"Lucile" (working title)

Part Two.

“I’ve caught her no less than five times without her wedding ring. I don’t know what to think Margaret… I feel us growing ever more distant with each passing hour.” Ian cast his gaze off into the distance.
“The change in her has been marked, no doubt, which is why I was eager to talk to you today. Luce has been a dear friend to me since we were but infants.”
“Do you know anything? Anything at all?” Ian looked at her pleadingly. Desperate.
Margaret shuffled her feet under the table, and took a sip from her teacup.
“I may. Or I may not – it could just be nothing.” She glanced furtively around the tavern.
Ian leaned in towards her, “What is it Margaret? I must know!”
“Well, I overheard her one day when she was visiting my home. She thought I’d left the room, and it was the oddest of things – she began talking to herself but I could not quite determine what she was saying. So I peered around the corner into the room whereupon I saw her clutching a ring, and mouthing a name…”
At that moment a woman walked into the tavern, she drew Ian’s attention immediately, but Margaret seemed not to notice her. “Perhaps I misheard, but I am certain my eyes saw truly. It was not her wedding band in her hands…” The woman approached the counter allowing Ian to see all of her face; he recognised her instantly and drew in a short sharp breath. “And it sounded like Lucile was uttering the name Bethany over and over with a most unholy desire.”
Ian’s eyes shot back to Margaret with alarm then lingered again over the woman at the counter.
“I must go now Margaret, thank you… Thank you for everything.” Ian mumbled, awkwardly kissing her hand and hurriedly getting to his feet. He couldn’t be sure of it, but he thought he saw the woman at the counter smile as he rushed out the door.

*

Aug 27

I feel doubly alive this morning – perhaps it is because of the precious miracle inside me. Oh how glorious everything is! Thankfully the pain in my navel has subsided to a dull ache, and the scar has all but completely healed… [An aside, this pen is much more awkward to hold than it once was]. Today I must see Bethany; I yearn to be with her. On the other hand there is some unpleasant business to carry out today as well. I must tell Ian that this child is his own. Bethany was adamant that I do so, for she thought it best not to reveal everything to him. I must say, a mixture of horror and fear did overcome me when I first learnt, so the decision sits well with me. Nevertheless I have come to see the beauty in it all. Bethany is like no other. Perhaps in time I shall tell Ian the truth, but for now all I can think of is the marvel growing within me. Bethany said that I should expect it to arrive much sooner than is usual. Whilst I don’t completely understand, I do not care.

Everything is rosy.

Lucile.

*

A blonde woman peered into a mirror and checked her hair and face in the muted light. She tossed her head back so that long straight hair lifted back off her face, then ran her fingers over lips. Satisfied with her appearance she looked back at the bed. A man lay there; his body mostly covered by a rumpled dark sheet. Only his arm dangled over the edge of the bed. A single drop of blood fell from his fingers to the floor. She slunk over to the bedside table, picked up a ring and slid it on her little finger, smiled contentedly, and left.

*

Bethany escorted a panting Lucile to a room she had never seen before, and directed her to a pink-sheeted bed that had restraints at wrist and ankle-level. A look of confusion occupied Lucile’s face. “It’s for the good of us both,” was Bethany’s only explanation. Thunder seemed to cause the entire room to shake.
“Well, alright then.” Lucile lowered herself down onto the bed with some help from Bethany. “I am so excited about this. I hope it’s a girl like we’ve imagined.”
“I would hope so. I’d hate to… To be disappointed.”
Suddenly, Bethany quickly looked to the door and listened carefully.
“Wha-what is it?” Lucile said between breaths.
“Him,” she snarled. “I will be back sweet Lucile.” Bethany fixed the restraints and departed the room faster than Lucile had ever seen anybody move.

