Til Morning Comes

by Lisa Ann Harper

  She forced herself to focus, but it was difficult keeping up. Every now and then she caught Jason watching her. When this happened he would smile then turn his head. In the end it was all too unnerving. She had to get away – retreat to her room and her music.

  She dosed for a while on and off then a loud voice penetrated her mind. It was telling someone to ‘tone it down’ in a manner to brook no argument. She checked the time – twenty minutes past ten. For her this was late to be up, but her belly was making very loud, growling noises. She remembered they were allowed to look for food in the ‘fridge’ and decided to go down to the kitchen to see what she could find. Even just a slice of bread would do.

  In room twelve, one of two on the attic level, Jason was feeling thirsty. He usually had soft drink on hand, but had run out. He decided to pick up a Soda from the water cooler located on the floor below. Rounding the corner, he was in time to see the new girl disappearing down the stairs. He figured she must still be hungry. He saw how she had eaten like a bird. He followed her and found her in the kitchen floundering about in the dark. “Can I help?” he asked as he flicked the light switch. She jumped, her hand flying to her throat, strangling a fearful cry.

  “Oh it’s you!” she exclaimed in relief. At this late hour she had not thought to take time to put on her robe, expecting only a quick pick-up and a rapid bolt back. Now she was caught in her nightgown, a demur garment, but in front of this young man, she was acutely aware of how inappropriate it was. He was still in the same clothes she had seen him in earlier and this contrast made her even more uncomfortable.

  “I … I … was hungry,” was all she could think to say by way of explanation, at the same time trying to cover her confusion. Jason pulled open the refrigerator door and peered in. Standing back he said: “Knock yourself out.”

  “Knock yourself out?”

  He was getting used to this echo and anyway, he did not care. Tonight she was a delicious peach and here was his chance to take a bite. “Look, I’ll help you,” he offered as she made no move. He scanned the shelves. “There’s Bolognese, but you don’t like that.” She shook her head. She was edgy and did not like being here, but she had to eat something. She approached closer. He felt the heat of her body.

  “There’re some rolls left and here’s some cheese. Is that cool?” He turned and looked into those green eyes, so luminous in the light from the fridge.

  “Cool?” She had heard the word before, but still didn’t understand.

  “No dramas, there’s always jam in the pantry.” He stepped back and brushed into her as he made to turn.

  “I would like to have the cheese,” she acknowledged hastily, as she too stepped back.

  “Oh sure.” At least she had made up her mind and now he knew there was nothing else under that shift.

  “Margarine all right … or you prefer mayo?”

  “Margarine?”

  “On your roll.”

  “Oh, is there no butter?”

  “No. Mom doesn’t hold with ‘full fat’,” he stated flatly. “I take it Marge is the go then?”

  By now she was totally confused and willing to accept whatever she was given. She nodded and stepped back to let him collect everything together. He was good. She watched him as he moved around making a tasty sandwich. His voice came from the pantry. “There’s sun-dried tomatoes. Do you like them?”

  “Sun-dried tomatoes?”

  “Never mind,” he sighed. “Here’s the biscuit tin. You can have some of them. You do know about biscuits?”

  “Of course I know about biscuits.” Her patience was wearing thin and her tummy was still rumbling. What is the matter with him? Oh, she knew she should not be irritable he was only trying to help, but her head was pounding again with another of these awful headaches. At last he had it all together.

  “Follow me. You can’t eat here. I’ll get us cans from the machine. I’m thirsty, too”

  “Cans?”

  “Yeah … you know … soft drinks.” Bloody hell!

  Soft drinks! She did not ask this time, but obediently did as she was told, watching with interest as he pushed the buttons and two cans rolled out After he collected them he made to turn to the stairs.

  “My room is down here,” and she indicated the corridor.

  Even better, he thought, Retards don’t say no. “Sure, you got it. Lead the way.” She opened the door and let him in. She took the seat by the table while Jason put out the plates and drinks. He took the bed, stretching out as he popped the top on his can. “So what brings you here, Nigella?”

  Through mouthfuls of cheese she mumbled: “I was at Lychette Saint Agnes, but Mallory thought it a better idea for me to be with people my own age.” She took a big gulp from the can to help clear her mouth. Being unused to drinking like this, the lemonade spilled past her lips and down her front. Immediately Jason was there with a towel to help mop up.

  “I can do it.” She grabbed the towel and between the two a tug o’ war erupted until they fell in a heap on the bed. Limbs thus engaged Jason was able to find those luscious lips and plant his own, keeping his hands busy controlling her. She fought off this impact, trying to resist his arms, his legs, his body and his power. Her strength was no match. She wanted to call out, but even to draw breath she could not raise her head. Waves of panic engulfed her. She began to hyperventilate and with this throbbing head, it felt like she would explode. Suddenly, her attention was riveted on what he was doing. His weight, oppressive and heavy enough to suffocate, was bearing down on her. Her nightgown was up around her waist – he was forcing her legs apart. Was there no-one to come and get him off? She was going to be sick. She needed to scream. She had to provoke an alarm. Her lack of fitness began to tell; exhaustion sapped her as she felt him working his way into her. This was too awful; too revolting – and humiliating. What can I do? There was nothing, no-one. Hot tears flooded her eyes, hydrous prisms that splintered her view and filled her vision with flashes of purple and silver.

