Fallow Heart Page 7

  “A spray-can?” Lori said, leaning closer. “Like a paint can?”

  “Maybe,” Addy answered with a nod.

  “What time was this?” Lori added, trying to make her shivering brain work.

  “About four in the morning,” Addy said.

  Lori leaned forward, squeezing her body up into an even tighter curl. It was unthinkable not to have control of herself. What if she’d drowned in the river tonight? What if she walked into traffic? She could be dead without even knowing it had happened.

  Perhaps you’d be better off that way.

  The thought slithered in, and Lori shut her eyes. She tried not to think of all that she was facing. Pauline’s death, ripped apart by a monster. Her parents, already convinced that their daughter was diseased and hallucinating. That thing in the cage, which the DC had called a Cervinae. Allardyce, with his smart suit and oddly comforting smile. And Matilda Vane. Her perfect sweep of hair and pristine, faultless expression.

  The future, for you, is not what it once was.

  What hope did Lori have? There was a powerful surge of heat in her chest, her eyes burning suddenly. Her whole body jumped when she wrenched out the first sob. She wanted to stop. Anything but crying in front of strangers. She’d done quite enough of that her life through. But the tears came all the same, her body juddering no matter how hard she held herself. Breathing in sharp shudders, Lori tried in vain to push it all from her mind, but the truth was there and plain to see:

  This is my life now. No escape.

  “We ought to get you back to your van.”

  Addy spoke so softly that Lori barely heard him over her sobs. He reached for her, but Lori flinched the moment his icy hands touched her bare forearm. She heaved herself to her feet, wiping desperately at her soaked, snotty face. She praised the darkness. At least it covered some of her breakdown. Addy walked a few paces beside her before he next spoke.

  “I live around here,” he ventured, and Lori fancied it was the tone of someone trying hard to make a subject change.

  “I know,” Lori stammered back. “You speak to Brian sometimes. He told me your van’s off down that way.”

  She flung a hand in the direction of the treeline, where a few vans had bravely set themselves up on the root-riddled, muddier ground. Addy gave a nod, but did not turn in the direction of his home. He was walking her back to her own van, and Lori’s awkwardness was rising. She’d never be able to ignore him after this, simply write him off as the local weirdo. What was he now? Not a friend, but a stranger who knew too much.

  “You didn’t tell anyone that you saw me Friday night, did you?” she asked.

  “Who would I tell?” Addy replied. “You’re one of the two people that I’ve actually had a real conversation with this week.”

  “Seriously?”

  Lori hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but the word seemed to follow them for several long, silent steps. Addy’s head was hanging lower than before, his face in shadow.

  “Don’t try to warm up too quick or you’ll overheat,” he advised suddenly. “You’re not used to night swimming. It can cause hypothermia if you don’t treat it right.”

  “Hypothermia would be the least of my problems right now,” Lori mused ruefully.

  They had reached the scruffy patch where her mother’s van sat. Addy looked it over, his head cocked to one side.

  “Oh. Spray-can. I get it now. No wonder you don’t want anyone to know you were out.”

  “Yeah,” Lori said, “that’s it.”

  She sniffled at her runny nose, which turned into a cough that shook the last of the tears from her eyes. Lori leaned over, heaving hard to get her breath back, and when she looked up, Addy had taken a half-step nearer.

  “Do you want to talk about it? Whatever it is?” he said.

  “No,” Lori snapped.

  Addy nodded, and he was a stranger once more. He took a few dawdling steps backwards, then gave a little wave of his long-fingered hand.

  “Take care then,” he said, too loudly for the time of night, “no more night swimming.”

  “If I can help it,” Lori promised.

  When Addison had retreated into the shadows of the night, Lori took a moment to squint at the smeared black remnants of the graffiti on the van. She’d done this herself, words from another language that she didn’t even know. Words that were on Matilda’s badge, and inked into Kasabian’s chest. What else had gotten inside her when the Cervinae pierced her heart? What were these changes that Matilda had foreshadowed in such an unfair way? All Lori could hope was that Allardyce would have some answers at the centre.

