Glory (Book 2) (3 page)

Chapter 5

Marianne sat in the bathroom. Her face was scratched. Her arms bleeding. Her mother had attacked her and she didn't know why.

For the past several weeks, her mother had barely moved. She had been more than sure that the old woman had been about to die. It hadn't been something that she liked to think about, but it was a reality; something that she had to face.

Instead, her mother had gotten out of bed and attacked her
.
Actually attacked her!

She could hear the old woman to continue to beat her fists against the door. She didn't hit it hard, but it was more than Marianne would ever have expected. She continued to scream too, most of it coming out as nothing more than a garbled yell.

Marianne placed her back against the door and sat onto the floor. She closed her eyes and tried to make sense of it all.

By the time she opened them again, she still couldn't understand what was happening.

The banging continued.

"Mother!" she called out. "What's wrong?"

The old woman didn't answer. She kept hitting the door, screaming.

It pained Marianne to hear her mother like this. She had no idea what the problem could be
-
rabies? some other disease?
-
and she didn't know what she could do to help.

"Please, tell me what's wrong!"

She thought about opening the door to see what she could do anyway. Sh
e
wante
d
to. Except a bigger part of her was frightened. She didn't want to get attacked again.

No, it was more than that
.
She didn't want to see her mother
,
someone that she deeply cared abou
t
, come after her, clawing, scratching, biting.

"Mother!" Marianne said again. "Tell me what's wrong!"

Marianne could hear hysteria sneaking into her voice as everything started to overwhelm her. Out in her mother's bedroom, she hadn't had much time to think. She had simply had enough time to react, to run away from her mother, to hide in the bathroom. Now here on the other side of the door, things started to sink in. Not that they made sense. Just sink in.

"Mother, talk to me!" Her voice grew in pitch. She could feel her hands starting to shake. She could feel her heart beginning to pick up its pace. "Please stop. Tell me what's wrong."

Nothing but banging came from the other side of the door…and that garbled yell.

Marianne's hands continued to shake. In fact, they got worse
.
Sh
e
got worse. She felt sick
.
What was happening to her mother
?
None of this made any sense.

She turned around and got on her knees. She put her hand on the door knob, knowing that she had to open it. She needed to find out what was wrong with her mother. She had to help her.

She closed her fingers tightly around the door knob, then she took a deep breath and prepared to turn it. It would take a lot of courage to do so, she knew that. She didn't want to see her mother like this. She didn't want to risk getting attacked. But what choice did she have? She couldn't leave her mother alone any longer.

"Mother," she said. Her voice shook as she spoke. "I'm coming out. I'm going to help you."

Before she turned the knob, Marianne stood up. She wasn't about to open the door on her knees. She had to be ready for when her mother came at her - as she knew that she would.

Marianne's legs shivered underneath her and almost brought her back to the ground.

She took another deep breath. And another.

Then she began to turn the door knob. She could feel the springs creak as she did.

But, before she got it open, she stopped. Something had changed. Her mother was no longer banging against the door. She wasn't screaming.

Marianne couldn't help but feel hopeful about this
.
Maybe she was okay. Maybe it was a fit of some kind. Maybe her mother was out there, waiting to be put back into bed
.
She turned the knob and pulled the door open.

As soon as she did, she saw mother was lying there on the ground, looking up at her. Immediately, she knew that the old woman was dead.

"Mother!" Marianne screamed.

She bent down and grabbed hold of the lifeless body. She shook her a few times, hoping that she had been wrong. It was possible that her mother had passed out.

It didn't take long for her to realize that there were no signs of life.

"Please, mother. Tell me you're okay." Marianne knew that she wasn't, but the words came out of her mouth without much thought. "Oh, mother."

She looked down and focused on the old woman's face. There was such an expression of such rage on it that she nearly pulled away at the sight
.
But this was her mother
.
She pushed her feelings of fear aside
.
Something bad had happened to the old woman
.
Something Marianne hadn't been able to stop.

She wrapped her arms around her mother's corpse and pulled it against her. Then she started to cry.

