Dark Witness (6 page)

"The lord works in mysterious ways," he muttered.

He would see the boy first.

CHAPTER 5

I see a bright light, a blinding white light, and a silhouette at the center of it. It undulates, fading and struggling back, unable to take shape. I would think this is heaven except that I'm pretty sure it's not. A loved one has to meet you at the Pearly Gates, and my list is short. Josie, Max, Faye. Archer or Burt might be good stand-ins, but I think it has to be a loved one who has passed and not just some you like a whole lot. This could be Billy except this person I see standing in the light is busy and seems to know what they're doing. Billy doesn't move like that. Still, if anyone's going to be dead I suppose it would be him. Then again, I doubt this is Billy because I don't love him. Not enough to meet him in heaven anyway. I love him just enough to watch over him on earth.

I wish I could wake up. I would pray to wake up if I knew how to do that, but I don't. Not for myself, or for Billy, or anything. The busy angel beside me talks. I wonder if she's praying. If she's taking to God, I hope she asks him to just let me go. I'm kind of done with all this.

The light is too bright.

I close my eyes.

It's dark.

I am gone again.

Maybe to heaven, but I doubt it.

That would be too easy.

"She's a colored." Melody held Hannah upright as Teresa washed her back.

"She's mixed. It doesn't matter," Teresa muttered.

"But it might matter, Teresa. How are we to know? We've never had a colored."

"She's hurt, that's all that matters right this minute."

Teresa sponged the blood encrusted cuts across Hannah's shoulders and the angry scrape at the small of her back. It was the injury to the back that worried Teresa most. If this girl's back were broken, it would be better if she died. Even Duncan couldn't heal that. Not that Teresa was truly convinced he could heal anything.

"It's hard to tell what's blood over on this part of her shoulder what with that tattoo," Teresa said.

"I've never seen anything like this," Melody whispered. "Not like this, with all the colors. Why would she defile herself this way? Do you think her soul is lost, Teresa? Is that what this means? Does she worship the devil?"

"Pay attention, Melody. Hold her tighter," Teresa ordered, tired of Melody seeing the devil in everything.

Melody readjusted her grip. Her arm hurt, but she didn't complain. If she complained, she would be chastised; if she didn't complete her task, she would never earn her healing. They were all so close to it that no one could afford to mess up now. Still, it wasn't as if she couldn't talk and do her chore all at the same time.

"Do you think it's wrong? Do you think it's sinful to do that to your body? I mean, we are God's temple, aren't we?" Melody asked. "Then again, if that's true, why would he have made us the way we are?"

"Lower her down." Teresa directed. "Gently, gently. Good. You're doing well."

"You'll tell Duncan I did this as well as anyone, won't you?"

"If he asks," Teresa said.

Melody slid her arm from under Hannah, happy that her skin was warm now. This room was never used and when they stripped away her clothes she had shivered so violently that Melody was sure she was in the death throes. But Glenn had laid his fire, Teresa massaged her, and Melody held her until it seemed the worst was over.

"Well, do you?" Melody asked. "Do you think it's sinful to do that to your body?"

"It's not for me to judge." Teresa looked up sharply. "It's not for you to judge. Do you hear me, Melody? It is not for you."

"Should we worry that she hasn't opened her eyes?" Melody pressed.

"Maybe. I'm surprised either of them are alive," Teresa muttered.

"I think the boy is going to be fine. Do you think he loves her? He didn't think of anything but her. They must be lovers. I think it's wonderful . . ."

"Melody! Please. There's more to do." Teresa lifted a thick cloth she had hurriedly put around Hannah's head wound. The blood started instantly. "Quick, quick, another towel."

Melody rushed away and came back with two towels: one to put over the ragged gash in Hannah's head and one to tuck over the pillow. She would rather wash one towel than bloody bed linens.

"Now the heavy thread and the curved needle," Teresa ordered.

Melody ran off again. The older woman pressed hard against the deep and jagged tear in Hannah's head, but it was no use. When Melody returned, she held the needle out to Teresa who merely glanced at it.

"Thread it," the older woman said. "A good long length."

Melody fumbled with the needle and thread. Once she managed, she offered it to Teresa again.

"There's no knot, girl," Teresa snapped.

"Teresa, I can't," Melody objected.

