Part 4: Old Town

Lorna grimaced and tried to sit up, but a surge of agony clenched her teeth. Bandages wrapped her chest, her arms, and most of her left leg. Everything hurt; even breathing was torture. With a sigh, she settled back and studied the room instead.

A dresser sat beneath a pair of faded sketches while floral curtains framed the windows beside them. Hand-knitted doilies covered nearly every piece of furniture. After a moment, memory caught up with the pain. The Warehouse. Franz. The fall. She was in Estelle's house.

Her eyes drifted to the nightstand beside the bed. A plate of bread, cheese, and dried fruit sat tantalizingly close. Hunger stirred immediately, but it wasn't what held her attention. The plate sat crooked atop its doily.

Lorna stared at it.

Then she cursed and reached for it.

A lance of pain shot through her side. Her arm shook. Sweat beaded on her forehead. It took far longer than it should have, but eventually her fingertips brushed the ceramic edge.

She nudged it square with the nightstand, then fell back onto the pillow.

Lorna closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Somewhere out there, Lilith was still missing and Franz was still free. The Empire continued whatever horror it had begun while she lay helpless in a bed arranging plates. She hated the thought almost as much as she hated needing someone else to save her life.

She was still staring at the ceiling when the door opened. An elderly woman stepped inside carrying a steaming kettle. Her gray hair had been tied back with little regard for appearance, and her expression suggested she had spent most of her life disappointed by other people.

The old woman eyed the untouched plate on the nightstand and snorted.

"You nearly died getting that thing lined up, didn't you?"

Lorna looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Nonsense." The woman set the kettle down. "Your mother used to do the same damned thing."

"If only she were here." Lorna sighed.

"But she isn't, is she?" Estelle leaned in with a crooked smirk. "At some point, you need to let it go, Lorna. No one loved her more than me. Well, your father might disagree. I caught them in my basement one time—"

"Estelle, please," Lorna cut her off.

"Fine." The old lady pulled a chair and sat down. "When she died, a part of me did too. But I let it go. That war caused a lot of misery. You can't drive yourself into a grave over what happened."

"It's not like that. I just..." Just what? Just one more try to clean herself of the sin? One more mission to find the truth? Lorna looked at the plate, the doily. Her entire life was a prison made from the pursuit of perfection...and repentance. "I just have one more task."

"What is it this time? I just pulled enough glass out of your pretty hide to start a new window shop."

"Lilith."

"So. This isn't about your mother. It's about your brother," Estelle said, pouring a cup of tea with a blank expression.

"They're all I have left. They have kids."

"You could too."

"Will you stop, already!" Lorna tried to stab a finger at Estelle and immediately regretted it.

"What? I'm just saying, get yourself a good man with strong hands. That'll calm you right down."

Lorna rolled her eyes. "How did my mother ever put up with you."

"Whiskey."