‘Jayna . . .’
He was shouting at me but I didn’t listen. The blood rushing through my body drowned out every word he was saying. Just like the fear I could smell emanating from my body – salty and sour and metallic – overwhelmed all other smells. I stretched out my fingers. Right there. The bolt was right there, teasing my fingernails. Andrew was still shouting. I didn’t want to hear.
Please don’t make me hear.
I couldn’t bear it.
Got it! The bolt was in my hands. I pulled the bowstring back until it was fully drawn and set and pushed the bolt backwards into the groove of the crossbow barrel, the whole thing taking a moment or less.
Only one more shot . . .
I only had one more shot . . .
I twisted my body round like a snake shedding its skin, to lie on my back, my knees bent, my head raised. The loaded crossbow in my hand pointed between my legs straight at Andrew’s chest. He was halfway down the stairs. I lay in the hall. We were frozen, two figures in a macabre painting.
Andrew broke the spell first. He began walking down towards me, his hands held out. ‘Jayna, I know you spared my brother’s life,’ he said softly. His face hadn’t completely changed – he still looked like my Andrew – but his eyes were ruby-red. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Jayna . . . I love you. Please . . . trust me . . .’
I pulled the trigger.
46
ANDREW TUMBLED HEAVILY down the remaining stairs. I could smell blood and I knew I’d never smell anything else again.
Panicking, I scrambled backwards using my forearms. He fell in the exact same spot I’d just left, and he didn’t move. It had to be a trick. I shuffled right away from him and struggled to sit up. I stood slowly, expecting him to spring at me again at any second. Still he didn’t move. I could see him. He was lying face down, statue still.
Lights. I needed the lights on. If I couldn’t have daylight, at least I had electricity. The lights would bring normality and reality back to me. I stumbled along the walls to the cellar door just before the kitchen, my head spinning. All the bones in my body were turning to warm jelly. It was a struggle to stop myself from passing out. I made it to the main electricity fuse box and reached out to flick the ON/OFF switch.
Yellow-white light cloaked me. I stumbled out of the cellar, shutting the door behind me. Then I leaned my head against it briefly.
‘Please let it be over now.’ My whispered plea was just for me. No one else could help or hear. Then I turned round – and screamed. Andrew was standing right in front of me.
I held out my hands to ward him off, completely defenceless, staring terror-stricken at him. He reached for me, his hands almost touching my face before he sank to his knees and fell over sideways onto the floor. Only then did I see the blood staining the centre of his T-shirt like a huge inkblot.
He reached out with his hand. I didn’t move. Then he did a strange thing. He smiled. I backed away.
‘Jayna, I . . . love you . . .’ He coughed. Blood bubbled out of his mouth, trickling down his cheek.
‘I love you too, Andrew,’ I said at last. ‘But it wasn’t enough.’
Andrew didn’t move, didn’t speak. I wondered if he could even hear any more. I slid down the wall, pulling up my knees in order to rest my head on them, and wrapped my arms around my legs, watching him. Watching him until his eyes glazed over, noting the exact moment when he stopped seeing me or anything else, just gazing ahead with sightless jade-green eyes. I crawled over to him and closed his eyelids. Then, sitting with his head in my lap, I cried for both of us, bitter blood tears.
I looked up towards the ceiling, the roof, the sky, beyond. I felt frozen. Not empty, just numb. As I looked down again, I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. I could see my reflection. It was only hazy, a misty form, but definitely there. But I couldn’t see Andrew’s at all. He was here, cradled in my arms – but in the mirror he didn’t exist. He’d drunk Pete’s blood and the blood of how many others? Other than Andrew’s when he changed me, I hadn’t drunk human blood – yet. Some part of me, a deep, almost forgotten part of me, still held a trace of humanity. And I could see it reflected, albeit hazily, in the mirror. It wasn’t much, but I would hang onto it with all my might.
‘So what happens now?’ I asked my own reflection.
Maybe I could seek out others like me – and destroy them. Maybe, just maybe, I could do some good somehow, and work my way back to regaining my soul. If that was too much to hope for, I’d settle for just pulling myself out of hell.
