No Shelter from Darkness (15 page)

The initial thrill subsided and slowly Beth remembered where she was. She opened her eyes and looked to her side, at her father. A new rush, one of guilt, washed through her. But her father gave no indication of anger or disappointment. “How do you feel?” he asked quietly.

“Better.” She moved her head from side to side and stretched her arms out in front. “A bit.”

“I imagine it'll take a little time before you're feeling good as new. A couple of hours perhaps.” He took the jug from Beth's lap and wiped the side with a tissue where a drop of blood had begun to run down. He was so purposeful in his actions. He looked at Beth and mimed wiping the corner of his mouth with his finger. Beth copied him, feeling something wet and tacky at the corner of her mouth. With her finger she wiped it away and looked at the red blood smeared on her fingertip. Anything good she had been feeling was overcome by disgust.

“What's happening to me?” she asked.

“I'm afraid that's rather complicated, and we don't have time for it right now.”

Beth glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning.

“I'm not supposed to be here,” her father continued. “I was flown in yesterday and taken to the infirmary up the road.”

“You're wounded?” asked Beth with concern she couldn't hide.

“Yes, but nothing too serious. It's enough for them to keep me in the hospital for a couple of days though, so I had to sneak out tonight. I've got to get back before the orderlies do their rounds.”

“How did you know about me?”

“Your mother came to see me yesterday when I arrived. She told me all about what's been happening to you.”

“That's not what I mean, Dad.”

“Elizabeth, please. I've got to go.” Her father rocked forward and used the side of Beth's bed to stand up on one foot. His other leg he kept straight and tried to keep weight off it. He retrieved the wooden crutches that leant against the wall and quietly maneuvered to bend and pick up the jug. He was a tall man; athletic with dark hair that made the few strands of gray stand out. He was usually clean-shaven, but now he looked disheveled. His rugged face hinted at unseen horrors and his forehead bore a worry line that was missing from Beth's recollection. It was good to see him though, and Beth felt herself smile at him slightly. It wasn't returned and she felt a little stupid for thinking it might've been. Instead he made his way to the door.

“What do I do?” asked Beth.

Despite the openness of the question, her father seemed to understand perfectly. “I should be released in a few days. It would be best if you stayed home from school until then, and take things easy. You'll probably feel fine now, but it'll raise eyebrows if you start running around all of a sudden.”

“Does Mum know?”

“No. And she can't. No one can.”

Beth hated lying, but something told her she'd have to get used to it. “What do I tell her?”

“A version of the truth.”

Beth jolted her head back in confused surprise.

“You've been given blood transfusions this week,” said her father. “They were on the right track, but either you were so far gone that they weren't giving you enough, or your body requires it orally. Regardless, you had another small transfusion today, so it'll be easy for them to assume it's finally worked. You shouldn't need to say anything. They'll come to the only conclusion there is.” Her father put his hand on the doorknob and turned it.

“What if I need more?”

“You won't. Not until I've got back, anyway.”

“So I will need more, then.”

“Elizabeth, when we have the time I'll try and answer all your questions, but for now you're just going to have to be patient.” He silently opened the door and limped out, closing it behind him without so much as a good-bye.

Would it have killed him to smile? Their relationship had always been strained, unlike the one her father shared with Oliver. She thought perhaps he was as disgusted as she was for drinking the blood, but that didn't make much sense, as it was him who gave it to her. It was all so conflicting and confusing.

She realized then that she'd been awake for the longest time in …
How long have I been asleep?
She didn't even know what day it was. Only that she'd been terribly ill and that after drinking blood she was getting better. And fast. Suddenly her thoughts jumped to the last time she felt like this; to when she woke up in Victoria Park.

In flashes she remembered the blood on her gown and the poor creature that had been ripped apart, right where she'd been laying. She remembered seeing it in the light of day, wondering where all the blood had gone. That was no longer a mystery, and an imaginary recollection of what she'd done played out in her mind.

