Had she been cruel or kind? From the bits and pieces of memory floating back, I knew that she had truly loved me and would have done anything to protect me from harm. But she also had herself to protect and so I'd been made to forget not only all that made her different from others, but my feelings for her, made to wall away half of my very soul. The enormity of her gentle betrayal numbed my thoughts. I drew my arms around my legs and rocked back and forth, overcome by the misery.
My eyes stared without seeing at the bright night sky, at the humps and angled shapes of the gravestones surrounding me, at the church's great gray shadow creeping over the ground. As a child, I would have taken on any dare but this one, to spend a single moment in this place after dark. Was I condemned to remain here? Was this my punishment for falling in love?
Such questions as these broke through the barrier I'd built up. Suitable for a ghost story, or the high drama of a stage play, but not for me. I wasn't a spirit or the recipient of divine vengeance, though I had no doubt now that I had died. My heart was silent. My lungs only worked when I consciously used them.
Nora had been the same. I could almost laugh to remember how alarmed I'd been when I'd noticed that. It had been on the night when we'd first exchanged blood. I was... I was like Nora now. By giving my blood to her and taking hers into myself, she'd passed on-what? Her immunity to death?
Why hadn't she told me what to expect?
Perhaps she hadn't known herself, I logically answered.
Then I did laugh. I laughed until I wept. Couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop, wholly giving myself up to a malignant self-pity blacker than the confines of my grave. I moaned and howled and cried and finally shrieked, my voice striking off the side of the church to vent itself in the open air. I did not recognize it. I
did not even recognize myself, for I'd been turned into a most miserable wretch by the overwhelming despair of losing her.
But it passed. Eventually. My temper was not such as to leave me in the depths for very long. Sooner or later we must all emerge and deal with mundane practicalities.
I wiped at my nose and swollen eyes with the lower edge of my shirt. They'd dressed me in my best Sunday clothes. I'd even been given a proper shave. Poor Jericho would have had to do it. I swayed, nearly falling into the darkness again by simply thinking of how he must have felt.
Later. I would worry about it later.
Levering stiffly to my feet, I kicked away the shroud and brushed at the earth clinging to my breeches.
What next?
Go home, of course.
It seemed a good idea. Then it soured. What would they think? How could I possibly explain myself? How could I explain Nora?
How-I was looking at the undisturbed mound of my grave- in God's name had I escaped that? The fiat marks where the spades had tamped the dirt down were still there, blurred a little where I'd rolled off. There were footprints all around as well, men's and women's. I had no difficulty imagining them standing by it, listening to the service being read and weeping through the words. They were the real ghosts of this place, the living, with their grief twining about the low stones like sea mist. The dead were at peace; it was the ones they'd left behind that suffered.
Where did that leave me, who was neither alive or dead?
Later.
My bones were leaden, I was worn out by sheer emotion yet questions continued to pop into my head. I ignored them and trudged out of the churchyard. One foot before the other for a time, then I could rest. A little sleep in my own bed and I'd sort it all out for the others in the morning.
God, what would I tell them?
Later. Later. Later.
Forsaking all thought, I walked and let my senses drift. The road dust kicked up by my steps, the night insects at song, wind rustling the trees, these were most welcome distractions. Normal. Undemanding.
"'Oo's there?"
The intrusion of a human voice jerked me back to myself. "Speak up! I've a gun on ye." Despite his bold declaration, there was a decided quaver in his tone.
"Is that you, Mr. Nutting?" I called back. Something like relief flooded me as I recognized Mervin Nutting, the sexton. He was sheltered beneath the thick shadow of a tree, but I had no trouble spotting him. The puzzlement was that he could not see me standing not fifteen yards away in the middle of the road. "'Oo are ye?" he demanded, squinting right at me, then moving blindly on. He was holding a pistol. "Stand forth."
"I'm right-" Oh, dear. Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all: confronting the man who had most likely just buried me. My mouth snapped shut. "Come on! Show yerself!"
I backed away a step. Quietly. Took another. My shoe crunched against a stone. Nutting swung in my direction with his gun. He looked terrified, but determined. His clothing-what he wore of it-suggested that he'd recently been roused from bed. His house was close to the church; he must have heard my rantings and come out to investigate. No wonder he was so fearful. "Come on!"
Not this time, I thought, moving more carefully. Better to leave him with a mystery and to speculate at The Oak about hauntings than to come forward with the truth and frighten him to death.
"Vat is it, Herr Nutting?" A second man came up behind him, shrugging on a Hessian uniform coat while trying to keep hold of his lantern. He must have been quartered at Nutting's house.
"Thieves or worse," was the reply. "Hold it high, man, so we can see." He joggled the Hessian's arm.
"Vorsicht! Das Feuer!" he yelped, worried about dropping it.
