Ander - Part 2: Subchapter 32
32
"Hagh!" Sarah gasped, falling back against the headboard. Andrew fussed, but at least he didn't cry out, so there was that to be grateful for. The way her father was going on outside the door, with his harsh, one-sided conversation with his wife bordering on an all-out shouting contest, even the slightest cry from her baby could be all it took to bring him flying in here, ready to twist his neck...
She had to get out of here, but simply sitting up was proving to be quite a challenge. Every time she tried, a burning, tearing sensation would rip through her lower body, as if someone was trying to knit with her insides.
"Don't worry, Andrew. I'll get us out of here. You just stay still, okay? Stay still for me..."
The pain only hit when she bent forwards, so maybe if she could get off the bed without bending her body...?
It was worth a shot.
Very carefully, Sarah pivoted her body around like the hands of a clock, pushing against the sodden blankets with her feet, taking great care not to use her stomach muscles in any way. She kept going like this until she found herself lying horizontally across the bed, with her legs dangling off the side.
So far, so good, but now came the hard part.
She slowly started to scoot her way down, pushing against the side of the bed with her ankles while lifting her upper body ever so slightly with her elbow. It was slow, methodical, excruciating work just to get her feet down on the floor, but once she touched down, things went a little easier. She repeated this process, lifting her upper body with her elbow while pulling herself along with her feet. Her dress was riding up in a most uncomfortable manner, but after all she's been through that hardly seemed worth noticing, so she kept going until she could feel the bed's edge dig into the small of her back.
Sarah took a deep breath, held it, then slid the rest of the way down, taking most of the blankets with her. She landed in a kneeling position, and the streak of pain that tore through her belly from this slight impact was like being slashed with a sword.
She could feel wetness, hot and sticky, run down her thighs, but she just kept holding her breath. She feared that opening her mouth to take even the smallest gasp for air would unlock the monstrous scream building inside of her.
She closed her eyes and waited for the pain to subside, but it didn't. It just kept pace with her heartbeat, throbbing a frantic rhythm.
Sarah didn't know if she would be able to get back up. This pain was too much, and even the normally simple act of getting off the bed tired her out so much more than she had expected.
Though she was ashamed to admit it, in that one, painful moment, she actually considered giving up. What point was there in killing herself like this? Did she honestly think she'd be able to get away? Father would come storming in at any minute, and maybe he was right? Maybe this really was for the best?
All she wanted to do was lie down, right here on the floor, and wait for whatever would come. It would be so easy. So much easier than what she was trying to do. And for what?
She suddenly felt something tug on her hair. Sarah opened her eyes and saw her baby playfully grabbing and pulling on all the strands that hung within arm's reach, as if to remind her exactly what she was doing this for.
"Thank you, Andrew," she whispered, still in awe of this little child. This was the second time he had saved her from herself, the second time he had intervened just when she was on the verge of giving up.
Sarah took a deep breath, bit down on her bottom lip and slowly started to get up.
"This has gone on long enough," came her father's voice from the other side of the door, turning Sarah's blood to ice. "I'm going in."
"Just a little while longer, Markus?" she heard her mother pleading. Sarah could imagine her in her head, clear as day, standing in front of the door with her hands clasped together across her chest.
"No! I've been far too lenient already! Get out of my way, Laura."
As Sarah's heartbeat sped up, the gaps between the stabbing pains in her body grew shorter. She wasn't panicking just yet, but she could feel it coming closer, creeping over her mind like morning frost. There was no time left. If she wanted to save Andrew, she would have to do it now, and to hell with the pain!
"I said get out of my way!"
Sarah got up on one knee, feeling like she was being stung by dozens of angry wasps, then, moving quickly, before she could give herself a chance to feel too much of it, she pushed off the floor with her foot and stood up in one clumsy motion, with Andrew held tightly in her arms.
She still felt all of it, slicing through her abdomen like a scythe. She looked down and was horrified to see a red streak across her dress from crotch to hem, slowly growing bigger the longer she stared at it.
