The knowledge that I needed to find my sister swirled relentlessly in my mind, rendering my stay in Clivilius a fleeting affair. With a mission from Paul to retrieve his dog, Charlie, in Broken Hill, I found a distraction to keep my restless thoughts and idle hands engaged while I awaited word from Gladys.

In Adelaide, I had become adept at charting Portal locations, allowing me to resume my journey with ease. Having fulfilled my daily commitment to the new upgraded settlement housing, a wave of satisfaction washed over me. It was time to seek out transportation, and I opted for a modest, independent car hire company. Their lack of communication and coordination played to my advantage. Having previously deceived the motorhome dealer with a fabricated number, I decided to test my luck once more. Success was mine again as the clerk barely glanced at my license before ticking a box, neglecting even to make a copy. A smirk danced on my lips as I hit the accelerator, the open road unfolding before me.

The car, though not the latest model, possessed an essential feature—an inbuilt navigation system pointing me towards Broken Hill. My travels had rarely taken me beyond the urban sprawl of the mainland's major cities, with Melbourne holding a special place in my heart as a favoured retreat. Yet, here I was, embarking on an adventure into the vast expanse of the Australian outback, an area uncharted by my own experiences. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on me—I was en route to commit a dognapping, of all things!

My mind, ever the relentless wanderer, drifted back to the car I was driving through the vast and quiet landscapes. This vehicle, just like the others before it, was destined to join the expanding collection of the Clivilian fleet—unreturned, unnoticed. A part of me revelled in this new norm, this life of subtle defiance. "I really could get used to this life," I whispered to myself, a hint of amusement in my tone as I caught sight of the green road sign heralding my approach to Gawler.

The thought lingered, a smirk playing on my lips, even as a part of me wrestled with the moral implications of my actions. It was a thrilling yet unsettling dance between right and wrong, freedom and responsibility.

The cabin of the car, filled with the sounds of an upbeat track, momentarily insulated me from the world outside. Yet, my thoughts were elsewhere. "She's had plenty of time," I mumbled under my breath, the music's energy now clashing with my growing impatience and concern. My fingers, slightly trembling, reached out to lower the volume, cutting through the song's climax as I sought a moment of quiet to connect with Gladys.

Balancing my phone on my thighs, a sense of urgency took hold. I dialled Gladys's number, the beep of each digit echoing in the suddenly quiet car. Activating the loudspeaker, I placed the phone beside me, my eyes flickering between the road and the device, waiting for that familiar voice to break through the silence.

The phone rang, cutting sharply through the car's stillness. Once, twice, thrice—it was a countdown, each ring heightening my anticipation and anxiety. After countless attempts that had only met with the indifferent tone of voicemail, this call felt weighted with significance.

Then, a click, a breath, and Gladys's voice filled the car. Relief washed over me, mingled with a surge of questions and concerns. I pulled over to the roadside, the gravel crunching under the tires, signalling a pause in my journey. The engine idled, a soft purr against the backdrop of silence, as I braced myself to dive into a conversation laden with pent-up worries and looming decisions.

"Where the hell are you, Gladys?" I screeched into the phone, the urgency in my voice mirroring the pounding of my heart. "Are you safe? Did they catch you?"

Her response, "I'm fine, Beatrix," was less than convincing, her voice a thin veil over underlying distress. "Please can you come and get me?" she implored, her plea cutting through the static of distance and fear.

I glanced out the car windows, the vast open fields stretching endlessly, the nearest semblance of civilisation—a cluster of distant houses—seemed to mock my desperation. A flicker of hesitation washed over me, the isolation of my surroundings pressing in, amplifying the gravity of the situation.

"Of course," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt, propelled by a surge of determination to aid my sister. "Where are you?" I inquired, ready to traverse any distance, to navigate any obstacle.

"I'll send you my location."

"Great!" I responded, clinging to the lifeline she offered, yet the brief respite was shattered by a sudden loud revving of an engine in the background of Gladys's call. My pulse quickened, dread coiling in my stomach.

"Dickhead!" Gladys's shout pierced the tense air. My mind raced, envisioning every conceivable danger, the worst scenarios playing out in vivid detail.

"Gladys?" I called out, my voice tinged with fear, the spectre  of her being caught by authorities looming large. Her heavy sigh was a gut punch, the weight of her exhale carrying more than just air—it bore the burden of her predicament.

