The Bringer
Page 8

I speed up, nearly running down the steps, and when I reach the bottom floor, I pause, quietly pull open the door and surreptitiously glance around. There are a few humans here, but I can’t see any of my kind. But then, would I even be able to see one of my own kind in my current form?
I spot a sign for the ladies' toilets and head straight toward it, eyes firmly fixed forward. There would be no reason for one of my kind to be here, well, unless someone is scheduled to die in the toilets, that is.
I push the door open and poke my head in. Empty. I lock the door firmly behind me.
Looking around the small room, I take in the white windowless walls, the sink, the mirror above it and the toilet.
Curiosity suddenly engulfs me and I slowly walk over to the mirror.
A woman with alabaster skin, long black hair, full pink lips and bright blue eyes stares back at me. I touch the cool glass with my fingertips, tracing the outline of my face. So this is me. Lucyna. My reflection. I draw closer to the mirror. After all this time, I can see what the others see. What Arlo sees. He was very accurate in his description of my eye colour. I think he caught it perfectly.
That’s when I notice a few black marks on the sleeve and upper part of my clothes. It must be from James, the soot off his skin transferred onto me. I know humans keep their clothes clean, but it’s not like there’s anything I can currently do about it.
I look back up at myself, at my face, and begin examining myself closely. It’s so strange, I really do look human. I look just exactly like one of them.
After a time of close scrutiny, and knowing I can’t stay in the bathroom all night, I slip out of the door and, with my head down, walk quickly toward the exit.
The doors whoosh open on my approach and I find myself out on the pavement, the chilly air wrapped around me.
“Got any spare change, love?”
I look up to see an older man with long brown wiry hair standing before me. His clothes are old and dirty and I can smell a stale stench emanating from him.
“Spare change?”
He frowns at me and says impatiently, “Yeah, money, cash, readies, you know.”
“Oh. No, I’m sorry.” I spread my hands. “I don’t have money.”
He looks at me like I’m an oddity, shakes his head, then without another word saunters off into the night.
He’s homeless, just like me. I instantly feel a pang of longing for home and gaze up at the sky, realising just how very alone I actually am, gravity weighing me down as the reality of my situation sinks in.
I sit down on the roadside.
I’m here on earth, alone. All alone. I have no home. Nowhere to go. I’m here with these humans, outwardly looking like one of them, pretending to be one of them, but I’m not. I don’t have money like they do. And I have absolutely no idea how to be a human. I’m so very out of my depth. You’d think after all these many, many years I’ve spent observing them, I’d have some clue, but I don’t.
But I guess I don’t have much choice, because whilst I’m here I’m going to have to ensure I fit in. I can’t arouse suspicion to myself, and I know the police have already figured out there is something different about me, so I’m going to have to learn quickly.
Right, so all I have to do is act human. I’ll spend tonight thinking over all of the things I’ve seen, their behaviour, their mannerisms, how they converse with one another. Then I’ll know how to be one of them. Being human. Lucyna the human.
Well, that is until the Elders find me, which I’m sure will not be long. Then again, I wonder if they’ll be able to trace my essence now I’m no longer one of them. Either way, I know they will look for me and one day, in the not too distant future, I will be taken away from here, taken away from James. The panic hits me like a tidal wave. I wrap my arms around my legs. I don’t want to leave James. Not ever.
I’m so confused. I made a decision, the right decision, every instinct telling me I had to save James. But ironically, I saved him because I couldn’t bear to be without him and now as a result of my decision, I will one day, very soon, never again be allowed to see him.
The reality is there pinching at me, like the cold night is pinching my skin, but I’m just not ready to face the thought of leaving him, not yet anyway.
Why did James have to be scheduled to die now, only mere weeks after I find him? Then a plaguing thought hits me. Was this not a coincidence? Was God taking him now because of me? Is this punishment for my behaviour, because I feel for him, that I feel because of him?
I mentally shake myself. Of course not. How can I even think such a thing? What am I turning into too?
An ambulance comes wailing past, knocking me out of my black thoughts. I can’t think about all this now. I have to think about the here and now, have to figure how to act human in the next few hours and also what exactly I’m going to say to James as to why I was there, on that road in the middle of nowhere, late at night.
I stand up, wrap my arms around myself, the cold biting at my skin, and wonder just what exactly to do for the next five hours before I can see James again.
Chapter 5
Visiting Hour
I’m standing outside the door to James’ room.
It’s nine-thirty and I’m finally allowed to see him, but for some reason I can’t seem to make myself go through the door. I mean this is it, what I’ve always wanted. After all this waiting I’m finally going to speak to James alone.
