Paper Dolls

by Anya Allyn

  I followed the river as it flowed downwards. I walked on and on. There were no campers by the river, no signs anyone had been here.

  The river flattened and widened out, running thinly over gray pebbles. A high rock ledge spanned the river ahead. I stopped. I’d have to climb around and onto that. I had no strength left.

  A small head appeared over the edge of the platform. A child—a girl—wriggled down onto her stomach, and threw a fistful of leaves down. The leaves swirled down to the water.

  She was dressed in normal clothes—a light green jumper and pink track pants. A cry caught in my throat.

  Catching sight of me, she stared at me with curious eyes for a moment—then waved.

  I waved back.

  A smiling woman appeared on the rock ledge, a camcorder in her hand as she filmed the girl. The woman’s smile dropped as she looked to the river below. Her hand reached to her mouth.

  I tried to speak, but I had no voice.

  Two more figures appeared on the ledge—a man and a pudgy boy.

  They stared open-mouthed at me.

  I gazed down at myself. The side of my slip was tattered—blood soaking wetly into the material. The scrape on the rock had cut deeper than I’d realized. My limbs were bruised green and purple. The boy stared in horror at my face, shielding himself from the sight of me with his hand. I remembered then—the doll makeup. It would be smeared all over my face.

  Stepping forward, I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering.

  The man held up two hands, indicating for me to stop. “We’ll get you help.” He turned back to the woman. “Kate—get the kids in the car.”

  The woman reached for the little girl’s hand—confusion in her eyes. “But—”

  “Just get them out of here—could be dangerous. We don’t have to get mixed up in it. We’ll get the police.”

  He stared past me—to the woods beyond. He didn’t give me another glance as he pulled the boy away. The woman and girl left—the girl looking back over her shoulder at me.

  I struggled up and around to the ledge, following after them like a stray dog. A car roared away down at the road. A road meant I was close to help. But some of the roads around here could be empty of cars all day.

  A child’s toy had been left behind on the rock—a small purple teddy-bear—and a cane picnic basket. There was nothing to do but walk along the road until I could flag down a car.

  Strength left my legs, my body. I could no longer feel anything.

  A cold weight passed through me.

  6. A LIGHT SO GRAY

  Stipples of light flickered and dashed over my eyelids. Something pressed at my chest—a heavy weight. One of the dolls? I wasn’t out of the underground, after all. Getting out of there had been a dream. The glassy eyes of the serpent bored into the back of my skull.

  A thick material was pulled over me.

  “She’s alive.”

  A voice—human. Deep.

  “Vital signs are okay.”

  Pale sunlight dashed over my eyes as I opened them. People in blue and white clothing swarmed around me. A silver blanket covered me.

  Sets of hands lifted me. I was carried through the air.

  A face moved in front of mine. Mom’s dark eyes.

  “Move back please.” A strident male voice.

  I stared about me. Police and ambulance officers stood around me. I was on a stretcher, being put into the back of an ambulance.

  I gripped mom’s arm, not allowing them to close the ambulance door. I wanted to tell her to make them stop, but my throat seized up.

  I held up my hands and tried to mimic writing on a piece of paper.

  “Cassie, baby. I can’t believe it’s you. I thought I’d never—”Her eyes were bright with tears. “You have to go now. You have to get checked at the hospital. It’s okay—I’m here. All the way.”

  A light clamp was placed on one of my fingers, and a needle inserted on the top of my other hand. A paramedic fitted a tube into my hand, and a bag of fluid was hung above my head.

  “Just one more needle, stay calm,” someone said.

  Cold liquid was squirted on my arm and side, and a needle jabbed me. Things were being inserted on my side—clips? Then bandages wrapped around my arm and torso. I was naked underneath the blanket—my wet slip and underwear gone—when did that happen?

  “Almost ready to go,” they said.

