by E. C. Hibbs
TRAGIC SILENCE
E. C. Hibbs
First published November 2013
Second edition published February 2017
TRAGIC SILENCE copyright © 2013 E. C. Hibbs
Cover copyright © 2017 Elphame Arts
OTHER BOOKS BY E. C. HIBBS
Blindsighted Wanderer
The Libelle Papers
Sepia and Silver
Blood and Scales: an Anthology
Night Journeys: Anthology
Dare to Shine: Anthology
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events and locations appearing in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, known now or hereafter invented, without permission in writing from the author.
For Katie and Natasha –
Without a doubt, the two bravest people I know.
“Mindenki a maga szerencséjének kovácsa.”
(Everyone is the blacksmith of their own fate)
– Hungarian proverb
CHAPTER I
Consciousness came in flashes. I couldn’t remember exactly when I lost the feeling in my fingers. I heard the screeching sirens, like the wails of some tormented creature ringing through my mind. The rim of an oxygen mask was pressing on my face. I was strapped down to a stretcher, on my stomach, so I wouldn’t lie on the knife. That had stopped hurting by then and had receded to a dull ache. Even if I’d had the freedom to move, I would have stayed still, because then it was harder to feel it inside me, staying solid and rigid against my shifting muscles.
The blade itself had stemmed most of the blood. I’d seen the red on my hands, from when I’d clutched at my back, as the paramedics burst in and loaded me into the ambulance. There was pain in my scalp, too, and I supposed I was cut somewhere on the right side, probably from when I hit the wall. The heavy metallic taste of my own blood trickled down my throat, and every drop burned like fire.
When I awoke and managed to keep my eyes open, I was wheeled down brightly-lit corridors and then carefully transferred to a fresh bed. I had been dressed in a loose surgical gown, and all the wounds were neatly closed up. They still ached from the treatment I’d received in the theatre, but I knew that the knife was out even before I’d fully regained consciousness, because I was lying flat on my back. The anaesthetic made my head feel as though it was made of lead, and the end of the bed whirled in a crazy blurred spiral.
They put me in my own room, separate from the main ward. I wondered why they had left me alone. I meant to insist – even beg if I had to – for one of the nurses to get me out, but she just smiled reassuringly and explained there were no beds left outside. She prised my fingers from her wrist and brought me my dinner. A simple baked potato with cheese and butter, and a glass of concentrated orange juice in a plastic beaker. I managed a few mouthfuls and then I left the rest to go cold.
I explored the repaired areas of my body, slowly and gently, so I didn’t damage the stitches. There were a few under my hairline on my forehead, on the right hand side, like I’d suspected. There was a ridge in my lip criss-crossed with biodegradable thread. My back was harder to feel. Every time my fingers brushed it, pain seared. It wasn’t a big wound on the surface, but it was deep. And even though the blade itself was gone, I still felt it there.
I was vaguely aware of time passing. I was on the outside, looking in on its ticking hands. I knew the hospital would have phoned my parents. Not too long after I thought that, they arrived and began making a fuss of me, having sped back from their business trip in Szeged. I distantly wondered how many speed limits Apa must have broken.
Anya was crying her eyes out, planting a hundred kisses on my face. Apa managed to keep his own tears back – fathers always seem to be better at that. But the relief in his face was like the beam from a lighthouse, so glad to see that I was alive. They stayed with me for what seemed like forever, until the nurse poked her head around the door and asked them to leave. They promised they’d be back tomorrow, with some books and proper pyjamas, and as they walked to the door, Anya kept a tight hold of my hand until the distance between us forced her to let go.
I knew the police would come, too. In a few days, to give me a chance to recover, they would gently question me and ask after every detail of my attacker. I suppose it was just as well they didn’t arrive and pounce on me straight away, because I barely said a word even to my parents. I was happy to see them, but so much that I didn’t know how to voice it.
I’d thought of saying to Apa what had happened. He was always telling me ghost stories. But almost immediately after the idea entered my head, I dismissed it firmly. He just told the stories. He hadn’t seen one of them with his own eyes.
In the times when I was alone, I tried to make sense of things. As the anaesthetic receded and lucidity gradually returned to my senses, I remembered Lucy’s face, her wonderful smile contorted into a hideous scream. Anxiety reached down my throat, and whenever there was a sudden noise, I almost leapt out of the bed. The sky darkened; then I had eyes only for the windows. As the sun went down, I trembled in fear.
He won’t come back. Not when you’re here. You’re safe in the hospital.
A faint sense of irony flashed in the back of my mind. I’d been convincing myself Lucy would have been safe here only hours before, and now I was trying to do the same again. I watched the clouds tinge red, and the dusk light bleed out across the city. The anticipation turned to waiting. Time blurred again. I felt the adrenaline, even though I knew there was no point to it. Fight or flight? Not a great choice to be had. I couldn’t do either.
The breeze picked up. Perhaps it felt so cold because I was only wearing the surgical gown, but deep down, I knew it was more than winter air. The fluorescent strip over my bed flickered and then burst out. I made a move to sit bolt upright, but the movement sent agony tearing through my back, and I collapsed against the pillows.
