Alright . I’ll do it.
Denise was so focused on her daughter, she didn’t appear to have noticed his moment of crisis. He moved to Flora’s side, opened his hands and stopped opposing the Black Light. He placed his palms on the girl’s emaciated chest.
He took a deep breath and let it go in a long, silent stream. As suddenly as it had arrived, the cold energy of the void was gone. His hands were frail, weak. He closed his eyes and sought the darkness within himself, the power at his core. A sinkhole had opened up within him and the Black Light had been swallowed.
Please, he whispered to himself. Come on. Not this. Not now .
Denise took hold of his arm.
“What is it?”
He didn’t answer; couldn’t answer.
I’ll never resist you again, he thought. I swear it. Come to me, please. Come to me now.
There was no moisture left in Flora’s tiny, crooked body; only this arid, impossible heat. Her leg muscles rippled with cramps and spastic twitches, her arms alternately hooking closed and extending in sudden snaps. Her wasted body arched and bucked. The noise of her battering the floorboards was thunderous. Cuts and grazes opened up with every bony contact but Gordon’s attention was drawn to the gurgling rasp in her throat.
Denise drained sallow with fear.
“Jesus, Gordon, what’s happening to her?”
“The fever’s back. It’s a convulsion.”
“What can we… Oh my God, is that… blood?”
A watery, pink-tinged discharge dribbled from Flora’s left ear and nostril. Her shaking and thrashing sent droplets left and right. The flow increased and thickened, turning cherry red. Blood smeared her face, dirtied itself on the floorboards, blackened her hair like a slick of oil. Her struggles decelerated from frantic to slow motion, the frenetic energy draining suddenly from her limbs. The tension released completely then leaving her cut, bruised body slack.
Gordon looked at her chest and saw no movement. Concentrated urine and a thin gravy of faeces darkened her thighs and groin. Her face was masked and tacky with blood and mucus. The smell was one Gordon knew from every scene of devastation he’d passed through. If they were outdoors now, if it was daylight, the carrion eaters would already be landing, blinking their obsidian eyes, fluffing their coal-dark plumes, shuffling closer.
As he thought this the strangled cry of a raven exploded in his head. The call, loud both in the distance and in the space around them, was clotted with grief and regret. Gordon chanced a look at Denise. She had heard nothing. This was a voice meant for him. Was it the Crowman? He’d never heard the corvid voice so strong, so encompassing. Or was it Flora’s soul, a bold crow spirit if ever he’d known one, cursing him as it left this world?
“Thank God,” said Denise. “Oh, thank God. She’s sleeping now. I’ll get her cleaned up.”
Denise busied herself finding a rag and soaking it with the last of the water.
“She’s gone,” said Gordon.
“She’d be so embarrassed to know you’ve seen her like this. She’s quite proper, really. I don’t know where she gets that from.”
Gordon took Denise’s wrist and pulled her towards him.
“She’s gone.”
“Don’t touch me like that. Don’t you think you can come in here and touch me… and talk to me like…”
Gordon pulled Denise close and held her tight. She struggled and whispered no, no, no . He rocked her the way his mother had rocked him when he was a child. When her weeping finally came it began as a howl. After a time, he didn’t know how long, the howling became a whimper. Gordon could have cried too. He wanted to, felt the tears needling the backs of his eyes, but knew he had no right.
After a time, he couldn’t tell how long, Denise pulled away.
“I really must clean her up. She wouldn’t want to be seen like this.”
“Of course.”
“Can you… come back in a while? I need to talk to her and it’s…”
“I’ll come back when
Denise was so focused on her daughter, she didn’t appear to have noticed his moment of crisis. He moved to Flora’s side, opened his hands and stopped opposing the Black Light. He placed his palms on the girl’s emaciated chest.
He took a deep breath and let it go in a long, silent stream. As suddenly as it had arrived, the cold energy of the void was gone. His hands were frail, weak. He closed his eyes and sought the darkness within himself, the power at his core. A sinkhole had opened up within him and the Black Light had been swallowed.
Please, he whispered to himself. Come on. Not this. Not now .
Denise took hold of his arm.
“What is it?”
He didn’t answer; couldn’t answer.
I’ll never resist you again, he thought. I swear it. Come to me, please. Come to me now.
There was no moisture left in Flora’s tiny, crooked body; only this arid, impossible heat. Her leg muscles rippled with cramps and spastic twitches, her arms alternately hooking closed and extending in sudden snaps. Her wasted body arched and bucked. The noise of her battering the floorboards was thunderous. Cuts and grazes opened up with every bony contact but Gordon’s attention was drawn to the gurgling rasp in her throat.
Denise drained sallow with fear.
“Jesus, Gordon, what’s happening to her?”
“The fever’s back. It’s a convulsion.”
“What can we… Oh my God, is that… blood?”
A watery, pink-tinged discharge dribbled from Flora’s left ear and nostril. Her shaking and thrashing sent droplets left and right. The flow increased and thickened, turning cherry red. Blood smeared her face, dirtied itself on the floorboards, blackened her hair like a slick of oil. Her struggles decelerated from frantic to slow motion, the frenetic energy draining suddenly from her limbs. The tension released completely then leaving her cut, bruised body slack.
Gordon looked at her chest and saw no movement. Concentrated urine and a thin gravy of faeces darkened her thighs and groin. Her face was masked and tacky with blood and mucus. The smell was one Gordon knew from every scene of devastation he’d passed through. If they were outdoors now, if it was daylight, the carrion eaters would already be landing, blinking their obsidian eyes, fluffing their coal-dark plumes, shuffling closer.
As he thought this the strangled cry of a raven exploded in his head. The call, loud both in the distance and in the space around them, was clotted with grief and regret. Gordon chanced a look at Denise. She had heard nothing. This was a voice meant for him. Was it the Crowman? He’d never heard the corvid voice so strong, so encompassing. Or was it Flora’s soul, a bold crow spirit if ever he’d known one, cursing him as it left this world?
“Thank God,” said Denise. “Oh, thank God. She’s sleeping now. I’ll get her cleaned up.”
Denise busied herself finding a rag and soaking it with the last of the water.
“She’s gone,” said Gordon.
“She’d be so embarrassed to know you’ve seen her like this. She’s quite proper, really. I don’t know where she gets that from.”
Gordon took Denise’s wrist and pulled her towards him.
“She’s gone.”
“Don’t touch me like that. Don’t you think you can come in here and touch me… and talk to me like…”
Gordon pulled Denise close and held her tight. She struggled and whispered no, no, no . He rocked her the way his mother had rocked him when he was a child. When her weeping finally came it began as a howl. After a time, he didn’t know how long, the howling became a whimper. Gordon could have cried too. He wanted to, felt the tears needling the backs of his eyes, but knew he had no right.
After a time, he couldn’t tell how long, Denise pulled away.
“I really must clean her up. She wouldn’t want to be seen like this.”
“Of course.”
“Can you… come back in a while? I need to talk to her and it’s…”
“I’ll come back when
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