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Chapter Ten: Let Me Help You

MADELLAINE blinked as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting of what she could presume was the man's bell tower.

Only shadows and the occasional glimmering flicker of a candle could be heard.

It had been hard to get a proper look at this strange new atmosphere upon first opening the wooden door to the poor isolated bell ringer's tower, as the place had a rather…peculiar sense of structure, unlike anything she had ever seen before in her life.

"I…" she stammered, knowing full well Quasimodo was waiting for her to answer him, to provide an explanation as to why Sister Alice had sent her up here.

But the words died upon her tongue before her brain could order their release as her gaze wandered upward, away from the misshapen shadow of the cathedral's sole bell ringer, though she swore the man's brilliant blue eyes were angered, burning bright as midnight torches, mere pinpricks from his place in the shadows, and she swallowed hard.

She could only pray that the man was not angry with her behavior towards him.

The young blonde hearth keep gulped again to try to tamper down her nervousness, hating that, even after the man's gentle behavior towards her in the town square earlier, she still harbored a twinge of caution towards this poor young man.

Madellaine knew it was merely stemming from the vicious nature of the several horrible rumors she had been told of 'monstrous bell ringer' who lived all alone up here.

She swiveled her head this way and that, attempting to take it all in. "Oh! Wh—what an amazing place," she breathed, awestruck at the simplistic, yet Gothic beauty of it.

The bell ringer's tower was more of a living space, a loft if you will.

Hundreds of nick-nacks of various assortments littered a few shelves or tucked away in various nooks and crannies of the loft.

On one hand, it was beautiful and mysterious in its own right, with various wooden rafter beams sticking out here and there, there was a rectangular wooden table, just across from the ladder that she had climbed up on moments ago, framed by a few discarded statues, a rather large marble depiction of the head of Moses was the first to catch Madellaine's eye and a stack of shelves to her right.

And then, the tinkling of what sounded like wind chimes caused the young blonde's ears to perk up at the noise, and Madellaine felt her posture straighten up as she turned on the heel of her boot and to her immediate left, recognizing the noise was the gentle clanking of brilliant shards of multicolored stained glass pieces hung on strings above the man's carving table, a makeshift chandelier of sorts to provide color and light.

The green tarp covering the length of the wooden table piqued her curiosity, and against her better judgment, Madellaine gingerly lifted the tarp for a closer look.

"Wow," she breathed, immediately feeling her lips tug upwards at the edges of her mouth, smiling at the wonderful craftsmanship she saw.

An entire wooden scale model of Notre Dame de Paris and the village in the town square below had been carved in immaculate detail.

Intrigued, she picked up a wooden figurine of the baker, carved to such exquisite perfection, the wood so smooth that she knew she would not get a splinter, and she set it down quickly.

If she didn't know any better, her first impression of the lonesome and forlorn man's bell tower loft, this simplistic living abode, was that it looked rather grotesque.

It was not exactly what she had imagined what the man's home might have looked like, had she not dared to disobey Master Frollo's orders and come up here of her own volition, with a little encouragement from that nun, Alice de Beaumont, she knew.

As she continued to gaze around the man's home in awe, at a loss for words, Madellaine also noted that, overall, as much as she found the bell ringer's tower to be somewhat disturbing in the sense of how lonely and desolate it was up here, but she could not quite exactly put her finger on why. It seemed…otherworldly.

Magical, almost, and all that entailed with such a description, though this place was not without its comforts.

Though she could tell, based on the various trinkets that littered his abode, that he had done what he could in order to make such a desolate, cold space feel like his home.

Home. A pang of guilt and sadness washed over the young blonde, threatening to engulf her completely, and she felt the beginnings of hot tears marring her vision.

Blinking once as Madellaine looked above her head, giving her head a curt little shake in order to rid the corners of the lids of her eyes of their sudden tears, at the beams that crisscrossed every which way she could think of, and the massive proud iron and brass bells of Notre Dame, dozens of them in various sizes, hung above her, the lengths of their ropes dangling above her head like snakes on a vine.

She heard the man make a noise.

