Unbelievable, Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten: What Doesn’t Kill You…

The river is soft and dark and deep. Her surface is barely disturbed; just the odd, late-evening fish surfacing to snap, disappearing in a trail of bubbles. She slides beneath the bridge like a great, slow snake; a drugged basilisk, the Midgard serpent making her way home to the sea that lies beyond the Avonmouth, out beyond the Severn estuary, all the way out where I can’t see.

The stars are watching me as I stand by the darkened pub, its windows lightless and unseeing. It is long past one; the week-night drinkers and revellers have dispersed, and the landlord gone to bed. I stand on the bridge, watching the river below, mesmerised by her light-studded surface. The moon is flickering, a slithery smile, haunting the sky like the Cheshire cat. Today, since midnight, it has become Lent, the first note of spring. Only three days until March. I saw snowdrops on what was now yesterday morning as I walked along the towpath, seeking solace in the silence of early morning sun, as it burnt the mist off the river like a magic spell.

I raise my eyes heavenward, and seek the familiar constellations. The Great Bear hangs, nose pointing up, or is it his tail? And, near, Orion sparkles with his studded belt and his galactic sword, his shoulders broad and strong in the velvet night, in his battle-stance, legs apart. I focus on his shoulders. Betelgeuse and Bellatrix, two of the brightest stars in the night-sky, dazzle down at me. If only those huge shoulders could carry the weight that mine are attempting to bear. Perhaps it is my own fault, for trying to shoulder it; perhaps I should simply let it crush me. The weight of pretending that I’m not a freak. Well, tonight it is time to embrace it. I am letting go of my need to be normal, subverting nearly seventeen years of my Mother’s training. It feels rebellious, and I will embrace it.

I laugh into the night, releasing the tension from the overwhelming beauty of the moment. I laugh long and loud, bordering on hysterical as my own action tickles me. I gasp in the chill air, filling my lungs with coldness, and then exhale deeply, releasing my invisible ghosts into the night. They laugh with me, their merriment echoing, as last summer once again fills my mind and heart, and the now-familiar stabs of pain start, seeking their sharp ways between my ribs, cutting tiny holes to let the pain flow out.

If only I had known. This was still a process of proving. If only I had known then what I know now; I would have dragged myself back towards the car, dragged them out, one by one, laid them on the hot, dry grass of the verge, far enough away from the car to have escaped the flames and dust and smoke and death that had consumed them. I would have healed, no matter how burnt I was, wouldn’t I? I was not yet brave enough to try experiments with fire; even striking a match brought shuddering flashbacks; I would have to build up to it, once I had exhausted every other method I could think of. I am so sure that I could have done all that, all that saving. If only I knew the moment of each of their deaths, if only I knew that going back would have been futile. But I didn’t have that luxury, that escape root.

So here I go again, for the third consecutive night. I flex my body, checking that I am one-hundred-per-cent right. The sores of yesterday have healed; the bruises fading quickly, as if embarrassed to taint my pale, fragile-looking skin. How deceiving appearances are. The bones have knit themselves, the twisted sinews straightened out, the ripped tendons locked once more in undamaged surety.

I take another chilling breath as I take a few steps sideways from the centre of the bridge. Aligned, I mount the parapet, steady my feet, straighten into balance. My balance is growing. I am nowhere near the elegance of Elyssa, but I am improving. I raise my arms, poise myself like a diver, aiming, not for the river, but for the bank below me. The gravelled towpath and the verge, and the hard stone that lies beneath, lining the bank, strengthening the river’s edge for the bridge. I bend my knees, lift, plunge, bracing myself for the inevitable breaking of bones.

In the hauntingly beautiful night, I lie and stare up at the stars. I imagine I can hear Orion laugh at my silly human antics. I know I must be at least part-human, because I am breakable. I can feel my humanity in my snapped ribs, my bent ankle, my shattered elbow, my dislocated collar-bone. I can feel my fragility in my cut head, in the taste of blood in my tongue-bitten mouth, in my bruising limbs and ripped sinews.

The stars stare down at me, as the blood begins to weave its magic, and I begin to be reconstructed at inhuman speed.

I know that I am part-human, but it is clear to me that I am far from normal. I heal, where others would remain broken. I live, where others would die. I should be dead, several times over now. I should have been burnt to cinders in that twisted, buckled car on that sun-slanted, end-of-summer road, while the farmer dismounted from his tractor, dialling the emergency services on his mobile; while the explosions shattered the pied crows from the stubbled fields. Instead, I had dragged my bent and twisted body from the bent and twisted metal, reaching safety just in time to witness the cremation of the people I had loved best in the world.

Their faces float before me now, hanging from the spangling stars like accusations.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, as my spine clicks back in place. ‘Forgive me; I didn’t know.’

I sit on the edge of the bank, dangling my legs down the cool, stone wall. I am ready to move on, to keep going down that checklist of death. Death by wrist-slitting: no go; Death by drowning: no go; Death by breaking everything: no go. What is next? Oh yes, Death by mutilation. Fire can wait until I test my lizard strength. But I will need help. There are only two people I can call on, and they are unbreakable. They have a different perspective. They won’t hold me back; they’ll agree to what I am going to ask; they might even delight in it. I will feel like their little pet laboratory rat. Two mad scientists. If only I could enlist the help of my other friends, but fear prevents me. The human world, I know, is not ready for such revelations.

Maggie has cautioned me. She knows the gist of what I am doing, and even approves of it, I think.

‘Just don’t be seen,’ she had said, simply. And then, more quizzically: ‘Eyes are everywhere.’