by T. H. Hunter
Ryan had been one of the cool guys at school. Good looks and a certain charm had made him the subject of many a bathroom conversation. Most of the girls in my year had been fawning over him for months. It had come as a great surprise to me (and everyone else) that he had asked me to be his partner. Perhaps it was because I didn’t take any nonsense from him, or that I hadn’t been interested in joining his fan club, or perhaps he just didn’t like the girly type, but he had asked me anyway.
My closest friends were all for it, at least to my face. I was curious above all else, though I won’t deny that he had a certain effect on me, too. What could possibly go wrong?
I hadn’t expected him to make me look like a complete loser by dropping me right before the prom for some other girl. Leaving me alone and totally humiliated in front of the entire school. A laughing stock. Even worse was that he told me that it had all just been a bet with his friends, to get me to say yes. Of course he had never any intention of going out with me.
I would have spent the opening dance just sitting there in my dress if it hadn’t been for Peter, who hadn’t had a date to begin with. Don’t get me wrong. I was enormously grateful to him for making an evening of hell a little terrible. I invited him a week later to dinner with my grandfather to show him my sincere thanks. But it seemed he had got the wrong impression, and he’d been calling ever since. I felt terrible for turning him down after what he had done, though I had to remain true to myself. And the truth was that I liked him as a friend, but no more than that.
***
Eating dinner in front of the TV was a bad habit we’d always enjoyed indulging in together. Without my grandmother, however, there was no one there to talk some sense into us.
Today was different. My grandpa put the remote control aside and looked at me. It was strange that he could be a doddering old man in one moment and as sharp as a pin in the next. This was one of the latter moments. I could already sense a speech coming before he opened his mouth.
“Rebecca, I know there’s something going on. You’ve been cooped up in your room for days. You haven’t been yourself all summer,” he said.
I was about to deny everything but he stopped me in my tracks.
“Please, Rebecca. I might be old, but I haven’t forgotten how it was like to be a youngster. Not everything at least. And I know that, at your age, I didn’t want to spend my days caring for old codger like I am now.”
“It’s not that, grandpa,” I said. “It’s not that at all. It was at the school prom. That’s what…”
There was a ring at the door.
“Saved by the bell,” my grandfather chuckled. “Perhaps it’s your friend Peter.”
“Oh, don’t go there,” I said, half exasperated.
I walked out into the hall. I could see through the paned glass of the door that it was pretty dark outside already. Surely, Peter wouldn’t be calling at this hour. That was almost like stalking.
3
I opened the door. To my surprise, it wasn’t him at all.
“Pardon us, special delivery.”
Two broad-shouldered men dressed in postal delivery clothes were standing on the lawn, a large crate the size of a small fridge next to them.
“That’s me. But I didn’t order anything.”
“Oh, it comes with a gift card. Here.”
I took the card. It simply read “a belated happy birthday from your mother”. This was the first time my mother had sent me anything in years. I couldn’t even recognise the handwriting.
“Where shall we put it, Miss?”
“Oh, just in the hall at the back right in front of the mirror, thank you very much,” I said.
The men immediately lifted the crate up and followed me into the house. Whatever it was, it looked extremely heavy to me.
When they had set it down, one of the men addressed me:
“Pardon me for bothering you like this, but would it be ok if I used the bathroom real quick? Only the drive back is pretty long, you see.”
“Oh, yes of course. It’s the second door to your right.”
“Thanks, Miss.”
At that moment, my grandfather called out to me.
“Who was it?”
“Just a delivery, grandpa. It’s from mum.”
“What?”
He sounded just as surprised as I had been and came into the hall immediately.
“It’s a delivery from mum, look at the card,” I said.
He took the card and read it.
“Very strange,” he said. “Do you know what it is?”
“No, only one way to find out,” I said.
The parcel was a little taller than I was. Perhaps it was a fridge after all, I thought. It covered most of the mirror on the wall.
“Thanks for letting me use your bathroom, Miss,” the other delivery man said. “We’ll see ourselves out then.”
“Yes, thank you again,” I said as the two men made for the door behind us.
I was just about to unpack the parcel when something caught my eye. I looked up. An icy chill ran down my spine. Instead of leaving, one of the men was carefully closing the door.
I spun around immediately.
“I thought you were leaving,” I said. My grandfather also turned around in surprise.
“Not yet, Missy. Just one thing left to do,” the man who had used the bathroom said.
“What is the meaning of this?” my Grandfather demanded. “Get out of our house immediately.”
Without warning, one of the men suddenly lunged at us, knocking us off our feet.
“Grab her!”
I kicked and bashed at every inch of body I could find.
“Help,” our attacker cried, as his accomplice rushed to his aid.
I had to do something fast. I pulled as hard as I could at the fridge and it came crashing down on our attackers, who were howling with pain.
“Quickly, grandpa,” I said, half-leading, half-tearing at the wizened old hands of his. We ran towards the front door, get help from one of the neighbours.
I yanked open the door. Another man, smaller than the others but also dressed in the same uniform, was running towards us. They had us cornered in the house.
