Henri stayed quiet, then swigged from the bottle and handed it back.
Anson reached over to take it from her hand but Henri held tight and a tug-of-war ensued that was neither playful nor hostile. There was a change in Henri, like rejuvenation, a willingness to participate; there was a change in Anson and a weary sadness washed over him. Something in the back of his mind told him that his time with Henri was very limited? it was the same voice that reminded him death was approaching. Sometimes these messages (spoken with certainty in his head by his own voice) would be accompanied by dream-like images. Every new day brought more muscle to the certainty and more clarity to the hazy, ethereal pictures.
You will see her again, once more, and then you will-
The voice didn't finish.
Instead, a single vision overtook Anson, a waking dream:
Henri was a fluorescent white. He could smell her and it reminded him of the bath soaps his mother had used when he was a young boy. She was wrapping herself around Anson-he was lying in her lap-and her skin felt like warm silk. In that moment, he understood this to be dying. Henri was speaking softly, calmly? She was telling him to sleep. He couldn't make out every word but he heard love and lay and my little backscratcher (which was something his grandmother always called him as a child, on account of his affectionate back rubs). The warmth of Henri's body poured inside of him, rising from his feet, and this was dy-
And then he snapped out of it.
Henri was wrapped around him. Her coarse lips were kissing his, and the smell of bath soap was replaced with sweat and smoke. Anson was over Henri. (He had climbed onto her but didn't notice, wasn't exactly conscious, until?) He laid her back, his fingers running through her hair, truly feeling every blonde strand. He pushed himself up to stare in her eyes and make certain this was real-then he was close again, holding her tight against him, their lips together. The skin of her hands searched him, eager to reach under cloth and feel the skin of someone else, the warmth of another human body. (It had been a long time since Henri embraced another with such passion. Anson, on the other hand, had been with a many girls in an effort to forget Henri, but it had never worked out that way; it only ever made him miss her more.) They made love in the darkness, away from camp. The grass was soft like a comforter, and he stayed on top of her. The night was so prevalent that, inches apart, they could barely see the features of each other's face. Their other senses were heightened. His warm breath - shallow, a kiss, shallow, a nibble - and then tasting the sweat of her bare chest. Her hips were fluid and she crossed her legs over Anson's bare backside. His hands reached back, behind her and up, grabbing her shoulders and pinning her even closer. She gave the gooseflesh of his neck a dozen tiny moans and sensual kisses. He kissed her hard, grunting, and Henri pulled her nails across his back, tilting her chin back, both of them moaning?
When it was over, they laid side-by-side on the grass.
"Some things don't change," Henri said between deep, heavy breaths.
There was a pause.
"Was this our goodbye, Saida?" Anson asked.
"What?" She was concerned why he would ask that. "No. Remember, I need you."
"No, you don't need me. You just need some information I happen to have. And I'll make sure you get it. I'll do my best to help you get home, Henrietta, but I can't go with you."
"Where are you going?"
Anson was standing, dressing. The melancholy had returned. He would miss her again, he knew.
"Um? I need to use the bathroom," he lied.
"Don't get lost."
He blindly felt around and found his bottle.
It was utterly black where they were.
Before heading off, he spoke once more into the darkness:
"I love you, Henrietta, and I'm sorry for every bad thing that's happened between us. I'm sorry you can't love me, and I'm sorry I'm a womanizer and that it hurt you. I'm not always gonna be around but I'll always love you. Wherever you are. Wherever you go."
The darkness didn't respond.
IX
Jonathon William Beckett the third was excited. Pastor Rigby Briarwood was ending his sermon. It had started as a recap of his origins for the newer members and ended with a speech on the idea of acceptance, specifically what should be tolerated and what should not. This was the part that excited Jonathon most because Pastor Rigby Briarwood used this time to talk about the vile Henri Ville, a demoness whom Jonathon had once met, something that Jonathon hated with every ounce of blood in his body. She had murdered his father. She had attacked this man of God. Anson Sharpe had been alright even though he had been its friend (or maybe just acquaintance) and the Pastor never spoke negatively of Anson. Henri, on the other hand, was a demoness sure as Jonathon was a nine-year-old human boy; even he had sensed it.
Jonathon had even informed the Pastor that he, too, could sense Henri Ville was a demon a few nights after Pastor Briarwood had saved his life from the chaos and gunfire and sin of The Catlight Infinite. Jonathon had initially been terrified, as the Pastor's face was a marred mess of wounds (a gash up his face, an eyeball rotting out of his skull), and the terror was followed by two surprises: Jonathon's breathing had grown shallow, as it always had when he was scared, but it hadn't done it again since; and the Pastor had been very calm, sweet, even fatherly, repeatedly telling the child that he was safe and that there was no intention of harm. (Jonathon didn't remember the events from Warminster Parish because he had been unconscious, though the Pastor did briefly apologize for assuming the worst of the boy's soul, affirming that the boy was on the right side with the Lord). The only thing Pastor Briarwood wanted from the boy, at least initially, was the location of Henri Ville, and all Jonathon William Beckett the third answered as best he could and then he would be free to do whatever he wanted. As Jonathon couldn't remember any moment inside Pastor Briarwood's church during Henri's "sentencing", there was a high level of enthusiasm from the boy when he learned that the Pastor was searching for Henri so that he could send her back to hell. Jonathon told Pastor Briarwood the story of his kidnapping, how Henri murdered his father in cold blood and stole him out of his room, dragging him against his will into the forest so that she could berate and yell and threaten him. He told the Pastor how he had bitten her skin and fought so hard against her that he stopped breathing at one point.
