With that she began the walk back to her house, hugging her arms around herself. She walked as quickly as she could, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach and the hard lump in her throat.
Simone and Nick didn’t follow her. Emily knew that they would go away and talk, maybe even argue, over what should be done. It was in their hands now; Emily didn’t want them to be involved if they didn’t truly believe her. She concentrated on not tripping in the mud, wanting to maintain some air of strength, to show that she may be wrong, and she dearly hoped that she was, but she was not lying.
Emily went home; all the while, she felt an unseen pair of eyes upon her.
4
That night, Emily sat alone in her room with the lights turned off and the curtains drawn. She had tried to sleep, but whenever she closed her eyes she saw the same thing: Howard’s body suspended in her mind’s eyes, the blood dripping down his neck. The smell still lingered in her nose, and she hadn’t been able to shake off the nausea it had caused. She just sat in the darkness and thought, all the while listening. Her ears were tuned into a different space, seeking any signs of life from her parents’ bedroom.
When she got home she could tell that there was something wrong. The silence was charged with oppressiveness, and Emily felt her heart seize at the depth of the quietness around her. Her father was still out and would not be back for some time. She went up the stairs, not even removing her shoes, to her parents’ bedroom. The door was closed, and as she opened it Emily felt her breathing coming fast; dark spots encroached on her vision as she was gripped with the fear that she would find her mother dead and that Volkov’s dark promise had been fulfilled.
This might be it, she thought as she pushed the door open and went inside.
But her mother was still alive, her breathing shallow and ragged as she twisted and turned in the bed. The covers were a tangle around her ankles; she must have gotten too hot, even though the room was blustery and cold from the breeze that rolled in through the open windows. Emily’s skin prickled; she had closed those windows herself, and yet there they were. Perhaps her father had done it, or maybe Victoria had somehow managed to get herself out of bed while she was gone, but the sight of them made Emily’s stomach lurch horribly. She hurried over and furiously yanked them shut, grabbing the key that her mother kept in a little china dish on the windowsill and locking them. She pocketed the key; if anyone asked, she’d pretend that she didn’t know where it was.
Victoria moaned, as if the sudden calmness in the room caused her pain. Emily dropped to her knees and touched the back of her hand to her mother’s forehead; the skin was hot and slick with sweat. Victoria violently jerked her head away and Emily pulled her hand back, swallowing hard with fear. She could see the marks again, but they were much bigger, the puckered skin bright red and horribly inflamed. They stained Victoria’s neck, a hideous mark of ruin. There was no disguising them now; they proudly revealed themselves for what they truly were.
Emily’s mind went blank as she tried desperately to think and figure out what to do, but her heart was beating so hard and her thoughts refused to arrange themselves properly. Her eyes were fixed to the punctures; had he been here today, had he come?
She allowed herself to imagine Volkov appearing at the window, tapping on the glass and pulling her mother from her bed with his eerie hypnotism, like a stage magician. She must have let him in, there was no other explanation and she hated thinking of it, but she couldn’t help but picture what must have happened.
Her mother had let him in, made stupid under his spell. Then she had gone to the bed and lain down, and Volkov had gone to her with a smile on his face. There he drank from her, not too little and not too much, her mother’s eyes rolling up into the back of her head and her body going limp as he took his fill. But he had let her live, unlike Sarah and Howard Wilson who had died quick but terrible deaths. Why must her mother endure this prolonged death sentence? Volkov viewed her as nothing more than a tool to be used for his own gain, so he kept her alive to keep Emily pliant and submissive. It pained her to know that this was the truth.
Volkov had come and fed upon her mother as a man would a rare steak, and when he had gone, he had left the windows open so that she might see and know that he had been there. It was a special message just for her. The key seemed to burn against her hip, through the denim of her jeans.
While she thought on this, her mother continued to thrash in her bed, her movements growing wilder. Her night dress rode up above her hips, exposing her still-slim legs and her comfortable underwear; she was a practical woman in all things. Emily leant forward and hesitantly gave her mother an ineffectual slap on the cheek.
