Kiera Hudson & The Lethal Infected

by Tim O'Rourke

  Taking a deep breath and reaching out with my free hand, I yanked back the curtain. There was no one hiding behind it. But there was something. Stepping closer, I inspected the window and the frame. I could see now what had caused the curtain to move. Part of the window frame had been broken, as if someone had tried to break into the study from the outside. Turning, I headed back across the study to the door.

  “Where are you going?” Potter asked over the sound of Sophie choking on dust again.

  “I think I know why Sophie started to scream all over again,” I said, glancing back as I pulled open the door.

  “Because she’s dying, of course,” Potter said.

  “I think someone has tried to break into this room to make sure of that,” I said. “The window frame has been broken away just above the lock.”

  Potter glanced toward the window, then back at me. “Let’s go and take a look,” he snapped, shooting to his feet.

  I handed Potter the candle. “No, you stay here with Sophie. She needs you. Besides, whoever tried to break in might come back and try and finish what he or she has started,” I said, slipping out into the hallway. I closed the door behind me. The hall was now deserted again, the others all returned back to their rooms. Or had they? One of them had snuck out and tried to break into the study. As quietly as I could I heaved open the huge front door and crept down the front steps. The rain had stopped now, and the lawn glistened like a carpet of diamonds in the moonlight.

  Turning to my right, my bare feet crunching over wet gravel, I made my way to the study window. I stepped carefully, crouched low to the ground, looking for any clues the killer might have left behind. There was a small flowerbed beneath the study window, but none of the flowers were bent over or had been crushed underfoot. Standing straight, and on tiptoe, I leant toward the window. I ran my fingers delicately over the window frame. The wood was smooth, the paintwork unchipped or damaged. But as my fingers neared the part of the frame adjacent to the lock fixed to the inside of the window, the wood became uneven and splintered. With my nose just an inch from the windowpane, I could see scratches and claw marks where someone had tried to break away the frame and reach inside to unfasten the lock. I guessed that the attempted break-in had disturbed Sophie and caused her to scream out. As I had the only key to the study, the window was the only other way for the killer to gain entry to the room. But why risk breaking in and being caught when Sophie would more than likely be dead by the morning? Couldn’t the killer have waited until then?

  Stepping away from the window, I looked again for any signs of footprints. But would there be any, when the killer had a set of wings? I might not yet know the identity of the person who had poisoned Sophie, but I knew enough to know that he or she had wings just like me. Standing on the gravel drive, I looked up at the bedroom windows. Which one had the killer flown from, down to the study window, hovering just above the flowerbed so as not to leave any footprints, then on being disturbed, simply flown back to the safety of their room? All the windows were closed now and in darkness. Slowly, I turned and made my way back inside Hallowed Manor where I knew the killer waited for another chance to kill Sophie.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Did you find anything?” Potter asked as I entered the study, closing the door tight behind me.

  I shook my head. “Only some claw marks, which only proved what I first thought, that someone has tried to break in here tonight and finish what they had started.”

  “But why?” Potter said, aggravated by this new development. “She’ll be dead by morning.”

  I stepped closer toward the couch. Sophie writhed, twisting like a snake in agony. Her eyes were open, but they were rolled back in her skull and I could only see the bloodshot whites.

  “When I catch the evil fucker who did this, I’m going to rip their fucking heart out,” he said.

  “Even if it’s Murphy?” I said, shooting him a look.

  “Murphy wouldn’t have done something like this,” he barked in disbelief.

  “All I’m trying to say is that we know someone here tonight wants Sophie dead, we just don’t know who or why,” I said. “But when we do catch whoever poisoned Sophie, don’t you think we should at least find out why before you go tearing them to shreds? After all, the killer is someone close to you. Someone you trust. One of The Creeping Men.”

  “He won’t be doing any more creeping about when I catch him,”

  Potter grumbled. “I’ll break the fucker’s legs, then tear his heart out.”

  “Who says the killer is a he?” I said.

  “You just said you thought it was Murphy.”

  “I said, whoever the killer might be – it’s someone who you believe to be a friend and they must have a good reason for doing this,” I corrected him. “Don’t you want to find out what the reason might be?”

  “What possible reason could there be for wanting to kill Sophie?” Potter grunted, taking a cigarette from a crumpled pack he’d pulled from his jacket pocket.

  I glanced down back at Sophie. I knew the pain she was going through – the agony of turning into stone and the relief that Lot 13 used to bring when the cracks got bad.

  “Lot 13,” I whispered to myself.

  “What did you say?” Potter asked, kneeling down beside Sophie’s listless and tormented body again.

