Unholy Fire

by Robert J. Mrazek

“Everything?” she repeated, arching her eyebrows as if I was a lunatic.

  “Yes, everything … even that pile of coal over there,” I said, pointing to the hod next to the fireplace.

  “At the moment it looks beautiful to me, too,” she said with a shiver.

  “Everything will be beautiful as long as you’re with me,” I said.

  Was it genuine pleasure I saw in her eyes then?

  “So you fell in love with me the first moment you saw me,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Perhaps you are in love then.”

  “All I know is … you’re the only woman I’ve ever met who made me feel this way.”

  “How many other women have you known like this?”

  “None,” I said. “But that doesn’t matter. I know my heart.”

  She lay in my arms without moving.

  “I read once that if two people love one another enough they become immortal, like the wind and the stars,” she said.

  “Perhaps we shall not die then,” I whispered, kissing her again.

  We made love a second time. This time I tried very hard to do everything she had done so expertly with her mouth and delicate fingers the first time. At first she didn’t seem to know how to respond. Her heartbeat remained slow and steady, her body as taut as a coiled spring. When I was kissing her lips again, she seemed to fight herself for one long moment and then returned it with an unexpected hunger.

  A parade of vivid images are still etched in my mind of what came next; the rain of kisses on her eyes and mouth and throat, my fingertips stroking her nipples and lower spine, while my tongue roved to every part of her body. Finally, I savored her slick abundance, which to me had the same earthy taste as an opiate. I lost track of time.

  Suddenly, I felt a tremor go through her, followed by another. Her stomach contracted, and she came alive in my arms. She seemed to offer herself totally to me, with a yearning strength that matched my own. I could feel her heart racing in time with mine until finally she cried out as if in agony.

  Whether it was from pain or pleasure, I do not know, but when I raised my face from hers, Amelie was weeping. She was clinging to me so hard that her fingernails had cut deeply into my shoulders. I held her until the tears stopped.

  “Tu as touché mon coeur,” she whispered.

  Our lips were almost touching.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “You touched my heart, Johnny,” she said, her eyes huge against my own.

  Later, we slept again.

  I woke to discover that dawn had crept into the room through the dormer window. When I heard the sound of hard rain drumming against the tin roof on the side porch, I knew that the packet boats would be running again later that morning down to Falmouth.

  As I lay there bathed in her warmth, I thought my happiness would never end. I could still smell the juices of her body on mine. I had never felt more alive. That was when I happened to glance at her left hand, which was lying palm up on the pillow.

  In the course of our lovemaking, the silk and lace band around her left wrist had come unbuttoned, and I could see the edge of what appeared to be a deeply furrowed line on the surface of the skin beneath it. When I gently slid the band free, I saw two hideous scars there, each about two inches long, both across the vein.

  Trying not to wake her, I released the pearl button that held the other band in place. The right wrist had a single scar track, also across the vein. She came awake as I was staring at it. For a moment there was a look of terror in her eyes at what I had seen. She twisted away for a moment and then stopped. I felt the sting of tears at the thought that she could have done such a thing to herself. She lay without moving for several minutes.

  “Do not ask about it,” she said, finally.

  “I haven’t asked,” I said. “But …”

  “Every whore has a story, didn’t you know that?” she said, her words echoing those of Lieutenant Mahoney. Of course her refusal to explain the scars on her wrists just made me want to know the reason more.

  “If you ask me, Johnny, I will tell you to leave right now,” she said, with iron in her voice.

  “I don’t want to know about the past … only the future,” I lied.

  There was a knock at the door. I got up from the bed and walked over to unlock it. The old woman came into the room again, this time with a bucket of steaming water. She poured it into Amelie’s pitcher and bowl, went to the fireplace to stoke the coal fire, and left without a word. When I rejoined Amelie in the bed, she was staring straight ahead, her eyes dark and mysterious.

  “Amelie … I love you even more now,” I said, moving to embrace her.

