Blood Day (9 page)

“Am I crazy?” she said aloud. Her memories of life before the ward were hazy, surreal. And there were monsters. She was sure that some of them were hallucinations. A few though, she wasn't so sure about. A man's face floated through her memories, disappearing and reappearing. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes. And he was filled with something dark as well, Sia was sure of that. He had a nice-looking face, if a little ordinary. Sia remembered him taking her hand. She remembered the thrill of it.

The man's memory flitted away as the drugs started to work. She slept and dreamed she was on a stage, playing the most beautiful music.

It was two days before Sia met the woman Evelyn Hauser had spoken of. After breakfast, a giant of a guard came in with Hauser, his belly poking out like a pregnant woman. A replacement for Dez Paine, Sia guessed. Hauser strapped her to the bed while the man held her down. He didn't have to, though. Sia didn't fight.

“Are they going to kill me today?” she asked.

“Don't be stupid,” said Hauser. “You have a meeting.”

“I'd rather they killed me.”

“Careful what you wish for,” said the giant, his rancid breath making Sia turn her face away.

“Quiet, you,” said Hauser. “You're not here to talk.”

The giant wheeled the bed out of the room. Sia stared at the ceiling, watching each fluorescent light as it raced by. If she squinted she could make them look like one long light.
 

“Don't be nervous, dear,” said Evelyn Hauser, her heels clicking smartly as she walked beside Sia's bed. “I'm quite sure she isn't going to hurt you.” She met Sia's eyes and looked away, straightening her sweater.
 

“You're afraid,” said Sia.

“Of course I'm not.”

“Am I going to die?”

“No,” said the nurse.

“Pity,” said Sia.
 

“Before this is all over,” said Hauser, “you are going to understand that there are far worse things than dying.”

“I didn't say that dying was bad,” said Sia. “I'd rather die than live like this.”

“Like what?”

Sia looked up and watched the lights again. “Without color. Without fire. Without anything. It's just one long hallway lit by fluorescent lights. That's all we have anymore. This is it, Evelyn. Look around.”

“Not everyone is quarantined in a hospital room,” said Hauser, not even bothering to correct Sia for using her first name.

“Are you sure?” said Sia. “From what I've seen, everyone's trapped in their own little room.”

Evelyn Hauser stopped talking to her. The giant wove the bed down halls, through doors, past rooms. The ward was immense in size. Sia hadn't realized. Every once in a while she would see a door left open and see an empty room. No patients in hospital gowns, just empty rooms. Nurses and orderlies buzzed around the halls, though, nodding at Evelyn Hauser as they passed her.
 

The giant swung the bed around a corner and things started to change. The lights were no longer fluorescent, but soft and muted. The walls wore wallpaper instead of garish paint. And the smell of iodine evaporated into something flowery and understated. Sia craned her neck up to look where they were headed. She could see a figure a ways down the hall. It didn't look right; it was tall and bent at the spine, with freakishly long arms and a head that was hunched down into rounded shoulders.

“No,” said Sia softly.

“Calm yourself,” said Evelyn Hauser under her breath.

“No,” said Sia, louder this time. She pulled against her leather restraints, making the chains clink against the railings on the sides of the bed.
 

“Be quiet,” Hauser hissed.

“No, no, no, no!” Sia yelled. She arched her back and tried to squeeze her hands out of the restraints. “Take me back, I don't want to go.
Take me back.
”

“They're not going to hurt you, stupid girl,” said Hauser. She finally turned her head to look at Sia. There was fear in her eyes. “You must be still.”

Sia looked back to the figure, heart beating in her ears. She could now see the muted lights gleaming off of a completely hairless head, a face that was smooth and slitted. A red gash of a mouth from which emerged teeth as long as her fingers, deadly sharp. Slaver shone on his chin. From his clothing Sia guessed it was male, tailored suit and gleaming black shoes looking almost comical on such a body.
 

Sia looked to Hauser, who still kept her eyes on her. Evelyn wrapped her sweater tighter around herself, a nervous habit of hers. Sia swallowed down panic and fear and tried to slow her breathing.
 

“Close your eyes,” said Evelyn in a voice that had so much kindness in it that Sia wasn't sure it was the nurse at first. The old woman smiled, making her look like a grinning skull. “Just close your eyes. It will be all right.”

