Page 42 of Fallen Thorns
“No, you didn’t,” I choked.
They tilted their head and looked up at me with maddened eyes that wouldn't allow me to continue dismissing their apology.
“I told you it would help,” their tone settled.
I did trust them, but the decision was all on me.
“I put you in even more danger, and for that, I am truly sorry.”
Marianne sighed. “Well,” she rubbed her thighs awkwardly. “I’m not going to get in between you two on this front — what happenedhappenedand frankly, I don’t care who was more in the wrong. I’m here to deal with the now and the parts to come. I want to get to the bottom of whatdidhappen and figure out how to help you,” she pointed to me, “and keep these bloody streets safe from any more unwanted attacks. I’ve been alive a very long time, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned over many centuries, it’s that everyone is to blame for everything, and it’s a waste of precious time to argue otherwise.”
The two of us watched her in stunned silence as she walked over to the corner of the room and flicked on a switch, inviting much needed light into the room. It was only then that I could fully take in the scope of the room. It was perfectly circular and the walls were lined with canvas paintings, each separated equally with mathematical precision. Some paintings I recognised: Hokusai’s ‘Great Wave’, Dali’s ‘The Persistence of Memory’, Munch’s ‘Scream’ and then some other more unsettling paintings that made me increasingly more uneasy as I studied them.
Marianne followed my gaze. “You like art?” she asked.
I gulped. “A bit.”
She laughed. I looked up at her, confused.
“Your face!” she snorted. I glanced at Mars with a look that questioned this woman’s sanity. They only shrugged.
“I forgot they were here, to be honest. Completely unintended, I apologise,” she said, continuing to fail at concealing her laughter.
I was completely lost for words.
“Anyway.” Marianne finally calmed down, returning to her seat, her serious façade returning. She cleared her throat. “Last night.”
Last night.Where to begin?
“Tell me everything you remember, Arlo, and we’ll go from there.”
Mars adjusted themself beside me, failing to give me full eye contact.
“Not much.” I rubbed my hands between my legs, and picked at my fingertips, trying to keep myself calm. “Sorry, that’s not much help.”
“Do you remember the daytime?” she continued.
I nodded. That I did remember, in vivid detail. The morning lecture, my uneventful lunch time, my distressing encounter with Carmen andthe blood. The toilet. I lost myself.
I didn’t mention the last parts, though Marianne had lived long enough to read them through my eyes.
“When did you first feel yourself slipping?”
My breathing increased and heat itched around my collar.
“How long after you started drinking your own blood?”
My eyes widened. She knew. I glanced at Mars. ‘Sorry,’they mouthed.
My head darted between them both as the room suddenly closed in on me.
“Days? A week?” she persisted.
I genuinely had no answer. I had absolutely no idea when I started to lose control because the entire time, I remained adamant that I was neveroutof it.
I shrugged.
Marianne chewed the inside of her mouth. “Hmm, okay. Let’s try another approach. When did you first feel thisthingtake over?”