  She pulled away from me.

  “Do not ever try to be noble for me. I have been a whore now for almost two years. I have done things you could not even imagine … unspeakable things. And I have only myself to blame. No one else.”

  Something pressed hard against my heart. For the first time in my short life, I began to consider what love really was. When she got up to wash, I lay there listening to the rain hammering on the tin roof, wondering what would happen to us.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Amelie became furious when I asked her to accompany me back to Falmouth. It took me almost an hour to convince her to go with me. I tried to explain that her life was in danger from the man who had murdered Anya … that he probably knew where she lived and worked, and at some point would come after her.

  “I am not afraid,” she replied.

  I then told her that if she didn’t come with me, Val Burdette would order someone else from the Provost Marshal’s Office to arrest her as a material witness and bring her down anyway.

  “There are important men who would find it in their interest to prevent that from happening,” she said.

  It was only when I told her about Thomas and Daniel Beecham, and what had been done to them after they had the courage to report the discovery of Anya’s body, that she began to listen.

  “I will go with you,” she said, when I finished telling their story.

  I sent one of her servants back to the Provost Marshal’s Office with a letter for Ted Connell, Val’s deputy in the Prosecution Division. It included a short message to be wired to Val, telling him that I had found our witness and would soon be on my way back. I also told Ted to arrange passage for us on the next packet boat leaving for Falmouth, adding that because of my fears for her safety, he should secure a private stateroom for us if at all possible.

  We were having breakfast downstairs in the dining room when someone knocked at the front door. The old woman went to answer it, returning a minute later to whisper something to Amelie.

  “It is a federal officer,” she said. “He is asking for you.”

  I found Ted Connell waiting in the foyer. An almost lascivious smile was playing on his mouth as I came toward him.

  “I envy your investigative technique, Kit,” he said.

  “Believe it or not, this was all in the line of duty,” I replied.

  “Well, whatever you’ve done, it has stirred up a real hornet’s nest at the War Department,” he said, his intelligent blue eyes almost glowing with excitement. “When I arrived this morning, there was a caravan of wagons parked along Seventeenth Street. The way they are moving records out of the Quartermaster General’s Office, you would think the Rebel barbarians are at the gates.”

  “Not the Rebels,” I said, “Val and Sam.”

  Ted nodded in understanding. He then told me that he had secured space for us on a boat that was taking members of the general staff down to Falmouth later that afternoon. Although every billet was taken, he had even managed to reserve a small cabin for Amelie.

  “Good luck, my friend,” he said, with a casual salute. “You’re going to need it.”

  Later that morning, as I waited for the coach that would take us to the navy yard, I sat by one of the mullioned windows facing the Potomac River and thought about the extraordinary
change that had just taken place in my life. Amelie’s impact on me had been as elemental as air and water. Everything in the world outside that window—the color of the river and the sky, the sight and sound of the people walking along the shoreline—all of it seemed infinitely more vivid. Whatever happened, I knew that my life would never be the same.

  Shortly after twelve, an army coach pulled up at the stand in front of the house. There were two enlisted men on the box and I went out to tell them to wait. When I walked back upstairs, Amelie was wearing a fitted green organdy dress that buttoned at the neck and wrists, along with a matching green cape lined with lamb’s wool. As I picked up her valise, she came over and stopped in front of me. For several moments she stood gazing up at my face, as if trying to memorize it.

  Then she drew my head down, kissed me on the mouth, and said, “Do not try to help me, Johnny.”

  At the front door she stopped to talk to the strange old woman she called Tante Louise. I carried Amelie’s valise out to the coach and stowed it in the boot. I knew she was coming when I happened to look up at the soldiers on the box. Their eyes were riveted on her as she came toward us down the path.

  The Amelie Devereaux who arrived at the curb acted as if we were meeting for the first time. At first I assumed it was because the soldiers’ stares had made her uncomfortable. As soon as we were on our way, I took her in my arms again and kissed her. Amelie’s lips were cold and lifeless. When I pulled away, she turned to look out the window, saying nothing the rest of the way to the navy yard.

