That evening, they had to admit that she was right. A joke, no matter how good, was no substitute for a square meal.
Fortunately for them, Bear was at hand. They didn’t know if it was his real name, and they never asked. He didn’t talk much, didn’t smell too good either, but he was a consummate backwoodsman, and the most patient man Ceci had ever met.
He taught them how to survive in the wild. How to read signs and animal tracks. He showed them how to fish and hunt. Lay traps and snares. What berries and roots to eat, which fungus to avoid, endlessly repeating the lesson until they understood, with never a hint of temperament.
One particularly hot day, he stripped off his shirt to cool himself, revealing a tableau of ragged scars, his torso a monument to the life he’d led. Ceci and the others, eaten up with morbid curiosity, gathered around to look.
“What did that?” Bunting asked.
“Bar,” he grunted.
“A bear? And that one?” she persisted.
“Another bar.”
“And this?” Cardinal ran her fingers along five regular grooves in his back.
“Bobcat.”
“What about that?” Ceci pointed at his cheek.
“Gal, I used to run with,” he grinned for the first time they’d ever seen. “Part injun, part gator. Handsome woman. Mighty fierce temper.”
They never fully appreciated the isolation of his existence, until one day Oriole asked him. “How’s the war going?”
Doucet had denied them this news, as well as any indication of the passage of time. Citing such information as a distraction to their training.
Bear merely shrugged. “What war?”
There was a guileless innocence about him, a natural integrity which Ceci had seldom found in other men. She imagined that if the North did conquer the South, Bear would quietly slip away, back to the mountains and never be seen again.
***
By now they were all a lot fitter than they had been when they’d arrived. Stronger, leaner and less prone to the exhaustion associated with their arduous training. They had energy to spare, and that presented its own particular set of problems.
“How long do you suppose we’ve been here?” Cardinal asked, as they sat outside the shack one evening, eating the last of the day’s rations.
“I truly couldn’t say,” Oriole responded thoughtfully, “couple of months, maybe more. How many letters have we written?”
No one could remember. All the days had bled into a single routine.
“Do you ever think about Bear?” Cardinal muttered restlessly.
“Every time I eat something more than these awful rations,” Ceci replied.
“No,” Cardinal snapped irritably. “I mean, as a man.”
“Good Lord,” Oriole cried, throwing down a half-eaten chunk of cornbread. “Do you mean, what I think you mean?”
“Bear’s the only man living, full-time on the island,” Cardinal pointed out. “Unless you count Doucet.”
The thought of making love to him, made them all shudder.
“God, no,” Bunting scowled. “He probably does everything by numbers. You will be issued with one kiss,” she began, adopting a ludicrously gruff voice. “Make it last all day. If you want anymore, you’ll have to find it yourself.”
“What in the hell has gotten into you, Cardinal?” Oriole demanded. “Ain’t you got enough to think about?”
“It’s been a while,” she insisted defensively.
“If you’re that desperate,” Oriole suggested. “Why don’t you just do it yourself?”
“Ain’t nothing like the real thing,” Cardinal objected.
“Sure ain’t,” Bunting murmured wistfully. “Bear’s a fine big man, and he won’t care how we smell.”
“Oh, no,” Ceci groaned, “not you too. You, of all people.”
“Just because it was stole off me one time,” she retorted indignantly. “Don’t stop me getting the urge to give it away every now and then.”
“I have a friend,” Ceci smiled in recollection. “A very wise woman. She talks about Ol’ Magic. He’s what’s afflicting you now. He mighty powerful,” she recited from memory. “Comes when you least expect him.”
“What about you?” Cardinal asked. “Ain’t you feeling Ol’ Magic.”
“Of course,” Ceci admitted. “I’m just as human as the rest of you.”
“I guess you’re saving it for that northern man, you spoke of,” Bunting assumed. “No telling when you’ll see him again.”
Ceci surged to her feet, driven by a sudden emptiness that clutched at her heart. Without another word, she walked away.
“You damn fool,” Oriole snapped. “Now see what you gone and done.”
“I’m sorry,” Bunting was full of remorse. “I didn’t think.”
Ceci roamed the woods alone for hours, desperately trying to come to terms with her emotions. For the first time, since her family had been killed, she began to doubt the course of action she’d chosen to take. All she could think of now, was Trent. The way he looked, the way he spoke, the way he smiled. She hugged herself, imagining, it was his touch she felt. That she was in his arms again. That nothing had ever come between them. That he was there, beside her. The thought that she might never see him again ate into her mind, almost robbing her of her sanity. She wondered how she had come to this, raging against the hopelessness of her situation.
Presently, she noticed a light in the distance, and made her way towards it. It was Bear, sitting on a log, by a small camp fire, whittling a piece of wood. He said nothing, not even looking up, as she sat on the log opposite him. She remained silent for some time, watching him carve the wood, trying to make sense of her feelings, but no answers came to her.
“You’re likely to get a visitor, or two, shortly,” she spoke at last.
“I figured,” Bear kept whittling. “Saw it in their faces.” He stopped carving and looked at her. “Not you though,” he remarked astutely.
