Part 1 – The New Norfolk Delivery

"Oh, just keep moving, would you!" Beatrix's voice snapped me out of my daze, her tone laced with frustration. She prodded me again, a little more insistently this time, towards the truck.

"I am moving!" I shot back, a hint of irritation creeping into my voice. I was eager to put some distance between myself and the unsettling sight of blood, but doubts swirled in my mind. Merely playing the role of a delivery girl felt like a feeble attempt at escaping the complexities we were entangled in.

As I reached the truck, the front passenger door emitted a loud, protesting squeak as I opened it. I clambered into the seat, my movements a bit more hurried than usual. Pulling the door closed behind me, it slammed shut with a loud bang, echoing my inner turmoil. The sound was louder than I intended, a physical manifestation of my frazzled state.

Beatrix paused in her task of adjusting the rearview mirror and turned to glare at me. Her gaze was sharp, a silent reprimand for my lack of composure.

"Sorry," I mumbled, feeling a bit sheepish. My apology floated in the air, an attempt to smooth the sudden tension.

Rolling her eyes, Beatrix turned back to face the front. With a turn of the key, the truck roared to life, its engine rattling uncomfortably loud, as if sympathising with the chaos of our situation.

"Do you really think we should?" I ventured, my voice tinged with hope and hesitation. Maybe Beatrix would reconsider. We could still tell Luke we couldn’t do it. He’d let us go home, right? No questions asked, surely.

"We have to," Beatrix replied, her voice firm and resolute.

Her response settled heavily in the air, like a verdict I couldn’t escape. I glanced out of the window, watching the world blur past us, feeling a sense of inevitability. We were moving forward, yet it felt like we were heading deeper into an unknown that was as daunting as it was inescapable. In that moment, I realised that whatever lay ahead, Beatrix and I were in it together, for better or worse.

As I sat in the passenger seat, I studied the manifest clutched in my clammy hands. The paper felt damp to the touch, a physical testament to my growing anxiety. It was a short list, but each item seemed to carry the weight of a much larger burden. Assuming Joel had been delivering them in the order listed, there were only three stops remaining. My gaze lifted, watching through the windshield as the small truck approached the first T-junction.

Without any indication, Beatrix casually pulled the truck to the right.

"Beatrix!" I screeched, my voice a mixture of surprise and panic. "Where are you going? You're going the wrong way."

"Huh?" Beatrix shrugged, her expression one of mild confusion. "Wasn't Claremont on the list?"

"Yeah, but we should be going to New Norfolk first," I replied quickly, my fingers tightening around the manifest. I waved it in the air, as if the motion could underscore the urgency of my words.

"But Claremont is closer," Beatrix insisted, her tone suggesting that she was weighing the options based on mere distance.

"Technically, yes," I stated, my voice growing firmer as I laid out my reasoning. "But if we go the back way to New Norfolk now, we can loop around along the river. It's more efficient. We do Claremont next and then continue down for the Moonah delivery."

After a moment's hesitation, Beatrix let out a soft sigh. She manoeuvred the truck into the next roundabout and continued full circle, eventually exiting the way we had entered. I watched the familiar scenery unfold again, a small victory in our unspoken power dynamic.

A small smile of satisfaction crept onto my face. Despite the chaos, the uncertainty, and the looming sense of danger, I realised I could still influence my sister's decisions. It was a small win, but in that moment, it felt significant.

"Hey, look!" I yelled, my voice spiked with surprise. Leaning closer, I peered out the window, my eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. "The truck is gone. Luke must have taken it through the Portal." The words tumbled out in a rush, my mind racing with the implications.

Beatrix leaned forward, her focus shifting towards Luke's house as we passed by. Her movement was automatic, a reaction to my words, but it came with unintended consequences. The truck veered dangerously to the left, following the direction of her gaze.

"Beatrix!" I screeched, my heart pounding in my chest.

Reacting quickly, Beatrix yanked the steering wheel sharply back to the right. In doing so, the corner of the truck clipped the side mirror of a parked car, detaching it with an ease that belied the force of the impact. "Shit," she muttered, her voice a blend of annoyance and resignation.

My eyes widened in horror as I watched the car’s mirror tumble along the road and into the ditch. The sight of it rolling away seemed almost surreal, like a slow-motion scene from a movie.

"No. Don't stop," I urged Beatrix, my voice laced with urgency as the truck began to slow down. I twisted my head, looking in every direction. "I don't think anybody saw us." My words were hopeful, but a knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach.

