Ashes and Memories (30 page)

The sound of his own screams filled his ears. He couldn’t take it anymore, not again. It never stopped. Never stopped.

Beg me for your life, Garrett had said.

Reece looked into the other man’s eyes and knew Garrett would kill him in cold blood. He’d known that about Garrett the first time he’d seen him. He enjoyed killing, enjoyed inflicting pain. But there were worse things than dying.

“Go to hell,” Reece said with a shake of his throbbing head.

“You first,” Garrett replied.

How did you prepare yourself to die? He wouldn’t beg God for forgiveness, for absolution, not now. God had forsaken him a long time ago, and he knew the bullet Garrett would discharge from the pistol he now held to his head would send him straight to hell. But there were some things that were worse even than hell. He’d lived in hell for so long it would almost be a relief to have it finally finished.

Reece looked the outlaw straight in the eye. If he was going to kill him, he was going to do it knowing that he hadn’t won, that he hadn’t....

The pistol clicked on an empty chamber, and Reece blinked against the pain and darkness that didn’t come. He should be dead, he thought numbly. Bile rose in his throat as he realized what had happened. He was alive. He should be dead, but he was alive, and the shock and terror of being dead and coming back to life nearly overwhelmed him.

“Let’s go!” someone shouted.

He could hear the injured man groaning in pain somewhere in the room just before Garrett hit him on the side of the head with the pistol. Blackness engulfed him. He tried to rise, but someone kicked him in the ribs and he fell back with a crash, struggling for breath. Someone else kicked him, once, twice. He thought he heard his ribs cracking before the room tilted and went black, sending him spiraling into darkness, a darkness fraught with memories and even more pain.

#####

He opened his eyes slowly, listening as the silence lengthened and the soft shaft of sunlight that fell across his face brightened by degree.

Morning -- it would start again.
 

Reece tried to move, but pain shot through his body, and he nearly passed out again. He had to find the coin, the silver dollar in his money pouch. He had to hold it in his hand so he would know.

The war was over. It was only a dream. Or was it?

His arms were tied behind his back, the end of the rope thrown over a beam in the ceiling. The man at the other end pulled on the rope, lifting him gradually off the floor until his arms held his weight and he screamed in pain just before blessed oblivion claimed him. A rush of cold water roused him, and he screamed as his own weight ripped the tendons in his arms, the pain like nothing he’d ever felt before, and he blacked out again.
 

His cheek rested on the coarse carpet, and he didn’t have the strength to lift it nor the will to force himself totally awake, to remember why he was here... like this.

They’d stripped him to the waist and two guards held him by the arms. He could hear the leather whip striking the other guard’s boot behind him, and he knew that it would land on his back any moment, tearing open the wounds that hadn’t yet healed from the last beating, intensifying the pain until he didn’t know if he’d be able to withstand it again. Would this be the time he’d give up, beg them to stop, allow himself to be stripped of his dignity along with everything else he’d lost?

Longwood, he’d been dreaming of Longwood, of walking upon polished hardwood floors, of the warmth of fires burning on a dozen hearths, and he was loath to give up the illusion. Music wafted up to him from below and he knew it was Sarah. Only Sarah could evoke that kind of beauty from a piano.

If only he could make it home, back to Longwood, back to his family. Would he ever see home again? Would he ever feel the warmth and comfort of Sarah’s embrace? Would he ever see his mother’s smile?

And how would he ever face Grandfather again, knowing what he’d done, knowing he’d betrayed everything the old man had taught him? No one would know. Perhaps no one would even care. But he would always know.
 

If he could just get back to Longwood, everything would be all right. He’d start over, make things right somehow. It was all he had to cling to in the darkness of his own soul, the only thing that kept him alive.
 

Twenty naked columns stood in silent mourning over a mountain of rubble. Three wooden crosses peered at him from their freshly dug graves. Silence. Deafening silence pounded in his ears, and a cold, empty ache spread through the pit of his stomach as he stood before the corpse of his dreams. There was no comfort here, no succor, no relief from the unremitting hell his life had become. It wasn’t over. It would never be over.

A cold chill ran through his body, and he felt his heart slowly turn to stone.
 

With a growl of agony, Reece managed to ignore the pain that knifed through his body and push himself off the floor to stand shakily, bracing himself against the wall to keep from crumpling to the ground.

He wanted to deny what had happened last night as he’d tried for thirteen years to deny what had happened to him in prison, or that he’d even been in prison, for that matter. But the room gave silent testimony to the truth. His belongings lay strewn about, reminders of his humiliation, his goddamned helplessness.

He’d sworn never to be at anyone’s mercy again, but they’d gotten to him, and he hadn’t been able to stop them, to fight them. The truth tasted as bitter as bile. They’d surprised him, lying in wait like the cowards they were. He would give everything he had right now to see how brave they were face to face.

They’d robbed him, but it was as if robbery had been an afterthought. What they’d wanted was to humiliate him, and he didn’t know if he could live with the fact that they had succeeded and that they were out there somewhere laughing at him right now.

Had he really believed himself invincible?

Whiskey, that was what he needed. He glanced around at the debris that covered the floor and found the half-full bottle he’d opened last night. Uncorking it, he turned it up quickly as if he would die if he had to wait long enough to fill a glass.

But not even whiskey could erase the faces in his mind. They were imprinted forever in his memory, smiling as they stepped through the door, their eyes devoid of anything but a burning hatred that Reece was sure his own eyes mirrored.

His heart pounded sickly in his chest as the fear and anticipation pulsed through his body. His back burned in anticipation of the beating to come and in remembrance of the last one. They would let the wounds nearly heal and then rip them open again.
 