“Mum, wake up,” she said in a hollow voice that frightened her. “Please?”
Victoria didn’t stir, but another low, awful moan sounded from her chapped lips.
“Mum?” Emily whimpered, hot tears threatening to escape. She fought them off fiercely, refusing to buckle to the wave of unhappiness that crashed upon her rocks. Victoria’s body erupted in spasms, short and fitful bursts that propelled Emily to her feet. She grabbed Victoria’s shoulders and did her best to pin her down flat on her back. She forced her weight down, surprised at her mother’s strength of force. Pushing down, she finally managed to still Victoria’s shuddering body, and Emily was nose to nose with her. She could see her mother’s eyes darting rapidly back and forth under her eyelids and feel her rapid breathing beneath her.
“Mum!” Emily shouted. She still had her hands on her shoulders, and she found herself shaking her mother, violently and with desperation. “For fuck’s sake, mum, please wake up!”
She sounded like a child, crying because she didn’t understand what was happening. Her mother moaned again, a deep and growling sound more animal than human.
“Emily…” her mother groaned, each vowel drawn out too long so that her name, the name that she loved, became something wrong and horrifying.
Emily screamed in frustration, not caring who heard her, grasping her mother’s shoulders far too tightly. And it was the scream that finally drew Victoria out of sleep. She looked at Emily groggily, unsure of where she was and what was going on.
“Emily?” her mother’s voice was husky and quiet, small and frightened. Emily was glad to hear her name in Victoria’s voice.
“Mum, are you all right?” Emily asked as gently as she could.
“Darling, I feel positively wretched,” Victoria’s eyes seemed more focused and her brow creased in confusion. “What are you doing on top of me?”
Emily got off the bed immediately, feeling the blush stain her cheeks. “You were…. you were having a fit or something. I didn’t know what to do; I just sort of let my body take over for a moment.” She laughed weakly, knowing full well that it was too late for her to act normal.
Victoria ran a hand through her hair and fell back upon the pillows. Emily watched as she brushed her hair over her neck in a subtle movement, covering the neck wound. She knew it was there and didn’t want her daughter to see it. Emily wouldn’t entertain the idea that her mother had gone along with this torturous transformation.
“I was having a nightmare,” Victoria said. It didn’t seem like she was speaking to Emily, but rather the air. “It was cold and I was high up somewhere, and I felt like I was going to fall because I couldn’t move away from the edge. I saw you and your father and I called out your names, but you didn’t hear me. And I tried to get to you and I stepped off the edge and fell. I woke up when I hit the bottom.”
“Mum,” Emily said, “do you want me to call the doctor?”
Predictably, Victoria shook her head. “No, darling, I’m fine, it’s just the flu. Honestly, it’s nothing to worry about.”
Emily wanted to laugh but remained quiet. She looked to the bedside table and noticed that the iron tablets had not yet been opened. She grabbed the glass and went to fill it with water before tearing open the box and popping two tablets from the blister pack. She
wordlessly handed them to her mother, who took them warily. Emily gave her the glass of water and watched as she swallowed the pills, throwing her head back in a short, sharp motion. Emily was half tempted to check her mother’s mouth to ensure that she hadn’t stashed them under her tongue. In the end she decided to trust her and took the glass and placed it back on the bedside table.
Victoria fell back on her pillows again, more sweat beading on her forehead. Her breathing was still laboured and her eyes suddenly glassy and vacant. She swallowed hard and blinked a few times before leaning forward and straightening out the covers. She pulled it up to her waist despite her burning skin, and looked to Emily, who stared right back at her with her too-large eyes.
“I’m scared,” Victoria said. Her voice was small and soft, like a little girl.
Emily nodded. “Me too.”