The lantern may have helped them, but I perceived no real
difference for myself. It was like a candle against full daylight
to me. My eyes were used to the dark by now, but surely my
vision should not be as clear as this.
Emboldened by having company, Nutting advanced them onto the road. I saw every detail of their faces, even the colors in their clothes; in turn, they were limited to the radius of their feeble lamplight. I kept backing away, but was unable to judge the right
distance to avoid its most outside reach.
"There!" the Hessian cried. He pointed straight at me.
Whether Nutting understood German or not was debatable, but he got the general idea and brought his pistol to bear. He shouted an order. Or started to. I didn't wait for him to finish and pelted down the road faster than I'd ever run before.
Nutting was better at disposing of ale than foot racing and his companion was unwilling to proceed without arms. I soon gained distance. Far behind, but still visible to me, they gave up their pursuit.
Well, that had woken me right up. I slowed to a walk, albeit a quick one. I was not breathing hard. Good God in heaven, I wasn't breathing at all.
I groaned at that reminder.
What was to become of me?
All the questions returned, full force, and I had no answers. Time would take care of most of them, no doubt, but the encounter with Nutting made me realize what awaited when I got home. Not that I'd be facing another gun, but my return from the dead would certainly inspire the most dreadful fear at first. Was I ready to do that to them? Would it not be better to...
I didn't care. I needed them.
The last mile home is always the longest and I was growing very tired. My eyes hurt. I'd ask Beldon to look at them and hopefully prescribe some drops to help things. Heavens, but it would be good to see even Beldon the toad-eater again.
The sun would be up soon. My eyes were beginning to burn like coals. This sensitivity worried me. Common sense suggested that it would be better to avoid true daylight when it came, at least until I got used to it.
Nora never came out during the day.
She'd slept-slept the day through however long the seasons made it. It had been one of her many unbreakable rules. We'd almost had an argument about it once. We'd gone to a party that had lasted all night. I wanted to watch the sunrise with her and she'd flatly refused, insisting on going home once she'd realized the time. I'd been stung by this,
offended that she couldn't give up an hour of sleep for me, but she'd talked to me in that way of hers and then it hardly seemed to matter.
I'd forgotten that until now. She'd made me forget so much. Every memory that returned possessed both comfort and pain and
no small measure of unease. I'd accepted-or had been made to accept-her differences from other people as eccentricities, but if a serious purpose lay behind each, then it was to my interest to imitate her.
I needed shelter from the sun, then, and very soon. Even now I had to shade my eyes against the glare stealing above the horizon. It was worse than during my morning ride with Beldon yesterday.
Had that only been yesterday? Or today? Had I been truly alive just this morning? How long had I been in the-
Later, I said firmly.
The house was too far away to reach in time; I'd have to settle for the most distant of our outbuildings, an old unused barn. It had once been the property's main barn and close by had stood the original house. That had burned down decades earlier and the remaining stone foundation and chimney had become a childhood playground. We'd been forbidden to go into the barn, but had explored it anyway. Children either have no concept of mortality, or honestly believe they will live forever. We'd come to no harm, though I later shuddered at the risks we blithely took then. The place had been filled with discards and old lumber, rats and snakes.
The doors were gone, but I'd expected that. Dodging a growth of ivy that had taken over the walls, I walked in, cautious of where I put my feet. The trash I remembered had long ago been hauled away and probably burned. Just as well. The stone floor was still in good condition, though clumps of grass and weeds grew in cracks near the entry as far as the sun reached in. They would serve as a guide for me to judge where the deepest shade might be found. It was noticeably darker inside despite the gaps in the high roof. Birds and other small animals had found refuge here. Hopefully, I would be safe as well until my eyes adjusted.
Outside the light grew unbearably bright. Perhaps I was being unrealistically optimistic about being able to leave. I fled to the most protected part of the place, a horse stall in a far corner. The brick walls were high; it must have been a dark and cheerless spot for the former occupant, but now offered a unique comfort to me.
"But I want to go home," I whispered, peering over the wall. I had to shield my eyes with my arm. The light was utterly blinding.
My limbs stiffened. No pain, but they were horribly difficult to move. So much had happened; the fatigue was inarguably catching me up. Rest. After a little rest I might feel better.
I was reluctant to sit. The floor was filthy with dust and other rubbish I preferred not to think about, but there was no choice. My legs folded on their own. My knees struck with a jarring double crack that deprived me of balance. I pitched over and landed on my side. My thoughts were as stiff and sluggish as my body. I felt no fear. I'd had a surfeit of it in the last few hours and could produce no more.
Dragged down by the natural pull of gravity, I rolled flat on my back.
My eyes slammed shut. The world may have spun on about its business, but 1 was no longer a part of it.
My eyes opened.