Biting down on hard on the inside wall of her cheek, Madellaine swore and whirled around on the heel of her boot, cursing herself.

Fool! Alice sent you up here for a reason. You're here to check his injuries, make sure he isn't going to do anything too rash.

"Wh—why are you here, m—milady?" the man's wonderful voice whispered, shattering the otherwise silent air up here in the man's bell towers, save for the occasional cooing of a couple of pigeons nesting and roosting in the rafters above Madellaine's head.

Madellaine felt her sky-blue eyes widen slightly at the sound of that magnificent voice resonating through all corners of the man's makeshift tower loft.

How timid he sounded. It struck her as quite odd that this man, Quasimodo, could be so afraid of her.

Idiot! The dark, demonic voices at the back of her head chastised her, and Madellaine let out a tiny squeak and almost jumped at the abrasiveness of the voices. You saw what happened to that poor boy out there today. It's only natural he'd be skittish…

"Quasimodo?" She whispered his name, taking a small step forward, the skirts of her dress swaying ever so slightly with the movements.

She heard it again, a broken muffled whining noise that could only be coming from the man she had met today.

A pitiful whimpering, and without even having to think on it, Madellaine seized the small wooden bowl bearing the bandages and the wineskin of red wine Alice had managed to procure from somewhere, no doubt the cathedral's personal food stores with which to treat the poor man's injuries, and she was reminded of her trek up the stairwell.

"Y—Yes, y—you remembered my name," he breathed, sounding awestruck. He was stuttering less now, Madellaine noticed, so that had to be a good sign if nothing else.

Madellaine nodded, watching as the dim candlelight flickered and danced, all except where Quasimodo was hiding, concealed behind a beam, shrouded in darkness. She took a deep breath to steel her nerves.

"Of course I remember your name. Monsieur, Alice sent me here to tend your wounds." When the man did not immediately respond, she tried again. "Allow me to help you heal."

The young blonde hearth keep did not know exactly what she had been expecting, but unbridled fear and nervousness did not truthfully rank high on her list of emotional reactions she expected the redhaired bell ringer of Notre Dame to display.

Though that was exactly what happened, knowing that what she was not in so many words asking of him, for the man to reveal himself to her for the second time in one day was a lot of pressure, though Madellaine silently resolved she would not leave this tower, as strange as this loft might be until she had seen his wounds were tended to.

She simply could not. She had promised Alice she would help him, and after the disastrous events that led to his humiliation up on that pillory for all of Paris to see, anything she could do to help him, she would, as she blamed herself for his torment.

Someone had to make up for a lifetime of hurt and suffering, and Madellaine figured it could start with her, though she was not prepared for the whimpering that followed as she witnessed the man come forth from the shadows and into the garish light.

Blood, thick, crimson, and sticky every which way trickled down his face, onto the wooden floorboards in small crimson puddles at the edge of his brown leather boots.

Madellaine drew in a sharp breath of cold frigid air that pained her lungs. She had known to be hurt, but outside, his wounds did not seem quite so bad like this.

No. The man's hurts were much worse than she had anticipated. Much, much worse, and he was going to require a firm and steady hand.

She could not seem to process what in the seven hells she was seeing. Madellaine remained still at the horrific display in front of her and inhaled sharply. The young woman couldn't understand what she was seeing.

At first, Madellaine wondered if this was another nightmare.

That this was not the man she had met in the town square this afternoon. Not the kind, gentle man she had introduced herself to.

The person standing on the floor of the bell tower loft of Notre Dame just bloody had to be someone else.

But finally, the realization set in Madellaine's bones and it chilled her. This was no nightmare. This was real life.

Quasi was hurting, suffering, and like it or not, despite their rocky start, she had to help this man. Madellaine heard herself let out a mindless exhale and poor Quasi stiffened, and the blonde knew the redhaired bell ringer heard her.

The young blonde bit the wall of her cheek, knowing full well she was in possible danger of Quasi lashing out at her and losing his temper with her.

Madellaine struggled with the thought of speaking and announcing why she had come to check on him, or just turning and running.

Madellaine drew in a breath and held it, waiting, in a frantic state of mind, her stance ready to bolt in case things turned ugly.

