Blood Entwines (3 page)

Day One:

Kara opened her crusted eyelids.

Where am I
?

Her entire body felt taut, like the overstretched strings on a violin, ready to pop.

She wasn't prepared for the pain. It came upon her like a school of piranhas, biting into her skin, sending jolts of agony through her body. She moaned. Someone was standing next to her, speaking, but Kara couldn't decipher the words. A soft syrupy wave of pain relief rolled through her, starting from a point in the back of her hand and working its way along her body.

She drifted back to the dark.

Day Three:

She didn't open her eyes this time because the pain was too intense. She concentrated on her breath instead, in and out, wheezing through her chest.

Mentally, she examined her limbs, her right leg hurt a lot more than her left, her lower back burned with a bright pain that stopped her thoughts for a moment. When she concentrated on her head, there was no word to describe the searing agony. It was as if her skull was being squeezed through a meat grinder.

There was an itch, a hotness all over her skin. She pulled her attention to it and realised that it wasn't
on
her skin. It was
in
her skin, within her body, coursing through her system. The blood in her veins was burning, running hot, trying to burst through the paper-thin layer holding it in.

She sucked in a lungful of air and winced as her fragile ribs expanded. The beeping of the machine near her head infiltrated her consciousness as she sank back down to the dark.

***

In the darkness he howled with hot frustration. He was so close. It was almost time to wake up. His plan was perfect, ready to be enacted. His motivation: revenge. He could wrap it up in any packaging he liked, tied with a bow, notions about saving mankind, philanthropic deeds, but, in the end, it was revenge, plain and simple, that spurred him on
.

Now he would have to deviate from his plan. Find what they had stolen from him
.

How was he going to get it back
?

Sometimes in war, there are casualties. In the darkness, he repeated this phrase over and over again
.

When the time was right, he would have to kill an innocent
.

One life to save so many others
.

He had no choice
.

***

Day Five:

A soft weight settled on the edge of her bed.

‘Kara?'

Kara forced her eyelids open, the neon light in her room overpowering. Then slowly, ever so slowly, shapes began to form, blurred and misaligned. There was something wrong with her eyes. She couldn't see.

Day Eleven:

‘But why can't I focus properly?' her voice croaked. She sipped the glass of water the nurse held for her, letting the cool liquid ease her dry throat.

‘Your body has been through a very traumatic experience, Kara. It's going to take time to . . . readjust.' The doctor scanned the chart, his pen skimming the page, checking her vitals. He didn't make eye contact with her.

Kara wanted to kick the table that the nurse had wheeled across the hospital bed. It contained her breakfast tray. A bowl of something resembling porridge and a sliced apple, slowly browning, was supposed to tempt her to eat. No chance.

She hated porridge. Why were these people so stupid? None of them were telling her the truth. It wasn't typical to be sporadically blind, her vision wavering in and out of focus at odd intervals. It wasn't commonplace for her hearing to pop, her eardrums thumping with pain, paralysing deafness overcoming her. Smells that churned her stomach to the point where she gagged; this sort of stuff was not normal.
She
was not normal.

And her skin . . . How could the doctor explain that? Flares of searing heat across her body. She wanted to scratch, rake the cells from her skin, if it meant for one minute an easing of the torturous pain.

‘Why have you reduced my morphine?' she asked, her jaw tight in an effort to keep her tone even.

‘I spoke to you about this, Kara. We need your body's defences back online. You have to start coping with recovery independent of the morphine. It's going to be a slow and, at times, painful process, but you can't rely on a drug to get you through this.'

Why not? she wanted to ask. Why can't I rely on a drug? What's the point of modern medicine if you can't rely on it?

Kara kept her lips closed tight, envisaging flinging the food tray towards the doctor's head.

Day Twelve:

‘Really, Mrs Bailey, I can't see anything to be worried about. Her recovery has progressed excellently. In fact, I've rarely seen anyone heal as quickly as Kara has done.'

