The ghost at the table – Draft 03 – Chapter 5

Logan

My hands wouldn’t keep still. The pen danced between my fingers, a jittery waltz. I was sitting on the edge of an old, worn-out couch. The fabric smelled like dust and forgotten conversations. The house felt too quiet. Then, the front door clicked. It swung open, hinges silent, and closed with a soft thud.

Mum’s footsteps were as familiar as the heartbeat I heard in the silence of my room at night. She paused at the entrance to the living room. Her eyes, two pools of concern, swept over me. I could almost feel the weight of her gaze, like she was trying to lift the anxiety off me with just a look.

“Logan?” She stepped closer. Her voice carried that tone—part worry, part unwavering love that doesn’t waver no matter how big the storm gets.

“Hey, Mum.” My voice came out rougher than I intended.

She reached me in three strides. A gentle hand landed on my shoulder. Warm. Reassuring. It made my insides twist. Her touch was meant to steady me, but it only reminded me of how much I stood to lose.

“Logan, what’s wrong?” Patricia’s palm stayed firm on my shoulder, grounding me back to the here and now.

“Nothing, Mum,” I lied. “Just tired.”

“Your face says otherwise.” Her thumb brushed against the nape of my neck. It was a comforting gesture, one she’d used since I was a kid. But comfort was a luxury I couldn’t afford anymore.

“Really, I’m fine.” The words were wooden, hollow. She didn’t buy it, but I hoped she’d let it slide. Just this once.

“Talk to me.” Her voice cracked with emotion, but her eyes were steel. They demanded truth.

I looked away. The walls seemed to close in. “It’s nothing. Work stuff.”

“Logan Robinson, don’t you dare shut me out.” There was a strength in her words, a fierceness that had kept our family together through the darkest times.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. I wanted to tell her everything and nothing all at once. Instead, I squeezed the pen in my hand until my knuckles turned white. It was easier to focus on the pain than the storm brewing inside me.

“Alright.” Her hand slid from my shoulder, leaving a cold absence. “But I’m here. When you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Mum.” I forced a smile, hoping it reached my eyes.

“Anytime, love.” Her reply was soft, a whisper almost drowned by the vast emptiness stretching out between us.

I exhale. My words come out in bursts, like gunfire. “Mum, I’ve got a plan. It’s the farm management. They’re going to pay.”

Her hand freezes on my shoulder. “Pay? Logan, what are you talking about?”

“Justice, Mum.” The word tastes bitter. “For Lily.”

Patricia steps back, her eyes wide as the paddocks at dawn. “You can’t mean that. Not revenge.”

“Call it what you want.” I stand up, feeling the ground solid beneath my feet. “They left her to rot. No one cared.”

“Logan…” Her voice wavers. “This isn’t you. You’re not a vigilante.”

“Maybe I am now.” My hands clench. “Someone’s gotta be.”

“Please,” she reaches for me, her fingers shaking. “Think this through. There’s another way—there has to be.”

“Thought it through.” I turn away, staring out the dust-streaked window. “Every night since…”

“Baby, don’t.” Her plea cuts deep. “Don’t throw your life away.”

“Life threw us first, Mum.” Silence swallows the room. Just the clock ticking. Loud. Accusing.

“Promise me, Logan.” Patricia’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Promise me you won’t do this.”

“Can’t promise that.” I lie. The weight of those words heavier than any burden I’ve carried before.

“Logan…” She breathes my name like a prayer, or maybe a curse.

“Sorry.” That’s all I give her. All I have left.

“God help us,” she murmurs, and turns away. Her faith in me, perhaps broken. But the path ahead, clear as the stars over Meningie. It’s just me now. And the mission.

I square my shoulders. “They won’t get away with it,” I say, voice steel wrapped in velvet. “The law’s blind, Mum. Blind and deaf.”

“Logan.” Patricia’s hands tremble like gum leaves. “Revenge, it’s a dark road. You know that.”

“Dark roads are all we got left.” My fingers stop fidgeting. They’re steady now, steady as my resolve.

Her eyes, they fill up, two pools reflecting past sorrow. “Your father, your brother… we lost them. Don’t add your name to that list. Please.”