  We arrived at the wharf to the screams of newsboys hawking a late edition of the Washington Evening Star. ATTACK IMMINENT was the banner headline. “Burnside on the Move,” read the first paragraph underneath it.

  There was a frenzy of activity in the harbor. A dozen ships were under steam, all waiting to make their way into the channel. We waited in line to board our packet boat, which was already filled to overflowing with officers going down to join their commands. They stood along the rails, cheering excitedly at the news that we were finally going into battle again.

  Gaily colored pennants were flying from the halyards above the wheelhouse. They snapped loudly in the brisk wind that greeted us at the water’s edge. At the gangplank, a navy purser checked the passenger manifest after I gave him my name. When he asked Amelie if she was my wife, she lowered her eyes in embarrassment. After he gave us approval to board, I led her through the crush of officers lining the deck and down the passageway to our assigned cabin.

  A few minutes later, I felt the shudder of the engines as the packet boat got underway. It was very quiet in the cabin, which contained just a single berth along with a copper washstand, pitcher and bowl, and a side chair. Amelie removed her cape and sat down in the chair.

  Confused at her abrupt change toward me, I gazed out through the small porthole as an empty hospital ship headed into the channel ahead of us. The cold gray air floated past like a smoky haze, and I could hear the sound of the water lapping against the hull as we picked up speed.

  As a precaution against the remote possibility that Anya’s killer might somehow be on the ship, we remained inside the cabin for the first three hours of the voyage. When she needed to relieve herself, I waited outside in the passageway while she used the captain’s small lavatory.

  Back inside the cabin, the minutes passed very slowly because we no longer seemed to have anything to say to one another. Once or twice I tried to start a conversation, but it was obvious from her curt replies that she had no interest in talking. At one point she happened to catch me gazing at her, and a look of exasperation came over her face.

  “Why are you staring at me?” she demanded crossly.

  “Because you are so lovely,” I said.

  She shook her head angrily as if I had lost my senses. Perhaps I should have recognized just how nervous she was at the thought of what might be waiting for her in Falmouth. As darkness fell over the bay, I lit the small oil lamp that was bracketed to the cabin bulkhead.

  It was well into the evening when I asked her for the third or fourth time if she wanted something to eat. Maybe it was just to humor me, but she finally said that she would enjoy a cup of tea. Stepping out of the cabin, I found a steward in the passageway, explained my situation, and asked him to bring us whatever was being served for the evening meal, along with a pot of tea.

  He promised to bring back a tray for us. When almost an hour had gone by without his return, I concluded that he had been ordered somewhere else by more senior officers. Telling Amelie to lock the cabin door behind me, I started for the galley.

  As I reached the end of the first passageway, someone called out, “McKittredge.” A tall, gangly major was standing by the deck railing and looking straight at me. His face was vaguely familiar, but I had no idea who he was until he came toward me with an open smile, revealing a set of yellow horse teeth. It was then that I remembered him as one of General Hooker’s staff officers. The last time I had seen him had been the night of the general’s birthday party.

  “It’s Posey, old man,” he said, extending his hand. “I thought it was you.”

  Not wanting to appear impolite, I took the time to shake his hand before continuing down the passageway toward the galley. I was irritated to discover that he was following me.

  “I say … hold on there,” he called after me, and I stopped to let him catch up.

  “I have the latest news on our troop movements,” he said, peering at me excitedly, as if he had just discovered the Rosetta stone. “And Fighting Joe is right in the thick of it.”

  I found it strange that a general staff officer would be remotely interested in briefing someone from the Provost Marshal’s Office on the army’s tactical maneuvers. I ascribed it to the fact that he was alone and anxious to share the excitement of the moment with someone he knew, if only vaguely.

