Rosie lays in bed, playing with the piece of card her long lost father had given her the other day and ponders over it.
"Martin Finch," she reads aloud, "Hmm, I don't think that last name would have suited me. Yet another reason I'm better off now. Hopkins is better."
She reads his name and the number for his electrician services over and over, unconsciously memorising the digits. She groans in frustration. Her curiosity is beginning to get the better of her and she's starting to feel guilty. She was fairly nasty to him. Thinking back, she can't pinpoint why she was so angry. Martin had spent years on the move, searching for her and after all the hard work he put into it, he got nothing more than a harsh dismissal. It wasn't his fault. Well, it was partly his fault. She tries to figure out where the real blame lies but no matter what, she can't place it all on Martin. She rummages in her pockets for her mobile and opens a new text message.
XXXXXXXXXX
In the next room, Gaspard lays awake, unable to sleep through all the thoughts wreaking havoc in his mind. He can't understand how this rogue pack are evading detection and discovery with so much ease. Creatures who leave so much devastation behind them can't simply disappear, especially in such a large group. He frowns and closes his eyes, willing his brain to clear and bring forth sleep. He knows it won't happen. Beside him, he hears Samantha make a noise, something akin to a muffled cry of pain through closed lips. She pulls some of the bed sheets off of him as she tenses and curls her body. Memories of the nightmares Samantha used to have come back to him and he worries. The return of Elly to her life might be bringing them back. He doesn't intend to allow her to suffer so he decides to wake her. He turns his torso to face her but before he can say a word or do anything, he freezes. Beneath his hand, he feels a warm wetness.
"What the fuck," he whispers to himself.
He sits up and turns on the dim bedside lamp. When he lifts the duvet, his entire body turns cold at the sight underneath the covers and for a moment he can't think. All he can do is stare at the crimson slowly spreading across the bed.
"Fuck," he breathes, "Sam, Sam, wake up."
He leaps out of bed and runs around to Samantha's side. Gently but urgently, he shakes her shoulder.
"What's wrong?" she murmurs, not noticing his hurried tone.
"Sam, you're bleeding," he tells her, "We need to go to the hospital."
As quick as lightning, Samantha's drowsiness disappears and she sits bolt upright, wincing as another stab of pain hits her abdomen.
"Gaspard," she utters, her eyes instantly drawn to the blood on her pyjamas.
"I know, it's ok, just stay there," he says, shoving his legs into a pair of jeans.
He takes her hand and carefully helps her up and off the bed. When Samantha turns to look behind her, she's horrified; one huge bloodstain where she had been laying. Tears of shock and fear rapidly overflow her eyelid and the world around her blurs and becomes muffled as though she's underwater. She barely notices Gaspard wrapping her in his dressing gown and leading her out of the bedroom and down the stairs. As her foot touches the cold floor of the living room, her head becomes fuzzy.
"Gaspard, I don't feel well," she says, her eyelids fluttering.
Gaspard catches her as she slumps forward and quickly scoops her up into his arms. He can see that the inside leg of her pyjamas is dappled with red. Never in his life has he been so scared of blood. He hurries to the car and carefully places her in the front passenger seat, securing her with the belt. He jumps into the driver's side and takes a deep breath before wrenching the car into reverse and driving as fast as he can without being reckless; he can't afford to be pulled over for speeding, not right now.
XXXXXXXXXX
Hannah awakes with a jolt. A strange fear strikes itself through her.
"What was that?" she says.
"What was what?" Alec asks.
"I just felt something really weird. It was almost as if I had a bad dream and woke up from it. But I don't remember any of it."
"Are you sure it was a dream?"
"What else would it be?"
"It depends. Have you drunk anyone's blood within the last six months?"
"Yeah. Gaspard's."
"Then you just received a snippet of his emotional state. If you drink from someone you'll always be able to locate them and know when they're in danger or distress."
"That means Gaspard is in distress. But he's been distressed a lot lately and I haven't felt it before now."
Alec's expression turns from one of interest to one of concern.
"Perhaps we should pay them a visit so we can make sure everything's ok."
Hannah shudders as she's hit with another wave of fear and panic.
"Oh my goodness, I feel sick," she says.
"Ok, let's go," Alec says with urgency, grabbing Hannah's arm and dragging her out of bed.
