Love in the Dark

Chapter Ten

Seth was starving. He felt his stomach gnawing away at itself day after day. When he ran his hands through his greasy, unwashed hair, it was coming out in clumps. The supplies that were delivered by the "Angel on Horseback" were keeping them alive, but barely.

He no longer attempted to go out to hunt or fish. No one did. They were too exhausted to expend that much energy. His mind was constantly in a dull fog. He couldn't even think straight, let alone plan or strategize. He got up and took a thin bowl of oatmeal or grits. If it was a warm day, he would go out on the sidewalk in front of the church, wrap himself in a blanket, and just lay there. On the cold and dreary days he went back into the church, to the pew he claimed as his own, and lay his body back down. His hip bones and his shoulders ached where they pressed against the hard cushions.

He tried not to think about his hunger and the pain of his aching bones, instead he thought about the past, replaying memories in his head, trying to recall what it felt like to have a full stomach, to have a full night's sleep, to have s*x, to have a woman. He passed the days like this and lost track of how many days it had been since the last angel had appeared.

He would lie there in a half-conscious stupor. The only thing that roused him from his malaise was when he heard the sound of a horse approaching. Then he would scramble off the bench and hurry out of the church, just to see her.

Her dark hair streamed out behind her as her horse galloped up, heavily laden with packs. Sometimes she had two horses. She dismounted, and waited, her face impassive. She would not leave her horse to go inside. She was always guarded and wary, the shotgun never far from her hand. To Seth, she seemed to grow more beautiful with each passing day. Everything about her seemed strong and self-sufficient. And vaguely familiar. He couldn't shake the ever-present feeling of familiarity.

He dreaded there would come a day when she wouldn't come. If she stopped coming, he would give up and die.

He stumbled out in the yard, feeling strangely out of his body. It was the kind of feeling you get when you take too much cold medicine. He watched her unload the packs. She always gave the food supplies directly to Pastor Bill. Sacks of rice, beans, a few onions and garlic, powdered milk and boxes of instant mashed potatoes. She had given seeds for planting, too.

Seth didn't care about the food. He stepped closer to the woman, closer than he had ever dared. No one got that close, except for Pastor Bill.

She watched him warily, her whole body tensed and ready to react. When he was a few feet from her, he fell to his knees. He heard PB call to him, but it sounded far away and unimportant. He moved his hand, but his gesture was slow and lethargic. He felt like he was dreaming, staring up at the angel, with her full mouth frowning down at him, her eyes dark and curious, her brow furrowed. Even though she was frowning she looked kind, concerned. He licked his cracked lips before he tried to speak. "Take me with you," he begged.

"Seth..." he was in such a dreamy state, he imagined she knew his name, "I can't."

"Look," he pulled out his police-issue Glock and laid it on the ground at her feet. "I'm a police officer. I can protect you."

He felt her hand touch his shoulder, so warm and soft. He was struggling not to collapse. He looked up at her through eyes that had sunken so far into his head they looked like black holes. "I don't need protection."

"Please," his voice was rough and weak. "I know you. I just... I can't remember..."

She picked up the gun and handed it back to him. "Can you ride?"

He nodded and struggled to his feet. He was weak, so weak, but somehow he managed to drag himself into the saddle. She swung up easily behind him, and reached around him to take the reins.

"Wait!" Someone in the crowd cried out, suddenly realizing what was happening. "Why are you taking him? That's not fair!"

"Take me! Take me too!"

People began to surge forward, but the woman quickly pressed her heels into the stallion's sides, and the horse surged forward. Seth was nearly unseated by the sudden motion, but her arm tightened around his waist, and secured him.

Laura swore under her breath all the way back to the camp. She hadn't intended to bring the man back with her. She didn't intend on bringing anyone else back until they had finished building the second cabin and had a reliable food supply.

But she knew this man, just as he surely knew her, although it seemed he couldn't remember her exactly. And his condition was bad. She couldn't just leave him there, so close to death, not when he was on his knees begging her. He seemed to phase in and out of consciousness as they rode. Several times she had to shove him back into an upright position before he slipped off to one side. He slumped in the saddle like a broken marionette.

When they got back to the hunting camp she bellowed for George. The black man hurried out of the cabin, still shrugging into his jacket. "Who the hell is that?" George grumbled as he caught the man who was falling off the horse. He lowered him to the ground and took a good look at his haggard, bearded face. "This is one of the guys from the church, isn't it? The police officer."

