In Times Of Want

by Marie O'Regan

  Lauren sat staring out of her living room later that night, watching the first snow of the winter. The flakes danced out of the sky as if they were bestowing a gift upon the earth – and Lauren thought maybe they were. All the usual ugliness that surrounded them was buried under a pristine, white blanket. Everything was clean and new, just for a little while. She raised her fingers to the glass and traced the shape of a heart, touched her lips to it and smiled.

  The smile died, nascent, as tiny, unseen fingers echoed her movements on the outside of the window; leaving icy trails around the outlined heart, setting it hard.

  The playground looked different tonight. It was colder, thought Tommy, but that wasn’t it. The place looked deserted, forlorn – as if kids had stopped coming here. The chains on the swings screamed, and Tommy realised that was because they were rusty. How long had they been here, anyway?

  As if called into being, Mary ambled past him into the middle of the playground, her gaze disinterested. “Don’t worry about it, they’ll come back.”

  “They will?”

  “Sure, they always come back.”

  Tommy didn’t like this. “Why did they leave?”

  Mary smiled at him, then, and Tommy cringed. He’d learned to be wary of that smile – the real Mary came out when she smiled, and she wasn’t the same. Tommy wasn’t even sure if she was a real little girl, when she smiled. He thought that she might be some thing that just wanted to play the part of a girl, or even lived inside her. But if there was a thing inside her, where was the real Mary?

  The girl scowled, her voice rougher this time. Deeper. “I’ve told you. Best not to worry about that. It’s not for you to know.” She cuffed him, and he stumbled. “Let’s play.” He followed her, too scared to say no – wondering, not for the first time, where his mother had gone. And why hadn’t she looked for him?

  Lauren stumbled in the snow, her breath coming in harsh gasps, her lungs burning with the cold. As she trudged up the hill, she searched for the child that must surely be out here. Who else had drawn on her window? Such tiny fingers, they’d die out here if they didn’t get warm. Such thoughts buzzed in her head as she homed in on the playground, sure that whoever was lost would find their way here – in the hope that their mother would find them. She hoped that Sarah would find her soon, would help her find whoever was lost. What would she think, when she heard her sister rambling about lost children and icy fingers on her answer phone? She almost laughed, then realised she’d probably given Sarah enough ammunition to make a doctor listen. And then what would she do?

  She realised she didn’t care. Throughout her life, all she’d wanted was a child – and the one time that had been imminent, her chance had been taken away in an instant: her unborn child crushed by the steering wheel of her car as she careened into a wall to avoid an accident. There would be no more chances, not for her. There’d been too much damage, they said. It hadn’t taken Dan long to leave after that, although in all fairness a lot of the blame for that lay at her door. She couldn’t look at him, knowing what she knew – and he grew tired of promising he didn’t blame her and it didn’t matter.

  Too late now to worry about all that. A cry in the darkness energised her, and she moved forward more purposefully as the park’s gate hove into view.

  Mary turned her head as she pushed her heels into the ground and halted the swing. Tommy, still in mid-swing, followed her lead as soon as he was able. He’d learnt to listen to her, to do as she said. It was less painful that way.

  “What is it?” His voice was shrill in the night, his breath plumed out in front of him like morse code, staccato evidence of his fear.

  “She’s here.” Mary smiled, and stepped off the swing, her mood suddenly light.

  “Who’s here?”

  “You’ll see.” She was making for the gate, eager to find…what?

  Tommy raced after her, not wanting to be left alone. Not here. “Mary, wait!”

  She took no notice, just skipped down the path, humming tunelessly as she went. She threw a glance over her shoulder, just once, “Come on, Tommy,” and then she was gone. The lights went out suddenly, and he was alone in the dark.

  The temperature dropped.

