Emmetsburg:Thirty-three

Louis was well enough to sit up. Not great, but better. He rose to meet John just crossing from the stairs with a glass of milk and some bread with sweet ruby-red rhubarb jam. The bread was still warm from the oven. Louis' eyes widened a bit at the thick pieces stacked upon the small flowered china plate. John set the plate and milk on a bookshelf and hurried over to help him sit. He held the milk in his good hand, with the plate balanced on the forearm. With the darkly bruised and swollen fingers of his injured hand John steadied the plate.

“Go slow,” said John. John set the plate and milk on a bookshelf and hurried over to help him sit.

Louis waved a hand in the air. He felt dizzy and weak, but when his feet touched the hard wood floor for the first time Louis felt alive again. Not a lot alive. The pulsing thunder behind his eyes made life and consciousness and balance all negotiable points. He looked up into John's rescuing eyes.

“Maybe I ain't quite ready yet,” he managed a weary smile. “Gravity seems a little trickier than I remembered.”

“You really took a shot,” said John. “Gonna take a little while before you're back among the living.” John knelt and studied Louis' dark brown eyes, and saw his own face reflected there. “Stand to eat something?”

John stood and took the bread and milk from the shelf. He paused a moment, his gaze moving over some old dusty volumes; GOODRICH'S PICTORAL HISTORIES OF THE UNITED STATES, Mary Macgregor's THE STORY OF ROME, BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH by Ian Maclaren, and THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. He saw them, but his thoughts were at war whether or not to ask Louis about Bert Himmel.

“Bert Himmel passed away,” he finally said. John turned slowly and scooted the stool beside the bed watching Louis for the smallest clue to something hidden. John sat looking scant-ways at Louis.

“He a friend of yours?” Louis asked, gobbling down a bit of bread and jam madly.

“Was,” his tone was leading. John placed the glass of milk in Louis' hands.

Louis' silence was potent, as he stared into the white liquid. When he spoke it was quiet and low, leaving John with far more questions than he might have wished.

“Sorry for your loss.”

“Lived up there in Mallard,” said John, leaning a bit in hopes of gauging Louis' expression. “Ever been up there?”

“Can’t say I have?” He hesitated, still refusing to look directly at John. Louis lifted the glass and emptied it in just a few gulps.

“Pulled you out of that creek just this side of Mallard,” said John, with deepening suspicion. “Seems that was the direction you were coming from.”

Louis pursed his lips, turning the empty glass in his hands. He held it out abruptly and John took it, holding the glass and Louis’ hand fast for a moment. Alarmed, Louis lifted his eyes to John.

“Told you,” he said quietly, “don’t recall nothing before the accident.”

John sighed and stood, as Louis lay back and turned towards the window. He was asleep almost instantly. John shook his head and thought this all very odd, and wondered if he wasn’t losing his mind.

Anna was waiting for him already in bed. He undressed quickly and slipped beneath the sheets beside her. She was up, straddling him in an instant, her long full red hair tumbling over his face and shoulders as she kissed him deeply, catching him fully by surprise. It all took him aback for a moment, before his body responded to hers. Anna rose and lifted away her gown, letting it fall to the floor. She helped him from his shorts and guided him to her. Anna sighed deeply and threw her head back, their bodies now a rhythm joined and rushing headlong to climax. Outside the crickets and night seemed to fall away, as if nothing beyond that lover’s bed existed

John quickly felt himself at the edge, straining to meet her as Anna focused on her own pleasure. Nearly there, John strained, moving a hand across her soft full breasts. Suddenly there was a sound from the kitchen. It was the sound of the back screen creaking open on its ancient hinges before banging closed again. Anna froze, her eyes wide with sudden alarm. John pushed her off and went for the pistol, fumbling in the dark and interrupted sex for the bullets in the bottom of the box. He managed barely one round in the cylinder, the rest falling and clanging upon the floor at his bare feet.

“John,” she gasped, covering herself with the quilt at the end of the bed. “Someone is in the house!”

“Be still.” He snapped the cylinder in place and pulled the hammer back. Naked, John lifted the weapon before him and went to the door. It was then he spotted Louis out back, staggering through the night towards the line of trees at the back of the property.

“It’s Louis,” said John, laying the Pistol on the bed and pulling on his trousers.

“What’s he doing?”

“Damned if I know,” he said, lifting the revolver again, “but I’m bound to find out.”