885 Days [A Vikklan/Sidemen/Pack Story]

Day 366: Simon

23 March 2016

One year. One full year without Lachlan and a full year of wondering if he was still out there somewhere. The days leading up to it were difficult enough but when that day dawned, that awful day after being unable to sleep, everyone was in such an awful state that it flashed me back to the first time I received the news that he was gone. It was mess, I couldn't concentrate, everything seemed so surreal. One year. One year on.

The Pack boys all elected to make another video for their channels, having not updated other than the sparing tweet since those first few weeks, but god it was painful to watch. None of them could say anything without crying and it was mostly silence and crying, punctuated by one of them saying that today marked one year, there were no updates, suspects or leads, and they were begging anyone who knew anything to come forwards. We all just wanted Lachlan home. We wanted closure, whether he was okay or not, we just needed to know. We couldn't move on without closure.

We held a vigil that day, candles burning for hours on end. No one really spoke. It was a day of silence, a day of mourning and a day of flickering colours, of candles, ribbons and photographs. That day, almost every photograph we had of Lachlan, whether it be a photo he or one of us posted publicly, or ones we had kept to ourselves. Every single one was printed, framed and placed in our backyard around the small decorative pond, candles flickering and floating in the water. Yellow ribbons waved in the wind.

Vikk's eyes were fixed on the candles in the water, unable to look at the images. Rob sat on one side, Tobi on the other, while the rest of us gathered around the water and sat silently. My eyes glazed over all of the photos, my heart seizing each time I saw his face. God I missed him, I just want him home.

That evening, dozens of photographs were taken of the eleven of us, gathered around the water, Vikk in the middle, hand in hand. They weren't posted until the next morning but they said everything we couldn't say with words. We were still celebrating his life. We still missed him, we still prayed for him, we had hope that he would come home. And if he, somehow, by some miracle, ever saw those photos, he would know it.

But after everyone went to bed, I stayed in the kitchen. Well, I had thought everyone was asleep because I was surprised by someone still outside, a candle in their hands, well past midnight. It took me a couple of minutes to work out who it was in the dark by just the flickering light of the candle. I was surprised to find it was Preston, sitting in the dark outside, still surrounded by the photographs. I didn't realise what he was doing until I opened the door- he was praying.

From the doorway I couldn't hear what he was saying but it was immediately obvious what he was doing- he was on his knees, head bowed, candle held up on his palms. I waited until he was finished and the candle was placed on the ground before I spoke, not wanting to startle him and make him burn himself.

"What're you still doing up?" I asked quietly, and his head swung around in surprise just as he made to get up. He sat back on his haunches, calming his breathing.

"Oh- hi, sorry, you startled me." He said. "How long have you been there?"

"A couple of minutes." I answered, taking his hands to help him to his feet. I asked again. "Why're you still up?"

"I couldn't sleep." He shrugged. "Haven't been able to for a couple of nights. I just waited for Rob to sleep and then came down here. To calm my mind."

"Do you want a hot chocolate or something? It's freezing out here." Preston looked down at his fingers, which he had apparently only just noticed were shaking. He nodded.

"Please." He said quietly. "That would be good."

There was a calm silence between the two of us for about 15 minutes as I prepared the drinks and then as the two of us sipped at them, feet swinging from the barstool. Preston didn't say anything but he was deep in thought, staring off at the other side of the room without really seeing anything. I watched him for a little while but I couldn't help my glances out the kitchen window to the single candle still flickering outside and the glow it cast on the glass of the photograph frames.

"Simon?" He asked suddenly, startling me back to reality. I looked over at him and he sighed deeply. "I know I'm going to sound awful saying this but... do you truly believe that Lachlan's still alive? Do you think that he might come home someday?"

I had to pause for a minute or two to think about, because I honestly didn't know.

"I... I'm not sure." I finally said, swallowing. "I want to believe that he's out there somewhere but at this point, it might be better if he is gone. No matter how long he was- is... was... alive, he would have gone through hell and back. Whether it was hours or days. It might be better for both him and for us if he is gone. God I sound like an asshole saying that. I want him to come home but just- I... I want to move on. I don't want his loss hanging over me for the rest of my life. I want Vikk to be able to heal. I want to not go and check his social media and watch all his old videos and have that hope that he's out there."

The tears were flowing by the time I finished, hands trembling so much that I had to put my cup down. Preston nodded slowly.

"I think I feel the same way. A couple... a couple of months ago I told myself to act like he was gone. To mourn like he was dead and I think- I think it's been helping. I suppose having religion helps as well but I just want to get back to something normal. I want to have a routine and I want to feel happy again. I can't do that like... like this. Like Vikk."

I winced at the mention of Vikk's name. Everyone knew he had taken this loss hard but he simply couldn't move on with no confirmation of what we all feared. He was in therapy, sure, but we all knew nothing would ever be normal and he would never really move on until we got that news. If ever.

"I want to remember him," Preston continued, "I want to celebrate his life, but I don't want him to haunt me. It's been a year. I want to move on."

366: Lachlan

No words. Words meant pain. No crying, no screaming, no talking. No words.

I drifted in and out of reality. I didn't fight back anymore. Fighting back meant pain, too. Sometimes he was there and sometimes he wasn't. Sometimes he raped me, sometimes he taunted me, sometimes he forced food and water down my throat to keep me alive. I didn't want to be alive anymore.

I knew when I made it to one year, because he threw a sick sort of celebration. And by celebration, he tried everything and much more to hurt me, to violate me, to dehumanize me. I passed out a lot. Time blurred, I didn't remember much.

But the worst part wasn't the pain, it wasn't his horrific form of torture, it was when he brought his phone down to me and shoved it in my face, laughing and taunting me with the photos of my friends. Candles, ribbons, photographs. They were holding a remembrance of some sort, a vigil, and I thought about it for days. There was one photo that stuck with me the most and it was one of Vikk. A close up, and he was crying. Rob sat close to him with an arm around his waist, and he was crying too.

"We'll never forget you- come home Lachlan!" He jeered, mocking me with a high pitched voice. "Would you look at that? How adorable. Pity, honestly."

A kick to my stomach followed. I didn't react. I missed them. I missed my mum and my dad and my brother and my sisters. I missed Jerome and Mitch and Preston and Rob. I especially missed Vikk. That photo sparked something in me, something he couldn't take away. They were still looking for me. And although it was faint, there was hope again.

It was small, constantly on the verge of being crushed, but there was something there. He could demean me, throw me around, destroy me, but there would always be hope. I had hope that one day, I would go home.