Half, pt. 7

  The first thing Eve noticed was that the door to her home was hanging off its hinges.

  She stopped suddenly, brow furrowed. There was something wrong. Her mom always closed the front door.

  She turned toward Doc, who was looking at her, his window rolled down. Silas was peering at her curiously. “Hold on, Doc. Last time I checked, the door wasn't . . . broken. I'm going to see if everything's alright,” she called urgently, already making her way toward the house. She took fast steps, her heart fluttering in worry. She leaped up the stairs to the door and entered, looking around, but stopped when she got through the doorway. The lights were out, and everything was eerily silent. Why wasn't dinner on the stove? Why wasn't the scent of something cooking pervading the house? “Mom?” Eve called nervously. Wind whistled eerily past the gaping doorway behind her, and everything seemed to slow down around her. An ominous feeling swept over her skin, a creepy foreboding that threatened to overwhelm her sense. 

   She noticed something on the floor in the living room.

   She stepped quickly into the room and stopped, frozen, as she stared at what was on the ground. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, louder than usual, and the world seemed to blur around her.

  Silence.

  She shrank to her knees.

  Then an animalistic scream, louder than any sound she had ever made, tore itself from her throat.

  Eve screamed and screamed and screamed, every muscle in her body shaking with the force of her grief. She clutched her mother's cold body and pressed her face to her cheek and prayed for a breath of air from her lips, a flutter of life in her body. But there was none. And Eve screamed until her voice broke and her throat bled and there was blood everywhere, in her mouth, on her hands, soaking her blouse.     
  There was nothing to her anymore.

  Someone's arms wrapped around her.

  A voice echoed, breaking through the ringing in her ears, sending pieces of glittering glass flying through time and space.

  "Eve… Eve, I'm getting you out -"
  Violent heat, red-hot anger, split the air, split her to the core. Her throat ached. She clawed at their arms.

  Don't take me away from her.

  DON'T TAKE ME -

  "No! No! Nononono -”

  Everything blurry.

  All red.

  Something broke in her, and she felt it deep down, like a tiny glass rod snapping in two, small and sharp.

  No more fighting.

  Just crimson darkness.

  The arms carrying her were solid and true. They wouldn't let her fall.

  Sounds refracted around her. A piercing alarm, loud and urgent voices. Then a crack, the slam of a car door, and everything was silent. Everything was dark.

  There was no noise anymore.

  She struggled for breath, drowning. No air.

  Her mother was dead.

  She opened her eyes.

  Revolving lights, burning white, skated repeatedly across her vision. Formless shapes moved outside the protection of Doc's hovercraft and swarmed inside the house, through the hallowed doorways, invading what she had always known and stealing it away from her. But she herself was safe from them, out of their reach. She had been touched by a different affliction – she was safe, but alone now.

  Only not.

  She was turned sideways in the backseat, leaning against someone, or rather lying on someone, who had one arm curled around her.

  The brightness lanced her vision. She closed her eyes tightly and turned her head away, her cheek resting against someone's solid warmth. She was nestled comfortably against them, away from the trauma and loudness outside. She rose and fell as with their breathing. She existed in the darkness as with their heartbeat, like it wasn't her own heart keeping her alive but theirs instead, keeping vital blood pouring through her veins. Blood that her dead mother lacked.

  With tears drying on her face, she found herself drifting into a wretched sleep, wrapped in an orange blanket that was tucked around her shoulders. Someone held her hand – an angel.

  Dark and incomprehensible nightmares swirled through her mind, like glittering ribbons of indefinite black smoke, wavering at the edges, swelling and shrinking in volume.

  She opened her eyes to vague light - not enough to scare away the monsters.

  She sat up. Her hands pressed into something soft, and a blanket slipped off her upper body. She put a hand to her head, clammy skin against feverish skin. Bloody, terrible images assaulted her mind.

  Wincing, she shook her head to clear it. She looked down at herself. Someone had cleaned the blood off her arms and removed her bloodied blouse, leaving her in just the black tank top she'd been wearing underneath and her pants.

