Page 20 of No One’s Daughter

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ailsa

I WOKE WITH a racing heart and a sheen of sweat cooling my skin as I was startled awake by the gentle touch of someone’s hand to my shoulder. I wiped at my mouth, subconsciously worried that I should be hiding something, and opened my eyes to find a kind looking older woman smiling down at me.

“You can’t sleep here, love,” she said, taking a seat on the pew beside me.

Pew.

It was only then that I realised I was in a church.

A fucking church?

“But there’s a woman’s charity just two doors down where you can get yourself some breakfast. I can give you a referral to be put on the accommodation list if you like,” the older woman continued.

I rubbed at my eyes as I took in my reality.

I was in a church?

The air was cool and faintly damp, holding the lingering scent of incense, old stone and candle wax. Rows of wooden pews stretched in straight, orderly lines and stained glass windows lined the sides of the walls, filtering whatever light managed to break through the no doubt grey skies.

How the fuck did I end up here? I hadn’t been to mass in some twenty years. My mother had been religious of course, but I never saw sense in it. Certainly not comfort.

Silence stretched between us. I could hear everything—the faint creak of the wooden beams, the soft rustle of her clothes, the slow, steady thump of her heart.

God.

That sound.

My throat tightened. My tongue felt like sandpaper. I swallowed hard, but it didn’t help. Instead, I was ambushed with a flash of memories.

Oh fuck.

It wasn't a nightmare.

I was a vampire.

A goddamn blood sucker.

Like in a fucking movie or tv show.

And I killed someone. And attacked another.

I could make it three…

The pulse in her neck called to me.

God. No.

I staggered back so fast I nearly tripped over the pew behind me. “Thanks, but no thanks. There’s no need. I’m fine.”

“Fine folk don’t tend to sleep in churches, love. We all have our demons, there’s no shame in it. But you have to get a hold on them and you can’t do that here. This is a house of God,” she said, and I saw her for what she really was. A pious woman, one who spoke softly in prayer but sharply in whispers. Someone who could wrap judgement in concern so neatly it almost sounded like kindness. She sat there in her modest, practical and slightly dated outfit. Sensible shoes and skirt that fell far below the knee, cardigan buttoned properly.

“Of course,” I said, pulling my hoodie closer against me as I stepped back. “I’ll be on my way.”

The woman smiled, though I could see her disapproving judgement written all over her face.

So much for help thy neighbour or those in need…