  Lori re-entered the van to find her mother sleeping on the sofa. She was a poor sight, one leg twisted up under her, the other splayed down the floor, the hem of her nightie askew at an unflattering angle. Yvonne’s face was slack and red with the sheen of booze, and Lori supposed that she must have started drinking again from the moment Dad left that evening. And why wouldn’t she drink? She had even more reason to drown herself now. A diseased daughter to care for.

  Slowly, Lori shifted her mother into a better shape. She knew better than to put her onto her back and risk the drunken reality of choking on her own vomit, but she did untangle her legs with some small sleepy protests. Once Yvonne was in something akin to the recovery position, Lori slipped a cushion under her head, and one of Brian’s winter coats over her body. As she crouched down to adjust the cushion for comfort, Lori’s mother opened her heavy-lidded eyes. Lori froze, hoping she wouldn’t notice the soaking wet, red eyed daughter who was aiding her.

  “It’s all going to be all right, love,” she slurred. “Mumma will take care of you.”

  Lori’s throat tightened.

  “Yeah,” she whispered. “I know Mum.”

  Lori rose quietly, grabbing a towel from the shower room and heading for her bedroom. When she got there, she found her phone discarded amongst the covers. Flashes of earlier that night returned to her, when she’d tried again and again to phone Kasabian. He’d given her his number, and so much hope that he understood what she might be going through, but she hadn’t been able to reach him by text or call. Even as Lori stared at the phone forlornly, it flashed into life with a notification.

  She slumped down on the bed, marvelling at the scroll of notifications on the screen. With a swipe, Lori was in, flicking down the list with amazement. Facebook was explosively alive for three in the morning, and Lori had been tagged. Nobody ever tagged her in anything, except the occasional nasty advert for Weight Watchers classes. She followed the notifications through, the stark white loading screen making her eyes ache. As the comments came flooding in, the cold fingers of dread closed around Lori’s heart once more.

  can’t believe it. so sad :’’’’(

  you’re kidding right?

  RIP bruv. So sad. 2 young.

  The whole college seemed to be tagged into the same message, a thread which had started about two hours ago. Lori scrolled around to find the source of the panic: an original plea from Sasha Leigh. Though Lori didn’t recognise the name, the profile picture was that of Spanish Class Girl. Her message was short and misspelled, but one section stood out:

  i think his neck’s broekn. i called the police but i dont no what to do.

  Lori raced through the other comments, looking for the name of the victim. Her stomach gave a violent spasm, the tears returning. They seemed to want to burn her eyes from her sockets, to stop her from reading the truth. It was Ryan, the arsehole who’d given her so much grief earlier that day.

  Ryan Wade was dead.

  Care, and those who provide it

  “You look like you haven’t slept all night, sweetheart,” Mum said over her attempted breakfast.

  Lori pushed her black bacon around the plate, sloshing it into the crimson mush of tomatoes. It looked positively cancerous, the gaudy splash of colours. Another death, another lifeless body that had once been occupied by someone she knew. Lori drank a little orange juice, b
ut the bitterness stung her throat.

  “Is Brian taking me to the treatment centre in the car?” Lori asked. “Or do I get the bus myself?”

  “You’re not going by yourself,” Mum insisted with a croak.

  She looked well despite her state the night before, though Lori suspected much of that was down to some clever eye make-up. Her mother topped up the orange juice in Lori’s cup to refill the tiny sip she’d taken, then cleared her throat loudly.

  “Granddad’s coming with the Clio. He and I will drop you off, then wait for you in town. Miss Vane said the treatment’s not the kind where you can have people in the room with you, didn’t she?”

  Lori swallowed hard.

  “That’s right,” she lied. It seemed that Matilda had covered every eventuality in her prep-chat with Lori’s parents, removing them so perfectly from the situation. Lori looked along the narrow corridor of the van, pouting thoughtfully for a moment.

  “He’s not here,” Mum said in a lower tone.

  “Brian?” Lori asked.

  Mum nodded, her curls fluttering wildly.

