by L. B. Dunbar
“I love Guinie,” he said softly, continuing to stare at her. Of course he loved her. She was kind to him. She didn’t push him off, or yell at him, or tell him to go away. She touched him lovingly, like a mother should do to a child, and she addressed him like a person not an idiot.
“Morte, I do love Guinie, and we need to help Guinie. She’s trapped on that side of the flames.”
Morte’s eyes roved over the four walls of the barn. He looked right to see the enclosure of Guinie behind the flames and then he glanced left to see that the only means of escape was the large sliding door. It was behind me. If Morte had meant to harm me, his plan had failed. It was Guinie who was going to burn if we didn’t get her out of there.
I watched in horror as the old structure fell in a heap. My heart nearly cracked out of my chest as I screamed Arturo’s name. No sound came out. I had nothing left. Raw and choked with smoke, my lungs burned. In the distance I heard sirens, but I was transfixed to the flames before me. They were so alive, so wild. Oranges, yellows and tones of blue blurred together and swayed in the wind. It was almost magical; it was so mesmerizing.
I heard Lansing speaking behind me. He might have even been touching me, but I felt nothing. Arturo had accused me of loving Lansing, and then he implied I was a whore because I did not. How could I explain? It wasn’t love that drove me to Lansing. It was loneliness. I can’t even say it was lust. I did not desire Lansing like I did Arturo; I desired comfort. My love was Arturo, and he was going down in flames.
Lansing was still next to me. His voice sounded like he was talking under water. His firm hands gripped my arms and he gently shook me as he spoke. I saw his lips moving, but I couldn’t make out the sound. It garbled through my head, until one word came clearly. Arturo.
Arturo was dead. I was certain that’s what he said. Tears streamed down my face, but I didn’t feel them. I only knew they blinded me, as I could no longer concentrate on him. My head began to sag and my body went limp. Lansing was still speaking but I heard nothing that made sense. I shook with shock and rage. I should have told Arturo that I loved him still. I should have crossed to him to assure him my guilty act was a mistake.
Lansing jiggled my body and I rattled like a rag doll. I was falling over. I heard feet thudding on the ground. I felt the vibration of it through the earth. Black boots came into my line of sight just above dry blades of grass. My pulse was checked. Bright lights flashed in my eyes. I still could not speak. My head rolled to the side, while my arms and legs were examined. I heard the mumbling of voices and then his name again. Arturo.
Then another name filtered through my head. Morte. I’d seen him out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t mean to have this intimate discussion with Arturo in the presence of a child, but there was no way to put it off. I figured Morte was hiding. He liked to do that as a means to get away from his mother, Ana, or sadly his father, Arturo. After a few moments, I forgot his existence until I heard the sharp striking of two rocks. I looked at Arturo, who obviously had not heard it as he continued to berate me. When the flint sparked, I could do nothing but stare. The explosion was loud enough to deafen me. The flames grew almost instantly. I didn’t think to move, or jump, or run. I was tethered in place, tied to my spot. The end was coming to me through fire and brimstone.
Then Lansing saved me. He was always saving me. My hero, but he was everyone’s hero. Damsels in distress called to him, but I was simply damned at this point. Arturo would never forgive me. He would never forgive Lansing. I had destroyed the band. My body craved to turn into itself and my knees needed to bend upward. I wanted to roll to my side, but the medics were keeping me flat. My head still lolled to one side. That’s when I saw him. Standing ten feet away, bent over to brace himself on his knees, he looked exhausted. Then he stood gallant and cold: Arturo.
I pushed myself up with shaking arms, pulling the oxygen mask from my face as the medic tried to force me back down. I looked from Lansing to Arturo, and Lansing followed my range of vision. He held the medic back as I sat up, then knelt. I was like a newborn colt trying to find my legs and I wobbled as I stood. Then I took off like a racehorse, my finish line was Arturo. His arms didn’t move. He made no attempt to prepare for my embrace. I careened into him with enough force to knock us both over. My arms wrapped around his neck. I heard the heavy umph of his breath as his back hit the ground with me over him.
