Nothing. I step closer, pointing to the marks beside the headboard.
“I heard tapping last night. On the wall. Was that you?”
The slightest movement, a nod. The starched pillow rustles beneath her.
“Do you need help? Do you need me to call someone?”
She watches me with those arctic eyes, mouth working. She is trying to speak. Her chest heaves with the effort.
“Bill—” she drawls, her voice gluey. “Bill—”
“Billy?”
She nods, eyes close, open. She is so weak, trembling with the effort.
“Billy? What about him? Is he in trouble?”
“Billy,” she whispers, then her voice disappears completely and she just mouths the word at me. Her eyes seek me out like searchlights, pleading with me to understand.Bill. Eee.
Mary’s eyes close, her hand lifts. She is so pale and bloodless, like a vampire. Her jaw works uselessly, her breathing too fast, too labored. Her teeth are long and rooted, discolored in her pale gums.
“Mary, don’t exert yourself. And don’t worry about Billy, don’t worry about anything. He’s with his grandparents, him and Tamsin both. They’re safe.”
Her eyes are half-open, revealing narrow slits of white. The nightdress hangs on her bones as she lifts her hand and reaches it toward me. I don’t want to take it. I’m too scared, too cowardly. What if it feels cold like Eddie’s had? What if it feels like ice?
SOS. I lean a little closer to Mary, close enough that I can see the rich blue veins that run beneath her thin skin. I keep my voice low.
“Mary, are you in trouble?”
Her eyes slide to the doorway and her breathing begins to hitch wetly, spittle building in the corners of her mouth. I turn and see Bert standing there, looking from me to Mary and back again.
“What’s going on?” His brow is deeply furrowed. “I thought I told you, Mina, she needs her rest.”
I’m caught. I pin a smile to my face, keep my voice bright.
“I heard something. I thought she might need help.”
“Mary, love. It’s me. It’s all right.”
He leans over the bed and the concern that tightens his features makes me feel embarrassed and ashamed, caught sneaking around like a kid. Mary’s eyes roll back toward me and Bert strokes her hair back from her forehead with a touch borne out of infinite tenderness.
“Bert, I’m sorry. I just—”
He waves me away.
“It’s her suffering, Mina. I can’t bear it. I just want it to end. Do you understand how that feels?”
He lifts his gaze then and his eyes meet mine and there’s a moment when I feel utterly weightless. I have to reach out a hand to steady myself on the dressing table behind me.
“You’d better go downstairs.” He turns back to Mary, waving me away. “Alice will be wondering where you are.”
I do as he asks without another word, closing the door gently behind me. The binding in my chest is a constrictor, a deep and sinuous flex that tightens, tightens.
TWENTY-FIVE
As we leave Bert’s house I tell Alice that I have something I need to do. She looks at me, concerned.
“What about the curfew?”