Blood Day by J.L. Murray Page A

slitted. A red gash of a mouth from which emerged teeth as long as her fingers, deadly sharp. Slaver shone on his chin. From his clothing Sia guessed it was male, tailored suit and gleaming black shoes looking almost comical on such a body.  
    Sia looked to Hauser, who still kept her eyes on her. Evelyn wrapped her sweater tighter around herself, a nervous habit of hers. Sia swallowed down panic and fear and tried to slow her breathing.  
    “Close your eyes,” said Evelyn in a voice that had so much kindness in it that Sia wasn't sure it was the nurse at first. The old woman smiled, making her look like a grinning skull. “Just close your eyes. It will be all right.”
    Sia did as she was told. She closed her eyes and stared at the backs of her eyelids. She thought of music and the feel of smooth ivory on her fingers. She imagined a piano under her fingers and started to play. Rachmaninov Piano Concerto No. 2. The panic evaporated and so did the world. She remembered every note, heard the echo of the music in the heart of the piano. She was on a stage, alone, the lights sending a prickle of sweat down her back. There was a large audience, but they meant nothing. There was only the music. Sia became one with the keys, and she poured everything she had into the music.
    When she was through the first movement, the world came creeping back and Sia shivered with cold. The bed was no longer moving and the silence was oppressive. She felt a tug at her wrist and heard the smooth sound of a key in a lock. And then the restraint fell from her wrist and her arm felt so light it might float up over her.  
    It was dim in the room. Sia looked up, her heart feeling cold. The figure was draped in dark lace, head to toe. A dark-gloved hand emerged to unlock the second restraint, then moved down to the end of the bed to release her ankles. As soon as she was free Sia pulled her knees to her chest and sat up, hugging herself. She watched the figure, though all Sia could see of the eyes was a slight glint behind the lace veil. It was dressed like a ghost.
    “What is this?” Sia said, the words coming out as a whisper. “Who are you?”
    The figure started toward her before stopping abruptly. A gloved hand moved to adjust the veil, to keep it in place, Sia assumed. The silky gloves clasped in front of it, the figure sighed raspily.
    “A friend,” said a smooth languid voice. She had a French accent.  
    “A creepy friend,” said Sia, hugging her knees tighter. She felt exposed in the hospital gown.  
    “I thought you might be ready to meet,” said the woman behind the veil.
    “Why are you dressed like that?”
    The veiled woman was silent for a long moment. Then she turned and walked across the room, toward the door. Sia thought she was leaving, but she stopped at a padded chair. She pushed the chair towards Sia and stopped right next to her. She was so close that Sia could smell the lavender and vanilla. The woman sat, her body twisting awkwardly, out of sync with the way she was dressed and the way she talked.  
    “There was an accident,” came the woman's voice. There was a richness to it, a pleasing note that Sia couldn't help but appreciate. “I was disfigured quite badly. You might be ready to meet me, but you are not ready to see me.”
    Sia watched her. Now she could make out the large eyes.
    “Who are you?”
    The woman crossed her ankles, an action that should have been dainty, or at least graceful, but her motions were clunky, awkward.
    “You may call me Mathilde.”
    “Why is there a Rev outside?”
    She made a gesture of dismissal. “You know where you are.”
    “No I don't.”
    “Ah,” said Mathilde. “They have not told you that you are at Munson Experimental Hospital?”
    “They have,” said Sia. “I just don't know what this place is or why I'm here.” Sia swallowed. “Or what you want with me. I'm not anybody.”
    “That's not necessarily true, is it, Sia Aoki?” said Mathilde, leaning forward.