0 comments/ 2845 views/ 1 favorites Dark Ch. 00 By: ValentineSatterlee I have been on this damned ship for twelve days now. What started out feeling like salvation now feels more like a floating coffin. We all feel it. It is freezing, and the ship's steam, rather than keeping us warm, makes us damp and uncomfortable. Typhus fever is rampant; seventy-four passengers have died of the original 250. My own husband, Aoghan, is among them. My sister, Brighde, is the only thing keeping me from breaking down completely. The way to America has been a long, painful one. We almost didn't make it to the big steam ship. First we had to make the three day trek from our home of Cork, Ireland, to the dock in Liverpool. That was only after we each had three pounds for our fare. It had taken Aoghan and I six months to save up enough, and Brighde had lost her husband the year past, having to sell everything he had owned to come up with the money. We have very little in the way of possessions with us. One trunk for three. A few items of clothing each, our Mother's silver in a wooden box, with some scant jewelry and a quilt she had knitted. The silver will most likely have to be sold now. My husband was the one who would have found work and lodging, the one who spoke the most English. Without him, we will have to sell all we have, and our shared dream of living better here may not come to fruition. But, we did not emigrate here for ourselves. We came here for my yet-unborn daughter. Eight months ago I knew I was pregnant. I asked only one thing of Aoghan, for our child to have a better life than us. To not know starvation. To not be persecuted for our religion. To be free, born in America. He'd given all he had, even his life, for this baby. "They say we are getting close." Brighde says to me. I nod. The contractions started nearly an hour ago, and my nerves are beginning to fray. I twist my Claddaugh ring round and round my finger. I am nervous. I do not want my baby to be born on this boat. Someone calls from above deck, in a language I do not know. I look to Brighde. "Dawn." she murmurs. The thirteenth day. I hold my swollen stomach as another contraction hits. Brighde furrows her warm brow. "I see it!" someone shouts in Gaelic. "New York!" A cheer goes up, everyone talking and shouting and praying to their God in different languages. Soon, the ship stops, and men come in from ashore. They will not let us depart. They line everyone up, go around to each person checking out eyes, looking in our mouths, and feeling for a temperature. Some people get motioned to go above deck, most likely to be documented. Others, like Brighde and I, have to stay. Eventually it becomes quieter. Some of the American men go into the hold, where the bodies are. They have masks on their faces and papers in their hands. To count and document the dead, I hear someone say. A tear comes to my eyes. I will not see my husband again, never hold his hand, he will never see the baby he gave so much for. It is a hard thing to bear. The ship moves again, but not far. Now they motion us all on deck, and I see that we are at a small island. There is one large building, and many smaller ones surrounding it. It looks to be a hospital of some kind. The men check our ship's papers, and send us along the ramp and into the building. The contractions are becoming stronger, and while walking seems to help, I know it won't be long now. We are led inside where women in white dresses and hats, with scarves on their faces are asking everyone questions, writing things down on papers. I have my papers ready with me, as we were told to do when we departed, for identification. Are we sick? Is that why we went to a different place? Brighde seems lost too; her little knowledge of English does not help us here, there are too many languages being spoken at once. A woman comes up to us, and we hand her our papers. She glances at them, and back to us. "Names?" she says, but I don't understand her. She points to my name. "Lasair o Donnabhain" I say, but she just looks at me. She puts a hand to her chest. "Ros." she says, and then writes it down. "Row-z" she says again, slowly, pronouncing it. The paper reads R-o-s-e. Now I understand, she doesn't know the Gaelic pronunciations, and I can't write in English. She needs me to tell her, slowly. "Los-ir" I say, pointing to myself, and the name on the paper. She scribbles something underneath my name, probably the phonetic pronunciation. I point to my last name. "Oh Don-a-van." Another scribble. She does the same for Brighde. It reads Brighde o Seaghdha. "Bree-ju oh Sh-ay." She was about to turn away when I was rocked with a hard contraction. "Oh..." I whimpered, putting my hand to my stomach. "Baby." Brighde says to Rose, pointing. "Now?" the woman asks, and Brighde nods. She brings around a chair with large wheels on each side, and has me sit in it. As she wheels me up a corridor, Brighde follows behind, pulling our trunk. She is sweating, as am I, big drops on her brow. I feel tired and weak, but I am in labor, and I am sure that is what it is from. Surely we are not sick, too. It does not take long before we are in a big room with curtains separating one bed from another. Some of the beds are occupied, with people sleeping, or moaning, or being checked by nurses. I am put by the window, and I can see out into the harbor, and New York itself. No matter what happens now, we have done it. My baby will be born here, an American citizen. {} Three hours I have pushed, and finally, finally, I can see my baby girl. She is so beautiful; she has fair skin, like me, but favors her father. Pitch black hair covers her head, and her eyes are as blue as the sky. 'Black Irish' they called Aoghan's kind, the ones who have black hair rather than red or blond. I find it stunning on her, and whatever persecution could have befallen her for being Irish will not harm her now, since she is missing those traits that make us instantly recognizable. The nurse smiles at me. "Name?" she asks, handing me a piece of paper and pointing to where I should write. I think only a moment, and write 'Aoibheann o Donnabhain,' meaning Beautiful in Gaelic. And, oh, she is. The nurse looks at me, points to the name. At least I know what she wants this time. "Eve-een" I tell her. She nods. I see Brighde behind the nurses. She is looking at her niece, but is leaning against the wall, and seems short of breath. I am having a hard time as well; labor took so much more than I thought. I put a hand to my head and wipe away the beads of sweat there. Even to my own hand, I feel warm. A rush of commotion, and I look to where the nurses have gone. Brighde has fallen to the floor. I try to get up, but everything aches, and a nurse sets my back down. They put Brighde on a bed, and wheel her to the other side of the room. In the mayhem, I almost missed the fact that they've also wheeled out Aoibheann. I call out to her, and a woman comes up to me. "Aoibheann?" I ask. "She is fine. They are going to clean her up, and dress her, and make sure everything is ok." she says in Gaelic, and smiles. "Thank you. It is nice to