False Southern Gentility

Christopher cleared his throat uneasily. "What are we to do?" he asked the ever-blank Mary who stood silently beside him. "What?" he asked with a smile, "No answers from my encyclopedia?"

Mary smiled at this and her muscles loosened. "Are we actually married?" she asked as she looked at him. He was her husband, they had been married for two and a half long years. She had put her blood, sweat and tears into her family while Christine had ran away.

This was her family now.

Christopher had not had enough time to think this question over. Had he actually divorced Christine and married Mary? Or had he not actually married Mary at all? He shook his head and sighed. "God only knows." was the only thing that he could think to answer with.

"Christopher," Doctor Marshland said as he beckoned him into the hallway and urged Christopher's two daughters in with their step-mother and mother. "may I speak frankly with you?" he asked.

Christopher nodded. "Of course, when have you ever not?" he asked with a smile.

Doctor Marshland nodded in unison with him. "Yes, that's very true." he rubbed his beard and closed the door, shutting all of the women within. "I would like you to meet Michael Bowles." he said as he gestured to the tall man that stood beside him.

Christopher was taken aback. The man looked so much like him, almost like a replica of himself. His hair was black, just as Christopher's hair was, and his skin dark was heavily taut around the partially bulging muscles that shone beneath his heavy coat.

There was only one difference. His eyes. While Christopher's eyes shone with a dark black gleam, the man's glowed with a dark blue. He had eyes held the ocean, quiet and calm, yet ruthless at the same time.

"Nice to meet you." Michael said as he extended his hand warmly to Christopher.

Did he not notice the obvious similarities between the two of them? He must be ignoring them, thought Christopher as he took the extended hand in a cold grip, he must be putting it off as a coincidence, that's all.

"I could say the same to you. I am Christopher Rudd." he said, his voice as cold as his hand shake.

"Yes," Michael said he released Christopher's hand. "Christine has shown me a photograph of the two of you together. You made quite a pair. If you wouldn't mind, would you care if I went on and administered her medications?" he asked as he grasped onto the doorknob.

Christopher nodded at his double. "No, not at all." he said as he watched Michael turn the doorknob and walk into the room. Christopher turned his head to one side, watching as, what looked like himself, walked into the room and took Christine's hand.

"Wait," he said as he looked at Marshland. "Did he say that Christine had showed him a photograph of she and I?" he asked as she raised his hand to his chin.

Marshland shrugged. "I believe so." he said as he walked into the room behind Michael.

Christopher couldn't help but hold his breath. It was as if he was seeing the day that Christine had died from outside of his body. There was Marshland, muttering things into his ear, himself, holding onto Christine's hand and watching as Marshland injected a long needle into her thin arm.

Mary walked out of the room and touched his arm. "Did you notice the--" she started as Christopher nodded. "I always knew that Christine would never get over you. No matter where she was." Mary laughed at her own joke as she saw Christine start to stir.

Mary sighed as she observed the pitiful look on Christopher's face. "Go on." she said as she nudged him forward. "She needs you now." for a moment she prayed that he would not go, that he would stay beside her and hold her hand.

Her hopes were shattered as Christopher walked solemnly into the room.

"How is she?" Christopher asked as he tried to ignore the hurt expression that was on Mary's face when he had caught a glimpse of out of the corner of his eye.

Marshland nodded in his quiet way. "Hush." he said, more firmly than Christopher had ever heard him before. "Christine." he said as he brushed a hand over her throat. Christine turned her head away and began to cry.

"Leave the children, please!" she begged as she tossed her head from one side to the other. "Please, do what you will with me, but please, in God's name, spare the children." tears fell from her eyes freely as she tossed in her medically induced sleep.

Doctor Marshland shook his head and walked to the other side of the room. Michael looked from Christine's face to Christopher's strangely quiet one. "Well, what's she doing?" he asked Christopher.

Christopher responded with a quietness about his voice. "She's having nightmares. That medication has sent her back to the Yankee attack." he looked to Marshland. "Is there something to wake her up with?"

Marshland thought quickly. "Yes, yes hold on." he said as he walked to his bag and pulled out the overly familiar yellowish liquid. "This should do the trick."

Christopher gave Michael a hard stare which told him that his place was no longer beside Christopher's wife. Michael kissed the back of Christine's hand as he stood up and moved off of the bed. Christopher nodded obligingly as he took his place beside her.

