by P A Minyard
Donovan could not contain the look of horror that flashed across his brow.
“I shall start with your tongue, so that I don’t have to hear your pleas for mercy.”
“Leave him be,” he thought.
Benedict was taken aback. He paused at the notion brought forth by Daniel. “He deserves no such courtesy,” Benedict replied.
“Leave him be.”
“The very breath he draws insults me,” Benedict shot back as he walked away from Donovan. “Does his insolence not deserve retribution? Betrayers are the lowest sort of evil.” He waited for Daniel to respond but there was only silence. Benedict turned back to Donovan but the distraction proved costly. Donovan was gone. “You let him get away!” he called out in frustration. “No matter,” he continued. “The second time will be that much sweeter.”
Jonathan crouched down next to his bed and reached under his mattress, retrieving the letter he had written. He placed it in the pocket of his coat, which was neatly folded at the foot of his bed. He looked around the large room to see if anyone was paying attention, but everyone in view, patients and staff alike, seemed preoccupied. Jonathan breathed a sigh of relief.
He crawled back into the bed and pulled the blanket over his legs. It was hard to lie still and pretend to be sick. He could feel the power of the demon flowing through him, and he had never felt so strong. Thinking about the blow he’d delivered to Daniel that day when they were out sparring, it made sense now to him why his brother hadn’t flinched.
“Those bullies wouldn’t stand a chance now,” he thought. But would he stand a chance against Benedict? Benedict was infinitely stronger and far more experienced. “I hope Bernard knows what he’s doing.”
“I ask myself that question every day,” said Bernard, who pulled up a chair.
“I’m never going to get used to this,” Jonathan said as he jumped at the sight of his guardian. Bernard had caught him off guard.
“Your brother felt the same way,” Bernard chuckled. “It appears that you have regained your strength.”
“And then some,” Jonathan said. He couldn’t hold back his enthusiasm. “I’ve never felt like this before.”
“As if you could take on the world,” Bernard replied.
“Exactly!”
“The power is very seductive. You will come to like it, even crave it, as if your next breath depends upon it. But you must fight this urge. Daniel’s pipe will remind you why you came back.”
“How can you be sure Daniel is still alive?” Jonathan asked as he propped the pillow up behind his back.
“Although Benedict possesses the body, it is Daniel who is Beloved. Without Daniel’s power, without his being intact, Benedict is nothing but a demon; a very powerful demon but a demon none the less.” Bernard paused as he looked behind him and smiled at a physician who walked past. “I’ve been keeping my eye on him at a safe distance,” he went on. “He continues to use the gate, among other things.”
“Can I really do this?” Jonathan said, his voice cracking.
“Well, you are dead, and yet we’re having this conversation. I bet you never thought you could do that either.”
“Will the gate open tonight?” Jonathan asked eagerly.
“You must make it open,” Bernard replied. “Bend it to your will and call it forth.”
“How?”
“Concentrate. The power will call to you, and the demon that holds it will be waiting on the other side.” Bernard pushed his chair back and stood as if to leave. “I will return later this evening.”
As Bernard walked away, Jonathan looked around the room to make sure they hadn’t been overheard, but no one was the wiser.
It was early in the morning — maybe 2 a.m. — and all was quiet across the camp. Jonathan looked around the infirmary once again before slipping out of bed and into his uniform. A full moon shone brightly through the row of windows opposite Jonathan’s bed. The room had an eerie, light-blue glow about it. He stood in front of the doorway where the gate had been before. He pulled Daniel’s pipe from his belt and held it in his left hand. He closed his eyes and thought of Daniel and of the task that lay ahead, and opened them to see the gate open in front of him. It was blindingly bright with no way to discern what was on the other side. It was both frightening and intriguing.
He took a deep breath and walked through the gate. On the other side, it was daytime, and he found himself on a cobblestone walk with stone houses lining both sides of the road. He stopped in front of a single-story home made of smooth brown and gray stones with a large slant roof. There were three steps leading to the door, and there were small windows on either side. The small yard looked neglected. There were tall weeds everywhere and cracks in the windows. His chest felt raw and ached that much more each moment he stood before the home.
“They say it’s haunted,” said a small voice to Jonathan’s right. Jonathan was startled. There stood a boy with dirty-blond hair and hazel eyes staring back at him. His clothes were disheveled and covered with dust.
“That’s just the owners trying to keep people away,” Jonathan replied.
“The owners are long gone,” the boy said. “They moved out years ago.
Anyone who enters becomes gravely ill and dies a slow and painful death.”
“Now you’re just trying to scare me,” Jonathan said in disbelief. But when he turned to his right, the boy was gone. All that was left were dusty footprints where he had stood. There were no traces of him either coming or going. Jonathan thought of a word he had heard Daniel say once, only once, and felt it was appropriate at this moment. The ache in his chest nagged him, and he knew the demon must be waiting inside.
He went up the stairs and stood on the small porch. The front door was riddled with cracks and small holes. It reeked of rotting wood. He looked up and down the street, making sure no one saw him. He tried to turn the door handle, but it was locked or stuck. He could still feel the tug at his heart. Not wanting to get caught breaking into a home, Jonathan looked around again before he forced the door open. It gave way rather quickly, and he was surprised by his newfound strength.
