The Children Of The Mist (12 page)

‘Zest, is that you?'

It was a woman, the voice vaguely familiar. ‘Yes, it's me…Zest.'

‘Zest, thank God, it's Mrs Smith.'

Zest's brain went blank. Who?

Perhaps his silence spoke for him as Mrs Smith carried on. ‘Mrs Smith…Shelley…Morven's mum.'

Zest went straight into panic mode. Why would Morven's Mum be calling him? It couldn't be for a friendly chat. Or maybe it was. ‘What's the matter Mrs Smith?'

For a moment the phone was silent. Then, just as he began to wonder if she was still there, she picked up the thread of conversation.

‘Zest, it's Morven.'

Zest felt his chest constrict. She was dead. He just knew it. Oh God, he should never have left her. He couldn't speak.

‘Zest, are you still there?'

‘Yes, I'm still here.'

‘Zest, she had to go to hospital last night and have her appendix out, but she got better but then they, the doctors and nurses, wouldn't let her go, and they abused her, drugged her and locked her up. She's in the psychiatric unit and they say she's dangerous but she's not dangerous, but they scared her. It'd make anyone act a bit crazy…I don't know what to do, I just know she'd want you to know as you're her friend.'

The pressured outpouring ceased and Zest knew that Morven's mother was crying. A rage filled him. A rage that he'd learned to keep on a short leash for a long, long time. The thought of Morven, his brilliant, infuriating, brave and beautiful friend caged like a beast, drugged like a lunatic and all alone was too much. He should never have left her. It was all his fault.

‘Mrs Smith, don't do anything. Do you hear me? Don't do anything until I get there. I have to talk to you.'

Morven's mother made a small hiccuping sound. ‘I don't know…well, alright…but be quick.'

Zest felt her indecision. ‘Mrs Smith. Shelley. Promise me, please.'

‘Yes, I promise, we'll see you soon then.'

This time her voice was firmer, the tone more assured. Zest relaxed a fraction. ‘Soon,' he said. He put the phone in his pocket, went into his bedroom and opened a drawer. He reached in and drew out what looked like a shiny belt. He threaded it, almost reverently, around the top of his camouflage pants. For a moment he was lost in thought.
Then he took a deep breath and set off with determined strides across the van and out the door.

Minutes later he raced across the car yard. The mug of herbal tea sat upon the top step and steamed softly.

When Morven awoke her brain was as clear as a mountain creek. She'd been pissed off before, now she was coldly determined. It was dark. But she could see clearly that she was in a small room. Not a padded cell, but the next best thing. It did not take a genius to work out that the door was locked and the small window reinforced. She lay quite still, allowing her senses to read the situation. For a moment, despite it all, Morven felt a thrill of excitement. It was like being reborn. She was the same, but more. Much more. Every part of her body felt more vibrant. Each breath of stale air told a story. Sounds she should not hear filtered through the thick walls and tightly sealed door.

It only took seconds to work out that there was someone standing outside the locked door. Correction. Two someones. She could smell them and hear them. Their conversation was most interesting.

Voice One she instantly recognised as the Doc. ‘She's had enough sedative to keep a herd of rhino unconscious for several more hours. When she wakes she'll have a king-size hangover. She'll need plenty of fluids.'

Morven thought a number of very rude words. The great turd burglar sounded positively chipper. But she strangled down her anger and tuned back in.

Voice Two was another male, younger though, and politely subservient. A nurse or possibly a junior doctor. ‘Do you have any idea what's going on?'

The Doc. ‘A couple. One possibility is some rare form of porphyria. Which would explain the blood drinking and the delusions. Another blood work-up will shed some light on that. Personally I think she is floridly psychotic. Actually believes she's a vampyre. It's not that rare. Doctor Spock will be in tomorrow morning. Unfortunately he's in Sydney, couldn't get a flight until the morning.'

Voice Two chimed in. ‘Should be very interesting.'

The Doc made a phlegmy sound in his throat. Could have been either a laugh or a cough. ‘Indeed, Jared, indeed.'