"Alright. I should make you, but alright." Teresa motioned her over to hold the towel while she took the needle and thread.

Melody scurried around the bed. Teresa took a deep breath, pinched Hannah's skin and put the needle against the wound.

"Wipe away whatever comes out best you can. I need to see. The light in here is no good for something like this," Teresa ordered. Melody steadied herself, towel in hand, but Teresa just stood there.

"Teresa?" Melody prodded.

Teresa blinked. Thinking that this girl's life might be in her hands had paralyzed her. She pulled herself together and said:

"I'm sorry. Keep it clean, Melody. Very clean. I'm worried about infection."

"Maybe we should call Duncan to lay hands now," Melody said, "He could heal her."

"She's done nothing to deserve that kind of healing," Teresa muttered.

"We don't know that, but Duncan would. Wouldn't he?"

"Melody. The cloth. I can't see for all the blood and such."

Melody wiped at Hannah's temple with swift, precise motions. "I'm sorry. I just think–”

"Don't, Melody. Don't think," Teresa warned. She, herself, had done too much of that lately, and it only led to discontent. "It does no good to think. It's not as if Duncan has healed anyone yet. We don't even know if it's possible."

Before Melody could take Teresa to task for such blasphemy, Teresa stabbed the needle through Hannah's skin.

Pop
.

One stitch in.

Pop.

One stitch out.

There were fifteen stitches. All were done as neat and tidy as Teresa could do which was not as neat and tidy as Melody would do. Melody's cloth soaked up the blood and the palm of her hand became a map of pink tinged lines and crevices; Teresa's fingernails grew half moons of the sticky stuff. All the while Hannah lay still, barely breathing.

When it was done Teresa held out the needle and dropped it into the soiled towel Melody held out. Wasteful as it was, Melody would throw that needle away; she never wanted to stitch with it again. She would throw the towel away; it would never be clean again. Teresa rinsed her hands in the bowl of water near the bed and then dried them on her apron.

"We've done what we can. Let's get her dressed."

Teresa held Hannah up, one strong arm around her back and the other on the girl's shoulder. Melody unfurled the nightdress and took Hannah's arm to thread it through the long sleeve. It was then that Hannah's eyes opened, big and bright and green like glass. Those eyes stared into Melody's. Hannah's lips moved. She said:

"Don't."

***

"I can do it, dude. I can."

Billy swatted at Duncan's hand, but it was Glenn, not Duncan, who gasped and made an awkward move for the boy. Duncan raised a finger.

"It's fine, Glenn. He's afraid is all. He's like a hurt animal." Duncan's gaze stayed on Billy, but he shot a quick smile at Glenn. "Why don't you see if you can find something for Billy to eat."

"Will you be alright?" Glenn asked.

"Of course, my friend. I'll be alright won't I, Billy?"

Duncan looked down on the longhaired boy. He sat on the small stool, his back up against the wall, his legs splayed, his swollen and misshapen hand in his lap. He was covered in grime and blood, and his face was bruised and scraped. He was beyond hunger, crazed with sleeplessness, and terrorized by his ordeal. He was a cornered mouse and it was laughable that Glenn should be concerned for Duncan's safety, but Duncan didn't laugh easily. Smiles were another matter. He had a repertoire of smiles a politician would envy, so he laid a particularly beatific one on Billy.

"I guess he doesn't feel much like talking, Glenn. Go on now. Find something hot for him to eat. And water. He'll need a lot of water. Oh, and have Melody give you soap and some of her sleeping liquid in a cup of tea."

When Glenn had gone Duncan knelt down in front of Billy, but the boy wouldn't look at him. Duncan tilted his head one way and then the other, trying to catch Billy's eye. As he did, he spoke in the way only Duncan could.

"Billy. Billy. How long has it been since you've eaten? How long since you slept?"

Billy shook his head and pulled his legs up, swinging them away from Duncan. He didn't want this guy close to him. He didn't want to hear his voice. He didn't want to eat. There was only one thing he wanted.

"I want to see Hannah. I need to see Hannah, dude."

"I know. I know," Duncan soothed. "But she's being cared for and we need to get you fixed up, too. Your hand. It's in bad shape. You'll need to rest."

"Now, dude," Billy pulled his legs into his chest and bent over. He waved his good hand. "I just need to know she's breathing. Come on. Just for a minute."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to–” Duncan began, but Billy shot off the stool and dashed for the door before his sentence was finished.

