No Shelter from Darkness

by Evans, Mark D.

  The promise he'd made to his High Minister should now be fulfilled without hesitation. A few years ago Bill would already be on his way to retrieve his hidden tools. The scenario played itself out in his mind and he looked away with closed eyes at the unbearable thought of plunging a knife through his daughter's chest. The mental picture stole his breath.

  He knew then that he wouldn't be able to go through with it.

  Bill's leg prevented him from crouching beneath the bunk over Beth's head; instead he stepped back and bent down on one leg. His daughter's face was in shadow, but he was well aware that she was looking at him. A shiver ran down his spine at the sight of the luminous green reflection of her pupils. But even then, his new resolve wasn't shaken.

  He was going to break his promise, and the thought made him feel sick to his stomach.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THE MEMORY OF A DREAM lingered while Mary's eyes tried to focus on the emptiness before her. As usual, the first thing she realized was that she was in Beth's room and not her own. The clock wasn't ringing, and light wasn't attempting to crawl around the blind, so next Mary questioned what could possibly have woken her from such a still night's peace.

  Beth's room was above the scullery and most of the kitchen; when the back door opened Mary heard the dulled click, despite the quietness with which it was done. She sat up, shimmied backward to the window, and lifted the blind. The lantern in the shelter was lit and the door was ajar. It would seem Beth was having another bad night with this mysterious bug. That was if Mr. Wade had been telling the truth. “But why would he lie?” she asked herself under her breath.

  There had been no further sign of a bug at school, and no one else in the house was ill. But it was more than that. If Beth needed to be confined to a room, Mary was more than willing to sleep downstairs or even in the sliver of space beside Oliver's bed. Surely a cold shelter was doing her more harm than good.

  It occurred to her that after hearing the back door, she'd heard nothing else. There were no feet on the stairs, no creaking of floorboards. Just silence. Curiosity finally got the better of her.

  Her genuine worry would be her excuse. She was concerned for Beth, so why wouldn't she go and make sure her friend was okay? Still, even though she was satisfied for being within her rights to go downstairs, she still tested each step before putting her full weight on it. She clutched the banister rail, but there was a little light escaping through the hall door, so she wasn't in complete darkness. On the way down, she'd heard a cupboard door opening and something ceramic being taken out.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Mary gently pushed the door open that led into the sitting room, just enough for her to slip through. The kitchen light was on, but the sitting room remained in darkness save for the dingy rectangle of light on the floor from the open kitchen doorway. Mary sneaked toward it and crouched behind an armchair. From her position she could see through the kitchen and into the scullery. Mr. Wade was standing at the square sink, leaning on his hands either side of it as if he was going to be sick. He was silent and motionless. Mary heard only her heart beating.

  To his right, on the wooden top, was a ceramic jug that he put into the deep sink. She couldn't see anything directly in front of Mr. Wade, but she heard the clink. He leaned again, and Mary could hear him taking deep breaths.

  He shifted his weight onto his good leg. From what Mary could see, he was doing something with his hands in front of him. She shifted slightly, changing her line of sight just enough to be able to see a small, thin frame of action between Bill's body and the doorframe. He unbuttoned the cuff of his left shirtsleeve and rolled it up. Next he undid the buckle of his wristwatch and put it into his trouser pocket. The mystery was mesmerizing.

  He reached over to his right, his hand disappearing behind the other side of the doorframe, but Mary heard the metallic ting of the knife he picked up. It flashed into view before being hidden in front of him. Back in view, he held his left arm out, horizontally, with the underside of his wrist facing upward. Then the pointed end of the knife appeared and flashed light. The last thing Mary saw was the blade being pressed into the skin.

  She looked away, covering her mouth with her hand before a gasp could escape. She heard a gasp anyway, but it wasn't hers. She could feel her blood flushing her skin and her heart pounded in her ears, but morbid curiosity made her look back over to the sink. Mary could see that Bill had turned his wrist to the side and was now clenching and unclenching his fist. A thin string of blood disappeared behind the tall edge of the sink. He was filling the jug.