"Yeah," Laura grumbled, "His name is Seth."

"Is there a reason you dragged his carcass back here?"

She ripped off the horse's tack with more force than necessary, and ended up hitting herself in the face with one of the leather straps. She swore and rubbed her face. George watched her with raised brows. Laura very rarely got worked up over anything, but something about the half dead man on the lawn had bothered her. "He got down on his knees and begged me," she spat. "Besides, I think we can use the help."

George looked doubtfully at the man, who had just dragged himself into a sitting position. "I'm not sure how much help he will be." George said doubtfully.

Laura rolled her eyes. "Will you just get him inside?"

"Fine, fine." George grabbed the man under his armpits and hauled him back to his feet. "Come on buddy, help me out here." He half-dragged, half carried the man into the small cabin.

Laura took longer than necessary to put the horse away. It was nearly dark when she straggled into the cabin. There was soup bubbling on the stove, and a tub of water heating on the woodstove. It was too warm these days for the woodstove, so George had thrown open the windows to vent some of the heat. Zahara was perched on the top of one of the bunk beds, watching the men like a curious and cautious little bird.

Laura rubbed her head, which was beginning to throb. "Right," she managed. "Let's get the man some soup and get him cleaned up." She went to the sink to wash her hands, before she dished up bowls of the thick, hearty soup. Chunks of venison floated in the rich broth, with potatoes, onions, carrots and early spring herbs. She put a bowl in front of Seth, along with a spoon.

Seth opened his eyes slightly and looked up at her with a glazed, unseeing expression. She blew out a breath and pulled out a chair, planting herself directly in front of him. "Eat now," she said with an uncommon gentleness. Laura only ever used that soft tone with her daughter. "It will be alright." She held the bowl and lifted the spoon to his dry, cracked lips. Like a child, he opened his lips and let her spoon feed him the soup, bite by slow bite.

George watched her over the top of his own bowl. His expression was one of shocked awe. He rarely saw this softer side of Laura. She was always strong, always rigidly businesslike. He wasn't sure what to think of this new side of her. "I don't think this is a good idea," he grumbled.

Laura hesitated and shook her head. "I know," she sighed. She finished feeding Seth and then set the bowl aside, and then picked up her own spoon to feed herself. "I fed him, you clean him up."

"Me?" George looked appalled. "But!"

She gave him a hard look, and he quickly relented. "Fine," he snapped. He carried his bowl to the sink and then went to fetch the tub of water from the woodstove. Then he came back and dragged Seth back toward the bathroom, with Seth mumbling about heaven all the way back.

Laura sighed and rubbed her temples. Zahara came and crawled into her lap, putting her small hands against her mother's forehead. "Are you okay, Mama?"

"Yeah baby," she put her hand over Zahara's and pressed it firmly against her aching head, as though the child had some magic ability that could heal her headache. "I'm just tired. Really tired."

"Who is that man?" Zahara whispered.

"An old friend," Laura said with a sigh. "But he doesn't remember me."

"But you remember him?"

Laura smiled sadly. "Yes, I remember him very well."

"Is he going to die?"

"He's not well, baby," Laura answered honestly. "But if we help him, he has a chance to get better."

Zahara nodded sagely and helped to clear the remaining dishes off the table. Laura quickly washed up the dishes and left them in the rack to air-dry. She covered the left-over soup, and wiped down the table and counters.

After an hour, George emerged from the bathroom with a clean and half-naked man. If anything, Seth looked worse now that he was clean. The pair of sweats that George had dressed him in were barely hanging on his boney hips, even with the drawstring pulled as tight as it could go. His chest was sunken, and all of his ribs stood out starkly. His arms were wasted, and his face looked more like an empty-eyed skull. The beard and his wet, shaggy hair only made him look more dead than alive.

She helped get him settled into the other empty bottom bunk. She propped his head on a pillow and pulled the blankets up over his emaciated body. George shook his head. "He looks like death warmed over."

"Shush, George," Laura hissed. She turned on her heel and called to Zahara. "Let's go get ready for bed Zahara."

George had already crawled into his cot when they emerged from the bathroom in their pajamas. Laura tucked Zahara into the big bed before she went to blow out the lamp. She felt her way through the darkness and slid in next to her daughter.