be able to speak to someone." "Once they figured out which language you were speaking, they sent for me. How do you feel?" "Tired. Very tired. And my muscles hurt. I have a slight headache as well. Is all this normal?" She checks my chart, and glances briefly at me before putting it away. "Yes, you will be fine after you rest." she assures me. "What about my sister? They took her over there." I point to where I had seen them take Brighde. "I will go see her next." she says. "I am Caelan." "Lasair." I say, and smile, as I sink into my pillow and drift off. {} It has been three days. I have not seen my baby but once, and my sister has left the room. I can barely move anymore, the ache in my muscles hurts so much. My head pains me terribly, to the point that any sound is torture. Caelan has been back once, but she is not giving me answers. She says Aoibheann is fine, the nurses are taking care of her, and they call her Joleine. I don't like it. Most of the people who were in this room when I came in are gone. New ones come in and out every day. I do not think this is a hospital where you go to get better. I think it is where you go when there is nowhere else for you to go. And I think we all have it. The fever. We will all die here. Dark Ch. 01 I loathe it here. Twenty four hours after the day I turned fifteen I was unceremoniously shipped by rail (appropriately referred to as the Orphan Train) to the State Hospital of Saint Louis. Until that moment I'd quietly resided with the Sisters of Charity Orphan's Asylum in New York City, spending my days in prayer and devotion, generally consisting of tedious scrubbing and eternal dusting. Now, the Asylum was no great treat; the food was bad, the rooms were horribly small, and it was full far past capacity with the orphaned and the indigent. New York City seemed to be full with nothing but. State, on the other hand, is a brand new facility, though no less miserable. It holds the orphaned as well as the insane. I've been here two months now, and sometimes find it hard not to consider most of its residents in the latter category. The hospital seems to be underfunded, and the girls here are desperate for any small way in which they can feel superior above each other. The guards are well known for encouraging this behavior in the older girls, gladly exchanging food, clothes, or trinkets for even small sexual favors. As I sit by the big bay windows in the common room, Gypsi, one of the elder girls (at seventeen) is currently harassing Samuel Owens, one of the younger attendants as well as her favorite target. "Samuel..." Gypsi croons, running her fingers through his unruly blond hair. He stands tall and will not look at her, but there is a slight blush on his cheeks. Gypsi seems to take his obvious embarrassment as an open invitation to get whatever she's after. Samuel is fairly tall, but thin and still boyish-looking despite being in his later twenties. "No, Gypsi," he stammers, "Not today." "But Sammy," she whispers pathetically, "I want to, and maybe...if I'm real nice...you could bring me some chocolates?" Gypsi looks sidelong at him, her big, brown doe-eyes pleading mercilessly. Samuel clears his throat, catching the attention of Louis Porter, the common ward's second attendant on duty today. Louis is no stranger to small favors, and gives a rakish grin in Owen's direction. Gypsi gives a beaming, triumphant smile and practically drags Samuel into one of the more private corners. They won't risk leaving the common area, but Dr. van Buren never checks in here. He's far too busy with the lunatics to bother with us. I try not to look in the direction of Gypsi and Samuel, but curiosity and boredom easily get the better of me. Samuel has his back to the room and occasionally one of Gypsi's tiny hands can be seen snaking through his hair or tugging at his shirtsleeves. Samuel makes a sudden shift, and Gypsi's legs become wrapped tightly around his waist, slender arms about his neck. Their sounds of passion are low and guttural; Gypsi's half-obscured face a mask of pure ecstasy. I look away before they can finish their act, but have no doubt Gypsi will strut around with a Holier-Than-Thou look on her face for the rest of the day. That, and probably have chocolates by tomorrow. I am stuck staring miserably out the window at the sprawling hill below, and don't hear Louis until he clears his throat. "What do you think?" he asks me, speaking to the back of my head, face pressed close to my ear. I shudder slightly as his breath caresses it. "Of what?" I ask without turning to him. "Of small favors." I do turn to him, now. Until this moment, I've not been targeted for any 'special treatment'. I stare into his deep brown eyes, seeing my own reflection there. I nervously twist my Claddaugh ring around my little finger as my mind races for an answer. I come up blank. "I don't know," I reply lamely. Louis smiles and pulls something from his trouser pocket. He shows it discretely to me; a pretty gold bracelet, thin and delicate. "Why me?" I raise an eyebrow at him. Louis shrugged. "You're gorgeous," he finally says, gently tucking an errant strand of my dark hair behind my ear. I look down, and away, anywhere but at his handsome, pleading face. I finally shake my head. "No, thank you," I say quietly, turning back to the window so as not to see the rejection on his face. Suddenly, we all hear a loud click coming from the direction of the double doors that lead into the room, revealing Dr. Van Buren pulling at the top latch on the other side. Louis turns away from me and heads towards the doors, Samuel running up behind him, frantically adjusting his shirt. Van Buren enters the room with another man in a dark blue suit behind him. The new man is tall and dark and impeccably tailored, his light brown hair slicked back and perfectly coiffed. His expressive hazel eyes make a quick scan of the room before settling on me. The short, fat doctor looks almost comical next to such an attractive man. "Samuel Owens, Louis Porter," he gestures to each of them in turn, "This is Mr. Tammany Lawson. He will be head of both wards from now on." Mr. Lawson shakes hands with both of the boys, exchanging friendly pleasantries, with nods all around. I can't help but notice, though, that his eyes never leave my face. {} That night I have troubled, unrestful sleep plagued with strange dreams. I am on a huge steamer ship, crowded and dank, a hundred different languages being spoken. I think I am below deck, and no one I turn to can tell me where we are headed. Suddenly, a shout goes up from above, and the passengers below begin churning against one another, grabbing their scant belongings and pushing towards the stairs. I am shoved and jostled, carried along with the masses up the stairs and into the cold winter air. Above deck it is frigid, and slushy snow gathers in my hair and on my clothes. The thin, bedraggled peasant dress I am wearing is quickly saturated, my skirts clinging to my legs and making it hard to move in time with the other passengers. The ship rocks violently to and fro in the choppy, ice riddled waters. A man next to