Others: Whispers in the Dark
by the Chronicler
----------
Chapter Three
This wasn't going well.
Fogg wasn't going to take him back to Paris. And he wasn't going to let him go on his own... particularly now that he had some idea of what was going on in Jules' head. Fogg had even gone as far as bring that psychologist to... to...
Jules shook his head. Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe he was going mad.
Maybe he wasn't.
Whichever, he was not going to find out here with Passpartout and Fogg watching him like a hawk, and who knows what Rebecca was up to.
Jules Verne slipped into his leather jacket as he glanced around for his notebook. After finding his most valuable possession, he checked his pockets, finding a few coins (something Rebecca always managed to slip in on his visits when he wasn't looking; he usually found a way to return them, leaving them here or there in the house, but, today, he thought he might need them). Then, he stepped to the door.
The hall was empty.
"First time for everything." Jules mumbled to himself, slipping out. Of course, he thought as he tip toed down the stairs, Passpartout was probably seeing to the supper arrangements and Fogg was probably sponging up some brandy and Rebecca....
"Tell me, my dear cousin, what changed your mind?"
Jules froze just before crossing the entry way to the front door. It took him only a second to realize Rebecca was speaking from the sitting room to the left of the entry. Well, at least he now knew where she and Phileas were.
"I did not change my mind, Rebecca." Phileas was saying. "I wanted to know the doctor's opinion. I now have his opinion." The voice paused, no doubt to take a sip of something mind-numbing. "I can not make a proper decision without viewing all the points of facts."
"What makes you think we need to make a decision for him?" Rebecca wanted to know. "Our little boy is nearly all grown up." she teased.
Jules frowned. Our? Nearly? Why did Rebecca always have to tease? Well, at least she sounded finally on his side.
"Do you honestly believe that Verne is in any condition to make such a decision?" Phileas returned. "Really, Rebecca, have you seen him? The boy won't eat, won't sleep without Passpartout drugging him! These, in my own poor judgment, do not make good decisions."
Drugged? Oh, that explains the nap.
There was a quiet moment, a pause...
Rebecca sounded tired, resigned. "We can't make choices for him, Phileas. We can't protect him from everything." Another pause. "But if we can get him to eat and sleep, maybe it will clear his
head some. He'll make better decisions then."
So much for being on his side.
Jules had heard enough. looking around the corner to be sure the cousins were facing the other direction, he darted across the entry way and out the front door.
**********
Phileas glanced back, hearing something at the front door. But he saw nothing, no one. "Passpartout?" he called his valet.
Within a breath, his loyal servant was standing in the doorway, a ruffled apron hanging down his front. "Yes, Mater?"
Phileas frowned. But decided the noise was just jitters. But since his valet was already there... "I do not believe it will be easy to get Verne to eat anything overly..." What was the description he was looking for? Heavy? Rich? Abundant? Food-like?
Turned out he didn't need any more details. Passpartout, as usual, had already foreseen such difficulty and had prepared. "Ah, yes, Master. I made soup for Mister Jules. Whatever the ill, chicken soup cures it all." he assured. "I be taking it up to him after I've served you and Miss Rebecca."
Phileas nodded his approval. "Stay with him until he finishes it. And, Passpartout... be sure he sleeps after he's eaten."
Passpartout frowned, but nodded, understanding what his master was asking. He felt terribly guilty about having to drug his countryman, but he understood the need. "Supper will be ready soon, Master." he let them know before turning and starting back for the kitchen.
he paused at the front door, noticing, as he passed that it wasn't quite close. Well, with all there was running around in there heads that day, it was of little wonder that the door had been forgotten. With a sad sigh, he pushed the door closed then continued on to the kitchen.
**********
Jules pulled his jacket tight around him as he wandered down the street. He smiled slightly in greeting to a grizzled old man who walked from one street light to the next lighting them.
The old man was too used to not being noticed that he completely missed the boy's greeting. He walked passed without so much as a glance.
Jules sighed and walked on.
He really wasn't sure where he was going. Well, eventually he wanted to get back to his little garret back in Paris. But he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to catch a train until morning. Until then...
Whispers.....
Whispering.....
Jules shook his head, hoping to shake the voices away.
Somewhere.....
Something.....
It didn't work.
"What do you want?" Jules hissed.
Someone....
"HELP ME!"
Jules gasped, bowing his head and squeezing his eyes tight against the scream in his head. Damn, no matter how many times he heard it, no matter how many time the whole episode played out, that scream shocked him.
"THIS WAY!"
The young writer's head snapped up. That was new.
