First of all, thanks to all of you who reviewed! You're all brilliant and I hope I've remembered to reply to each any every one of you to thank you personally for your lovely comments. Okay, I feel I should warn you that parts of the next chapter are a little stomach turning. I have to say I felt a bit queasy as I was writing it, but you should be okay as long as you're not extremely squeamish. Hope it's not too awful, feel free to let me know if you think I'm a sicko. Please, please review, this is my first fan-fic and I need to know what you all think! As always, don't own, so don't sue. Hugs x
Forty minutes later, Lucy returned.
"She's asleep, finally." For a few seconds she stood; a forlorn little figure in the doorway; then for the third time that evening Peter was forced to watch the face of one of his siblings crumble into despair.
"Come here," he whispered, his own voice cracking at the sight of his little sister in tears. She ran into his open arms and held on tight, sobbing as if her heard would break. Edmund scooted across the floor towards them and grabbed his sister's hand. After a time, she sniffled and grew quiet.
"She's in a bad way," Lucy hiccupped. "She's covered in bruises and there were… bite marks. There was blood in the water."
Edmund gasped, and his voice was squeaking as he said: "Do you think we need to call a doctor?" In Susan's absence, it was often Ed who took the rational, practical stance. In that moment, he felt grateful that he did not have to take that role often.
"I don't know," Peter said truthfully, stroking Lucy's hair. "I don't know if I want to put her through that – not right now at any rate."
"She said she would die if anyone found out what happened," Lucy put in softly, standing up.
Peter gave a low groan and covered his face with his hand. He drew in a deep breath and slowly released it, trying to quell the tears that were threatening to spill. After a long pause, he brought his hands together and moved to stand.
"Right," he decided. "For now at least, we won't do anything, just let her sleep. We'll wait until the morning and decide what to do then. I'll sit up with her tonight. You two need your rest."
"I want to stay with her," said Lucy, quickly followed by Edmund's determined: "Me too."
Peter had expected this, and although the King in him wanted to enforce his command and take the weight of responsibility from his young siblings' shoulders, the part that was just Peter Pevensie was glad and not a little grateful for their support.
"Alright," he acquiesced. "Come on."
Some hours later, as dawn was approaching, Susan awoke in the dim light of her bedroom to find her siblings clustered close by. Lucy lay next to her on the bed, thin arms hugging Susan's shoulders and her face nestled into her elder sister's neck. Edmund lay in a foetal position at their feet, his arms ups shielding his face from view. Peter had drawn the armchair up close to the bed and was slumped forwards, holding Susan's hand softly in his.
For a moment, she looked about the room in confusion. She gagged and tried to sit up, but was thwarted by a sharp, unfamiliar pain in her abdomen. In an instant, she knew she was going to vomit.
Pushing Lucy aside, Susan shook her hand from Peter's grasp, leapt over Edmund and raced towards the bathroom. Strangled cries of alarm followed her out onto the landing. She almost made it, but not quite and was violently sick on the tiled floor. Knowing her brothers were only a few paces behind her she slammed the door and fumbled with the lock. She didn't want anybody to see her like this.
Blood thumped painfully in her temples as she retched repeatedly. Bitter fluid collected at the back of her throat and she heaved again and again until she was empty.
"Susan?" Peter was outside the door now, hammering on the wood and rattling the handle. "Su, let me in. Are you alright? Susan!"
She couldn't answer him, nor did she want to. Her head was pounding and her stomach swooped and plunged as if she was adrift on a restless sea. Weakly, she lowered herself to the floor, trying to avoid the spatters of vomit and bile. The acrid smell of it reached her nostrils and she convulsed into retching once more. Susan had never felt so weak, nor so alone.
"Susan? Please Su, open the door." Peter was weeping now; she could hear the catch in his voice, and it frightened her more than she could bear.
"I'm fine," she gagged. "Leave me alone a minute… just give me a minute."
A clammy wave of nausea and perspiration washed over her and searing tears sprang to her eyes. She grabbed at the roll of toilet paper, tore off a length and began mopping desperately at the mess on the bathroom tiles. Susan wasn't usually squeamish – she had lost count of the times she had nursed her siblings when they were sick – but somehow, the sight of her own vomit made her feel as if she was going to faint.
She cleaned up the floor as best she could and flushed the sodden tissue paper away. Using the basin as support, Susan rose and shakily threw the bathroom window open; cool, clean, forgiving air flooded the room and went some way towards clearing her head. Then a deep, powerful, dragging sensation in her abdomen forced her down again.
Trembling violently, she lowered the lid of the toilet and sat down upon it, leaning her hot forehead against the cool, damp bathroom wall. She had to think.
Fifteen minutes later, Susan had not emerged. She wasn't making a sound now and it had become more than Edmund could bear. Peter was hunched up on the floor opposite the bathroom door, a look of pure misery on his face. Lucy sat a few yards away at the top of the stairs, her slender arms wrapped around the balustrade, her mind tangled in too many thoughts, none of them pleasant.
"Enough of this," Edmund decided. If he knew his sister, she would only respond to a no-nonsense approach. He strode along the corridor and rapped his knuckles against the bathroom door.
"Susan? It's Edmund. Are you coming out?" There was no response; perhaps the suggestion of a whimper, but no more.
"Right," Edmund called, "Then I'm coming in." He rattled the handle, but to no avail. Then without a word, he turned on his heel and went into the bedroom he shared with Peter, returning moments later with a screwdriver from the tool-set he had received for Christmas.
Peter looked up at his brother with a bemused expression that Edmund would no doubt have found highly amusing had he not felt like he would never smile again.
"What are you doing?" Peter asked.
"Taking the door off. Give me a hand."
Grimly, Edmund began unscrewing the hinges of the bathroom door; he managed the lower set with ease but passed the tool over to Peter, who was taller, to undo the top three screws.
Within minutes, the job was done. Together, the two brothers prepared to lift the heavy door from its hole in the wall. Lucy stood up now, and steeled herself to enter the room first. She vowed that she would not let her brothers into the bathroom unless Susan was decent. Her sister had suffered enough humiliation in the past few hours.
Leaning the door against the opposite wall, the boys instinctively stepped back to let Lucy pass, averting their eyes partly from respect, partly from fear; but her anguished cry and sudden movement forced them to look round.
"Susan!" Peter dashed forwards, then with sudden icy logic turned away from the horror before him, gripped Edmund's arm and shoved him back towards the door.
"Ed, get a doctor! Quick!"
And without a word, Edmund turned and ran as if the wolves of Jadis were snapping at his heels.