Rape of the Soul

by Dawn Thompson

  "I love you, sir!"

  "And I love you, Ted. So does your Uncle Colin. He worships you, son. I don't even want to begin to imagine what losing you over this would do to that man. That's twice now that he's saved your life, son. You owe him that life. He's put his on the line for you—for both of us this time. There is no greater love, nor courage than that."

  "I still don't believe I shall ever be able to face him again."

  "If I can face him, you can face him. I owe him my life ten times over, son."

  The boy lowered his head and wiped his eyes. “I . . . I'll be all right now, sir,” he said. “I should just like to go into the church for awhile."

  Elliot nodded. “Very well, son,” he said, “just let me see your wrist there first.” He took the boy's arm and carefully stripped the handkerchief from it. It was soaked through, and the wound was still oozing blood. Examining it, he sighed. “'Tis deep, but the blood seems to be slowing somewhat. A hair's breadth and . . ."

  "It's all right, father."

  "Put on a fresh blouse and go to Rina,” Elliot charged. “Tell her you dropped my razor and it gashed you. She'll bind it properly. And you're to have Dr. Howard look at it when he comes ‘round this afternoon. I won't be here, Ted. I'm going to Cragmoor."

  * * * *

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  Chapter Forty-five

  * * * *

  The vicar entered Colin's chamber a half hour later. The damp air was fetid with the stench of scorched flesh, blood, and antiseptic. It rose in his nostrils inviting nausea, and he swallowed hard closing the door behind him in a gentle hand.

  Colin groaned. He was bare to the waist. The maimed arm lay swathed in linen, strapped to the padded board beside him. The thick bandages were stained with blood and, through his tears the vicar could see that the arm had been severed to the biceps.

  "Ahhhh, noooo. Ahhhh, Christ!” moaned Colin. Throwing his right arm over his eyes, he turned his head away. “What in hell are you doing here, Elliot?"

  Overcome, Elliot couldn't answer. Moving upon legs that threatened to give way beneath him, he staggered to the bed and fell down on the edge of it beside him. Inconsolable then, all that came from him was a litany of helpless sobs.

  Colin wrapped his strong right arm around him and instinctively attempted to embrace him with his left. Agonized, he ground gnashed teeth and bit hard into the blinding pain that ripped through the swollen stump and traveled along his shoulder, neck, and stiff jaw with the motion. “Ahhhh, Christ, Elliot,” he groaned.

  Broken, he cried, sobbing in the vicar's arms like a little child in abandon. Burying his face in the soft black cloth of his jacket, he clung to him until the wracking sobs had drained him weak. Lost, Elliot soothed him, heart-stricken, his own eyes brimming with tears, and the gentle murmur of his tremulous voice lingered in the close, stale air.

  It was a long desolate moment before Colin lay quiet, his muscular body shivering as the vicar supported him. “Ahhhh. Christ. I'm sorry, Elliot,” he moaned, his muffled voice barely audible. “Bloody hell.” After a moment he lay back against the pillow. Turning his swollen eyes away from the trembling despair in the vicar's, he shielded them with his hand. “What are you doing here?” he panted. “You've no business being here. You shouldn't be out of bed."

  "I'm all right, Colin. George just told me an hour ago or I'd have been here all the while."

  "Jesus Christ! I'll kill that meddling sonofabitch!” snarled Colin through clenched teeth. “I told him not to tell you. Not now. Not ‘til you were stronger."

  "You called for me Colin. You were asking for me."

  "I know, but I didn't want you to come. Go home and go back to bed, damn you, Elliot. If you come down again here over this . . . Ahhh, Christ, that's all I need!"

  "I'm not going to. If my heart hasn't failed me already this day, it shan't here now, I can promise you that. God's not ready for me yet. I haven't suffered enough. But that aside, you need me, Colin, and I'm not going to leave you. I'm going to stay."

  Colin lifted the hand he'd been hiding behind in lieu of the mask, and his head snapped toward him. “You can't stay here, Elliot! You can't,” he breathed.

  "I can, and I will. There's nothing you can do to stop me. Colin, you wouldn't even leave me alone in the study with Malcolm for a space of ten minutes. Do you actually believe I'll leave you here helpless like this—alone in this house with him now?"

  "I'm not alone, Elliot."

