202: Redoing My Life, Australia pt.3

This is the conclusion of Chapter 202. I finally got over my writer’s block and managed to finish it. I've also updated the original chapter, in case you want to read it again in full this part here is just the new section.

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I had dreams after what happened.

No…nightmares.

I was being led through a tunnel of flashing lights and noise. Paparazzi screamed, cameras exploding with white-hot bursts. A thousand voices crashed into one another, all asking the same question in different words:

“Why did you kill that kangaroo?”

“Did you want to eat it?”

“Was it something sexual?”

The crowd closed in, bodies pressing, microphones shoved in my face. My feet moved, but it felt like I was sinking with every step.

Inside, the courthouse loomed: cold marble, fluorescent lights that hummed too loudly. I stood at the center, and everyone was there. My mother sat in the front row; she looked sad. Lucy. Margot. Nathan. Even Alice…Alice wouldn’t look at me.

“My client did not kill the kangaroo,” my lawyer declared.

A woman wearing a PETA badge rose for the prosecution.

“He’s a monster,” she said, pointing straight at me. “He and his girlfriend planned to eat the kangaroo. They would’ve gotten away with it if not for the witness.”

I stood, heart racing, hands shaking. “It was an accident,” I said. “We didn’t mean to…”

But the cameras cut me off. Flash. Flash. Flash.

I turned…and saw Archie in the back of the courtroom. Alone. Silent. Judging me.

“Why did you do it?” he asked.

I woke with a jolt, heart pounding against my ribs like it wanted out. Sheets tangled around me, gray morning light leaking through the blinds.

The shower water hit my skin warm, steady but I felt cold. Eyes closed, forehead against the tile, I didn’t move for a long time.

I couldn’t imagine how Margot felt. She was the one who’d done the deed.

Eventually I turned off the water, dried off, dressed without thinking.

Downstairs, I was making coffee when the front door opened and Margot stepped inside, flushed from her run, earbuds hanging around her neck, sweat glistening on her forehead. She was smiling actually smiling like nothing had happened. She moved to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and drank deeply.

I just stared.

The fuck… am I dating a sociopath?

She was standing in the same spot where it happened where she’d done it like it was just another Tuesday.

She noticed me watching. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been having nightmares about what happened,” I said, voice shaking. “You killed Archie.”

Margot shrugged and took another sip. “It happened. Nothing we can do about it.”

“It happened? You killed Archie.”

“I’m dealing with it,” she said, her voice cracking a bit. “In my own way.”

“By pretending it never happened?”

“Yes,” she said, meeting my eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” And she walked away.

“The fuck…” I muttered, dropping onto the couch.

The day dragged on. I tried to distract myself with TV static, cooking shows, a cartoon rerun until I stopped on a DC Batman movie. Sure, why not, I thought, and kept watching.

After a while I felt I needed to talk to someone—someone other than Margot—someone who would tell me everything would be all right.

“Lucy,” I whispered. “I need to call Lucy. She’ll know what to do.”

I stepped outside with my phone, heart racing. I scrolled to Lucy’s name, hit call, and put the phone to my ear.

She picked up on the second ring, her voice bright and breezy.

“Danny! How’s the vacation down under?”

“Luce…” My voice cracked. “Luce, we—we killed… we messed up.”

There was a pause. “What?”

“It was Margot. We… I…” I couldn’t even finish the sentence.

Lucy’s tone changed instantly—sharp, serious. “Okay, okay, Adam…get off the line,” she muttered, as if someone else were listening in.

“Alright, I’m here. I understand.”

“You do?” I asked.

“You killed a hooker? Oh, fuck. I didn’t expect this from you. I knew I’d have to deal with some shit when I became an agent, but not this. Not this from you.”

“What? What are you—Luce, I can’t hear you, the line’s cutting—”

“Okay, okay,” she said, suddenly composed, like she was writing down bullet points. “Calm down. Just tell me what happened. How did it happen? How did she die?”

“She… no, it wasn’t a she,” I said, pacing now. “It was a he. Archie.”

There was a beat.

