by John Moss
She turned to Miranda. “Bye-bye, love.” Then she looked at Jill. “Thanks, Jill, for your help. We brought her back, didn’t we?” As she went through the door, she said to Morgan, “I think you’d be a great partner, Morgan. I really do.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Did you hear that, Miranda? You’ve got a great partner.”
Miranda muttered something inaudible.
Morgan and Jill stood side by side, watching droplets of saline solution gather and flow through the tubes. Miranda appeared to drift into a peaceful slumber.
Reaching into his pocket, Morgan retrieved the Zippo and handed it to Jill. She took it gingerly as if it were hot. Then, with a practised motion, she flicked it open and spun the flint wheel into life. A blue-and-orange flame hovered about the wind shield, and she let the fire burn until her fingers were seared. Snapping it closed with a single click, she handed it back to Morgan.
“I don’t want it,” she whispered.
He smiled and slipped it into his pocket, flinching as he felt the hot metal against his thigh. They turned again to watch Miranda as the life flowed back through her veins.
In the solitude of their vigil the man and the girl were engaged in shifting moral paradigms. Morgan’s sense of responsibility was being subsumed by his relief that Miranda was okay. But still he felt grinding anxiety, perhaps for the women who had died.
Jill was thrilled by Miranda’s survival. Guilt faded rapidly, abandoned like remnants of a chrysalis after the release of a butterfly into the world. She felt curiously beautiful and free.
They looked away from the plastic tubes at each other, both a little embarrassed by the closeness they felt through Miranda.
As if roused by their awkwardness, Miranda spoke without opening her eyes. The painful constriction in her throat had eased enough from the intravenous that her words were clearer. “Morgan’s going scuba diving with me,” she announced. She exhaled and inhaled in long, deliberate breaths, then appeared to drift off again into sleep.
Morgan surveyed the room. He was appalled at the depravity — to devise such a place was beyond comprehension. Jill tugged on his shoulder. He turned and for the first time focused on the letters scrawled in swathes of dried blood on the wall. Silently, Jill mouthed the words over and over: “I am Miranda Quin.”
Miranda opened her eyes, squinting and blinking against the light. She tried to sit up but fell back and settled deeper against the mattress. Morgan reached for the emptied mug from the table and poured the last few drops between her lips.
“Thank you for finding me, Morgan. I knew you would.”
“Jill found you. She brought me here.”
“You both found me then.”
Miranda felt the fluids flow through her body, filling the empty dry places, displacing the pain. She could almost talk normally, and raised her head enough to peer at herself. “My God, Morgan, I stink.”
“Nice underwear,” he said. “Victoria’s Secret?”
Her lips broke into a crooked smile. She looked from him to Jill and back again. “There’s a house I want to show you.” She licked blood from her lips. The blood and saliva were soothing. “The house where I grew up. I want to show you both.”
“Don’t talk,” said Morgan.
“Jill,” Miranda said.
The girl came closer and knelt beside her, leaning into Morgan for support. “Miranda?”
“Jill, there’s someone we want you to meet.”
The girl seemed puzzled.
“You have a grandmother. She’ll want to know all about you.”
“I have a grandmother?”
“You were named after her …”
“Go on,” Jill urged.
“Elizabeth Clarke — she’s your great-grandmother, really, and she’s a lovely old lady.” Miranda settled back into Morgan’s embrace, and reaching out, took hold of the girl’s hand. “You have a family, Jill. That’s a promise.” She glanced up at her partner.
“Everything okay, Morgan?”
“Everything’s okay.”
“For goodness’ sake!”
“Yeah, for goodness’ sake.”
