Thank you all for your reviews! Yes, we are at the sad part of the story. But just remember, when things seem really bleak. . .sometimes they can get worse! (Sorry. Had to.) Anyway, as you read this chapter, be on the lookout for the title of an excellent new novel that started out right here as a fan fic written by my beloved beta, FantomPhan33!
Oh, and PS: To Erik's Guest, I am so sorry that I cannot personally thank you for your daily reviews, but I have enjoyed reading every one!
CH. 35
He stepped out of the elevator with a defiant set to his jaw. Being on suspension meant that he couldn't practice at the hospital, but it did not mean that he couldn't visit. He would just love to see anyone try to stop him from seeing Jenna. Dr. James had taken over her case, he knew, and was in the process of stabilizing her system, which had been thrown into the shock of withdrawal by Blaine's cruel handling of her case. He knew Jenna was in good hands with Dr. James, but he had to see her for himself—he had to see that she was alright.
He entered her room and was glad to see that the oxygen mask had been removed and that she appeared to be breathing comfortably on her own. He took his customary seat beside her bed, and took her hand in his. It felt so cold.
"I'm back, Jenna," he said, with a crooked smile as he rubbed her hand in his, trying to warm it up. "You didn't think I'd let a little suspension keep me away, did you?" He let out a little chuckle. "Never! I may not be your doctor anymore, but I still. . ." he allowed his words to trail off, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "You should have seen the fight, Jenna," he continued his conversation in another direction. "I got Charleson real good. Broke his nose, and I think I knocked out a tooth or two! Pretty boy will probably just have them replaced with gold crowns." He commented, rolling his eyes at the thought of Blaine with gold teeth in his mouth. "They'll make his smile sparkle even more." He shook his head a little before redirecting his attention on her. "Would you have been proud of me, Jenna?" he asked, quietly, stroking her palm with his thumb. "Or would you have told me violence wasn't the answer?" He thought a moment, remembering the spunk that he had always observed in her. Smiling, he said, "If I were to guess, you probably would have wanted to get a punch or two in yourself." He nodded again, continuing, "It was all worth it, Jenna. What he did to you. . ." He shook his head, his mouth forming a tight line against his teeth. "And I prefer to think of a suspension as a little more free time I can spend with you. So what would you like to do today? Would you like me to read to you? Would you prefer music? Music while I'm reading, so you can multi-task?" He grinned, as he reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a paperback he had brought with him. "I brought this new novel with me." He turned the book to look at the title. "Siren of the Sea. . .It's an adventure novel about a masked pirate. I don't know how good it is, but it was the only book in the gift shop that did not have a sexy half naked man on the front cover, put there for the express purpose of making me feel inadequate."
"Dr.!" the nurse exclaimed in surprise, as she entered to check Jenna's vital signs—a routine task, performed several times a day. "I did not expect to see you in here."
"Not to worry," he assured the nurse, who he was sure had been updated to his situation. "I am only here visiting. See," he gestured with his hands to his attire, "No lab coat."
"Well," she said, as she reached over to wrap the blood pressure cuff around Jenna's arm. "It's a good thing that you're visiting her now."
He looked up at her questioningly. "What do you mean?"
"You know I'm not supposed to tell you this, Dr." she said sheepishly, catching herself before she went on. "You're not her doctor anymore, and HIPPA. . ."
"Maureen," he looked at her with pleading eyes. "You know the only reason I was taken off Miss Wilson's case was because I lost my temper with Dr. Charleson. Can you blame me for that? He could have killed her."
The nurse looked torn. "No, Dr., I cannot blame you at all. You've tried to take very good care of Jenna."
"Well then, please," he implored her. "Tell me what's going on."
She took a deep breath before delivering the news. "Dr. James told her aunt that she was entering a vegetative state. They are in the process of making plans to transfer her to a long term care facility."
This news came to him as a shock to him. How could Dr. James give up so quickly? "When?"
