She was still alive, as he tried to crouch over her and stop the bleeding. Her face quickly turning a stark shade of white. She was a million miles away, as her eyes searched above her. Any recognition was absent from her eyes, except for a tear which overwhelmed her eyes and dripped down her cheek.
Focusing on the girl, the action playing on the street seemed to fade into the background for David. The pops of the gunfire slowly became more gradual as a group of British troops took off after a mob of working class men brandishing their bayonets in front of them violently.
"Come on," David said, pushing harder on her chest. He had to stop the bleeding. Her eyes gradually slowed, and he watched as what was left of life fade from her eyes. Her head lulling to the side as her body gave in to the blood loss. "Fuck!" David said, searching for any sign of a pulse.
The telltale throbbing was absent. David pulled his hand back. The blood coating his hands left his fingerprints on the girl's neck.
David sat back heavily against the hard granite facade of the general store. He looked down at the girl again. He needed to see her eyes alive and moving, but as he worked over her, he realized she was gone.
David shifted his eyes above him; the sky was a drab gray. Another band of rainclouds crawled over the city.
Looking back out over the street, the cobblestones were lined with bodies struck down in various stages of fight or flight. Blood oozed from the corpses and streamed down the slight incline of the street, collecting in the gutters.
David looked down at his hands, which were coated in the girl's blood. He rubbed his hands violently on his pants, trying to wipe the drying blood from his hands. He felt it crack on his hands every time he moved his fingers.
David tucked his hands into his pockets and started down the street. He needed to put some distance between himself, and what was turning into a bustling crime scene in the middle of the town square. It was easy to blend into the surroundings as the panic of the shooting morphed into chaos as people attempted to get the survivors to medical care.
"We need to get off the street." The voice was female, and lightly British. David looked around, meeting the eyes of a polished woman who was keeping pace at his elbow. Her young face was lined with tension as she scanned the buildings ahead of them.
"Excuse me?" David asked, his voice quiet. He felt like he would have to shout to be heard over his heartbeat which was pounding in his ears. He brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder at her.
The girl spoke again, "Trust me, it's safer for us to get off the street right now." She placed a hand on his elbow and guided him towards a brick archway further down the block. "Once those soldiers backtrack in this direction, they'll start running in whoever they can find. It won't matter who you are, or what you're doing.”
Feeling physically and emotionally numb, David let her take the lead, steering him into a small dive bar just off the block.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"What's your story?" the girl asked, walking back over to David, a small glass of whiskey in her hand. She sized him up, an unmistakable air of confidence in her body language. The sparkle in her eyes said that she found him intriguing as she slid onto the barstool next to him. She took a moment to demurely tuck her wide skirt underneath her. She slid the drink across the bar, "Here you go.”
Looking her over, she was a surprisingly petite, almost unassuming woman. Her light London accent stood out to his ear against the sea thick, native Irish voices surrounding them. She seemed completely out of place.
"Thank you," David said, taking a small sip of the drink. He looked up at her, "Nothing exciting, I guess." He shrugged, and turned his attention back to the drink sitting in front of him. He swirled the thick brown liquid in the glass before tossing it down his throat. He winced slightly, the warmth slowly spreading through his system. "I'm really no one.”
"Well, I'm Jacqueline." She turned in her seat, looking over him with intense blue eyes as she offered her hand. There was an intelligence behind her look, David could tell she was processing and analyzing every inch of him. She cracked a small smile as she continued matter-of-factly. "You're American. We get plenty of sailors through here, but usually no one takes any interest to what's going on.”
"Look but don't touch," David said, looking around the subdued bar. He found the glance of the bartender and pointed at his drink.
"Essentially." She took a long sip her own drink. Judging by her smooth, well-maintained skin, she was young, barely twenty-five years old. Her emerald green, satin dress said she also had money. Her chocolate brown hair was piled above her head in a carefully styled up-do. Her tone was playful as she continued. "I think there's more to you than you're saying…"
“I’m David," he said. He grabbed the glass the bartender slid in front of him and told another sip. He kept his eyes in front of him, staring at the drink between his fingers. "And I'm just an ignorant sailor.”
"I somehow doubt that," Jacqueline said, reaching behind her to tuck a strand of hair back into her up-do. The bartender sat another pint down on the counter in front of her as well. She ran her fingers over the delicately crafted glass mug. "I've seen career sailors. That's not you.”
"I just try to do what's right." David said, setting his drink down on the bar. He glanced over at her. He paused, his chest was tightening by the minute.
"So it's a personal thing," she responded quickly, holding his gaze. She swirled the drink in front of her, taking anther sip.
"You could put it that way." David pulled off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. He looked in the direction of the door, debating whether to stand up and end the uncomfortable conversation.
"I saw you on the High Street today. I saw what you did for that girl.”
