jml297

Caleb’s father’s voice echoed in his head. Small fish, big pond. That was the reason he’d shifted up north. He knew he was capable of more, that he could be the kind of man that his father expected him to be. Successful. Popular. But most of all, he was going to be rich.

It had taken him a while to find his feet. Arriving in Darwin a year before, he’d bided his time, watching the market and getting a feel for how things were done. He’d thought that Sydney was a loose town with planning permission for almost anything available at a price, but Darwin was something else. The city was almost erratic, and he’d started to think of it as a living entity, with personality and mannerisms.

In the past few months, he’d started to buy up land on the edges of the CBD. His plan was to tap into a trend of building luxury apartments to cater for the overpaid bureaucrats who were doing a couple of years service to get a better role next time in the south. He could see the new complex clearly in his mind. A mate from his Sydney days had helped with the plans for the estate, and the only thing in his way was a decrepit old weatherboard house. It was anchored onto the corner of the block, adjacent to where his shining development would take shape.

Caleb had approached the owner, a feisty old man, several times. He’d been hopeful early on that a deal could be made, but then he realised that it was some kind of joke. The old bugger was stringing him along. Territory humour, if you like. But he had to believe that a price could be negotiated. The development depended on it.

Back and forth they went. Every time it seemed likely that an agreement could be made, the old man moved the goal posts. And the thing was, money wasn’t what he wanted. The old bugger now wanted a place in the complex. Caleb’s vision of a white oasis in the tropical heat, the turquoise pools, the soft curtains of cascading water — all of this became tinged with the lurking presence of a toothless, foul-mouthed old man.

He was at a loss. In Sydney, he would have had someone he could call, an associate or a friend of a friend who could sort out the problem with speed and discretion. No such associates here. Not yet. He’d made some networks, but the locals were still wary. His place in the pond was still on the edges.

One of his mates from Sydney was in town, so they went out, eating fresh seafood and drinking hard. It was after midnight when they stumbled back towards his apartment, and out of habit he detoured past the block of land. It was enmeshed by a wire fence and for a moment he gripped the wires, swaying just a little. His eyes slipped across the vacant block and there was the house, a dark smudge on a clean palette.

His mate was nearby, looking at something on his phone. Then there was a dull thump in the distance and a flare of light. It was the house. A blaze of red in the window. More sounds now, pops of noise, shattering glass. He stood, mouth open, watching as the place seemed to shrink, second by second. The fire swelled then seemed to contract, the deep, intense red reminding him of the famous Darwin sunsets. His mate, beside him now, jabbing at this phone.

‘Fire! There’s a fire. Where?’ A dig in his ribs. ‘What’s the address?’

Caleb couldn’t shift his gaze. The flames held him, mesmerised. His dreams, his vision, it could happen now. His voice sounded strange in his ears. It was almost his father’s voice.

‘Phoenix Apartments. Next to the Phoenix Apartments.’

This was written to a prompt at my local writing group. The challenge was to incorporate the following items in the piece.
Theme: blind faith
Time: middle of the night
Character: a property developer
Setting: sunset in Darwin
Situation: a house catches fire

Photo: writing prompt