No infringement is intended on the characters belonging to Stephen Summers
& Universal. R.Campbell, E.Hammond,
H.Furborough A.Trigg and N.Waters are entities borne of my own imagination.
Well, General Trigg partly belongs to
A.J.Mackey. Before she mentioned him, he didn't even exist in my little
world. No money is being made from this story,
it's for enjoyment purposes only.
CAPTAIN OF HIS SOUL by Marcher
gama39@austarmetro.com.au
Rated R
CHAPTER 17 ~ Red Sky In The Morning
Andrew Trigg sat tall and silent in the saddle watching his troop assemble. The almost crimson sunrise which framed their backs did more than merely allude to the scorching heat that awaited them on this journey; and the young General swiped at the beads of sweat already forming on his brow.
His mount whinnied, tossing it's mane about restlessly and Trigg leaned forward to stroke the beast's neck. His eyes drifted across to the afflicted Neil Waters and he considered the man silently. The soldier had been carried into camp just before daybreak and his jaw tended to by the medic, but no questions were asked under orders from Trigg himself. It required nothing more than simple deduction on his part to understand that Waters' injury was the result of keeping company with the ill fated Furborough. Their friendship was notorious within the Regiment.
General Trigg stood firm on his promise to his old friend, even to the point of distracting the local constabulary. They arrived not long after Waters was carried into camp and requested that the General identify the uniformed body which they had shrouded beneath a calico sheet and laid atop a dray. Under flickering torch light, Trigg deferentially identified his deceased Corporal and apologised at being unable to shed any light on how the man came to meet such an obviously violent demise. All he offered was an ambiguous thought about how quickly death can claim the reckless, especially those with Furborough's irascibility. Unsatisfied, and doing naught to disguise it, the Police hinted in their own tactless manner that conspiracy to murder, or hindering the law after the fact, carried no less a penalty than committing the deed yourself. But Trigg had given O'Connell his word on that matter and the provincial heavyweights could do little to stop the Legion from leaving, so that was an end to it.
Waters' dull groaning jolted Trigg from his thoughts and he turned to look at the soldier, "You'll be wishing they'd thrown you in the river alongside Furborough by midday."
The soldier coughed painfully. He was unable to speak and just the mere thought of midday seemed to make the agony worse. And these were the first words his General had spoken to him since his return to camp and there was no compassion in them. "Whatever part you played in the events of Corporal Furborough's death, or those leading up to it, will hold no sway with me unless you speak of them. To anyone! There will be no enquiry, nor will any charges be laid against you so long as your injury resulted in a fall from your horse." He paused briefly, staring hard at Neil Waters, "Do I make myself clear, Private?"
His fractured jaw prohibited him from speaking clearly and the bandage about his head was hot and irritable, but the nod offered by Waters caused as much pain as if he had spoken. He was dreading the journey ahead of him and more than a little curious of the General's actions regarding Furborough, but he was smart enough to recognize a reprieve when one was offered him. Gingerly pressing a hand to his bandaged jaw, the wounded Private grunted his agreement.
Trigg watched the soldier's agony a moment longer before casting an eye over the now assembled troop. He nodded for his second in command to move the Regiment out and the Officer obeyed. All horses jerked forward and Waters moaned miserably. Setting apace alongside his injured man, the General turned his head and spoke quietly. "You could have done worse, Waters. You may not have lived to regret it."
Waters knitted his brow at this last comment then closed his eyes with the realization that bumping into O'Connell yesterday had been no accident.
The procession moved steadily through the streets past Fort Brydon. Looking up, Trigg saw O'Connell standing on the balcony watching as the fleet of white passed by. He stood separated from the onlookers on the streets below and appeared transfixed with a different scrutiny. Neither American raised an arm in gesture to the other, but each conveyed an understanding and a farewell through a brief unbroken gaze.
O'Connell stayed propped up against the balcony wall, watching solemnly until the entire Regiment had passed before stepping back inside.
"Oh for pity's sake! Ya could at least 'ave donned a shirt before spreadin' yaself thick on t'world! And me just done with breakfast!"
Rick turned to face his irritated friend. Bemused by Ross' disgusted reaction at his appearance, he ran a hand over the white singlet covering his chest and offered a look of indifference; this was his home and Ross could take him anyway he damn well found him! There were more important things to consider this morning. Things such as what to do should the problem of Furborough's death somehow find it's way back to him. So without a word, Rick turned and sat down to pour himself a coffee.
"Bloody hell!" The Doctor's voice boomed out across the room unexpectedly and Rick spat the coffee back into his cup! "Who's 'ad a go at ya this time?"
