The Cellar (13 page)

“I don’t think she’s
bluffin’ this time Ike, don’t know a lot about them French pistols, but after
what she did to Marcus, I s’pect this one’s loaded.” Johnny rasped.

“I had hoped and prayed that
it would not come to this Mr. Lowery, I believed that this was going to work out
so well, but I was deceived by Satan.  This has all been just a trick of his to
lure me down to perdition.  You seem to have been a pawn in his game, a white
pawn….” She looked down at Marcus briefly and said. “I suppose Marcus was my
black knight.  I am going to shoot you, then I am going to set this house on
fire, and then I am going to shoot myself.  No one is left to claim this house
except the bank and they will only find ashes. I may be going to Hell for this,
but I will not go alone.”  She stood looking at him and cocked the hammer.  The
click of the mechanism sounded to Ike like the gates of that same establishment
slamming shut.

“Ikey, the chain!” 
Johnny shouted.  His voice seemed so loud to Ike that he flinched and as he did
he looked down and saw that Micheline Pendleton had stepped over the chain that
led from Ike’s left foot to the ring in the wall.  Just as her finger was
tightening on the trigger Ike swung his leg violently, whipping the chain
around and pulling the woman’s feet out from under her. 

The explosion was another
thunderclap, made louder by the fact that there was not a large man between
himself and the gun’s muzzle this time.  Ike had flung himself toward the floor
as he tripped up his would be killer with the chain.  The bullet missed him by
mere inches, caromed off two of the stone walls, and buried itself in one of
the floor joists above, sprinkling sawdust into the already clouded air.  The
combination of the chain pulling her feet out from under her and the recoil of
the LeMat threw the woman back against the stone wall.  The back of her skull
was impaled on the nail that had been driven into the mortar joint to hold
Ike’s mirror.  She hung there against the wall with her eyes open.  She assumed
her characteristic intense stare for a moment and then her eyes seemed to lose
their focus as her limbs sagged and her jaw dropped open.  Micheline Pendleton
was dead.

Ike blinked and looked at
the chaos that surrounded him.  Gun smoke and rock dust swirled in the air.  Larger
particles flashed in the bright sun light that came down the stairway.  His
hearing seemed to be gone.

“Johnny, are you still
there?”  Ike said out loud, barely hearing his own spoken words.

“She missed me, Ikey, but
I thought for sure the ricochet was gonna’ get me.” He said with a little
chuckle and then interjected “Merciful God!”

“That sounds like
swearing, Johnny.”

“No, I’m talkin’ about
the real thing here Ike.  I just saw the two of them floatin’ out of here.  She
looked confused at first, then Marcus took her hand and they just looked up that
stairway into the light.  They both looked back at you and smiled to see that
you were alright.  I ain’t never swearin’, Ikey, I was just talkin’ about a merciful
God.”

“I’m glad, Johnny, that’s
comforting to know.”  Ike said standing up and dusting himself off.  He looked
around the cellar and took stock of the situation and then moaned.  “Johnny, I
could use some of that mercy myself.   I have a few problems here.  I’m truly
grateful not to be gut shot and dying with the house burning down around me,
but I am chained to the wall of this cellar with two corpses and a wingless
angel for company.  Marcus never did say what he did with the key to this lock.”

“Better search his
pockets, Ikey.”

Ike was loath to touch
Marcus but he gingerly went through each item of clothing to check for the
key.  The thought of finding that key burned in Ike’s imagination as he tried
to not think too much about the alternative.

“Ikey, you don’t s’pose
Mama Pendleton had the key?” Johnny said tentatively.

Ike found it hard to even
approach Mrs. Pendleton.  Her eyes were still open and seemed to stare straight
at him as he scanned her clothing for pockets.  He noticed a delicate chain
around her neck and out of curiosity he pulled it out of her shirtwaist and
discovered a locket.  The locket was still warm from contact with her skin as
he studied it.  It popped open to reveal two small pictures, one of a young Micheline
and the other a young Marcus.  Ike looked into the young faces and thought of
the people they had been in a happier time.   He jumped at the sound of the
clock striking the half hour and dropped the still open locket and let it fall
to the woman’s breast.  The pockets of her skirt contained nothing but a
handkerchief.

