The Half-Truth (Drowning Book 2)

by Claire Svendsen

  "Mark is dead," she says slowly. "We came here to get help finding Noah. Remember?"

  Noah. The name sounds familiar but I can't picture his face. It's as much a blur in my memory as Norma's is in front of me right now.

  "Who's Noah?" I ask.

  "You see?" she says. "You're losing your mind. Noah. Your boyfriend. The guy you live with. The guy who saved you the last time."

  "He saved me?" I rub my eyes and try to remember.

  "Yes. He saved your life and this is how you want to repay him? By holing up in some drug den instead of getting out there and finding him?"

  But the memories are quicksand. There once was an art school. Water. A fire. But I can't connect the dots. I can't remember any of it.

  "I don't know," I say.

  "Remember Julia? The baby?"

  "What baby?"

  "Your baby," she puts her hand on my almost flat stomach. "The baby that's in there. That's probably been all fucked up by the drugs that crazy old quack has been giving you."

  She sits down on the bed next to me and takes my hand.

  "I know you're scared. I know you don't know if you want this baby or not. I know you probably don't know if you want Noah or not either but I promised you that I'd help you through this and that's what I'm going to do. I'm not going to leave you here alone."

  "I'm fine," I say, dropping her hand. "I want to stay."

  She stands and crosses her arms. "Well you can't."

  "What are you going to do, drag me from the room?"

  "If I have to."

  And that’s exactly what she does. After several attempts to force me to stand on rubbery legs that fail, she picks me up and tosses me over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  "Hey," I mumble. "What are you doing? Put me down."

  "Put you down? Fat chance. I told you, we're getting out of here."

  It's so dark, I have no idea how Norma can see where she is going. Having left the candle behind, probably because she's afraid of setting fire to my hair or something, the only light she has to rely on is the moonlight. And that is spotty at best. It only seeps in through the cracks and holes in the walls and ceiling and despite the tumbledown appearance of the place, there just aren't enough of them. But that doesn't deter Norma. She resolutely puts one foot in front of the other, only pausing at the top of the stairs.

  "You're going to kill us both," I say. "One slip and we'll break our necks."

  She doesn't say anything but she has to know I'm right. Attempting the steep, stone stairs in the dark is suicide. Let alone when you're carrying someone. I know I'm not exactly heavy but with the drugs on board I know I'm a dead weight.

  Moonlight dances across the banister. I reach out my hand to touch it. Find that it is fluid and real. It snakes around my wrist like a slippery cloud, cold and bright. I start to laugh.

  "Shut up," Norma whispers. "You'll wake Samuel."

  I think about screaming for him. Shouting so that he'll come running and stop Norma from taking me away but I don't have the energy. The silver moonlight slithers up my arm. It twists back and forth, a cold strand of magic. But as it wraps around my neck and starts to tighten, I suddenly wish I had screamed after all. Instead I choke and gag.

  "What's the matter?" Norma whispers. "Stop it."

  Stop it? How can I stop choking when something is strangling me? I struggle away from Norma, thrashing so much that she finally drops me. I clutch at my throat, the sliver light tight like a noose. I can't slip my fingers beneath it, I can't pull it off and now I can't breathe.

  "What's wrong?" Norma shouts. "What's happening to you?"

  But I can only mouth wordlessly as the life is choked out of me.

  20.

  "What's happening to you? What should I do?" Norma shouts at me.

  I can't speak and even if I could, I don't have an answer. This beautiful piece of moonlight is going to kill me and there doesn't seem to be anything I can do to stop it. I fall back on the dirty, stone floor. Lay my cheek against the rough, cool surface and start to cry. For the first time since I found out I was pregnant the tears actually come.

  Norma is crouched down beside me, her hand on my shoulder but I turn away. My breath is shallow. Lungs burn with fire. There isn't enough air to keep me alive.

  "I'll go get help," Norma says.