“Lost them and got what? Sympathy cards?” My laugh, harsh as the scrubland wind. “No. I type justice now, faster than ever.”

“Justice,” she whispers, the word a shard of glass on her tongue. “Or vengeance?”

“Semantics.” I look away.

“Logan Robinson,” she says, full name, full force. “You’re better than this.”

“Am I?” I’m not asking her. I’m asking the cracked paint on the wall, the red dirt outside, the sky that holds no rain.

“Think about what you’re doing,” she pleads. “For me.”

“Thought for too long, Mum.” There’s a knot in my throat, big as a grass tree bulb. “It ends. Now.”

“Baby, please.” Her tears fall, watering the barren ground between us.

“Can’t promise nothing.” My words, granite. “But I hear you.”

“Thank you.” A whisper, barely there.

“Doesn’t mean I’ll stop.” My heart hammers. No turning back.

“God help us,” she breathes again.

“Maybe He will,” I say. But I don’t believe in maybe. Not anymore.

The tears in her eyes, they glimmer like dawn’s first light on the Meningie marshland. They tell stories, stories of what we’ve been through, the gut-wrenching pain of past losses. I see it all there, in those two drops ready to fall.

“Logan.” Her voice cracks. It echoes with a mother’s fear, a plea for her son’s soul.

“Mum,” I grunt, trying to hold onto anger. Easier than holding onto grief.

“Promise me, Logan.” She’s clutching at hope like it’s a lifeline. “Promise you won’t do this.”

“Promises.” The word sticks in my throat. Promises are fragile. Like bones. Like us.

“Your freedom,” she says, “Your life. Think.”

I look away. My hands, they want to type out codes, secrets, revenge. Not this. Not promises that might shatter.

“Please.” She’s desperate now. This is the woman who raised me alone, who saw Dad and my little brother buried under six feet of red dirt. Now she’s scared she’ll bury me too.

“Can’t promise.” I turn back to her, my words blunt as a butcher’s cleaver.

“Logan—” She reaches out, hands shaking.

“Can’t.” It’s not just about Lily anymore. It’s about the rot in the system, the injustice festering like an open wound.

“Then God help us.” Her voice is a whisper lost in the wind.

“Maybe.” That’s all I give her. It’s all I have to give.

In the silence, her tears fall. They leave trails, like snails crossing parched earth. I watch them. Part of me wants to reach out, wipe them away, but my hands stay still. They know better.

“Choose life, Logan.” It’s barely above a whisper.

“Life chose me.” I look at her, hard. Life chose me for this fight.

She nods, the smallest of movements. There’s something new in her eyes. Something like understanding. Or maybe it’s resignation.

“Be careful,” she says, and turns away.

“Always am.” But careful doesn’t always cut it. Not in this game.

The door shuts behind her. The click of the latch is final. It’s just me now. Me and the plan forming sharp and clear in my mind.

I sit back. The room’s quiet, but inside me, there’s a storm raging. It’s a storm I’ll harness, ride out to where the truth lies buried. Where Lily’s justice waits for me to dig it up.

“Let’s get to work,” I mutter to the empty room. My fingers twitch. Time to type. Faster than ever.

Mum comes back into the room.

“Logan, set the table, will you?” Her voice floats back to me, all care and soft edges.

“Sure thing, Ma.” My response is automatic, but my mind’s elsewhere.

I’m good with plans—always have been. Codes and ciphers were child’s play in the RAAF. Now, it’s about strategy. Revenge that doesn’t look like revenge.

Mum’s humming in the kitchen. It’s an old tune, one Dad used to like. My hands clench at the thought of him. Of my brother. All that loss, and what? Just move on?

No. Not this time.

I stand up, feeling every bit of my 115kg frame. The pen I was fidgeting with earlier? It’s now a tool. I tap it against my palm, thinking. It needs to be smart. Clean. Untraceable.

The computer in the corner winks at me. Its blinking cursor is a silent ally. Cybercrime ain’t like armed robbery. No ski masks or fingerprints. Just a guy with a plan and a keyboard.

