Until... | Book 1 | Until The Sun Goes Down, стр. 56
When I lift my nub into the candlelight, I understand Amber’s horror.
The new flesh recoils from the light and tries to disguise itself amongst the sutures and puffy skin. I reach out with my good hand and pinch the flame between my fingers. Now that I’ve seen the shape lurking in the skin on my nub, I don’t want to take my eyes off of it.
As soon as the candle is gone, the curious talons begin to emerge. There are only two of them. The one near my ulna is the longer of the two. It looks like it has three full segments before it ends with a tiny claw. The other one—near my radius bone—is smaller. That one might only have two segments so far. I imagine that it’s still growing. There’s a bump on the side of the smaller one. Eventually, the bump is going to grow into a third boney finger, I just know it.
The long, alien fingers are searching around, tasting the air.
My heart is pounding as I try to figure out what to do.
I don’t think I have the stomach to cut them off. Besides, why would I assume that removing them would help? They grew from the site of an amputation.
I lay my arm down on the table. The fingers retract for a moment and then reach out again. I know what they’re going to do even before they do it.
As soon as they discover the flat surface of wood, the longer finger moves its claw perpendicular to the table and then taps.
TAP. TAP.
It pauses and both fingers turn a little, like they’re listening.
My stomach twists and bunches.
These fingers don’t belong to me. I wasn’t even bitten by the thing upstairs—it just grabbed my wrist. But do I know that for sure? I didn’t see what was happening under the bed. I assume that it reached out and grabbed me, but what if it was a bite?
The doctors told me about an infection that forced the amputation, but they were awfully cagey about the nature of the infection. I wonder what they saw.
TAP. TAP. TAP.
They listen again. They’re taking stock of this room. They want me to eat. The idea seems to come from inside of me, but I’m sure that it really came from the fingers.
What kind of monster am I becoming? It’s a ridiculous question. I know precisely what kind. I’ve seen them. I’ve killed them.
Amber eventually saw me for what I was. That’s why she ran from the kitchen.
(I have an idea.)
I have an idea.
There’s a distinct possibility that Amber would have been frightened away immediately, but she made the mistake of…
“Looking into my eyes.”
I jump up and run for the bathroom.
I don’t know how long it has been since I’ve used this bathroom. The medicine cabinet is set in the wall.
The last rays of sunset are almost extinguished. I wouldn’t need them anyway.
I put myself in front of the mirror and then I look.
My eyes are twin galaxies, descending into infinity. They’re not as luminescent as they will be. When they truly sparkle, Amber won’t be able to look away, not after dark.
Even now, my eyes are almost so powerful that I’m entrancing myself.
“Mirror,” I whisper. They used to say that vampires couldn’t be seen in mirrors. Maybe the lore was twisted. Maybe the real message was that vampires couldn’t look at themselves in mirrors. To gaze upon one’s own infinite depths would bring paralysis.
I’m in danger of that now. It takes all my strength to push myself away from the mirror and flee the bathroom. I shut the door and vow to never go in there again. Fortunately, I’ve already banished the rest of the mirrors from the house. They’re still down in the cellar.
The talons on my nub are waving around frantically.
They sense the thought that’s still forming.
I have to put an end to this. I’ve already ruled out amputation. Even if it worked, the problem isn’t just with my left arm. My eyes are infected as well. I should have guessed this already. It’s not normal to be so sensitive to light.
The only answer is that I have to do to myself what I did to those other creatures. I have to find my stakes and then figure out a way to use them on myself.
Despair washes through me.
The idea of suicide is a betrayal of everything that has kept me going the last few years. I guess it should be a relief. After Mom died, I dragged myself back into the light. Kimberly kept me propped up until she was ripped from me. Uncle Walt was the last straw. He was the last real connection that I had to this world. I don’t know why I’m still fighting.
That’s not true.
I do know why I’m still fighting.
I’m fighting because Kimberly would have wanted me to.
She said, “Your darkness can’t last forever. Light always wins.”
Those words weren’t meant to be a prediction. They were a prescription. She was telling me that I had to fight for life. I couldn’t just let the tide overtake me and wash me out to sea. It’s up to me to keep fighting.
What does that mean now?
How can I fight for life when I’m turning into the instrument of death?
“How do you know?” I whisper.
The voice seemed to come from outside of myself even though I felt the whisper on my lips.
“How do you know they were instruments of death?” I ask myself.
I blink my giant eyes and move to the window.
The night is alive. My long claw taps on the glass and I see the ripples flow out as a yellow wave across the landscape. Anything moving appears as