Soul

by Dave Blackwell

  The girl screamed out when she was hit, falling to the ground within reach of the shack she was running to.

  “More fun than shooting buffalo!” The man laughed and stopped when he noticed the girl dragging herself across the ice. “Why won’t you die?”

  He slowly walked up to the girl, pulling a revolver from his belt and cocking it.

  Marie got to her bloody and bruised feet, following him.

  The soldier turned the girl over with his boot, holding her down.

  “Well aren’t you an ugly one!” He snarled.

  The girl had been hit in the side of the face, the bullet blinding her. Her eyes were gone, the eye sockets destroyed and bloody. Blood trickled from her eyes, nose and mouth. She choked and tried to speak, crying and moaning

  “You fucking animal!” Marie snapped. “She is just a child!”

  “One less to worry about.” The soldier said. “Better put you out of your misery.” The soldier aimed the gun at the girl’s head.

  The door to the shack opened and the soldier was too slow to react, the elderly lady thrust the knife into his throat and twisted it. He groaned and dropped his rifle and revolver, his hands going to his throat as he tried to stem the blood flowing.

  The elderly lady watched as the soldier collapsed and then bent down next to the girl.

  “Kimimela.” She whispered.

  Marie recognised the word.

  “What?” She said. “How is this possible.”

  “This is Kimimela’s story.” Catherine’s voice came from behind her. She was dressed in cloth and animal skins like the old lady, her hair decorated with beads and feathers.

  “I don’t understand.” Marie said. “Where are we?”

  “This was a massacre, the massacre of Wounded Knee.” She sighed. “It was a harsh winter, December eighteen ninety.”

  “They killed everyone.” Marie groaned. “Why?”

  “A gun went off accidentally and the soldiers saw fit to murder everyone.” Catherine said, the anger burning inside her. “The elderly lady is Kimimela’s grandmother.”

  “The man you saw beaten to death, was my father.” Catherine sighed. “I do not what became of my mother.”

  “No offence but you do not really look native American.” Marie laughed nervously. “Was your mother white?”

  “Yes.” Catherine nodded. “She was adopted by our tribe many years before.”

  “Why?” Marie asked. “What happened to her?”

  “I have no idea.” Catherine smiled. “The memory of my mother is very vague.”

  Marie watched as the old lady gently picked up Kimimela and carried her into the shack, laying her down on a bed of fur next to an elderly man.

  The man reached over, cradling Kimimela who had gone into shock. The lady laid down, getting closer so Kimimela was in the middle of them both, she placed a beaded mask over her eyes, a mixture of beads, black and white.

  “What are they doing?” Marie said looking at Catherine and then looking around her, they were alone.

  “Watch.” Catherine said.

  Marie looked through the glassless window.

  The woman muttered something to the old man, he nodded and looked at the body of the soldier at the doorway, still alive.

  The man sat up, extremely thin and frail. He grabbed hold of the soldier by the back of the neck and without any effort, he dragged him into the shack. Groaning he laid back down and looked at the woman who nodded and smiled.

  The woman placed her hand on Kimimela’s chest and the other against the old man’s chest. The old man placed his hand on the soldier and the other on the lady’s hand. The soldier began to convulse, blood bubbling from the wound in his throat. The elderly couple began to groan, blood trickling from their noses.

  “What?” Marie was confused and looked at Catherine who just smiled.

  Marie turned away when the primal screams echoed in her ears, she fell to the floor in a panic, squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears. The screams cut into her, she could feel it deep in her chest like someone had stabbed her and twisted the knife.

  “Marie.” Catherine said. “Look.”

  Marie opened her eyes, tears running down her face.

  “What the hell?” She rubbed her chest. “That felt like someone was trying to tear my heart out.”

  “Look.” Catherine indicated towards the window.

  Marie got up from the floor, wiping the tears from her face. Looking at Catherine, she then looked through the window.

  The elderly couple and the soldier were dead, at the centre Kimimela was new-born, she lay naked in the fur, crying.

