It. Was. In. My. Mouth.
I retched, doubling over in my chair, knife dropping to clatter against the floor in a rapidly growing pool of blood, organs and chunks of what had moments before, been Mark.
I was wearing more of him.
His blood and bodily fluids and parts I didn't want to think about covered me from head to toe, pooling in my lap and dripping from everywhere.
Another series of retches as I wondered what the hell had just happened.
Then I began to scream.
It was a nurse that arrived first, drawn to the sound of my voice. She skidded to a stop in the doorway and stared, wide-eyed, at the carnage. "Oh my God-what happened?"
There was nothing I could say. I just stared right back at her, stomach roiling, blood coating my skin, my hair sticky with it. And then in a stinging rebuke to my masculine pride, I burst into tears.
Alarms sounded and the nurse pulled me out of the room. The trolley Mark was going to use was still close by, so she helped me onto that and began checking me for wounds, for any injuries or physical trauma.
More staff arrived, expecting to find someone injured or at least a body and instead found what amounted to the contents of a large bucket of chum.
There was a lot of swearing.
I stared, numb, mind distancing itself as a means of protection.
"Explosion?"
"Must be."
"Chemical, maybe?"
"Gas line?"
"What the hell happened?"
Security and senior staff arrived, commands were given, order beginning to be restored to the chaos as the milling staff began to work with purpose.
The corridor was locked down as security blocked off the hallway. Police were called and several officers arrived first, dressed in their uniforms, full gear and hi-vis vest too.
I was taken to a side room that was cleared just for me, and they lifted me onto an examination table. The gown was stripped off me, and they started checking vitals, blood pressure and so on as they tried to ask questions.
Naked and beyond traumatised, I just shook my head, mumbling the same, "I don't know," until they stopped asking. Detectives arrived, and with them the forensics team. I was the subject of a great deal of attention.
Samples were taken and I was photographed from every angle, while my soiled clothing was bagged and placed into brown evidence packets. An older man, grey at the temples but skin firm, and no middle-aged spread showing, asked me questions.
I still had no answers to give.
What the hell could I say?
"I-I don't know. He was-he grabbed me and there was just…"I shuddered and began to cry again. I didn't know why. I couldn't seem to stop.
The detective grimaced and ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "Then what?" His voice was gentle, kind even.
"H-h-he… burst."
He made notes and shared a look with a woman in plain clothes standing just above the head of my resting place, out of sight.
"She's in shock," someone said. "You need to let us treat her."
I gave silent thanks for the nurse standing up for me because, right then, I surely couldn't do it for myself.
"Okay, yeah, I think we've got all we're going to here."
"Can we clean her up now?"
"Yeah, sure."
That was all the nurse needed. A stout woman, short with wide glasses and a presence that made her seem twice her actual size. She emptied the room by sheer force of will and was barking orders at anyone who tried to come in while she directed two younger women in cleaning the blood and viscera off me.
I would have married her right then if she'd asked.
They did a decent enough job, but there was only so much you could do and while they had wiped the worst of the gore off my skin, I still very badly needed a shower. My new favourite nurse had shielded me from view as much as she could until I was clean enough to get a new gown to cover me.
Then she stood at the door to the room growling at anyone who dared to try and gawp.
I determined then and there that once everything calmed down, I would be sending her flowers.
Outside in the corridor, someone was shouting, voice raised in fury and in less than a minute, Alan and Nicole barged into the room. They were at my side in an instant, Nicole grabbing my hand before pulling me into an Embrace that started my tears again, while Alan stood over me, face red with anger.
A woman followed him in, hair made up and wearing a pantsuit that identified her as one the hospital higher ups. A suit, in every sense. She was pleading for calm, but Alan was having none of that.
"What the hell happened!"
"There's been an… incident," the suit said. "We're still trying to determine exactly what the sequence of events were."
Nicole, teary eyed turned and regarded the woman with ill-disguised distrust. "Why," she spat. "Was my daughter taken to a storeroom by one of your orderlies?"
"We are still trying to determine…" the suit looked panicked as she wilted beneath the parents' anger. "We are cooperating fully with the authorities."
"Terrorism?" Alan snapped. "What, he was going to rape her before blowing himself up and the bomb went off early! Is that it?"
"No!" She was shaking her head, perfect bun coming apart from the action and loose strands of hair flying free. "There's no indication he had a bomb."
"So, just going to rape her then."
A statement filled with such venom that even I flinched, while Nicole hugged me tighter. Alan turned, face screwed up in disgust and shook his head. "Gather her belongings. We're leaving."
"Sir, I really must insist-"
He spun, jabbing a finger at her as he loomed over her, all fire and fury and in full managing director berating an underling mode. Alan's rage wasn't for me, but for the daughter he thought I was. That hurt in a way I didn't expect.
"If you think, for one goddamn minute, that I am trusting you with my daughter, you have another thing coming. If you try and stop me, you had better hope you have a damn sight better lawyer than I do."
Go Alan, I thought, seeing the woman back down fast.
