Drawing Blood

Chapter One

They burned the house to the ground, and I watched them do it. I could not tell you who they were. I had not met them yet. I did not try and stop them as they ran around the building like bandits, setting fire to everything in their path. I could hear their voices over the flames, the words they uttered reaching me as clear as glass. They were nothing more than soldiers acting on orders. Men, trained to rise to the call of duty. They showed no mercy. They left nothing untouched. There was no remorse upon their faces. No compassion. They had a mission to destroy. They had to find everything connected to the scene, and turn it to ash. 

No one would come to look if they thought I was dead. No-one would discover what had really happened. I would not be alone whilst I stood there. There would be somebody else with me, somebody standing there silently, their eyes fixed over my head. I knew they were there because I could smell them. I could taste them upon my tongue, like honeysuckle in the rain. It was their scent which washed over me in waves, enclosing me like a protective cloak. It was their heart hammering away beneath the shirt, I remember. None of this could have been prevented. It was my destiny to suffer. Their fragrance would make my mouth water, their thoughts reaching me as though they were reading my own story. As I saw the last of the house disappear under a burst of orange flames, I realised I could sense the blood rushing through their veins, could feel every prickle travelling up their arms, imagine every muscle in their chest contracting as they inhaled and exhaled... 

"...Rose?"

It was Will's voice which woke me. It was that grunt of his, which had me opening my eyes. I blinked and peered up at him, still tired. 

"You were dreaming..." he said.

"Was I?"

"Yeah." He paused. Then, "Annie's downstairs," he said. "Want me to send her up?"

"No. Not today, dad..."

"But she's come to see you..." 

"I can't.."

Those blue eyes of his narrowed on my frame. There was something like concern on his face, before it vanished. It was rare of him, I admit. He was usually a closed book. I brushed it aside, thinking maybe those nightmares were still playing tricks on me. "You've been there for a week now," he pointed out. "Don't you think you should get up?"

"I think I'm coming down with the flu, or something..." I said.

"Annie leaves for her holiday tomorrow, or have you forgotten?"

"No, I haven't forgotten."

"Don't you think you owe it to her to send her off, then?"

"I don't want her to catch what I've got, it would not be fair on her." 

"Are you sure you're not making excuses not to see her?"

I reached out from beneath the duvet and felt for the bedside table, fumbling for my watch. He had the awful habit of knowing what was going through my mind. I felt him hand it to me, but he still told me it was eleven in the morning, anyway. "Dad, I can't see her like this," I spoke. "You've got to tell her I'm not feeling well."

His response was curt. "No." He walked over to the curtains and flung them wide open, letting in the daylight. It landed on me and I found myself recoiling into the shadows. "Did you want me to send her up, or are you coming down to speak to her?" 

"Please..."

"Don't forget, she saved your life."

I pulled a face at him. He could be really obnoxious when he wanted to be. "You know that's not true, don't you?"