Netherworld, Book 1 of the Hallowed Realms Trilogy

by Amy Miles

  She couldn’t die. Twenty-one was just too damn young.

  Since discovering her heart cancer three years ago, I’d had to go through my own round of tests. Because we’re twins, and her type of cancer being so rare, I had to be screened. They had no idea if it was a genetic mutation or fate dealing her a piss-poor hand. My blood work had come back normal; an unpleasant fact that I had to grapple with daily. It wasn’t fair. She was the one worth saving. Not me. She had spark and spunk, a thirst for life.

  No. Not had, has. She wasn’t dead yet.

  I let out a breath and picked up my pace. There was no point sulking. There wasn’t time for that. Every day counted now. Every hour. Every minute.

  As I walked, I pulled out my mobile and texted Seamus. Even though we barely spoke now, I still kept him up to date on her condition. It was foolish. He never responded, but the texts made me feel better. It felt like a way to remove some of the pressure off my chest. Seamus had become my unwitting journal recipient.

  I had just hit send when I felt something, or rather someone, crash into me. My mobile fell to the floor as my head whipped upwards. A girl stood in front of me, covered from head to toe in blood, yet her eyes held a look of relief before they rolled back into her head. She started to sway just as my arms reached out to catch her before she could fall.

  Her body was like a dead weight against my chest as I held her upright.

  “Mate, are you alright?” I asked already knowing the answer. She was covered in blood. Lots of it. Her body lay limp in my arms.

  “I need a doctor!” I shouted as I eased her onto the ground. Her body was limp, and her skin was cold. My heart began to beat faster, wondering if she had already died. It wouldn’t be surprising considering the state she was in. But how did she get like this? I looked around for help, or for some madman on the loose who might be attacking people, but there was no one to be seen. I cursed. It wasn’t a very travelled stretch of hallway as it passed by the morgue. It was part of the reason I used this route. The less people I saw the better. Bad luck for this poor woman.

  I knelt down beside the girl, trying to see if there was anything I could do. I had no medical experience, but I felt like I had to try. My fingers found her neck and checked for a pulse. If there was one, it was faint. Lowering my head to see if her chest was still rising and falling, I noticed that this girl was roughly my age. She had blond hair that was now soaked with blood.

  I’d never seen anything like the marks on her. It was as though she’d lost a fight with a bear. There were literal claw marks on her body. Blood was seeping out of deep gashes along her legs. An angry series of black and bloodied markings covered the left side of her face. The cuts appeared to have missed her eye by a fraction of an inch but exposed the skeletal bone beneath. It was all I could do not to hurl.

  What the hell happened to her?

  Thinking fast, I took my belt off and used it as a tourniquet around her thigh, trying to stop the bleeding from where it seemed to be gushing the worst. I had no idea what I was doing. Every movie I had ever seen did something like this, so I could only pray it might help until someone with more knowledge than me came along. When I touched the darkened blood on her thigh I felt a sudden jolt of heat. Almost like a burn. I pulled my hand back and wiped the black sludge off on my jeans. It must be some kind of poison? That didn’t make any sense, though. Then again, neither did a woman who looked like she’d been attacked by a wild animal.

  Being careful not to touch the black stuff again, I tied off the belt. I couldn’t help but notice the clothes she wore. She had on a silver dress that was now cut to shreds and covered in blood, but underneath the dress, she seemed to be wearing leather pants...or what used to be leather pants. It was hard to tell where the leather ended and the open flesh began. Was she wearing a costume? I was so confused.

  Whoever she was, she was going to die if I didn’t get her some help.

  “I need a nurse or a doctor. Someone!” I shouted. “This woman has been hurt!”

  Far down the hall, an older man with an IV poked his head out. He was dressed in a hospital gown and had oxygen tubing under his nose.

  “Oh, thank God. I need a doctor. Can you press your call button?”

  The old man looked over at me, then down at where my hands were. He gave me an odd look then quickly shuffled back into his room, closing the door behind him.

  “Hey. Wait! I need help.”