  Lauren reached the gate, almost sobbing with pain as the cold air burned its way into her lungs. The sound had gone. Just for a moment, she’d thought she heard a cry – but then maybe she’d just wanted to. There was more light, suddenly – just by the gate, but Lauren couldn’t see where it came from. And there she was. A little girl had stepped into the light, and stood gazing solemnly at her. As Lauren ground to a halt, she smiled, and watched delighted as Lauren sank to her knees.

  “You’re real,” she sobbed.

  The little girl nodded, her face wise. “Of course I am. We both are.”

  “Both?”

  Again she nodded, and Lauren became aware of someone standing just behind the girl. A boy, this time. Hadn’t she seen his face somewhere before? Recently? He edged forward, his face shy, hopeful. “Do you know my mum?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry, love, no. Are you lost?”

  “No.” The boy grew mournful, and stepped back. He seemed to fade a little. “She is, though. She never came.”

  The boy’s face clicked into place for Lauren then. Tommy Ryan. He’d gone missing from the playground only a week ago, and his mother’s body had been found just outside the gates, her throat torn open.

  The little girl broke in, cross at no longer being the centre of attention. “She didn’t want you, Tommy. Remember? She would have come if she did.”

  “No, honey, I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “It is!” The girl stamped her foot, and the world darkened. Something grated underfoot and Lauren sat back, stunned. “I told you, Tommy. No one wanted you, just like no one wanted me!”

  Tommy’s face fell, and as he stared at Lauren she felt her heart break. “Tommy, it wasn’t your fault. You have to know that.”

  The boy shook his head. “Mary’s right. If she’d wanted me, she’d have come to find me.”

  Lauren had to at least try to help him. “Maybe something stopped her.”

  Mary growled at her, and she recoiled. “Careful, you’ll frighten him.”

  “I just want…”

  “To what? Make Tommy think he belongs? He doesn’t, anymore than I do.” Mary took a step closer, and a cruel smile twisted her child-like features. “Any more than you do. You’re alone, too, aren’t you.”

  Lauren nodded, bereft.

  “They left you, didn’t they.”

  Again, Lauren nodded, dumb with grief.

  Mary sidled closer, and Lauren felt a small hand worm its way into her own. She clasped her fingers around it, feeling a warmth grow inside her. “We’re alone too.”

  Lauren looked up at that. “You don’t have anyone?”

  “Just Tommy.” She looked back at him, and he attempted a smile. The effect was repulsive – he looked like he was facing Hell itself. Mary beckoned him closer, and he reluctantly took a step closer, then another. “Tommy and me belong together.” She ruffled his hair, and he cringed. His eyes remained locked on Lauren. “Don’t we, Tommy?” Tommy said nothing for a moment, then nodded, all hope lost.

  Lauren reached for his hand, took it into hers and squeezed. He moaned, and wrapped his arms around her in a hug. He whispered: “Please stay with us. Don’t leave me alone with her anymore.”

  Lauren hugged him tight, tears blinding her. “I won’t, I promise.”

  Lauren’s mobile phone shrilled into life, breaking the spell. For a moment she saw Mary as she really was, wizened and old, and needing their warmth to survive. No child, this, rather a creature that might have been a child once, but had been corrupted into this parasitic monster, eager for warmth to keep her here, and for other lives to keep hers going for a little while longer. This creature was hungry, and was prepared to kill to keep her playmate, Lauren saw. The vision of Mary going to Tommy’s mother for a hug flo
ated into Lauren’s mind, and she cringed as she saw the woman wiping her tears away, and holding her close. Close enough for little teeth to rip into her throat, and tear it wide open.

  Mary laughed, softly. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”

  Lauren stared at the display. It was Sarah. As she clicked the button to take the call, Sarah’s voice rose into the night, frantic. “Lauren! Thank God, where are you? Listen…” Lauren dropped the phone, and the tinny notes faded from her mind. She looked at Tommy, and she made up her mind. What did life hold for her, anyway? An empty house and an empty womb, for ever and ever, Amen.

  The mobile phone dropped to the ground.

