The Children Of The Mist (9 page)

‘It's 85 over 55,' said Rose.

‘It's low,' said Anita.

‘Yes,' said Rose, ‘how's the wound?'

‘Good. Dressing's dry.'

‘Check every fifteen minutes,' said Rose, ‘but don't worry, pre-op her BP was only 90 over 60. She's a lightweight. Looks fit too.'

The one called Anita laughed. ‘Wish I was that slim.'

Morven decided she loved Anita. It sounded like she was going to make it. She wished she could check out her wound for herself. She hoped she'd have a huge scar. That would be so cool. It'd be great to have one to rival Zest's. He was inordinately vain over the long scar that ran down his back. He said it was a shark bite but Morven did not believe him. It seemed unfair that everyone else got to check out her operation site before she did. Strangely, the appendix site didn't hurt at all. Maybe she was still on morphine. The back of her left hand was a bit sore, maybe she had an IV in it. She tried to touch her left hand with her right, but couldn't, although she managed to wiggle her fingers. Her mouth felt like bush turkey's feet. Dry as. And her teeth still hurt. Which seemed both odd and unfair. Maybe she'd been clenching her teeth while she was under. Although, she recalled vaguely that they'd been sore before. While she struggled to remember, she drifted back into sleep.

On waking she felt a pang of panic. She was tied down. She couldn't move. It took a long moment before Morven realised that that her parents were perched either side of her
on the bed clothes, effectively pinning her down. Delighted to be awake, and with the use of all her bodily functions, Morven opened her mouth to ask someone to release her. But the words strangled in her very dry throat when she realised that they were, very quietly, locked in argument. Morven shut her eyes, not wanting them to be embarrassed. To her knowledge her parents rarely rowed and she couldn't help but be a little curious.

‘Shelley,' said her dad, ‘we should tell her.'

Her mother was silent for a while. ‘She knows she's adopted. We've never lied,' she said finally.

Her father tutted under his breath. ‘No, we've never lied, except by default. They've done a full blood work-up. The results are…unusual, to say the least.'

‘Well,' her mother practically hissed, ‘she doesn't need to know.'

Her father shifted a bit, as if he was uncomfortable. ‘What if they want to investigate, there may be all sorts of awkward questions.'

‘Well, maybe. But we'll worry about that if and when we have to.'

Morven was absolutely riveted. She waited, agog.

Her mother continued. ‘She's fine, Cliff. The nurse says that her recovery is textbook. We'll just refuse to give permission for any more testing. The nurse said she won't need any more blood, and she should be able to go home soon.'

Of their own accord Morven's eyes popped open, conversation forgotten. Blood? What blood? She liked the sound of the word.
Blood
. A lovely word to get your tongue around. And sure enough, up above her head was a bag. Dripping steadily from the bag were little ruby red drops of life. Beautiful. The lovely substance snaked down a thin plastic tube into the back of her hand. Morven couldn't help but feel impatient at the slow rate of the transfusion. Each drop swelled into a crimson tadpole, quivered and fell. Slow. Slow. Slow. How ridiculous. It'd be so much easier just to drink it. She was so bloody thirsty.

‘Morven, you're awake!'

Morven dragged her eyes from the fascinating IV set and looked at her mother. ‘Hi,' she said, although her voice was rougher than an emery board.

Her father peered down at her. His black hair stuck up and he looked a little crazy. ‘How do you feel? Have you got any pain? Do you need anything?'

For a moment Morven's eyes flickered up at the bag but were drawn back to her father's dark-eyed anxiety. ‘A drink. I'm parched.'

To her relief he jumped up and looked around. ‘Nurse, she's awake!'

The vanilla nurse, Anita, hurried to the bed beside Morven. She smiled. ‘That's great. How are you feeling, Morven?'

‘She's thirsty,' said Shelley.

Anita smiled again. ‘There's an ice machine in the corridor. Suck some for a while, and we'll see how you go.'

Morven smiled back. It was hard not to. Vanilla was a young girl whose curly blonde hair and peachy complexion made her look like a milk maid. ‘When can I go home?'

