Authors: Kelseyleigh Reber
If I Fall (19 page)
Blood.
Everywhere.
My hands. My dress. My face.
It seems impossible for it to be covering so much of me. How did I manage to get it on my face? Did I wipe at my brow? I must have. And my neck … how did it get there? I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of it. My mind races. Faster. Faster. There’s just so much blood. Red. Sticky. Staining my hands black in the night. Blending in with my dress.
And the screaming. Even with a ball of cloth clamped between his teeth, the screams still pierce the night in haunting waves. His eyes bulge out like a bug’s and his salt and pepper hair sticks to his forehead with sweat. The boat nearly tips over with his constant spasms.
I have witnessed death before, but it was always instantaneous. Never before was there so much blood and pain and … suffering. I want to end it. I want to take his agony away, but all I can do is watch. All I can do is whisper soothing murmurings in his ear. But does he even hear them over the screaming pain?
Mr. Eversby cries out, gagging on the balled-up fabric. I cringe at the sound, pressing my hands back over the wound and trying to calm him—and perhaps myself—with meaningless chatter.
“Do you enjoy looking at the stars, Mr. Eversby?” I say in my most calming voice. Dela is crying softly behind me, grunting with the task of rowing the large lifeboat by herself. “Look over my left shoulder. Do you see the shape of a teapot? Around it are fainter stars that form the shape of Sagittarius, the Archer. Do you see him?”
I see him looking, straining past the pain into a new branch of thought. He coughs. The gag falls out of his mouth. His eyes squeeze shut and I take this as a nod.
“Sagittarius represents the centaur Chiron. You know, it is said that he was shot and wounded by Hercules. The shot brought him great agony and so he offered to switch places with Prometheus, who was being punished for giving fire to man,” I tell him. I realize I am rambling. Endless prattle about unimportant matters, but I cannot stop. My mouth is beyond my control and the words keep flowing. “Chiron gave up his immortality to trade places and because of his kind act, Jupiter placed him among the stars. You can see him now, forever holding his bow and arrow.”
I glance down and see him looking at me. His eyes have taken on a gentler tone, different than the intensity they once held only moments before. It is as though his mind has found a new focus, erasing the pain as he tries to make sense of the girl sitting in front of him.
“You a-are a brave young lady, Miss Hamilton.” His words are whispers carried on the wind of short gasping breaths, but I hear the urgency laced in his speech. “You are special. You know not how much.”
I can no longer fight the tears that gather. “Thank you, Mr. Eversby. Thank you for everything.”
Suddenly, he grabs onto the fabric of my dress, pulling me down so that his tense eyes gaze unblinkingly into my own. “No, you must listen. You are special. My mother, she knows. She knows.”
I shake my head, not understanding. Perhaps he has become delirious. “Your mother knows what, Mr. Eversby?”
His pupils grow until the dark gray of his eyes is almost impossible to discern. “You must go to her. Fifth Avenue. Elana Eversby. Fifth Avenue. Promise me. Promise, Miss Hamilton. Promise! Promise!”
Too active for his condition, he begins to choke, blood spittle dribbling down his chin and onto the white of his collar. Through the racking coughs, he continues to scream this last word at me until without knowing what I am promising, I concede.
“All right, all right, I promise!” I scream, wanting his terrifying wails to cease, for the blood to stop flying from his mouth.
Mr. Eversby becomes suddenly slack. His eyes close as though he can finally be at peace. “Fifth Avenue. Elana Eversby,” he whispers. “Go to her. You promised. Go to her.”
“I will. I will,” I say. I squeeze my eyes shut, tears gluing my eyelashes together as I sob.
“Is he—” Dela asks from behind me. I turn to look at her. She is completely composed except for the slight tremble of her bottom lip. I feel the hot tears on my face and am ashamed. What a wild mess I must look like. I am supposed to be the strong one and I am failing miserably. I glance down at Mr. Eversby’s suddenly-frozen countenance. His eyes stare unseeingly past mine, still fixated over my left shoulder.
“He is with Chiron in the stars now,” I tell her.
She sniffles and nods. “He was a noble and kind friend. He deserves his place among the stars, doesn’t he?”
I smile, brushing my fingers over his eyes, closing them forever. “Not even the stars are worthy of him, Dela.”
We sit in silence for a moment, gazing up at the sky. I wonder how many souls I have put there. How many are now among the stars because of me. Mr. Eversby lost his life helping Dela and I escape. We have our lives because of him. Nothing I do will ever repay such a debt.
But keeping my promise may come close. I fumble over his last words in my mind.
Fifth Avenue
, he had said. Is that a place? A street name perhaps? Am I supposed to go there? It is impossible for me to think. Too many thoughts swim around in my head.
Needing something to do with myself, I begin to pull Mr. Eversby towards the side of the boat. His heavy deadweight is cumbersome to say the least, but I manage. The boat bobbles atop the water as I move. Mr. Eversby’s lifeless body lies limp at my feet, but just as I am about to lift his leg over the edge, my sister’s tiny hand clamps around my wrist.
“What are you doing?” she yells.
I turn to her, needing her to understand. “He is with the angels now. The boat is difficult to row already without extra weight. I am sorry, Dela, but it must be done.”
Tears slip down her cheeks as she nods. “I know, but shouldn’t we say something? A few words, maybe,” she stammers.
I look at her and back at the body. I find myself wondering when it was I became so heartless. The idea of saying a few kind words never even crossed my mind. I have no compassion anymore, no heart. War took that from me. War took everything from me. “Go ahead, Dela.”
She steps around me to sit beside him and closes her eyes. I watch her as she takes deep breaths, her light curls brushing against her cheeks.
“We did not know you for very long, Mr. Eversby, but I am glad to have met you. You saved my life more than once and you saved my sister. When we see our parents again in America, I will tell them all about you,” she says.