XXXXXXXXXX
Gaspard almost skids into the parking space outside of Boreham Hospital A&E. Samantha is still unconscious.
"I will be right back, I promise," he says, touching her hand and hoping that somehow she can hear him.
He leaps out of the car and sprints into the ward not caring for any 'Caution! Wet Floor!' signs. He almost slams into the receptionist's desk, breathing heavily. The receptionist looks at him over her oval-shaped glasses and gives a disapproving look towards his bedraggled hair and half-buttoned shirt. Granted he probably looks like he's just escaped from the mental hospital right now but that's the least of his worries.
"Can I help you?" she asks.
"I need Doctor Coleman," he pants, "Now."
"I'm afraid I don't know where he is."
"Well, find him then. I need him."
I don't know who you think you're talking to sir, but…"
"Don't start on me. You have to find him!"
"I think you need to calm down."
"I don't think you're listening to me," Gaspard growls, slamming his fist on the desk.
"Gaspard!" a voice behind the receptionist calls.
"Zoe!" Gaspard exclaims.
"What's wrong?" she asks, taking in his obvious distress.
"It's Sam. She's… she's bleeding and… she's unconscious and I can't…" he stammers and his eyes become watery.
"Where is she?"
"She's in the car just outside."
Zoe points to a hospital porter, a young boy moving an empty wheelchair.
"You!" she shouts, catching his attention, "Go with this man and take that wheelchair with you!"
XXXXXXXXXX
Gaspard sits in a quiet waiting zone, far away from the loud, busy A&E ward. With his elbows resting on his knees, he holds his forehead and taps his feet impatiently. Every time he hears footsteps, he looks up hoping to see a nurse walking towards him. So far they've only walked straight past him or it's been his heightened hearing that's picked up sounds from a few corridors away. He's been trying not to cry, or shout for someone to tell him what's happening to his girlfriend, or punch something for the last hour and a half. His half-drunken coffee bought for him by a stranger whose eyes had looked just as bloodshot as his own, has gone cold.
"Gaspard," Imogen's voice rings through the room.
She rushes to him and throws her arms around his shoulders.
"Imogen," he says, "Thank you for coming out so late."
"Oh my goodness, don't be sorry, you know I would travel across half the world for you guys," she assures him, taking a seat beside him, "What happened?"
"I don't know," Gaspard utters, "One minute everything was fine and the next there was just… blood. I've never been so… so scared in my life. Ever."
Imogen's eyebrows come together in a sad frown and she places a comforting hand on his knee.
"She's going to be fine," she says, "Sam is a tough cookie."
"Sam isn't the only one I'm worried about," Gaspard replies.
He knows Imogen had avoided bringing up the subject of his unborn children but there's no sugar-coating it. His lack of sleep, intense stress and feelings of guilt force him to be blunt.
"Don't work yourself up, you don't know anything yet," she pleads.
"I can't help feeling… maybe… I don't know… like I missed something out," he tries to explain, "Is it because I let her carry on working? Or did I miss how high her stress levels are? Did I let her put too much strain on herself? Why didn't I just…"
"Gaspard, stop it," Imogen interrupts his flow of rhetorical questions, "This is not your fault."
The two fall into a silence. He doesn't stop feeling irresponsible. With everything that's been going on around him, he forgot about what all of this could be doing to his girlfriend. He's been so busy throwing inanimate objects across rooms and pacing back and forth trying to come up with plans and theories that he forgot to keep what he already has in a stable state. He's only snapped out of his trance when Zoe enters the room and clears her throat to get their attention.
"Gaspard," she says softly.
"Where is she?" he says, standing bolt upright, ready to rush to Samantha's side.
"She's being kept in at least for the night. We've put her in a separate room so she can get some proper rest but you're welcome to stay with her as long as you want."
"Show me."
Zoe peeks over Gaspard's shoulder and spots Imogen.
"I'm afraid you can't bring anyone else with you," she tells him.
Gaspard turns to his pack mate.
"Don't worry, I don't mind," Imogen sighs, obviously disappointed about not being able to see her best friend, "Just keep me updated."
"I promise," Gaspard nods.
