‘Just saying that there’s nothing for the kid back in Romania. All his folks are dead. We’re his family now.’
‘We?’
‘Well, you, at least. You’re his mum now, ain’t you? And that must make me his granddad.’
‘Oh, don’t think you can twist me round your finger like that. Mihai needs a stable family, not someone who’s going to run off at the drop of a hat.’
‘Yeah, yeah, that’s my point, see. How are you gonna look after a kid when you’ve got a full-time job? With me around to help, it would be much easier. I’ve been on the road a long time. It’s a hard life, you know? And now my vehicle’s gone, I don’t really have a job anymore. I got some money put away. I could stick around here and help, if you want me to.’
‘You must be joking. You barely managed to take care of me when I was a kid. Don’t think that I’m going to leave you in charge of Mihai. You’re going straight to the police station with me, and you’re going to tell them exactly what you did.’
He threw up his hands in submission. ‘All right, love. If that’s what you want. But I think it’ll be tough on the kid.’
‘No,’ said Liz. ‘Stop twisting this. You’re trying to make this my fault again. It’s what you always do. I won’t have it!’ She was shouting at him now, and baring her teeth.
The door to the room creaked open again and Mihai appeared, his nut-brown eyes wide in the dim light. When he saw Liz awake, he ran to her and threw his arms around her neck. ‘You awake!’ he shouted with glee. ‘You alive!’ He turned to her father and hugged him too. ‘She back, Grandpa Kevin!’
‘Reckon so, kid,’ said her father, ruffling Mihai’s mop of dark hair. ‘But it looks like I’ll be heading off soon. For good.’
Mihai’s face fell. ‘No! Is not fair!’
‘I don’t want to, believe me. I’d rather stay here and be with you. But it’s up to your mum. I mean, Liz here.’
They both turned to look at her. ‘Tell Grandpa Kevin stay!’ demanded Mihai.
Grandpa Kevin? Suddenly Liz felt the fight go out of her. She had no strength for this argument. ‘He can stay for now,’ she conceded.
Mihai gave a cheer and hugged them both again. There was a brightness in his expression that had been absent before. Somehow, in just a few days her father had managed to lift the boy’s spirits and form a real bond with the kid. He’d been a useless father to her. Did he really have what it took to be a grandfather to Mihai? And how would that work if he was sent to prison? She wondered if she could really do a good job of parenting Mihai if left on her own.
One thought bothered her above all others. What would happen to Mihai if she turned into a monster? What then? One thing was certain. She needed her father right now, however much she resented the fact.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Liz tried to get out of bed the next day, but she was still too weak to stand. She tried again the following morning, and this time she found the strength to walk. But she still had no appetite. Her father brought her toast and marmalade in bed, and cups of tea. She drank the tea, but returned the toast untouched. At least the fever had gone, and with it the strange dreams. The daylight poking its way between the curtains still felt uncomfortable, but no longer burned her eyes. Perhaps the yellow eye sickness would vanish as quickly as it had appeared. She dozed the rest of that morning and afternoon, then as evening came she felt strong enough to shower and dress for the first time.
When she emerged from the shower, a smell from her childhood assaulted her senses. Fried liver and onions. It had been over ten years since she had smelled that smell, and it transported her back instantly. The day after her mother had taken the pills, her father had cooked liver and onions. He’d cooked it every day for the following month, washing it down with beer and sometimes whisky. She hated that smell and the memories it disturbed.
And yet …
She followed her nose through to the kitchen, where her father was serving great portions of offal for himself and Mihai at the table. She grabbed a clean plate from the draining board and sat down. ‘I’ll have some of that, if there’s any going spare.’ For some bizarre reason, fried liver was just what her stomach suddenly craved.
Her father treated her to a large helping and a grin. ‘I bought it from the butcher’s shop round the corner,’ he said. ‘Good bloke, that butcher. Reminds me of my old man.’
Liz tucked into the food eagerly. ‘I can’t believe I’m eating this. I always hated liver.’
