Chapter 10
"That is absolutely not going to happen, Miles!" Rachel hissed, her eyes burning embers in a face pale with rage. "How could you possibly think that I'd agree to such an asinine idea? Of all the ridiculous, soft-headed, moronic . . ."
Miles stood in front of her, his arms folded across his chest and waited for her rant to finish. When she finally seemed to run out of ways to express her serious doubts as to his intelligence, he spoke. "Honestly, Rachel, you don't have to agree to it. The final decision isn't yours." He watched in morbid fascination as a tide of red rose up her neck and across her face. Just as she seemed ready to lunge at his throat, he held up a hand and cut her off. "We don't have a choice in this," he snapped. "We can't afford to have the Patriots follow us to the cabin and we need to confuse them as much as possible. You, Gene and I have to lay false trails for them to follow. I'll lead Charlie's horse. She can ride double with Bass so they won't know that two riders went in that direction. If they find the tracks, they'll follow the ones with the highest possibility of a significant yield." His face softened slightly and he stepped closer to the fuming woman. "He won't hurt her, Rachel."
"I don't understand, Miles," Rachel insisted, panic starting to creep into her voice. "He's told us where the cabin is. Why can't he leave a trail and you take Charlie to the cabin?"
Miles stood with his hand son his hips, studying the ground for a long moment, before raising his eyes to Rachel's. "Because they both need this," he said simply. "They're hurting, Rachel, and I'm pretty sure that they're the only ones who can help each other."
"Miles," Rachel said incredulously, her eyes wide on his face. "Are you listening to yourself? You want to send my daughter off, the only child I have left, with Sebastian Monroe because you think she can help him?" She took several steps backwards, shaking her head as though she just couldn't fathom such an idea. "Have you forgotten what he's done? What he's taken from us?"
Miles strode up to her and grabbed her shoulders, giving her a little shake. "Have you forgotten what we've done, Rachel?" he asked furiously. "I was right there next to Bass, carving out the Republic. My hands are as bloody as his. I was the Butcher of Baltimore, remember? Why do you think people called me that? And, my God, I'm the one who tricked you into coming to Philadelphia! You didn't see your family for over a decade because of me." Rachel shook her head, tears on her cheeks, and tried to pull away but Miles just tightened his grip. "And when the power went off," he said softly. "How many people died that first day alone, never mind over the last fifteen years?"
Rachel raised tortured eyes to his, betrayal on her face. "We never meant for any of this to happen," she whispered brokenly. "It isn't the same."
"Do you think Bass and I intended to become what we were?" Miles shook her again, his voice harsh. "The four of us – you, Ben, Bass and I – we all thought we were doing the right thing at the time and everything . . . just got away from us. This isn't an excuse, Rachel," he insisted. "But think about it. Charlie has forgiven us both for everything we've done. Everything. She wouldn't be with us if she hadn't. That forgiveness –" he broke off abruptly and dropped his hands from her shoulders. "It changed my life, Rachel. And I think it changed yours. Charlie needs the opportunity to forgive him and he needs to know that maybe he isn't as lost as he thinks. They both deserve that chance."
Rachel pressed her lips together and shook her head, her eyes closed tight as she struggled for composure. Finally she raised her head and looked at him, resigned and yet still quietly furious. "You're going to do what you want," she bit out. "And, knowing Charlie, she'll probably go along with it. But if anything happens to her, Miles, I'll kill him. And I will never forgive you."
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Charlie stared at him for so long that Miles was actually starting to get uncomfortable. "Charlie," he said, "This is the best idea we have."
"He won't agree to it," Charlie told him bluntly. "Miles, he won't even eat his meals with us. How can you think he'll willingly be in my company for . . . what? The next twenty-four hours, at least, right?"
"I didn't ask him," Miles informed her. "I told him that this was how it was going to be."
"And?"
"He didn't say no." Charlie just looked at him. "OK, he didn't say anything," Miles admitted ruefully. "But he hasn't been exactly talkative since Connor died." He stepped closer to her and cupped her cheek with his hand. "It'll be alright, kid," he said soothingly and found himself repeating the words he had said to Rachel. "He won't hurt you."
Charlie quirked an eyebrow. "Miles," she said patiently, as if speaking to a child, "I wouldn't let him hurt me." She rested her hand on the hilt of her hunting knife, which was once again strapped to her waist. Miles suppressed a smile at the gesture of baseless bravado. The kid looked like a slight breeze would knock her over but she still tried to act like the toughest dog in the junkyard. Gotta love that kind of grit.
"But that's not what I'm worried about," Charlie continued as she half turned from him, her hand reaching up to press against her wounded shoulder. "I've . . . been having nightmares," she told him. "Every night. I always wake up before I say anything. At least I think I do. But," she turned back to him, concern in her eyes. "What if I talk in my sleep? What if he hears me? I don't want him to know, Miles."
