Читать книгу Bleeding Darkness - Brenda Chapman - Страница 6

When David McKenna opened his eyes, the morning light had weakened and filled the hospital room like clear, cold tea. He turned his head to see Evelyn still in place, her arm resting on the side of the bed and her head bowed. He wanted to tell her to go home but knew she wouldn’t. She stirred as if sensing that he was awake, and a moment later, he felt her hand work its way into his. They hadn’t been this intimate for years and her touch left him with mixed feelings. Mostly regretful ones.

“What time is it?” he asked. He licked his lips, chapped from his long sleep in the dry room.

She glanced at her watch. “Nearly four o’clock. Do you feel better? You slept a long while.”

“Yes,” he lied. “You should go home and get some rest too.”

“I will. The kids are on their way.”

“No need for that.” He knew there was but wanted more time. More time to work in his garden, read books he’d always meant to, feel the wind off Lake Ontario on his face.

More time.

Evelyn must have buzzed for the nurse because she entered the room almost immediately and the pain that coursed through him was exchanged for the floaty oblivion he’d grown to crave. He’d never thought he’d end his days an addict, but terminal disease had a way of turning a lifetime of decisions on its head.

He dozed and half woke. Someone had straightened his pillows. Moistened his lips with crushed ice.

Evelyn’s chair was empty and he wondered if she’d even been there. The dreams were real and reality a dream.

He drifted off again to the smell of juniper and rotting leaves. He was a boy running through his grandfather’s field.

Jumping. Leaping. Free.

Sun cut through the hazy air, reflecting off the water flowing down the bank. He stopped and stared as a cloud crossed in front of the sun and darkened the marshes. The girl lay on her side as if sleeping, her long dark hair tumbling down her back, trailing into the mud. He stepped closer, needing to look even as the cold and horror filled him. He was no longer a boy, but a man with a man’s grief.

He struggled to remain upright. Fought to keep from screaming.

“Wake up, Zoe. Wake up.” He narrowly missed tripping on a tree root in his haste to reach her.

As he raised his face to the river, now transformed into boggy reeds, she pushed herself up onto her side and turned to look at him over the blood-streaked shoulder of her ruined sweater.

“You found me at last,” she said. Her smile was filled with the sweetness that he remembered. Her eyes filled with tears. One escaped and dribbled down her cheek and came to rest on her chin. She sat up in a sudden motion and reached out both arms toward him. Blood dripped from her neck where it had been cut with a hunting knife. Her smile brought back the sunshine.

“I’ve been so scared of the dark, but now you’re here to keep me company while we wait for the others.”

He took her hand, so small and cold in his. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For all of this. For not being able to stop it.”

“I don’t blame you,” she said. She sat up straighter, a look of concentration on her face, her brow furrowed into crooked lines. She turned her face toward the reeds and tall grass with the woods a line of darkness behind and glanced back at him. A mist had stolen in and her face was fading into the fog. He could hear her voice high above the sound of rushing water. “Do you hear that, David? Do you hear them?” The panic in her voice was mirrored in her face. “The wolves are getting closer. We need to get out of here. We’re nearly out of time.”