Ike scanned the cellar as
if there were answers that would reveal themselves to him.  He righted one of
the chairs and the table and picked up silverware and salvageable food items. 
Two biscuits were still warm and wrapped in a napkin.  A fried egg and some
bacon were scattered too close to the chamber pot for Ike’s comfort, but he
knew food might be a serious issue very soon.  The water pitcher had been
broken and none remained.   Only the cup and a saucer remained intact.  He
arranged the food items on the table as if breakfast had not been interrupted
by bloodshed and looked around once more.  He nibbled on a biscuit until he
realized how thirsty it made him.  He closed his eyes and prayed.

The first thing he
noticed when he opened his eyes was the pistol laying against the wall.  He
stared at it for a few minutes and thought of its possibilities.  He thought of
using it to shoot the lock off the shackle, but remembered how Mrs. Pendleton’s
shot had caromed around the cellar.  Another darker thought entered his mind. 
If he was unable to free himself from the chain and thirst, starvation, and the
stench of the two corpses became too much he could free himself in another way.

“That’s a coward’s way
out, Ikey and you know it.” Johnny said.  “You can come up with somethin’
better than that.  You always was one of the smart fellas.”

Ike explored his other
options.  The ring in the wall had been anchored too well for him to pull it
out.  He stuck the barrel of the pistol in the ring and tried to turn it in
hopes of loosening it but it would not budge. 

He studied the mechanism
of the lock and tried to remember how its internal members functioned.  He and
his brother had taken an old lock apart once and he tried to remember the shape
of the tumblers.  He had a vague Idea that he could bend a time of his fork and
use it as a pick.  This idea did not work.

As daylight faded he
realized that not only did he not have matches or even a lamp.  He was tired
and hungry and incredibly thirsty.  He ate the rest of the biscuit he had
started earlier and regretted it.  “There’s always the chamber pot Ikey.” 
Johnny giggled.  “You just have to strain out the chunks.”

“Thanks Johnny, that’s
just brilliant.”  Ike responded internally.  He took a small satisfaction from
realizing that he had not spoken this response out loud.

With nothing else he
could do in the darkness of the cellar Ike lay down on his bed and tried to
sleep.  Sometime in the early hours of the morning he woke and saw that the
moon had risen and was casting a pale light down the stairway.  He thought that
it would give him enough illumination to see his way to the chamber pot and part
with some of the last precious liquid his body retained. 

As he started to get up
he saw a dark shape lumbering down the steps.  An opossum had picked up the
scent of death and was eager to see what pickings were available.  Ike picked
up the pistol, sighted down the long barrel with his one eye, cocked the
hammer, and squeezed the trigger.  Instead of the expected violence of an
explosion there was only a dull click.  The hammer had been damaged when the
gun hit the floor after its last performance and would not descend all the way
to contact the igniter pin.  Ike tried it again and again.  The noise startled
the opossum into stopping on the last step from the bottom.  The creature froze
in position, aware that there was something still alive amid the tantalizing
odors of early decay that were guiding its sensitive snout to an anticipated
feast. 

The sight of the opossum
had repulsed Ike.  He cocked the pistol again, advancing  the cylinder to
another live round.  Again the gun only clicked.  In a fit of rage he drew back
to throw the gun at the scavenger.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea Ikey!” 
Johnny said as Ike flung the weapon towards the Opossum.

The pistol just missed
the hissing scavenger on the step.  The hammer hit the step with enough force
to drop it onto the igniter pin of the cartridge and the resulting explosion
sent the opossum scurrying back up the steps.  The bullet shattered Ike’s
drinking cup and caromed off the back wall before it buried itself in Marcus
gut.  The puncture opened a hole in the dead man’s intestine and released a
hideous smell that made Ike gag and lose what little food was left in his
stomach.