Above me I heard Morgan groan, then groan again, louder. He was coming round. I looked down at Andrew and kissed him. Then I let him go.
I stood up and left the house, closing the door behind me.
1. Liam
A storm was coming. I could smell it in the brackish air, hear it in the growl of the waves, see it in the darkening clouds. Josh picked up a stone and tried to skim it across the foaming water. It sank immediately. A wave raced up the beach towards us as if in protest.
Josh laughed and picked up another stone. ‘Wow! Look at that!’
A salt tang caught at the back of my throat and I had to cough slightly to clear it before I could speak.
‘Look! Look!’ Josh pointed.
‘At what?’
‘The sea.’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s like a huge pot of spaghetti, boiling and bubbling!’
I looked away and shook my head, biting back on the words that just itched to leave my mouth.
‘Amazing! Check the sky!’ Josh continued.
I automatically looked up at the strange yellowy-grey clouds. It was as if the tops of the clouds were solid and on fire and all the resultant soot and ash were falling to the bottom of them. It was quite common to see the clouds like that over the coast where we lived but I’d never seen them like that anywhere else, and certainly not inland. Not that I’d been to that many places. Not that I’d been anywhere really. The sky matched my mood. Unsettled. Restless.
‘What about the sky?’ I said, unable to keep the impatience out of my voice.
‘Isn’t it terrific? Like . . . like . . .’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Josh. Not again,’ I snapped like an old elastic band. ‘Why’re you always going on about the skylight and the twilight and the moonlight? No wonder you’re always getting picked on at school.’
Josh looked up at me like a wounded dog I’d kicked when he was down. ‘I like . . . looking at things.’
‘Fine. But that’s no reason to drip on like a snotty tissue about them,’ I said viciously.
Josh winced at my words and I wasn’t sorry. I was glad. I liked to look at things too, but you didn’t hear me going on like a girly about them. Josh had to toughen up – fast. I wouldn’t always be there to watch his back at school, or anywhere else for that matter. Didn’t he understand that?
‘I’ll shut up then,’ Josh replied quietly.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I’d appreciate it.’
Josh’s nose began to run. Another reason why my brother always gets picked on. Whenever he’s upset, his nose dribbles. It drives me crazy.
‘Wipe your nose,’ I ordered.
Josh swiped the sleeve of his jumper across his face. He picked up another stone and skimmed it across the water. After a moment I picked up a stone, my hand clenching tightly around its icy smoothness. I knew I was just taking out my bad mood on my brother, but who else was there?
No one.
I shook my head.
My whole life was so pointless. It didn’t matter. I didn’t matter. I was like one of the small pebbles on the beach, battered smooth by day after month after year of wave upon wave. Except in my case, the wave was my dad. He picked on and criticized and disapproved and condemned every breath I took, until the effect was just the same. I was battered smooth, but that was only on the outside. Inside I was rough and jagged and all corners. And Josh was the only one I could hurt. So I o
ften did. And as much as I hated myself afterwards, it never stopped me from doing it again. And again.
I clenched the stone in my hand even more tightly. Josh sniffed beside me. I wanted to turn to him and hug him and hold him and tell him that he was my brother and that meant something to me. But I didn’t. We stood there, together but apart as it began to rain. No gradual build-up from a light spray, but great beads of icy water as big as my fingernails. We were soaked in seconds. The waves lashed up the beach, laughing at us. Or maybe they were angry with us. Or maybe they couldn’t care less one way or the other. We picked up smooth stones and skimmed them across the rough water as the storm bashed at us.
It was better than going home.
Sooner or later, we’d have to turn round and head back. If we were lucky, Dad would be round the pub and we’d be able to change our clothes without ructions. If we were lucky. And once again, it’d be left to me to cook up some pasta or some bacon, beans and toast for dinner – which was OK as long as we could eat our dinner in peace before Dad got home. I turned to look at Josh, wondering what he was thinking. As if he sensed me watching him, he wiped his nose again with his sleeve. It was raining quite hard now. The yellow tinge to the clouds had disappeared. Now there was only dark charcoal-grey.
