Effortlessly, Preston lowered her to the ground, and then covered her with his body. As she lay underneath him face-down in the sand, he whispered into her ear, “Ah, yes, I remember this position. You seemed to enjoy it when he took you this way.”
Lillian began to squirm underneath him, struggling to gain some leverage.
“Oh yeah, just like that, baby, can you feel how hard that makes me?”
Lillian could feel his erection. Only the thin material of his trousers separated it from her nude backside. Tears ran from her eyes as she struggled to breathe. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears. Preston’s weight was too much, she couldn’t move from underneath him and she was tiring. Lillian felt that her only chance would be to get him to loosen his grip. She applied the slightest bit of pressure, wiggling her ass to push up into his erection.
“Naughty girl!” Preston whispered with glee. “You want it now, don’t you?”
Lillian nodded her head ever so slightly, as much as she could, considering the strong hold he had on her head and neck.
Preston excitedly pulled out the arm he’d wrapped around her waist. He leaned up slightly so he could snake his hand between them and undo his pants.
This freed Lillian’s right arm. As Preston leaned up she pulled her right arm loose and pushed up with as much force as she could muster, striking him squarely on the nose with the back of her head. The force of the blow made her see stars. The last thing she remembered before everything went black was an overwhelming sense of nausea coupled with the sound of her shirt tearing as it was ripped from her back.
The first thing that she was aware of was the pounding in her head. It was more of a throbbing really. She tried to sit up, but as soon as she moved she was hit with a sudden wave of nausea. She rolled onto her side, reflexively, and began to retch. She felt a cool wet rag being placed on the back of her neck. Lillian reached back and covered the hand that was holding the rag to her neck with her own.
“Thanks, Jackson. Don’t know what’s wrong with me. I had the worse dream.”
“It wasn’t a dream,” Ahmed said. “You were attacked.”
Lillian spun her head around to look at him and groaned, lifting her hand to the back of her head as a stab of pain coursed through her.
“There’s a small cut from where you connected with Preston’s head. Have some of this tea; it will help dull the pain and curb the nausea.” Ahmed lifted a small cup to her lips.
Lillian smelled the tea and wrinkled her nose.
“Drink it”
Lillian took a few tentative sips. “It’s not bad.”
Ahmed helped her to lie back down. He rinsed the washrag out and gently wiped it across her face.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Shh.” He cleaned her up first, then the evidence of her sickness. When Ahmed had finished, he carefully slid an arm underneath her neck and helped her slowly lift her head so she could have more tea. “You should continue to take small sips. It will make you drowsy, help you rest. You’ll feel much better by tomorrow.”
“I’m so tired.” Her eyes started to flutter. “Where’s Jackson?”
“He’ll be back soon,” he assured her as she drifted back to sleep. “Just rest.”
Chapter Sixteen
The large orange sun was low on the horizon when the group of men rode back into camp. Jackson was in the lead. They’d reached the end of their journey in the nick of time. Their horses had been ridden hard, too hard. The animals were foaming from sweat, all but one, the one without a rider.
Abdulla walked swiftly over to Jackson and reached for the reins of his animal. “There’s been an incident.”
Jackson looked down at his hands; like all of the men, he was covered with layer upon layer of sand and sweat. But on him there was something else: remnants of spattered blood.
“Lieutenant!” he said sharply. “Did you hear me?”
Jackson blinked. Then slowly began to dismount. “Jemal is dead,” he said, wearily. “I’m sorry. I made sure he didn’t suffer.”
“The mission was otherwise a success,” Hassan interjected.
“Take care of the horses and bring food and water.” Abdulla reached out and took Jackson by the arm. “You need rest.”
“Where’s Lillian?” As soon as his eyes connected with Abdulla’s he noticed the hesitation, the dread. Then he noticed similar expressions on the faces of the men surrounding him. Abdulla’s words about an incident flashed through his mind. He had at first assumed that Abdulla had been referring to the absence of Jemal. Now, he was certain he was referring to something else. Fear passed through him as time seemed to lengthen and stretch out endlessly. The seconds it was taking for Abdulla to find the right words seemed like hours.
“Recovering, in your tent. She—”
Jackson pushed past him and walked as if in a daze towards their tent. His heart was racing and he felt as if he were going to suffocate. As he reached the entrance, he turned to look back at his men, most of them averted their eyes, uncomfortable witnesses to this private moment.
He lifted the flap of the tent and quietly stepped inside. Lillian was lying on the pallet facing away from him. He immediately noticed the bandage on her head. A small circle of blood showed through it. He heard a noise behind him as the tent’s flap was pulled back and Ahmed entered.
“She will be out for a while. I gave her some tea with a bit of sedative. Preston…”
His eyes started to fill with tears. She looked so small, so frail. Lillian moaned in her sleep and moved slightly. As she did so the thin sheet that had been covering her slipped slightly revealing a deep bruise on her shoulder. He stepped forward and knelt down beside her. The bruise was in the form of a hand. He reached up and gently slid the sheet down, exposing her back. There, at the base of her hip, was a second bruise.
“How—” Jackson began, his voice cracking as he realized what had happened. “How far did he get? How hurt is she?”
