RAIN/Damned to Cold Fire (Two Supernatural Horror Novels): A RED LINE Horror Double: Supernatural

by Craig Saunders

  I’m slow, dragging my foot more. That foot’s getting heavier with each passing step and I need to stop and rest, no matter how much I want to do this. I’m sure Seetha has a rule for hills, but I know she wouldn’t begrudge me taking a break.

  We sit down for a while at a bus stop.

  Helen’s got a chocolate bar in her pocket. She gives it to me. I share it with her. I can’t eat it all.

  My head’s killing me. I’ve got one of the worst headaches in memory. Lights are flashing in my eyes – both of them.

  For some reason, I don’t want to tell Helen. But she knows. I can’t hide my face.

  ‘Sam, what is it?’

  I try to grin, but I must just look sickly.

  ‘Sam, talk to me. You’re scaring me.’

  ‘Just a headache.’

  ‘Should I call someone?’

  ‘No. Come on.’

  ‘I’m calling the doctor.’

  I’d only seen the local doctor once, and he’d struck me as a jobsworth. He’d go one of two ways – hospital for a raft of tests, or a couple of paracetamol.

  ‘No. No doctor. Come on. The sea.’

  She frowns, but she can tell I’m not going to budge.

  We make it. In the end I’m looking worse than I have since the hospital. Sweating, head pounding, blinding lights flashing in my eyes.

  I pretty much collapse on the bench. Our bench. She shakes her head and gets her mobile out. I grab her wrist, with my good hand. My grip’s got stronger than it used to be.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Wait ‘til sunset. If it doesn’t go, then you can call.’

  ‘If it’s a stroke you know I can’t wait.’

  ‘It’s not a stroke, Helen. It’s a headache. It’ll pass.’

  The sunset comes and goes. Helen watches it, glancing at me. I smile, as reassuringly as I can.

  I’m worried, but I want it to just be a headache. Then my sunset comes, slow and bright. Unbelievably bright. This has nothing to do with the sun. The sun has long gone. The sky’s full of clouds, light and heavy both. But my sunset lies over the top of them.

  Helen’s watching me.

  ‘You still see it, don’t you?’

  ‘What?’ I say. I know full well what she means.

  ‘The sunset.’

  I pause, but there’s no way around it. ‘Yeah. I do.’

  ‘The yellow?’

  I nod. The headache’s passing. I remember the headache I had the night we said goodbye to Seetha. The headache went with the sunset.

  It’s fading, the headache, but it’s not completely gone.

  I know, watching the sunset, what’s wrong.

  ‘Helen, the guy painting the window…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you paint double-glazed windows?’

  ‘Not if they’re UPVC.’

  I feel sick. It’s a small thing, but the chocolate I ate is rising.

  ‘You think he was a burglar?’

  I can’t say no. I can’t say that, because that’s not what I think at all. I really do think, if the guy on the ladder had turned around he wouldn’t have had a face.

  Or worse.

  After that, I don’t know what happened. I was sick, I guess, but I don’t remember. Some part of me, maybe. Some part remembers. But if I don’t think about him he can’t be there, looking out at my wife in the morning from my dead eye, because of course the stranger isn’t there. He never was. He’s nothing, and nothing I have to worry about.

  Maybe I think about the stranger for a second, maybe he thinks about me, and maybe nothing happens in that split second at all.

  All I know is I woke up in my bed the following day, not in hospital, and my headache was gone.

  *

  18.

  My headache’s gone, but I still feel ill. Wane. Stretched thin.

  My balls feel like they’re about to fall off. I’m so weak it takes me about a minute to push myself out of bed.

  Helen’s not beside me and it’s light out, so I figure she’s downstairs.

  I take the stairs, but I pussy out. I take them on my butt, like the old days, my stick across my lap. My legs feel watery, good and bad both.

  Helen hears me thumping about. She comes to the bottom of the stairs. She still looks worried. Me going down the stairs on my arse isn’t helping.

  ‘Sam, the doctor’s coming over,’ she says.

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Because you’re ill, and you won’t go to the hospital.’

