Fallow Heart

by K. C. Finn

  “And you don’t trust the D.C. to tell you?” Allardyce asked.

  His arms were tightly folded, broad shoulders blocking the doorway. When Lori gave no answer, he raised his dark brows.

  “I..” she tried. Her gaze fell. “I’m sorry.”

  She wasn’t, but it seemed like the right thing to say to get out of the situation as quickly as possible. She watched Allardyce’s polished shoes shuffle.

  “Come on,” he said, quieter than before. “I’ll escort you back upstairs.”

  It was all too easy. When they ascended into the paler corridors of the treatment centre, Lori asked a burning question.

  “Is there a punishment?”

  Allardyce’s face had shifted back to its usual casual expression, but that might only have been down to the change in the lighting.

  “This isn’t school, Miss Blake,” he replied, “though I daresay that if anyone but me had caught you down there, the D.C. would be refusing you any further treatment.”

  Was that such a bad thing? Lori thought of the boys in the basement, her spine slick with sweat. When they arrived back at Girls’ Group H, Allardyce paused with his palm over the door.

  “I won’t mention what you were up to, Miss Blake, so long as you keep quiet about anything you might have seen down there.”

  His dark lip twitched. There was a surge in Lori’s chest, but it wasn’t from the embarrassment of being caught. There was even a smile coming on, teasing at the corners of her lips.

  “Yes,” she began slowly, “It’d be awful if the girls knew what was waiting for them in Group A. I know I’m freaked.”

  Allardyce’s lips parted, then closed again. He raised a hand, grazing it over his short dark hair, until it clung to the back of his neck. The warm smile fell back into place.

  “I think we understand each other,” he said quietly. “If you have any further questions, I believe I’m obliged to answer them now.”

  The door opened with a click, and Doctor Lyons stepped out into the space between Lori and Allardyce. She clasped her hands together.

  “There you are! I wondered where you’d got to.”

  “Yeah,” Owe called, “we thought you’d fallen in.”

  Lori heard Michaela giggle. When she glanced back to Allardyce he’d already turned his body to Lyons, his smile growing toothier.

  “I found Miss Blake lost in the hall down by the vending machines,” he said. “You really must give better directions, Audrey.”

  “The vending machines?” Lyons cast Lori a look. “Yes, I’m sure that’s my misdirecting to blame there…”

  Lori wasn’t listening. She watched Allardyce’s charming, unwavering expression. He was an excellent liar, not a flicker of doubt. It was like a giant spotlight was beaming down and focusing in on her, and if she opened her mouth, the truth might fall out. Lyons ghosted a hand on Lori’s shoulder, not touching her, but guiding her back into the room. She kept one eye on the corridor, watching Allardyce’s dark, retreating form until the door eked shut. Three sets of eyes were on her as she turned to face the room. Lori looked around.

  Only three.

  “Where’s Niamh?” Lori took her seat. “Is she okay?”

  Doctor Lyons cleared her throat. “Niamh’s treatment requires a different team from this point on. I was telling Owe, actually. Your friend’s been upgraded to Group G.”

  The pit of Lori’s stomach dropped away, opening that endless chasm again. Upgraded. Moving, step by step, until what was left of Niamh got wrapped up in white sheets in the basement. And that was if the Harvest didn’t claim her first.

  Victims, and their suffering

  Two days of searching, and Lori had nothing on Gabriella Ruiz. There were tons of them on Facebook and Instagram, including a few who lived in Barcelona, but none of that had brought Lori any closer to connecting the D.C.’s Ruiz to the murderous Matiás. She was sitting in the back of the Clio, searching Twitter and fending off thousands of Ruizes from around the world. The car veered sharply, jolting her phone into the rear passenger door.

  “Jesus, Dad.” Her mother gasped. “You don’t have to drive like Vettel. The car park’s plenty big enough. You’ll get a space.”

  “Visiting opens at eleven,” Granddad replied. In a slightly louder voice, he added: “And I hope you’re going to put that evil device away when we get into the ward, young mademoiselle?”

  Lori glanced up. Granddad’s cool eyes were flickering between the road and the rear-view mirror. It was impressive how well he could hold that stern look when he was supposed to be driving. Lori shoved her phone into her bag.