The loud conversation butted into her dream, pulling her back to reality. They were talking about her. Kara remained still, her breathing deep.

Rosemary's voice sounded high-pitched, panicky. ‘Are you sure?'

What was happening?

‘The stitches in her head are holding perfectly, the hair is already growing back and all her fractures are knitting together better than expected. You have nothing to worry about.' The doctor sounded confident, too confident, like he had rehearsed this speech many times.

Then it happened, a bubble of silence. One minute she could hear everything like normal, then this. It was like a pothole of deafness. She would fall into it and simply have to wait, hoping that her hearing would return. Sometimes it was only for a second, sometimes it was for longer.

‘. . . but in the operating theatre . . . the seizures . . .' Rosemary's voice hissed low in a loud whisper.

What seizures? Nobody had informed Kara about any seizures
.

‘I told you, Mrs Bailey, your stepdaughter is going to be just fine. Everything is completely normal.'

‘If you're sure that removing the morphine is a good idea . . .'

Kara felt a cold hand on her forearm just above her wrist.

‘I'm positive,' reassured the doctor.

There was a soft sucking sound and a jab of pain at the back of her right hand. Kara opened her eyes in surprise.

***

It was time. He opened his eyes
.

***

Day Twelve and a Quarter:

Kara's back arched off the bed as another convulsion shook her. Beads of sweat clotted together on her forehead. Her body was on fire.

This is it. I'm going to explode out of my skin
.

All around her the air hummed. She tried to breathe through the bursts of pain, but it was almost impossible. The machines next to her head beeped, sending shrill noise around the room. The nurse tried to still her limbs, tried to push Kara's head back against the pillow. Rosemary stood at the end of the bed, her eyes open wide, her face the colour of a boiled dishcloth.

‘Please,' Kara moaned, her teeth gritted tight, biting the inside of her cheek. ‘Please.' She didn't know who she was talking to or what she was asking for, but it was the only word she could articulate.

She wanted only one thing: for the pain to stop.

***

He blinked. Everything was blurred, his vision correcting itself slowly after such a long time inactive. He mentally scanned his body. His limbs felt as if they belonged to someone else. A dull ache radiated through him like a second pulse
.

He flexed his muscles. They burned with the pain of inaction. He could feel the cold stillness of the long sleep; it had been many months
.

He remembered that night, an age ago. All that blood before passing out into oblivion. That had been the first time. The second time, there had been no blood, just a clean free fall and the thump of a body
.

The memory upset him, so he pushed it to the back of his mind
.

He switched his attention to his surroundings
.

How was he going to get out unnoticed? It was important to get away without being seen
.

He let his mind wander for a moment, imagining what he would do when he found what they'd stolen from him. He wondered if the blood had taken hold? If it had overridden the host body
?

He felt a flicker of apprehension. Should he be held accountable for this as well? He had to get out of here. He strained his bicep, trying to move his arm. It barely twitched
.

Patience. He was not ready yet; his body needed a little more time to wake up, to remember how to move, to remember the speed, and strength, a hundred per cent, no, a thousand per cent, stronger than anything he had felt before
.

His body was readjusting, his senses reawakening. There were some issues: his eyesight was taking time to realign; he could hear well enough, but every now and then his hearing would muffle
.

He just had to be patient for a few more days. He felt the anger when he closed his eyes. He could feel the prickle of it under his eyelids. He would hunt for what was missing
.

It was his burden, his alone
.

Ashleigh tapped her fingers impatiently on the countertop at the nurse's station. The smell of the grapes that she'd bought from the gift shop made her want to puke.

Where had that stupid nurse disappeared to? One minute she was talking to Ashleigh the next minute she was responding to some alarm, rushing off down the hallway as if her hair was on fire. Did they have any idea how inconvenient the visiting hours were in this place?

The journey into the city had taken almost forty-five minutes. That was forty-five minutes of her life she would never get back again. Ashleigh scanned the countertop, looking for a buzzer or a call button, something to hit to lessen the frustration that was building inside her.