Instantly, people were trying to remove me from him. His arms remained at this sides, spread wide to steady him on the dirt beneath him. I was frantically kissing his face: cheeks, eyelids, nose, and jaw. No millimeter of skin went untouched. Someone grabbed at my waist, intending to take me off Arturo, but I refused to loosen my arms. My voice was suddenly flooding my ears.
“No. No, no, no, no, no.”
I was not letting go of him. He could hate me all he wanted, but I was not letting go of him.
A voice was telling me I must release Arturo. Hands were probing him. He rolled his head slightly in answer to something. Then I heard Mure’s voice.
“Guinevere, get off him. We need to have him looked at.”
I spun where I lay sprawled over Arturo.
“Don’t touch him,” I growled. “Don’t you dare lay one hand on him,” I addressed Arturo’s mentor whose two-toned eyes swirled in opposition: storm and sunshine.
“You are not taking him from me again.” I hardly recognized my voice. I sounded possessed. I shook with the damage I’d cause if Arturo disappeared again. I looked down into his face.
“You are not leaving me again. I am not letting you go,” I demanded. Then it happened. A forearm rubbed up my spine. His hold tightened on me and I relaxed over his chest. My arms squeezed around the back of his neck and my face fell into the crook of it.
I whispered into his ear, “I love you,” and then let the world fade to black.
“So she told you.” Lansing’s voice was monotone. I paced the hall while the doctors inside her room examined her. She was placed in her room at Camlann. I didn’t want her to go to a hospital unless they suspected broken bones or internal damage. I was the one damaged inside, but it wasn’t something a doctor could fix.
Lansing leaned against the wall, his head back and his arms crossed over his chest. I stopped, letting his words sink in. He must have known she’d tell me. He must have known it would come to something extreme. I should have been furious. I should have fought him, but my concern for Guinevere inside her room overruled. It did not dissipate my anger, though. I wondered when exactly it happened.
“I was coming back to her. She couldn’t have waited for me?” I attacked instantly. “And what about you? Did you have to sleep with her?” I snarled, but I didn’t have the energy to back up that bite. We’d never fought after that first time. A long time ago, when we first met, it was over a girl. I couldn’t remember her name. Lansing had puppy love for the older girl; I just wanted to touch a willing female. He was younger than me, smaller in stature. As we scrapped, I could see that he would not back down. He was loyal, fierce, and protective. He would defend her honor regardless of her dismissal of him. I could tell then that I’d rather have him as a friend than fight him over a female. We agreed to never let a woman come between our friendship.
“Is there a time limit? When someone disappears, and then blatantly stays away, how long before she’s to get the hint you didn’t want her?” He defended, raising his head to look at me.
“I never said I didn’t want her,” I spit.
“No….but you never contacted her to say you did.”
We were silent, breathing heavily between us, as if we had been physically fighting.
“So that gave you permission to sleep with my girl?”
Lansing opened his mouth to speak, then paused. His expression softened.
“Look, your silence spoke volumes. She believed you were not dead, but had no faith you would return to her. When she didn’t hear from you, she became desperate,” Lansing said, his voice too calm.
“Really, and how does that make you feel?” I bit again, digging in deeper with hope that Guinie was only using Lansing.
“I was desperate, too,” he said quietly. “But for the wrong reasons.”
“Are there right reasons?” I snapped. He was my best friend; he was my brother in arms. He slept with my girl.
We were silent again.
“I’d like to know again, how long did you expect her to wait? Once you were out there publicly, and not making contact with her, what did you want her to do?”
“I…” I didn’t know how to respond at first. “I wasn’t in a good place. Mentally.”
“Well, neither was Guinie,” Lansing defended.
“Are you saying I’m at fault? I fucked this up?”
“Yes.” It was that simple.
