Thyla. Part 12

I took you by the hand again and led you over to my bed. You sat down and I picked the book up from where I had placed it carefully on my bedside table, with a piece of card between its pages.

'Here,' I said.

You opened the book to the spot I had marked.

A few moments later, the book landed on the floor once again.

'Read it to me,' I said, once you had recovered.

'Let me hear the words. If I hear you say it, I might believe it's real.'

You looked shaky, and I could see the gooseb.u.mps that jostled with freckles for s.p.a.ce on your arms.

You cleared your throat: once, twice And then you read.

'"Name: Theresa (Tessa) Geeves. Born: Hobart, Van Diemen's Land, 1836. Age: 15. Sentence: Ten years for the crime of bodily a.s.sault. Mother's place of origin: Skipton, Yorks.h.i.+re." Then there is ... there is a picture of ... of, well, it looks like you you, Tess,' said Connolly, looking up at me. 'But, it can't be you. You know that, don't you? I mean, this photo was taken over a hundred and fifty years ago. It might be one of your ancestors, but it can't be you.'

'Please keep reading, Connolly,' I asked. You nodded and went back to the text.

The following is a report from Female Factory guard, Isaac Livingston, on the convict Theresa Geeves, dated the first of February, 1851: This report is compiled at the request of Female Factory Overseer, Mr Albert Hopkins, in response to the events concerning Miss Tessa Geeves. The abovementioned inmate has always been a quiet and courteous worker at the Factory, and we staff have watched her grow from a dumpling infant still in swaddling clothes, to a good, strong girl, who is brave, never cries, and is admirably keen at following instruction. It is often with a heavy heart that we farewell the children of convicts, though we know that the Factory is not a suitable place for the upbringing of young men and women. We were especially fond of young Tessa and thus it was a pleasure mixed with sadness as she joined us here again. It transpired that she had been rather too aggressive in her defence of a fellow student at the orphanage against a schoolyard bully. While her crime may, in many people's eyes, be seen as heroic, the matron of the orphanage thought it a sure sign of vicious, violent tendencies.

I tried not to grin foolishly at the word 'heroic', though it did give me some sense of pride to find my crime was an honourable one. I did not draw attention to my gallantry, though, and let you read on.

We, of course, did not believe this to be true at the time. Tessa was such a gentle child. However, in the past month, following the events of New Year's Day, we have noticed a discernible s.h.i.+fting in Miss Geeves' temperament. She has turned from sensible and amenable to melancholic and, at times, even disagreeable. Of course, we are all most sympathetic to the tragic situation that is Miss Geeves' burden following her mother's pa.s.sing. We understand, too, that she bears a certain quant.i.ty of resentment towards the staff at the factory, due to the circ.u.mstances surrounding this sad event. Miss Geeves firmly believes that the administration of ipecacuanha and the removal of rations, coupled with her mother's poor health, was the cause of the unfortunate incident. This belief has led her to behave in a most unladylike and, at times, frightening manner. She has been observed quarrelling with other inmates, and has attempted several times to climb the walls surrounding the facility. We have also apprehended her scratching at her clothes and, on occasion, even removing her outer layers, complaining of the heat. Finally, we have observed strange physical manifestations of her new temperament; manifestations that have caused alarm amongst some factory staff.

Suddenly visible on the inmate's back are long, slash-like scars traversing the whole of the width of her torso. There seem to be in excess of ten of these scars in total. The scars were first observed by fellow inmate, Mary Absolam, on the fifteenth day of January, when the inmates were in the wash-house. Miss Absolam relayed her observations to me, and I duly communicated the information to Mr Hopkins. Since this day, the scars have been noticed on several subsequent occasions, and it has been noted by the observers that the scars have darkened in colour and increased in size. The transformation of these scars seemed to be in direct correlation with Miss Geeves' mental state.

Miss Absolam believes these scars to be of supernatural origin. I, of course, being a man of reason, consider simply that some unfortunate accident has befallen Miss Geeves. Perhaps it is the folly of the Flash Mob. They are sneaky, sly women, always up to no good. And so, their involvement in this business is not outside the realm of possibility.

Mr Hopkins has entrusted me with keeping watch over Miss Geeves and her troubles, and I will report back on any subsequent developments. Mr Hopkins is, of course, always conscious of the Flash Mob and their influence on our young workers, and I will personally do everything in my power to prevent Miss Geeves from falling in with this unsavoury rabble.

Regards, Isaac Livingston You looked up at me, your forehead furrowed, and your eyes wide and fearful. I heard you swallow, loudly.