  I didn’t answer him. All I could think about was that bottle of Lot 13 that had been left for me in my room back at the Crescent Moon Inn and the sudden realisation that I had it in my power to save Sophie’s life if I wanted to. Is that why the bottle of Lot 13 had been left for me? Was this some kind of test? Had it been left for me to prove that I could be true to the plan I had put in place? It had been me who had chosen for my friends to get pushed again without me. It hadn’t been their decision. It was a decision I had made alone. A decision that I had to live with, however much I now regretted it. Just like Potter had said, didn’t we have to live by the mistakes we made? But what if I didn’t have to? What if we could somehow change the mistakes that we had made? If Sophie died tonight then that would leave Potter free. He had said that it was me he loved. Perhaps Sophie is meant to die? Maybe it was meant to be, however cruel. Maybe the layers were trying to shift back into place again like they had before. Murphy had once said that the layers were like sheets of tracing paper that had been pushed so the image beneath was slightly out of kilter. Should I really stop those sheets of tracing paper from realigning? Who was I to stop that from happening if it was meant to be? I’d already changed too much. Perhaps Sophie’s death was meant to happen in this where and when so Potter and I could be together again like we had once been. I’d pushed Potter back, believing he would be happy – but he wasn’t. He’d told me that. Who was I to stop Sophie from dying if it was meant to be? Who was I to stop that from happening? Who was I? I was Kiera Hudson. And I knew in my heart that I couldn’t stand back and watch someone die if I could save them. Even if that person was standing in the way of my own happiness – standing between me and the man I was in love with.

  “I’ve got to go,” I whispered.

  “Go where?” Potter asked. “Please stay. I don’t think Sophie has long before she…”

  “If I’m quick, I can save her,” I said, looking at him.

  “Save Sophie? How?” Potter asked, jumping to his feet and grabbing my arm.

  “I have to go now,” I said, pulling myself free. “Stay with Sophie, Potter. Don’t leave her side.” Then, leaning forward, I kissed him softly on the lips. “I hope what I’m about to do makes you happy.”

  “What does that mean?” Potter called after me, but I was already out of the door.

  Outside, I raced down the drive, leaping into the air and letting my wings spring from my back. I sped up into the night, the sky releasing a thunderous boom in my wake as I raced back toward the Ragged Cove.

  With my wings rippling on either side of me, I dropped out of the night, landing with a thump in the car park outside t
he Crescent Moon Inn. I wasted no time in racing toward the front door. No sooner had my wings disappeared beneath my pale flesh, I was pushing open the door and racing across the dining area and up the stairs to my room.

  The bottle of Lot 13 was still on the desk where I’d left it. I picked it up. The red stuff sloshed up the side of the bottle. Why had it been left and by whom? Perhaps it had been given to me for some future event that I knew nothing of yet? Perhaps I would need it to save my own life. I really couldn’t be sure of anything other than a young woman lay dying and I could save her if I chose to. It was my choice.

  Placing the bottle to one side again, I pulled off the pretty dress and threw it onto the bed. I plucked up my jeans and pulled them over my legs, then slid my feet into my well-worn boots. Throwing on a sweater then my long, black coat, I stood and looked at the dress I had bought to wear for my birthday. Snatching it up and screaming, I tore the dress to pieces with my claws.

  Leaving the dress in a pile of tatty ribbons behind me, I snatched up the bottle of Lot 13 and left my room.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I blasted out of the sky, the nearby trees and undergrowth rocking back and forth in my wake. Gravel sprayed up from beneath my boots as I landed before Hallowed Manor. The dawn was no more than an hour away now, and I didn’t know if I’d left it too late to save Sophie. With the bottle of Lot 13 in my fist, I raced up the front steps, pushing on the door and flying into the hallway. With my wings trailing out behind me, I went to the study.

  Stepping in the room, I could see that Potter was still at Sophie’s side. She looked like nothing more than a sleeping statue now. Her face, arms, and legs were grey in colour and covered in an intricate maze of cracks and fissures. The dead flesh was thin about her wrist that Potter had managed to ease her hands from their restraints. Sophie was too weak now to put up any kind of struggle or fight.

  Not wanting to ask the question, but needing to do so, I said, “Is she dead?”

  “Only moments away,” Potter said without looking up at me from where he knelt on the floor beside the couch.

  I glanced at the bottle of Lot 13 in my hand. I took a deep breath. This was my last chance to back out – to choose not to save Sophie – but to save Potter and me instead. To give us some chance of being together again in this world.

  “Give Sophie this,” I said.

  Potter looked at the bottle of red stuff. “What is it?”

  “It will help her,” I said.

  “Will it save her?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure, but it will give her more time.”

  “Drag out her agony and eventual death,” Potter said.

  “Perhaps, but I want to try and save her at least,” I told him.

  “Why do you want to save Sophie?” he asked, his eyes narrowing just a little.

  “Because I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t,” I whispered, looking at the bottle of Lot 13. “Could you live with yourself if you didn’t?”

  Slowly, Potter took the bottle from me. “What is it?” he asked, holding it up in the candlelight.

  Not knowing where to even start explaining, or even if I could, I said, “Just give it to her, Potter. We don’t have time to waste.”

  “Where did you get it?” he asked, pulling out the cork and holding it up to his nose and breathing in.

  “Just give it to Sophie,” I said, ignoring his question again. “All you need to know, Potter, is that you can trust me. You do trust me, don’t you?”

  Looking back into my eyes, he said, “For always.” Then turning, he gently eased Sophie’s cracked and flaky face toward him.

  Holding the neck of the bottle to Sophie’s lips, he tilted the bottle up. With my heart racing, I watched the red stuff dribble from the bottle and onto her lips.