Lucy lowered her voice. “Archie… Oh. I didn’t know you were into that.” Then, quickly, “No judgment… ‘Archie’ probably wasn’t even his real name, Danny.”

“What?” I asked, now even more confused.

“Just…just walk me through it. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“You and Margot killed a male escort. It happened—you must be in shock. Just tell me what happened. Oh, and is there blood? Then get your hands on…”

“What? No! No, Luce, Archie’s a kangaroo! We didn’t kill a guy… Margot accidentally killed a kangaroo, that's who Archie is.”

Another long pause.

“A what?” she said flatly.

“A kangaroo, Luce! It came into the house in the middle of the night, and Margot hit it with a cricket bat!”

There was silence. Then—

Lucy broke into full, hysterical laughter. I could hear her nearly drop the phone.

“Oh my God,” she gasped between laughs. “You didn’t kill a man. Jesus, that feels so good to hear. I thought I was gonna have to help you get rid of a body!”

“No… fuck,” I said, dragging a hand through my hair.

I explained everything to Lucy—every ridiculous, horrifying detail: how the kangaroo had gotten into the house, how Margot panicked, how she swung the cricket bat without thinking, how we freaked out and dumped the body in a ditch, staging it to look like it had fallen in on its own. Like it had just… tripped and died.

There was a pause on the line. Then Lucy said, cool and clinical, “You did good. Did you scrub out all the blood?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Everything. It’s all gone.”

“Good,” she replied, firm now. “Now do nothing. Just—nothing.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Jesus, Daniel. You really took me for a ride here. I thought you’d killed a person. But no—it was just a kangaroo.” Her voice softened. “Just come home soon, okay? We’ll put this behind us.”

“Okay. Okay,” I said, nodding even though she couldn’t see me.

She hung up, but I could still hear her laughing faintly as the call ended. “A kangaroo…”

I stared at the phone. “Damn.”

Lucy was ready to help me cover up a murder. I really did choose wisely all those years ago.

I went back inside and dropped down on the couch, calmer than before.

“Lucy’s right,” I muttered. “Just need to get home. Put this behind me.”

By evening I was still on that couch. The light outside had mellowed into a soft, golden haze, and I hadn’t budged. Maybe Margot had the right idea, I thought: distract yourself—pretend it didn’t happen. So I tried.

I opened my notebook and started scribbling anything to get my mind off things: Phase 2 of the DCU.

Superman 2. Batman 3. Wonder Woman 2. Suicide Squad.

My pen stopped.

Wait… didn’t Wonder Woman have a pet kangaroo?

I blinked, trying to remember. What was its name? Jumpa?

The room hummed with the low drone of a didgeridoo from the TV—a slow documentary playing on autoplay.

“Danny!”

I grabbed the remote and clicked the TV off just as I heard Margot calling from outside.

The air was cooler now, dusk settling in. Margot stood in the yard, arms crossed, staring toward the ditch where we’d left Archie.

“Someone’s there,” she said without turning.

I followed her gaze. A man stood near the hole, a rifle slung over his shoulder just standing there, looking down, inspecting.

“Oh, fuck,” I whispered. “Who is that?”

Margot didn’t move. “Well, he found Archie.”

“Why does he have a gun?”

“Must be one of those rangers Glen mentioned.”

“Yeah, but… why does he have a gun, Mags?”

She kept staring. I watched the guy a moment longer and made a decision.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, what?” Margot turned, incredulous. “No. We’re staying right here.”

“No, listen we go over there. We act shocked. Sad. Like we just stumbled onto it. Share in their grief or something. Trust me, it’s better than standing here looking guilty.”

Without waiting, I started toward the man. After a second, I heard her footsteps behind me.

As we crossed the dry grass, she leaned in. “How exactly are you going to act shocked?”

“I know how to act shocked.”

She grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop. “Show me.”

I sighed and gave her my best shocked face—wide eyes, slack jaw, one hand half-raised as if to say, “Oh no!”

She stared. “That is so bad. Like… offensively bad.”

“Thanks.”

She shook her head. “Okay, you do nothing. I’ll handle the acting. You? Just hold me.”