*

He swung his sword in a wide-sweeping arc, she was just too fast, and it was all he could do to fend her off. The cold marble floor was now well and truly blood-spattered. His stamina had been exhausted; resolve was all that kept him going.
“You won’t… You can’t…” He collapsed to his knees, but continued to swing his sword wildly about him. But it was pointless. She appeared before him, dodged one swing to the left, and then kicked the sword from his hands. Unbeknownst to either of them, a haggard Lucile appeared at the top of the staircase, cradling a small bundle in her arms.
“I would pity you Ian, if you were worthy of my pity. You are not even a man anymore.” She kicked him in the face. He fell backwards to the floor. “I took away your potency; of course I’d be able to overcome a pathetic sword.” She slashed at his thigh with her blade-sharp finger and he cried out in agony. “Let’s see if my mark is still upon you, shall we?” She leant over him and undid his body armour. Lifting up his shirt, his navel was revealed – it was severely scarred, and a notable x-shape was etched over the top of it. “Were you to live for a long time that would have stayed with you all your days – a constant reminder of your ineptitude and submission to the new breed of womankind.”
“Do what you will to me, just don’t harm Lucile…” He clutched his leg, trying to stem the flow of blood. Bethany seemed to enjoy watching him suffer.
“That will depend entirely upon her. If she bears a girl then all will be fine, but if she gives birth to a boy...” she spat the word with animosity, “then they both must perish. There cannot be males of my kind, and any woman who bears a male is polluted.” Lucile recoiled in horror.
“What are you?”
“I am precisely that which will soon make your populace the other. Now, farewell Ian.” She loomed over him and made to slice open his throat.
“Bethany stop.” Lucile said from directly behind her.
Bethany froze. “But Lucile my sweet, he will cause too much trouble.” She turned to face her, “And where is our…”
“Our son?”
Bethany’s eyes turned dark. Malevolent.
“Lucile…” Ian reached out a bloody hand toward her.
“Silence!” Bethany screamed, then the next second she stabbed at Lucile’s chest with her finger, but Lucile was fast enough to avoid it, catch her hand, and sever two of Bethany’s ringed digits with her own index finger. Bethany screamed again, a look of horror on her face.
“I’m sorry Bethany, but how do you think I got out of my shackles?” She then grabbed hold of Bethany and with incredible speed and force ran her into a stone wall. She slid down to the ground, limp.
Hurrying back to Ian, Lucile began to sob. “Oh Ian I am so, so sorry…” She lifted him up into her arms, and carried him up the stairs in one fluent, spectacularly fast motion. She stopped before a closet and opened it slowly. There lay a baby boy. She took him in her arms and pressed his little body close against her. “Ian, it is so much to ask, but will you take my baby? Take him and leave for far, far away. He is mine, but I want him to be ours. Please, take him and love him.”
“Why can’t you - ?”
“Bethany is far from dead, Ian,” she interrupted, “and I will not be able to defeat her, but I can keep her at bay long enough for you to escape. Can you walk? Here.” She swiftly tore off a part of her dress to make a bandage for his leg.
“I will take him and protect him and love him. For as long as is possible.”
“Thank you.” Lucile tenderly kissed her baby on the forehead and placed him in Ian’s arms. Then, without another word, she drew a chain from around her neck and placed it around his. Their wedding rings. They embraced, only to be startled by an ear-shattering scream from down the stairs. “Now go that way,” she beckoned further along the corridor. “You will find your way out.” She blew them a kiss and with that she turned and descended the stairs, finger at the ready.
Ian hobbled off with all the speed he could muster, baby in arms, and wedding rings around his neck.

*

“Lucile.” The boy read from Ian’s etching in the dirt.
“Yes.” Ian was now staring into the fire, the light from the flames licking at his scarred face.
“That’s mum’s name isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He absent-mindedly felt for the diary he carried with him always in his inner breast pocket.
“Do I look like her?”
Ian examined the boy – his blond hair, dark eyes and angular jaw looked nothing like Lucile’s soft features. “Sort of.” He wondered what would become of the boy. Then, again, contemplated the danger they were in. “Son, I just want you to know that I will stand by you until my last breath, whenever that might be.”
“I know Dad, I never believe the blonde lady who tells me you’re evil in my dreams. I don’t like her much. I think one day, I’ll make her be good.” The boy shifted around trying to find a comfortable sleeping position. “Good night Dad.”
Ian continued to sit. Stunned. Wounded. Mournful. Hopeful.
“Good night Vincent.”