  Frustrated, I looked back down at the girl. She was so peaceful, even as broken and bloodied as she was. That was when I heard her cough.

  “Jesus!” I yelled, sitting back on my legs.

  One of her eyes opened. A gorgeous blue eye searched mine. It was a colour I’d never seen in another person. It was like a tropical sea. Both green and blue at the same time. The colour was mesmerizing.

  “Eivin?” she gasped.

  “Eivin? No. I’m not Eivin. Is he here? Where can I find him?”

  She was so pale. I knew she didn’t have much strength in her.

  “Lorcan…still alive.”

  “What? Yes, you’re still alive.” For how much longer, I had no idea. “Look, let me go for help.”

  She reached out her hand and grasped my own harder than I would have imagined she’d have the strength for in her condition.

  “No. Get Eivin,” she gasped.

  I looked up, trying to find who she was referring to, but the hallway was still deserted.

  Her eyes blinked several times in rapid succession as she fought to stay awake.

  “He needs to know—the king lied…not safe. None of us...safe.” Blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth and her eyes closed.

  That could not be good.

  I was going to have to find a physician on my own. Scrambling to my feet, I broke out into a run down the hall to find help. Luckily, I knew right where to find some.

  “Shelia!” I shouted as I practically crashed into the head nurse who tended to Alana’s wing.

  “What’s the problem, Mr. Gallagher? Is it Alana?” Sheila asked. She was a no-nonsense kind of woman. Exactly the sort of person I needed.

  “Oh, thank God it’s you, Sheila. No. It’s not my sister, but I was on my way to visit her when…there was this girl.”

  Sheila raised a hand to stop me.

  “Yes. I know. She’s been tended to.”

  I gave her a blank look. “She has?”

  “No need to worry. Nurse Childs will be right as rain.” She turned away, dismissing me, and began chatting to the nurse beside her. “I told you she was pulling too many overnighters. They had to sedate her. Took four of us to hold her down.” She shook her head as she opened a patient chart. “She just kept screaming.”

  I knew who Nurse Childs was. She was one of Alana’s night nurses.

  “No. It’s not her!” I shouted, regaining her attention. “There’s a girl...she—she’s covered in blood. I think she might die. She’s in the hall near the morgue.”

  I was sure I must have looked insane after what I had witnessed because she raised one hesitant eyebrow.

  “I promise I’m not sleep-deprived again,” I assured her. Well, I was, but not so much so that I didn’t know what I’d seen.

  Sheila didn’t look convinced.

  Not that I blamed her. When Alana was first diagnosed, I had a hard time sleeping. I had to use sleeping pills to stay sane. Back then she probably thought I had a bad dose or something. This was different.

  “Please,” I begged. “She’s going to die!”

  Sheila let out a short sigh then tugged on the sleeve of the nurse’s scrub that was standing beside her. “Frank, come with me.”

  Frank closed the chart he was reviewing and followed after her with only a slight eye-roll.

  “She’s right over here,” I said, running as they semi-jogged behind me. I was sweating like a pig when I turned the corner to where I’d left her.

  “Right where?” Frank asked, coming to a halt.

  I
froze wide-eyed as I surveyed the hall. The girl was gone. I spun around in all directions, wondering if I’d gotten the wrong corridor. No. Impossible. The blood was still on the floor and along the wall where it looked like she’d dragged herself down the hall.

  “She was right here!” I shouted. That was when I noticed a thin trail of blood drops leading down the hall towards the emergency exit. “The thing that attacked her…it must have taken her—”

  Sheila and Frank exchanged a glance.

  “Taken who, Mr. Gallagher?” Sheila’s voice was kind, yet condescending. The sort of tone you hear nurses use with their dementia patients.

  “Don’t you see it?” I asked, pointing towards the door. “The blood! It leads to a fire exit. Why would anyone bring a person who is clearly dying to a fire exit instead of to a doctor?” I could hear myself shouting, but I couldn’t understand why they weren’t doing something.