"Beatrix, please hurry," she urged, her words a blend of desperation and resolve.

"I'll find you as fast as I can. I promise," I vowed, the finality of the call echoing in the silent car. The line went dead, leaving me with a churning mix of determination and trepidation. The stillness of the car contrasted sharply with the turmoil within me. With a deep breath, I steeled myself, igniting the car back to life, ready to confront whatever lay ahead in my relentless pursuit to safeguard my sister.

Pulling back onto the main road, my mind raced as fast as the car's engine. I was acutely aware of my surroundings, eyes darting for the perfect secluded spot to activate the Portal. The realisation hit me with clarity—Gladys would need a ride, and here I was, in possession of a vehicle that could very well serve that purpose. Luke's past feats of transporting inanimate objects between worlds sparked a plan in my mind. Why not take the car with me to Clivilius and then back to Earth? It was audacious, yet the circumstances called for boldness.

As I navigated the outskirts of Gawler, my eyes caught a narrow side road, veering away from the main thoroughfare. It promised the seclusion I required. With a decisive turn of the steering wheel, I ventured down the path, the car's tires crunching the gravel beneath. I drove down Marlowe Lane for a few kilometres until I reached an abandoned farmstead, identified by a decrepit sign “Old Fenwick Place.” This farm, once bustling with activity, had long been deserted, its fields now overrun with wild grass and its structures succumbing to time and the elements. Its dilapidated barn providing the perfect secluded backdrop with its large, flat wall ideal for the Portal's activation.

I pulled up close to the barn's broad side, the structure standing solitary amidst the sprawling fields, a silent witness to my extraordinary endeavour. With the car positioned, I stepped out, my heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension. The Portal device felt heavy in my hand, not in weight but in potential.

Activating the Portal against the barn's flat, weathered surface, I watched in awe as the familiar shimmering gateway materialised, its edges blurring into the surroundings. "This is freaking brilliant!" I couldn't help but exclaim aloud, a smile breaking across my face as I gazed at the portal, which now stood as a testament to my quick adaptation and problem-solving.

With no time to lose, I climbed back into the car, drove through the shimmering surface of the Portal, and emerged into the dusty landscape of Clivilius. The transition was seamless, the car's tires kicking up clouds of extraterrestrial dust as I braked. My arrival seemed to go unnoticed, a small mercy in the urgency of my mission.

The ingenuity of my plan filled me with a rush of exhilaration. I had managed to bend the rules of physics and reality to my will, an empowering realisation. However, the criticality of my mission to rescue Gladys allowed no time for self-adulation.

I manoeuvred the car, reversing it through the Portal, mirroring the path previously trodden by small trucks, and emerged in Luke's driveway. The seamless transition between worlds was nothing short of miraculous, a testament to the power at my fingertips.

With my vehicle now Earthbound once more, my thoughts refocused on Gladys. The urgency to find her injected a new wave of determination into my veins. Her location pinged continuously on my phone, a digital beacon guiding me towards her.

As I drove, I noted the rain beginning to ease, the clouds parting as if in acknowledgment of my resolve. Yet, the potential sight of Gladys, possibly in distress or danger, cast a shadow over the relief brought by the clearing skies. My sister's safety was paramount, and as the distance decreased between us, so did the barrier to our reunion.

Within a mere twenty minutes, the insistent voice of the GPS indicated I was nearing Gladys's last known location. The stability of her location pin, barely shifting since she'd sent it, knotted my insides with growing anxiety. Such stillness hinted at distressing possibilities: was she injured, or had she sought refuge in the numbing embrace of alcohol? I leaned forward, eyes narrowing as I scanned the horizon through the windshield.

As I crept closer, a vehicle materialised at the roadside ahead, its presence oddly conspicuous in the sparse surroundings. My pace slowed to a crawl as I neared, the details becoming clearer. The car, emblazoned with the bold lettering "Tassie Independent," seemed out of place in the quiet landscape. Beside it, a scene unfolded that tugged at my heartstrings and spiked my pulse with a cocktail of relief and dismay.