Ceci looked away.
“Got a man, somewhere out there?” he pointed the stick into the shadows.
“Once,” Ceci gave a disconsolate shake of her head. “Maybe,” she sighed.
“Seems like you still have,” he observed intuitively. He jabbed the wood into the air, making her look up, just in time to see a large bird glide overhead, silhouetted against the evening sky. “Hawk flies far,” he told her. “Very far, but he always comes back to the same tree. If you be that tree, your hawk’ll come back. Just make sure you don’t fall afore that happens.”
Ceci stared through the fire-light, the dancing flames illuminating a gentle smile, that framed Bear’s battered features. She began to smile as well. She rose and walked round to him, bent and kissed his weathered brow, as he began to whittle again. “Don’t let them be too rough with you,” she warned, in a motherly fashion. “That little one’s a wild cat.”
Chapter Nineteen
It was the last day of the third month. Doucet had instructed them to assemble in the cabin, and put on the lightweight dresses they’d been issued with.
“At least he didn’t stay and watch us this time,” Bunting remarked. “I wonder what this is all about?”
They stood there another half hour, before Doucet returned. He strode into the cabin and pointed at Oriole. “Come with me,” he ordered abruptly.
“Where are you taking her?” Cardinal demanded anxiously.
Doucet paused in thought. “You have learned everything we can teach you,” he answered eventually. “There is one final test which each of you must face alone. It is a test of readiness. A test of nerve.” With that, he motioned to Oriole, and the pair left the cabin.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Cardinal fretted.
“Yeah, sounds mighty final,” Buntin
g agreed. “Remember what he said about those who don’t reach the required standard.”
“He didn’t say anything,” Ceci recalled. “He avoided the question.”
“I know,” Bunting nodded. “That’s what bothers me.”
“Did you think you were going to get a medal at the end of all this?” Ceci asked. “I know Doucet. He’s ruthless. He has to know we’re ready before he sends us out.”
“Never mind,” Cardinal realised. “We’ll soon find out what’s going on, when Oriole gets back.”
***
Oriole didn’t come back. Doucet was alone.
“What’s happened to Oriole,” they chorused in alarm. “Where is she?”
“That’s no concern of yours,” he remarked curtly, crooking his finger at Cardinal. “Let’s go.”
Cardinal hesitated, glancing anxiously at the others. None of them knew what to do.
“Now,” Doucet barked, making them flinch.
Reluctantly, Cardinal followed him outside.
“I don’t like this,” Bunting clutched Ceci’s arm. “What do you thinks happened to Oriole?”
Ceci shook her head. “I’ve no idea.” She licked her dry lips. “I know he’s ruthless. I just hope he’s not crazy.”
The time seemed to drag by. It was another hour before Doucet returned, alone again. “You next,” he told Bunting.
She shrank against Ceci, terror in her eyes.
“This is the final, ultimate test,” Doucet snapped, reaching forward, and grabbing the girl’s arm. “No one is exempt.” He moved off, dragging Bunting with him.
Ceci waited alone, a growing sense of apprehension weighing down on her. Perhaps, after all, she had made a poor choice in coming here. She began to pace in an attempt to alleviate her anxiety. Doubts crowded into her mind, clouding her perception. She found it difficult to think clearly, allowing her imagination to run riot.
Suddenly, the door banged open making her jump. “Where are the others?” she was beside herself. “Why haven’t any of them come back?”
“You don’t need to know,” Doucet responded coldly. “Now, are you coming? Or do I have to carry you?”
Ceci hesitated, wondering if her newly acquired skills in self-defence would prevail against Doucet. Somehow, she doubted it. After all, he was the teacher. Doubtless, he’d forgotten more than she’d ever know. She took a deep breath and nodded, following him out of the cabin.
He guided her through the clearing, along a hidden track she’d never taken before. “Where are we going?” she asked in a tremulous voice.
“My headquarters,” he replied, without looking back. “Don’t lag behind.”
After about a mile, they came to a huge log cabin, surrounded by several out buildings. Doucet pushed the door open and Ceci followed him inside. It was a veritable palace compared to the stark confines of the shack she’d spent the last three months in. There were thick carpets under foot, fine furniture, draperies on the walls, all illuminated by a crystal chandelier.
“You do pretty well for yourself,” she observed.
“I know what I’m doing,” he told her, taking a Colt revolver from his desk and strapping it on. “You’re the one who still has to pass the test.”
“Did the others?” she demanded.
He regarded her dispassionately. “You need only concern yourself with what is about to happen,” he remarked ambiguously.
She followed him out of the cabin to a small isolated shack. Inside was a narrow open space and beyond that, a cell, with a tiny window cut in the heavy door. Doucet dropped the flap, revealing a set of iron bars, and peered cautiously through them.
Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he withdrew a large key from his pocket, fitted it into the door lock, and turned it once. He slipped the pistol from its holster, cocking the hammer. Then, placing the flat of his hand against the door, he began to push it open, indicating that Ceci should follow him. With a growing sense of trepidation, she stepped inside.