Sia did as she was told. She closed her eyes and stared at the backs of her eyelids. She thought of music and the feel of smooth ivory on her fingers. She imagined a piano under her fingers and started to play. Rachmaninov Piano Concerto No. 2. The panic evaporated and so did the world. She remembered every note, heard the echo of the music in the heart of the piano. She was on a stage, alone, the lights sending a prickle of sweat down her back. There was a large audience, but they meant nothing. There was only the music. Sia became one with the keys, and she poured everything she had into the music.

When she was through the first movement, the world came creeping back and Sia shivered with cold. The bed was no longer moving and the silence was oppressive. She felt a tug at her wrist and heard the smooth sound of a key in a lock. And then the restraint fell from her wrist and her arm felt so light it might float up over her.
 

It was dim in the room. Sia looked up, her heart feeling cold. The figure was draped in dark lace, head to toe. A dark-gloved hand emerged to unlock the second restraint, then moved down to the end of the bed to release her ankles. As soon as she was free Sia pulled her knees to her chest and sat up, hugging herself. She watched the figure, though all Sia could see of the eyes was a slight glint behind the lace veil. It was dressed like a ghost.

“What is this?” Sia said, the words coming out as a whisper. “Who are you?”

The figure started toward her before stopping abruptly. A gloved hand moved to adjust the veil, to keep it in place, Sia assumed. The silky gloves clasped in front of it, the figure sighed raspily.

“A friend,” said a smooth languid voice. She had a French accent.
 

“A creepy friend,” said Sia, hugging her knees tighter. She felt exposed in the hospital gown.
 

“I thought you might be ready to meet,” said the woman behind the veil.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

The veiled woman was silent for a long moment. Then she turned and walked across the room, toward the door. Sia thought she was leaving, but she stopped at a padded chair. She pushed the chair towards Sia and stopped right next to her. She was so close that Sia could smell the lavender and vanilla. The woman sat, her body twisting awkwardly, out of sync with the way she was dressed and the way she talked.
 

“There was an accident,” came the woman's voice. There was a richness to it, a pleasing note that Sia couldn't help but appreciate. “I was disfigured quite badly. You might be ready to meet me, but you are not ready to see me.”

Sia watched her. Now she could make out the large eyes.

“Who are you?”

The woman crossed her ankles, an action that should have been dainty, or at least graceful, but her motions were clunky, awkward.

“You may call me Mathilde.”

“Why is there a Rev outside?”

She made a gesture of dismissal. “You know where you are.”

“No I don't.”

“Ah,” said Mathilde. “They have not told you that you are at Munson Experimental Hospital?”

“They have,” said Sia. “I just don't know what this place is or why I'm here.” Sia swallowed. “Or what you want with me. I'm not anybody.”

“That's not necessarily true, is it, Sia Aoki?” said Mathilde, leaning forward. “You may not feel like much now, but you
were
someone, weren't you? In your society?”

Sia loosened her grip on her knees. Something about the woman's voice set her at ease.
 

“I was a musician,” said Sia.

“Not just a musician,
ma belle
,” she said, her voice rising in intensity. Sia found it hard to breathe. There was no air in the room. She started to sweat.

“A prodigy,” said Sia.

“And then, a genius. It was said that you were the wunderkind of New York City, was it not? You did not just play in an orchestra, but you also made a name for yourself as a solo artist. Sometimes playing up to six instruments in a single show. You were the toast of the town. For a time. Until the music stopped.”

“How do you know about me?” said Sia.
 

“I know many things, Sia.”

“Why is there a Rev outside your door?”

“Because the Revenants own this hospital. And you are important.”

“He’s outside your door,” said Sia. “That means that you’re the important one.”

“Pah,” she said. “It is you we are all interested in, Sia. Only you.”

“Why?” said Sia, wheezing. “Why am I important?”

“You will prove to us all that it can be done.”

“What can be done?”

