Okay, yes, I have been dawdling on this story, but I've had a lot of projects in the making that seemed to be more important at the moment. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, so this is most probably the last installment. Say good-bye to Jules now. Buh-bye!! And if anyone doesn't like this ending, you have my permission to re-write it once I'm finished.
PS. Can I call it or what? I won ten bucks off my friend on what the League of Darkness was planning on doing to Jules in "In the Beginning" AHAHA! TAKE THAT!
Disclaimer: Ain't mine.
Rebecca heard screaming. She was sure of it. "Passepartout! Come with me!" she ordered, hiking up her skirt and hurrying out to the back lawn. Passepartout quickly followed after the secret service agent.
He almost wished her hadn't. When Passepartout entered the large yard, he was sickened by what he saw. Phileas Fogg was several yards away near a whole in the ground, his usually pressed and ironed suit was disheveled and covered in blood. There was so much blood…then he saw Jules.
Surprisingly, enough, his feet did not fail as he ran towards the two figures, one of which he was almost positive was dead. Rebecca had already reached them and to his horror, she was smiling.
"Miss Rebecca!" he exclaimed. "Why is you smiling?"
Rebecca looked up at him, but didn't answer. Tears were in her eyes.
"Because, Passepartout. Verne isn't dead," Phileas said quietly. He held Verne firmly in his grasp, the young man propped up against his chest as if he was his life preserver and if he held him close enough, he could make it all better again.
Passepartout did a double take at Verne. The young man certainly looked dead. Blood was everywhere and his eyes were sunken back in his skull giving the impression that his brain had melted leaving nothing but an empty hole where a brilliant mind once resided. But Verne's chest slowly rose and fell, shallow as the inclinations were, they were still there. "Who did this to him?"
"Lafayette," Phileas answered tightly. Passepartout watched as Fogg's lips curled in an animalistic snarl as he spat the name of his former friend. Phileas caught Passepartout watching him and shrugged indifferently. "He's dead."
Passepartout nodded in understanding. That was the shot he'd heard fired back at the main house.
"Phileas, shouldn't we take him to the hospital? I'm sure if you let go for a moment, we can go get the carriage…" Rebecca suggested.
Phileas glared at her defiantly. "It only takes one to get the carriage. I shall remain here."
Passepartout was suddenly aware of how much a father Phileas was acting like, protecting his son from the dangers of the world.
Rebecca nodded. "Come along Passepartout," Rebecca ordered. Passepartout quietly followed, leaving Phileas and Jules alone.
Jules opened a swollen eye. All he could see was the fine silk of Fogg's shirt. Verne could feel nothing below his eyes, and he was pretty sure that was a good thing, considering how much it hurt while Lafayette had had him in the…whatever it was. The Sounmager. Jules shuddered involuntarily at the thought of it. He was sure he'd been dying. He was dying. He could feel his life's energy draining out through his multiple lacerations. But something kept him fighting, despite how easy it would be to give into the approaching darkness that now tipped his vision. Verne suddenly realized that Fogg's arms were crushing his lungs. He coughed and immediately, Fogg slackened his grip.
"Thank you…you were crushing my lungs," Verne chuckled, but was interrupted by a fit of coughing. "Ow…"
"Are you okay?" Phileas asked, sympathy and sorrow etched into the frown he now wore.
"Never…better," Jules wheezed. "I feel like the first time we met…when you kidnapped me."
"That was a misunderstanding. I trust you now, and I know you didn't intend to kill the Queen," Phileas smiled, glad to see that his friend was still in good spirits. A lesser man would have been irreparably emotionally scarred.
"I wasn't planning on being tortured by a mad Duke either, but it happened anyway," Jules replied. He suddenly remembered what he was going to ask. "Why are you holding me so close?"
Phileas seemed almost…unnerved…by the question and almost dropped Jules. "I was just…" Phileas struggled for words.
"Oh look, the Great Phileas Fogg lost for words…never thought I would see the day. Don't worry," Jules winked a blackened eye at his friend. "I won't tell."
Phileas grinned, but quickly regained his composure as he heard the sound of the carriage wheels fast approaching. "Come now, Verne. We are taking you to the hospital," Phileas said briskly as he hefted the young man up onto the seat inside next to Rebecca.
"Are you coming Phileas?" Rebecca asked when she saw him hesitate before climbing in.
"I think I shall ride with Passepartout. Get some air," Phileas answered. In truth, he was slightly sickened by the destroyed features of his friend's body, though he was pleased to see that Jules was making a mental recovery even as they drove away.
Several weeks later, Jules sat in his bed inside his garret, peering outside the window at the bustling streets of Paris and the multitude of colorful people as they wandered by, oblivious to himself and the fact that they were being carefully watched. It had almost been three weeks now, since his return from the hospital, and he was going stir-crazy being locked up inside his tower while his body recovered. His bandaged hands flew over the sketchpad in his lap as he doodled the people in the streets. He would go back and refine the rough sketches later. For now, he was keeping his remaining sanity by drawing random people in the crowd. Jules had tried earlier in the week to escape into the streets to go for a short walk, but had been intercepted by a secret service agent. The Foggs were taking no chances. Jules had the feeling that Phileas was feeling guilty, though he wasn't sure why…
The door creaked, causing him to look up and smile as he saw Phileas appear. Rebecca was not with them, probably off on assignment and Passepartout was most likely on the Aurora.
"Hello," Jules greeted, putting down his notepad.
"Greetings, Verne. How are you today?" Fogg asked, sitting down in a chair nearby.
"Same as yesterday…and the day before…and the day before that. Fine. Now why can't I leave?"
"You mean besides the fact that you still look half dead and would terrify the populace? No reason," Fogg answered glibly.
Now was the time, Jules thought to himself. "You know, I never did thank you…for saving my life."
Phileas looked down, suddenly fascinated by his shoes. "It was nothing."
"It was something to me. And…as a gift, reward, maybe. Here…" Jules thrust a notebook into Phileas' hands. "A rough copy of course, but I think I like it the way it is."
Phileas looked down at the paperback cover and read aloud, "Around the World in 80 Days." He looked back at Jules. "A book? For me?"
"Well, it's about you. I thought it would be fitting if you were the first to read it. Passepartout is in it too, of course. Keep it," Jules urged. "It's my thank you."
"No," Phileas declared. "Thank you." He quickly thumbed through the pages. "What did you do with those prints of your…imagination that we took from Lafayette's lab?"
"Burned them. I don't want anyone to have them, except for me. I realize that sounds rather greedy, but I don't think the world is ready for what I can imagine," Verne replied matter-of-factly.
"I quite agree," Phileas answered. He kicked back and began to read.
Verne just shook his head and laughed slightly. Now to start on illustrations for his book. He pulled out his sketchbook and began to draw Phileas Fogg.
Okay. That's it. I'm done. Happy now, you vultures? Whitefire, you owe me a new installment of Purgatory. Snap to it. As for the beginning part that I seemed to have misplaced, Rebecca finds Fogg and Verne, applies CPR, voila. Verne lives. And I filled in my own reasons why the real Jules Verne might've burned everything about him and why he wrote about Fogg and Passepartout. I bid you all good bye!
