I've decided to take a short sabbatical from my other Sweeney story Paper Flowers and write the prequel to it which has been stuck in my head for forever and a day. Don't fret (if anybody of you care), I'll return to it of course and this is only going to be a short story - shut up Noelle and Vicki. :P
Basically it's about Benjamin Barker's experience in the hell that is my country when he was held prisoner. Oh, I loves my country, breaking and destroying so many fragile souls - did I just say that out loud? Anyhoo, Australian Convict History has always interested me, so I thought, why not combine my study with one of my favourite musicals? Woo!
Anyway, hope you enjoy. If you like, of course review please! If it's crap, I might just leave this as a one-shot then. Feel free to flame and throw things at me. I like flames. What can I say? I'm an Aussie, a sadist by nature.
Note: Van Dieman's Land was the original name for the island of Tasmania where a whole bunch of convicts were sent. I totally wanted to write about him in Fremantle (coolest place ever) near where I live because it is so rich with history, but Van Dieman's Land in my opinion just has a cooler ring to it for Sweeney.
Van Diemen's Land
Chapter One.
Sheer, blind panic.
Frenzied gasps of air.
Ribcage on fire.
The crunch of shrub under bare feet.
The sting of torn flesh, ribbons of scarlet blood replacing the soles of his feet.
A girl child's hand in his, skin black as Indian ink.
Following her lead as her nocturnal eyes guide them through the shadows of night.
Clothing catches the skeletal branches of the trees, gnarled and twisted, desiring to imprison him once again.
Benjamin trips.
"Don' worry Mr. Barker, we be far 'way soon. Get up, quick now!"
Benjamin sobs.
The girl pats his back, but looks worriedly in the direction of where they left. White man not be awake for hours, but when they be, they send out the hounds. It not be the men that frighten her, but the dogs. The dogs and their primal noses and their teeth.
"Come, be quick, 'fore white ghost catch us!"
Three Hours Previous.
The night belonged to Sasha. The natural instinct that she had inherited from her family, their family and their ancestors – the bond that she and the land seemed to have, helped guide her through land blanketed by dark. But this homestead, the estate of the Governor, this was Benjamin's territory. He crept through the rooms and hallway as lithe as a feline, the only light being the moon from behind glass windows that reflected off the blade in his hand. He was surprisingly calm that night; he had always assumed he would be high on adrenaline, but there was something unnatural about this event…Surreal…As if none of this were really happening.
He made his way up the staircase silent still, and stole into the master bedroom where he left the door open a crack so he could make a quick escape. He had no intention of looking at his masterpiece for long, he did not want to linger, he wanted to escape as hurriedly and quietly as he had entered.
The four poster bed awaited him and he could hear the soft sounds of undisturbed slumber. The crimson curtains were not pulled across, and he could see him, his mouth half agape, and his silver hair strewn over the pillow. He didn't look half so dignified and noble in his sleep. His sweet wife – yes, all the wealthy seemed to have younger wives – was curled up beside him, sleeping prettily, her gold hair nestled under a lace cap, in a braid, her nightgown sleeve pulled down revealing her bare shoulder, cream coloured and perfect – no unsightly tan dared blemish her skin, not the Governor's wife. The picture of perfect matrimony.
He moved over to his Master's side of the bed and looked down at him. His good, kind, benevolent Master who had saved him from the certain death thirteen years previous that he surely would have succumbed to. There was never the smallest possibility that his slight frame could have survived that fiery ball of hell they had the audacity to call a sun. Surely it was not the same sun that welcomed the morning in London. This was cruel, merciless, it was Lucifer Incarnate. The man had looked down at the young Benjamin Barker, lying in his own pungent sweat, unable to move from sheer exhaustion and sunstroke, and had taken pity on him, requesting the young barber be of service in his household. He had rescued him from certain death, but he had ensured he would forever remain in another cage.