I try to move my feet again, but they won’t respond. I’m nervous about going in. Really nervous. It’s just going to be me and James, alone. What if he doesn’t like me?
I hear a door bang shut to my right and turn to see a man wearing a dressing gown standing outside the room next to James’. He’s looking at me. I guess I must look pretty strange, just stood here staring at the door.
I smile a bright smile, trying to come over as human as possible. “Good morning,” I say.
He returns my smile and says, “Good morning”, then turns and walks down the hall away from me.
Right, I can’t stand out here all day, and every second I do is a second wasted that could be spent with James. I place my hand on the green door, compress my fears down, and slowly push it open.
And there he is, laid in bed, watching television, looking as beautiful as always.
He turns his head, his dark eyes warm and inviting, smiling at me. “Hey,” he says, his voice still croaky. He switches the television off with the remote control and sits himself up.
My skin is practically rippling with nerves, my theoretical heart singing with joy at the sight of him. “Hello.”
“Come in.”
I let the door close behind me with a gentle thud and tentatively walk into the room, all the time very aware of the fact that James’ eyes have not once left me.
“Take a seat.” He gestures to the chair by his bed.
I sit down but my whole body is jittery. I know I should speak, say something, but truth be told I have no idea what to say. After all this time imagining how our conversations would be, I now can’t seem to form words. It’s almost as if they’ve been stolen from me.
“I’m so glad you came.” His voice breaks, so he pauses and takes a sip of water, clearing his throat. “I was worried you might not. I mean I knew it was a lot to ask after what you’ve already done for me, but I really wanted to talk to you.”
“I was always coming,” I smile. “I never break my word.”
His renewed smile reaches all the way up to his eyes. “I realised after you’d gone that I didn’t even get your name?” He holds his hands out apologetically.
“Lucyna.”
“Lucyna,” he echoes, and I love the way my name sounds on his lips. It infuses me with warmth. “Pretty name. I’m James.”
“I know.”
He lifts his brows and gazes at me. “The nurse told me your name last night,” I say quickly, covering up my slip. I’m in his presence less than a minute and I mess up already. Great start.
He runs his fingertip around the rim of his water glass. “Lucyna, I don’t even know where to begin, and I know it sounds so lame in comparison but thank you so much for saving my life. I know that doesn’t even begin to repay you for what you did but, really, thank you.”
I look at him, the daylight glowing cordially on his face. And I wish I could tell him that he doesn’t need to thank me, that I would have saved his life a thousand times over, that I would never, ever, have let him die as there is nothing I wouldn’t do for him, but all I can say is, “Thank you is plenty enough.”
He reaches up and touches his head where the gauze covers his cut. “No, it’s not.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t even scratch the surface. The police were here at breakfast time and they told me the full extent of what you did, how you risked your own life to save mine, how you pulled me from my burning car. I just can’t believe you did that.” He leans forward and grabs my hand. For a moment everything goes still. His eyes spark something, recognition maybe, but no sooner is it there, its gone. “I just wish I could –” He pauses, urgent eyes boring into mine, and I feel exposed, like he can see into the very soul of me, my skin blazing under his touch, and oddly, I notice just how rough and calloused the skin on his hand is. “– come up with something better to say than thank you.” He shakes his head again and laughs.
But I can’t join in. My throat is clogged up with all the words I wish I could say to him, the things, I more than anything want to tell him.
“There’s no need,” I finally say, slipping my hand out from under his.
He glances down at his empty hand and leans back against his pillows. Then I see his eyes run over me, down to my feet and back up again.
“So, you got home okay?” he asks.
“Yes.” Well, if home was wandering around the park in the hospital grounds for a few hours trying to teach myself how to behave like a human and also worrying whether one of my kind would see me and then, when I could no longer bear the cold, clandestinely sneaking back into the hospital and heading straight for the cafeteria after deciding one of my own shouldn’t be in there unless someone was scheduled to die - which fortunately they weren’t – then yes, I got home just fine.
He continues to stare at me with an unreadable expression on his face and then he promptly rubs it away with his hand. “Good, I’m glad. I was worried about you getting home okay at such a late hour. I felt really bad. After all, you were only here because of me, and then I drag you back here again a few hours later. I’ve caused you so much trouble.”
But all I hear is ‘worried’. James was worried about me. No one has ever worried about me before. Well, okay, no one’s ever had reason to worry about me before and everyone I know can’t worry, but, still, it’s a wonderful feeling.
“You haven’t caused me any trouble. I wanted to come back to see you.” I smile. “I mean, after all we’ve been through –,” more than you’ll ever know, “– with the accident, and me saving you, I suppose – I feel – sort of –” I lower my eyes and my voice. “– connected to you in a way.”