Chapter XXI
Enjolras was tied down to a stone floor and a being that looked like a man in figure, but could not have been human, was standing over him. This creature's face was dark and evil. But it was his eyes that denied him that he could not have been a man. His eyes were so pale it was as if all of the color had been washed out of them. When looking into this creature's eyes, one had the illusion that he could look straight through them, like dusty widows, and see objects on the other side. When looking into this being's eyes, one saw flashes of fire, of dark, ominous figures forming out of darkness and dragging themselves out of the abysses, and killing. The faces of innocent people being murdered, tortured. Flashes of weapons. Blood. Death.
This man, this demon, was torturing Enjolras, slowly cutting away parts of his body and then holding the dismembered parts over his head so that he had to look at them as his own blood dripped down into his face. Javert was standing at a distance watching with a stone face. It was Javert, but he was not the same. It was as if his appearance in Paris as an inspector was the mask that hid his true identity, and now that mask was gone and one could see what he really was. He was terrible, hideous, terrifying, like something straight out of hell.
Enjolras was trying not to scream as they mutilated him, destroyed him, killed him. But at last, the pain became too great to bear, and he began to cry out, begging for mercy. Begging for the man to simply kill him. But Javert knew no such thing as mercy. So, Enjolras continued to scream.
Grantaire was watching this happen, watching as they tortured Enjolras, murdered him. He wanted desperately to get to him, to save him, but he could not. It was as if some demon of the darkness had wrapped its terrible arms around him, restraining him, and he could not move. He tried to call out to Enjolras, but he could not speak either. There was nothing he could do. So he watched helplessly as the man, the creature, the demon finished Enjolras off by cutting out his heart and tearing it out of his chest.
"No!" Grantaire yelled. He suddenly jumped up, trying to yank himself away from the grip of whatever was restraining him. Bright light hit him straight in his eyes, momentarily blinding him. Then, the light began to fade and his eyes darted frantically around, looking for Enjolras. But he was no where. For a moment, Grantaire did not know where he was, and he looked stupidly around the room until he realized that he had been dreaming again and that he was still in the hospital.
He was sitting up in his bed, his lungs and his heart racing, sweat covering his shaking body. He sat there staring at the curtains that hung around his bed as his heart and lungs began to slow to their normal speed. Then, a few moments later, he felt the pain in his side, and he allowed his body to collapse back down onto the bed. Grantaire stared up at the ceiling, breathing deeply. He used his hand to wipe the sweat off of his face, and he tried to keep himself from trembling. He felt lightheaded and shaky, contributions of the nightmare, the pain, the illness, and the lack of drinking. He closed his eyes, trying to force the gory images of his dream out of his head. But the bloody mess of Enjolras's body and the faces of the demons continued to flash before his eyes, whether they were open or close.
Grantaire opened his eyes again and stared at the red curtains around his bed. It suddenly accrued to him that he was alone, and he wondered where Marius had gone. He'll probably be back in a few minutes, Grantaire thought vaguely, not giving the matter too much thought. He was honestly glad that Marius was not there, that he had not seen him bolt wildly up in his bed and start looking for Enjolras. He might have been crying out Enjolras's name in his sleep, again. He was not sure.
He let out a deep breath and forced his lungs to breathe slow, careful, and controlled as he struggled to get control over himself. He could hear the steady sound of rain falling, hitting the hospital roof above him. The room was peaceful. Quiet of all sound save for the gentle fall of rain. But he could not get those terrible images of Enjolras being torture out of his mind.
It wasn't real… It was just a dream, Grantaire told himself. Enjolras is still alive…
Maybe, not. He could be dead for all you know, a second voice seemed to say in his mind.
I know, but I'm not going to give up. I think we would know if he wasn't…
Maybe, not.
I don't care. I'm still not going to give up until I find him.
The images of Grantaire's dream flashed before his eyes again. Grantaire closed his eyes and buried his face in his pillow. He was terrified. It was just a dream! It was not real!
Yes, it was. They really are torturing Enjolras. Even if he's still alive, now, he won't be for long.
It was true. Grantaire knew it was true. Maybe, somehow, this dream was a warning. Warning him that he had to hurry, or he would be too late. I have to find him… Tonight!
Grantaire opened his eyes. The room was somewhat bright, even though it was raining. It had to still be early. Probably about midday… Grantaire suddenly felt a pit form in his gut. He knew that something was not right. He had been sleeping for a long time. Instinct told him that he had slept more than seven hours. And, although it was dark from the rain that fell outside, the light in the room told him that it was about midday. It should have been getting dark. It should have been time to go save Enjolras.
