Tragic Silence

by E. C. Hibbs

  He nodded. “Well, if you ever need to talk, you can come to me, okay?”

  The fact that he smiled when he said it helped me to understand that he really was concerned. I felt terrible for not being able to tell him what was on my mind. It seemed to me that you could turn around and say anything to him, and even if it was completely ludicrous, he’d find a way of understanding, without passing judgement. But I overpowered it, and told myself not to be ridiculous.

  What would you say, Bee? That you’re a vampire? Who on Earth would be able to hear that and keep a straight face, or not take a step backwards?

  I began thinking about what it all meant. Part of me still refused to believe it, but I forced myself to confront my discovery. I’d tried to run from it before: for three years after Lucy’s death, I’d suppressed the memory of what had happened in the hospital. And now it was coming back with a vengeance, I had to face up to it.

  That old part of my mind repeatedly tried to say, no. Alright, you know vampires exist. You saw one with your own eyes. But you can’t be one. That’s going too far. You’re still in shock, Bee. Or traumatised... take your pick of whatever words you want to use.

  But then the harsh reality would snap back. Everything made sense, and you pretty much said goodbye to normality ages ago. No use fighting it. Just accept it. You can’t change it.

  It was hard enough to admit; but admittance and acceptance were two completely different things. And what about the fact that – as far as I knew – there was no escape for me? How could you accept something that would eventually kill you? It was almost like being diagnosed with terminal cancer, but the main difference was that no-one else could know. I had no support; I was alone, with what I later discovered to be an ever-growing want for the one thing everyone knows no vampire can do without. Blood.

  I refused, point blank, to do it. Who wouldn’t? I fought with all my might, like I’d never fought anything before. No matter what, I told myself; I will not give in to it. The moment I do will be the moment that he wins.

  It was a while before I found out it wasn’t exactly as simple as that. He was cunning, and I was too optimistic for the circumstances. I believed I could win, or at least make a stand, just by showing resistance. But I was too determined not to back down to what I thought was the primary threat, without realising that it was more of a side-threat. I was only battling myself, and my body’s new needs. No matter how unwanted and repulsed they were, they were needs – and like refusing carbohydrates or vitamins, it began to take its toll on me.

  Nevertheless, I carried on my battle, and I did manage it to some degree. I worked out it was iron that I needed, so I took to eating foods with really high iron content. I started to essentially live on cornflakes, and even though I’d hated asparagus and spinach all my life, I started adding them to my plate every night. The closest I got to blood itself was medium-rare red meats once a week, and a lot of black pudding.

  Spring came, and buds began to appear on trees throughout the city. The daffodils and tulips in my window boxes flourished as the days began to lengthen. I watched the natural word gently change towards the warmer weather, whilst the concrete one around me remained its usual busy self. I took my walk over the Millennium Bridge several times to look at Saint Paul’s, and again – like it always did – it fleetingly reminded me of Buda Castle.

  One day in late April, I stepped outside the Museum to take my break in the fresh air. With a cup of tea in one hand and my cane in the other, I sat down on a low wall with my back turned to the stream of visitors flocking towards the entrance. I reminded myself to phone Anya and Apa in the next few days and check on them, before idly cleaning my sunglasses on the hem of my top. I remembered a night out with some of my colleagues a few weeks before, which had been the first time I’d been bowling in England – and my attempts to throw the heavy ball with my weaker left hand so I could support myself had been met with huge bouts of laughter from all of us.

  Then, for some reason, Lucy’s face appeared. It shocked me somewhat, to see her in my mind’s eye; as though I’d been presented with the memory rather than consciously recalling it. But then I thought, no, it’s not really too shocking, is it? It’s her birthday soon. Well, what would have been her birthday.

