No Shelter from Darkness by Mark D. Evans Page A

them.
    â€œBeth!”
    She stopped and closed her eyes briefly before looking round with a smile. “Mary, I didn't see you.”
    Mary looked back at Gibson. “See you tomorrow.”
    â€œUh, no. It's okay,” said Beth. “I've got a couple of things to do anyway.” Without waiting for a response Beth started walking again up the road. She heard Mary hum as though slightly confused, and had to rely on hope that Gibson would save the moment. She took several anxious steps, waiting for the silence behind her to be broken.
    â€œDo you … you wanna go to the park?” Gibson asked Mary, unknowingly rising to the occasion.
    Beth smiled and walked more purposefully out of earshot.
    Once home, she rushed up the stairs and opened her bedroom door. In the heat of her room the smell had gotten a little worse, and she climbed onto her bed and opened the window, just in case. She'd figured out that a lot of the odors she was intermittently picking up on were those that others couldn't. She hadn't yet figured out why. Fumbling under her bed, she felt the stiff fabric of the gown and pulled it out. No amount of soap would get it clean, and it was too risky to put it in the bin.
    Holding the gown at arm's length, looking more dark brown than red, she hurried downstairs and out into the backyard, throwing it onto the soil. The shelter door creaked as she opened it and clambered down to retrieve the oil lamp. Once back under the afternoon sun, she tipped a little of the precious fuel over the bundle of dirty-white and dark-brown fabric. She lit a match and, with such little breeze, kept the flame alive behind her cupped hand as she bent down. She felt her gut twist in anxiety, knowing this would mark the end of an unpleasant episode, and flicked the match ontothe gown. Flames quickly grew and the fabric blackened and singed, shriveling into nothingness and sending small bits of black ash up into the air. Within a minute or two it was all gone, and Beth sighed in relief, disturbing the soil with her shoe to cover up any evidence of fire. Walking back into the house, she noticed a new discomfort in her mouth brought on by her smile of satisfaction. Prodding with her finger, she gently pushed against the skin above her lip, locating a spot of soreness in her gum.
    And now that she'd noticed it, it wasn't going away.

    *   *   *

    It felt like the return to normalcy lasted only for a moment. The very next day Beth felt the tightening around her pelvic region return and a mild ache in her lower back. By the end of the week, with the cramps almost as painful as last time, she knew her period could only be a couple of days away, at most. It was a full week later than her mother's estimation. She could only be thankful it hadn't affected her appetite.
    On a warm Friday evening, and with a rumbling tummy, she and Mary joined her mother and brother in the kitchen for dinner. Beth watched her brother do a half-arsed attempt at a cross after their mother said grace. He took a swig of water from his chipped glass and prodded the corner of his pie with his fork. She sympathized slightly. But food was food, and she began sawing away at the crust.
    â€œWhat's wrong, Oliver?” asked their mother.
    â€œIt's veg pie again. Isn't it?”
    â€œBeggars can't be choosers. Now stop whining and be thankful for what you've got.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œOliver Wade.” Whenever their mother said names in full, both Beth and Oliver knew it was time to shut up. She didn't even need to raise her voice. With a sour face, Oliver began cutting into his dry slice.
    Beth looked at Mary. “So,” she said while chewing, “been spending a lot of time with Gibson, haven't you?”
    Mary looked up, and Beth could see the hint of a knowing smile. “He's cute isn't he? I mean in a rough kind of way.”
    â€œUrgh! Shut up,” said Oliver, unwittingly spitting bits of pastry.
    Their mother gave