While Christopher held Christine's hand, Marshland administered the medication. Behind the threesome stood two heartbroken people. Michael turned to Mary and spoke. "So," he sighed as the two of them walked out of the room and into the hallway. "Mr. Rudd is your husband? And Christine your sister?" he asked politely.

Mary nodded. "I--we believed Christine to be--deceased. Christopher wouldn't look after his children, I brought the three of them back together. I made myself a family with my son, Peter, and Christine's two children. Elizabeth and Claudia. Christopher was part of my package."

Michael offered a seat to Mary who was rubbing her aching back with a heavy hand. "Are you alright?" he asked, concerned with anyone who had anything to do with Christine.

She shook her head no. "I'm just a little under the weather, that's all. Thank you very much your concern though." she said as she looked up at him with kind eyes.

"Would you mind?" he asked as he put his hand towards her forehead. When Mary nodded yes, he placed his hand to her overly warm forehead. "I think you have a fever." he said as he rested his hand on her throat to take her pulse.

Mary shrugged. "I'm fine, really. I've just been feeling a tad-bit beneath par." she said as he looked down at his watch while his hand rested on her throat.

"Do you have a room?" he asked as he put his hand behind her back and urged her to stand up. Mary's shocked expression made him laugh. "Not for anything like that, I assure you. You should be resting, that's what I meant." he said as she stood up.

Mary laughed nervously as she took a step, lost her balance and leaned heavily against Matthew's shoulder. "I...I am a bit weak." she finally admitted as she slumped towards the floor.

Christopher glanced back to see Mary sliding into Michael Bowles's arms. As Christine opened her eyes, she too, caught the scene. "Mary!" Christine exclaimed as Marshland withdrew the last of the needle from her arm. Why her face was wet, she did not know, nor did she care.

Christopher was on his feet, as was Christine, and the both of them began to run, only Christopher made it there. Marshland's hand slid around Christine's back as she began to fall towards the floor again. "Easy now, child. You'll kill yourself if you're not careful." he said as Christine looked weakly up at the ceiling.

"Mary--" she mumbled as rested her head against his chest.

"Yes, I know." he said as he lifted her back up onto the bed and leaned her now heavy head on the pillow. "I know." After finally having made sure that Christine's faint would settle for a while, he rushed into the hallway. Surely the young man could take care of such a simple woman as Mary.

"How is she?" Marshland asked as he knelt down beside the weak Mary.

Michael shook his head. "Her pulse is a little weak, and she has a very high fever from what I can tell." he said as Mary laid her head towards Christopher's legs. Christopher lifted her head into his lap and stroked her hair easily.

"Alright boys," Marshland said as he slipped his hands under Mary's nimble shoulders. "On three, we'll lift. One, two three." he called out as both of the other men slipped their hands under Mary and lifted her into the air.

Mary shook her head heavily. "No," she said as she touched Christopher weakly as they began to walk towards Christopher's room. "I--I need to be with Christine. Let me alone." she cried out as she struggled weakly in the air.

"Mary," Christopher cooed as he smoothed out her hair gently as they walked down the long hallway. "you've got to rest now. Alright? Darling, you're sick...please, just rest." he said in his quiet easy way.

She shook her head in the first action that she had ever committed against her husband's wishes. "No, no Christine needs me." she said as they laid her on the large oak-wood bed.

Mary laid quietly on the bed until all of the men had left the room. She would not be put to bed like a simple minded child. She sat up stiffly, leaned heavily on the bed-post and stood up.

She could make it to Christine, she had to, she was her sister, they had grown up together, and now apparently shared the same husband. Mary swallowed back a sickening feeling that grew in the pit of her stomach as her feet touched the warm carpet of the hallway.

Only a few more steps to Christine.

Mary counted out the steps in her head as she struggled for breath. "One, two, three, stumble." No, she had not meant to think 'stumble', but why not think it when you've already done it? "Five, six, seven, part of eight." she paused for breath as she gripped onto the wall.

Almost there.

Christopher shook his head as he looked from the door, wrestling with his concern for Mary and his love for Christine. "Well?" he asked the pair as Marshland withdrew a Scalpel from his bag and held it to Christine's slender arm.

"You remember what this is, don't you Christopher?" Marshland asked as he kept his eyes focused on the small blue vain that he was about to dig into. Christopher nodded, and then looked back at the door.