They hug tightly before she grabs her coat and exit the waiting room. Gaspard follows Zoe to a room near to another waiting room but far enough away for the foot traffic and rickety beds not to disturb them. She holds the door open for him and gives him an unreadable smile. Maybe sadness or hope, relief maybe. He isn't sure. He doesn't particularly care either. She leaves, letting the door slowly close of its own accord. Gaspard stands at the foot on Samantha's bed and looks at her; pale from the blood loss and even in sleep she looks exhausted. Moving to the bedside, he seats himself on the surprisingly comfortable chair Zoe has stolen from one of the offices for him. He lays his head on the covers and takes a deep, shaky breath before closing his heavy-lidded eyes.
XXXXXXXXXX
Samantha stirs as she slowly begins to awaken. The room is a blur around her and she groans quietly feeling a dull ache in her abdomen. As everything starts to come into focus she can see that she's in a dimly lit hospital room. The smell of disinfectant and coffee fills her olfactory sense. Rolling her head to the left she can see an I.V. drip hooked onto a stand with a tube leading down to her hand. Samantha curls her fingers feeling the small needle underneath her skin. Turning to the right she sees a dark mass that's weighing down on the mattress; Gaspard rests his arms and head on the bed with one hand touching her leg on top of the sheets. His back rises and falls with each breath he takes and, though asleep, his face is riddled with worry and sadness. Samantha reaches out her hand and touches the bare skin on his arm causing him to wake. Gaspard lifts his head and looks at her with weary eyes.
"Hey gorgeous," he murmurs, "How are you feeling?"
"What happened?"
"Sam... I…"
Gaspard's sentence is cut off by the arrival of a nurse.
"Mr Auclair, is there anything else I can get you?" she asks before looking at Samantha, "You're awake! I'll fetch a doctor."
As Samantha moves her hand to sit up, the needle to the drip tugs at her skin. She frowns and removes it, leaving it hanging as fluid falls in droplets to the floor. Doctor Coleman enters the room with a clipboard in his hand and a stethoscope hung around his neck; a stereotypical doctor look.
"Samantha, how are you feeling?" He asks.
"Tired and a bit groggy," she replies.
"Well, you suffered a fair bit of blood loss so that's to be expected. You're lucky your friend Mr. Hardy is a donor. He's the only wolf in stock with the same blood type as you," he tells them.
"What about…" Gaspard starts, unable to finish the question and dreading that he already knows the answer.
Doctor Coleman's hands drop to his sides and his expression changes.
"I'm so sorry, Gaspard," he says.
"We lost them?" Samantha utters, "Both of them?"
"It…," Doctor Coleman pauses and sighs, finding no better words, "It just wasn't meant to be. I'm sorry."
Samantha's eyes start into the empty space in front of her.
"Why?" she whispers, "What did we do wrong?"
"Samantha, you didn't do anything wrong. Please don't blame yourself for this," Doctor Coleman calmly pleas.
"Can you… tell us what happened?" Gaspard asks warily.
"Are you sure you want to know?" Doctor Coleman responds.
"Yes," Samantha answers.
Gaspard nods slowly in agreement.
"It was a chromosomal problem," he explains, "A problem that the foetuses couldn't handle and it stopped their development in its tracks."
"You mean it was a DNA problem?" Samantha questions.
"Essentially yes," he nods.
"Hugh, be honest with me," Samantha says, her voice shaking, "Was it the same thing I have? Was it what makes me what I am? Was it in them too?"
Doctor Coleman's face gives her all the answers she needs. The very curse that fell on her upon conception had been passed to her unborn children. It has taken them away before she's even had them.
"I assure you that this is an unbelievably rare case. A genetic trait like yours are hardly ever passed on," Doctor Coleman says, hopelessly trying to comfort the couple.
"But they were," Samantha says.
Doctor Coleman purses his lips.
"Hugh, would you mind giving us some space, please?" Gaspard requests.
Without a word, Doctor Coleman leaves them alone. Samantha leans back against her pillows and goes back to staring straight ahead of her. Gaspard places his hand on hers, waiting for her to say something. They sit like this for a while, neither sure of what to do.
"I can't believe it," she finally speaks.
Gaspard squeezes her hand tighter.
"Sam," he utters.
"How did this happen?" she asks.
"I don't…" Gaspard starts.
Gaspard is unable to finish his sentence before she bursts into tears, covering her face with her hands. He stands and wraps his arms around her tightly.