The Rescues
Erik
My head is throbbing.
I walk out of the room quickly, telling myself to continue to breathe, continue to think, continue to exist. I feel a need to do something reckless. Her accusations and revelation make my heart quicken. When I shut the door, there is silence on both sides. They will claim it and there will be no hope, and all that exists…
No. I do not think about that right now. My mind forces itself to the present instead of the future. I walk to the other small bedroom. The men are there, and I motion for Khan to approach, not allowing myself to look at the bed – not yet. Khan stops near me, and I say,
"How is he doing?"
Khan does not answer, so I push past him and finally let my eyes focus on the bed. Taurin's once-white shirt has been removed, and his skin is glazed with sweat. The crude bandages have been soaked through. His breathing is fast, irregular, and I watch as his eyes move behind the lids, frantic and painful. When I place a hand on his forehead, I instantly draw back. The skin is burning.
"We have no way to access medicine tonight," says one of the men – Aidan. "But I am afraid he will die unless we do."
I look at Aidan shrewdly, yet I accept what he says. My mind reeling with ideas, I walk back to Khan.
"I am going out," I say, not bothering to keep my voice low. Everyone in the room has his eyes upon me.
"It's suicide," Khan replies, his voice a bit angry. "The entire town is being scoured by hundreds of men, and they are all looking for you."
"I won't be gone long," I say, ignoring him completely and picking up a dark jacket that rests on a rickety old table. "Khan." Here, I pause slightly, and then I do lower my voice considerably. "It is crucial that Christine is watched every moment. Will you do that? She cannot be out of sight."
He looks slightly confused but nods at my request and leaves the room to go to hers. I do not know if she is asleep or still awake, but I cannot wonder. My mind must be focused. The night is black – dark beyond belief. As an extra precaution, I slip off my mask so it will not reflect light. The cool wind brushes over my bare face. It feels good.
Without waiting any more, I begin to creep along the streets, making toward the center of the city. If I am lucky, Aidan's house will have been searched and left alone…if I am lucky. And that rarely happens. However, Taurin is dying, and so I go. Many times I am forced to cram myself in corners and crevices to disappear from the groups of men running about. There are never more than six of them in a group. Their shouts echo around the streets. And my head hurts.
As I am hiding, I have a chance to look inside a window that is pouring light onto the streets. There is a small family inside, all sitting in front of a fire. The mother is reading, the father dozing, and the two boys are teasing the little girl. The girl is crying. She continues to cry the whole time I am standing there. The parents do nothing. I frown and continue toward the house on the corner of the street. The windows are dark and it is silent, which means that they haven't yet identified Aidan. It will not take long, so I quicken my pace. It takes a minute to scale the fence and pick the lock, but eventually I am able to let myself into the quiet, dark hall.
I have been in his house only once or twice, but I know the room in which he keeps his medicines. Creeping upstairs, I keep my breathing soft and regular. There is no such thing as too much caution. Upstairs, through the hall, and into the room on the left-hand side. The room is dark, too, undisturbed, and I walk over to the little wooden cupboard. A sigh of relief escapes me as I see that the little bottles have not been disturbed. Through a minute of searching, I find a little bag and return to the cabinet. I pick up the needed bottles and medical instruments, but, after a moment's hesitation, I take the rest of the lot. The medicine chinks together softly; I cannot hurry for fear of breaking any of them, and so, I find my way outside once again.
The wind has picked up. Leaves and dirt swirl against my boots and thunder rumbles in the sky. It does not take long for the rain to fall. As I hurry back through the streets, it pelts my skin and clothing. Before long, I am completely soaked, as is the satchel I am carrying. The rain is good, however. It muffles my steps and makes visibility even less. The light in the little family's house has gone out. Men running about are less and less.
Finally, I reach the house and open the door, allowing myself to relax just slightly. Not that I am surprised I was not stopped; if twenty years of practicing stealth hasn't paid off by now, I doubt it ever will. I drip all over the carpets as I hurry to the small bedroom. The men tense and then relax visibly as I enter. Some sigh and others sit down. Aidan takes the bag from me and eyes everything I took with an appreciative eye. Quickly, he begins to delegate jobs for everyone – new bandages, warm water, and clean sheets. I take a moment to sit beside the bed, watching Taurin's still-sweaty face.