She went to her then, propping herself against the headrest and putting her arm out to her mother. Victoria, to her surprise, shuffled closer until she was resting her head against Emily’s collarbone. Emily remembered all those times during her childhood when she was sick with a cold or some other malady, when her mother would sit on the bed with her and let her climb into her lap. With chubby hands, Emily would grip at the shiny buttons on her mother’s cardigan and rub her cheek against the soft cottons and wools, which always smelled so clean and wonderful. Her mother would wrap her arms around her and hold her close, singing lullabies in a gentle, whispering voice until she fell asleep against her breast. Now here she was, wrapping her own arm around her mother’s bony shoulder and pulling her as close as she could, until the wild curls of Victoria’s hair tickled at her nose. She didn’t smell fresh and wonderful, the way she usually did. She smelled musty and old, like a room long neglected and denied fresh air and sunlight. Emily struggled to breathe it in, but didn’t move from her place. They sat there for a while without speaking, and all she could think, sitting there in her mother’s rightful place trying to offer the kind of comfort that only a parent can, was that she would lose her to that creature squatting in the Fairbanks Manor, taking what he pleased with no care for who he hurt along the way.
“Mum,” she said, willing her voice to remain strong and steady. “I love you. You drive me up the wall sometimes but you and dad have always been there for me, more than anyone else, and I love you both. I know I don’t say it enough and I’m sorry for that.”
Her mother was silent but for the sound of her breathing, and Emily wondered if she had drifted off to sleep when she moved, pushing herself up into sitting position before turning to look at Emily, head tilted at a strange angle.
“Why did you close the windows?” she asked reproachfully.
Emily grimaced and immediately moved away from the bed, almost tripping up in the rumpled sheets in her haste. “It’s making you sick.”
Victoria’s head snapped back and she let out a short bark of a laugh that, to Emily’s horror, didn’t sound the least bit human. She rose up on to her knees, her nightdress bunched up around the waist to reveal her mottled white legs. Her eyes were wild, mouth wide open in an obscene display; Emily swore that she could see the beginnings of new, sharp fangs emerging from Victoria’s mouth, the tips poking out beneath her top lip. She stumbled back, starting at her mother’s sudden flurry of activity, fear tightly gripping at her. But Victoria didn’t move from the bed, only continued to stare with widened and unblinking eyes. Emily took a few more steps back, unsure of where she was going.
“You know what’s making me sick!” Victoria hissed accusingly, jabbing a finger in Emily’s direction. “You sit there watching me die, and what will you do to save me? You will do nothing, as you always do.
“I always knew that you would be a disappointment to me,” Victoria went on. “I never wanted you. When I found out I was pregnant again, I took pills to try and get rid of you, but they didn’t work. Did you know that? You clung on to life like the little parasite you are and we were stuck with another mouth to feed. You’re nothing more than an anchor around our necks!”
This was not her mother, Emily realised it now. Her mother would never taunt her like this, never say anything as cruel as this. She found herself backed into the corner of the room, her spine pressed up against the wall, and she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and ears to such awful, twisted words. She laid her hands flat against the wall behind her, wishing that she could be absorbed by it and taken away from here.
“You don’t mean that,” she said through gritted teeth. Tears were threatening to spring up, and she fiercely fought them back. Victoria laughed again, flinging herself forward, body twisting and turning like a snake.
“Oh, but I do, darling,” she spat. “Why would your little Mumsie lie to you? And now here you are, unwilling to even try to save me. What kind of daughter stands and passively allows her mother to rot? Will you spend your whole life a failure, Emily? Will you?”
Emily’s body began to shake; hearing her name spoken with such venom and maliciousness caused her actual physical pain.
“And how is the portrait coming along, darling?” Victoria said with a grin, seemingly delighting in her cruelty. “Your one true chance for greatness, for redemption, and you can’t even finish what you started, can you?”
This weren’t her mother’s voice, but Volkov’s; once again he had found a way to torment her, to push her further towards madness. Emily turned and fled the room, leaving the creature pretending to be her mother to laugh with maniacal glee. She shut the door and dragged a chair from one of the other rooms in front of it, just in case. Her mind was racing, trying desperately to think of what to do. Then it came to her, quick as a flash of lightning.