'There's more,' I said, and my voice came out like a creaking floorboard.

You nodded. 'I know, but Tessa, you don't ...'

I shrugged and looked down at my knees. How could I explain it to you properly?

I knew knew that the girl in the report was me. that the girl in the report was me.

She was the girl I had remembered when I was talking to Perrin the girl with long, wavy, dark blonde hair, a serious face, a long cotton dress. She was me. me. I remembered seeing her reflected in the mirror. I remembered brus.h.i.+ng and braiding that long hair. I remembered that serious face. I remembered seeing her reflected in the mirror. I remembered brus.h.i.+ng and braiding that long hair. I remembered that serious face.

When I read the report, none of it seemed foreign or new. It was as though I was reading my own diary or journal. It was as though I knew everything that Mr Isaac Livingston was saying. As if it was a memory. And, as you read it again to me, I could see see the memories. the memories.

I could see the Female Factory, with its high stone walls, peaked roofs and muddy courtyards. It was the building from my dream, and it was a building from my past. It wasn't like the building you had pointed at as we drove to Cascade Falls. That building was a hollowed husk of what the Factory used to be.

I could see fat Mr Hopkins.

I could see Isaac Livingston, too. Well, almost almost. I could see his stocky silhouette, a quick flash of amber eyes.

I could hear his deep, gravelly voice.

I could see Mary Absolam, with her limp, sweaty brown hair and her always-dripping nose.

I could remember the 'Flash Mob' an unruly group of women who refused to give up their criminal ways and incited fear in the less confident, more refined inmates. I was one of those inmates. I had an education. I had been taught to be a lady. I had arrived back at the factory in a pretty dress. They ridiculed me for this.

I remembered that my mother paid them off in rations, begging them to stay away from me.

That part wasn't in Livingston's report, but I remembered it anyway. I also remembered Livingston coming to me, the day after Sir Edward paid his visit the day after Sir Edward did something to my mother that made her scream and rant and cry. Livingston told me that she had died from the 'medicine' they had given her to calm her, and from a lack of food.

She had given all of her rations to me and to the Flash Mob girls, and she was starving. It was a combination of starvation and the poisonous medicine the 'ipecacuanha' that killed her. Now I knew why that word sounded familiar when I'd heard it in Mr Beagle's cla.s.s.

That's what my dream was about. It wasn't just a dream. It was a memory. It was real.

I looked up at you and you nodded. 'I know,' you said, and I realised I didn't have to explain anything. You could see it in my eyes. 'Tess, you can understand that this seems ... bizarre,' you went on. 'But it's real to you, isn't it? You believe it.'

'I don't just believe it,' I said. 'I remember remember it.' it.'

'Do you have ... the scars? I mean, I know know you have scars, but have they ... changed?' you have scars, but have they ... changed?'

I pulled up my s.h.i.+rt and showed you my back. I heard you gasp. 'But then, Tess, it says here in the book that ...'

I nodded. 'Read it to me,' I said.

You cleared your throat and read again: The following is a report from Female Factory guard, Isaac Livingston, on the convict Theresa Geeves, dated the fifth of February, 1851: It is my unhappy duty to inform the Governors, on Mr Hopkins' behalf, that Miss Tessa Geeves has escaped from the Female Factory.

Her escape followed a week of bizarre and disturbing behaviour, during which one staff member and several other inmates including members of the Flash Mob were physically a.s.saulted, and during which Miss Geeves has been apprehended on several occasions leaving her dormitory after curfew.

It was during a reprimand for this last indiscretion that Miss Geeves escaped.

I was not at my post the night that Miss Geeves disappeared, and the account given to me by the duty guard Thomas Walter is dubious at best. Walter reported that he happened upon Miss Geeves in the exercise yard, in a state of agitation. It was well after her curfew, so it was inc.u.mbent upon him to reprimand Miss Geeves. As he did so and hereafter his account enters the realms of fantasy and farce Walter reports that he noticed a curious and quite startling transformation in Miss Geeves' physical appearance.

Walter is quite specific in his imaginings. He tells us that her eyes seemed to have changed from human eyes into what he could only describe as eyes of a more marsupial nature. Her teeth became elongated and 'sharp as daggers', and most fantastical of all he says her legs began to buckle and bend backwards. I know it sounds quite unbelievable and, in fact, it is. I have suspicions as to the sobriety of the young guard. The transformation was, quite obviously, simply a figment of his intoxicated imagination, but I will report it here as he told it, for I hope it will serve as some excuse for his lax response to Miss Geeves' escape.