"Get out of my way, Laura!"
"No!"
"Don't make me raise my hand for a second time in one night, woman! When I tell you to get out of my way, you'd damn well better - hey, what are you doing?"
Her father's tone changed so abruptly it actually managed to tear Sarah's attention away from the bloody mess clinging to her legs. A faint metallic scraping came from the keyhole, followed by the unmistakable rattle and click of a key twisting inside.
Did... did Mother just...?
"Laura, where did you get that!? Give it to me! Give it - No! Spit it out! I said spit it out, damn you!"
Sarah stared at that door, stared at it as if she had never seen it before. There were shadows shifting from side to side in the candle glow, slipping underneath the crack. And sounds, animalistic grunting and gasps for breath, like a beast taking down its prey.
"Spit it out!"
A slap so loud it felt to Sarah like she was the one being hit. Terrible though that sound may be, it did an excellent job of snapping her out of her horror-stricken stupor.
Right now, on the other side of that door, Mother was fighting a battle of her own, and if Sarah didn't get a move on it would all be in vain.
Moving quickly, feeling like each step was driving a rusty nail inside her navel, Sarah hurried around the foot of the bed and made her way over to the window.
The bloody phantom that stared back at her from the window pane, bathed in the unforgiving orange candlelight, was like a vision of her own death. The fur was ragged and frayed, the eyes bloodshot and crazed with panic. The dress was smeared with blood, coloured by streaks of red and black. Every shadow was like an empty void, a gap in existence. She could see right through it into the darkness that lay outside, waiting for her. Sarah didn't know whether that darkness would save her or end her life, but it was a damn sight better than what awaited her in this house.
"Open your mouth, Laura! Right now, dammit!"
"Markus, you're hurting me!"
Sarah gently put little Andrew down on the foot of the bed, hoping that he wouldn't roll into one of the bloody patches, or worse still, off the edge. She turned back to the window, trying her best to ignore that bloody wraith imitating her every move.
"By the gods, you swallowed it, you stupid bitch!"
She lifted the window, grunting with the exertion, but happy to be rid of that unsettling spectre. The icy wind that blew in from the East wasn't much better, though, flowing through the open window to make the flame jitter upon its wick, making the shadows dance and as if caught in the throes of mad ecstasy. It actually felt nice on her hot face for the first few seconds, but then it started to bite. She could feel it travel deep inside her body through her breath, cutting her lungs with tiny slivers of ice, and she soon found herself shivering.
Would Andrew be able to withstand this? He's just a baby...
"You honestly think this will accomplish anything!?" Father screamed. "I will break down this door before I let the blood of my family be shamed like this!"
She would just have to risk it.
Sarah gingerly walked over to the wardrobe in the corner, not holding out much hope. This was just a spare bedroom, used only once or twice a year when family from the other side of the valley came to visit, so it was mostly bare when not in use.
"Sarah!" her father shouted, hammering on the door.
Sarah tried her best not to look at the doorknob, twisting left and right in a frenzy, but there was no way she could ignore the rattling, as if the all the demons of hell were after her and her baby, dragging their unholy chains behind them.
"Sarah!!" he shouted again, pounding on the door with his fist. "Gods damn you!"
She opened the wardrobe, expecting to find nothing at all, but she was in luck. Hanging in the corner, abandoned for who knows how long, was a dusty old travelling cloak. She took it down, slipped it over her shoulders and pulled the hood up over her head. It may be a little thin and worn out across the shoulders, but it was certainly better than nothing. Now, for Andrew.
She considered going around to the other side of the bed to retrieve his blanket, but that little birthing swaddle was made for comfort, not warmth, and she doubted she'd be able to bend over and pick it up off the floor even if she did have enough time for such niceties, so she took one of the unused towels from the bedside table and wrapped him up in that instead.
The intervals between the poundings were longer now, but more intense. Sarah deduced her father must have abandoned his hammering in favour of kicking.
