5.1: Saving Elise

"I don't wanna die. Mercy. Mercy," screamed Joan with tears wetting her wrinkled face. She looked at her executioner and the two men that dragged her towards the first post. "Mercy. Mercy. Please. We are all children of God. Please. Do not do this. Have Mercy," she howled over and over to them until she had reached the post and the rope was tied on her neck.

"God? You are the devil's daughter," screamed a woman as a rotten apple came flying from the crowd and hit the witch.

"Go back to hell," screamed another.

As the crowd roared their judgments, William's head felt far removed to the summer when his father first took him to Elise's store. His small fingers crumpled tight on his dad's worn-out trousers; but his eyes lit from the dozens of small eyes in a jar, the snaky shapes of a brain, the collection of clean bones in a basket, and the various more oddities that sat on the shelves. The adults discussed something about the weather and a good place to get spider eggs—or something of the sort.

Instinctively, he had let go of his father and peeked at the jars, sizing, observing and hoping to open one of them—or maybe all of them. So he did. He grabbed hold of the eyes and freed the lid.

A pungent smell of vinegar, garlic and something festering attacked his senses, startling him and dropping the jar. The glass shattered into pieces as water and eyes splashed all over the floor. He looked down on his wet shoes and up at his father whose face blazed in disappointment and anger. His father walked up to him and held up a hand, ready to swipe it on his face. But Elise stepped in between them, knelt on the young boy in front of her and smiled. She handed him three different-sized teeth bound by a black string. She mouthed something about something about being a kid was okay and it wasn't his fault. He just had to be careful the next time around. He promised then that he would, and so she kissed his forehead and everything went well. His father proceeded with his business, and he waited at a corner. That was before. Now, everything was not well. Elise was already at the platform being ushered to the noose that will end her life, and he had been drawing closer to her.

A hand squeezed his shoulder. "William, what do you think you're doing?" asked Garret.

"Garret? How'd you—you were captured—you were in trouble," he babbled.

He squinted and then his face grew stern as his hand on his shoulder tightened. "Don't go," he begged.

"I'm going to free her," stated William, free of all hesitations that momentarily arrested his mind.

"And how exactly are you to do that?" There was a tremor in Garret's tone.

He peered straight at his dark blue eyes as all the pressure in his face gathered to his tight lips. "This is Elise, Garret. I am not going to leave her to die," he reasoned.

"Do you know what they'll do to you?" He pressed his head closer to his. "They'll kill you for helping a witch. They'll gut you like they gut Catherine."

"I don't care. She needs my help," he almost screamed.

"I care, William. I care what happens to you," he shouted back.

"I said I don't care," yelled William as Garret held him back with his taller frame.

"Let go." William shoved Garret and swung his fist right onto his jaw.

Garret wobbled back, clutching his jaw.

"I told you, let go," heaved William. He faced his back toward them and ran straight to the platform where the soldier had just placed the rope on Elise's neck.

The soldiers had cleared out the platform, leaving only the two witches left. The first one kept on crying and invoking God's name as the people kept throwing rotten food her way while Elise stood there with vacant eyes and a broken faith.

"Clear out," commanded a soldier as one of the executioner moved to the lever for the trap doors.

The townspeople ceased their heckling and throwing, anticipating the witches' deaths.

Shoving people from left to right, William penetrated the crowd with difficulty, locking his sight on the death show. Men and women flared in anger when they were brushed aside as he cut a path for himself. "Stop. Stop. Stop," he muttered as he inched closer and closer.

"Final words?" asked the executioner.

"Though my neighbors has forsaken me. The Lord will receive me," quoted Joan.

Elise bowed her head and closed her eyes as the executioner held on to the lever with both hands.

Pulling and grabbing people upfront, William tore through the mass like a hunter chasing his prey through the forest. He had to stop them. He had to make it. He had to save Elise. She wasn't a witch, a sinner or a protestant; she was simply a woman who owned a shop of trinkets. She did not deserve to die.

The lever was pulled.

The trapdoor opened as William tripped and slammed to the ground. He hurried and tried to draw his feet in and get up, but the momentum and the last line of people prevented him to. His sight flashed to the platform. Elise was wide in shock. Her lips and throat struggled for air. Her face began to lose color. It would only be seconds until…

"Noooooooo," screamed William.

And as if the heavens had heard the howl of the young boy, its dark dawning skies changed into velvets of crimson and blood. The paling moon shifted its glossy white glow and hid in a dark shadow where the only radiance seen was its circled light. And the sun that was almost rising abandoned its post and disappeared.

As if stolen the will to speak, William glanced at the skies, thinking if this was his fault. But complacency of thought didn't last long as he noticed the townspeople's movements—or in this case, lack thereof. They were frozen, stagnant and motionless. Their faces were stuck on a last expression they had—sadness, fear, anger. They were like models of portrait depicting the last days of a heretic. Not one moved. Not even the soldiers, the executioners or anyone at all.

Silence had captured the eeriness of the blood night.