“I…I fucked this up,” my voice fading as I spoke the words. While I wanted her to have faith that we were meant to be together forever, I didn’t give her reason to believe it. I kept her away without explanation.
“I’m not saying it’s all your fault. Things beyond your control and all that,” Lansing said, his eyes flickering down to my wrist, “but you did fuck it up, man. You both did.”
“Well, you helped.”
I glared at him. He had a part in it, too. Then I sighed and wiped a dirty hand down my face. I still reeked of smoke and my clothes where filthy from tumbling out of the barn with Morte in my arms.
“Am I too late?” I questioned. My voice shook with the words. Did she love him instead?
“Nah, it’s fucked, but you can fix it,” Lansing said, a twinge of a smile in his voice and a slowly rising tip to his lips. Relief washed through me then panic rose again.
“I don’t know how. I don’t know how to go back.”
Lansing’s face dropped and his tone turned serious. “You need to stop looking back, man. That was my problem. You need to focus forward. The future only, not the past.”
My Future.
“I should hate you,” I said harshly, standing straighter, feet away from him with my fist clenched.
“You should,” he said dully.
“But I don’t,” I responded, surprised.
“I know,” he said on a sigh, looking away from me for a moment.
“How do you know?” I questioned, tilting my head in curiosity. He turned to face me full on, his blue eyes narrowing when he spoke.
“Because you aren’t all that innocent either.” Lansing’s eyebrow rose at me. He was right. I wasn’t.
As we waited in the hall, Morte came down it, followed by Ana. I couldn’t deal with either of them at the moment. Morte and I had definitely taken a tumble as I reached for him the instant I saw Guinie lifted by Lansing. I worried that I’d crush him, but we fell in such a way that I didn’t. Still, the paramedics checked him, as well. While that was happening I went for Guinevere on the other side of the collapsed structure. Everything we owned was lost in that fire, but everything of importance got out.
As Morte approached, his walk slowed. His head hung and I tried to control my anger.
“I’d like to see, Guinevere, if I may?” he asked, quietly. His eyes averted to the hallway carpet.
“No,” I bit. Morte had done enough damage. First, Guinie’s hands with that careless fire trick on her bed. Then releasing a firework in the midst of the barn. I cursed Mure for teaching Morte his magic tricks, especially the ones that involved fire. Morte was too fascinated by the mystery of making sparks and then trying to control them.
Ana’s soft warning only fueled my anger. I didn’t want her present, either. Guinevere’s outburst began with her accusation that I had slept with Ana. We hadn’t had sex, but I couldn’t claim innocence. I had a moment I wasn’t proud of, and didn’t wish to share with Guinie. It seemed that it was time for my confessions to come to light.
“Dad,” Morte’s voice whined softly. “I need to tell her I’m sorry.”
Startled, I stared at Morte. He’d never called me Dad. From the first time we met, he called me Arturo. At nine, I sensed, it was uncomfortable for Morte to continue to call me by my first name. If I was going to recognize him as my son, I had to let him call me father.
“Morte, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to see Guinie, right now. The doctor is still examining her and I’m sure she’s tired.” I leveled a stare at the boy, reminding him with my look that it was his action that caused the examination. He lowered his head again.
“Arturo,” Ana warned gently. This was the voice I’d grown used to in my recovery. The one that scolded me tenderly that I had gone too far in my stubbornness. I glared at her next. Her green eyes pleaded with me. For the briefest of moments, I wondered if Ana actually realized the severity of what happened. Morte could have killed Guinevere. On second thought, I think Ana’s concern lay with the fact that Morte could have killed himself and me. It was a refreshing moment of potential motherhood from Ana.
“Let him see her. He has things he needs to say,” she pleaded on his behalf.
“Go with him,” Lansing added as incentive, but clearly mistrusting Morte’s intention. I turned to glare at him next, but he only nodded in the direction of the door. The doctor was exiting the room.
