don't be stupid. Come on."

Billy walked down the long driveway, ignoring my calls to come back. I looked both ways at the desolate street, joined him.

"Billy!" A deep voice called.

I quickly spotted the boy who had called to him. He was around nineteen, handsome, with a toothy grin and brown hair and eyes. He was covered in something black, like oil or soot. It was smeared across his cheek and overalls. He dropped his spanner with a metallic thud and walked out from behind the car to give Billy a short hug.