The Banishing by Fiona Dodwell Page B

was the love she still felt for Mark. The way she missed him. How she needed him back to being the man he was when they met.
    If he couldn’t be who he was—if that person didn’t exist anymore—then, she would have to leave. She couldn’t live like this much longer. Sharon was right—she deserved better than this, was stronger than this.
    Melissa took a deep breath, wiped away the tears, and splashed her face with the warm bathwater. She had to get out and get on with things, at least for now. Downstairs, she could still hear the loud blaring of the TV. At least he was occupied with that rather than being up here moaning, cajoling her.
    Melissa stepped out of the bath and grabbed the bath towel. She quickly ran it up and down her body, dried herself off, then pulled on a plain sweater and jeans.
    Her hair still damp, she wrapped a towel over her head and winced in pain as it tightened against the lump. It was going to hurt for days, she knew.
    She quietly opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. She listened for a moment. The TV was still on.
    Melissa took a deep breath, and unsteady at first on her feet, she began descending the stairs. I have to just get through this, somehow , she thought. Even just tonight . Nothing can be done right now , she knew. You could call the police and get the hell out of there. She imagined Sharon scolding her, and her friend would be right. Maybe that was what she needed to do, but not yet. Not now and not like this. Although she admitted her hope of helping Mark change—or at least get help—somehow seemed distant and barely alive, it still lived on there, somewhere, soaked in memories of how happy they’d been up until recently.
    She reached the downstairs hallway and stopped in front of the lounge, peering through the doorway.
    Mark was standing by the window, his back to her. He was facing the glass, staring outside. Rain spat against the window like the sound of tiny fists against glass. The TV was blaring the evening news loudly, but behind that, Melissa could hear a voice—Marks voice, mumbling.
    She went in, picked up the TV remote and muted the sound. Mark didn’t turn, didn’t move, didn’t say anything.
    Melissa turned to him. She felt nervous. Unsure. “Mark?”
    He didn’t move, didn’t respond. She could hear his voice, low and barely a whisper, as if he was talking to himself. “Mark?” she said louder this time, taking a step closer.
    He was frozen, as if he was made of stone. His back still to her, he continued mumbling, but Melissa couldn’t hear what he was saying. She stepped closer to him, slowly, hesitantly. “Mark?”
    She was beside him, now. She looked up at his face. The way he stared at the glass, his eyes seemed dead, flat, and unseeing. His face looked blank, like an empty page. Melissa couldn’t read anything there.
    “Mark, are you okay?” I’m worried about him after what he did tonight? Disgusted with herself but still unable to walk away, Melissa remained beside him.
    He still didn’t respond, but he whispered, his face pressed to the glass.
    Inching closer now, despite the nerves in her warning her to back away, she strained her ears to listen.
    Standing there, her body close to his, she could hear the words that tumbled out of his mouth. Like broken fragments of glass, they felt sharp as she realized what he was saying.
    “Blood, I want more blood. Blood…I want more blood. I want more blood. Give me more blood. Give. Me. Your. Blood. I’ll drain your blood, Melissa.”
    Melissa backed away, frightened of the being in front of her and wondering if she knew this monster at all.
    Chapter Ten
    He was younger that she expected. Melissa expected psychiatrists to be old men with gray hair and glasses. Stuffy men that lived alone with piles of literature, distant from the outside world. The man in front of her was nothing like that.
    After what had happened the night before with Mark—the way he had slipped into that