Her eyes shot open and she tried to scream around the cloth that gagged her. Her throat worked rhythmically, and she blinked against the sharp taste of sodden cloth in her mouth. He was staring down at her, coming in and out of a focus that seemed to grow with a strange clarity. He raised his hand, fingers wrapped now into a taut fist from which blood continued to drip steadily onto her face.
“I can be merciful, Katharine. It’s better this way.”
The fist descended and she lost all thought as blackness descended over her, drawing her into an embrace where she seemed to fall endlessly, body flailing and helpless to find her way.
* * * *
A FLARE OF LIGHT beyond her closed lids brought Katharine to wakefulness. Her nostrils curled at the acrid smell of a match that had just been extinguished, overpowering for a few moments the more mellow scent of a candle. The groaning creak of a wagon passed somewhere on the street outside, amid a strained clopping of hooves. She opened her eyes to see darkness seeping between the cracks of the boarded window, and somehow knew that one night had passed into another.
“I have given you a gift few are ever granted.”
She turned her head slowly at Preston’s voice.
The flickering candle illuminated his eyes, their glint revealing a wary but barely restrained anticipation. “I want to show you something,” he said.
He reached beside himself to the floor, where a formless pile of clothing lay. As he lifted it easily in one hand, not even straining with the gesture, she realized it was a woman, whose head lolled loosely, her eyes shut, a swelling bruise rising on her cheek.
“They don’t matter,” Preston said. “That’s your first lesson.”
He tipped the woman’s head to the side and lowered his face against her neck. She seemed to stir for a moment. And then the lines of her brow smoothed and her face softened as a wash of calm fell across it.
Katharine caught a sudden sharp scent, dusky and sweet, savored for the promise it held beyond this brief taste. She watched, unable to look away as Preston held the woman, their bodies melded into a single close embrace whose stillness was marred only by the light and rhythmic sounds of their breathing.
Preston opened his eyes as he lifted his head away. He turned toward Katharine, his breath moist with that heady scent, while the woman swayed unsteadily in the curve of his arm. He leaned close above Katharine and his lips parted. She felt a patter of drops release to land on the skin around her mouth and across the cloth that still wrapped tightly around her head.
She tried to speak around the gag, even as her tongue moved of its own accord, seeking out the new dampness within the cloth. A taste returned, stirring memories held within the darkness of her dream from the prior night. She fought against this sensation, even as her mouth closed tightly around the gag, drawing in the moisture it held.
Preston nodded. He leaned back and regarded the woman. Her eyelids fluttered slightly against the stillness of her face, as though she was in the depths of her own dream. Only the ugliness of the livid bruise marred the peacefulness of her expression.
He glanced back to Katharine. “What you take will not kill them.”
He grasped the woman’s head suddenly and delivered a powerful twist. Her body jerked, and then went limp. He regarded her for a moment, and then released her slowly, allowing her to slither into a heap on the floor.
He turned to Katharine again, who was staring at him with widened eyes. She began to pull at her bonds once more, feeling a new and heady strength that yielded to a desperate sense of hope. She stopped moving when his hand closed around her chin.
“But I want you to understand what I will do,” he said. “I’m giving you a choice.”
His hand moved up her cheek and slid the gag away from her mouth. “You’re an intelligent woman, Katharine. Will you do as I say?”
Her eyes slid sideways to the crumpled body that lay almost within reach. She wetted her lips without looking at him. “Yes.”
“Good.” He leaned back. “Because if you try to run, I know where you’ll go.”
“Why have you taken me?”
“I’ve watched you for a while,” he said, contemplating her question. “You were drawn to that place of darkness and death like a moth to a candle flame. Perhaps it’s a love of suffering that binds you so securely to it. But I can offer you much more.”
He paused, and drew his knife, a long and thick blade whose silver edge gleamed in the dim glow. Katharine flinched back. But he leaned close and only drew it across each of her bonds. She felt the tension release at her wrists, and then her feet, but she continued to lie unmoving.
He returned the knife to its sheath. “Neither illness nor age will find you now.”
She nodded, a bare motion of her head. Her heart was pounding hard. She swallowed, still tasting sodden cloth that promised renewal beneath its dark purpose. Her muscles rippled like coiled springs held in check only by her will. Her eyes flicked past him to the darkness of an opened doorway.
She suddenly bolted up, surging past him before she could fully control her limbs. She flailed, arms and legs moving too fast for her to comprehend. She smacked the doorframe beside the rectangled darkness hard enough to shake it, even as she heard the chair in which he had been sitting thrown back.
She felt him grasp for her as she rushed blindly forward into a stairwell, hitting the far wall of the first landing and leaping away as a shadow loomed behind her, blotting out the dim light cast from the room.
“Katharine!”
She slammed into a door in the end of the vestibule at the bottom of the stairs, breaking through it and hurtling out into the night. Her feet found a rhythm and evened out their syncopated beat, drawing even more speed as she raced in a headlong rush, veering down side streets to the left and right, not even certain in which direction she ran, only knowing that he lay somewhere behind her.