  “Sorry, but I have something important to do,” I said, as we reached the galley.

  I quickly filled a metal tray with the simple fare that was being offered, transferred a quart of hot tea from one of the copper pots into a tin pitcher, and turned around to head back to our cabin. I had not gone twenty feet when Posey appeared in front of me again.

  “How about joining me in the wardroom for some buttered rum?” he said, exposing his teeth again in a ghastly yellow smile. “General Hooker thinks very highly of you, you know. He raises your name every time the staff fails him … which happens almost every day.”

  He had extended his arm behind my back and was trying to steer me toward the wardroom when I happened to see our steward coming toward us down the passageway. I asked him what had happened to our food.

  “Why … your officer friend told me that he would bring it to you,” he said in obvious confusion. “That was almost an hour ago.”

  When a knowing grin appeared on Posey’s ugly face, I realized that he had been told to keep me occupied.

  “You bastard,” I said.

  Hurling the tray of food at him, I started back to Amelie on the run.

  Coming down the passageway, I could hear raised voices coming from inside the cabin. The door was locked, but the frame of the door was made of thinly milled pine. When I hurled my full weight against it, the lock shattered and the door flew open.

  I recognized the man on top of her at first glance. Major Bannister’s face was in profile, his broad powerful body covering hers on the single berth. The hem of her dress was up above her waist. Her torn undergarments lay on the floor. She was pleading with him to stop.

  He was like a dead weight when I tried to drag him off her and completely oblivious to my actions. I grabbed my revolver from its holster and swung the barrel at his head. He was desperately grappling to kiss her as I swung, and it only grazed his temple. Bellowing in rage, he scrambled up and struck out at me with his right fist, knocking the gun from my hand.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled. “So we played a little game on you … so what … she’s public prop
erty.”

  Amelie was trying to sit up in the berth, her legs bare to the thighs.

  The blood was hammering in my ears. I clenched and unclenched my fists as he stood there in front of me.

  “Ask her … She’s had me before … plenty of times, and not just …”

  I hit him with all the rage that had been building up inside me over the previous two days. It wasn’t just for what they had all done to her. It was for Ginevra Hale and for Leonora, too.

  My first blow split his mouth open, but it didn’t put him down. He was shorter than me by several inches, but as broad as a tree. Making low, snuffling noises, he came at me like a demented bull, delivering a wild blow that battered the side of my nose. I felt the warmth running down my chin as I shoved him to the side. He fell against the copper washstand, smashing the pitcher and bowl, before slowly regaining his feet.

  I was no longer aware of Amelie even being there. I saw nothing in front of me except his thick arms and immense head. It was the same blind rage I had experienced at Ball’s Bluff. As he came at me again with another wild swing, I hit him flush on the side of his jaw with a right hand that had all the weight of my legs behind it. It landed with a sickening crunch, and he dropped to his knees before falling backward upon his lower legs, his arms splayed out at his sides.

  My eyes came to rest on the revolver that was lying on the floor at his feet. As if in a fevered dream, I picked it up, cocked it, and calmly lowered the barrel to his left temple.

  “Johnny!” I heard her scream and came back to my senses.

  I slowly let the hammer slide forward, and put the revolver back in its holster. Grasping him under the shoulders, I dragged him out of the cabin and propped him against the outer bulkhead. From the crooked way his jaw was hanging, I knew it was broken.

  Standing up again, I looked down the passageway. Every cabin door was open. A dozen staff officers were staring back at me from the safety of their compartments. I’m not sure what they saw in my eyes, but within a few seconds, every face had disappeared.

  I found Posey in the wardroom where I had left him. He was using a rag to clean the food stains off his uniform blouse when he looked up and saw me bearing down on him. With a stab of fear in his eyes, he leaped to his feet and started for the other doorway. When I caught up and grabbed him by the shoulder, he let out a shrill, bleating noise before going limp. The other officers in the smoky wardroom looked up at us in curiosity.