by Lari Smythe
* * *
I raced out of Cathy's house, elated at my apparent success. A thick fog was beginning to form. I loved the fog, the way it embraced you, swirled around you as you moved and protected you from prying eyes. Before the pool, fog was my favorite place. I stuck to the low lying areas where the fog was thickest and moved in a general direction toward home. A doe with two yearlings tensed when I came close, but I wasn't interested in hunting. They raced up the hill toward the woods, but the doe stopped at the tree line and looked back. She cocked her head to the side as though thankful we were not adversaries today, before following the two young ones into the underbrush. The leaves had begun to turn, and I could hear them crunch through the ones that had already fallen.
I emerged from the woods into a small clearing across the road from a walled monument. Carved into the granite monolith standing within the walls, the name Reno. If I remembered correctly, Benjamin had called this place Fox's Gap. A thick fog bank laced with an odd tinge of blue, almost like smoke, clung to the hillside opposite me. Near the fence line, the fog parted in a swirl as though someone were walking through it, toward me. As the apparition crossed the road, four more emerged. The group closed on me quickly, passing with a chill. Maybe it wasn't me that frightened the doe. Perhaps her puzzled look was a warning. The sky began to flash with the electricity of a thunderstorm, the kind that changed the seasons. Through the sudden downpour, I thought I could make out the faint cries of battle. It felt ridiculous, but I skirted the area and followed the base of the mountain home.
The house was dark as usual, but not everyone was upstairs. I opened the door quietly, expecting Elizabeth's wrath. Benjamin was standing motionless behind his easel, but he wasn't painting. I assumed he was waiting for the morning sun again when I noticed his clothes.
He was dressed in a Confederate soldier's uniform. The uniform was tattered and worn, and although it must have been washed many times, the stains still had the faint odor of blood. I didn't mean to stare, but as I examined him, I began to realize the uniform was riddled with bullet holes. Then I remembered, I'd seen tiny circular scars on Benjamin's torso once—during a hunt—and if my memory served, they were in the exact same spots as the bullet holes in the uniform—it must be Benjamin's. He took no notice of me, so I passed quietly and went upstairs.
"Is Benjamin okay?" I asked as Elizabeth opened their bedroom door. Behind her I realized for the first time his wall of paintings were all very similar to the one downstairs.
"He'll be fine. It's his way of remembering."
"You were here, then, during the war?"
"Not all of us, just the men, Benjamin of course, Tolliver, Nathan, Buford and Ward. Did you ever meet Buford and Ward, I don't recall?"
"No. Tink mentioned them once, but he said they didn't like it here. He thought we might see them once we moved on."
"Well, they don't come around much. They have had a more difficult time adapting to this existence."
"Then that is Benjamin's uniform?"
"Yes. I'm afraid it won't last too many more years."
"Did he die here?"
"That's not for me to say, dear. I've never heard the whole story myself. No, that one he keeps to himself."
"But he found you afterwards?"
Elizabeth didn't hesitate. "Yes, after Benjamin changed, he had the typical craving for human blood, but the war provided adequate supply. He never actually had to kill a healthy person for years. He fed mainly off the mortally wounded—the dying. It was a nomadic life, a solitary life. For the most part, he followed from battle to battle. Occasionally, he would see the boys scouring the battlefields. After Gettysburg, it was always south, toward home. Benjamin and the others reunited and followed Sherman on his gruesome trek through the south—that man was the devil himself. Then, one day he found himself unknowingly going through the remains of my family's plantation. He happened upon me, on my death bed one might say. The Yankees—Sherman's men—" She trembled. "Well, I don't recall all the details—suffice it to say I was near death."
"Like Melanie," I mumbled.
"Benjamin was beside himself with anguish." Elizabeth paused as if remembering. "He was young to this existence, still full of a newborn's rage. I remember looking up into his blood-red eyes and wondering what had the war done to him. My life was slipping away quickly. Then, as my heart stumbled, Benjamin bit me. To this day, I don't know how he kept from killing me, but he did. I am grateful to be here with him, as we had always intended—together."
I stood motionless, imagining the horror of her story. Yet at the same time, she knew. "At least you know who and why," I mumbled. It was a mere slip of the tongue. I'd meant to say how, but the word 'who' slipped out. Elizabeth's tranquil face hardened. She eased back into her room and closed the door.
I started toward my room, but curiosity got the better of me and I continued down the stairs. I quietly eased up next to Benjamin to view his painting. I immediately recognized the knoll where I stood in the fog earlier and was shocked to see five soldiers that appeared to be charging toward it from a stone fence line. Could they have been the swirls I saw in the fog? Behind the knoll, where I stood, there were many more Federal soldiers firing on the stone-lined road. Behind them, near the tree line, three cannon were also firing on the soldiers, hopelessly pinned down. The canvas flickered from the lightening outside adding an eerie intensity.
"How did it go?" Benjamin asked.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." I started to back away toward the stairs.
"Nonsense. Your friend?"
"I think it worked. I guess we'll see."
"Good for you."
"It's no coincidence that Elizabeth and Melanie share the same last human memory, is it?"
"Like your friend, it is better this way." Benjamin turned back to his painting.
"You know this place?" I asked.
"Yes, it was my last."
"You mean as a human?"