  ‘I don’t need to go to the hospital.’

  ‘You didn’t need to be so bloody stubborn last night. I was trying to help you.’

  ‘Helen, what are you talking about?’

  ‘You made me feel like an idiot, Sam.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You know!’

  ‘Helen, Honey, the last thing I remember, I was being sick by the bench. Then I wake up in bed.’

  She just looks at me, like she used to when I was fucked up at four in the morning, full of shit and buzzing. The face said, don’t shine me on.

  My face must have done the trick, because she just puts her hand over her mouth and this little cry comes out.

  ‘Sam, please. You’ve got to see a doctor.’

  I’m scared. I’ve no memory of a whole night. I’d been completely straight, so why couldn’t I remember anything?

  ‘Helen, tell me what happened.’

  She sees I’m not making it up.

  ‘You puked, I cleaned you up. I wanted to get you seen. You said you were fine, felt better for being sick. I told you I was leaving to go get the car, but I called an ambulance. I met them by the car park. You were like your old self…full of shit.’

  I let that go. She’s earned it. Plus, she’s right.

  I made a noise. Go on.

  ‘The paramedic came first. I told him about you. You were charming, but you bullshitted him, too. The ambulance came a minute or so later. They checked you over, couldn’t find anything amiss. But they wanted to take you in, just in case. You know, I told them your history. But you wouldn’t go.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I go?’

  ‘I don’t know what the hell you were thinking, do I? You were charming, but like the old you. Sam, I didn’t like it.’

  ‘Helen, I didn’t know. I don’t remember any of that.’

  ‘Will you see the doctor?’

  How could I say no? If I said no, we’d take another step back. We’d already taken one, one we couldn’t afford, and I had nothing to do with it.

  ‘Sure,’ I say.

  She smiles, but not the easy smile I love, the unsure one. I didn’t know how to fix it.

  We wait. She won’t even let me risk a cup of tea. I sit in my chair in the living room, drinking juice. She sits on her couch, being nervous. We don’t talk, just sit, thinking our own thoughts apart for the first time since the tennis ball. I realise then how fragile we still are.

  The bell rings and Helen goes to get it. I hear a man asking if we could put any pets out.

  It doesn’t bode well.

  ‘Sam?’ he says, as he comes in.

  ‘Hello. Dr. Davies.’

  ‘Helen tells me you’ve been having some problems.’

  I think about covering up, but Helen’s looking at me, like, don’t fucking dare. Me and Helen, we can’t take me being a dick.

  I understand she’s scared. So am I. I don’t want there to be anything wrong, but it doesn’t matter that I’m scared of bad news. I’m more afraid of the distance in Helen’s eyes.

  ‘I had a bad headache yesterday. It made me sick. It scared Helen. It scared me, too.’

  I give her a smile, a tentative one.

  ‘Then I suppose I must have passed out, or had a fugue, or something. Last night I was walking and talking, but this morning the last thing I remember is being sick, sitting by the sea. Helen…I think I need a check up.’

  ‘That’s what I’m here for.’

  ‘I’d rather not have to
go to the hospital. I feel fine now.’

  I see Helen’s look. It’s like I’m walking a tightrope, and she’s the ground.

  ‘But I’ll go if you think it’s for the best.’

  ‘We’ll worry about that in a minute. Let’s take a look at you first.’

  ‘Where do you want me?’

  ‘Right there’s fine.’

  So he sets to. I feel like a lab rat, but I’m relieved. I didn’t know just how worried I was until he started in on me.

  ‘Any problems with your vision?’ he asks, after checking out my heart. Pulse, blood pressure, that sort of thing.

  ‘No more than usual.’

  ‘You can’t see yellow, right?’

  ‘Yeah. Going to the toilet’s interesting.’

  He laughs.

  ‘Korma?’

  ‘I was talking about number ones, but OK.’

  He laughs again and I like him. Helen’s frowning, but me and the doctor, we’re under man rules and I figure I’ll be alright.

  ‘You read my notes?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘I thought they kept those just for some shady government database.’

