Annika Northman: Part Two

Chapter 7: The Snake

I dig my hands into my hair as I spin on my heel for the thousandth time and cross my little room, moving yet again from the edge of my bed to my bathroom door. Then I spin on my heel for thousand-and-first time.

Every inch of my body is buzzing. It might only tickle, if it weren't all over, but it is all over, and most of all in my gut, so the overall feeling is closer to pain.

I lower my hands to my eyes, press my fingers into the sockets, feel the shallow dents that are the bags beneath them, feel the salt scrape around behind my eyelids.

Tap-tap.

I whirl towards the door, half-crouching, before my mind reminds the rest of me that no one dangerous could ever get this far into Fangtasia, this close to me –

No one? Really?

– and also that that's Eric's knock.

I straighten. "Come in," I say. Hoarsely.

Eric enters and closes the door behind him. I clasp my hands in front of me, tilt my head back. All is well, of course all is well, don't I look happy and content?

"Ginger says you did not sleepwalk." Eric's eyes dart around as he takes in my face. "But looking at you now, it occurs to me that that may be because you did not sleep."

"Yes, I did . . . Some." I just set my alarm clock to wake me every half-hour. And was showered and dressed long before dawn.

"You're barely on your feet."

I press up to my tiptoes to prove him wrong . . . and lose my balance and have to catch myself.

"I am leaving to attend to some business," Eric says, "but it shouldn't take long. When I return, I will call Dr. Ludwig and get the names of the psychiatrists she mentioned."

"She said there was probably nothing they could do for me."

"Then they can tell me that themselves. I can't do nothing. You are suffering."

There's an edge to his words, and I know that's for my sake, which means a lot, but psychiatrists make you talk about things in your head and I have no desire to share those things with a stranger. And I don't like making Eric worry, so . . . "I'm fine, Eric."

"You're lying to me. I thought you knew better."

I sigh and stay quiet.

"You're trembling."

I lift one of my hands for examination. He's absolutely right. I let my arm fall. "Can I come with you? Wherever you're going?"

"Not tonight, no."

I close my eyes.

"You know there are many things I do which are not suitable for a child's presence."

"Like tearing out a man's throat with your teeth?"

The room sort of settles around us. As if everything gets a little heavier. I begin to rub the patch of skin above my t-shirt's neckline, just below my collarbone.

"That man was a monster who could have ripped off your pretty little head without trying. I am sorry if you disapproved of my killing him, but I have no regrets."

"Of course I didn't disapprove of you killing him. I'm not an idiot. You didn't kill him because you thought he was going to hurt me, though. It's like Sookie said – you were going to keep him alive until you saw that brand on his neck."

"I know you are tired, but mind your tone when speaking to me."

I press my lips into a thin line, roll my fingers into fists as I let out a long breath. "I just – I was just saying, I just meant to say that I've been around many things that aren't suitable for a child. I'm not . . ." I pause. "I'm not like most children."