Oh ya, I forgot to answer her, and she’s sounding a bit less patient this time.
“Where are we?” I ask in a low relaxed mumble, but before she can answer I add, in a more alarmed tone, “Where’s the boy, where’s Tom?”
I end up knocking over and breaking several bottles or glasses in a pathetically uncoordinated attempt to sit up.
Emma leans in and puts her hand on mine saying, “Take it easy Shawn, he’s fine. He wouldn’t leave your side and he fell asleep laying next to you on the bed so we moved him to my parent’s bedroom. He seems to be doing a bit better but it’s hard to tell.”
I lie back down relieved.
“You took a fairly hard knock in the crash, your seatbelt snapped; it must have been damaged in the earlier crash so you took the guts of a full impact. I used some equipment from my mother’s surgery to remove as much of the glass as I could and clean you up. I also gave you a shot of morphine for the pain. You’ve been out cold for an hour, how do you feel?”
I find it hard to concentrate on what’s being said and I’m easily distracted by my own thoughts but I heard that last bit.
I lift my hand to inspect my face.
“My face feels wrong. I don’t think I can see out of my left eye.”
This realisation is enough to harsh my buzz and it’s coming across in my voice.
“Calm down Shawn, its ok. It’s a bandage. I patched up your face and it’s covering your left eye, that’s all, everything’s going to be fine.”
She’s talking to me like I’m a lost five year old, in that slightly patronising tone doctors use when they’re trying to have good bedside manner. No doubt she picked it up from her mother, not that it bothers me. It’s not as if anything really bothers me at this moment in time. I feel like she’s talking to a building and I’m inside it looking out at her through a glazed window.
I’m happy enough to comfortably drift in and out of consciousness for another while as the morphine runs its course. It feels like it’s been about forty five minutes but in reality how long it’s actually been I don’t know. Anytime I opened my eyes Emma was there sitting beside me, holding one of the older, more tattered teddy bears to her chest and looking out the window as if she expected Matt to pop over the horizon at any second.
I haven’t seen the others at all since I first woke up. They seem to be keeping their distance, which is a good idea as they’d better have a bloody good explanation for why they were first trying to kill us, followed and by a sudden change of heart.
My head’s feeling clearer now so it’s time for some answers. I shimmy myself into a seated position on the bed.
“Hey, thanks for cleaning me up and all Emma, looks like you picked up some of your Mam’s doctoring skills. How are you?” I ask out of courtesy, as it’s fairly obvious she came away without so much as a scratch.
“Oh, it’s good to see you awake and making sense again. I’m fine except for a cut on my leg.”
“Good to hear.”
I turn and sit on the edge of the bed for a few seconds before attempting to stand up. I’m unsteady at first but once I stretch my legs and walk to the window I’m fine.
“That’s some sight out there.”
“Yeah I know, this was my room before I moved out, I love looking out at the view of those mountains.”
I don’t see the benefit in pointing out that I was actually talking about the sight of my once shiny jeep lodged half way up a large cherry blossom tree in the garden below us and not the stupid view, because right now I want information.
“Look Emma, I’m obviously missing a large chunk of info regarding what happened and who those people are?”
She starts to recount what happened, never taking her eyes off the lane leading up to the house. After a fifteen minute explanation, I’ve a better idea of what’s going on.
The older woman from earlier is Meg and the man with her was her husband Paul. They’re actually neighbours from a mile or two down the road, who Emma’s known all her life. That explains her familiarity with them.
She didn’t say what they’re doing here though, and I’m thinking that’s because she’s not sure herself. She mentioned something about them usually looking after the house plants when her parents are away.
It seems she hasn’t really been talking to them much since we arrived. There are two others in the house as well, some relations of Megs who Emma doesn’t really know, probably the owners of the car parked out back.
One of them, whose name she thinks is Fred was the trigger happy prick who apparently panicked at the sight of my pale face as we rounded the house, and thought it a good idea to shoot it off.
It seems the older woman spotted Tom in the back seat before I pushed him into cover and she ran into the room knocking the gun from Fred’s grip before he could get a third shot off.
According to Emma, the old woman was nearly hysterical as she ran out to see if we were ok after hitting the tree, weeping apologetic sobs as she opened the door to see Tom curled into a ball behind me, and my glass encrusted face embedded in the dash board.
After the rest came out, they dragged me from the car and carried me upstairs to Emma’s old room while Emma raided her Mam’s medical safe.
Apart from carrying me in and helping Emma take some of the glass from my skull; they’ve been keeping to themselves, as Emma tells it.
She said she’s never seen Meg act cold and distant like this and speculates they’ve been through something bad in the last day or two. Haven’t we all?
I turn to Emma’s vanity mirror to inspect my damaged mug. The degradation of my general appearance since I last seen it is shocking. The bandages are covering my left eye and most of the left side of my face. Apart from a few small patches of blood soaking through to the outside layer they’re really well administered. I’m so pale, maybe I’ll have to cut that Fred some slack, I’d have shot at me too.
“Well I think it’s about time I go down and meet the gang, don’t you? Find out if they know any more about this mess than we do. I gotta check in on little Tom first. Where’s your parents room?”