Beth heaved, but there was nothing in her stomach to come up.

Not even the blood she'd just drunk.

FIFTEEN

OLIVER'S ROOM WAS THE SMALLEST
in the house except for the toilet and the scullery. With barely enough room for the single bed, slim wardrobe and rickety drawers, he was forced to hide the few toys he had in awkward places. Almost everything was under the bed or at the bottom of the wardrobe, including his small but prized collection of metal toy vehicles. It was a collection that Mary knew was top secret; she'd always known the Wades were better off than they appeared. More expected were his simple wooden figurines of various military personnel, well-used crayons and scattered trump cards. The shrapnel he'd found was on proud display on top of the drawers, along with a model Spitfire.

This had surrounded Mary for almost two months. Her own possessions, of which there were so few, were scattered between this room and Beth's. No one except for Mary, it seemed, had realized that it was all about to change yet again.

It was Wednesday. There had been a raid the night before and no one got to bed until after midnight, yet here she was at five-thirty in the morning, wide awake. The day outside was already bright, and it leaked in around the edges of the blackout blinds enough for Mary to make out the straight edges of bedroom furniture.

The last few days had been like a whirlwind. First came the news of Beth's father returning home, injured but very much alive. It had been fantastic news, and at first she shared in the joy of the family. But then horrid thoughts began to whirl around her mind.
Why does Beth's family get to live and stay together while mine dies around me?

Then, on Monday morning, she awoke to the sound of smashing crockery. When she stepped out onto the landing, the bowl that Lynne usually used to give Beth a morning sponge bath was in pieces and water was escaping through the gaps between floorboards. On Beth's bed, her mother hugged her tight. Beth was awake and looking amazingly well, aside from the remnant of a ring around her right eye where her head had hit the desk. She complained about aching limbs and was still too tired to go to school the following day, though she looked as healthy as she'd ever been.

Mary appreciated and enjoyed having her rejuvenated friend back, even if Beth seemed distant and continuously distracted. But when Mary was alone her worries returned, and they always seemed intensified by the claustrophobic qualities of Oliver's room.

Never had she considered this to be her own room. In some respects, the past two months had flown by and yet she had allowed herself to feel integrated. In this short time, she had grown to think of the Wades as family. But while the house had come to feel like a home and the people in it like relatives, neither could ever replace what she'd had. This was second best and she had settled for it, but now even that was about to be taken from her.

Any time now, Mr. Wade would be returning home. The temporary arrangement that had begun to feel permanent was over. Oliver would need his room back, and that left Mary with nowhere to sleep. Already she'd begun to feel like she was in the way. A nuisance. She was an unwanted guest, or at least one that had outstayed her welcome. There was no room for her in the house, and she feared there would be no room left in the family. And no one had spoken a word about it. Through all the good news, a thought hadn't been spared for Mary's situation. She didn't know what was going to happen. She felt like she was floating aimlessly with no anchor, at the mercy of the changing whims of the tide.

*   *   *

Later that day, Mary walked home with Oliver at her side. It was still just the two of them, with Beth choosing to stay home yet again. Mary had almost choked on her toast that morning when Beth, sitting opposite and looking perky, had said she still wasn't feeling well enough to go to school. There was no denying something was on her mind, but for Beth that was usually another reason to attend lessons, not stay home and dwell.

In contrast, school had never been riveting enough for Mary for it to be a suitable distraction. She'd spent much of the day in a bit of a daze, as if she was just waiting for something bad to happen. So when she saw the ambulance parked outside the house, surprise was the last thing she felt.

“Dad!”

As soon as Oliver saw it he knew what it meant and he ran to the front door, barging in. Mary followed at a slower pace, and by the time she got to the front step Oliver was already hugging his father, who balanced himself using a single crutch. His other arm was wrapped around his son's shoulders. He looked up and smiled at her.

“Hello, Mary.” The smile turned down. “I'm so sorry about your mother.”