A young couple, their expressions a mix of concern and frustration, stood beside a middle-aged woman whose posture was all too familiar. The woman's erratic movements and the glint of a wine bottle in her hand painted a clear picture even before my mind accepted it. My breath caught as I watched her take a clumsy swing at the man, the bottle arcing through the air with dangerous unpredictability.

A wave of realisation washed over me, and I exhaled a heavy sigh, my initial shock giving way to a pang of sibling responsibility. "And taking swipes at a reporter, no less," I murmured, the scene before me confirming my worst suspicions. Gladys, in her state of inebriation, was the centre of this roadside spectacle.

As I edged past the car, I rolled down the passenger window, the cool air carrying the sounds and scents of the altercation inside. "Gladys! Get in the car!" My voice, firm yet laced with a sisterly blend of exasperation and concern, cut through the chilled air. I beckoned to my dishevelled sister, hoping to extricate her from the mess and shield her from the consequences of her actions. In that moment, my role shifted from rescuer to protector, determined to pull Gladys away from the brink of a potentially ruinous escapade.

Gladys's approach was anything but subtle; she staggered towards me, her movements erratic, bumping into the young man who had been part of the roadside tableau. With a mixture of determination and disarray, she yanked the passenger door open and slumped into the seat, the empty wine bottle clutched between her thighs like a trophy of her defiance.

"Shit, Gladys," I exhaled, a cocktail of frustration and concern bubbling within me as I took in her dishevelled state. My gaze flicked to the bottle, its contents long gone, symbolising the extent of her escapade. "You really had to drink now?" My tone was a blend of incredulity and resignation. It wasn't the first time alcohol had been her refuge in moments of turmoil, yet the timing couldn't have been worse.

Gladys's response was swift, laced with the sharpness of someone cornered. "You would have done the same," she snapped, her words sharp like a knife, cutting through the tension in the car. She then turned away, her gaze fixed on the passing landscape, a clear signal she was shutting down the conversation.

With a deep breath, I refocused on steering the car away from the scene. The reporters, momentarily forgotten, lingered in my rearview mirror, their presence a nagging reminder of the potential fallout from this incident. They would no doubt relish recounting the spectacle of a dishevelled woman, seemingly emerging from the wilderness, engaging in a public display of intoxication.

As I navigated the car onto the road leading home, my mind raced with scenarios of the morning headlines, each more sensational than the last. The thought of Gladys, and by extension, our family, being the subject of local gossip and scandal was a bitter pill to swallow. All I could hope for was that the reporters' attention had been more focused on aiding Gladys than documenting her downfall. Yet, the seed of worry planted itself firmly in my thoughts, the possibility of our private drama becoming public spectacle hanging over us like a dark cloud.

As we made our escape, the tranquility inside the car was abruptly shattered when Gladys wound down the passenger window, allowing a rush of frigid, damp air to invade the warm cocoon I had cultivated within the vehicle. My eyes widened in disbelief as I watched her casually discard the empty wine bottle into the wilderness, an act of carelessness that seemed to epitomise her current state of mind.

Reacting instinctively, I slammed on the brakes, the car coming to a jarring halt as the tires squealed against the road, the smell of burnt rubber briefly permeating the air. "Go and get it," I ordered, my voice stern, my gaze fixed on her with a mix of frustration and disbelief. It was as though every time Gladys was involved, the threshold for chaos was invariably lowered.

"We're better off without it," she retorted with a dismissive huff, her indifference stoking my irritation. "Gladys," I exhaled, a mixture of exhaustion and exasperation in my voice. Why did every interaction have to be a battle of wits and wills? "It's evidence now," I explained, trying to pierce through her haze of inebriation with logic, emphasising the risk her impulsivity had posed. "It has your DNA all over it."

Reluctantly, with an even more pronounced huff, she exited the vehicle to retrieve her discarded mistake. Meanwhile, I leaned over to the back seat, retrieving the small overnight case I'd packed. It was a habit borne of necessity—being prepared for any eventuality, knowing all too well how quickly circumstances could spiral when Gladys was involved.

Unzipping the case, I extracted a towel, unfurling it with a snap before meticulously lining Gladys's seat with it. It was a small act, but one that spoke volumes of the forethought I'd been forced to adopt. As I settled back into my seat, waiting for Gladys to return, I couldn't help but mutter to myself, "Lucky I'm going on a road trip." It was a reminder of the perpetual readiness required in the whirlwind that was life with my sister, a life where normality was often a fleeting guest.