O'Connell waved angrily at his noisy guest, still choking on the hot coffee and furious at the sudden outburst! Unable to speak, he thrashed his good arm as a warning for the doctor to lower his voice. Evelyn was still asleep and he wanted her to stay that way.
"For the love of all things black 'n' blue! What's 'appened now?!"
Wiping the remnants of coffee from his face with the back of his hand, Rick pushed his chair back and whispered in angry frustration, "Will you keep your voice down. You know damn well what happened."
"No, I believe I don't." Ross pointed to the American's shoulder, "What I know, is that last night I stitched that arm 'n' this mornin' it's a bloody mess again! Who's been tryin' t'kill ya between then 'n' now?"
Rick twisted his wounded shoulder into view and saw the dried blood caked over Ross' handiwork. He'd felt every punch that Evelyn landed last night, but he hadn't realized she'd made it bleed. Surprisingly though, it didn't feel anywhere near as bad as it looked but Ross didn't know that as he took a firm, unsympathetic hold either side of the wound. "Jesus, Mary 'n' Joseph! Why don't ya limit yaself to one killin' a night!? Honest t'God lad! You're an accident lookin' for a place t'happen!" He pressed his thumbs over the wound and this time Rick winced and tried to pull his arm away. "So what did ya get up to after I passed out last night?"
"Arrgh! Watch it will ya! I didn't get up to anything!"
"I believe I must have done that." Evelyn's dry whisper caught both men off guard. She had been standing in bedroom doorway completely unseen all this time.
It took Ross a moment for what she had said to properly sink in and when it did he spluttered nervously. "Oh I see. Well that's...that's um...different Lass. He probably deserved it. Good for you!"
Throwing an angry glare in Ross' direction, Rick tugged his arm free and the pair of them stood silently like two awkward school boys who had been caught fighting in the playground, each eyeing the other in order to pass the blame. After all that had happened in the bathroom last night, this was something Rick really didn't want his wife to see. The quicker this scene was forgotten, the better. "Ross, why don't you..." Rick nodded towards the door and Ross gratefully accepted the opportunity to leave.
"Yes. Right then!" The Yorkshire man back stepped awkwardly, "I'll just go 'n' fetch...ahh...whatever....I...ahh...I need to clean that arm up while the two of you....um....SIT!...yes that's it!" He hastily pulled a chair out for Evelyn and stood back. "The two of you just...ahh...sit down and....and...I'll be right back." And with a click of the door Ross had vanished.
Rick stared at the closed door and sighed; meanwhile Evelyn had made her way over to the table and slipped silently into the empty chair. She looked quickly at his shoulder before lowering her eyes and making her hands busy fussing with the breakfast crockery. "I would have needed a weapon of some sort to cause that much damage. How did you come to get it in the first place?"
Leaning across, Rick stilled her hands and gently squeezed them together running his thumbs over the grooves of her knuckles. "It's not important. Not enough for you to worry about anyway."
She nodded, still staring at the table, "Oh."
Rick wrapped one arm about her shoulder and leaned in to softly kiss her forehead, "You really should be resting."
"Is he dead?"
The question caught him by surprise although he knew it shouldn't have. He tilted his head back to see her and she was looking at him now, waiting for him to speak. He thought about lying to her; about playing dumb; even about ignoring her question completely; in the end he answered truthfully. "Yes."
"Are you in trouble?"
"Not yet."
"So what happens now?"
He pulled her back into him and her head settled into his chest. "I fuss over you."
Her half teary giggle had him forcing down a lump in his throat that had been threatening to choke him since he caught sight of her standing in the doorway. The morning air was humid, yet she still shivered against him and he rubbed her shoulder slowly. She was pale, ill and in no fit state to go anywhere other than back to bed and the nagging worry that he might be forced to move her and Alex out of Egypt ate relentlessly at him. Andrew may have managed to cover any lead on Furborough's death and keep Neil Waters in line at the same time; but it was only a matter of time before somebody put two and two together and pointed a greedy finger at him. He glanced about the room and was relieved to see that either Ross or Jonathan had removed the morning's newspaper and with it the grizzly news of a reward for a soldier's killer.
He looked down at his wife. The corner of her lip was swollen and scabbed. Just below her chin and underneath were three finger-shaped bruises which had taken on a blackish colour. Last night when he pulled her from the freezing bath he had noticed similar markings on her shoulders and back. Bruises and scratches covered her arms and legs and now here she was shivering in the heat. Staying close to her bed was what she needed, but Rick knew his hand could be forced and that would mean moving her out of Cairo. Possibly even as far as London! It was obvious to anyone that she wasn't up to a journey like that. The only other option he had was to leave his small family here until the whole mess died down but there was no telling how long that would take. Besides which, the latter was now completely out of the question. No, he had to concentrate his efforts on laying low and making Evelyn well.
