10 - Escape
She could not meet Albus's eye, feeling the terrible weight of guilt from the consequences of her actions that so burned her. Her hands shook.
"You must think me." she couldn't find a word to describe what he must think of her - what she thought of herself. Repulsed? Disgraced? They didn't half cover it. She examined her fingers as though they were the most interesting things in the world, not wanting to look up and confront the look that most certainly must be playing in Albus Dumbledore's eyes.
Two gentle fingers slid under her chin, and Albus lifted her face up so that she had no choice but to look at him. Her gaze slid into his, and what she saw there shocked her more than would all the disgust in the world - compassion, and a certain understanding.
Tears stung behind her eyes, and salty droplets blurred her vision before she yielded to them and they tumbled down across her cheeks.
"Minerva," he wiped them away with his fingers, "I don't think any less of you for what happened. You are human, like us all, and everybody makes mistakes. I can't lie to you and say that these last months won't live with you for the rest of your life, but I can say that what you did makes you no less a person."
That did not help the tears, Minerva thought, as a wave of gratitude and warmth washed over her at his words, but her tears kept flowing as though someone had turned on a tap.
"I suppose you want to hear the rest of the story." She said with a small smile, wiping her face with the heel of her hand, as if the pressure would stop the flow of the crystal droplets.
"I would like to, if you are ready to tell me." He slid back into his chair, and held her gaze.
"The key was the most important thing." Minerva said resolutely. "More important than anything. I would do whatever it took to get it back."
As the days passed, Minerva began to act increasingly insane, rocking back and forward on her bed when the others came to feed her, calling out random sentences at the top of her lungs in the middle of the night, whispering and gibbering incoherently whenever there was someone close enough to hear her. Inside her own head, she was as sane and coherent as ever, but outwardly, she was a lunatic, was going crazy.
All part of her plan. Soon enough, she must draw Jeromie to her, for he was the ringleader, and the one who would decide what to do with her. Her grief had driven her mad. She was playing a fickle, high, dangerous card.
Finally, the world yielded. Following a particularly loud gurgling shriek as someone passed, she heard feet and voices stop outside the door.
"I think she's gone, Jeromie, what are we going to do with her?" It was Cynthia's voice.
A grunt of thoughtfulness. "I'll.deal with her." Was his soft reply, something that she barely heard. In the darkness of her room, Minerva smiled.
The door opened, and a shaft of bright light illuminated her bed for a moment, flickered in her eyes as she lifted her head of messy hair to look up at Jeromie, a crooked, insane smile painted on her face. He stepped inside the room, closed the door, and they were enveloped in darkness once again.
"Minerva." He said it softly, but strongly, as though demanding to know whether this was a truth or an act.
"Se..Sebastian?" she asked, trying to make it sound unsure, make her voice lilt, as though she truly thought it was him, thought it could be him. As if she hadn't killed him.
"No, Minerva." He stepped toward her. "It is Jeromie. Sebastian is dead."
She slid to the end of her bed. "Sebastian?" she reached out and took Jeromie's hand. Jeromie looked as though he had been about to correct her again, but at her touch, he stopped.
"Sebastian." She cooed, cradling his hand against her face as if gave her comfort. Inside, her stomach roiled, but an act was an act. She must be prepared to do anything to recover the key.
"Sebastian." Her tone changed, and she smiled up at Jeromie, sliding the hand down over her shoulders and to chest, placing it over one of her breasts. She grabbed his other hand and pulled him toward her, parting her legs so he stood between them. "Take me Sebastian."
She did not flinch as she looked up at him, she was a better actress than even she knew she was. With a smile she watched him, as though encouraging him.
He studied her. "What are you playing at, Minerva?" he asked softly with a small smile.
"Sebastian, I love you."
He ran his fingers through her matted curls, watched her for any reaction that might suggest she was putting it on. "What are you thinking, Minny, what is inside your heart?"
This was what Minerva had been waiting for. What did she have to destroy? She didn't care about anything any more. He fumbled with the Key, although she couldn't see it. Could see and feel nothing until he touched it to her chest.
It was as though someone had punctured the aery layer of her aura, the bubble that enclosed her mind as thought, as her thoughts mingled with his and her emotions and intentioned flowed and ebbed into the pictures in his mind. She felt sucked dry, like a pond that had been drained. Her fingers grasped the key chain, knowing the game was up. Jeromie knew it all - that she was pregnant, that she was in no way insane, that the next thing she would do would be to throw herself from the window and hope for the best. Beyond that, she had no plan, and she was glad of it, because if she had he would have known that too.
This time, as the key turned red hot, Jeromie let go of it, but Minerva held the chain. She wrenched it from him, not caring what happened now. He lunged at her, but her will was stronger than his, as was her knee stronger than his exposed crotch. He doubled up in pain as she struck him at his most vulnerable, ignoring the blinding, burning pain in her chest as she looped the chain around her neck, and racing across the room. She pulled open the shutters, opened the window and threw herself through. It was a twelve foot drop.
Feline feet hit the ground lightly and scampered off into the pouring rain.
Jeromie recovered, slightly, stumbled from the room, yelled at the top of his lungs from the top of the stairs. "Minerva is gone! Somebody chase her!" Then collapsed to nurse his wounded ego once again.
It was when the Key went cold and turned her insides to ice that she was forced back into her human form, that she felt the first cramp in her gut as the mark on her chest turned black. Brought to her knees by the pain and the sickening realisation of what was happening, she curled herself up on the wet ground and let out a low moan, not even the most miniscule expression of her pain.
Almost at the same moment, she heard the dog howl, and realised that she must be pursued. She hauled herself to her feet, knowing what would happen if they caught her, what Jeromie would do to get the Key back, and she ran. Ran into the darkness, into the rain, into the unknown.
