No Shelter from Darkness (34 page)

Musings on the effect of light deprivation distracted him from what was keeping him wide awake. It had pushed his concern to the back of his mind, but the recognition of that relief brought the problem at hand rushing back to the fore.

It wasn't just about whether Beth would be able to catch anything. He couldn't get out of his mind the image of her sitting on the bunk in need of her vice. It unnerved him, because he'd seen that kind of behavior before.

His covert occupation was no walk in the park, and it took its toll. There weren't many Shadow Ministers, but most of them drank; it was fortunate that the church didn't frown upon such activity.
Once, Bill came across an aging Shadow, a lonely hermit who'd been pushed too far and could only find relief and happiness in clouds of opium. Seeing someone in need of another hit was something Bill never wanted to experience again. But the similarity was glaring.

His trained mind flitted to a different subject. There was so much he was learning that would broaden the Ministry's understanding, allowing them to know their enemy more thoroughly than ever before. But the gathering of that wisdom was oddly far from Bill's priority. It confused him how he seemed to care for Beth even after exhibiting the characteristics of the things he'd sworn to kill. His consideration for her grew. He wanted to hate himself for it. He dreaded the thought of her coming back without having fed, for it would bring him dangerously close to having to do what he had once promised.

Suddenly, and finally, there was a distraction.

“Ow!”

The shouted whisper came from up the street. In his mind, Bill could see the bedside table to his right and the shoes he'd left on the floor. He saw the cane that was propped up against the wall and the single wooden chair that was by the window. He peeled the blankets back and swung his legs around, getting one foot straight into a shoe but having to fumble slightly for the second. Then he stood gingerly and limped silently with his hand out in front until he touched the blind. Pulling the side of it away from the window, he saw in the moonlight a figure with wild hair walking past in the street below, toward Gawber Street.

It could only be Beth.

He turned, saw his cane in the limited light, let go of the blind and groped for it. Bill crept through the house and was halfway across the yard when he looked toward the wall that separated the collection of yards from Gawber Street. On top of it he saw a crouching silhouette before it silently dropped down into the darkness. It unnerved him that her movements were becoming so vampire-like.

He shuffled down the steps and quietly opened the shelter door, no longer fearing the squeak after dowsing the hinges with oil. Lighting the lantern, he'd no sooner sat down than Beth came in. She was filthy. She stopped and looked at him blankly. It looked like she may have been crying, but if she had the tears had long been wiped
away. Her hair was a mess and had trapped leaves and twigs, while her clean coat covered a summer dress that Bill barely recognized through the streaks of mud, moss and God knows what else. He noticed the smeared blood on the fingers of one hand and dared to feel a little optimistic.

“I hope I didn't alarm you,” he said quietly.

Beth shook her head and closed the door. “I saw you.” Her tone was solemn. “And heard you. And smelled you.” She sat down and put one dirty foot on the other knee, looking at the bare sole.

Bill's flitter of hope was quickly evaporating. Something was wrong. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I thought I'd have cuts all over my feet.”

Bill looked around. “Where are your shoes?”

“Back there, somewhere. I couldn't find them.”

“What happened?” he asked, confused by the presence of blood but the lack of enthusiasm.

“I caught a fox.”

Bill didn't know whether to be scared or proud.

“But I couldn't kill it,” she said.

Now he didn't know whether to be proud or concerned. “Where's the blood from?”

Beth glanced at the dried traces of blood that streaked her fingers. “The vole. The fox bit it.”

It sounded like she'd been mixed up in an improbable fight between a rodent and a dog, but it didn't matter. A bit of vole's blood wouldn't fill a fraction of her need. Bill took a deep breath. “Okay. I know this is going to be a hard question, but how much longer do you think you can last?”

“I don't know, Dad. I'm starting to get really tired again. And I've got cramps. I can't go to school.”

“You can't anyway, without shoes. We'll stick to the story of you being sick. I'll have to convince your mother it's not the same as last time, that it's not the anemia. If she comes out, will you be able to put on … a less tired face?”

“Can't you keep her out of here?”

“I'll try, but it's your mother, Elizabeth.”

