Voltage

Chapter 18

I barge through the front door, barely even considering what I'd do if someone leaps at me from the shadows, but thankfully no one does. "Dan? Jack?" I call before I can think of the consequences.

The lounge room and kitchen are empty, as is the bathroom. Jack's bedroom, the closest one, I poke my head into before rushing towards Dan's room.

"Where the fuck are they?" I gasp, feeling a new heaviness weighing on my shoulders, filling my chest. There is no sign of them, but thankfully no signs that they've been killed or kidnapped either. If someone ripped them out of this house, there would be some sort of evidence, right? Right.

Telling myself to calm down, for my wild heart to slow and my breathing to even, I perch on the end of our bed. Both Jack and Daniel are fine, they have to be. Its past sunrise, so both of them will be at work. Yes, work. See, no need to panic.

The mattress shakes as I flop onto my back, closing my eyes to let my ears work as I think. Somewhere down the road a kids laughing, wheels are squeaking and faintly I can hear our next door neighbour banging something metal around-making breakfast perhaps. Nothing that I hear however truly draws my attention.

I wonder what Dan's doing. Vacuuming? Weeding the garden? Hanging the old ladies washing? Maybe he's buying her groceries and wondering if it's worth stealing a nice, soft loaf of bread?

Jack, I can guess, he's packaging, boxing or wheeling things around. He works at one of the sheds on the outskirts of town, sorting through goods, pens and paper, blankets and towels, clothes and shoes or even mobiles occasionally.

Upstairs something crashes to the floor, clattering around loudly before coming to a stop. Now sitting upright with my heart in my mouth, it takes me a moment to remind myself everything's okay. Maybe Miss Illmose fell out of bed.

The thought brings a smile to my face, but it quickly dies as my nose picks up the smell of something sweet and delicate.

Wondering into the kitchen I almost expect to see fresh flowers or burning incense. Instead, perfectly placed on a clean plate is a brown and white lump, a cherry half buried in the layer of thick cream. On one side is a spoon, the other a folded sheet of paper. Across the centre, in shabby hand writing someone has written Don't whine, and don't you dare complain, I'll thank Mrs Ketcher for you tomorrow. If I wasn't so nice, I'd have really eaten it on you, but I didn't. I only thought about it. And licked it. Your welcome.

I can't help but smile as I reach for the cake. A big part of myself that says to just leave it, save it for later when I really need it, but I squash the voice by helping myself the chocolate and cream goodness.

Mrs Ketcher is a phenomenal cook, which is why I devour the slice in three bites before whining about my lose, both thanking and cursing the person who sent such a glorious cake to my door, the creator of such a heavenly recipe and then whoever gave birth to, and raised the wonderful woman.

Eventually though, the taste vanishes from my mouth and I trudge to the bathroom to shower.

I look terrible, with more dirt and sticks in my hair then a forest has in a meter square radius. Both of my arms are littered with massive bruises, dried blood from where I'd been cut on my mad dash through the forest. From my right breast to the bottom of my ribs is one massive bruise, or perhaps lots of smaller ones. My hip is also turning purple and green and crimson tracks travel from a deep gash over the top of my thigh all the way to my knee which also discoloured.

My back is the worst my far. Just above my tail bone is whole where a claw sunk deep into the muscles near my spine, with a smaller crater on either side from the other nails. From my right shower to the lower part of my back is just a mess a jagged red. Most of it's been stitched up and closed; but some of the parts must have been too bad at the time because several parts of my skin hang in torn tatters. The marks are so close to my spine, just an inch to the left may have felt my paralysed, at the least for a few weeks; if not months. Or forever.

How I can still use my right arm is beyond me, but I dare not celebrate in case the world wants to crush my dreams.

Something taps on the floor above me.

What is she doing up there? I question as I pull off my shirt and heat the shower. Doubt it's tap dancing, I muse.

Two minutes into the shower the tapping turns to banging, then shouting joins in. "Get up here you good for nothing trolls!" I vaguely hear at one point. "You know, even Saturn wouldn't fuck someone over like this!"

Finally I decide to cheek on the old hag. I'd never thought about someone attacking Miss Illmose, rather than Dan and Jack, but as I'm dressing the thought occurs to me; but I still don't rush.

I pull on the last pair of pants I own, with the last shirt. There is nothing else I can wear except Dan's clothes now, a bitter laugh emerges when I realize. Soon I may be walking around in my birthday suit-now wouldn't Miss Illmose appreciate that.

The house above ours is twice the size, double story and practical. Stairs lead to the veranda which runs the front length of the house, and out the back is an almost non-existent backyard with two feet of grass. We of course, we're banned to ever go around the back.

Lightly I wrap my knuckles against the front door. From inside someone croaks, shouting several obscene words. "Miss Illmose? Are you okay?"

"Slower than a snail, you lot!" She screeches. "A babe would die five times over were you it's father! Get in here and help a woman!"

Father? Oh, she must think one of the guys were with me-but I'm offended because she should be able to tell the difference. Confused, I hesitate before reaching for the door handle. It's dark inside, all dark wood and heavy drapes. A sofa faces a small, square Tv, that has black and white boxes next to it; video's I think they were called. The kitchen's dingy, with several pots and pans clogging up the small counter space. All in all the house is crowded with junk, sculptors, paintings, vases and lamps and books. "Miss Illmose?"