  I tried to get up. I couldn’t let myself be taken to the hospital—I needed to bring help to the underground. A crushing weakness claimed my body.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” The soothing voice of one of the paramedics filled my ears. “You’ve been given painkillers—they’ll kick in soon and help you relax.”

  Shaking my head as hard as I could, I jabbed a finger at the palm of my hand again. I looked pleadingly at my mother.

  Mom bent her head back to the ambulance crew. “She wants pen and paper.”

  “Time for that later,” a paramedic told her. “She has hypothermia. We need to get her off for treatment.”

  Digging in her bag, mom held up a hand. “It’s been weeks since I’ve heard my daughter’s voice. I’m not going to silence her now.”

  I grabbed the pen and paper my mother handed me. My fingers refused to work, so I curled a fist around the pen.

  5 underground. Rescue!!!

  I pressed the pen so hard it tore the page.

  Mom’s eyes were huge as she took the paper and read it. Wordlessly, she handed the paper to a police officer.

  The officer’s face paled. “Are they in immediate danger?”

  I nodded.

  The officer turned and shouted a jumble of words.

  A plainclothed man strode up, staring down at me. “Cassandra, Do you remember me? Detective Martin Kalassi. Who are the others? Can you write their names?”

  He handed me a notepad.

  I wrote:

  Aisha

  Molly

  Frances

  Sophronia

  Ethan

  I didn’t know the real name of the Indian girl—so I couldn’t give it. But I couldn’t leave her out—I couldn’t leave any one of them out. None of the living, anyway. Not even... Ethan.

  The detective’s eyes widened. “All alive?”

  Nodding, I started scrawling again.

  Under Fiveash house. Take me there!!

  “The Fiveash house?” he puzzled. “He has another basement we didn’t find?”

  I shook my head, trying to shoot him a pleading look. Just trust me.

  Detective Kalassi raised his thick eyebrows at a paramedic. “Can she be stabilized enough to be transported? We may need her someplace else.”

  “Where to?” asked the paramedic.

  “The top of Devils Hole.”

  She crossed her arms. “If you get us a chopper—set up with full gear.”

  “We’re going to need a few of those, by the sound of it,” he said grimly.

  Detective stepped over to confer with police.

  I felt myself graying out again—my head growing fuzzy. I had to tell them one more thing. But I couldn’t remember it. It was like they’d given me Jessamine’s tea and my mind was slowly stepping downwards.

  7. FROM DARKNESS TO NIGHT

  Helicopters whirred in the darkening sky.

  I struggled to sit up on the stretcher—still wrapped in the thermal blanket. Everything ached.

  I smiled thinly as a paramedic took the IV line from my arm. She bent her pinched, concerned face down to mine. “Tell us if you feel faint, or anything else.”

  “Okay,” I said hoarsely.

  “And try not to use that voice of yours too much. You’ll lose it for days if it’s strained any further.”

  I nodded at her obediently. I was handed a small carton and a straw—a type of milky energy drink.

  “Sip it slowly,” she instructed. “Like one sip every minute. If you start to feel bad—stop.”

  I pretended to take a small s
ip—but instead drew the thick liquid down in gulps. I felt my body gearing up again, craving food.

  An arm moved around me and drew me in close. My mother pressed her face to my shoulder.

  “Sorry,” I whispered.

  “Don’t you be sorry,” she said firmly. “Not ever.” Her eyes held back pain as she gazed at me.

  The night air breezed around my face. A cool mildness saturated the air.

  “How long?”

  “It’s September, Cassie. You’ve been gone over two months. The longest months of my life.”

  Nodding softly, I tapped my wrist.

  Mom checked her watch. “It’s twenty to seven.”

  My back chilled. I’d slept for two and a half hours. Two and a half hours while the dolls were still down there in the dollhouse.

  I pulled myself to my feet. Someone had put clothes on me—dark blue pants and shirt—which had to be a spare set of clothing of one of the paramedics.