"Are you hungry?"
An ordinary question, but the sound of her husband's voice broke Evelyn's prolonged stare at his hand over hers. "Not really. Just some tea."
As he watched the steaming brown fluid pour from the spout, Rick recalled the conversation he had with Emir. That look he saw in the Egyptian's eyes was playing on his mind and more than ever, Rick was convinced that this was a desperate man. If Wainwright shut the door in his face, Emir would find another way to save his skin. Huffing at the irony, he replaced the teapot onto it's coaster and Evelyn lifted her eyes to her husband briefly before reaching over silently for her cup. The china clattered as she knocked it, spilling the contents over her hands and staining the tablecloth. Pulling her hand away from the burning tea, she quickly placed her smarting fingers into her mouth.
"Be careful!" Rick grabbed her hands and studied them before trying to lift her spirits. Sadly though, his light-hearted attempt to tease her backfired terribly due to nothing more than a few badly chosen words. "Clumsy." Smiling gently, he kissed the tips of her fingers, "It's just like banging your knee on the bath last night."
Evelyn spat her words at him so abruptly and with an anger he had never heard in her voice before. "I challenge you to do any better if you were in my position!"
"Sweetheart, I was only trying to cheer you up."
"By calling me names! He didn't just shove me about and steal my handbag, Rick!" She was shaking and on the brink of tears. Her voice quivered as she banged her hands on the table causing the dishes to clatter when Rick tried to hush her. "Who knows how long he was following me just waiting for his chance. I went to find Ethan's grave because, according to you, it was necessary in order to feel as badly as you did!" Her eyes narrowed into slits as she scowled at him and Rick's heart thumped in his chest at the raw bitterness edging her words. "So I found his tiny grave and I stood there staring at it. All alone, just like you did." Evelyn tilted her head and in a hollow chirp asked, "Happy now?"
Rick huffed the air from his lungs and pushed his chair away from the table, causing it's four legs to screech against the floorboards. He let his head fall forward but said nothing. Evelyn watched him briefly then continued, but this time her voice was nothing more than a whisper. "When I turned around he was standing there. Leering at me. No different than when he crept into my room while you were in Lybia. Only this time Jonathan wasn't there to shoot him in the leg. And of course, there was no you!"
"Evie..." Rick held out his hands hoping against all odds that she would accept them, perhaps even sit on his lap and cry against his shoulder. Anything! Just so long as she didn't go any further. To his dismay, she refused the offer.
"I was only ever there because of you. Because you blamed me." Her words were so quiet and each one fell onto the hardwood floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. "Did you ever stop to think that I was practically forbidden to step foot outside the bedroom?" Rick shook his head slowly in response just as she rose from the chair and laughed sarcastically towards the ceiling badly mimicking Dr. Campbell's accent, "Not 'til ye've fully recovered m'girl. HA!" She walked across the room keeping her back to her husband, "And you and Jonathan were sitting in the bar." Her last few words were spat in disgust.
It wasn't shame that gripped Rick's heart; it was a profound grief. An abstruse sorrow verging on sickness deep in his gut. Every accusation she made hit it's mark cleanly and he couldn't bring himself to say anything, just to merely stare at the white porcelain cups and saucers sitting on a tea stained tablecloth. His only thoughts of what he might say to her were trite and too late. Whatever his anger over his son's death, whatever he had accused her of, she didn't deserve the fate that was meted out to her. Her voice began to intermingle with the vision in his mind of finding her laying unconscious and bloodied in a dirty back alley of Cairo and he closed his eyes again.
"You didn't even speak to me when I told you I was taking Alex for a walk!" She paused with disbelief and her voice drifted with her thoughts, "You didn't even speak..." she turned to stare at her husband without really seeing him and continued in a voice that was barely there. "Do you know what he did?"
Opening his eyes, Rick slowly lifted his head and bit his lip. He knew she was going to tell him regardless of his answer and he owed it to her to listen. But as he looked at her, he wondered if she knew everything? Had Ross told her exactly what he had told him, or was that something else to drop on her later? Once more, her voice crept over his thoughts and he heard what she was saying, "...smirking at me, not letting me past." Evelyn was wringing her hands and her knuckles were turning white, "I knew what was going to happen when I saw the other one blocking the way out..."
"You don't have to tell me, Evelyn. I've got a good enough idea." He was trying to spare her the ordeal of telling him as much as he was trying to spare himself, but she deliberately ignored him.
"...All of a sudden I couldn't see Alex any more!" She began to heave and panic, "I called out for him and then he grabbed my arm so tightly it hurt and then he shoved me backwards and I tripped and fell!