He nodded. "It was Sunday afternoon when we took our positions at Fox's Gap. The Battle of South Mountain had been engaged since early that morning, but we had yet to see action. We were part of Drayton's Brigade. At approximately three o'clock, we moved from the woods into Fox's Gap." Benjamin's voice had an eerie vibrato as he said the name. "I was part of Phillips' Legion. We deployed along a stone fence line where it intersected Old Sharpsburg Road. Private Tolliver and Private Nathan were with the Georgia 51st, Private Buford and Ward were with the Georgia 50th. The 50th and 51st were 'green' units. That's why they were positioned furthest from the expected front. To our legions right, the South Carolinians were deployed along Old Sharpsburg Road in a westerly direction ending at the intersection with Ridge Road. Combined, we were a brigade of nearly four thousand.
Within an hour, approximately four o'clock, the Yankees appeared along the tree line toward Lambs Knoll. With the enemy in sight, we shifted our line westward pushing the Carolinians west of Ridge Road and placing my legion on Old Sharpsburg Road. The 50th and 51st now fell in behind us as the South Carolinians and my legion attacked southward across Wise's field. Heavily outnumbered, we were repelled at the wood line and fell back.
The Yankees counter attacked, and we found ourselves pinned down on Sunken Road."
"Sunken Road?" I hesitated to ask, but Benjamin had paused.
"Yes, it was called Sunken Road because it lay between two embankments, to the north a good four feet high, and to the south eight feet or more." Again he hesitated, his eyes searching my face before continuing. "I was shot several times in our retreat and fell in Wise's field. The 50th and 51st were now hopelessly pinned down between the embankments of Sunken Road. There were more men than cover and those exposed fell first. In short order, the road ran red with the blood of my brothers. The road became so slick with blood and crowded with the dead and dying, it became nearly impossible to load and fire. Then, the Yankees were upon them and the combat became hand-to-hand. From my position in the field, I saw Nathan fel
led by a Yankee bayonet. I did not see the other boys fall." Benjamin's gaze returned to his painting.
"But you all didn't die."
"No. As the Yankees pushed the tattered, remnants of Drayton's brigade to the northwest, the sound of battle faded, replaced with cries of anguish. Sunken Road was piled high with the dead and dying and the Yankees in their haste to pursue drove their heavy ammunition wagons directly through the carnage. I will never forget those agonizing screams. History remembers Sunken Road as Bloody Lane.
For your brothers and I, the terror was not over. My body was gripped with convulsions as death closed. I recall a faint face and I thought I might be saved, but instead I was attacked by what I believed to be a wild animal; and as you know, I found myself on fire. Three days later, I awoke to a different terror. I was upside down, packed tightly together in the dark, corpses pressing against me from every side. Above and below me I heard the growls of others like me. In a wild frenzied panic, we clawed our way through the rotting flesh out of the well where our bodies had been tossed by the Yankees."
I didn't know what to say. Maybe there was nothing that could be said to such horror. I hugged Benjamin—a purely human gesture—but he seemed to appreciate it. Without another word, I headed back toward my room.
I spent the rest of the night pondering the horrible deaths the members of my coven had faced—was there really any other kind? While I couldn't be certain how Melanie and Elizabeth had died—they certainly weren't—I could only imagine that it had been much worse than what Benjamin let them believe. Although they didn't realize it, in a way they were like me, not knowing what really happened to them. "Augh," I huffed, they're nothing like me. They were changed because someone loved them. No, I was more like Benjamin, a random victim.
For a moment, I suspected Benjamin might be responsible for erasing my memory; but realized if he'd been the one, he would not have merely erased it. There had to be some other explanation. The sky outside my bedroom window began to lighten with the soft pastels of another day.
As I descended the stairs, I noticed soft music from the parlor. Benjamin, in a different, more formal uniform was dancing with Elizabeth. The plunging neckline of her lush, burgundy gown accented her pale complexion. They both smiled when they saw me. I waited until the music stopped. Benjamin bowed, Elizabeth curtsied, and then they turned toward me.
I'm not really sure what came over me, maybe it was seeing them together like that, or the fact I hated keeping secrets. "There's something you should know—about school. There's a student—a friend."
"Cathy?" Benjamin mused, glancing at Elizabeth.
"No, a boy."
Their faces both registered shock, but not the same kind. I'd expected anger from Elizabeth, but she looked almost relieved. Benjamin, on the other hand, I wasn't exactly sure. It was either resentment or anger, or maybe some mixture of the two. It was almost as if their attitudes had been suddenly reversed.
"Does this young man have a name?" Elizabeth asked.
"Jason."
"A family name?"
"Uh, Whitaker, I think."
Benjamin marched briskly to the Victrola and turned it off. Without so much as a glance, he continued out of the room and up the stairs. I was totally confused. If Elizabeth had stormed out, okay, I could see that, but Benjamin?" What's up with that?
"Don't mind Benjamin, this is a particularly difficult day for him and you know he thinks of you as his daughter. So Jason is the boy you've been having trouble adapting to?"
"Yes." This was very strange, Elizabeth's almost casual interest.
"He is—distracting I assume."
"That's as good a word as any, I guess." So that was it. If I was distracted by a boy, I wouldn't keep probing my past.
"You're keeping up with your studies I hope."
"Yeah. Listen, I should go."
"Certainly."
I walked to the door, but turned back to her. "So you're okay with it?"
"If by 'it' you mean Jason, yes as long as you remember what you are."
"Right. See ya." So what should I make of that? I mean there was no forgetting what I was. It was all I could do to control it when I was around him. No, she was happy for the diversion despite the risks. That had to be it.
Tink was standing outside the garage when I pulled out. "Hey," I called to him, "you should take the car out now and then. It's really more yours than mine anyway."
His smile was so infectious. "I'll think about it. Thanks."
"Suit yourself. It's okay by me. Later." I gunned the engine and took off down the driveway in a plume of showering gravel. The tires chirped when they hit the pavement, and I quickly ran up through the gears eager to get to school.