“It’s the fifth door on the right.”
It’s obvious she hasn’t much inclination at present to do much of anything except keep vigil out the window.
As I make my way to her parents room, I’m struck by how much bigger this place is inside than it looks from the outside. I pass picture after picture of Emma’s parents in settings ranging from black tie events, to European holidays, to camping at some festival in the seventies by the looks of it. They seem to get around.
From where I am, I can see down off the landing onto the open plan ground floor where Meg, Paul and a much younger guy, who must be this Fred character, are standing in a group.
I’m too far away to hear what’s been said but they’re having a heated discussion about something. Fred’s acting like he’s just heard something he doesn’t like from them and is passionately counter-arguing whatever his point is.
He’s the only one of them who doesn’t have his back to me and spots me crossing the landing in the distance. He stops mid sentence, watching me in silence, trying to look calm as I pass by.
The other two turn to look at what’s caught his attention, quickly turning back once they’ve seen it’s me. I don’t like what’s happening. Are we perceived as a threat of some kind? Do they think they’ll be thrown out now the house’s rightful owner is back in the picture? It’s probably best not to read too deeply into it right now, my head’s not on straight and I may simply be misreading the situation.
By the time I reach the fifth door I’m out of sight of the trio. I turn and face the door before pausing for a moment outside. How’s this gonna go down? The poor kid lost his family no more than four hours ago, and in such a horrific way, not that he saw much of what actually happened.
I wonder if he’s even old enough to know they’re gone. He understood enough to keep his head down when it was all happening, or was tha
t what the man with the gun was shouting to him?
The fact he hasn’t asked so much as a single question about the situation seems to suggest mental trauma more than understanding. Either way he needs someone to talk to him. It looks like he stuck with me, poor little bastard. All I see when I look at him are his family’s spiteful eyes looking accusingly back at me. Does he have a grasp of everything that went on at the hotel? Does he see me as the man who betrayed his family? I’ve stalled enough; it’s time to face the music.
I open the door and step into the room expecting to see Tom curled up in a ball, asleep in the bed. Instead I’m faced with the strange sight of an unfamiliar girl on a foot stool, leaning over as if she’s looking for a contact lens that’s fallen under the tossed, empty bed. I definitely counted five doors.
She hasn’t noticed me come in yet. I knock on the wall inside the door to announce my presence. It echoes across the large minimally furnished bedroom.
She quickly looks my way to investigate and without pause she effortlessly swings around to a standing position, facing me with her arms out by her side and with a smile on her face she greets me in a theatrical manor with, “Ah! Look who it is, it’s the hero.”
I’m taken aback, how do you respond to something so bizarrely random like that from someone you’ve never met before? I feel like I’m missing something, she seems a bit off but if nothing else, she strikes me as very interesting.
Before I have to think of a response she continues with, “I’ve being hearing all about you.”
With that a small head appears from beneath the bed, it’s Tom. This partly explains the exaggerated manner of her greeting; the playful tone was for Tom’s benefit. She must have been talking to him when I came in.
Nothing about her is what you’d call normal. She looks to be about my age and at first glance you’d be forgiven for writing her off as an emo, with her head full of pitch black hair except for one streak of red that runs across her forehead and down over her right ear. She’s wearing impossibly tight jeans and black lipstick, but it’s all juxtaposed by her incredibly cheerful, friendly demeanour and her t-shirt with some motivational kitten themed message that I can’t really make out.
I realise I’m staring so I break the silence with, “Hey Tom I’ve been looking for you. How’ve you been wee man?”
I wasn’t really expecting much of a response and I don’t get one, he looks almost amazed to see me, it could be the bandages.
I walk across the room and sit on the bed with my hands on my knees. He crawls out from under the bed and sits beside me, mimicking my posture by putting both his hands on his knees. I pull the cap he was wearing from my pocket. I’ve had it since I picked it up in the car as we arrived at the house.
“Here, you lost something buddy,” I say as I pull it down over his head, “How’ve they been treating you here? Did you get something good to eat?”
Without looking away from one of the less girly teddies that he was hiding under the bed with, probably from Emma’s room, he replies in a muted voice, “Fish fingers.”
Ugh, what are the rules for talking to young children again? Everything I say sounds so patronising, so instead in an effort to engage with the new girl I ask, “Hey, did this nice lady bring you some fish fingers? Those sound good. I’ll have to get some of them myself.”
I get another nod from him after which the girl chimes in with a smile, saying, “It’s Jo. The nice lady’s name is Jo. Your girlfriend asked me to stay with him after they moved him in here. When I came in he was under the bed, there was no coaxing him out until just now when you came in. I finally got some chat out of him about half an hour ago. I heard all about how you saved him from the baddies who followed him and his neighbours to that old haunted house by the lake. Like I said, you’re quite the hero.”
Hah, hero? If only she knew. I force a smile in response before she adds, “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the others.”
I turn my attention to Tom again as I stand up to leave and say goodbye, but before I even start, the alarm on his face is evident. He obviously doesn’t want me to go for whatever reason.