  “Sure, whatever.” She offered him a smile.

  The mobile internet was cutting out anyway, the closer they got to the hospital. Huw was still unconscious but he was no longer critical, and he’d been moved to a less intensive ward which allowed more than just Granddad to visit him. They arrived in the most crowded car park in Chester on a rainy Thursday morning, and Lori and her mother raced to the awning to get out of the downpour. Lori watched her grandfather soaking up the rain as he slowly joined them. He looked even thinner than usual in his long silver anorak, like a damp umbrella sticking to its skinny frame.

  “I didn’t realise how much Huw looked after him until now,” Mum said.

  She leaned in close, and Lori got a nose-full of her breath. Sour and sweet, a little smoky too. Was that whiskey at this time of the morning? She took a small sideways step, turning her head to look at Granddad again.

  “Let’s hope he gets better soon,” Lori said.

  Her mother smiled. Though her eyes were bleary, there was a sparkle in them.

  “You look a lot better yourself, love.” Mum reached out for Lori’s face. She steeled herself not to flinch at her mother’s icy touch. “I know you’ve been shut away in your room a lot, but a good rest seems to be helping, doesn’t it?”

  Mum smiled again, and Lori shuffled her weight a little.

  “Sure. I feel all right.”

  How much longer could she sustain this? It wasn’t just the lies that were bothering her, but the total lack of freedom. Kasabian had messaged her twice since the funeral to try and meet up, and both times Mum had scuppered her from leaving the van. She was at home every day now, taking all of her paid holiday from work at once, all to ensure that Lori got ‘a good rest’. Worse than that, Mum was using her time to get back into her worst habits. When Granddad did arrive under the awning, Mum took his arm. Lori had to wonder if she was the one supporting him, or the other way around.

  “Perhaps he’ll be awake today, Dad.” They began to walk, both of them on shaking legs. Lori followed behind them.

  “I hope so,” Granddad replied. “Lazy article’s been out of it for five days.”

  His usual griping tone was broken. It sounded like a weak echo as it hit Lori’s ear, and she had the squirm in her gut once more. Things were not improved by being in another ward full of beeping machines, IV cables and white bedsheets. Everywhere she glanced, Lori was afraid that she was about to catch sight of some scaly beast-boy taking his last rattling breaths. So when she saw Huw, lying peacefully with a faint smile on his lips, it was almost a relief. He was up to his neck in bedsheets, one bandage cutting diagonally across his head, and one more visible on the right-hand side of his neck. Granddad pointed at it.

  “This is the one they were worried about.” He looked at Lori’s mother. “It was so close to the major artery, and fairly deep. He’s got eighteen stitches in that one.”

  Yvonne folded her lean arms. “Disgusting. What sort of maniac would do this to a sweet old man?”

  There was a moment’s pause. Huw wheezed quietly.

  “Lori.” Granddad turned his head.

  “What?”

  Lori tried to speak again but her mouth had run dry. She studied her grandfather’s face, realising that he hadn’t said her name in accusation. He drew close to her, brows knitted, thin hands reaching out, but sinking away again.

&nb
sp; “I wanted you to visit Huw, my love, but take care not to touch him,” he said. “The cuts are fragile while they’re healing and, well, without knowing precisely what this infection of yours is…”

  His words were like a dart to the chest. Memories of the last fortnight jabbed at her with their barbs. Kasabian saying that she wasn’t human anymore. Owe’s musings on which part of Hell she came from. That awful thing in the cage that Allardyce had brought to her bedroom when all of this began. Lori only nodded and sat down at Huw’s bedside, leaning back in the small plastic chair to keep her distance. She watched Granddad’s bony hand as he stroked the layer of silver fuzz growing around Huw’s domed head. Her body threatened to well up, but Lori breathed it all out, forcing the sobs away. If she had done this to poor Huw, the least she could do was not make things worse.