  I reached into my bag and brought out the old photo of the two of us. Gnawing at my lip, I held it carefully to support the broken back of its small frame. Two girls smiled out, temples touching as they moved together for the picture. One of them was me, and at my side, there she was. Her rich chestnut hair hung long, falling elegantly around her face and shining in the light of the flash. Her eyes sparkled in that wonderful way that never seemed to fade; the small freckle at the corner of her mouth lost in our laughter. The moment was captured forever in time, in my hands. That was how I remembered her: happy and loving, with her whole life ahead. Not as how I had last seen her.

  “Excuse me?”

  I jumped at the sudden voice behind me and my teeth nicked my lip. I quickly whipped out a tissue and turned around, pressing it to my mouth. A strawberry blonde-haired man was there, a few years younger than me; and with a look of slight confusion on his face. I could tell from the way he was standing that he’d been peeking over my shoulder, and I instinctively lowered the photo.

  “How can I help you?” I asked, pulling my staff-tone into my voice.

  He didn’t answer straight away. His eyes flitted over me and glanced back down towards the frame in my hand. A small frown formed on his brow. Then my accent seemed to register, and the frown deepened. “I’m sorry, but... have I met you before?”

  He spoke in thick Cockney; similar to my manager, Danni Rose. I examined his face closely and shook my head.

  “No, sir, I don’t believe so.”

  He glanced at the name-badge pinned to my uniform. He sounded the three syllables out quietly, and then looked back at me.

  “Are you from Hungary, by any chance?”

  Apprehension grew in my chest like a weed. There was no reason for it; I could tell from his own accent that he was English and I knew he couldn’t pose any danger, but the whole situation was making me feel uneasy. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to leave.

  “Yes, sir. Why do you ask?”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s just... I couldn’t help but notice your photograph there. And I thought I recognised somebody in it. But it’s probably nothing, I’m sorry.”

  It was my turn to frown, and I brought out the picture again. “This girl?” I pointed to Lucy.

  He peered, and then nodded with a confused grin. “Yes. I could have sworn I used to know her.” He motioned to the tiger’s eye pendant around her neck. “She always wore that, I remember.” He glanced at me. “Is that Lucy Denborough?”

  Shock numbed me for a moment and I swallowed to loosen up my throat. “Yes, it is.”

  He stared at my face, as though trying to place something. His eyes moved to my badge again. “Bianka – Hang on, you’re not... Bee, are you?”

  “Yes, I am,” I said. “How do you know me?”

  The man suddenly collected himself and righted his rucksack over his shoulder. “Oh, I’m awfully sorry. My name’s Michael Jones.”

  I reached out and shook his hand, the movement gentle by both of us as we tried to hide our amazement. My unease shrunk back as I took in his face. He was a little overweight but not unattractive, and his nose was long without being pointed. His bag looked heavy, as though it was full of something like books.

  “Pleased to meet you,” I smiled. “Bee Farkas.”

  His face changed again when I said my surname, and then he nodded in confirmation. “Yes, it is you.”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand how you know me. I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

  “No, no,” he said quickly, “I’m an old friend of her sister, Emily. We were in the same classes together in school, before they moved to Budapest, but we kept in contact. I recognised your name through her
.”

  I nodded, finally understanding. But I couldn’t hold back the astonishment in my face. “I’m sorry,” I laughed, “this is so strange!”

  He chuckled back, showing a set of very white teeth. “Isn’t it? I can’t believe it! What are the chances of this?”

  I put the photo back in my bag and fastened up the clasp. “So, are you still in touch?”

  Michael nodded. “Yes, we email each other a few times a month. She’s a good pen pal.”

  I smiled, remembering how much of a chatterbox Emily was. I could have sworn that my hearing got slightly worse after having her continuously talking through the years.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Do you still speak to her?”

  I paused for a moment. “Yes, I email her sometimes too. To tell the truth, I was closer to Lucy; I met Emily through her. But we all got along really well.”

  Michael smiled, but there was a twinge of reassurance in the gesture. I knew what was coming and instantly steeled myself.

