TWENTY-NINE: Obscurity
As his mother fell forwards, pushed forwards by the force of the bullet, Beckett reached out and held her; stopping her from toppling to the ground. A look of shock had somehow found itself on his face. Quickly, he leaned in, putting an arm around her shoulder, supporting her. He motioned for Elizabeth to do the same. Between them, they managed to drag her away; they slipped down an alley, and around a corner. The redcoats had to reload their guns—and while they were doing so, Beckett, Elizabeth and Audrey all collapsed onto the ground in a dingy alley.
"Mother, can you hear me?" Beckett asked, kneeling next to her, looking concerned. She curled up on the ground with a small moan; her head was on Elizabeth's lap, and Beckett was kneeling by his mother's side, his gaze intent. "We'll find a physician. We'll go get someone who can help us. Then, then we can... we can..."
"I don't know, Cutler," Audrey finally spoke; her voice was thick with pain. "Look. Look at me. Will it get better? Is it too bad?"
Beckett's gaze travelled to a crimson stain on her stomach—the bullet had gone through her from behind, and had come out from her front; her lower abdomen was burst apart at the front, blood cascading out now that she was still. Beckett went cold with dread—he looked at his mother, his mouth opening and closing. A small frown furrowed his brow; this wasn't meant to happen. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Beckett shook his head slightly.
"No," he said, seeming unable to find any other word. He reached out and took a hold of one of her pale hands, frowning deeper as he looked into her eyes, "We'll find a way."
He had always thought that he was perfectly prepared for the day that his mother would die—which he had expected to be rather soon, what with her lack of eating and the amount of poisonous make up and hair dye she used, and the drinking was bound to catch up with her someday. He had always thought that he was ready to say goodbye to her; that it wouldn't affect him at all.
But it wasn't meant to happen this way. She wasn't meant to die, drenched in her own blood, shot in the back, lying in some grimy alleyway, far from home, right in front of him, in so much horrifying detail. It was happening too fast. It was too much, too soon. Beckett wasn't prepared for this amount of emotion after spending nearly a week hemmed in to a place that had seemed intent on driving him crazy.
"No... it's no use..." she winced, her eyes closing. Beckett hesitantly reached forwards, moving some of her fringe from in front of her face; her eyes snapped open. An affectionate gesture from her son—she had been waiting almost two decades for this. It had happened at last; but time was running out.
"Mother," Beckett said evenly, "You know you can't die on me like this. You're not meant to."
"Yes, but there are things that are meant to happen... and things that do," Audrey gave a small, pained laugh, "I'm sorry, Cutler... all of this has been for nothing. Rescuing me, risking your life... it's all been..." her voice faded.
"Shush..." Beckett ran a finger over her cheek, "It'll be fine. It'll... be fine." He repeated it, as if to reassure himself.
"I'm going to die," Audrey said, appearing not to have heard him. "I don't know what to think. It's strange, knowing that you're going to die." Beckett shook his head again, a shade desperately. Elizabeth had no idea what to say or do; she felt out of place here. Like she shouldn't be seeing this. "I'm... I'm scared..."
"It's not as bad as it looks," Beckett said, sounding like he believed himself completely and utterly—as if there was not a single atom of doubt in his mind. He touched a hand to her stomach; Audrey winced in pain, and Beckett's hand came away, a print of blood over his hand.
"Oh... oh, Elizabeth, look after my boy," Audrey said softly, her eyes looking watery in the faint light, a light sob hitching in her throat, "He thinks he knows so much, but... but the world's so dangerous... there are so many people like Lord Leonard who'll... who'll just..." she fell back into silence. Still so naive, even in her death; Elizabeth felt like weeping. She gripped Audrey's shoulder tightly.
"I don't need looking after, mother," Beckett said.
"Everyone needs looking after," Audrey replied with a small smile and a wince that she failed to cover up. The pain was immense; blinding her, white dots dancing in front of her eyes. It had made tears come to her eyes; but now she was crying for a different reason.
"Everyone knows that that's what mothers are for," Beckett said softly, "You're my mother." The emotion on his face, in his voice, was so naked—so raw, that Elizabeth felt it wrong for her to see it. She had never linked Beckett to such things. She looked down at the cobblestones, averting her gaze. She felt helpless—useless.
"Oh... I know I've always been a disappointment as a mother..." Audrey sighed sadly, and Beckett shook his head again.
"No... you... it's not..." he stared at her, as if he didn't know what to say. As if he wasn't sure. Beckett was never unsure. Elizabeth's heart hammered; she didn't know what to do. What to even think.
"You've never forgiven me for that time that I got pregnant, have you?" She gave a tiny, helpless smile, "Like you're the parent, not me."
"It wasn't you I was angry at," Beckett said, "It wasn't you. It was him."
"Don't blame him. He was one of many. I started it. And now... everything's fading away," Audrey sighed, her breath fleeting and faint; Beckett gripped her hand even tighter; for his benefit as well as hers, Elizabeth felt. She continued looking downwards. "I wonder what's waiting on the other side?"
"You can't," Beckett said, "I mean... you can't." There were undertones of confusion to his voice. Like he wasn't sure how this was happening, or why. And a deep conviction—as if he were absolutely certain that this wasn't right.