me loses his footing on the slick deck, knocking me off balance and into another passenger. My legs get caught up in my skirt and I fall hard into him. The man shouts angrily at me, pushing me away and over a large, camel-hump wooden trunk, sending me sprawling across the deck. The ship pitches violently, and I am battered by the legs and luggage of the other passengers as I slide across the deck. I shout for help, but no one hears, or understands, or cares. Finally I am shoved to the far edge of the deck, pressed against the metal railings and peering helplessly at the angry sea below. I try to use the rails to pull myself up, but they are completely covered in icy seawater, and I cannot get a decent grip. Somehow I manage to haul myself up into a near standing position, when someone shouts angrily at another passenger, shoving them hard into my back. My heeled leather boots give way and slip under the railing. I let out a piercing scream and try to twist my body as I fall, so that I am now belly down on the horribly cold deck, legs dangling over the side, desperately trying to find a handhold before I meet my death in the frigid ocean. As my stomach begins its slide off the edge of the deck a hand grabs mine. I am pulled deftly back up and away from the railing that moments ago I thought for sure would seal my fate. I find myself in the arms of a tall, bedraggled man. He asks me a question in a worried, yet soothing tone. I do not know the language, but the intent is clear- he is asking if I am alright. I cling to his ragged clothes desperately for balance, fearing letting go and being dragged back under the rail. He puts his strong arms around me protectively, pressing me to his chest with one hand upon my wet, matted hair. "Thank you," I sob into his shirt, knowing he can't understand the words but might know their meaning. I look up into his rugged, handsome face. His light brown hair is longer and disheveled from the storm, and his expressive hazel eyes radiate concern. It is a face that does not belong in this time, on this ship. One I am just becoming familiar with. It is Tammany Lawson. Dark Ch. 02 When I finally wake again it is well past morning. I am still tired and horribly groggy, but know if I don't at least make an appearance in the common ward today someone will be sent to fetch me. Too many of Van Buren's charges have snuck out of here, only to wind up a menace to society or dead, and they don't let you go unaccounted for for long without checking up on you. I personally cannot fathom the need for freedom beyond the hospital walls to be worth the risk. The first time a ward of the state tries to run away they are forcibly brought back and given a stern reprimand, usually accompanied by some kind of manual labor. The second time they will spend time in the Lunatic's Ward. As if that in itself isn't deterrent enough, should they be caught on their third escape they are immediately taken to the St Louis County Jail. If they are lucky enough to be considered under age, they may be sent to another facility. Over seventeen though, and they may as well bid their nearly-won freedom from the age of majority goodbye. I stretch in front of my third story window, shedding my nightclothes onto the floor and letting the sun warm my skin. My long, thin limbs stretch towards the ceiling, elongating my waifish body, not yet touched by a woman's curves. I begin to pull my long, black, slightly curly hair up off my back when I catch a noise at the door. I spin around, startled, to see the well-dressed man from yesterday standing in my doorway, hungry eyes on my near naked body. We stood like that for a long moment, looking each other over. "I'm sorry for interrupting you," he cleared his throat and finally says, his voice soothing with a hint of an English accent. "I am Tammany Lawson, new Head of Wards." He moves slowly towards me, stooping to pick my discarded bed sheet up off the floor. I stand with my back pressed against the cold, frosted window, stupidly clutching at my chest in an effort to conceal something I do not yet have. "I just came to check on you, as you hadn't been accounted for yet this morning." "Uh-huh..." I breathe, stupefied and embarrassed. He really is extraordinarily handsome. Tammany reaches out to me with one hand, the other still clutching the sheet. I do not take it; in fact I do little more than stare at his face and wonder if he maybe has the same thoughts about me that Louis had. When he realizes I am not going to come to him willingly he smiles and puts his outstretched hand upon my shoulder, gently bringing me towards him. I brace myself to be violated, but instead he wraps me slowly up within the sheet. I grab at it eagerly, happy not to be so exposed. I glance into his face, knowing his expressive hazel eyes are searching for mine. Despite the sunlight streaming into the window and brightening the room, his pupils are large black orbs leaving little room for the green and gold iris. We regard each other silently for what seems like a very long time, but must be the span of only a few moments. He brings a hand tentatively up to my hair, stroking down the length of it gently and inhaling deeply. Then he turns quickly on his heel and strides from the room, leaving me feeling confused and horribly exposed. {} I sit on the edge of my bed a long time after he leaves, holding the sheet tightly around me. Eventually I lean forward, my elbows resting on my knee and face in my palms. I still haven't pulled my hair up and it pools upon the top portion of my thigh. Bringing my hands up to my face and running them into and down the generous length of my hair, I sigh in utter frustration. Everything is so damned complicated here. A person can't just BE here. You have to beg, and take, and give. Gypsi was willing to give herself for chocolates. CHOCOLATES! Simplicity was key at Sisters of Charity. You wake, you pray, you rise. Sunrise service, morning chores, breakfast, afternoon devotional, chores, preparing then eating lunch. Evening service, chores, Bible study, prayers, and sleep. Simplicity and devotion in their purest forms. Here, nothing is simple. I sit alone, my fingers combing absently through my hair, staring out the window at nothing, swearing to myself that I would never be like her. I would never give myself willingly for something so trivial. But then, as this morning clearly showed, one doesn't always have to be willing. I knew damn good and well if Tammany had been like Louis, if he'd really wanted me then, I would be powerless to stop him or anyone else. There was safety nowhere and with no one. I settle back against my bed in resignation, trying to come to grips with this strange new life. Dark Ch. 03 It is dark outside the high barred windows before I venture in with the others. Dinner had been served not long before and is still sitting out on the wide oak serving table. I grab a roll and pick, uninterested in it yet knowing I should eat. Many of the girls have retreated back to their rooms already, so the common room is mostly deserted. Louis sits in one of the corners, leaning back in a