The house was dark. He crept in but left the door slightly open to let in some light. He went to each of the windows and tried to open the blinds but they were frozen in place. As he struggled to force them free, he heard the door shut and the lock turn.
“Show yourself!” Jonathan called out as he turned around the room. He could feel the panic and fear course through his veins, and his head started to pound from the excitement. One by one, tiny flames appeared, hovering above his head. It was as if candles were being lit but there were no candles. He watched as they materialized all the way around the room. Then, after the last tiny flame had appeared, the fireplace exploded into an inferno. He took a defensive stance and looked around for signs of anyone else that might be there.
“Are you afraid to face me?” Jonathan called out. He took several deep breaths to calm himself. Bernard had told him the scar would protect him as long as he was conscious. He tried to look alert and ready for anything. The room was full of dust and showed no signs of habitation. There were some china plates in a cabinet along one of the walls and some stools and chairs scattered across the room but not much else. He could see down a hallway that led to the back of the house. Part of a wall was broken in pieces upon the floor. The air was still and all Jonathan could hear was his own breathing. It resonated between his ears like the roar of wind passing through trees.
Slowly, he turned himself in a circle, trying to catch a glimpse of the demon. Without warning, a stool flew off the ground from behind him and knocked him to the floor. Jonathan scrambled to his feet. He looked around the room again and saw no one. A sharp blow to his left shin dropped him to one knee. As he scrambled to his feet once more, he heard faint laughter echoing behind him.
“This is no time for games!” he called out in frustration. He was being toyed with. He backed away slowly from the center of the room, movi
ng toward the fireplace. The fire was still burning brightly, and he kept his back to it, hoping to use its light as a guide. The heat was intense and beads of sweat started forming on his brow.
In the dust in front of him, he saw footprints forming, disembodied and moving rapidly toward him. They were small and childlike. He stepped to one side, reached down, and feeling a shirt within his grasp, held on tight. The boy materialized in his hands, the same boy who had warned him on the path. The demon boy’s eyes turned the deep blue of sapphires as he smiled wickedly. His teeth were pointed and animal-like, and he nipped and snarled at Jonathan, squirming and thrashing, trying to loosen Jonathan’s grip.
When the demon realized there was no escape, it burst into a brilliant green flame, and Jonathan let go immediately, the heat was too much. The fire seemed to consume the demon, but his appearance did not change. His clothes did not burn, nor did his hair or skin. But the flame’s heat intensified and Jonathan cautiously backed away.
“I told you not to come in here,” the boy hissed.
“And on every other day, I probably would have listened,” Jonathan replied. He looked down at his hands and could feel blisters forming.
“This is my house! You cannot take it from me! No one can take it from me!”
The fire burning in the fireplace exploded once more, emphasizing the demon’s rage.
“Nope, don’t want the house either,” Jonathan shot back.
The demon seemed confused and let down his guard. The green flame around him began to diminish, and the fire in the fireplace died down immediately.
“Then, what do you want?” the demon child asked.
“Just this...” Jonathan’s head tipped back and the scar opened, taking the demon’s power in a brilliant flash of blue light.
The look of shock on the demon’s face burned into Jonathan’s memory even as the body faded away into nothingness. The tiny flames disappeared as well, and Jonathan stood alone in the dark. He sighed, opening the door to leave and was surprised to find Bernard sitting on the porch. Jonathan felt dizzy and the sweat was pouring off him.
“Are you all right?” Bernard asked.
“I’ve never been so frightened in my life,” he replied. His chest heaved as he tried to take in the fresh air. “I think I soiled myself.”
Bernard stifled a laugh. Jonathan pushed past him and fell to his knees in the grass out front. He vomited blood and bile, but this time it burned his throat and lips, making him that much more miserable. It felt like lava spewing forth.
“Fire demon,” Bernard said. “Nasty business.”
“Am I always going to get sick like this?” Jonathan gasped.
“This will probably be the last of it,” Bernard said, trying to console him. “You’ve done so well. Daniel would be proud.”
Jonathan smiled, even though he felt like passing out.
Bernard could see his distress. “Cross the gate before you lose your senses,” Bernard told him. “I’ll be there waiting.”
Jonathan pushed himself off the ground and walked through the gate. On the other side, Bernard grabbed him and steadied him. He looked him over and then sniffed at the air around him.
“You smell of smoke. That will never do,” Bernard said, and led Jonathan to another building where there were baths and filled a tub for him.
Jonathan rocked back and forth on his feet as his eyes drooped. “I’ll tend to your clothes,” Bernard said as he handed Jonathan some soap.
Jonathan undressed, leaving his uniform on the floor in a heap. He crawled into the tub and didn’t even notice how frigid the water was. After all the heat he had endured, it felt good. He washed himself down without thought, furiously trying to keep his eyes open. The last thing he remembered was the soap slipping from his fingers and laying his head back on the lip of the tub.
