Eight
Richard Garrett’s eyes sprung open and he gasped as he leaned forward in the chair. Clutching the armrests, he stared straight ahead for a moment as he adjusted to the realization that he’d been dreaming. His heart was racing and it took a few seconds before he lost the sense that he was being dragged down by thousands of clawing hands. Finally he was able to push the dream aside, and he felt a rush of relief. Then, sensing a presence nearby, he turned to see Stuart Munver halfway through the door and frozen in place.
“Nothing,” Munver said quickly.
“What?”
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
Garrett opened his mouth to question him further, but he couldn’t quite get the words out.
“I wasn’t!” Munver hissed.
Garrett’s brow furrowed.
Munver pulled the door shut and smiled, hoping to look innocent. The effect, however, was the reverse.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he continued, take a step to the side. “You looked so peaceful there, resting after your long day, that I thought it best to let you sleep. I was being considerate, you understand?”
“Have you just been outside?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You have snow on you.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You have snow on you, man.”
“That’s just from when I was checking the door.”
“Checking it?”
“To make sure it works.”
“And does it?”
Munver hesitated. “Seems to,” he said finally.
Garrett stared at him for a moment, before leaning back in the armchair and taking a deep breath. The fire was still crackling in the hearth, and the warmth gave Garrett comfort. He knew he should be more suspicious of Munver at this particular moment, but in truth the nightmare had left him exhausted and he needed a moment to regather his strength. Besides, hadn’t he pegged Munver as being a pathetic waster earlier? A moron? There was no reason to alter that judgment. He took care to breathe slowly and steadily, following a technique that Mary had once had to teach him, and already he was beginning to rally. Still, he was unable to keep from thinking back to the nightmare in brief snatches, reliving the worst moments.
Reaching up, he felt for the small silver crucifix that hung from a chain around his neck.
“The snow’s really coming down out there now,” Munver said.
“I don’t think this storm is going to pass any time soon,” Garrett muttered darkly, still touching the crucifix. “I hear that this is the coldest winter that any man around these parts remembers. I hope that is true, for I cannot imagine anybody having ever survived worse.”
“It’s not so bad,” Munver replied with a calculated shrug. “I suppose weaker men might struggle, but it’s okay if you’re tough. Like me.”
Garrett cast a skeptical glance in his direction.
“Were you dreaming?” Munver asked.
Garrett stared at him. The flames cast great, dancing shadows under his eyes.
“You mumbled a little, that’s all,” Munver continued. “I didn’t hear what you were saying, though. Don’t worry about that. You seemed troubled, though.” He paused for a moment, trying to pick his next words carefully. He knew that his attempts at subtlety often didn’t work too well. “Were you dreaming about your cargo? If so, perhaps it would benefit you to speak of it.”
“To speak of what?”
“Those bodies out there, and why you’re transporting them.”
“My purchase is none of your business.”
“But—”
“And my dreams are none of your concern,” Garrett said firmly, although he still felt a little too weak to rise from the chair. This surprised – and perturbed – him. “If I made any sounds, or if I disturbed you in any way whatsoever, you have my full and heartfelt apology. I would not wish to cause any discomfort for you here in your home.” He paused, before looking around at his surroundings. “Tell me, man,” he continued, “do you have a copy of the Bible?”
“Well, uh—”
“The Bible, man!” Garrett snarled. “Fetch one!”
Munver dared not move.
“I see,” Garrett said with a heavy, growling sigh. “You have no copy of that most holy of books, do you?”
“Well, no,” Munver said, struggling to come up with an explanation. “I mean, I’ve read it before. Bits of it. I meant to bring one up here, but I reckon I just… forgot.”
“For some reason,” Garrett replied, eyeing him up and down, “I do not find that difficult to believe.”
With that, he gripped the arms of the chair more firmly and began to rise. His backside made it no more than an inch from the seat, however, before a crippling pain shot through his hips and he gasped as he sat back down. The pain throbbed now, rumbling deep in his body and threatening to return at any moment. He let out a few choice cuss words, committed himself to great strength, and then tried again, only to experience the same painful failure.
“Are you alright there?” Munver asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I said I’m fine.”
Munver eyed him with suspicion for a moment.
“Food,” Garrett growled. “What do you have?”
“Not a lot,” Munver replied. “Some beans.”
“Heat them.”
“I don’t rightly know that I have so much I can share.”
“I am a man on a mission for the Lord,” Garrett replied through gritted teeth. “Evidently you live a godless life up here, Mr. Munver, so it would perhaps do your soul some good to offer me a little assistance. The Lord might just look favorably upon you if you perform some service for him, even if it’s by proxy. I do not propose to eat you out of house and home. A few spoonfuls of beans is all I ask for.”
Munver hesitated, before nodding.
“Well, yeah,” he muttered, “I guess…”
“And while you prepare them,” Garrett continued, “let me have a little peace. I’m starting to develop a headache.”
“It won’t take long,” Munver replied, before heading over to the far corner and crouching down to get some food ready. Grabbing a knife, he set about opening a rusted old can.
Sighing, Garrett leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, and then – despite a ripple of pain in his back – he leaned forward into the light of the fire and puts his hands together in prayer. Even now, he was not entirely sure how to begin, except that after a few more seconds he realized that perhaps he was merely afraid. He had been ignoring the severity of the situation up until now, but his failure to rise from the chair made him confront the truth.
“Lord,” he whispered, speaking low in an effort to avoid being overheard, “I am now and have always been your humble servant. I beg you, grant me the strength to complete this one final journey. The two poor souls out there in the snow deserve…”
His voice trailed off for a moment.
Over on the far side of the room, Munver was making a lot of noise as he scraped muck from one of his saucepans.
“I am guilty of pride,” Garrett continued. “I should have nominated my successor by now. Instead, I ignored the signs of my weakness. I assumed I could go on forever, or at least for a good while longer, but now I see that I must work to find someone who can take over my work.” He opened one eye and glanced briefly at Munver. “Not him,” he added.
He opened the other eye and looked at the window. Snow was still falling, but beyond that he saw only darkness. He knew that the bodies were out there, naked under the cart’s covering, undignified in their poses.