Blood Entwines

by Caroline Healy

  ‘Now I know you say you’re not hungry, but you really should eat.’ The nurse indicated the tray of food in her hand. ‘The ward sister asked me to pay special attention to you this morning,’ she said, grinning. ‘Your chart shows that you’ve lost quite a lot of weight and with the surgery and your leg healing. I really don’t know how you cope with it all . . .’ The student nurse placed the tray on Kara’s table, prattling on. Her chatter like a cheese grater against Kara’s nerves. Her hands arranged and rearranged the cutlery.

  ‘I’m. Not. Hungry!’ Kara said each word slowly, her mouth tight as the syllables made their way up her throat, across her tongue and out through her lips.

  ‘Of course you are. Everybody is hungry in the morning. Take myself for instance; some mornings I have two breakfasts. After a night shift I make toast and then have an extra bowl of cereal. Oh not every morning, you know, I have to watch my figure.’ She smoothed her uniform over her plump waist. ‘So the kitchen sent down porridge this morning. I know it’s your favourite and you must be hungry so . . .’

  Was the nurse deaf?

  What the hell was wrong with these people?

  When Kara was hungry she would eat. When she was tired she would sleep and when she was angry she would . . . What? Assault someone? There was a desperate urge inside her to rip at something, to tear, to strike, to pummel . . . the frustration and unfairness of her situation stung the back of her throat. She remembered after her father and the police report, she’d been so mad. She never meant to set the chemistry lab on fire, it had been an accident. But her anger had made her do stupid things.

  ‘. . . if I were you I would eat several times a day for strength. Those cells in your body . . .’

  Something inside Kara flipped.

  ‘You stupid, deaf moron! I told you a hundred times, I’m not fucking hungry!’ Kara lifted the tray and, with all her might, hurled it across the room. The bowl of porridge crashed into the wall, smearing a trail of gloop down the plaster. The tray clattered to the floor and Kara closed her eyes, savouring the release.

  But it only lasted a moment.

  When Kara opened her eyes, the student nurse was staring. Her eyes, big and round flicked from the puddle of breakfast on the floor to her patient in the hospital bed. Her lip began to quiver, her hands folded at her waist. She started to cry before turning and speed walking from the room.

  ‘Crap.’

  Kara pushed up out of bed and hobbled to the wall, bending to retrieve fragments of breakfast bowl from the quagmire of porridge. Rosemary never cried when Kara gave into fits of rage. Rosemary just stood there and let the heat of Kara’s anger wash over her. Kara felt a momentary stab of remorse.

  They would send Nurse Trunchenbowl to her room. She heard the matron before she saw her.

  ‘Miss Bailey.’ Kara turned slowly, the cracked pieces of bowl in her hand. ‘Is there a problem this morning?’

  Kara snorted but chose not to answer. She moved toward the small waste paper basket located next to her bed.

  The matron, stocky and bull like, glared at her charge. Kara was referred to on the ward as a difficult patient. The weeks in hospital for observation and tests were wearing at her.

  ‘No matron. Everything is just peachy.’ Kara sat slowly into the reading chair next to the window, wiping her sticky hands down her pajamas. She stared out of the window, ignoring the matron, ignoring the hospital room.

  There was a hole in her heart, a deep sense of loss. It showed itself to Kara only when the anger dissipated.

  After her father died, there was so much anger. She was lucky that she only had to attend counselling as punishment for what she did. It could have been a lot worse. The solicitor for the school had suggested six months in juvenile detention. Kara suspected that this was just to scare her.

  The counselling had been a condition of not prosecuting her. With no other options open, she’d agreed to go. It was all she could cope with at the time. Anything more and she might not have made it, drowning, disappearing under the waves of anger, caught in the rip-tide of grief.

  The accident had reopened old wounds, left her too much time to think, to reflect.

  She looked out of the window into the distance, trying to remember something, anything concrete that she could focus on. It all seemed such a blur now, session after session of words and talking, of labelling emotions, of trying to understand, of listening to someone else interpret what she was meant to be feeling. When you took all of that away, there wasn’t much left except two base feelings.