  “Mr. Gallagher, I’m sorry, but I don’t see any blood,” Sheila said gently.

  Frank sighed and left to go back to his station.

  “What do you mean? It’s right here!” I knelt down and pointed at the mess in front of me. “And, Jesus, look at me! I’m covered in it too!” I gestured to where she had fallen into my arms. I looked a fright but not as horrific as she did.

  Her eyes followed to where I was indicating before she gave me a stiff smile. “You’ve been under a lot of strain lately…”

  “No,” I rebutted, shaking my head. “No, I’m not crazy. I know what I saw. The girl said she needed to find Eivin. She said something about the king lying...” I paused, hearing exactly how insane I sounded. Ireland was a parliament run government. We didn’t have any kings. So what had she meant?

  “You look a little pale,” Sheila said. “Have you eaten today?” The tone in her voice confirmed she thought I’d lost it.

  Had I? No. There was a girl. She was blond. She had sea-blue eyes and…she was dying. Right here. Right where we were standing! So where the hell was she now?

  “You really can’t see any blood? Not even here on the wall?” I asked. My voice had gone soft. I reached down and felt the pool at my feet; it was warm and wet on my skin. It covered my hands.

  She blinked down at my hand then looked up and gave me a worried smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t see anything. Why don’t I get you some water?”

  I stared back down at the blood on my hands before I sank onto the floor. “I’m fine. I’m just…I guess I am tired.”

  Sheila nodded in such a way that conveyed her worry. “Are your parents here with you?”

  “Yeah,” I said absently. “They’re in the cafeteria. They’ll be up in a minute.” I looked up at the nurse as I tried to regain my composure. “Sorry I bothered you.”

  “It’s alright. The mind can play some pretty nasty tricks on us when we don’t take care of it. You need to eat and drink and, for heaven’s sake, try to get some rest,” Sheila said.

  “Thanks. I’ll do that.”

  She gave me a kind nod, but I could tell she was annoyed I’d wasted her time. I watched as Sheila walked back to her station. I was hoping that when she disappeared, the blood on the floor beside me would too, but it didn’t. It stayed there, ever-expanding as though trying to reach out and pull me into it.

  Swallowing hard, I stood up and took one last look at where the girl had been. Apparently, I needed more sleep. I was hallucinating. That was all. Probably some harmless way for my brain to deal with the horrific reality of my sister’s situation.

  My nostrils flared. I was pissed at myself. I had to get my head in the game. This girl...her gnarly gashes…it wasn’t real. My sister’s cancer was, as was the little time she had left on this earth. I couldn’t afford to spend one more minute stuck in delusions. Alana needed me. I had to get my act together for her.

  I turned away from the blood and reminded myself to not look back. Stay in the present, Devlin. Stay sane. This is not the time to go bat-shit crazy.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DEVLIN

  I CURSED AS THE timing belt slipped out of my fingers and off the sprocket for the third time in a row.

  “That belt still giving you trouble, lad?” Da asked, coming up behind me. His grease riddled fingers gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. I shrugged out of the gesture and wiped my hands on a rag dangling from my back pocket.

  “I’ve got it. My hands were too slick, is all.” I stuck my head back under the hood of the 1990 Volvo, determined to get this belt on so I could clock out. I was still having a hard time focusing after what I thought I’d seen last week at the hospital. I had come to terms with the fact that my mind had made the whole thing up. What I couldn’t wrap my head around was the fact that the blood was still on the clothes I had worn. There was a literal hole in the jeans I’d had on that night. Right where I had wiped the black goo. How was that possible? And even worse? There was still blood on the walls at the hospital, days later.

  The mess she had left behind on the floor had been mopped up, though traces of it lingered against the baseboards after a mop. The blood on the wall where I’d imagined she had dragged herself was just as visible now as it was a few days ago. It didn’t make any sense even from a crazy person’s rationale. It was maddening that I could see the blood and no one else could. It was hard to convince myself that I wasn’t losing it and it gave me a short fuse.

  As if to prove my point, the belt slipped again and I cursed; a fouler phrase used this time.