"Probably before the end of the week, Dr." the nurse answered.
"Which one?" He wanted to work on getting visiting privileges at whatever care facility they chose for her as soon as possible.
The nurse's face look pained as she said, "They're moving her to Maine, Dr. To be closer to her aunt."
XXXXXXXXXX
Erik tossed the book he had been reading on the floor. It landed among the dozen or so others with which he had busied himself since Nadir had gone, having halted his research only briefly when Jenna had emerged from her room for a few moments that afternoon. He was completely frustrated. He knew it was unreasonable to expect an answer to Jenna's dilemma to be clearly defined in any of his books—to his knowledge, a case such as hers had never happened before. But the urgency he felt to figure out how to help her had only increased when he'd witnessed her frail condition earlier. Following an afternoon of research, he was not certain he had made any real progress.
He'd read all he could about brain injuries—but the writings were sparse. Most seemed to center around the case of Phineas Gage who'd managed to survive a iron bar shooting straight through his skull, in a railway accident. As there had never been any metal pipes sticking out of Jenna's head—that he'd noticed, anyway—Erik did not think Gage's case had any relevance to hers. There were some mentions of seizures, but usually recurring ones that were a part of epilepsy—not much on the one time phenomenon that Erik sincerely hoped Jenna had suffered. There were also mentions of patients who had been left in a stupor for extended periods of time due to some trauma to the head. Except for the period right after her seizure, however, Jenna had always been quite aware.
Not quite able to come up with an answer on the medical front, Erik had begun looking up the idea of existing in two worlds at the same time. If he thought the medical evidence was sparse, then the evidence for this more esoteric idea was almost non existent. How did one research the concept of living in two planes of existence at once? The best he had come up with was a concept sometimes seen in folklore and fairytales in which some alternative other world existed in conjunction with the physical world. The belief was that at certain liminal times—or times of transition that were in between other times—the thresholds into these other worlds could open, and entry could be achieved. Interestingly, one phenomenon that often acted as a liminal threshold was water—an element that Erik had suspected being involved in Jenna's case from the very beginning. He had to admit, this concept of liminality, or "time in flux" was perhaps the most compelling evidence he had found so far, and the idea of crossing a threshold definitely brought to mind Jenna's claim of a secret door that had somehow allowed entry into his home. It all sounded quite interesting, except for the fact that Jenna's life was not a fairy tale. How could it have been possible for a threshold to open to allow Jenna into his world? And if she had crossed over some threshold, why did there seem to be some case to be made that her own world still held some hold over her? He kept coming back to the stitches. Where had they gone?
Erik rose irritably and walked over to his piano. He sat down and began to stroke the ivories that had for so long been his most faithful friends. He begged the music to help him think, because so far, even with all the reading he had done, Erik was at a loss. He closed his eyes and allowed his fingers free reign over the keys. But he soon found that they had no interest the dominion that was offered them. Even music was not coming freely to him tonight.
XXXXXXXXXX
Jenna had cried away all her tears, and she lay there in bed staring at the ceiling. What had happened to change Erik's mind? They had come so far together. She remembered the bashful way he had reached for her hand in Box 5, the same hand he had retained possession of throughout rehearsal and again later as they walked back from the boat. She remembered the beautiful cameo he had given her, and the playful little dance that had led to. . .
Well. Their dance had led to more. Much more.
Jenna turned on her side, and wondered if that was the problem. Once again, she had let her feelings get away from her and things had gotten out of control. Erik had been through so much hell in his life. He had been physically and emotionally abused, and had almost been the victim of rape. They had started out their morning holding hands—really holding hands—for the first time. How could she have let things go from holding hands to making love all in one day?
She had always had a habit of letting things happen too fast, of falling for the wrong guys, and giving them what they wanted in hopes that they would love her back. But it had not been that way with Erik. The idea of making him love her had been the farthest thing from her mind. Even the idea of kissing him had not seriously entered her thoughts as a possibility. She had been so sure his mind was set on Christine, she had resigned herself to giving up her own wishes and desires.