She hoped they didn't. Quasi's arm had been raised, his pale knuckles were bone-white with the grip that he held, though his fist shook, and he did not let go.

His breathing was shallow, he was panting heavily, and his gaze dazed.

Madellaine could hear the faint, barely audible sound of small, restrained cries trapped in her new friend's throat, as he gasped and struggled for breath, no doubt breathing was difficult for him, given she could see the markings the rope restraints had made when the people had made a mockery of him earlier and humiliated the poor boy, and her stomach gave a painful lurch.

Neither one made any attempt to move, staying put in their tense and rigid postures for what felt like an eternity, neither one speaking nor moving.

Finally, Quasi slowly lowered his arm and met Madellaine's horrified gaze with a glower that seemed uncharacteristically violent of the gentle giant she had met in the square, and she knew he did not fully trust her.

Perhaps he thought she was here to mock him, to torment him further. But she saw tears trapped within the man's light blue orbs.

Madellaine, after a long silence, found her voice, though she barely managed to get the question out due to the halting of air that needed to come into her lungs.

Because she kept forgetting how to bloody breathe. How could she?!

"Q—Quasi? Wh—what are you doing? You need to sit down. You're injured, you're bleeding all over, and you need medical help. You need to let me help you," Madellaine whispered hoarsely, her voice meek and subdued, though genuine shock was laced throughout it.

Quasi did not answer Madellaine. He merely stared across the room at her, with those damned damp, angry, unreadable sky-blue eyes that were darkening, almost cerulean in color the more upset he became at her uninvited presence in his tower loft, were red-rimmed and cracked.

The most dangerous stare in her experience so far in his company.

Madellaine swallowed down nervously past the growing lump in her throat, amazed she could even find her voice at all.

"Tell me, please." She spoke with persistence in her words, though she knew her voice truly lacked conviction.

When Quasi finally did speak to her, Quasi turned his head away in shame, ducking his head. His response was short, his voice disconnected, angry.

"You need to leave, Madellaine. I...I am not...s...safe to be around. I would only hurt you." His voice was clipped and hardened.

Anger rose within Madellaine at her new friend's persistent stubbornness against her wanting to help him in his injured state and replied just as fast as he did.

"No." She left her response hanging in the air between them, and waited with a held breath, wondering if she was making a big damn mistake.

Madellaine squeezed her eyes tightly shut as suddenly, a loud but slow, threatening, and impatient exhale was heard vacating through Quasi's nose.

She did not even have to look to imagine his nostrils flaring like that of an angry bull.

Madellaine began to question coming here, wondering if she had indeed made a mistake in miscalculating her place in this man's life.

Quasi, though he offered no verbal retort, clumsily staggered backward and Madellaine instinctively backed up, her free hand groping behind her for something to steady herself with, until her palm came across the wooden of a small side table, and she clutched wildly onto it for support.

But something unfamiliar kept her planted in her spot, unstirred.

She did not know what had happened to him upon that pillory, exactly, as she could not bear to watch all of what happened, but Madellaine knew she could not leave her partner alone like this, on the brink of death's doorstep.

Madellaine glanced quickly from his heavily scarred face to his clenched fist and how badly it was shaking, and then his eyes.

They were filled with a raw shame and fury she had never seen before, and Madellaine swore she heard Quasi let out a muffled whimper from the back of his throat, almost a whine, like when a dog was kicked by its master.

"Excuse me?" Quasi spoke up, at last, his voice calm and low. She could tell he was trying to be polite towards her and failing miserably. "What did you just say to me, mademoiselle?" he asked, as though he had misheard her when he had not.

The menacing tone that left her new friend's lips was not his voice. Much too flat and emotionless, not the normal kind tone she had come to respect.

Madellaine decided to stand her ground, feeling the heels of her boots dig into the hardwood floor, to physically give her the courage as well as mentally.

"I said no. You need help. I will not leave." She repeated, her answer firm, her voice louder to punctuate her unwillingness to comply with Quasi's demand that she leaves.

