Save Me

The mist shrouded everything in his path, blocking out even the dim light of a full moon. Nevertheless, he went on blundering around in the darkness and mist, hoping and praying he would find his way out. Somewhere at the end of this godforsaken road, there would be light.

When he found it? What would he do then?

He had no idea.

Where were his men? Borden? Wilkins? Collins? Where were they? They were his protection, and yet, they were nowhere to be seen.

He stumbled thru bushes and brambles. Over rocks and fallen trees. Running, running…

But to where?

Again, he did not know where he was headed, but the intention was clear.

As far away from that miserable place as he could get.

Cowpens.

His mind screamed at him to keep running. To get far, far away from this place that he knew, would be his undoing.

His death.

Where was Catherine?

Tavington wanted to call out her name, but could not force himself to do so. What if she wasn't there? What if she refused to answer him?

What if…

What if she did not exist?

He collapsed against a fallen tree, cursed the night air, and hung his head.

"God help me!" He cried out, "This cannot be the end?"

When God did not answer, Tavington sighed heavily, laid his head back against the rough bark of the tree, and stared up at the misty night sky. If truth be told, he had known God would not answer him. Why would He want anything to do with the killer of innocent children? Why on earth, would God want to save someone they called, "The Butcher?"

Tavington sighed again. For a moment he was glad the other Dragoons were not here. He felt the need to have a good cry, but once more, he could not force himself to do so. If they had seen him in this vulnerable moment, they would have lost all respect they had for their Colonel.

His tactic of command with fear, would surely be undone.

"Bloody hell!" He hissed between clenched teeth, "where are you, Catherine?"

"I need you…" He whispered into the darkness.

She felt him shiver next to her, and pulled the blankets up around him. It would not do for him to catch a chill before he had to leave. No, it was not an option.

Catherine had woken to feel him tossing and turning. For a long time she had lain there watching him in the dark…wondering what he was dreaming about, that put him in such a state. Perhaps, he was just worried about his men? Perhaps, he was reliving a previous battle? Perhaps…

Perhaps he was dreaming about Cowpens?

Should she wake him? No, he would be angry with her for that. Lack of sleep mad the Colonel irritable and furious. No, best to let him sleep, despite whatever it was he was dreaming about. Maybe it would end, and he would have a peaceful sleep?

Somehow, Catherine did not believe this.

After awhile, she began to doze again, and after what seemed like eternity, his beautiful voice broke thru the foggy haze of her mind.

"Where are you, Catherine?"

She reached out and gently smoothed his tangled hair back from his forehead.

"Right here, William." She cooed softly to him.

The Colonel muttered faintly.

"I need you…"

A warm smile fluttered at the corners of her mouth. She continued to smooth his hair back, cooing softly to him.

Then, he moaned deeply, and a pale, shaking hand went to his throat. He whimpered so softly, that for a brief moment she thought she had misunderstood him.

Catherine waited. Then, she heard him again. And this time, she was not mistaken.

"Catherine?" He whimpered.

"Yes?" She whispered back.

"Save me."

AA T

Tavington Honour and Glory 11

by ~shadowmagnet

PROVIDENCE

Somewhere in the woods of a far distant world, a man moved silently and carefully. The weapon he carried glittered in the moon's cold gloom.

He switched it to his other hand, flung the weapon hard, at a nearby tree, and smiled with chilling satisfaction when a muffled 'thunk' came back to him.

The man continued to move within the shadowy depths of the woods. He seemed but a shadow himself, a mere apparition.

A ghost.

He retrieved his weapon from the offending tree trunk, skirted the thornbush that grew as silent and as deadly as he was, and moved still deeper into the woods.

A loud crack startled him.

He stopped and listened. Whatever had made the sound, would soon appear, and when it finally did...

The man would be ready.

In a plantation house further away, though not so distant, a man groaned restlessly in his sleep.

He slept on.

The nightmares had continued, despite his weariness, despite everything...

...on and on they went.

They marched like soldiers, steady and in a bizaare orderly fashion. Yet, they did so without command from any human voice. On and on they marched. Going ahead of him, though always coming back, just to see if he still followed.

As if he could have done anything else.

And follow, he did.

The nightmares were always the same. Never varied. Never changing.

Never ceasing their relentless march through his fevered mind.

Always taunting him.

He would not wake.

Not yet...

And he slept on.

He groaned again. Reaching out his hands to someone, or something, that was not there, he clung to what sanity he had left to him. And as the nightmares went on and on, that sanity was precious little.

And still, the nightmare marched on.

"No.." he moaned in his sleep.

On and on...

Then, with a startled cry, he saw it.

Felt it.

And he knew.

"No!" he screamed, sat up abruptly, breathing hard, as if he had marched alongside this twisted dream.

The seering pain in his stomach had woke him. It gripped him as if it were a death grip...

He knew it now.

Had always known it.

But did not, could not, believe it.

But it wasn't the pain in his stomach that scared him...

It was the numbing pain in his throat, that had drug him screaming from a restless sleep.

As the pain faded into a distant memory, he began to grope for something to cling onto. Like a drowning man...like a man...

Dying.

His sanity?

That had already fled long ago.

Mad Man.

Butcher.

Finally, when he thought he could hold on no longer, his hand brushed against something warm and solid. Something safe.

But with everything, it allowed him only a brief moment of that emotion, then it too, fled into a distant memory.

He let his hand move over the warm solid form...his hand shaking slightly...

The form moved.

Then he remembered. And as is mind recalled this memory, he smiled in spite of the terrible fear he felt.

"William?"

He caught his breath.

"William?" the soft voice came out of the hazy darkness.

"Yes." he whispered back, sickened by the tremour in his own voice.

"Why are you awake?"

The numbing pain, as if by command, slithered through him.

"I..." he could not tell her why.

When he did not continue, the woman who lay beside him, sat up, drew him close, and wrapped her arms around him.

Safe.

"William, why?"

He shuddered, sank into her embrace, and prayed. If Providence had sent this nightmare...

It did not care.

"William?"

"Catherine..." he whispered back.

Sinking.

Safe.

She tightened her embrace.

"Shhh..."

He sank further...

And though the nightmares would be waiting, as he knew they always did, he fell into an uneasy slumber.

Somewhere not too far away, a man sat hunched over a desk in a shadowy, candlelit room...a quill flew over a piece of crisp, expensive parchment.

When he finished, he folded it neatly, afixed his seal to it, and handed it to the young man who stood before him at ready attention.

"And to whom shall I deliever this, Lord General, Sir?"

The man smiled slowly.

"Colonel William Tavington, commander of the Royal Green Dragoons."

The young man grinned faintly.

"And where shall I find him, Sir?"

The Lord General looked to another piece of the same parchment, and studied it for a moment.

"Kentucky, Lt. Marshall, Kentucky."

The young man nodded.

"Yes, Sir."

He turned to leave, stopped and turned back again.

"And Sir, where shall I tell him he's being sent this time?"

The Lord General grinned. The expression was one of maliciousness...bitter to it's core.

It fit this man well.

"South Carolina."

Far off in the very same place, who's name Providence had placed on the lips of the Lord General, a man slipped silently, and ghostlike, into a white boarded house.

Providence was about to place in this man's path, another man. The path would be a bloody one...

And once again, as is always the case, Providence would not...

This path...

The Ghost...

Bloody...

The Butcher...

Deadly.

And Providence...

Would not...

Did not...

Care.