‘Was this a big enough threat that they would kill her?’
‘Out here in the middle of nowhere, who knows?’ said Gabriella. ‘But here, look at this one.’ She slid a page across to Con.
Con scanned the page. ‘I’ve read it.’
‘Well then read it again. Properly.’
Con picked up the page and read aloud: ‘I found some more of the surviving descendants of the local mobs today. They live down in Hobart now, but they had stories about Kooparoona Niara. They do have some mythology about these mountains, but nothing like what Madison was blabbing on about, soul traps and whatever, the stupid bitch. Love her though.’
He looked up at Gabriella. ‘I hate how teenagers talk.’
‘Soul traps,’ she said. ‘Like portals, Con. You know what happens around portals? The Oz effect.’
Con read the rest of the page, ignoring her. ‘This is interesting.’ He read aloud: ‘Madison is obsessed with these stories. Like, actual obsessed: I’ve never seen her this excited. She wants to interview these people for a video, but they don’t want to, and I’m not going to put her in contact with them. She asked if I’d talk about it. When I told her I’d need to research it more, she said it’d be alright if I made a bit of it up. I refuse to be part of a video where she makes up fantasies about our stories. So of course, she went ahead and filmed a video where she made them up herself. She thinks she can get through by bluffing, but she doesn’t know a thing about our culture, she just wants to warp it so she can get more views . . . but her videos are getting me attention and exposure for the museum, so I think I have to put up with a bit of it. Hopefully no one in the community hates me for it.’
Con opened his laptop, bringing up a new browser tab and heading to Madison’s YouTube account. It didn’t take him long to find a recent video that looked promising: ‘DID I JUST FIND SPIRIT PORTALS IN THE MOUNTAINS?!!’
He played the video, turning the screen so Gabriella could see.
It was up in the Tiers, on the edge of a rocky cliff, the Tasmanian mountains rolling into the distance. Snow gums clung to the precipice. The camera panned around to Madison and Cierra, standing by three motorbikes. Madison in perfect make-up – green lipstick this time – and Cierra wearing a pink wig.
‘Hi guys,’ said Madison. ‘Today we’re exploring a very special place up in the Great Western Tiers, that we were told about by our very own Georgia, who as some of you would know is the driving force behind the Kooparoona Niara Aboriginal Heritage Museum. Today, however, we’re joined by the Babe of the Year, Jasmine.’
The camera spun around so Jasmine could wave – she was the one filming – and then it returned to Madison and Cierra as they walked to the edge of a cliff. It was a spectacular view. Jasmine showed the escarpment of the cliff itself: rugged ridges of rocks and eucalypts that stretched towards mountains in the distance, and then the camera panned up to show a beautiful sky, pastel blue and streaked with hazy clouds.
‘Tell us what we’ve learned, Madison,’ said Cierra.
‘Well, this cliffside is said to hold one of the gateways to the spirit world. Like a portal. Young men and women used to come here to test their courage, and try to speak to their ancestors on the other side.’
‘How?’ said Cierra. Jasmine pointed the camera over the edge again.
‘Well, apparently there were several ways: one was to hang over the edge of the cliff by your hands – a test of strength. But it was said that one young man who did this disappeared, and then when he returned some time later, he thought it was the same day: he’d fallen through time.’
‘No way!’ squealed Cierra.
‘There were other ways. Other rituals. It depended on what the spirits said, what time you were here.’
‘The spirits spoke to them? And it was this cliff only?’
‘No, but this cliff was special . . .’
The twins continued to speak, Madison chatting about the other portals, about the stories that the local people could tell, followed by the inevitable link back to the Hungry Man disappearances.
‘This is fascinating,’ said Gabriella.
‘It’s completely made up, Gabby,’ said Con. ‘None of those stories are real.’
‘Don’t call me Gabby, Cornelius.’
But then there was a hard cut in the video. It was night time, and Cierra and Madison were alone. Madison wore a fluffy white beanie and white lipstick, and Cierra a white curly wig.
‘We’re here, back at what we’re calling Sacred Cliff,’ said Madison. ‘We’re camping up here tonight. We’re going to try and commune with the spirits . . .’
Gabriella leaned forward with a melodramatic gasp. The girls sat in their tent and squealed at noises, telling ghost stories and legends of people encountering spirits in the mountains. Suddenly there was a strange light outside of the tent, the girls screamed, and the camera went dark.
Con snorted. ‘Notice how Cierra wasn’t in the shot when the light hit the side of the tent?’
‘Shhhh,’ said Gabriella.
Now the video moved to Madison and Cierra, lying in sleeping bags. Daylight streamed in through the open tent flap.
‘Guys, we saw something up here last night,’ said Madison, face pale, cheeks drawn. Her make-up was smudged. ‘We think that the spirits actually spoke to us – we think we have a way to reach the spirit world . . . but we aren’t allowed to talk about it yet.’
‘Don’t sound so dramatic,’ said Cierra, nudging Madison in the side, her voice shaking. ‘We don’t even know if it was the spirits.’
‘It’s just a coincidence that we both had the same dream?’ said Madison, pushing her back.
‘This is crazy . . .’ said Cierra. Her fear, if feigned, was perfect.
‘We need to think about how to share it, and who to share it with.’ Madison eyed the camera. ‘We better go. See you soon.’
Con paused it just before the end. ‘Look there, there’s something written on the outside of the sleeping bag. In white lipstick.’
‘The word is kundela,’ read Gabriella. ‘What’s that mean?’
A quick Google search returned their answer. ‘In Australian Aboriginal culture, it’s a bone used to curse people,’ said Con.
There was silence.
‘This is the best case we’ve ever had,’ whispered Gabriella.
Con closed the laptop. ‘Enough of that bullshit. Let’s go see her.’
CHAPTER 19
ELIZA
It was five o’clock in the evening. Eliza and Tom sat on the couch, both watching the video on their phones. Sarge was on the other side of Eliza, sandwiching her between the hulking dog and the hulking man, the smell of dog and Tom’s sweat mixed with his David Beckham cologne heavy in her nose.
She kept trying to think about anything other than her memories.
How close was I to . . .?
The video they were watching had been posted by a public Facebook page called ‘Justice for the Limestone Four’. It had been shared by thousands.
The video was a splice of the Facebook Live video of Kevin Mason confronting Murphy outside his house, including Murphy’s damning confession – ‘We don’t sell weed to minors’ – followed by new footage of Murphy leaving the police station, punching a journalist, and being set upon by a mob. The end of the video displayed Murphy’s home address and a photo of his house.