When Fate is Denied
Ch. 3 – Between Life and Death
Within moments, the familiar care-worn face of the Persian appeared at the door. Erik's face belied his relief, though his words were clipped and impatient. "An overdose of some sort of medication, Daroga." Nadir raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He could sense Erik's deep agitation, and knowing his friend as he did, he was aware that any words that were not strictly necessary in such a situation were best left unsaid. His dark eyes fell upon the woman on the bed, and understanding dawned.
When the maid had come beating at his door, she had said only that a woman had been found unconscious and that the master had ordered her to fetch him and a substance that would induce vomiting. After the Persian's many adventures with Erik, a good deal of them regrettably violent and vastly bizarre, such a thing hardly surprised him anymore, though many would think it the oddest of requests.
Still, as he had dug frantically through his trunk for the particular green bottle he was searching for, he had thought it strange that Erik had allowed the woman into his home instead of simply sending a servant to fetch a doctor or the authorities. Erik was normally intensely private and deeply mistrustful of strangers, not without cause. But to befriend Erik had always been to befriend a riddle, an endless paradox. And to question his requests was not only potentially hazardous to one's health, but frequently futile as Erik seldom divulged his reasons anyway. Grasping the bottle triumphantly in his large and calloused hand he had flown up the staircase, his hastily donned robe billowing behind him.
Standing now in the lamplight, staring down at the young face and chestnut curls, he knew at once who the woman must be and all the pieces at last fell into place. "She has vomited once already?" he asked.
"Obviously," Erik snapped gesturing toward the stain on the expensive rug below the bed.
Nadir did not take offense at his ungrateful tone. He could see his friend was deeply upset and Erik tended to react with similar irritability to any situation which upset his carefully constructed universe.
The Persian stepped closer to the bed and laid a gentle, copper hand upon the woman's forehead. Her skin was clammy to the touch, rather than feverish which would seem to support the idea of an overdose or poisoning of some kind.
His dark, wise eyes turned to his friend. "How can you be certain that it was an overdose of medication and not poison? If she has been poisoned, vomiting might worsen her condition."
Erik hesitated for a moment, then lifted Christine's right wrist for the Daroga's inspection. "There is a matching one on the other wrist." Nadir inhaled sharply and nodded, uncorking the green bottle in his hand. He inclined his head toward the young maid in the doorway. "Its effects will be almost immediate."
Erik understood. "Patrice, bring the wash basin from the next room and many more clean towels." As she hastened to fetch them, Erik drew in a deep breath and nodded to Nadir, reaching a hand up to gently pinch Christine's nostrils together in order to force her to open her mouth. Nadir poured about a quarter of the liquid inside the bottle down her throat, then moved to take the wash basin from the shaking servant girl at the door, closing it behind her.
Erik released his hand from Christine's nose, and moved onto the bed beside her, gently drawing her into a sitting position in front of him and leaning her slight form against his chest. A faint shudder of electricity passed through his body at the unfamiliar intimacy of the contact, but he brushed it aside impatiently, focusing instead on Nadir's grave expression as he covered the bed with towels and placed the wash basin in the center of them.
The eyes of the two friends met for a moment. This would be a very long night.
Two hours later, the two exhausted men waited outside the door of the room as the doctor examined Christine inside. The Persian stood leaning against the wall, staring at the ceiling, while Erik had chosen instead to pace restlessly up and down the long hallway.
Hearing the sound of the door, Erik turned and quickly retraced his steps to face the doctor. He appeared weary and haggard from the ordeal, but his eyes as intense as ever. "She will live?" The question was short and to-the-point, but awaiting that one word answer, he felt as if his own life hung into balance as well.
The doctor, a graying man in his late fifties smiled gravely. "Yes, monsieur, I believe so."
Erik closed his eyes briefly and released a relieved breath. The doctor looked from him to the Persian. "You most definitely saved her life, though I am rather mystified as to how you did it."
The doctor took in the dark skin and foreign looking dress of the man to his right and he gave an involuntary shudder. He was uncertain what kind of voodoo concoction the young woman had been given, but the end result had been a near miracle so he could hardly deny his begrudging acknowledgment of the man's skill. Nadir merely bowed his head briefly in reply.
The doctor turned back to Erik, sensing somehow that he was the man responsible for the girl, at least for the moment. "The cut on her head was quite deep, but I have cleaned it thoroughly and stitched it as best I could; however, it is possible that it may leave a permanent scar." Erik winced. Christine's face had always been flawless. It was sad to think of anything marring that perfection.
The doctor continued. "I have given her a strong sedative to help her sleep through the night, and I have left a prescription to help her get through the first few days of her recovery."
His knowing eyes sought Erik's and he dropped his tone to one of discretion, turning slightly from the foreign-looking man. "Sir, I am not sure if you are aware, but this woman, I believe she is the Vicomtesse de Chagny. Do you have any idea how she came to be in such a state?"
Erik's mouth set in a grim line and his eyes immediately flashed a dangerous warning.
The doctor drew back startled at the man's suddenly imposing form.
Erik kept his tone even, but there was a hint of a threat in his voice when he responded. "Good sir, you are paid to provide medical advice and not advice of a personal nature. The woman turned up bleeding and unconscious on my doorstep. Would you rather I had left her there to die?"
The doctor cringed at the harshness of the words and hastily tried to explain himself. "Of course not, I simply wondered if you were aware of her identity so that you would be able to notify her husband of her whereabouts. I am certain he will be worried..."
At the growing look of thunderous anger rolling over the already intimidating face of the man before him, the doctor shrank back and trailed off uncertainly.
Once again, however, Erik managed to control himself, dropping his voice to a low growl. "Has it ever occurred to you, monsieur, that her husband might be the reason why she turned up here tonight in such a state?"
The doctor nodded hurriedly, reaching for his coat and hat. As he turned to leave, Erik handed him a rather thick-looking envelope. The doctor reached for it, but Erik did not release it immediately, forcing the doctor to meet his icy, threatening eyes. "For your services...and your silence," Erik hissed. The doctor once again nodded hurriedly and fled quickly down the stairs, wondering briefly what madness he had somehow stumbled into this night.