  When Granddad and Mum left to fetch coffee and sandwiches, Lori got her phone out again. There was nothing else to do but watch the unconscious man before her, and the hospital had free Wi-Fi with a decent signal. She pulled up the browser and resumed her search for the mysterious Gabriella Ruiz. Some of the Twitter girls had shortened and misspelled their names for their display. Gabz. Gabri. Bree. Gabby. Gabii. It gave Lori a new idea. She started to try and few different combinations of nicknames in the search bar in case it pulled up new people she hadn’t seen before.

  As she typed, Lori saw the little damp marks where her fingertips had touched the phone. She ran her hand down her leggings, then buffed the screen against it too. Hot again. If she had thirteen months to go, how much worse was the heat going to get? A vision struck her: a scene of herself lying in one of those hospital beds, the sheets sopping with sweat. She’d be packed in ice, but it would have no effect. Face burning. Lips too dry to speak. Dying in the heat.

  She had mistyped her search. Lori scowled at the screen, pushing the horrid vision out of her mind. She tried to make the loading page go back, but the search for MATIÁS RUIZ GELLA was already underway. Titles and links popped up and Lori gave them a glance, her thumb hovering over the back button. Two were in Spanish: one from the same news website that she’d found the original story on. Lori clicked through, accepting the automatic translation that her phone offered.

  Ruiz seeks appeal after daughter’s brutal murder.

  Lori pursed her dry lips, bringing the screen closer. There was a photograph of Matiás, clearly taken long before his time in prison, where he had his arms wrapped around a dark-haired woman. Standing in front of them was a teenage girl with wide, dark eyes and a bright smile. The caption read: Convicted murderer Matias Ruiz, pictured here with his last victim, his wife Aleida, and their daughter ‘Gella’.

  Lori read on through the story, different lines catching her eyes. Her chest hummed. It seemed to buzz so loudly that she could hardly concentrate to read.

  Two months after Mr Ruiz’s incarceration, his daughter Gabriella – known affectionately as ‘Gella’ – was murdered in a similarly brutal fashion to Mr Ruiz’s other alleged victims. Solicitors for the convicted have filed an appeal against his sentence in light of this new evidence.

  Lori scrolled on.

  At only sixteen, the teenager was discovered with her chest torn open and heart removed. Blood had been drained from-

  She scrolled on again, one hand soothing her throat.

  An exploration of Miss Ruiz’s social media profiles indicates that she was asking for advice on how to prevent sleepwalking. The Council for Appeal heard-

  She’d read enough. This had to be the girl from the D.C.’s files, and she was Matiás’s daughter. The sleepwalking, the string of murders of close friends and relatives: it all made too much sense. There was a second photograph in the lower part of the article, taken from Gella’s Facebook page. Here she was posing in a summer top, a dramatic sort of pout upon her olive lips. The top was low and flouncy, leading Lori’s gaze to the girl’s chest. She had a scar above her heart, in the shape of a half-moon. At the sight of the demon’s mark, Lori had no room left for doubt.

  Lori clutched the phone hard. Gella had killed her own mother, and let her father go to prison for it. And the demon who’d infected her had returned to claim her for Harvest. Where was the D.C. in all of this? Lori needed to see that file again, to find any clue that would help her to break the pattern before anyone else died. Mr Allardyce had a lot of questions coming his way.

  “Water,” a voice suddenly whispered. “God… My… Water, please…”

  It was Huw. When his eyes had flickered open, Lori couldn’t say, but the old man was giving her a narrow, sideways look. Huw tried to raise a hand, but he was tucked in tight beneath his bedsheets. Lori leaped up, reaching for the plastic water jug and the cup on his bedside table. She poured him half a glass, bringing the rim to his lips. It over-spilled after only a sip, running down and soaking into the bandage on his neck. Huw gave a little wail.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry,” Lori said, “Here, let me…”

  She patted him dry with a paper napkin, letting his arms out from under the tight sheets. Huw gave a sigh, his eyes closed. His brow was contorted, wet lips sucking back a hiss as he shifted a little in the bed. Lori watched him take a few deep breaths, wondering if he might drift off into sleep again. But Huw snorted, wriggling once more. He didn’t seem to be able to sit up, and Lori thought it was best not to try and lift him. Neither of them needed her to break his arm by accident.

  “Tim…” Huw whispered.

  “He’s here,” Lori said. “He’s gone for some lunch with Mum.”

