The air smells of rotting wood and mold. This must be the basement,though not the Pit. It has a slightly different, more piquant stench. A dooropens and several men walk into the room. Titus. Roy. Watts. Faust. A thousandpeople could enter this place, and I would still pick their footsteps out of acrowd.
“How disappointing, Hester,” Dr. Faust says. “I thought wemeant something to each other. The message you wrote to Miss Honeycuttindicates otherwise.”
No longer afraid now that I am bound, Roy pushes my leg hard,forcing me to spin on my toes toward the right. Titus stops me mid-rotation andsends me whirling back the other way. One of my oversized boots flies off withthe momentum. I hear it fall to the floor, dislodging my pencil from its hidingplace near the heel. The ridiculous chicken bone knife and lucky pebbles roll outof the boot, too. Faust kicks them aside and removes something from his case.He throws it into the air and makes a snapping noise.
What’s that? A whip? Surely not—
“I had a dog once who kept getting at my chickens,” Faust says.He walks around me, snapping the whip softly. “Wouldn’t stop until I threw abottle at his head, skimmed it right along his skull. Looked like he’d beenscalped afterwards.”
I keep turning and twisting to face the rambling madman. “Onetime was all it took, Hester. The dog healed up and learned his lesson. Henever touched another of my chickens. Think what a utopia the world would be ifpeople were so teachable. If they could be conditioned with pain to do right.No more killing or war, no crime or corruption.”
Faust snaps the whip harder. “Unfasten her gown, Titus.”
The guard tugs at the back of my dress, obviously unfamiliarwith women’s fashion, and the high neckline strangles me. He loses patience andrips away the section of material covering my shoulder blades and spine. Thebodice feels intact, held in place by the overhead position of my arms. A cooldraft runs over my back, and the whip cracks again.
I bite my lip so Faust can’t see it trembling. Perhaps this isonly a threat. He’s trying to scare me into returning the Book. Roy, Titus, andWatts fear the whip, all right. They scatter like cockroaches hit by the middaysun.
“You were correct when you said that my mother was a sterndisciplinarian,” the doctor murmurs. “She did not spare the rod or the child. Ipaid for my wrongs and so will you, my dear. This is for the letter toHoneycutt.”
The lash comes with such force that my body arches forward uponimpact. No matter how often you’ve been hurt, acute pain is always a rawsurprise. Sharp. Stinging. Agony.
No—air—cannot—breathe.
Gasping for oxygen, I dangle and spin until Titus turns my backto Faust again.
“Aiding an inmate in her escape from this institution. I thinkthat’s worth two stripes, don’t you?”
The whip cracks and bites into my shoulder like a beast. Deusmisereatur… Then it sets fire to my lower back. Mercy, mercy. But Faust isconsumed with hatred. There is no other smell now but blood—both real andmetaphysical. I hear him coil the whip around his arm, a small snakeupon a larger one and try to summon Tom’s butterflies. They explode within mymind until the world is a cloud of orange and black fluttering wings, the sightso beautiful that I wish to lose myself in it. But the vision does not bring realpeace or courage this time. Faust has ruined any magic the butterflies may haveonce possessed. They are now nothing more than a borrowed memory.
“I really must insist that you return my journal,” Faust says. “Whereis it, Hester?”
I kick in his direction, causing only myself pain. Noserunning, eyes streaming, I gather moisture in my mouth and spit at him. Youwill never find your damned book.
He unwraps the whip. “My arm is growing weary, but I shallpersevere. I’ll question you to your last breath, if necessary.”
Gabriel’s voice echoes through my mind, keeping me company as Ibleed. Far, far better thing I do… better resting place that I go to…
Twin blows land on my back, and I lose my footing, swaying backand forth. Oxygen finally enters my lungs. Another breath. Another. Andeverything fades to black but breathing and pain. S-stop. Stop. Closing myeyes, I listen to my heartbeat and feel something cold in the rooms upstairs. Death?But there is only silence. As always, He reaps in His own good time.
My sense of awareness expands, and I hear Faust take a seat,ask for Watts to bring him a drink of water. Then the rhythmic pounding ofrunning horses. Or is my mind gone? Round and around I go, twirling from therafters, until the nauseating motion slows, a carousel ride coming to a halt.But the sound of the horses grows more distinct. Watts enters thechamber in haste and sloshes water on the floor.
“We have company, Doctor. The sentry outside saw a coach andrider headed this way and lifted the gate.”
“I am not receiving at the moment, Watts.”
A cheerful whistle penetrates my stupor. Oh My Darling,Clementine?
Sir Death glides through the wall like a wraith. You sentfor me?
29
Morituri te salutamus.
They who are about to die salute you.
TheReaper’s chill presence envelops all. This is the Death I have worked withmost, the one who kissed my head and gave me protection from His brothers. Alllethal grace, He touches the marks on my body, and I shudder with relief as thepain subsides. The discomfort is gone, but the bleeding continues. Kelly, thewhistling horseman, didn’t arrive in time after all. This saddens me. I regretthat I did not get to hear his whiskey laugh or argue in sign with him again. Smellthe sweet mixture of pines and sandalwood that is his alone.
Death sighs and sits down beside Faust. Do not growsentimental, Visionary.
Forgive me. How inappropriate. Thank you, sir.
You’re welcome.
Unaware of the Reaper, Dr. Faust stands and leaves with Wattsfor the main floor. Roy and Titus sit down—one of them shuffles a deck ofcards. Up above, the coach and rider pass through the portcullis and stop atthe asylum entrance. Faust must have changed his mind about