Though he didn't say anything, the Pastor knew he had found a prot?g?.
And Jonathon watched as Pastor Briarwood paced in front the crowd. He was explaining why he has to wear a patch over his right eye, a result of his encounter with the demoness Henri Ville. His back had been turned and, like a coward, she stabbed at him, took his right eye, and even slit the skin of his face. The stitches were gone but the scar burned a bright pink line from his brow, skipping over his left eye, straight down to the curve of his chin. The demoness had attacked like the feral animal she was, because Henri Ville was no human. She was a blight, a smear, an erosion to good souls. He once touched her skin and saw her for what she was - a sight too grisly to detail in the sanctity of a church but, if anyone was so inclined, he was going to make a journey to stop her. It was a religious journey, one to prevent the End of the World because, if Henri Ville continued to exist, she would bring about the End of Days. Her existence threatened the existence of all, good and bad alike. There needed to be action and it needed to be soon, swift and righteous, justice, all for the sake of humanity; it was the only answer. The vengeful fist of God was pounding at her door and every second Henri Ville didn't answer - didn't answer for all of it! - was another second closer to the End of All Things.
Pastor Rigby Briarwood let them know that there were already a fair amount of volunteers to track down the she-witch, near thirty men and women and children from local churches where he had spoken recently. Still, he appreciated the allegiance of any other willing participants, as he needed all the help he could get. Anyone that wanted to take the hand of God would be embraced with open arms, and this was the last stop; o
ddly, it had once been a place of beginning for him.
Departure was soon.
Destination was the town of Carpatheon, where a few of Pastor Briarwood's diligent followers had tracked the whores of The Catlight Infinite, where his followers had found her?
Failure wasn't an option.
The demoness Henri Ville was to be destroyed.
X
Henri finished vomiting in the blind corner between the dentistry and Apothecary. She wiped her mouth and lowered the bandana back over the lower half of her face. When she turned to head back inside, an odd sight caught her eye. A bare-chested, exquisitely hairy man was kicking a large metal creature (it sort of looked like a spider). Around his waist swung the top half of his dress, which was torn. A stream of curses could be heard coming from the hairy man as he stomped and yelled and slammed the heel of his foot into the side of the bug-like machine. Henri checked the sky and found a single nefarious cloud. She touched the bandana to verify it was on and covering the lower half of her face (it was a pink bandana with full black lips drawn on it), then cautiously approached Novak as he fought the machine.
"Trouble?" she asked.
"This Goddamn generator-" and Novak released a flood of obscenities.
"Where are we with the cannons?"
Novak scratched his head, staring at the generator with a puzzled expression. "Ask Chaim." And then his attention turned to the top half of his dress and he lifted it, inspecting the damage.
"Tore my dress," he told her, mournfully.
"We'll get you a new one."
"Eh. This wasn't one of Victoria's. What we need is a new generator. Maybe a kerosene generator. I don't really know if it's any better but this stupid steam generator won't-" and he resumed cursing and kicking it.
Henri nodded, her gentle smile hidden, and she returned to the Apothecary. Novak noticed Henri walked away slowly, her left arm cradled over her belly as if wounded, her gait much more practiced.
Inside the apothecary, she returned to her bedroom, where she spent most of her time. It was a tiny room meant for storage; and better for it, as she felt safer in tiny spaces. There was a bed against one wall and the other had a mirror hung over a small dresser, on top of which was a white porcelain bowl full of clean water. (The water had just been refreshed to prepare for her morning routine, which was a quick vomit followed by immense hunger.) Henri pulled off her bandana and examined her face. There were the beginnings of lines, future wrinkles, signs of age; it didn't bother her, not at all. In her twenties and early thirties, growing old had been a scary thought. There was a need to stay youthful, to look young and beautiful forever. It was odd how perception could change so drastically. Firm ideas melted over time and lived on only as a smirk over the naivety of early life. Old didn't matter to her and age was irrelevant. Beauty was a detriment here, and the only thing that could be counted on was intelligence and reflex. It was nice, though, being in Carpatheon with Chaim and Novak. It was calm. Uneventful. Maybe even safe.
After washing her face and rinsing the puke taste from her mouth, Henri walked the stairs to the second floor. Chaim was at his table in the back. His eyes were watching the town, the skin of his old face locked in a somber, thoughtful form.
"What would be the first thing you would say if you saw Brante again?" Chaim asked.
"I wouldn't say anything," she answered.
