The Devil's Due

by TJ Vargo

  She looked down, unable to meet his gaze, pushing her hair back over her shoulder. "Why do you want me? I'm the one who tricked you. I left you for Nathaniel at the church."

  "Ssshhh," he whispered, pulling her to him. He stroked her hair, burying his face in it. "I just do," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. He let go of her hand and reached around her waist. His eyes closed as her hands stroked his back and he moved his mouth to her ear, placing soft kisses.

  They lowered to the dirt floor, holding each other. Their hands moved along each other's bodies. Searching and comforting each other. Her hands up to his shoulders, then down to his hips, pressing him into her. Jackson kissed her neck. Then looked into her eyes.

  "I don't deserve you Felicia. You didn't give up on me. I gave up on you."

  Her eyes were huge and she shook her head, unable to speak, struggling to stop from crying.

  His hands moved under her shirt, feeling the soft curve in her lower back and then moving up to pull her in tight against his chest. Her breath feathered onto his neck.

  "We don't have time. They're expecting me to help with your sister."

  "Then you will help. Just not the way they think you will."

  It was a simple thought, not a burst of illumination. A more cunning idea. Like the sly, sideways notion of a wolf. He whispered as he told her, stopping only to nuzzle kisses on her neck. And when he finished telling her all of it they sat up and she stared at him, her eyes still wet with tears, but excited with the possibility of making it work. He placed his hands on her shoulders.

  "But you can't be afraid. He'll know something's wrong if you are."

  "Are you afraid?"

  He shook his head. "Not anymore. Not ever again."

  She grabbed him, kissing him hard on the mouth. He watched her walk out of the room and close the door behind her.

  He touched his fingers to his lips still feeling her lips and stared at the door. How had he gotten that idea? From one simple thought it had come and unraveled full length as if it had been there the whole time. His eyes moved from the door to the bucket of water and suddenly his thirst was huge. Getting up he walked over to the bucket and took a long drink. Water ran from the sides of the bucket over his chin and onto his shirt. A cold spot grew in his stomach until he could drink no more and he finally dropped the bucket, hearing it clang onto the floor.

  It didn't matter what slipped that idea, already full grown and complete, into his head. He turned and began to dig up the knife. What mattered was if it would work. Felicia had the hard part. She was the one he had to count on. He pulled the knife from the dirt and brushed it off on his pants leg. The blade still had a brownish blood smear up high on the blade next to the handle. He spit on it and rubbed it off with his shirt and then turned the knife in his hand, seeing the soft remainder of light glow on the blade. He trusted Felicia to do her part and hoped it worked. It had to. He still needed to tell her he loved her.

  Outside in the dimly lit hall Felicia was pressed against the door to Jackson's room. Rough wood pressed into the side of her face. She didn't make a sound, except for the soft in and out of her breathing, taking in the smell of wet mold that permeated this place. She wanted to go back in. Tell him that she would do whatever she had to for him and feel his body against hers. There was no time, and she knew that she was even now putting them in danger by staying here. Kirtland was expecting her. She stepped back from the door and opened one hand, looking at the key she held. Her hand curled into a fist and she pushed her knuckles into the door, whispering, "I won't be afraid Jackson," before walking away, making her way down the dimly lit hall, her hand slipping the key into her pocket.

  The long drink of water had helped, but it only made Jackson's hunger worse. No time to think about the yawning hole where his stomach used to be. To make this work, he had one more task, the one part of his plan he wasn't sure of. His stomach twisted and groaned. Raising his head up, he looked around the room and pushed the hunger back in his mind. It was dark. He cursed the tremor of weakness in his limbs, trying to keep his mind focused. Not completely dark. There was a small flicker of light filtering in from the vent. One more time. He breathed deeply and exhaled. I just need enough strength to do it one more time.

  "Might as well get it over with," he said, backing up half way across the room. As weak as he was, he wasn't even sure if he could reach the ledge, but he had to. A little grunt came out as he pushed off. One, two, three big strides. Knees bent in smooth rhythm with his speed and... jump.