It was only a moment that the blade he carried was pressed upon the flesh of his Master. In only a moment more, a crimson flow would be seeping into the pure white sheets of his bed, perhaps even slithering upon the Governor's wife. For eight more hours at least she would sleep peacefully beside a corpse, while he himself was fleeing through the Australian bushland with a little Aboriginal girl as his guide. It saddened him as he imagined the woman finally stirring in her sleep and screaming as she felt the warm, dry blood of her once living mate stick to her pretty nightgown. He had never taken issue with her…
His Master let out a deep sigh and moved slightly, but was still unaware of the blade against his throat.
Go on, slit it! Slit as if you were simply carving through a peach! That's all you need do! He screamed to himself inwardly, but all his hand would do was tremble. He felt an infuriating tear well in his eye, and he loathed himself for his goddamned weakness. The mere thought of this moment had kept him alive for years.
"Please…"
This simple word jolted Benjamin Barker back to his senses from his dark reverie of thought and it pierced the calm around him. Panic seized him, but still he could not move as he looked down and her pale Cornflower blue eyes locked into his.
He could say nothing, as her arm moved up her husband's in a feeble but protective motion, and her voice broke as she implored her husband's servant once again in a hushed tone, "Please…"
"Why…Why aren't you screaming right now to alert the household?" came his gruff reply, but matching her with quietness as if the whole world spoke in whispers. The words poured from him mechanically however, he did not control his voice, "You could have me hanged for just this attempt, woman, and the world would think you are in your rights to do so."
She did not pause as she answered him, "Because I think you're mad enough to do murder, even if you know there isn't a chance of you surviving while being captured. I don't want anybody hurt; I couldn't bear my children living in a household where there were memories of death lurking in the walls of our home. And I do not wish you harm either…So just leave. There is no need for further evil."
The tear involuntarily slipped down his cheek and was joined by others. Her hand moved from her husband's arm to Benjamin's hand as he pressed the blade against his throat and she grasped it, but the tightening was not to deter him from murder, for she knew she had already won back the life of the man she had married. But to give him cheer.
"Goodbye, Benjamin. You will remain in my prayers. God give you speed, for you have until morning, until your absence is noticed, of course. The night is your only shield."
With heavy reluctance, Benjamin Barker moved back from the Governor. Old habits are hard to lose and he had planned this for so long…But he couldn't…It was not in him.
He slipped out while the Governor still slept, and the wife clung to her husband, finally allowing herself to shake from the fear she had repressed, praying thankfully for her husband's life.
Nearly Two Years Later, Approximately.
Marianne's youngest was twirling around the veranda with notions of one day becoming a famous ballerina. Her hair flung out wildly about her in a tangled mess of strawberry blonde, and Marianne clapped with a smile, "Very good my dear, if only you would put as much effort into your reading, as you do with your dance."
The little girl pouted prettily but this soon vanished in wonder as the buggy drove up the red-dirt driveway. Her Father was never home at such an early hour!
"Papa, Papa!" she cried as she ran down the steps as nimbly as she had spun around moments earlier – what a pity, Marianne thought privately, such elegance would be wasted in this godforsaken land.
But the usual doting Father did not seem to notice his youngest as he strode up to the house and to his wife, saying without warning, "I have been called to London, straightaway, darling."
"Called to London?" Marianne stood at once, the forgotten teacup and saucer on her lap clattering and breaking on the wooden floor.
"It…It is an urgent matter…Perhaps – perhaps this will explain things better than I can…"
From his trousers pocket he pulled out a letter, which she started to read. Her eyes scanned the paper and the beautiful flowing calligraphy, and her hand moved over her mouth as she read the words.
"How – how can they be sure?" she spluttered.
"It seems they are quite sure, Marianne…The courts have sent for me to give an account of what he was like under my roof for all those years…Oh love, it seemed he left a blood bath in his wake before he was himself killed…How he even survived and returned to London – they're calling him the Demon Barber and London's Newest Black Plague!"
The woman's body quivered with excruciating pain and after a moment of not being able to control it, her body wavered and she fell into the open arms of her husband, who wept into the softness of her hair, "Oh, our poor, poor Benjamin!" she wailed, "John, how we failed him!"