*

Marianne sat for a while with her mother. She could hear noises coming from outside, but she didn't pay them much attention. She was too busy thinking about the old woman, how she had died, and how Marianne hadn't been able to stop it.

It occurred to her that her mother had probably had a heart attack and had been trying to tell her about it when she ran off into the bathroom to hide.

That's what it had to be. Her mother had just been trying to tell her.

Marianne felt a fresh rush of tears stream down her face. She should have listened to the old woman. She should have helped her. How could she think that her mother was attacking her? Her mother had loved her. She hadn't attacked
.
She couldn't hav
e
.

Marianne hugged her mother again.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm really…"

Another thought came to her. She should to call the authorities. The police. The hospital. She lowered her mother to the ground, stood up and rushed to the phone. It occurred to her that there might still be a chance that they could save her.

Marianne wasn't a doctor. What did she know about death? Her mother looked dead. She didn't think that she was breathing. But that didn't mean anything. She could be wrong. She had to make sure.

She picked up the phone beside her mother's bed and diale
d
9-1-1
.
She waited for someone to pick up.

As she did, she looked back over at her mother. The contorted look of anger was still on the old woman's face. She tried her best not to let it bother her.

"Just hold on, mother. I'm going to get someone to help you."

Marianne continued to wait, but there was no answer. There wasn't even a busy signal.

Marianne looked down on the phone and pressed the numbers again.

Nothing.

She looked back at her mother
-
the contorted fac
e
- and paused. She thought that her mother's eyes were looking straight at her. Big black globes.

She felt scared again, but fought back the feeling. The last time she had been frightened her mother had been trying to tell her to get help, that she had been having a heart attack. And Marianne hadn't listened.

"Mother?" she asked. The eyes continued to stare at her. "Are you okay?"

Marianne lowered the phone back onto the nightside table. Then she crept back over to the old woman and bent down beside her.

"Mother?" She thought that she saw some movement and nearly jumped back again
.
But this was her mother
.
"Is everything all right?"

She got onto her knees. Her mother's eyes hadn't stopped looking at her
.
Where they following her
?
she wondered. She even thought she heard a sound coming from the old woman. Maybe sh
e
wa
s
trying to tell her something.

"Mother?" Marianne lowered her head beside the old woman's and placed her ear right near her mouth. "Did you say something?"

Instead of an answer, there was a rush of breath. It came out of her mother's mouth and tickled Marianne's ear.

Marianne pulled away. She couldn't help it. Her mother's breath smelled horrible.

She looked back at the old woman. The dark eyes were still focused on her. But they didn't move. Nothing did.

No, Marianne wasn't a doctor; but she knew for sure now that her mother was dead.

She raised out her hand and rested it on her mother's head. The old woman had been so good to her, had taken care of her all of her life. Marianne wished that she had been able to do the same. But she hadn't. Here was her mother, lying on the ground, dead. Marianne hadn't even been able to call the ambulance.

"I'm sorry, mother," she said.

She sat onto the ground and rested her back against her mother's bed. She didn't know what to do. Her mother had died. Her phone didn't work. She thought about getting up and telling a neighbour about it, but she didn't have the energy
.
Surely, no one was going to bother her with such a detail
.
They weren't going to get angry that she didn't call the police. They weren't going to think tha
t
sh
e
had anything to do with it.

"I'm sorry, mother," Marianne said once more.

She started to cry again.

*

A while passed before Marianne acknowledged the noise coming from outside. She couldn't ignore it any longer. It had gotten louder, more violent.

She stood up from the floor, unsure what was going on. It couldn't be an accident outside. It didn't sound lik
e
tha
t
. If anything, it sounded like a fight. But it couldn't be that, either
.
Why would there be a fight on her street?

She walked around the foot of the bed and made her way to the window. Now that she was paying attention, she could hear all sorts of noises - none of them nice. There were screams. There were bangs. There were crashes.