As Gladys trudged back to the car, bottle in hand, her expression was a mixture of defiance and irritation. She cast a disdainful look at the towel before her gaze shifted to me, as if questioning my motives without uttering a word.

"I don't want you getting your wet shit all over the clean seats," I stated plainly, cutting through any pretence. It was practical, straightforward, and necessary, given the state she was in.

With a roll of her eyes that spoke volumes of her current mood, Gladys dropped herself onto the towel-covered seat, the impact echoing her frustration as she slammed the car door shut. I exhaled a silent breath of relief, grateful that the towel remained, an unspoken boundary between chaos and order within the confines of the car.

As we merged back onto the road, the familiar landscape passing by, Gladys broke the silence, her voice laced with a mix of confusion and a hint of concern. "Where are we going?" she inquired, noting our deviation from the usual path home.

"I'm taking you to Luke's house," I replied, my voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of tension.

"Why not home?"

I clenched my jaw, the frustration of having to justify the plan to her adding another layer of strain. "The police know it was your car involved in the car chase, Gladys. They've already found where you left it at Myrtle Forest." I let the words hang in the air momentarily. "You can't go home now. Not ever."

Her response was a soft plea. "I want to go home, Beatrix. Snowflake still needs me." Her words tugged at my heartstrings, a reminder of the personal stakes involved, yet they also underscored the impossibility of returning to a semblance of our old lives.

The car's windows briefly clouded over as I exhaled a heavy sigh. The pain of losing Duke was still a tender wound for us all, and the thought of neglecting Snowflake's wellbeing was unbearable. "I'll park the car at Mum and Dad’s, and we can walk to your place from there," I conceded, making a sharp turn to head towards my home.

Navigating the familiar streets, I approached our parents' house—or rather, the house that once felt unequivocally like mine too. A sense of displacement washed over me as I pondered over what 'home' meant now. My hand unconsciously brushed against the lump of the Portal Key in my pocket, a tangible reminder of my current, transient existence. The packed overnight bag in the backseat stood as a testament to my unsettled life; the car, the road, and the in-between spaces felt more like home than any fixed address could.

Pulling into the driveway cut my spiralling thoughts short. The sight of the house evoked a mosaic of memories, each window reflecting fragments of a past that seemed both intimately familiar and strangely distant.

I turned to Gladys, who was now gathering her scattered senses, and spoke with a tinge of caution in my voice. "Probably best you don't go inside," I advised, acknowledging the complex web of explanations that awaited her should our parents witness her current state. My own exit from the car was a blend of reluctance and resolve, stepping out into the reality of our situation, while part of me longed for the simple comfort of stepping back into a past that no longer existed in the same way.

As I circled the car to join Gladys, I couldn't help but pause, observing her as she stared at her own reflection in the window. The sight tugged at my heartstrings. Her shoes were a mess, drenched and caked with mud, while her trousers bore the vivid green marks of recent encounters with grass. Up close, her dishevelled state was even more apparent. And the forest still clings to her, I mused sombrely, reaching out to gently remove a twig and a few stray pine needles that had entangled themselves in her hair.

Gladys, seemingly oblivious to the bits of nature she'd inadvertently collected, tightened the towel around her like a makeshift shield against the world. "Let's go," she said, her voice a mixture of resignation and urgency, the stress of the day carving deeper lines of worry into her face.

I responded with a silent nod, abandoning my initial plan to enter the house. Instead, I retrieved my bag from the back seat, a symbol of my current nomadic existence, and followed Gladys. We tread quietly, mindful of our surroundings as we headed towards her street, each of us lost in our thoughts yet acutely aware of the potential for prying eyes.

The spectre of legal repercussions loomed over us, a shadow that darkened with every step towards what was supposed to be a sanctuary. There's only so much that Sergeant Charlie can do to protect us, I pondered internally. The hope that he might interfere just enough to buy Gladys time was a thin thread of comfort, but in our current state, even the smallest reprieve felt like a lifeline. As we moved stealthily, the weight of our predicament pressed heavily upon me, a confronting reminder of the fine line we were walking between evasion and facing the consequences head-on.