Rick was standing in front of her now, "Evelyn. Please."
"He was all over me! Laughing and sweaty..."
Rick pleaded with her, "Evelyn!"
She cried and spoke at the same time, "God! He just stank! And that horrid laugh of his!" She looked directly into Rick's eyes as he cupped her face in his hands and spoke to him as though she were hoping he could explain it to her. "He was pushing my head back against the ground and I kept telling him I had to find Alex but he wouldn't let me go!
"Sweetheart, listen to me. None of this is your fault. None of it!"
"Do you know what he did?" she whispered between tears. "Do you know?"
Rick waited for a moment, still holding his hands to her face, then nodded.
"I..." she was shaking her head and really crying now, "...I tried so hard but I couldn't stop him."
He pulled her head against his chest, hoping this was the end. Even though part of him had wondered how long and how helplessly she had struggled, but now that the cold truth presented itself he discovered himself preferring it be left unsaid.
"...and when I screamed he hit me and held my head down. The sand was choking me as much as his hand. It seemed endless and all I could hear was him grunting!" At this, Evelyn frantically broke her husbands embrace, pulling away sharply holding her mouth and stomach as though she was about to disgorge. "Oh God!" her hand muffled her revulsion. Rick touched her shoulder and she jerked away, hysterical. "I can still smell him! He's all over me!" Rick was forced to watch as she repeated the same frantic actions he caught her doing the night before in the bath. Her fingers clawed over her arms as though she was trying to scrape away some unseen cover. Her terrified account was slicing at him more savagely than any blade, yet he was left with no choice other than to listen as she painfully raged between anger and fear and finally a sort of detachment as though she were looking at a photograph of someone she didn't know.
"It wasn't me. I couldn't have been." She caught his eye with her desperate question, "Could it?"
God, what a question! There was no way of answering her. All he had to offer was sympathy.
"I thought..." Yet again her gaze drifted, then her head and finally her feet followed until she was leaning against the back of a chair. "...I thought...that if I was as still as possible then it wouldn't really be me at all. But that just made him angry and he hit me again. Twice I'm sure, and then I must have blacked out because he was gone when I opened my eyes." A single tear slid down her cheek, followed by another and then another. "But it was me." She spun around to face him now, "Wasn't it Rick? It didn't end and he stayed there pushing the side of my face into the ground while he grunted...." her lip curled in disgust "...and grunted."
~O~
"Mena House." Emir Hammond spat onto the ground then slapped the dust from his pants, "Just bribe the doorman and they'll let you in." The frustration in his tone was sharp and the thief was in a dark mood. His thoughts fumed over his recent visit to the city's grandest hotel and the man he was refused an audience with. O'Connell had assured him that this Mr. Wainwright would be accessible and open to discussion on whom would deliver the loot, but he had been thrown back into the street without ever meeting the man. If things had been getting tight for Hammond over the last week, they were now desperate! He had less than two days to settle his debt and it was appearing more and more that he would be paying it with his life. Time was short! He was certain that Nasser would be looking for O'Connell as well and he had to get to the American first if he stood any chance of getting his money.
The sun was sitting low on the horizon still. At the very least he had a full day to take advantage of. Then his eyes fell upon a notice plastered to the side of a building...and the penny dropped! A ghost of a smile crept across Hammond's face as he remembered how distracted O'Connell had been when they bumped into each other yesterday. How insistent he had been that same evening when he said he was pulling out of the deal and even willing to relinquish his share of the money. How dead that Legionnaire was who had his bloated face pictured on the stark notice glued to the sandstone wall. And how big the reward which was being offered for the murderer! Emir smiled.
end chapter
A/N: It's been a LONG delay between chapters in this story. Still, it's here now and I hope you all enjoyed. Thanks to everyone who emailed me to make sure I was continuing. It's nice to know people are still keen to see what happens. Life ... you know. After all the time it's taken me to write this chapter, I hope it's not too short because it feels as though it was a tome!
MBOOKER: I am so very sorry. I missed you off the last thank you list and when I realized I felt terrible. You've been with this story from start and I forgot to put your name on the list. But not this time. You're first. Thank you for the reviews and for always reading. But what have happened to your own stories?
AJMACKEY: Let it be known. Without my AJM this chapter would still be months away. This lady pulled me out of a severe writers block and threw in extra ideas to boot. Thank you for the encouragement and the help. Couldn't have done it without you.
RUSE: My friend. Thank you for always hanging in there with this story and for writing such stories that inspire me to continue. Thank you for the emails and the Boromir pics and the distracting quizzes which make me laugh. You have no idea how much fun they can be! ;) You've yet to send me a naked Boromir though. After all, I did find a naked Hugo for you! ;)
SHELBY: Another wonderful lady who's been there from the beginning. Thanks for everything.
