Black Feathers by Joseph D'Lacey Read Free Book Online Page B

for Angela. Judith tested the love in her mind, especially on nights like this when Gordon came to her for comfort. She tried to quantify it, define it. If Angela was ever hurt or killed, Judith knew she would be sad. She would weep over her injury or loss. Without Angela, she was unguarded against the ways of the world. She would weep also because when they weren’t arguing and when Angela wasn’t being cruel or dismissive, they had a lot of fun. These things were enough to qualify as love.
    With Gordon, her love was different. She couldn’t have the same kind of fun with Gordon. With six years between them, playing with him was always a step backwards; the games themselves quiet, dramatic fantasies. She played with him because she knew he wasn’t always happy playing alone, and his happiness was essential for her own. If anything bad ever happened to Gordon, Judith wasn’t sure what she would do. She knew if someone hurt him she would calmly inflict upon them the greatest pain she knew how to give. Merely imagining that someone might seek to injure him made her fists clench beneath the bedclothes. And if he died, if she lost him, she knew all she would want would be to die too, to follow him to wherever it was that death took you.
    She watched him, petrified halfway through the door. When no one responded to the creaking of the hinge, Gordon regained his courage and crept into her room.
    He left it ajar so he could slip away through the same gap before anyone else stirred. So stealthy had he become that Judith often woke to find him in her bed, clutching her but already asleep. He came whenever he had nightmares, at least once a week, often more. She would take hold of his hand and squeeze it tight to let him know he was safe before returning to sleep. When she woke in the mornings he was always gone.
    He approached now making no sound at all. If she hadn’t been awake already, observing him through slit lids, she wouldn’t have known he was there until his small, wiry arms had encircled her and his tight fingers had clutched her nightdress in a grip that would not relent until he left. She watched his eyes, wide and frightened, his pupils so dilated their blackness almost eclipsed the grey of his irises, watched his forehead crease with concentration as he used every muscle to move silently.
    She lifted up the covers to let him see she was awake. His frown cleared and she saw the relief on his face, his fear gone in an instant. With great care, he climbed in beside her. She drew him close and tight. With an arm wrapped over him, she engulfed him in a warm cocoon. He pushed against her as hard as he could, expelling all the space between them, pressing his cold feet between her ankles.
    The first time it had happened was almost two years before, when he’d had his first bad dream. Judith heard him walking down the hallway to their parents’ bedroom, sniffing and sobbing as he went. She knew he must have tried to get in with Mum and Dad but neither of them wanted him in their bed. Mum had taken Gordon back to his room and whispered soothing words to him for five minutes before going back to sleep with Dad. It didn’t do any good. Long after Mum had left him, Judith could hear Gordon weeping, even though he’d tried to stifle it in his pillow. She’d hated her parents for that, especially her mum. Judith had been the one to slip from her warm duvet and collect him that night. His small hand in hers, they had walked back across the hall. She’d climbed into bed and he had followed, hugging her so tight she thought he’d never sleep.
    “Any time you’re scared or have a bad dream you can come. But don’t ever, ever tell anyone, Gordon,” she’d whispered. “OK?”
    “OK.”
    Now, here he was again, holding tight but already asleep and Judith, happy to be a shield against the dark of his own little mind, slept too.
    In the morning he was gone.
     

7
     
    The knocking is soft, almost surreptitious. Heather