glimpsed the bloodstained,
white-shrouded remains crammed inside. He hoisted the cold corpse onto his
shoulder, struggled to the end of the boardwalk and shifted his weight,
allowing Nathan’s body to slip into the icy depths. Then he sat on the edge,
said a short prayer, and broke down.
Eleven
Kristin sat on the floor, shivering, her
back against the bath, legs lying in a pool of bloody saliva that Nathan Van
Allen had ejected in the throws of death.
Not for the first time she wondered
why Thom had left her when she was at her most vulnerable, when she was so
confused, so isolated, so afraid. She recalled that he’d been angry with her
but couldn’t remember doing or saying anything in particular to upset him. When
he got back she’d ask him what was wrong, get it cleared up, she didn’t want
anything to harm their burgeoning relationship, their love for one another.
She’d known, since first
opening her eyes to the world in the dark, damp room near Rakovnik that there
was something very bad indeed inside her. It was always there. She didn’t know
what it was, why it was there, or what it wanted of her. It was impulsive,
capable of taking over from her if given the chance, but she’d always managed
to contain its bad intentions, used her willpower to prevent it from causing
any harm.
Kristin had been honest
with Thom when she’d told him she had no idea how she came to be in the foot
tunnel, but she sensed that fate or design had drawn her to his side. He would be
the only love of her life, a life she knew would be short. But the badness
inside her also wished to be close to Thom, and that disturbed her.
Where was Thom ? Why had he been gone so long? Where was his friend, Nathan ... had
he gone with Thom? She liked Nathan. The cut on his face was a bad one and
she’d surprised herself with her ability to close the wound so proficiently,
given her lack of medical training. He would be left with a bad scar, of
course, but things could have been much worse had the slash been a couple of
inches lower. Higher, and he could have lost an eye.
Red-tinged slime had spread
across the floor and soaked into her thick tights. She got to her feet, went to
the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. Sorting through the rail, she noticed that
the little fingernail of her left hand was much smaller than the others, as if
it were new. She frowned, pulled on more of Shannon's clothes — a clean
pair of denims, crisp white blouse, and waited patiently at the kitchen table.
One hour later she heard the sound of the
key in the door, the laboured trudge of feet on the stairs.
Thom sat slowly at the
table and stared at her numbly, enslaved by love, consumed by hatred, white
with fear.
‘Where’s Nathan?’ she asked
‘ ... Can’t you work out
where I’ve been?’
‘ Is he coming back? I
should check his wound.’
‘ Coming back ? No, Nathan won’t be coming
round again.’
‘Why not, I thought he was
your friend?’
‘He was my friend, a very
dear friend. But now he’s dead.’
‘ ... Dead ?’
‘From a broken neck. And I
don’t understand how, because it’s impossible for a man to die that way, on his
own, in a fucking bathroom.’
She brought her hands to her face.
Had she been negligent , inattentive , for even one moment ? Had she let her
resident evil gain control ?
For the first time her
possessor permitted her a glimpse into its ancient, hateful world, revelling in
her suffering as murderous memories from its previous incarnations streamed
into her mind. And then it let her see the things it had done since she’d been
its host: Now she could hear the vertebrae in Nathan’s neck snap, taste the
blood filling his mouth, feel his terror as he stared down his own spine in the
certain knowledge that he would live only seconds longer. Now she could feel
the
white-shrouded remains crammed inside. He hoisted the cold corpse onto his
shoulder, struggled to the end of the boardwalk and shifted his weight,
allowing Nathan’s body to slip into the icy depths. Then he sat on the edge,
said a short prayer, and broke down.
Eleven
Kristin sat on the floor, shivering, her
back against the bath, legs lying in a pool of bloody saliva that Nathan Van
Allen had ejected in the throws of death.
Not for the first time she wondered
why Thom had left her when she was at her most vulnerable, when she was so
confused, so isolated, so afraid. She recalled that he’d been angry with her
but couldn’t remember doing or saying anything in particular to upset him. When
he got back she’d ask him what was wrong, get it cleared up, she didn’t want
anything to harm their burgeoning relationship, their love for one another.
She’d known, since first
opening her eyes to the world in the dark, damp room near Rakovnik that there
was something very bad indeed inside her. It was always there. She didn’t know
what it was, why it was there, or what it wanted of her. It was impulsive,
capable of taking over from her if given the chance, but she’d always managed
to contain its bad intentions, used her willpower to prevent it from causing
any harm.
Kristin had been honest
with Thom when she’d told him she had no idea how she came to be in the foot
tunnel, but she sensed that fate or design had drawn her to his side. He would be
the only love of her life, a life she knew would be short. But the badness
inside her also wished to be close to Thom, and that disturbed her.
Where was Thom ? Why had he been gone so long? Where was his friend, Nathan ... had
he gone with Thom? She liked Nathan. The cut on his face was a bad one and
she’d surprised herself with her ability to close the wound so proficiently,
given her lack of medical training. He would be left with a bad scar, of
course, but things could have been much worse had the slash been a couple of
inches lower. Higher, and he could have lost an eye.
Red-tinged slime had spread
across the floor and soaked into her thick tights. She got to her feet, went to
the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. Sorting through the rail, she noticed that
the little fingernail of her left hand was much smaller than the others, as if
it were new. She frowned, pulled on more of Shannon's clothes — a clean
pair of denims, crisp white blouse, and waited patiently at the kitchen table.
One hour later she heard the sound of the
key in the door, the laboured trudge of feet on the stairs.
Thom sat slowly at the
table and stared at her numbly, enslaved by love, consumed by hatred, white
with fear.
‘Where’s Nathan?’ she asked
‘ ... Can’t you work out
where I’ve been?’
‘ Is he coming back? I
should check his wound.’
‘ Coming back ? No, Nathan won’t be coming
round again.’
‘Why not, I thought he was
your friend?’
‘He was my friend, a very
dear friend. But now he’s dead.’
‘ ... Dead ?’
‘From a broken neck. And I
don’t understand how, because it’s impossible for a man to die that way, on his
own, in a fucking bathroom.’
She brought her hands to her face.
Had she been negligent , inattentive , for even one moment ? Had she let her
resident evil gain control ?
For the first time her
possessor permitted her a glimpse into its ancient, hateful world, revelling in
her suffering as murderous memories from its previous incarnations streamed
into her mind. And then it let her see the things it had done since she’d been
its host: Now she could hear the vertebrae in Nathan’s neck snap, taste the
blood filling his mouth, feel his terror as he stared down his own spine in the
certain knowledge that he would live only seconds longer. Now she could feel
the
Similar Books
