Instinct

12. In The Blood

Stephanie woke with a start, her back cramped and aching from sleeping upright in the corner all night with her neck craned to rest her head on the wall. No one was in the room with her, just mattresses strewn with sheets and pillows and various belongings.

The house was much quieter in the daylight. The golden morning light streamed through the windows and left dapples of iridescence on the walls, the floor, the beds. Stephanie rubbed at her eyes and her neck, stretching to get some blood flowing to some of her more numb areas.

It was easier to breathe, the band around her chest had loosened just a little, and that god-awful tickle had subsided slightly. Even stranger still was the sensation in her stomach, the tightness- hunger.

It felt like it had been forever since she'd felt that, since her stomach hadn't been deadened to the constant gnawing feeling. She sat there for half an hour before she realized that she could get up without someone's permission or direction.

It was frustrating. She didn't want to intrude, to do something wrong, but she knew that she could get up and go downstairs, and maybe get something to eat. But all the people here worked hard to keep the house in good condition and to feed themselves. How could she just take food when she had done nothing to deserve it?

She coughed and winced as it tore at her lungs. By then, she probably needed some more antibiotics, and that was what spurred her to get out of bed to find Brennan. In the daylight, the home looked less like a weathered pillar in a bad neighborhood and more like what it was aptly named after.

Warm rays poured over Stephanie, filling her with ease as she took a deep breath and stifled more hacking coughs. It was silent on the upper floor, mattresses abandoned and rooms empty. Stephanie could swear that she could smell happiness, homeliness, a feeling of contentment so potent that it seeped through the floorboards and surrounded her in its heady vitality.

Her footsteps barely made a sound as she padded down the hallway, dragging a gentle hand across the rough wall, partly to help keep her upright and partly just because she couldn't believe it was all so real. Gliding on the motes of dust that settled in the streams of light were voices, floating up the staircase.

For a second, Stephanie paused, her hand falling back to her side as she strained to hear.

With a strange sense of nostalgia, she realized that she couldn't make out the words. Her weak genes hadn't failed her yet. They, if nothing else, were predictable, and the fact that she had nearly forgotten was a kick back to reality. Her stomach turned over inside of her, and she cast a furrowed browed look back to the door from which she had come from and contemplated retreating.

Unfortunately, the low-level fever she'd had would make a quick comeback if she didn't do as Dr. Powell had advised and religiously take her antibiotics, stay hydrated and eat to regain her substance and strength. As stubborn and strangely apprehensive as she was, the uncomfortable emptiness of her stomach and the thought of that expansive exhaustion, lined with aching lungs, chills and a headache so bad she thought her head would split in half, wasn't nearly as enticing as previously thought.

Taking a deep breath, she started down the stairs, frowning at the way her legs quivered underneath her until she reached the landing at the bottom. The voices were louder now, definitely female- and only one was even slightly familiar.

Before she could think more about it, she walked into the kitchen.

Bathed in the glorious afternoon light sat two women. The open space around them, a room too big for the few things it held, centered the attention on them. Lydia, a laughing, joyful version of the person Stephanie had met the night before, was radically different from the severe, worried older sister who had introduced herself. Bouncing on her knee was a little boy, not even a toddler yet, shaking his chubby little fists and grinning as if he'd never been happier.