Duncan turned to catch him, but he didn't have to try too hard. Billy's knees buckled before he got half way to the door. Duncan got up, walked across the room, and stood over him. His hooded eyes saw so much: the dried blood in Billy's hair, the way the part in it was not quite centered, how the boy's neck was long and slender in contrast to his broad shoulders. The yellow jacket was too big for him. He wore no belt with his jeans. The way he had fallen pulled the jacket up and his denims down just enough for Duncan to see that he was golden skinned everywhere.

"You are a beautiful, broken being," Duncan said. "And soon you will be visited by such pain that you will not remember who Hannah is."

"Bull," Billy shot back.

Duncan wasted no more breath on him. He put his hands under Billy's arms and tried to lift him up, but he was dead weight. Duncan dropped him back on the floor, and that's when Billy Zuni began to shake. He crossed his arms and buried his face in the nest they made. Duncan knew that hand of his should have caused Billy Zuni to faint with the pain of it, but there was an even deeper pain in the boy. It was a pain of the heart and the soul. Billy Zuni cried and his cries became wails and the wails became a long shriek. Within it all there were words of self-recrimination, pleas for forgiveness, and the name Hannah. Duncan slid down beside him, and put one hand on his back, and his other across his heart as he listened. He took Billy's sorrow for his own.

"My fault. . .If she dies. . .Because of me. . ." Billy wept.

"She won't die, Billy. Hannah is in God's hands. He is merciful. He meant for you to be found and be delivered to us. We'll figure it out, and when we do you will be made whole. You might even be healed. But for now, you are safe. Do you understand? You are safe."

Duncan spoke in his Goldilocks voice: not too harsh, not too soft, just right. Soothed by that voice – or simply reaching the end of his grief – Billy fell silent and so did Duncan. But still Billy's tears fell, and the preacher continued to rub his back through the dirty yellow jacket. When he had stopped shaking and moved his head so that his cheek lay against his arms, when he gave up and gave in to his shock and weakness, when his eyes stared lifelessly at the door, Duncan put his arms around Billy.

"Come on. Find the strength and raise yourself up. I'm here to help you."

Billy blinked. Duncan tightened his grip and finally the boy got up, unsteady and dazed. Duncan had seen this kind of trauma before, these psychic wounds, this delayed alarm, this sudden realization that someone you love is in jeopardy. He would heal this boy. He would heal this girl. Not just their bodies, but whatever ailed their souls. Perhaps that was why they had been delivered to Duncan, to test him. Slowly, he guided Billy to the daybed that served as his couch and planned for what glorious things were to come for these two souls who had literally been lost in the wilderness.

"Dude," Billy mumbled. "Please. Please."

"My name is Duncan, Billy."

Duncan sat the boy down. He took one of Billy's legs and put his other hand on Billy's shoulder. He pushed and pulled until Billy lay on the mattress, the fight gone out of him.

"Time to clean you up." Duncan unzipped the yellow jacket. "We can't afford to waste anything here, and I just can't bring myself to cut this fine jacket off you. I'm sorry, Billy, this has to be done."

Duncan took hold of one cuff on the jacket. He pulled fast and sure over Billy's broken hand. The boy howled and writhed in pain, but Duncan went on with his chore. He pushed the jacket under Billy and then took the other sleeve down. Still he talked.

"By the way, I answer to brother. Duncan is fine, too. I just want you to know that we have rules here. Courtesies."

He squared Billy's shoulders. He found a pillow and put it under his head. When that was done, Duncan pulled the stool over and sat close to the bed. He put his hand on Billy's head and petted it.

"We are a very small group here, Billy. We are orderly and your arrival has not been orderly. We are coming upon a great moment in our history. A baptism of faith that is so profound we – all of us – are going to have to focus on that. So, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Are you listening?"

Billy nodded, but it was a reflexive action. The world was crashing down on him. The fear he had held at bay through those hours in the container was devouring him, and the exhaustion of watching over Hannah weighed so heavy on him he could barely breathe. He wasn't sure what he was hearing; he didn't know what he was supposed to say. All he knew was that Hannah was gone, and that he hated the sound of this man's voice. When Duncan put his hand on Billy's shoulder, he felt as if he had been branded.