She could not. Would not. Not when her new friend was suffering and in such a bad state physically. Madellaine visibly winced, watching in nervous silence as Quasi narrowed his eyes.

The man clenched his jaw in anger and took a fumbling step towards her. Madellaine flinched, stepping back a few paces at the cathedral's bell ringer's sudden lunge.

Like a wolf lunging for its prey in the shadows.

Madellaine knew she did not want to show Quasi how afraid of him at the moment that she was.

She knew it would only feed his temper and hot embarrassment at having been discovered in such a precarious and questioning position, really.

Madellaine steeled herself as she took a cautious step forward, deciding the best case in this regard was to show him she meant no harm.

That she was not, in fact, like every other cruel soul in Paris.

Carefully, with somewhat shaking fingers, she did just that as she slowly raised her hands and brought them in front of her and sighed.

Her abrupt brazenness as she slowly raised her hands in a sign of cautious surrender, caused Quasi to lose his ironclad grip on his carving table he'd been clutching onto for support, causing one of the wooden figurines to fall off the corner of the table, and it clattered to the floor near his bare and bleeding feet, louder than either of them would have liked, and both jumped at the noise as wood met wood as his figure fell.

It had not escaped Madellaine's attention, and instead of retaliating against her strange behavior, Madellaine closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, allowing her almost physically overwhelming need to help him take over.

In the process, it washed away the dozens of other questions burning at the edge of her tongue just begging to be asked of the church's lonesome bell ringer, though there would be time enough for that later.

But right now, she needed to help Quasi.

"Quasi, please don't push me away. Let me help you," Madellaine begged quietly, reaching out her hand towards the tormented young man, who jerked away from her.

He curled in on himself, and it did not take an intellectual genius like Judge Frollo to be present in the room with them for Madellaine to tell Quasi was distraught, in pain, and losing entirely too much blood to be healthy right now.

"I—I don't need your help! I—I'm dangerous, nothing but a monster, Madellaine, you need to stay away from me!" Quasi ordered, his voice escaping his lips as a low bark.

The anxiety quickly consumed his anger as she carefully approached.

Madellaine tried again. "You're hurt, Quasi. I—I don't care how it happened or when, but at least allow me to help you, Quasi. Please. Let me."

She received a distrusting little snarl from Quasi in return as the edges of his lips curled upward, and Madellaine was briefly reminded of a misbehaving dog that had been backed into a corner and saw no other way out of his predicament but to snarl at her.

"Let me—" Madellaine started to say, but he hollered, cutting her off.

"I don't need your help! Leave me!"

His breathing became even more uneven as Quasi started to sway on the spot where he stood, glowering at her.

Madellaine cringed at the man's outburst, but stayed motionless, wanting to see what Quasi would do.

At this point, she was about a few feet away from Quasi and could see plainly for herself with her own two eyes just how bad off of a condition her poor new friend was in.

His thick tuft of fiery ginger hair that looked as though it had been kissed by the sun was in wild disarray from sweat, matted, and tangled with congealed blood that was drying, and clumps what looked like bits of rotten tomatoes were stuck in his hair.

His already pale skin was practically bone-white and pallid, giving him the look of a corpse. His light blue eyes were bloodshot, red, and exhausted.

Madellaine knew just by looking at how emaciated Quasi was, that he had not any sleep, and by how he swayed on the spot, practically, she wondered if he hadn't eaten much today.

Or the last several days, come to think of it, leading up to this moment.

Finally, Quasi's legs buckled beneath him as the last of his strength was sapped, and he fell to his knees, seemingly losing the will to argue with her further, for which she was silently grateful, and relieved she wouldn't have to call the Archdeacon or another clergyman for help.

Madellaine took advantage of the sudden opportunity to catch Quasi as best as she possibly could, holding up upright in an awkward sort of a hug and for once, Quasi did not fight against her at the close proximity. Madellaine knew Quasi was too weak to do so.

Madellaine grunted through gritted teeth, lifting her partner to a standing, upright position, using the strength of her legs and her shoulders, and finally, she was able to throw one of his arms around her neck and gingerly guided him back towards a chair nearby.