But when he first kissed her, it was like a dam had burst. All of her feelings for him came flooding out of her in wave after wave of kisses and touches—all of which endeavored to show him the love and acceptance he had never known before. Their passion had been beautiful and unselfish. She'd had no thoughts in her mind other than to love him—just to love him. To show him the tenderness he should have lived his whole life knowing. And when he touched her, it felt like he just wanted to love her back. My Jenna he had called her. And truly, she wanted to be his. Forever. She knew this was not her home, but she felt like she belonged more here than she ever had elsewhere in her life. She felt valued here. She felt important. And last night, she'd felt so loved. All because of Erik.
But she knew she could not rush him. He had lived a life full of abuse and full of pain. Love would not be easy for him, and she had to wait for him to be ready. But for Erik, she was prepared to wait a lifetime.
Feeling much better about things between them, and more certain about a course of action, Jenna rose from the bed. She still felt a little dizziness, but it was much less than before. She changed from the peach dress to a much simpler one made of dark blue. She managed to wrestle her nest of curls into a ribbon and tied them away from her face. Before she opened her door, she reached down and placed her hand on the cameo that Erik had bestowed on her the evening before, giving her cherished rose a squeeze for luck, hoping she could dispel the awkwardness that had arisen between them.
She emerged from the bedroom to find books strewn all over the floor. Erik, however, had moved to the piano. Instead of the usual full, lush chords she was used to hearing from him, however, his fingers were halting, uncertain as they ghosted over the keys. His eyes betrayed a feeling of frustration. She walked over to him, and when she was right behind him and he still had not looked up from whatever irritation had claimed him, she reached out and touched his shoulder.
He flinched when he felt her touch and whirled around to look at her. When their eyes met, it was an electric moment, and Jenna felt the almost irresistible urge to lean over and touch his lips with hers. She pulled back a bit, instead, however, remembering her vow to go slowly, and wait for Erik to set the pace of their relationship. "Hi," was her only word.
Erik took a breath, as if needing to calm himself, and said, "Good evening, Mademoiselle. Are you feeling quite rested now?"
Though the title of Mademoiselle still stung, Jenna realized it was a coping mechanism that for some reason he needed right now. "I'm feeling much better, Erik," she assured him with a smile. "Thank you for asking."
He made to get up from the piano, "I should make you some dinner. . ."
"Erik, I'm not really hungry yet," she informed him. "I. . ." she began, feeling a little sheepish. "I'd love to hear you play."
The exposed side of Erik's face reddened a little and he shook his head, "I'm sorry, Mademoiselle. The music. . .seems to have abandoned me tonight."
Jenna gave him a sympathetic smile, and began to scan the room for something they could do. She had had enough of wasting away alone in her room, and though she had vowed not to push things too fast with Erik, she still craved his presence. Jenna thought she noticed something poking out of the bottom shelf of his overburdened bookcase. Walking over to take a closer look, she found an old, weathered chess board. "Erik, do you play chess?" she asked, in surprise, having never noticed the board before.
"I played chess, Mademoiselle." Erik corrected her, the corner of his lips turning up just slightly. "The Daroga finally got tired of losing, so we haven't played in a few years."
Jenna smiled slyly at him, and commented, "I'd play with you."
"Oh, please, Mademoiselle." he rolled his eyes. "As I just said, the Daroga never won against me. Why would you wish to play?"
"Because you also said that you haven't played in a few years." A mischievous gleam sparked in her eyes. "I bet you're pretty rusty."
Erik rolled his eyes. "I am not rusty, Mademoiselle. Chess is merely child's play for me. It's hardly a challenge."
"Oh, child's play, huh?" Jenna asked, eyebrows raised. "Then you should enjoy watching me lose!"
