The House

Chapter 46 - Day 5: Unravelling Secrets

My baby is crying, his misery fills my ears, and my head is pounding. I'm cold and hot, and I'm not sure where I am.

Dragging my eyelids apart, I can see the outline of dusky furniture standing around the room and the carved posts of the bed I'm lying in. I'm thirsty, and my throat is filled with barbed wire, but the water pitcher beside my bed is empty now. The baby's pitiful cries break through my thirst, ripping my heart, and I slip from under the duvet, lowering my feet to the floor to rise on shaky legs.

I need to reach my son.

I can feel my heartbeat reverberating in my head and thrumming in my veins. The baby's cries grow louder, more distinct, as I open the bedroom door and shuffle into the hallway. The sun is gone, the house is swallowed up in darkness, and when my searching fingers find the light switch, flipping it produces nothing but a click. There's only me, my thirst and the desperate cries of the infant, causing convulsive spasms in my belly.

I need to find him! I need to take care of him!

It is too dark on the landing; I cannot see where to put my feet, and the nautical clock on the wall is ticking deafeningly loud, its relentless beat vibrating along the floor. Did David fix it and hang it back in its place?

I feel my way to the staircase and descend carefully, one step at a time, sliding my back along the wall for support. Outside, fat raindrops are splashing against the windows, and the wind is howling, but I can still hear the baby crying above the noise.

Why is it so dark? There isn't even any lightning to brighten my path as I stumble towards the small hallway leading to the kitchen, guided by the infant's cries. When I pass the bathroom door, I become aware of another sound.

Sobs. Deep, heart-wrenching sobs, the kind that twists my insides with empathy, bringing tears to my own eyes. Somewhere ahead of me, hidden in the dark corridor, a grief-stricken man is crying, his sobs underscoring the baby's cries. I squint, trying to see into the dark recesses of the hallway.

"David?"

There is no answer, but the crying is growing louder, filling my head, and as I shuffle closer, I can make out the form of a man sitting on the floor, clutching a squirming bundle wrapped in bloodied cloth. As I stare, the image becomes more identifiable, and I can see a tiny white fist break out of the swaddling, angrily waving in the air while the baby's cries grow shriller, clashing with the broken-hearted wails erupting from the throat of the man sitting on the floor, holding the child.

I can feel the man's despair, harmonising painfully with the infant's, and I can see him clearly now.

It is not David.

The man seems somewhat familiar, but his features are contorted with the kind of pain only genuine sorrow can induce. Why is he crying, holding my baby?

It's not my baby... I don't have a baby...

Are they survivors of the storm and the flood? Did David bring them here? Where is he? Where is this child's mother? Are they injured?

"David?!"

My mind races with unanswered questions, and I stumble forward to see if I can help the man and his child, crying out in pain when my knees hit the wooden floor, and I smack my forehead against the wall.

For a moment, I just lie still, dazed and frightened, trying to make sense of how I managed to trip so spectacularly. I cannot hear or see anything at first, but then warm hands grab my shoulders and pull me upright.

"Belle! Are you alright?"

I gasp, startled by the sudden brightness around me. The room is filled with fading sunlight. I'm not on the floor in the kitchen hallway; I'm in the bedroom.