I lay as I'd fallen, but this awakening was far superior to the last one. My mind smoothly picked up its previous thread of thought as though I'd only blinked rather than dropped unconscious to the floor. I felt alert and aware and ready to deal with whatever the day brought. Fluidity had returned to my body; the wooden hardness of my joints was completely gone. I easily stood up to take note of my surroundings. Changes had taken place. Important ones.
Though the strength of the outside light was about the same it now fell from a different direction. By God, I'd slept the whole day away if I could believe that it was now sunset. It was yet painfully bright, but gradually dimming to a more comfortable level with each minute. Soon it would be fully dark-at least for other people. For me, there was only more of what I'd encountered last night. At least I should be able to avoid accidentally running into anyone out for a late walk on my way-
Home. I desperately wanted to be home.
Supper would be over by now. They'd probably be in the drawing room: Mother and her guests to play cards, Father to read, Elizabeth at her spinet. Perhaps not. The house was in mourning, after all. My heart ached for them and for myself. I would hurry.
Futilely, I brushed at my clothes. As if how I looked would matter to Father and Elizabeth when they saw me. I couldn't wait
to see their faces, all of them; it would be better than Christmas. I'd ask Mrs. Nooth about leftovers first thing, because I was quite starved by now. I was really too hungry to know what I wanted to eat, though doubtless anything she had from the last meal would be gratefully consumed.
Swiftly, I marched from the barn and down the overgrown path leading to the road. I felt tired in body, but strangely sharp in mind. The strength of last night's terrors and doubts and worries had faded. I even found myself smiling about the encounter with Mr. Nutting. He'd only gotten a bad fright and a bit of exercise; I'd make it up to him at The Oak later, the Hessian, too, if he liked ale. I'd be the talk of the county, the Lazarus of Long Island.
My confidence faltered. How would the membership of the church receive this particular resurrection? Even the better educated might be reduced to a superstitious dread. The common folk I hardly dared consider. Would I be viewed as a heavenly miracle or an infernal mockery?
Later, I reminded myself once more and kept going.
Had they caught Roddy Finch yet? I'd been so occupied with my own immediate sorrows that I'd had no thought to spare for the man who had... killed me. No thought to spare and, until now, no anger. Murderers were hanged and rightly so, though in this case there was sufficient mitigation to prevent it. You can't hang a man for murder if the victim turns up to call things off, but the pimply-faced bastard would pay for this if I had to flog him myself. I was very definitely prepared to do it as my anger was not just for myself but for the awful grief he'd caused my poor family.
On the other hand, he might probably hang anyway, for the horses he'd stolen back from the Crown.
My mind started to spin a bit at the complications.
I'd have to talk with Father, sort it all out with him.
Later.
Less than half a mile from my gate, I became conscious of a wagon rattling up the road behind me. I saw it long before the driver could see me and debated whether or not to take cover until it passed. Sooner or later the news would spread of my return so I supposed it would make no difference to wait for him. Besides, he might be obliging enough to give me a ride. My feet were beginning to drag as my empty belly started to
snarl to life. I consoled myself that soon Mrs. Nooth would put it to rest with her excellent cooking.
The driver was a stranger to me, though he was obviously a farmer or worked for one. I waited until certain the lighted lamps hanging from his wagon had picked me up from the general darkness, then gave him a friendly hail. He was startled, for the times were unsettled and a man out after sundown could rightly be viewed with suspicion.
"Who be ye?" he demanded, pulling on the reins. There was a long musket at his feet and he was ready to reach for it.
"I'm Mr. Barrett, at your service, sir. I live near here."
"Good e'en to ye," he replied cautiously, looking me over. "Have a spot of trouble?"
I fought down the urge to laugh. "Yes, quite a lot of it. I suffered a fall and am trying to get home." Close enough to the truth.
"Musta been a prodigious fall, young sir," he said agreeably. "I can give ye a ride if ye c'n tell me if 'm on the right road to Glenbriar."
"That you are, sir. And less than a mile from my own gate."
He took the hint. "Good, commun up, then." He made room for me on the seat and I readily joined him. "Name's Hulton. 'M on my way to sell goods to the soldiers." He got the horses going again. "Sun go down, but thought I'd push through."
"You'r
e welcome to spend the night at my home. Or, if you stay on this road you'll pass The Oak. They'll put you up there right enough. I'd be careful about dealing with the commissaries, though."
'They not payin' good coin?"
"Even worse." I explained in detail about the blank receipts and the theft of Finch's property. Hulton took it all in with a stone face, then shook his head.
'"F that be how things stand, then I may as well go home ag'in as go on. Least 'f the rebels steal from me I c'n get the soldiers to hang 'em, but who'll hang the soldiers?"
"The rebels, if they win," I said.
His eye sharpened. "You one of 'em?"
"Good God, no. My family are all loyal to His Majesty, God bless him."
P N Elrod - Barrett 1 - Red Death Page 23