They moved away. Morven sat up slowly and stretched. She had to hand it to the medical staff — they were pretty confident. Maybe because this Doc Spock was going to beam down from the mothership. Still, pre-warned was pre-armed. All she had to do was convince the new arrival that she was quite sane. Shouldn't be too hard. Maybe she should confess to taking drugs, a kind of temporary insanity plea. The old spiked-drink-at-the-party was always a goodie, too. Or perhaps she should complain of a migraine of epic proportions. Surely they'd have to send her back to the main hospital block for some sort of tests. Then, it'd be easy to get away.

She realised she was thirsty. There was a water fountain on the wall. It was very cold and the taste was not unpleasant. There was a hideous metal loo as well. Otherwise, the room was bare. The one window was too high to see out. After a minute's contemplation Morven leapt up. With an agility that rivalled a gibbon's, her fingers fastened onto the narrow sill. Her bare feet walked up the wall until her head was level with the window. It was an effort, but Morven was able to see outside for a few minutes before her strength gave out. She paused and listened, but all was quiet. Again she drew herself up and peered out of the window. It was cloudy. Occasionally the cloud thinned a little and the moon's silver face shimmered mistily. Opposite was another tall building and, in between, a small
garden. Shade trees, pearly grey, swayed in a soft breeze. The faint, sweet smell of blossom told Morven that they were flowering Jacarandas. As her eyes feasted on the wide world she longed to be outside. Free.

Her shoulders began to spasm and she dropped lightly back onto the cold lino floor. A faint noise caught her attention and she dived onto the bed and closed her eyes. A key rattled in the lock. For a fraction of a second Morven contemplated the risk of trying to get out. It was tempting, but she had to dismiss it. There was no way of knowing what security measures were outside. A failed breakout would foul up any hope of bullshitting her way out in the morning. Better be patient.

The door swung open and a pair of rubber-soled shoes squeaked across the floor. Just inches from her prone body, someone stopped. ‘Hello, Morven,' said a familiar voice.

Morven kept her face and limbs quite deliberately still despite the surge of emotions that shot through her brain. Even if she hadn't recognised his voice, his aroma gave the game away. Pasty Face smelled like day-old curry, beer and cheap aftershave. A real class act. The odour threatened to suffocate her as he leant down to her face.

‘Are you really asleep, Morven? Or are you playing possum? You might fool the mighty but you don't fool me.'

Morven crushed down the wave of murderous rage in her chest. Pasty Face might not be classically intelligent but he had a certain, unexpected cunning. It occurred to her then that he posed a very real threat. Perhaps more so than the Doc and his sidekick Spock. She must be very careful. But she was afraid her own body would give her away. Already her heart rate had accelerated. If he checked her pulse he might get suspicious. With determined effort she slowed down her breathing. She visualised her heart, the big pump, slowing in her chest. To her amazement — it worked.

It was no surprise when fingers pressed lightly onto her wrist. She smiled to herself as Pasty Face made a small grunt of disappointment. But the small smile dropped out as the fingers went walking. It took every ounce of self-control to ignore the invasion. The fingers slid softly up her bare arm, and then stopped. She could smell his excitement as the pressure increased and then slid across and up to her neck. Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it, she chanted silently. He'll get bored and go.
Ignore it.

Again the small moment of hesitation. And Morven sensed what he was about even before she felt the pressure lift from beneath her ear and reassert itself on her left thigh. Blood flooded her brain. Red. Red. Red. The whole hand squeezed her thigh none too softly and then insinuated itself beneath the flimsy blue gown. Pasty Face's breathing was loud and rough. And then Morven had a horrible thought. Had he been here, like this, before? When she had really been drugged out. Sickened and outraged, Morven snapped. One thing was for sure — the dirty little perv wasn't having a second helping.

For a second she waited, ears alert. But all she could hear was the soft murmur of conversation some distance away, and an owl screeching outside. As the hand groped higher she tensed…and let go. With a turn of speed that shocked her, she smacked the unsuspecting man hard around his head. Stunned, he reeled away, and — to Morven's glee — crashed onto the hard floor with a mighty wallop. Morven was up in half a second and landed a foot in his midriff. The breath left his doughy body with a satisfying grunt. With a hand caught in his greasy hair she jerked him up like a marionette. His eyes popped and his feet ran frantically in midair.