Then the mist appeared. From under the gap at the bottom of the door, flowing like ghostly water; an odourless smoke that stabbed at my lungs. I closed my eyes. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t happening; that somehow, I would be safe, and then I’d wake up and it would all have been a bad dream.
The snigger blew that away like leaves in a hurricane. I looked out into eternity, finding him as a black silhouette against a slightly darker background. The mist had drawn back, now just sweeping out across the floor from his feet. He was standing at the end of my bed, as still as stone. His face was faultless, framed by thick jet black hair. A charcoal-coloured shirt, buttoned right up to the collar, covered his torso. A chill ran involuntarily down my spine.
“What the hell do you want?” I snarled.
I went to uncurl one of my sweating hands from the sheet, to reach up for the alarm button above my head. But as soon as my arm moved; his will seized me and threw it down. The movement shot pain into my back and I stifled a cry.
“Now, now,” he said, his voice washing over me like freezing water. “That is not necessary. They will come back soon enough.”
My teeth ached as I ground them together in rage and hatred. I couldn’t have moved whether I was injured or not. I was held down to the mattress by what I could only liken to the feeling of resistance between two magnets, pressing heavily against my chest.
He smirked and slowly crossed the room to sit down on the bed. His eyes burned into mine. They were huge, and so dark that no light reflected in them. I realised there was no point in screaming for help, but my muscles still tensed. That childish illusion flashed back: that the bedcovers will protect you from any invisible monster lurking ou
tside. I gripped at them as though my life depended on it.
“Why have you come back?” I snapped. “If you wanted me dead, you could have easily done it before!”
He nodded. “Igen, I could have,” was the icy reply. “But why should I? It would have been over far too quickly for my liking.”
“That’s why you only stabbed me?” I growled. “So you could finish me off later?”
“With no interruption,” he finished.
He moved his face ever so slightly closer to mine, and I instinctively pressed further back into the pillows. I cursed at myself for not staying still; for not showing my defiance. It didn’t matter anyway, because I couldn’t get away from his freezing fingers on my throat. It was gentle, but I still felt the edges of sharp nails against my skin. They were long and black: menacing curves, like a bird’s talons.
“I suppose you might think of this as a favour, ultimately,” he muttered.
I couldn’t hold back an indignant scoff. “How do you figure?”
He smiled deviously. “Have they not told you? That blade has severed a nerve in your back. You would never walk unaided again, for your whole life.”
“I’d have a cane any day if I was still alive to hold one,” I shot back. There was so much hatred in my eyes that I wouldn’t have been surprised if they were glowing. Almost as if he’d read my mind, his own eyes shone with flames, and lit up his face.
“Why did you do it?” I snarled. “Why did you kill her? You could have let her live, she did nothing wrong! Why didn’t you just leave her alone?”
He shook his head gently. “Do not attempt to fool yourself. I could hardly allow her to return to the world – to her loved ones – after being in my grasp for so long, with the knowledge she had. Her purpose ended prematurely, because of your interference, but it was fulfilled nonetheless.”
My fury boiled over. Since I was unable to move, I spat hard into his face. He spun away with a hiss, then turned his shining eyes on me. I held them with all my might.
“Menj a fenébe!” I snapped. Go to hell!
He glared at me; then reached down and gently ran his fingers over the underside of my wrist. My heart raced and I tried to pull back, but nothing happened. I might as well have tried to break an iron shackle by hitting it with my fist. His other hand was still on my throat, and he slowly drew closer, until our noses almost touched.
“Too late.” His breath was freezing on my jaw, and I caught the faint scent of fresh blood. Lucy’s blood.
I suddenly realised for a split second that his will didn’t have me anymore. My brain released a painkiller, so I didn’t feel anything as I wrenched my hand free. In the same movement, I brought it back – fingers in a fist – and smashed into his face. He fell away from me, and I twisted, and smacked the alarm button.
Fight or flight. You never know what that means until it kicks in.
My body was working ten times faster than I could process. The alarm was ringing. Through the pounding blood in my ears, I heard commotion in the corridor. My fear vanished. He was at full strength, I knew that. He had the blood of my best friend fresh in his body. And yet, somehow, I’d managed to hit him. I would have sooner believed the Earth was flat than me being capable of doing that.
I saw red. He had tried to kill me. He’d kidnapped Lucy; murdered her in front of my eyes, all because she had served her purpose. A primeval rage overcame me and I launched myself upwards, both hands ready to somehow tear him limb from limb. But as soon as I did, he grasped my arms powerfully and flung me back. I bounced on the mattress, wrists pinned either side of my head.
Time slowed. I thought I could hear the nurses struggling with the door. The pumping adrenaline slowly drained away. He felt me weakening and let go, but remained close, his face inches away. My arms stayed where he had forced them as he regained control. His strength was like a stone weight on my chest.
The pain suddenly returned to my back, immense from my fight. Shrieking, I curled up against it, tears running involuntarily down my cheeks. I didn’t care anymore about showing it. He knew exactly how weak I was, and no amount of hatred or defiance could have held back the agony. In the back of my mind, I wondered if I’d broken a stitch.
