Girl Anachronism
by Andrew Beatty
Tina woke hard, head snapping forward so fast her hair flew over her face, got in
her eyes, her mouth. She dropped back, feeling cold steel pressing against her body.
She tried to stand up, limbs moving awkwardly. Her wrists were shackled, legs held
securely by chains. Dull gray metal was all she could see through the strands of
hair that still covered her face, gray steel and a bare forty-
Back here again, Tina thought. Shit.
The door banged open, the loud crash startling Tina, making her snap up against her restraints. The scare was all she needed to let go, to slip from reality. The grey became black, the dusk became night, and she was gone.
She found herself on the outskirts of a village, a village that was little more than mud and thatch cottages. Tina could hear angry voices. Angry voices that were getting louder, closer to her. She pushed herself deeper in the shadows, covered herself with mud, prayed she wouldn't be caught. Slipping around as much as she did taught her that angry voices were often directed at her. The voices neared, but blackness came to her once again.
The room was elegantly decorated; reminding Tina of a Victorian dining room she had
once seen in a halo. She looked down, and smiled to find herself in a form fitting…bundle
of rags. Shit, she thought. That last place was pretty. She would have liked to stay
there awhile and enjoy the gentle comforts, but no, she was back in the village again,
with the mud, the filth, and the fear. She felt herself become rooted, connected
to this world, to this time-
The rough, guttural voices were getting closer. Looking around, she suddenly realized her hiding spot did not amount to much. Fight or flight time, her body was telling her. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, fought with the fear, made her feel slightly ill, buzzed. In the distance, across fields of long, waving grass, she could see a dark forest. It was more inviting than the possibility of a fiery death, so Tina decided on flight.
The wind was blowing strong against her as she ran across the grass fields, hunched low in an effort to evade detection. She risked the odd glance back to see if she had been spotted. Nothing so far.
She found the forest to be alive with activity. Birds fluttered, sang, and shrieked, filling the air with their noises. Tina could hear the scrabbling of small animals, running through the trees. Even the trees, shifting in the wind, were groaning like old men playing chess.
She found a creek and drank heavily, hoping that she was far enough in the past that the water wouldn't be poisonous. Sated, she continued on. She pushed herself deeper into the forest. After walking for what felt like hours, she collapsed against a large log, seeking what comfort she could find there. She slept fitfully through the night, and was surprised to find herself in the same place upon awakening. It felt like it had been years since she had fallen asleep and woken up in the same place. Breakfast. Some berries and nuts would have to suffice. She doubled back to the creek and took a long, filling drink. She kept alert for fish, or animals, but there was nothing to be seen. She stumbled, tripped, let go, slipped.
Back in the shackles, the grey steel room. A man stood over her, dirty white smock loose fitting over hunched, scrawny shoulders. Wild, curly hair stood atop a thin, wrinkled face, triangular, with a sharply pointed chin. His mouth was set in what looked like a permanent leer.
"So, Sheila, you have come back to us," he rasped as he gently brushing the hair from her face as though they were intimate. It made Tina feel dead inside.
Tina nodded weakly. She remembered being called Sheila here, and had stopped fighting it. "I was just in a forest," she said.
An expression of pity crossed the man's face. "Oh, Sheila. There haven't been forests in years. You were lost inside your head again."
Tina shook her head. "Not now. Somewhen else."
"Were you slipping again?"
"That's all I do. Slip here, slip there. Slip now, slip then. Always slipping, everywhen. I have told you already, even this isn't my time."
"How did you get here, then?"
Tina struggled to sit up, leaning herself forward on the table as far as her restraints would allow. "I have told you before, Dr. Jenkins."
Dr. Jenkins moved back, found a stool in the corner of the room near Tina's left foot. "Tell me again, please Sheila."
"Fine. This isn't my time, or even my world. I'm a criminal, convicted of treason." Dr. Jenkins nodded, already being familiar with the story. He had heard it many times before. "In my time, undesirable criminals are not killed, or jailed, they are sent away, sent back in time, where we cannot possibly affect events."
"But couldn't you change the past; couldn't you make a bigger problem for the future? Couldn’t you kill the king or something like that?"
Tina shook her head. "You're thinking is too linear. This past isn't my past. It's a parallel past. This isn't even my planet, really."
"It's a different dimension, right?"
"Close enough."
"But Sheila," started Dr. Jenkins
…you haven't touched your pudding."
Tina felt the awkward, painful press of a corset. She looked across an ornately spread table at a handsome man with a perplexed look on his face. She glanced down at the plate in front of her, overflowing with figgy pudding. She grabbed up her fork and hurriedly started shoveling it in. From across the table her apparent paramour let out a chuckle.
"I didn't mean to start a race, darling," he said. Tina paused long enough to take a long draught of chilled wine.
"It's just so delicious," she gasped, mouth half full of food. God, she hoped she could stay there. This was better than being dirty in a forest, or trapped with Dr. Jenkins
…who looked at her, his face twisted in a puzzled grimace.
"How is it a punishment to have you bouncing around time like this?"
Although she knew it was impossible, Tina thought she could still taste the thick, rich pudding in her mouth. She willed herself to go back there. Even the forest was better than here. "Fine," she said, resigned to her fate. Usually she bounced around randomly, but she had been stuck in loops like this before, moving through the same three or four times. "It's not supposed to be like this. I shouldn't be slipping in and out like this. I should only be stuck in one time, one place. I'm an accident."
