Page 46 of House of Furies
He grabbed my ankle and pulled, viciously, and I flailed, nails scratching down the bench as I fought for purchase and lost.Kick!I commanded my legs.Kick, damn you!But my body was weak, my muscles responding lazily.
“Chijioke—” I tried again, but it came out as no more than a rasp.
The doctor clobbered me again with his fists, and I coughed, lashing out once more with my feet. My heel slammed into his rib cage and he reeled back, but only for a moment. His hat had fallen off in the commotion, flying out the back of the wagon, sucked into the foggy night. Merriman was upon me again, throwing me around, slamming me against one wall of the wagon and then tossing me wherever I might land.
The corpse of Mrs. Eames broke my fall, but only a little, and I coughed, feeling sick and shivery all over. I could hardly see, the punches to my head making me feel dizzy and distant, as though my thoughts and my will to fight skipped away out of reach, abandoning me to listless rolling and moaning. There had to be something I could do; I simply had to breathe. Breathe and fight. I pulled in a shuddering breath, rallying just as Merriman dropped to his knees next to me and snatched up my kicking legs, pulling off his cravat and using it to bind them together.
“It was exhilarating, I admit,” he whispered, tongue poking out as he tightened the silk around my ankles. My throat was closing up with panic, Chijioke’s name just a thought that Icould not possibly turn into a shout. The pockmarked ground would make our struggling indecipherable from the bumpy ride. “To slice the flesh from her, to cook it, to know her taste as nobody would know it...”
He grunted as the cravat knot tightened, my toes going numb.
“And I confess,” he said, crawling over me and staring madly and sweating into my eyes, “I crave that unholy sacrament. I crave it, dear, sweet, innocent Louisa,and I will have it.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
His horrible face was just a brown-and-black blur above me, and then I could see nothing at all, the next blow hitting my chin, rocking me onto my side.
When did I pray? Only in desperate moments. Only when I needed a miracle. Once I had been devout, as devout as my mother and father and grandparents wished, giving hours of my day to a God that never protected me. Then I grew sick of being tested. I grew sick of the excuses. I cannot say if I ever stopped believing, but I know I stopped trying to believe. But now, half-blinded by the pain in my head, tears spilling down my cheeks as I heard the soft, metallic sound of a knife being unsheathed, I prayed. Then I hoped. I kicked out with my legs, punched blindly with my arms, and I wished for someone to make this all go away.
I called over and over again for Chijioke, but blood was running down my throat and my voice was just a rattle. My teeth must have cut something in my mouth when he knocked my head around. His hot breath oozed across my face, and I fought, scratching at him, shaking when he managed to bat down my fingers and clamp my wrists in one hand. I could do nothing now but wriggle helplessly like a fish on land.
Please. Someone must be listening. Something. Anything. The good and heavenly helpers I was told about, or the dark, dangerousones I know now to walk among us.
My eyesight was recovering, but that only made it worse. I did not want to see this monster masquerading as a man or discover that he was smiling as he hurt me. A flash of silver passed over my eyes. The knife. A sob mingled with the blood in my throat, a sad, lost gurgle that made me feel utterly undone.
Then I heard the distant thunder. He heard it, too. His head snapped up as he loomed over me, and I listened hard, straining for some glimmer of hope. Horse hooves. They were growing closer, coming upon us at a hard sprint. I threw my head back and watched, upside down, as a rider approached the wagon from behind, galloping into view with a gray cloak whipping around her head, as wind-tossed as her curly brown hair.
Mary.
“Stop the wagon!” I heard her voice cut through the painful buzzing in my ears. It was the strong, sure voice she had used when she held me during the storm. The same voice Maggie used when I was in the cupboards and needed someone to say: it will not stay like this forever.
The crack of a whip. A duo of shrieking mares. The wagon shuddered and screeched to a stop so abruptly that the back lifted completely off the ground and careened to the side. A shower of pebbles and dirt rained down on us a half second before Mary jumped from her horse. The beast stamped and circled, but I could see no more of it as Mary landed inches from my head, recovering with a hop before throwing herself at Merriman.
“Unhand me!” he thundered, the two of them tumbling over me and the widow’s corpse. They struggled for what felt like torturous hours, and though I freed my hands, my limbs shook too much for me to be of use. My head pounded and my mouth filled with the tang of blood, my feet numb from the tightness of the bonds around them.
But I could see more now, my vision growing stronger with each passing moment, and I pushed myself up onto my elbows, watching as Mary jerked backward, dodging a swipe of the doctor’s knife. He had been backed into a corner, but now he advanced on her. I felt her feet slip over mine before she could find better purchase, straddling both my legs and the widow’s. His eyes flared and he darted forward, and I tried to brace Mary from behind to make sure she wouldn’t tumble out of the wagon and into the road.
But the work was done for me. The curtain separating the wagon bed from the driver’s bench tore to the side, Chijioke storming into the fray with a roar. Merriman gasped, spinning, turning into the downward swing of a club.
Thwack! Thud.The crunch echoed in my bones, sickening and final, but Chijioke hit him again with the shillelagh, sending the doctor into the wagon wall before he crumpled next to us.
“Heavens, Louisa, are you all right?” Mary turned and dropped down next to me, tearing at the cravat tied around my ankles. I wiggled my toes, feeling them gradually come back to life.
“Can you speak?” Chijioke tossed the club aside and knelt on my other side.
I shook my head, still a little dazed, my skin alive and thrumming with fear and shock. Mary took the cravat and dabbed at something on my face, blood or sweat or both. She bit her lip and looked to her friend. “Should we turn back?”
“Derridon is nearer,” he replied, scooping me up and helping me to sit on one of the benches. The wrap covering the widow’s body had shifted, one pale, dead hand reaching toward us. Mary kicked the shroud back into place.
“You’re safe now,” she assured me. “How could you let her sit alone with him?”
“I knew he was evil, but not... not like that,” Chijioke replied in a whisper. He glanced over his shoulder, but the doctor was motionless, his face purpled and smashed. “It was just a short ride, Mary. I didn’t know.”
I held up one hand, trying to silence them. I coughed, and my voice felt raw and torn, but usable. “It isn’t his fault,” I croaked. “Tried to shout. Wheels too loud.”
“What do we do?” Mary searched the wagon for answers, still dabbing at my face.
“He’s gone. We take him and the widow woman to the undertaker. Mr. Morningside will just have to understand. Aye, we can tend to Louisa there. Here, Mary, give me your cloak.” She untied the cozy gray cape and handed it across. Chijioke motioned for me to lean forward, and gingerly, he wrapped mein the cloak, pulling the hood up to conceal my wounded face. “Can you ride a little longer?”