It was something she had thought about a lot.
"You'd just kill him?" asked Chaim, his eyes looking to Henri for a moment.
She nodded.
There was no surprise at her answer.
"Hm. Your relationship with him was much different than mine. Can't say I blame you, though. If I were you I'd kill him, too. Being me, though, I think I would ask him why. Just that one word. 'Why couldn't you just come get us?' We waited. We waited longer than it would've taken to get here, definitely. 'Why?' It seems counterproductive to the project - to everything, all that money he invested. I just don't get it."
Henri wasn't interested.
"Where are we with the cannons?"
"Ask your girlfriend."
He meant Novak.
Henri sighed at the distance remaining between her and her goal.
"Good news, though," Chaim said, changing pace. He didn't want Henri worrying or disappointed. "I wired someone. It was just a hunch that turned out to be right. We got all the magnetite we can carry. I'm going to organize a caravan tonight, see if I can have them leave tomorrow and go pick it up. Should be here in two, three days tops. And the smelting equipment is already on the way."
The news didn't lift Henri's spirit as much as he had hoped.
"You know why I built this town out all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?" He didn't wait for Henri to answer. "They're going to build the Lincoln Memorial Highway soon, from D.C. to the west coast ocean. When I was younger, my wife and I drove the full length of it. It'll start at the White House and go right through the country. It was a nice drive? It'll be a nice drive. Place I remember the most is when we stop in a town located right where we're standing, right now. My wife and I, we'll spend a few days here and it'll be one of the happiest moments of our marriage, you know?and then, years later, we'll divorced and it'll be bitter and awful. But I remember how I feel when we stop here. That specific time with her? It's like our emotions are stored in memories and we can be happy if we just choose to live in the good ones."
Henri wasn't paying attention.
"I actually remember that there was a statute just outside the town, I forget what of but it had an engraving that said something about divorce. It was like foreshadowing."
He chuckled.
Henri finally looked at him.
"Can you have someone bring food to my room? I need to lie down."
"Of course. Go rest." Chaim paused. "Cheer up, kiddo. It's almost over. And even if we don't succeed, it's still a pretty exciting time to be alive. Could be worse. Could be a lot worse."
Henri nodded and left.
Chaim knocked on the wood table and returned to his thoughtful pose, staring out the window.
XI
Time moved in episodes?
Each attempt to fix the steam generator caused Novak more and more frustration. It was still broke when he left to pick up a seemingly random and endless list of supplies given to him by Chaim. Aside from the smelting equipment, which had already been shipped and would arrive shortly, there was long list of other odds and ends, from transporting several hundred pounds of magnetite to finding an armory of cannons. There was even a boiler on the list. He wasn't certain he could find it all and bring it back but he set out to try nonetheless.
***
Chaim held a meeting with the residents of Carpatheon. He stood in front of the apothecary and, with the crowd directly in front of him, explained that all metal had to be stripped from his town for a short period. Guns, belt buckles, knives, specific types of jewelry, any- and everything metal needed to be gone. If anyone felt they had nowhere separate the town to store their metal belongings, he offered to store it in a safe spot and promised all items would be return to their owners on the day he - Chaim Bialik - got back from a short expedition, the details of which were vague.
"So?you're gonna confiscate our guns?" asked a man in the audience.
"Uh, well, you can take them elsewhere. But no, Carpatheon won't have any guns or knives, no metal whatsoever."
"But we can give 'em to you?" the man went on.
"Yeah," Chaim nodded.
"And then you're leaving?"
"Yeah," he affirmed and nodded again.
"But you won't tell us where?"
Chaim thought a minute.
"I'll tell a group of you. 'Bout a week's time I'm gonna need some of the strongest to volunteer to come with me."
"Where?" asked the man, having forgotten he already asked.
"I'll tell you closer to the time."
"What about nails?"
"I-oh, actually I hadn
't thought about that. They're so small and buried, I don't think it'll be a problem."
"Well if them ain't a pra'lem than why all the jewelry-"
Chaim shook his head and answered quite firmly.
"If you don't like it, leave. I'm not holding you back. That goes for all of you. This is my town. We do what I say here and, right now, I say all metal has to be gone by tomorrow noon. Bury it, take to the next town over, I don't care. If you want to give it to me, I'll keep it safe and all metallic items will be back in your hands within a couple weeks. All metal is to be vacated the town and if I find anyone knowingly withholding metal, it will be taken and the owner will be dismissed from Carpatheon indefinitely."
That seemed to satisfy the crowd, though there was a final question.
"So what's gonna stop you from robbin' us wit' our own guns?" asked the same man, just a head buried amongst the gathered mass of citizens.
Chaim thought a moment and cleared his throat.
"My gun'll be in there, too?"
The man began another question.
"But-"
Chaim's gun had drawn and fired before the man could get out more than a single word. And though the man speaking stood squarely amidst a full crowd of people, the bullet passed straight through his hat and into a wall on the far side of town.
No one quite knew what had happened while Chaim finished his answer.
Henri Ville Page 18