“She was lucky.”
Jackson turned to look at him, a pained expression on his face. “Lucky?”
“Lucky that you taught her to defend herself. Lucky that Abdulla returned when he did.”
“What happened?” Jackson reached out and tenderly began to stroke her hair.
Ahmed sat down beside him. “Abdulla walked her down to the water to bathe. She had been helping me most of the night and was close to exhaustion. He left her for a few minutes. When he returned Preston had her pinned to the ground, facedown. Most of her clothes had been removed. As Abdulla cleared the pathway, he saw them. When Preston moved to unfasten his trousers Lillian bucked up and slammed the back of her head into his face, breaking his nose. Unfortunately, the force of the blow knocked her unconscious. Abdulla subdued Preston.”
Jackson reached down and pulled his knife from the sheath inside his boot. Then he turned and with a determined step walked out of the tent towards Abdulla. The crowd of men that had congregated around the tent moved quickly out of his way.
“What have you done with him?”
“Nothing much,” Abdulla answered. “Saved that for you. I’m sorry.”
Jackson nodded and brought an arm up to wipe the dust from his face. “Where are you holding him?”
“Down by the water. I’ll take you.”
Jackson followed Abdulla down the winding path that led to the water’s edge. As they reached the end of the pathway, Jackson looked around. Although several of the men were sitting about, he saw no prisoner.
“This is a private party,” Abdulla announced. “Find something else to do.”
As the men dispersed he saw him, or rather it. Preston’s head was sticking up out of the sand.
“You buried him in the sand?” Jackson asked.
“Well, not me. I mostly watched the boys dig the hole and then bury him. I had knocked him out pretty good. It took him a few hours to come to. He hasn’t had any food or water yet. You could just go with that.” Abdulla walked u
p to Preston and knelt down alongside of him.
“No. Don’t think so.”
Preston’s eyes widened to the size of saucers as Jackson began to slowly circle him. He was sweating profusely and he was sunburned from being left in the open sun all day. The rims of his eyes were reddened and his lips were cracked.
“Water,” he croaked.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding, mate!” Jackson barked. “He’s kidding, right?”
“I don’t know. He could be delirious from the sun and lack of water. Perhaps we should give him some water so that he can be fully alert when the torturing part begins?”
Jackson knelt in front of Preston. “Good idea.” Abdulla clapped his hands loudly. “Water!”
His request was met with silence.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I know several of you are out there, spying. Someone fetch water. Who among you is the bravest?” Jackson asked.
A young man by the name of Sudhir peeked out from behind a date palm. He bowed quickly towards Abdulla before running up the path and disappearing.
“So, what do you think?” Abdulla asked. “Want to make him a eunuch? We can get some of the boys to pull him out of the sand, perform the procedure, and then stick him back in until he’s healed. The procedure’s usually done on younger men and there is the high mortality rate. But either way it’d be an appropriate fate. Torture followed by life in servitude as a eunuch…or death.”
Sudhir returned with the water and Jackson tipped the cup to Preston’s lips, allowing him to take some small sips.
Preston took a few swallows, then began to cough and sputter.
“Preston?”
Preston looked up at Jackson. Both of his eyes were black and his nose obviously swollen and broken. His tongue flitted out and ran across his swollen and cracked lips.
“I—”
“Shh! Today is your lucky day. One, I’m tired. Two, I’m feeling a bit impatient. So, although I’d like nothing more than to torture you endlessly for hours, I’m going to make this quick. I’m not going to let you hurt her, or anyone else ever again.”
“No.”
“Yes. Do you believe in hell, Preston? I do and I am certain that is where you are heading. Who knows, perhaps I’ll join you there someday for what I’m about to do.”
Jackson stood up and began to unbutton his shirt. “The blood on this belongs to a hero. Yours doesn’t deserve to touch it.”
“Please,” Preston whispered, his voice hoarse.
“Did she beg?” Jackson walked around him. “Did you exercise any compassion? Would you have?”
“Wh—what are you going to do?” His voice was quivering now.
“Thought that would be fairly obvious. I’m going to kill you,” Jackson said, kneeling behind him.
Preston tried to crane his head back to get a look at his executioner. As he did, Jackson reached down and forcefully grabbed a handful of his dark hair, pulling up ruthlessly, exposing his neck.
Jackson took a deep breath, looked heavens-ward up into the darkening sky, and whispered, “Forgive me Father, for what I am about to do.”
“M—murder is a sin, Lieutenant,” Preston said.
Jackson leaned down, placed the tip of his knife at Preston’s throat and simply said, “You. Hurt. My. Wife.” Then he dragged it across. In one fluid move he sliced open Preston’s neck, and then watched as the blood spilled out, sinking into the sand.
As Jackson released Preston’s head, it lolled sickeningly off to the side, his lifeless eyes frozen in surprised horror. Jackson climbed to his feet and looked up at Abdulla.
“Well, that was kind of disappointing. You could have at least let me cover his head in honey and watch the local insects and animals nibble at him,” Abdulla said, handing Jackson back his shirt.
Jackson shook his head.