"Charlie, I think you're borrowing trouble," he assured her. "But honestly, I don't think it would be the worst thing to happen. For either of you." Charlie shook her head and studied her feet. "Kid, you can't keep holding onto this. The memories of what happened – they're poisoning you. You've got to face what happened. Even more, you have to face why you made the decision you did about protecting Bass. Now," he continued, "I'm not saying you have to tell him a thing. Do it, don't do it. Whatever. All I want is for you to be OK."
"When did you become so introspective, Miles?" Charlie asked grimly.
"Oh, you know, man gets to a certain age, he appreciates the need for a hobby," Miles replied with false cheer. He became serious once again, his eyes studying her closely. "Your decision, Charlie," he told her. "If you really don't want to do it this way, we'll change the plan."
Charlie sighed wearily and shook her head. "It's fine," she told him, her voice low. "Honestly, I don't care. I just want to get to the cabin and get my shoulder taken care of. I need it over with."
Miles gestured to Bass and he walked over to join them, leading his horse by the reins. "We're good to go," Miles informed him. He glanced at his niece. "Charlie, why don't you go say goodbye to your mother and Gene?" he suggested. In spite of her exhaustion, both physical and mental, Charlie managed to roll her eyes at his attempt at subtlety and slowly moved to do as he asked.
As soon as Charlie was out of earshot, Miles turned to face Bass. "I swear to God, Bass, anything happens to Charlie, if I find that she's had so much as an uncomfortable moment because of you –"
"Yeah, I get it, Miles," Bass replied coolly. "I'm not stupid. I can't take these Patriots out by myself. I want your help, I take care of Charlie. Simple as that."
Miles stared at his friends, his eyes searching Bass' face. "Yeah," he finally agreed. "Simple as that." He turned and beckoned to Charlie before facing Bass again. "We'll meet you at the cabin tonight. All you have to do is sit tight, make sure she rests as much as possible, and keep a close eye on her. I don't want you leaving her alone, got it?"
Before Bass could answer Charlie was next to him. "I'm ready."
Miles led her around the horse and gently helped her to mount, making sure she had moved up as far as possible so that Bass could climb up behind her. Charlie sat stiffly as bass settled in and slid his arms around her waist to grip the reins. Miles rested his hand on Charlie's leg and gave a little squeeze. "See you tonight, kid." He shifted his eyes to Bass and his faze sharpened. "Stop if she needs to, Bass. Don't push it."
Bass nodded tightly, gathered up the reins, and kicked his horse into motion. Miles forced himself to turn around to face Rachel and Gene. "Alright, you two," he said briskly. "Let's get started."
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Charlie attempted to hold herself away from Bass, reluctant to allow any more contact than absolutely necessary. Between her ribs, her exhaustion, and the infection raging through her body, however, she wasn't able to keep it up for long. She slowly relaxed into the motion of the cantering horse and tentatively rested her back against Bass' chest. She felt him tense behind her and his fingers gripped the reins so tightly his knuckles were white. "Relax, Monroe," she called back wryly. "You're perfectly safe from me." Charlie thought she felt a huff of breath against her hair but, then again, she might have just imagined it.
Other than that brief interaction, if it could even be called that, the miles and hours passed in silence. The sun began its slow descent into the West and still they rode. Though occasionally slowing to a walk, Bass hadn't allowed them to stop and Charlie didn't ask him to. More than anything else, she just wanted to for this interminable ride to end, get to the cabin and put some distance between herself and Sebastian Monroe. The horse stumbled a bit, his exhaustion evident, and Charlie stifled a moan as her ribs protested the sudden movement. Bass tightened his arms around her as he checked the horse. "Not much farther," he told her. "Just over the next rise." Charlie nodded in acknowledgement, grateful that the end was finally in sight.
Less than half an hour later, Bass reined the horse in and slid from its back. Charlie took a moment to examine their new refuge. It was a log cabin, one level, with a stone fireplace rising above the slate roof on a far side of the building. She glanced down and saw Bass standing beside the horse, waiting to help her dismount. Gritting her teeth, Charlie slowly swung her leg over the pommel and slid down the side of the horse. Bass, aware that her ribs were still tender and her shoulder enflamed, gripped her hips and stepped forward so that she was trapped between the horse and his body, cutting off the chance that she might stumble. Charlie landed gently, her hands resting on his arms and she glanced up to find his face disconcertingly near her own. For an endless moment they stared at each other until Bass dropped his hands and moved back. He stepped around Charlie and grabbed the saddlebags and their bedrolls.
"Come on," he said as he walked towards the cabin. "You look like you're going to drop."
Charlie followed him slowly and made her way up the front stairs. She walked through the front door and stopped to take a good look at the cabin. From what she could tell, it hadn't been abandoned for long. There was a thick coat of dust on everything, of course, though some of the dust was streaked, a sign of Bass' presence just the night before. The windows were all intact, though she could see ivy creeping up along the edges of the glass. The fireplace bore the blacked remains of Bass' fire so she was assuming the flue was clear. Charlie was about to explore further when Bass emerged from the hallway dragging a sagging mattress.
"What are you doing?" Charlie asked, confused.