  ‘No, believe it or not, we read them. Sometimes. That’s quite unusual, you know. Not being able to see yellow.’

  ‘I know,’ I tell him.

  ‘Any numbness?’

  ‘I’m still a bit numb where I was before. In my arm and my leg. But it’s better, not worse.’

  ‘Have you been overdoing it lately?’

  I shrug. ‘Maybe. I walked up a hill yesterday.’

  He nods, moves on. Takes out a penlight and shines it in my good eye, then my dead eye.

  ‘Eye the same?’

  ‘Same for me.’

  He finishes up and stands straight.

  ‘Well, everything is what I’d expect it to be.’

  ‘That’s good, right?’

  ‘Yes, Sam, that’s good. I’m not too worried about the headaches. That’s normal, too.’

  ‘Good,’ I say.

  ‘But,’ he says, ‘I want some tests, just the same. I’m going to make an appointment for a scan. I want to know what’s going on. The memory loss could indicate a problem.’

  ‘What kind of problem?’

  ‘Could be nothing. It could be a mini-stroke. I see no outward signs of that, but I want to be sure. But if I thought there was any immediate danger I’d call an ambulance. I don’t see any need for that.’

  ‘If he’s having mini-strokes, or something, shouldn’t we go straight to the hospital?’ says Helen. She sounds angry, but in control.

  But I’m alright. I could wink at the doctor, but I don’t. He understands just fine and he’s not going to treat me like a baby, and whatever happens from here on out I know I don’t want to go to the hospital.

  ‘Well, you could, but I don’t see any strong indicators that there’s anything urgent wrong. In fact, Sam seems healthy enough for a recovering stroke victim. Figure in a heart attack, too, and if anything, I’d say his progress is remarkable.’

  ‘I’d be happier to get it checked out,’ says Helen.

  I can see the doctor feels the same way I do at the moment. But he doesn’t live with Helen, so he can say no. Thank God. I don’t want to go to the hospital. If he says no, I get a reprieve. He has to say no, because I can’t.

  ‘It’ll be within the week. In the meantime, you watch for changes to Sam’s speech, balance, any loss of motor function. If anything changes, use your judgement.’

  He smiles, and it’s a pretty good smile, because Helen doesn’t claw his face off.

  ‘Now, Sam, I’m going to give you some pills. Are you going to take them?’

  ‘Sure.’

  What else can I say, with Helen watching me? I hate taking pills, but I love my wife.

  ‘I’m not really happy about this,’ says Helen.

  The doctor is very patient. He’s gone up in my estimation.

  ‘Mrs O’Donnell, I’m confident that Sam is in no immediate danger. He bears watching, true, but I won’t send him to the hospital on the evidence I’ve seen, and if anything Sam needs to rest, not spend the day waiting for a test. I’ll phone through today. You’ll have an appointment within the week. Straight in, straight out. No A and E. It’s the best we can do, all round, I feel.’

  His tone doesn’t allow any argument. Helen’s mouth goes down into a fine line. He touches her on the arm. A curiously personal gesture from a doctor.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘Rest is the best thing at the moment.’

  She’s not so easily appeased. She fumes for a while, when he goes, but when she eventually calms down she bustles me off to bed.

  I’m asleep in ten minutes.

  *

  19.

  The doctor is true to his word. The hospital calls while I’m asleep. Helen takes the call. She agrees to an appointment two days away.

  A letter confirming the appointment, instructions for getting to the hospital and a lot of other stuff comes through. I don’t read it. I let Helen take charge. It’s all quick, but that’s because we pay for it. Maybe if we couldn’t pay for the care, I’d be dead. I don’t like to think about it. When the thought steals in, I don’t want to live in a world where people with money live longer than people without. But then I’ve got the money, and the luxury of such thoughts. I’m not giving up the money, though. And I’m not going to give my appointment to someone else, either.

  So why waste time feeling guilty?

  I feel nervous, instead. That seems like a valid response.

  The hospital’s easy enough to find. It’s in Norwich. Norwich is big. It’s right in the middle of Norfolk, so we just follow the road south.

  The hospital itself is pretty big, too. It’s well signposted.