Underneath the hard pounding of her heart, she heard a steady and encroaching rush of steps that followed. She veered again, ducking and passing directly before a pair of horses drawing a carriage. They reared up, throwing the reins in a flurry of tossed leather as the driver tried to control them. In the confused beat of hooves, Katharine struck left, running close against the side of a building. She heard the following steps falter, hesitating as the horses and carriage blocked the path.
She risked a glance behind her as she continued to run, just as her feet struck a low walk. She flew forward, arms pinwheeling, and slid across the ground, coming to a sudden stop against the side of a water trough. She rolled up against it, her body shaking, and froze as she heard the steps coming once more. They began to slow, gradually assuming a walking pace.
She remained very still, her cheek pressed against the cool wood, hearing the slow lap of water inside begin to subside.
“Katharine.” The steps held their steady pace in the middle of the street, now almost even with the trough behind which she lay. “Where are you?”
She could discern from the imperceptible change in the sound of his voice that his head swiveled back and forth, searching. The steps continued, now just past her. She kept her body still, controlling her breathing so that it was barely audible even to her ears.
As the steps moved further away, she peeked past the edge of the trough into the street, needing to know with one sense what another sense told her. Her eyes sharpened in the darkness, drawing out detail, focusing. Her vision suddenly changed, dark washes of cool blues slashed by a moving figure of red receding down the street. A sharp pain formed between her eyes as her vision blurred back into focus. She glanced again, seeing his dark figure turn away to the north, the dull sound of his footsteps now increasing with a sense of purpose.
She got to her hands and knees and rose carefully. She looked around, coming to recognize where she was. She hesitated.
If you try to run, I know where you’ll go.
She glanced to her right, northward, where he had gone. She clenched a fist at her s
ide and lowered her head. Then she turned and began to walk away south at a fast pace, her mind racing like her beating heart.
* * * *
KATHARINE PASSED through the gates of Camp Douglas, her feet following a path whose memory would always guide them without thought. She blinked back against a scattering of snowflakes. The cold no longer seemed as real to her, held away by an indifference that met its onslaught, and by a growing sense of despair that resided within.
She nodded at sentries without raising her head, going through motions ingrained through repetition. The sounds of the camp had never seemed so readily defined in their individual voices, no longer just a blur of undulating noise. The dark buildings rose in stark contrast against the snow, lit by a vivid glow of heated stovepipes and smoke that curled up into the night sky, swirling inside a scattered sea of snowflakes. The smell of the latrines from White Oak Square, which had become muted by the winter cold, rose again as palpable as at any time she had known.
She entered the hospital, finding her way without thinking to her ward. Her troubled thoughts sought out answers, drawn away to a place where she could not safely return. She walked the line of beds, automatically tucking in blankets that had fallen aside, pausing beside fevered patients, listening to the sounds of labored breathing that rose and fell in a scattered pattern that she understood on some level.
She found herself stopped beside one bed, afraid now to look down. Perhaps part of her had been drawn here all along, as though whether or not this bed still held hope would make a difference in the thoughts that divided her. She heard the soft sound of movement that stirred a blanket, and then a hand clasped hers, only a brief touch whose strength held on just long enough. She lowered her head as hot tears spilled down her cheeks.
“You’re warm,” Jake murmured hoarsely. “Getting sick, too?”
She wiped at her eyes and sat down, taking his hand between hers. His eyes held a dull look she had come to recognize, as though they were already seeing on the other side, wherever that lay now.
“Missed you today,” he said, and squeezed her hand again. “But I said I’d still be here.”
She smiled now, and wiped at her eyes again. “Something happened, Jacob.” She looked away, trying to find a path through the troubled maze of her thoughts.
“What . . .?” He tried to straighten up, but his head stayed against the pillow. Yet his eyes seemed to sharpen now.
She spoke carefully, measuring her words in a low voice. “Someone followed me last night, and I shot him.” She took a deep breath. “I saw the bullet strike him. And it did not kill him, nor even seem to bother him. He’s done something to me, and he is after me now.” She bit at her lip, bringing a sudden trickle of warmth. She remembered the taste of the cloth that had filled her mouth, a bitter memory. She wiped the blood away without looking at it. Its scent rose strong, dividing her thoughts once more.
“Any man can be killed.”
“This isn’t a man, Jacob,” she said quietly. “Not anymore.”
“Cut the head off a snake, sometimes it keeps moving,” he said, his words finding strength against his labored breath. “For a while.”
“I've never fought anyone, Jacob.” She remained quietly contemplative. “Not like that. My family is in danger now, because of me. And I don't know what to do.”
“If I was in any shape, I'd help.”
“He told me . . .” She paused, trying to find the words. “He told me I came here because I’m like him. That he chose me, because . . .”
“Katharine.” He squeezed her hand until she looked at him. “You’re here because you want to help.”
“I can’t help you, Jacob.” She turned to look around the ward. “Nor so many of these others.”
“You do what you can.”
“I can’t . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Neither illness nor age will find you now.
She stared downward, contemplating. “You quoted to me once, Jacob, in one of our talks, that ‘the omission of good is no less reprehensible than the commission of evil.’ Do you believe that?”