JESSICA: I've never worried about when reviews come, they're welcome at any time. Thank you. :)
CAPTAIN OF HIS SOUL by Marcher
gama39@austarmetro.com.au
Rated R
CHAPTER 17 ~ Red Sky In The Morning
Andrew Trigg sat tall and silent in the saddle watching his troop assemble. The almost crimson sunrise which framed their backs did more than merely allude to the scorching heat that awaited them on this journey; and the young General swiped at the beads of sweat already forming on his brow.
His mount whinnied, tossing it's mane about restlessly and Trigg leaned forward to stroke the beast's neck. His eyes drifted across to the afflicted Neil Waters and he considered the man silently. The soldier had been carried into camp just before daybreak and his jaw tended to by the medic, but no questions were asked under orders from Trigg himself. It required nothing more than simple deduction on his part to understand that Waters' injury was the result of keeping company with the ill fated Furborough. Their friendship was notorious within the Regiment.
General Trigg stood firm on his promise to his old friend, even to the point of distracting the local constabulary. They arrived not long after Waters was carried into camp and requested that the General identify the uniformed body which they had shrouded beneath a calico sheet and laid atop a dray. Under flickering torch light, Trigg deferentially identified his deceased Corporal and apologised at being unable to shed any light on how the man came to meet such an obviously violent demise. All he offered was an ambiguous thought about how quickly death can claim the reckless, especially those with Furborough's irascibility. Unsatisfied, and doing naught to disguise it, the Police hinted in their own tactless manner that conspiracy to murder, or hindering the law after the fact, carried no less a penalty than committing the deed yourself. But Trigg had given O'Connell his word on that matter and the provincial heavyweights could do little to stop the Legion from leaving, so that was an end to it.
Waters' dull groaning jolted Trigg from his thoughts and he turned to look at the soldier, "You'll be wishing they'd thrown you in the river alongside Furborough by midday."
The soldier coughed painfully. He was unable to speak and just the mere thought of midday seemed to make the agony worse. And these were the first words his General had spoken to him since his return to camp and there was no compassion in them. "Whatever part you played in the events of Corporal Furborough's death, or those leading up to it, will hold no sway with me unless you speak of them. To anyone! There will be no enquiry, nor will any charges be laid against you so long as your injury resulted in a fall from your horse." He paused briefly, staring hard at Neil Waters, "Do I make myself clear, Private?"
His fractured jaw prohibited him from speaking clearly and the bandage about his head was hot and irritable, but the nod offered by Waters caused as much pain as if he had spoken. He was dreading the journey ahead of him and more than a little curious of the General's actions regarding Furborough, but he was smart enough to recognize a reprieve when one was offered him. Gingerly pressing a hand to his bandaged jaw, the wounded Private grunted his agreement.
Trigg watched the soldier's agony a moment longer before casting an eye over the now assembled troop. He nodded for his second in command to move the Regiment out and the Officer obeyed. All horses jerked forward and Waters moaned miserably. Setting apace alongside his injured man, the General turned his head and spoke quietly. "You could have done worse, Waters. You may not have lived to regret it."
Waters knitted his brow at this last comment then closed his eyes with the realization that bumping into O'Connell yesterday had been no accident.
The procession moved steadily through the streets past Fort Brydon. Looking up, Trigg saw O'Connell standing on the balcony watching as the fleet of white passed by. He stood separated from the onlookers on the streets below and appeared transfixed with a different scrutiny. Neither American raised an arm in gesture to the other, but each conveyed an understanding and a farewell through a brief unbroken gaze.
O'Connell stayed propped up against the balcony wall, watching solemnly until the entire Regiment had passed before stepping back inside.
"Oh for pity's sake! Ya could at least 'ave donned a shirt before spreadin' yaself thick on t'world! And me just done with breakfast!"
Rick turned to face his irritated friend. Bemused by Ross' disgusted reaction at his appearance, he ran a hand over the white singlet covering his chest and offered a look of indifference; this was his home and Ross could take him anyway he damn well found him! There were more important things to consider this morning. Things such as what to do should the problem of Furborough's death somehow find it's way back to him. So without a word, Rick turned and sat down to pour himself a coffee.
"Bloody hell!" The Doctor's voice boomed out across the room unexpectedly and Rick spat the coffee back into his cup! "Who's 'ad a go at ya this time?"
O'Connell waved angrily at his noisy guest, still choking on the hot coffee and furious at the sudden outburst! Unable to speak, he thrashed his good arm as a warning for the doctor to lower his voice. Evelyn was still asleep and he wanted her to stay that way.
