Drowning in the East River (28 page)

David grabbed a discarded green and white scarf laying in the dirt. Wiping the top layer of mud from his face, he opened his eyes, the wool was stained with blood.

He threw the scarf away, wiping the remnants of the blood on his pants. It smeared over his hands, it was still warm and sticky on his skin.

The perpetual North Atlantic rain continued, shrouding everything in a constant, soaking mist which hadn't let up in days.

David could still hear gunshots echoing throughout the cricket pitch, making it almost impossible to gauge the direction of the blasts. The screams continued as people failed to escape from harms way.

David closed his eyes, trying to listen through the pounding of his heartbeat to the shots, to figure out where they were coming from. Opening his eyes, he saw a platoon of British soldiers advancing quickly on the field, rifles firing in synchronization as he dove for the best cover he could locate in the split second.

Peeking up above the bleachers, bodies were strewn around the seating area. Blood streamed down the slight incline of the pavement, the syrupy red liquid forming pools in the drainage ditches embedded into the pavement behind the bleachers.

David tried to swallow to moisten his dry and cracked throat as he heard the cock of a rifle just to his right. Shadows had started to fall over the stadium, and he could just make out the shapes of the British soldiers in the darkness.

"Drop the fucking gun!”

His hands quivering, he brought his hands up above his head. He closed his eyes, biting back the fear building in the pit of his stomach. He kicked his gun under the bleachers. “All right! It's on the ground!" He said, projecting his voice above the gunshots which were still echoing from somewhere in the distance.

He closed his eyes, trying to keep his breathing under control and the skyrocketing anxiety out of his body language as he stepped out in front of the anxious platoon of soldiers. He didn't want to see dozens of shaky muskets all aimed in his direction.

With his hands empty, the troops quickly surrounded him. They kept the muskets aimed squarely at his head, as one of the men moved towards him. "Get on your fuckin' knees.”

Before he had a moment to process the words, David buckled and dropped into the thick mud which lined the shredded turf of the field as a boot slammed into the back of his knee. He grunted as a musket was pressed to the back of his head. If he could keep control of his breathing, they wouldn't see his fear.

"Hands behind your fuckin' back." This one was another voice, it was rougher than the first, more rural.

David obeyed, and a pair of shackles were roughly snapped onto his wrists, pinning his hands behind him.

Despite the nerves flipping his stomach as he was shoved towards the exit of the stadium, a deep part of his brain realized he suddenly wasn't scared anymore.

The adrenaline coursing through his system told him that he should be scared, that he should try and flee, but his brain overrode the urge. He tried to lick his lips, but his cotton mouth robbed him of saliva.

Nothing that could happen to him would have been any worse than what he had already been through. When you have no one at home to go back to, can you ever really find your way back?

The question of death was one which had gone through his head dozens of times in the last year. There had been times when the thought of suicide had legitimately gone through his head, but something always stopped him. There was still something he had to live for, but suddenly he wasn't scared of death, anymore. As he heard the cock of a musket behind him; the thought of death suddenly sounded like a relief.

Stepping up into the waiting police wagon, his mind flew to Thomas. He had forced himself to cling to the thought of his son as a happy and healthy toddler back home in New York, well fed, and under a caring eye. He bit back a pang of regret, missing the last reminder he had of his wife and the life they had so briefly enjoyed. He forced himself to picture her dark eyes, smiling up at him on their wedding night. It was less painful than the thought of his son, who he wasn't sure he would ever see again.

He stretched out in the bed next to Jessica. The early morning sunlight streamed in through the open window. They were in a tiny Niagara Falls hotel room which David had scrimped and saved to be able to afford. He had wanted even a brief escape from the bustle of the city to enjoy her, to just be a couple, for even just a few of days.

The satin of her nightgown clung loosely to the curves of her body. She had kicked off the covers sometime during the night; she was always too hot. It had only gotten worse as she grew bigger with the approaching baby. He watched the slow rise and fall of her breathing, as she slept. One arm was draped over her eyes, trying to shut out the light of the early morning.

Her other hand was draped loosely over her stomach, which seemed to be growing increasingly round with each passing day. They had delayed as long as they could, but once she had started to show, it became noticeable quick. By best estimates, she was at least five months pregnant.

He slid his hand over, resting his hand on her stomach. The feeling of his baby moving inside of her was one which made him giddy with excitement. He closed his eyes, letting the pitching and rolling of the baby overwhelm his senses.

"Perhaps I should tell you to keep your hands to yourself.”

He looked up at Jessica, her eyes were open. She flashed him a mischievous smile, her eyes reflecting the tired relaxation of a full and relaxed sleep. She hadn't been sleeping well either, especially when he had his nightmares. "He was calm. If you wake him up, it'll take him forever to calm down again.”

"Perhaps we should get used to sleepless nights," David replied. He leaned in, planting a light kiss on the tip of her nose. He sat up on his elbow, and ran his fingers through the thick mass of hair which had fanned out behind her on the bed. He traced his fingers slowly down the length of her body, gently tracing over the arch of her stomach. "I hear that comes with the territory.”

