She kept staring, never blinking as a dark spot in the white of her left eye grew. I watched, bewildered, trying to figure out why it was there and was it supposed to do that. Quickly it spread until, as if using some hidden passage it filled the other eye then leaked from corners to run down the sides of her face, down the slight curve of her nose and dripped on my legs which were curled under her. Cold, so icily cold.
Drip, drip, drip.
I reached down and touched the inky black liquid, rubbing the substance between my finger tips, thinking to myself that it reminded me of the slickness of oil. Why was oil leaking out of her eyes? Why was it not stopping? I shifted my legs, trying to move them out from under her but found myself stuck as something sticky held me in place on the ground. And still she stared at me, unblinking.
The oil started to spread, climbing my legs, moving from fingers where I had touched her face, pulling itself up one seeking tendril at a time as if searching for an opening in my body for it to bury itself into. Panicked I struggled to wipe the substance of me, tried to move away from the source but I couldn’t move my lower body. I sucked in a harsh breath as my heart began beating franticly in my chest, pounding harder and harder as if a massive drum lie in that cage of bone and meat. And still she stared at me, though this time I could swear a slight smile lifted the corners of her mouth.
My body burned where ever the black oil touched me, searingly cold as to make my muscles tremble and my teeth clack. I looked around for help, for anything but found myself in a sterile room, all white tile floors, walls and ceiling. Only a paper target used in a gun range hanging on one wall stopped the tediousness of the stark color.
The oil touched my abdomen now, pushing upward, causing my skin to crawl as it slid over me. I stared in horror at it progress when I noticed another color, this time of a deep crimson spreading out from under us. I stared at it as I felt her staring at me. Instinctually I knew that was what held me bound in place and knew it came from her, knew because of the massive wound on the side of her head, the side where the bullet had existed.
“Selene.”
Startled, my eyes dropped back down at her face, so beautiful in its stillness. No change in appearance, no life in those eyes. I touched her cheek, ignoring the inky liquid that tried to hide her identity. I could feel that same icy stuff seeking the wound on my breast, the flesh gouged and torn by hungry teeth and screamed as entered me. So painfully cold, so dizzily, painfully cold. My mouth and throat felt parched, lacking something to sooth it, to relive the stress of the aching cry.
Why was I suddenly so thirsty?
“Selene.”
Hands shook me as David’s voice tugged at some part of my mind, bringing me back to reality, saving me from the blood and oil. I cracked my eyes open to find the monk sitting on the side of my bed, a worried look on his face as he shook my shoulder urgently. David stood behind him, the lower part of his face solemn to my view as before his eyes were still shaded from my sight by that damn hat. I was really beginning to hate that thing.
“Miss, wake up.” The monk held something up before my face, catching my attention. I blinked a few times, trying to clear the smogginess from my sight and stared uncomprehendingly. What was that? “You need to drink this, miss. It will help lower your fever. You’re burning up.”
Oh, it was a glass. I smiled slightly, feeling a bit foolish at not realizing that before. Dur. I struggled to sit up, feeling him shift to slid an arm around my back to help me up and felt the coolness of smooth glass touch my lips then a sudden rush of warmth as a honeyed laced liquid filled my mouth before sliding down my aching throat. I swallowed the drink, hearing him tssk to himself as he lowered me back down to the bed and sat the glass down on the small table beside it. David frown, turning his head slightly to watch the monk’s movements.
“Ya need holy water, Selene. Tell the friar ya need holy water.”
I grunted and glanced back at the monk. “Did you bring holy water?” I whispered harshly. Why did my throat hurt? It felt as if I had been at a rock concert screaming for hours.
He nodded, motioning with his hand at the small table. I looked, noticing a small clay bowl as well as a plate filled with bread, cheese and fruit. “I thought you might be hungry too.” He straightened his posture, looking down at me with concerned dark eyes as his lips tightened in a straight line. “I brought the medical kit. If you let me look at the wound I’ll try to fix it up as best as I can, but I think you really need to get to a hospital. You’re running a temperature of a hundred and five. I think the medicine I gave you should help that but,” he shook his head, glancing down at my bra covered chest and the bandage over my left breast. “You’ve got some kind of infection going on here. Its spreading fast and is hot to the touch.”