When I opened my eyes, I was met with a smirk, reeking of cunning and silent triumph. “How theatrical,” he said. “But it will do you no good, foolish girl. It may surprise you to know I have not come to kill you this night.”
I froze, convinced I had misheard him.
“Indeed, I speak the truth. Why would I disillusion myself so? Your stabbing has left you weak; it would be far too easy. Nem, I believe it would be so much sweeter to hold you to yourself. I heard you:
“Lucy, you are my best friend. I would do anything for you. And I would do the same for Emily.”
My own words rang in my ears, relayed in that perfect voice, and he smiled. It was so natural-looking, it petrified me. Nausea crept up my throat and I quickly swallowed it back. I had a feeling that if I let it out, he wouldn’t give me the freedom to move to the side of the bed. My heart pounded so ferociously that I could feel my chest moving.
“Crude, I will admit,” he said, “but it is permission enough.”
Before I could react, his hand shot back and grabbed my chin, forcing my face to the side. Then he was over me, his mouth at my neck. The adrenaline rushed back and I went to hit out again, but it was too late. I heard a spitting hiss, and something sliced my skin: razor-sharp; so sharp that I didn’t even go so far as to call it pain.
Then I just collapsed. My arm fell back to the bed; it was so heavy. I heard my ragged breathing, a gasp for every frantic beat of my heart. Like the feeling of the knife in my back, my neck seized up beneath his lips.
I didn’t know what was happening. I felt my pulse slowing, and the panting slowed with it. All my newly-found power sapped away in an instant and I went completely limp. No pain, just numbness. But it was deep: coursing through every blood vessel, working through me and to every part of me. And with it, there was something new. Something that wasn’t mine.
I managed to see my hand, where it was lying next to me. What met my eyes would have terrified me if I’d had the energy to react. My veins were standing up, and black lines were slowly running through them like ink in water. The darkness crept across the edges of my vision as all strength left me. I watched him draw back and hover his face over mine, eyes blazing and lips red. A tarnished chain slipped free from beneath his collar, and I noticed a thin golden ring hanging from it, swinging gently to and fro like a glinting pendulum.
Then he melted away. There was a burst of flame, and I became vaguely aware of the door opening and two nurses rushing in. They checked my vital signs and spoke in frenzied bursts. I heard them as though from a distance; echoing in a huge tunnel; distorted by waves breaking overhead.
“She’s on the verge of unconsciousness...”
“She must have had a nightmare or something... it looks like she’s scratched her neck...”
“She must have hit the button by accident, then...”
“Lucy...” I whispered, not even sure if my lips were moving.
I watched as she appeared before me, with blood running down her throat and across her eyes. Her arms were limp at her sides. She looked at me before the orb of light vanished...
“Good thing she did...”
“Get some fluids into her...”
I saw her walking towards the science building at school, holding her pea coat tightly around her body as a bitter wind whipped up the snow. From the shadows nearby, a dark figure stood silent and still, eyes on her and hair lifting slightly in the breeze... a breeze that whispered her name...
“She’s broken a stitch in her back... hurry; we need to change the sheets...”
The wound burned... and I was standing in front of the stone angel in the cemetery. The wrought-iron gates that opened up onto my street stood somewhere in the distance. Blank carved eyes stared through me as I looked into
the gaping hole in the ground. I turned to face the mausoleum, and briefly glimpsed the door being flung open before I was running, Lucy’s hand in mine. My beret whipped away and was lost as a shapeless patch of red among the whiteness. From my mouth, droplets of blood stained the snow...
“Bianka? Bianka, can you... hear... me...?”
“Is she... awake...?”
“Igen...”
I saw Budapest from high above, atop the rooftops of Gresham Palace. He was standing there, looking down on the city in its labyrinth of lights under the inky sky. He was wearing a knee-length black coat, and his eyes were as dark as ever...
“I think... she’s... slipping...”
“Her body is... rigid...”
“Bianka...?”
“Lucy...” I heard myself say without speaking. “Nem...”
“Bianka...”
CHAPTER II
I spiralled down into the jaws of the Earth. I was weightless, without control or wanting. I decided that this was what Alice must have felt like, when she tumbled down the rabbit hole. I glanced around, expecting to find cupboards filled with empty jars of orange marmalade, but I was alarmed to instead see thick lines of blood. The stench of it filled my nostrils and I fell away.
The voices echoed in my head. I heard myself, shouting and pounding on a door with my fist. I knew immediately where I was: even in the low light, I recognised the inside of a storeroom, full of paint bottles, crepe paper and plaster. I had been walking alone with my nose in a book, weaving my way against the current of peers as they rushed to the cafeteria. Then the bullies intentionally shoved into me, and I tumbled, followed by a sharp snap of closing darkness. I pushed at the door with all my might, but the boys were holding it shut from the other side.
I was used to their games, but not what came next: a dull thud against the door, like one of the bullies had been pushed up against it. Then I heard a girl’s voice, scolding them harshly. Her accent was muddled, and I recognised it immediately as belonging to the tall girl in my history class that year. We’d never really spoken; just exchanged occasional greetings and vague comments about the weather. But the bullies were soon gone, and then light streamed into the cupboard as she helped me out.