The cell stank of urine. She gagged, her eyes adjusting slowly to the dim glow of a single oil lamp. A man sat behind a crude wooden table, glaring balefully at them. His aspect was like that of an animal to which a few human features had been added. His long hair and beard were matted and greasy, his skin covered in some unrecognisable filth. His feral eyes lit up as he saw her enter, his face splitting into an awful grin. Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth, down his beard and onto the table top, where his hands, fingers like claws, dug into the splintered wood.
“Who is he?” Ceci cringed against Doucet.
“His name doesn’t matter,” Doucet replied calmly. “This man has raped and killed nine young women in the last year. He’s been sentenced to hang.”
“What’s he doing here?” Ceci stared.
“The sheriff is a friend of mine,” he told her. “I borrowed him, you might say.”
Ceci’s eyes had become accustomed to the gloom. She looked around the cell, horrified. Besides the urine stains, the floor was spattered with fresh blood and shreds of torn clothing. “What in the hell have you done?” she demanded, beginning to panic.
“There’s no law here,” he remarked ominously. “I told you, this is a test of readiness. It will test your nerve. If you cannot come through this, you are useless to me.” He placed his hand under her arm, raising it up, transferring the pistol into her trembling fingers. “All you have to do, is keep the gun on him,” he instructed softly, stepping back.
“What am I supposed to do now?” Ceci’s pulse began to race.
“Just keep it on him,” Doucet repeated, his voice growing distant.
“And then what?” Ceci gripped the gun with both hands, trying to steady it, aiming directly at the man’s chest. “Doucet,” she repeated urgently. “Then what? Doucet.”
The door slammed shut behind her. She heard the key turn in the lock.
“If he moves; kill him,” Doucet answered through the bars.
Ceci’s mouth dried. Her heart began to pound, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Suddenly, the man rose. She took a step back. “Stay where you are,” she faltered. “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot,” her voice lacked conviction. The man grinned, fresh saliva drooling down his beard, as he edged slowly around the table. “Stay away,” Ceci warned in a shrill voice, taking another step back. “Stay away, or I’ll fire.”
Suddenly, she realised that she’d never harmed a single living thing in her life, let alone kill another human being. It was as if she’d crashed into a stone wall. The gun wavered. It went against everything she knew, everything she believed in.
The man moved closer, as if sensing her conflict, an inch at a time, stalking her. She glanced down at the bloodstains and torn clothing, evidence of a frenzied attack, that almost paralysed her with terror. Suddenly the man surged forward. She reeled back, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger.
The hammer fell with a dull click. Her eyes flew open, as her heart missed a beat. She yanked on the trigger again. Once more, the hammer clicked uselessly. She held the weapon at arm’s length, pumping the trigger to no avail. The gun was empty. She flung herself at the cell door, screaming through the bars. “Doucet. You bastard.”
***
Ceci felt the man’s presence closing behind her. She turned, grabbing the pistol by its barrel holding it like a club, and lunged forwards, arm raised.
Suddenly, a hand came from behind her, catching her wrist. She spun round, as Doucet wrested the gun from her. She staggered back, panting, confused, glancing at each of them in turn.
“I told you,” Doucet reminded her calmly. “This was a test of nerve, to prove your readiness. In the field, you must kill, or be killed. Not everyone is capable of that. You’ve just proved that you are.”
She looked at the condemned man. He’d just p
ulled off his wig, and was wiping the greasepaint from his face with a cloth.
“Booth,” she gasped.
He bowed theatrically. “We meet again, Miss Prejean. Or should I say, Whippoorwill?”
Ceci stared, speechless.
“You may recall I once told you,” he continued lightly, “that I hoped to have the opportunity of performing for you.”
Ceci glanced down at the floor, her senses reeling, at the blood and torn clothing.
“My idea,” Booth informed her, with an idle gesture. “Animal blood and scraps of clothing. A nice touch, don’t you think. Very authentic.”
Ceci began to shudder violently, tears streaming down her cheeks. She closed her eyes in humiliation as she felt warm liquid begin to trickle down the inside of her thigh. Then her bladder relaxed completely. She shuddered again, letting out a faint choking sob, as a large puddle began to form on the floor.
“It’s only shock,” Doucet told her. “No need to feel ashamed. Most of the others reacted in the same way.”
Ceci began to calm down. She breathed deeply, summoning what little remained of her strength. Then she lashed out, slapping Doucet across the face. “You ever pull anything, like that, on me again,” she flared. “You’ll find out just how ready I am to kill a man.” With that, she stormed outside.
“She’s ready,” Booth continued to wipe the paint from his face. “They’re all ready.” He paused, the rag hanging limp in his hand. “You disagree?” he questioned Doucet’s silence.
“None of them fell back on their self-defence training, once they discovered the pistol was empty,” Doucet gave voice to his doubts. “Any one of them could have dropped you, without a weapon.”
“You designed the test to prove if they could kill under stress,” Booth reminded him. “They all pulled the trigger. If you wanted a different reaction. You should have sent them in unarmed, and not intervened so soon.”
“In that case, you might have been killed,” Doucet told him.”
“Then the fault lies with the test, and not with them,” Booth pointed out.
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