  He reached out and caught the ledge with both hands, then pulled himself up. The cut on his palm tore slightly, a sliver of pain shooting through his hand. His shoulders and biceps began to shake violently. He had to breathe with his mouth open. He wasn't going to be able to hold himself up here long. Exhausted and he hadn't even pulled himself all the way up yet. He whispered to himself, "So stop thinking about it and just do it."

  He took a deep breath and grunted, reaching back into the ledge, grabbing the slots cut into stone that made up the vent. Getting a good grip, he pulled himself up (son-of-a-bitch, my hand hurts) and looked through the vent. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the change in light. There were torches set around the wall in his sister's room, that's where the flickering was coming from. Below him he saw her sitting cross-legged on the floor and he hissed at her through the vents. She jumped up, covering her breasts as she turned to look up at him. His words were punctuated with grunts of pain as he told her about his plan, and what she needed to do to make it work. As before she didn't respond. But her eyes (damn, I know she understands me) stayed locked on him. He hoped this wasn't just wishful thinking. It seemed that she was hanging on his every word. He talked fast, his arms shaking and the cut on his hand burning. Just as he finished the door to her room opened and he watched her turn toward it. For a moment he forgot the gnawing hole in his gut and his shaky weakness. She had nodded. He was sure of it. Could be that she had done it as a reflex, but he had seen it. A quick smile and a nod.

  Adrenaline pumped through him, erasing his weakness. His eyes narrowed and he smiled. It took everything he had to keep his grip when he was telling her what he needed her to do. His grip was cast in iron now as he looked down to watch. There was strength in hope.

  His grinned when he saw who was below him on the other side of the vent. The bastard was close enough to spit on. He swallowed down the impulse to make that thought a reality. Too bad. Such a perfect opportunity.

  Doctor Kirtland's bald head gleamed roundly below. From his vantage point, Jackson saw that the skin on the top of Kirtland's head was mottled with sun damage. Freckles and blotches on pale bald skin. A giant speckled bird's egg poked on the end of a neck.

  Kirtland moved down the wall, lighting torches set in the wall. Jackson looked over the rest of the room. His sister had backed up as everyone entered and turned away from them, staring out the one window in her room cut high into the stone up on the back wall. She was as calm and silent as he'd ever imagined a person could be. A couple of women he didn't know walked over to her, flanking her on either side. They both wore plain, black dresses (got to hand it to Nathaniel, he was consistent in his fashion sense) and held something in their arms he couldn't quite see. Behind them was Felicia, wearing her pullover with the hood over her head. They appeared to be waiting for something as they all looked out the window.

  Because of his high vantage point, Jackson had a direct line of sight to the window. He turned his head, trying to get the best look through the vents to the window. The window looked out on the back courtyard of the castle. The only light out there appeared to be torches, casting trembly light over the trees and the occasional shadows of people moving around. It was hard to make out anything with certainty, only the occasional vague form of a person walking too close to the window. It was almost night. Kirtland's voice barked from below.

  "Get her dressed. It's almost time and she needs to be ready."

  Jackson watched the
women on either side of his sister move in. He could see now that they were carrying clothes - a black dress and a black veil. As the women moved closer, Jackson saw his sister turn quickly and step away from them, her eyes watching them sharply.

  "Come on dear, help us out here, won't you?" one of the women said, reaching out to touch his sister on the shoulder.

  The woman cried out, jerking her hand back. It looked as if his sister had quickly brushed the woman's hand off her shoulder, but by the way the woman was holding her hand, it was clear there was more to it.

  "She broke my finger. The crazy bitch broke it," the woman blurted.

  By the high tinny sound of her voice, the woman was in pain. Join the club, he thought, adjusting his forearm to move his weight slightly off his now throbbing elbow. The adrenaline rush that had renewed his strength was fading. Pain started to whisper through his arms and shoulders.

  "Get away," yelled the other woman flanking his sister, waving a hand at her injured partner. "You don't need to be nice with these kind," she said, flashing her eyes and setting her jaw. "Here now, get these clothes on or you'll be..."