  Huw’s eyes flickered open again, this time a little wider. He turned his bandaged head, one hand on his chest. Lori watched it heave slowly, up and down. He drew another deep breath in.

  “Lori, my beaut. You’re all right.”

  “’Course I am.” Her cheeks were warm, a genuine smile glowing there. It had been so long since she’d felt one. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Huw’s expression dropped away. His eyes grew wider still, whites visible nearly all the way around. For a moment he gripped his bedsheets, glancing everywhere. Lori patted his knee through the sheets. Huw started, head snapping back to face her.

  “You’re in hospital,” she soothed. “No danger here.” She bit her lip a moment. “Can you… remember what it was that attacked you?”

  Huw nodded slowly.

  “You…” He coughed hard.

  Lori’s body froze. She offered Huw some more water and he spluttered through the gulps. He waved his hand for her to stop with the cup, then swallowed hard and rubbed the bandage on his neck.

  “You were on the doorstep in the dark,” he continued hoarsely. “So I was going to put you back in the car and take you to your mam’s.”

  “I was sleepwalking again?” Lori asked.

  Huw nodded. “Then this… thing. It came out of nowhere, knocked me to the ground.” Huw looked up at the ceiling, his gaze far away. “I couldn’t see you no more, thought you must have run away. It was slashing at me. Teeth and claws and the smell… Uh…”

  “Like rotting meat,” Lori cut in, “like bad eggs and rusty metal. And death.”

  Huw lay in silence, eyes wide and mouth open. The hot sting of tears ringed Lori’s eyes, but she pushed them away with her sleeve. She had been there one minute, gone the next, according to Huw. Replaced by the beast that she feared.

  “I’ve never seen an animal like that before.” Huw’s voice was gaining strength. “Cut me to ribbons, it did.”

  Lori leaned forward. “How did you get away? How did you make it stop attacking you?”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed a moment. He shook his head, then winced suddenly. Lori watched one hand rise to stroke the thick bandage on his head. Huw examined the IV in the back of his right hand for a moment. He lowered his arms.

  “I didn’t. I couldn’t fight it. Bloody thing was too heavy. I know I was bleeding, losing consciousness. Everything was going dark slowly. But… there was a woman.”

  “A woman?”
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  Huw raised a finger and thumb, rubbing them together. He skewed his face for a long moment.

  “Dust,” he said. “This red dust on her shoes. She was standing right by my head. Little woman in a business suit. Blonde hair.”

  Memories charged into Lori’s head, of brick dust on trouser legs and a perfect bob of golden hair. Matilda Vane.

  “Do you know how she stopped the demon, Huw?” Lori asked.

  “Demon?” Huw’s voice was louder still.

  Lori’s face drained of blood. She opened her mouth, no idea what to say to cover up what she’d let slip. There was a sudden cry, a deep noise caught in someone’s throat. A figure rushed to the bedside.

  “Oh love, you’re awake!” Granddad cried. “Praise God, praise God…”

  He took Huw’s face in his hands, kissing his cheeks and his lips. The couple beamed, whispering and mumbling all sorts of things. Lori felt a shaky hand on her shoulder. It gave her a squeeze.

  “Let’s give them some time, eh love?” her mother said.

  Granddad had begun to adjust Huw in his bed, organising the pillows and talking about how they would arrange things once they got home again. But as Lori got to her feet, Huw’s eyes were still fixed on her. She could almost read the questions on his lips, see the lines of confusion ever-deepening in his brow. The ‘d’ word. The D.C. didn’t use it, and with good reason. Lori turned to follow her mother out of the ward, but the old man’s eyes were burning into her back.

  Matilda Vane held the answers to what had happened on the night of Huw’s attack, and the truth about Gella Ruiz. Lori wanted answers and she was going to them. But finding Matilda was going to be a problem.

  People, and how much you can trust them

  When does the sleepwalking end?

  Lori’s fingers slid across the phone screen. She sat in a vest and some thin cotton trousers, cross-legged at the end of her bed. The slim rectangular window was open as far as she could push it, thin slivers of cool night air seeping in. The room was dark except for the phone’s backlight. Lori studied it with wide eyes, waiting.