“Thanks, Mr. Wade.” As if the reminder was needed.

“I hear you've been a great help to my wife and the kids.”

Mary shrugged. “Just earning my keep,” she said.

“Well, I do appreciate it.” Mr. Wade's smile had returned and Oliver ordered for a war story to be told. His father sat down, struggling with his crutches, while Oliver sat on the floor in front of him. Lynne went into the kitchen where she had vegetables out on the table. Mary looked around. Beth was nowhere to be seen, and so she was left standing in the middle of the room, unable to remember feeling so out of place. It felt like when she used to come around years ago and was left waiting for her friend to come down to play.

She walked after Mrs. Wade, going around the kitchen table so she could speak quietly. “Where's Beth?”

“In her room.”

“Why?” asked Mary with surprise.

Lynne shrugged. “I really don't know.” She sounded a little surprised herself. “She seemed so eager to see her father, but then snuck
back upstairs shortly after he arrived. Perhaps it was a little too much for her.”

Mary got herself a glass of water from the scullery and went up the stairs, passing through the deserts of Syria on the way. Oliver looked enthralled. It was impossible not to feel a little more cheerful from his infectious enthusiasm.

Mary knocked on Beth's door and waited, but when there was no reply she opened it anyway and walked in. “You okay?”

Beth nodded as best she could with her head sunk into the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

“That bruise has nearly gone.”

Beth shrugged.

“Why aren't you downstairs, then? Anyone would think you didn't want your dad back.”

Finally, Beth looked at her with remorseful realization. “Oh, Mary, I'm so sorry. I never thought. Of course I'm glad he's back.”

Mary hadn't meant for it to prompt sympathy. “So why are you up here?”

“Um. Nothing, really. I'm sure I'm just being silly.” She sank her head back into the pillow.

“What's going on with you, Beth? You look fit as a fiddle, but you've been so miserable.”

“I'm just a bit … confused. I'm not quite sure what's real. When I was asleep my dreams were so weird, but so vivid.” She looked at Mary again. “I don't know exactly when the dreams stopped and real life resumed.”

SIXTEEN

BETH REMAINED SILENT,
lying on the bed. She wasn't going to say anything more to Mary. It wasn't due to a lack of want, nor because of the secrecy her father had told her to practice. She simply didn't want to be ridiculed. There was an awkward kind of silence for a few seconds before Mary seemed to get the hint. Beth felt guilty and ashamed as her friend got off the bed and went to Oliver's room, but she couldn't—wouldn't—do anything about it. She was alone once more. They both were.

This was the third day that Beth had been completely absorbed in her own mysterious and surreal drama. It was supposed to end today, with her father returning home from the hospital sooner than expected. At first, she thought it might be because of the urgency for him getting back to her. But when he came through the door, it was as if the night he secretly visited had never happened. He'd smiled and hugged her like he hadn't seen her for a year. It was how he should have been that night, instead of the cold, heartless man that he was.

She'd lingered for a short while, trying to catch her father's attention if only for a second. Just to wink or nod the head—anything to confirm that what had happened three nights ago was real and not some lucid extension of her dreams. Instead, it was as if he did his best to avoid her. With a sunken heart and unfavorable thoughts she'd retreated to her room, to a different kind of sadness.

She had spent those three days trying to come up with answers, feeling healthy but taking her father's instruction to feign weakness. And the time she should have been in school learning was instead spent trying to explain the events of
that
night. Now she couldn't
even be sure that her father had told her to stay home in the first place. In the silence of her room, the most prominent of her recent explanations flashed like a bulb in her head. Beth let out an involuntary laugh at the ridiculousness of it. She knew of the horror movie about the count who lived off the blood of people. It was almost ten years old and still played occasionally in picture houses. But while it seemed previously to be an improbable yet considerable idea, it now seemed foolish and silly. She smiled at her own naivety, subconsciously tonguing the loose, stubborn canine in her top gum.