  She wasn’t sure which one scared her most, the never-ending well of anger or the pit of loss.

  ***

  Strangulation. That was probably the easiest way to do it. The easiest and the cleanest.

  Once the person was dead, he knew the blood would die too.

  Then there would be no risk.

  No chance of further contamination.

  ***

  Day Forty-six:

  ‘Get the hell away from me. What are you trying to do, kill me? Finish the job?’ Kara paused to catch her breath, black dots swimming in front of her vision. The evening’s physio session was not going well. ‘I bet you’re sorry that car didn’t roll over me a few more times. Then you’d be rid of me for good.’

  She was shouting with such force that the vocal cords at the back of her throat quivered under the strain. Hot tears of frustration streamed down her cheeks.

  Rosemary stood a few paces away at the end of the recuperation walkway, looking pale and strained. She’d aged ten years in the last few weeks and Kara felt a momentary twinge of guilt, but it was buried in an instant under the force of her anger.

  ‘Kara, of course I don’t . . .’

  ‘Shut up! This is hard enough without you talking.’ She tried to take another step; her hands squeezed tight around the practice bars. Every time she put her weight on her right leg a searing pain shot up through her body, lodging in the base of her skull.

  ‘If I could help you with the pain, you know I would.’ Rosemary folded her arms across her chest, her lips pressed in a tight line.

  ‘Like you helped when Dad died? Like you helped then?’ Kara had no idea where the words were coming from. It seemed never-ending, the hurt and the loss and the anger. She thought that this was buried deep within. She thought she’d dealt with it. The counsellor said she was better. They’d talked about it, over and over again, until she capitulated. Agreed with what they had written in the police report. She’d conceded, believed what the coroner, the senior detective and the judge had declared.

  When she said the words, I believe, it felt like a release. She didn’t have to fight any more. Her truth had been replaced by their truth, a different, more painful one.

  But now, with the hours alone in the hospital, her mind free to think as her body regenerated, she realised that she had been lying to herself all along. She didn’t believe. Not for one second. The pressure on her chest increased.

  ‘Your father . . .’ began Rosemary.

  ‘What?’ Kara snapped, her knuckles white where her hands wrapped around the bars. ‘My father what?’

  ‘The report.’ Rosemary took a step towards her.

  ‘I know what’s in the report,’ she shouted, her knees weakening. ‘But it’s a lie. It’s always been a lie, only I got distracted.’ Her right leg gave way underneath her, her hands loosening from the metal bars. Kara crumpled to the floor, hot tears blurring her vision.

  ‘I got distracted,’ she whispered.

  All those sessions, all those hours with the counsellor, papering over the cracks.

  No! She wanted to scream. No matter what they said, no matter how much they tried to convince her, she knew, she knew deep inside that it was a lie.

  ‘Kara, please.’ Rosemary was at her side, trying to help her up.

  ‘Get away from me,’ she shouted. ‘Get away!’ Spittle flew from her mouth, her body shaking.

  ‘I hate you,’ she said quietly, th
e adrenalin draining from her body, leaving her empty.

  If she was being truthful, it was herself she hated, for taking the easy way out, for believing the lies. It made her father’s life seem less important.

  The truth. She had to focus on the truth, no matter what.

  ***

  Focus! He was running out of time.

  ***

  Day Forty-seven:

  She woke with a start. The hospital was eerily quiet, her room dark, the curtain pulled around her bed, shielding her from the neon light of the corridor.

  She felt a cold shiver travel up her spine.

  Something wasn’t right.

  ***

  A cold shiver travelled up his spine. She was there behind the curtain. All he had to do was cross the room, put a pillow over her face and press down. It was the only way. How else could he be sure? If the monster took over his body again, there was no telling what he would do.

  I wasn’t in control. He just had to keep telling himself that.

  But he was in control now. And he had to make sure the blood was destroyed.

