Darkness

Samuel Duncan

“Well,” I tell David, “I think everyone is settled down all right.” We’re back up to three patients, the third one having arrived shortly after I got here. All three of them are having some soup for dinner, not too sick to eat. Yet. “I’m going to head up to my office to get a few supplies, just enough to get through the night tonight. We’ll take a supply wagon up there tomorrow in the morning for more. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

The sun has sunk below the horizon across the river, but the sky is still filled with the bright orange and gold hues of sunset. I enjoy the spectacle as I climb the hill. Even knowing that we are back to having patients again cannot dim the memory of the very pleasant day that I spent at Homochitto.

I approach my office, and glance up at our apartment window on the second floor, but no lights are on inside. Maybe Ben just hasn’t lit the lamps yet. Or maybe he’s not even there. I wonder if he went to Gregor’s house to do some chores?

Before I gather the supplies, I want to go see if he’s there. I’d like at least to tell him briefly how the wedding went. I’m sure he’s been thinking about his friend Moses.

Before I open the door, I wonder if he’ll be waiting just on the other side of it to seize me with a ferocious embrace as he so often does. I hope so.

But no, he is not on the other side of the door. Maybe he isn’t here after all. No light, and he’s not on the sofa under the window reading in the fading light of sunset. I glance towards the bedroom, just to check briefly before going back out.

But there he is. Lying across the bed, fully clothed, even his shoes on, not under the covers. As though he collapsed there before he could even get undressed.

My heart leaps into my throat, my pulse suddenly racing as fast as a galloping horse.

“Ben?” I say as I stride over to him, horror overtaking me.

He does not move. I quickly light the lamp on the bedside table so that I can try to see what is wrong. When the little flame flares, illuminating Ben’s face, I suddenly feel like I have fallen into a nightmare.

He shows every sign of fatal yellow fever relapse. He is unresponsive, his skin is gray, sweat is plastering his hair to his forehead, and worst of all, the most terrible thing, I see that he has vomited onto the covers, the dark coffee ground sputum that shows that his organs are failing, that they are filling up with blood, the definitive sign that the relapse is taking his life.

I hear myself mumbling, “Oh my god, oh my god,” as I sink down next to him, lay my hand across his forehead, feel his clammy skin. I try to remain calm enough to conduct an actual examination, but I know that it is already too late. This is what Smith looked like right before he died.

I try, pointlessly, to help him anyway, despite knowing there is nothing I can do. I cast away the soiled blanket to at least make things a little cleaner here where he is lying. I rub his hands between mine, trying to restore some circulation. I push his damp hair back from his forehead. I lean him up against me, propping him so that he is halfway sitting, hoping the upright position will assist his ability to breathe. I feel his pulse, monitor his breathing, and know that everything is too slow, his body is shutting down, it is already almost over.

My heart cracks right in two. I wasn’t with him. He lost consciousness alone, the disease ravaged his body and destroyed his organs while he was alone, he suffered pain and probably fear all while he was alone.

I’m with him now, though. All I can do is try to make him feel that he is with me, here at the end. I was sure that Smith derived some comfort from the presence of his pastor, and I am determined that although I have failed my beloved Ben in every single other way, I will not fail him in this. He will have me with him every brief moment for the rest of his short life, and I hope that he will sense my love as I say goodbye to him.

There is nothing to do now but hold him. I wrap him in my arms, and smooth my hands over his bearded face, and try to remember every feature, every beloved aspect of his countenance, so that I can take this away into my memories. “Ben,” I whisper to him, “my love, I’m here with you, my darling.”

And shockingly, he opens his eyes.

Very faintly, so low that I can scarcely hear it, he whispers, “Sam.”

“Yes, Ben, yes, I’m here, I’m with you, I’m taking care of you,” I blather, weeping, but trying to keep my voice steady for him. I don’t want to scare him.

Two more words, only two more, come out of him before his eyes close and he goes limp in my arms. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, then is still.

I clutch him, pressing his face to my chest. I won’t let go of him. I put my fingers onto his throat, and sense that his pulse is still there, barely. It is only seconds to the end, I know, and I will be holding him, letting him die in my arms. It is all I can do for him now.

There is a sudden banging on the door, but I ignore it. I am not going to squander Ben’s final moments answering the door.

“I’m here Ben,” I whisper. “I love you. I will always love you.” I feel him slipping away, and I ignore whoever is out there pounding. Nobody else matters.

Gregor

I tell Wolk to let me know what to expect when we arrive. I have realized that with Wolk, Misty, and Harriet all together at Homochitto, there are no Guardians anywhere else to keep me posted about events outside of my immediate vicinity. I have grown accustomed to having a more expansive sphere of awareness.

The moment that we get within range of Natchez, close enough for Wolk to be able to sense what is happening in town, he says, “Gregor! Ben is suffering a severe yellow fever relapse! He is critically ill.”

I only freeze for a split second, before making sure that Jake is ready to finish driving the carriage home, and spinning Issoba around.

We get to Natchez in minutes, Wolk continuing to update me. Sam has found Ben in bed, and has determined that there is nothing left to be done. He is holding his beloved in his arms, knowing that he can’t do anything but love him, and try to comfort him.

I hope to do more.

I gallop through the streets on Issoba’s back, leaning forward to increase his speed, heedless of the clods of dirt that must be thrown up behind his hooves onto the clothing of hapless passersby.