"Sarah! What's going on in there!? Answer me!"
Between his furious shouts and the shuddering blasts against the door, Sarah could hear a third sound, a stark contrast to the sheer madness of the previous two.
The weeping of her mother.
"I'm sorry, Mother," Sarah whispered, picking up her child. "I have to leave you here with that madman, but I promise I'll be back as soon as I can..."
"Sarah!!" Father kicked the door yet again, but this time the boom and the rattle was accompanied by a sound much softer, but infinitely more frightening.
A crack.
"Oh dear gods..." Sarah whispered, hurrying over to the open window. The freezing wind was still flowing through, and Andrew didn't like it one bit. He fussed and moaned and pushed against the confines of his towel.
"No, no! Shhh, Andrew, please be quiet!"
For a moment it looked like Andrew might actually calm down, but then another thunderous boom came rolling off the door, the resulting crack much louder than before. Andrew began to wail, a sound that tore at Sarah's heart.
"I can still hear that monster in there!" her father screamed, kicking the door again and again.
Sarah looked down at the windowsill, wondering how on earth she was going to climb through this thing while holding onto a baby when even proper breathing was turning into a struggle.
Just do it already!
Sarah slowly lifted her leg one agonizing inch at a time until she was finally able to swing it over the edge, being very careful not to knock over the candle with her foot. If she was up in her room on the second storey right now there's no way she would have been able to pull this off. She was just about to duck her head underneath the window when a splintering crack filled the room. She looked up in time to see a long sliver of wood break away from the door, leaving a jagged fracture just beneath the keyhole. Looking at that crack suddenly sent her mind six months into the past, where she sat and stared at the crack in their living room floor, wondering what it meant, wondering where it would lead...
Her father's eye suddenly appeared in that crack, completely demented, the veins standing out like a red starburst. "I'll kill you, you filthy little whore! You and that hellspawn baby!"
Looks like she had her answer.
Sarah ducked her head, swung her other leg over and dropped down onto the grass outside. The wind whipped at her cloak, nearly tearing her right off her unsteady feet. Even Andrew's cries seemed to be plucked from his mouth before they could even reach her ears, but there was something else wrong with this night, something she should have noticed before.
It was dark, much too dark. She looked up, hoping to see a sliver of moon to guide her, but there was nothing, not even any stars! The whole night sky was just one solid expanse of empty blackness, like something out of a nightmare.
"I'll teach you to disobey me!" her father screeched, the crack growing bigger and bigger with each unrelenting strike.
As Sarah stood there, holding Andrew in her arms, staring up at the black sky with the wind grabbing and pulling at her cloak, a white bolt of lightning traced its way across the clouds, as if her father had somehow managed to put a crack in the heavens themselves. A flash of light flickered over the valley, highlighting the forest to the East in a wash of black and white. Hulking above all this, a blackness to rival the stormy sky itself: the Cora.
Thunder rumbled across Grovenglen, but that sound was nothing compared to the monstrous boom of the bedroom door finally tearing free from its hinges and crashing to the floor, or the murderous shouts of her father.
"Now! Now, by the gods! Bad blood will out, Sarah! Bad blood will always out!"
With the image of the Cora burned into her eyes, Sarah ran into the darkness, each step tearing into her body.
She held Andrew close and she ran.
She ran...
In case you're wondering, yes, I tried getting up out of bed without using my stomach muscles while imagining the most horrendous pain tearing through me, and the result of that fiasco is what I put in this scene. I hope you enjoyed it, because it meant I had to make my bed twice in one morning. :P
One of the primary rules of writing is to omit unnecessary words, but sometimes it can be difficult to decide if something is unnecessary or not. A good chunk of this scene could have been written with a single sentence, something like "Sarah carefully got up and went to the window." Bam. Done. But I didn't want to do it that way. Sarah is hurt, and I wanted to convey that by describing how much pain and effort it took just to move from one spot to the next. Hopefully, I succeeded in that regard without slowing the pace too much.
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