  Another quick movement from his sister. It was hard to follow her she was so quick (and the pain firing up in his arms didn't help either). But the results were easy to see. The woman grunted, the flash of his sister's hand at her throat. On all fours now the woman crawled, holding her throat as she gagged. The clothes previously held by both women were strewn over the floor. Jackson looked at his sister in awe. One woman holding her hand, backing away toward the exit. The other woman now retching at his sister's feet. Amazing.

  "Get out!"

  Jackson grinned. That would be Kirtland. Oh yes, there he is.

  The old man moved with nimble speed; a spider coming toward its prey. He pushed and pulled at the two women, literally throwing them out of the room. Slamming the door, he made a point of walking through the bed of hay Jackson's sister had slept in the previous night, kicking it in a fury. After a few kicks he pointed a finger at Felicia. His forehead knotted with veins.

  "You get her ready! Now!"

  Felicia stared at Kirtland and reached down to pick up the clothes dropped on the floor. Once she had them all in her arms, she took a step toward Jackson's sister. "I'm sorry," said Felicia, talking softly, "but I need to get you dressed. You need to wear these to be..."

  Jackson's sister stepped back as Felicia reached toward her, then turned a dark gaze on Kirtland. Felicia drew her hand back and carefully, slowly, took a step back. She brushed the dust off the black dress and turned to Kirtland.

  "This isn't going to work with you in here. She's afraid of you. You're going to have to leave me alone with her or bring in help to hold her down. Or we can just take her out there naked, kicking and screaming."

  Jackson held in a groan. He tried to adjust his arm. It didn't help. It hurt to the bone. He clenched his jaw and let the pain continue to eat into him, his muscles going into spasms. He just wanted to see Kirtland take another shot from his sister before he got down. That was all. C'mon Kirtland, go get her.

  "I'll get you some assistance and we'll hold her down while you dress her," said Kirtland, moving toward the door. Before Jackson had a chance to curse his luck and drop down, a blast of light from the window outside stopped Kirtland in his tracks. Jackson turned his attention to the window in his sister's room. What had caused that? He couldn't see an actual source of the light, but the courtyard had suddenly become bright.

  He squinted, trying to see something through the window. Some kind of huge bonfire had been started far back in the pasture above the courtyard. In the light outside he could see the people on the patio, all dressed in plain black, all raising their voices in a cheer for the lighting of the fire. No different than a homecoming crowd sensing the start of the big game. Dark thoughts gathered in Jackson's head. He couldn't shake them, no matter how much he tried. A big bonfire. The whole town turned out. Everyone's blood was high for tonight's entertainment. And if this didn't work out right, his sister was the main event. His sister and his father. Sickness welled up in him in the midst of his anger. Eyes blazing, mouth clamped shut, he watched Kirtland. The good doctor seemed to be in a quandary, half way in and half way out of the room. His face a mask of indecision, eyes wild, his mouth twisted as he spoke.

  "The fire has been lit. There is no time for help. You'll have to do it yourself," he ordered.

  Felicia didn't move. Instead, she turned her back on Jackson's sister to stare directly at Kirtland.

  "You're going to have to get out. She's scared of you." Felicia gave a quick look back at Jackson's sister, smiled at her and added, "I think we'll be good friends once you're out of here Doctor...," she looked at Jackson's sister, "...won't we?"

  In a huff, Kirtland moved toward the door, closing it behind him as he said, "She needs that dress on, not a friend. Get it done quickly. It's begun and Nathaniel is waiting."

  Once Kirtland was gone, Jackson slid his arm off the ledge. There wasn't any reason to bear the pain anymore. His sister and Felicia were alone and he didn't have the strength to hold himself up anymore. It was out of his hands and into theirs. He took one final look through the vent, watching as his sister pulled Felicia close, holding her, then he pulled his head back and looked down to the floor below him. There was no way he could take one more second of the pain.

