Mad Woman in the Attic: Chapter 2

Mad Woman in the Attic

By Mad Woman


Disclaimer:

The characters of Gabriel Knight, Grace Nakamura, Detective Mosely and the legend of the Schattenjagers are creations and trademarks of Jane Jensen and Sierra-On-Line.

Apologies:

The writer of this piece of fan fiction has taken liberties in the atmosphere, history, culture and geography of New Orleans. Please be aware the writer has NEVER been to New Orleans, although it is a life-long wish. Please also be aware that the writer is not American. As far as it is possible and made known to the writer, inaccuracies are corrected. But we are only human and therefore have to live with our mortal inadequacies.

Thank you.


Part One

I doubt sometimes whether a quiet & unagitated life
would have suited me--yet I sometimes long for it.

- Byron


Chapter 2

21 January, Thursday, 1997

Gabriel crossed himself as he entered the chapel of the cathedral, shamefully aware of his muddy, noisy shoes as he slinked as unobtrusively as possible to the pew. He watched a priest he did not know speaking intently with a woman for a while, then went back to his business. He stared up at the stained glass windows, each frame depicting a scene of the Passion, and wondering if peace was possible for a man such as him?

Gabriel was not a praying man. Hell, he wasn't a church man either yet somehow fate had thrown him into the unenviable position as Schattenjäger. Grace seemed to think it's all such hot-shit, but more than anything, the job brought him immense heartaches and fear. And God, he had been so afraid these couple of years. So afraid of failing when what you do counts for so much. So afraid that he still had not been able to sleep at night. Nightmares replaced by other nightmares. Yet he understood it was a choice he made. He had stood against the dragon of Saint George and defied it when he was told to go back. So there was no way to go but forward, even if it meant falling off a cliff and shattering his bones.

And so he had to live with the nightmares, the fears, the sleepless lonely nights when scenes keep replaying themselves within him and he needed to come here, to the cathedral, for a bit of peace. To stare at the twelve stations of Christ's Passion and try to believe that a greater other had took on a heavier burden than he did and had triumphed over the loneliness, the despair and most of all, the fear.

But then he always ended up telling himself he was no Son of God. And inspite of his name, he was not angel, and no knight. And definitely no Shadow Hunter.

And then he became aware that the woman he had just seen was sitting at the other end of the bench. And she was reading the latest Blake Backlash novel: The Black Wolf, written by Gabriel Knight. He had to smirk at the irony of it.

"Hi," he said to the woman, who tucked a finger between the pages to mark her page.

"Hello," she replied properly.

"I have not seem you around here before. New in town? Or just new in church?"

The woman seemed to consider it. "A bit of both. You do not seem like someone who comes here often."

Gabriel chuckled. "That, you're right." Then he waited, but the woman did not contribute any further comments.

"You're not going to ask why I'm here?" Gabriel wondered aloud. The woman shrugged her shoulders.

"You will tell me, if you want to. We all have our reasons for seeking sanctuary."

"Sanctuary." The idea seemed such a distant concept. "I think you got it right for me. You?"

"A hiding place," she said quietly.

"From what?" And the woman just gazed into emptiness. Gabriel waited, surprised at his patience for this stranger so familiar to him.

"Ghosts," she said finally. And Gabriel wondered if he could detect a tinge of pathos in that monosyllable.

"Dead ghosts, living ghosts. Both. The kind that haunts, refuses to leave. Some things displaced in time, making their unfair demands on the living present. And you give in, because you want them to go away. But they never really do--but I see you understand ghosts."

And Gabriel smiled, a soft, sad movement of the mouth. Aware of a heavy metal burden against his chest, resting on his heart. The talisman. The symbol and treasure of the Schattenjäger. And that dagger sheathed and hidden in his jacket's inner pocket. The dagger within to cut out his heart.

"I have some ghosts of my own. Legacy of a colorful lineage."

And the woman smiled, too. "Ghosts inherited. The ones that come with the house. The best kind," she remarked dryly.

"Also the ones hardest to exorcise."

"Yes," she said. "And so we try to live with them. Until the day they kill us or we go mad. Then we no longer care."

"Why are you telling me all these?" Gabriel asked with a child-like heart. And the woman with her sad, sad smile moved herself next to him.

"Because we speak as two strangers may speak. I have always thought that was why people engage in one-night stands. The idea of expulsing something so primal and so private to a total stranger, because they know they will never see the other again. And so they may do anything." Then she took her finger out from the book.

"I am digressing. I am sorry. Friends who are understanding, and forgiving, say I am philosophical. I just believe I ramble. Forgive me."

"No harm done," Gabriel put up his hands casually. "I'm Gabriel Knight." He offered a hand. The woman took it, and they shook.

"Author of the two Blake Backlash novels. Owner of Saint George Books. Yes, I know. I've seen you before." Gabriel laughed.

"And I am Ashley Tremayne. Editor and occasional book critic of Debasement Magazine."

"Oh." Gabriel's eyes widened, impressed. Then a thought struck him.

"You hated my book."

"Wrong. I hated your book-s. Both of them. Your portrayal of the assistant, Fujitsu, was found to be particularly sexist. And so two-dimensional I can only attribute it to poor observation and sheer technical laziness."

"Ouch." Gabriel's facial muscles twitched. "But they sell good," he added defensively.

"They sell well. Yes, I have to give you that much credit. Books of such caliber reaching the New York Times Bestsellers' List. But then I've always had certain opinions about the general level of intelligence in the world today. Moments like these validate my beliefs."

"Sorry," Gabriel winced, but Ashley Tremayne only chortled softly in response.

"No, I like to be validated. It gives one a sense of grandeur, self-perceived intelligence and illusions of precocious wisdom." Then her face softened. "But I am candid to the point of being brutal, am I not?" she shrugged.

"I just--it just seems a little too forward for two strangers, that's all," he said.

And she nodded. "I can only attribute my candor and verbosity to our being in the House of God, a place of truth and confessions. But mark my word, outside the boundary of this place of God, you will not find me so forward. Nor truthful. Good-bye, Mr Knight. If we ever meet again, I will deny ever having had this conversation. Truth has little place in the world outside. Good night."

She left as suddenly as she had appeared, leaving Gabriel in a state of perplexity. And he did not know what to make of this little scene that had just transpired here tonight. Moments like these in our lives, when events are so jarringly out of place humans feel a compelling need to rationalize and give meaning, provide significance to them. For Gabriel, this will be such a night but he will not be able to make any connection yet in his present capacity and ignorance.

Everything has its time and place, for nothing is ever coincidental if we believe in an Omniscient God.

* * * * *