The Children Of The Mist

by Jenny Brigalow

  Chapter 14

  Zest was right! A wild cry of laughter burst through her lips. This was so huge. This was seriously sick. Sicker than sick. It was just mad-doggish. She, Morven Smith, slick skating chick, was Batgirl. Far, far, far out. Further out than Mars in fact. She smiled at her reflection again. Man, those teeth were just the thing. Not so big and pointy as you’d expect, but still, quite a statement.

  With a fair degree of concerted effort Morven dragged her eyes from her designer teeth, lifted her nightie and perused the strip of plaster stuck low on her abdomen. With one finger she gently prized up a sticky corner. For a moment she hesitated, and then in a fluid motion whipped the dressing off. It stung a little but Morven barely registered the fact as she stared in disbelief at her abdomen. There was nothing there. Not so much as a scar. The skin was without blemish. She bent down to take a closer look. There must be something. Careful prodding of the area came up negative. Not sore, not even a little bit.

  Suddenly she needed to talk. And there was only one person who could fit the bill. Zest. She didn’t know how he had known, but she felt that she ought to know. It was like when you sat an exam and had a question on a subject that you’d studied really well, but couldn’t find the answer. When you left the exam room it came to you and it was so obvious that you wanted to kick yourself. For a moment she closed her eyes and tried to find the answers. Visions swam in and out of her mind’s eye. What was it? Excitement gripped her as a memory unfolded. And she knew then, without doubt, that it was a memory, not a hallucination. She was in a vast forest, a place of wild, untouched beauty. An ancient place. The trees grew mossy beards and their roots were gnarled with age. It was cold. And white. The air was dry and crisp. Thick snow covered the ground and crunched softly beneath her booted feet. In the black, leafless trees birds fluffed up their feathers and watched her warily. But she had no interest in them. Instead her eyes were fixed on footsteps in the snow. They snaked through the trees and disappeared from sight. And the answer hovered tantalisingly close.

  Just as she thought she had it, a door banged. Morven’s eyes popped open. Damn it. She had company. Hastily she rearranged her night gown and went to the door, settled her face into a pained expression and exited the bathroom. It was Vanilla.

  ‘Morven,’ she said, ‘I’ll just check your obs, and have a look at your op site. Doctor Spelling will be in shortly to check you out.’ Vanilla smiled. ‘Hopefully you’ll be able to go home soon.’

  Morven’s initial happy response to this was followed by a flicker of unease. Anita Vanilla was not playing eight ball. Morven was immediately on the defensive. Something was up. Something not good for Morven.

  She hobbled to her bed. The blood stains had dried to an attractive rust colour. Sadly, the bag had gone. Shame, but probably just as well. Morven’s eyes moved to the window. There was a small balcony outside, which offered a lovely view of the town. The sky was blue and it promised to be a balmy evening. Better still, the night beckoned. Her metabolism went haywire. Holy shit, she had more energy than an electric eel. All in all, it was definitely time to leave.

  Vanilla interrupted. ‘Sit still a moment please, Morven. I want to check your temperature.’

  Morven decided that it would be very unwise to allow any close examination of her person. Frankly, she couldn’t begin to imagine the poor kid’s response when she couldn’t find the operation site. While it would probably be highly entertaining, it would create a whole host of problems. Trouble was, she wasn’t sure how best to handle things. Vanilla was already a bit antsy. Bless her.

  Morven considered a quick dash for freedom. She did not doubt she could outrun the young nurse. Actually, she felt as if she could outrun the whole Olympic team. Still, she wasn’t dressed. No way was she running around the neighbourhood dressed in a blue cotton theatre gown and a pair of paper underpants. She wasn’t a slave to fashion, but even she had to draw the line somewhere. Either she’d have to steal something or phone her parents for supplies. Meanwhile, she’d have to keep Vanilla at a healthy distance.

  As the digital thermometer tickled her ear, Morven let out giggle and jerked her head away. ‘Careful, that tickles,’ she said.

  Vanilla stopped and looked at her carefully. ‘Well, just sit still, it’ll only take a second.’

  Morven nodded. As soon as the apparatus approached she ducked her head away and giggled again. ‘Sorry.’ she lied.