  Carefully, he moved his arm off the ledge. Tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes from the searing pain deep in the muscle. He tried to get a grip on the lip of the ledge. His fingers fumbled weakly. They were useless. Using his other arm, he gripped the edge of the ledge and gritted his teeth, holding his right arm against his chest as he lowered his body. Not an easy thing to do with one arm, but he did, barely, with every muscle fiber ready to tear loose from the bone, and then, hanging by his left hand, he dropped to the floor. Dropped and rolled in the dirt, mouthing curses. He sat up and began shaking his arms. Maybe he could shake the pain out. He walked around his room shaking his arms, gritting his teeth. Rubbing his biceps and forearms. Flexing and unflexing his hands. A hunger pang closed his eyes for him. His muscles screamed as he bent over. He rounded the room stooped over, walking in the faint orange glow that spilled down from the vent - light from the bonfire outside. He straightened, wrapping his arms around his stomach, and looked at the vent.

  The pain dulled. His stomach numbed. None of it mattered. It was the light of the bonfire coming through the vent that interested him. He took a step forward. They were out there. Waiting for his sister.

  Sitting in the middle of the floor he stared at the vent and thought of his sister and Felicia. He thought about praying. That wouldn't help. There never had been anyone to hear his prayers before. At least no one ever answered them before. But he still thought he needed to do more than sit and stare. He closed his eyes, concentrating.

  He imagined himself in the room with Felicia and his sister. He wanted to be with them badly. Somehow to help. So he concentrated, trying his best to will himself to their side. Pushed the pain and hunger to the outer edges of his consciousness until they slipped away entirely and the only thing left was the black. And his desire to see this through. To make it happen by the force of his will alone.

  He forced the image of the two women into his mind and his lips moved soundlessly.

  "Just don't be afraid. You can do it if you're not afraid."

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Someone pushed her from behind. Hard to tell who, there were so many of them around her. The push was hard, in her lower back, and it made her stumble and scrape the tops of her feet and her palms as she fell. Hands grabbed her from all sides, picking her up from her fall in the courtyard, but treating her unkindly just the same. Pinching her breasts. Hands grabbing and searching between her legs. Fingers sticking under her veil into her mouth. A gagging sound came out of her, sounding as if it were from someone else. She wished this was someone else who this was happening to. The fingers slipped from her mo
uth, wet and slippery, and she stopped gagging. The men behind her, the ones that had gathered around her when she came up from the basement, they pushed the crowd back. Much screaming and shouting rose up. She tried not to look at them and fought to keep her head down. The tops of her feet were scraped and bleeding. She stumbled forward again by virtue of another shove in the back.

  No one would have to push her from behind, she decided. She'd go without being pushed. Raising her face up, she saw the outline of a wooden platform ahead of her. It was up at the top of those steps leading out of the courtyard, immense flames licking into the sky behind it. The bonfire threw light over the area with the brilliance of a tiny flickering sun. Hot enough to warm her face even from this distance.

  A corridor opened up through the humanity that boiled all around. Toward the stairs leading up to the platform. Toward the heat. Humanity was too fine a phrase for the things around her. Dressed in black robes, playing the part of witches from ages past, they were hideous beyond compare. Her skin crawled as she looked at them. Deteriorated. Toothless. Diseased. All of them, oblivious to the various stages of death that pulled at their flesh. She would've given anything not to see them, but it would show fear to look away. There would be none of that. She lifted her shoulders and thrust her chest out. They couldn't hurt her. Maybe grasp at her. Stick their fingers into her. But they couldn't touch her where it mattered. And they couldn't stop what she planned. Behind her veil, a smile lifted. She knew what she was doing. Fear wouldn't keep her from going forward. She walked, focusing on the feel of cold rough bricks on the bottom of her feet. This would be a walk that she wanted to remember every step of. This would be a walk that would last forever in her.

  The crowd's frenzy grew seeing her confidence, the way she pulled her shoulders back and walked with steady strength. They clamored to get to her, a wild-eyed crush of the living dead, trying to clutch her into their midst, furious with her confidence. She was pulled back by the men surrounding her and she stood in place, her heart pounding, watching while they pushed the crowd back. An old woman who had made herself up garishly in an attempt to hide her corpse-like face slipped through the line of men protecting her. An inhuman screech of triumph came from the woman's withered, lipsticked mouth, and she lifted her arms up, curling her fingers into claws and raising them above her head.