  “I’m so sorry. Em mentioned that you were very close to Lucy.” He glanced at me, and then quickly at my cane. “She told me you were the last person who saw her. That must have felt terrible.”

  I pressed my lips together for a moment and turned away, staring out blankly as I steadied my weight. “Yes. I was.”

  Michael must have noticed my unease because he quickly changed the subject. “You know, I couldn’t believe it when she came into the class one day and told me she was going to Hungary,” he said. Then he raised an eyebrow and scratched idly at his ear. “I did a double-take at first; I thought I wasn’t hearing her right. I’m part Hungarian, you see. What were the odds?”

  I blinked and stared at him. “You’re part Hungarian?”

  Michael chuckled. “Not for generations, but yes. I can’t speak it at all, though. That was one of the reasons I was so shocked when Em turned around and told me. I was so down when she left.”

  I glanced over at him through the corner of my eye. “Were you best friends or something?”

  A small smile spread across his lips and he faced me fully. “Don’t make a big deal out of this,” he replied in a quiet voice, “but I used to have a crush on her. Big time.”

  I couldn’t hold back my surprise. “Really?”

  “Don’t tell her I told you that; she doesn’t know.” He chopped rapidly at the air with his hands as though cutting the point free from the conversation, but the mischievous grin was still there.

  I smiled back. “Did she like you too?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. We were kids. You don’t know what you know, really, do you?”

  Since I’d never been in a relationship, I didn’t truly know how to answer, so I kept quiet. I was always too nerdy and introverted, with my bowed victim’s head and arms full of tonne-heavy books, to have ever had hope of any kind of boyfriend. Lucy had often got a few wistful looks thrown her way, but if she noticed – and I was sure she did, because I could have sworn there were invisible eyes in the back of her head – she never paid attention. Any remarks were shrugged off; any meaningful glances were ignored. She could do that with her head high and the smile still on her face. She was confident and strong, and she knew that there was no way she was going to let the boys have any effect on her. I valued her so much for it. If only she’d somehow been able to hold her own like that against what eventually brought about her end.

  I had to leave Michael not long after in order to get back to work, but he mentioned that he would keep an eye open for me the next time he came to the Museum. That night, I went to bed early, but not before I drained five glasses of water. My throat burned for days afterwards – it was as though I’d swallowed acid – and I barely spoke because it hurt too much. Everyone at the Museum asked what was wrong, and I told them I thought I had a throat infection. Frank kept very quiet at my explanation, and only recommended a brand of cough syrup to me that was meant to be very good at calming enflamed tissue. I told him I’d go and find some after work, but I didn’t.

  Weeks passed, and I felt no better. If anything, it became worse. I ate two full black pudding sausages within three days at one point. I’d never thought that my throat could take so much pain. It was like nettle stings, a blade slicing through my neck, and fire; all at once, and it was continuous. Soon, not even the iciest water brought relief.

  Lucy’s birthday rolled around: the day when she should have been twenty-two. I didn’t go into work; I took one of my sick days, and decided to have a walk around the city to clear my head. By sunset, I found myself in the middle of Hyde Park. It was a cold day for May, so I wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck and sat down for a moment to rub my hands together. People were walking their dogs all around me; children were playing; young teenage couples lying under trees together.

  I watched it all and yet I saw nothing. Nothing except the sun as it dropped behind buildings over the treetops. A shiver ran through me and I told myself that I should go home, but my head was a haze. I wasn’t sure if I could remember the way back to my flat. I tried to think where I was in relation to Islington, but all I saw was a blur of buildings that flashed into tombstones with every heartbeat.

  I was vaguely aware of my eyesight narrowing, and I felt the tingling that I’d learned came with the onset of the redness. I quickly whipped out a pair of sunglasses to hide the glow. The fear was like ice in my chest and I felt sick. It even crossed my mind to get myself to the nearest hospital and beg for help, but I rebuffed that immediately.

  Yeah, try explaining how this feels to them, Miss Ex-Psychiatric-Ward. Good luck with that one.

