Belle came to because someone was moving her. She was being carried. Everything hurt and she started to protest, but she didn’t have the strength. A door was kicked open and then lights blared and she was being laid out on something hard as rock. Her eyes rolling in her head, she tried to focus. Oak beams above her. Wooden cupboards all around. A kitchen. Warmer in here.
Oh Jesus it hurt.
It all hurt so much.
Her hand fastened on the edge of what she was lying on. A big table. Something wet and hot touched her hand and she was catapulted back to that black-water pond and the caimans biting at her, tearing her to bits. She moaned, full consciousness coming back hard and terror with it. She swivelled her head to see what was happening, panicking all over again. Agony.
It was the dog. It was licking her hand.
And there was a bearded dark-haired man, moving toward a phone on an old oak dresser.
‘No,’ she tried to say. It came out weird. Her mouth felt odd. Nothing seemed to be coming out of it the way it should.
He didn’t hear her or couldn’t understand her. He was picking up the phone and starting to dial.
Nine . . .
‘No!’ she tried again but was ignored.
Nine . . .
‘Don’t,’ said Belle, and with a lurch she threw herself off the table. She hit the floor and it hurt. She screamed, it hurt so much.
‘Christ alive,’ he said, and stopped dialling. He dropped the phone and rushed back across the kitchen to kneel beside her.
Belle grabbed his arm and tried to shake him. She couldn’t. She was too weak.
‘Don’t phone for an ambulance,’ she said, and it all came out wrong. She gasped, swallowed, tried to make her voice come out better. ‘They’re looking for me. They’ll check the hospitals. Don’t do it.’
‘You’re saying . . . ?’ He was staring at her face, trying to make sense of her words.
‘Don’t phone ambulance. People . . . looking for me. Bad people. They’ll check. They’ll know.’
‘Bad people?’
‘Yethmph,’ Belle heard her mouth say. Yes.
What the hell was wrong with her mouth? The left side of her face was on fire. It was agony.
‘Someone’s looking for you? Someone did this to you?’ he asked. The dog crowded in, trying to lick Belle’s face. The man pushed it back. ‘Fuck off out of it, Trix,’ he said, and then he turned back to Belle. ‘OK. I’m going to get you back onto the table, all right?’
Belle nodded feebly.
He lifted her back up onto it. Got a towel from beside the sink, rolled it up, tucked it under her head. That hurt. She moaned, grinding her teeth together, swallowing blood. Then he fetched another from a cupboard and put it on her leg.
‘This is bad, all this,’ said the man, leaning over her. ‘Your injuries. You need proper medical help.’
‘First aid . . .’ said Belle, wincing. It came out fast day.
He was dabbing the towel on her leg. ‘These look like animal bites. Puncture wounds,’ he said. ‘Not too bad. These’ll heal OK. I’ll clean them out, bandage them up.’ Then he looked up at her face. ‘The blood’s good. Blood cleans wounds. You should have a tetanus shot . . .’
‘No. Mumph.’ Belle shook her head.
‘What did . . . ?’ He ran out of words. This was worse than bad. She’d been savaged by something.
‘Caimans,’ said Belle.
‘Clean, yes,’ he said, not understanding.
Then he moved up to her head, looked at her face. ‘Bad news or good news?’ he said.
‘Wha . . . ?’
‘Your face. It’s very bad.’
Belle was staring at him. She was in pain and she was full of fear, all over again.
‘There is no good news. Something’s torn a lump out of your face. Your cheek’s hanging down like a flap. I think that’s why your speech is fucked. You need stitching up. You need a medic.’
Oh Christ. She’d gotten by since childhood on her good looks. She wasn’t vain, but she was used to being the one everyone’s eyes followed. It was just her. And he was saying . . .
‘I’m not kidding around here. It’s a mess,’ he said.
Belle grabbed the edge of the table again, wanting something solid to hang onto when her world had descended into chaos. Out there, maybe they were looking for her, and if they found her she knew she was dead for sure. Out there, her father must be in danger. Maybe he was dead already. And her mother . . .
Again, the dog licked her fingers as if in sympathy.
‘You’ll have to stitch it,’ she said to the bearded man, and she saw understanding right there in his eyes this time. ‘Do it.’