Erik made a loud sigh, and stood from the piano bench to retrieve the chessboard. "Do not say I didn't warn you, Mademoiselle," he commented, opening a drawer on his side table and removing the playing pieces.
"Oh, never," she insisted, shaking her head back and forth, biting back a grin. "You have been very clear about your intentions to wipe the floor with me!"
Erik looked at her again with raised eyebrows. "Another one of your futuristic saying, I presume?"
Jenna giggled a little bit and nodded. "I means you plan to win."
"Well, then," he nodded. "It's true."
"We'll see." She giggled with a smile.
Erik placed the board on the dining table and he and Jenna began to arrange the pieces to start the game.
"White or black, Erik?" Jenna asked.
"Black, of course, Mademoiselle." Erik said in a silky smooth tone. "It is my preferred color, and it allows you the privilege of moving first." Then, under his breath, he added, "You're going to need all the help you can get."
Jenna heard his little remark, but only raised an eyebrow and smiled, deciding not to comment. She was truly enjoying the return of Erik's mischievous side, and she had a surprise for him.
Just as Erik had offered, Jenna made the first move, staking her claim for the center of the board. Erik just smiled and made a move counter to hers and the game was afoot.
"When did you learn to play chess, Erik?" Jenna asked Erik as he studied the board.
"It was a favorite way to pass the time at court in Persia," he answered, positioning his pieces according to his favorite strategy. "The Daroga and I spent many a night engaged in fierce battles of wits. As I said earlier, he never beat me. Considering his level of wit, it should not be hard to understand why."
Jenna rolled her eyes at Erik's insult to the man she knew he actually regarded quite highly. "Did anyone ever beat you at court?" she asked coyly as she continued to arrange her own pieces.
"No, Mademoiselle." Erik answered simply. "Chess is a very cerebral past time—a thinker's game—and no one at court ever thought quite the way I did."
"Oh I believe that." Jenna smiled at him, building up his sense of self confidence. "Musical genius, architect, master ventriloquist—I don't think there are too many people who could think like you, Erik."
Erik snickered, as he moved another pawn. "And the world is better for it, I am sure."
"Oh I don't know about that," Jenna said, capturing Erik's pawn, taking him by surprise. "I think the world could benefit very much from your unbounded genius. Even just your music alone is so beautiful, it would enrich the world greatly."
"Is that so, Mademoiselle? " he asked, a little irritation entering his voice, as he realized that there were not very many safe spaces on the board where he could move his pieces. Jenna had spread out her players rather strategically, and to Erik's surprise, he had not noticed, since she had kept him talking. "Wasn't it just the other day you were complaining about my incessant piano playing?"
"I had a headache, Erik," Jenna brushed him off, nonchalantly capturing another of Erik's pieces. "I cannot be held responsible for what I said."
And so the game went, the two battling on the Chess board, the whole while engaging in easy conversation. Though Erik knew the talk was distracting, he could not help but answer Jenna's questions, especially when she posed them so sweetly, and was so complimentary to him in her own responses. They passed at least an hour in this fashion, which was odd for Erik, since he was used to beating the Daroga in a manner of minutes.
"Mademoiselle," Erik asked finally, looking directly at her, eyes narrowed questioningly. "When did you learn to play Chess?"
"Chess is a very popular game in my time. We had a chess club at my grade school," Jenna said, a grin spreading across her face as she moved another piece into Erik's territory. "I was a member as soon as I was old enough to join. I stayed with the game through high school and college, eventually entering tournaments." She continued, removing another of Erik's players. "And winning. The game always appealed to me. The intellectual challenge. The strategy of battle. Finding ways to distract a worthy opponent, leading them into defeat when they were so sure of victory." She looked up into his eyes. "I won a couple of championship games back in my day. And I just put you in check."
