The Inn at the End of the Road

Prescott turned, saw the question in the green eyes, heard it. "No one blames you, Evert. It wasn't your fault." There was a suspicious sparkle in Evert's eyes before the man turned over and hid his face beneath the blanket. Massaging the back of his neck, Prescott went back up front. 
"He'll be okay," Jessie said in reassurance when he reappeared. 
The lights flickered. 
"The lines are going down," Prescott announced, troubled. 
"Transition," Jessie argued politely. She poured herself a cup of coffee, and left the counter to sit in a booth. 
"Transition?" 
"Get yourself something to drink, William." 

The door opened and a young negro girl, about fifteen, entered. She stared at them, frightened, soaking wet. The door remained open while she stood there, and the cold and the rain came in. Prescott's mouth flew open. 
"Come in and shut the door," Jessie ordered. "There are dry clothes in the back. Why don't you go back there and change?" 
The female stiffened and her chin grew stubborn. "I'm Kahtia, daughter of Kynd, and you are on our land." Her accent was clearly South African. 
"I'm Jessie and this is William Prescott. Please shut the door. You're letting the cold come in." 
Kahtia entered regally, disdainfully and the door shut. "Why are you here on my land? Does my father know of your existence? Perhaps I should go and inform him of your presence."

"Why don't you wait until the rain stops?" Jessie suggested in a bland manner. "It's silly to go back out in that." 
Kahtia glanced at the rain. "Perhaps I will wit until this storm ceases. Where are the clothes?" She sniffed in irritation. "They will smell like a white man's" 
"They're in the back." The negro stared pointedly, coldly, at Prescott. "You will stay here." 
Prescott flushed but he ordered, "Don't wake Evert." 
"Who?" Kahtia demanded sharply. "Is there another white man back there?" 

"Evert is ill, and he's sleeping back there. Don't wake him." Shock rippled through Prescott's body. South Africans? Here in Wales? Kahtia sneered and sauntered towards the back, dripping water as she went. Prescott turned to the old woman. "She's a South African." 
"Yes. Her father is the leader of the Black Imperialists, I believe." Jessie took a long sip of her coffee. 
"She thinks we're in Africa." Prescott went to her, stood by her, staring down, perplexed. 
"Yes, she does." she propped her chin on the palm of one hand and stared at him with uncomplicated eyes. 
Prescott blinked. "Are we?" he finally asked. 
"Yes." She smiled at him. 
"And you're American, aren't you?" 
"I am." 
"How did we get here?" 
"William, some things are better left unanswered." The old woman drank again. 

"Lady, I didn't get where I am by not asking questions." Prescott froze. In the back, Evert was whimpering. The agent ran to him, sat down on the bed and gripped the slim arms. Evert came to full consciousness instantly. There were tears on the slim, anguished face. "Ray, don't punish yourself like this. It wasn't your fault." But the man only shifted his head, closed his eyes once more. Emotion threw shudders through his body. 
"He'll talk when he gets ready," Jessie told Prescott, speaking gently from the doorway. The agent observed her with ill concealed impatience, but the woman was not offended. "You shouldn't stretch the skin until the wound's healed." She turned and left. 

"You were not ... NOT ... responsible for the deaths of those children. The terrorists detonated that bomb, not you. Evert ... look at me ... listen." He forced Evert's head to turn and saw that the agent was silently weeping. Prescott pulled him into his arms, rocked him, whispering soft words of caring and comfort. Slowly, Evert grew quiet. "It wasn't your fault," the agent told him again, earnestly, truthfully. 
"Prescott, you are very good to me," Evert whispered. 
"I love you, Ray Evert. I believe in you; I always have; I always will." In a little while, Evert felt well enough to go back to the front of the cafe with Prescott but the slim operative slumped into an end table. He ignored the hot soup placed in front of him by Jessie. 

The young negro woman came out, sneered at Evert, scowled at the rain, and demanded in a cold, haughty voice, "Food." 
"Clato?" Jessie asked as if serving a negro from South Africa was a normal, every day occurrence for her. 
Kahtia's eyes grew wide. "You have clato?" 
"Yes. And sour mead to drink." 
"I will accept this offer of yours. How is it you are on my father's land? Why haven't the Imperialists taken you? Why hasn't my father claimed this property?" The negro female inquired suspiciously. "Who have you paid off?" 
"We aren't hurting anyone here." Jessie placed a bowl of clato in front of the young, black girl and then a mug of steaming mead. 
The negro smirked and began eating. When she was through, she belched loudly, wiped her hands on her clothes. She then swung around on the stool and turned her attention to Evert and Prescott. She challenged the agent's worried glance with her own cool disdain. Sighing inaudibly, Prescott asked Evert, "Shall I have Jessie make more tea?" 
"No." Evert watched the rain through memory blinded eyes. Prescott rose, took his empty tea mug back to the woman behind the counter. He was becoming discouraged. He had thought he could help his lover, but it didn't seem as though he was doing any good or ever would. Every step forwards was followed by a step backwards. 
"Would you like more tea?" Jessie asked in sympathy as she accepted the cup from the man. He nodded. "And your friend?" 
"He doesn't want any right now." Prescott pinched the bridge of his nose. 
"How about some chocolate pudding, my special formula?" the old woman asked hopefully. 
"I don't know." Prescott looked back at his friend who was sitting with his eyes closed, barely breathing. 
"Take it to him. It can't hurt." Jessie took two bowls from the cooler, placed them and two spoons on the tray, and handed it to the man. "You have one too. My treat." 