‘I'm not sure,' said Anita, ‘you're doing really well though. We'll have to wait on the doctor to check you out. Maybe tomorrow. All going well.' And she moved on.

Morven realised it was light outside. ‘What time is it?'

‘It's just past four,' said her dad.

Morven was surprised. Why, she must have been asleep for ages. Then she remembered her parent's argument. Something about her blood tests. Her blood. And, equally intriguing, something that her parents were holding back. A secret. She couldn't
imagine what it was that divided her parents with such passionate intensity. A small worm of dread wiggled in her chest. Was there something wrong with her? Did she have some sort of rare disease or, worse, some syndrome that they'd not told her? Was she going to grow a penis or turn into a dribbling idiot? Were her genetic parents locked up in a lunatic asylum?

Now she was really freaked out. What could the doctors tell from blood tests anyway? Several things came to mind. Blood type, blood cell counts, blood sugar, liver function. But there must be millions of things she didn't know about. Well, there was only one way to find out. She'd have to ask. Determined to get to the bottom of this thing, Morven looked at her parents. When she did, she realised for the first time that they were both still in their nightclothes. Her father wore a pair of navy blue pyjamas and an old pair of sneakers, while her mother was in her white terry towelling robe over a Mickey Mouse nightie. Her feet were in mismatched slippers. One pink, one blue.

And she felt terrible. How selfish she was. They must be exhausted. Question time could keep till later. ‘Mum, Dad, you guys should go home. You heard the lady. I'm fine. Text-book fantastic.'

Her mother frowned. ‘Are you sure?'

Morven rolled her eyes. ‘What am I? Five?'

Her mum cast a quick look at her dad and looked back to Morven. ‘We'll just wait a bit longer. Get you some ice and make sure you're alright with it.'

Morven shook her head. ‘Don't be silly. I'm fine.' And she really did feel fine. Except for a mild toothache, she actually felt pretty fit.

Her father disappeared briefly and reappeared with a paper cup filled with ice chips.

Morven took the cup and popped a piece in her mouth. She winced as a sharp pain stabbed up her jaw.

Immediately her mother leant in close. ‘Morven, what's wrong?'

Morven waved her off. ‘Mum, take a chill pill. Just a toothache.'

Her mum sat back, a look of disbelief on her tired face. ‘Toothache? Morven, you've never even had a filling. You've never had a problem with your teeth.' She leant in again, a determined expression on her face. ‘Let me have a look.'

Morven shut her mouth firmly.

Her mum's blue eyes narrowed. ‘Fine. I'll just wait here until the nurse comes back and get her to take a peek.'

Morven knew when she was beaten. She sighed and opened wide.

Her mother peered into her mouth intently and then withdrew. ‘I can't see anything. Well, except…'

‘Except what?' said Morven impatiently.

But her mother just laughed and shook her head. ‘Nothing. I think you're right, I'm tired. We should go.'

Morven nodded slowly and bid her parents goodbye. She waited until they had disappeared from sight and their footsteps had finally faded. Then she lifted her hand and poked a finger in her mouth.

What she found was extremely disturbing.

For several moments she lay very still. Deeply troubled. Then, she decided that she must have imagined it. It was probably because of her mother's odd response. What she needed to put her mind at rest was a mirror.

Nurse Vanilla came in with another nurse, but before Morven could ask for assistance they had wheeled the sleeping patient beside her, bed and all, out of the double room. Morven was alone.

‘Damn it,' she muttered. She'd have to wait until they got back. She looked at the bag of blood. It was nearly empty. Barely a quarter of a cup remained. If it wasn't for the IV she could easily get up and go to the bathroom, just metres away at the end of the small room. Perhaps she could manage to take the whole shebang with her. On inspection this seemed possible. The machine and IV set were on a metal stand with a set of wheels. Shouldn't be too much drama.

The only snag was that the machine was plugged in on the far side of the bedside cupboard to her right. The IV and its stand were on her left. To free up the IV she had to unplug the machine. Unfortunately the length of tubing attached to her hand, did not allow this. Frustrated, Morven swore under her breath, which didn't resolve anything but made her feel momentarily better. She eyed the electric cord. Maybe she should just lean over and give it a good tug.

