Sunday, September 9, 2012

Dead Rite chapter 124.13


“Lucy's toy?” Harold stared at the lump of goo, fluff from the inside of his pocket speckling the surface. “But this was a demon.”

“A demon?” Gillian laughed. “What odd dreams you have, Harold. I shall have a word with the doctors about how much morphine they're giving you.”

“Doctors?” Harold frowned. “What doctors?” He blinked several times. The skeleton of Manoach became a poster advertising calcium for healthy bones, the concrete became smooth white linoleum and the concrete walls the two-tone white above, grey below of a hospital corridor. “Where am I?”

“You're at St. Pity's. We went for a little walk to the day room and back, remember? You fell and bumped your head.”

“St. Pity's?” He put a hand to his temple. There was indeed a lump the size of a pigeon's egg. “Why are we in St. Pity's?” A sudden horror enveloped him and he clutched at her. “Lucy? Is she all right?”

“She's fine. Julie's taken her to the park.”

“Julie? Julie's alive?”

“Of course.” Gillian's half-smile faded and she twisted her wedding ring round and around. When had they actually got married? Vampires weren't known for their delight in producing a birth certificate, never mind stepping into a church. He didn't even want to go into the 'till death do us part' thing. She stared into his eyes. “You really don't remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” Harold looked down at his striped pyjamas and dressing gown. “The last thing I remember was Manoach swallowing the demons holding you.”

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