  She couldn't look away, staring as the blood slowed and the string turned into drips. Bill sighed in frustration and picked up the knife again. With wide and horrified eyes Mary watched the existing wound being reopened, made deeper, and the flow of blood hastened once more.

  As the blood slowed to a trickle for a second time, Mary could hear the drips filling the jug. Bill reached over again, but this time he retrieved a piece of cloth. He dragged it over the top of his wrist and then expertly fingered the other end and pressed it up against his skin, while he wrapped the cloth under and around. He was then able to quickly wrap it around his wrist in a tight bandage.

  His balance looked unsteady and he pulled out a chair, sitting in it with a humph, and with his left leg stretched out straight. Mary stared and concentrated on not moving a muscle, while Bill caught his breath.

  Finally, he rose unsteadily, retrieved the jug from the sink, opened the back door and left the house. Mary let out the lungful of air she didn't know she'd been holding. She hesitated, and then she crept into the kitchen and through the back door that Bill had left ajar.

  With her eyes used to the kitchen light, Mary had to be careful once more as she navigated the potentially loud obstacles that lined the wall outside, until she was far enough along to be able to see through the small gap left in the shelter door. Bill had just sat down on the end of a bunk next to the entrance. He held the jug by the handle in one hand, while his other covered the top. There was talking, and Mary closed her eyes to try and hear what was being said.

  “… have you done?”

  It was Beth's voice, and she sounded terrible.

  “It's the only way,” said her father.

  “I can't,” said Beth.

  Then silence.

  Mary opened her eyes to find Bill leaning forward. The jug was on the floor in the middle, his hand still covered it. And then he removed it and quickly sat up.

  Mary waited, hating that she couldn't see what Beth was doing. Suddenly Beth was on the floor on all fours. She grabbed the jug and while she was still crouched, she lifted it to her mouth. Tipping it up, she drank the fresh blood, guzzling it down until she held the jug almost upside down. Only a single drop was wasted. It ran down her chin, drying out halfway down her neck.

  Horrified, Mary was frozen to the spot. She wanted to move but couldn't. Fear had gripped her tightly. She was afraid of what they would do to her if they knew she was there. When Bill began to move, Mary was finally forced to run back into the house, as quietly as she could. She could only hope she hadn't made a sound as she got back into bed and hid under the covers, wishing now that she'd never left them at all.

  THIRTY-SIX

  BILL WAS HALFWAY THROUGH HIS RATIONED BREAKFAST when he put his hands under the table to fiddle with the buckle of his watch strap. The gauze that he'd taken from the first aid tin in the shelter had been trimmed precisely the width of the cracked leather strap. He'd fastened it tightly so it didn't move. Fiddling with it simply scratched the itch without anyone noticing. Lynne's concern over the past couple of days had vanished, and she was back to her usual talkative self. Beth had fought off her “mysterious bug” and she sat at the table, scoffing down her food.

  Bill caught Mary looking at him inquisitively before she glanced back down to her plate. From the corner of his eye he watched her put another fork of food in her mouth, taking the opportunity to glance at Beth. There was somethi
ng in her expression, something in her eyes that told him things weren't right. He had learned to read people well over the years. Mary was a smart girl; his worst-case scenario was that she saw him go into the shelter. But even if she'd seen Beth drinking like a savage, there was no way she could know what was in the jug.

  “Mary, you need to drink your water,” said Lynne, gesturing to the girl's full glass.

  “I'm not very thirsty, thank you, Mrs. Wade.”

  “You've got to keep yourself hydrated,” said Lynne. “Come on, drink up.”

  Lynne split the last inch of water between the rest of them, pouring it from the jug that Bill had meticulously cleaned only several hours earlier. Mary warily picked up the glass and took a couple of careful sips, as if she knew it to be poisoned.

  The house soon became its usual hive of activity while everyone except Bill got ready to leave. Beth had decided she was plenty well enough to return to school, but Bill had his doubts. Though her color and the shine in her eyes had returned, she still didn't look one hundred percent better. There was no way he would have been able to give her the nearly three weeks’ worth of blood she needed without fainting.