‘Good source of iron,’ said her father. ‘It’ll put hairs on your chest. I got some liver sausages and some kidneys in the fridge too. The butcher said he can get me a pig’s head if I put in an order.’
Liz tried to think of a retort, but her mouth was too full to speak, and in any case a pig’s head sounded surprisingly tempting.
Mihai watched her eat with admiration. ‘You are better now?’ he asked.
‘I think so. If I can keep this down, I’ll be ready to go back to work.’
Her father frowned. ‘You’ve been in a bloody coma for nearly a week. Gotta build your strength up before you go back.’
‘Hardly a coma,’ said Liz, holding her plate out for second helpings. ‘And I’ll go back to work when I say I will.’
She was right about that, at least. The next day she tucked into a plate of sausages and kidneys, and called the station to say she was fit to work. They told her to report for duty at six o’clock the following evening. It would be New Year’s Eve and they needed every officer they could get.
She still hadn’t decided what to do about her father though. He seemed to have done a good job looking after Mihai and holding the place together while she’d been ill. It was tempting to say that they were becoming a family of sorts. And yet, her father was wanted for a triple murder. If someone discovered him here, she would lose her job for certain. The situation was impossible.
She was dimly aware that the longer she put off making a decision, the less choice she actually had. But it was hard to think straight.
One step at a time. For now, it was enough to be out of bed and going back to work.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Greenwich, South East London, New Year’s Eve, 10am, full moon
Chris Crohn sat in the passenger seat of Seth’s car, growing more and more frustrated. Seth had delayed and procrastinated and made excuses, dragging the date of their departure ever later and throwing the whole venture into jeopardy. Christmas had come and gone, and now it was nearly the New Year. At last Chris had snapped, giving his friend a final deadline of leaving by New Year’s Eve. They had got as far as loading up Seth’s car with all their gear before hitting a new problem. The car simply refused to start. Now they were stuck in the parking space of Seth’s apartment building in Greenwich.
Seth turned another page of the car’s user manual, scanning the words and diagrams with a hopeful gleam in his eye. He flicked his hair away from his glasses and stroked his goatee beard thoughtfully. After a minute he turned another page. His long hair had already returned to its usual position.
‘That’s enough,’ said Chris. ‘Just admit it. You don’t know what’s wrong.’
‘Of course I don’t know what’s wrong,’ snapped Seth. ‘That’s why I’m looking in the user guide.’ He tossed his hair back angrily.
‘User guides are for people who don’t understand how a thing works.’
‘I never claimed I did know,’ said Seth. ‘I’m not a car mechanic.’ He pressed a button on the dashboard and tried the ignition again. The car made a slightly different noise to the one it had made before, but remained resolutely inert. ‘If you’re so good at fixing things, you tell me what to do.’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never driven a car.’
They sat together in uncompanionable silence, the car’s windows steadily misting up. The air was freezing without the heater on, despite Chris’ all-weather clothing. If he was cold sitting here inside the car, he wondered how cold it wo
uld be in the wilderness, if they ever managed to get near to anything resembling wilderness. The back seats of the car were piled high with tents, sleeping bags, sheets, crates of food, bottles of water and boxes of radios, batteries, knives, and assorted electronic equipment that might just mean the difference between life and death. But all their survival gear was as good as useless if the car stayed stuck in Greenwich.
Eventually Seth pulled out his phone. ‘I’m going to call the breakdown company and get someone out to look at it.’
‘No,’ said Chris. ‘Call a car rental company instead. In the time it would take to get a mechanic here, we could be driving a brand new rental car. Maybe we could get ourselves an SUV.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my car,’ said Seth. ‘It just needs some attention.’ He dialled a number on the phone.
The call to the breakdown company seemed to take a very long time. Eventually Seth hung up. ‘Right,’ he said, avoiding Chris’ gaze. ‘Good.’
‘What?’ demanded Chris.
‘They’re sending a guy,’ said Seth.