Mary stood, clinging to the door-frame as her feet caught on the loose nightgown that Christopher had her put on. "Christine." she said as her hands moved from one place to another, using borrowed stability from inanimate objects to keep moving.

Christopher was off of the bed and had Mary by the arm in a slightly loose grip. "Mary, you must lie down." he said as he tried to pull her back into the hall.

Mary was determined to stay with her sister, no matter the cost to her. "No." she said as she pulled her arm from his grip. As Christopher jerked, and Mary jerked, her arm slipped from his grip and she clattered noisily towards the floor.

The sound of Mary falling alerted her drowsy senses just as Marshland began to press the Scalpel to her skin. "No!" she screamed as she sat up on the bed. Marshland struggled to press her back down, but for all his pains, she only fought harder.

"Damn it, Christine!" he yelled as he pulled a dark syringe from his pocket and pushed it into her delicate ivory skin. She let out a weak shriek as her muscles weakened and her breath came easy.

Mary cried weak tears as she saw the way Christine fell back. "Christopher," Mary said as she tried to stand up, tripped, and fell again. "Help me to Christine."

Christopher shook his head as he walked back to her and signaled to Michael to come closer. He trusted this man for some reason, but those reasons were far beyond his own knowledge. Perhaps it was because he had managed to keep the 'dead' Christine alive in his own absence, or maybe it was because he resembled himself and therefore he had some misguided idea that his personality resembled his own.

"Mary, darling, give me your hand." Christopher said as he extended his hand towards her. He hoped that Michael understood his plan. Once her hand was out, all Michael had to do was push the small pressure point on Mary's shoulder. It might sting for a minute, but it would halt her protests.

She smiled as she grasped his hand. Instead of Michael pressing the small point he slipped his hands around from behind her and pulled her hands straight by her side. "Rudd," he said in a firm voice, "reach into my bag in the hall, one small needle, partially filled, it's a light color. Hurry up!" he said as Mary's weak struggling began to grow harder.

Christopher was partially startled by how forceful she was, Mary was never a violent person, she was calm, small and nimble. He shook his head, trying to ignore the fact that Mary was getting worse, and Christine seemed to be growing more resistant by the second.

He jabbed the needle into her arm. Mary struggled for a moment, and then her heavy brown eyes closed slowly. He looked to Michael to reassure him that he had done right, but Michael's eyes rested only on Mary as he lifted her into his arms.

After seeing Mary being carted out of their bedroom, and listening to Christine lay in the bed, wheezing in painful sounding breaths, he could stand it no more. "Marshland," he said abruptly. The old man turned and eyed him suspiciously. "I've--I've got to get out and get some air...I can hardly breathe in this house." Marshland gave no verbal answer, but his kind understanding eyes gave his thoughts which were enough for Christopher at the time.

Christopher took long strengthful steps down the long staircase, what a grand staircase it was. He had had the home built for Christine. Whether they had been married or not, this home had been intended for the two of them. Something about her, the first time that he had met her, he knew that he would spend eternity with her.

But his eternity had been ended with one sentence. "I shall cry for you..." those had been Christine's last words. The last words that he had heard out of her mouth for the last five years. There was nothing worse than losing the one you love...no one knew that better than Christopher Rudd. Why, he himself knew that he knew more on loss than any man ever should.

"Daddy." a small voice said from behind him. "Is everyone dying?" Claudia asked as she sat down beside him and looked at his dark black shoes.

He did not think that he could answer that honestly, for he was thinking the exact same question in his mind. Everyone was leaving him, leaving them, he and Claudia knew that. He wondered faintly what Elizabeth thought, but Elizabeth wasn't much of his concern.

She seemed old enough to take care of her own. If she could mimick Mary, then she could act as strong as Mary. No, his mind said stubbornly, Elizabeth is as much your child as Mary's. But she's not Mary's, she's Christine's! She wasn't ever Christine's, though she had known more of Christine than Claudia did, but even in the few minutes that Claudia knew her mother, she had developed more of Christine than Elizabeth.

He summoned all of his strength to make sure not to let his voice tremble when he spoke. This was done in vain, for as he began to speak, his voice cracked. "No, not everyone is leaving--I mean, not everyone is dying."

Claudia nodded uncertainly, "If they're not all dying, then where are they all going?" she asked in a voice that suggested more than was there.

Christopher shrugged. "Who knows..."