  Rescuers had pulled the entire front of the shed down. And they’d ripped the rainwater tank clean out of the ground—it lay discarded to the side of the shed. I hadn’t been there to tell them how to open it. The dogs were barricaded into a small makeshift pen, barking and whimpering. Every light was on in the Fiveash house—police moving through it. Three helicopters landed on the grounds near the house.

  Detective Kalassi stepped up to me—a plumpish woman beside him. “Cassie, this is Detective Sarah Bryant."

  I nodded a hello.

  "It seems there's a problem below—a metal wall," he said.

  “I wanted to tell you before,” I told them. “But that medicine put me to sleep.”

  “Is there another way?” He moved close to hear me.

  “No. You must get through the wall. And to get to the others, you must get through a carousel.”

  “A carousel? Down there?”

  “Yes. It has another metal wall. Please hurry!”

  He listened carefully. “But how did you get out?”

  “I crawled through the mountains.”

  “You mean from here all the way down to where you were found?”

  They stared at me incredulously, horrified.

  I nodded.

  He cursed under his breath. “Okay, with all the injuries you sustained, that way is out. Don’t worry—we‘ve got specialist equipment being flown in. We’ll get those kids out of there.”

  I stared up at the house. “Henry Fiveash. Did you get him?”

  Detective Kalassi twisted his mouth to one side. “He was gone. Gone by a week or more most likely.”

  The detectives left.

  A paramedic came to check me again. She handed me another of the milk drinks. I took it gratefully.

  Time moved in small sluggish steps, like a slow motion movie.

  More helicopters came—but these didn’t land. I guessed they didn’t have clearance—they were news helicopters, the logos of their various stations emblazoned on their sides. Reporters crashed through the bushes into the clearing—with cameras and lights. They busily set up. A female reporter had her hair tidied before she spoke dramatically into the camera in front of her.

  Men and women in heavy, armored uniform carried equipment from one of the police helicopters down to the shed.

  Above the noise came the high screeches of drills.

  Please be quick.

  I willed the last vestiges of daylight to stay. I wanted the children of the underground to come out into daylight—not the night. But darkness pulled in—falling into every space.

  A police officer strode up to us. “It’s time,” he said to my mother.

  Mom squeezed my hand. “Cassie, as a child psych, I've been asked to be the person who orients the children as they are brought out. If...."

  Wetness welled in my eyes. I knew what she was going to say—if any of them are still alive.

  If was so small a word that it was barely a word, but it held hostage lives and hopes and dreams. It held everything.

  She slung an arm around me, to help me walk with her.

  “It’s okay mom, I can do it myself.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” My legs were stronger and the fuzziness had left me.

  We followed the officer over to the helicopters.

  Everything went quiet, hushed in anticipation.

  A rescue officer burst from the shed, carrying a small body in a blanket. Reporters went into a frenzy.

  The officer rushed her to mom. Mom cradled her as paramedics began setting up an IV line—whispering to her that she was okay now.

  A doctor injected a liquid into her thigh. She woke with a sharp intake of breath. She let out a high-pitched scream. “Monsters!”

  I knelt beside her. “It’s me, Philly. Calliope. There’s no monsters here. No monsters. These are good people.” A tear slid down my cheek. “You’re safe. You’re safe, baby. Tomorrow, you’ll see sun and flowers.”

  Her eyes wide, she clung to my arm. My mother stared at me.

  Detective Kalassi stood with Detective Bryant, thumbing his chin. “Her name is Philly? This one isn’t Frances?”

  I touched a finger to my mouth. “She’s been Philly—Philomena—for the past year. It’s what she knows. But yes, you have her name correct.”

  Nodding at me gratefully, he turned to speak into his phone. “Amy, Martin Kalassi here. We have Frances Allanzi. Yes, alive.” His booming voice was jubilant. “Please inform the family and have them escorted and waiting at the Sydney Children’s Hospital. Oh and Amy, tell them she answers to the name Philomena.”

  I brushed damp hair from her face. “Your family—everyone Missouri drew in the pictures for you—you’ll see them very soon.”