chair, feet propped up on the table in front of him, reading the St Louis Dispatch. The second attendant, most likely to be Samuel, is nowhere to be seen. I wonder briefly if Gypsi has him locked in her room. Van Buren had no doubt left long before, so the good behavior they exercised during the day was no longer applicable. I'd heard Mr. Lawson was taking over the night ward, but I had not yet seen him to confirm the rumor. Someone had donated a piano to the hospital, and it is there that I find Stacie, rocking back and forth in time to the melody she is playing. Her fair blond hair falls only to her shoulders, barely brushing them as she moves. A small oil lamp sputters atop the piano's lid, casting her tiny features in an ever-changing glow. "What are you playing?" I ask, sitting on the worn bench beside her. "Chopin's Nocturne's. This one is Opus 27 number two, D major," she says it as though it should be obvious, but then looks towards me and smiles, her lithe fingers never faltering on the ivory keys. "It helps me sleep. Soothing I guess. My mom used to play." It is indeed calming, the notes filling my head, and I find myself wishing I knew how to make something so beautiful. I thought she might elaborate upon her mother, but she doesn't, and I don't ask. Instead I sit in fascinated silence as she ends the piece and begins another. The footsteps fall in time with Stacie's, which tap out the rhythm she plays by, so well that at first I do not notice them until they are quite close. A hand on my shoulder gives me a start, and I turned to see Tammany looking down upon my face. He smiles, slow and deliberate. It gives me a chill. "Lights out in twenty minutes, girls." Stacie's fingers, so light just moments before, come down hard in an abrupt stop. She gives a short, frustrated sigh, shoots Tammany a buggered look, and stands to leave. I sit there only a moment longer, then follow Stacie to the double doors, our slippered feet barely making a noise on the cold marble floor. As I reach the doors I hesitate, though I can't say why, and look back. Tammany and Louis are in conversation, and I turn away quickly when Tammany's gaze lifts to mine, my cheeks already beginning to burn. {} I didn't know what time it was when I was woken, or how long I had been sleep, but the moon is high in the cold winter sky. I lay there, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, staring blankly out the window, the frost accumulating at its edges looking like far-off stars all bunched together. I thought I caught a small movement out of the corner of my eye in the deepest shadow of the room, but when I turn my head to see there is nothing. Just the inky blackness and the chill. I am tired but restless, so I lay staring at the ceiling, where my eyes and the moon can't play any more tricks on me. "Joleine." Despite how quietly he said it, I was startled so badly I about fall out of the bed, arms flailing wildly out above me as I thrust myself into a sitting position. My heart is beating erratically and my breath is coming in short little pants, yet when I calm myself enough to scan the room there is nothing there. Until there is. My eyes widen like saucers as the shadow I've been staring at moves. It seems to shift and morph, then step into the halo of moonlight. I catch my breath as Tammany repeats my name. "Joleine, it's alright," he puts his hands up in what I'm sure is meant to be a calming gesture, but is in fact the opposite as the muted light glints off the scalpel in his left hand. I back hard into the wall and suck in a breath to scream, but he is on me before I can blink, one hand clamped tightly across my mouth, the other behind my head. The scalpel lays abandoned on the floor. "Shh," he whispers into my ear, "I'm not here to hurt you." He sounds almost as frantic as I feel, but his grip does not loosen. Hot tears begin to stream down my face and collect on the top of his hand. "Don't scream. It's OK. I'll let go, but don't scream." I nod, slowly, and he moves his hand away from my mouth tentatively. "OK?" he asks, leveling his head with mine and raising an eyebrow. I swallow audibly; tasting my own tears, and release the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. I nod again, a complete lie. I am far from OK; I am terrified. Still holding my head in his hands he leans in and kisses me, his lips barely brushing mine. My first kiss, and under such circumstances! He pulls just an inch away, as if to see if I am going to react or not. When I don't, he kisses me again. He means it this time. Again and again his lips touch mine, and I start to become lightheaded, but from happiness or fear I cannot tell. My breath is coming in short, shallow pants, and my vision clouds. Tammany stands, right hand still cupped along my jaw line, letting his fingers trail lightly across my cheek as he steps away. I sit still and follow him with my eyes, too dizzy and confused to do much else. He comes slowly around behind me and sits on the bed, lifting me up and pulling me to him so that my back rests against his chest. I feel so small compared to him, lost within his embrace. Stroking my hair gently back from my face, he asks quietly in my ear, "Are you alright now?" "Why are you doing this?" I ask my own questions instead of answering his, my voice shaking and giving away my nervousness. "I want you." he says simply. As if he'd never been rejected in his advances before. He pulls my hair from between us and twists it, laying it over my left shoulder so that he can kiss my neck on the right. I want to fight, to run, but he would so easily overpower me, and I admit I am curious to where this is going; I've never been touched by a man before. He is achingly handsome, and seems genuinely concerned as to how I am feeling, new as this all is. Tammany's hands begin to explore my body, his finger tracing up the length of my arm, across my collarbone, down my flat stomach and to my thigh. He pulls gently at the hem of my simple linen nightgown, and it slides away easily exposing my long upper legs. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs between kisses, hot on my cheek and neck. "I promise I won't hurt you, I won't let anyone hurt you. Don't you worry about Louis." I wonder if Louis was the one who was originally going to pay me a visit tonight, and silently count my blessings. He is not known for his patience. Tammany buries his head into the curve of my shoulder, peeking over it and onto my body, and I finally begin to relax into him. If I give myself to Tammany, he would be absolutely right, not a one of the attendants would touch me. I would be free of any roaming eyes or harassment, and Gypsi could keep her snide looks to herself. I know without a doubt that Louis will soon lose patience after being told 'no' more than a few times, and simply take what he is after. And Gypsi too, would fight to keep what she felt was hers. I just begin to turn my head into his, accepting his kiss, when he gently lifts my right arm up, bringing my hand to his lips. As he straightens it slowly back out, he runs his left hand gently along my inner arm just