  Vanilla paused, her generous mouth a thin line of disapproval. ‘Let me have a look at your wound site then.’

  Morven felt a wave of panic. Shit on a stick. What should she do? Instinctively her hands plunged down the bed and grabbed the blankets. In one swift movement she hauled the bedclothes up to her chin.

  Vanilla tutted and shook her head. Then she made a quick grab at the sheet and tugged. There then ensued an undignified battle in which Morven came out victor. Vanilla smoothed her hair back into its tidy ponytail and stepped back. She was puffing slightly and looked very pissed off. Without a word, she turned and marched out of the door and down the corridor. The door banged shut. Morven knew she’d be back. If only she had her phone. And then her vision fell on the bedside table which had flanked the missing bed beside her. Tucked beneath a menu card was something black and shiny.

  Morven hopped out of the bed and took a sneak peek. She couldn’t believe her luck. A mobile. And it was up and running. Quickly she dialled her parents’ number, one eye on the door. ‘Hurry, hurry, hurry,’ she said.

  ‘Hello?’ Her dad sounded like he was still asleep.

  ‘Dad? It’s Morven.’

  ‘Morven, are you alright?’ Now he sounded wide awake.

  ‘Dad, I’m fine, but I want to come home and I’ve got no clothes.’

  ‘Have you been discharged then?’

  ‘Yes, Doctor Spelling says I can go ASAP.’

  For a moment her dad was quiet, and Morven felt a wave of panic. If he started asking questions she was undone. Someone stopped outside the door and she held her breath. But then the footsteps receded. Hurry. Please hurry.

  ‘Morven, that’s great. I’ll be with you in 10 minutes.’

  Morven could have cried with relief. ‘Thanks, Dad. See you soon.’

  For want of anything better to do, she sat back on the bed. Her father, the only father she had ever known, would be here soon. As soon as they were out of the hospital, she’d take the opportunity to sound him out. He wanted to tell her something. Of course, at this stage, it was impossible to rule out the obvious. It was impossible not to speculate that her adoptive parent’s secret was not knowledge of some hideous hereditary disease or a family history of madness, but the fact that she was — quite unbelievably — a vampyre.

  There. She’d finally said it. Vampyre. How the hell this had happened, Morven couldn’t begin to guess, but she sure as hell planned to find out. She could fully understand her parents’ reluctance to speak about such a thing; if they’d told her, she’d have pissed herself laughing. Probably considered having them both committed. But now there was no need for secrecy anymore. They had to tell her everything. She needed to know. No matter how hard it was, or how upset they were.

  For a moment she was scared. What if her mother wouldn’t talk about it because the idea horrified her? But then, she’d hardly have agreed to adopt her if that was the case. It was very confusing. Were mum and dad vampyres? And how did you go about adopting a vampyre baby? Not something you could Google. Morven, despite herself, grinned. Hard to imagine. But still…she’d learned that day that you just couldn’t count on anything anymore. She’d just have to be patient and wait.

  Waiting was boring. She counted the floor tiles. The vertical blinds. The right angles. The stitches in the hem of her blue gown. Her eyes were constantly drawn to the clock on the wall. Ten minutes seemed like an age. Finally she counted the second hand as it made its final circuit. Ten minutes exactly. She looked expectantly at the door. One of the things she loved about her father was his dep
endability. He was exact, punctual. The second hand ticked past. He was late.

  Unable to contain herself any longer, she hopped up. For the sake of something to do she wandered over to the sliding door, slid it open and stepped out onto the balcony. The breeze lifted her hair gently from her neck. It smelled like popcorn. Down below she could see people walking on the pavement. It did not surprise her that she could hear their voices clearly. The earlier barrage of confused sound was now quite processable. It took some effort, but she was able to define each sound, although it was tiring. And as her eyes scanned the vista she was amazed at how far and how clearly she could see. As far as the ocean, and beyond. Her eyes veered toward the river, a grey winding ribbon that twisted roughly northward. Her home was there somewhere. There! There it was. Delighted, she smiled. And then someone spoke her name. She turned around eagerly, sure her dad had arrived, her irritation at his tardiness forgotten in her happy anticipation of a speedy departure.