Beth nodded. ”I'll try.”

“Tomorrow—I mean, later today—I'll try to get hold of Jeff again.”

“What if you don't?”

“I'll have to think of something.”

“Can't you … kill? Something?”

“You mean hunt a fox?” Bill clarified.

“Or something?”

“I'll have to, if I don't get anywhere tomorrow.” He shook his head. “It's just that with my leg as it is, I'm restricted and clumsy. And with this blackout? I don't have your eyes, Elizabeth.”

Beth hung her head.

“But I'll try,” assured her father, wondering if he'd even have the energy after an evening of Home Guard duty.

Then he thought about how it would either be that, or the alternative: carrying out the promise he'd made twelve years earlier.

*   *   *

The next morning Beth was still sleeping when Bill went out to the shelter. She'd fallen asleep on top of the blankets on one of the side bunks, still in the dress she'd hunted in. The nights were getting cooler, yet she seemed peaceful and comfortable in the cool air. He gently shook her shoulder and she peered out through half-closed eyes and groaned with drowsiness.

“The house is empty,” he said. “I managed to keep your mother out by telling her you needed what sleep you could get after being up all night being sick.” He was quite proud of that one. It explained his movements during the night, if anyone had heard them, while keeping Lynne away from Beth. He wasn't quite sure what excuse he'd be able to come up with if she'd walked in and seen Beth looking like she'd been dragged through a forest. “How are you?”

“Okay,” Beth grumbled. But Bill could see the darker skin under her eyes, looking like it was slowly soaking up the pigment from the rest of her face.

“Can I get you anything before I leave?” he asked.

Beth shook her head, groaned, turned over, and as far as Bill could tell went straight back to sleep. He shook her shoulder again. “Not so fast. You need a bath. I'm heating the copper now, so it'll be ready by the time I leave. Say quarter of an hour?” She let out another groan, but it had two syllables.

Bill assumed it was meant as an “okay”.

*   *   *

It was hardly a surprise that Globe Butchers was still without Jeff. There were still some other shops in the area he hadn't yet tried, the ones that required a lot of walking, but his hopes were almost non-existent. None of them knew him, and with the blood being mostly drained at a far-off abattoir, they would only hold quantities needed for delicacies—and that would be reserved for the customers who were
known
. He couldn't not try, though; he had to know he'd done all he could. On the way, he'd stop off at the post office to send yet another telegram to the faux address that would wind its way to the Ministry.

Before all that, though, he had to find his daughter's shoes.

By the time he returned home that afternoon, worn out and with a leg that felt like it was on fire, the only success he'd had was finding Beth's footwear. From the sitting room he looked through the open door into the kitchen and saw the bathtub was still there. Taking a few steps closer, he saw the water inside was filthy, but before attempting anything so exhausting as dragging the cumbersome basin out, he collapsed into an armchair to give himself ten minutes.

His duty that night was a shift with reduced hours that started shortly before Lynne would get home. There was no way his wife wouldn't go into the shelter to check on her daughter, but at least now she was clean. Before leaving, he went out to warn Beth of the theatrics she would have to try and perform, and then all he could do was hope and pray. If Lynne were to follow her nurse's instinct, he hated to think what he'd have to do to Dr. Kenneth Hawkins. As a rule, the Ministry didn't harm humans, but over the years it had become a necessity on the rare occasion when discrediting failed.
What information had managed to slip into the public arena so far had been controlled, creating the ever-evolving myths and lore.

It was a relief, then, to get back shortly after midnight to find that Beth had managed to pull it off. It was all the more surprising considering that she seemed to look worse now than before he left, and the bright shine of her hazel eyes had gone.

“I said I'd try a bit of soup,” she croaked, rocking back and forth on a bunk, sitting on her hands. The half-full bowl still sat on the opposite bunk. Untouched.

After the full day he'd had, Bill was exhausted and the last thing he wanted to do was traipse around a dark park, trying to slay whatever creature would be blind, deaf and dumb enough to come near him. He wondered briefly what he'd do with the creature if luck were on his side. He'd never bled an animal before. Bill wasn't a defeatist by any means, but he
was
a realist, and the chances of getting what Beth needed seemed to be extraordinarily slim.

