Child Of The Night by Nancy Kilpatrick

Author:Nancy Kilpatrick [Kilpatrick, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Crossroad Press & Macabre Ink Digital
Published: 2011-06-17T03:00:00+00:00

The drug began to wear off as the boat reached Portsmouth. Disoriented, Carol disembarked and presented her passport to the customs official. A red-faced man asked, “Reason for visiting England?”

“I... I don’t have a reason,” she said. She did not know what she was doing here or why she had come.

“Are you on holiday, then?”

“Yes,” she said automatically.

Passport returned, she found the nearest bench and sat down to think. She felt as if she had been in a car accident and shock had set in. She was stunned without understanding why. She tried to calm herself and clear her mind so she could think about how she got here.

Obviously, I just passed through the arrival gate from France, she thought. She had no memory of ever being in France and yet she had just stepped off the boat from Le Harve. And her ticket said so. She looked down—she was dressed strangely, old summer shoes, a hunting jacket, and underneath layers of clothing, none of which she could recall owning. This must be a dream, she thought. What else could it be?

Her body ached, particularly her stomach, which looked a bit swollen. She felt exhausted, as if she had been through some colossal physical undertaking, like running a marathon. Suddenly she became terrified. Nothing made any sense. It was as though she had gone to sleep in her bed at home in Philadelphia and woken in another time and place. How could that happen?

Panic set in. She opened her suitcase and rummaged through it, looking for clues. She recognized every piece of clothing, every toilet article. Under the hunting jacket, inside a shirt pocket she found a large sum of cash—in U.S. dollars. She didn’t count it but just a quick flip through told her there was a lot more money than she had ever had in one shot in her life. She searched her shoulder bag and discovered her passport. At least I haven’t lost all of my memory, she thought. She recognized her name and the photo and her home address. The date stamped inside indicated she’d arrived in Paris—an arrival she did not remember. A quick look at a newspaper told her about nine months had elapsed from when she had supposedly entered France until now. Nine months. Long enough to have a baby. Why did I think that, she wondered, and suddenly, inexplicably, tears flooded her eyes and washed down her cheeks.

“Dearie, are you all right?”

A soft-faced old woman bent over her.

“No. No, I’m not all right,” Carol sobbed. “I don’t know where I am or how I got here.”

“Why, you’re in Portsmouth, of course. At the ferry dock. You arrived on that very boat out there—I was on the same one.”

The woman handed Carol a tissue, which she dabbed at her eyes. “I can’t remember getting on the boat.”

“That’s not surprising. You were so tired you could hardly keep to your feet. Your friend helped you on board, he did. Sat with you until the boat left.

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