My heart sank as I dropped to my knees. I gripped the second drawer and pulled, searching, hoping…needing. But there was nothing but a stack of paper.
The last drawer was big, made for files. I could already hear the clatter as I pulled, already feel hope slipping through my fingers as I skimmed the metal rims. There was nothing in here…I reached further, working all the way into the back and brushed something.
A box, not small, nothing that would rattle, but a little bigger—cigarettes.
Paper crinkled under my fingers as I dragged it free. Something heavy rattled around inside. I flipped open the lid and speared my fingers inside.
“Please let this work. Please.”
I snatched a piece of paper from the second drawer and gripped the lighter with the other hand. The small grind gave the flicker of a spark before it died. I tried once more, dragging my thumb across the flint.
A feeble flame spluttered to life, catching the end of the paper. The flame ebbed, and then surged, savaging white to leave embers behind.
My heart lunging, I gripped the paper and reached for another. I needed something better, something that would take longer to burn.
I scanned the desk, finding nothing more than paper. I snatched the corners, taking a handful, and shoved up from the floor. Flames danced as I headed through the doorway. I needed swabs and alcohol, something I could use to build a fire.
The page shuddered as my hand shook. I was getting weak, too weak. Orange flames danced and blurred as I made for the long head-high cupboards.
Most of the amber glass bottles were gone from the open cupboards…except for one, on its side, rolled to the back. Amber was good, right? Dad told me once, something to do with the light. The more I thought of it, the more I was sure. Amber was exactly what I needed.
A pathetic mewl slipped from my lips as I stared at that bottle. I can do this. I can do this. My fingers slipped as I clutched the edge of the counter and heaved. I lifted a foot, scraping my boots to roll closer and reached out with one hand.
I could hardly touch it. Cool glass slid under my fingers.
I reached further, shoving my chest into the cupboard and whimpered with the pain. My fingers skimmed the thin neck and plastic lid. Come on… nails caught, nails clawed, rolling the bottle toward me.
Relief washed through me as I snagged the bottle and pulled. The white label blurred as I dragged it free. I lifted the glass closer to the flame and searched the words…alcohol 93%, it was good enough…good enough.
I eased one leg over the counter, and followed with the other. I needed something to burn, something that would last, and something to burn it in.
The orange flames shone against steel in the corner. I took a step and stared at a massive stainless steel bowl turned upside down. I stumbled closer, bending low to grasp the bottom and lift. A rat scurried, frightened, tearing off into the darkness.
My heart leaped at the sight. I stilled, waited for a second, and then set the bowl upright. It was perfect, not too big to draw attention, but big enough to warm my bones.
Survival raged as I dropped the paper into the bottom of the bowl and touched the burning page to the middle. The flames caught, eating away the paper one inch at a time. I needed to hurry. The drawers were open. Shining surgical items scattered across the floor. I bent low and yanked open the cupboards underneath. There had to be something. Small brown packets of swabs towered on the shelves.
They’d work, with a little alcohol. I yanked the packet high and opened my mouth, canines pierced the paper as I bit into the soft cotton.
White fragments spilled, tumbling to the floor. I snatched more, and more, yanking, biting, and spilling until they piled. The flames were dying, smothered by the swabs. I reached for the bottle and twisted the lid, one small splash and the fire was alive, burning with a vengeance.
Keep going…I needed more, something that would burn slower and last the night. I made my way through the clinic, finding old towels and clothes, and a set of shelves out the back made from wood. The sides splintered. There was no varnish, no mark of treatment I could find. I gripped my side with one hand and dragged each piece into the room.
The ends stuck out of the bowl, but it was enough…enough to last, enough to warm…enough to get me through the night. I grasped the towels and dried my hair, then lifted my shirt.
I couldn’t see the wounds, but I could feel. The puncture high up on my ribs was shallow. I brushed the wound low down. My stomach tightened until stars danced behind my eyes.
It was bad…real bad.
Get yourself warm, Harlow. You need to drink, honey, replace the blood you’re losing.
I could almost hear him, almost see his beautiful face staring down at me. “I’m scared, Dad. I’m really scared.”
My words echoed as I stumbled from the surgery into the small room at the back. The place was almost empty, a can dispenser broken, the door swung wide. Only the money was left behind.
But that wasn’t what I was after. I skimmed the room, finding a small plastic pail on the counter. Water was all I needed, and the downpour. I snatched the handle of the pail and made for the front of the surgery.
Water coursed from the roof, spilling over the gutters. I opened my mouth and took a step outside. There was no bitter tang of acid, no sickening scent of fetid ozone. It was sweet and pure.
I shoved out the bucket and retreated. Heavy drops hit the bottom. It wouldn’t take long to get what I needed. My eyelids closed. I felt the world sway.
The clip…clop of hooves dragged my lids open as the ground rushed to meet me. I hit the ground hard, with a sickening crunch. Agony was zipping down my side. I lay there and whimpered, my breath a panicked heave.
Get up…get up, Harlow. Get up now.
The deep, husky voice filled me, sending a shudder along my spine. It wasn’t the voice of my father…or my own.
It was the voice of my dream, the tormentor…the first horsemen…Pestilence.
“Fuck you,” I shoved against the ground and felt my body tremble.
Water splashed inside the pail, smacking the sides to dribble down the outside.
Go inside…where it’s safe.
The words were swallowed by a peal of thunder. I wrenched my gaze right and left. He was out there…watching me. I could feel his gaze over my skin, feel his fingers circling the nape of my neck.
I could feel his lips on mine, taking what I wouldn’t give.
I dragged my foot higher and crawled, shoving myself forward. Rain splattered my hair, plastering the strands to my face.
Keep going…you can do it.
Tears stung my eyes as those words filled me.
I didn’t want his comfort. I didn’t want his kindness. I was here to conquer. I was here to kill. I grasped the pail and dragged it closer. My hand slipped against the railing as I shoved myself to stand.
My steps were a blur, carrying the half-filled pail back inside and into the surgery. Fire raged in the stainless bowl, burning the wood slowly. I grasped the towels, the clothes, and my jacket before I dropped to the floor.