His gaze was on her as he nodded slowly.
“Do you think one can offset the other, and somehow find a form of salvation?” She searched his eyes, wanting to know if her thoughts that had finally begun to slow down, centered here, held pitfalls she did not yet understand.
He smiled at her now, his face as open and trusting as she remembered from the day he entered the camp. “If it didn’t,” he said. “What else is there to believe in?”
She nodded. She looked down for a moment at their hands, still clasped one in the other. “I may be able to help you, Jacob. Because of what he did to me.”
“How?”
Her hand gripped his harder, as she let him feel the strength held inside her now. She bent close and turned her head, letting her eyes capture the light from the few soft lamps in the ward. She heard his intake of breath and released her grip.
“I’m different now,” she said.
“I see that.”
“What it is, is very painful, from what I remember, Jacob. But beyond that pain lies a promise.”
“Can’t be worse than dying.” He managed a smile. “Better give me something to bite down on then.”
She fumbled at her apron, and tore away a large strip, doubling it and rolling it tight. She touched his face, still watching him, her palm caressing his cheek.
“Warm,” he murmured.
She nodded, and pressed the rolled cloth into his hand. “You won’t need this yet. For now, dream.”
She bent close again, letting instinct guide her as all thought slipped away. She felt him relax against her even before she began, a sense of trust that cleared her conscience and the sense of doubts she held inside. She took quiet breaths, feeling a void begin to fill as his own breathing settled along with hers, sharing a calmness that joined them now. Even when she brought her dripping wrist close against his lips, he didn’t stir, but held the peaceful expression that had overtaken him.
In a little while, she sensed it was time, and brought their clasped hands together to his mouth while she caressed his throat, encouraging him to swallow.
When the shudders began, she pressed the cloth firmly to his mouth as he bit down hard, his grip tightening in hers and fingers seeming unable to let go. The shudders gave way to convulsions, and his body began to thrash as she held him down.
A cry of alarm sounded from down the ward where one of the male nurses had jerked awake with a start. Other patients had risen in their beds to stare.
“What are you doin’?” The male nurse began hurrying over.
“Death throes,” she said desperately, pressing her whole body against Jake to hold him down.
“That ain’t death throes.” The male nurse grabbed her arm.
She flung him away, harder than she intended. He flew over several of the beds, toppling across them and rolling against the wall. He sat up unsteadily and began to yell. Other patients began to add their own calls for the guards.
Katharine grabbed Jake, ignoring his thrashing limbs, and flung him over her shoulder. She began to run, racing out past the bewildered male nurse, and into the night.
She forced herself to slow down and walk calmly as she approached Garrison Square. From behind her, she could hear growing shouts of alarm passing from building to building. She hesitated as she watched more guards rush toward the gate. She veered toward the fence instead, measuring her paces while she tried to close the distance.
“Halt!”
The dead-line lay before her, a low railing ten feet from the fence. She tightened her grip around Jake, realizing sounds were coming from him now, and that he had lost the cloth. His limbs beat against her body in a helpless rhythm. She began to pick up her pace.
A guard stepped forward, raising a revolver. “Stop, I said!”
She began to run, racing through the darkness toward the shadowed fence. The night was split by the flash of
gunfire, multiple reports that clipped the air around her. She leaped high, her feet clearing the upper reaches of the fence. She landed hard on the other side, but maintained her grip on Jake as she continued running, turning south past the university and the smallpox hospital. She raced into the night until the alarm cries were long past, and then began to seek out a place to rest.
She angled toward an old shanty that looked abandoned and kicked in the door. Breathing hard, she peered inside, assuring herself it was empty before entering. Jake had quit thrashing, but tremors continued to run up and down his body. She laid him down carefully and knelt beside him.
His lips tried to move but she shook her head. She glanced back over her shoulder, listening. As she sat there, taking stock of their situation, she became aware of a dull ache low down in her side. She reached back, trying to feel around the heavy layers of cloth. Her fingers found two gashes in her cloak that continued through her dress. She worked her hand beneath, and then pulled it out, staring at the blood that darkened her fingers. As she stared, she watched it slowly dissipate, drawing into her skin. She turned and looked at Jake.
He lay still now, but his eyes were open, watching her. “Got shot,” he whispered.
“I think so.” She stared at her hand, turning it back and forth. “I don’t know . . .”
“Check my shoulder,” he whispered again.
She leaned close and tore at the collar of his shirt, exposing the bandage wrapped around his shoulder. She hesitated, meeting his eyes. He nodded. She peeled away the bandage. Smooth and healing flesh lay beneath, still puckered, but healed well beyond when she had last changed the bandage only two days before. She lifted the edge of his shirt, to find a similar story with his side.
He coughed suddenly, a wet sound accompanied by a spurt of fluid from his mouth. She helped raise him to a sitting position as he coughed, releasing the fluid that had been trapped within his lungs. After what seemed a long while, he gradually stopped and his breathing took on the sound of a normal cadence. He tried to get up, but his legs were shaky and he sat down hard again.
Becomings Page 12