She could not meet Albus's eye, feeling the terrible weight of guilt from the consequences of her actions that so burned her. Her hands shook.
"You must think me." she couldn't find a word to describe what he must think of her - what she thought of herself. Repulsed? Disgraced? They didn't half cover it. She examined her fingers as though they were the most interesting things in the world, not wanting to look up and confront the look that most certainly must be playing in Albus Dumbledore's eyes.
Two gentle fingers slid under her chin, and Albus lifted her face up so that she had no choice but to look at him. Her gaze slid into his, and what she saw there shocked her more than would all the disgust in the world - compassion, and a certain understanding.
Tears stung behind her eyes, and salty droplets blurred her vision before she yielded to them and they tumbled down across her cheeks.
"Minerva," he wiped them away with his fingers, "I don't think any less of you for what happened. You are human, like us all, and everybody makes mistakes. I can't lie to you and say that these last months won't live with you for the rest of your life, but I can say that what you did makes you no less a person."
That did not help the tears, Minerva thought, as a wave of gratitude and warmth washed over her at his words, but her tears kept flowing as though someone had turned on a tap.
"I suppose you want to hear the rest of the story." She said with a small smile, wiping her face with the heel of her hand, as if the pressure would stop the flow of the crystal droplets.
"I would like to, if you are ready to tell me." He slid back into his chair, and held her gaze.
"The key was the most important thing." Minerva said resolutely. "More important than anything. I would do whatever it took to get it back."
As the days passed, Minerva began to act increasingly insane, rocking back and forward on her bed when the others came to feed her, calling out random sentences at the top of her lungs in the middle of the night, whispering and gibbering incoherently whenever there was someone close enough to hear her. Inside her own head, she was as sane and coherent as ever, but outwardly, she was a lunatic, was going crazy.
All part of her plan. Soon enough, she must draw Jeromie to her, for he was the ringleader, and the one who would decide what to do with her. Her grief had driven her mad. She was playing a fickle, high, dangerous card.
Finally, the world yielded. Following a particularly loud gurgling shriek as someone passed, she heard feet and voices stop outside the door.
"I think she's gone, Jeromie, what are we going to do with her?" It was Cynthia's voice.
A grunt of thoughtfulness. "I'll.deal with her." Was his soft reply, something that she barely heard. In the darkness of her room, Minerva smiled.
The door opened, and a shaft of bright light illuminated her bed for a moment, flickered in her eyes as she lifted her head of messy hair to look up at Jeromie, a crooked, insane smile painted on her face. He stepped inside the room, closed the door, and they were enveloped in darkness once again.
"Minerva." He said it softly, but strongly, as though demanding to know whether this was a truth or an act.
"Se..Sebastian?" she asked, trying to make it sound unsure, make her voice lilt, as though she truly thought it was him, thought it could be him. As if she hadn't killed him.
"No, Minerva." He stepped toward her. "It is Jeromie. Sebastian is dead."
She slid to the end of her bed. "Sebastian?" she reached out and took Jeromie's hand. Jeromie looked as though he had been about to correct her again, but at her touch, he stopped.
"Sebastian." She cooed, cradling his hand against her face as if gave her comfort. Inside, her stomach roiled, but an act was an act. She must be prepared to do anything to recover the key.
"Sebastian." Her tone changed, and she smiled up at Jeromie, sliding the hand down over her shoulders and to chest, placing it over one of her breasts. She grabbed his other hand and pulled him toward her, parting her legs so he stood between them. "Take me Sebastian."
She did not flinch as she looked up at him, she was a better actress than even she knew she was. With a smile she watched him, as though encouraging him.
He studied her. "What are you playing at, Minerva?" he asked softly with a small smile.
"Sebastian, I love you."
He ran his fingers through her matted curls, watched her for any reaction that might suggest she was putting it on. "What are you thinking, Minny, what is inside your heart?"
This was what Minerva had been waiting for. What did she have to destroy? She didn't care about anything any more. He fumbled with the Key, although she couldn't see it. Could see and feel nothing until he touched it to her chest.
It was as though someone had punctured the aery layer of her aura, the bubble that enclosed her mind as thought, as her thoughts mingled with his and her emotions and intentioned flowed and ebbed into the pictures in his mind. She felt sucked dry, like a pond that had been drained. Her fingers grasped the key chain, knowing the game was up. Jeromie knew it all - that she was pregnant, that she was in no way insane, that the next thing she would do would be to throw herself from the window and hope for the best. Beyond that, she had no plan, and she was glad of it, because if she had he would have known that too.
This time, as the key turned red hot, Jeromie let go of it, but Minerva held the chain. She wrenched it from him, not caring what happened now. He lunged at her, but her will was stronger than his, as was her knee stronger than his exposed crotch. He doubled up in pain as she struck him at his most vulnerable, ignoring the blinding, burning pain in her chest as she looped the chain around her neck, and racing across the room. She pulled open the shutters, opened the window and threw herself through. It was a twelve foot drop.
Feline feet hit the ground lightly and scampered off into the pouring rain.
Jeromie recovered, slightly, stumbled from the room, yelled at the top of his lungs from the top of the stairs. "Minerva is gone! Somebody chase her!" Then collapsed to nurse his wounded ego once again.
It was when the Key went cold and turned her insides to ice that she was forced back into her human form, that she felt the first cramp in her gut as the mark on her chest turned black. Brought to her knees by the pain and the sickening realisation of what was happening, she curled herself up on the wet ground and let out a low moan, not even the most miniscule expression of her pain.
Almost at the same moment, she heard the dog howl, and realised that she must be pursued. She hauled herself to her feet, knowing what would happen if they caught her, what Jeromie would do to get the Key back, and she ran. Ran into the darkness, into the rain, into the unknown.