  It’s not like he could ask for it back.

  He balanced on the balls of his feet. Fear spiked in his system.

  She would have to die. There was no choice. No room for weakness.

  He would kill her.

  ***

  Kara slid her hand under the pillow, her fingers fumbling for the call button. Fear slid over her like a silk shroud. She didn’t know why but she could feel it settling on her. She pushed the red circle with her thumb, the sound of the alarm ringing down the hallway at the nurse’s station.

  Part Two

  Chapter Eight

  Kara searched frantically, pushing the branches of the trees out of the way. The ground underfoot was uneven making her progress slow. She was breathing fast, her body trembling. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the sea, the roar of it beating against the cliffs.

  Pushing the last of the branches out of the way as they snagged in her clothing and hair, she emerged from the tangled forest. The cliff edge in front of her was steep, a jagged fall of rocks down to a sandy beach. How was she going to climb down? How was she going to scale the rocks? There had to be a way. She began to run, fast, her feet pounding off the springy cliff-side sod. She had to get away.

  Whatever was chasing her was close.

  The beep of the alarm clock invaded her dream and she woke with a start, her body hot. She hit the red snooze button.

  ‘Ugh.’ Kara buried her head back into the pillow, the echo of the dream trickling away. She kept her eyes closed, waiting for her heart to slow down, waiting for her breathing to return to normal. She had been having the same dream now for almost a month. Someone was searching for her. What did it mean?

  She stretched long in the bed.

  ‘Kara get up. School!’ Rosemary called from downstairs.

  Rolling her eyes, Kara pushed back the covers. She had been dreading this day for weeks. She’d even been reduced to begging but Rosemary was adamant.

  ‘No way, Kara. You’ve been moping around the house for ages. Your injuries have healed. The doctor is happy with your progress.’

  ‘But, Rosemary,’ Kara began.

  ‘No. Enough. You cannot wallow in self-pity any longer. You are going back to school for the January term.’

  Their exchanges of late had been curt and to the point, pass the butter, turn off the television, lock the front door, those sorts of conversations. They were both skirting around the topic of her personality readjustment. That’s what the doctor called it. Something to do with major trauma, shock to the body and all that. People experience a type of personality glitch for a while. For Kara it was more like a complete personality overhaul. All the pent up frustration, guilt, anger and grief seemed to come in one cataclysmic eruption.

  Just give it time.

  Always the same advice from the doctors.

  Sighing, she lifted herself easily off the bed and went to the wardrobe.

  She fingered a pale pink polka-dot dress that hung at the front. Ashleigh had convinced her to buy it the week of the summer holidays. Her friend assured her she looked good in it. Hanging in her wardrobe, Kara realised that even Rosemary wouldn’t have worn the rag. What had she been thinking?

  Her new school uniform hung in the corner of her wardrobe. She looked at the stiff material of the school blazer. Her return was not going to be glorious by any stretch of the imagination.

  Chapter Nine

  Standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom, Kara felt ridiculous.

  She jammed a black beanie on her head, trying to hide the worst of her hair. She looked like a homeless junkie.

  ‘I’m doomed.’

  Her school skirt hung from her waist, the hem hovering mawkishly at her knees. Her white shirt was new and starchy stiff. It choked her when she did up the top button. The navy jumper was too big, hanging uninspired from her thin frame. She looked frightful and felt almost as bad. Taking the soft wool of the hat in her hand she pulled it off, flinging it at the mirror.

  The journey to school was awkward. Rosemary insisted on driving.

  ‘Do you have lunch money?’ she asked for the third time.

  ‘Yes,’ answered Kara, gazing out of the window, watching the houses sweep by as they drove towards St Aloysius’ School.

  The radio was on, a morning news report about a missing boy, twelve years old from Newmarket Street, not seen since last Tuesday. The third missing person since Christmas. Kara clicked the radio off, folding her hands across her chest, squeezing her biceps tight to her ribs.

