The Wager - chapter 5

He had known the risk; and now he stared at May. He had set his life on a die and would stand the hazard of the cast, the lines echoed in his mind. He had no choice.

He had to...Julia seized his arm. He shook her off. She reached out again, but he was already there, at May's side, turning her to him, holding her fast.

Julia couldn't watch, and couldn't turn away. "Barnabas, don't..." It was all she could manage. Why was this happening?  Then, she realized: he was still standing there, holding her. May was standing there, eyes closed, waiting for him to take what he would from her. He should have done it, by now; May offered no resistance. "Barnabas?" Julia, cautious, afraid, hopeful, came up behind him, laid a hand on his shoulder, pulling back, gentle.

He did not move back. But he did not come any closer to May, even as she stood, waiting, her head tilted back.

"Barnabas, you don't have to do this. Please, this isn't why we came." Julia implored him; but he seemed not to hear her.

But he heard...something. Some one? He drew his head back, canted to the left. Julia knew, in this state, his hearing was un-naturally acute.

Then, she heard it, too. A cackling, and the words, sotto voce, drifting down: "What a pathetic creature she is." A second voice, higher pitched: "she thinks some day he'll come to her. Ha!"

Barnabas kept his grip on May, but stepped back, just half a pace, called out, up toward the trees: "You won't make sport of us." Naked in his anguish, he made no effort at concealment: "I won't do this, not for you, not again." He dropped his hands, spun away from May. Bending over, he clutched at his gut. From his crouch, he looked up into Julia's face, looked past her up to the trees: "You won't do this to her."

Julia silently begged, let me help, accept what I offer freely. Silently, he again rejected her, shaking his head.

May stumbled, fainted. Julia noted her fall, but couldn't move, wouldn't take her eyes from Barnabas.

He averted his eyes. He couldn't look at Julia, wouldn't. If he did, his control would shatter. He needed...wanted...but not this way, not now. No. "No!" The cry, once wrenched from him, he echoed. Then, with trembling hand, he yanked back his shirt cuff, plunged his fangs into his own wrist. Nothing. Wildly, he searched out some pray in these surroundings. There was little life, he heard an owl, insects. There were the dogs, distant.

But there was a raccoon, under the bush by the tree, old, fat. With a raptor's speed, Barnabas lunged at it, snatched it up, ignoring its frantic efforts to escape, its claws, and he fed.

He drained the beast, dropped the body at his feet.

As he did so, Julia rushed to May's side; but she kept watch over Barnabas. He appeared steadier, harder. He wiped the blood from his lips, chin, with the back of his hand. And he called up to the trees: "What ever you are, show yourself. Face us, or leave us alone, leave her alone." Turning to Julia, he asked: "How is she?"

"She's just fainted, that's all. She should be fine. But we should take her home."

Barnabas said no more, but went over to May, and picked her up, and started to walk toward Collinwood.

Julia looked up at the trees, where Barnabas had directed his words. There was nothing there. At least, she saw nothing. And she turned away, and followed after Barnabas.

But she stopped, he stopped, when they'd gone no more than fifteen yards. It was the same cackle, the same voice: "Yes, pathetic, pathetic, trailing behind, how long, how long."

Julia heard, and bit her lip and blinked back the tears that threatened. What was he thinking? All she could see was his back, stiff. Then, he put down May, slow. "Watch after her." He said that, and noting more, as he walked quickly by Julia and leapt, launched himself up toward the highest branches of the trees, up toward the taunting voice. He cried out, as he lunged toward the spectral beauty as he'd lunged at the raccoon: "We are not toys for your play." He lunged, but his arm passed through her. He turned about, looking to strike another blow, whether effective or not, it no longer mattered. But before his eyes, Vera dissolved. There was a high pitched howl, and a ghastly laugh. Then, all was silent. And the branches were bare, and empty.

And from above, Bethea bowed to Alma.  "But, remember: there is one more quarter to be played, before it is done."

Chapter 6