19
A MORE PERFECT VIEW
April 3, 1863
Dear Gerald,
If you must hear everything, I shall tell you, but I will only share the good news.
Jonathan left last week with Robert on a delivery from the foundry. Father thought it was time to send him out into the world and let him look around. Mother was not quite so enthusiastic. She remembers all too well what happened with Daniel when Father took him to Philadelphia for the first time. He came back insisting that he attend West Point, having enjoyed the company of an officer who shared a meal with them. I’m sure he’s told you that story. And I’m sure you have a similar tale to tell of your own.
Father gave Mother some beautiful fabric, and I am helping her sew a new dress. We’ve laid the patterns over it several times, but neither one of us has the heart to cut the material. It is a subtle shade, faded rose, with a hint of satin. I suppose you think us silly, but we don’t want to waste such fine cloth.
I miss Jonathan. I’m happy for him. I’m happy that he got to go on his journey, but he won’t be the same when he comes back. I guess that’s part of growing up. I think that’s why it upset Mother so. She knows that her baby is gone now. I’ve come to understand her on a different level these past few days. It must be hard for a parent to let go of her child. We so wish to break free upon our own path while they hold on for dear life.
As for me, I do have something most exciting to share. The doctor says that I have completely recovered from my illness, and he can find no signs of it whatsoever. I hesitated to tell you sooner for fear that he might be wrong, but I’ve grown stronger with each passing day and no longer doubt his conclusion.
I look forward to seeing you again and hope one day your travels lead you safely to my door. I’m sure your post at Camp Chase keeps you too preoccupied for such frivolity, but should the opportunity arise, know that you are always welcome.
Yours in fondness,
Beth
Duff read the letter again and again, unable to stop the tears from streaming down his face. The news of Beth’s good health was a miracle, and he could not contain his emotions. It was early evening and he had retired for the night to his quarters. Upon arriving, he found Beth’s letter thoughtfully placed on his bunk. The surprise was pleasant indeed.
A knock at the door caused him to wipe his face quickly on his sleeve.
“Poker, old boy?” a voice outside asked.
“Not tonight,” Duff replied, choking on the words, barely able to get them out.
“Everything okay in there?”
“It’s never been better. Thanks for the offer, but I’ll bid you a good night.” Duff was relieved that he didn’t have to open the door.
“Good night to you as well,” the voice said before walking away.
Duff let out a sigh, then sat down on his bunk, letter still in hand. Unable to sleep, he sat there for hours just holding the paper.
Jonathan took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He was back in the infirmary. He lifted his head to find he had a few more bunkmates than before. He had recovered from his battle with the fire demon, and felt well rested and amazingly strong. The gentle scent of fresh bread caught his attention. A plate sat on the stand next to his bed holding two thick slices with preserves and a glass of milk. The bread was still warm when he took his first bite, and the tart blackberry jam reminded him of home. A subtle smile of contentment was all that was left when the last morsel was gone.
He checked the pockets of his coat, which was once again folded at the foot of his bed. He was relieved to find the letter he had written and Daniel’s pipe both still there. It was time, he decided; time to get out of this hospital and time to use the gate to visit his family. “I’ll deliver the letter myself,” he thought. He knew that he wasn’t allowed to show himself, but he wondered if his resolve would change once he saw them.
He thought of Daniel, and of how hard it must have been for him. Daniel’s odd and sudden injuries made sense now. He remembered how Daniel had looked when they found him crumpled and broken in the foyer. The thought that a demon had done that to him gave Jonathan pause. He wasn’t s
ure he wanted to find out what a beating of that severity felt like.
“I see breakfast was to your liking.”
Jonathan turned his head sharply in anticipation of seeing the beautiful young lady, but his face dropped. The person speaking was an unknown older woman, roughly his mother’s age.
“Yes. Thank you,” he stammered. It was hard to hide his disappointment.
“I’d like to see more of that from you,” the woman said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “It’s time I returned to where I belong.” She smiled as she took the plate and cup away.
Jonathan looked around the room. The comfort and protection provided within these walls would better suit a needier soul. It was time to give up his bed. He longed to remain there at camp with the other boys, to train with them, to be a part of their brotherhood.
Over the next two days, Jonathan ate everything they put in front of him. One of the physicians even joked that if they didn’t return him to duty, he’d probably clear out the remaining rations the hospital had for the month.
When the doctors were satisfied that he’d made a full recovery, a young private came to escort him to the barracks. Jonathan hadn’t seen the beautiful young lady for quite some time and grew worried that he wouldn’t have a chance to thank her for all her kindness.
The private showed him to a new cot, one of so many in the tight quarters. To Jonathan’s eyes, the barracks looked half the size of the hospital with twice as many beds.
“There’s a band of new recruits coming in tomorrow,” the private said. “You’ll start out with them. The place is all yours until they arrive.”
“Thank you,” Jonathan replied.
“I’m sorry,” the private said hesitantly, and scratched behind his ear. “I couldn’t find the belongings you came in with. I think they’ve been lost.”
“It’s not a problem,” Jonathan said, playing along, though he knew full well he hadn’t brought anything with him. “It wasn’t much to speak of anyway.”