Chapter Twenty-Eight
(Meg is muttering angrily to herself)
RAEB: What's wrong?
Meg: What's wrong? I'm about to either burst into tears or laughter right now!
RAEB: Explanation?
Meg: My AP English teacher butchered my writing in front of the whole class! Apparently I'm too melodramatic!
JWJ: Does that surprise anyone?
Luke: Well… you are…
Meg: I know I am! But how do I fix it? Even these Author's Notes, despite their humor, are melodramatic!
RAEB: What do you care? Maybe that's your style.
Meg: (whining) But everybody laughed at me! Now I have to rewrite the paper and make is as melodramatic as possible just so she can get another good laugh out of it!
RAEB: Why?
Meg: Because my teacher told me to.
(RAEB bursts out laughing. Meg goes off to sulk.)
"Professor?"
Rose looked groggily around the flat. Ratigan was no where in sight.
"James?"
She got out of bed and stumbled to the table in the center of the room. She looked around the whole expanse of the flat. The chilling realization suddenly hit her: all of his belongings were gone. So was the valise.
She scanned the table, the nightstand. Nothing was there.
She searched the floor next to the bed, where she had let Jane Eyre drop from her hands the night before. Even the novel was gone.
Ratigan had left her, taking any trace of his existence with him.
She tried not to believe it at first. She refused to believe it. He has something important, something dangerous to do. He didn't want to risk my life. He'll come back when he's completed his task. He wouldn't leave me now.
Two weeks produced no sign of Ratigan. Three weeks and Rose succumbed to her inner demons.
What had she done to cause him to leave her without saying goodbye? What had she done wrong?
Rose blamed it on her simplicity, her unattractive looks, her inferior mind and her shy manner.
What a fool she had been, throwing herself on him like that!
How could she have not seen it coming?
I have described in detail the roller coaster of emotions Rose has gone through ever since she left her home that fateful evening in March 1896. Now, one and one half years later, she was experiencing the same set of evil fabrications that her impressionable mind was wont to feed off of. If he had never kissed her, perhaps she might have been able to handle his departure with less violence of thought.
She should not have given her heart to him so freely in the first place.
Rose had made plenty of mistakes in her life. Who has not? This shy, quiet girl only wanted to change the past, start her life from the moment she was born, and prevent any of the mistakes from ever happening.
She was at a loss as to what to do. She was not ready to make a new life for herself all by herself. She had already stepped out into the world once in her life, only to end up in that flat, alone and unwanted. Was she ready to sink even lower this time?
She had to leave the flat, leave the memories behind, so she went out looking for a job. She ended up at a newspaper office as a cleaning woman. She went to work at six in the evening, washing the floors on her hands and knees, taking out garbage, wiping the windows clean. She would stay until midnight or later most nights, and then walk back to the flat alone.
Rose took to her dull job to avoid the lonely nights of solitude, but the pain did not go away. Rather, it increased in the silence of the flat.
Sometimes on those walks home she wished that some drunken fool she met would do her some injury. Sometimes, instead of going back to that lonely flat she walked the streets of London until the early hours of the morning. Often she was mistaken for a prostitute by the few that remained on the streets at this time of the night. Many times she ran for her life. Afterward, when she was safe back in the flat above the opium den, she wished that she had not run. She wished that she was not alive.
It was the beginning of October. The air was cooler as the days grew shorter; the breeze had a certain nip in its caresses. Persephone took to her desolate abode in the world of the dead, leaving Demeter too distraught to continue working.
Rose, wrapped in an old shawl, walked the streets of the East End in the late afternoon recalling past memories. She watched the bustling people about her as they called out to each other in amiable tones, debating and laughing.
How she wished to be a part of that; to be lost in the blissful simplicity of companionship. She had alienated herself from contact with mere mortals, and now here she wanted to belong with their kind once more!
Inadvertently Rose began to sing softly to herself:
"Goodbye, so soon
And isn't it a crime?
We know by now that time knows how to fly
So soon
Goodbye…"
She sighed as another sting of pain ripped across her heart. You have to get over it! You cannot go on like this. It is like a thorn in your side, digging more deeply into your soul with each passing day…
She gave a start as a hand was placed on her shoulder. She turned around and gasped; the face looking back at her was that of Basil of Baker Street.
His face showed no expression as he murmured, "Mam'selle, I have a particular wish to speak with you. Will you come with me?"
Fear, the kind that knows that this situation can bring only misfortune, consumed Rose. A thousand thoughts of escape evaded her. She had previously dreaded such a meeting; now that it was here, she felt powerless to delay it any further. Today would determine her fate.
"Yes," she breathed.
Her legs turned to rubber as he released her and proceeded through the crowd. She followed him, wondering what was in store for her.