  I stood up slowly, but as soon as I’d gotten my balance, a strange tugging sensation shot through my torso, as though I wasn’t getting enough oxygen. My head reeled and I fell, clamping a hand over the scar on my neck. Pain flared behind my eyes and panic shot through my veins.

  “Oh! Are you alright?” An elderly man who’d been passing helped me back onto the bench, and handed over my cane. “Are you hurt, miss?”

  I shook my head through the pounding in my ears. “No, thank you,” I replied; forming the words purely out of memory and hoping they sounded right. I could barely hear myself think. “I just lost my balance. Thank you.”

  He said something else which I took to be reassurance, before moving on. I clutched my cane, keeping my eyes to the ground. I didn’t move for a long time, and when I finally looked up, the golden-pink of sunset had transformed into gradients of blue as twilight set in. The trees were blacks and greys in the dying light, and almost all the people had gone. The open grass was horrible; it seemed like too many shapeless beings were waiting to pounce from the shadows.

  When the pain had died down slightly, I got to my feet again, and spent a moment steadying myself so I wouldn’t fall again. When all seemed fine, I carried on through the park. I vaguely reminded myself that I needed to get home, but I walked in the opposite direction to the route that would take me there. I took my sunglasses off and hung them from the collar of my top. It was dark, but somehow, I could still see.

  My senses went on full alert. Even though I was slowed by my limp, I was shocked by how fast I managed to move. My feet moved lightly, my hand tight on the grip of my cane. The branches of trees criss-crossed over my head.

  You may return to me and die; or you can attempt to keep running and die.

  A twig snapped and I spun around, my free hand snapping into a fist. I stood deathly still, eyes red and unblinking in the gloom. A wind howled eerily along the pathways, and then a squirrel ran across in front of me.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, and let my hand drop to my side. I grinned in spite of myself, at being so nervous about an innocent squirrel, going about his squirrely business. I began walking again – still lightly – but then the feeling came back, wrenching at my chest. My throat burned and I swallowed, but that only made it worse and I wished I hadn’t done anything.

  I stayed on my feet as my eyes snapped into tun
nel vision. My heart pounded; I was sure that if I opened my mouth, it would have fallen out onto the grass, still beating. I fought my way through groping finger-like branches, suddenly gnarled and slick with red. One snagged my hair but I carried on. My shoe landed in a puddle and water splashed up my leg, but I didn’t care.

  You’re seeing things. Breathe.

  I stopped, and stared through the cage of twigs. There was the old man who’d helped me. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. The scarlet of my eyes extended over all I saw. There was no colour except it: that perfect blood tone. The man had his back to me. He didn’t know I was there.

  The pain in my chest shot up through my throat as though it had cracked open inside, and I muffled a cry. I snatched out at a branch to steady myself, but my knees caved and I crashed to the ground. It felt like I hadn’t had a drink for days – weeks – my throat was so parched that I couldn’t even yell. Not even the little old man would have heard me. My eyes boiled in my head, and the breeze that had been whistling through the trees didn’t feel gentle anymore. It beat down on me like frozen knives, and howled around my ears as though I was caught in a hurricane.

  My mouth opened wide and my lips drew back over my teeth. I let out the only noise I could make: a spitting hiss from far back in my throat. I fell forwards and managed to catch myself before I slammed face-first into the grass, but any more voluntary movement was beyond me. The fangs shone in the light from my eyes, and I felt energy sap away like water through a sieve. I silently screamed about how much of a fool I was, and became torn, crying out for the elderly man to get away, but yet shouting for him to stay. I needed his warm, delicious blood so much.

  I heard a familiar laugh in my head. “Did you honestly believe you could outrun me?”

  A black shadow shot through the sky.

  “That’s enough!”

  Knees appeared on the ground beside me and a hand snapped my jaw shut, pulling me back. An arm wrapped strongly around my shoulders. Wings closed around me, blocking out the agonising world.