  And she was right. The door opened and he stepped in. ‘Dad, hi — ‘ But the words dried up at the frozen look on his face. Morven took a step forward. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Her father did not reply. Hot on his heels came a white-coated man, nurse Anita Vanilla and a male nurse. Morven looked at her father and back at the assembled crew. All in all, this latest development did not bode well.

  Chapter 15

  Morven smiled sweetly at her audience. ‘Greetings, mere mortals,’ she said airily. She bowed and flicked an imaginary cape over her left shoulder.

  Her father’s lips twitched suspiciously, but he maintained his sober facade. The doctor, who Morven recognised by his baggy eyes as her surgeon, frowned and watched her like a cat that watched a mouse. Morven did not feel like a mouse, and had no intention of becoming one. Confidence swept through her. The good doctor was no match for her. Even on a bad day. And frankly, today was a good day. The best and most brilliant mad-doggish day ever. Luckily for her, no one else knew that. She shot her father a quick look. Well, nearly no one.

  ‘How are you feeling, Morven?’ said Doc.

  ‘Awesome, thank you,’ said Morven cheerfully. ‘Can I go now?’

  ‘Sure,’ said the Doc. ‘I’ll just have a quick peek at your wound site first.’

  Fat chance, Morven thought. She shook her head sorrowfully. ‘I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request. So sorry.’

  The Doc tilted his head quizzically. Morven thought he looked like a rather overworked bloodhound. He fiddled with the stethoscope around his neck. ‘And why would that be then?’

  Morven hung her head. ‘I’m shy,’ she said softly.

  An explosive sound escaped from her father’s face. But when she glanced his way, he was dabbing at his long nose with a hankie. ‘Do excuse me,’ he said.

  ‘Mmm. I see,’ said Doc. ‘Morven, if you don’t let me look at the site, I can’t let you go home.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Morven. ‘I’ll just stay here until my hair grows long enough to escape over the balcony. Like Rapunzel.’

  Nurse Vanilla giggled. Doc shot her a dirty look. ‘The nursing staff reported some rather…unusual behaviour from you.’

  Morven summoned up a shocked expression. ‘Really?’

  Doc nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Morven observed him sympathetically. ‘No need to be afraid,’ she said in a tone she usually reserved for two-year-olds. ‘It’s all good.’

  Nurse Vanilla smiled and then scratched her nose to hide it. Morven decided that Vanilla was definitely growing on her. The Doc — not so much.

  The Doc’s expression hardened, and Morven sensed that the warmup was over. Time to bring out the big guns. ‘Morven,’ said the Doc, ‘there’s something else…’

  Morven observed him quietly and remained mute. Mainly because she knew it would wind him up.

  The Doc looked pointedly at Vanilla who hastily handed him a brown chart. Morven’s name was printed clearly on the front. The Doc opened it and perused its contents. He snapped it shut and looked at her. ‘There are some anomalies in the results of your blood tests.’

  Morven was genuinely interested now. ‘What kind of anomalies?’

  For a second the Doc’s expression melted, like butter in the sun, but then he seemed to pull himself together. ‘Nothing that you would understand,’ he continued, ‘but to be on the safe side, I think it would be wise to do a few further tests.’

  Morven knew then that the Doc was clueless. He was playing for time. She did not intend to let him get away with it. ‘Try me.’

  The Doc glanced at the closed file as if it would give him the answers. ‘Well, do you know anything about blood types?’

  Morven nodded. ‘You mean like A, B and O, Rhesus positive and negative?’

  The Doc nodded. ‘Well, the thing is…your tests show…that is — ‘

  ‘What the good doctor is trying to tell you, Morven, is that you don’t test for any of them,’ her father interjected. ‘You aren’t A, B or O, or any combination of them.’

  ‘And,’ Vanilla added a bit breathlessly, ‘your blood shows positive for an enzyme that no one seems to have a name for.’

  Morven took a moment to digest this. ‘So, what was the blood in the infusion then?’

  The Doc picked up the thread. ‘It was O, the universal type. You had such a big bleed-out that you had to have something. And, under the circumstances, we assumed the blood results were a technical or computer error.’ He paused and looked at her very carefully.

  Here it comes, Morven thought.