Prescott smiled in grateful acceptance. "Thanks, Jessie." He carried the tray back to the end booth. "Look, Evert, chocolate." The lights flickered. Prescott's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He set the tray on the table, removed one of the bowls and placed it before his friend. He handed a spoon to the other one. "Eat it, Evert." The tall, slim man took a bite and then another as the rich flavour began to interest him. Prescott didn't bother to hide his pleased reaction. 
"What's the matter with him?" Kahtia asked insolently. "Is he retarded? Is that why you have to tell him what to do?" 
Prescott's jaws tightened. "Please don't bother us." 
"Was he raped?" she asked in curiosity. "Is that why he ...." 
"Please, don't," Prescott entreated. 
"Did they tie him up first? My grandfather did that to one of his body guards once. I hid in the room and watched. Boy did that guy yell when Oom rammed into him. Well, it serves him right..." 

Prescott had had enough. His footsteps were hard, full of purpose as he went towards her. "Be quiet." 
"My father will kill you if you touch me. I am the last of the line. My brother was killed in the Vanguard school massacre." 
Evert moaned and huddled in the corner. 
"Evert, don't," Prescott begged as he hurried back to the agent. Anger against the negro for causing this fresh pain welled up inside Prescott. 
"Now I know why his name sounded so familiar." Kahtia's face grew hard. "There was a CI5 agent involved in the killing and he's it, isn't he?" She slid off the stool and went coldly, in anger, to the two men. "You are him, aren't you?" She tried to reach past Prescott, grab Evert's arm, but the blue eyed agent stopped her. Kahtia's attempt to pull free from Prescott's grasp was futile. 
"Leave him alone," Prescott warned in a wintry tone. The door slammed open and a man and woman stumbled in. They were French and they had been lost in the storm on the way to the hospital. She was pregnant, large with child, and in labour, perspiration as well. Kahtia gasped and then cursed beneath her breath. Prescott inspected them with no surprise at all. 

"We need to call for help," the man said. "Clee is in the last stages." 
"We have no phone," Jessie apologised. 
"I cannot take her back out into that," he said in anxiety. 
"Of course not. There are dry clothes in the back, a shower, a bed. Get her warm and dry and let her lie down. The others can help her." 
"But we can't ..." Prescott began. His gaze shifted back to his friend. It was the right thing to do; the agent was sure of it. Running medicine in South Africa wasn't the same as giving aide in childbirth, but ... And maybe this would jar Evert into full awareness. "We'll help her, won't we, Evert?" he asked, knowing the other man wouldn't say no. Evert's eyes drifted to the newly arrived couple who were proceeding slowly to the back, but he didn't reply. "Evert?" Prescott inquired. "We'll help, won't we? You'll help, won't you, like before?" he inquired in worry. "You assisted a policeman once, didn't you? And actually delivered one by yourself ... didn't you?" He waited for a moment and then said firmly," Someone needs you." 

"Yes." Evert rose stiffly. "I will need a few things," he told Jessie who listened calmly, but beside him, Prescott was rejoicing. A song sang in his heart. It was as though Evert felt that gladness. He turned shy eyes toward him. Prescott smiled proudly at him. That was the extra bit of persuasion Evert needed. He told the old woman what he would need and then waited quietly while she gathered the few things he had asked for. He then took the items to the back where the Frenchman waited outside the bedroom door, guarding its entrance, while his wife undressed and climbed into bed. 
Evert informed him in a worried timbre, "I'm not a doctor." 

"Can you be of any help at all?" the other man asked in anxious fear. "I have never been around a birthing before and I don't know what to do." 
"If there are complications ..." Evert began. 
"Mister, we just lost our twin sons. If my wife loses this baby ..." He chewed his lower lip for a moment. "I fear for her sanity." 
"How did her kids die?" Kahtia asked in avid interest as she appeared beside them. "Did a car hit them?" 
They looked at her in shock. Surely privacy to anyone was sacred? A loud moan from inside the bedroom sent both men into the bedroom, to the woman's side. Evert bent down to her and said, "I need to touch you." 
"Yes." The woman begged, "Don't let my baby die!" 
"I'll do my best, but I am not a doctor." Evert felt her abdomen. It was hard and then grew soft again beneath his hand. 
"I've never seen a baby being born before," Kahtia announced with glee. "Is there going to be blood?" 
"I need to check how far along you are," Evert said and felt his face grow warm. 
"I know." The pregnant woman cried out as another birthing pang gripped her body in iron fingers. Evert lifted the covers and encouraged her to separate her legs.