No Shelter from Darkness (16 page)

The call from her mother for her to come down to dinner was a welcome intrusion, and every step down the stairs toward her normal family rooted her more firmly in reality. Laughing about her credulity seemed to help fix those events in a world other than this one. She felt better for attributing everything to hallucinatory waking dreams.

It was the most likely answer.

At dinner, it seemed to be all about Oliver. It was he who asked their father so many questions that by the time Beth, her mother and Mary had all but finished their food, father and son were only halfway through theirs. Her mother didn't seem to mind. She was so happy she appeared to be glowing. Beth didn't mind either, for the focus was off her and her mystery illness. It gave her a chance to take in the happiness of the household. It had been a long time since she could appreciate joy. It was only when she saw Mary staring at her plate and not much else that she realized it wasn't just she who'd been out of sorts. Mary stuck her fork in the last slice of potato and ate it without looking up. With her eyes permanently dipped, she returned the cutlery to the plate and sat back quietly.

Beth could only assume that Bill being here reminded Mary more than ever of the family she'd lost. She wanted to say something, but even if she didn't have a head full of her own problems, this was hardly the time to have that chat; her father was holding Oliver's excited interest with another tale.

Regardless, her mother spoke quietly to her from across the table. “You seem a lot perkier today.”

Beth looked at her and smiled. “I feel a lot better.”

“Back to school tomorrow, then?”

“Hmm, yeah,” said Beth slowly. The air had changed. Her father had almost stopped in the middle of his story; he continued slowly, but the words had lost their impact. Oliver stirred at the change of pace and Beth felt her father look at her, for while his words were meant for Oliver his burning glare was solely for Beth.

Have I said the wrong thing?
Beth wondered.
Why else would he scowl at me? He doesn't want me to go to school tomorrow.

Beth broke eye contact and stared down through the table. “I mean … maybe. I'm still feeling a little tired.”

“What, fatigued?”

“I'm sure it's not that, but I should perhaps stay home just in case.”

Beth was all too aware that Mary's focus was now on her. Her glare was almost as uncomfortable as Bill's. She could feel the judgment amplify the shame of abusing her mother's trust. Yet her mother seemed the least affected by her statement.

*   *   *

It wasn't long after all the dishes had been washed and put away that Oliver, tired from his unexpectedly busy day, went to bed. He made no fuss aside from a denied request for one more war story, and even then seemed eager to finally return to his own room and his own bed. He had Mary to thank, for the only words she'd spoken all evening were to accept Beth's bedroom floor as her new bed. She went up with Beth's mother to help lay blankets on her floor. But while Lynne soon came back down, Mary didn't. It was just Beth with her parents.

Her foster parents.

Her father sat on one armchair listening to the wireless while her mother sat in the other, deep in concentration over her needlework. Beth slumped at the kitchen table, staring into what was such a familiar scene. But it felt false—a copy. A living photograph of how things used to be. The small window of joy she'd felt at the beginning of the meal had long since gone. She sat now with a light yet permanent anxiety.

Her father leaned to one side and pulled out a crumpled packet of cigarettes. Beth's eyes widened as he put the packet to his mouth and then pulled it away, leaving a white stick between his lips. From the other pocket he pulled a box of matches and struck one. Her mother cleared her throat. “Yes, yes,” said her father, blowing the match out before struggling up onto his wooden crutches. He hobbled past Beth and went out through the back door.

It took Beth all of two seconds to decide to follow.

Outside, the air was warm. There was still blue left in the sky, but not enough to light a house. The blackout blinds inside were down and the lights turned on. It was odd coming outside assuming it was the thick of night, only to find the sun still lighting the tips of chimneys.

Beth's attention was soon caught by a cloud of cigarette smoke coming from behind the corner of the house. She walked around and leant against the wall next to her father, but soon moved to the other side to avoid the revolting and overpowering stench. “I didn't know you smoked.”

“Used to. Before Oliver was born. You were probably too young to remember.”

“Why have you started again?”

