Wednesday, 23 May 2012

Fever XV (Henry)


XV - Henry

            Henry stared out at the foggy darkness through the small patch of clear glass, clutched his papers tightly to his chest and rubbed his jaw.  It was going to bruise.  He heard Paige's worried tones and half turned towards her.

            "What's wrong now?"

            "It's Charlie, he's disappeared."  Paige let her gaze flicker back down the empty corridor.  "I... I should go look for him.  Are you okay waiting here?  We don't want to get lost."

            He nodded and watched her slip out into the corridor, a shadow beneath the inconstant lights, breaking into a run, then vanishing around a corner.  He sighed, walked over to one of the beds and sat down, set his papers on his knees and began to read.

            They were old.  Some were very old indeed, sealed between thin sheets of plastic but crumbling where the edges poked out.  Others were less centuried, written only decades ago, rather than generations.  He fingered through them carefully reminding himself of images and words long forgotten.

            When he'd picked them up in the apartment it had seemed very important he take them with him.  They had been sitting in that chest in his study for a long, long time and then suddenly they had seemed relevant.  Now he sat staring at them, unsure why he had really brought them.  Do I really believe it's a coincidence?

            He had fought so adamantly against the irrational so far.  He had shouted and directed and demanded but with those papers in front of him it was all starting to look a lot like denial.

            They all said I was in denial.

            But he didn't want to give in.  He didn't want to admit that any of it might be true.  How could he, after all these years, after all the things he had said and done, after a retirement that had been comfortable in spite of all the nagging little doubts - How could I?

            He flicked his way back to the first page and skimmed across it, focusing on the image of the moebius loop cross and the symbols and writing that surrounded it.

            The sect of St. Margaret of Devara...  Folklore? Myth?  History?

            He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

            No.  I'm not backing down now.  This is nonsense.

            He brushed the papers aside, letting them fall to the floor, scattering gracefully, then he lay back and listened to the silence of the hospital.  He was half asleep when the TV switched itself back on and the sound of static filled the room.


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