She approached the window slowly. Then she raised her fingers to the curtains. She couldn't see outside because of them. At least, not very well. There were little holes in the thin white fabric, but they didn't offer much to look at.

She pulled the curtains back and peered out of the window.

Her mother's bedroom faced the street. She could see a few car crashes. She could see people running around. Most looked like they were angry. But she didn't think that it had anything to do with the accidents.

She heard screaming. She saw fighting.

People punched and kicked at one another. They tore at each other's faces. They spit. They yelled.

Marianne saw blood. Lots of blood.

What's going on out there
?
she asked herself.

Marianne wanted to close the curtain, to curl back up against the bed and wait for it to all pass. Yet she couldn't get herself to do it.

She noticed two men. They were fighting, punching each other over and over again until they both went down.

Another man came up and joined them. He didn't punch, though. He bit. He tore a piece of flesh out of one of the men's faces.

Marianne looked elsewhere.

She saw a group of children fighting. Women. More men.

Something horrible was happening out there. Somethin
g
absolutel
y
horribl
e
.

Marianne turned back to her mother. The look of anger was still on the corpse's face. The black eyes continued to stare at her.

"Mother?" Marianne said.

It was all that she could get out before she fainted and fell to the ground.

Chapter 6

Emily sat in the elevator. The lights were still off. She didn't know what had happened. One minute she had been holding her father's hand, looking up at him. The next he had started to growl and attack her.

Her father had never hit her before, so it had taken her by surprise. Her only reaction had been to curl into the corner of the elevator and remain quiet. And, though she didn't know it, that had probably saved her life.

The real fighting had started then.

Emily had heard it through the little hands she had placed at the side of her head. The grunting. The screaming. A few times someone had grabbed hold of her, but she had remained quiet and whoever it was seemed to lose interest.

After a while, the fighting had stopped. She had heard a few growls and what sounded like crying, but even that had eventually come to an end.

Emily hadn't moved since
.
She just couldn't
.
She was worried that someone was going to reach out and grab her. She had almost all but forgotten that her father was one of these people.

Her father.

She built up her courage and reached out her hand. She came upon the body closest to her and hoped that it was him. That he was just sleeping. That whatever had happened to him had passed.

As she shook at the body, she felt a thick liquid cover her fingers. It didn't even occur to her that it could be blood. The most she had ever seen was when she had fallen off her little bicycle and scraped her knee. That had been bad. But nothing compared to this.

"Dad?" she whispered. She shook the body again. "Is that you?"

There was no reply.

"Daddy?" She shook the body with more force.

When that had no effect, she began to hit it. Blood splattered onto her cheeks. She felt it land on her skin, but was too concerned to give it much thought.

"Dad," she cried. "Daddy!"

Still there was no reply.

Emily pulled her hand away from the body. It had occurred to her that this might not be her father. Maybe it was one of the other two people. Maybe her father was sleeping somewhere else.

She reached out and touched one of the other bodies. Her fingers dipped into something warm that made a soft squishing sound. She pulled back, not knowing what it was. She knew enough that she didn't want to touch it again.

She could feel the tears building in her eyes. She often cried. Her father had always told her to be strong. And she wanted to be. She simply didn't know what else to do.

"Daddy, please!"

She reached around and touched another body. She made sure not to touch in the same spot she had last time. She came upon an arm and fumbled around until she grabbed at the hand.

This was her father
.
She knew it right away. She had held his hand so many times. The feel was unmistakable. She wrapped her fingers around his.

She placed her other hand on his wrist and let out a sigh
.
There was his watch
.
It was him.

She crawled over next to her father and began pulling at him.

"Dad," she said. "Wake up."

Nothing.

"Daddy. Wake up, please."

She started to pull more forcefully. She needed to wake him. He was sleeping. She knew it. He had to be. Something had happened and now he was asleep.

"Daddy!"

Nothing.

"Daaaddddyyy!"

Emily ran her fingers up her father's arm until they touched his face. Something felt wrong with his jaw, but she ignored it. She lowered her head closer to his.

"Wake up," she pleaded. "Please!"