"For the love of all things black 'n' blue! What's 'appened now?!"
Wiping the remnants of coffee from his face with the back of his hand, Rick pushed his chair back and whispered in angry frustration, "Will you keep your voice down. You know damn well what happened."
"No, I believe I don't." Ross pointed to the American's shoulder, "What I know, is that last night I stitched that arm 'n' this mornin' it's a bloody mess again! Who's been tryin' t'kill ya between then 'n' now?"
Rick twisted his wounded shoulder into view and saw the dried blood caked over Ross' handiwork. He'd felt every punch that Evelyn landed last night, but he hadn't realized she'd made it bleed. Surprisingly though, it didn't feel anywhere near as bad as it looked but Ross didn't know that as he took a firm, unsympathetic hold either side of the wound. "Jesus, Mary 'n' Joseph! Why don't ya limit yaself to one killin' a night!? Honest t'God lad! You're an accident lookin' for a place t'happen!" He pressed his thumbs over the wound and this time Rick winced and tried to pull his arm away. "So what did ya get up to after I passed out last night?"
"Arrgh! Watch it will ya! I didn't get up to anything!"
"I believe I must have done that." Evelyn's dry whisper caught both men off guard. She had been standing in bedroom doorway completely unseen all this time.
It took Ross a moment for what she had said to properly sink in and when it did he spluttered nervously. "Oh I see. Well that's...that's um...different Lass. He probably deserved it. Good for you!"
Throwing an angry glare in Ross' direction, Rick tugged his arm free and the pair of them stood silently like two awkward school boys who had been caught fighting in the playground, each eyeing the other in order to pass the blame. After all that had happened in the bathroom last night, this was something Rick really didn't want his wife to see. The quicker this scene was forgotten, the better. "Ross, why don't you..." Rick nodded towards the door and Ross gratefully accepted the opportunity to leave.
"Yes. Right then!" The Yorkshire man back stepped awkwardly, "I'll just go 'n' fetch...ahh...whatever....I...ahh...I need to clean that arm up while the two of you....um....SIT!...yes that's it!" He hastily pulled a chair out for Evelyn and stood back. "The two of you just...ahh...sit down and....and...I'll be right back." And with a click of the door Ross had vanished.
Rick stared at the closed door and sighed; meanwhile Evelyn had made her way over to the table and slipped silently into the empty chair. She looked quickly at his shoulder before lowering her eyes and making her hands busy fussing with the breakfast crockery. "I would have needed a weapon of some sort to cause that much damage. How did you come to get it in the first place?"
Leaning across, Rick stilled her hands and gently squeezed them together running his thumbs over the grooves of her knuckles. "It's not important. Not enough for you to worry about anyway."
She nodded, still staring at the table, "Oh."
Rick wrapped one arm about her shoulder and leaned in to softly kiss her forehead, "You really should be resting."
"Is he dead?"
The question caught him by surprise although he knew it shouldn't have. He tilted his head back to see her and she was looking at him now, waiting for him to speak. He thought about lying to her; about playing dumb; even about ignoring her question completely; in the end he answered truthfully. "Yes."
"Are you in trouble?"
"Not yet."
"So what happens now?"
He pulled her back into him and her head settled into his chest. "I fuss over you."
Her half teary giggle had him forcing down a lump in his throat that had been threatening to choke him since he caught sight of her standing in the doorway. The morning air was humid, yet she still shivered against him and he rubbed her shoulder slowly. She was pale, ill and in no fit state to go anywhere other than back to bed and the nagging worry that he might be forced to move her and Alex out of Egypt ate relentlessly at him. Andrew may have managed to cover any lead on Furborough's death and keep Neil Waters in line at the same time; but it was only a matter of time before somebody put two and two together and pointed a greedy finger at him. He glanced about the room and was relieved to see that either Ross or Jonathan had removed the morning's newspaper and with it the grizzly news of a reward for a soldier's killer.
He looked down at his wife. The corner of her lip was swollen and scabbed. Just below her chin and underneath were three finger-shaped bruises which had taken on a blackish colour. Last night when he pulled her from the freezing bath he had noticed similar markings on her shoulders and back. Bruises and scratches covered her arms and legs and now here she was shivering in the heat. Staying close to her bed was what she needed, but Rick knew his hand could be forced and that would mean moving her out of Cairo. Possibly even as far as London! It was obvious to anyone that she wasn't up to a journey like that. The only other option he had was to leave his small family here until the whole mess died down but there was no telling how long that would take. Besides which, the latter was now completely out of the question. No, he had to concentrate his efforts on laying low and making Evelyn well.
"Are you hungry?"
An ordinary question, but the sound of her husband's voice broke Evelyn's prolonged stare at his hand over hers. "Not really. Just some tea."
