Lost Times

"But, Doc?"

"Get!" I pushed the small chest into his arms. "Now, you wanted to bring her to me. I need snow to cool her back. Go, damn your hide. And no yellow snow!"

He took the chest and went to his wagon in a rush. He was unhooking the harnesses when I walked out with my water bucked and fetched my own water from the well. I heard him leave at a gallop while I was turning the crank.

When I entered the cramped room, I took me a deep breath, a small pull from the flash in my pocket, and pulled back the smelly old coat to see what I had to deal with. Reluctantly, I turned up the wick on my lamp and light a second lamp as well.

Looking over a naked woman was one of those things they never talked about when you were in training to be a doctor. How do you look at all that lovely bare skin and not become aroused, should be a full months teachings. But not this time. Not this time at all. My eyes leaked anger fuel rage, not lust. Jed was right, to judge from the purple-black, hand-marks on her hips, the bruising of her inner thighs and the marks around her throat she had been taken against her will, repeatedly.

I shook my head at the animals that did this kind of thing.

With a disgust at my own sex I, as gently as I could manage, turned her over to her face side, letting me see her back. The rape I could not treat but the damage of this whipping I could do something about at least. Taking a rag with the cold well water I began to softly dab at the raw skin, trying to remove some of this dirt, least infection take her.

Her moan, even when unconscious, pulled at my heart. Knowing all that I was going to have to do for... to her...in the coming hours, my heart wept for this poor girl. The well water was pure enough but I was going to have to use brandy. There was too much dirt in her open flesh to let water alone clean her. She would, by this time tomorrow night, be a rage of fever maybe no matter what I did, but the brandy would give her a chance. That and a few other tricks I know, stuff I've been reading up on. I shook my head and absently looked her over. From her heels to her face she was put together in a lovely way.

Taking a deep breath, I set to work to try and scour her back as clean as I could before she had the misfortune to wake from this minor-blessing of sleep. I hated having to listen to her moan, but when she finally awoke her screams were far worse. The exhausted, pitiful moans that followed tore their way through me. When I was finally finished and had lightly draped her back in thin cloths soaked in a diluted mixture of carbolic acid, she was all but lifeless in exhaustion. I sat next to her, letting her take small sips from my flash, dabbing tears from her cheeks. Jed arrived back, several hours later than I would have liked.

"About damn, time." I yanked the cold, tin chest from his arms. "Did you have to wait for it to snow or something?"

"That's a long ride, Doc!"

"Get home, before I have a canker at the very sight of you. Hey!" I called after him when he went to hook his tired horse back to his wagon. "Fetch the sheriff round, before you go."

Opening the box, the chill of its contents washed my face. Moving quickly, I began to place handfuls of it on her back, packing it down in layers. I had to ignore her cries of agony, knowing that the snow would take down the swelling and give her some relief. When I finished, I draped a small quilted coverlet over her to keep the cold in and sat back down next to her.

"Why?" she asked in a low voice.

"Why what, Miss?" I asked. I unscrewed my flash. "Here take another sip."

"Why did they do that to me?" She gave a shiver at the cold. "I begged them, begged them to stop and they just laughed."

I turned the flask at her lips and let her take a longer drink this time. Better for her to be drunkin' into a stupor at the moment than feeling all of this pain. I answered her as best I could.

"Some men like to see a woman in pain. Like it when a woman screams." I took a sip from my own flask. "I think it fills a hole in their lives where their own pain once lived. Their pain, for whatever reason, got to be so bad they pushed some of their soul out the way to make room for it. That left a hole, a great empty hole they can never fill. No matter how much they drink, how much they whore, how many men they kill they can never feel complete again. Not with that hole inside them. So when they have the chance to attack someone helpless...they do it. They do it with a sickness of the mind and the soul."

"Why are men like that?" she asked. "They didn't have to be rough, I didn't try to fight back. I knew there were too many of them. They overpowered me easily, took what they wanted, and could have left me there. Why are men like that?"

Not sure if she had not understood me the first time I frowned and tried to be simpler. "Some men are just that way. Some like to hurt women." I gave her another long sip. Shaking the flask, I moved to the brandy decanter. With steady hands, I refilled the tin flask as I talked.

"I begged them not to whip me," she said, repeating herself again.

I frowned and moved back to her and ran my hand over her head, feeling about for any bumps I might have missed. Nothing. Maybe the brandy then. Sitting down, I gave her smaller sips this time.

"Why are you different?" she asked. A question that startled me.

"Well, I just am..." I began, and stopped to look inwards.

Why was I? I pondered. Surely, I was nothing more than a man. Nothing in form less than the ones that had done this too her. Just a common animal when all's said and done. Hardly even a good man. I'm a drunk. I cuss, like a preacher's dog. If she was hale I sure as hell would love taking a turn on her pretty body myself. Maybe that was it. The pain was already there for me, I didn't need to give her more, and I could already see it.

Did I enjoy it? Her pain?

No!

I helped to make it better...make her better...I...

Memories of the hours of screaming she had just done, under my hands, stirred a sick feeling in my stomach. I killed it with a large gulp of brandy that burned that sick feeling all away. I was not like those men! I was not one to take, I was one to heal. I was never one to make a woman do something she had no hankering to do. I was just a simple man sure, but I was better than the dogs that roam these lands in packs hunting for easy prey? A kin to them I may be, I'll admit to that, yeah.

But I was more the wolf than the dog.

I looked down at her tear-streaked face, and felt my heart pull me yet again. Such a lovely lady taken in such a terrible way. Leaning in, I did something unprofessional of me. I placed a kiss on her brow.

"I just am."

As she drifted on alcohol fumes to sleep, I took my seat to my desk and opened the book where I keep my medical notes. I jotted down a few observations and began to do a quick sketch of where her wounds had been. It wasn't something I normally did but here, at this moment, I needed the little boyhood hobby of my pen on paper to sooth my jangled nerves.

The more I sketched the more calm I became. The more centered I found myself. I was not like them I convinced myself, but I was similar. It was something I had to accept in myself. I let the pain I had taken from her, and yes even the small measure of sick-pleasure I gathered in treating her, and let it find its way into this page. This sketch of pain and torture.

By the time the sheriff was at my door I had done her likeness justice. In all its beauty and horror.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

"James? Are you okay?"

My vision focusing on the faces in front of me, I looked from Allen to Steve. Both of them had odd looks to their eyes. I glanced around to find myself surrounded by the girls. Looking past them at the surrounding patrons of the museum, the staff and at the art work I slowly shook my head.

"I don't know. A bit of fuckin' Déjà vu...I guess."

Steve and Allen exchange a quick look between them, and then they looked at the girls. The looks on my friend's faces were strange.

"Honey bunny? You alright?"

Looking down into Marcie's beautiful eyes, I smiled. "Yeah, I'm...just...I'm okay." I nodded, rubbing the back of my neck.

"Then why are you crying?" she asked puzzled.

I shook my head, wiped at my cheek and indeed found it to be wet. To try and hide this I looked around.

"Don't know. Maybe I just fuckin' love nude art."