“Hold you?”

“Yes. Hold me. Comfort me. You’ll understand.”

Before I could respond, she was already striding toward the man, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Hey,” I called as we got closer.

The man looked up, rifle still on his back. The breeze shifted, and the sour smell drifted over—faint but sharp, straight from the ditch. Archie. Poor Archie.

The man gave a polite nod. “Oh, hello. You must be the guests we were told not to disturb.”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “That’s us.”

Margot stepped forward, her tone light and curious. “What’s going on?”

He glanced back at the hole. “Oh…you don’t want to see this. Really.”

“What is it?” I asked, playing along, though my stomach was already turning.

“Found a roo in the ditch,” he said. “Looks like it fell in.”

Margot leaned closer, then gasped like she was in a soap opera. She clutched my arm and pressed her face against my shoulder.

Oh, I thought, this is what she meant by “hold me.” Right. Got it.

“Yeah, that’s a tragedy,” I managed, voice flat but trying. “Glen’s going to be so upset. That’s probably Archie.”

“Archie?” the man repeated, frowning. “Oh, shit. Is this the one they keep as a pet?”

I stared at him. “What did you think it was?”

He crouched, squinting into the hole. “No, no… Archie’s in a cage—a big one by Glen’s place. Glen told me he was going to keep that one penned. This isn’t him.”

Margot and I exchanged a look. “Wait, what?” we said in perfect unison.

The man straightened, brushing dirt from his pants. “Yeah, this isn’t the pet. Archie’s tagged. This one isn’t.”

I stared at the body, still barely visible from where we stood.

“This is going to be a pain,” he muttered. “Too much paperwork. We’re supposed to do it clean mercy shots to the head, quick and painless. Not this. Looks like it drowned in yesterday’s rain.”

“Wait—what are you talking about?” I asked, stepping forward. “What do you mean ‘do it clean’? Kill who?”

He adjusted the rifle strap on his shoulder. “Name’s James. I was hired last month for the culling. Too many roos around here. Council sends guys like me out when the numbers get out of hand—gotta thin the herd.”

He smiled, as if he’d just explained how to mow a lawn.

I looked at Margot, who seemed almost… relieved, like a weight had slid off her shoulders.

“Oh,” she said, grinning, “so this one was supposed to die?” Her voice was borderline chipper, eyes bright.

James hesitated, clearly put off by her tone. “Yeah, yeah… sad it went like this, though,” he said cautiously.

“But it was supposed to die,” Margot repeated, practically bouncing, “and it’s not Archie.” She looked at me as if we’d just won the lottery.

James blinked, clearly weirded out, muttered something about calling it in, and walked away—slowly.

As soon as he was gone, Margot threw her arms around me and kissed me. “We didn’t kill Archie,” she said, beaming. “It wasn’t him.”

I stood stiffly in her embrace, glancing over her shoulder. “So… killing kangaroos is just normal here? You told me it was illegal.”

“Only when the numbers get too high,” she said. “You need a permit and everything—it’s all regulated. They run culls all the time.” She pulled back, hands still on my shoulders. “God, I’m so relieved.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You still killed one.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well… it was going to die anyway. You heard James—he was coming to shoot it.” Spinning on her heel, she walked off with a little skip, as if it were a beautiful day and nothing had gone wrong.

I watched her for a moment, then glanced back at the ditch. The kangaroo lay there, unmoving.

With a long, slow exhale, I headed for the house and dropped into one of the rickety chairs on the porch. The sun was setting, bathing everything in that orange-gold glow that makes the world feel calmer than it has any right to be.

From somewhere in my memory, the low drone of a didgeridoo rolled through my head—strange and distant.

“What the fuck,” I muttered.

A sharp crack echoed in the distance. A gunshot. I jolted upright.

They’d killed another one.

I slumped back in the chair.

“I need to get the fuck out of this country,” I said to no one.

Maybe New Zealand. Yeah. The Shire was there that would cheer me up. Hobbits and Lord of the Rings. Yeah, definitely New Zealand before heading home.