The Kimota Anthology by Steve Lockley, Stephen Gallagher, Neal Asher, Stephen Laws, Mark Chadbourn, Mark Morris, Paul Finch, William Meikle, Peter Crowther, Graeme Hurry Read Free Book Online

through the crack in the doorway. Nerves fizzed up and down his spine. Slowly he turned and looked in, and for the briefest instant he thought he saw something. In the gloom there was a flicker of a shape that had seemed like a round, white eye staring from a shadowy face. Watching him. John turned back to swing the door open fully.
    At that moment, Gill’s voice echoed loudly above the thumping music and the hum of chatter. It was edged with panic.
    “John! Where are you? It’s Christopher!”
    There were only a few people in the casualty department; a drunken student supported by two friends, his face a patchwork of small cuts; a sad young woman sitting alone, red streaking her blonde hair from a gash on her head; a stern-faced middle-aged couple waiting for results that were too long in coming. John had sobered up the instant that Gill had told him the news. Someone from the Royal Infirmary had called on behalf of Gill’s parents; Christopher had been rushed in. They had no other information.
    The drive over had been a blur of jumped traffic lights and erratic over-taking. All John could remember was the argument that had raged inside the car over whose fault it was, who had wanted the housewarming the most, who had suggested Christopher spend the night with Gill’s parents. They arrived at the hospital in seething silence.
    James, Gill’s father, rushed out from behind a curtain before they could ask where Christopher was. He looked pale and ill.
    “It’s okay, don’t worry,” he said, trying to throw his arms around both of them at once in relief. “Christopher’s going to be fine.”
    “Dad, what happened?” John recognised the hysteria that crept into Gill’s voice whenever she was pushed to the edge.
    “He gave us a right shock,” James replied leading them through the curtain into a cubicle. Christopher was asleep in the moses basket that they had obviously brought him in, looking as peaceful and relaxed as when Gill had kissed him goodbye. Her mother, Marjorie, kept a vigil next to it, her face still streaked, pink tinting the bags beneath her eyes.
    “It was Marj who noticed it,” James continued in a whisper. “She went in to check on him and she could tell straight away that something was wrong. He didn’t seem to be breathing.” He bit his lip. “He wasn’t breathing. Marj screamed and I rushed in and picked him up and...God, Gill, he was as stiff as a board! And he was so cold.” He shook his head in disbelief. “He felt like he’d been in the freezer.”
    They all looked at Christopher, his cheeks flushed, his tiny lips puckered in an imaginary kiss. “What did the doctors say?”
    “They couldn’t find anything wrong with him,” Marj said croakily. “He recovered almost the moment we got him here. They did a lot of tests - the poor tyke was bawling his eyes out - but they were all negative.”
    “So what do we do now?” John wanted to pick Christopher up and cuddle him, to comfort himself more than his son.
    James shrugged. “They just said keep an eye on him.” He paused and stretched out his hand before withdrawing it, as if he wanted to touch Christopher to prove to himself he was still alive. “He was so cold.”
    John and Gill barely spoke during the next seven days. Christopher’s mystery ailment put even more stress on their piano-wire relationship which was still reeling from the protracted loss of freedom a new child brings. Neither of them could rest. Every time Christopher was asleep they would dash in every five minutes to check on his breathing. On the odd occasion they were together in the lounge, angry words would crackle out of the tension. John was concerned that Christopher’s skin was taking on the faintest blue tinge like snow in brilliant sunshine. Gill was worried about his respiration. Once she was sure she had seen his breath plume even though his bedroom was centrally heated and his cheeks were warm to her touch.
    On a foggy day in mid-October,