  Lauren stood, and took both children’s hands. She tried not to cringe from the touch of the little girl, but the child didn’t seem to notice. Tommy hung on, pathetically grateful for her affection.

  “Come on, kids. Time to go.”

  Darkness fell, and when the lights came back on they revealed an empty playground, save for a red scarf puddled in the snow, cradling a mobile phone, its volume fading as the battery died.

  The sound of children laughing rang in Sarah’s ear, as her sister sang a nursery rhyme.

  Then they were gone.

  Inspiration Point

  Her first thought was that she was blind. She’d opened her eyes, she knew she had – yet all was dark, not as much as a chink of light anywhere. She stilled her breath and listened, but heard nothing. When she could hold her breath no longer she inhaled fast – a great, whooping gasp – and was relieved to find that she could, at least, still hear.

  Her hands were bound, and so were her feet. She could feel the ropes biting into her skin at wrist and ankle, blood welling around them – she must have been struggling, then. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember how she’d got here, or who had done this to her. The floor was hard, damp, and things scrabbled about in the dark – perhaps she was in a cellar? She tried not to think about rats, but couldn’t help it. The scrabbling came closer, and she flinched, relaxing only as it faded away again – but not completely. Checking herself for injuries she was relieved to realise that – apart from a throbbing at the back of her head – she seemed unharmed. She tried to sit up higher, and her head started to swim. Dimly, she was aware of everything fading out, then it was gone.

  “What’s your name?”

  “What?” Reality flooded back, and she realised she’d passed out. She tried to sit up, unsure of what she’d heard, if anything.

  “I asked, ‘what’s your name?’” the voice said again. It was a girl, perhaps around her own age – she certainly didn’t sound old; maybe nineteen, twenty. The sound came from her left, and, she thought, a little behind her. She twisted as much as she was able, but saw nothing – pain in her protesting skull the only reward for her trouble. She groaned, and relaxed back against the wall as much as she could.

  “Marnie,” she replied. “My name’s Marnie.” The answer surprised her; for a moment there she’d had no idea.

  “Marnie what?”

  Now that did fox her. She couldn’t remember. Marnie’s head throbbed, making her stomach roll, and for a moment she was worried about exactly how hard she’d been hit. She tried to sit upright, and this time she almost succeeded. There was a coppery smell she realised must be blood, and the thought it was her own made her nauseous again. Defeated, she slumped back against the wall.

  “Can’t you remember?”

  Marnie shook her head, regretting the action even as she did. Her stomach lurched; she took a deep breath to try and quell the nausea. What if she’d done something serious to it? What if no one rescued her and it just kept on getting worse? What if…

  The voice came again. “Well, I can’t see you, but I’m guessing the lack of response means no.”

  Marnie sighed, brought back to earth by the intrusion. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I mean no, you’re right. My head hurts.”

  “Did you bang it?”

  “I didn’t,” she said, “but someone else certainly did.”

  The voice oozed sympathy. “Oh, poor you,” it said. “Are you bleeding?”

  “I don’t think so,” Marnie replied. “Not anymore, anyway.”

  There was silence for a while as Marnie tried to gather her thoughts. Her companion gave no sign of wanting to continue the conversation, which suited Marnie for now.

  The darkness was slightly less pervasive now, she thought. It was still dim, but she could see a lighter patch off to one side, presumably a window. Perhaps it was dawn? Turning her head to the other side, she could see a line of light some distance above her. At a guess, she figured that to be where the cellar door was. She smiled to herself as she realised she’d worked out she was probably in a cellar. That was no practical help, she knew, but it seemed to help, a little.

  Something scraped on the floor above, then thumped, and Marnie tensed. The noise passed, and she dared to breathe once more – then remembered she was no longer alone. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Annie. Annie Bourne.” The girl’s tone was matter of fact, a slight tremble in her voice the only sign she might be scared.

  “How did you get here, Annie?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “I remember sitting down on a bench at the bus stop… and then I woke up here.”