As she walked, she wondered at the sense of doomed relief she felt. His arrival was almost a reprieve from the black thoughts that constantly devoured her hours of solitude. It was a change from the ordinary humdrumness of her daily life. She lived in hiding from fear and contact with other mice; now her sins were to be brought to light. She faced prison, a trial, and execution; she was certain of it. She yearned for death, for what else was there left for her in this life?
In a few brief moments she resigned herself to her fate. Yes, death would be the better course. She would not have to do the deed now; the law would make certain of that.
Basil stopped at the gate to a cemetery. He held it open for Rose. Passing through, she recognized it as the exact place where Gregory Rogers now rested. She headed mechanically towards the spot where he lay. She heard the slam of the gate and Basil's rapid footsteps as he hurried to catch up with her.
The grave was further up the path. She stopped where she was and concentrated on the headstone of one Charles Fontaine, d. 1789. "So I suppose today's the Judgement Day," she said in a shaky voice.
The detective said nothing. Rose looked up at him; his arms were folded, as if he was waiting for something from her.
"How did you find me?"
"You have been living in that flat above the opium house for some time now," Basil stated.
She felt as if he was squeezing her heart. Had he found Ratigan?
"How long have you known?"
"For three weeks now. I've watched you leave that office for your home for several nights."
"You've had me within your very grasp."
"As a matter of speaking."
Rose held her wrists forward. "So you have me. Here I am; arrest me. I don't deserve to live in decent society. Handcuff me and take me to the Yard. We'll both get what we want: I a punishment and freedom from guilt; you your success."
Basil did not respond at first. Finally he said, "Miss McGeady, first explain to me why a quiet, tender, loving daughter who had full faith in God and basic morals decided to throw away all that she thought was good for evil."
She felt sick to her stomach. She did not have to answer him, but she sensed that a confession would purge her of her guilt. "Mr. Basil, I regret many things I have done in the past. Right now I'd rather be dead. I gave up everything for false goals, wrong emotions, love of evil…" here she thought of Ratigan. "I never wanted to be a bad person. I wanted to belong. I wanted to have something solid to hold on to.
"When I first met Professor Ratigan he threatened my life. I had to work for him…"
She began to explain her sordid history to the detective. She explained everything; how she degraded herself for this man, how he had used her at first out of convenience, and then out of her own free will. She explained the mysteries that Basil had not been able to unravel out of certain jobs; her contributions to those jobs, her continuing devotion to Ratigan, even when he had killed fellow thugs, and Scarlet…
Rose stopped, feeling as if she would crumble into pieces if she continued. Scarlet. Her only true friend. She had betrayed Scarlet. She had betrayed her family, her country, her Queen, her God.
She turned away as tears streamed down her face. What a vile, corrupt thing she had become!
She heard Basil shuffle his feet as he patiently waited for her to master her emotions. She took a few deep breaths. Then, turning back to Basil, she said, "I am sorry for all my sins. Please, take me to Mouseland Yard. I'm too weak to account for them by myself anymore."
Basil started to walk down the path. Rose followed him.
"When your father came to me back in March of 1896," Basil began, "he went right up to me, held out his hand, and said, 'I need you to find my daughter.'
"He did not strike me as a man of emotion, but I could see worry and grief in his eyes. One of the greatest disappointments of my career was to go back to him and tell him that his daughter was dead.
"And then, months later, you showed up on my doorstep. Miss McGeady, it is not easy for me to admit I was wrong, but you were solid proof of my error. Yet I would not allow myself to admit it. I reasoned that you wanted to remain dead in the minds of those you loved; you certainly had not made yourself known to them earlier, so I told myself that you were going back to your mother.
"Then Mouseland Yard picked you up the night of the Big Ben Caper. I heard one of the officials describe you. I knew that you had chosen to remain in London. I decided that I could rectify my wrong by identifying you and sending you home. It was not to be."
Basil sighed. "I knew after the Tower Bridge Job what had happened to you. I do not blame all of your problems on myself. You brought a great deal of grief to others on your own."
Rose nodded her head sadly. "I know," she whispered.
The light from the sun was fast waning as the air grew cooler. Basil stopped and examined one of the graves. Rose stared at the ground next to it.
"I have spoken with many of your former comrades, Miss McGeady. Most of them had a high opinion of you. They said that you could have been something great if you had only not gotten yourself entangled with Professor Ratigan."
A feeling of shame flowed like electricity through her veins. "Who said that?" she asked in disbelief.
"Dresner, Kilburn, Bill, Doonegan-"
"Doonegan was caught?" Rose interrupted.
"Yesterday. It had not yet been made public."
"And he thought I could be something great?"
