No Shelter from Darkness (26 page)

Bill looked down at his palms. They were damp with sweat. He had never before relived that day. He looked up at his daughter sitting opposite him. It was the first time he'd looked at her since beginning his story, having gotten lost in his own tale. She was on the edge of the bunk, but she was horrified. “Elizabeth?”

His daughter jerked forward and heaved, but nothing came out but a thin string of saliva. Bill cursed himself. He shouldn't care, but he did. He reached forward to put a hand on his daughter's shoulder, but Beth shrugged it off immediately and stood up with tears in her eyes. Without a sound she stumbled toward the door and hastily climbed the steps.

She was gone.

Bill leant back and pressed his hands to his face. He tried to tell himself that ultimately it didn't matter when she learned the truth; it was never going to be an easy thing for her to hear.

He wished now that he'd ended the story with something he frequently replayed in his mind's eye. He recounted the train ride back to London, the stop he made in Coventry to have his wounds tended, and the chance encounter with a nurse full of first-day nerves.

That day, just when the darkest clouds had overcast his world, he'd chanced upon a silver lining.

TWENTY-SIX

BETH RAN BLINDLY THROUGH THE STREETS,
her bruised ribs aching. When it was evident there was no outrunning Bill's latest revelation, she slowed to a walk. Exhausted, she stared at the ground while getting her breath back, almost stumbling along. All the while she thought about how much Bill had lied to her. Even when he came clean about knowing what she was, he'd lied. He hadn't done his homework like he'd claimed; this was simply his life. Killing people like her. A lump caught in her throat and she was on the verge of another tearful outburst.

“Oi!”

The familiar voice came from behind her but failed to interrupt her thoughts.

“Oi! I'm talkin' to you!”

Beth stopped. The voice had finally torn her from her claustrophobic self-pity. She knew exactly who it was, and that meant she could only have stumbled into one street out of hundreds. She turned to find Susan and Angela walking toward her from the other end of Norton Street.

“Are you bloody deaf, or just plain dumb?” shouted Susan, the profanity flowing outside school walls. There were a couple of younger kids at the other end of the road, toward which Beth had been meandering, but they were boys and had no interest in the affairs of older girls. They continued to kick a brown and somewhat deflated football against the wall of a house. Beth wiped and dried her eyes before the girls reached her.

“Look Ange, slave girl's been crying. What's wrong, Marster's shoes not dirty enough to lick?”

“I didn't mean to come here,” said Beth. She just wanted to get away. “I took a wrong turn.”

“Bloody right you took a wrong turn. And I told you what would happen if you ever came here, didn't I?”

“It was an accident. I'm sorry. I'll go.” Beth went to turn but Susan stepped up and grabbed her shoulder. She positively loomed over Beth, a clear six inches taller, if not more.

“No, you won't. I sorta hoped you'd come here, but I never thought you'd be stupid enough to do it.”

“Let me go,” said Beth. Her voice was calm with no evidence of the tears she'd wept.

“Or what?”

“Just let me go and I promise I won't come back.”

Susan removed her hand. Beth's surprise stalled her until Susan swung violently, slapping her hard across the face. Stumbling, Beth felt her warm cheek beneath her palm and looked up at the bully.

“Told you what would happen.” Susan grinned.

Beth's heart pumped and all the emotion within her balled up into hot fury.

“Let's add to those scars of yours,” snarled Susan.

Beth's nose flared. She could feel the heat rising, flushing upward.

Susan laughed. “So black skin can go red.”

“I'm not black, you blind bitch!”

In an instant, Susan's smug chuckle was silenced and she went to slap Beth again, putting her whole body into it. But this time there was no crack of hand against cheek. Somehow, Beth had caught Susan's wrist. Even Beth was surprised, but the fury that now burned white hot allowed her no time to think.

She simply acted.

As it turned out, slapping wasn't Beth's style. Without releasing Susan's wrist, Beth brought her right fist up in a diagonal arc, striking her under her jaw. There was no whip-snapping sound like that which accompanied a cowboy's punch on the silver screen, but it was just as effective. Susan stumbled and Beth twisted her wrist, making Susan fall to one knee. With her face lowered, it became a far easier target to hit. Without hesitation, Beth delivered a right hook. Susan's nose exploded.