“I want to wash up. I have too much blood on my hands.” He removed his pants. “Can you have someone bring me a robe?”
“I’ll get it myself,” Abdulla said.
Jackson looked at him in shock. “You’re waiting on me?”
“Of course not, I’m just doing a favor, for a friend.”
“Thanks.”
Jackson dove into the water and swam out. As he pulled himself through the water he wondered if he would ever be really clean again. That hadn’t been an act of war. That had been something else. He let himself sink to the bottom and stayed under as long as he could, running his fingers through his hair, and his hands over his body in an effort to shed the sand and blood that had accumulated there since he had last bathed. Not until his lungs were burning from lack of oxygen did he push up again.
He gasped as his head broke through the surface of the water. He floated there, suspended for a moment, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness before swimming back towards the shore.
As soon as the water was shallow enough, he stood up and shook his head, casting off beads of water.
Abdulla watched Jackson walk out of the water towards him. “Jackson, you’re not going to hell for killing him. You know that, right? The bastard deserved it.” The prince handed him the fresh robe.
Jackson sighed before pulling the robe over his head. “It’s not the fact that I killed him that’s bothersome.” Jackson looked up into the dark sky. “I’ve killed men before, but never purely for revenge, never like this.”
Abdulla nodded. “Revenge is justified. Doesn’t your Bible say ‘an eye for an eye’?”
“It also says something about turning the other cheek,” explained Jackson as they started to walk back up the path.
“Don’t you find that a little contradictory?”
“Are you wanting to discuss theology now?”
“Nah! Let’s save that for our next date.” Abdulla slapped him on the back. “Had a real good time.”
“Goodnight,” Jackson said as he reached his tent. “And thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. By morning, he’ll be buried and the evidence all erased. You can move on.”
Jackson entered his tent. Ahmed had left a small oil lamp burning and two cups of tea by the pallet along with some bread and fruit. He sat down on the pallet, picked up a fresh peach, and bit into it. He closed his eyes for a moment to savor the taste of the sweetness. He quickly finished it off, along with the portion of bread, then walked over to their water bucket and drank deeply.
Quietly, he walked back over to their sleeping pallet and slipped between the covers. As he moved to brush Lillian’s hair aside, his hand hovered over her shoulder. He looked once again at the bruise there.
The evidence will not be erased by morning.
He rolled over and blew out the lamp, shrouding the tent in a cocoon of darkness. He started to move towards her, so that they could assume what had become their normal sleeping position. His body wrapped around hers, his right arm draped over her waist, her left breast cupped in his hand. But he just couldn’t.
Tonight wasn’t a normal night. He wanted desperately to wake her. To tell her that he loved her and to hear her say she loved him. He wanted desperately to make love to her. His stomach clenched and he pulled away. He climbed out of their bed, suddenly filled with shame and self-loathing. Was it that he thought he could erase the memory of her attack through the simple act of tender lovemaking? No. He knew what it was. If he was to be brutally honest with himself, it was about a desire to reclaim what was his.
Jackson left the tent.
Barefoot, he walked out into the desert, seeking a moment of solitude. As he left the camp behind and looked up at the night sky, he felt a sense of sadness wash over him. So much had changed for him, and it was all because of her. He had someone to lose now, someone who mattered to him. He thought about Maria and wondered briefly when she had stopped mattering, really mattering. He thought about Lillian losing both of her parents within the space of a year. He thought about Ahmed, losing his wife and children. He thought of Fatima not even aware that she was now a widow. Then he wondered about
Preston; would anyone miss him?
Jackson sank down and sat in the soft sand. He pulled his knees up close to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He forced himself to face the inevitable. He was going to lose Lillian. Someday, it would happen. He made a decision then. With only the stars as a witness Jackson rested his head on his knees and wept.
Hours later, under the cover of darkness, he returned to their tent unnoticed. As he climbed between the sheets of their pallet and rolled onto his side, his back to her, he felt her stir.
“Jackson?” she whispered, still sounding slightly groggy from the sedative.
“Yes, love.” He quickly turned to face her.
And there it was. An awkward silence fell between them.
“What do you need?”
“I…”
“Tell me.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice tremulous as she tried not to cry. If he hadn’t been hovering directly above her he would never have even caught her words.
“For what?” Jackson asked, his heart breaking as she quietly began to sob.
“I should have listened to you. I—”
Jackson reached out into the darkness and with the pads of his thumbs brushed away her tears. “Abdulla told me what he saw. What he thought happened.”
Lillian tried to turn her head away.
“I have three questions and I want honest answers. Can you do that for me?” Jackson placed his hand under her chin to turn her head back towards him.
“Yes.”
“Did you want to have sex with Preston?”
“What? Of course not!”
“Did you try in any way to discourage his advances?”
“How do you think I got this big knot on the back of my head, and the bruises and scrapes? ‘Don’t touch me!’ I said. ‘I’ll scream,’ I said. Only I couldn’t. He covered my mouth and he…he…” Sobs began to wrack her slight form.
Silent tears coursed down his cheeks. He sniffed as he reached for her hand and brought it up so that she could feel the dampness on his face. “How could you possibly think this is your fault? You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing!”
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