‘Good. How long will that take?’
Seth returned the phone to his pocket. ‘It might be a while. Today’s their busiest day of the year.’
‘How long?’ said Chris through gritted teeth.
‘Don’t know,’ admitted Seth. ‘Might be hours. I said we’d wait in the car.’
‘This is ridiculous. We need to get another car.’
‘No,’ said Seth. ‘I’m not driving a hire car. I want to get my car fixed. We just have to wait.’
‘We can’t wait too long,’ said Chris angrily. ‘We have to get away. Tonight is the full moon. The werewolves will come out after dark.’
‘If werewolves really exist,’ said Seth.
Chris glared at him. Seth glared back.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Queen’s Road, Harrow on the Hill, North London, New Year’s Eve, 12pm noon, full moon
Melanie surfaced slowly, rising up through tangled layers of sleep, each one seeking to drag her back down into the depths of unconsciousness. She fought against them and pushed upwards. Eventually she broke through and felt daylight brush her eyelids. She opened her heavy eyes and stared at the white ceiling.
The room came gradually into focus. White and cream North London elegance, and the filtered winter light streaming through net curtains. She struggled to fix her attention on details. Her eyes caught the line of the crack in the ceiling cornice and she followed it to where the hairy black spider made its web. The fly it had caught was gone now, and the spider waited patiently for its next victim.
Melanie had learned patience herself these past few days. Days or weeks, who could tell? Daylight had slipped into the gloom of evening and the dark of night and back again to cold day, and she had lost count of how many times.
She had never been a patient person. As a child she’d been perpetually bored. She had driven her sister Sarah nuts with her constant need for attention and stimulation. Even as an adult she was bored unless she was at a party or with one of her men, or out shopping for some expensive luxury. Sometimes even then. Even sex could be boring with some men. She’d joked with Sarah that if her job didn’t get her killed, then boredom would finish her instead.
Strangely, being tied up and held prisoner by a lunatic was one of the most stimulating things that had happened to her. And the drugs he was feeding her made time just slip past. Honestly, she had known worse.
He hadn’t beaten her again since that first day. The wound where he’d struck her with the cricket bat seemed to have healed somewhat. She’d had a splitting headache for the first few days, or weeks, but the drugs had helped with that too. Now she hardly felt a thing.
The man returned to her regularly, perhaps three or four times a day. Quite attentive really. He let her use the bathroom and even brought her food and drink if he was in a good mood. He kept hold of his knife at all times though, and its evil blade was never far from her throat.
She heard the key turning in the lock. Feeding time again. Unless this time he really was going to kill her.
‘Awake are you?’ said a familiar voice. ‘Time you had something else to drink then.’
He carried a tray with a plastic beaker and a straw, and a bowl of something, probably soup, with a plastic spoon. All mealtimes were the same. He seemed to think she was only capable of eating baby food. Sarah would probably have said that it was some kind of control thing.
‘Hungry?’ asked the man. ‘Thirsty?’
Melanie nodded politely. She’d already learned the hard way that if she didn’t, he would take the food and drink away again.
He placed the tray on the floor and untied the gag from her mouth, using the tip of the knife to loosen the cloth. He showed her the blade again in case she’d forgotten. ‘Don’t say a word or I’ll cut out your tongue. Understand?’
Melanie nodded again, feeling her tongue begin to loosen in her dry throat. She moved it up and down, left and right, trying to get some feeling back.
‘If you shout or scream, I’ll slice you open,’ he said. ‘Eviscerate you.’
Melanie managed a weak smile. She knew the script by heart now.
The man frowned at her. ‘Think that’s funny, do you?’ he said, placing the knife against her throat. ‘Want me to do it?’
She shook her head a fraction, afraid to move. He breathed heavily, pressing the blade into her soft skin. He held it there a moment longer before removing it. ‘Sit up,’ he commanded. He stuffed a pillow behind her head to raise her up a little, but left her hands and feet tied to the metal posts of the bed. He reached for the tray and grabbed the beaker first, holding the straw to her parched, cracked lips.