But the worst of it was the helplessness, the degradation of being totally defenseless and at the mercy of another, and the sounds of the screams from other parts of the prison. Sometimes he feared the screams would drive him insane.
 

It was what they wanted from him more than anything else, he knew. He’d arrived here defiant and proud, and they wanted to break him. They wanted to hear him scream or beg, and if he gave them what they wanted, the physical pain would stop. But while the physical pain and the psychological games they played with him fed his fury and reinforced his helplessness, the pain of that final humiliation was something he knew he could never endure. They had taken his freedom, his pride and made his life a living nightmare. They would not take his self-respect.
 

“Damn it!” he growled, hurling the whiskey bottle against the far wall where it shattered with a satisfying crash.

“Mr. MacBride.”

Reece wheeled around, drawing his pistol as he turned, ignoring the pain that spiraled from his rib cage up to the top of his head. “Damn it, Butler!” he shouted. “I might have killed you.”

“You all right?” the bartender asked, unshaken by his brush with death. “What happened here?”

“I’m fine,” Reece replied, holstering his pistol. “I was robbed last night. I’m on my way to the sheriff’s office now to report it.”

Reece brushed past Butler and raced down the stairs as if all the hounds of hell were chasing him, as if there were any place where they wouldn’t find him.

He was across the street before he realized where he was going. Stopping before the mercantile, he gazed toward the newspaper office. Emma. He’d been on his way to see Emma, as if she could save him. He’d once thought she could.

A cold numbness stole over him as he became aware of the sounds of the town. Freight wagons rumbled past just as they had yesterday. People walked along the sidewalks on either side of the street, people he saw every day of his life. As they passed, they were careful not to look him directly in the eye, as if they knew the depth of his shame or they feared he would turn his fury on them.

He was alone, utterly alone. Why had he never realized how very alone he was?

Always before he’d taken refuge from the past in the present, but now the present had become a nightmare, too.

He could not run away  there was no place left to hide. And he could not bear the flood of memory that strained against the dam he’d built so carefully.

Images assaulted him from every direction. His mother smiling at him, Emma lifting her chin in defiance, Sarah’s clear, dulcet voice singing, her fingers flying over the piano keys. Emma’s sweet lips parting beneath his. Sarah’s fragile face filled with adoration as they waltzed across the polished ballroom floor. Emma moaning softly beneath him as he made love to her. Grandfather presenting him with
his
father’s watch, his visage proud and filled with affection. Three fresh graves standing in the shadow of Longwood’s cracked and bare columns.
 

Reece struggled against the moisture behind his eyes and the nausea roiling inside him, concentrating his entire will on control, on forcing the memories and emotions down where they belonged as he gazed at the newspaper office again before turning and walking away.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Emma yawned roundly and gazed at her reflection in the glass. She’d overslept, and now she would have to rush if she were going to get today’s issue out. At least she’d set the type last night. Ralphy should be here soon, and he could help her ink the rollers....

She stopped the path of her thoughts. No, Ralphy was still recuperating. He was better, much better, and he would recover completely, but the doctor had given strict instructions that he not leave the hotel.

Even now a shiver of fear crawled over her when she thought of how close he’d come to dying. And she remembered how distraught Reece had been that night and how very foolish she had been.

She took her hair down and brushed it thoroughly, trying not to think of anything at all beyond the next few hours. Coffee, she would have her coffee and that would wake her up. Then she’d print the paper and circulate it. And then....

And then she’d deal with the rest of the day one moment at a time.

Maybe today was the day she would settle things, decide what to do. Maybe then she could sleep again at night.

She’d slept better last night than she had in days, and she could only believe that sheer exhaustion had finally overtaken her, that and relief that Reece had returned safely.

If only she didn’t care so much. If only she didn’t lie awake hour after hour remembering the feel of his arms around her, the taste of his lips against hers, the fire his touch ignited inside her. Her body hungered for his, but that hunger would never be satisfied. He would never hold her again, never kiss her, never --

She had to get out of this town as soon as possible. But where she would go and how she would get there remained a mystery. At least she had come up with a couple of options, and that was where she had to concentrate if she were going to maintain her sanity.

After she printed today’s paper, she would spend a great part of the day setting type and print a sample of her work to send along with the letter she’d drafted last night to the Chicago Tribune. If she had the backing of a major eastern newspaper, she could travel the West recording her impressions, embellishing them of course. It would give her money to live on, and that was enough for now. Even the danger didn’t bother her particularly.

For the first time in her life she truly knew what it was like to have nothing to lose, and while it was liberating in a sense, she couldn’t seem to dispel the sadness in her soul.

How long would it take to hear back, she wondered? Weeks? Months? Until she did, she was stuck here.

He’d offered to make her his mistress, and God help her, in the dark emptiness of the night she’d considered accepting. At least that way she could be near him. But she knew instinctively that such an arrangement would only intensify the emptiness and longing she felt now, and she knew she could never endure that. She longed for more than his body. She wanted his heart, his love.

What a fool she was.

The sound of thunder rolled through Emma’s room. She turned toward the window where bright sunlight filtered in through the curtains. Shouting voices reached up to her, and she ran to the window, peering out. What must have been twenty horsemen galloped full-speed through the center of town, splattering mud and terrifying the few people who were out and about this early.

There was certainly never a dull day in Providence.

Quickly Emma finished dressing and went downstairs. She walked to the door and peered out through the new glass pane, an inexplicable dread settling on her heart. The town was quiet again, ominously so, the streets as empty as a ghost town.

An icy gray mist blanketed the town, hanging over the street like a pall, adding to her melancholy.

Damn it, she cursed silently. She would not give in to despair and self-pity. Resolutely she went to the stove and started a fire. In moments the room was warm and filled with the soothing aroma of brewing coffee.