Unholy Fire by Robert J. Mrazek Page B

body riddled with bullet wounds, was standing next to him, complaining in a querulous voice about the lack of support we had given him during the battle.
    I briefly came back into the world to find something weighing me down with the force of an apple press. It was Val, holding my shaking body in a rough embrace. Although he had covered me with blankets, I was shivering from a cold that I had never experienced before. All the warmth in my body seemed to be escaping through the skin. When the spasms stopped, he helped me to drink a mug of water. It came right back up with more putrid bile. I drifted away again.
    When I next awoke, it was very dark. For a moment I thought I was looking across the sea at a distant ship’s lamp. Then I realized that my eyelashes were crusted over with a gluelike film. I used my filthy knuckles to wipe them clear. In the faint glimmer from the coals in the grate, I could see Val’s massive form, now slumped in the chair.
    Time passed. I have no idea how long I lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness. At some point Val covered me with still another blanket. The next time I came back to life, it was to the stillness of an empty room. The fire in the grate had burned down to embers. Val was no longer there. My body was covered with sweat. I threw off the blankets.
    The craving for laudanum was still as elemental to me as thirst or starvation. We must escape, my brain whispered to me. I forced myself to sit up, dropping my legs to the floor one at a time. Once we are free of this house, the voice murmured inside me, we will find a Samaritan to take us to a hospital. There we will find what we need, the voice assured me.
    Trying to stand up, I swayed back and forth, finally grasping at the corner post of the bed to steady myself. I made it as far as the chair where Val had been sitting and rested a minute. The next leg of the journey took me to the door.
    It was locked from the outside. In a futile rage, I feebly hammered against it. A minute or two later, a key began moving in the lock. The door swung open, revealing the crippled man. He had left his red wig upstairs. The crown of his head bore witness to a horrible scalping wound.
    â€œMust leave now,” I said.
    â€œYou need to go back to your bed,” he said, taking my arm and propelling me across the room like a helpless invalid. I sagged down on the bed, drained of energy, and began shivering again.
    â€œMust have laudanum,” I gasped, as he covered me again with the blankets. “I will pay you.”
    Ignoring my plea, he went instead to the pitcher and bowl, wetting a rag and bathing my face with it. He built up the fire and left the room. I finally slept again. The next time I awoke it was to find Val back in his chair, reading. In the firelight his vast hairy head looked like a mass of knotted gray thongs. He glanced up and saw me watching him.
    â€œWhat time is it?” I asked.
    He removed his watch from his waistcoat.
    â€œAbout three,” he said.
    I had lost track of whether it was night or day.
    â€œIn the morning,” he said, sensing my confusion.
    My mouth was very dry, and I had trouble swallowing. Val went to the table and poured me another glass of water from the pitcher. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he raised my head and put the glass to my lips. It was very cold. I had never tasted anything so good. When I finished it, he poured me another. I finished that one, too.
    â€œLet’s see if it stays down this time,” he said, returning to his chair.
    It did.
    â€œWell done,” he said a few minutes later, as if I was becoming a prize pupil. “It should become easier now.”
    â€œHow do you know so much about all this?” I asked.
    He paused for a time, as if undecided on whether to tell me.
    â€œTwo reasons,” he said finally. “The first is that I once studied medicine. My father was a doctor, and … very strong willed. He expected me to follow