  “He was here, at the beginning of what Miss Vane was telling us yesterday,” she explained, “but… Well, I guess it scared him off.”

  Guilt gave Lori’s gut a thump.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Mum shook her head.

  “He’ll probably come back,” she mused, “and if not, well, he’s a useless lump anyway, right?”

  Lori wondered if her mother knew how empty her words sounded. Perhaps she thought that Lori was blind to the world of relationships, having never had one herself, but Lori knew that her mother did care for Brian. Though they encouraged the worst habits in one another when they drank themselves into oblivion, in their sober times they were pretty happy. It was only the fact that the sober times got rarer and rarer that was a problem. Lori reached out across the table, touching her mother’s hand lightly. Yvonne almost flinched, which hurt Lori a little, but she didn’t pull away.

  “Gosh, what hot hands you’ve got,” Mum mused. “Have they always been that way?”

  Lori looked down at her own hand, large enough to cover her mother’s entirely. It was a little pink and a lot clammy.

  “No,” Lori said darkly. “I don’t think they have.”

  The beep of a car horn made them both jump, and Lori was glad to abandon her breakfast and gather her things. The first sight of Granddad at the wheel gave her soul a little lift, but when he stuck his head out of the window to hurry them along, she could already make out the harsh lines of worry creasing his skin.

  “Come on Yvonne!” he said through gritted teeth. He gave Lori a nod as she reached the rear doors of the Clio. “I want to get this place early.”

  As Lori settled into the seat behind her grandfather, she watched her mother squelch around the car in the mud. Yvonne got into the passenger seat with a slam of the door. Granddad’s eyes rolled in the rear-view mirror.

  “I told you everything that Miss Vane told me last night, Dad.” She spoke through gritted teeth.

  “Not good enough,” Granddad answered, the engine roaring to a start. “You are handing your only daughter over to some government facility in the blink of an eye. I want proof.”

  “We have proof, Dad,” Yvonne replied. “Miss Vane has medical records, test results, everything. They tracked her down with approval from the Government. How else could they have known where we lived to arrange the visit?”

  They were turning corners sharply, the bends making Lori’s gut lurch. With every twist, the Facebook feed from last night flashed through her mind. Ryan Wade was dead. Ryan, who’d been laughing and sneering less than twenty-four hours ago, was cold as stone. A broken neck, it seemed. Lori checked her phone again for an update, as she’d been doing all night since she got in from her sleepwalking nightmare. No news, no updates, just more sympathies flooding in.

  “Lorelai!”

  Her grandfather’s bark shocked Lori from her sickly thoughts.

  “Sorry? What?” she stammered.

  “Is that right, what your mother’s telling me?” Granddad asked. His tone was loud and even harsher than usual. “That they tested you for this… condition… when you were at the police station?”

  “Uh… yeah. That’s right.”

  The narrowing of her grandfather’s gaze made his sunken eyes vanish almost entirely. Lori was hot under the collar, the first heat she’d had since the shivers of the river last night.

  “I didn’t think it was important to tell you at the time,” she added hastily. “I… uh… I thought the blood test was all routine police stuff. Because I got injured.”

  He wasn’t convinced. Granddad couldn’t have made that clearer if he’d tried. For the rest of the trip he fell into silence, his eyes shining as they flashed to and fro on the road. He bombed the Clio to the address Lori’s mother had given him, parking them up at the Patient Entrance with a screech of the brakes. To Lori’s surprise, she found that they were parked between two police cars. Both of them had a pair of officers sitting inside, watching the doors of the centre intently.

  “I’ll take her in,” Yvonne said, yanking her door open.

  Her mother was clinging to the paperwork so hard that the pages had cracked in her grip. She marched around the Clio, snaking between the police cars, and headed for the entrance before Lori had even climbed out. Granddad was out in the daylight too, stretching his tall frame and rubbing his neck. They shared a look, silent for a moment, then the old man gave a sigh.

  “You don’t look diseased to me,” Granddad mused. “Shocked, maybe. Grieving, certainly. But then what do I know? You look like my little Lori to me.”