"Absolutely nothing," David said, taking another drink. He could feel a cloud of drunkeness starting to hang around his head. "It should've been me instead of her.”
"How old are you? Twenty-seven, twenty-eight? You talk like an old man.”
David took a drink and looked over at her out of the corner of his eyes. He chuckled as he put his glasses back on, smoothing his flyaway hair. "The last year's felt like a lifetime.”
"What are you trying to escape from?" Jacqueline asked. She spoke quickly, as if she had finally cracked his puzzle in her head.
"Mistakes, I guess." David replied, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. As he pulled out the pack, she was already holding offering him a lit match.
"Are you a criminal?" Jacqueline's voice lilted in excitement as her eyes pressed him for answers.
"No... Why are you so interested?" David paused, hearing his tone spike in frustration.
"Do you owe someone money?" Jacqueline dug in her clutch, and pulled out a pack of her own cigarettes. She leaned over, lighting one on the match he held out for her. She smiled as she took a light drag. After a moment of silence, she continued, "I really don't mean to pry…"
"Sorry." David stopped. He took a deep puff on his cigarette and turned in his chair to face her. He slowly released the lungful of smoke as he continued. "I lost my wife and daughter about six months ago now. It's been a long half a year.”
"No. I'm the one who should be sorry," she replied. She shifted her gaze to the bar ahead of her, somewhat embarrassed at the personal nature of his revelation. They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. "That's awful.”
"It's not your fault." David replied, trying to break the tension. He ran his fingers through his hair with an exhausted sigh. He took another sip of the dark whiskey in front of him and shrugged. "Besides, you didn't know.”
"I thought I recognized a kindred spirit."
"Excuse me?”
"I lost my husband in '17." She stopped talking and unclasped a small gold locket hanging around her neck. Holding it out to him, inside there was a picture of a fresh faced, but steely man in a military uniform. "Sean was executed by the British Army the year after the insurrection."
She smiled sadly. She slid the locket back over her head and nestled it just under the fabric of her dress. "You didn't pull the trigger." She looked up at him, meeting his eyes.
"You have the same lost expression that I wandered around with for fourteen months.”
"Very insightful." David said, taking another drink.
"Why run away?" She asked, looking him up and down. "You obviously aren't a trade sailor. You aren't... weather beaten enough. Besides, I don't think loosing your wife is really something really classifiable as a mistake.”
"I did some things I'm not proud of, I guess." David looked around the room, part of him secretly hoping for a distraction. Ignoring the pounding in his head, he felt himself compelled to keep talking. "My wife and I weren't ready. Jess- She had so many things going on, and I can't shake the feeling that I trapped her…"
"I doubt that's the case," she replied, quietly. She looked over at him; her hand braced against her cheek. She spoke again after a moment of contemplation. She reached out, resting her hand on top of his. "If you don't mind me asking, what was her name?”
“Jessica."
David ran his hand through his hair as he knocked three times on the tenement door. He closed his eyes. The hallway was spinning and nausea coursed through his system. He braced all his weight on the doorframe, afraid he would stumble if he let go.
The door opened, and Jessica stepped out into the hallway. Her bathrobe was tied tightly around her growing figure. Both her hands were draped over her bump. "David." She said, as she looked him over. Her eyes were hard in the dimly lit entranceway.
"I'm sorry," he said, breaking eye contact with her. He pressed his palms into his eyes, the pain centering him in the sea of alcohol dulling his synapses. He continued slowly, struggling to keep his words clear. "I'm really sorry Jess.”
Jessica stared at him, her arms folded over her chest. "What are you doing here, David?”
"I've been an ass," David said. He swallowed hard, "I'm sorry for hurting you, baby."
Jessica wiped her eyes. He could see her struggling to keep emotion out of her eyes. "You're drunk," she said, a light sob slipping from her throat. She cracked a small smile as she looked him over once again. "You're pathetic.”
"And I really don't feel so well..." David said, bracing himself against the wall.
"Inside," Jessica said, laughing at his obvious discomfort. "Let's get you out of those clothes."
He took a step inside the apartment, but her voice stopped him in his path, "But David..."
He turned around to face her.
“I love you, but one thing…”.
David reached out, running his hand down her forearm. “Anything…”
“If you ever do that again, I'll kick your ass.”
"I'll get it," Jacqueline said, unsnapping the violet clutch in her hand. She pulled out a few bills and dropped them on the counter.
"You don't have to do that," David replied, continuing to reach for his billfold.
"I insist," Jacqueline replied, reaching for his hand. "I do have one condition.”
"Which is?”
Jacqueline stood up and fastened her thick woolen coat around her narrow waist. She looked up at him, cracking a flirtatious smile. She licked her lips quickly as her deep brown eyes quickly sized him up. "Walk me home.”
David took a final drink of the beer in front of him before he grabbed his own coat off the rack.