  Inside is like a warren, but we make it. We wait for about thirty minutes in a standard issue waiting room.

  I’m strapped in, there’s some mechanical noise and the bed I’m on slides into a tunnel. I can hardly move my head, but I don’t try. I’ve been told to stay as still as I can. I’ve come all this way. I don’t want to fuck it up now.

  So I lie still. The machine makes a clanking sound while it’s working. It’s loud, but it’s not freaking me out like they said it might. It grates on my nerves, though, after a while.

  I don’t complain.

  Then it’s back to the waiting room. Boredom. Helen’s quiet. She’s kind of forgiven me. That’s why I don’t kick up a fuss. We’re still tender.

  It’s not like it’s anything I knew I did, but just the same, I can understand how she feels. Good me became bad me, the stranger, if only for one night.

  It’s not quite enough to completely scupper the progress we’ve made, but it’s a step back, for sure.

  I don’t like the stranger. I thought he’d died, in an ambulance, at 12.03. The fucker’s back, though. I’m pissed off about it. I don’t even have a choice.

  So I’m trying. I’m really trying. I take Helen’s hand while we wait. She lets me.

  The Doctor calls me in. He’s got a grave face, grey skin, pockmarks. He’s too young to have a face like that. I put him in his fifties. I hope my face doesn’t end like that, if I make fifty.

  I guess I’m about to find out if that’s even possible.

  He shakes my hand. Shakes Helen’s hand.

  Good start.

  ‘Take a seat,’ he says. Two chairs face his desk. I take the one on the right. The doctor sits to one side of the desk, positioning himself so he’s more facing me than Helen, but he makes sure to look at her, too, as he’s talking.

  ‘First off, I’ve seen your notes. I’ve seen the scan. I got the old scan by email this morning. The miracle of the modern age. Time was, I’d be waiting six weeks for that. Before you both get worked up, there’s nothing wrong.’

  I hear Helen’s sigh. Small, but I was waiting for it.

  ‘Let me show you. Did you see the original?’

  ‘No. I neve
r did.’

  ‘Here,’ he says, and turns the monitor on his desk round so we can both see it.

  I was expecting a back lit film, like you see on TV. But then I was expecting to be told I was dying. It’s nice to be disappointed.

  He clicks a few pop-ups on the computer, then a picture shows. My brain.

  The doctor does some more clicking. He’s got very thin fingers.

  Another picture comes up.

  ‘People like to see this. Fascinating, isn’t it?’

  He points with his narrow index finger.

  ‘Here, this black spot on the left? That’s dead tissue. Sounds bad, but it’s relatively small. Your motor skills are here,’ he indicates a dark section of brain on the left hand side. ‘Speech, memory, at the front, here. Your stroke knocked out your right side, pretty effectively. Your speech, your reasoning, in short the parts that make up your personality – see? Unaffected.’ He points to a lively looking red section of my brain.

  I’m feeling queasy.

  ‘This indicates normal blood flow, and usually normal blood flow means normal function. But, here’s the thing.’

  He uses two hands, traces an area of my brain with each finger.

  ‘See the difference?’

  I nod. ‘The new picture’s brighter.’

  He beams. I’m a good boy. I haven’t learned my lesson. I’m still doing tricks.

  ‘That’s good. The brain’s the most complicated organ a person has. We see this a lot in brain trauma, tumours, accidents, strokes. The brain takes up the slack. It’s normal. Your brain’s working overtime.’

  ‘That’s good, right?’

  ‘Perfect. The best outcome we could hope for. You’ve improved dramatically since your stroke. You’re walking, talking, using your right hand again. Things will probably continue to improve.’

  ‘Probably?’ says Helen.

  I don’t want her to bring him down. He seems like he’s enjoying himself.

  ‘There are no guarantees, but everything is as it should be, if not better.’

  ‘The memory loss?’

  ‘I’m not worried about it. There’s nothing on the scan to indicate a reason for it. I would say, although this isn’t standard medical parlance, that it’s a blip.’

  A blip, I think. Doesn’t seem like something quite that inconsequential.