below the elbow. And then I see the blood. The scalpel had been in his left hand. I start to panic again, gasping in horror and trying to move away from him, but an arm around my waist held me close. "Shh, shhhh," he sooths into my ear, bringing my hand up to his lips. The blood has run down my arm and is beginning to pool in my palm, dripping sickly onto my bed sheet as he moves it. He inhales deeply into my palm, shuddering as he exhales. He lifts his eyes to my face to meet mine, and his pupils are so large his eyes look black. The irises were tiny slivers against the infinite black, glittering along its rim in the moonlight. My mouth is open to scream but nothing comes out but choking, wracking sobs. He gives my palm a deep kiss, burying his face within the bloody thing, before running his tongue along the seeping red line. "Oh my God...Oh my God..." I chant, watching him in fascinated horror. My vision starts to cloud as I begin to hyperventilate, and despite how hard I try, I cannot slow my breath. Tammany holds me tight as the room, and then everything else, fades to black. Dark Ch. 04 I wake to clear sunlight streaming through my tiny window, muted by frost. I feel like I've been asleep for days, my body stiff and needing to stretch. I only vaguely remember dreaming, though I know for certain it had been of Tammany again. Something about blood? I don't dwell on it- my dreams are very nearly always nightmares. I throw the sheet off of me and over to the wall side of the bed, swinging my legs over and planting them on the cold stone floor. Padding silently to my full length mirror I notice a small red spot on my nightgown. Then the cut on my arm. Then, as I lift my gown in horror, two more long, angry lines crossing my torso. I drop the gown to the floor and scream. I don't know how long I stood there like that, wailing like a banshee and pawing at my tattered torso. Ellis Banner is the attendant assigned to the Orphan's Ward this morning. He bursts through my door, his gray-green eyes becoming wide as they fall on me. "What did you do?" he asks, confused, stepping towards me with outstretched arms. I am instantly furious. "ME?!" Even in my own ears I sound like a madwoman. "You think I did this?" He reaches onto the dresser and grabs at something, and I gasp as I recognize the scalpel. "No," I start, confused and enraged. "No, I did not do this!" "Calm down," he moves closer to me, the scalpel tucked safely into the back of his trousers. "Vernon!" He turns his head towards the door to shout, but his eyes never leave me. He truly believes I am having some sort of episode. "Don't you touch me," I snap, pointing a finger at him. "Leave me alone!" Ellis steps too close and I take a swing at him, but miss. A moment later Vernon Gaier looms in my doorway, his huge black shoulders nearly as wide as the frame. A needle filled with a milky liquid is in his massive left hand. "Don't you dare," I spit at him, backing further into the little room until my bare back presses into the corner. Ellis holds his hands high in a gesture of surrender. "Joleine, it's OK. Just calm down, we don't want to hurt you, but I can't have you hurting yourself, either." I swear my vision turns red and my blood boils. "I. DID. NOT. DO THIS!! Why would I?" I lash out at Ellis wildly, a cornered animal. Despite his hulking size, Vernon moves quicker than I thought him capable of, grabbing my tiny flailing wrist in one massive hand and plunging the needle into my arm with the other. I think I swayed about two steps before my eyes roll back and everything blinks out. {} The room I am in is somehow even smaller than my own. The only thing in it to suggest habitation is the pallet made up on the floor. I've woken up not on the pallet, though, but huddled in a corner. Besides my intimates, I am still starkly nude. The door is a heavy, metal affair with a tiny barred window in the top portion. There are no lamps set to light here, the only light comes from the far, high window and what little can seep through the cracks around the door. It would be absolutely maddening to stay within this dark, empty, dank room for any length of time. I shiver in the cold and crawl to the pallet, sitting miserably upon its edge. The sheets stink terribly and there is no way I am going to bundle up in one of them, no matter how cold it gets. I wrap my arms around my tiny body and curl in on myself, freezing and miserable. I can't help but begin to cry. My time with the Sisters had certainly not made me pious, but in times of trouble I do pray. I whispered the Lord's Prayer and begged for savior. I don't know how long I lay like this, shivering and sobbing, feeling sorry for myself. The cuts on my stomach burn each time I take a breath, scrunched up as I am, and it only makes me cry harder. Eventually I cry myself out, allow my scratchy, swollen eyes to close, and begin to drift off into an unrestful sleep. {} After some time there is a tiny knock on the glass on the door, waking me. I look towards the door and it taps again. All I can bring myself to think is now what? The sound of metal on metal, a bar being pulled back from its bolt, rings throughout the room. It is only then that I realize I've been truly locked in all this time. The door inches open, flooding the room with light and momentarily blinding me. With it comes warmth, and my skin instantly raises in goose flesh. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the light, but when I can finally make out his face and recognition settles over my features, Tammany smiles at me. He rushes over and begins planting kisses all over my face, and while I want to accept his comfort, want to trust him, I feel utterly betrayed. "Leave me alone!" I yell at him. "It's your fault I'm in here. They think that I...that I'm the one who did THIS!" I gesture disgustedly at my wounded body. He gets down on one knee in front of me, reaching out to touch my face, but I turn away. I never want him to touch me again. "I'm so sorry, love," he puts his left hand against my dirty, tear streaked face, turning it to look at him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. I wasn't assigned on until evening, and I had no idea you'd react so...badly." Oh, yes. It's all my fault. My eyes well up again in anguish. I hate him, loathe him, never want to see him ever again, but I know that he is the only one who can get me out of here, wherever here is. I start to sob, putting my head in my hands, body curled into a tiny ball. Tammany leans in and scoops me up, cradling my head to his chest. He strides quietly from the room and into the hall, leaving his still burning finger lamp behind. I can sense us moving steadily down a long corridor, then he turns and puts his back to a door, turning to step through and letting it fall shut again behind him. Soon I recognize the familiar sounds of the East Wing, the orphan's ward. "Jolie?" Stacie asks, voice full of concern. "It's OK," Tammany tells her. "Don't worry, she'll be alright." I hang limply from his arms, and I know Stacie doesn't believe him. I turn my weary face from the shelter of Tammany's chest