  Mary's peculiar behavior seemed to continue up to the minute she left the house, doing so in a rush and before Beth was ready to leave. She whisked Oliver out with her, and for a minute or two it was only Beth and Bill left in the house.

  “What's all that about?” asked Beth.

  “I'm not entirely sure,” said Bill, curiously. “How are you feeling?”

  “Not bad. Better than all right, I suppose. But—”

  “But what?”

  “I keep thinking about last night. When I tried to … ” She couldn't finish the words.

  “Elizabeth,” he started, but Beth turned her head, making it clear she didn't want to—or simply couldn't—talk about it. Without another word, she left the house.

  Left to his own devices, Bill was yet again facing free time he didn't want. Despite knowing his daughter was no longer a danger, he still hadn't slept well. He went around the house trying to find things to do to take his mind away from the fate he'd made for himself.

  Listening to the wireless was useless; the words of news reports or the melodies of music were background noise to his own thoughts. He read the newspaper, forcing himself through the same paragraph at least five times but unable to recall its content. Oiling the laundry wringer was a chore he could manage, but he ended up turning the handle aimlessly, staring into oblivion. He had to get out of the house, far away from the scene of his own crime.

  Even after all this time, the walk to his usual bus stop was still automatic without so much as a hesitation. The once familiar bus route had changed, though. The scenery was far different, almost apocalyptic. From the scattered remains of East End houses, the buildings changed into offices and shops, but they too were marred. The bus was forced to make detours to avoid closed roads for one reason or another. Everywhere he looked, the scars of war were plain to see. The London he'd returned to was far different than the one he'd left.

  Alighting at Cornhill near the Bank of England, where the grand architecture was mostly still intact, Bill walked down the narrow Birchen Lane. With its tall, angular buildings on either side, the sun only reached here for around an hour at midday. This day happened to be cloudy. He took a left, through a narrow rectangular opening in the buildings, through into Castle Court. It was an unintentionally secretive passageway, still carpeted with its original cobblestones that faintly zigzagged up to St. Michaels Church. Both Jeff and Lynne had told him about the indirect damage Davies & Co. Carpenters had taken, but this was the first time he would see it for himself. The buildings stood proud and strong as they always had; it was the shop fronts that had suffered. The narrow walkway was littered with small jewelry shops and cozy bars, and halfway down was Davies & Co. He walked up with his cane and stood outside the shattered shop front for a few minutes, letting the scene of the wreckage sink in, imagining the effort that would be required to fix it.

  It was only a small carpenter's. The biggest jobs they took were orders for identical desks, or matching bookshelves. Most of their money came from law partnerships or such. Only the finest wood would do; that's where Davies & Co. excelled. They undertook the small exquisite orders—it was no factory.

  Tentatively, Bill stepped up onto the wall that had housed the wooden framed windows; thirty or so small square panes. The door was smashed against the inner wall. Though the shop wasn't wide, it went back a fair way, and he looked over the rubble to ensure the floor hadn't caved in through to the basement below. Shoving some splintered wood aside and careful of the sharp and plentiful glass, he righted his green leather chair with wounds of its own, and sat down with a sigh. A gentle autumnal wind whistled through the quaint alleys every now and then. The city was almost silenced in this little known corner. Sitting with a sense of calm, he watched the cobblestones brighten and dim, thanks to a passing hole in the clouds. It was almost like meditation. In this change of scenery and atmosphere, his thoughts were uncluttered.

  His wrongdoings became clear.

  He had defied the Ministry. Beth was never supposed to have tasted human blood. It was one of the rules that his High Minister had laid down and Bill had agreed with him. It was principal just as much as anything else, but he had to consider now if it would change anything. Would she develop a taste for it? Would it make her unpredictable? More dangerous? Chances were it had already affected her psyche.

  His biggest crime, however, was that he should never have let the situation go so far. The promise he'd heartlessly made twelve years ago was that if Beth ever posed a threat or danger, he would slay her. Twelve hours ago Beth should have died at his hand.