What happened next, the guard says, was this: Miss Geeves (or the creature he was hallucinating Miss Geeves into), opened her mouth and let out a sound something like a scream. It was a wild sound, he says; a b.e.s.t.i.a.l sound. It was not the kind of sound a human being should ever make.

After Miss Geeves ceased her 'demonic howling', she turned and, on her new, back-turning legs, she galloped towards the walls and leapt right over their top.

By the time I returned to the factory, Walter had already told Mr Hopkins of his 'observations'. Though I advised Mr Hopkins that it was quite obvious the guard had turned temporarily mad, Mr Hopkins believed the best course of action was to inform Lord Cha.s.sebury of the guard's observations, and to take action to recover 'the beast' from the woodland to which she had fled.

It has now been three days since Miss Geeves' escape and, though Mr Hopkins and Lord Cha.s.sebury have both deployed many men to scour the forests that surround our Factory, she has not been recovered.

There have been reports of strange creatures sighted in the woods mammals much larger than any we have seen already on this island. The creatures are said to walk upright instead of on all fours, and to display bizarrely human features. Those reporting these sightings claim the beasts have only been seen in glimpses caught as they race through the trees, and yet they imagine these are creatures to be feared. They describe them to be strong, fast and wild.

Cha.s.sebury's men have informed him of the discovery of these 'new mammals', and a directive has been issued that any beast captured should be culled. Cha.s.sebury has visited Mr Hopkins' office, and Mr Hopkins informed me that a bounty much higher than that paid for the thylacines will be available to anyone who can produce a skin from one of these new mammals. He said to me that these beasts represent all that England must eradicate in this new land, if it is to be transformed from a wild and corrupted place to a proper English colony. I have, of course, told officials at Van Diemen's that it is obvious that the men are suffering a sort of ma.s.s hysteria.

There are no strange beasts.

Miss Geeves is not, herself, a monster.

It is all a creation of their minds. This new, strange land we find ourselves in is playing tricks upon their sanity.

I hope, in time, the men will forget they ever imagined the forest to be full of monsters. I hope that they will soon call off their search and leave the wild forests for good.

And I hope also, whatever the actual circ.u.mstances of Tessa's escape, that she now finds herself in a happy place.

Regards, Isaac Livingston 'I saw them,' I said, as you put the book down on your lap.

'What do you mean, Tess?' you asked, your voice quiet and thin as tissue.

'I saw the creatures,' I repeated. 'Thomas Walter was not mad. I saw them too, and I have a feeling a really strong feeling that they have something to do with Cat disappearing.'

I only knew this to be true as I said it.

I had a flash, even as my mouth was opening, of a girl, tall and freckled just like you, running through the bushland, her face white and twisted with fear. I heard her heavy shoes crunching through the leaves and twigs. I heard her laboured breathing. And then I heard more footsteps, racing behind her, gaining on her more and more with every step. Almost reaching her, almost catching her ...

And then the memory faded.

'Do you remember, Tess?' you asked. 'Do you remember Cat?'

'I think so,' I said.

You nodded slowly. 'And you say you've seen these ... oh, Tess, look, I'm trying hard to stay calm but what you're telling me is ... What are are you telling me, exactly?' you telling me, exactly?'

'I think that Tessa Geeves I don't know how to explain this, Connolly, but I know know Tessa Geeves is me. When I woke up after my accident, I knew my name was Tessa. I didn't know how, but I Tessa Geeves is me. When I woke up after my accident, I knew my name was Tessa. I didn't know how, but I knew knew. Now, in the same way, I know my name is Tessa Geeves Geeves, and that the girl in this book is me. I know it seems impossible, but '

'It is is impossible,' you interrupted. 'But you really do believe it, don't you?' impossible,' you interrupted. 'But you really do believe it, don't you?'

'I do. I also believe these creatures are real. Because I've seen them. And I've seen Cat.'

'Do you remember ... did she seem safe?' you asked, and I saw veins begin to press hard against the thin skin on your temples.

I remembered again: the running, the fear.

I shook my head. 'No, Connolly. I'm sorry. I don't think she was safe.'

Tears sprang up in your eyes. 'Do you think with your memories we can find her?'

'I can try,' I said and then, thinking of Rhiannah and her bushwalks, 'I think I know where to start.'

Your eyes drifted to the clock on Rhiannah's bedside table. 'Oh, no,' you whispered. You turned to me. 'I have to go now,' you said, getting up unsteadily. 'I have to get back to the office. Vinnie is, well, you know what he's like, but he's in an especially bad mood at the moment. I don't think he's sleeping and so everything I do seems to be wrong. I can't be late back. But you'll call me, won't you, Tess? You'll let me know if you remember anything more about Cat. Anything at all.'