Mathilde suddenly stood, breaking Sia's concentration. Cool air filled her lungs as the woman turned, pacing to a window and throwing back two heavy drapes. Light flooded into the room. Sunshine shone into Sia's face making her flinch and shield her eyes. When it became bearable, Sia lowered her hand. The sky outside was a brilliant blue, shining upon a snowy grounds that looked like a Christmas card. Trees weighed by the weight of the snow dotted the landscape. Sia uncurled herself and slid off of the bed, expecting someone to stop her. No one did. When she reached the window, she spread her hands on the glass, reveling in the cold.

“It snowed,” said Sia.

“Yes,” said Mathilde. “Though you are trapped here, life goes on.”

Sia could make out the shapes of benches and shrubs and even a fountain, accumulating white fluff. The building she was in wrapped around the grounds, forming a perfect large circle in the middle. The building itself looked very old, like a manor from a period film.
 

“What is this place?” said Sia. “I mean, what was it? Before it was a hospital.”

“It was once a mental institution,” said Mathilde.
 

“Are we still in the city?” said Sia.

“Yes. Technically.”

“I've never seen this place. And I grew up here.”

“It was for the very rich. The very rich could afford to keep even something this large a secret. Isn't that sad? A society driven by money.”

“Better than driven by blood,” said Sia.

“You say that,” said Mathilde, standing very close to Sia, “and yet, you are still here. Criminal, yet unscathed. That, to me, is mercy,
ma belle.
”

“Can I go out?” said Sia. “Outside, I mean. Just for a little while.”

Mathilde laughed a low, throaty laugh. “
Ma belle,
soon you can do whatever you please. Going outside is nothing. Sia, how would you like to play music again?”

Sia's knees went weak and she staggered away from the woman.

“This is a trick,” said Sia. She looked around the room. For the first time she noticed that she was in an office. Her bare feet sank into a plush carpet the color of wine. The walls were painted a deep green, and bright landscape paintings hung on the walls. A mahogany desk commanded one side of the room. The nameplate read: “Mathilde Briar.”
 

“Not a trick, Sia,” she said. Sia's head snapped back to look at her.

“Stop torturing me!” Sia screamed. “Why are you doing this to us? To me? Why couldn't you just send me away like the rest of the junkies?”

“Because you are not really an addict, Sia. Are you?”

Sia felt the wall against her back and she slid down onto the floor. Her face was wet and she couldn't breathe again.

“In fact,” said Mathilde, crouching down to look at her, “you have not wanted your drug of choice since you arrived, have you? Oh, you've had symptoms. Withdrawals. You were very sick for a time. But not once did you ask for more. Why?”

“Hauser wouldn't give me Slack,” said Sia, her voice thick.

“But you didn't even try. You had several accidental visitors as well. Did you ask them for this Slack?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Sia shook her head. She couldn't understand what Mathilde wanted her to say. “I don't know,” she said. “I didn't want it anymore.”

“Why didn't you want it, Sia?”

“Because I killed Trey. I was covered in his blood, like I ripped him apart. I did that.”

“Wouldn't that make you want to kill the pain, though,
ma belle?
”

“No. Yes. I don't know.” The truth was that she hadn’t even thought of Trey in a very long time. The murder seemed like an afterthought. That wasn’t right. How could murder be an afterthought? But when she thought about it she didn’t feel guilty. Not after the first night, anyway.

Mathilde reached out and took Sia's hand. It felt cool under the silk gloves.
 

“Would you like to know why you didn't want it, Sia?”

Sia looked at her. It was hard to breathe when Mathilde watched her like that. Why did it feel familiar? Sia nodded and Mathilde gripped her hands tighter.

“You didn't want it, because someone told you not to want it. A man who has followed you for many years, but who you instantly forget the moment he is gone. A very dangerous man. Not even a man, Sia. A devil. You know I speak the truth.”

“I dreamed of him,” said Sia, remembering the face. The dark eyes that watched her.
 

“I cannot stress enough, Sia. He is not a good man. He will kill you if given half a chance.”

“Hasn't he had the chance?” said Sia.

“What?”

“You said he's been following me for years. Wouldn't he have had the chance by now?” Sia couldn't shake the feeling the face brought up. There was fear there, yes, a curiously delicious kind of fear. But there was also a connection: A feeling of being drawn so fiercely to something that you couldn't let go. Even if she couldn't remember, she knew that Mathilde was lying to her.