“Impossible not to in the army.” Her father put the stick between his lips and the end glowed.

“The other night,” Beth began.

Her father shushed her.

“So it did happen then?”

“We'll talk about this tomorrow,” her father whispered. “Your mother's at work, so make sure you stay home.”

Even when speaking under his breath, her father owned every word he spoke. It was an order, though this time it brought with it a heavy significance. It was all she needed as confirmation that she hadn't been dreaming.

Everything was real.

Beth shuddered at the confirmation.

“I-I need to go … to bed,” she said, walking slightly unsteadily around her father and through another cloud. She winced at the smell. Before she got to the back door a siren in the distance started to whir into life, and within seconds another joined in from a few streets away.

Behind her, Beth's father threw his cigarette to the ground and hobbled around the corner. “Get yourself into the shelter,” he said, struggling past.

“But Ollie. And Mum and Mary.”

Her father glared back. “Elizabeth.”

Another order had been given. As he went inside the house, Beth went down the steps into the shelter and lit the lamp, making sure everything was out of the way to receive the rest of the family.

Within a minute or two they were all huddled together on the two lower bunks, hoping the raid would be just as quick as the night before. With Beth's father in the shelter it immediately made the place seem smaller than usual, and Beth didn't fancy the thought of five of them sleeping in such a cramped space.
I take it back
, she immediately thought.
We have more room than most.

After what felt like forever, the sirens stopped and the shelter was quiet. They all waited for the first bomb to drop.

“How are you feeling, Beth?” asked her mother.

Beth glanced at her father, sitting next to his wife on the opposite bunk. His glare told her everything. She winced slightly and stretched her neck for good effect. “I've been better. I'm just really tired. This raid won't help.”

“You really do need to get yourself to school,” her mother said. “I'm sure once you're there it'll do you the world of good.”

“Yeah, I know. I want to go, but the way I'm feeling now I'm not sure I'd take anything in. Another day in bed, and then I'll try going on Friday.”

Beth could see the concern in her mother's eyes. “Maybe I should stay home tomorrow,” Lynne said. “I can ask Dr. Hawkins to make another visit.”

“No!” said Beth, a little too forcefully. “It's really nothing. I am feeling better every day, just not quite good enough to go to school.”

Her mother looked at her with suspicion. “Well, hopefully the results will be back tomorrow. Then we can see what's what.”

Her father was clearly listening intently and Beth saw the unwanted surprise in his eyes. “Results?” he asked.

“Yes. Of Beth's latest blood sample.”

“What blood sample?”

“The one he took on Monday. The day she woke up.”

Bill's surprise changed to anger and worry. He looked straight back at Beth. “You didn't tell me this before.”

Beth was about to answer, but when her mother spoke she realized the discussion was still between her parents. “I must've forgotten what with everything that's happened.”

Bill sat back and looked up at the metal roof for a second or two. He smiled with a complete lack of emotion. “Yes. It would be interesting to see what this is all about.”

“The doctor thinks it might be a new form of anemia,” mused Beth's mother.

“Really? And you say these results will come through tomorrow?” her father asked.

“Possibly. It depends how busy Dr. Hawkins has been. Now that Beth's no longer in critical condition her case won't be at the top of the pile.”

Beth's father crossed his arms and nodded.

A bang echoed in the distance.

*   *   *

Beth opened her eyes to a bright room. It took a few seconds for her brain to work and recap, as if a recording were being played back to her in order to bring her up to speed. She propped herself up on an elbow and found the mattress of blankets beside her bed vacant. Mary had evidently gotten up, opened the blind, readied herself and left the room. Beth had slept through it all. She wasn't surprised; the last thing she remembered was lying in bed staring up into the void of her ceiling. The raid had been short, but while Mary had drifted off to sleep not long after they all went to bed, Beth remained wide awake for what felt like hours. In the relative silence, with Mary's rhythmic breathing her only assurance time hadn't stood still, Beth's thoughts had been loud and frantic. She felt like she was going mad from all the absurd theories racing around her mind.