Trying to be as gentle as possible, she set Quasi on the edge of the chair, and almost the second he touched it, his entire body went limp.

Quasi barely managed to keep his head up, but the rest of him was debatable, as his body swayed so damned bloody much, Madellaine was forced to place one of her hands on the man's scarred shoulders to try to steady him.

Madellaine leaned over, trying to look into the man's unfocused blue eyes. Quasi's eyelids became heavy as they started to close.

"Oh, damn…" She did not swear lightly, and Madellaine snapped her fingers in his face.

He blinked rapidly, startled by the sudden gesture from Madellaine.

"Quasi?! Hey! Come on! Don't go to sleep on me, Quasi!"

It was difficult for Quasi to remain awake and cognizant of his dark surroundings. Madellaine snapped her fingers in his face a second and third time, and she breathed a sigh of relief as Quasi opened his eyes and looked at her coherently enough to instruct him.

"Quasi, I—I need you to help me, okay? There isn't any other way I can take a look at your injuries unless you stay awake."

Quasi offered Madellaine a tiny nod, though when he tried, Quasi lost his balance and practically bowled poor Madellaine over as the man fell into her arms.

She caught him, wrapped her arms around his neck to avoid accidentally grazing against the wounds of near his neck, those vicious looking rope burns that look like they stung and hurt like hell.

With a horrified stare, she dared to peek over the man's shoulder and saw that crimson blood was starting to stain the back of his chair. He was losing a lot of blood and Madellaine was not bloody prepared for this.

She had little experience in this kind of thing, and though this wouldn't be the first time Madellaine had dressed wounds before, and she was quite resourceful as a young woman, or at least, she liked to think she was.

She just had to help in any way that she could.

Quasi drooped his head, letting it rest at the crook of her neck, totally unable to move and completely at Madellaine's mercy and her whims. She sighed.

After a moment or two in silence, she felt dampness soak the front of her dress.

"What…?" she murmured lowly under her breath, moving her head just a tad as she pulled back slightly to study Quasi's tear-filled light sky-blue, bewitching eyes.

Quasi, in times when he was not feeling well, always struck Madellaine as calm and composed, and to see the man in such a state like this, well, it frightened her and intensified her feelings of uncertainty.

She didn't know what to do.

So, Madellaine did the only thing that she could think of in this second.

She comforted her new friend. Madellaine knew allowing her panic to take over would only make things worse for Quasi, and she did not want that.

Madellaine proceeded to run her fingers through his thick, soft hair soothingly, ending her gentle stroking at the base of Quasi's neck, where the hairs on the back of his neck stood upright, short, and prickly against her skin.

The young blonde repeated this process a few more times until she heard a helpless, half-choked sob finally escaped his cracked and bleeding lips.

"It's all right… it is over now. You are safe with me," Madellaine murmured her words into Quasi's hair, trying her best to reassure her new friend that things were going to be okay, no matter what. She hugged Quasi to her body for a short time until he calmed down.

The way Quasi was behaving, seeming to take comfort in her arms, reminded Madellaine of a scared lost kid, nothing like the man that she knew.

Then, it hit her, and Madellaine felt her blood turn to ice in her veins.

The truth was right in front of her.

The man's defensive shield was down, and Madellaine understood why Quasi had acted as he had towards her earlier, so cold and aloof. He was afraid of her. Of Frollo.

Master Frollo, the man is as close to him as a father, she thought, a chill prickling her skin. Quasi, right now, in his incredibly vulnerable state was prone to hurt himself, given the immense humiliation he had suffered today up on that stage.

Madellaine knew a little thing or two about that herself. When pride would get the better of her, and she didn't want to let anyone in.

It was a state Madellaine knew Quasi did not want anyone else to see. But it no longer mattered to her.

This man, like it or not, was hurt, suffering, and she just wanted to heal his wounds, to talk with the man more.

Maybe, just maybe, then, through this act of selflessness, Quasi would open up to her and decide to confide in her and start trusting her as a friend.

Madellaine could only hope that, in time, if she were to do this for him, to stay by his side while he healed, that Quasi would learn to trust her. Judging by what she had walked in on, things between them needed to change.

And soon.