‘Come on, Josh,’ I shouted above the noise of the waves and the rain. ‘Time to head back.’
‘Liam, I don’t want to go home,’ he shouted back.
‘Come on.’ I started walking up the beach. I didn’t need to turn round to know that my brother was standing there watching me. ‘Come on, or I’ll leave you to it,’ I yelled.
Josh started to follow me. I slowed down so that he could catch up. When at last he did, I turned round to him and smiled. He smiled back. Without warning, I grabbed him and put him in a headlock.
‘Get off!’ he shouted.
After messing up his short locks good and proper, I let him go. Josh had to take a step forward, his hands stretched out before him to stop himself from falling. He sprang up and grinned at me. And just like that, some of the weight was lifted from my shoulders. But not much. And not for long.
‘Time to go home,’ I sighed.
Josh’s smile vanished. And I’d done that. I was always the one to wipe the smile from his face. Sometimes, I really hated being the older brother. Sometimes, I wondered how it would feel to just be me. By myself. No one else to consider. No one else to worry about. Just the thought of it made me ache inside. To be on my own and left alone. Now that would be a real slice of heaven.
2. Nova and her Dad
Nova had to read the wretched notice her dad had just put on the hotel notice board twice before the full horror of it sank in. What had she done to deserve such a father? Was she someone despicably mean in another life? Just who had she cheesed off? Obviously someone really high up in the pecking order of things, because she was sure paying for it now. It was like every night, Dad dreamed up unique, bizarre and very effective ways to embarrass the hell out of her. And the trouble was, he always succeeded. Nova sighed – one of the deep, long-suffering sighs that she was rightly proud of. She stretched out a hand to remove the notice.
‘Nova, don’t even think about it,’ Dad called out, leaning over the reception desk.
‘Dad, you can’t leave that there.’
‘Why not?’
‘Anyone thinking of staying here will think this place is a nut-house, that’s why.’
‘Any new guests will be impressed by the hygiene standards at our hotel.’
‘New guests? Dream on!’ Nova muttered. She scowled at Dad’s notice. It had to come down. Embarrassing didn’t even come close to describing it.
* * *
POLITE NOTICE TO ALL GUESTS OF PHOENIX MANOR
There are some devices which are being underused in this hotel due to an obvious lack of knowledge or technical awareness. I realize that these features come without a user guide, so I thought I might offer some advice.
* The white or wooden handle on the rear wall of each toilet cubicle is not decorative, nor is it the handle of a fruit machine or a firing mechanism for an ejector seat. It has the express function of sending your sausage to the seaside. No matter how proud you may be of the fibre content of your diet, we at this hotel don’t want to see the evidence. Flush the ruddy thing!
* Loobrushaphobia continues to be a real problem for some of you. Hold the narrow white or wood-veneer end of the brush and use the bristly end to remove whatever excreta may have avoided ‘the flush’ (see above).
* When you use the last piece of toilet paper in the dispenser, it would be a noble, charitable and friendly act to replace it from the large stock provided in each bathroom. Please do NOT phone me or any member of my family at Omigod o’clock in the early hours of the morning and ask where the spare toilet rolls are, as happened two nights ago. And if you do run out of toilet paper and find there is no more available in your current location, please do NOT shuffle down to the reception desk with your trousers around your ankles – yes, you, Mr Burntwood. (My wife is still having nightmares.)
* The fact that fresh urine is almost sterile does not entirely mitigate the practice of spraying it around the toilet seat and/or floor like some randy tomcat. In other words, ‘If you sprinkle when you tinkle, keep it neat and wipe the seat.’
If there are any technical issues for which you require further information, please call me on ext. 100 or try www.social.hygiene/how-to-use-the-ruddy-toilet.bum
Tyler Clibbens – Hotel Owner/Manager/General Dogsbody
* * *
Nova stretched out a hand towards it.
‘Nova, I’m watching you,’ Dad yelled, stretching even further over his desk.