  But I know it doesn't matter now. From the start it always seemed that death would come for me. I've been running from it my whole life. Sometimes I've run beside it and a few times even towards it. I guess I don't know what I want anymore, except for the drugs. I want those more than anything. I want to stay here in this old abandoned monastery with Samuel and let him drive the demon from my body. I want to forget my life once and for all. What's wrong with that?

  But there are footsteps, shouting. It's Norma and Samuel.

  "Oh no," he says.

  He crouches down next to me, his old bones cracking as he does. He feels my forehead, lifts one of my drooping eyelids. I see his face, concerned and yet focused. I think maybe he knows what to do. He opens his bag and fills a syringe. Injects me with the drugs I now crave more than anything else. Then he waits.

  At first nothing happens, only the sweet taste of relief. Then the noose starts to loosen. The moonlight releases its grip on me and lies like a scarf around my neck instead. Then, slowly, it winds its way down my arm. Across the floor like a wisp of smoke, then up the railing until it's squeezing out through a crack in the wall. It's gone.

  Breath is like a miraculous gift I've been given. I gulp it in like a parched man who’s been stranded in the desert for days. Together Samuel and Norma carry me back to my room. They lay me on the bed and then I feel Samuel check my wound.

  "It looks good," he says. "She should feel better in a day or two."

  "Thank God," Norma says, her voice shaking a little. "But what's wrong with her?"

  Samuel doesn't answer. He sits on the bed beside me, his hand protectively on mine.

  "What were you doing anyway?" he asks.

  "She was hungry," Norma says. "She wanted food from the kitchen. I tried to stop her but she wouldn't listen. Then she started choking. I couldn't help her."

  "I see," he says.

  Norma's lies don't sound anything like the truth. There is no way Samuel will buy it.

  "She needs to stay here until she is well," he says softly. "You have to understand that I don't want to hurt her. All I want is to help."

  "I don't see how keeping Ana drugged up to her eyeballs is helping," Norma says. "And what was that anyway? Withdrawals? Psychosis? You know she's had a hard life and a really shitty summer. She doesn't need this. She needs a hospital."

  "And what do you think they'll do to her in a hospital?" Samuel says calmly.

  "Treat her wound. Make her better," Norma says.

  "Yes," Samuel says. "But what about when things like this happen? When she has trouble breathing for no reason or she starts talking about the fact that her dead lover is alive?"

  Norma doesn't answer. Her foot scrapes against the floor, and she sighs.

  "What about when she starts telling the doctors that her unborn baby is a killer? That the fetus is controlling her boyfriend and making him do horrible things? What do you think will happen then?"

  "They'll lock her up," Norma mumbles. "But you don't understand. You weren't there when the ghost of her sister burned our art college to the ground."

  "Now who sounds like the crazy one?" Samuel says.

  "Jesus," Norma sounds surprised. "You're right. I do. I sound like a fucking nut job."

  She sits on the bed next to Samuel and me. I see them and hear them but I'm not really here. I'm floating around the room instead. I want to fly up through the hole in the roof and explore the stars. To ask the moon why it wanted to kill me. But I also want to listen to Samuel and Norma too.

  "Is craziness infectious?" Norma asks.

  "In a way," Samuel replies. "Mass hysteria happens. It's real when people panic and
feed into each other’s delusions."

  "Is that what's happening here? Ana is feeding us her delusions?"

  "What do you think? Do you think she ever really had a twin sister?"

  "I don't know."

  "Well, have you ever seen any proof?"

  "No. But just because I haven't seen proof of something, doesn't mean it's not real."

  "That is true,” Samuel laughs. "You're a smart girl."

  "I don't feel very smart. I don't even feel like I should be here talking to you about all this. I still think the best place for Ana is in a real hospital."

  "Strapped down to the bed and pumped full of drugs?"

  "Well, that's not much different than here then is it?" Norma stands up.

  "This is only a short term solution. The poison aggravated her condition. If I hadn't kept her sedated, who knows what she might have done."

  "You mean kill herself?"

  Samuel pauses. "Or us."

  "Don’t be ridiculous. Ana wouldn't hurt a fly."