"Of course you are," said Dr. Jenkins, brushing her hair again. Tina wanted to bash the look of condescension off Jenkins's face.
"Usually I just slip into a reality for a little while. I will take over someone for a bit, and then slip somewhere else. I don't usually stick around, or come back." Tina sighed. "You don't believe me, so why are you wasting our time? I didn't commit a crime here, why not let me go?"
"But Sheila, you did commit a crime, a crime punishable by death. I'm afraid we have no slipping here."
Tina lay back against the table. She had no memory of committing a crime in this time. "What do you think I did?" She received no answer, exchanging the hardness of steel for the dampness of a forest morning.
Someone had followed her; their voices rang out among the trees, thick, ragged voices.
Tina got up and started running, crashing through the forest as fast as her bare feet could carry her. The rags she wore caught on outstretched branches, as though the trees had allied themselves with her pursuers. She heard the frenzied barking of dogs, and realized that this was not a standard hunt. She was wanted. Had she done something here as well? If only she could get back to that beautiful dinner. The wine
…was almost finished. Smiling, she gestured to a servant for another bottle. He hurried off.
"Really darling, your appetite today. Are you feeling all right?"
There was a knocking at the dining room door. A timid looking maid opened it with a loud clatter and stuck her head out.
"Begging your pardon, but there are some men at the door for you." She entered the room and presented a card to the gentleman. He looked at it briefly, and stood up to receive his guests, brow deeply furrowed.
"Is anything the matter?" Tina asked between mouthfuls.
"I'm sure it's nothing," he said, smoothing the front of his pants. He bent to give her a quick buss on the cheek.
Tina focused her energies on eating, content she was no longer with Dr. Jenkins, or being chased in
…the forest was becoming overgrown and impassible; the path was no longer clear and
open, but shrouded with branches that tore at her arms, her face, her legs. She pressed
forward, but could make no further headway. A rough hand grabbed her from behind;
she had been so caught up in fighting against the trees she had no idea her pursuers
were so close behind her. She was lifted off the ground by calloused hands, and spun
around. A gaggle of rough-
"Got you, you…
"Darling, there are some gentlemen here to see you."
Tina stood up, knocking into the table as she did so. Wine spilled and soaked into the fine linen tablecloth. "Whatever do they want with me?" she asked, noting the strained, worried look upon his face.
"It would appear as though you are in some trouble, my dear. They did mention the word…
treason," said Dr. Jenkins.
"Treason?" repeated Tina. "Of course it would be treason," she said. She thought about the other realities she was trapped in, could see the strands linking them.
Dr. Jenkins picked up a large sheaf of papers, and began to ruffle through them. "You were arrested two weeks ago and have been in my custody for ten days, due to the delusions you were allegedly experiencing." Tina remembered the prison now. She hadn't realized they were part of the same reality. She mostly remembered screaming a lot. Jenkins held out the records for her to look at, details of her many treasonous crimes against the state. She had been busy. Or at least Sheila had.
"You see Sheila, you were involved in
…a plot against the king," said a rough voice. Tina was being dragged through the forest by her arms. Men surrounded her on all sides, some spitting, tramping on her feet, or giving her the odd kick. She kicked her legs wildly, flailed her arms as much as possible against the cruel grip of the men…were impeccably dressed in matching black suits. They regarded Tina as one would regard a bit of grit caught under a fingernail an annoyance.
"Margery DaGuerre? Please come with us," one of them said.
She looked over at her husband, eyes wide with fright.
"It's fine, Margery," he said. "I'll get in touch with my solicitor, I'm sure it's just a mistake."
Tina could feel the pit open beneath her, with every slip she was getting in more trouble. It wasn't fair; she was already being punished enough! She shouldn't have to take on other women's guilt as well. Hopefully she would slip somewhen else soon, break the pattern, be free.
With the men holding each arm, Tina marched out to the waiting carriage. They settled in on either side of her, pressing against her uncomfortably. The carriage stank of them, sweat and drink heavied the air, made Tina feel slightly sick
…in the head, Tina. You are sick in the head. However, I believe I have found a cure. It’s old fashioned, but it has been effective," said Dr. Jenkins. He pulled a long, thin knife out of the bag resting at his feet. It looked like an ice pick.
"Oh, God no," said Tina, blinking back tears. There was only one surgical use for an ice pick as far as she knew.
"God?" asked Dr. Jenkins. "I'm afraid that…
your evil gods can't help you now, bitch," said the rough voice. Tina was in the centre of the tiny village. The men were dragging her to a tall, wooden pole. A small crowd of villagers had collected, old women, toothless and bent, tired mothers, their unwashed children running to and fro. The men brought Tina to the pole, and lashed her there, started piling wood around her.
"Please," Tina shouted. "Please, there has been a mistake!"
The crowd laughed at her, finding her terror amusing. A few of the women looked at her with shared guilt in their eyes.
"The only mistake," shouted a cackling old woman…was that your husband trusted representatives from the crown so easily," said one of the well dressed men. He was casually pulling a garrote from his vest pocket. Tina pushed back, but found no comfort in the other man's arms. He wrapped her in a solid embrace, pinning her arms against her. The garrote wrapped around her neck
the ice-
the flames started licking at her feet
and Tina slipped
and slipped
and slipped
Author’s Bio
Drew Beatty has been writing fiction seriously since the birth of his first son four
years ago. His works have appeared in Aphelion-
Read more about Drew at http://www.drewbeatty.com.
© 2009 eMuse-
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