Lily didn’t get justice. But she’ll get vengeance. I know codes. Systems. People think country life is simple. Slow. They don’t know shit. Out here, we learn to survive. To fight in silence.

“Everything okay, Logan?” Mum calls out, her voice slicing through my thoughts.

“Fine, Mum! All good!” I lie smoother than I want to. There’s no other way. For her sake. For Lily’s.

As I lay out the cutlery, my mind races. Every click of a fork on the table sounds like the ticking of a clock. Time’s running out for those who wronged us. They just don’t know it yet.

We’re going to sit down to dinner. We’ll talk about the weather, the unrelenting drought, maybe laugh a little. Mum will look at me and see her son who promised to let it go.

But I see something else in the mirror. A man who types fast enough to make ghosts out of truths. Who can weave a web so tangled, they won’t see it till they’re caught in it.

“Food’s ready!” Mum’s voice again, breaking through.

“Be right there,” I call back, pushing my chair in.

I take one last look at the screen before shutting it down. This is more than a promise now. It’s a mission. And hell or high water, I’m seeing it through.

Silence wraps the room like a thick fog. Mum’s footsteps fade. My heart’s a jackhammer in my chest. Lily’s face is burned into my mind, her smile, her laugh—all snuffed out. Closure. It’s a debt I owe.

My fingers start drumming on the table. Tap tap tap. The sound syncs with the racing thoughts in my head. Revenge and protection. A tightrope walk.

“Got to be smart,” I mutter to myself. Emotions are like wild dogs. Unleash them and they’ll tear everything apart. Can’t let that happen. Not again.

Ideas flicker. Cyber shadows. Codes and keystrokes. I’ve got the skills. Did stuff in the RAAF that would make these farm managers piss their pants. They think they’re untouchable. We’ll see about that.

“Keep it clean. Keep it quiet,” I whisper. My breath’s steady. Pulse slows down. The plan takes shape. A digital ghost, that’s what I’ll be. Invisible. Untouchable.

“Justice for you, Lily,” I say to the empty room. “I won’t let you down.”

The tapping stops. I lean back. Eyes closed. I can almost hear the hum of servers and the click of keys. This is it. No turning back.

“Watch over me, Lily.” Her name’s a talisman now. Gotta believe that’s enough.

I stand. The room’s still. Outside, the Meningie night whispers secrets. Ones I’m about to steal.

My gaze fixes on the dark horizon. There’s a storm coming. Not just the weather. Me. I’m the bloody storm.

“Got to be more than fast fingers,” I tell myself. “Got to be a ghost.”

Shadows cling to the walls, like they’re in on it too. The plan’s risky. Heart says go. Head says caution. They’ll have to agree. No choice.

Patricia’s words echo. “Be careful.” Yeah, Mum. Always am.

I reach for the laptop. It’s an extension of me. My weapon. My shield. Click-click. Power hums. Screen glows.

“Time to work,” I say. The cursor blinks back.

I open the codes. Strings of possibility. A labyrinth. My playground. Used to be for the RAAF. Now, for Lily.

“Justice,” I breathe. The word’s heavy. Loaded. Got to carry it. For her.

The plan’s clear. Hit them where it hurts. Their digital guts. Leave no trace.

“Smart,” I remind myself. One wrong move and it’s game over. Can’t get caught. Won’t.

Eyes narrow. Fingers poised. This is it.

“Let’s dance,” I whisper to the screen.

The keys click under my fingers. Fast. Precise. Like firing rounds. My pulse keeps time.

“Revenge is a dish…” I don’t finish. Don’t need to.

I pause. Think of Mum. Her relief. Got to keep that promise. But still make them pay.

“Balance,” I say. That’s the key. Do right by Lily. Keep Mum safe.

I’m alone. But not lonely. Got purpose. Got mission. Friends are far. But memories close.

“Survive,” I tell myself. That’s what we do here. In the sticks. Tough as nails. Got to be.

I picture Lily’s smile. It’s all the fuel I need.

“Here goes nothing.” Or everything.

The chapter closes. I’m staring out. Determined. Dangerous. Ready to set things right. No matter what. For Sarah’s daughter. And mine.