  ‘Although you seem to be recovering, I strongly advise that we do another round of tests. Just to be sure. Especially as you have been exhibiting some…odd mannerisms.’

  Fat chance. ‘I think I’ll pass, thank you,’ said Morven carefully. She looked at her dad. ‘Let’s go.’

  He stepped forward but the Doc put a restraining hand on his arm. ‘Mr Smith. I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that.’

  For a moment Morven barely recognised her gentle, slightly batty parent. He looked almost dangerous. Awesome. He shook the hand off. ‘I’m taking Morven home.’

  The Doc sighed, like he was truly sorry, but Morven could sense his excitement; she could smell it oozing from his skin, the old perv. She watched as he pulled a rolled up piece of paper out of his white coat pocket. ‘I didn’t want to have to do this,’ he lied, ‘but I have here an order to hold Morven until she’s been evaluated by a psychiatrist.’

  Morven was irritated. ‘That’s bollocks. You can’t do that.’

  But her father walked up and stood close by her side. ‘I’m sorry, Morven, but I’m afraid they can.’ He looked at the doctor. ‘How long?’

  ‘First thing tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘Meanwhile, we will be taking Morven to the secure wing, for her own protection.’

  Her father exploded. ‘Protection! Protection from what, exactly?’

  ‘No need to get upset,’ said the Doc. ‘It’s just routine. This time tomorrow she’ll be home.’

  But Morven could taste his lies. She sensed his excitement. To him, she was no longer a patient but his own personal crusade. His five minutes of fame. He couldn’t wait to start poking and prodding. Not a pleasant scenario really. And one in which Morven had no intention of playing a part. Frankly, she was beginning to get bored.

  It’d have to be a mad dash to freedom. Being locked in the loony bin didn’t really appeal at all. She just hoped she didn’t meet anyone in the process. The pale blue gown really drained her complexion. And the open back with its four strings was the ultimate in fashion suicide. Better make it a very quick dash.

  She held out her hands pathetically. ‘I’ll come quietly,’ she said, even as she felt adrenaline surge into her bloodstream. The audience relaxed a fraction, which was just what she had hoped for. When she moved across the floor, her speed stunned even her. Man, she was on fire. As she went down into a long, low skid toward the door, several hands reached out to grab her but she was just
too quick. In a fraction of a second she was up and had her hand firmly on the door. She pushed and her face kissed the glass pane with a rude smack. Tears filled her eyes. Part pain, part frustration. Two faces looked calmly in at her. The two muscular guards eyed her through the glass with considerable interest.

  ‘Let me out, you pair of meat heads,’ she yelled, dug in her bare toes and pushed with all her might. The door opened only a fraction, and then shut.

  A kafuffle broke out behind her. She turned to find her father and the Doc on the floor, locked together like lovers.

  ‘Kick him in the nuts, Dad!’ Morven said. It was only now that she had the time to take in the male nurse. Instead of wading in to break up the fight, he was advancing on Morven. She did not like what she saw. There was an unsavoury expression on his face; a face that seemed unformed as if it were made from Play Doh. Greasy brown hair hung limply over a low forehead and he smelled like he’d been out in the sun too long. But Morven was less concerned with his unpleasant appearance than she was with the syringe held in his left hand. Whatever it held, it was not good for Morven.

  Vanilla appeared to be transfixed by the sight of the two wrestling, cursing men. She caught Morven’s eye, went bright red and looked away. No hope of help from that quarter apparently. Morven muttered a few choice words under her breath. Violence, it seemed, was the answer after all. And she realised at once that she really quite fancied a rumble. It was definitely time to see what she was made of.

  Time for the Batgirl to take control. Pasty Face had it coming to him. She was utterly unafraid, her whole mind bent to the task at hand. As the male nurse inched carefully toward her, Morven tensed. Then he smiled and a small ripple of unease shivered down her spine. Some sixth sense made her look behind. The two guards were entering the fray.

  ‘Run, Morven!’

  It was her dad. Sound advice, but there didn’t seem to be any place to go. Caught between the two guards and the nurse, Morven had the sinking feeling that things may not turn out as she planned. If she were going down, it was going to be in one hell of a fight.