Page 125 of The Gloaming

Tom took the pills from her in silence, struggling to swallow past the lump in his throat. Isabel’s hand drifted to her throat where the high neck of her shirt failed to hide the edge of a ropy, pink scar that ran almost ear to ear across her throat.

“Tell me.” He said simply.

She glanced at the door.

“It appears Émilie saw fit to introduce your vehicle to hers, rather forcefully.” Adam’s voice came from Tom’s right as he entered the bedroom. “One assumes she was observing us, waiting for the opportune moment – when Nick was rendered useless by the daylight.”

Tom twisted his head to look at him, noting his limp and the bruising across his face. “Émilie? As in, the husband poisoner?”

“Yes. Alistair’s… accomplice. The woman that looked like Izzie. You’ll remember her as the woman whose hand you cut off,” Adam said, but the humour didn’t reach his eyes as he arranged himself in the padded chair by the desk. “I imagine she thought it the ideal way to separate us, and isolate Erin. What better way than to take out her closest friend?”

“She hit me with a car?” he repeated.

“After our phone conversation, I suppose. It appears she crashed into the driver’s side quite deliberately. Nicholas was still sleeping in the back seat. The force knocked you unconscious and—” he gestured to the plaster covering him, “damaged your body quite thoroughly.”

Tom nodded, immediately regretting the movement of his groggy head.

“Her presence in daylight defies understanding,” Isabel said to no one in particular. “Even with the strength granted by feeding on our kind—”

“It no longer mattershowIzzie, only that she was. Alistair, too. Perhaps they’re older than we thought.” Adam spoke over Tom’s head, but he said nothing.

“I was reborn during the Renaissance, Adam. YetIcould not endure such prolonged exposure to light. It stands against all we know.” Her voice held a sharp edge.

“The mechanics of it are hardly relevant now, Izzie.” Adam cut her off with unusual curtness. “Let me speak.”

Isabel fell silent. Tom stared back at Adam.

“Alistair took you both into the barn behind the farm. He tied Nick up, and – well, as you can imagine, he didn’t leave it at that.” His voice was flat. Clinical.

Tom felt a wave of nausea rising. “What do you mean?”

“Nick hasn’t said much, but he looks as though someone attacked him with the claw end of a hammer. And there was an empty container of hydrochloric acid on the ground, which I believe was once used in the camps…” Adam shook his head. “His skin is still healing from the chemical burns. Alistair knew exactly what he was doing.”

“Did you get to Erin? Where is she?” Tom asked, dismissing Murray’s torture as irrelevant. “I remember Isabel leaving us a while after you hung up. She was conscious enough and the rain clouds were heavy. It was getting dark…” he trailed off.

“I got to her,” Adam confirmed. “Shortly after we spoke. However, Émilie had already locked me in the shelter before she hit you with the car – she must have realised I wouldn’t have come alone. But we got the door open. Izzie helped us to get out. Eventually.”

“I had to wait, Adam – I told you, the sun—”

Tom sighed, relieved, and Adam frowned, his gaze never leaving the carpet.

“Tom, it isn’t…” Isabel swallowed. “She isn’t...”

He looked between the two immortals. Neither of them could meet his eye.

“We made it as far as the barn. I was hit, thrown backwards… There was a fight, I think. Alistair planned for Erin to kill Nick,” Adam said. “I know little more than that.”

“Did she do it?” Tom couldn’t help but ask, dread spreading through him. He tried to heave himself up and out of the bed. He could barely move, and Isabel pushed him back down firmly, sending shooting pains down his right side.

“Of course not. She killed Alistair. She practically destroyed him, actually. But Émilie hit Erin, and she – her spine—”

“But she’s okay?” The words came out barely above a whisper. “She heals quickly, you know, she’s…” He swallowed hard. “For crying out loud Adam, just tell me she’s alright.”

Isabel met his eye, finally, her face full of sadness. She seemed almost human to Tom, in that moment. Never taking her gaze from him, she shook her head.

???

Adam made his way down the corridor with as much dignity as his injured leg would allow, past Nicholas’s closed bedroom door, behind which he still stood in vigil by Erin’s body. Damning the elaborate spiral staircase with each step, he eventually managed to reach the kitchen, where he set about preparing coffee – a poor attempt at normality, perhaps, but what else was there to do? The usually comforting scent of the beans served only to remind him of Erin, and their leisurely afternoon spent laughing together in the coffee shop.

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