He sat up in his bed, causing pain to himself but not caring, and he looked around. There was no sign of Marius or of anyone. Grantaire saw a clean white shirt folded on the table next to his bed. He quickly grabbed it and slipped his arms into the sleeves, not bothering to bottom it up. Then, he carefully dropped his legs over the side of his bed and stood up. For a moment, his head seemed to swirl in confused, blurry dizziness, but then it passed, and Grantaire started walking. He still felt horrible and every step was painful. But in comparison to how he felt in the past, that night after they had the encounter with Javert or the first time he awoke in the hospital, Grantaire was feeling much better.
He pushed the curtains out of the way and stepped out into the open. He was standing in a narrow passage, on both sides of which there were red curtains, hiding the beds from view. Grantaire had no way of knowing if every bed was filled or if he was alone. Grantaire saw no one. He located the door at the end of the passage and he went to it. When he got closer to the door, he stopped and listened. He could hear voices speaking on the others side, speaking in hushed voices. Grantaire could not understand much of what they were saying, but he caught a little.
"I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do about that," one man was saying.
Someone answered him, but Grantaire could not hear what was being said. Although, at once, he knew who the voice belong to. Marius.
"I cannot hold him against his will," the other man replied to Marius. "If he wants to leave, I will have to let him."
"But if he leaves he will die!"
There was a long moment of silence. Then, Grantaire pushed open the door. "Marius…"
Marius and the doctor both turned their heads at the same time. They saw Grantaire standing in the door way, looking in at them. A deep look of dread and fear passed over Marius's face. He glanced at the doctor, then he turned back to Grantaire, and their eyes met.
Marius let out a deep sigh and went to Grantaire. He swallowed hard. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, offering a small smile.
Grantaire did not smile. "Not as bad as my friend feels right now."
Marius knew he was talking about Enjolras. He glanced over at the clueless doctor, who was watching them with confusion and concern. Marius did not reply.
"What time is it," Grantaire asked, turning to the doctor, as if he could not trust anything that Marius said to him.
"It is about… one-thirty, monsieur," the doctor answered, drawing out his pocket watch to check the time.
Grantaire nodded knowingly as he turned back to Marius. "That's what I thought." Marius had not woken him up. He had slept all night, and now it was the next day.
Marius looked nervously at Grantaire. His face was dark like his voice. "I need to talk to you," Marius said quietly. Grantaire nodded and turned to go back into the other room. With a quick nod to the doctor, Marius followed Grantaire through the door. He shut it behind him. Grantaire went back to the bed where he had been staying, getting far away from the door to ensure that no one on the other side would over here them. Marius followed him across the room without a word. At last, when Grantaire was standing beside the bed, he turned around to face Marius, his arms crossed in front of him.
"Is there anyone else in this room?" Grantaire asked Marius, his voice flat.
"No," Marius answered. "There was only one other person here, and he died last night." Grantaire did not speak. Marius hesitantly went on, "He was a soldier. He was shot in the leg. But what killed him was the infection. They thought that he was going to be alright, but then when he was sleeping his fever got too high, and he died. His wife was here, too. She never stopped crying. When he died she went hysterical, and they had to take her away…" Marius's voice trailed off, as he thought about it. What he said true. He had seen it all happen last night when Grantaire was sleeping. The memory upset him. Saddened him. But, even more, it scared him, because he knew that the same thing could happen to Grantaire.
The tone in Marius's voice, the look on his face, Grantaire could see that Marius was hinting, "The same thing will happen to you if you do not say here. You are not safe yet. You could still die."
Grantaire's face became even darker and he glared at Marius. "Why didn't you wake me up, Marius?" he growled under his breath.
Marius dropped his eyes to the floor. "Grantaire, what choice did I have?" he whispered. "The last time that I listened to you, you almost died. I am not going to make that mistake again." He looked back up to look at Grantaire.
"I thought I could trust you, Marius," Grantaire hissed merciless, pitilessly.
This took Marius aback. He felt like Grantaire had just slapped him in the face. His own friend was hurting him… "You… You can trust me, Grantaire!" Marius cried out, desperate and injured. "Of course you can—"
"No, I can't!" Grantaire suddenly snapped at him. "Marius, you lied. You lied to me."
"You lied to me, too!" Marius abruptly shot back at him, a sudden streak of anger bursting in him when he saw the injustice that was happening, and he felt the need to defend himself. "Ever since the beginning, you have been lying to me! You were not even going to tell me that you were hurt! You told me you were fine! You… You would be dead right now, if it was not for me!"
"Yes, and if it was not for you, Enjolras might be free right now."
This blow hit Marius even harder than the first. Not only was Grantaire angry with him, but now he was also blaming him. Saying that it was his fault that Enjolras was still in suffering. "Grantaire, I— I did not know what else to do!" Marius cried out. "I thought that you were going to die! You would have if I had listened to you!"
"This isn't about me, Marius," Grantaire said. His voice was still angry, thought it had softened a little bit, as he said, "When I first saw Enjolras in front of all of those guns, I stood beside him so that I could die with him," emphasizing the words so I could die with him. "I made my choice then that I would give my life to save Enjolras. I do not care if I die, Marius. But I am going to do it trying to save Enjolras. Not lying in the bed of a hospital. Not here. Not now."