  “Hello?” she cried raspily. Her throat throbbed painfully, like needles pressing against her esophagus. She squinted at the light - a small candle on a nearby nightstand.

  “Hello?” she called again, louder this time. She gasped for air and hunched forward, coughing with one hand around her throat. She tasted blood.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  Don't be dead.

  A small amount of light pervaded the area as a lamp in the corner switched on. Doc came quickly to her bedside and took her hand. His fingers were warm and dry against hers. Somehow a chair was there, and he sat in it, leaning toward her. She blinked hard, trying to make sense of his face. She recognized her surroundings now – she was in some part of the building where she had come for her job, on a cot behind a screen.

  “You've been through a lot tonight,” Doc said softly, patting her hand. She closed her eyes again, feeling dizzy.

  “My head,” she murmured weakly, touching her temple for a moment. She looked at him suddenly, and the tears that were already there made her vision swim. “My mother.”

  “I'm so sorry, Eve,” said Doc sincerely, his face sad. After seeing him that day, full of sheer joy, she was saddened by how broken he looked.

  Detached memories floated in her head, along with questions. Her mother's face. The warmth of her embrace. The scent of the flowers that she kept potted on the windowsill. And fresher, darker memories – the image of her mother, bloodied on the floor, that she forced out of her mind, the darkness of the silent backseat. Suddenly she remembered Doc outside the car, his silhouette blurred by her tears but his glasses and lab coat distinctively highlighted against the bright whiteness.

  “Who carried me?” she managed, her voice low and quiet so that it wouldn't hurt. “It wasn't you. Who was there with me?”

  Doc looked at her sympathetically. “When you screamed, Silas got there before I could. He made sure you got out of there safely.”

  Silas.

  She had misjudged him.

  She wondered where he was, but Doc was still speaking softly. “They're going to find out who did it, Eve.”

  Eve's head spun, and the knowledge that her mother was dead hit her again, stealing away her breath and her sanity. So much life, so much goodness, gone in an instant.

  “I made sure everything was okay with the police,” Doc acknowledged. He seemed to take a cautionary breath before saying, “They took your mother away. Tomorrow I'll help you make arrangements for the funeral.”

  Eve blinked, and the weight of his words threatened to crush her. She teetered uneasily. “Why would someone do this?” she spat out suddenly, her voice loud and broken. “Why would they do anything like this -” she broke off, and tears ran down her cheeks, fast and endless.

  Doc's anguished face loomed at the corner of her eyesight. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Do you think. . . we could go back tomorrow? Maybe get some of your things -”

  “No,” Eve butted in forcefully. “No, I can't go back there. Not anytime soon.”

  There was a pause. Eve felt empty.

  “You have a job here, Eve,” murmured Doc. “And you can stay here for as long as you need to.”

  Overwhelmed, Eve sniffled and gave him a watery smile. “Thank you... so much. Thank you for being so kind to me.”

  “You're very welcome,” he said softly.

  Doc stood up, removing his hand from hers. “I was just going to check up on things over there. Go back to sleep; you need it. And Silas is here if you need anything else.” He moved toward the screen, then stopped. “Eve, I'm so sorry.”

  He turned out the lights and was gone. The small candle still burned.

  Eve slipped downward, against the soft mattress, pulling the warm covers over herself.

  She needed to thank Silas.

  Exhaustedly, she thought about him, eyes closed, cheek resting against the pillow. Doc had said that Silas was here if she needed anything, but how exactly was she supposed to go about summoning Silas? Was she supposed to shout, “Silas, give me that thing that I need”? Was she supposed to seek him out? She was not getting out of this comfortable bed under any circumstances. No, going to Silas had to wait until morning.

  She let go of her mind. She felt too numb to hold any tangible thought, too weak and sad. But the darkness was welcoming, was complete, when everything in her life had shattered so suddenly. She succumbed to it. This slumber was easier than the last.

  As it turned out, it was Silas who went to her first.