“Listen Tom, I’ve got to go and talk to the people downstairs and then I’ll be back up to talk to you again. You can show me where you got those fish fingers from and we’ll see if we can find a few chips to go with them.”
There was nothing patronising about that, I’m bloody starving and I want fish fingers.
As we’re leaving the room the last thing I see before I close the door behind me is a scared little boy crawling back under the bed. But if I judged what I saw outside on the landing a few minutes ago correctly, then this meeting isn’t something I want the wee fella tagging along to.
We start off down the hallway towards the stairs. Only Meg and Paul can be seen downstairs now, quietly looking out the massive gable window.
I’ve got some questions to ask Jo before we reach them but she beats me to it by asking, “So, Shawn isn’t it? How’s the head? You were a mess when they carried you in.”
With a smile, I say in my most charming voice, “Nothing a little morphine couldn’t fix.”
She isn’t someone you’d miss in a crowd with her distinctively eclectic, quirky look. I’m interested enough to ask with genuine interest, “Who are you?”
She replies, “Well like you already know my name is Jo, I’m Fred’s fiancée.”
Ah, Fred you wanker.
“He’s downstairs; I’ll introduce you in a minute. Fred is Paul and Meg’s nephew. We were on our way to visit them from back home in Connemara and we gave them a call when we heard some weird stuff was happening. They told us their car was attacked on the way to this house to take care of the plants for the owners and they were afraid to go back out on the open road. It was late when we got here last night to help them home but they won’t even let us leave now.”
The initial confident quirkiness that dominated her personality back in the bedroom has given way somewhat to a hint of anxiety. Her fingers flitter through her hair as she continues, “I’ve known them for years now as level headed people but their behaviour today is making me nervous. It can’t be all that bad can it?”
It’s obvious by her talk that the two of them have had no firsthand experience of what’s been happening.
After a few seconds pause I reply with, “It’s bad enough, but we’re in about as a good a situation as we can be all the way out here in this mansion in the middle of nowhere.”
It’s obviously by her reaction that isn’t the answer she was hoping for.
We carry on to the stairs in silence. In an effort to change the subject and get some of my questions answered I ask, “So you said Tom was at that old hotel with his neighbours? It sounds like the two of you had a good chat. You know that was the first time I’ve heard him talk. What actually happened to him?”
She replies with some of the confident tone restored and a hint of maternal concern saying, “I’m not surprised, it’s a horrific thing for a six year old to witness, although he doesn’t grasp the entirety of what’s happened to him. In his words, someone hurt his Daddy outside the door of their house and when his he came in his Daddy was cross and started hurting his Mammy. His friend’s Daddy, Dave from next door took him away with them until his parents were better but they left and brought him with them to stay at that old house beside the lake until the people who hurt his Daddy were gone. He got angry and ran away when they wouldn’t let him ring his mammy’s mobile. He had just snuck out and started to walk through the trees when he got scared a turned to go back. Before he got back he saw one of the white faced baddies who hurt his Daddy earlier. He climbed a tree to hide and from the sounds of it became paralyzed with fear as more and more of what he calls baddies gathered below him and all around the house. He doesn’t seem overly aware of what happened from then on, but from the way he spoke about it but I think he knows they’re dead and feels guilty about leaving them. The next thing he described vividly was being r
escued by his hero.”
She nudges me playfully with a smile on her face as she says the word hero.
I can’t say I’m comfortable with the term, given the actual circumstances but what can I do but say in a smug voice, “Ah well, it’s all in a day’s work don’t ya know.”
She looks up at me with a coy smirk before adding, “It was tough to get that much talk out of him. He’s a great little guy but he’s understandably confused and in shock. I think he’s just managing to cope with things as they come at the minute. From what I can see, he’s in good hands though. I know who to call on if I’m in trouble.”
She finishes speaking just as we arrive within earshot of Meg and Paul. They both turn to see who’s coming with a jolt. They must have gotten shaken up pretty bad yesterday. I can relate, I’m still fairly on edge from my ordeal and I’m not even half their age.
Not wanting to carry on any preconceptions from what I saw on the landing earlier, I decide it’s best to play it by ear and act normal. I’m not sure what to make of their gaze, they seem stuck for words.
I break the ice with, “Hi, you must be Paul and Meg. Meg, I understand you helped fix me up after I arrived. I appreciate it, I feel good as new.”
Hah, as if. I feel like shit. I’ve got to get some more of that painkiller from Emma.
They stare at me for a second or two before Meg answers me as if she just realised it was her I was talking to.
“Oh yes, yes, of course. It’s good to see you up and about.”
Her tone is laboured and unnatural. I’m not sure what to make of the two of them. Are they just unable to deal with what’s happening? I try again on a lighter topic.
“Emma says you’re her parents neighbours from down the road and you’re looking after the place while they’re away.”
If I wasn’t looking right at them I’d have missed it, but for an instant while I was talking, they both quickly glanced at each other at exactly the same time before quickly looking away again.
As if she realised how strange it must have looked, Meg quickly replies, “Yes, we’re neighbours from just down the road.”
The Hibernia Strain Page 10