As he watched the steaming brown fluid pour from the spout, Rick recalled the conversation he had with Emir. That look he saw in the Egyptian's eyes was playing on his mind and more than ever, Rick was convinced that this was a desperate man. If Wainwright shut the door in his face, Emir would find another way to save his skin. Huffing at the irony, he replaced the teapot onto it's coaster and Evelyn lifted her eyes to her husband briefly before reaching over silently for her cup. The china clattered as she knocked it, spilling the contents over her hands and staining the tablecloth. Pulling her hand away from the burning tea, she quickly placed her smarting fingers into her mouth.
"Be careful!" Rick grabbed her hands and studied them before trying to lift her spirits. Sadly though, his light-hearted attempt to tease her backfired terribly due to nothing more than a few badly chosen words. "Clumsy." Smiling gently, he kissed the tips of her fingers, "It's just like banging your knee on the bath last night."
Evelyn spat her words at him so abruptly and with an anger he had never heard in her voice before. "I challenge you to do any better if you were in my position!"
"Sweetheart, I was only trying to cheer you up."
"By calling me names! He didn't just shove me about and steal my handbag, Rick!" She was shaking and on the brink of tears. Her voice quivered as she banged her hands on the table causing the dishes to clatter when Rick tried to hush her. "Who knows how long he was following me just waiting for his chance. I went to find Ethan's grave because, according to you, it was necessary in order to feel as badly as you did!" Her eyes narrowed into slits as she scowled at him and Rick's heart thumped in his chest at the raw bitterness edging her words. "So I found his tiny grave and I stood there staring at it. All alone, just like you did." Evelyn tilted her head and in a hollow chirp asked, "Happy now?"
Rick huffed the air from his lungs and pushed his chair away from the table, causing it's four legs to screech against the floorboards. He let his head fall forward but said nothing. Evelyn watched him briefly then continued, but this time her voice was nothing more than a whisper. "When I turned around he was standing there. Leering at me. No different than when he crept into my room while you were in Lybia. Only this time Jonathan wasn't there to shoot him in the leg. And of course, there was no you!"
"Evie..." Rick held out his hands hoping against all odds that she would accept them, perhaps even sit on his lap and cry against his shoulder. Anything! Just so long as she didn't go any further. To his dismay, she refused the offer.
"I was only ever there because of you. Because you blamed me." Her words were so quiet and each one fell onto the hardwood floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. "Did you ever stop to think that I was practically forbidden to step foot outside the bedroom?" Rick shook his head slowly in response just as she rose from the chair and laughed sarcastically towards the ceiling badly mimicking Dr. Campbell's accent, "Not 'til ye've fully recovered m'girl. HA!" She walked across the room keeping her back to her husband, "And you and Jonathan were sitting in the bar." Her last few words were spat in disgust.
It wasn't shame that gripped Rick's heart; it was a profound grief. An abstruse sorrow verging on sickness deep in his gut. Every accusation she made hit it's mark cleanly and he couldn't bring himself to say anything, just to merely stare at the white porcelain cups and saucers sitting on a tea stained tablecloth. His only thoughts of what he might say to her were trite and too late. Whatever his anger over his son's death, whatever he had accused her of, she didn't deserve the fate that was meted out to her. Her voice began to intermingle with the vision in his mind of finding her laying unconscious and bloodied in a dirty back alley of Cairo and he closed his eyes again.
"You didn't even speak to me when I told you I was taking Alex for a walk!" She paused with disbelief and her voice drifted with her thoughts, "You didn't even speak..." she turned to stare at her husband without really seeing him and continued in a voice that was barely there. "Do you know what he did?"
Opening his eyes, Rick slowly lifted his head and bit his lip. He knew she was going to tell him regardless of his answer and he owed it to her to listen. But as he looked at her, he wondered if she knew everything? Had Ross told her exactly what he had told him, or was that something else to drop on her later? Once more, her voice crept over his thoughts and he heard what she was saying, "...smirking at me, not letting me past." Evelyn was wringing her hands and her knuckles were turning white, "I knew what was going to happen when I saw the other one blocking the way out..."
"You don't have to tell me, Evelyn. I've got a good enough idea." He was trying to spare her the ordeal of telling him as much as he was trying to spare himself, but she deliberately ignored him.
"...All of a sudden I couldn't see Alex any more!" She began to heave and panic, "I called out for him and then he grabbed my arm so tightly it hurt and then he shoved me backwards and I tripped and fell!
Rick was standing in front of her now, "Evelyn. Please."
"He was all over me! Laughing and sweaty..."
Rick pleaded with her, "Evelyn!"
