The Wyld Girls

Chapter 18 - Kylie

He straps on a body camera and his scuba gear while Michelle pleads with him. "Bruce, please – you're drunk, you're high, it's night, we haven't checked the gear, you can't go alone-"

"Well, maybe you'd better do your part for once and come with me." He shoves her out of the way, then turns to face the silently recording camera. "This is Bruce Wyld. We've been tracking a pod of orca all week in these West Australian waters, but we haven't been able to get close enough to really get a taste of their wild nature. I'm about to change that. I'm going for a night dive with me missus, Michelle, to see if we can sneak up on these buggers while they're resting." He spoils his near-perfect commentary by belching loudly at the end. "Let's go, Shell."

"Bruce, wait!"

It's too late. He sits facing backward on the side of the boat, gives Michelle a wink and the finger, then topples himself into the dark water. As he falls, he yells, "Let's get Wyld!" and then vanishes with a splash.

She screams, then frantically starts to pull on her own wetsuit while calling for help. "Parker! Wake up, please! Parker, help!"

Parker stumbles onto screen, his red hair sticking up in every direction. "What? What's going on?"

Michelle dons her scuba gear. "It's Bruce – he came back from town drunk, he's gone in alone! I have to go in after him!"

She runs for the edge, but Parker catches her around the waist. "Mish, if you go in alone, then we'll be looking for two people instead of one. Wait, please? We'll find him, I promise."

The footage becomes frantic, almost as if it's been sped up. Parker wakes the rest of the crew and jumps into his own gear. He and one crew member team up, Michelle goes out with another in the opposite direction. Those left on board shine the massive searchlight on the water, radios crackling and calling for help from shore.

Then, there's a long, eerie section of footage where very little happens. Silent water, silent crew.

A girl appears on screen, sleepy in her purple pyjamas. She asks someone what's going on. Her face falls, crumpling so fast, it looks like she's been punched.

She races to the side of the boat, her small fingers gripping the rail. She stands there for hours, calling for her brother over and over, her tears falling freely into the dark sea.

It's after dawn when Parker surfaces just beside the boat where Kylie is waiting. Bruce's body is in his arms, the big man broken and lifeless.

She tilts back her head and screams, and the audio on the footage cuts out as if the microphone was unable to process the sound of such raw, unedited grief.

The footage comes to an end, but I don't move. I don't think I can. A message from the video player appears over the top of the final frame, partially obscuring my younger self's face almost ripped in half by grief at the sight of my brother's dead body. Would you like to watch from the start?

I'd begun watching about halfway through. I'm now wondering if I should have watched this at all.

My phone has begun to ring beside me. Absently, I swipe it to answer. I think I might be in shock. It actually doesn't feel too bad at all; it's a kind of cushioned place where nothing more can hurt me because the worst has already happened. "Hello?"

"Kylie?"

"Oh, hi, Michelle," I say dreamily.

"Kylie, I'm here with Parker – where are you?"