Chapter 2- Trapped in His Mind
(Sorry this took so long in coming)
He sat on the cold, hard stone floor, a dull frown upon his angelic face. It was dark for the most part, only bits of light filtering in from under the door. If one could see him clearly they would look upon a pitiable soul with tears in his bright green eyes that trickled down his face.
With out any warning he burst into a long tortured scream, sprawling fully out onto the floor now. All he could think of was she, and it hurt him more than that cursed drowning chair, or even the lady guillotine that beckoned him in his dreams.
"I have failed! I have failed you, my angel! Why do you haunt me? Leave me be! Go! Damn you God! Even when my head rests in that merciless basket and the knitting is all through, you will still taunt me and tease me. I shall never rest in peace! God why?" The question was directed to the almighty himself, for the man had gotten roughly to his knees and grasping his hands together, began mouthing a prayer. He grasped for his rosary, but it was not there. He remembered himself never getting a new one after the Marquis choked on his. He rested his head on the ground and cried.
There was a loud bang on the door followed by a mans rough voice, "Shut up in there, and get your self to the door! The doctor wishes to see you."
His tears stopped and his eyes filled with a deep hatred. Slowly he got to his trembling, weak, feet and made his way the short way to the door. It took all his strength to open the little window, that was nearly rusted shut, that opened to the outside corridor.
Doctor Royer-Collard stood with a smug grin upon his face, his arms folded, wearing all black, "I dare say Coulmier, you're as good as the Marquis, if not better! I don't know how you managed to get that damned letter out of this, or even how you managed to write it, yet somehow it found its way to your lovely friend and she has just arrived in Paris. She has sent word that she and her lawyer will be calling on you tomorrow."
For the first time since she died, Coulmier felt a glimmer of glorious hope and a smile graced his face, "Christina!"
"Ah, so she is dear to you! This will make everything so very much easier. Let it be known, my dear Abbe, if you utter one word to your sweet little fairy or her lawyer that will win you this case, you will have yet another murder against you. And all I will have to say is, ' Oh dear, perhaps I should have not left them alone in the same room'. She'll be dead, the lawyer will be dead, and you will be dead. Now we truly do not need all of those deaths, do we? We can keep it nice and simple, you. Or, everybody you love dies because of you. A simple choice really. Remember, the woman you loved last time died because of your mistakes, don't let that happen again. Don't look so gloomy, Coulmier. It's a lose-lose situation for you. In the end, your head will come off, I shall laugh, and bathe merrily in your blood."
The morbid man had his wrinkled and weathered face close to Coulmier's now and slowly licked his own lips. The Abbe was near tears again. All hope had just vanished forever.
The doctor slammed the little window shut and the menacing iron rang through out the cell. The doctor knew of Coulmier's greatest pain and often took great advantage of it, leaving him in isolation as long as possible. Nearly twenty-four hours a day he had left the Abbe alone, until he had found Coulmier writing the twisted and bloody tale of the happenings of Charanton. Then Coulmier had been locked in the Marquis old cell, But when the murder had been framed and Paris had left the innocent Abbe in the hands of the murderous doctor, he had been locked up in a deep dark cell, previously used for storage. When Coulmier had truly been Abbe, he had thought it too cruel to keep any human soul locked in such a desolate room. Ah, the sweet irony that life always is. His own pity being thrown back at him, his own nightmares coming true. Through the tears he let out a small laugh.
Madeleine stood in the corner holding her basket of linens, smirking at him, at what he had become. Coulmier shuttered at the illusion. His reached out hand fought for her. Suddenly he slapped himself. "Get a hold of yourself! This is what they want! Maybe you do belong in an asylum."
He sat up, trying to regain what dignity, if any, he had left. He glanced at the corner again and she was gone. Only unwanted darkness filled with Satan himself. "Come and get me you bastard!" he yelled. Slowly he shut his eyes and went from one living hell to the next.
He sat on the cold, hard stone floor, a dull frown upon his angelic face. It was dark for the most part, only bits of light filtering in from under the door. If one could see him clearly they would look upon a pitiable soul with tears in his bright green eyes that trickled down his face.
With out any warning he burst into a long tortured scream, sprawling fully out onto the floor now. All he could think of was she, and it hurt him more than that cursed drowning chair, or even the lady guillotine that beckoned him in his dreams.
"I have failed! I have failed you, my angel! Why do you haunt me? Leave me be! Go! Damn you God! Even when my head rests in that merciless basket and the knitting is all through, you will still taunt me and tease me. I shall never rest in peace! God why?" The question was directed to the almighty himself, for the man had gotten roughly to his knees and grasping his hands together, began mouthing a prayer. He grasped for his rosary, but it was not there. He remembered himself never getting a new one after the Marquis choked on his. He rested his head on the ground and cried.
There was a loud bang on the door followed by a mans rough voice, "Shut up in there, and get your self to the door! The doctor wishes to see you."
His tears stopped and his eyes filled with a deep hatred. Slowly he got to his trembling, weak, feet and made his way the short way to the door. It took all his strength to open the little window, that was nearly rusted shut, that opened to the outside corridor.
Doctor Royer-Collard stood with a smug grin upon his face, his arms folded, wearing all black, "I dare say Coulmier, you're as good as the Marquis, if not better! I don't know how you managed to get that damned letter out of this, or even how you managed to write it, yet somehow it found its way to your lovely friend and she has just arrived in Paris. She has sent word that she and her lawyer will be calling on you tomorrow."
For the first time since she died, Coulmier felt a glimmer of glorious hope and a smile graced his face, "Christina!"
"Ah, so she is dear to you! This will make everything so very much easier. Let it be known, my dear Abbe, if you utter one word to your sweet little fairy or her lawyer that will win you this case, you will have yet another murder against you. And all I will have to say is, ' Oh dear, perhaps I should have not left them alone in the same room'. She'll be dead, the lawyer will be dead, and you will be dead. Now we truly do not need all of those deaths, do we? We can keep it nice and simple, you. Or, everybody you love dies because of you. A simple choice really. Remember, the woman you loved last time died because of your mistakes, don't let that happen again. Don't look so gloomy, Coulmier. It's a lose-lose situation for you. In the end, your head will come off, I shall laugh, and bathe merrily in your blood."
The morbid man had his wrinkled and weathered face close to Coulmier's now and slowly licked his own lips. The Abbe was near tears again. All hope had just vanished forever.
The doctor slammed the little window shut and the menacing iron rang through out the cell. The doctor knew of Coulmier's greatest pain and often took great advantage of it, leaving him in isolation as long as possible. Nearly twenty-four hours a day he had left the Abbe alone, until he had found Coulmier writing the twisted and bloody tale of the happenings of Charanton. Then Coulmier had been locked in the Marquis old cell, But when the murder had been framed and Paris had left the innocent Abbe in the hands of the murderous doctor, he had been locked up in a deep dark cell, previously used for storage. When Coulmier had truly been Abbe, he had thought it too cruel to keep any human soul locked in such a desolate room. Ah, the sweet irony that life always is. His own pity being thrown back at him, his own nightmares coming true. Through the tears he let out a small laugh.
Madeleine stood in the corner holding her basket of linens, smirking at him, at what he had become. Coulmier shuttered at the illusion. His reached out hand fought for her. Suddenly he slapped himself. "Get a hold of yourself! This is what they want! Maybe you do belong in an asylum."
He sat up, trying to regain what dignity, if any, he had left. He glanced at the corner again and she was gone. Only unwanted darkness filled with Satan himself. "Come and get me you bastard!" he yelled. Slowly he shut his eyes and went from one living hell to the next.