He glanced around, looking to see if there had been any other source of the call. But the only other person on the street was the old man, and he continued to ignore the boy as he made his way in the other direction, lighting lamps as he went.
"THIS WAY!"
Jules winced. He reached up to rub his ear, knowing that it would do no good. The ear piercing scream was coming from within, not from without.
"Who are you?" he asked through clenched teeth, hoping to communicate with whatever or whoever had invaded his mind.
"THIS WAY!"
"Where?"
"THIS WAY!"
He was given no directions, but he knew that `this way' meant north. So he crossed the street and headed down a cross street, heading north.
He walked what seemed like forever, continuing north. His mind had gone silent for the exception of the whispering which seemed more like back ground noise than anything else now. Dark had long ago fallen, and the clear sky was spotted with millions of twinkling stars.
Suddenly....
"THIS WAY!"
Jules turned left and walked on.
He could hear horses, smell rotten hay and dung. Empty and, momentarily, unused cabs were parked on the side of the rocky, unkempt road. These were the stables down near the marina.
"THIS WAY!"
Jules turned and stepped straight into an apparently abandoned stable.
A young woman stood before him.
Jules verne stopped where he stood and stared at her, knowing instinctively that this was the source of the whispers.
She was a little older than he, a little smaller. Despite the simply, straight, gray gown she wore, she was an exceptional sight. Long auburn hair framed and oval face. She had beautiful, sun-gold kin, so smooth it looked as if it could shine. Crystal blue eyes looked at him with no expression what-so-ever. The only sign, in fact, that she had any emotion at all were the tears that ran down her cheeks.
Jules took a shaky breath. "Who are you?" he finally was able to ask.
"I'm sorry." whispered a song like voice, though her lips never moved. Again, the voice was coming from within. "I had no choice."
Jules frowned. "No choice about what?"
"I'm so sorry."
The voice from within suddenly exploded with blinding white light as if something had hit Jules Verne in the back of the head, knocking him out cold.
**********
Passpartout burst into the dining room. "Master! Oh, big trouble, Master! He's gone!"
Phileas rose like a giant tree doing a hundred years worth of growth in one breath. "What?"
"Mister Jules! He's nowhere to be found, master. Mister Jules is gone!"
Rebecca set her fork down beside her plate. "Oh, dear."
by the Chronicler
----------
Chapter Three
This wasn't going well.
Fogg wasn't going to take him back to Paris. And he wasn't going to let him go on his own... particularly now that he had some idea of what was going on in Jules' head. Fogg had even gone as far as bring that psychologist to... to...
Jules shook his head. Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe he was going mad.
Maybe he wasn't.
Whichever, he was not going to find out here with Passpartout and Fogg watching him like a hawk, and who knows what Rebecca was up to.
Jules Verne slipped into his leather jacket as he glanced around for his notebook. After finding his most valuable possession, he checked his pockets, finding a few coins (something Rebecca always managed to slip in on his visits when he wasn't looking; he usually found a way to return them, leaving them here or there in the house, but, today, he thought he might need them). Then, he stepped to the door.
The hall was empty.
"First time for everything." Jules mumbled to himself, slipping out. Of course, he thought as he tip toed down the stairs, Passpartout was probably seeing to the supper arrangements and Fogg was probably sponging up some brandy and Rebecca....
"Tell me, my dear cousin, what changed your mind?"
Jules froze just before crossing the entry way to the front door. It took him only a second to realize Rebecca was speaking from the sitting room to the left of the entry. Well, at least he now knew where she and Phileas were.
"I did not change my mind, Rebecca." Phileas was saying. "I wanted to know the doctor's opinion. I now have his opinion." The voice paused, no doubt to take a sip of something mind-numbing. "I can not make a proper decision without viewing all the points of facts."
"What makes you think we need to make a decision for him?" Rebecca wanted to know. "Our little boy is nearly all grown up." she teased.
Jules frowned. Our? Nearly? Why did Rebecca always have to tease? Well, at least she sounded finally on his side.
"Do you honestly believe that Verne is in any condition to make such a decision?" Phileas returned. "Really, Rebecca, have you seen him? The boy won't eat, won't sleep without Passpartout drugging him! These, in my own poor judgment, do not make good decisions."
Drugged? Oh, that explains the nap.
There was a quiet moment, a pause...
Rebecca sounded tired, resigned. "We can't make choices for him, Phileas. We can't protect him from everything." Another pause. "But if we can get him to eat and sleep, maybe it will clear his
head some. He'll make better decisions then."
So much for being on his side.
