CHAPTER 5: Learning You Were Wrong

Almost six months had passed since Belle's head injury. Her memory never seemed to return, and she had largely given up hope that it would. This didn't matter too much, however — she had a great life going in her present time. What then was the use of looking back? She and Gaston were beloved figures in the town, she had friends, her folklore project kept her busy, and it compensated well for the dull housework she had to commit to. There was always food on the table, her husband was a star in their community. What more could she ask?

It was just icing on the cake when she went into the village for the week's newspapers, and saw — there in black and white — her submitted songs in the Toulouse paper.

She showed it immediately to Gaston, who, though he could read, was not adept at the art. He spent a few moments sounding out the words before he recognized that he was reciting a well known folksong.

"This makes the news?" he asked, unsure what the big deal was.

"Toni, it's one of my submissions!" Belle smiled. She quickly kissed him in her joy, to his confusion.

She was so thrilled, that when they got home she snipped out the article and pinned it up on the bedroom wall, opposite Gaston's ever-growing trophy collection.

Gaston frowned at the sight of it. To him, it was only a scrap of newsprint pinned to the wall. "Couldn't you have put something attractive up there?" he asked.

Belle rolled her eyes. Okay, perhaps Gaston would never appreciate the importance of her article making it into print. But whatever — she didn't do it to impress him.

She cooked dinner as usual. They ate. Afterwards, Belle went to tidy up while Gaston set forth with his usual daily exercises.

It was autumn, and the nights were darkening early. Into the dim light Belle crossed the damp grass of the hillside and went to fill the washbasin with some fresh water from their spring. She heard the noisy clatter of the water pouring into the metal tub. While she waited for it to fill, she glanced about. The dark trees, the faint light of the fire-lit village below. Then she perceived, on the road coming toward the cottage, a lone figure on horseback.

Any person on that road would only be planning to come toward the house. Strange that there would be a visitor on this night — and at night.

She put down the basin and began towards the figure, intending to greet him. Even at a distance she could see that the rider was a man. At first she wondered if it was LeFou, coming on another visit from the old village — but as she looked more carefully, she perceived it was a large man, indeed quite big. He was only a shadow, a silhouette in the night. He rode a massive horse, necessary to bear up his large size. The animal was as big as Tencendur, or bigger.

Belle drew nearer. She couldn't make out the man's features or his hair color; but how he wore his hair was plain — a tangled mop, wild and frightful.

She was suddenly struck by the memory of Croquemitaine's description. A massive monster, with razor-sharp fangs, long talons, matted hair. Her blood froze.

Ah, but it was only a story. Right?

Compelling herself to be bold, Belle continued forward till she reached the dirt path. The figure was still at some distance from her, and still outside of the light. She hesitated, doubting for just a moment whether this was friend or foe, but finally told herself to stop being silly and to greet the visitor. She rose her hand to wave.

"Hello?" she called out. "Who's there?"

The figure stopped — briefly. Frozen like it contemplated its next move. It made no reply.

Then, Belle saw as the monstrous figure dug its spurs into the horse and came flying towards her, its frightening shape hurling her way amidst the thunderous crash of the horse's hooves.

Belle's heart began to race. Without another word she turned on her heel and ran for the house, terror filling her every vein.

It was the Croquemitaine — somehow she knew it was. That was no earthy figure she'd seen.

Belle raced so fast she lost a shoe in the damp grass. She didn't bother to retrieve it. She darted as one whose life is in danger, till she tossed herself through the front door of the cottage.

Belle wasn't a screamer, but she let out a yelp of distress as she hit the floor. Furiously she kicked the door shut behind her.

Gaston was still in the front room and was a witness to this. He immediately stopped his pushups and hurried to his feet.

"Belle? What's wrong?"

"There's someone outside!" she cried, her voice choking with terror.

Gaston's face stiffened with alarm, as in one who is accustomed to dangerous situations. He glanced out the window and perceived the large figure approaching.

"Damn it!" he cried. "I knew he'd find us eventually." In an instant he was at his weapons cache, drawing up his rifle. He then raced for Belle and picked her up from the floor in one arm.

"Who is that?" demanded Belle.

He said nothing as he hurried her off to the bedroom. He put her down in the doorway hastily.

"Don't move," he ordered. "I'll fight him off. But don't go anywhere, understand? Stay right here and don't open the door."