She cried and spoke at the same time, "God! He just stank! And that horrid laugh of his!" She looked directly into Rick's eyes as he cupped her face in his hands and spoke to him as though she were hoping he could explain it to her. "He was pushing my head back against the ground and I kept telling him I had to find Alex but he wouldn't let me go!
"Sweetheart, listen to me. None of this is your fault. None of it!"
"Do you know what he did?" she whispered between tears. "Do you know?"
Rick waited for a moment, still holding his hands to her face, then nodded.
"I..." she was shaking her head and really crying now, "...I tried so hard but I couldn't stop him."
He pulled her head against his chest, hoping this was the end. Even though part of him had wondered how long and how helplessly she had struggled, but now that the cold truth presented itself he discovered himself preferring it be left unsaid.
"...and when I screamed he hit me and held my head down. The sand was choking me as much as his hand. It seemed endless and all I could hear was him grunting!" At this, Evelyn frantically broke her husbands embrace, pulling away sharply holding her mouth and stomach as though she was about to disgorge. "Oh God!" her hand muffled her revulsion. Rick touched her shoulder and she jerked away, hysterical. "I can still smell him! He's all over me!" Rick was forced to watch as she repeated the same frantic actions he caught her doing the night before in the bath. Her fingers clawed over her arms as though she was trying to scrape away some unseen cover. Her terrified account was slicing at him more savagely than any blade, yet he was left with no choice other than to listen as she painfully raged between anger and fear and finally a sort of detachment as though she were looking at a photograph of someone she didn't know.
"It wasn't me. I couldn't have been." She caught his eye with her desperate question, "Could it?"
God, what a question! There was no way of answering her. All he had to offer was sympathy.
"I thought..." Yet again her gaze drifted, then her head and finally her feet followed until she was leaning against the back of a chair. "...I thought...that if I was as still as possible then it wouldn't really be me at all. But that just made him angry and he hit me again. Twice I'm sure, and then I must have blacked out because he was gone when I opened my eyes." A single tear slid down her cheek, followed by another and then another. "But it was me." She spun around to face him now, "Wasn't it Rick? It didn't end and he stayed there pushing the side of my face into the ground while he grunted...." her lip curled in disgust "...and grunted."
~O~
"Mena House." Emir Hammond spat onto the ground then slapped the dust from his pants, "Just bribe the doorman and they'll let you in." The frustration in his tone was sharp and the thief was in a dark mood. His thoughts fumed over his recent visit to the city's grandest hotel and the man he was refused an audience with. O'Connell had assured him that this Mr. Wainwright would be accessible and open to discussion on whom would deliver the loot, but he had been thrown back into the street without ever meeting the man. If things had been getting tight for Hammond over the last week, they were now desperate! He had less than two days to settle his debt and it was appearing more and more that he would be paying it with his life. Time was short! He was certain that Nasser would be looking for O'Connell as well and he had to get to the American first if he stood any chance of getting his money.
The sun was sitting low on the horizon still. At the very least he had a full day to take advantage of. Then his eyes fell upon a notice plastered to the side of a building...and the penny dropped! A ghost of a smile crept across Hammond's face as he remembered how distracted O'Connell had been when they bumped into each other yesterday. How insistent he had been that same evening when he said he was pulling out of the deal and even willing to relinquish his share of the money. How dead that Legionnaire was who had his bloated face pictured on the stark notice glued to the sandstone wall. And how big the reward which was being offered for the murderer! Emir smiled.
end chapter
A/N: It's been a LONG delay between chapters in this story. Still, it's here now and I hope you all enjoyed. Thanks to everyone who emailed me to make sure I was continuing. It's nice to know people are still keen to see what happens. Life ... you know. After all the time it's taken me to write this chapter, I hope it's not too short because it feels as though it was a tome!
MBOOKER: I am so very sorry. I missed you off the last thank you list and when I realized I felt terrible. You've been with this story from start and I forgot to put your name on the list. But not this time. You're first. Thank you for the reviews and for always reading. But what have happened to your own stories?
AJMACKEY: Let it be known. Without my AJM this chapter would still be months away. This lady pulled me out of a severe writers block and threw in extra ideas to boot. Thank you for the encouragement and the help. Couldn't have done it without you.
RUSE: My friend. Thank you for always hanging in there with this story and for writing such stories that inspire me to continue. Thank you for the emails and the Boromir pics and the distracting quizzes which make me laugh. You have no idea how much fun they can be! ;) You've yet to send me a naked Boromir though. After all, I did find a naked Hugo for you! ;)
SHELBY: Another wonderful lady who's been there from the beginning. Thanks for everything.
JESSICA: I've never worried about when reviews come, they're welcome at any time. Thank you. :)