I slammed the door in his face and turned the key.
“Come, grandpa,” I said desperately.
We made for the sitting room. The intruders were still dazed, buried under their own delivery, but recovering quickly.
We stumbled into the sitting room. I closed the door, but this one had no lock. From the scuffle of feet I could hear that they were back on track. I had to blockade the door somehow. I looked around wildly, but the only thing in sight was the sofa at the far end of the room.
“Block the door as long as you can,” I said.
My grandpa nodded, leaning against it with all of his weight.
I ran to the sofa and began pushing as hard as I could with a strength I never thought I had.
It seemed like ages but I managed to get it to the door. All the colour had drained from my grandfather’s face but he was holding out as best he could. There was a loud bump and angry voices on the other side. I pushed the sofa across the door. It wouldn’t be able to withstand them for long but it might buy us enough time. I took my grandfather by the hand as we moved into the room. I grabbed my phone that was still sitting on the table next to our cold meals and dialled the police.
The line took infuriatingly long to connect.
“Police emergency,” a bored voice answered the call.
Crack.
The wood in the upper part of the door had just given way, a gloved hand protruding from it, then another. They were breaking it down faster than I’d had hoped. The police’d never get here in time. But I yelled our address and a “come quickly” into the phone anyway while I ran with my grandfather to the window. I slid it open, but to my horror, the third man was just waiting for us on the lawn. We were trapped.
With a final thud, the door gave way completely an
d the two attackers stumbled over the rubble and sofa towards us. I took the phone and threw it as hard as I could at them, but missed.
One of them was grinning in triumph, while the other took out a white cloth. Fear gave way to panic. I looked at my grandfather, who seemed beyond words, too. As I gazed into his once so warm hazelnut eyes, we understood each other. There was nothing to be done, but we wouldn’t go quietly. He gave me the briefest of nods.
We were no match in strength, of course, but I think the sight of the old man charging them like a bull must have taken them by surprise.
I wasn’t so lucky. The man dodged my attack, sending me into empty space.
Meanwhile, the second man had got hold of my grandfather, who was struggling violently but was no match for his burly opponent.
“Leave him alone!” I yelled, trying to get to him.
But too late, my grandfather was thrown backwards. His head hit the sideboard with a loud crack. He slumped immediately to the floor, blood flowing from his head.
My attacker had also turned to see what was happening. In my rage, I punched him hard in the face. The unexpected blow stunned him and made him drop the handkerchief, but the second man hurled himself on top of me with a roar, knocking me off of my feet, his massive body crushing the air out of my lungs as my leg twisted until it gave way with a terrible snap.
The man on top of me was pinning me down, while the second grabbed the handkerchief on the floor and forced it over me face. I was resisting as fiercely as I could, kicking every inch I could find. But the sickly sweet stench was too much, I tried not to breathe, but I was getting dizzy. Everything was spinning.
.
4
The rest of what happened was just a blur. There was the splintering of glass and the man holding the handkerchief suddenly released me.
I tried to lift my head, but the room was drifting in and out of focus uncontrollably. The pain in my leg was almost beyond endurance.
At first, I thought the police had arrived in time after all. I heard the crackle of gunfire, though I couldn’t tell as I’d never heard a real gun fired before. Dark shapes had joined the fray, moving unnaturally fast before my eyes in my dazed state. There were yells and screams, accompanied by slashing sounds – like a knife through cloth.
The fight raged for I don’t know how long. I was trying to stand, but the drug was unrelenting and my leg obviously broken, causing me to slide back onto the floor again. A shadow approached me and I was about to kick it with my remaining healthy leg when I heard an unfamiliar voice.
“Hold it, Rebecca, we’re on your side.”
He lifted me up.
“How do you know my name?”
“Vat is it with her?” a man with a heavy East European accent asked, ignoring me.
“Chloroform,” the first said, smelling the drenched handkerchief.
“Who... who are you?” I asked.
“The reason you’re alive. No time to explain now,” he said. “I’m Raphael and this is Janusz.”
I still had trouble focussing properly. Squinting, I saw my rescuers were wearing long black cloaks. They certainly didn’t look like your usual police force.
The man called Raphael was lean, with dark brown eyes and a slight stubble. He couldn’t have been much older than I was, perhaps 20 or 21. The other man – Janusz – was much older and shorter, with grey hairs in his beard.
“My grandfather,” I croaked. “Help him.”
“We’ll take him, too,” Raphael said. “But it’s you they’re after. We have to move fast. Janusz, if you don’t mind.”
It was strange somehow to see the older man taking orders from the younger. But Janusz nodded without hesitation and picked up my grandfather. There was no way I could walk, so I held on to Raphael as best I could.
He opened the front door and checked the surroundings.
“The car is around the corner. Hurry.”
“But what about the police?”
“Believe me, you don’t want to meet them.”
“What d’you mean?” I said, still slurring slightly from the drug.
“Ve think they are in on the job,” Janusz said, surveying our surroundings like a hawk. But there was no one in sight.