Belle still had no idea what was going on — yet Gaston seemed to be entirely ready to act. "Tell me what's happening!" she pleaded.

Gaston looked at her. His expression was worry, sadness.

He took Belle by the back of her head and kissed her quickly.

"Don't move," he repeated. "And lock the door."

Then Gaston slammed the bedroom door, securing Belle within and himself without.

Belle hurried to lock the door as instructed. After this, she could only sit in a horrified confusion — there was nothing else to do. She listened to the sounds in the front room: first only the noise of Gaston hurriedly collecting his weapons; then a pregnant silence.

Next rose the horrible clamor of the front door furiously pounded, and then a cracking — the door broken in. Belle's heart felt like it had frozen. The noises grow louder and more puzzling — thuds, crashes, male grunts. There was the sound of a gun blast. But the sounds of struggle continued unhindered. A masculine voice cried out in an anguished scream. The pounding, thumping of a fight persisted for a minute or two more, before it went silent.

Belle could hear the roar of her own frantic breath. Tears stung at her terrified eyes.

What had happened out there?

What was happening?

Suddenly the knob of the bedroom door shook like someone wanted in. There began a fearsome pounding on the door, a kicking, a bashing, like some monster was determined to enter.

Belle found herself screaming aloud. In an instant she was back to her feet and racing for a window, ready to escape out that way. She threw open the shutters, the cold night air blasting her. Behind her she could hear the splintering of the door as it gave.

Then before she could do anything else, two arms wrapped themselves around her and yanked her back into the room. She shrieked in horror.

"Belle! Belle! It's me!" implored the voice behind her. A gentle voice. A familiar voice.

But not Gaston's.

Belle turned and found herself staring into two bright blue eyes, so familiar, so recognizable from so many dreams.

Her mouth dropped in an impossible horror. "…Adam?!"

It wasn't possible, but it was so. The prince from her dreams. This was no imagining — she could feel the heat from his body, perceive the gusts of his anxious breath, smell the faint perfume upon his somewhat shabby silk clothing.

His face was careworn, dark circles under his eyes from sleepless nights, skin parched from long days of travel. His hair was tangled and matted, all grooming long neglected in her absence. But there was an excitement, a joy in his eyes.

He embraced her tightly, like he would never let her go. "Belle!" he cried in that light, youthful tenor voice. "I thought I would never see you again!"

He kissed her passionately.

Belle was frozen, aghast. This couldn't be. It couldn't be. The prince was a dream-vision, a mere imagining.

And where was Gaston?

She pulled back from him. "This isn't possible…" said Belle, terrified. "This isn't possible. What is happening?!" She began to scream and weep together.

Adam's look of relief fast transmuted into confusion.

"You're a dream!" she continued. "You aren't real — you can't be! Where's Gaston?!" she shrieked, tears pouring down her face.

Adam shook his head, dismayed, appalled. "It's me… Belle… it's Adam. Don't you remember?"

She began to struggle out of his embrace. "Toni!" she cried desperately. "Toni!"

Now the prince returned her look of agonized horror. "What has he done to you?" he asked, tortured by her response.

Belle couldn't comprehend whether she walked into the front room by herself, or if she was carried, dragged, or otherwise transported. But she found herself there. Prince Adam stood at her side, his arm protectively around her shoulder.

The room was in disarray from the fight. Furniture was overturned, broken. There were arrows embedded in the wall. Gaston was crumpled on the floor in the corner, near the still-burning fireplace. The light bounced from his dark-colored clothing, as if he had become wet.

"What have you done to her!?" demanded the now infuriated prince.

"What is happening?!" shrieked Belle in a world-shattering bewilderment. "What's going on?!"

Gaston's pretty face had a few cuts and red marks that looked on their way to becoming bruises. But his focus seemed to be devoted to his left side, both of his arms tightly clutching at an injury there. He looked bad.

But he mustered all the machismo he could to look the prince straight in the eye and say: "Hey, furball. Leave me and the girl alone for a minute."

Adam returned a look of fury. "I'm not leaving you alone with her!" he bellowed.

"Look," snapped Gaston, very irritated, "if I could get up, I'd be kicking your ass right now. Leave us alone for a minute, and let us talk."

Belle could sense that Gaston was in a serious condition. "Toni!" she cried, horrified. She started towards him, but found Adam's hand clutching her own, detaining her. She turned round to look at him.

