"Yes, I'm still awake." I said. "I'm not entirely sure if I need sleep anymore."
"Oh..." Edith murmured. "I can't sleep either, do you think it's because..."
"I don't know." I told her. "You're already different to what I am, and I don't even know what I am."
She was sitting cross-legged on the couch, looking down at me, still lying flat on the floor. She tilted her head a little, examining me. "If its any consolation, you look more or less normal."
"None at all." I replied. "I've killed two people, and who knows what I've done to you. I'm certainly not human and debateably very debateably even alive." I extended my hand into the air above me, clasping and opening my hand. My scars from my life before the panacea were still there, frozen in time.
Edith held my extended hand, coming off the sofa and sitting beside me. I hadn't intended or expected her to do that. She said nothing for a moment.
"Your hand is cold." She whispered.
She was right, but that was hardly surprising one way or another. I'd always had cold hands. Hers, however was still warm. "Yes. I have cold hands."
She clasped her other hand over mine. She had very soft hands, warmer than mine and with long fingers. "Still, I feel your pulse. Now, I'm not as qualified to say as you, but that means you're probably alive, no? If not that, the fact you can move."
I flinched a little, I don't know why, she was clearly trying to be nice. "Cholera victims twitch despite being dead, but I get your point."
"You're shaking, Aspen."
She was right. I was indeed shaking, and it was quite obvious in my extended hand. "I'm sorry." I said, pulling my hand away.
"Why?" Edith said, now leaning right over me.
"Hmm?" I asked, preferring if I could avoid the topic.
"Why'd you apologise for that?" She asked.
"Force of habit, I suppose." I said.
"Well, stop. You don't have to." Edith informed me curtly. "I'm sorry for shrieking at you earlier."
"I deserved it." I whispered, noticing Micheal stir in his sleep. "I don't want to know if I would've gone through with it."
"I doubt it. Its just... well he was my reason to stay in that god-damned place." She whispered back. "If I weren't there, Mr. Stebbing would've turned on him. No child deserves that." Edith seemed emotionally fragile.
"You did all that, for a child that wasn't even yours?" I asked.
"Of course, he's a little boy, mine or not. Someone had to protect him." She told me, straight-faced.
"You are a very unusual woman, but I admire your self-sacrifice." I said.
"You'd have done the same, anyone would've. Any moral being." She asserted.
I didn't know if she was correct in this assessment. Now, I could and did step in front of Mr Stebbing, without hesitation. But Edith? She couldn't heal her wounds, she couldn't tear him asunder. She was a normal, fragile human, and still she defended a child that wasn't hers to the death.
"Hmm..." I managed. "How are you feeling. Have you noticed any changes to your senses, do you feel any different?"
"Now you say it... yes. I feel... free. Like my heart just started beating for the first time in years." Edith said.
My hand shot to her neck to confirm whether or not her pulse was changed. It hadn't, from what I felt. She clasped my hand in hers, giving an amused sigh. "So literal, but to answer your question, yes, I do feel a little sharper now. Will I need to start drinking blood or avoiding the sun from now on?"
"I don't know about needing blood, as for sunlight, it won't kill you but it hurts your eyes a lot, so I can't advise long term exposure."
"Interesting." She tightened her grip on my shaking hand, quelling the involuntary pulling away that followed.
"You like to hold people's hands." I said. A little confused about the whole situation.
7i
"Mhmm."
"Why?" I asked.
"It's not for me, Aspen. I can tell you haven't had the nicest run of it, its written all over your face. It's my way of saying I understand." Edith explained.
"Oh... I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"Force of habit..."
Eventually, with neither of us particularly intent on, or capable of sleeping, we sat on the floor, backs rested against the sofa, a totally illogical move, all night.
We, in hushed tones got to know one another, and, in seeming opposition to most people, I found her quite easy to talk to. Edith was, as I had already told her, a very strange woman. She had an intense warmth, but was entirely unaware of her own positive traits, seemingly totally focused on her shortcomings.
It was dawn before I knew it, and with that I prepared to leave while Edith tended to Micheal. The journey to the train station, thankfully, was uneventful. On the way, I bought Micheal some penny sweets, as a way of apologising for considering shooting him.
Micheal's mood lifted considerably yhat day, Edith having somehow convinced him his father had needed a doctor and that he'd be alright soon. This alone was a commendable achievement, given the circumatances. The train station was mercifully quiet that morning, and the train at barely half-capacity. I was tense to begin with, the metal confines of the train car being an optimal place for an attempt to kill me again, be that by the Catholic Church or Deep Ones, although I doubted fish-people could figure out buying tickets.
We arrived in Burford some four hours later, and from there, it was a half-hour walk to Dr. Harrow's house. It was a lovely Tudor-Style building, with a well-kept garden and tasteful flower beds, an unusual sight, given that the man himself didnt leave the house. I walked up and rapped on the door. "Dr Harrow?" I called.
"It's me, Aspen!"
I heard footsteps approach the door.