She had put this visit off as long as possible, but the questions about Kara were getting more persistent. Everyone wanted an update. The school counsellor had stopped her in the corridor yesterday.

‘Ashleigh,' she began, her turquoise jumper bobbled around the cuffs. ‘Any news of Kara?'

‘No, Miss Sutton. Still the same.' Ashleigh sniffed, pretending to tear up.

‘The principal got a phone call from Mrs Bailey. I thought there'd been some improvement.' The counsellor was looking at her intently. Ashleigh closed her eyes for a moment, her brain wheeling for inspiration. She began to cry. Crying on demand was a skill she had perfected at an early age.

‘Oh, miss,' she said. ‘It's so terrible. Kara's putting on such a brave face for them all, for the doctors, for her stepmother, but she's in so much pain. And there's nothing I can do for her. Every time I visit I feel so . . . so useless. My best friend . . .' She took out a tissue and blotted her eyes, blowing her nose loudly. ‘I can't do anything to help her.'

She let her shoulders shake a little, her eyes downcast, just the right amount of vulnerability, sprinkled with a touch of guilt.

Miss Sutton stepped towards her, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘I'm sure Kara appreciates the time you spend with her. I'm sure your presence is a support as she strives to recover.' The counsellor gave Ashleigh a sympathetic look. ‘Come and see me at any time if you want to talk. You know my door is always open.'

Ashleigh had nodded her head, sniffling fresh tears.

The stupid cow
.

All that crying, her eye make-up ruined, for what? So that she could keep the nosy counsellor on side.

The whole thing was stressful. On the upside, she had secured three days absence from school and an extension on two pieces of coursework.

And now here she was, Ward B, third floor. All around her, rooms were filled with sick people; some of them might even be dying. She shuddered at the thought.

Where had that stupid nurse gone? Why was everyone so incompetent? If her father had been in charge, this place would be whipped into shape. If you give people too much leeway, they will take advantage of you; that was one of his many sayings. She banged on the countertop in frustration, the grapes in her hand flopping their complaint. They looked a bit worse for wear, some of them about to turn, their skin wrinkling. Still, she mused, they
were
reduced to clear, so what did she expect?

Ashleigh thought about Ben. He'd been really shocked when she'd turned up on his doorstep the night of the accident. His face had turned white when he'd seen her. She thought at first that he had heard the news and the sight of her had triggered some kind of delayed reaction. But that wasn't it. He'd come out on to the porch and closed the door behind him. She waited for an invitation inside, but none came. He was hiding something and she was determined to find out what.

It was almost lunchtime; visiting hours would be over soon. She had timed this trip precisely so that she would have an excuse to leave after only a few minutes.

It looked like the nurse wasn't coming back. Ashleigh peered over the countertop. She reached for a pen and a scrap of paper. Quickly she scribbled a note for the nursing staff. She left the grapes on the counter. Someone would give them to Kara, eventually.

Day Thirteen:

It was hot, so hot. Her skin was on fire. Kara's throat was dry, as if she'd been chewing sand. Everything hurt; her entire body vibrated with pain.

Her nostrils flared as she inhaled. The air travelling up them stung the same way lemon stings a paper cut. She should open her eyes. It was time to face the horror. Her eyeballs burned as she blinked.

Someone was snoring. The sound was muffled, then clear, then muffled again, like the volume control in her head was messed up. Black dots danced in front of her vision.

The snoring continued. Gingerly, Kara moved her head, testing its rotation. She cautiously swivelled her chin round to the right-hand side, towards the origins of the noise. Rosemary was slumped in a chair, her mouth half open. Kara could see a sliver of spit dangling from the corner of her lip.

‘Ugh,' she muttered.

Rosemary's head flew up, her gaze skidding around the room before finally focusing on Kara. ‘You're awake.'

‘Ya, obviously. How could I be talking to you if I were asleep?'

