Ofelia (The Book of Davoth 1)

by Martyn Stanley

  Ofelia breathed a sigh of relief when she finally heard footsteps followed by the curtain swishing closed. Her eyes snapped open, and she stared at the dark red tube plugged into her elbow. In her mind’s eye, it suddenly looked like a straw. They’d never know. She had to recover her strength. Carefully, she reached over and pulled the tube out, pinching it hard to stem the flow. With a final glance to make sure she wasn’t being observed - she put the tube to her lips and released her pinch. It tasted exquisite. She sucked and sucked, savouring the flavour and swallowing gleefully. Soon she’d drained a third of the bag. Noticing this, and fearing it might raise suspicion - she replaced the tube in her cannula and lay back, closing her eyes and feeling sated. She immediately felt stronger. She could normally go days without feeding, but the car crash had clearly taken it out of her.

  Chapter 3 - A Night in Hospital

  Ofelia slept well considering the eerie lights, the soft beeps of machinery and the distant bustle of medical staff moving around the department. She felt better. Though whenever she remembered Stefan and his fate, her heart sank. She had to push him out of her mind and focus. Silently, she rolled the covers back and swung her legs over the bed. The rubbery floor felt cold against her bare feet. The blood bag attached to her cannula was almost empty now. One by one she began disconnecting the various items of medical equipment she’d been hooked up to. First the oxygen meter on her finger, then the blood-pressure cuff. Finally, she unplugged the tube from the empty blood bag to her cannula and tied the tube in a loose knot to stop it dripping. The cannula was deep in her vein and securely taped in place, making it uncomfortable to bend her arm. For a moment she considered ripping it out and sealing the wound, but she realised she had to find her clothes first. Fleeing the hospital naked, bar for a patient gown - was not an attractive proposition. This was an Accident and Emergency Department though. There were no cupboards or cabinets, or anywhere for storing non-medical items. After padding around the bay, checking everywhere, she stared at the curtain wall opposite. Could she sneak out and find her clothes? Or did she make a break for it and try to leave the hospital as she was, perhaps stealing some clothes at the first opportunity? She crept to the curtain, pulled it aside and peeped out. She could hear footsteps in the distance, but the coast appeared clear. Casting her eyes about the department she looked for a likely place they might have stored her clothes. Nothing obvious stood out to her. There was nothing for it, she’d have to flee as she was. She slipped from behind the curtain and began shuffling along the corridor, past the other bays.

  ‘You alright dear?’

  Ofelia’s head snapped around. An ageing nurse was changing the sheets in a bay to the side of her. ‘Yes.’ she stammered. Before she turned back down the corridor and carried on her slow walk. The nurse didn’t give up. She stopped what she was doing and scuttled out in front of Ofelia. ‘Wait. What’re you doing out of bed?’

  For a moment Ofelia pictured herself reaching out and snapping her neck. It would be silent, and painless. She could deposit the body on the bed in the bay and close the curtains. Nobody would know... She scolded herself mentally for considering it. The woman, who looked to be in her fifties appeared friendly and was trying to be kind. She knew in her heart of hearts, she couldn’t get away with it. Even if she could, she didn’t want to harm an innocent person. She sighed and peered down the corridor. ‘I need the toilet.’

  ‘You should have pressed the call button dear! We’d have brought you a bedpan.’

  Ofelia glared at her now. ‘I don’t need bedpan. I feel fine. I shouldn’t even be here.’

  Unperturbed, the nurse smiled and gestured back up the corridor. ‘Well, if you insist, the toilets are the other way. But you’re the girl with the mystery blood infection aren’t you? You should be resting.’

  Ofelia looked up at the round, smiling face bearing down on her and sighed. ‘Fine. Thank you.’

  Cursing under her breath in Romanian, she span and headed towards the ladies toilet. She did need to go as a matter of fact. Once she’d finished, she headed back to her bay. Sneaking out was turning out to be a non-starter. The nurse who’d challenged her before was waiting in the bay. She pulled the covers down and patted the bed. ‘Come on. Hop up and I’ll get you hooked up again.’