I didn't even get time to change into different clothes. A doctor was called in who, reluctantly, conceded that there was nothing physically wrong with me and that it would be safe for me to go home. If there were any indications of problems when the test results came back, they would call.
Alan carried me in his arms out to the car, face like thunder, while staff and patients melted out of his way. Nicole hurried along beside us, clutching the duffel bag with my few belongings in her hands, her face vacillating between distress and fury.
There was a big, black, Range Rover outside and I was placed carefully into the back of it. Nicole climbed in beside me and cradled me in her arms while Alan drove steadily home, glancing back often, concern writ large on his craggy features.
Their home was a large, detached property in the Adel area of Leeds. A far cry from my own Harehills upbringing. It was all million pound homes, and flash cars. Doctors and lawyers, professionals and their families mainly. Leafy streets and immaculate gardens.
Gravel crunched as the car came to a stop and once again, despite my protestation, I was carried by Alan into the house.
I didn't mind it. Not really. It had been a long time since anyone had held me, and my parents certainly hadn't. At least not for as long as I could remember.
The care and worry they wore was enough to set me off crying again and I cursed Chloe's body for that weakness. That emotional release that I'd never been allowed as a boy.
A thought that did nothing to stop the tears.
Chloe's room had an en-suite bathroom and Alan left us there as Nicole stripped me of the hospital gown and took great care to clean me thoroughly. Her movements were brisk, clinical, yet caring.
She rubbed the shampoo into my hair, heedless of the water soaking her own clothes as she whispered soothing words, barely more than sounds, to calm me.
It worked.
Nicole didn't let me dry myself off once finished, instead rubbing me vigorously with one of the fluffiest towels I'd even seen. It felt wonderfully soft against my skin.
Back in Chloe's room, she pulled fresh knickers and pyjamas out of the chest of drawers and, cheeks colouring, I dressed quickly, anxious to hide the alien body from my view.
I'd had enough trauma that night.
"Into bed, love," Nicole whispered, and I did as she instructed, suddenly incredibly weary beyond words and eager to sleep. "Tomorrow will be a better day."
"Thank you," I said, stopping her as she turned to leave. She hesitated a bare moment before stepping back and bending down, lips brushing my forehead.
"Sleep, love."
Then she was gone, and I was alone in a room decorated for a young woman, all soft colours and fairy lights strung over the bed. It was a strange space, and one most different to what I was used to.
But there was a feeling of familiarity to it that scared me because I had never been there before, yet I knew what was in the chest of drawers. That the top-drawer would-be knickers and bras, while the second would be t-shirts and tank tops. The bottom drawer held shorts and leggings.
Chloe's memories, leaking into my brain.
That thought terrified me.
If those memories were starting to come through, then would mine remain? Would there be a time when her memories overcame my own and I would just be her?
Then another thought occurred and I sat bolt upright. "Shit!"
The knife.
I'd left the fucking knife!
A chuckle sounded, soft at first but growing in strength as an image of Orryn appeared in the full-length mirror on the other side of the room. His smile was wide, and I sensed genuine pleasure from him as he gave a half bow, mockingly.
"Bravo, dear girl." I just stared. "It has been long since I have been so entertained."
"Fuck you." It was said without any real rancour, just a general disdain for him. "He exploded!"
"Yes!"
"You saw?"
"Of course."
"So, you're stalking me now?" I could barely contain the anger. "Why didn't you help me?"
His face registered surprise, narrow eyebrows rising almost to the dark hair that fell loose around his forehead. "Why would I do that?"
Aside from saving me a bunch of trauma, and what would likely mean a lot of therapy.
"I lost the knife."
His head titled, smile showing puzzlement, then his eyes glittered with humour as he laughed once more. "You cannot lose that knife."
I spread my hands. "Clearly, I have."
"The blade is a part of you. It was made of your very soul. When you grasp it, then it becomes part of this world. Until then…"
"It belongs in the ghost realm," I said, eyes widening. "Are you saying no one can see it if it's not in my hand?"
Orryn inclined his head; smile fixed firmly in place.
I liked my lips, and asked, "The… ah… the exploding…"
"Amusing to watch," Orryn agreed amiably. "Until you learn to control the power of the blade, the results will remain… unpredictable."
Great. That didn't sound ominous at all.
Wait…
"When I learn to control it. You expect me to use it again?"
"Of course," he said, smile widening until it revealed those sharp teeth. "You have only just begun, dear girl. There will be many more before your debt to me is paid."
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. I wasn't sure I was strong enough mentally to face another demon, let alone to experience another explosive death like Marks.
"You will do this," Orryn said, and I frowned. "You can read my mind."
He didn't reply and his image began to fade.
"Wait." I held out a hand towards him imploringly as if that would make a difference. "I need answers."
"Then find them. I'm not your tutor. You are my weapon."
I found myself staring at my own reflected face in the mirror. Or, rather, Chloes.
She looked young, and vulnerable, and so very, very, scared.
Or perhaps that was me.
I wasn't sure anymore, and that scared me more than anything.
Burying myself under the covers, I tried not to cry.
Sleep was a long time coming.