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25: Blood Speaks Louder

My sleep was troubled that night. I dreamt of being trapped in a dark, damp space, bound so tightly that I could only move my head. The air was thick with the smell of damp and something metallic. Shadowy figures moved across what little light filtered through, but when I tried to call out, my throat burned and no sound came. Each breath was a struggle, my head swimming from lack of oxygen. I fought against whatever held me, my muscles straining until they shook, but nothing gave. No help came.

When I woke, I could still feel phantom rope burns on my skin, too vivid for just a dream. I sat up, rotating my shoulders to prove I could move as I tried and failed to shake off the claustrophobia. My collarbone ached with the motion. The curtains were pulled tightly closed, a solitary ray of sunlight peeking through a gap beneath the sill, filling the room with warm pinkish light.

Tom was watching me from the chair by the door, his head propped on one hand. He looked worse than I felt – his clothes from yesterday were creased and untidy from sleeping in thechair, unwashed black hair falling across his forehead. The wound on his throat caught my attention, standing out livid and raw against his skin. My stomach twisted at the sight.

“You’re awake,” he stated, but there was no hostility there. I’d missed that.

I swung my legs out from under the duvet and wrapped myself in my dressing gown. “Finally. Are my parents still here?”

Tom shifted in his chair. “No. They left not long after you passed out. They’re…”

“Furious?” I asked, settling on the end of the bed.

“They’re glad you’re alive, Erin,” he corrected, voice hoarse with exhaustion. His fingers traced the wound on his neck. “We all are.”

I nodded, unsure if I agreed. “What did you tell them?”

“I fobbed them off reasonably well, I think. It was probably easier to hearmylies for a change. I said it must have been a police mix-up, you needed to rest, blah blah,” he smiled weakly. “Your mum was pretty sceptical, but your dad… he knows how it is, I suppose?”

“He knows when to leave it.” It was my turn to correct Tom. “He doesn’t want to know more. Neither of them do.”

“I had to call them.” It was almost an apology. “I thought you were…” He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, not meeting my eye. “And after Jon, too.”

I ran both hands through my hair, closing my eyes against the threat of tears. The morning traffic was picking up outside, the rumble of engines mixing with the scrape of next door’s bins being dragged out. “This is so fucked up, Tom.

“Yeah,” he exhaled loudly, stretching. His joints cracked – he must have been sitting there for hours. “It made me think about when my sister broke her arm climbing the oak in our back garden. My parents were away at some conference, and I was supposed to be watching her.” A faint smile touched his lips. “She made me promise not to tell them before I drove her to hospital. Like they weren’t gonna find out the second they got home.”

“You never mention her,” I said. There was still something tentative about the way we were talking to each other, so I was surprised he’d brought up his family, of all things.

“Priya,” he murmured, his expression softening. “No, I suppose I don’t. She’s the only one who still speaks to me. Sends birthday cards sometimes.” He shrugged, but I could see how much the situation hurt him. “I miss her. She came by the shop once… before everything.” He glanced away, composing himself. “Anyway, what I meant was your dad took it better than mine would’ve. He was worried, but not… you know.”

I nodded, understanding what he meant. There was a quiet resilience about my dad that I’d always appreciated, even when we weren’t on the best terms.

“It has to have beenthem,though, right?” I changed the subject, seeing how the mention of his sister had affected him.

He rubbed at the wound on his neck. “What else could it be? All this—” he gestured towards me, “it had to be for a reason. But why go to so much effort just to throw you off your game or whatever?”

“If that was their goal, it worked,” I said, pursing my lips. “Last night, I walked into a room filled with peoplegrievingfor me. I mean, how am I supposed to react to that? It’s like attending your own funeral.” My eyes filled with tears despite my efforts to hold them back, and I wiped them away impatiently.

“How did it happen?” Tom asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well… the police had a body and what was left of your car – but you were nowhere to be found. They checked the area for other casualties and the usual, and itsoundedlike it was the same bridge you described. You weren’t there,” he explained. “So, where did you go?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I was in the stream when I woke up. My head was… messed up. That’s it. I might not have even crashed the car,” I said, realising it was true. “The last thing I remember was heading into the valley. I had a headache, and maybe wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have been.”

Tom scowled. “It was sunny. I suppose if they waited until you got under the trees, they’d have had some shade. But how did they know where you were going to be?” He looked like he hadn’t properly considered the idea before.

“Maybe they were following me?” The thought settled uneasily in my stomach. But it was the one thing that made sense. And Tom was right, ithadbeen sunny. I remembered the image Adam had shown me before the crash – the woman who’d been coming into Jolt, and during the day. I filled Tom in on the revelation.

“Great. One more thing to worry about.” He shook hishead. “So, if they caused an accident, you might have already been unconscious when it happened – but not for long, not with your abilities.” He paused and shrugged. “If this woman can get about in the day, maybe she drugged you?”

I thought about it. “The car smelled strongly of something. I assumed it was petrol, but… my head was pounding, the sun was in my eyes…” I shrugged. “I just don’t know.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes. A car went by in the street outside, its engine rattling.