Chapter Thirty Three: Darkness of the Soul

Leah

I was swimming in darkness.

The black depths were like the deep trenches of the ocean, the inky liquid of my surroundings seemed almost tangible.

I had no sense of time or direction. I could have been there for a few short moments or an eternity. There was no east or west, up or down, not even a here or now.

There was only one sensation in that terrible black void.

Pain.

Shooting pain.

Pain raced through every bone in my body, every drop of my blood, and every ounce of my flesh, tearing my sinew from my organs.

Each new breath was laced with a throbbing fire that seemed to come at me from all sides.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I began to be able to sense the general direction from which the mind numbing sensations came. There were several points in the onyx sea that seemed to be the source, each radiating pain in the way that a pot belied stove radiates heat.

Though thought was a slippery demon at best, I sought to adhere to the only coherent impression that existed, the pulsating patches of awareness. I gradually began to realize that the various pains were different parts of my body.

My head.

My chest.

My shoulder.

My leg.

Even my best attempts at thought were nearly useless, slipping away like sand through my fingers.

"Leg? Head?" I puzzled. "Body? Is that a body? Is that my body? Do I have a body? Where am I?"

"Uncle Bliant, come quickly! I think …" A watery voice ebbed away from me. It sounded familiar, but like everything else, the voice faded as well.

Eric

Frustrated, I stood up from the organ.

No music would come. Mozart had no hold on me tonight, in spite of his usual residence within my fingers.

No, not even music, my sole cohort and comforter, would allow me to avoid what I had done.

I wandered over to the gleaming leather of my favorite chair and flopped ungracefully into its black embrace. Neither the crackling blaze in the ornate fireplace before me, nor the warm carpet under my bare feet, did anything to thaw my chilled limbs. I felt cold, frozen to the bone by the repercussions of my deranged actions.

"What possessed you?" I accused myself aloud, no longer able to conceal the thoughts that were silently corroding inside me.

"Four children, injured by your murderous hand Eric. Brilliant! Brillant de merde!"

It would be a long, lonely while before little Christine would hear the voice of 'the angel' in the darkness again.

She and Leah had both been rushed to St. Elizabeth's Hospital as soon as the dust had cleared. In the chaos, I had failed to catch even the faintest glance of either of them. It ate at me, the fact that I did not know anything of their conditions.

"Imbecile! Why did you go to such lengths? You are a mardekeh, and ten kinds of a fool! It would have gone swimmingly if you hadn't pulled the rope! They were frightened enough of a little paint."

A log snapped in the fire, sending out a spray of hot sparks. A particularly large one landed amidst the dark stubble on top of my foot. It singed the skin for a moment, before dying away.

Even the fire seemed to distain me.

Dark thoughts began to cloud the edges of my consciousness, seeking to justify my stupidity.

And I began to let them.

"Well, at least they won't soon forget the terror of their 'phantom', now will they?"

Those idiots were mine to do with what I pleased. Even the staunch Galen had had to bow to my superiority. I would never have to pull such a stunt again. From now on, I would stick to mental manipulations and simple tricks.

Wouldn't I?

"After all, it was only a few little ballet rats. Why should I restrain myself for their sakes?"

Before the phrase had escaped my lips, I knew it to be a lie.

Why did I care for them at all? Who were they to tie their little strings to my soul? I had abandoned such frivolities long ago.

And yet, the truth of the matter was undeniable. I cared for them.

Despite all sound reason and every logical iota in my possession, I felt a connection to them. Neither affection, nor any closely associated emotion. No, merely curiosity and empathy.

But still, those trivial feelings were dangerous enough. Perhaps it was provincial that they had been removed from my domain for a time. Perhaps I was being granted a reprieve in which to disassociate myself from them.

"Yes, of course!" I growled sarcastically. "God must be providing for my wellbeing."

A cruel grimace grew on my face at the thought, as I briefly closed my eyes. I strained to put the entire day out of my mind.

Failing miserably, I hefted my slack body from its seat and went in search of some vodka.

Leah

Pinpricks of light.

I was in a tunnel of some kind.

Hadn't I heard of this before? A memory stirred within me somewhere.

Someone had told me that this was what you saw as you died.

Died! No! I was not prepared to die! I still had so much I wanted to do!

I wanted to see the sunshine, to eat a chocolate candy, to hold Tina, and pray with Beth. I wasn't ready to go!

"Please, God! Not yet!" I screamed silently. The effort made the lights dance in front of me. "I want to dance again! I want to earn a spot on the playbill! I want to be in the spotlight, just once before I go. Please don't take me so soon!"

Perhaps God heard me, or perhaps I misread the signs. To this day I do not know.

I like to think that it was God.

The little stars began to meld together, forming a bright window with fast fading edges. I blinked slowly, realizing that I was waking up. The sight that greeted me was the most welcome one possible.

Beth lay sprawled over a tiny wooden chair. A ball of yarn and a pair of knitting needles lay at her feet. Her head was tipped back, and she was snoring quietly.

I was reclining in a bed of some kind. The coverlet was rather thin, and I felt chilly. My head ached, and every blink of my eyelids seemed to further irritate it.

Unfortunately, I could ascertain no more of my settings. My vision was terribly blurred, and I could not make out anything that stood at a greater distance than that of Beth's chair.

Where was I?

What was wrong?

I endeavored to lift up my head, but movement seemed impossible. All I received for my efforts was a jolt of anguish from the tender spot on my head.

"Beeeth?" I called loudly. She was a very deep sleeper. I was surprised to hear my own voice, slow and slurred like a jar of molasses.

She gave a gigantic twitch, as though stung by a bee in the arse. "Wha….? Oh! Leah!"

"Beeeth whur em Iye?" I nearly whimpered. The volume of my call and of her reply did little for my immobile head.

She quickly kneeled beside me. "Shh dear, don't try to talk. You are at St. Elizabeth's."

She smiled at the look of shock that must have painted my face. "You had quite the fall. I bet your head is foggy from the drugs, no?"

"Whud appund? Whud's rowng wid meee?" I garbled, hating the throb that punctuated each grumble.

"What did I tell you about talking young lady?" She laughed. "You fell from the rafters, remember? You hit your head, broke a rib, and sprained your ankle badly."

My eyes grew wider still.

"Don't worry Leah. Everything will heal, just give it a bit of time. Besides, my uncle is taking good care of you."

"Ooncul?"

"Oui, my Uncle Bliant. He is a doctor here. You will be fine."

She her bright smile faded suddenly, and there was an awkward silence as she fidgeted and wrung her hands, avoiding my gaze.

"Leah, there's one other thing … Lord, I don't know how to tell you this …"

"You won't be able to dance again"

Author's Notes: mardekeh is a mild Persian cuss word, translating roughly as worthless man.

Brillant de merde! Is French for f-ing/bloody brilliant!

Carmen is one of the most brilliant operas ever written, and it did have its debut at the Garnier. Its first season was indeed a terrible flop, as it was a radical treatment of the traditional form of opera that was popular at the time, opéra-comique. It was revived eight years later, again at the Garnier, and finally got the success it deserved.