When Fate is Denied
Ch. 2 - Questions Left Unanswered
Erik stood staring for a moment. Part of him wished fleetingly that he could just close the door and she would disappear, but he quelled the feeling of vague impending doom in favor of more practical matters as he noticed a pool of blood forming on his marble floor. He had no time just now to think of the ramifications of his actions. Fear and instinct immediately took over as he bent down to lift her from the doorstep.
Even with her heavy, water-soaked clothing, Erik noticed with concern that she weighed practically nothing. He looked down into the unconscious face resting against his shoulder and saw that the blood seemed to be coming from a nasty gash on her forehead: a token of her fall against the stone of the doorstep, no doubt. With relief, he noted that while ugly and deep, it did not appear at first glance to be life-threatening.
He repositioned her body slightly in his arms and began up the long staircase to the second floor. Henry appeared at the top of the stairs.
"I will need some warm water and clean towels. See if you can find some antiseptic." Erik kicked open the door of the nearest bedroom to his right. "Oh, and wake one of the maids and see if you can procure some sort of women's nightdress."
Henry raised an eyebrow, but Erik's patience had reached its limits. "I am certainly not going to ravish her while she's unconscious. Think, man! I can't leave her in this. She will die of pneumonia! Now for God's sake, hang your sense of useless propriety and find a maid who can help me tend to her!"
Henry broke quickly from his momentary hesitation and hurried to fulfill his master's requests. Far from doubting Erik's intentions with the woman, he had merely been surprised to find that he had actually allowed her into his home and appeared concerned for her well being. It wasn't that his master was unkind exactly...it was just that he seldom demonstrated any sort of emotion at all, aside from his occasional tempers and ever-present irritability. Somehow, this tiny, helpless creature on the doorstep had managed to bring out more humanity in five minutes time than he had seen from this cold, mysterious man over the past five years.
Henry hardly had time to ponder this revelation at the moment. His arms were full with the requested supplies, as he rushed down the hall to the servants' quarters. As he hurried past each door, he tried to imagine the measurements of the female servants contained within, hoping desperately to wake the one who would be the closest fit. He finally settled on the third door and rapped anxiously.
Moments later, with a confused and rather drowsy young maid trailing behind him clutching an extra nightdress, he once again ascended the stairs. The door was part way open and a patch of light spilled out into the dim hallway. His arms too full to knock properly, Henry hesitantly stepped inside.
The sight that met his eyes only served to deepen his confusion. The woman's face was visible now in the lamplight. Henry observed her cautiously. She was young and obviously very lovely despite the ugly gash along her right temple and her long, matted curls.
Unaware of Henry's presence, Erik sat gently wiping the blood away from her face with a clean, damp cloth. What struck Henry immediately was the gentleness of his hands and the sad, tender look in his eyes as he gazed down at her. In an instant, Henry was certain that this was no random woman seeking shelter from a stranger. It was obvious that his master not only knew her, but cared for her deeply. Strange, in all his years of service and despite the fact that there had been several women draped on his master's arm during that time, he had never once seen him with anything like that particular look upon his face.
Henry cleared his throat awkwardly, hoping to alert his master to his presence without revealing his observations. "The items you required, sir." He motioned to the hesitant young woman in the doorway. "Patrice has come to assist you, and she has the item of clothing you requested." Sensing that some privacy was needed, he deposited the items on the bedside table and turned to leave. "We will wait outside the door until you call for us."
Erik nodded and reached silently for a clean towel and the basin of water. Dipping the soft cloth into the warm water, he wrung it out and carefully began to clean the angry wound on her temple. It was deeper than he had originally thought, he noticed with a worried frown. From the depth of the cut and the angle, he guessed that she must have fainted somehow, turning as she fell so that the right side of her forehead met the edge of the stone steps, causing the long, horizontal laceration. He looked at her palms, but as there were no scrapes or imbedded pebbles, it seemed obvious she had made no attempt to break her fall – further evidence that she had likely been unconscious prior to the unfortunate meeting of her head with the step.
He moved his hands gently down the length of her arms, trying to determine if there were any broken bones. As his thumb probed the area around her wrist, he was troubled to feel a raised, horizontal ridge. He lifted her arm gently and turned it palm-up to the light, examining it more closely. The ridge was in fact a scar: a straight white line crossing the faintly evident blue veins beneath her delicate, pale skin. Startled, he exchanged her right wrist for her left, again holding it palm-up to the light. A perfect matching horizontal scar met his horrified eyes.
Erik's mind raced. What on earth would make Christine desire to take her own life? And why in God's name had she fainted on his doorstep just now? With sudden fear gripping his entire body, he looked down at her face once again, and noticed the extreme pallor of her skin. Her breathing seemed increasingly shallow and labored. The hand he held in his own was shaking slightly, even though its owner was obviously unconscious. Suddenly, her whole body convulsed, her tiny form twisting and thrashing onto its side where she retched violently.
Shaking, convulsions and vomiting, the marks on her wrists...Erik's eyes widened in horrified understanding.
"Henry!" At the sound of his name and his master's urgent tone, Henry stepped quickly inside the room. "Fetch the doctor immediately. I don't care if it is the middle of the night, I will pay him ten times what he requires and more if he hastens." Harry nodded and rushed out the door. Erik's eyes then turned to the frightened young maid still standing uncertainly in the hallway. "We need something that will force her to vomit. Wake up the Daroga, and explain the situation, quickly."
As the maid scurried down the hall, Erik sat down once more by Christine's side, gently wiping the vomit and fresh blood from the once healthy, radiant face. If his fears proved to be warranted, her very life now rested with his trusted friend, for the doctor would most certainly never make it in time.
Staring down at her youthful, innocent face he tried to fathom what could have gone so horribly wrong to bring her to this. He had been so certain that she would be happy and well looked after with the vicomte, despite his own bitter hatred of the man. Erik lowered his head and tears filled his eyes. He was ashamed that he had not been there to protect her from whatever force had driven her to this madness. True, she had betrayed him cruelly, but even so, he had sworn he would always be her angel, caring for her and watching over her. He should have kept his promise, no matter the pain it would have caused him. Erik was angry at his weakness. His own pain meant nothing to him compared to hers. How could this have happened? His tear-stained face lifted to search hers. Why, Christine? He thought in anguish. Why?