  Instead, he'd broken almost every rule the Ministry had.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  MARY CONSIDERED HERSELF LUCKY on two counts. The first was that the night following her gruesome discovery Beth had stayed in the shelter. The second was that in Beth's room, her dresser was next to the door and it didn't take much to push it a couple of inches to the left in order to lock herself in.

  Beth had cited to her mother that she didn't want to risk bringing any lingering germs into the house. Mary knew that wasn't the truth, but didn't care to wonder what the truth might have been. She did wonder why Lynne hadn't put up more of a fuss than she did. Now Mary's eyes had been opened, the shady goings on seemed so obvious.

  Spending Thursday night awake, too, she had only dozed when Friday's dawn arrived. It had taken almost that long to accept that what she'd seen was real, no matter how unbelievable it was. Initially she'd assumed the whole family knew, but when a little sense came to her she realized only Beth and her father were to fear. Her protectiveness over Oliver then flourished.

  Since then she'd figured a few things out, of which she was fairly certain. Mr. Wade wasn't whatever Beth was. He didn't need the blood; he gave it. That meant only Beth was a monster. The wild story she'd told of her adoption and arrival was probably true, or at least contained elements of truth. But what about the scars down her back? Were they connected? All these thoughts and more wrestled to be considered in Mary's mind, and she found herself thinking back over days, weeks, then months and even years to pick out bits and pieces of relevant information.

  The fatigue. It coming and going suggested that Beth had consumed blood before. Mary nearly slapped her own head, remembering the gory remains of the animal that Gibson had found by the lake and how Beth seemed oddly at ease with the sight—happy, even. Then the blood transfusions came to mind. Mary shuddered to think of all the time the two of them had spent together. She'd been friends with an evil and savage fiend.

  School was the only place Mary felt safe; if it weren't for the fear of the cane she would've gone to sleep at her desk. As it was she had fallen asleep in the corner of the playground, and was awakened at lunchtime by some giggling girls. She woke with a start and immediately searched for Beth, relaxing a little wh
en she saw her in the opposite corner staring out into nothingness.

  By the time she went to bed on Friday—again with the room to herself—she was so tired that sleep took her without permission. She couldn't remember her dreams when she woke on Saturday … but she knew they hadn't been pleasant.

  With only half a day at school, she found herself panicking a little about what she'd do in the afternoon. She made sure she left the house early again with Oliver, whisking him away from danger. But after some rest, reason was starting to settle in. She was still in dreadful fear of Beth, but she also recognized that, as far as she knew, Beth hadn't harmed anyone. She certainly hadn't harmed her father; he'd given her his blood willingly. After all this time, Beth hadn't laid a hurtful finger on any of them.

  When she emerged into the dull afternoon from morning lessons, still confused and afraid, she was glad to see Oliver running off with Dave and Charlie. Mrs. Wade was at the hospital, working a rare Saturday shift and none the wiser. But it meant that when she got home, she would be alone with Beth and her father. But she didn't have anywhere else to go.

  Reluctantly back in the confines of what now felt an unwelcoming house, Mary remained in Beth's room with the dresser in place, and sat fearfully upright on the bed. What should I do? She was wise enough to know that telling the police would be a bad idea. If they saw her as a child, she'd be laughed at; if they saw her as a young woman, she'd be locked away. She should tell Mrs. Wade and Oliver, at least, to try to tell them what they were living with.

  She heard the front door being closed, then the back. Mary looked down out of Beth's window and saw the she-devil mope back to her lair, stretching her neck. Mary just wanted to get out of the house again.

  Now was her chance.

  She hopped up, pushed the dresser back and crept down the stairs.

  Feeling relief as soon as she stepped out into the street, she wandered down the road and passed her old address. As it always did, the unexpected light through the front window got her attention. She could see through it, into the kitchen and where the scullery used to be; the rooms were unusually bright due to the missing back half of the house. It really was a wonder the neighboring houses had gotten away with as little damage as they had. Those houses were still habitable; hers wasn't.