Chapter 37
White. White walls. White sky. White coats. Whiteness everywhere. And a cold so deep and crushing she thought she might be buried beneath snow.
A jolt of pain in her arm. Then shooting fire tracing spirals down her neck.
Evie fought to keep her eyes open, struggling to turn her head, but it seemed to weigh five thousand pounds. Where was he? Where was Lucas? Someone had hold of her right hand, was stroking the palm. It felt good. She worried that if whoever it was let go the cold might sneak up on her and make her fall again into darkness, and she didn’t want that to happen. She wanted to stay awake. She wanted to see Lucas again. He was here. He was real. He was alive.
Wasn’t he?
Her fingers tightened around the hand. She couldn’t let it go. Voices were shouting over her, people were running, her shirt was being ripped off and she felt hard, cold metal pressed against her bare skin and shivered some more.
Through the noise and shouting she made out a familiar voice.
‘Please, help her.’
It was Cyrus but his voice was broken, husky, desperate sounding.
‘What happened? What’s your name?’ Someone was asking him a question.
‘Forget my name,’ he yelled. ‘Do something for her, she’s losing blood. Do something!’
‘What happened?’ a doctor or a nurse – someone in white – was asking. Their faces were all out of focus.
‘It’s another neck wound,’ a woman said, loud in her ear.
Another, the word registered somewhere in the depths of her mind.
‘She had an accident,’ she heard Cyrus say.
Hands forcing their way under her, pressing into the small of her back and then she was lifted, shunted, dropped down onto another bed, this one softer. A mask was put over her face.
‘5mg Valium,’ someone said.
No, no, no drugs. She couldn’t afford to be drugged. She twisted her head and tried to bat away the hands in front of her. Someone grabbed her arm and forced it to the bed. She heard Cyrus shushing her. Then she felt a sting in her hand. A few seconds later the room ebbed away as if she was being pulled out to sea on a current. The voices that had been shouting now sounded a mile away; she felt like she was floating on the waves, drifting off.
A man’s voice cut through the daze. ‘Can you come this way, sir?’
‘No,’ she heard Cyrus say roughly. ‘I’m staying with her.’
She tried to grasp for him. He couldn’t leave her. She didn’t want to be alone. Someone forced her back down, pushing her shoulders onto the bed. A machine right by her ear was beeping faster and faster.
‘Who are you? Are you a relation?’
Please let him stay.
‘No,’ he hesitated, ‘I’m – I’m her boyfriend.’
‘Only relatives are allowed any further I’m afraid.’
‘Please. I need to be with her.’
‘Sorry, you need to wait here. Do you have a number for her parents? Someone we could call?’
She was being jolted around. The bed was moving. She tried to turn her head but she was paralysed and then his fingers were torn from her hand and she was back on the waves.
NO, she tried to scream but no sound came out.
Doors banged, a breeze stirred the thin cotton gown they’d thrown over her. She was cold. And she was alone. And she was afraid. And then she was gone.
Some time later she tried to open her eyes but it felt like they’d been sewn shut. She could hear someone groaning nearby. Then it stopped all of a sudden. Had it been her?
It’s OK, it’s OK.
It was his voice again. It was Lucas. She forced her eyes open. She was in an empty room. There was a faint beep beep beep somewhere by her head and the light was bright – dazzlingly bright. Her breathing was so loud in her ears it sounded like surf crashing onto a beach. She tried to move her hand so that she could pull at the oxygen mask covering her mouth and nose, but a warm hand closed over her own and pushed it back down to the bed.
Shhh.
She turned her head. She wanted to see him. She could feel the sob building in her chest. She could actually feel his fingers stroking her cheek, pushing back a strand of hair, lingering on the tip of her torn ear. It wasn’t real. It was a dream. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she felt him press his thumb against one. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Lucas is dead.
And she was still alive. That’s what the beeping meant.
It couldn’t be him in the room, stroking her hair. It had to be Cyrus. The Valium had made her foggy. She was seeing things, confusing things. They must have let Cyrus back into the room. How much time had passed?
‘Cyrus?’ she croaked.
Nothing. No answer. Just silence. A breeze, as if a fan was blowing directly on her, and then she heard the sound of the door clicking shut.
She turned her head, wincing at the stabbing pain that shot up her neck.
The room was empty. The corridor outside was blurred by opaque glass.
What had happened to the others? What about Flic and Jamieson and the girl and RJ? What had happened to them? And to Victor?
Victor. She remembered him standing there now. In the garden. He’d saved her. He’d killed that Original. The only reason she was alive was because of him. Her breathing was hiking, the mask was fogging up, the machine by her head was beeping so loud she wanted to rip the wires out of it and make it stop.
The door suddenly flew open. She twisted her head to see. Victor was standing in the doorway. His black suit was stained with dark blotches.
He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. Evie’s fingers fumbled along the edge of the bed, trying desperately to locate the call button. She wished she could breathe freely; she wished she could sit up.
She finally tugged her hand free, feeling the rip of flesh as the IV in her wrist tore out. She snatched off the oxygen mask.
‘Get out,’ she hissed, falling back onto the pillow.
‘I came to see if you were OK.’
‘I’m fine,’ she panted. ‘Now get out.’