Erik glanced away from her eyes, which were holding him so captive, and glanced at the board. Sure enough, his king was at the complete disposal of her queen, powerless to her every whim. He glanced back at Jenna, her eyes blazing with excitement and pride at her accomplishment. It was all he could do not to kiss her—she looked so tantalizing at that moment. His own gaze full of wonder, he said, breathlessly, "You are amazing, Mademoiselle."
"Can I ask a prize?" she questioned, reaching out and taking his hand in hers. "Can you please go back to calling me Jenna?" Her eyes implored him, and she continued, "When you call me Mademoiselle, you seem so faraway. And I want you to be closer."
Erik looked at her, her expression so sincere. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to wrap her in his arms. Oh how he loved this woman, and her endless efforts to draw him close. He relished the feel of his hand in hers, even though he knew he shouldn't. He had to concentrate on finding an answer to the problems that had been threatening her health, so that maybe they could fix them and . . . move on. He knew he had to fight this wave of desire that was currently washing over him, for this intriguing, intelligent, and beautiful woman, but, maybe it wouldn't hurt to just let her continue to hold his hand?
"Jenna," he asked her, his voice strained with the battle he was waging to control his desires. "Can you tell me more about your accident?"
She was surprised at his question, but he was not flinching away from her touch, and he had used her name, so she simply stated, "I've already told you everything I can remember, Erik. What more would you like to know?"
Erik wondered himself what useful information he was trying to glean from the question. He already knew that the accident was an horrendous event when his dear Jenna was plunged into a river, and somehow found herself walking in a tunnel that led to his home. But was that all? "What happened," he began, grasping to find the words that would give voice to the thoughts in his mind. "Between the time you landed in the river and the time you were in the tunnel? How did you get out of this. . .car. . . of yours? Do you remember?"
Jenna thought for a moment, trying to find an answer to his question, but honestly not remembering. "I. . .I don't know, Erik." she paused, trying to recall those moments once more. "I don't remember getting out of my car at all. I think I must have passed out. I remember blackness and then the darkness of the tunnel."
Erik continued to probe, needing to know more about this mystery surrounding her accident. "What would have happened, Jenna, if people from your own time had found your car and. . .you were still in it?"
Jenna looked at him in confusion, shaking her head a little. "What are you talking about, Erik? You know they didn't. I'm here. . .with you."
"I know you're here." Erik said, and despite himself, he gave her hand a little squeeze, so grateful that he could, at least in this small measure, still feel her. "But what if you hadn't found yourself in that tunnel? What if you hadn't come here?"
Jenna looked away, considering, for the first time, a different outcome to that terrifying night. With a dry throat, she began, "I don't. . . I don't really know. I. . .I suppose the police would have come. And they would have sent a rescue team into the river. If I hadn't. . ." she took a deep breath as she contemplated what could very well have been her fate. "If I was still alive. . ."
Erik felt a shiver run through his body, and he looked down and away from her, "Oh, Jenna, don't even speak of that."
"Well, it is a strong possibility that I could have died in that accident, Erik." she squeezed his hand even tighter, seeing how hard that seemed to be for him to hear. "But if I hadn't, I would have been rushed to a hospital, where the doctors and nurses would have tended my wounds." She thought for a moment. "I might have even been brought to my own hospital, where I worked."
"And then?" Erik probed, trying to understand what might be happening to her, since he was still certain that somehow events in her world still held sway over what was happening to her in his. "What then, Jenna?"
"It's really hard to tell." She shrugged her shoulders. "Judging on the injuries I had when I first arrived here, I could have just been stitched up and sent on my way—maybe kept in the hospital overnight for observation."
"And what if the injuries were worse?" He asked, grasping at any bits of information he could get from her. "You say you blacked out before you found yourself in that tunnel. What if they had found you unconscious in your car before you made it to the tunnel?"
"Well, that could have been an indicator of a more serious brain injury." Jenna postulated, uncertain why he was asking these questions, but sensing that it was important to him that she answer.
"How soon would you have awakened?"