  Escape would have to wait. Ofelia climbed into bed and slipped her feet down below the covers. The blood pressure cuff and the oxygen monitor went back on. She didn’t connect the now-empty blood bag. ‘Dr. Sterling is waiting for the lab to get back to her. I know she’s planning on trying you on an intravenous antibiotic, but she wants to try the one with the best chance of working. Do you know what this infection you have is?’

  ‘No.’ Ofelia lied, ‘I feel fine. I just want to go.’

  The nurse took another temperature reading in her ear and noted the result down on the clipboard at the end of the bed. Again, her bafflement was obvious from her expression. Ofelia could read the uneasiness in her face and her voice. ‘Well, I’ll leave you in peace now dear. Dr. Sterling should be around soon. Try to get some rest.’

  She left, and the curtain swished closed again. Something told Ofelia she was being watched. The toilet excuse had been a good ruse, but she couldn’t use it again. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep again. It took a while, but in time she drifted off amidst the sound of beeping machinery and distant footsteps.

  ***

  Ofelia awoke for the second time to the sound of the curtain being pulled back. Dr. Sterling and yet another nurse stepped into her bay. ‘Morning. How are you feeling?’

  Ofelia scowled at her. ‘I feel fine. Where are my clothes? I want to go.’

  Dr. Sterling spoke, without even peeking over her clipboard. ‘We cut your clothes off you - they’re ruined. They were covered in blood and broken glass anyway.’

  ‘Fine, where are my spare clothes that were in the leather bag?’

  Dr. Sterling lowered her clipboard now and frowned. ‘Bag? There was no bag brought in with you. If it’s anywhere, it must be at the scene of the crash or with the vehicle.’

  Ofelia froze, her bottom lip trembling. ‘The bag is not here?’

  ‘No.’

  Her mind raced back to the ancient parchment containing the details of the ritual she’d intended to perform. It’d been tucked away in the bottom of the bag. As realisation struck, her desperation to leave intensified. ‘I feel fine. I need to get out of here.’

  ‘Ofelia, you appear to have an unusual infection. For some reason you also have a really low body temperature. By normal standards you should be seriously ill.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Ofelia spat.

  ‘Medical science would disagree with you. You’re also a minor, without a home so far as anyone can tell and your brother is dead. I’ve contacted Social Services. They’re going to take you into care while a court decides whether you’re the responsibility of the UK or Romania. A Social Worker will be in to see you later today. For now, I’d like to try you on a course of intravenous Ampicillin. It’s a broad-spectrum antibiotic - I’m not sure it’ll work. The pathogen we found in your blood doesn’t appear to be any known bacteria.’

  As the doctor talked, the nurse approached with a clear IV bag and used it to replace the depleted blood bag. Ofelia considered refusing. However, she wondered if they’d take no for an answer. Clearly, they saw her as a child - incapable of making decisions for herself. She also wondered what effect the drug might have. If it did work, it could save her a lot of trouble. She didn’t feel hopeful though. Once she’d been hooked up, Dr. Sterling made eye contact again. ‘Now they’ll be around with some breakfast soon. The police will want to speak to you too. I’ve told them to wait until you’ve seen your Social Worker. I’ll have to take some more blood later on. For now, just try to get some rest.’

  Ofelia scowled. ‘As if I have a choice.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of what’s wrong with you. I’ve shown your blood tests to several colleagues. They�
�re all somewhere between intrigued and excited. If you wanted to-’

  ‘I don’t want to be lab-rat,’ interrupted Ofelia, ‘Try your antibiotic. It won’t do anything. Then let me go.’

  ‘Well, they need to find you a placement first of course. Hopefully you won’t be stuck here too long. Do you have any idea what’s wrong with you?’

  ‘No. I feel fine.’ This time Ofelia failed to hide her frustration and Dr. Sterling shuddered visibly. It was an unusual situation to say the least. In the absence of proof that she wasn’t British, it seemed likely she’d get taken into the British Social Care system. An inconvenience, but better than being shipped back to Romania. Dr. Sterling shot her an embarrassed smile, ‘Alright, well I’ll be in to check on you later.’

  The nurse now thrust a card in front of her. ‘What’d you like for breakfast love?’