"How did this happen?" I ask suddenly, my mood growing darker with anger. Aidan pauses in his work and looks at me. The two men who are left also glance at me.
"As I understand it," says Aidan, "Taurin was pulling Mason out of the building, away from the fire, and was then shot."
"I know that," I snap, more than a bit irritated. "How did they find us? We cover our tracks so carefully. We plan ahead so things like this do not happen!"
There is silence in the room, and one of the men speaks up, his voice very quiet. "As I understand, your… wife…was seen in the gardens."
The silence thickens, and my anger peaks. Without another word, I stand up, knocking the chair over, and leave the room, unaware of my feet walking below me. She knew she was not allowed outside for precisely this reason. And yet she still went out, an ignorant and stupid child, and now her brother is dying as a price for her pettiness. I do not care that she is sleeping, that she is exhausted – I storm into the room, intent upon screaming myself hoarse and reducing her to a pathetic bundle of apologies. But I stop, however, when my eyes focus on the room.
Christine is not asleep – she is not even in bed. She is curled up on the floor, her head on Khan's lap, sobbing. A bowl is next to them. Khan looks at me from his position on the floor, and his eyebrows raise in a This is your fault way. I sigh and walk over to the two of them. Khan gently lifts Christine from his lap and looks pointedly at me. Grudgingly, I take a pillow from the bed and hand it to him. He puts it under her head and we speak quietly.
"She has been quite ill," he says, and the way his eyes look at me make me think he suspects the truth behind her sickness, but I say nothing. "For whatever reason you came here, leave it for another day. She is tired, sick, and very confused." He holds up his hands when I open my mouth "I know you aren't particularly fond of advice, Erik, but listen to me just this once. I was once married."
We stand silently for a minute, listening to her quiet cries, and I say as softly as possible, "Go to Aidan and get something for her. I suppose I should watch her for the rest of the night."
He nods and leaves, and I am left alone with her. Hesitantly, I kneel next to her shivering form. It is as if I am not next to the same person who asked me of science and love. I have never seen her so ragged and forlorn-looking. Her hair is frizzy and unkempt, and her nightgown is limp, shabby, and clings to her feebly. The face that looks up at me is not hers. It is pale, haggard, and tear-streaked – completely different from the youthful, fresh, and vibrant one that smiled at me. It is hard to think that so much depends upon this strange, sad girl. She slowly rests her head against my chest and brings her arms around me. Within a few minutes, she has situated herself in my lap. Deciding it to be a lost cause if I try to push her away, I instead allow her to sit and hiccough on my lap. My legs are aching, and the damp fabric isn't helping. Gathering her up, I stand, intent on sitting in a chair. But there are none. I am forced to be content with the small, creaky bed. After we have situated ourselves – with Christine still curled up in my lap – Khan enters, holding a small bottle. His eyebrows raise in surprise as he takes in our position, and I narrow my eyes at him, daring him to say anything. He does nothing but give me the medicine.
"Khan," I say, "she will need a glass of water."
He leaves again, and I shift slightly so I am able to look down into her face.
"You need to drink this," I say quietly. "It will make you feel better."
She takes the bottle in shaking fingers after I have opened it for her, but she does not drink it.
"Erik," she says, her voice weak.
"Do not speak. You need to drink it."
"No," is her feeble response. "No, Erik – I think – I think I'm going to be sick."
Instantly, I take the little vial and carry her to the bowl. She retches horribly, her entire frame shaking. Just in time, Khan reenters with the water, and Christine takes it from him and drinks, slopping it down her chin and neck as a result of her unsteady hands. She gasps in air and hands the empty glass back, returning to my lap and sighing. Perhaps I should be disgusted – but I am not.
I nod at Khan, and he leaves quietly. Christine finally drinks the medicine when she is back on the bed. It does not take her long to fall asleep, though this time she is spread out on my chest. We have not been this close physically since our first night. So many things are now different, and nothing is as I planned.
For the first time in a very long, long time, I feel myself relax fully. There is something oddly comforting about her presence and weight. I allow myself to think of the child she will bear, and I wonder about many things…and my imagination catches me, and I am caught up in a daydream that turns into a dream as I fall asleep.