  Jason felt her struggles subsiding. “My little beauty,” he breathed ecstatically. “This will be awesome. Just lie back and let my dick give you a ride like you’ve never known.” Delivered of this, he began to operate his tongue inside her mouth. It was too much. Her gorge rose and the contents of her stomach emptied over his face. Now this was too much for him. His erection died and all he wanted was to get out of her and out of there.

  “You bloody Slag! You lead a bloke on and then there’s this. You’re disgusting.” His eyes narrowed to malicious slits, his harsh voice became ragged. “You tell anyone … I’ll just tell how you asked for it.” He grabbed her wrist where her arm lay on the covers and squeezing hard, jerked her to sitting. Her cry of pain unheeded. “Remember, you invited me to your room.” His face, so close to hers looked evil, then viciously he threw her back, shaking and sobbing into the pillow. By now he had used the towel to clean himself off, as much as possible and with angry force had flung it to the floor. His parting words as he wrenched open the door remained with Nigella, together with the stench of vomit in her nostrils, long after he had disappeared. “No-one will believe you over me. Nutters like you never get listened to. They can only say stupid things that make no sense to anyone.”

  * * *

  The next day Mal rang the bell promptly at five-thirty, eager to see Nigella and reassure herself. She knew what it could be like the first night in a strange place. As the ‘new-girl’ it was only natural she could feel disconnected, no matter how much the others tried to make her welcome. Rushing her last home visit in her impatience, she had felt twinges of guilt, but the promise to check again tomorrow had gone some way to salve her conscience. Now she could not wait. Rachelle welcomed her. In response to her questions she was told she thought Nigella was in her room.

  “Now I come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen her since I checked if she wanted breakfast. Brendan can probably fill you in better, but he’s on an errand at the moment … shouldn’t be long.
It’s dinner in an hour. Do you want to go up or shall I bring her down?”

  “No problem, I’ll pop up.” She could catch up with Brendan later. She knocked. There was no reply. Following the second she opened the door to take a peek; she might be in the common room after all. The room was in darkness, but in the gloom she was able to discern a vague shape on the bed.

  “Jellie?” still no response.

  “Nigella?” her call was louder. Not until she reached out to the amorphous shape was there any reaction; a slight movement, the briefest shrug.

  “Jellie, it’s Mallory, I’ll turn on your lamp.” Within the band of its yellow glow, the sight that met her gaze made her gasp in disbelief. The hair was in total disarray; the eyes red raw from weeping, dark circles smudged her cheeks and the lips, bruised and swollen. Rachelle had said nothing of this.

  “Jellie Baby, what’s the matter? What’s happened?” she asked in a shocked whisper. It was hard to believe in the space of twenty-four hours there could be such a transformation. She straightened out the limbs as best she could, but the joints felt locked and the muscles stiff. She stroked the matted hair from her damp cheeks. “Oh, my love … what has happened to you?” No words came from the girl, only her breath quivered the air between them. She propped herself on the bed and took her in her arms. Once settled she began to sway gently to and fro. They stayed thus, in silence, Nigella’s head resting near to hear the regular beating of her heart. The soothing rhythm finally lulled her into a calmer state and she felt the tension evaporating as the thin body relaxed. Eventually Nigella shifted for more comfort and she judged she could ask again what had happened, hopeful that talking it through would help banish this haunted expression. A shake of the head was all she got.

  “You must tell me. I know this isn’t right,” she declared in bewildered concern, her eyes fastening on the tear-stained face. She took the small chin and gently tilted it.

  “How is it your mouth’s so puffy?”

  Nigella pulled her head away, swinging out a curtain of hair, but would not speak. Her throat had gone rigid and all the pain seemed to be gathered into a tight ball. Mal could feel something grinding and spiked, welling up inside her. At this point she did not know if it was enraged indignation or incensed fury. Nigella was in this house in the process of healing, needing supportive help. Not this! For sure, not this! Her eyes remained searching and intent. “Jellie I have to go for a brief moment, but I promise I won’t be long. Try to sleep and I’ll be back soon.”

  With ire intensifying at every step she made her way swiftly to Rachelle’s room. There was no-one there. Impatiently she went on a search. By now her cheeks were flaming red her fury constricted; focused onto the point of a knife’s edge. As soon as she located the woman in the kitchen, the words tumbled over themselves.

  “What has happened to Nigella? She’s in a dreadful state. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  The others, rostered to help that day looked on in amazement, recognising the makings of a monumental blue. Rachelle was exceedingly annoyed at this aggressive confrontation, especially with the kids here – and in the middle of supper preparation.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. She was fine when I spoke to her,” she responded with a heated indignation of her own. It was not often they got to see Mom on the back foot, so everyone made as if they had lots to do in an excuse to hang around.

