Chapter 6 - Recovery

Chapter 6

Disclaimer:
The following is adapted from the novel Let the Right One In by John A. Linqvist and the film bearing the same name. The characters in this work are those of Mr. Linqvist and no copyright protection is asserted to this work.

“Here, lift up your head for a moment. This will help.”

Oskar did as he was told, and Eli slid a heating pad beneath his neck. She plugged the other end of the cord into a wall socket and adjusted the temperature.

“There. It should warm up in a minute. Are you comfortable?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“That pain reliever should start to work soon. If you don’t feel any better, we’ll give you another one.”

“Okay.”

Eli sat cross-legged on the floor next to Oskar, who was lying on his mattress. He turned his head slightly and smiled weakly at her.

“Eli, I know you’re upset, but please—don’t be. I’m not sure what happened, but I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

She looked away from him and down at the mattress; then spoke. “I should be upset with myself, Oskar. It’s my fault that it happened. I don’t dream very often, but sometimes I do. And as you know, they aren’t always pleasant. I guess I just didn’t realize that I could actually . . . do something like that when I’m asleep.” She sighed, rested her chin in the palm of one hand, and began tracing the quilted pattern on the mattress cover with her finger. “I just wish sometimes that everything didn’t have to be so . . . hard.”

“Has it ever happened before?”

“No. It hasn’t.” She stopped and looked up at him. “Because up until now I’ve always slept alone. You’re the first person who I’ve actually . . . who ever got into my tub with me like that.”

“Then don’t blame yourself. There’s no way you could’ve known that might happen. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone in there anyway. I just wanted to . . . .”

“I know what you wanted, Oskar. The same thing I want. To be together with you. Always. And maybe I wanted that so much that I just didn’t think about what might happen.”

He looked at her sadly. “So does this mean that we’ll never be able to . . . be close like that again? Please tell me that’s not true.”

Eli scooted a little closer to the mattress. “No, I’m not saying that. We can still hold each other, Oskar. I don’t think I could keep on going if we couldn’t do that. But it’d probably be best if I go to my tub by myself when I’m really ready to sleep. I don’t want to take any chances like that again.”

Oskar nodded, thought for a moment, and then asked with a small, mischievous smile, “You don’t sleepwalk, do you?”

She laughed. “No! At least, not that I know of.”

Oskar grinned. “Good. I was worried there for a minute. Are you ready to go to sleep now? I don’t even know what time it is.”

She explained that it wasn’t quite time yet, then curled up next to Oskar and put her arm across him. “We need to talk, Oskar.”

With some discomfort, Oskar turned his head a little so that he could look down at her. He put his arm around her, gave her a squeeze. “Yeah, I guess we’d better. Before this heating pad puts me to sleep.”

Eli sighed and slowly traced her fingers up and down Oskar’s side. “We have to remember better—I mean, do a better job of remembering . . . that there’s a part of me that … isn’t really human, Oskar. That will probably never be human. I love so much being near you . . . just touching you, like right now.

“But being around me is dangerous, Oskar—and you need to remember that. I always have to control the thing inside me that wants to--destroy you, to . . . destroy everyone I meet.” Her restless hand paused, and she pressed herself closer to him.

Oskar felt her mouth moving on his shoulder as she continued. “I tried to explain some of this to you before, and maybe you’ll never really understand what it’s like, but whenever I’m awake it’s as if . . . there’s a war going on inside of me. If I’m not hungry, it’s easier; I can almost forget it. But when I haven’t eaten for awhile, it’s a lot harder.”

Oskar looked at her with concern. He took her free hand into his and laced their fingers together; rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. Eli looked up at him as she continued.

“You’ve changed everything for me, Oskar. Since we’ve been together, I’ve begun to think of myself as a real person again. Before I met you, I felt . . . dead inside. I knew that what I needed to do was wrong, but I had gotten so used to it that I’d become . . . numb. Resigned to it, you might say. I had stopped thinking much about just how wrong it is, because I didn’t see any way that I’d ever be able to change. So I felt about it sort of how you feel when you know you’re about to do something wrong, but you’re going to do it anyway. You . . . lie to yourself about it. You have these conflicting thoughts in your mind at the same time—but one of them wins over the other.”

Oskar, who in his former life had lied to his mom more times than he could count, squeezed her hand. “Yes. I know what you mean. It’s like you tell yourself a story to make it easier to do what you want to do, rather than what you know you should do.”

“But you, Oskar—you changed all of that for me. Somehow, you awakened that part of me that was asleep, that I had ignored for so long. And I began thinking about how much I wanted to be normal again, to just be . . . a person. To not have to . . .” her voice dropped to a whisper, “. . . kill all the time.”

Oskar hugged her a little tighter to himself. “I’ve been worried about that, too, actually. I mean, after the thing in the tub happened, and you left. I thought that maybe, you’re doing what you have to do because of me. Because . . . you love me. And that upsets me. Because it’s hard to think that . . . that—the only way we’re having fun together is because other people are dying.”

Eli froze for a moment. The regular pattern of her breath on his skin stopped. Then she sat up to look at him.

“No, no, Oskar. Don’t think that—it’s not true. I’d have to do it even if I weren’t in love with you. And I have actually tried harder not to eat as much since we met. I’ve tried more than ever to stretch things out. And even though it’s made it harder on me in a lot of ways, I’m happy that because of what we have, I’ve been able to do it.”