"I have no idea, Erik. Sometimes people who lose consciousness in accidents like that don't wake up. They enter a coma and remain unresponsive until they eventually die."
Erik felt his blood run cold at her answer. "How long can these comas last? Weeks? Months?"
"Sometimes they can last years. . ." Jenna's voice trailed off as she remembered the coma patients she had tended in the hospital, as well as the cases she had studied in school. "They sometimes speculate that coma patients can hear everything that is going on around them—they know what's going on, but they cannot communicate. Others say that coma victims have very lucid dreams, where their brains create an alternate reality in which they can go on living, since they can no longer interact with the world around them. Eventually though," Jenna added, "whether they have been aware of their surroundings the whole time, or whether they have been living in some alternate dream world, most coma patients simply die, never having been in touch with the world around them ever again."
Jenna's words were like a vice around Erik's heart. He could not point to exactly why, but her words about the fates of coma patients somehow rang true in his mind. It made sense, Erik thought. If by chance Jenna had entered a coma—as she called it—in her own time, perhaps that had freed her soul, on some level, to somehow enter into his. And though Jenna had mentioned the concept of this alternate life being a dream world, were not dreams sometimes so distinct, so graspable, that they themselves could often seem real—as if they were lived, and not simply imagined?
Of course, he knew that this could not simply be a dream. Who would dream about his world of solitude that was so depressing and so heartbreaking in its cruelty? And he knew it was not merely her soul that had traveled into his realm, because of the beautiful, blessed, warmth of her touch.
What if it were merely a lack of understanding about their experiences that lead the medical profession to guess that coma patients were dreaming? After all, few would believe Jenna's current situation if they had not been living it themselves. Did he himself not assume at first that Jenna was a mental patient deprived of her faculties, when she mentioned what her life was supposed to be like? Would a cold, detached doctor who prided himself on objectivity, have even lingered with a patient so afflicted long enough to realize that there was more to their ravings than a very vivid dream?
He recalled his own research about the circumstances of patients who lay in a stupor, lingering and languishing in their hospital beds—-sometimes moving, sometimes even opening their eyes—but never again having any meaningful interaction with the outside world. Were they also living in a universe created inside their heads? Were they dreaming of other lives to replace the lives they had effectively lost when their brains were injured? When they were being tended by physicians, did those ministrations enter into their experiences in the new existence they were living? And most importantly, did that substitute life also end when the doctors lost the fight and their battered bodies stopped breathing?
Jenna saw the look of abject horror on Erik's face, as she described these hypothetical scenarios to him. "I feel I was very lucky, Erik."
He looked at her with narrowed eyes, emerging from his pondering at the quiet sound of her voice. "You suffered a life threatening accident which thrust you away from everything and everyone that you knew and you consider yourself fortunate?"
"I do." She said, looking down before once again making eye contact with him. "Because it let me find you."
Her eyes were so sincere, so honest when she spoke that she took Erik's breath away. A lifetime of people viewing him as a curse, as a nightmare—and Jenna looked at him as a stroke of good luck. Mesmerized by the sweetness of her words and the look in her eyes, Erik could not stop his free hand from reaching out and stroking her cheek, at which point, Jenna closed her eyes, and turned her face into his touch. "Erik," she whispered, and he felt himself leaning closer to her soft, slightly parted lips.
You cannot touch her, Erik. That venomous whisper once again screamed in his mind. Your touch is poison. With a visible shudder, Erik pulled away. "It really is time I go make dinner, Jenna." He said, rising from the table, causing Jenna's eyes to blink open in surprise. "It is past Ayesha's feeding time and you're going to need sustenance if you hope to regain your strength." And with that, he turned and swiftly left the room.
Oh Erik! How you can change the subject! And once again, you deprive her of a kiss! Oh well. We know he thinks he's doing it for her own good. And our poor sweet doctor. Now he knows Jenna's moving to Maine. What is he to do? Please review and let me know what you think!