“I told you that was a
bad one Ikey!” Johnny chirped.

“Shut up!” Ike said,
realizing that he had spoken out loud this time.

Johnny maintained his
silence for a while as Ike regained a little of his composure.  The shaken man
completed his trip to the chamber pot and lay back down to rest until dawn.  He
prayed for daylight and deliverance.

“You never did like the
taste of ‘possum much anyway, Ikey” Johnny said, giggling as Ike drifted back
to sleep.

Ike woke to what he
thought was the sound of cannon fire, but it was only thunder accompanied by
blessed rain.  He stood in the stairwell and felt the refreshing drops.  He
opened his mouth and caught enough water to moisten his parched throat and
realized he had nothing to catch water in.  He went as far up the steps as his
chain would allow him but he could only get his head above the rim of the
opening to see a little of the muddy back yard. 

Descending the steps he
looked around and saw only one vessel that could possibly hold water.  He
grabbed the chamber pot and carried it up the steps to his limit and hurled its
contents as far as he could out into the yard.  By now the drizzle had turned
into a steady rain that yielded him enough water to rinse the worst of the
smell out of the pot.  Leaving his now prized possession on the step he went
down and retrieved Mrs. Pendleton’s handkerchief and used it to vigorously mop
out the vessel and rinse it one more time before leaving it to collect the
water that might keep him alive a few more days.

“Well Ikey, at least you
have a pot to piss in and a door to throw it out of.” Johnny cackled.  Ike
found his companion’s laughter infectious and before long he was laughing out
loud with him. 

“I’m losing my mind
Johnny, but at least I’m in good company.” Ike said, laughing again.  “I think
I’ll go back down for breakfast.”

He went back down and
finished the biscuits.  The bacon was still good but he couldn’t force himself
to eat the eggs so he threw them out the door.  “Well, here goes Johnny.” Ike
said, silently this time, and drank out of the chamber pot.  As thirsty as he
was, the water was delicious.

“You know Ike, we’ve
drank out of worse, ain’t we?” 

“Yes, Johnny, some of the
creeks we’ve drawn our water from were down stream of some pretty awful things
and we survived.  We even drank Sarge’s coffee and lived.   I’ve got water
enough to drink for a while now if I don’t drown.” Ike mused as he noticed how
water was pooling on the floor of the cellar.  He heard the clock start to
strike again and instinctively counted the chimes, each chime came slower and
the sixth strike was more of a thud, the clock had run down.

With his thirst and hunger
out of the way for a while Ike began to study the problem of the lock again. 
The big pistol looked like it might make an excellent hammer if there was an
anvil available.  He took the remaining cartridges out of the LeMat and laid
them on the table.   Working himself into an awkward but tolerable position he
managed to get the lock onto the stone that supported the lowest step and
banged away on it with the handle of the gun.  The brass face of the lock bent
inwards and the repeated blows loosened the rivets that held it on.  Half an
hour of hammering opened a gap into which Ike managed to insert the end of the
butter knife.  The rain had ceased without him noticing as he worked his
fingers raw, prying and twisting on the mangled lock until at last he heard a
satisfying click.  The lock was open!

Ike was about to run
shouting up the wet steps when he heard voices in the yard.  He froze at the
bottom and listened.  The murmuring was getting closer.  “Well Johnny, looks
like I may be out of the frying pan and into the fire.”  He said, this time
internally.

“Cain’t be much worse
than what you been in Ikey.”  Johnny replied.  “The rebels probably won’t shoot
a man in a nightshirt.”

“I might have a hard time
explaining the two dead bodies down there though.”  Ike said, looking over his
shoulder at what he had come to think of as a sepulcher.

Ike looked down and
realized how ridiculous he would probably look to whoever it was out there. 
“You’re right Johnny, these might be just the right clothes to surrender in.”

“I like the sound of
that.  You sayin’ I’m right I mean.”

The voices were coming
closer and Ike thought one of them sounded familiar.  A few seconds later he
shouted “Sarge, is that you?”