Marius stared at Grantaire, his face pale and scared. Several times Grantaire spoke the words, "I do not care if I die," and then when Grantaire said, "I am going to do it trying to save Enjolras," it was almost as if he was declaring his own death. Saying, "I am going to die." Now, Marius was terrified.
"But I care…" he said quietly. He was practically whispering. "Grantaire, I do not want you to die…"
Grantaire did not say anything, and Marius could see that his words made little difference to Grantaire. He had already made up his mind. He was not going to change it. He turned and looked away from Marius. He walked past him, moving back out into the passage and starting towards the door.
Marius looked over his shoulder, to watch Grantaire leave. "Where are you going?" he asked quietly.
Grantaire stopped to turn around and face Marius. "To Paris." Marius felt a chill run down his body. "To save Enjolras." Grantaire looked into Marius's eyes. "Are you coming?"
It was apparent in Grantaire's voice that he was going whether Marius came or not. Marius was scared. He suddenly rushed forward to stand at Grantaire's side, grabbing him by his arm. "Grantaire, you cannot go!" he cried out. "You need medicine—"
"I'm fine now, Marius. I don't need anything else," Grantaire interrupted.
"Yes, you do," he objected. "That other man died! You still need medicine—"
"Then tell the doctor to give it to us, and we will bring it with us."
Marius shook his head. "You have to stay, Grantaire. What if you get worse again? Or what if your stitches come out again?"
"They won't."
"How do you know that?! You do not! It could happen, Grantaire, and then you could die."
"I don't care, Marius! I'm going to save Enjolras, and if I die trying to do that then so be it!" Grantaire pulled his arm away from Marius. "I'm going. Are you coming or not?"
"No, you are not going!" Marius objected. He ran forward and stepped in front of Grantaire, blocking his way. "You cannot go! I will not let you!"
"Get out of the way, Marius."
"No," Marius put his hands on Grantaire and tried to push him back.
"Get off of me!" Grantaire snarled, throwing Marius away from him. Then he started forward, pushing past Marius and heading for the door.
"Wait! Grantaire! Just wait a minute!" Grantaire let out an angry sigh and turned to glare at Marius.
Marius looked at him confused for a moment. Why was Grantaire glaring at him? Grantaire never used to glare at him. Why was Grantaire yelling at him? Grantaire never yelled at him. Why was Grantaire acting like this? This did not seem like Grantaire, at all. The Grantaire he knew was happy and carefree. He never got angry. He always looked at life from a cynical yet happy perspective. It was very hard to catch him when he was not smiling and laughing. But now, Marius could not remember the last time that he saw Grantaire smile. Grantaire was not the same. Ever since the revolution, Grantaire was not the same. Marius was not the same either. Nothing was the same. It would never be the same.
"Just… just wait for one minute…" Marius said desperately. "I am… I am going to ask the doctor for your medicine… Wait here I will be back…"
Grantaire did not answer, but he did not object, so Marius hurried past him, out through the door and into the other room. The doctor was not there so he had to run across the room, down a narrow hallway, and into a third room. This is where Marius found the doctor. When he entered the room, the doctor turned to look at Marius.
"He wants to leave," Marius said at once. "He is trying to go. You need to do something!"
The doctor held up his hands helplessly. "There is nothing that I can do. If he wants to leave, that is his decision."
"But he will die if he leaves!"
"Not as long as he takes care of himself. As long as he takes his medicine every three hours and frequently cleans the wound, he should be alright."
But Marius knew that Grantaire would not take care of himself. He was about to go risk everything he had to save Enjolras. "But… but he w will not do any of that."
"I am sorry, monsieur," the doctor said, "but I cannot make him stay."
Marius let out a heavy breath, shaking his head. "Can you come with me, monsieur, and check him before we go? Give him his medicine?"
"Yes, I will," he agreed. Marius quickly led the man back through the hospital to the room where Grantaire was waiting. He went in and looked across the room. Grantaire was not there, so he assumed that he had gone back to his bed to wait. Marius went to Grantaire's bed and looked around the curtains, which were still thrown open. Grantaire was not there either.
Marius looked around in a panic. Grantaire had left. He was gone. "Grantaire?!" Marius called loudly. But there was no answer. Grantaire was gone. Marius turned back to look at Grantaire's empty bed, as if he might have somehow over looked the man lying in it. But Grantaire was gone.
Marius was about to turn around and run towards the door, when he noticed a small piece of paper sitting on the table beside the bed. At once, Marius seized it and stared down at the words that were written upon it. Written in Grantaire's messy script, written in smeared red ink, written in blood were the words:
The cathedral in Paris. 9:00.
And that was all.