Clockwork Firefly

Clockwork Firefly - Chapter Twelve

Peter the second, still half dazed, had sprang to action the moment his father had commanded him. The train was gaining speed with each turn of the wheels until the landscape had become a softly blurred mix of shapes and colors. The wind whipping against Peter's face was bracing but it kept him alert and awake when he wanted nothing more than to lie down and close his eyes. Over and over his mind replayed the last half hour and he could make no sense of it. The telegraph set up, he composed a message, consulting the map as he did so. The cadence of dots and dashes ran on a constant loop, warning all stations along the lines chosen to re-route their trains, that the track was needed for a life-or-death emergency. He chose the less popular railroad lines, as they'd more likely be empty, but never at the cost of expediency. They would still have to stop for water a few more times, it could not be helped, but otherwise he did not intend to stop until they reached San Diego. Day turned to night and the worries over what was going on in the other part of the train was more he could bear. With cautious steps, he swung out of the engine door and walked down the iron walkway to the platform that linked it with the remainder of the train.

When he stepped inside, he noted that everyone else had gathered at the far end. His father sat at the table, the scattered cards still laying where they had been dropped earlier. Mary was across the room, the woolen blanket pulled around her, her legs drawn up beside her on the bench. Spine sat on one side of her, Rabbit was taking a lean on the wall a bit from her on the opposite side, and The Jon was sitting tailor style on the floor. It was subtle, how they surrounded her. He picked up the pitcher from the stand and filled a glass. From the cabinet, he fetched the aspirin box and made his way to sit across from his father, two of the bitter pills picked out and quickly swallowed, though his throat hurt terribly still.

He glanced over at Mary and she flinched, looking toward him with wide horrified eyes for a moment. As she did, he noted the robots all, again, very subtly, leaned toward her. She dropped her gaze and they leaned back again, like a pack of guard dogs, perfectly docile unless someone got too close. "Wha..."His voice a rough croak, wanting to know what had happened, but he fell silent with a faint gesture from his father.

The Colonel steepled his fingers before his mustache, his eyes on the girl, his brow knit. "Miss Mickleson, some facts are obvious to us, but it is like having a puzzle with only the outer frame done. We need your help to fill in the picture. Do you feel up to it?" He was tense, it was obvious, but would make an effort to be conciliatory as it was obvious she was terribly shaken up. Press her too hard and they'd never have answers.

She nodded quietly, obviously having expected that she'd have to answer to them eventually. With a shiver, she began to speak. At first, it was difficult to hear her, but as she went on, the words became stronger. She kept as much emotion from her words as she could. Clinical and detached in her reporting of how she'd woken up on the train, and how she'd been kept prisoner, abused and tormented, blackmailed to silence for fear that he would do something worse, or perhaps harm them as he implied he would.

They let her speak uninterrupted until she reached the end. Only then did they ask questions to clarify portions here and there, hiding all the while their shock as best they could. Peter the first exhaled softly, his face ravaged with the terrible weight of knowledge. He glanced toward the robots. "Lads, do you mind if the lady occupies your berth for the remainder of this trip? The question was rhetorical, as he expected the trio of voices, each in their own way saying it was more than alright. "I am sorry, Miss Mickleson, but we are unable to see you home. We will, of course, wire your family, let them know you are safe, and as soon as we reach San Diego, we'll see you're provided with some proper clothes and whatever else you might require on your return journey. As it is, unfair as it must seem to you, I must get my son home where he can be properly attended."

"I..I understand, Sir. I do not blame you." She stood, wavering and The Spine rose and stepped forward, taking hold of her arm without holding, merely a support. Fresh tears slid down her cheeks unbidden, the browns fixed to the elder Walter's eyes as she passed. "He's got a devil inside of him, Mr. Walter. I hate the devil, not the man. Do what you have to do." She then let Spine show her off to the berth. Once shut away alone again she locked the door and pressed herself into the corner, only then feeling safe to unleash her tears of pain, fear, and frustration. Muting her screams into a pillow pressed tight to her face, sobbing cries of wild desperation that rose from her soul to purge the terror like one might purge sickness from the body. When she at last found sleep, it was fitful and plagued by nightmares.

~

"I ... I can't believe it." Peter rasped as he took back the cup from his father, the warm tea with honey he had made had done his throat some good, but it would be a day or more before he would fully recover. The band were out of the room, Rabbit minding the telegraph in case any station reported back there was trouble ahead that would require a change in course, Spine and the Jon stationed in the sleeping car to watch over their unwilling guest whose sobs had abated only a few minutes ago.

"I just can't believe it." It was not the first time he'd said so in the hour since Mary had gone, it was becoming rather like a broken record or Jon's sandwich joke, but he couldn't find any other words. How could this have happened? How did they not know? Two days she had been shut away in that car. Each time Pete stepped away to his solitude, he was visiting her, working to break her, in turns beating her and molesting her. Though she had made it clear enough he had not crossed a certain line, the Walter men suspected this would not have been true if even another day had passed.

"Nor I. I don't believe in Miss Mickleson's devil, but I can think of nothing else that so succinctly covers what happened." Peter Walter the first had gone back to the storage car earlier, choosing to do so alone, and when he returned, he was, if possible, more troubled than when he'd left. "He is quite mad. He is consumed by the idea that you are trying to steal her from him, that she is laughing at him, mocking him behind his back, that she must be broken. Taught a lesson! Made to understand he was not to be mocked!" He sighed sharply, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as he set down the teapot and sank into the seat across from Peter. "I have no doubt he would have killed her eventually. That sort of obsession, it would never have been satisfied."

"How did we not know?" He asked the question aloud that had been bouncing around his head. The unspoken thought which came after chilled him deeply. What if we had never known? There was no answer to either question that did not bring shudders and shame. The truth was that no sane mind could have imagined it. There was little doubt that Pete would get the best treatment, the most advanced help that doctors could give. That did nothing to help the woman he'd assaulted. "What are we going to do with Miss Mickleson, Father? We can't just buy her a new dress and slap her on a train back to Virginia."

"No, no..." shaking his head. "I didn't plan to do that. Unless she asks it, of course, and even then I intend to hire her a companion so she doesn't have to return home alone." He stood and paced, just to do something with the tension that had no other outlet. "I feel terrible but I don't know how to make it up to her. Money seems vulgar. I frankly can't think of anything that doesn't, in some level or another, look like we're trying to buy her off. Even the dress, which she damned well needs of course, seems like some kind of bribe. I don't know what we'll do with her, but I think the best course is to make it clear we are at her service in whatever way she needs us, but not to press her. She struck me as a strong woman, and I hope that if her injuries cannot be healed, they can at least be eased and made bearable."

Peter nodded and lifted his cup to his lips, his mind racing again on the thought of what would have happened if they had come a day later. He shuddered and put his cup down. "I'm going to go relieve Rabbit." He knew the stalwart copper man did not tire or need relieving, but he had to feel he was doing something. Rabbit returned a few minutes later to find Colonel Walter sitting in sadness, the kind he knew he would be better off not attempting to lighten. He merely sat and began a solitaire spread, keeping an ear and the occasional eye on his creator as the train sped like a blue-tinged comet through the dark.