  “Son,” Da said from the car beside me. “Why don’t you leave that one to me? Take your lunch early...”

  I closed my eyes, annoyed. He’d been treating me with kid gloves like this all week. The nurses ratted me out about what I’d claimed to have seen and ever since, he and Ma had tiptoed around me like I’d gone nutters. The thing was, I wasn’t entirely sure that I hadn’t.

  “Fine,” I said, pushing past my da. I could tell from the look on his face that he was frustrated by my outburst, though he didn’t call me on it. He sympathised with the anger. I wasn’t the only one having a hard time with Alana’s diagnosis. Still, I knew I was being an arse lately, but I couldn’t seem to get out of my funk. Maybe Da was right. I needed some air.

  I stalked out of the shop and into the office. Unzipping my coveralls, I made my way over to my locker. I pressed my head against the chipped blue paint for a moment. The cool metal against my forehead felt good, so I held it there a moment longer.

  Once my anger subsided, I stared down at my name on my locker. Gone was the piece of masking tape that used to temporarily mark my name. In its place was an etched brass name plate, anchoring me to my role as a mechanic. I shoved my overalls into my locker and slammed it shut.

  This was never supposed to be my life. This was supposed to be temporary. Working at Da’s garage seemed like the ideal situation. A mindless summer job until I left for university on my art scholarship. I was good with my hands as a sculptor, so fixing cars was meant to be an easy way to earn some quick cash before going overseas to find my fame and fortune in the art world. What had started as a fun sculpting hobby when I was a wee lad had morphed itself into a viable passion. A passion that had potential for serious income once I honed my craft in America. My whole life was waiting to happen.

  Everything changed with Alana’s diagnosis when she was only eighteen. For the last three years we’d had to hear doctors tell us that they didn’t know how to help her. Hers was a cancer so rare that there wasn’t even enough data on how to treat it, let alone give her any odds for survival. As far as they were concerned, it was a death sentence.

  In all the time that had passed we’d been praying for a miracle. My once vibrant, free-spirited twin sister deteriorated before our eyes in those years. Aggressive chemo and radiation were used to try and combat the unknown killer. The cancer remained unfazed, but my sister had not. Her ‘treatment’ had made her violently ill, robbed her of hair and what little body fat she had managed to cling to. That was last spring. Now she
was little more than a vegetable. Tubes kept her fed while the morphine left her numb. She could no longer move or communicate. She was helpless and I hated it.

  Clinging to hope, we made our trips to the hospital as our schedule allowed. I made a point to see her a few times a week. It was a two-hour drive away, but I got to see her more than my ma and da, who both had full-time jobs to hold down. I know it pained them not to go more often, but they were grateful that she had someone with her. Fat help I had proven to be. Nothing we tried was making a damn bit of difference.

  Outside of the garage, I hunched my shoulders into my coat to fight off the crisp air of Moneyglass. I wrapped Alana’s scarf tightly around my neck and started the ten-minute walk home. Sure, I could have eaten in the shop like the others did, but today I needed a bit of release. I planned on spending a few minutes in my studio. Sculpting was the one thing holding my sanity in place these days.

  When I made it home, I popped inside to see if Ma was back from her morning shift at the bakery. I was hoping she would have brought home some day old batch bread. My stomach was rumbling and there wasn’t anything like a thick slice of that with some of her homemade butter.

  The door was open, so I knew she was home. Her flour covered apron hung off one of the chairs in the kitchen.

  “Ma?”

  The sound of soft sniffles came from Alana’s room.

  “I’m in here,” she replied.

  I walked in and found Ma sitting on Alana’s bed, with a smattering of photographs Alana had taken in better times. She had an eye for pictures. Capturing people in just the right light.

  “Aye. I see that,” I said cautiously. She was already upset recalling the memories around her. I didn’t want to make it worse by chiding her to put them away.

  She patted the spot beside her and I sat down.

  “Do you remember when she took this?” She handed me a photo of Da and I marching in the local parade.