  "You really think that? Because if she never had a sister and that wasn't a wayward spirit wreaking havoc on your school, then just who do you think killed those other kids? Who do you think killed her lover?"

  21.

  What Samuel is saying can't be true. Of course I had a sister. A twin. We did everything together, until she tried to kill our family. But even inside my drugged up mind, that sounds fucking crazy as bat shit. I must be crazy. A stupid crazy girl who is a killer. I try to get away from them, the two people who now think I have to stay drugged so that they will be safe but I can't move. The drugs I've been craving now so much worse than the poison in my veins. The snake knew I needed to be put down like a rabid dog. Why doesn't Samuel just give me a fatal dose and put me out of my misery? Or let me go? Right now there is nothing I can do. But I'll refuse those drugs the next time. I won't let him keep me sedated and stupid forever.

  They get up and leave me here in the dark with only the sky for comfort. I sleep but it's restless. Tossing and turning as the sky grows light and the sun finally comes up. Someone brings water and bread. I drink and eat in moments of consciousness but they don't last. I can't hold onto the real world anymore. I start to wonder if Samuel is injecting me while I sleep. Try and count the track marks in my more lucid moments. I can't tell for sure. Sometimes I call out for Norma or Samuel. For anyone. But no one comes.

  I try and stand but my legs won't co-operate. I'm trapped on this bed. In this room. At the mercy of those who think they know what's best for me. Who think they know who I am and what I've done. They don't know anything.

  My dreams are nightmares so real I think I'm dying. The snake people won't leave me alone and every time Mark betrays me, I wake up crying. The tears now present more often than not. I wonder if I'm going mad. If I really am just a crazy person.

  The room is hot. Stifling. Sweat drips down my back and my pillow is soaked. I beg for whatever God is up there to end my suffering. To take me now and send me straight to hell but he doesn't.

  Then the rain comes. First thunder in the distance, then cracks of whip sharp lightening that light up the dark sky. The breeze is a welcome respite, cooling my hot skin as it blows through the crumbling walls. The rain pours in through the roof, a wall of water. It puts out the fire that's been burning within me since that snake took his first bite. I let it wash over me. Wash my sins away. Make me whole. And I fall into the most delicious sleep under that waterfall of rain. Sleep where there are no snake people and there is no Mark. Only darkness. And then light.

  22.

  I wake and for the first time I don't feel drugged. Or crazy. For the first time I actually feel normal. I stretch my leg. It doesn't hurt. Almost afraid of what I might find, I peel back the bandage. But instead of an oozing, pus filled wound, I find pink healthy skin. Reach out to touch it tentatively but it doesn't hurt. I can't believe it. Samuel came through in the end. My snake bite has healed. But how long has it taken?

  Standing on legs that begrudgingly support my weight, I step to the window. The sun is starting to sink low on the horizon, splashing crimson across the overgrown garden. I peer down, leaning out over the edge and see the little courtyard Norma told me about. The fountain trickling merrily away. I half expect to see them both there, eating their bread and laughing at the birds that dart in and out of the stream of water. But they’re not down there. I have to find them and apologize for my behavior. I wasn’t myself. It wasn’t my fault.

  But the half remembered dream of my delirium comes crashing back to me. Did they really think I was a killer? It couldn't be true. I must have been hallucinating. There is no way they would ever really say those horrible things about me.

  Opening the door I dash along the corridor and down the stairs. Something pulls at my mind. Silver light that tried to kill me. That had to have been a dream too. Even to me it sounds crazy.

  "Norma," I call out. "Samuel? Where are you guys?"

  The place is eerily quiet. I listen for their answer but only a bird replies. They're probably out milking the stupid cow or something. The kitchen is empty. So is the dining room. I stand there not knowing where to look next. But I'm hungry. My stomach grumbling as though I haven't eaten for days. Back in the kitchen I take fresh milk from the refrigerator and find eggs and cheese. There is a pan on the stove. I break the eggs and pour in some milk, crumbling cheese so it melts as the omelet starts to cook. The smell is fantastic. I'm literally starving.