Rosemary didn't respond. She tugged the end of her shirt, brushing some of the creases from her clothes.

‘Why are you here?' Kara asked unkindly.

‘I was waiting till you woke up. See how you felt.'

‘I feel like I've been run over by a fucking bus. That's how I feel.'

‘OK,' answered Rosemary. ‘Now that you're awake, I think I'll get a cup of tea.' She stood up stiffly and left the room, ignoring Kara's hostility.

Kara frowned. She wanted to punch something, really, really badly.

Day Fifteen:

Why are these here? I told the stupid nurse to get rid of them
.

The smell from the grapes was overpowering, sickly sweet. They sat in a plastic bowl next to Kara's bed. One of the nurses had put them there with a folded note. Kara had read it several times.

Dear K. I called but you were sleeping. Get better soon. As
h

That was it. That was all the note said. Two weeks had passed and her best friend had called to see her once, leaving a brusque note behind.

Kara wanted to go home. She could feel the press of unshed tears at the back of her eyeballs.

Where the hell is Rosemary
?

Kara had to go to the toilet and she wasn't going to ring the bell for assistance. The last student nurse knocked against the stitches on her upper arm and it hurt, badly.

‘Ugh!' Kara flung back the bed covers. ‘I have to do every-bloody-thing myself.'

She moved her legs, one limb at a time. There was a pair of crutches resting against the far wall. She slid to the edge of the bed, the rub of the sheet against her skin an unpleasant sensation.

With her lip tucked in between her teeth she eased forward. Her toes were inches from the ground. Slowly she stood up, her plastered leg clumsy. She hopped towards the crutches, stumbling once. Slipping the grey arm cuffs on over her arms she smiled tightly in triumph. Manoeuvring around was a little problematic with her broken leg. She wasn't very steady. Her elbow knocked into the bowl and it toppled over, bouncing with a plastic clunk on the linoleum.

‘Shit!' The grapes lay limp on the floor. She poked the bunch of upended fruit with the end of her crutch. Redistributing her weight she stabbed at the grapes with more vigour, snapping one of the delicate branches.

With her crutch she pummelled, crushing the fruit. She hit again and again, bringing the stick down on the grapes. A congealed mass of split skins, green fruit flesh and juice spread in a curiously pretty pattern across the floor.

Leaning heavily to keep her balance, she panted, her breath coming fast, ‘Go to hell, Ashleigh,' she said out loud.

Then she began to cry, big shoulder-shaking sobs that made her sound like a wounded animal.

What was wrong with her?

***

What was wrong with him? He should be at full strength now
.

Maybe because he had been asleep for so long this time it was taking extra energy to regenerate. Never mind. He was strong enough to move. Strong enough to escape
.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. There was no avoiding this part. He pulled the nodes from his chest, the dangle of wires suspended for the briefest of moments before falling away from his body
.

Somewhere an alarm sounded
.

He stood up, his bare feet touching the cool floor
.

His hospital gown flapped open. He would need to find something to wear
.

Then he would take back what was his
.

Sometimes in war, there are casualties.
He reminded himself of this as he slipped from the room into the corridor.

***

Day Twenty-four:

Eventually Jenny came to tell Kara about the Halloween dance. It was two days after Kara's birthday, a non-event. Rosemary had arrived with a cake, but Kara was too miserable to properly enjoy it.

Happy birthday to me
.

The whole thing was just too depressing.

Kara had been expecting Jenny's visit for days, knew that Ashleigh wouldn't bother to come deliver the news herself.

In the weeks, days and hours of recovery, Kara had had plenty of time to think, too much time. Her phone had been totalled in the accident and she didn't have internet access at the hospital. She was in a kind of technological quarantine.

At first she wondered why Ben didn't come to visit. Then she was glad of his absence. What would he think if he saw her? She was a mess. Jenny's account of the school dance was the nearest Kara was going to get to Ben Shephard.