  Ofelia scanned the short list of meagre breakfasts and shrugged. ‘Toast. And coffee, black coffee.’

  The nurse looked startled. ‘Are you sure, we’ve got orange-’

  ‘Coffee. Thank you.’

  The nurse scuttled off and left her alone again, leaving the curtain open this time so she could see staff and visitors scuttling about the department. She stared at the clear plastic tube plumbed into the vein in her right elbow. Could it be so simple? She doubted it. She’d never taken antibiotics before though. They were only invented in the last eighty years or so and she hadn’t fallen ill for centuries. It’d never occurred to her that there might be a physical aspect to her curse, which modern medical science could detect and cure. She couldn’t quite bring herself to expect it to work, but that didn’t stop her from hoping. She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes.

  Chapter 4 - Social Workers and Police

  The toast and coffee arrived soon enough and Ofelia tucked in. She’d barely started eating when a social worker turned up, flanked by two police officers. The policeman was tall and struck an imposing sight. The WPC looked closer to Ofelia’s height. Were they going to try the ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine with her? Or was it just a ‘British thing’ to ensure minors about to be taken into care were handled by a less stern-looking, friendly WPC?

  Ofelia guessed from the social worker’s dark skin, that she was of Indian or Pakistani origin. ‘Hi, Ofelia is it? My name is Rita Patel, but you can call me Rita. We’re very sorry to hear about the death of your brother, but we need make arrangements for you once you’re fit to leave hospital. I’ve secured you a room at a children’s home. The court needs to determine your nationality. If they decide you are Romanian, then you’ll go into the official custody of the Romanian Embassy or Consulate. I’m not sure which yet. For now, I need you to answer these officer’s questions honestly. I’ll stay with you while they question you. Then I’ll need to arrange some clothes for you.’

  Ofelia looked from the social worker to the looming officers, who’d taken up station on the other side of the bed. The policeman was frowning and holding up a little notebook. The WPC smiled and began the interview. ‘Hi, my name is WPC Sally Reeves. I know it’s not the best time, but we need to ask you these questions to help the court decide whose responsibility you are. Now, Ofelia is it?’

  ‘Yes. You have my passport I take it?’

  The policeman piped up now. ‘PC James Johnson. The thing is Ofelia, the passports you and your… brother? The passports you used to enter the UK; they’ve been found to be fake. We’ve thus far been unable to locate any record of a Stefan or Ofelia Arbore. How can you explain that?’

  The cogs were whirring in Ofelia’s head now. She’d been thinking of ways of handling this interview. No solid irrefutable story had come to mind though. In desperation, she began making it up whilst trying to mentally store her answers as she invented them. ‘I am British. I knew the passports were fake. I don’t know our true family name. I grew up believing myself to be called Ofelia Arbore. Now I do not know what my name is. My father died last year in motorcycle accident. Stefan told me afterwards that my mother was British. She fell out with my father, tried to stop him seeing me. He take me as a baby and run off to Romania. He change his name, he never told me about my mother. Stefan told me he’d found out who my mother was. He write to her, they arrange to meet up at Stonehenge visitor centre yesterday. We went there, we look around. She never turn up. So Stefan tells me we try again tomorrow. Then we have car crash.’

  The policeman’s pencil was a blur, scribbling away as Ofelia tried to invent a plausible back-story. Once he’d caught up with her, the policeman glared at her. ‘So, who are this family you’ve been living with in Romania?’

  ‘Just my half-brother Stefan and my father. Now that Stefan is dead, I have no family.’

  WPC Reeves chirped in now. ‘Do you know anything at all about your mother?’

  ‘No. My father was plasterer. They met, they lived together somewhere in Birmingham? They argue. They never marry, they split up. He take me back to Romania.’

  The pencil scribbled, meanwhile the WPC pressed harder. ‘Do you know what her family name was?’

  ‘No. Stefan told me he’d made contact with her. I don’t know how though. I heard him whispering on the phone two weeks ago. I didn’t hear what he says, but he finish with “Goodbye Lisa” Maybe that was her? I’ll never know now.’

  The policeman scribbled, then peered over his notebook at her. ‘And where have you been living in Romania?’