We finally reached a black car. I must have passed out immediately.
5
I slowly opened my eyes, expecting to find myself in the car. To my surprise, I woke up in what looked like an old-fashioned hospital ward. I was no longer wearing my clothes but a white nightshirt. My clothes – freshly washed by the looks of them – were folded neatly on top of each other beneath the nightstand.
Looking around, I saw that the beds were wrought-iron, about ten on each side of the long room. They were all empty, with beams of sunshine illuminating the covers as if to further highlight their tidiness. I still felt groggy, though the rest must have helped quite a bit since my dizziness was gone. I tried to get up, but the onset of pain in my left leg reminded me that I was in no condition to go anywhere.
My mouth was extremely dry. There seemed to be some sort of nurse’s room at the end of the hall. Perhaps someone was there. I tried to call out, but the feeble croak that came from my throat would hardly have alerted anyone next to me, let alone across a room like this.
I lay there for what seemed like an eternity, mulling over what had happened in my mind as in a feverish dream. The memories of the attack would haunt me for a long time, well after my leg had healed, I was sure. But what had they been up to? What interest had they in me? I needed answers.
I was rescued from my circular ruminations by a nurse, entering from the large wooden door at the end of the room. She walked over to my bed. She was thin and elderly, with a kind face.
“Hello dear, did you sleep alright?”
She approached my bed and touched my forehead; I was taken aback by how cold her hands were.
“Thank you, yes,” I said. “Where – where am I?”
The nurse bustled around the bed in a motherly fashion, rearranging the sheets. I wasn’t sure she had heard me.
“It’s been quite a summer, hasn’t it? You’re a little late, we expected the last ones to arrive by the week before last, you know. Well, never matter, we still have some time until the ceremony. I’m sure you’re very excited already.”
She smiled at me and began taking my pulse.
“I – what ceremony?” I asked.
“The initiation ceremony, of course,” the elderly nurse said, “we’ll have to patch you up as fast as we can, the Trial can be pretty stressful but I’m sure we’ll get have you up and about until then. The ones so far have been pretty challenging, though I really shouldn’t be talking to you about them, mind...”
“Look – sorry – I have no idea what …” I began, hardly able to break her flow of speech.
“… what the Trial is going to be?” she asked, again smiling reassuringly. “Never worry, dear, I’ve seen many pass through this ward in my lifetime, and you certainly look more like the determined type. After a few square meals, that is – and I have just the right thing for you.”
“You don’t understand. I have no idea where I am and what all this is about, my grandfather and I was attacked and then …”
“They haven’t told you yet?” she asked.
“Not a thing.”
“Oh dear, you know I’m not sure I’m the right person to do this, I’d better get Doctor Yurasov, he said he wanted to go the village.”
“Where is my grandfather?” I demanded.
But the nurse checked her watch, as if in a different world, evidently having trouble reading it due to its small size.
“This watch, you know, was given to me by my father when I was little. Such a nice specimen, don’t you think? It really was…”
“I’m sorry but I really need… Could you get the doctor for me?” I said desperately.
“The doctor?” she said, momentarily bewildered. “Ah yes, you don’t know yet, poor dear.”
>
She crossed the room. Before I knew it, she was out of the door, pulling it to behind her, leaving me to my thoughts again. The ward was empty, my grandfather nowhere to be seen. I had a terrible feeling of foreboding. Please, let him have come through alright.
After what seemed like ages, the door opened again. An official-looking man with rimless glasses entered with the nurse. He was greying and bald, but smartly dressed in a black three-piece suit. He thanked the nurse, taking the tray she was carrying from her, and approached my bed. After he had set the tray down on the nightstand, he held out his hand in a formal manner.
“Miss Rebecca Flynn. How do you do, my name is Doctor Yurasov.”
I shook his hand as firmly as I could. He spoke excellent English, with what was probably a slight Russian accent. He turned around, in an unmistakable gesture that he wanted privacy. The elderly nurse, who seemed rather in awe of Doctor Yurasov and had been watching the scene from afar, made a sort of curtsey and left the room.
I was glad to see a large metal jug, a goblet, and some sandwiches on the tray. Doctor Yurasov pulled up a chair from the wall.
“Please, Miss Flynn, allow me,” he said, pouring the contents of the jug into the goblet and handing it to me. “This will get you back on your feet in no time.”
“Thank you.”
I was so thirsty that I set the goblet to my lips in an instant. The first drops tasted bitter, like iron. But it was strangely satisfying at the same time.
“What is this?” I asked, holding the contents of the goblet to the light so I could see its colour.
“We call it the essence of life. Go on, drink it,” he said.
At this point, he noticed my hesitation and chuckled.
“You have already been injected with it for the last couple of days. You were unconscious for quite some time, you know. If we had wanted to harm you, we would have had ample opportunity, I assure you,” he said.
He was right, of course. But that didn’t allay my horrible suspicion about the liquid.
“Is this …”
“Blood?” he interjected, chuckling again, “no, it is not, though I am not surprised you thought so. It is supposed to taste like it, after all.”