I shifted my eyes over his shoulder to David, felt him watching me intently then noticed someone walk past him to stop beside the bed and look down at me. Sad brown eyes met mine, the man’s hands held tightly together over his chest in worry, a dark stain spread over the fabric of worn brown robes of a monk. As he raised his hands toward his chin, a rosary entwined in his fingers I noticed a hole in his robe, several of them in fact, right over where his heart would be. I shuddered and looked away as he began a silent prayer.
“Miss?”
I glanced back up at the monk and nodded. “Sorry. Yeah, sure but I need you to use the holy water on it. It has to be cleaned with the holy water.”
“I can do that.” He said and began preparing the items he needed from the kit, setting them out on the small table. “My name is Father Tomas, by the way.”
“Selene.”
He acknowledged that with a smile then reached over with one hand to the bandage, the other of his hands holding a clean gauze pad ready. “This might hurt some.” He said, trying to comfort me.
“Oh, I know.” I drew in a deep breath then let it slowly out as he pulled off the blood crusted pad I had on the wound. I winced slightly, gritting my teeth as it was removed, feeling a tugging as bits of blood and flesh came off with it.
“Oh, my.” He muttered under his breath, dabbing at the wound with the clean gauze as a deep crimson liquid bubbled up through jaggedly torn skin, the edges which were pale and angry looking. A greenish yellow pus oozed from it as well as blood that had some weird tiny pockets of black particles dotting it. Father Tomas frowned, his eyes narrowing as a silent prayer formed on his lips. “That doesn’t look good.” He muttered, reaching for some peroxide soaked pads and began gently cleaning the wound.
He’d press on the sides of the cuts as pus and more of that weird black red blood would appear, wiping the mess and dead flesh away as he went until all signs of the infection were gone but the red streak over my chest and the poka dotted blood. “As soon as the others return we’ll take you to a hospital. Your blood shouldn’t have this in it.”
He held the gauze up for me to see and I blinked in surprise, feeling my heart begin to race faster in my chest. The oil, it was the freaking oil from my dream. I began to shake, afraid, not knowing what was happening to me. I guess the friar took it as a sign of fatigue and illness because he began to bandage the wound again.
“Selene, the holy water.” David’s warm Texas drawl reminded me of what needed to be done, why we came here in the first place.
“Father Tomas, you gotta use the holy water first.”
He looked up at me in surprise as if remember it himself then nodded and reached for the clay bowl on the table. Lifting the pad up to let the blood flow free he began to pray as he tilted the bowl down slightly to let the water pour from the rim directly into the wound. As soon as the cool liquid hit my skin it began to steam, smoke rising from the jagged flesh and the glistening meat underneath. I began to scream, having never felt something so breathtakingly agonizing before in my life. It felt as if thousands of red hot pokers were pushed into my skin, as salt and lemon juice were poured into the gash at the same time. My stomach rolled and twisted as my breath left me, nothing else could come. My eyes rolled back in their sockets while the muscles on my bones contracted, pulling my knees to my chest in an attempt to protect my body from this pain.
The monk jerked away, his face a mass of horror and repulsion from the smell of burning flesh and the sight of bubbling skin. I cried out for him to continue, wanting to get this over with as David moved closer to the bed, reaching out as if to touch me, willing me his strength. The silently praying monk rubbed the amber beads of rosary as he raised his face upwards, as if silently beseeching on my behalf while Father Tomas nodded, not understanding what was going on here, why holy water was effecting me so but understanding in some subliminal way that his continuing was important. I last remember the look of pity in his eyes as he once more tilted the bowl and the water hit my abused flesh.
I screamed until there was nothing but sweet darkness coming to save me from this insanity.