  ‘My father, he move around a lot. Recently, we live in tiny village up in the mountains called Dealul Negru. It’s so small it’s not on most maps.’

  WPC Reeves smiled now. ‘So, what was the plan? If you’d met your mum at Stonehenge?’

  ‘I don’t know. Stefan said she want to meet me. I don’t remember her. I guess as long the meeting go okay, she want to take me in.’

  The police officers made eye contact for a moment, then studied Ofelia critically. After a long pause the WPC sighed and turned to her colleague. ‘Right. You get this written up and sent to the court. I’ll get in touch with the Stonehenge visitor centre, see if the story fits. Maybe check if they have CCTV? If the mother was there, might be we can ID her.’

  Rita piped up now. ‘Are we done? Hasn’t she had enough stress?’

  ‘We’re done for now.’ WPC Reeves answered, ‘we had to get as much information on this as we could. It’s an unusual case.’

  ‘What about my things out of the car?’ Ofelia blurted.

  The WPC shook her head and backed away. ‘Sorry, so far as I know, no belongings were recovered from the wreck.’

  The policeman had already started walking. Ofelia watched his colleague jog to catch up, then carry on their conversation in subdued whispers. She turned to Rita. ‘What will happen to me?’

  ‘Well, that’ll be for the court to decide. You’ll either return to Romania, or you’ll go into care in the UK. I’ve found you a place at a children’s home for now, but if the court decides you’re to stay in the UK, we’ll try to find you a foster home. We’ll have to find a school place for you too. I’m sorry I don’t know how the care system in Romania works.’

  Ofelia shivered. Her life had been so planned out, now she was literally making it up as she went along. What would happen to her? The blood stone was missing from Stonehenge. Her page from the Book of Davoth, with the ritual of cleansing on it, was missing. It occurred to her that Dr. Sterling’s medicine could work. If her curse was broken, then that was that. She’d grow up in the UK and that would be the end of it. If the antibiotics didn’t achieve anything, as she suspected they wouldn’t - well there’d be questions to answer. Each year, her classmates would outgrow her and she’d finish high school still looking like an eleven-year-old. At some point, people would realise she wasn’t just ‘not growing’, but ‘not ageing’ either. Rita smiled and rested a friendly palm on her shoulder, then brushed her long black hair behind her with her other hand. ‘Ofelia, I’m going to go and arrange some clothes for you, so once you’re discharged you’ve got someth
ing to change into. Can you give me your clothes sizes?’

  ‘Just age eleven to twelve clothes. Shoe size thirty-five. I don’t know UK size. Can you get me factor fifty sunscreen and UV protective dark glasses too? I’m over-sensitive to sunlight. Thank you.’

  Rita beamed at her and gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘It’s fine. I can do that. Don’t worry, everything’s going to be okay. You’ll see.’

  Rita left, shuffling paperwork as she went. It wasn’t long before Dr. Sterling returned. She looked drained now. Her previously neatly tied back hair was loose and wild about her shoulders and she had bags under her eyes. ‘Ofelia.’

  ‘Doctor Sterling.’

  ‘I need to take some more blood,’

  Ofelia shrugged out and offered her arm. The doctor unwrapped a fresh syringe and plugged it into the cannula. In a moment, Dr. Sterling had a syringe full of thick, crimson liquid.

  Ofelia watched her hold the syringe up to the light and peer into it. ‘What do you think is wrong with me?’

  Dr. Sterling shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Your body temperature seems too low, yet you seem to show no ill effects.’

  At that point a white-haired man with a stethoscope around his neck entered. He nodded towards Ofelia. ‘Is this the patient?’

  Dr. Sterling nodded, ‘Her blood contains the typical red and white blood cells, but also strange, black, polymorphic cells. I’m told they look a bit like macrophages, but continually change shape and occasionally devour red blood cells. We’ve never seen anything like it.’

  The new doctor, who Ofelia assumed was the consultant, studied her for a moment, then flicked through her file before replacing it in its pocket on the end of bed. ‘This is definitely an interesting case. I’ll ask my colleagues over at the Hospital for Tropical Diseases if they’ve ever seen anything like it. Let me know if there are any developments.’