Without prompting, the doctor gave instructions that Guinie needed rest. She was on oxygen to clear her lungs and had an IV drip as a preventive measure to restore fluid. He warned that if fever occurred to contact him immediately. He said that Morte and I could enter, but he recommended we keep it short. Guinie was approved to remain in her room at Camlann. A nurse was hired to stay while she was under observation.
With a hand firmly on Morte’s shoulder, I guided him inside Guinie’s room. It was still the lovely queen’s room, but with the hospital apparatus, I had a sickening reminder of my own experience. I hadn’t been healed in a conventional hospital room, but one that looked more like a small resort suite. Trying to give me comfort as I recuperated, the atmosphere was fluffy pillows, subdued colors and fresh linen sheets every day. I had space for visitors to sit in overstuffed chairs, while I grumbled and groaned about physical therapy. Guinie’s room looked the same at the moment.
Her eyes slowly opened at the approach of Morte, as if she sensed his presence. She smiled softly at him, her eyes tinged with a dull glow as she regarded him. Her hand reached for him, despite the IV, and again I felt sickened. Something was poking into her delicate skin regardless of its medicinal purpose. She looked pale, as she had passed out from smoke inhalation.
Morte gripped Guinie’s hand with both of his and lowered his head on it.
“I’m so sorry, Guinie,” he began. He started strong, but his voice faltered and he rolled his forehead back and forth over her wrist. She reached cautiously over her body with her other hand to touch the top of his head.
“Morte,” her voice croaked. “Morte, honey, are you okay?”
He could only nod.
“It wasn’t your fault, Morte.”
She spoke reassuringly, but she was lying. It was completely Morte’s fault. He was playing with fire. He set off the firework.
“Morte. It was an accident,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “A very dangerous one, but an accident, nonetheless, right?” Her voice encouraged him to look up at her.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen like that,” he stressed.
I wondered how he did mean for the lighting of the firework to happen, but he answered my question before I asked.
“It wasn’t supposed to shoot off. It was meant to sparkle in the air. I don’t know what happened. Next time…”
“No,” I bit, as Guinie’s hand tightened gently in Morte’s hair.
“No, next time,” Guinie said, softening the venom in my word. “You should not be playing with fire, and you should definitely not be playing with it inside a building. Do you understand?”
She was tugging his hair, not in an effort to hurt him, but to emphasize her words.
“What happened wa
s dangerous, Morte. You could have killed us.”
Strangely, Morte looked over his shoulder at me. I shivered from the glare in his green eyes that matched his mother.
“Promise me,” Guinie spoke, redirecting Morte’s attention, “promise me, no more without supervision. Have Mure help you, if you want to keep learning, but I recommend you take a break. You don’t need magic, Morte.” She was pleading with him in a voice that sounded like she’d smoked a pack of cigarettes. It was straining her vocal chords and she needed to rest.
“Okay,” I interrupted. “Morte, Guinie needs some sleep.”
The only sign I received that he might be my son was when he flirted with Guinie. He kissed her hand above the IV, apologized again and turned to leave the room. I followed after, telling Guinie I’d be right back. Ana stood in the hall, arms crossed as she waited outside Guinie’s door. Her eyes looked up with sympathy. I didn’t want her pity or her pleas. I wanted her to leave.
“I think it’s time you take Morte and go to Ingrid’s.”
“What? No.” She reached out for me, her hands meeting my chest. “Arturo, don’t make him go.”
My suggestion wasn’t just for Morte. It was for both of them. It was time to pull away from them again.
“I’m not making Morte go. I’m asking you to leave.”
She turned to Lansing as an ally, but found none. If she thought Lansing would support her staying, she misunderstood. The expression on Lansing’s face showed he agreed. Ana needed to go and take Morte with her. I needed time to explain myself to Guinie.
I don’t know how long I dozed. I couldn’t breath and the mask on my face was uncomfortable. My chest ached and my lungs still burned. I tried to take slow even breaths and found I would panic at times. I was aware of Arturo’s return, but I didn’t have the strength to look at him at. Morte’s apology took all the energy I had.