The reverend: surely he could help her.
She ran downstairs and grabbed the phone, dialling the number with shaking fingers.
When he answered she immediately began to babble incoherently, everything that had just happened tumbling with abandon from her mouth. She stuttered and faltered and spoke too fast, but Abrahms was patient with her and worked to calm her down with soothing sounds. Once he understood what had happened, he promised that he would come as soon as he could.
“But Emily,” he said sternly, “You must not go back into that room until I arrive. Promise me.”
She promised with ease, feeling an overwhelming rush of gratitude for him. Nothing would get her back into that room by herself. Straining her ears, she could hear that Victoria had gone quiet.
After hanging up with Abrahms, she dialled her father’s office and hoped that he would be there. Her heart sank when the phone was answered by her father’s lovely secretary Rashima, who told her that he hadn’t been in the office all day.
“Do you know where he might be, Rashima?” Emily squeezed her eyes shut.
“I don’t have the foggiest, Miss Van Buren, all I know is that he’s missed two very important meetings today and that he didn’t even bother to telephone to tell me and let me reschedule! He’s a very naughty man, your father, embarrassing me like that.”
“Could you tell him to phone home if you see him?” Emily asked, getting straight to the point. She liked Rashima, and often when she called they would chat for a little while, and Rashima would jokingly asked if Emily had a boyfriend yet, but Emily was too tired and befuddled for small talk.
“To tell you the truth, Miss Van Buren, the day is almost over. I doubt that your father will be coming in at all today, but I will keep an eye out for you. If he comes home first, tell him to telephone me as soon as possible so I can give him a good telling off.”
Emily suppressed a pained sigh. “I will, Rashima.”
“You’re a good girl, Miss Van Buren,” Rashima said warmly, oblivious to it all. “Got a boyfriend yet?”
Emily allowed herself a small smile at that. “No, no boyfriend yet.”
Abrahms arrived twenty minutes later. Emily let him in and watched as he went straight up the stairs without removing his coat or shoes. Only watching him then did Emil
y realise that she hadn’t removed her boots. She sheepishly kicked them off and placed them side by side in the hall before following Abrahms on to the landing, who was moving the makeshift barricade out of the way. He had a shoulder bag thrown over a long black coat with deep pockets, from which he withdrew a bottle and a wooden crucifix. He handed the cross to Emily, who took it numbly and without question. She looked down at it, taking in the rich colour of the wood and the scratches chipped along the surface. It was an old thing, this cross.
“It’s quiet,” Abrahms said, and Emily nodded mutely. She opened the door for him and stood aside as he strode in with that same sense of purpose, back straight and brave. She stepped cautiously behind him, her heartbeat increasing as she passed over the threshold.
The thing that was not her mother lay still in the bed, her arms and legs thrown out at odd angles. Her hair had fallen away to reveal her ugly neck wound once again. Abrahms went to inspect it, peering closely at the oozing flesh.
“Emily, do you have any cotton wool?”
She went into the ensuite and grabbed a packet of cotton balls from the little cupboard under the sink. She brought them to the reverend, who fished out a handful and placed them against the open neck of the bottle from his pocket, before tipping the bottle down and soaking them in whatever fluid it contained. He placed the bottle on the bedside table and pressed the buds down on the bite marks, hard.
The air was alive with the sound of burning flesh. Victoria’s eyes flew open and she immediately began to thrash violently, her arms swinging out to grab at Abrahms. Like a man that had done this many times before, his own arm shot out in response and grabbed her wrist, forcing it back down with considerable strength. Victoria shrieked and wailed, inhuman sounds that turned Emily’s blood to ice in her veins. She started at the sudden noise, accidentally dropping the crucifix which clattered heavily to the ground. Abrahms pushed himself up and forced himself down on Victoria, his knee digging into her chest.
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