  Marie looked at Catherine in confusion.

  “I was twelve years old when I gained the gift.” Catherine said. “Passed onto me by my grandparents.”

  “How?” Marie stuttered. “Where did it come from? How do you remember this?” Marie found it hard to believe.

  “Like this, memories stored in my genetics.” Catherine laughed. “I don’t know, but when I die all those memories revisit.”

  “You have died before?” Marie asked.

  “Yes.” Catherine sighed. “And I remember everything.” She walked away from Marie.

  “Wait.” Marie ran after her. “Does it hurt?”

  “Yes. The body remembers every injury and death. When I absorb someone’s life, all that pain floods back.” Catherine explained. “That is why when you found me, I was suffering from memory loss and I was mute.”

  “You were eighty when you died.” Marie worked out the date in her head. “So, you have died before?”

  “I have died three times since I received my gift.” Catherine stopped and faced Marie. “The last time was when Martin’s nephew shot me.”

  “How come you started off as a baby here?” Marie turned to the shack. “But you were ten years or so when I found you?”

  “We don’t know how it works, but when my grandparents gave me the gift, they took the what the soldier had left.” Catherine said, walking towards a shack. “It is possible that receiving the gift returned me to new-born?”

  “How have you kept this a secret?” Marie called out.

  Catherine walked to the shack door and opened it, looking back at Marie she then closed the door.

  “Catherine?” Marie groaned and ran to the shack, pulling the door open and stepping inside.

  Scotland – 1922

  The woman sat at the desk, surrounded by books and papers and a small safe. The office was dimly lit and small, a small fire lit up the area and on each side of the room were standing lamps. Across one wall was a row of wooden seats, on the opposite side were bookcases with hundreds of books all neatly lined up. The walls were polished wood and the floor was scuffed, with a large rug at the centre in red. Behind the desk was a large window which had curtains drawn, in front of the desk was a door.

  Catherine sat on a wooden chair, leaning back and watching the woman at the desk. The door opened and Marie walked in, she saw Catherine and sat down next to her.

  “Where is this?” Marie asked. “What is that smell?”

  “One of my textile factories in Scotland.” Catherine breathed in deeply. “That was the fabric dump behind the factory, doesn’t smell so great when it is wet.” She sighed. “But it brings back memories.”

  “Is that you?” Marie looked at the woman. “You look so different.”

  “Yes. That is me.” Catherine smiled. “This was a couple of days after I bought the factory.”

  “Hold on.” Marie turned and faced her. “How did you get from the states to Scotland?”

  “Patience.” Catherine said. “That will come.”

  Marie nodded, sitting back in the chair.

  “These are uncomfortable.” Marie shuffled in the chair.

  “We have gotten soft over the years.” Catherine shook her head.

  “What was your name?” Marie asked looking at the woman.

  “I was named Charlotte.” Catherine said. “Hated
it but my adoptive father chose it, after his daughter died.”

  “Oh.” Marie was lost for words. “Who were they?” Marie asked.

  “Quiet.” Catherine shushed her. “This is when it happens.”

  A knock at the door caused Charlotte to jump.

  “Come in.” she put her pen down.

  The young boy opened the door and closed it behind him, smartly dressed in a grey suit he stood in front of the desk. He was short and slim, no more than fourteen years old. His hair greased and combed.

  “Excuse me for disturbing you madam.” The boy said apologising. “I know you didn’t want to be disturbed, but we have an issue with a previous employee.” The boy responded nervously.

  Charlotte smiled and the sighed.

  “James.” She said. “You need to stop calling me that. My name is Charlotte.”

  “But that wouldn’t be proper Miss.” James shook his head.

  “I am giving you permission to call me Charlotte.” She said with a smile.

  “Okay Miss Charlotte.” The James said slightly nervous.

  “Just Charlotte is fine.” She said.

  “I would prefer Miss Charlotte.” James said.

  “Okay if it makes you feel better?” She smiled. “Miss Charlotte it is.”