  Marnie thought about that. Her own last memory prior to this was of walking home, and a blinding pain at the back of her head. “You don’t seem scared,” she said.

  “Oh, I am,” Annie answered. Her voice got small. “I just . . . try to make the best of things, I suppose.”

  Marnie laughed. “Not sure how to make the best of something like this, but I admire the sentiment.”

  “Do you think we’ll get out of this?” Annie’s voice was less certain now; a quaver had crept in, revealing her lack of confidence.

  Marnie cursed herself for undermining the girl; she was just trying to keep herself under control. “Of course we will,” she answered; unwilling to deal with Annie if she was going to have a meltdown. They needed to stay calm, figure out what was going on.

  The scraping over their heads sounded once more, and Marnie felt the other girl huddle in closer. She hadn’t realised how close they were, or how tightly Annie must have been holding herself – so had she, come to that. The warmth of her companion’s body was welcome, and Marnie felt the aches in her own body complaining at the unaccustomed increase in temperature, however slight. A floorboard creaked, sending a shower of dust down on to their heads, and Annie whimpered.

  “Sshh,” Marnie whispered, and the girl huddled even closer. For long moments they sat there, barely breathing, waiting for some sign they’d drawn the attention of their gaolers – nothing came.

  Gradually, the two girls relaxed. Marnie could see more now – the lighter patch over to her left was indeed a window, covered with what looked like a piece of grubby sacking nailed roughly over the frame. With the increased visibility, Marnie realised she could now probably get at least an idea of what Annie looked like.

  “Annie?”

  The girl was silent, Marnie could sense no movement. Had she fallen asleep? She started to turn her head, moaning at the pain induced by this movement – both the wound at the back of her skull and the stiffness in her neck protesting at such treatment. She winced as something pricked her hand, and darkness fell.

  “Marnie?”

  The voice was shaky, struggling to maintain calm, and Marnie recognised it as Annie’s. She flicked her tongue across her lips, attempting to soothe her cracked mouth, but it felt too large, somehow alien – dry and rough.

  “Marnie!”

  It was more insistent now, and Marnie realised some sort of response was required – but nothing came. Her wrists were agony, she’d slumped forward and the ropes were biting into the soft flesh there – so there wasn’t just a wall behind her after all, was there. Or if it was just a wall, there was a ring or a hook or something that her ropes were fastened to. She forced her
self upright, and gasped at how badly that hurt her. She tried to speak. “I’m here. . .”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  Annie had given up looking on the bright side, it seemed, and Marnie had to feel a twinge of sadness at that. She tried again, and this time was more successful. “I’m okay. I think.”

  She became aware of various pains she hadn’t noticed before – her hand stung where something had scratched her before . . . before what? Her back ached, and her ribs felt bruised – there was a sharp pain when she tried to take a deep breath, so she struggled to keep her breathing light. Why wasn’t that as easy now?

  Annie was almost hysterical. “I thought you’d died! You went all quiet and then you sort of . . . drooped, and wouldn’t answer me! I thought you’d had a stroke, or something! ”

  “Annie!”

  The girl stopped in mid-flow, her breath hitching as she tried to regain control. There was no trace now of the brightness she’d displayed at first.

  Marnie tried to temper her tone, sorry she’d been sharp. “Calm down, okay? We need to figure out where we are, what’s going on.”

  Annie muttered something incomprehensible that Marnie chose to take for assent, and she turned her attention to what little they knew of their predicament.

  “Neither of us know how we got here, right?” she asked.

  “No,” Annie said.

  “Are you hurt at all?”

  “No,” Annie answered.

  Marnie pondered that one for a while. She’d been hit on the head, knocked out with what she suspected was an injection this time around, then apparently beaten whilst unconscious. At best. How had Annie not been touched?

  She tried again. “Are you sure?”

  There was a pause before Annie answered. “My wrists are a bit sore, but that’s the rope, isn’t it.”