  Rosemary asked a question, breaking the silence. ‘And you’re sure about not being picked up?’

  ‘Yes,’ lied Kara. ‘Ashleigh said she would drop me home.’

  Kara didn’t want Rosemary collecting her after school – it was going to be a bad enough day as it was.

  Kara had timed the journey to avoid the maximum number of people. She would arrive while morning assembly was being held, nobody would see her get out of the car as they’d all be in the hall. Then when the bell rang Kara would just slip into the classroom as if nothing had happened. She touched her lopsided hair.

  The car rounded a corner and came to a stop outside the school. Kara reached for the door handle.

  ‘Kara.’

  She turned towards Rosemary. They were silent for a moment, regarding each other. ‘Good luck.’

  Kara nodded, getting out of the car. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her jumper and took hold of the strap of her satchel, swinging it over her shoulder.

  One of the GCSE students did a double take as Kara walked past. She glared at him. Best get this over with, she thought.

  Her ears buzzed with the echoing ring of the bell and her senses prickled. She still found it difficult to concentrate. Sometimes the black dots would dance across her vision causing her to blink furiously. The doctors told her that it would ease with time. That her sight, hearing, smell – all her senses – would return to normal.

  And that’s what she wanted, to be normal, the same as everyone else.

  Morning assembly had just finished and crowds of students teemed through the corridors, jostling each other. Kara inhaled slowly and for the twentieth time wished she’d stayed at home. She straightened up and began to walk towards hell: her first class.

  Ashleigh hadn’t been in contact for weeks. Jenny barely at all. Her friends had slowly melted away, one by one. It was probably her appearance, one side of her hair clumpy and short, a scar running like a bolt of lightning back from her temple towards her hairline. It was mostly covered now but you could see the raised line of white, her forever scar.

  Kara didn’t like to think about it. Right now she had better concentrate on being boringly normal for the day to avoid any more awkward stares. She hurried through the halls and into history class. As she eased herself into her seat the second bell rang. Her eardrums hummed with the fading sound.


  She concentrated on taking out her books before staring resolutely at the board. Ashleigh and Jenny were behind her. Words floated over to her in wisps of conversation. She tried to ignore them, to block them out.

  ‘. . . her hair looks . . .’

  ‘. . . I heard she died on the operating table . . . terrible accident . . .’

  ‘. . . wow, did you see who’s back . . .’

  Kara closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on something apart from the chatter of her classmates. A noise to the side of her desk startled her. She opened her eyes and tried to focus. A girl, Heather something or other, was bending down beside Kara’s desk, picking up the folder that she’d just dropped. Kara reached down to help her, but the girl fired her a look of such distaste that Kara stopped mid-action.

  Unsure what had just happened, Kara turned in her seat and looked ahead as the teacher began. Her schedule sucked: history class followed by double English, then there was PE. She had a couple of study periods dotted through the day, perfect for all the catching up she needed to do. College applications went out in a few weeks.

  The bell rang signalling the end of English class. The prospect of moving through the corridors alone made Kara’s mouth go dry, but she had no choice. None of her friends had spoken to her since she’d arrived.

  She got up from her seat and pushed her way into the hall and along the corridor. She moved stiffly towards her locker. People jostled her from behind, rushing to get to the canteen, failing to recognise her. Over the buzz of the hallway crowd, she could hear soft laughter behind her, a sound she knew well.

  ‘Hi, Kara.’

  The smooth voice trickled across the hallway, almost caressing Kara with its appeal. She swallowed once, feeling totally unprepared for this meeting, and turned to face her best friend.

  ‘Hi, Ashleigh.’

  Kara looked at her feet and noticed that one of her socks had fallen down, making her look lopsided, unhinged.

  ‘Good to have you back.’

  Kara blinked once and looked up at Ashleigh’s smooth face, wondering if she was being paranoid about the whole thing. She was, according to the doctor, suffering from personality displacement. Maybe she’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe Ashleigh wasn’t a complete bitch after all.