A Simple Deception

XXV

"I told her once I wasn't good at anything. She told me survival is a talent." Susanna Kaysen, Girl, Interrupted

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XXV.

Belle's lifeless body flopped down onto the wooden floor of the cargo hold as soon as Alex had pulled her from the crate.

Her white chemise of a dress was red with blood, a large tear in the front gaping open. It was then that Alex realised he was not looking at a tear in the fabric, but in her abdomen. Bright red, pulsating blood was spilling out of her wound as the sabre had sliced her a good seven inches across her belly.

Good God, this couldn't be it. He felt selfish to have begged for his own life when it was Belle who deserved to live so much more. After everything she had endured, what Alex knew of and what he did not, she did not deserve to die like this. She had a right to a life, a free life, and her freedom was not to be found in death.

"How did he not see the blood on the blade?" Captain Whitfield wondered to himself as he inspected the hole in the crate, touching it with his fingertips and noting the blood there. "Bastard was probably too drunk to notice. I could smell the whiskey on the lot of them before they were even on board."

"Capitaine!" cried Alex as he dropped to his knees beside Belle, resting now in a shallow pool of her blood. "She needs a ..." Alex couldn't think of the English word in his anguish, "... chirugien!"

The captain did seem to look down on Belle with genuine pity and regret. "There are no surgeons on board, boy, and we are away from port. She looks too far gone anyhow. She's with God."

"Damn him!" hissed Alex. "He cannot have her. Not yet!" He lifted Belle's limp wrist pressed his fingers to her veins. A very subtle, weak pulse flicked over his fingertips, telling Alex that there was still life in Belle. She was not dead yet. "She is alive!" Alex declared. "Help me, please! I know you have risked all, but please, you must help!"

Captain Whitfield all but pulled Alex's shirt from his back and immediately pressed the cloth down onto Belle's abdomen, shifting her chemise out of the way as there was no time for modesty. "Hold it there," he instructed. "Tightly. We need to seal the wound."

"Sew it, you mean?" stressed Alex.

"No, burn it."

Alex obeyed the command, pressing his shirt firmly against Belle's abdomen, feeling anguished as it, too, began to absorb her blood. Lord, how did she have any left? Belle remained lifeless, her skin becoming greyer and greyer as the captain left them. Alex prayed, for a lack of anything else he could do. He had gone through periods in his life where he had believed, and he hadn't. He had been grateful to God to have survived, and then furious at Him for having been threatened in the first place. Alex didn't know what kind of God could take Belle's life after all she had suffered, but he prayed that He was a merciful God who would allow Belle her real chance at life.

The captain returned minutes later with a lit oil lamp and knelt down on the floor beside Alex, surveying the sight before him. Alex sensed the onlooking crew who were now completely aware that their captain had been harbouring the slaves that the lynch mob had been after.

"The knife I gave you." Captain Whitfield held out his hand expectantly, and Alex reached for the blade which was now in his pocket. Alex quickly placed the blade in the captain's hand before he returned the pressure to the cloth against Belle's wound.

The captain opened the little glass door on the lamp which shielded the flame. He increased the flame before putting in the knife, holding against the fire. It was the longest minute of Alex's life watching the steal heat in the flame. But finally, the cool grey of the blade become molten.