39
Black Hellebore
Short of breath, I clamber on the bed, feeling far too small, too young for this, reaching with my arms to gain purchase. To climb. My heart thuds in my throat. A desperate knock. A door I don’t want opened. I cannot look at her. I cannot look.
‘Catlin.’ My voice is wobbly, like a child’s. I am small and lost and terribly afraid. Mam digs through sheets like a frightened rabbit. Her fingers red. There’s blood on her hands. My sister’s blood, I think. The black silk parts like murky river water. We see the thing that was my sister’s face. It is her face, I mean. But it’s been shredded. Throat in ribbons, breath coming in little gasps. Her eyes are lost. She’s moving far beyond us. I think that she is trying to move her lips. They aren’t there.
She’s breathing though.
She’s breathing.
I turn to Mam. ‘She needs help.’ It builds inside a screech but comes out ragged. ‘You need to call someone.’
Mam’s face is grey. She’s staring at my sister. Half her jaw is gone and her tongue lolls out. What’s left of it. A stump. I cannot let the horror of it in. No, not right now. I rummage through my bag for Mamó’s jar. I bite my arm until blood spills out and then drip it through the thick and salty mixture.
I pour it on her throat. My sister screams.
Mam grabs at me. ‘Stop. You’ll hurt her. You will hurt her.’ As though I were a toddler pulling hair. I shoot a look and watch her hands fall. I feel a rush of something to my brain. I might pass out. I bite my bottom lip hard. Almost through. I can use the parts of me to sew the bits of her. To hold her close.
‘She is already hurt,’ I say. ‘And I can only try to help.’
My vision is still cloudy, though it sharpens on the things I need, with a quick zoom-focus. My intuition leads my brain and my body. It is driving. We were two, swimming in one womb. We grew together. There is something magic in a twin. Companion from the moment of creation. In all my life, I’ve never been alone. I’ve had a friend. And I will fight to keep her.
Something shimmers, folding slowly out. When we were little, Mam used to take us to visit aquariums on holidays. The jellyfish were kept in a dark room, the UV light shining through their soft, transparent bodies, and they would furl and unfurl underneath. Their movements looked so graceful, looked like dance, a ballerina’s tutu, stacked atop a mermaid’s magic hair. And we knew they could sting you, but we liked to look. To hold our hand against the glass. To wonder what would happen, if a single tentacle reached through and touched our skin. Would it sense that we were not a danger? I knew it wouldn’t, but I hoped it would. The light unwrapping from around my twin is like those. It is very dim, but it is there. It ripples and it almost seems to pucker. A pale, translucent heft. It could be touched. I grab at it. If I can keep that light from going out then maybe I can keep her.
It wafts away. It’s bending from my hands. There isn’t time.
‘ChhhhhcccchhhCCHhhhhh.’
Those sounds. Those horrid sounds. She is in pain, but she is trying, working. I put my fingers in her throat to clear an airway. There’s not enough mouth left for CPR. Mam’s trained, I think. She should know what to do. I look at her. She’s staring and she’s shaking.
‘Mam. What do I do? Mam. MAM!’ I yell at her. She’s staring past us both.
‘The wall,’ she says. ‘The carving on the wall.’
And then I look.
Dearbhla
Sibéal
Amanda
Laoise
Eimear
Laura
Bríd
Sorcha
Bridget
Karen
Gráinne
Julie
Roisín
Gobnait
Violet
Dymphna
Alacoque
Aoife
Fionnuala
Victoria
Elizabeth
Emer
Sinéad
Sally
Ciara
Mary-Ann
Nancy
Susan
Fiona
Delia
Maisy
Laura
Rachel
Caoimhe
Julie
Ava
Sheila
Maria
Antoinette
Cathleen
Martina
Jennifer
Carol
Nora
Lee
Colette
Ellen
Claire
Laurel
Jacinta
Mary-Bridget
Mary
Ann
Marie
Noreena
Savita
Carmel
Sarah
Aoibhe
Scarlett
Dearbhla
Katherine
Cecilia
Lisa
Lillian
Louise
Patricia
Katie
Cliodhna
Shona
Nuala
Shauna
Patricia
Monica