  She shook her head. “They’re all gone. Where’s Missy? Where’s my Missy?”

  I looked over my shoulder—Missouri was being brought out—her head lying limply against the officer’s shoulder.

  “No, they were never gone," I told her."You’ll see them, Philly. Your brother and sister, mummy and daddy. I promise. You’ll see Missy later.”

  I hugged her and nodded at the paramedics to take her. I didn’t want her seeing Missouri now. Philly’s stretcher was placed inside a waiting helicopter, my mother holding her hand all the way.

  I rushed to Missouri. Her face was alabaster, like a monument on a grave.

  Gazing at the officer, I could barely form the words, “Is she... alive?”

  He stared back with grim eyes, his face rigid.

  “No,” I breathed. My knees found the dirt.

  Rescue hadn’t come quick enough.

  Paramedics spirited her away—the chopper taking off almost instantly. A reporter scrambled to stand in front of the helicopter as it was taking off, yelling to the news camera that one of the abductees was dead.

  A large hand touched my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  I looked upwards at Detective Kalassi.

  “Can you tell me her name?” he said gently.

  “Molly,” I said. “Her name is Molly Parkes.”

  “That name I know,” he said. “She went missing here years back. We never found her.” He gazed regretfully at the helicopter as it disappeared into the night sky.

  He turned his head. My mother ran alongside paramedics as they carried a girl to a waiting helicopter. Mom held her hand as the IV was inserted.

  Kalassi and I went to her, Detective Bryant was already waiting at the helicopter.

  Sophronia lolled on the stretcher as they gave her oxygen and intravenous fluids. A paramedic injected her with the same stuff they'd injected Philly with.

  Her dark eyes fluttered open, but just barely, heavy with confusion. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She fixed her gaze on me. “I see it in your eyes,” she rasped. “You saw her—the other side of the shadow.”

  I bowed my head. Sophronia saw things no one else could. “Now we’re on the other side,” I whispered.

  Mom tugged the blanket up under Sophronia’s chin. “You
’re safe. You’re safe now. You’ll be reunited with your family very soon.”

  “What’s your name, honey?” Detective Kalassi asked her.

  Her gaze moved from me to the detective.

  “It is Sophronia.”

  “I don’t know this one,” he remarked to Detective Bryant. She shook her head in reply.

  I wanted to tell Sophronia to give her real name to the police—so they could find her family. But I suspected she didn’t want to. She was smart enough to know what she wanted. Her eyes drifted shut as they took her away.

  Behind us, rescuers carried a limp body from the shed. Aisha.

  Mom held my hand, squeezing it, as we rushed across to her. Aisha's sleeping face was bloodless, her lips purplish.

  Please let her wake.

  Two paramedics unwrapped the bloody bandage from Aisha's leg while another yelled out, Where's the chopper for this one?

  They're flying in another four, came a reply from somewhere amongst the police and rescuers.

  Bags of blood were readied and hung as they prepared a transfusion. Run in two units, someone called. Starlight washed over Aisha's smooth features.

  Mom held her hand, speaking in a low voice close to her ear about her parents, about Raif—reassuring her she was back in the world she’d known. No one knew if she could even hear Mom's words. I wanted to speak to her, but the words stuck deep within my chest.

  Noise rose as photographers and journalists ran to the shed. A figure limped from the underground with the aid of a rescuer, a hoarse cough hacking its way from his lungs.

  Ethan refused checks by the paramedics—instead winding through the throng to Aisha's side. Crouching beside her, he rested his head on her arm.

  He lifted his gaze then and found me, his eyes staring deep into mine.

  Mom bent to extend an arm around his shoulders. “Your grandfather is just fine. Worried as anything about you of course, but otherwise fine. I’ve been checking on him, and organizing his meals.”

  Ethan closed his eyes while hearing about his grandfather. He didn’t deserve it—didn’t deserve any sympathy. I had to admit he looked awful though. Underground, I hadn't realized just how bad we all looked.