  James nodded and smiled, breathing a sigh of relief.

  “So, what is this disturbance?” Charlotte asked.

  “The men that were sacked Miss Charlotte.” James stuttered. “One of them is back and wants to see you.” James began to sway nervously.

  “Okay you can stop that right now.” Charlotte smiled. “I will deal with him. Send him in.” She nodded reassuringly. “And then you can go home.”

  “I have not finished yet Miss Charlotte.” James said. “Please may I finish my duties?” He begged.

  “If you insist.” Charlotte responded. “Come and see me before you go.”

  “Okay, Miss Charlotte.” James turned and left the room.

  Charlotte chuckled and smiled.

  “Sweet kid.” Marie whispered.

  “Yes, he was.” Catherine’s voice broke. “I buried him in two thousand and six.”

  “Wow.” Marie exclaimed. “Lived a long life.”

  “Yes. He was a beautiful man.” Catherine said.

  “Did he know?” Marie whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?” Catherine said loudly. “No one can hear us.” She poked her tongue out at Marie. “And yes, he did.”

  “Did you ever.” Marie hesitated. “Cure him or anything?”

  “He got lung cancer in the mid-nineties. I offered to cure him, but he refused and went down the normal route.” Catherine laughed softly. “Chemotherapy cured him.”

  “Lived a long life.” Marie said. “Why did you ask him back?”

  “Books.” Catherine pointed to the shelving. “I was helping him learn to read, so every weekend I let him choose a couple of books to take.”

  “Oh, that is sweet.” Marie smiled.

  “Yes. He never got to read them sadly.” Catherine laughed. “But he eventually becomes a successful author.”

  There was a loud knock at the door.

  “Come in.” Charlotte said looking up at the door.

  The man walked into the room, tall and muscular with thick stubble and shoulder length dirty black hair. He wore a dirty white shirt, tattered grey trousers and an overcoat down to his ankles, worn and damaged at the base. He had black muddy boots in which were heavily worn. He left the door open.

  “Hello.” Charlotte said. “How can I help?”

  “I need my job back.” The man slurred with a cockney accent.

  “And your name is?” Charlotte asked, opening a book in front of her.

  “Jack.” The man said bluntly. “Jack Smithers.”

  Charlotte scrolled down the page and stopped halfway.

  “Yes.” She looked up at Jack. “You were sacked for theft.”

  “I made a mistake.” Jack said. “The previous owner wasn’t too bothered.”

  “Well Jack. I am not the previous owner. I chose not to inform the police.” Charlotte closed the book. “You lied. If there is anything that I despise it is lying.” She sighed. “You were caught stealing from me.”

  “I want another chance.” Jack slurred. “I will make it up to you.”

  “No. Sorry.” Charlotte said.

  “It ain’t right.” Jack snapped. “Coming from you.”

  “Excuse me?” Charlotte stood up. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Women don’t belong in this line of work.” He snarled. “You should be at home, on your back with your legs open doing your duty!” Jack shouted.

  “How dare you.” Charlotte slammed her hands on the table. “Get the hell out of my factory before I call the police.”

  “I ain’t scared of no woman!” Jack laughed.

  “I suggest you leave, otherwise I will see that your life is made very uncomfortable.” Charlotte’s tone changed.

  “I need this job.” Jack shook his head. “I have kids.” He growled. “I got a family.”

  “Well you won’t find them in the bottom of a glass.” She smirked. “Will you?”

  “You are a fucking whore.” Jack snapped.

  “Get out.” Charlotte said calmly and sat down.

  Jack stuttered.

  “Out!” Charlotte shouted.

  Jack turned and walked to the doorway, pausing.

  Charlotte looked up.

  “Forgotten something?” She asked.

  Jack pulled a revolver from his pocket, turned around and aimed it at Charlotte.

  “You had this coming.” Jack said. “You were warned.” He snarled.

