“Because, you’d officially joined that evening. The SOS couldn’t have known that we’d have an argument and that because of that I’d choose not to bring you along on the mission.”
I gripped the wheel tight with both hands. “Why is everyone trying to kill me?”
Gabriella stared out of the window. “I don’t know. But like I said before, if anyone tries it, they won’t live very long.”
The garage door cranked open and I eased the car down the slope, parking it in a space near the Nexus.
In the elevator, Gabriella pushed a button of a cross with a snake wrapped around it.
Recovery Centre, said the voice.
We emerged into a sterile white corridor. Rows of black chairs had been placed outside uniform doors. The only way to tell them apart were the metallic numbers screwed onto the wood. I mentally counted down as we walked. The only break in the pattern was a door marked refreshments.
Sophia’s room — number seven, was near the far end of the corridor. Delagio was outside; leaning backwards, foot resting on the wall. A marble weaved itself between his fingers in a constant loop. His eyes were closed. He opened them a fraction and nodded. It was a solemn gesture which implied 'no change either way'.
I patted his arm as we walked past and creaked the door open.
The room was dimly lit. A single lamp sat on a corner unit, creating a large halo of light on the ceiling. Lying in a bed shaped like half a glass cylinder was Sophia. All manner of tubes and wires were connected to her. Each one trailed back to a cluster of blinking, whirring machines. I didn’t have a clue what half of them were. The only one I recognised was a Cardiogram. A black line travelled from left to right on the screen, jerking into a lightning bolt in the middle. The bolt looked small.
It was hard to see Sophia properly, because of the shadow that Midnight’s hulking frame cast over her. He was hunched over, dabbing her head with a damp cloth. He looked terrible. His face was pale from lack of sleep and his bloodshot eyes were ringed by dark bags. The tattooed scars were red and swollen, where he’d clearly been scratching. The smell of stale sweat made it clear he hadn’t left the room to do anything, even wash.
He gave a weak smile as we entered. We made our way over to the bed and I had to stifle a gasp.
I’d thought Midnight looked bad, but it was nothing compared to the state Sophia was in.
Her skin was completely grey. Darker areas surrounded her protruding cheekbones. Thin red lines of infection originated from two purple puncture wounds on her neck, spreading out like a spider’s web, mapping every part of the skin I could see. An oxygen mask covered most of her little face like some kind of clinical facehugger. Sophia had always been skinny, but now the poor thing looked in danger of simply disappearing. The only clue that she was even alive apart from the beeping monitor, were the occasional twitches and moans she made from the depths of her feverish sleep. Her sickness seemed to radiate from her, taking on its own menacing life form, which threatened to engulf the room.
We crowded around the bed, trying to find space amongst the tubes which sprouted from her like appendages. Looking at the sickly waif that had replaced the sweet Sophia made me want to cry. I bit my lip hard. “She’s trying her hardest to fight it,” Midnight said as much to himself as any of us. Gabriella stroked her palm across Sophia’s forehead. She frowned and pulled her hand away. “She’s even hotter than before.” “One hundred and nine,” Midnight agreed. My mouth gaped open. “How is that even possible?” “Witches run hotter than normal humans,” answered Gabriella. “Still that’s too much — even for her.” “Isn’t there anything we can do?” I said, feeling utterly helpless.
“There’s nothin’ anyone can do, not til Rachel gets back with the ingredients for the Coven’s spell,” Midnight explained, pulling the damp cloth from Sophia’s head and dipping it in a bowl of water near his feet. He twisted out the excess before re-applying it to her forehead. “We have to hope she gets back in time before…” His voice wavered and he turned away, muttering about dust in his eye.
Gabriella walked over and rested a hand on his shoulder. He patted it with his giant paw. “You’re exhausted” she said. “I know there’s no chance of convincing you to get some rest. So how about a coffee instead?”
He nodded.
“Alex?” she asked, heading for the door.
“I’m fine thanks.” She headed out of the door and said something to Delagio. I heard two sets of footsteps make their way down the corridor. I was left alone with Midnight.
I tried a few times to spark a conversation, but every time the words snagged in my throat. I couldn’t think of the right thing to say. In the end it was him who broke the silence. “I won’t let her die.” His words were thick, his voice threatening to break at any moment. “I know you won’t. You really care about her don’t you?” Midnight nodded. A solitary tear sloped its way down his mountainous face. “She’s the only reason I have to live.”
He fell silent and stared down at the floor, fiddling with the locket that hung around his neck. The constant clicks of the latch opening and closing accompanied the whirrs and beeps of the machines. When he finally spoke again, his words seemed like they were coming from somewhere deep inside. The place where secrets and memories are buried. “I haven’t spoken about them for a long time.” “Who?” “My wife and daughter.”
He needed to confide in somebody. I could tell by the expression of conflicted anguish on his face. I knew because I’d felt the same way so many times before, but always managed to force it away — until the day Gabriella had pulled it out of me. I knew I needed to choose my next words carefully.
“I’d love to hear about them.”
Midnight raised his head and looked at me. A deep sadness stared out from behind his eyes. The brutal tough guy was well and truly gone. In his place sat a broken man, whose walls of protection had come tumbling down. “You don’t mind?” he asked, sounding unsure of himself. “I’d be honoured.” Midnight told me his story.
24
The Dawn of Midnight
I was always a bit of a fighter. Constantly got into scraps at school. I dunno, maybe it was cos my dad was a drunken bastard — always hitting my mum — I guess I found violence natural. At first I always got beat up. I’d come home in tears, with a broken nose or a split lip, but over time I grew stronger. Their punches didn’t hurt much anymore; my punches hurt them a lot.
At home, I’d wind my dad up so he’d hit me instead of mum. She was so small and frail. Course, she tried to stop him, but I made her promise not to. Rather me than her. So he’d beat me and in turn I’d take out my anger on the kids at school. I guess I became a bully. By the time I turned fifteen, I’d already been expelled from three schools. The son of a bitch finally died from alcohol poisonin’ when I was sixteen. It felt strange, after so much physical and mental abuse, to suddenly be…free.
Me and Mum built a new life together. I dropped out of school and worked a few dead end jobs over the years to help pay the rent. I thought things would be okay — but I was wrong. There was a darkness growin’ inside of me. I could feel it bubbling away below the surface. I found it almost impossible to control my anger. It meant I couldn’t hold a job down for long — the smallest thing would set me off. Once, at a pub I worked at, I launched my manager over the bar, all because he had a go at me for being late.
Lucky for me, my mum could see that I was headin’ the same route as him. So as much as it killed her to see me go, she convinced me to join the army. Best decision I ever made. It gave me a channel to focus my anger into. The structure kept me in line and I learned to respect authority. Plus, cos digs and food was free, I could afford to send most of my wages home. I progressed fast, made Sergeant in less than three years. The hardest part was that I only got to see Mum four or five times a year. The Gulf war was in full swing and I was constantly bein’ dispatched out to that hell hole.
But Mum was doing good, had a nice little two bedroom place just outside Brighton. She never dated again — she was too scarred for that — but she made quite a few good friends and even set up a book club. I was happy for her. But I wasn’t happy for me. Somethin was missing. I had no clue what it was until I was on summer leave and saw her walking along the beachfront. I don’t know if you believe in love at first sight Alex, I never did until I laid eyes on her. Petit and perfect. Wavy golden hair and the most beautiful hazel eyes ever saw. Incredible.