to meet Stacie's eyes. I nod at her weakly, and they soften a bit. "Could you get her door for me?" Tammany asks of her, and without turning back to Stacie he walks quickly through the doorway and into the room. I hear it close gently behind us, and we sink together into my soft little bed, still cradled within his arms. Dark Ch. 05 Tammany lays me atop the bed, kissing my forehead gently before turning to leave. "I'll be right back." I don't know whether to be relieved or afraid. I fear and loathe him as much as want and need him. I must have dozed off, because when my door closed again I wake with a start. Tammany comes in holding a large basin, placing it in the center of my room. Stepping out the door momentarily without letting it close, he also hauls in a little flat topped potbelly stove. A pail of water is set atop it and the stove lit, quickly filling the room with heat and setting the water to steaming. Tammany replaces it with another after pouring the heated water into the makeshift tub. After doing this several times he turns to me, sweat glistening on his brow. "Come here, Love." I had thought he would at least leave me to bathe alone, allow me to save some shred of my dignity. I shake my head, remaining fast to the bed. "Please trust me," his voice was beginning to take on an edge of aggravation. He is losing patience with me, but mine is already nonexistent. "All of this is your fault," I tell him baldly. "You did all of it. They think I'm crazy because of you!" My voice is rising, taking on the all too familiar tones of madness. "And now you want me to trust you? You're the one who should be locked in that lunatic's cell for a day, not me." I huff, getting brave. But Tammany is not deterred. He strides tall and quick to the bed and practically pulls me to standing. I stand, knowing I have little choice, but I stare him defiantly in the face, my heart pounding within my ears the entire time, heat rising to my cheeks. As he stares at me, Tammany's eyes become wide, intent upon my face. His pupils begin to dilate and his breathing becomes quick and deep. He kisses me, without warning, hard and demanding, leaving little room for protest. His arms come around me and his hands press upon my damaged skin. I gasp against his mouth, which only makes his kiss deeper. As his hands leave my back they slide down my waist to rest upon my ass. I've never been touched in this way before, and again feel my cheeks flush. Tammany plants a kiss upon my burning cheek, then another down upon my neck. My tiny chest heaves as my breathing deepens, Tammany moving his lips ever lower. He kisses along one of the angry lines he left upon the top of my right breast, not yet beginning to heal, a small moan leaving his parted lips as he does so, hands tightening upon my bottom. He works slowly down to my navel, bringing each hand up and around to my protruding hips. To my utter embarrassment, he slowly slides my panties down the length of my legs, as naked as I've ever been before. I am completely exposed before him. My entire body takes up an obvious tremble despite the heat of the room. I thought for sure he would take what he wanted from me then, claim me completely as his own, but he did not. Instead, he gives a long, hungry look at my body before scooping me up and placing me into the basin of water. I gasp, and then let out a satisfied groan as the steaming water warms me. I sink as far into it as I can, legs pulled up nearly to my chest in an effort to immerse my aching body in as much of the water as possible. Tammany smiles, obviously pleased at my pleasure, and despite myself I smile back at him. I begin to scoop my cupped hands into the water, bringing it up to wash over my face and shoulders, regrettably puling myself into a sitting position. Tammany had found a cup and dips it, and I let him pour it over the length of my hair. My eyes have closed as I revel in the feel of water flowing freely down my back. I open them only when the second cup of water I had been so looking forward to never comes. Tammany is staring at my long white neck, arched back with the weight of my hair. I straighten, and he clears his throat, seemingly embarrassed, before dipping the cup again. I am beginning to think I have some pull over him as well. I wash my hair, then plait the entire length of it, pulling the braid up and into a knot at the back of my head to keep it out of the way. Tammany produces a bar of lye and lathers his hands with it. What could have been an intimate, even romantic gesture of him washing me (now that I am beginning to give into him) is quickly banished with the use of the lye. My too fresh wounds burn horribly as he runs his soapy hands along them, and I cringe each time he brings them to my skin. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he keeps repeating, almost to himself as much as to me. He is rocking slowly as he works, his face a mask of turmoil, he wants this but he doesn't. I wonder, not for the first time, if the pain of others turns him on. When he is finished Tammany puts a hand gently beneath my elbow, beckoning me to stand. He rinses my body completely with a fresh pail of water, then sits back on his heels and watches my skin glisten in the light of the little stove. He seems entranced, and his breathing becomes very deep, eyes widening once again. My skin dries quickly in the warm air, yet my hair still drips slightly. I feel a drop run down my chest and reach up to wipe it away, but when I bring my hand back up I realize it isn't water- it is blood. The lye has opened my wounds once again, and every one of them is weeping blood. I've already swiped at it, and look in horror at the smearing of red across my clean body. Tammany places two trembling hands on my shoulders, already heaving with panicked breaths. It is now that my earlier thoughts of my pain being his pleasure become truth. Tammany brings his lips to the curvature of my neck and kisses it, although he does not linger long, moving quickly to the weeping red line between breast and collarbone. He kisses, licks, and sucks at it, hands clutching me to him. I arch back in exquisite agony, my pain suddenly becoming pleasurable. Soon Tammany is wildly exploring my body with hands and mouth, moans regularly escaping his lips. My hands became buried in his tawny hair, clutching him to me even when all my good sense tells me to run far, far away from him. "You have to go," I beg of him. "Please, please go now." "I want to stay," he says simply. "I know. But I don't want to do this, please Tammany..." I look down and away from him. The blood from my wounds is beginning to drip into the basin, turning the water pink. The lye still stings my skin, and I know Tammany's eyes are burning into my face. He hesitates, sighs, and turns to go. "Tammany," I turn and place a hand out towards him. He just looks at me, the expression on his face painfully obvious that he does not really want to go. "Thank you, for the bath." He gives a small smile and closes the door gently behind him as he goes. Dark Ch. 06 Tammany hadn't been gone a full minute before there's a