"I really think —" Beatrix started, but I cut her off.

"Beatrix!" I said, my voice tinged with panic. “You have blood on your clothes. We can’t stop!” The reality of our appearance, the potential consequences, it was all too much.

Beatrix glanced down at her jeans, her attention momentarily diverted.

"Watch the road!" I yelled, my fear peaking as the truck began to drift into the lane of an oncoming car. The world outside seemed to blur amidst the sway of the truck as Beatrix fought to regain control of the vehicle.

"Gee, you're such a terrible driver," I mumbled under my breath.

"Me? A terrible driver?" Beatrix snapped back, her tone defensive yet tinged with humour. "I'm not the one who knocked down a dozen motorcycles," she teased, a brief attempt to lighten the mood.

I frowned, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and irritation. "I did that once," I defended myself. "And that was a long time ago."

"It was last year," Beatrix scoffed, her voice loud and playful, despite the tension.

"Just keep going," I said curtly, turning my head to stare out the side window. My thoughts were a whirlwind, and I felt overwhelmed. It wasn't even midday yet, and already the day had drained me of all my energy.

"Okay," Beatrix acquiesced, her tone softening. "We'll keep going."

We continued along the back road, the truck bouncing slightly on the uneven terrain. For the most part, I found myself lost in thought, staring blankly out the window. The blurred forms of trees and rocks whizzed past, creating a monotonous backdrop to my tumultuous thoughts. As we snaked our way around the curvature of the road, the haunting images of two bloodied bodies invaded my mind, clouding my vision with their gruesome details.

I rubbed my fingers aggressively into my cheek, and then pressed my knuckles hard into my eyes, trying desperately to erase the horrifying images. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t wipe away the blood that seemed to stain both my face and my memory, clinging to me like an unshakable shadow.

Suddenly, my stomach gave a loud, protesting gurgle. A fierce knot tied itself around my insides, strangling my stomach with an iron grip. "Beatrix, pull over," I managed to say, my voice strained between tortured gag reflexes.

When the small truck came to a halt at the side of the road, I hastily jumped out. Throwing myself onto my knees, I fell heavily onto the rocky surface. The hard ground bruised my knees, but I barely noticed, consumed by nausea. With a single, gut-wrenching heave, I spewed a vile mix of bile and alcohol into the nearby saltbush.

"You okay out there?" Beatrix’s voice called out from the truck.

"Yeah," I replied weakly, waving my hand dismissively without turning to look back at her. "Just give me a minute." My gaze was fixated on the trickle of red wine staining the gravel. Now, there are two bodies, I thought despairingly. Will they ever disappear from my mind?

I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve, the coarse fabric scraping against my skin. Then, gathering what little strength I had left, I climbed back into the truck and shut the door with a soft thud. "Just go," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper, avoiding Beatrix’s questioning eyes.

Beatrix, sensing my need for silence, pulled the truck back onto the road. We continued our journey, each lost in our own thoughts, the truck rumbling beneath us as if carrying the weight of our shared burdens.

"Welcome to New Norfolk," I muttered dryly, my eyes catching the small town’s welcome sign through the truck's window. I fought back the next wave of nausea, a relentless tide that seemed intent on overwhelming me.

"What's the address?" Beatrix asked, her voice pulling me back from the edge of my discomfort.

"Oh… um…" I stammered, my fingers trembling as I tried to smooth out the crumpled paper against my thigh. The corners of the manifest tore under the pressure of my anxious fidgeting.

"Gladys!” Beatrix snapped, her tone sharp and impatient, cutting through the fog of my nausea.

"27 Bettong Road," I blurted out hastily.

"Shit," Beatrix muttered under her breath.

I gasped as my eyes landed on the surname beside the address. "Isn't that Uncle Lance's house?" I asked, a sense of dread creeping into my voice. The mere mention of his name brought back a flood of memories and unresolved family drama.

"Yeah," Beatrix confirmed, her voice heavy with resignation. "It is."

Shit! Uncle Lance was our mother's brother, to be exact. I remembered visiting him a few months ago, drawn by the news of his newborn daughter, Isabel, which I had heard through a work colleague. The visit was a brief escape from the ongoing family tensions.

It was the Christmas before last that the rift had deepened. Uncle Lance and his wife, Aunt Amy, had a huge disagreement with our mother. The argument had been loud and bitter, ending with Lance and Amy storming out of the house in a flurry of anger and hurtful words. In the aftermath, mum had been adamant. She demanded that Beatrix and I cut all contact with them. The memory of that day was like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over the impending delivery.