As soon as we opened the front door, Snowflake, the embodiment of home and normality, was there, her presence a bittersweet reminder of simpler times. Gladys, her emotions raw and visible, dropped to her knees with an audible thud, embracing the cat in a scene that juxtaposed her tumultuous day with a moment of pure, unconditional love.

But peace was fleeting. My peripheral vision caught the ominous crawl of a patrol car down the street, its slow progression toward us setting off alarms in my mind. "Shit," I hissed under my breath, urgency lacing my voice. With a quick, decisive elbow nudge, I ushered Gladys and Snowflake inside, shutting the door with a quiet but firm click that seemed to seal us off from the encroaching threat outside.

"What is it?" Gladys's voice was tinged with confusion and fear, her gaze lifting to meet mine as she clutched Snowflake closer, seeking comfort in the cat's familiar purr.

"The police are here," I stated, the weight of those words heavy between us. My hand found her shoulder, guiding her with a gentle but insistent pressure, propelling us toward the relative safety of the spare bedroom at the back of the house.

The air in the hallway felt unnervingly cold, making the hairs on my arms stand on end as we hastened our retreat. Once inside the room, while Gladys secured the door, I moved with practiced speed to close the blinds, shrouding us in semi-darkness. Each pull of the cord was a silent acknowledgment of our precarious situation, the dimming light a metaphor for the uncertainty and danger that now lurked just beyond our walls. In those moments, the house no longer felt like a sanctuary but a fragile barrier between us and a reality we weren't ready to face.

The tension in the room was palpable as we sat huddled against the bed, our bodies rigid with anxiety. The sudden, jarring knock at the front door sent a shockwave through me.

"Police!" The announcement came loud and clear, penetrating the walls of our supposed sanctuary. Snowflake, sensing the tension, sought refuge under Gladys's arm, her instinctual search for safety mirroring our own.

For a moment, there was silence—a brief, tantalising hope that they might leave. My breath held in anticipation, released in a premature sigh of relief, only to be caught again by the sound of the side gate being forcefully opened. My heart raced as the silhouette of an officer passed the window, the brief pause of their shadow sending a surge of adrenaline through me.

"Intrusive pricks," I muttered under my breath, my whisper laced with bitterness. My gaze fixed on the window where the shadow had passed, resentment boiling at the invasion of our privacy, at the disruption of our lives by those who claimed to serve and protect.

Gladys, seemingly numb to the escalation, offered only a shrug in response. The dim light accentuated the dark circles under her eyes, visual markers of the toll this ordeal was taking on her. Her expression, a mix of fatigue and resignation, painted a picture of a woman pushed to her limits, enveloped in a weariness that seemed to seep into her very bones.

The flicker of a nascent plan sparked in my mind, casting a momentary glow of hope amidst our dim surroundings. "Gladys!" My voice, though hushed, was urgent, slicing through the tension to seize her attention.

"What?" Her reply was a whisper, her eyes locking with mine, searching for a fragment of hope or a new direction.

"I think you should come to Clivilius with me," I proposed, the idea bold, yet offering a sliver of escape.

"I can't," she replied instantly, her hands automatically finding comfort in Snowflake's fur, her actions grounding her even as her world spun out of control. "The police will leave in a minute. They can't enter," Gladys tried to reassure herself more than me, her voice a fragile thread of optimism in the heavy air, despite the reality we'd witnessed so far.

Observing her, I could almost feel the turmoil churning within her, the weight of our dire circumstances pressing down on her spirit. When her tears began to fall, they were silent testaments to her inner struggle, streaking down her face in a quiet surrender to the fear and stress that had been her constant companions.

Despite the surge of sympathy that swelled within me at her display of vulnerability, I knew that comfort alone would not shield us from the dangers we faced. "Gladys," I pressed on, my voice firm yet not devoid of warmth, compelling her to meet my gaze. "Luke and I can't protect you if you stay here, you know that."

Her acknowledgment came through sobs, a raw, heartbreaking sound in the quiet room. "I know," she conceded amidst tears, clinging to a thread of hope. "I just need a few more days. Give me time to settle Snowflake with Mum and Dad," she implored, her plea not just for time but for a semblance of normality, for a chance to secure at least one aspect of her life before plunging into the unknown.