  "You might as well be, and you know it. Are the servants or Ira any protection against such as he is?"

  "Are you,” flashed Colin, “half dead yourself?"

  "Yes, I am. I know you don't completely share my beliefs concerning Malcolm, but be that as it may, he's evil. I'm certain of that—as certain as I am that the sun will rise tomorrow. Just what he is, I'm afraid to speculate upon, but I'm right, Colin—he fears me and what I stand for. Elsewise, why is he so anxious to be rid of me, why am I—half dead as you say—enough of a threat to warrant murder?"

  Colin shook his head. Strained, his voice was soft and labored, though he spat out the words with an edge, “He knows how close we are. He knows what it would do to me to lose you. Christ! I think he knows that better than you do!"

  "I'm not going to leave you, Colin, not until you're on your feet. I'll occupy my old chamber next door where I'll be near enough to help you if the need arises."

  Colin groaned. “I can't lie here like . . . like this, worrying about you in this house with him now. Are you mad, Elliot?"

  "Oh, don't worry, I shan't court his company; quite to the contrary. I'm no fool. I'll take my meals here with you and keep to my chamber, but except for service on Sundays, I will not leave this house while you're in that bed. There is no more discussion, Colin. End of issue."

  Colin breathed another sigh and dropped his arm over his eyes again. The awful thing realized and faced had siphoned him dry. His whole body ached, and his head reeled with nightmarish fears for Elliot and Jean in a tangled snarl of desperate confusion. Nausea set his stomach churning. Acid rose in his parched throat while dizziness coaxed him toward oblivion, beckoning from the cool soft limbo of unconsciousness that he now feared and fought against.

  The vicar saw his struggle clearly for all that his eyes trembled from a soul-sick visage, and he gripped Colin's shoulder with a firm hand. “My God, Colin, what are they giving you for the pain?"

  "Laudanum,” came the breathless reply.

  "Where is it?"

  Colin shook his head. “I've already been dosed . . . just before you came...can't have any more just yet."

  "But you're in pain. Is there nothing I can do?"

  "Ahhh, Elliot,” Colin sobbed, “I don't want you here seeing this."

  The vicar ignored him. “When is Howard coming?"

  "After tea."

  "He'll be here earlier than that I expect. He's due to look in on me at the vicarage before tea. Once Ted tells him I'm here, he'll be ‘round quickly enough."

  "That boy must be worried sick about you. My God, Elliot, go back to St. Michael's."

  "It's all right, Colin,” the vicar insisted. “Ted's worried sick all right, my friend, but not over me.” He hesitated, and a long, weary sigh preceded the words he wasn't all too sure he should speak. “Colin, I know what happened out here last week,” he said. “I know about Ted."

  Colin's head flashed toward him again. “Bloody Hell!” he moaned, raking his hair roughly. “Damn him for a contrary young whelp! Will that boy never do as he's told? He's just as obstinate now as he was when he was five. I wonder where he gets that from? Christ! Did he hear nothing I said?"

  "He heard you, Colin,” murmured the vicar. “He didn't come running home to tell me. My God, how I wish he had."

  "What's happened?” Colin's voice grew razor sharp.

  The vicar shook his head and lowered it. “Not now, Colin,” he said. “You shouldn't be talking. Lie quiet and rest."

  "You ans
wer me!” snapped Colin. “Something's wrong. What is it?"

  "I discovered what happened by accident, Colin. I shouldn't have mentioned it. I was thinking out loud. We'll discuss it when you're stronger. You're so awfully pale. Please don't talk anymore."

  Colin clamped his arm in a vise-like grip and shook him despite the pain. “You tell me—tell me now!” he demanded.

  The vicar shook his head.

  "Elliot, I've still got one good hand,” said Colin, “don't make me choke it out of you. I will if I have to, and I'm really not feeling up to it. Don't hedge with me. Tell me what's happened."

  Seeing no way around it, the vicar slouched and nodded in defeat. “Ted tried to take his life this morning, Colin. Right after George told us about your arm,” he murmured, avoiding the terrible eyes burning toward him.

  Colin stared. His lips worked, but nothing save stuttering leaked through them for a moment. When he did speak, the sound of his voice stabbed the vicar like a knife blade. “Ted? Suicide? He tried to . . . Why?” he breathed, shaking his arm again. “Why, Elliot? Answer me!"

