A Matter Of Blood by Sarah Pinborough

A Matter Of Blood by Sarah Pinborough

Author:Sarah Pinborough [Pinborough, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2010-03-24T11:00:00+00:00


Chapter Twelve

He has been sitting on the edge of the low, narrow bed for hours, just staring at the cracks in the paint on the walls. It doesn’t disturb anyone. He has his own room in the hostel now. It wasn’t what he wanted when he started out. He moved from the luxury penthouse, first to a bedsit, now this. Next, he’ll maybe try spending his nights under the bridges. He’d wanted to rest in the large, overcrowded, stinking dormitory, with all the dregs of humanity, but after a few nights the softly spoken, well-intentioned volunteers had moved him.

They said it was because of the good work he was doing with the vicar at the church, and that he needed a quiet space to sleep, but he knows better. He can see it in their honest faces. It’s because he upsets the rest of them. He makes the junkies and drunks and damaged people cry out and cause trouble. Perhaps the more feral a man becomes, the more he can see the truth, or what’s left of it. They can see he doesn’t belong among them . . . or maybe it’s simpler than that: they just can’t stand the buzzing in their dreams while they toss and turn and dream of the next bottle.

He can’t control the flies so well when he’s sleeping any more. The more human he becomes the more they break free. They don’t live long. He’s dying, ergo they’re dying. Some spin in mad circles for a few scant moments before falling to the floor. He looks down and as if in testimonial three are lying near-dead at his feet. He watches them wriggling on their backs before they die, legs waving frantically in the air. There was a time when he could have felt each one, but no longer. He stretches his fingers out and concentrates. A tiny smooth egg slides out from under his fingernail. He smiles. He still has what he needs for his messages, even if it drains him.

The walls are closing in a little and he stands. It’s nearly morning. He hasn’t settled all night. There are wheels within wheels, games playing out. The pawns move; the king must be protected. He frowns as he lets himself out of the small room. He was surprised by the press conference. The wrong man was at the desk, after he’d worked hard to make sure it was the right one. Still, that can be fixed. And it’s pleasant to be surprised, especially when humans get involved in the game. His feet hurt. It feels as if they thump heavily on the ground even though each step is silent. He is tired and his old bones ache. He wonders when it will be over, and how - though he thinks he knows. Wheels within wheels. There really is only one way for him.

He heads for the entrance. He wants to enjoy the beauty of the creation as the sun rises. The door is locked every night, but he hears the slight metal click as it undoes itself for him.



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