‘So, I got to wear that fabulous orange dress that Ash suggested I buy. It was amazing. Everyone commented,' she gushed, as she painted Kara's nails. Crimson crush. Kara didn't really like the colour, but didn't have the energy to say anything.

Some days were better than others. Sometimes she pinged with energy; it rippled off her like heat waves. She wanted to move, to run, to punch – to do something, anything. Then other days it was as if a supernatural force had sucked her dry in the middle of the night. She would wake limp and weak, her eyes sunken and bloodshot. She didn't know which version of herself she hated more.

‘Kim O'Brien got stood up by her date, Thomas Fisher. Can you imagine? I bet . . .'

Mute button. Kara watched Jenny's lips moving, recognised some of the words, but couldn't hear anything. For a second Kara hoped this bout of occasional deafness would last a long time. With a pop, the pressure in her ear readjusted and all sound came back.

‘. . . Miss Grimes and Mr Maguire were there, of course. They searched two of the senior football players for alcohol. They didn't find anything, but I heard . . .' Jenny rambled on, while Kara gazed out of the window.

Jenny was incessant in her detail of events and continued giving Kara a blow-by-blow account of dresses and shoes, handbags, dates, drinks, dances until Kara began to zone out.

It felt like an age had passed before Jenny got to the heart of her story, ‘And, of course, Ashleigh was there.' She stopped talking, which alerted Kara, who looked up, afraid that she hadn't given a reaction at the appropriate time. She looked at Jenny. The girl was biting her lower lip, her attention completely absorbed by the lid on the bottle of nail varnish.

‘What?' asked Kara. Obviously something had happened that Jenny wanted to share.

‘Um, I don't know if I should tell you this because you've been sick and all . . .'

Sighing, Kara kept her expression neutral, ‘Go ahead, Jenny. I don't mind. You can tell me anything. I won't be upset.'

Famous last words, thought Kara.

‘Well, it's just that I know she should have told you herself, but she was sure you wouldn't mind. I mean, what did you expect him to do, go on his own? She was only doing both of you a favour, you know, like a friend would.'

Kara eyed Jenny suspiciously. Cracking under the pressure of Kara's steady gaze, Jenny gushed out the awful truth.

‘Ashleigh and Ben went to the dance together. They went 'cause they knew it was what you would have wanted. Ashleigh looked fab in her dress. They did the first dance, since Ash organised the theme and put up the decorations . . .' Jenny's voice trailed away.

There was a moment of blissful silence before she started to speak again, more bashful this time.

‘I mean, I know you guys organised it together and it was supposed to be both of you, but, you know she just . . . you know . . .' Jenny looked sheepish as her sentence trailed off into thin air.

Kara eased out a shaky breath and nodded her head. Jenny took that to be a sign of goodwill and whipped out her phone to show Kara pictures from the night. Ben and Ashleigh looked lovely, both smiling happily into the camera. He was wearing a proper tuxedo, really handsome, and Ashleigh, well, Ashleigh looked beautiful as always, her long flaxen hair straight and sleek, flowing over her creamy shoulder, complementing perfectly the tones in her pale cornflower-blue dress.

Or should that be Kara's cornflower-blue dress.

The dress that they had ordered together for the ball, the dress they had spent days searching for, the dress that was hers.

Kara forgot to breathe. Her head was getting cloudy, her vision distorted. She turned her face away and leaned back against the pillow.

‘I'm tired,' she murmured.

‘OK.' Jenny hovered nearby. ‘Do you want me to get someone? The nurse, maybe? Rosemary?'

Kara shook her head.

‘No thanks, Jenny. I just want to sleep.'
To forget.

Like with her father and the fire, she just wanted to forget.

***

He had forgotten. The corridors all looked the same. Which way to the computer, to the files? The echo of the alarm stung his sensitive ears. He slipped into another room, a storeroom. Here he found some clothes, a loose pair of grey tracksuit trousers, a rain jacket, navy blue in colour. He had nothing for his feet. Hopefully no one would notice
.