  The vicar hesitated. “He blames himself. He said he opened your wound, and he couldn't live with it. The whole damn thing just came pouring out of him."

  "Merciful Christ!” groaned Colin. His hand fell away from Elliot's arm and he groped for the eyes he'd shut tight. Looking on, Elliot saw the shimmer of fresh tears begin to seep through his fingers.

  "Ahhhh, Jesus! That foolish, foolish boy,” murmured Colin with passion.

  "He loves you, you know . . . so very much."

  "How?” said Colin. “How did he . . .? How, Elliot?"

  Elliot hesitated again. “He tried to slash his wrist with my straight razor."

  Colin's hand slipped away from his eyes and they were deadly beneath searching the vicar's slouched posture. “He didn't hurt himself?” he pleaded. “He isn't harmed? Elliot? Elliot—look at me!"

  The vicar raised his head. “He's all right, Colin. I caught him just in time."

  Relief siphoned Colin's lungs dry.

  "He cut himself before I could recover the razor, but he missed the vein. It's been tended, and I told him to let George have a look at it when he stops ‘round this afternoon. He's going to tell him that he dropped the razor and it cut him. You'll hear all about it once George has come. That's the only reason I've told you. I don't want him to know what really happened, Colin—or anyone if I can help it, for Ted's sake."

  "I've got to see him . . . talk to him,” breathed Colin. Agitated, he put pressure on the arm and cried aloud.

  "Lie still! You're going to open that up to infection all over again."

  Clenching his right fist, Colin launched it toward the severed member. A savage cry twisted his lips as it trembled there, hovering over the board with intent to do damage, and the vicar grabbed his wrist with both hands.

  "Colin, have you lost your mind?” he cried.

  A mad laugh answered him. It turned his blood cold. After a moment, the arm went limp and Elliot laid it down on the bed beside him, but he didn't let it go.

  "Get me parchment, quill, and ink from the dressing chest there...top drawer on the right,” Colin charged. Yanking free, he pressed his hand to his eyes again.

  "Not now, when you're stronger."

  "You left him there like that? You left that boy and came ‘round here?"

  "We talked. He's all right, Colin."

  "You left that boy?"

  "There was nothing more I could have done there. I struck him down when he told me. Then afterward I talked him ‘round. Oh, I said all the right words, but . . . it's best that we're apart now for awhile."

  Colin groaned again. “I will not have that boy blaming himself for this arm. I won't have you blaming him for it, either! I wrote this arm off at the outset. Now fetch me the parchment."

  "It's too soon for that. Time needs to heal this. He said he doubts he'll ever be able to face you again. You can't pour salt into that wound now. Let it alone. We had a long man-to-man talk . . . about guilt. God knows there's no one more qualified than I am to broach that subject. He'll come ‘round. Just give him time."

  Colin's incredulous eyes impaled him. “Fetch . . . me . . . parchment!” he snapped.

  Wearily, Elliot obeyed, and with the paper propped against his raised knee, Colin wrote with a shaky hand. It took him some time to convert his thoughts to written words, for his mind was anything but clear and his hand was hopelessly unsteady. Several times Elliot reached toward him when the parchment slipped, but Colin's cold-eyed warning that he keep his distance, discouraged him from interfering. When he'd finished writing, he thrust it toward the vicar before the ink had dried.

  "This should settle the question of facing me for good and all,” he said. “Now you go and take it to that boy!"

  The vicar shook his head, “No, Colin,” he said quietly, “I'll have George take it ‘round when he's through here.” He took the letter, folded it, and got up from the bed. Melting sealing wax in the candle flame at the sconce above the dressing chest, he sealed it shut and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

  Returning the wax to the drawer, he saw the laudanum and spoon on top of the chest beside a neat pile of clean bandage linen, and he carried it back to the bed, poured some, and offered it. “You lied before,” he knew. “You haven't been dosed. The bottle's full. Take it, Colin. I know what you're doing here. You haven't fooled me. You needn't be afraid to sleep any longer. It's all right now, I'll be right here with you. Take it."

  Colin stared longingly toward the brimming spoon. His eyes were dilated with pain and he longed for sleep. He moistened trembling lips, and Elliot's sad eyes misted again. “Take it, Colin. For God's take, man, take it!"