The part about our parents makes me wince, but I do not interrupt. It is a conversation better saved for a later time. For now, I let her speak.
“I will tell them how noble you were. How kind, gentle, and good.” She shudders, pausing before speaking again. “I am going to miss you. But El and I will remember you. One day, we will lie in her garden again and look at the stars. And when we do, I will think of you. Thank you, Mr. Eversby. Thank you for everything. Rest in peace.”
Dela opens her eyes, glancing over at me. “How was that?” she asks.
I grin, laughing, though I know not why. “Perfect,” I tell her. “It was perfect.”
She presses her lips together and nods. Without speaking, we both roll Mr. Eversby up and over the side of the boat. He hits the water with a light splash before slowly slipping beneath the surface, leaving those living to face the world above alone.
“It is just you and me again,” Dela says.
I pull her closer and kiss her cheek. “And we will manage just as we always have. I love you, Dela.”
“I love you, too, El.”
Those three words allow us to pick up the oars and keep rowing. Those three words help us to push on. Those three words power our will to survive. Without them, we would have no cause. Without love, we would have no reason.
Drifting aimlessly, surrounded by nothing but the same opaque blue, hunger gnawing at your stomach: these are the architects of lunacy. I feel the numbness in my mind. My humanity and intelligence dissolving into nothing … numb. Numb.
Numb.
There is no thought, no feeling; only the hunger. Time is measured from one grumble of the beast to the next. My tongue feels like cotton. Chapped and swollen, my lips stick together and beg for hydration. I am surrounded by endless water and yet, have nothing to drink. Legs stick out from my body; I can see them, touch them, but I cannot feel them. Pins and needles race across my calves and thighs.
Beside me, Dela groans. The incomplete darkness of dawn surrounds us in shadows. Within less than an hour, the full light of day three will shine down upon us. There is no land in sight. And the hope of spotting another form of life besides the hovering birds is dwindling fast. No. We are stranded. Lost at sea and lost in our own minds.
So lost, in fact, that when I see a dot of white on the horizon, I am sure I am hallucinating. It grows larger. Moving closer and closer, the mirage takes the form of a boat. It bobs across the water, inching closer to us. My dry and cracked throat somehow emits a laugh. It is strangled and coarse, an odd filament of noise in my ears.
Dela looks at me. She points. I follow her finger across the horizon to where my imagined boat rests atop the water.
“A boat,” she says, her voice strained and foreign.
With a sudden burst of strength, I sit upright and squint into the distance. The mirage does not waver or change. Because perhaps it is not a mirage at all. Perhaps it is real! “You see it too?”
She closes her eyes and nods.
Suddenly, I am on my feet and waving my hands above my head. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I yell into the night. “Help! Over here! Help!”
Something hard slams into me, pushing me back down. The piece of wood that forms a bench digs into my side, but I cannot adjust my position due to my sister. She lies across me, her hand clamped over my mouth.
“Are you mad?” she yells at me. “They could be Radicals!”
I roll my eyes, pushing her off of me.
“Stay in this lifeboat much longer and we are dead regardless,” I spit. “I think I’ll take my chances.”
With a twinge of stubborn persistence in her hollow eyes, she rises and grudgingly yells across the dark expanse with me. A light plays over us and we continue to scream and wave our arms, even as the boat nears close enough for me to make out five men standing on its deck.
The boat sidles up like a grand creature hovering menacingly over our small craft. It comes to a stop parallel to us. Only a two foot gap separates us from the unknown. One of the men holding a lantern steps towards the rail of the boat and peers down at us. Most of his features are cast in shadow; the warm glow of the candlelight only falling upon his cheekbone and brow. The little of his face I can see is disguised by a thick beard. His dark eyes lock onto me and as if his initial impression wasn’t enough, I am quivering with fear.
“State your name!” he barks across the small fissure between our two vessels. The sudden volume of his voice in the still night jars me. I scramble for a reply.
At last, I yell back with an unmistakable tremble in my voice, “Miss Elvira Hamilton, sir.”
“And the other?” he says, gesturing with the lantern.
“My sister. Miss Dela Hamilton, sir.”
He exchanges a quick glance with the other four men. My legs feel as though there is not a bone beneath my skin; the lack of food and exercise do not pair well with my sudden need for energy. I am not sure how much longer I can continue functioning.
The man turns back to me, lowering the lantern so that it casts over our faces instead. He makes an uncommitted grunt. “What is your business, Miss Hamilton?”
“We were on the RMS
Celtic
heading to America, but there was a great commotion and we were forced to escape. We’ve been stranded out at sea for days, sir,” I say, leaving the constant lies in the past. All except one: the truth about what lies beneath our gloves.
“Which side?” he shouts.
Dela, sitting down behind me, speaks up. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Which side?” he repeats. “The Radicals or the Marked?
Which
side?
”
I hesitate. Is it worth sharing the one detail I refused to share with anyone? The one verity about me I could not even bear to share with my one and only friend?
A friend you lost because you lied,
I remind myself.
I glance back at Dela who shakes her head profusely. “Don’t, El,” she whispers repetitively. But as wise as she is, I do not listen. Something possesses me to open my mouth and share the truth. Perhaps it is the guilt over not having told Adam. Instantly, I store that thought away. Lifting my gaze, I stare straight into the man’s eyes as I say, “The Marked’s side, sir.”
I am not sure what it is I expected him to do. Ram his boat into ours. Jump across the divide and latch onto my throat. Anything besides turning around and disappearing back into the boat’s innards. Dela and I exchange a brief quizzical glance before I hear a faint thump. Fearing the worst, I turn to meet a harmless rope ladder dangling over the side of our sister boat, a welcoming into another chapter of the story that is Elvira Hamilton.