Bass remained silent as he dropped the mattress in front of the fireplace and turned to disappear down the hallway again. Moments later he was back with . . . Charlie blinked. Was that a pillow? She almost moaned in delight. Bass tossed it onto the mattress and turned to grab one of the bedrolls. He unfurled the blanket on top of the mattress and looked at Charlie expectantly. She stared back at him.
"Lay down," Bass finally told her, his tone as flat as ever. "It's going to be too cold in the bedroom tonight. You'll have to sleep here." He turned and walked towards the door. "I'll get some firewood." Before Charlie could answer he was out the door and closed it behind him.
Charlie shook her head and walked over to the mattress, lowering herself gingerly to its softness. Oh, it felt marvelous after weeks of sleeping on nothing but a blanket spread on the hard, unforgiving ground. She sighed as she allowed herself to sink into the mattress, her head resting on the pillow. Charlie was asleep before she even realized her eyes were closing.
Bass finally returned to the cabin, his arms loaded with firewood, and stopped short in the doorway. Charlie was huddled in the middle of the mattress, her head spread out on the pillow and her face, relaxed in sleep, finally wiped clean of tension and pain. She must have been completely exhausted, he told himself. She hadn't even taken the time to get under her blanket, sleeping on top of it instead. Bass crept into the room and gently set the wood next to the fireplace. He'd wait to light it until he woke her up to eat, he decided, and grabbed his own bedroll and gently spreading it over Charlie's sleeping form. He knelt next to the mattress for a long moment as his eyes traced her features, a slight frown marring his brow. Charlie shifted on the mattress and he jerked to his feet. The last thing he needed was for her to wake up and find him staring at her. Bass retreated a few steps and grabbed his rifle, turning to make sure the door was secure. He finally took a seat on the sagging sofa, resting the gun across his lap, and rested his head on an upraised fist. Eventually his eyes drifted closed and he allowed himself to doze.
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Bass jerked awake, his hands gripping his gun as he scanned the room for whatever had roused him. He stood to check the door, his eyes peering into the growing dimness for any sign of an intruder. A gasping cry broke the silence and he whirled to face the threat, only to find himself looking at a still-sleeping Charlie as she writhed on the mattress. Another nightmare, he told himself as he loosened his fingers around the gun. Bass walked silently towards her and knelt down to wake her. Just before his hand covered her parted lips, he paused. She had said his name the last time she had been in the grip of her terrifying dream. The memory of her tormented whisper still haunted him. Bass drew back his hand and sat on the floor next to Charlie's bed. He'd wake her if it got too bad, he thought. But he couldn't just yet. He had to know what was haunting her, why he was involved, and he was afraid if he asked her . . . Charlie cried out softly and Bass clenched his hands together to keep from reaching out to her. Just a few minutes, he told himself. He just had to know.
He would later recall those minutes sitting by Charlie's bed as she struggled against her unseen tormenter as some of the longest of his life. Her neck arched back against the pillow, her face contorted in agony as she was gripped in the horror of her nightmare. Bass felt drops of sweat trickle down his back, so desperately did he fight against his impulse to wake her. Finally, just when he could stand the strangled gasps and sobs no more and reached out to touch her, her lips parted and, in an agonized whisper, she began to speak: "No, please, no more . . . I won't . . . Bass, no . . . won't tell you . . . Bass, run . . . get you . . ." Tears raced down her temples and dampened her hair as her head twisted from side to side. "Miles, I couldn't tell . . . they wanted . . . Bass . . . "
Bass was frozen in place, his hand still outstretched, as he listened to this litany of anguish pour from Charlie's lips. Oh, my God, he thought as he looked down at her. Had she . . . No, it was impossible to believe that, of all people, Charlotte Matheson had . . . protected him? Was it even possible? A tremor ripped through him and he finally lowered his hand to her uninjured shoulder. Her eyes flew open at his touch and they darted frantically around the room before falling on Bass. She drew in heaving lungfuls of air as she looked at him, sitting so silently at her bedside, his face a mask of confusion and pain. She blinked in surprise at such a display of emotion, something she hadn't seen since she had tried to speak to him at Connor's gravesite.
"Charlotte," he said, drawing back his hand. "We need to talk."
Charlie froze and her eyes slid shut as she immediately realized what had brought about this change. The nightmare. She must have talked in her sleep. What had he heard? How did she explain this? Did she even want to? Charlie looked back at Bass, seeing his apprehension, his sadness and even, as incongruous as it might seem, his fear. It was the fear that broke her. In that instant, Charlie realized that Miles had been right. She did need to confront the consequences of her decision to shield Bass. And, as painful and uncomfortable and just plain scary as it might be, it had to be with him.
"Yes," Charlie agreed quietly. "I think we do."
AN: I'm sorry! First I'm sorry for taking so long to update. This chapter absolutely kicked my backside. I just COULD NOT get it written. Transition chapters are the worst. And I'm sorry for cutting it off just when the conversation was going to happen but I felt like that deserves its own chapter. Please excuse any mistakes. After the Herculean struggle to get this sucker finished, I just wanted to post it and have it done! As always, reviews/comments are most welcome and thanks for reading!