Free Hailstone by Nina Smith

Sand into the search engine.
    A list of news articles came up. She scanned the first of them.
    Police in the eastern City of Gibson are investigating alleged abuse at a Christian outreach centre after the suicide of Jonah Sand,18, who was reportedly admitted to the Centre for controversial anti-gay therapy.
    Mr Sand jumped from the roof of the three storey building.
    The Centre, which has been operating for eight years at a property outside the city, is battling allegations of abuse from Jonah’s parents and some former clients. One former client, who refused to be named, claims she was manipulated by a counsellor into performing sex acts as part of her treatment.
    Police have temporarily closed the centre and are questioning current and former clients, along with staff.
    Centre management declined to comment.
    Magda pasted the contents of the article into Jonah’s file. Then she closed down the laptop, unplugged it from her modem and went and replaced it in the case. The motions seemed so ordinary they frightened her. How odd, to be frightened by the banal when you’d just found out your husband was responsible for a death. Why wasn’t he back there in Gibson, talking to the police? Had he run?
    She took the case into the lounge room and shoved it under the couch. She turned on the TV to distract herself, but the Mayor’s pudgy face on the news just disturbed her more. She was about to flip channels when his words caught her attention.
    “In a world first experiment, Hailstone City Council will consider by-laws to ban drinking in public places, al fresco bars, restaurants and other family friendly places,” Mr Georgiou said. “The city will also put higher rates on properties where alcohol is produced and charge a levy on all alcohol sales. The measures are designed to reduce growing alcohol-fuelled social problems in the city and make Hailstone the number one destination for families.”
    “Jesus Christ.” Magda turned the TV off. “This city’s going to hell.” She scowled at the blank screen. All this social experimentation was scaring the bejesus out of her.
    She sighed when John’s car pulled into the driveway. She moved the table away from the door, unlocked it and went back to the kitchen to clean the broken glass out of the sink. She put one of her pills on a saucer and crushed it with a knife. The last bottle of vodka was hidden under the sink; she poured a measure into a glass and took a swig.
    John walked in just as she emptied the last shards of broken glass into the bin. He sat at the table. “I’m glad to see you home,” he said.
    “Where else would I be?” she turned on the kettle to make two cups of chamomile tea.
    “I never know, with you.”
    The silence stretched out between them. Magda blocked his view of the cup with her body and emptied the powdered valium into the mug. She poured some of the vodka in there for good measure and added the rest to her own before setting the two cups down on the table.
    She sat facing him and put her chin on her hands. In ten years, she’d thoroughly avoided conversations with her husband, or even having a good, proper look at him. The beard had always seemed just a little creepy. The worn, pitted skin and the flaring nostrils made him look old. His hairline receded from the forehead and thinned even more on top. She tried to imagine him bullying a teenage boy enough to force him to suicide. Or mistreating the trust of a young girl and forcing her to sexual acts. Or fleeing from the police. Looking at him now, she couldn’t imagine him doing anything more dangerous than reading from his prayer book. But yesterday, when he’d hit her, that was a different matter. You’ll become the woman Preacher promised me when I agreed to marry you, he’d said. Was he planning to try his freaky counselling on her?
    “Why are you looking at me like that?” John took a sip from his tea.
    Magda widened her eyes to give the impression of innocence. “Like