"Stop snooping around my house!" A Spanish accented voice shouts. "Up the stairs, second door on the left!"

My cheeks warm with embarrassment of being caught without being seen. Quickly I take the stairs, doing my best to ignore the rooms I pass.

The second door leads into a bedroom, a sparse, naked bedroom with only one cupboard in sight. It's so at odds with the rest of the house crammed with items, that I almost believe I've entered another house without realizing it. Obviously, this isn't Miss Illmose's bedroom...but as I wonder further in I notice the blankets are thrown back on the bed.

"Miss?" I call. She did say she was in here right, and not the first door...or the one on the right, or...

Over the top of the bed a head suddenly appears. For a moment she looks confused, then horrified. She spits something Spanish, but at the end she wails, swearing this time in English.

She's fallen, I realize, when I circle the bed. A glass lies in front of her, water sparkling on the ground, her cream coloured; floor length night grown is high around her legs which are spotty and wrinkly. Her foots bend oddly, the ankle swollen and red, already starting to go blue.

"Lying demon!" She growls before I've decided whether to kneel down and cheek her ankle or find help. "Where's you're father! Or that pathetic brother! Huh? Go get them, insolent creature!"

"They're at work." I tell her truthfully, but hang my head and back away. What do I do? I've never been in these situations. I've been hurt myself, seen scratches and many, many bruises, but they've all been on Dragon bloods, or at least I wasn't the only person there. Chris had Adrian. Daniel's hand was just a cut. No one had ever started verbally abusing me for trying to help or had such a serious injury. I must have done something wrong, overstepped some unwritten rule. I took too long, that's it. "I'm sorry." I apologise.

"Idiot girl! Idiot! Go-go away!" She flusters. "Go find someone else! You can't help! You wouldn't know how!"

I freeze with my body half turned towards the door, more than ready to pass the responsibility to someone else. Quietly I turn to face the fallen woman again, chewing my lip as thoughts race around my head. "Are you...scared of me?" I ask. Every time I'd seen someone hurt since fighting Vandict, I'd felt a need to attack them, kill the weak and defeat the less powerful. But here, looking down at Miss Illmose, there's no crazy drive to kill. All her bitterness pushes it down.

This woman has always been rude to me, horribly so. She doesn't like the father and brother much, either, but she at least talks to them; all she does for me is paint a beautiful rainbow of swear words. I'd always thought she just hated me and dragon bloods in general. Everyone, in general. But right here, with her ankle hurt, and the fear washing away all the steely resolve, is something different, something...weaker...more fragile that flashes though her eyes.

Fear.

The lady huffs, splutters, then laughs. "Scared! Of you! Ha!" she cries. Her accents thicker, distorting the words. "Never!" Her eyes flick to her ankle, then me. Ever so slightly she pulls her legs closer, but winces.

Without waiting for her consent I kneel down at her feet, grabbing hold of her leg. Careful to keep my fingers light, I press again the swelling, feeling for a crack or a bone out of place. "It's most likely sprained, maybe fractured. Can you move your toes?"

To her credit, the woman doesn't scream and flail around or try to drag her foot out of my reach. She mutters low Spanish through, then twitches her toes.

"Want me to call an ambulance?" I ask as I turn around. Her face is contorted in pain, but her eyes still shine with mirth.

"No, no ambulance! It's merely rolled!"

Doing my best not to roll my eyes I reach to pull the witch off the floor. She fights me at first, but I quickly tell her I'm just getting her on the bed. She's oddly both plump and skinny, as if once upon a time she was heavier and not anorexic.

"Well," I pant when she's sunken into the bed. "If you don't want me to call an ambulance, I guess we'll walk."

"What we? There is no we! Get out of my house! Now!"

For the first time since I met Miss Illmose I bow my head in respect rather than shame, and watch her through my lashes. "Fine. I'll be downstairs if you need me."

"Wait!" She calls before I can leave the door. "...Just get me the blasted phone. It's in the hallway down stairs, sitting on a display table. You won't miss it."

Nodding, I continue my way out the door and down the stairs. Sure enough, I find the phone sitting on a display with two white and purple circus zebra's in tutu's. "Anything else?" I ask as I hand over the phone. With the tea towel I'd snatched from the kitchen I quickly whip up the water and pick up the glass.

"No. I'm perfectly capable of doing it on my own."

I smile at the words, unable to help myself. She sounds like Daniel when he's met a particularly stubborn can and Jack or I offer to help. 'No! I've got it! My hands and arms work just fine, thank you!'

'Yeah, yeah!' I'd reply. 'That's why you've been at it for ten minutes!'

'It's hard, really hard, mustn't have been cut properly-hey, give that back!'

'Hard? Come on, I did that in two seconds!'

'Well-I-I loosened it for you. See, team work, I do all the hard, manly work, and let you look good, because I'm just a nice guy like that.'

Miss Illmose eyes me warily. "Get out of my house-and don't steal anything. I'll know about it."

Rolling my eyes, I return the cracked, but otherwise perfect glass to the kitchen before heading back to our apartment.

I got an awesome comment the other day so strive to be as amazing as that chick by leaving some comments guys! You can do it cause you're all amazing!

So....fears, hopes, thoughts on Miss Illimose?

And discuss!!