Morven felt for the key. Although it made her nauseous, she slipped a hand into the front of his black pants. There it was. His mouth opened but she had anticipated that and
she shook him. Hard. His teeth knocked together in his head. How she hated him. In fact, there wasn't a word that could come close to the deep-rooted loathing she felt for this animal. She threw him onto the bed and leaned in close.

‘I'm gonna keep my promise, pig face,' she said softly. And then she smiled.

His slack features crumpled in terror. It was a most satisfactory moment, one she expected to remember for a very long time. The red filled her brain. She was going to kill him; planet earth would be a better place. It was a mission of mercy. She looked at him almost tenderly. Her first. Shame he was such a pathetic specimen. Really, it was almost too easy. And then she realised that he had fainted. It seemed indecent to kill him when he was asleep; it would make her almost as bad as he was. Besides, what if he had some nasty disease? HIV. Hepatitis Z.

Her appetite faded. Not this time. Her first time had to be a worthy specimen.

Footsteps echoed outside. Someone was coming.

There was a knock on the door. ‘Gary? You still in there?' A woman's voice.

Morven went quietly to the door, the key in her hand.

‘Gary, are you okay?' The speaker sounded anxious. A face peered through the glass window.

Morven slid the key into the lock and it turned silently. As she did so, footsteps clattered quickly away from the door. The door swung open and she stepped out into a dimly lit corridor. Unsure of which way to go, she headed after the footsteps. Where there were people, there was a way out. She had covered three quarters of the distance when she heard them coming towards her.

Two nurses and two young doctors ran around the corner and stopped dead at the sight of Morven.

Without taking his eyes off her, a blonde doctor instructed the other. ‘Call the code,' he said.

It didn't take a genius to work out what that meant. Morven snarled in frustration. She backed up a couple of steps, scared but determined.

This time she was going to get away. Nothing and nobody was going to stop her.

Quickly she looked around. Forward had lost its appeal. In a lightning quick turn she fled in the opposite direction, her eyes scanning for a window. But she was out of luck. As it turned out, she sprinted in a big circle, through four separate wings. She'd lost the staff, but knew they'd soon be on her. She burst through a set of double doors and found herself at an office. It had a locked door and a big window. The exit door was inside the locked room. Shit.

Excited voices warned her of the staff's approach. With nothing better to do she slipped the key into the locked door. She was disappointed but not surprised to find it didn't work. One door slammed open and they were back.

‘Morven,' said the blonde, ‘it's alright. You've no need to be afraid. No one's going to hurt you.'

Morven laughed derisively. ‘Whatever you say, Blondie.'

‘If you just go back to your room, it'd be the best for you,' said a tall, skinny brunette whose voice Morven recognised as the one from outside her cell.

There was a clatter behind her. Morven backed up and her heart rate accelerated to morph drive at the sight of two guards entering the office. If she could get in there, she'd have a fighting chance. Just one locked door. She watched carefully, edging closer. The nurses and doctors shadowed her every move. As the interior door clicked open and the first guard strode in, Morven acted.

She charged him like a buffalo. Taken off guard, he was forced back, knocking his fellow guard off his feet. His keys shot across the room. There was a moment of chaos and Morven quickly took advantage of it. She threw herself onto the keys, and was up and at the door in a flash. One of the guards got up and came at her. Morven fended him off with a kick to the crotch. Just as the key slipped into the lock, the other door burst open.

Morven abandoned the key and turned to defend her territory. She fought with the cold calculation of a machine. Unfeeling, uncaring. Death — not surrender. Each strike and counter strike flared through her brain with clarity. It was as if someone had planted a chip in her brain and it had suddenly woken up. But she had carelessly dismissed the skinny nurse. As she fluidly lashed out at each guard in turn, and then sideswiped Blondie, the nurse picked up a red fire extinguisher and threw it. It hit Morven on the temple. Blood poured from the wound, and for a moment she was blinded.