“Really?” Oskar replied. “I didn’t realize that. I mean . . . well, we don’t really talk much about all of that anyway. It’s like it’s—separate somehow, from us.”

“I’ve been trying to keep it that way, Oskar. Because I don’t want it to . . . mess you up, I guess.”

Oskar suddenly felt very tired. He looked away from her and up at the ceiling. “You know, Eli, maybe we should just face reality. Maybe it’s time to admit that there’s no way we’re going to change you; I mean . . . get rid of it. I’m kind of wondering—don’t you think that we’d be happier . . . that things would just be easier . . . if I were like you?”

Eli did not answer. She rolled away from him and onto her back to stare at the ceiling as well; took his hand into hers.

“Oskar, something amazing happened to me last night. After I left here, I saw a man who looked just like my father.”

He turned to look at her, puzzled. “Uh huh. And . . . ?”

Eli’s voice took on a detached, dreamlike quality as she continued. “I hadn’t been able to remember my father for . . . I don’t know how long. It was one of those things that I’d lost . . . over time. Used to hurt me so much, not to be able to remember his face. It’s not something you’d think you’d ever forget. And now I do remember, because I saw that guy.

“It must . . . it must mean something, Oskar. It can’t just be a coincidence.”

“I don’t follow you, Eli. I’m sorry.”

She looked over at him. Met his gaze.

“Just before it happened, I was thinking that maybe you should be like me. Like you said, it would be so much easier in a lot of ways. And we wouldn’t have to worry about all of this. I wouldn’t be dangerous to you any more.

“But seeing my father’s face in that man . . . well, it reminded me never to lie to myself, I guess. Because I know what Papa would have said if he could’ve heard us talking about this.”

“What’s that?”

“Papa was . . . a simple man, Oskar. He saw things in black and white. Good and bad; right and wrong. In some ways, he was hard to be around—and he could be harsh on my brother and sister, and on me. But in other ways, it was a good thing. Because sometimes he could see things for how they were, and not get . . . confused. And I think that if he were here right now, there’s no way he’d approve of what we’re thinking about. And . . . he’d be right.”

Oskar sighed. “I know, I know, Eli. But still, wouldn’t it make things a lot less difficult?”

Eli rolled onto her side and rested her head on Oskar’s arm. She touched his face; ran her fingers through his soft blond hair. “I’ve thought about this lately, Oskar. And when I really had convinced myself that it might be a good idea, I stopped and tried to imagine you with a face like mine when I’m . . . at my worst. It made me sick, just thinking of it. To think that I could ever curse you to look like that--my . . . beautiful Oskar.” She caressed his cheek; ran a fingertip over his lips. The most expressive part of him, she thought.

She slowly shook her head and withdrew slightly, and as Oskar watched, she began to cry. “I don’t— I don’t ever want it to happen to you, Oskar. It’s . . . horrible. There’s no other word to describe it. And I think in the long run, you’d come to hate me for it. Because of what you’d have to give up, and the things you’d be forced to do. And I would hate myself, too. I think we would probably not be able to stay together for long. And then you’d become just like me, before I met you . . . the world’s loneliest person.”

She wiped her eyes and continued. “So as hard as this is, I think it’s better than the other. Because I love you the way you are, Oskar. I don’t want to ruin you, like I was . . . ruined. There must be . . . some other way. And like I said, I feel like I’ve grown so much, just in the short time we’ve been together.”

Oskar nodded slowly. “Maybe it just seems easier to me because I don’t really know everything. I mean, you’ve shown me a lot, and what I saw looked . . . pretty awful, if you don’t mind me saying so. And I know I don’t really want to hurt anybody, either. I’m not even sure I could.”

He gestured at her to come closer; pulled her to him. “I can’t move my head much right now,” he whispered. “But . . .”

She looked at him, confused, until he drew her head down to him and kissed her closed eyes. He tasted the saltiness of her tears; then whispered in her ear. “Don’t cry any more, Eli.”

She sighed and kissed his cheek. Then once again, she laid down next to him. He slid over on the mattress to give her some room, and they rested together in silence for awhile. Oskar kept thinking she would get up and say goodnight.

He began to drift off when he heard the beginnings of Eli’s now familiar purring. He roused himself and, surprised, looked at the top of her head. He debated whether to remain where he was; then cast a worried glance over at the bedroom window, covered with a blanket. Then he carefully slid away from her and stood up, frowning a little at his stiff neck.

He looked down at her—his beautiful, deadly little sleeping vampire girlfriend, who wasn’t even really a girl. Eli remained on her side in a freshly washed nightgown, one hand tucked up underneath her head, the other outstretched across the mattress where he’d been a moment before. He shook his head and sighed. So much for all that talk about being careful, he thought with a wry smile. We’re hopeless.

Then he picked her up and carried her still sleeping form to the bathroom. Carefully he maneuvered her past the doorjab without bumping her head and gently laid her down in the tub. He looked around the apartment and found her stuffed bunny, still in one of the boxes from their move, and tucked it under her arm. Then he covered her with a blanket, turned out the light, and shut the door.

He stood for a moment outside the door, listening to that strange, mysterious sound. Then he went to bed.