"Speak for yourself," Jessica replied, giving him a gentle smack on the chest as she struggled to sit up, her stomach making movement hard on the soft mattress. She grabbed the bedside table, pulling herself to a sitting position. She looked over at him, a look of forced seriousness crossing her face. "I had to smack you to stop snoring last night. You sounded like a steamship.”

He had slept soundly the night before. It had been the first night in a long time when he hadn't been woken by the nightmares. "Was I?" David asked, sitting up on the bed. He picked up his shirt, which had been thrown on the floor during the night.

"You were certainly sleeping soundly," Jessica replied. She walked across the room and grabbed her robe from where it was hanging on the back of the door. Turning back toward him, she slid the thin silk over her shoulders and tightened it around her waist. "I don't think I've heard you sleep that well in months...Was there something different that you didn't have any...problems?" She paused, searching for the right words in her head.

"Come here," David said. He grabbed Jessica by the hand and gently pulled her back in to him. He wrapped his arms around her expanding waist, leaning his head against her stomach. He could feel softest kick inside of her.

"What's gotten in to you?" Jessica asked, curling her fingers through his hair which stuck out on all sides, wild from inattention. She looked down at him. Her lips pursed in contemplation, as she barely restrained a soft smile. "You're behaving strangely.”

"I love you, baby," David replied, he let out a soft sigh. He could feel the baby kicking and squirming inside of her at the sound of his voice so close to its head. He looked up at met her soft glance. "I can't believe how lucky I am to have you.”

She stood up, bracing her hands against her aching back. She raised a curious eyebrow as she glanced down at her bump and smiled. "Well, you're stuck with us now." That was the first time she had referred to them as ‘us.’ It was the first time they had officially felt like a family.

"I hope so," David replied, looking up into her eyes with a soft smile. For once, he didn't have to think of the right thing to say. It just came out of his mouth. "I'm not letting you go again.”

David closed his eyes as one of the faceless shoulders forced him onto a bench, shackling his wrists through a chain secured to the floor. He bit down on his tongue, forcing himself to keep his eyes glued to the gray metal wall in front of him.

A British soldier jumped into the back of the wagon, slamming the thick metal door behind him. He sat down on the bench, his musket clenched at the ready in front of him. His eyes scanned the faces around him as the wagon rumbled back into the city.

"I'll ask you again, where's the insurgent hideout?”

"You have the wrong guy," David replied, opening his eyes. His speech was slurred by the blood pooling from his mouth. He laid his head against the back of his chair. His wrists were shackled tightly behind him, the rough iron chaffing his skin. Through his haze, he looked around the cavernous room. The walls looked to be thick stone, the only natural light trickled in from a tiny skylight high on the ceiling. "I'm an American sailor. Why would I get involved in your war? I don't care!”

His head snapped back as a viscous right hook slammed against his temple. David heard something crunch deep inside of his jaw. "Go to hell!" David said, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor, as searing pain shot through his dislocated jaw. His sinuses throbbed.

The officer pacing in front of him was young, barely in his twenties. He had the bookish looks of someone promoted right out of university. His accent was thick as he spoke again, placing himself squarely in David's line of sight. "We have witnesses who've placed you deep within the separatist movement operating out of Dublin. We know you're a part of that group, and have direct ties to very important members of the leadership. Don't fuckin' lie to me on this." He spoke slowly, making sure David was understanding the words coming from his mouth.

David closed his eyes, the black stone walls of the room were starting to spin around him. He could feel blood pooling deep inside of his mouth, as he spit out the shattered remnants of one of his molars.

The sounds of the city bled in from below them, sounding distant and sad. However, the sound was still agonizingly close, making him painfully aware of the life which continued outside the walls of the prison. "I'm not lying.”

The soldier pulled out his side arm and in what seemed like a lightening fast movement, fired a single shot, hitting David squarely in the kneecap.

Crying out as the agonizing pain shot through every synapse he had. David weakly tugged at his bound wrists in an attempt to get himself free. His body contorted in an unconscious effort to grab his shattered knee. "Fuck!" He rested his head against the back of the chair, his teeth grinding together in his head as he struggled with all his self-control to breath through the pain overwhelming his body.

David pulled Jessica tightly to his body as they stared over the roof of their apartment building overlooking the East River. He looked down at her, a smile spreading over his lips at the sight of her happy, "I love you, baby." He ran his fingers through the thick curls in her hair.

Her laugh was sparkling, "I love you, David." She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him, passionately. Her lips felt full and warm, it was like she was standing right in front of him.

She pulled back and bent down over the carriage and picked up the baby, who was completely swaddled in a soft pink blanket. Jessica had knitted it herself for months before the baby was born. She looked up at him, smiling brightly.

"She has your nose," Jessica said, sliding the heavy, squirming little bundle into his arms gently. She ran her fingers through the baby's downy blonde hair, and looked up at him. "She's yours, through and through.”

"You're a lot tougher than I gave you credit for." Jessica's voice bled into the thick accent of the soldier. He pulled a switchblade out of his utility belt. He passed the highly polished blade quickly between his fingers. "If you won't tell us where the hideout is, how about the names of the men you've been answering too?”