  Without warning he fired two shots and ran from the room. Charlotte fell from her chair and landed heavily against the floor. One bullet had hit her in cheek, the other in the chest. She lay on the floor, breathing heavily as blood poured from the chest wound and tricked from the wound on her face.

  The door flew open and James looked around frantically, he froze when he saw Charlotte on the floor. He had a bloody nose and his hair messed up.

  “Miss Charlotte!” He said. “Oh no!” He ran to her side, bending down. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Don’t touch me.” Charlotte groaned. “Go to my house.” She struggled to speak. “Tell them what happened here.” She coughed. “Tell them it was Jack Smithers.”

  “I understand.” James said, tears running down his face. “Please don’t die Miss Charlotte.”

  “Go now.” She smiled. “Tell no one else.”

  Charlotte groaned and passed out.

  James moaned and got to his feet, running from the room.

  Marie stood by the desk, looking down at Charlotte as she slowly bled out.

  “You don’t have much luck with guns.” Marie turned to Catherine.

  “No.” Catherine sighed. “Men do seem to like guns.”

  “What happened?” Marie asked. “While you were out cold.”

  “I dreamt.” Charlotte smiled. “The forest.”

  “What is that forest?” Marie asked. “I have never been there.”

  “It’s a place I went to as a child.” Catherine stood up. “Somewhere my father took me.”

  “Where is it?” Marie wanted to know.

  “Yosemite National Park in California.” Catherine said. “My father had a thing for butterflies.”

  “Sounds nice.” Marie said softly.

  “Have you been?” Catherine asked.

  “No.” Marie shook her head and knelt next to Charlotte. “Was you scared?” Marie looked up.

  “No.” Catherine said without hesitating. “My grandmother visited me in my dreams, showed me my past.”

  The door flew open and Elizabeth ran in holding a small black bag. She was wearing a long black skirt, a white blouse and a red jacket. Her hair neatly tied back and plaited.

  “Charlotte?” Elizabeth groaned when she saw Charlotte at the side of the ta
ble. “Charlotte speak to me.” She bent down. “Oh no what did he do to you!” She noticed the gun wound on her face and whimpered. “My poor little girl!” She cried.

  Marie turned to Catherine who nodded and smiled.

  “Elizabeth is your mother?” She asked. “How is that possible?”

  “Foster mother.” Catherine corrected her. “She found me.”

  “But that makes her…?” Marie tried to find her words.

  “Older than me.” Catherine nodded. “Much older.”

  “How?” Marie scoffed.

  “I will explain that later.” Catherine said. “Sit down.” She tapped the chair next to her.”

  Charlotte opened her eyes as Elizabeth dressed her wounds.

  “Mother.” She said weakly.

  “Hold on.” Elizabeth begged. Hold on for a little longer.”

  “James?” Charlotte groaned.

  “He went to get your father and show him where Jack went.” Elizabeth said, stroking Charlotte's hair.

  “So cold.” Charlotte shivered.

  The door flung open and Jackson walked in carrying Jack over his shoulder. He growled and threw him to the floor. Jackson had long hair combed back, a trimmed beard and wore a black suit. His shirt was torn and bloody.

  James followed and closed the door.

  “You can go James.” Jackson said.

  “Father.” Charlotte reached for Jackson who bent down. “Let him stay.”

  Jackson nodded in understanding and stood up.

  “She wants you to stay James, but I need you to promise me that nothing leaves this room.” Jackson said. “This will be our secret, and you will become one of our family.”

  James nodded and smiled.

  “I will do anything for Miss Charlotte.” James said. “I promise.”

  “Has everyone gone?” Elizabeth asked James.

  “Yes Miss Elizabeth.” He coughed. “No one in the factory.”

  “Have you removed the bullets?” Jackson said.

  “No.” Elizabeth said and sighed. “Too deep.”

  “We will deal with it another time.” Jackson said.

  Jack started to groan and move, Jackson walked up to him and without warning kicked him in the face, knocking him unconscious.

  “I like this kid.” Jackson laughed. “Elizabeth do you have the cuffs?”