'I'll call you,' I said. I stood up too, and wrapped my arms around you. 'I'm going to figure this out,' I said.

'Thank you,' you replied, kissing me on the cheek.

'Thank you,' I whispered. 'For believing me.'

'I trust you, Tess,' you said. 'So I believe you, even though it's really really hard.' hard.'

As you walked out of my bedroom door, you turned around and asked me one last thing, 'Tess, will you call yourself Tessa Geeves now?'

I shook my head. 'No, Connolly,' I replied. 'I want to stay being Tessa Connolly, if that's okay with you.'

You smiled. 'I'm so glad.'

You hugged me once more, and then you walked away, leaving me alone and wondering what to do next. Something was wrong with me. Something magical. Something terrible. I had been a girl in 1851, and I was a girl now. And I had stripes.

I thought of Rhiannah and Harriet and Sara and what I had seen. I knew knew now they had jumped that wall. I sensed now that something big and wondrous was happening and it involved all of us. But my instincts told me that Rhiannah and Harriet and Sara were a different kind of being from what I was. They now they had jumped that wall. I sensed now that something big and wondrous was happening and it involved all of us. But my instincts told me that Rhiannah and Harriet and Sara were a different kind of being from what I was. They didn't didn't have stripes like mine, and their scent was ... wrong. Bad. Were they the enemy? have stripes like mine, and their scent was ... wrong. Bad. Were they the enemy?

Where were they going on those bushwalks? Did it have something to do with Cat? Had they they been involved in what happened to her? Even though Rhiannah was her friend? Had Rhiannah betrayed her? been involved in what happened to her? Even though Rhiannah was her friend? Had Rhiannah betrayed her?

I couldn't think about it. The idea filled me with a terror so huge that my entire body seemed crammed with it, pus.h.i.+ng all other thoughts and feelings aside.

But I needed needed to think. I needed to remember. I needed to decide what to do next. to think. I needed to remember. I needed to decide what to do next.

And I needed help.

I couldn't go to Rhiannah or Harriet or Sara.

I needed to go to the one person here at Cascade Falls that you said I could trust; the one person you said would look out for me; the person who had been your friend and confidante for so many years.

I needed to go to Ms Hindmarsh.

I arrived outside Ms Hindmarsh's office with my head buzzing and swarming with words and sentences and ways to make her believe me; ways to make her help help me. I held a curled hand up, ready to knock, when the door was wrenched open, and Mr Beagle launched himself out so quickly he nearly collided with my fist. me. I held a curled hand up, ready to knock, when the door was wrenched open, and Mr Beagle launched himself out so quickly he nearly collided with my fist.

When he saw me, he jerked backwards and uttered a little yelp, his hand flying to his chest. I couldn't help smiling. Mr Beagle had seemed quite fierce, that first day when I met him on the school steps and he gave Laurel and Erin a dressing down for their naughty behaviour. Now, I liked him. He was still a bit grumpy he always seemed like he hadn't had enough sleep but he was a good teacher. He was smart and interesting, and pa.s.sionate about history, and we got along very well. He did make a funny noise when he was startled, though.

'Ah! Tessa! You frightened me!' he said, smiling and looking nervously past me down the hallway.

'Sorry, Mr Beagle,' I said. 'I just came to see Ms Hindmarsh.'

'She's not here,' he said quickly. I heard his heart accelerate. I noticed tiny pearls of sweat on his forehead.

I noticed also that the grey circles beneath his eyes the ones that seemed almost permanently stamped on his biscuit-coloured skin were even more p.r.o.nounced today. He looked as though he hadn't slept for a year.

'Oh, okay,' I replied. I was about to turn around and walk away, when something struck me. 'If she's not here, then what are you doing in her office?' I asked, feeling a rush of boldness. And suspicion. Maybe it was his anxious, guilty face, or the loyalty I felt to Ms Hindmarsh for being your friend, but I suddenly felt something was not quite right here.

'Well, I really don't think that's any of your concern, do you, Tessa?' he said, and I noticed for the first time that he held a book in his hand. I just made out the words 'Van Diemen Industries' on its spine before he tucked it hastily under his arm.

'Sorry, Mr Beagle,' I replied, because it seemed like the only thing I could could say without getting into trouble. I couldn't afford to get into trouble and end up in detention. I had too much to do. say without getting into trouble. I couldn't afford to get into trouble and end up in detention. I had too much to do.