I jump off Issoba’s back at the foot of Samuel’s stairs, and race up them two at a time. The door is locked. I knock, loudly, and call out, “Samuel! It’s Gregor! Let me in!”

“He is paying no attention, darling. He will not answer the door.”

“SAMUEL!” I roar, pounding in time to my words, “OPEN THIS DOOR! I CAN HELP!”

“No, beloved, he is not moving. He wants to hold Ben in his final moments, he doesn’t care who is at the door.”

“Is Ben alive still?”

“Barely.”

I take a step back, drop my shoulder, and hurl myself at the door as hard as I can. Nothing.

I have to get in there. I look around. There is a tiny window here on the landing next to the staircase. It’s small, but I am thin. “Will I fit?”

“If you’re careful.” He doesn’t bother trying to talk me out of it.

I cover my head with my arms, and dive headfirst through the window, crashing through the glass, landing on the floor inside Samuel’s apartment. My coat takes most of the damage, but cuts on my hands are bleeding as I run over to the bed. Samuel is sitting with Ben in his lap, a tragic pietà worthy of Michelangelo, and the grief pouring off of him almost flattens me.

Samuel looks up at me, his cheeks saturated with tears. His expression is heartbreaking, so bereft, so hopeless, so broken. “He’s gone,” he whispers to me, then a sob of utter anguish tears out of his chest.

“Is he gone?” I ask silently.

“His bodily systems have shut down, but his Guardian is still here, has not yet collected his soul.”

“Wait!” I shout to the Guardian, not knowing if it will work, not caring that Sam will think this is an insane thing to be yelling right now.

I dive onto the bed, just as I dove into the window, landing behind Ben, and clamber onto him, my arms around him, my legs clutching his. I drape my chest over his back, getting in Samuel’s way, duck my head down to touch Ben’s, burrow my face into his hair. I am touching him in every conceivable way.

“HEAL!” I think to him, and feel Wolk flooding me with a powerful burst of energy.

Samuel is too shocked to move, or to do anything else except cry. I hear him weeping, but I can’t stop to explain to him that there is still hope.

“The Guardian is shocked too, but hesitated just long enough before collecting Ben’s soul. His heart has managed to beat again, just once or twice.” Wolk hesitates. “He hasn’t died yet, but he is so close to it that his Guardian doesn’t know what to do.”

I reapply myself, clutching Ben as hard as I can, touching every part of his body that I can with mine, directing Wolk’s energy into every point of contact.

Another minute or two goes by.

“He is lingering, but….” I can tell that Wolk thinks it is too late, that there is nothing left to be done.

Even Samuel, weeping miserably, moans, “It’s over, Gregor, I’m sorry, but we’ve lost him.”

Samuel’s heart wrenching attempt to comfort me, even now, even as his own heart is broken, almost breaks me too.

No! There has to be something else we can do. Is there more energy that Wolk can draw on?

“Not without dropping the glamour, darling, and that I will not do again.”

“HEAL!” I think.

Nothing.

Samuel weeps, and tries to keep holding Ben even though I have interfered. Yes.

Yes!

“Samuel, hold him! Touch him wherever you can!” He sobs, and I know he thinks he is indulging a madman, but I can feel his hands wrap around Ben, and we are holding him between us, encapsulating him in our love.

“Wolk!” I tell him, “Make Samuel’s Guardian send energy through him! Now!”

I know this will be bizarre for Samuel’s Guardian, but it’s the only thing I can think of. Maybe Samuel’s love, with his Guardian’s energy flowing through his touch, can help. This never happens with regular humans, but it’s worth a try, a last desperate effort to save Ben.

I feel it when his Guardian’s energy begins flowing through him, can sense it where the backs of his hands are touching me, as his fingers clutch his dying love. It reminds me, just a little, of the way that it feels when Ayola touches me, the woosh of energy that we always enjoy so much.

I try to seize it, and direct it together with Wolk’s, and frantically command Ben to heal. Heal! HEAL!

“His heart rate is stabilizing, darling.”

“It’s working, Sam,” I whisper hoarsely, barely able to speak. I feel myself trembling, sweating with the effort of directing the energy.

“What?” Samuel gasps, and I feel his hand move to press against Ben’s throat, and I know that he realizes that his heart is beating again.

“Keep holding him,” I grunt out through clenched teeth, feeling the strain of keeping the intense amount of energy flowing steadily into Ben, healing him, curing him, repairing him.

Samuel doesn’t question me. I can sense his sudden resolve, the burst of hope, the eager love that he feels.

“He has put it together,” Wolk tells me, “he remembers how Ayola helped you heal.”

Good, if he understands it can only help, and I don’t have one single spare iota of strength to explain anything, to do anything other than just maintain the flow of energy. I have never worked so hard at any endeavor in my life.

It takes hours. Samuel and I remain motionless, together on the bed, Ben’s body pressed between ours, as Ben is slowly healed. I know that Samuel is more or less aware of what is happening, and thankfully he does not question me. I know he heard the strain in my voice, so he is trying not to distract me. He just holds Ben, unknowingly being the conduit of his Guardian’s energy, as I tie it all together and send it into Ben’s body.

Finally, long after the windows outside have fallen dark, Ben takes a deep breath.

“He is awake.”

I hear him whisper hoarsely, “Hey Sam.”