With her head almost touching the floor and her body perched perilously on the edge of the bed, Morven reached out with her right hand. It was close but not close enough. Back in the sitting position, Morven realised she'd just have to wait.

But as the seconds ticked past, her impatience grew. God, being sick was boring. For a few moments she was distracted with the rest of the ice, which she consumed with relish. Her stomach rumbled. She was starving. Her tongue ran slowly around her mouth. Once. Twice. Three times. Each exploration increased Morven's anxiety. It was no good. She'd have to have a look.

Again she observed the bag. It was very pretty. She wondered what it smelled like. What it tasted like. Its texture. It'd probably be salty, like potato chips. And a bit meaty. Like liquid steak. Although she found it mildly disturbing, this led to strange thoughts about the blood's source. This blood had belonged to someone. It had been squeezed through someone's heart, pumped down endless vessels and then oxygenated in a set of lungs. And given away. To Morven.

And then, she had a brilliant idea. So brilliant, she wondered how it had taken her so long. Of course, if she just drank the rest, she could take the IV set out. And get up. She really, really wanted to get out of bed.

Despite her rationale Morven did not immediately put her plan into action. Something held her back. Something that swirled in her subconscious almost surfaced and then ebbed away. A sense of unease filled her. What was she missing? Again she went over her plan, and came to the conclusion that it was good. Logical. Practical. But still she hesitated. Maybe she should just wait after all.

She lay back against the pillows and looked up. It was so pretty. She waited for a drop to form. And waited. And waited. Nothing happened. Irritated she sat up and flicked
the line. Nada. She squeezed it a couple of times but to no avail. Stupid thing had stopped working. At this rate she'd be there for a month of Sundays.

And suddenly there seemed to be no other option than to carry out her plan. In one swift movement she had peeled the tape off the back of her hand, and pulled the cannula smoothly out. Blood oozed up from the vein and she popped a finger on it. When she checked it out a moment later it had stopped.

Morven turned her attention to the machine. A few seconds and she had switched the pump down and had the line free. Brilliant. But she was momentarily stymied by the sealed structure of the bag. Without scissors or a knife she could not pierce it. Her eyes travelled down the long line. There was a sliding mechanism that controlled the rate of flow down the tube. Experimenting, Morven pushed it up and hoped the contents would begin to flow. She was disappointed. Impatient now, she gave the bag a hard squeeze.

‘Oops,' she muttered. Too successful, blood had squirted all over the pale green bedspread. A wide splash pattern that was really rather artistic. She grinned to herself. Mrs Roseberry, her art teacher, was always saying that everything was art, and art was everything. Perhaps she had a point. Shame she didn't have her mobile, she could have taken a photo. Zest would utterly get it.

She looked over her shoulder to the closed door. All was quiet. Still, she had no way of knowing when a nurse or some other staff member may invade. Better hurry. With one finger she dabbed the end of the tube and tentatively bought it up to her mouth. Her nose quivered as the rich scent permeated her senses. Her tongue poked out and licked. As her tongue retreated into her mouth Morven let out a loud groan of ecstasy. It was better than chocolate. Utterly absorbed, she picked up the tube and gave it an experimental suck. No good. With her free hand Morven squeezed the bag again. Bingo.

The divine substance gave up its stubborn fight and flowed freely at last. As she drank she could feel it doing her good. If she closed her eyes and really concentrated she could feel the effects speeding though her body. It was like putting jet fuel in a moped. Holy shit, but she felt good. No, not good. What was the right word? Super? Smoking? Sizzling? Sizzling. Yep, that was getting close. She was a supersonic, smoking, sizzling superwoman. She was sure she could fly.

‘Morven, what are you doing?'

Morven's eyes flew open and she froze. This was awkward. She reluctantly put the tube down and turned around. It was young Vanilla. Morven picked up the corner of her bed sheet and dabbed delicately at her mouth. ‘Yes?' she said politely.

Vanilla's blue eyes were as wide as possums. ‘What
are
you doing?' Her eyes slid to the bloodied bedspread and back to Morven.

‘I'm sorry, but I pulled the needle out by mistake and it sprayed everywhere. I just really need to go to the loo.'

‘Why didn't you buzz?'