tap at the door. "Who is it?" I call, not wanting to look at the door or deal with who's behind it. "Stacie." I grab one of the threadbare towels Tammany had left by the basin and head to the door. "Jolie! Are you...he brought you a tub?" Stacie rushes in through the door, past me, and dips a hand into the water. "Oh, it's warm," she smiles. "And a stove!" "Help yourself," I laugh at her obvious enthusiasm. Bathing is a rarity, even for the orphans. There are a few standing tubs on one of the upper floors of the building, but it takes two people to operate one, and several buckets of warmed water. The attendants really don't care enough whether or not we are clean to bother with that kind of manpower. A few times a month the nurses come in and keep tubs warm and clean all day. Those who want a bath can take one, but there is no privacy and there is no time to enjoy the experience. All the lunatics must be bathed too, typically needing more than one nurse to get the job done, and they just don't have the time, energy, or patience to let us hand around in the basin all day. Not to mention having a stove in your own room is completely nonexistent. Stacie strips in a hurry and sinks into the basin. "Oh yes," she practically moans as she sinks in to her shoulders. Her pretty blond hair hands over the side of the tub, not long enough to touch the water. "So, have you been with him?" She just jumps right in. "Stacie....no," I retort. "But I think he wants to." "I would. Be with him, I mean." "What?" "Well, think about it. Louis would leave you alone. I saw him get all close to you the other day, that's always how it starts. So that's a plus. And Tammany is Head of Wards, so he can do things for you no one else can. Like the tub, and the stove, and who knows what else. Walks outside, a better room...who knows. Plus, he's handsome." I laugh, despite myself. "So why don't you give yourself to him, then?" "I would, but he doesn't want me, he wants you." I sit on the bed and think a moment about what Stacie said as she begins to bathe. Despite the fact that I didn't want to be involved with anyone for favors, said so many times that I would not, Stacie had a point. This was an opportunity for a better quality of life, one that cannot be provided for any other way. It was simple when you got right down to it. I knew that if I thought about it long enough, I would become comfortable with the idea. The thing I couldn't get past though, was the blood. "What are you thinking about?" Stacie asks. She is staring at me, and I realize I have been staring into space. "Tammany." She smiles. "Yep. Me too." {} Stacie finishes her bath and retreats to her own room, reiterating her point to me about lying with Tammany. It's a wasted effort, though. The decision's been made. I pull on a shift from the dresser, a sheer, short dress typically worn on a girl much younger than myself, frilled and laced. It ties just below my ribcage with a cream colored silk ribbon, little fabric flowers adorning the ribbon's ends. My loose hair is curled more than usual from the humidity in my room left by the bath, and it falls onto and past my shoulders in pretty almost-ringlets. I take in a deep, calming breath and push silently past the door, out into the empty hallway. It is not yet lights out, but it is close, only half the hanging oil lamps are lit along the long hall. I pad quietly on bare feet towards the common room, searching. Several of the girl's rooms have lights burning, but no one will notice me pass. I come upon the heavy double doors of the common room, and open one as quietly as I can. It squeals upon its hinges, giving me away. Vernon Gaier is crossing the room with an arm full of medications, probably having just come from the nursing station down the hall. If he is headed to the Lunatic's ward, that means he just got his nightly duties from Tammany, who must still be somewhere near the station. I head that way. The hallway past the common room is dark, someone already extinguishing the lamps, and I can still smell the smoke in the air. Halfway down the hall is the station, but it is deserted when I get there. I turn back around, confused. "Joleine," Tammany whispers, behind me. I startle and spin around, my hand to my chest. Tammany laughs. "I'm sorry, I saw you coming." He takes my hand in his, continuing to smile. It's hard to see his handsome face in the darkness, but his touch helps. "I...came to say thank you for the bath." "You're very welcome, but you've told me already." He grins. "Oh. Yes. Well. Stacie took one too." "Wonderful." I can hear the grin in his voice. He is so calm, and I am so nervous. It's maddening. "Can you...come back to my room?" "I have to make rounds first, but yes. I can stop in and see you after that." I nod, knowing full well he can't see me any better than I can see him. Tammany brings his hand up to the bottom of my chin, lifting my eyes to his, taking in the planes of my face. I stare up at him, having no idea what to say, how to get the point across that I am accepting him. He kisses my forehead and steps around me, and I follow him out across the commons. {} I am sitting against my door when Tammany comes into view. He sees me from down the hall, grins, and tries to do his nightly duties without distraction. He methodically opens each girl's door, instructs lights out, and closes it again. Eight doorways are before mine, and three more after. He steps past me, says good night to Stacie, whose door is next to mine, Lacie, across the hall, and Gypsi, next to her. Tammany then returns to me, scooping me into his arms off the stone floor. I wrap my arms about his neck, and rest my head upon his shoulder. "Come in," I whisper. Dark Ch. 07 Tammany carries me from the door to the bed, whispering sweet-nothings the entire way. He lay down with me, wrapping an arm protectively around my upper half, his body pressed up against my back. I turn my head as far as I can to try and see his face, and he responds by propping himself upon his free arm and pressing his mouth to mine. "Stay with me..." I breathe, a smile beginning to form on my lips, and he nods in response. Why aren't I more scared of him? I know what he is capable of, and yet I want his touch, so hot against my skin. I am so conflicted, my head and better judgment telling me to make him go, yet my body yearning for him to stay. "What are you thinking about?" he finally asks, bringing a hand up to brush the hair from my face when I'd made no more progress in conversation. "Oh, ah..." I blush. "I feel I should be afraid of you. That you're dangerous." "Why?" I hold my arm up in response, the bright red line against my white skin terribly obvious. "I'm sorry," he whispers, bringing my hand around to his face and kissing my palm. "I don't mean to hurt you. I get..." he shakes his head, frustrated, searching for the right words. "Stupid, in the heat of the moment." "But why blood?" I try not to sound absolutely revolted; though I'm sure I fail. He smiles a bit. "It's just so...intimate." He practically sings the word, a smile lighting his face, and I very nearly smile back. It is