Belle and Adam exchanged a soundless glance. The connection between them remained, even in the midst of this.

With a sigh, Adam slumped, and released her hand: it was what she wanted.

"I'll wait outside," said Adam. "But if he tries anything — "

"I know," said Belle, almost inaudibly.

Adam went out, positioning himself close to the door just in case he should need to get back inside quickly. He had been subject to Gaston's helpless act before, and wasn't going to fall for it a second time.

With tears pouring down her face, Belle flung herself at Gaston's side.

"Toni! What is going on? That's Adam, from my dream…"

"Yeah," said Gaston bitterly, "the prissy, aristocratic former-furball."

"How is it possible? What is he doing here? How do you know him?" cried Belle, her pitch rising at each word till it was almost a shriek.

"I might have lied about some things," said Gaston. "Just minor things. Nothing important really."

Belle's eyes widened in terror. "What sort of things…?"

"Yeah… we're not actually married."

Belle felt as if she'd been stabbed. "Not married…? But then… you mean you lied about that? But why — "

She was going to ask why he would lie about such a thing, when it suddenly hit her.

"I'm married to him, aren't I?"

"Yeah."

"And… that wasn't a dream, was it?"

"Waking life," said Gaston.

"And so, all the things you told me about how I met you…"

"Fairytales."

Belle shrieked in horror, a truly outraged horror.

"Gaston! How — we've been acting like we're married for six months!"

"You knew what you were doing," he said.

Belle slapped him, outraged. "I've never hit anyone before," she sobbed, "so I know this is your bad influence at work!"

"Keep doing it," panted Gaston. "It'll keep me from passing out."

She dutifully hit him again, hard.

"Was anything you told me true?!" she tearfully demanded.

"The last six months were true," said Gaston, a faintly affectionate note to his tone.

Belle burst into a deep, ugly sob. "You tricked me into loving you! How could you?"

Gaston paused, recalling the answer. "I just figured… 'She might not like me now, but she will,'" he said vacuously.

"How did I end up here?" she asked through her teeth, shivering. She knew she'd hate the answer no matter what.

He shifted slightly, trying to hold his intestines in with one arm. "I just… well. After that fight on the roof, I ended up in the moat. You'll never believe what I landed on — but that's another story. I went back to the village and regrouped, and I… I just couldn't bear to go on without you. Things got bad back there, with you calling me a monster in front of everyone and whipping out a magic mirror, but… I still couldn't let you go. You didn't return to the village, so I figured you had to still be at the castle. I gathered my things, formed a plan, made arrangements, and I broke into the place. I'd stormed it once before, so I knew exactly how to go about it. But… no one noticed me! I don't know where everyone was, but I just wandered around till I found you coming out of the library, with a big old armful of those brain-rotting books. So I grabbed you — but, of course, you didn't seem to be going along with my plans, so…" he gestured a clobbering motion, like hitting someone over the head. He clucked his tongue for sound effect. "I carried you out. I took us here — I knew we couldn't go back to the old village. It was the first place they'd look for us. I'd made arrangements to hide here, in this old house. When you came to, you just didn't seem to remember any of it! And I thought, well, why waste this opportunity?"

Belle hit him again. "So no beam?" she asked, angrily.

"There was a fallen beam, but, that looked like it happened a long time ago, while the place was empty. I just worked it into the story," he answered. A cold sweat was pouring down his face.

Belle was beyond infuriated. Hateful tears poured from her eyes. "I can't believe you! You kidnapped me so I'd become your wife?"

"If I remember your 'dream,'" snarled Gaston in turn, "that's exactly how you acquired that one." He jerked his head in the prince's direction. "Or was it some breach of etiquette that I didn't kidnap your father first?"

Belle let out an exasperated scream, recognizing that he wasn't exactly wrong about that. "How do I keep ending up with these men?" she asked no one in particular.

"You're a hard one to catch; it takes a certain type," responded Gaston. "Anyway. You could have left any time you wanted."

"Oh, really? You wouldn't have chased me down if I'd run away?" asked Belle, angrily.

Gaston smiled weakly. "Moot. I never had to." Suddenly he shuddered, pained.

Belle looked at the floor and could see a crimson puddle forming around Gaston. He was bleeding, badly.