  “Not so fast,” I warned Potter. “That’s all I have. We can’t afford to waste any.”

  “Okay, okay,” Potter said, sounding a little unnerved. He splashed a few more drops onto her mouth.

  From over his shoulder, I watched as the cracks around the corners of her lips began to fade as they sucked in the Lot 13 like a sponge. Very slowly, as the skin around Sophie’s lips became more supple and malleable, she parted her lips a fraction. Seeing this, Potter gently poured a few drops of the red stuff into her mouth.

  “I think it’s working,” he breathed.

  The tip of Sophie grey tongue snaked from her mouth, mopping up the drops of red stuff from her lips.

  “Drink it,” Potter coaxed, titling the bottle up again.

  The crimson liquid ran into her mouth, pushing back the cracks and breaks that covered her face. I watched, my heart racing, as the Lot 13 brought Sophie back from the clutches of death. The colour in her cheeks returned as did the colour of her hair. No longer was it white and streaked grey but now the strawberry blond it had once been. The muscles in her neck began to flex as she now greedily guzzled down the Lot 13 that Potter was pouring into the back of her throat.

  Seeing that there was only a very little left sloshing around in the bottom of the bottle, I reached out, curling my fingers around Potter’s hand. “That’s enough,” I whispered.

  “But there is some left,” he said, looking at me.

  “We need to keep some back,” I said. “Trust me.”

  Without putting up a fight, Potter took the bottle from against Sophie’s lips and handed it to me. Replacing the cork, I put what was left of the Lot 13 into my coat pocket. As Potter turned and brushed Sophie’s fringe from her brow, I stepped away, back into the centre of the room. I felt as if I was suddenly intruding on them. I felt that it was just Sophie and Potter again. I watched as Potter eased Sophie into his arms, as the remaining cracks faded from her body. She still looked weak and frail as Potter cradled her close to him. To watch him hold her made me wonder again if he had ever truly meant what he had said to me in the summerhouse – how he had confessed his love for me. He looked very much in love with Sophie as he held her close to him. But how else did I expect him to behave? Sophie was carrying his child – not me – despite what my brother Jack had told me.

  …it was just a dream, Kiera…that voice whispered inside of me again… just a dream…

  Potter had told me that he wasn’t the kind of man that could ever walk away from his child and responsibilities despite what people thought of him. And I therefore knew in my heart he would never be able to walk away from the mother of that child despite how he felt about me. I knew I would always be that other girl in his life. But that would never be enough for me. And even if I could be happy with a few stolen moments here and there with Potter, I was better than that. I deserved better than that. I refused to be a cheat and a liar even if I hated the thought of Potter sharing his life with Sophie. They were together because of me – what right did I have to come between them?

  Not wanting to be in the room anymore, and knowing that Potter and Sophie needed sometime alone, I turned to head for the door.

  “Thank you,” I heard a weak and frail voice say.

  I looked back to see Sophie looking at me over the crook of Potter’s elbow.

  “You have nothing to thank me for,” I half smiled at her.

  “You saved me. I knew you would, Kiera Hudson,” Sophie whispered, her voice sounding raspy as if she were out of breath. As she spoke, I couldn’t help but notice the glistening fangs jutting from each corner of her mouth. She did look strangely beautiful.

  “I haven’t saved you yet,” I said, turning back to the door, nearly tripping over the turned up corner of the rug that Potter had earlier tripped over after I’d punched him in the face for stepping on one of the shells Nev had attached to that necklace for me.

  With my hand poised mid-air as I was about to reach for the door, I couldn’t take my eyes off that turned up piece of rug. I saw the spots of wax again on it that I had earlier seen when on my hands and knees searching for the shells that had scattered over the study floor. How had I been so blind?

>   Chapter Twenty-Five

  “As far as everyone else knows, Sophie died in this room tonight,” I said, heading back across the study to where Potter sat holding Sophie close to him.

  “But I survived, thanks to you,” Sophie murmured.

  “We must pretend that you died,” I told her.

  “But if the others think that Sophie died, then the scum who tried to kill her won’t come back and have another go,” Potter said. “They’ll simply slip away…”

  “Whoever tried to break into this room tonight didn’t come back to make another attempt on Sophie’s life,” I said. “Why would they? They knew it was only a matter of time before the poison took its full effect on her. No, whoever tried to break into this room last night came in search of something else.”

  “What?” Potter asked.

  The sound of footfalls came from above. “The others are waking up,” I said. “They will soon come asking questions. If my plan is going to work we must let them believe that Sophie is dead – that the poison worked.”

  “But…” Potter started.

  “Take off your jacket and cover Sophie with it,” I told him.

  Potter searched my eyes with his.

  “You said you trusted me, Potter,” I reminded him.

  “Okay,” he sighed, taking off his jacket, placing it over Sophie as she lay on the couch.

  “Not over her feet,” I groaned. “Cover her face.”

  Sophie looked up at me one last time.

  “Just keep still and play dead,” I whispered, as Potter repositioned the coat over her.

  “Now what?” Potter asked me.