With the brightness of a new day and a few hours of rest, she felt at least a little calmed. A look at her bedside clock implied her mother had left for work and the house was empty except for her. A piece of a memory—possibly a dream—flashed through her mind.

Outside, beneath her window, someone coughed. It was her father, and no sooner had she heard him when the smell of cigarette smoke made her scrunch her nose. She had to go down at some point, to speak with him and face whatever news he had for her. But while curiosity pushed her to go, caution pulled her to stay. She heard him come back into the house, his steps uneven.

Up and dressed, Beth slowly descended the stairs, feeling like she was heading to the Headmaster. Her father was in the living room, just making himself comfortable in
his
armchair. Now that he was back, no one would dare sit in that seat when he was around. “Morning,” he said.

Beth grimaced, pretending it was a smile.

“Are you going to sit down?”

She looked at the chair and rubbed her neck. Sitting down was like committing to a hearing; standing up she could still run away. The choice held her frozen for a moment before she lowered herself into the chair.

“How are you feeling?” her father asked.

She shrugged. “Okay, I suppose. Confused. Nervous.”

“I meant physically.”

“Good. I think. I'm not tired or anything. Not like I've been saying I am.”

“And you're not feeling hungry or thirsty? What you've been describing as fatigue, that's not coming back at all?”

Why are you asking these questions? Don't you already know what was going on?
“Hmm. I don't feel tired at all. I suppose, now I think about it, I do have a faint ache.”

“Where?”

Beth shrugged. “Everywhere. And my gum's still sore, but that's just because of my loose tooth.”

“Your eyeteeth?”

“It's just the one.”

“The others will come out soon enough,” her father said, again with a knowing tone. “But it's important that you tell me as soon as you feel a hunger or thirst that food or water won't quench. Okay?”

Beth knew he was talking about the craving she'd been feeling before and during both bouts of fatigue. Now, she felt a strong bout of nausea coming on. “Why?”

Her father looked down and breathed in, preparing himself. When he looked back up at Beth, his eyes were cold. “It means you need more blood.”

There it was. That word that Beth had been thinking about in the back of her mind, too frightened to bring it forward. At its mention she felt revulsion, and an odd, very distant sense of yearning. She wasn't feeling the craving that her father had mentioned, but she somehow knew that if she was, that word would have made her taste-buds tingle. That realization made her nausea worse. She sat forward, resting her arms on her knees. “What's wrong with me?”

“What do you think is wrong with you?”

“Dad, please. Just tell me.”

He nodded. “Every culture has a name or word to describe your kind. They change and evolve over time, giving rise to new names. The English-speaking world seems to have settled on a new form of an old word, but ultimately they all mean the same thing, in essence.”

Beth knew it was coming but wouldn't believe it until he spoke the words.

“You are a vampire.”

Beth stared at her father for a long time. The nausea faded until it was completely gone and her breathing was calm and regular for the first time since she'd woken. Her father stared back. Waiting.

Beth burst out laughing. She couldn't help it. Her father sat straight-faced, which only made her laugh harder. She couldn't remember laughing so much in all her life. She was faintly aware of him sitting forward and trying to speak, his form blurred slightly from the tears, but while in hysterics only a few words made it to her ears.

“Elizabeth … not funny … have … about this.”

Beth unsteadily stood up and walked to the front window. She was trying to calm herself down by looking out and concentrating on the road, and then the houses opposite. It was approaching mid-July
and the day was undeniably beautiful. From where she stood there were no obvious signs of war damage on her short street. She started taking deep breaths, but her shoulders still shrugged slightly from internal laughter.

“Elizabeth … it's only a word, but laughing about it won't make your thirst for blood any less real.”

Beth looked back at her father who remained seated. His deadly serious expression hadn't faltered, and just like that her laughter was gone. The remnant of her smile faded. With her back turned on her father once more, she stared down at the pavement right outside. This wasn't a joke. She stood there for a long, silent while until she began to shake her head. “No,” she said under her breath. “No, I don't believe it.”