  The hug came in a rush: Lori’s body slamming into her grandfather’s with such desperation. The heat of her tears was already loose and soaking into his woolly jumper. She didn’t care that the police officers were nearby, probably watching her fall apart. One hand rested on her hair, patting gently.

  “Huw wants to see any reports and prescriptions that you get,” Granddad told her gently.

  Lori nodded, her cheek rubbing his bony chest.

  Tell him. Tell him everything now.

  Granddad was already against Lori going into the treatment centre. She was a stone’s throw from the answers she needed. If she broke now and told her grandfather the truth, he’d drive her away again. His faith, if nothing else, would compel him that way, Lori was sure. What would he think, if he knew that something so dark had touched her? Lori shuddered as more tears came rolling, and she felt Granddad’s chin resting atop her head.

  “Listen now,” he soothed. “Perhaps it’s too raw to talk to family about yet. I can understand that. But that old mobile phone I gave you has Sister Agnes’s number on it. If you can’t call me, if you don’t want to talk to any of us, then at least call her. It’s an option, all right?”

  Lori nodded again. She’d forgotten that she still had the ancient mobile in her bag. Not that it was much use. If her super-religious grandfather was a risk to tell to the truth to, then an actual nun was an even worse option. Lori pulled away, sucking up her tears, and turned without daring to meet Granddad’s eyes again. Her mother was waiting at the double doors to the Patient Entrance. Her brow was taut, one shaky hand holding out a tissue for Lori to take. Lori forced a small smile and took it. She dried her eyes as the automatic doors opened with a swish.

  In the first room, things looked pretty normal. There were no posters or notices like a regular hospital waiting room, but the space had rows of chairs and a desk with a nurse to book people in. Lori took a seat near the exit as her mother handled the paperwork, still sucking back her tears. There was one other person in the waiting room, a girl whose age Lori couldn’t be sure of. She was pretty and petite, her face made up quite heavily with black kohl eyeliner and pale pink lip-gloss. She was holding a fashion magazine, though her eyes didn’t seem to be traveling across the pages. The girl looked up, and Lori didn’t manage to
look away before their eyes had locked.

  A flash of pain hit Lori right between the eyes. She winced, hissing hard as her hand went to her forehead. Mum was with her in seconds, asking if she was ok, but when Lori opened her eyes again to look at her, she let out a sudden gasp. The pretty girl’s eyes glowed crimson, her body suddenly replaced by a pale, sickly ooze. For a moment her body was liquid, long gelatinous limbs reaching out. The tendrils snaked towards Lori and her mother and the closer they came, the more Lori spotted the venomous pustules all over them. Lori leapt from her seat, grabbing her mother’s arms.

  “It’s all right,” said a nearby voice. “A hallucination. Your daughter will be fine once treatment begins. It’s what she’s here for, after all.”

  Lori was being helped back into her chair. As the pain in her head subsided, a wave of nausea took over. Her blurry vision showed her the nurse from behind the desk, standing face to face with her mother. Yvonne’s eyes met her daughter’s, Lori felt sicker still. All the worry she was causing, to herself and others. How much worse would it be if Mum knew the truth?

  “Do you want me to stay whilst you wait, honey?” Mum asked.

  “No,” Lori breathed. “I’ll… sit quietly. Get my breath back.”

  Mum put her hand on Lori’s shoulder. A single squeeze.

  “Okay, love. We’ll be back for you in two hours.”

  Silence fell. Lori shut her eyes. It was like she’d been run over by a truck. Her body spasmed with sudden aches, her tired mind clinging desperately to the facts of the situation. She was becoming something… other. There were two dead bodies. Two people she’d never got along famously with had met a nasty end within days. Somewhere, out in the city, there was a monster with a foul maw and big, black antlers. And somewhere else, there was a tattooed boy who shared her pain. Why hadn’t he returned her calls yet, if he was so intent on helping her?

  “I’ll have to ask you ladies to surrender your belongings before you go in,” the nurse said, shattering Lori’s dark thoughts. “I’m sure you can appreciate why we can’t have cameras or recording devices going through these doors.”