Jules had heard enough. looking around the corner to be sure the cousins were facing the other direction, he darted across the entry way and out the front door.
**********
Phileas glanced back, hearing something at the front door. But he saw nothing, no one. "Passpartout?" he called his valet.
Within a breath, his loyal servant was standing in the doorway, a ruffled apron hanging down his front. "Yes, Mater?"
Phileas frowned. But decided the noise was just jitters. But since his valet was already there... "I do not believe it will be easy to get Verne to eat anything overly..." What was the description he was looking for? Heavy? Rich? Abundant? Food-like?
Turned out he didn't need any more details. Passpartout, as usual, had already foreseen such difficulty and had prepared. "Ah, yes, Master. I made soup for Mister Jules. Whatever the ill, chicken soup cures it all." he assured. "I be taking it up to him after I've served you and Miss Rebecca."
Phileas nodded his approval. "Stay with him until he finishes it. And, Passpartout... be sure he sleeps after he's eaten."
Passpartout frowned, but nodded, understanding what his master was asking. He felt terribly guilty about having to drug his countryman, but he understood the need. "Supper will be ready soon, Master." he let them know before turning and starting back for the kitchen.
he paused at the front door, noticing, as he passed that it wasn't quite close. Well, with all there was running around in there heads that day, it was of little wonder that the door had been forgotten. With a sad sigh, he pushed the door closed then continued on to the kitchen.
**********
Jules pulled his jacket tight around him as he wandered down the street. He smiled slightly in greeting to a grizzled old man who walked from one street light to the next lighting them.
The old man was too used to not being noticed that he completely missed the boy's greeting. He walked passed without so much as a glance.
Jules sighed and walked on.
He really wasn't sure where he was going. Well, eventually he wanted to get back to his little garret back in Paris. But he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to catch a train until morning. Until then...
Whispers.....
Whispering.....
Jules shook his head, hoping to shake the voices away.
Somewhere.....
Something.....
It didn't work.
"What do you want?" Jules hissed.
Someone....
"HELP ME!"
Jules gasped, bowing his head and squeezing his eyes tight against the scream in his head. Damn, no matter how many times he heard it, no matter how many time the whole episode played out, that scream shocked him.
"THIS WAY!"
The young writer's head snapped up. That was new.
He glanced around, looking to see if there had been any other source of the call. But the only other person on the street was the old man, and he continued to ignore the boy as he made his way in the other direction, lighting lamps as he went.
"THIS WAY!"
Jules winced. He reached up to rub his ear, knowing that it would do no good. The ear piercing scream was coming from within, not from without.
"Who are you?" he asked through clenched teeth, hoping to communicate with whatever or whoever had invaded his mind.
"THIS WAY!"
"Where?"
"THIS WAY!"
He was given no directions, but he knew that `this way' meant north. So he crossed the street and headed down a cross street, heading north.
He walked what seemed like forever, continuing north. His mind had gone silent for the exception of the whispering which seemed more like back ground noise than anything else now. Dark had long ago fallen, and the clear sky was spotted with millions of twinkling stars.
Suddenly....
"THIS WAY!"
Jules turned left and walked on.
He could hear horses, smell rotten hay and dung. Empty and, momentarily, unused cabs were parked on the side of the rocky, unkempt road. These were the stables down near the marina.
"THIS WAY!"
Jules turned and stepped straight into an apparently abandoned stable.
A young woman stood before him.
Jules verne stopped where he stood and stared at her, knowing instinctively that this was the source of the whispers.
She was a little older than he, a little smaller. Despite the simply, straight, gray gown she wore, she was an exceptional sight. Long auburn hair framed and oval face. She had beautiful, sun-gold kin, so smooth it looked as if it could shine. Crystal blue eyes looked at him with no expression what-so-ever. The only sign, in fact, that she had any emotion at all were the tears that ran down her cheeks.
Jules took a shaky breath. "Who are you?" he finally was able to ask.
"I'm sorry." whispered a song like voice, though her lips never moved. Again, the voice was coming from within. "I had no choice."
Jules frowned. "No choice about what?"
"I'm so sorry."
The voice from within suddenly exploded with blinding white light as if something had hit Jules Verne in the back of the head, knocking him out cold.
**********
Passpartout burst into the dining room. "Master! Oh, big trouble, Master! He's gone!"
Phileas rose like a giant tree doing a hundred years worth of growth in one breath. "What?"
"Mister Jules! He's nowhere to be found, master. Mister Jules is gone!"
Rebecca set her fork down beside her plate. "Oh, dear."