  Mal set her feet apart, fists planted on hips. “As I recall, that was at breakfast and not even face to face! I thought you people were supposed to be providing transitional care.” The glare in her blue eyes was now ice cold and the voice as brittle as a slashing sabre. “A fat lot of use you are, sitting in your office all day doing bugger all. Mark my words, this will not go unreported.”

  As she made to exit, Rachelle hit back, swinging round on her heel as she put down the knife, although she felt like keeping it and using it too. “I already told you, Brendan’s supervising today.” Exasperation brought hot colour to her neck. “If you’d bothered to clean out your ears you would know he’s the one you should be talking to.” With that she turned her back on the woman in disdain, plainly scornful of her threats or any possible allegations. The kids rolled their eyes as if to say: “One up to Mom.”

  Mal scowled at the dismissive back. “Oh, I’ll have some words to say to him. You can be sure of that,” and stormed out. Her head was spinning. Even if he could come up with some plausible explanation, could she leave Nigella in this house? If she were not here, where could she go? Not back to the nursing home. Where? Too much was over-loading her brain. As it happened she did not have to wait long and Brendan’s gangling form appeared through the stained glass panel of the front door. She stood up.

  “Oh hello,” he greeted, smiling affably. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” He dropped his voluminous backpack onto the floor and his body into a chair.

  “What can you tell me about Nigella Patchford?” she was towering over him.

  “Nigella? Nothing … why?” He was looking up at her, innocent surprise in his eyes.

  “Have you seen her today?” Her voice had a gritty edge.

  “Probably, but nothing stands out. You know how the Newbies are they keep to themselves until they’ve settled in.”

  “Well, in your role as carer, perhaps it would be a good idea to check on them … at least once in a while.” The sarcasm dripped. “Has it occurred to you that some people may be more fragile than others and may even be in need of more nurturing?” Her steely eyes never left his face, but she was aware of her own, rushing heartbeat.

  He was beginning to feel uncomfortable, a cold sweat breaking out. This woman was coming on like an irate parent and if there was one sort of person who really pissed him off in this world, it was one of those. They came in, throwing their weight around and if they’d only paid more attention in the first place, then their kid wouldn’t be in all the shades of shit they found themselves. He braced up to her. “That’s Mom’s place. She takes care of all the sooky stuff,” he retorted in exonerated relief, ready now to put his gear away and to join the others.

  “Not so fast you waste of space.” Mal held up her hand and bent over. They were eyeball to eyeball. “There’s a young girl lying alone upstairs in a devastated state. The least you can do is show some degree of concern, even if you don’t bloody feel it.” She took a step back and a deep breath, trying to control the tremor in her voice. “She was entrusted to your care. Somehow she has been violated. She has not said anything, but I can read the signs. This will be reported.” She stopped to level out her breathing. “Even if we never get to the bottom of this, Fulton House will be subjected to the consequences of an internal review. People need to open their eyes around here and stop being so fucking complacent!” Her cheeks flamed again as the wrath and indignation boiled up once more.

  This time Brendan was prepared. He stood up, squared his shoulders and lifted his head. They were level now. “May I point out to you … before you go throwing out any more threats, that in this day and age it’s the right of any young person to be allowed their privacy. Their room is their private space; their castle if you like and as such, may not be intruded upon. By invitation only! Even if we knock, without an answer there’s no admittance.”

  It was Mal’s turn to take stock as doubt set in. She had over-looked this aspect of the supervisory role. Yes, the rights of the child had to be very much respected. Even in her dealings with family conflicts, the voice of the juvenile could have equal sway with that of the parent. Perhaps she would have to climb down from her high horse, but that still left the problem of Nigella’s misery and where she could live, unresolved.

  “I take your point Brendan, but this still leaves that young girl in a near catatonic state and no answers.” Her anger had all but gone and only fretful concern remained. The voice had moderated and he registered the change.

  “I’ll come with you and have a look at her. She might tell me something.” De
spite what she might think, he did not like the thought of someone innocent being alone and suffering.

  “OK.” Mal’s mind was racing. What should she do? Every change of plan had to be passed by the Tribunal. If he could get something out of her, should she risk leaving her here another night? Gently she knocked and pushed open the door. The girl had remained immobile still in the same position as when she had left.

  “Jellie, are you asleep?” The form on the bed stirred slightly. Mal cuddled her once more. The bruised mouth moved as if struggling to verbalise some thought, but no words came. “There Sweetness,” she soothed. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

  It was in this moment, Mal felt how deep was her love. It was a heart-tearing emotion such as an animal feels for its exposed young. That strained, squeezing love born of the need to provide protective safekeeping. As clearly as if words had been written on a page, she knew that every consequence of her life had brought her to this place; to this minute. She had to be here in this very moment. Every evaluation she had ever undertaken was held in the silence of this room. All her life long, this had been her destiny! Now she dreaded the possibility that any such defilement could ever happen again to this wonderful creature. The breath she inhaled grated through her and already she hated how much she had let her down. To what extent had her recovery been set back by these unknown events? Would she ever get over this? Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She could only hope. She turned to the young man. He pulled up a chair. “Nigella it’s Brendan, can you tell me what happened?”