“How bad is it?” he asked.

“Bad.”

It wasn't the word, but the way she said it, that bothered him. His resolve strengthened; he had to try. Just like the visits he'd made earlier that day with no hope of success, he had to know that he'd done all he could. He nodded his head in determination.

“I'll go and see what I can find.”

Genuinely hoping for the best, Bill went to put a reassuring hand on Beth's shoulder.

Her eyes flashed to his wrist.

All that Bill was aware of was a sudden aggressive movement. Beth's head snapped toward him with her mouth wide open in a furious snarl. It was only Bill's honed reflexes that saved him from having a chunk of his arm torn out. He snatched his wrist away just in time. Beth's teeth snapped thin air.

Instantly, her demeanor changed. She looked like a frightened, lost girl as she jumped backward and shuffled under the upper bunk with her head dipped low. Curling herself up in the dark corner and hugging her knees, she mumbled something over and over again. Bill couldn't make it out, but was in no doubt of her shame, and her fear.

His mind frantically leaped through hoops, and he shuddered to think what would've happened if Beth hadn't been sitting on her hands, keeping them somewhat restrained and restricting her full movement. No matter how much self-control she had, there was little doubt that if she'd drawn blood, it would've been the end of one or both of them.

There was no longer a gray area; there was no ambiguity.

His thirteen-year-old child had become dangerous.

The promise he'd made to his High Minister should now be fulfilled without hesitation. A few years ago Bill would already be on his way to retrieve his hidden tools. The scenario played itself out in his mind and he looked away with closed eyes at the unbearable thought of plunging a knife through his daughter's chest. The mental picture stole his breath.

He knew then that he wouldn't be able to go through with it.

Bill's leg prevented him from crouching beneath the bunk over Beth's head; instead he stepped back and bent down on one leg. His daughter's face was in shadow, but he was well aware that she was looking at him. A shiver ran down his spine at the sight of the luminous green reflection of her pupils. But even then, his new resolve wasn't shaken.

He was going to break his promise, and the thought made him feel sick to his stomach.

THIRTY-FIVE

THE MEMORY OF A DREAM
lingered while Mary's eyes tried to focus on the emptiness before her. As usual, the first thing she realized was that she was in Beth's room and not her own. The clock wasn't ringing, and light wasn't attempting to crawl around the blind, so next Mary questioned what could possibly have woken her from such a still night's peace.

Beth's room was above the scullery and most of the kitchen; when the back door opened Mary heard the dulled click, despite the quietness with which it was done. She sat up, shimmied backward to the window, and lifted the blind. The lantern in the shelter was lit and the door was ajar. It would seem Beth was having another bad night with this mysterious bug. That was if Mr. Wade had been telling the truth. “But why would he lie?” she asked herself under her breath.

There had been no further sign of a bug at school, and no one else in the house was ill. But it was more than that. If Beth needed to be confined to a room, Mary was more than willing to sleep downstairs or even in the sliver of space beside Oliver's bed. Surely a cold shelter was doing her more harm than good.

It occurred to her that after hearing the back door, she'd heard nothing else. There were no feet on the stairs, no creaking of floorboards. Just silence. Curiosity finally got the better of her.

Her genuine worry would be her excuse. She was concerned for Beth, so why wouldn't she go and make sure her friend was okay? Still, even though she was satisfied for being within her rights to go downstairs, she still tested each step before putting her full weight
on it. She clutched the banister rail, but there was a little light escaping through the hall door, so she wasn't in complete darkness. On the way down, she'd heard a cupboard door opening and something ceramic being taken out.

At the bottom of the stairs, Mary gently pushed the door open that led into the sitting room, just enough for her to slip through. The kitchen light was on, but the sitting room remained in darkness save for the dingy rectangle of light on the floor from the open kitchen doorway. Mary sneaked toward it and crouched behind an armchair. From her position she could see through the kitchen and into the scullery. Mr. Wade was standing at the square sink, leaning on his hands either side of it as if he was going to be sick. He was silent and motionless. Mary heard only her heart beating.