  There is a jug of the blue liquid that Samuel is so keen on having me drink but I leave it in favor of the milk. Now that I'm lucid, I don't need his drugs or holistic concoctions. There has to be another way to force the demon spirit out that doesn’t almost kill me.

  The omelet has to be the most fantastic thing I’ve ever eaten. Then again everyone probably says that when they haven't eaten for days. But it's so good that I make another one, then feel guilty for stuffing my face without the others. I make two and leave them on the stove to keep warm. Norma and Samuel will be so happy that I've cooked for them but it's the least I can do after all the trouble I put them through. God knows they could have just given up on me but they didn't. If only I knew where they were.

  I wander through the monastery, exploring. There are so many rooms. Nooks and cranny's full of old books and artifacts. In one room there is a small cot, the blanket spilling over the side in a muddled mess. I step inside, sure that this must be Samuel's room. There is an old wooden cross nailed to the wall above the bed and a little table with a bible. I run my fingers over it lightly, leaving a trail in the layer of dust. He hasn't read this in a while. There is a plate on the floor by the bed with bread but it's covered with mold. Fuzzy blue green that sends a cloud of spores into the air when I nudge it with my toe.

  There is a railing with a few clothes hanging. Some black robes and a couple of pairs of pants. But the fabric has rotted away. There are moth holes and damp patches eating through the cloth. Perhaps this isn't Samuel's room after all. This one must have belonged to another priest. One who left this old abandoned place a long time ago?

  But there is something that makes me reach out and open the bible. A need to believe that what I'm seeing can't be true. I turn the fragile pages gently, afraid the paper will crumble beneath my hands. There are marks on the pages. Passages underlined and circled. I flip back to the front and find Samuel's name, embossed on the leather in a scroll of gold. I drop it, heart pounding. It can't be true. Why is all Samuel's stuff decaying? If he's been here all this time why does everything look like someone left this stuff ages ago?

  I can't catch my breath and start to panic.

  "Samuel?" I shout. "Norma? This isn't funny you guys."

  Then I see it. The mirror on the wall, partially covered by a sheet. But the breeze coming in through the open window lifts it slightly and beneath there is movement.

  23.

  I want to go over and move the sheet to prove to myself that I'm wrong. But more than anythin
g, I'm afraid that I'm not wrong at all. That behind the sheet is something I really don't want to see. I'm frozen. Unable to move. This must be what complete fear feels like. The inability to make a choice one way or another. Go to that mirror and face what I see or run away and imagine the worst. After all, what if it was just a trick of the light? What if I didn't really see anything move underneath there? Maybe it was just a large spider scuttling across the glass or a rat running along the hallway behind me. But I have to check. I have to be sure. I can do this.

  One step. Two steps. Trembling but making myself do this. Three steps. Four steps.

  Then commotion. A bird launching itself from the rafters with a flurry of feathers and squawking. I shriek and cover my face with my hands. Like hiding behind them will save me. I should know better than that but it is instinct. A primeval reaction. I look up to the ceiling, the bird circling above me. Frantic. Calling out. I beg it to go away. Fly out the window and disappear. Leave me to do this on my own. But it doesn't. Instead it swoops down and flutters around my head, its claws sharp and beak open like it wants to peck my eyes out. I run from the room screaming.

  Standing out in the corridor, I feel pretty stupid. Even though my heart is banging in my chest and I can hardly breathe, I realize that I just got the shit scared out of me by a bird. That movement behind the sheet in the mirror? That was just the breeze rustling through this old building. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  I leave the room behind me, now convinced that though Samuel might have used it at some point, there must be another room that he moved to instead. One with a bible that isn't covered in dust and clothes that aren't falling apart with decay. Perhaps the ceiling leaked in that room. Maybe he just grew tired of the view. I'll find another room with him inside napping on the bed. But I don't go to look. Instead I go back to the kitchen. The omelets I made earlier now cold and limp. I'm hungry so I eat them anyway. Screw Samuel and screw Norma. Why have they left me alone here?