The Price {Completed}

Chapter Thirty-Eight

            I picked through the clothing, dumping them down to the waiting arms of the women in charge, and then picked through pockets. I made sure to keep a steady eye on the women nearby, making sure that none got the idea to rob me like before. I was so focused on them that I barely noticed when I crested a swell of bodies and looked down on bodies I hadn't seen before.

I lost my footing a bit, stumbling, and my attention was returned to the things in front of me. It was then that I caught sight of a familiar patch of blonde hair.

My hands froze and my mind stopped.

No.

No.

I tried to walk forward but tripped on an arm. My eyes were focused on that blonde hair, but my shaking knees wouldn't let me stand. I staggered around and ended up crawling through the bodies, not caring as teeth cut my shins and my hands slipped against blood and refuse. My eyes were fixed on that spot of blonde amongst the dark, and I never deviated until I stood over the body. It wore a filthy white uniform, one of the simple foot soldiers of the Vigilant Men. He faced downward, his blonde hair shaggy and long from a lack of haircuts. A sob broke the silence of the night like a crack of lightning in the sky. I jerked, afraid of the noise until I realized that it came from my own throat. It was soon followed by others that wracked through my body, my chest heaving so hard that I barely could breathe. Tears splattered down my cheeks and onto his coat and I held the back of sleeve against my nose as I stared at that blonde hair.

After a few minutes, the urge to see what had killed him lanced through my mind like a burning needle. I couldn't ignore it, and it was something that wouldn't let my mind rest until I saw. I reached out, grabbing his shoulder and slowly turning him over, expecting to see a horrible gunshot wound, and his eyes staring like all the others, his mouth slack and blood everywhere.

But there was no wound. His eyes were closed softly, his face almost unmarred. Only ashes and dirt marked his skin. Somehow, in this battle torn world, he lay as if just sleeping in my lap. As I stared at his face, my heart skipped a beat as I noticed that something was off. His hair was not quite the right shade of blonde and his face was too broad.

As horrible as it seemed, relief rushed through my body as I realized this wasn't Ferdinand. They were similar, close enough to be brothers, but not the same person. The tears turned to sharp hitches of breathing, because somewhere out there Ferdinand still lived.

However, this boy was dead. I stroked his cheek, wondering which mother, which sister, was wondering about him, hoping that he would return home when the war ended. With the sheer amount of soldiers dying, I doubted anyone would know of his death to tell his family. They would continue on, always hoping that one day he would come home, year after year until the secret fear caught up with them.

The cold stillness of his body brought back to mind a memory that I had thought I'd forgotten. A dying boy in a navy uniform on the steps of the State Building. I had been a child then, still unable to quite grasp the gravity of death. But with this boy in front of me now, I remembered the horror of being pinned down as blood spread around me. His body had the same limpness, the same frigid skin, as the boy on the steps. It made me cringe back and want to run.

But then another half-forgotten memory surfaced. Vague images of my baby brother surfaced to my mind, hazy and broken. Had I remained with my family, he would have been near the age to be drafted into the army. I could barely remember him beyond that he was a baby. But I always remembered how Mama told me to keep him safe. To make sure he was not hurt. This boy's mother would want someone to do the same for her son. Even if he was beyond that now, I could at least make his death something that was not as filthy and ugly as this.

I kissed his forehead, hoping to impart some sort of human kindness on him even though he now lay amongst the other dead in a dirty back alley. Gently lifting his head from my lap, I lay him back down, this time facing upward. His jacket hung open, and I buttoned it back into place. Whichever mother waited for him, I knew she would want him to be warm.

The children would soon come for his good clothes to resell or use. Knowing that the others would take whatever was in his pockets, I decided to take them first. There was a comb, a spare button, and a picture. I pocketed the other items and held the picture up to the faint light coming from a lamp.

Blood had leaked from another body onto the image, so I swiped it clean with my sleeve. It revealed the boy, smiling and leaning over the back of a studio coach. His eyes were shining with a gentle softness, and he didn't seem so much like Ferdinand after all. His hand rested on the shoulder of a girl in a fine dress who beamed as well. There were flowers behind them, and an older couple sat on the other side of the couch. The father looked at the camera, a stern but kind look on his face. The mother looked toward her son, her eyes happy, her mouth slightly smiling.

His family. I touched each of their faces, lingering on his easy smile. Judging from their fine clothes, they might have already been reunited in death. He might have arrived in the next world to his family opening their arms in welcome.

I shook my head, trying not to think of the inviting image that gave me. My family would be where he was, and perhaps even Ferdinand. But I could not think like that if I wanted to survive. It would become too tempting.

I carefully folded the picture and stuffed it into my other pocket. I'd turn over the other items I'd dug up from his pockets, but the picture was too precious to be manhandled by the women and whoever else they sold the spoils to.

The snow was beginning to gather now, and I decided to finish my work early. I needed to get somewhere warmer before I became too exhausted to move, and without the promise of Hannabella's room, it would be a long walk back to the doorways near the Wellington.

I couldn't bear to look back at the boy as I left him there, picking my way out of the pile of bodies and down the drop off my findings. It felt like leaving a child alone in a crowd, but there was nothing I could do for him. He had frozen, or died of some disease, and I couldn't bring him back-- just like all the families and loved ones couldn't magic their boys away from the fighting and back into their arms.

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A/N

Aghh, I can't believe it! We're starting to get into the end side of the book! Still a bit to go, but we're starting to wrap up plotlines now! I know you guys are going to like the next chapter! I want to share it so much that I'm struggling not to post three chapters in a day! Ha ha! :P Prepare yourselves for next week!