"I'm old enough to die now, son," Audrey smiled, the feeling in her hand was fading; she could barely feel her son's grip now, "Ready to die in obscurity."
"No, you're not," Beckett said immediately, shaking his head once more.
"You always disagree with everything I say," Audrey smiled softly and tried to shake her head, but the pain was strong in her stomach, and everything was beginning to feel numb. Her vision was swimming. "I've been forty for the last ten years, Cutler. You knew that. Everyone knew."
"Mother..." Beckett looked at her, "I didn't... I don't... don't talk in past tense."
"It hurts, Cutler," Audrey whispered, "It hurts so much. I have to go now. But I'm scared... really scared... I've always been scared..." Beckett looked at her; there were no tears in his eyes, and no desolation on his face; a faint desperation, perhaps, a touch of doggedness.
"But it's not meant to happen like this. I didn't want this to happen," there was a rough edge to his voice, and a deep desperation that wrenched Elizabeth's heart. She wished she were with William; hugging him tightly in her arms, right at that moment in time. Beckett stroked his mother's cheek again, looking straight into her grey eyes, the frown still on his face. What I don't want to happen isn't meant to happen. There was a sort of grim determination to him; as if he were absolutely certain that his mother couldn't die yet.
"I know you didn't, Cutler," Audrey said soothingly, "You tried. You tried so hard. I wish we could have done this before," Audrey said sadly, managing to raise her other arm, with enormous effort; her strength felt like it was being sucked out. She felt like the ground was enveloping her—and she was ready to simply sink in. "Talked like this." Her hand touched his cheek lightly, her fingers curled.
Elizabeth could only look on, feeling even more like crying. Her emotions rocketed; sorrow, pity, sadness, sympathy... the way that mother and son were gently touching each other's faces, the way they tried to soothe each other with their simple presences in each other's lives—almost animal, in a way, like some basic instinct. It was like it wasn't Beckett there. It was an ordinary man. An ordinary man, watching his mother die.
"I don't think I could have," Beckett said, one of his fingers on the hand holding hers stroking her palm gently.
"Everything's... everything's going... it feels... strange," Audrey's eyes slid out of focus, and her eyes blinked slowly. Beckett brought her hand up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles; a simple and polite gesture, but more then he had ever shown to her before. She gave him a tiny smile, before her eyes fluttered closed.
Inside Audrey, everything was shutting down. Her hearing, her feeling, her vision. Black rings appeared around everything, her vision closing down until she could barely make out her son's face. The pain seemed far away now; the wet cobbles on the road beneath her seemed to have become part of her. Suddenly, she couldn't find the strength to move; not a single muscle. Her tears left trails of makeup on her cheeks; tears of pain that she had cried as she was shot, tears of sorrow, tears of fear... just tears.
Men weren't meant to cry. Men weren't meant to be emotional. Stoic and steady, men were supposed to be unaffected by this sort of thing. Though he didn't cry, he was feeling strongly, and though he tried to cover his emotions as best as he could, Beckett had been through a lot recently—his time in the asylum, the constant threats on his life, the roller coaster of emotions he had been forced to suppress when concerning Elizabeth, William, his mother, practically everyone in his life.
"What do I do now?" He whispered, questioningly, mostly to himself—his eyes sliding downwards as his mother's eyes closed, as if he were trying to think through a mist. Elizabeth heard boots crashing on cobbles; coming closer. She tore her gaze from the ground, and saw shadows flickering at the end of the foggy alleyway.
"Beckett, we have to go," she said gently, gripping one of his shoulders.
"Wait, just wait a second," he said, trying to disguise the roughness to his voice, the odd, choking texture to it. He closed his eyes; facing the facts. His mother was dead. He had to accept that, move on. When he opened his eyes, all emotion had been pushed to the back of his mind, pushed deep inside. Some people found it hard to mask emotion; and others, like Beckett, could do it with great ease.
Soundlessly, Elizabeth helped him to his feet; Audrey's hand fell from his grasp and onto the cobbles, and he realized that he had left a handprint of crimson blood on her pale skin. He looked down at his own hand, as if in some sort of detached surprise.
"Cutler," Elizabeth whispered. She could hear men walking closer now, and in the distance, orders were being shouted.
"Let's go," Beckett said, his voice suddenly returning to normal. He turned away from the body of his mother, and allowed Elizabeth to lead him, out of the alley, down a side street, far away.
He didn't look back. He couldn't have if his life had depended on it.
NB: So... how did I do on my first ever real-life 'touching' scene? Was it cheesy, corny, clichéd or crappy? Too drawn-out? Did I go overboard? I tried not to push it to the point of Beckett bawling his eyes out in an out of character manner, but neither did I want it completely emotionless.
There's also that whole 'things left unsaid' thing between mother and son... I suppose you have to be a murderer sometimes when you're being a writer, so to speak, heh... more plot development next chapter. I just felt that this scene needed its fair share of coverage.
Extract from the next chapter: Beckett's voice was cold, indifferent, and matter-of-fact; devoid of all emotion. No expression showed on his face, or in his voice. He walked out of the room, and closed the door gently.