Beth was as oblivious to the pain in her knuckles as she was to Angela's screams and Susan's mumbled pleas. She punched again, holding Susan's wrist higher to prevent her from collapsing to the floor. Blood smeared her face and Beth smelled it everywhere. She felt her lips widen into a smile and her gums ache. She could feel teeth moving, pushing through her gums. She raised her fist once more and felt the excitement of violence, of causing her enemy pain. Of bringing forth more blood. Of destroying.

Susan's mouth hung open as she looked up with fearful bloodshot eyes.

“Stop!” screamed Angela. Beth hesitated.

“Please! Stop!”

Beth looked up and saw a familiar fear in Angela's eyes. Both girls were scared of her. Terrified. Some part of Beth was urged on by this realization, and her fist tightened. Susan's battered face tried to flinch, but when Beth tried to bring her fist down in another assault it wouldn't move. She was frozen. Something was fighting the anger inside her.

It was shame.

Beth released Susan's bruised wrist and the tall girl collapsed to the pavement. Fresh blood covered Beth's knuckles. The sight of it pushed her shame aside for an instant, long enough for instinct to butt in. She licked the blood as if licking an ice cream, closing her eyes at the sublime taste.

Angela gasped in shock.

Beth's shame reasserted itself. Her eyes opened and her hand dropped to the side. The world came back into focus. Beneath her Susan cowered in fear, and before her a horrified Angela stood frozen with both hands covering her mouth. Beth imagined how she looked in the eyes of the girls; some crazed and unpredictable animal.

What am I?

Devastated, she stepped back into the road. She remembered the vicious monster from Bill's story and no longer felt like the innocent witch.

On the pavement, Susan was barely able to prop herself up. Blood dripped in a continuous string from her mouth. Beth heard her mutter what she knew she wasn't supposed to hear.

“Freak.”

Once more, Beth was running.

*   *   *

Beth was within the grounds of Victoria Park before she knew it, feeling drawn to it like an iron filing is drawn to a magnet. But the western quarter was too familiar and she began walking around the perimeter, avoiding the military in the middle. She passed the allotments, the numerous anchors for the barrage balloons floating above and the trenches in the far eastern corner by St. Mark's Gate. She carried on to the northern tip, passing uprooted trees and muddy craters, and she felt a kind of belonging in these unfamiliar surroundings. It was vacant there, with only the occasional passer-by. She collapsed to the grass on crossed legs and looked at the dried, tacky blood on her knuckles. Even now it looked tempting, but as an act of defiance against what was apparently her nature, she licked the clean fingers of her other hand and started to rub the blood off.

She felt as if the good in her was slipping away, being pushed aside—or being consumed. What would have happened if Angela hadn't been there, shouting at the top of her voice? When would she have been satisfied? When Susan lay in a dead, bloody heap on the pavement?

Beth winced at the pain in her gums brought on by her thoughts and quickly felt the gap where her new canine grew, just in time to feel it retract slightly back into the gum. She felt the other side and found the baby canine wobble. She remembered the pain being in both the top and bottom gums and found the lower canines to be loose, too. In a moment of shameful anger, she gripped the remaining upper canine and tugged sharply. It came out with a little pain, but it was pain she deserved. And wanted. Throwing the small tooth on the ground she gripped one of the lower canines and tugged it forward. It squelched and crunched and she gasped as pain shot through her skull, before pulling it sharply upward. With a yelp, the tooth came free. A tear came to her eye and she saw pink flesh still attached to
the bottom of the milk tooth. Her mouth began filling with blood, and she spat it out before her hands fell limply in her lap and she began to weep in confused frustration.

The weeping slowly turned to sobs. She laid down on the grass and the sobs became stuttered breaths. After a long while the sun began to dip behind the trees and the fading light reminded her how long she'd been laying there. Dinner had most likely been served and cleared. She didn't care; she deserved to go without. Her mother might be worrying about her, though, and Beth didn't want that. She sat up in the growing dusk and got to her feet. Everything was quiet and without park lights the atmosphere felt macabre.