"No arguments?" She asked, her hands on her hips. She raised a curious eyebrow as a smirk crossed her lips. Her flirtation was far from subtle. "I figured you'd have something mysterious and urgent to do.”
"I can't let a lady walk home alone in a neighborhood like this." David slipped his coat over his shoulders, and took a discreet glance at his pocket watch. He looked back up at her as he tucked it back in his pocket. "Besides, it is getting pretty late.”
She smiled as he helped her slide her coat over her shoulders. She crossed in front of him, leaning suggestively close to whisper in his ear. "I like to think I can defend myself," she replied. Her slightly upturned nose lightly grazed his earlobe as she moved back from him. Her breath felt warm on his exposed neck. "I'm using your male protective instincts to my advantage in hopes of flirting with you.”
Outside, a frigid darkness had settled in over the city as they stepped out into the peaceful silence of Fitzwilliam Square.
"I've been broken for a long time," David said, tucking his hands deep into his pockets as an icy wind swept through the empty street. His muscles clenched as she looped her arm through his, hoping for support on the slippery pavement. He glanced over at her as he continued. "I keep hoping that something'll click in my head and I'll just forget about everything that's happened in the last year…".
He paused as they crossed over an icy patch, struggling to focus his coordination through the drunken fog hanging in his head.
"You've been through the ringer," Jacqueline said, jumping in and looking up into his eyes. She shivered slightly as another cold breeze cut through the square. "I wish I could have met you before-“
"Let's talk about you," David replied, breaking the intimate eye contact as they passed a shuttered newsstand. "There's nothing to my story.”
There was a covered fruit stand sitting nearby, the fruits were covered with a thick, dirty canvas blanket. There was still another hour or so before the release of the morning papers. The tired energy of morning had not quite taken over Dublin yet.
"I'm a war widow," Jacqueline replied simply. They continued walking down the street, the clicking of her heels echoing loudly in the deserted city block. The sparse lamps lights lining the sidewalk reflected on the wet cobblestones ahead of them. She tightened her grip on his arm as they continued through the dark square. "My husband had ties with the ...uprising." She paused, chuckling. "I'm never quite sure of the best way to say that.”
"You aren't Irish," David said. They stopped at the corner, pausing for a lone automobile to chug passed them. "I can hear it in your accent.”
"London." She replied as the vehicle turned in front of them. Still arm in arm, they moved across the street. "Good ear. Dad ran a small newspaper out of the West End. My husband was a correspondent from Dublin. He covered the 'Irish Problem' for them." She smiled softly, "That was how we met.”
"You moved here?" David asked, thankful to have the topic of conversation shift from the smallest details of his life.
She looked over at him, her eyes reflecting the golden undertones of the street lamps. "You mean why did I turn up my nose at my family money for political idealism and passionate revolutionary sex?”
David chuckled and looked down the street, surprised once again at the frankness of her reply. "I guess you can say that."
"Sean and I were best friends, and he opened my eyes to the political issues I didn't know I cared about. My parents remembered I existed long enough to tell me never to come back." She turned to him and cracked a sly smile. "I won't lie, the sex was pretty good.”
She slowed down as they passed a quaint row of brownstones. "This is me." She looked up at one of the darkened houses. "Would you like to come in?" Her eyes had a hint of hopefulness as she looked over at him.
David returned her gaze, running his fingers through his hair. He reached into his vest, pulling out his dented silver plated pocket watch. He had to break the image of her brown hair spilling over her bare shoulders; her head thrown back as her dress slowly slid down her body…
"I have nightcaps," Jacqueline replied, picking up on the uncertainty in his body language. She dropped her voice down to a whisper as she leaned into his body. "Just have a drink with me..."
She kept a firm hand on his arm, guiding him towards her house. Stopping at the door, she took a moment, squinting at the keys in her hands before pushing the door open wide for him.
As she was about to close the door behind them, the synchronized
marching of a British Platoon echoed down the residential block, shattering the peaceful tranquility of the night.
As Jacqueline shifted her glance towards the group of uniformed troops, she kept her arm looped through his. With unconscious fluidity, she took a half step in front of David, maneuvering her body between him and the soldiers. In seconds, her mood morphed. He watched as intensity replaced the playful flirtatiousness visible in her eyes just moments before.
Jacqueline’s eyes remained glued to the soldiers as they gradually marched out of view.
"Assholes," She replied under her breath as she turned back towards the door. She ran her fingers through her hair, straightening her up-do. "They've an entire empire to guard, and they insist on parking a platoon of armed goons on a residential city block." She paused, fighting against the emotion building in her voice. "For Christ sake, my neighbors have 8 year old twin girls. They were playing hopscotch out there just this afternoon." She held the door open for David as he stepped into the main room of the home.
Drowning in the East River Page 15