The thought of facing Uncle Lance now, in these bizarre and unnerving circumstances, sent an icy shiver down my spine. The questions churned in my mind: What would he say? How would he react to our sudden, unannounced appearance? My stomach twisted with apprehension.

I glanced across at Beatrix, searching for an easier solution. "Maybe we can leave their package in the letter box?" I suggested, the idea sounding completely reasonable.

"I don't think so, Gladys," Beatrix replied, her voice tinged with a practicality that I lacked at the moment. "I don't remember seeing any packages small enough to fit in a letter box."

I sighed, resigned. "We'll just sneak up and leave it on the front doorstep then," I proposed, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

"We?" scoffed Beatrix, a playful yet challenging smirk playing on her lips. "I think you mean you," she added, her tone teasing yet firm.

"What!" I retorted, my voice hitting a high, pitchy shriek. I pressed one hand against the window for support as the front wheels of the truck turned abruptly and bounced up the curb. The truck shook sideways as we rolled back down, jostling us inside. "What are you doing? I’m sure his house is further down the road."

"It is," Beatrix agreed, pulling the truck to a stop.

"Then what?" I asked, my confusion mounting by the second.

Beatrix sighed. "Well, if we're trying to cover up a murder, I'm not going to pull a truck up outside the front of their house. That's way too obvious."

Her logic was sound, but I was still reluctant to face Uncle Lance alone. I stared at her, my expression a mix of pleading and defiance.

Beatrix nudged me towards the door. "Just do it, Gladys," she insisted.

Reluctantly, I opened the door and slid my way to the ground, the gravel crunching under my feet. "What parcel is it?" I looked back at Beatrix and asked, feeling suddenly unprepared.

"I don't know," she replied nonchalantly. "Read the labels."

I stalked away from Beatrix in a huff, my emotions a tangled mess of frustration and apprehension. My body tensed, rigid with anxiety, as I reached for the back metal door of the truck. The door groaned loudly, a dissonant soundtrack to my troubled thoughts, as I pulled it open. For a moment, I almost expected to see another harrowing scene — another dead body lying in a pool of blood. Relief washed over me in a loud exhale when my eyes met only five fairly small, unthreatening packages.

Hoisting myself inside the truck took two determined attempts. Once inside, I picked up the first package, squinting in the dimly lit space to read the label. "Lance Cradock." Perfect! I thought to myself, a small victory in an otherwise chaotic day. And on the first go, no less.

With the shoe-sized box nestled securely under one arm, I perched on the edge of the cold truck floor. My legs dangled over the edge, as I mentally bargained with my pounding heart for the courage to jump down. "Shit!" I cried out suddenly, my heart leaping into my throat as the box slipped from my grasp and crashed onto the ground below. In a frantic, desperate attempt to rescue it, my flailing caused me to lose my balance, tumbling off the edge to land with a heavy thud beside the box.

Picking up the parcel from the bitumen, I frowned, inspecting the gravel embedded in its crushed corner. What can I do about it? I wondered with a resigned shrug. Nothing, really.

I closed the back of the truck with a definitive thud and walked around to the side, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. Balancing one foot in front of the other along the top edge of the gutter, I approached the front of the truck. As I pushed the front door closed, a bit harder than I intended, I lost my balance again. My feet slipped off the curb, but this time my flailing arms steadied me, and I caught myself with a sense of smug satisfaction. That is, until I promptly tripped over the curb as I made my way towards the footpath.

"Hey, Gladys?" Beatrix's voice called out, interrupting my clumsy recovery.

I turned to see her leaning out of the open passenger-side window, her expression a mix of concern and amusement.

"You can't be seen. You're supposed to be a man, remember?" she reminded me, her voice laced with a hint of urgency.

I turned around, a flash of irritation crossing my mind. Did Beatrix really think I was that stupid? I had no intention of being seen, regardless of my supposed gender. The idea was ludicrous, but it was also a stark reminder of the absurdity of our current situation. I adjusted my posture, straightening my back and squaring my shoulders, determined to carry out this ridiculous task as best as I could, even under the guise of being someone else.

As I walked along the uneven pavement, my stomach churned with an intensity that threatened to overwhelm me. I pressed my hand against my belly, trying in vain to quell the brewing storm within. Each step felt heavier than the last, burdened not just by the weight of the package, but by the weight of the entire day's events.