‘Dad, please.’ Nova was desperate. ‘Besides, you don’t want Mum to see this, do you?’
‘So what if she does?’ Dad looked around furtively. He stood upright, shoulders squared, lips pursed and set. ‘Besides, what I say goes.’
‘Only when Mum isn’t here,’ replied Nova.
‘Well, she’s not here now so that notice stays. The job’s a good ’un! Leave it alone.’
Nova recognized that belligerent tone of voice. She was familiar with the gritty, stern look. She had thought that throwing Mum into the conversation would make Dad back down – it usually did – but he was obviously having one of his ‘I’m the man and not under my wife’s thumb’ moments! Nova couldn’t help shaking her head at the notice one last time, before turning to make her way to the kitchen.
Mr Jackman bumped into her and carried on walking without saying a word.
‘Excuse me all over the place,’ Nova huffed at him.
Mr Jackman hadn’t altered his pace one bit. Nova didn’t even know if he’d heard her. What was that man’s problem? He shuffled around the hotel as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He wasn’t even that old. Nova didn’t think he’d reached his thirties yet. Early to middle twenties at the most. But he moved like a man at least three times his age. If he tried smiling occasionally he might actually be passable. Short, dark-brown hair, and once, when he’d actually looked at her rather than slinking past, head down, she’d noticed with a start that he had one brown eye and one dark blue. The start was because he’d been at the hotel for a few days by then and it was the first time Nova had caught a clear glimpse of his eyes. She had never seen a mixed-race guy with different coloured eyes before. It made Mr Jackman seem even more mysterious.
Now he’d been in the hotel for over a week and when he did put in an appearance – which wasn’t often – he always wore immaculate black jeans and a T-shirt, usually white, even in the unusually chilly autumn weather.
‘Ah, Mr Jackman, will you be staying on with us for a while longer?’ Dad called out, leaning over the reception desk again and craning his neck.
Mr Jackman nodded and carried on towards the stairs.
‘Can you give me some idea how long you’ll be with us?’ Dad leaned out even further, one hand waving to
attract Mr Jackman’s attention.
But the initial nod was all Dad was going to get. Mr Jackman walked up the stairs as if Dad hadn’t spoken. As if Dad wasn’t even there.
‘Er . . . Mr Jackman . . . Mr — Arrggghhhh!’ Dad tipped right over the reception desk to land in a heap on the other side.
‘Hello, Nova.’
Nova jumped at the sound of the voice behind her. She whipped round, surprised then not surprised to see Miss Dawn standing behind her. Both Miss Dawn and her companion, Miss Eve, had the weirdest knack of appearing behind you almost out of nowhere. Miss Dawn was an elderly black woman, her black hair streaked with honey-brown and burgundy highlights. She was about as tall as Nova’s sister, Rainbow, though Miss Eve was taller.
‘He’s a strange man, isn’t he?’ said Miss Dawn.
‘Are you talking about my dad or Mr Jackman?’
Miss Dawn smiled in Dad’s direction, watching as he cursed up a blue streak while he struggled to his feet. She turned to watch Mr Jackman’s back disappear round a bend in the stairs. ‘Well, in this instance I was referring to Mr Jackman.’
‘He’s not very friendly, is he?’ Nova said.
‘Maybe he’s got a lot on his mind,’ Miss Dawn suggested.
‘And all of it bad, from the look on his face.’
‘What he needs is a good friend, my dear. Someone like you,’ said Miss Dawn.
‘I’m sure the very last thing he wants is to be bothered by me.’
‘Don’t you believe it. We all need someone to talk to, someone to share things with and sometimes . . .’
‘Yeah?’
‘Sometimes, no one sees things more clearly than a child.’
‘Excuse me, I’m not a child. I’m nearly thirteen.’ Nova bristled.
‘Oh, of course, my dear. My mistake.’ Miss Dawn’s eyes twinkled. ‘My point is just that sometimes younger ones like you see more clearly than us . . . wrinklies.’
‘Tell that to my dad’ – Nova indicated with her head – ‘then maybe he’ll let me take down that notice.’