  Colin emptied his lungs in defeat. His lips quivered apart and Elliot forced the opiate between them. After giving him a second spoonful, he returned the laudanum to the dressing chest, soaked a towel in the basin, and sponged his face and shoulders.

  Colin moaned.

  "Go to sleep.” Elliot sat beside him. “That fever's down, but it's not gone, my friend, and you're in agony."

  "I'm in agony all right,” sobbed Colin, “but it isn't the arm . . . ahhhh . . . Christ!"

  But he said no more. After a moment, he surrendered to the vortex of a dizzying spiral that drew him down into the opiate, his broad chest heaving at last with the steady rhythm of deep, painless oblivion.

  * * * *

  Colin slept while Elliot sat beside him until George Howard arrived just before three. He had begun to stir to a restless awakening as the doctor stomped in slamming the door, but it was several minutes before awareness fully returned.

  Shadows collected in the room, which had been robbed of light early by the dense, milling fog that frosted the French door panes. It lent an eerie pallor to the bleak afternoon begrudging the sun a turn at the day, though it fought for it valiantly. Adding to the gloominess, the putrid air was stifling, for there were no drafts to disperse it or hasten the plumes of smoke from the vicar's pipe as they drifted lazily toward the ceiling.

  The doctor stared angrily toward Elliot's pale face and swollen eyes. “Christ!” he spat, meanwhile snatching the briar from his hand. “I told you no more pipe! You don't listen to one bloody word I say to you do you? Are you trying to kill yourself, Elliot? Get up from there.” He tapped the ashes from the pipe at the hearth and jammed it into his waistcoat pocket. “You aren't going to get this back,” he assured him. “Act like a child and you're going to be treated as one!"

  "I'm all right, George,” said Elliot, “but he isn't. He's half mad with the pain."

  "And well I expect he should be in pain,” snapped the doctor. “That's no hangnail there, man, he's lost an arm! He'll be in a great deal of pain for a good long while, and there's not one damn thing you can do about it. Now, get off that bed and get into this chair here where I can have a look at you."

  Getting up stiffly, Elliot moved to the wing chair beside the wardrobe
and sank into it. “Please, George, look to Colin while he's still under. He's coming ‘round."

  Howard ignored him. “Open that blouse,” he barked, snaking the stethoscope out of his satchel.

  Elliot unfastened his buttons and the doctor lowered the instrument to his breast beneath, listening. “Christ!” he barked. “Elliot, I want you to go home at once and get back into bed. Ted's half out of his mind with worry. I promised that lad I'd send you home, and home you're going."

  The vicar didn't speak, his immovable demeanor did that for him, and the doctor forced an exasperated sigh through his nose, his sharp eyes boring into him. “What really happened with that boy?” he said steadily. “He tried to kill himself, didn't he?"

  Elliot met his eyes, but still he made no reply.

  "What,” cried the doctor, “do you think I'm a fool? What happened, Elliot, tell me the truth?"

  The vicar hesitated, weighing his words. “I'm sure he's told you well enough; ‘twas an accident."

  "You're lying—the pair of you,” launched the doctor. “Do you imagine that I'm simpleminded? That boy tried to commit suicide! He bloody near succeeded, too, from the look of it. That was no accident. It was deliberate. It's too deep for a wound gotten from a dropped blade. He gashed it apurpose; I'm not blind!” He waved a wild arm toward Colin tossing in the bed behind. “You've told him, though, haven't you? Christ! I don't mean one damn thing to you do I, Elliot?"

  Pained, the vicar stared. “How can you say that, George? How can you?"

  "How can I?” came the heated retort. “Ha! Look at you. I'm trying to prolong your existence on this planet, and you're trying to kill yourself over that low-life trash there.” He gestured again. “He doesn't deserve your loyalty, or your love. What has that bastard there ever done for you save nudge you closer toward your grave? And you'd go to it for him if he were to ask you to wouldn't you, Elliot? Never mind, you don't need to answer. I can see it in your face—you would! What would you do for me, Elliot? Christ! You don't even hear me, and I've done naught all these years but try to be your friend and keep you alive so he can drive you to the brink all over again. My friendship doesn't mean that to you does it?” he barked, snapping his fingers.