I don't think you have a few more days, dear sister, the unfortunate truth echoed in my mind. The silent sigh that escaped me was heavy with resignation and unvoiced fears. "And what are you going to tell them? You know you can't tell them the truth—" My words hung in the air, pregnant with the weight of our predicament. The idea of bringing our parents to Clivilius briefly flickered through my mind, a fleeting fantasy born of desperation. The scratches on my arm seemed to pulse in response, a physical reminder of the harsh realities of Clivilius. I chastised myself internally for even entertaining such a thought. Our parents, with their serene and settled lives, would be fish out of water in that alien world.

"Just a few more days. I'll sort it, I promise," Gladys implored, her voice threaded with a mix of determination and despair. I could see the plea in her eyes, the silent vow to protect what little normality she could salvage.

My response was a roll of my eyes, a mix of frustration and reluctant acceptance. Gladys's attachment to Snowflake was unshakeable, a bond that, even now, she fought to preserve. My thoughts momentarily shifted—Speaking of fur babies, where is Chloe?—but the tension of our current situation clouded any potential concern Gladys might have shown for her other pet. Assuming Chloe was somewhere safe within the house, I suppressed the urge to ask, not wanting to add another layer of worry to Gladys's already burdened shoulders.

The lengthening stillness outside was unnerving. My fingers, acting on their own accord, delicately parted the blinds just enough to allow a sliver of vision. My gaze scoured the exterior, vigilant for any lingering presence of the officer who had so boldly invaded our peace.

"Looks like they're gone," I confirmed, my voice a mix of relief and caution as I turned back to Gladys, signalling it was safe to leave our temporary refuge. As we made our way to the kitchen, "No doubt they'll keep checking here for you," I added, a grim reminder of the scrutiny we were now under.

"I know," she acknowledged, her resignation clear as she sought solace in the familiar ritual of uncorking a new bottle of shiraz. Her actions unfolded with a resigned inevitability, the pop of the cork echoing like a subdued cry for normality.

"Gladys, don't," I found myself saying, a plea tinged with concern as I watched her pour a generous amount of wine into a glass. It wasn't just the wine; it was what it represented—a descent into a cycle I feared she wouldn't escape from.

My warning fell on deaf ears, dismissed with the casual ease of someone too weary to heed caution. She savoured a deep sip, the sound of the glass returning to the countertop resounding like a gavel in the quiet kitchen.

"I'm going to have a shower. Tell Luke that I'm alright, would you?" Gladys's words were almost casual.

"Sure," I replied, my voice tinged with a hint of resignation as my lips formed a tight line. Paul's directive echoed in my mind, a reminder of the obligations waiting for me beyond these walls. "I've left a car near Gawler. I need to finish driving to Broken Hill before nightfall," I declared, the sense of purpose lending a slight edge to my voice.

Gladys halted, her curiosity piqued as she lingered in the doorway. "Broken Hill?" she echoed, her head tilting slightly, her gaze searching mine for clues. "What's in Broken Hill?"

"Paul has sent me on a mission," I stated, feeling a spark of determination ignite within me, pushing aside the fatigue that clung to my bones.

"A mission?" Gladys repeated, a playful smirk breaking through her previously sombre demeanour, injecting a moment of lightness into the heavy atmosphere.

Irritation flickered within me at her echo. "Are you really going to just stand there and repeat everything I say?" I challenged, my frown deepening.

Her chuckle, light and fleeting, filled the space between us. "I'm going for a shower," she reaffirmed, finally moving away, allowing the conversation to close.

Alone now, I reached for Gladys's abandoned wine glass, the remnant scent of shiraz wafting up to tease my senses. I allowed myself a moment, inhaling the rich, complex aroma, a brief respite from the unending drama. Yet, as I set the glass down, a stern inner voice reminded me to maintain focus. That's enough.

Compelled by the need to fulfil my own tasks, I initiated the Portal activation in Gladys's home, a new anchor point in our ever-expanding network. The familiar whirl of colours and energies enveloped me, offering a temporary escape from the weight of Gladys’s reality.

Stepping through the Portal, I left behind the house's muted tensions, the lingering scent of wine, and the sound of shower water—a poignant reminder of the normality we were both desperately clinging to. Onward to Broken Hill, to the mission, to the next chapter in this unfolding saga, with the hope that, somehow, I'd navigate through the storms awaiting me on the other side.