I climbed the three cement steps that led to a small, square porch. The cries of baby Isabel pierced the air from inside the house, exacerbating the dull ache already throbbing in my head. An unpleasant odour drifted across my senses, and I gripped the porch’s metal pole for support, but my grip faltered, and the package slipped from my other hand.

As I dropped to my knees, a horrendous stench of decay hit me. The smell was so overpowering that it triggered an uncontrollable reaction. Acidic bile and the remnants of red alcohol erupted from my mouth, a violent expulsion that left me feeling empty and weak.

Wiping the unfortunate residue from my chin, my eyes reluctantly fell on a small plastic bag beside me. Despite knowing better, curiosity overcame me, and I gagged as I peered inside the bag, only to be confronted by the sight of a very unhealthy, stinky nappy.

Frantically, I pushed myself backward, pressing my spine against the cool brick wall for support. My hand, trembling and damp, wiped my mouth with my sleeve. "Shit!" I whispered to myself, picking up the package and staring at the new dent and the spattering of red vomit that marred its surface. I felt a surge of frustration and disgust at the situation, at myself.

With a heavy heart, I placed the box beside the bag of filth, pulled myself to my feet, and made a hasty exit from the small property. I couldn’t escape the porch fast enough.

The passenger door of the truck swung open with a loud creak. "Let's get out of here," I told Beatrix, my voice strained and breaths short as I climbed into my seat and slammed the door shut, eager to put as much distance between myself and this place as possible.

Beatrix, without a word, tucked her phone between her thighs and sent the small truck jolting forward, the motion abrupt and decisive.

"No," I said firmly, an idea forming in my mind. "Turn us around and go the other way." My voice was a mix of command and plea.

Beatrix gave me a suspicious stare, clearly questioning my sudden determination.

I took a dry gulp, my throat parched and my voice barely more than a whisper. "Safer not to drive past their house," I managed to say, the words coming out as the only logical explanation I could muster.

Part 2 – The Claremont Delivery

As we followed the winding road that snaked its way alongside the river, each turn seemed to amplify my anxiety. The distance we put between us and the vomit-covered package did little to ease my mind. I still had two more deliveries to make, and the thought was daunting. The only faint silver lining I could find was the hope that my stomach, now seemingly empty, had nothing more to give.

"Would you stop that already!" Beatrix suddenly snapped, her frustration evident. Her glaring eyes darted between me and the road, clearly irritated.

"Sorry," I said, chastened. I clasped my fidgety hands tighter in my lap, trying to still them. "I'm just a bit anxious." My voice was a mix of apology and understatement.

"I know! I've been watching your hands fidget for the last ten minutes!" Beatrix's voice was sharp, echoing the tension that filled the small space of the truck.

I let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of our situation. "Do you think it'll actually make any difference?" I asked, voicing the nagging doubt that had been eating at me.

"What do you mean?" Beatrix asked, her tone shifting to one of curiosity as she stole another glance at me.

"Well, I mean, if these people are finding their packages outside their front door, what are they going to tell the police?" I explained, my words spilling out in a rush.

"Huh?" Beatrix's response was a mixture of confusion and interest.

I elaborated, feeling a sense of desperation creeping into my voice. "I mean if nobody actually sees Joel, then there will still be no evidence that Joel actually made the deliveries," I said with a huff. The thought of the police testing my extra 'gift', because there were no eyewitnesses who saw the deliverer, and finding my DNA, made my empty stomach churn. The absurdity of it all made me want to eat something simply so I had the pleasure of throwing it up again. "So really, this whole exercise doesn't get us in the clear at all."

Beatrix's silence hung in the air like a heavy fog, making me feel increasingly uneasy. This was the moment where she usually would have snapped back with an immediate insult, poking fun at what she perceived as the loophole of my stupidity. Please take the opportunity, I begged internally, craving some sort of normalcy in our bizarre situation.

"Hopefully, it will keep them distracted," Beatrix finally said, her voice simple, devoid of the usual sharpness.

Distracted? I repeated silently, my disappointment palpable. Is that the best Beatrix can manage? I turned away, my gaze settling on the window beside me. "Distracted," I muttered to myself, shaking my head. My voice was barely audible, tinged with a sense of defeat. We're screwed!

True to her cautious nature, just as she had in New Norfolk, Beatrix brought the truck to a stop a considerable distance from our expected target. At least a hundred metres separated us from where we needed to be.