"Oh my God," she said, her mind suddenly shifting gears. "We have to get you a doctor…"

"Bah!" Gaston replied. "That village doctor will just try to cure it with leeches, if he even gets here in time." There was a disturbing silence, as both Gaston and Belle really comprehended what he'd just admitted.

He looked down at the puddle and caught his own reflection in the blood. Automatically he began to adjust his hair and check his teeth.

Belle slapped him again.

"Just want to leave a good looking corpse," he said, smiling through the pain. But the machismo was fading. "Belle," he said gravely. "I lied about a lot of things. But I really do love you. I wouldn't have done this for just anyone."

Belle slapped Gaston yet again, and let out another pitiful sob.

Gaston's love — what kind of a love could you even call that? She wiped at her tears, and then looked him dead in the eyes. "Promise me you'll never do something like this again!" she pleaded.

"Nah," he answered. "Not going to promise that." It would have been such an easy promise to keep.

Belle sobbed and threw her arms around Gaston, embracing him. Why, what could he have done, being what he was? She loved him, horrible as he was, despite what he was, including what he was.

She sat with him, tearfully for a moment, then looked again into his eyes. Her heart went cold. She had seen that look once before — on the dying beast, after Gaston had stabbed him. Those eyes that couldn't focus, where the sight was fading along with the life of the person.

"Belle," he said softly. "Do me one last favor?"

"Yes?" she asked, terrified.

"Remember I've survived worse than this. Now go — hurry."

Belle blinked her eyes and more tears fell. Gaston said no more. She threw herself on him and kissed him for the last time, touched his pomaded hair, inhaled his familiar scent, and told him the last I love you.

Then she hurried away, because she knew he didn't want her to see him die.

…

On the front doorstep, Adam was waiting. He'd been able to hear a lot of what was said. Each word of it felt like another knife being driven into his gut — a feeling he knew only too well from his last meeting with Gaston.

Still, during all the sleepless nights, and the fraught and wretched days of searching, he'd dreamt of a thousand worse things, much worse things, that could have happened to Belle. As long as she was safe, he was content.

She came to him, tears pouring down her face. In the faint firelight that spilled through the door, blood was visible on her clothing — but not her own blood.

"Belle…" said Adam, a remorseful look on his face. He took her hands in his own. "I am so sorry. It never crossed my mind that you might have wanted to stay with him… I thought he was forcing you…"

Belle jerked her hands from his, sobbing. Then she threw her arms fully around him and held him tightly. She shook her head fiercely, but couldn't manage any words.

Adam threw his arms around her in turn. Even in the despair of the moment, he felt whole again for the first time in months with this embrace.

"Belle? Do you want to come back to the castle with me?" he asked at length.

Tears still raining from her beautiful eyes, Belle nodded.

"You would?"

She nodded again. She was too choked up to speak anything.

With his arm around her, Adam led her towards the horse he'd rode in on. When they got near, the animal jumped excitedly, and hurried up to Belle. It began to nuzzle and lick its old mistress joyously.

"Philippe…?" Belle muttered, disbelieving.

Adam managed a smile, seeing that she recognized the animal. "I brought him along whenever I'd search for you. I figured he might recognize you… or you might recognize him…"

Belle's guts felt cold and empty with grief, but at the sight of Philippe the first touch of warmth returned to her. "Philippe… and papa? Is papa still alive?" she asked, amazed at the possibilities.

"Well, of course," said Adam. "He's waiting at the castle right now. He's been worried sicker than I've been about you. He'll be overjoyed to know you're safe."

"You've been looking for me? All this time?" Belle said, struggling not to start crying again. "How did you find me?"

"I offered a reward for any information. Someone from the newspaper in Toulouse contacted me, that a woman with the unusual name of Belle had submitted some songs… He gave me the name of a town. I came, and everyone knew your description. They pointed me to this house directly."

At that, Belle couldn't withhold another batch of tears. The fairytale prince of her dreams found her because of the fairytales… and thereby put an end to her own beautiful dream, the carefully woven tale that Gaston had crafted for her.

"So the castle… the servants… the curse… it's all real?" asked Belle.

Adam's eyes widened in surprise. "Belle, did you hit your head or something? Of course it's real."

It was real. It was real. This had been her life. Belle rested her head on her husband's muscular shoulder. The silk of his coat was smooth on her cheek.

"Tell me how it happened," she pleaded.

END.