Finding her way around the park, she thought about climbing into bed and remembered she was still on the blanketed floor. Then it hit her. How could she possibly sleep in the same house as anyone, let alone the same room? She was dangerous. What if she sleepwalked again? She couldn't knowingly put anyone, especially her best friend, in that kind of danger.

Where can I go?

She thought of the shelter. It was perfect. With the summer nights the temperature would be fine and with so few air raids she'd have the solitude she sought more often than not. She would spend as little time in the house as she could. She'd limit her contact with everyone. For now, it was the best solution.

In the west, the sun made its farewell bow for the day, while on the opposite horizon the half-moon had taken up the reigns. Beth realized she was squinting. She rubbed her temples. There was a new dull pain, right behind her eyes.

By the time she reached her street, Beth was walking under a canvas of multi-colored stars. The blackout was a nuisance in so many ways, but without any ambient light from the city, clear nights became a sight to behold. Yet looking around at her surroundings, Beth couldn't budge the notion that things appeared brighter than usual. Details she wouldn't have expected to see were visible, though just barely.

Reaching her front door with its new lock, Beth put her hand on the wood and took a deep breath. She couldn't smell much in the way of dinner, but couldn't mistake the scent of dish soap. She didn't give a damn about Bill, but she hoped her mother would forgive her. She walked in to find both parents relaxing in the armchairs.

“Hello, darling,” said her mother.

Beth stood motionless, confused.

“You look exhausted,” her mother continued. “Did they feed you?”

Without wanting to, Beth glanced at Bill, who had lowered his paper and was now shaking his head slightly. Obeying him was the last thing she wanted to do, but this was for her mother and copied Bill's shake of the head.

“I didn't think they would. I kept some leftovers for you. It's in the stove.”

“Thanks.” Beth walked cautiously through the sitting room and kitchen, into the scullery and pulled down the thick iron stove door. She was hungry and she hated the fact that it seemed she had Bill to thank for this plate of food. Another one of his lies had seemingly saved her a lot of hassle.

She tried to avoid the new, raw gaps while eating, and pondered how she would go about moving into the shelter. Should she ask? No. There was a chance the answer would be unfavorable, and that was unacceptable. She finished her food, washed her plate and went into the living room.

“I'm sleeping in the shelter tonight,” she said to her mother, who immediately looked over at her husband and then back at her.

“Why?”

“I thought it would be good for Mary to have some privacy. Me, too, to be honest. And it gets stuffy in that room anyway.” It was a barrage of fabricated reasons and she grew a little tense with fear that it was too much.

“Okay,” said her mother, with narrow eyes. “Is everything all right?”

Beth relaxed slightly and smiled as naturally as she could. “Everything's fine.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

BILL WATCHED HIS DAUGHTER.
He knew exactly what she was about to do now that she had polished off her plate.

“May I leave the table?” Beth asked her mother. She hadn't spoken to Bill since Wednesday. Not since he had revealed himself as a hunter of her kind.

“Wash your plate.” Lynne was fed up trying to reason with her to stay at the table and enjoy the company of the family. Beth did as her mother told her, and then walked out the back door to the shelter.
Her
shelter.

She'd been in there for four nights now. Around the table, Mary and Lynne didn't bother hiding their worry, and Bill could tell that even Oliver had picked up on his sister's strange antics. Bill completely understood her need for space. He hoped that the time would allow her anger toward him to cool off. But now everyone was concerned and Bill had to try to talk to her. He finished his plate, excused himself, and hobbled out with his crutches.

The shelter door was ajar, but he knocked anyway out of courtesy before limping in. It was the first time he'd been in there since Beth “moved in”, due to the welcome absence of air raids. She had been sleeping on the wider bunk and had a couple of bunched-up cardigans acting as a pillow. She was lying there now, staring at the roof.

“Elizabeth. You clearly needed some space and I've respected that,” Bill said, “but it's time we talked, don't you think?”

“About what?” They were the first words she'd said to him in four days.