Familiar Spirit

Sarah opened her eyes and saw the rat, still fixed in the beam of her flashlight. Had it moved closer? She couldn’t be sure. Bitterness welled up inside her, a pain in her chest. She could breathe—she was in no danger of suffocation—that had all been a trick. The rat had made her think she could not breathe in order to distract her, to keep her from recognizing the real danger. And the real danger was in the rat itself. She felt its evil, its almost overpowering will, burning out of those eyes. It had nearly tricked her into giving in. It meant to destroy her. Sarah stared back at it, briefly free of the power of those hypnotic eyes, and she recognized her enemy. Self-preservation rose up inside her, strengthening her, and a feeling of hatred stronger than any she had ever known. She would not let herself be destroyed or used—she would kill the thing that had tried to kill her—she would smash it, burn it, crush it, cut its throat—

Crying out incoherently, Sarah hurled the flashlight at the rat, and heard the sound of metal striking the floor.

Darkness swallowed them both.

Chapter Five

“I won’t!” Sarah mumbled.

The childish protest rang in her ears, as if she had been repeating it for hours. She looked around groggily, trying to understand where she was and what had happened. She was slumped on the kitchen linoleum. Her bare feet were so cold they ached. The grey light of very early morning filled the room.

Sarah squinted against the pounding in her head and struggled to her feet. She managed to reach the bathroom before she vomited. Then, bewildered and shivering uncontrollably, Sarah leaned against the side of the door and tried to think. She couldn’t remember anything, not even what day it was. All she could cling to, through the painful fog that filled her head, was a knowledge of her own identity. And she clutched that as if even that last certainty might be snatched from her.

“Sarah,” she whispered. “Me.”

Who had tried to take that away from her?

A dim memory of struggle and pain surfaced and then sank again. Sank into cold, dirty water. Her stomach heaved and Sarah grabbed the doorframe and swallowed hard. She remembered drowning. Almost drowning.

She broke out into a light sweat, no longer cold, although she still shivered. She remembered the fires that had burned on the other side of the water. The eyes that had burned like fire, burned into her brain, almost consuming her.

Sarah moaned softly and closed her eyes, pressing a hand against her head. Pain pulsed through her body. She ached as if she had been beaten. But she had not been beaten. She had survived. She still lived. And now she had to rest. It was safe to rest now; she had fought long enough for now. That knowledge came from within her, and Sarah trusted it.

Safe now, she thought, staggering back to the couch. Safe to sleep. She wasn’t ready yet to remember what she was safe from.

Knocking woke her, long hours later.

Sarah opened her eyes on daylight. The knocking persisted, and the sound made her shudder. The rat! It was the rat, she thought, within the walls, mocking her. She struggled to sit up, panting with terror, the blanket trapping her legs and slowing her.

“Sarah? Sarah, are you there?”

She heard the faint, faraway voice and recognized it as Beverly’s. She relaxed, then, and unwound herself from the blanket. “Coming,” she called. Her voice sounded cracked and strange in her ears. Despite the sleep, her body still ached and she felt weak and feverish.

“I was worried about you,” Beverly said when Sarah opened the back door. “When you weren’t in class—” She frowned, stepped forward and put her hands on Sarah’s shoulders. “Are you all right? You look . . .”

Sarah shrugged Beverly’s hands away, stepping back. “I was asleep.”

“A nap?”

Sarah frowned. “What time is it?”

“Nearly three.”

Sarah stared blankly, trying to comprehend. Why had she been asleep in the middle of the day? What had happened the night before? Something dreadful, which had weakened her and made her sick, but she couldn’t exactly remember . . .

“Poor thing,” Beverly said, smiling ruefully. “I woke you up. You go sit down and rest, and I’ll make you some tea.”

“Coffee,” Sarah said. She had to clear her head; she had to remember.

“All right, coffee.”

The sound of a truck in the yard behind her made Beverly turn around. “Looks like your bed has arrived,” she said to Sarah.

“Oh,” said Sarah. Her mind was a blank. The words made sense, but she didn’t know how they related, how she was to respond.

“You poor baby,” Beverly said. She laughed, but her laughter was a caress, not a mockery. She took Sarah by the shoulders again and walked her backwards. “You just lie back down and I’ll take care of everything. I’ll get you your coffee, and I’ll show the men where to put your bed.”