"Can you do this one?" I turned to Beatrix, my voice laced with a pleading tone. I hoped against hope that she would take this burden from me.

"No," Beatrix replied sharply, her response like a cold splash of reality. "Look. All you have to do is leave it on their front doorstep and come straight back. I'll be here waiting for you."

With a mixture of resignation and frustration, I swung my door open hard, the sound echoing my mood, and jumped down. "I still don't think it'll matter," I said dryly, my voice hollow.

"Hey," Beatrix called out, capturing my attention once again.

I looked up at her, my face twisted into a serious pout, the embodiment of my internal turmoil.

"Either way. Delivering these packages is better than us being stuck with them," she reasoned, her voice attempting to be reassuring.

I sulked my way to the back of the truck, each step heavy with dread. Beatrix’s words did little to bolster my confidence. The reality of our situation was unchanging – we were still entangled in a mess with no clear way out. We're still screwed, I thought to myself, the grim acceptance settling in my bones as I prepared to deliver yet another package, each step feeling like a march towards an inevitable fate.

Part 3 – The Moonah Delivery

"Last one," Beatrix announced, her voice carrying a hint of relief as she flashed a smile.

"Thank God for that," I replied, buckling my seatbelt with a sense of finality. The end of this ordeal was within sight, and it couldn't come soon enough.

"You haven't enjoyed playing delivery girl then?" teased Beatrix, her tone light, almost mocking.

I shot a glare at my sister. How could she possibly think that this fiasco was enjoyable? The absurdity of the situation, the danger, the fear – none of it was remotely close to my idea of 'enjoyable.'

"So that's a no," Beatrix said, answering her own question with a chuckle.

"Just drive," I instructed, my voice heavy with exhaustion. I sighed deeply, a faint glimmer of hope that this final delivery would pass as uneventfully as the previous one.

As we travelled in silence, each of us lost in our own troubling thoughts, I sat motionless. My hands were clasped tightly in my lap, and my eyes stared out the window with a vacant gaze. The world outside passed by in a blur, a kaleidoscope of colours and shapes that barely registered in my mind.

"You'd better send Luke a message and let him know that we're almost done," Beatrix suggested, nudging my thigh with her knuckles to grab my attention.

I mechanically grabbed my phone from my pocket and sent the message as advised. "Done," I said, placing my phone back in the console before returning my gaze to the window, my eyes once again glazing over as the scenery blended into an indistinct haze.

The ring of my phone snapped me back to the present. "Hey, Luke. What's up?" I asked, my voice tinged with weariness.

"Hey, Gladys. I forgot to ask you earlier. Can you and Beatrix please collect me a large supply of shelving?" Luke's voice came through the speaker.

"In our truck?" I asked, the request sounding like just another burden.

"Yes. That's probably the best idea," Luke responded.

I hesitated, my mind racing with concerns. "I don't have any more money to spare, Luke. I have the next mortgage payment coming out in a few days."

"Don't worry. I have money," Beatrix called out, her voice loud and assertive.

"How do you have money?" I asked, turning to her in surprise. Her unexpected financial stability was a mystery.

"Never mind that," Beatrix replied dismissively. "Let's just get this shit done."

Shrugging, I turned my attention back to Luke. "Yeah, Luke. Beatrix has money. She'll pay for it."

"Anything else?" Beatrix called out, already resigned to the fact that our errands were far from over.

"I also need you to print me some simple instructions for pouring a slab of concrete for a shed," Luke added.

"Huh?" I asked, confused. My brain felt like it was swimming in a fog, unable to grasp Luke’s words.

"Gladys!" Beatrix snapped. "The hardware store will be able to give us something. We'll ask them while we're there getting the shelving."

"Oh yeah," I said, my voice flat, ending the call without another thought.

"You're not going to say goodbye?" Beatrix asked with a chuckle, amused by my absentmindedness.

"Huh?" I repeated, staring blankly at her. "Oh," I realised my mistake. "Sorry, Luke," I yelled at the now silent phone, a pointless gesture.

"Gee, you sure you have the volume loud enough?" Beatrix mocked, her voice overly loud and playful.

Pouting, I turned my face back to the window. "You're such a bitch sometimes," I mumbled under my breath, the words barely escaping my lips.

"What was that?" asked Beatrix.

"Nothing," I said, my voice devoid of energy. I made no attempt to look at her, my gaze fixed outside, on the passing world that seemed to mirror the chaos inside me.