Jonis Agee - The Bones of Paradise

Graver peered up at the man’s face from the floor. It had an odd glow in the candlelight. His handsome features transformed, as if they were melting in the heat of a brain fever or in madness. His mouth twisted and puckered, his eyes shrank and gleamed as they darted from one side of the room to the other, his high, flat brow rose and fell as if in argument with voices other than those in the room. For almost the first time, Graver was afraid. He was woozy from the blows and had to squint to focus. He tried to move, and discovered his hands and feet were bound with strips of blanket. Dulcinea was tied to a chair. Blood on her mouth indicated she’d been hit. Graver thought something must have broken in Chance’s mind, and he was getting into the heat of it. The knife on the table worried him.

At first Chance limped around the small room, stopping to examine the walls here and there. Suddenly, he stopped and leaned close until his nose nearly touched the wall, then tapped it with a long, elegant forefinger.

“Ah, we’ve come to an intersection, a crossroads if you will. I knew there was a reason we met in this godforsaken place. A force of the universe has drawn us together in one of life’s storms.” As he mused, his face relaxed and softened, and instead of melting, it seemed to stage itself. His pale eyelashes sparkled with the flickering light from the candles he’d placed around the room.

“Perhaps you’re wondering what I’m speaking about, Mrs. Bennett?” When Dulcinea didn’t acknowledge him, he hobbled to the table and picked up the knife. Graver tensed and tried to wrench his hands apart, to stretch and tear the cloth that held him. The lawyer grabbed Dulcinea’s hair from behind and yanked her head back. Placing the point of the blade at her cheek, he drew a drop of blood. Her eyes went wild and a low moan rose in her throat. Graver kicked and tried to tear the strips of old blanket that held his feet. It gave only slightly, so he worked on his hands, brought them to his mouth and chewed at the fibers. He could taste the must of mice and years of use in the wool, and it held like iron against his grinding teeth.

The lawyer leaned over, stroked her cheek and neck with the flat of the blade, and pushed his hand down her shirtfront and rubbed her breasts. Dulcinea couldn’t suppress the gasp, and stared straight ahead with hatred in her eyes. Graver gritted his teeth and tried to move the strips down to his ankles, where maybe he could slide them off his feet. Chance seemed to sense the motion, and his head jerked around. He frowned. Graver closed his eyes and lay still. Chance sat in the other chair beside the table. “It’s a long night out here, isn’t it? Don’t worry”—he glanced at Graver—“I’m not going to kill you. I thought we’d talk first, then we’ll get to what I need. A certain set of papers to be signed. I tried, but I’m terrible at forgery.” He tapped the blade on the stack of pages, then paused as if deep in thought, spread his arms, and bowed slightly. “I apologize for the sparseness of my rooms, but I haven’t been myself of late, and these reduced circumstances are, well, merely transitory. You understand. Great fortunes take time and one must go through trials and deprivations and—” He glanced at Dulcinea with the trail of blood on her cheek. Graver stared at the fire, considered rolling over and thrusting his feet in the flames to burn off the bonds but worried his clothes would catch fire, too. He couldn’t risk leaving Dulcinea alone with this man.

“Let me tell you a story. It all began at Wounded Knee.” He softly stroked the side of his jaw with the flat of the blade as if petting a cat. His eyes softened with nostalgia, his jaw relaxed, and his face took on the creaseless countenance of boyhood.

“It was my first time to the West, 1890. I was in the employ of the Earl of Manset, the first son of the Duke of Sullywood, meaning he would succeed to the title and ownership of the estate, which would make him the second-largest landowner in Britain after the Crown. You can see why every measure was taken to ensure his safety on his safari through the West. We may have won the War of Independence, but we still have to accommodate royalty whenever it pokes its head into the provinces. At least that was his belief, and I wasn’t about to dissuade him. At the time I was rather at the end of a certain rope. My parents had sailed away to find a fortune and soon enough I was an orphan casting about for opportunity, and he presented himself one evening. Fortune shines on her favored children, I say.”

He stopped and stared into the fire, rubbing the knife blade with his thumb. Graver thought if he freed his feet he could jump him, bring him down.

“I didn’t know anything about the West, so I read the dime novels and true-life stories and decided it would be perfect. Few laws and fewer authorities to get in my way. With luck, we would find gold, too. Off we went. We shot every living thing. The young earl killing, skinning, beheading, stuffing, and sending his bounty home to decorate the great houses that would soon be his. Imagine the horror that awaited his relations once he filled their walls with his kills. Finally, there was nothing left that we hadn’t shot, eaten, mounted, or cast aside. Still, there was a certain restlessness about the young man. A small, slender figure, he seemed determined to force his personality upon every person or creature he encountered, and that’s a delicate way of saying it.”

The lawyer stood before them, waving his gun. “I don’t think I’ve enjoyed myself so much in a long time. I’ll tell you about it, a tale to pass the time on a cold winter’s eve, a story that begins, ‘Once upon a time’ and ends with ‘All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put her back together again.’”

His eyes reflected the flames of the fire as it took a new log and hungrily ate it.

“I was doing what men do in war.” Chance shrugged and opened his palms to declare his innocence. “I certainly didn’t see the child or I never—Well, I’m not a monster, am I?” He turned to Dulcinea, and the irony of her bound and bloody form seemed to dawn on him. “Point taken,” he said with a sigh.

“The young earl proved an increasingly difficult person after that encounter with the Indians, and nothing could satisfy him unless he, well, I don’t need to go into more details and make you uncomfortable, Dulcinea.”

Chance limped back and forth, his hands thrust in his pockets, head up, eyes darting as if he reenacted the battle in the small cabin space. Graver hoped the man would weave closer so he could trip him or use his tied legs to push him into the fireplace.

“Something had to be done. There were too many bodies, too many damaged women, young girls even, he didn’t discriminate. It was all his fault!” Chance scrubbed his face with his hands.

“He expected me to participate, begged me, then ordered me, threatening to cut off the funds we shared equally by that time. I couldn’t have that!” He looked at them, eyes searching for sympathy. A piece of burning pine in the fire suddenly cracked and hissed and the sound jerked him around. When he turned back, his expression had darkened, and Graver took a quick breath.

“Turn us loose, Chance. There’s no reason to do this.” He spoke calmly to not provoke him.

“You don’t know me very well, Mr. Graver, or you wouldn’t point out the obvious. I need something from Mrs. Bennett, and I need to convince her of the seriousness of my intent.” He gazed around the cabin, then picked up his chair and brought it to the fire so he could sit in the warmth facing them.

Dulcinea sighed. Both men startled and looked at her. “Is this all a plan to convince me to sign with the gas and oil people?”