hard not to, the way the simple thought of being that close to someone makes him so happy. My fears, (at least temporarily) abated, I lean in to kiss him. He takes my far shoulder and brings it around, turning my body to face his, the both of us squeezed into my impossibly small bed. The arm that had been wrapped around me now rests on the small of my back, pressing my torso into his. The rough spun cotton of his shirt is uncomfortable on my tender skin, and I long, not just for that reason, to remove it from him. I stop kissing his smooth, warm lips and tuck my head, looking up into his eyes through my thick black lashes. My cheeks begin to burn as I take the top button of his shirt into my fingers. A deep, satisfied breath escapes him as he no doubt realizes I am ready to give in to him. That I am finally acknowledging that I want him as well. As I move further down his shirt, exposing his perfectly sculpted chest, his breathing becomes labored. A slight sheen of sweat dampens his face, and he seems, not for the first time, that he is having a hard time controlling his hands. I know by now that if I looked into his eyes they would be nearly black. When I'd gone all the way down the row of little white buttons he shrugs the offending piece of clothing off his shoulders and onto the floor, where it joins the myriad of my clothes previously abandoned earlier that evening. My hands come up to run over his chest, his muscular arms, his flat stomach, all covered in white, unblemished skin. Tammany lets out a small groan and pushes his hip up against mine, grabbing at my protruding hip bone so that I stay unmoving against him, able to feel the physical effects of his desire. "I don't know what to do for you," I admit quietly. "I've never been with a man before. Never even seen one so exposed as this." I glance again at his muscled form. Outside the hospital walls, such a situation as this simply would not happen. Women were meant to be chaste until their wedding night, dates between couples were chaperoned by parents, and courtship was a lengthy process. But here, among the orphaned and the indigent, none of those rules apply. "I'll go slow. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere tonight." He runs a hand gently down my side, from my shoulder all the way to my knee. "Don't you have work to do?" I tease. "Samuel is the second on tonight. He can handle an empty hall and a ward full of sleeping girls," he grins. I nod, and he fingers the knot of ribbon at my waist. He unties it, painfully slow, savoring the moment. His free hand brings the hem of my shift up and over my thigh, hips, and stomach. I lift my hands and arch my back as he slips it above and over my head, discarding it on the floor. I exhale. Tammany takes up my face in both hands and kisses me, bringing my body in to touch his. The feeling of his bare skin against mine is almost overwhelming. His skin is as smooth and perfect as my own (sans the scalpel's marks) yet coiled underneath with hard, tight muscles. I press as close to him as our bodies will allow. My senses seem heightened in this new intimacy. Everywhere our skin touches tingles. I can feel his rapid breaths upon my lips and all but hear his heart beating. I have an ache between my thighs I've never known before, begging to be touched. And then he does. Tammany's hand rubs hard down my stomach and between my legs, cupping his hand to cover the entire expanse of my most intimate area. I jump and moan, bringing my head back to allow him to kiss my ear and neck. He rubs with the palm of his hand twice, sending little waves of pleasure all the way to the bottoms of my feet. The he shifts, and I can feel him grab at me, more than simply rub with a flattened palm. I arch back in surprised surrender as he takes my nipple into his mouth at the same time his finger enters me. My nails sink into his ribs and he rubs his thumb across the little ridge outside my body, while another digit works from within. His hips move rhythmically in time with his hand, yearning to be inside. I squirm and writhe, Tammany kissing up and down the length of my heaving chest. I am truly disappointed when he slowly withdraws his hand, taking both of them to either side of my stomach and scooting my body to the center of the bed. He brings himself atop me, his pants straining to conceal his building enthusiasm. Kissing farther down my torso, he rocks back on his heels, reaching to the back of his trousers, retrieving the scalpel he kept there. I eye it suspiciously, but say nothing, reminding myself that I agreed to give myself to him willingly. Bending once again, Tammany plants a soft kiss directly below my navel. He continues to slowly work his way down, bringing my legs up on either side of him. My entire body trembles with a heady mix of adrenaline, fear, and anticipation as I am laid open before him. The warmth of his breath on my sensitive patch of skin is making my head light with pleasure, and his mouth has not even touched me yet. By the time his lips truly meet my fold I am nearly begging for it. I moan loudly when he buries his head between my thighs, arms wrapped around my legs, hands planted firmly upon my hips. He works for a little while with his mouth and then fingers, until I squirm and writhe beneath his touch. He pauses momentarily, bringing the scalpel up. He kisses my left inner thigh, once, then cuts a small thin line, no more than three inches, and runs his hot tongue along the fresh mark. The pain of the cut is lost in the pleasure of his mouth on me. Tammany alternates between using his hands and his mouth, occasionally moving to taste the thin line of blood trickling slowly down my thigh. A sensation like none I've ever felt before is mounting within me, bringing me closer and closer to a breaking point. Tammany sensed my growing urgency and moves quicker, deeper, pushing me over the edge in a fit of release. My hands clutch tightly to the sheets beneath me as waves of ecstasy wash over my body and stars shot behind my eyes. I lay, stunned and panting, as Tammany sucks at my thigh once more, then moans into it, catching his breath. After a moment he begins to apply pressure to it, and I know it must have begun to bleed rather profusely, though in the moment I could not have cared less, my body still alight with the sensation of my very first orgasm. My head is just beginning to clear when there comes a knock upon the door. "What?!" Tammany snapped, a feral edge to his voice. It is a stark contrast to the tenderness he'd shown only moments before. Samuel pokes his head into the room but does not meet our faces, staring at the floor instead. "Stella's having another fit. I need your help restraining her. There's no one else here." He doesn't wait for a reply, just closes the door and retreats back down the empty hallway. Tammany sits up and sighs, then smiles at me, calm once again washing upon his features. "The bathwater should still be warm. Get some sleep, Love." He was gone before the lovely sound of his accented voice had left my head, leaving me to contemplate the meaning of what we'd just done, alone.