Victor paused by the side of her bed, studying her. Then he nodded. Why was he here? Why had he saved her? He knew that she was only going to try to kill him as soon as she was on her feet again.
Victor stared at her for a few more seconds before he turned and walked back to the door.
‘I don’t owe you,’ Evie called to his departing back, hauling herself onto one elbow.
Victor turned slowly to face her. ‘I know.’
She fell backwards onto her pillow again, struggling for breath. The room had started spinning. Suddenly he was standing over her, looking down on her. He lifted her oxygen mask and placed it gently over her mouth and she tried frantically to twist her head away, convinced that he was trying to suffocate her.
He moved back away from the bed and her breathing settled, though the machine was beeping fast enough to make her think she was about to have a heart attack.
The door burst open again.
‘What the hell are you doing in here? Get out!’
It was Cyrus. He strode the two paces to the bed and planted himself between her and Victor. ‘I said, get out,’ he repeated. ‘Or you’re going to be the one needing the hospital bed and the transfusion. Do you understand me?’
Victor stared at him for a few seconds, then turned and strolled out of the door.
Cyrus spun to face her, his face pale but the relief at seeing her awake clear in his expression.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, his voice soft all of a sudden, his eyes searching her face.
Evie dragged the oxygen mask off. ‘Like I got bitten by an Original and lost eight pints of blood.’
‘You did. I thought …’ His voice cracked and she noticed his hands gripping the bed rail as though it was the only thing holding him up. ‘I thought for a moment I’d lost you.’
Lost her? She hadn’t known that he’d ever found her.
‘Where are the others?’ she asked through cracked lips.
Cyrus crossed to the table and poured her a glass of water. He brought it back to her and, sliding one arm under her shoulders, gently lifted her head so that he could tip the glass against her lips.
‘Flic and Jamieson are downstairs. We’re all trying to avoid the cops.’
‘The cops?’ Evie spluttered, water splashing down her chin.
Cyrus nodded at two dark shapes that had materialised out of nowhere on the other side of the door. He laid her gently back down on the pillow. ‘I snuck in. The doctors told me only relatives could see you.’
‘Didn’t you tell them something about being my boyfriend?’ she asked.
Cyrus looked away. ‘I, er, thought they might let me stay with you if they thought we were, you know, together.’
‘You couldn’t have gone with brother? They might have actually let you stay if you’d said that.’
He frowned at her, then shrugged.
Evie pushed herself suddenly up onto her elbows. ‘Get me out of here,’ she said.
‘You’re not going anywhere.’ Cyrus smiled and shook his head ruefully.
‘There are cops outside the door. They’re going to start asking questions soon, Cyrus. Won’t they have your prints from before? You’re an escapee from a mental hospital.’
Cyrus frowned. ‘I’m not leaving you.’ But simultaneously he seemed to be realising that he couldn’t stay either.
‘Then take me.’ She sat fully upright, trying not to sway at the sight of the red IV bag hanging over her. ‘I’m feeling better. They’ve put enough blood in me to tank up a dozen Thirsters.’ She swung her legs off the side of the bed, noticing for the first time she was wearing only an oversized hospital gown. Her legs were bare. In fact - she did a quick check – she was completely naked beneath the gown, bar some fetching paper underwear. Cyrus, she noticed, was staring openly at her legs.
‘I don’t want to stay in here,’ she said, pushing herself off the bed and yanking a handful of wires off her chest. The machine flatlined behind her. ‘They might come looking for me. I mean, I would, if I were one of them. I’d come straight here and finish the job.’
Cyrus shook his head. ‘They won’t.’
She saw the uneasy way he swallowed though and glanced at the door.
‘You don’t know that,’ she said. ‘Were there others? How many did we kill?’
‘A few.’
She paused. ‘It’s too dangerous and I hate hospitals. If you don’t take me I’m going to leave anyway.’
‘I’d like to see you try,’ Cyrus said, his eyebrows raised, but she could see him glancing again between her and the door, as if weighing the options.
‘I will,’ she said, staggering slightly against the side of the bed as she started looking for her clothes. She could only find her shoes, which had been stuffed in the locker beside her bed. She knelt to put them on, feeling the ground rushing up to meet her.
Cyrus looked down at her. ‘OK, OK, I believe you. Man, you’re stubborn. Give me two minutes, OK?’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to break you out of here.’ He pulled off his sweater. It was V-necked, navy, cashmere-soft. ‘Here, put this on,’ he said, throwing it at her.
‘What about your jeans?’ she asked, trying not to smile. It hurt to use too many facial muscles.
‘They won’t fit,’ he answered, grinning. ‘Otherwise they’d be off already. Chivalry, remember? That’s my thing.’
He was out of the door before she could say a word.
She watched his silhouette on the other side of the glass. He seemed to be stopping to talk to the policemen. She held her breath, praying he didn’t get himself arrested. But then the shadows melted and she heard footsteps running off down the corridor. The door yanked open again and Cyrus stuck his head around it, grinning.
‘Come on,’ he said, holding his hand out towards her. ‘It’s clear.’
She pulled the sweater on over her hospital gown. It barely reached the top of her thighs.
‘What did you tell them?’ she asked as Cyrus wrapped his arm around her and started half-carrying her down the corridor.
‘Never mind,’ he whispered, pulling her closer.