She sucked greedily, feeling the life-giving fluid trickle down her throat. The liquid had a salty tang of dissolved minerals like some kind of hydration drink. The taste probably helped mask the sedatives he was giving her. Whatever was in the drink, she slurped it down until she sucked on air.
The soup came next, some kind of pureed vegetable, and this he spooned into her mouth just like feeding an infant. She was beyond caring about that, and swallowed each mouthful gratefully. He said nothing while he fed her, just watched her through narrowed eyes, as if he expected her to somehow bound free from her restraints. His eyes moved around the room in a disconcerting way.
When she’d finished, he wiped her mouth and chin with a damp cloth and put everything back on the tray.
‘I need to use the bathroom,’ said Melanie. Her voice sounded hoarse and muffled. Everything sounded muffled. That was probably the drugs too.
He looked her over suspiciously, then untied her. He had knotted the ropes so tight he needed the blade of the knife to tease them apart. He waved the knife at her again. ‘If you try to escape, you know what will happen.’
Melanie nodded. Eviscerate. She knew it. In any case, her limbs were so numb she could hardly move them. She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, rubbing the life back into her heavy arms. She couldn’t feel her feet at all.
He stood near the door, the blade held aloft. ‘Hurry. Don’t take so long.’
Melanie put some weight on her right foot and felt her leg cramp. She groaned in agony and saw the knife flash dangerously.
‘Silence!’
‘It hurts,’ she told him. ‘I need to get the circulation back.’
‘Do it quickly.’
Every time was the same. Hurry up. Do it quickly. Don’t take so long. What was the urgency? He was probably just as scared of her as she was of him. But that made him even more dangerous.
The blade flashed again. ‘Stand up.’
She shifted her weight onto her legs using the metal bedstead as support. A jolt of pain shot through her right leg, but she swung it forward, shuffling across the room to the door. He stood aside to let her past and watched as she hobbled across the hallway to the bathroom opposite.
‘Be quick,’ he told her. ‘And don’t lock the door, or
I’ll break it open. Try to scream and I’ll …’
Melanie tuned him out. If she heard the word eviscerate one more time she really would scream. She closed the bathroom door behind her, leaving it unlocked like he’d said. The room was tiny, just a toilet and a wash basin. That was all the freedom she knew these days, and she was grateful for a brief moment of privacy.
Her pee was thick and dark, not dissimilar to the soup she’d just eaten. Dehydration, she supposed, and perhaps the drugs too. She used the toilet quickly but left it unflushed. She might have only a minute to spare, and there was work to do.
The bathroom had no window, and no way to signal to the outside world. The cabinet beneath the sink was bare. A search for useful tools had revealed nothing except soap and toilet paper, and no amount of ingenuity could muster an escape plan with just those. But the mirror on the wall held promise.
The reflection of her hollow face stared back at her and she almost recoiled in horror. Her long black hair had lost its shine. The congealed blood from the head wound was gone, but a scar would remain for the rest of her days, whether they numbered few or many. Her red eyes were ringed with black circles, and her whole face seemed to have sunk somehow. The soup-and-sedative diet had taken pounds off her.
A fierce knocking on the door brought her out of her drug-induced reverie. ‘Hurry up in there. Be quick!’
Concentrate, Melanie. There really isn’t much time.
Four screws fixed the mirror to the wall. She had already succeeded in loosening one, using her fingernail as a screwdriver. She set to work on the second now.
Righty tighty lefty loosey. That’s what Grandpa had taught her, in the days when he’d still been able to tell the difference between left and right. She dug the remnants of her thumbnail into the head of the screw and twisted counter-clockwise. It didn’t budge, just hurt like hell. Thank God for the drugs, or it would be even worse.
The knocking came again. ‘Why do women take so long in the bathroom?’ he demanded. ‘I’m going to count to ten.’
Lycanthropic (Book 1): Wolf Blood Page 24