"Yes, he did."
Rose had always been under the impression that Doonegan thought she was too young and immature to be of any use to anyone. The compliment filled her with hope and regret at the same time.
"I guess I can be nothing great now," she moaned.
"With that outlook you will never be," Basil said shortly. He paused, and then continued, "Miss McGeady, a life considered ruined by all can be resurrected into something better than it once was. It is not an easy task. Many obstacles will threaten to throw you down on the path you once followed, the low and debase one of your former life. It takes tremendous willpower to resist the ideals of your past: the degradation, the thoughts, the mannerisms, the corruption. Sometimes you will want to give up. Inspiration to change will not always come. You will ostracize yourself from others and think yourself not good enough to dwell with them. You may even consider ending your life.
"The struggle will be the most difficult one you will ever face in your life. However, you must continue to transform all that you once were in order to become all that you want to be. I won't lie; you will fight the battle for the rest of your life. There will be moments that you will consider the victory won. Then something will happen that will make you reconsider the power of your transformation; you will feel like you have gone backwards. The struggle will seem more hopeless than before
"You will repeatedly fight to reach the level of greatness you strive to achieve. You will sometimes fall. You will be disappointed in yourself, and tell yourself that you will never reach your goal.
"Strength comes in many different forms. Not everyone can find it in the exact same way. Eventually, you will find that strength to make the attempt again. You will be walking what was once familiar ground, now covered with more traps, obstacles, and dead ends.
"Not everyone makes it, Miss McGeady. You may not make it. But if you don't try, then you will never make it."
Basil stopped speaking. Rose felt indignant, upset, angry and ashamed. She wanted to change, but she wanted someone to walk her through it. She wanted it to be easy and simple and without trouble or pain. Hearing Basil speak of it, though, made her feel less certain than ever that she could ever remedy the malevolent person she was.
"Miss McGeady, I have decided that you are to be left alone. Testimony from Hiram and Olivia Flaversham, as well as those associated with Professor Ratigan, has convinced me that you were misled by him. Reviewing your history, I decided that you are no longer a danger to society now that he is gone. I have persuaded Mouseland Yard that you are no longer in London. They believe you have gone to America to find your family."
Rose felt as if she was dead. Basil had just destroyed her former self. She could be reborn if she chose to. She could get away.
"Mr. Basil?" she asked faintly.
"If you need help with anything in the future, you know where to find me," Basil said abruptly. "Good day, Miss McGeady."
He walked rapidly down the path to the cemetery gate. Rose watched him until he disappeared from sight, and then looked around at the deserted cemetery around her.
Her meeting with Basil felt like a dream now that he was gone. Had it actually happened? Had he actually offered her a chance at redemption?
Did she want redemption?
Rose sat in the lonesome flat, listening to the sound of the wind whistling through the eaves. What a desolate evening to accompany a forlorn soul on the journey towards salvation… or damnation.
She knew what she wanted; she wanted a reason to live. She wanted a destiny. She wanted an existence… with Ratigan.
She, however, was troubled by the fact that perhaps that was not what she truly needed.
What did she need? What was the best course for her? What road was she to take now?
She took a deep breath. "Be strong, Rose. You must be strong. You must be strong. You must be strong…"
She repeated the words as if they were an incantation, hoping to draw some comfort from them. But Rose had never felt so vulnerable in her life. It was as if the world, even Nature, even God himself were against her. She was anything but strong.
But still she spoke those words to the air.
"You must be strong…"
Why had this particular burden been placed upon her? Why could not some other person determine her path, her fate, for her? She wanted a direction, but she did not want the responsibility of taking it and possibly failing. She had been content following Ratigan wherever he had led her. And now he was no longer here to guide her.
"Why, God? Why this, why me?" she demanded, looking up at the ceiling. "Why did this have to happen to me? I'm weak; you know that. You abandoned me; left me to fend for myself. I had no one to turn to—no one but him. And now he's gone…"
Her eyes fell. She knew better than that. No one had abandoned her; she had abandoned everything herself.
She sat in silence, a thousand thoughts spinning through her head. She played the story of her life from the beginning, hoping to find something to hold on to, some memory that showed that she could pull herself out of this situation. All she found were the parts of her past, now shattered into a million pieces. She had neither the ability nor the will to put them back together; they were too small to touch. She had lost hold of everything.
She said once more, "You must be strong." She stopped. There was no power to the words as long as nothing was done to change her current status.
She massaged her eyes. Where was she to go from here?
Rose awoke the next morning.
"What if I…"
She shook her head. It was too improbable; most likely impossible. Besides, she would lose what pride she had left in herself.
The idea persisted. Rose went to work turning the thought over in her head. Why not? What could prevent her? She was as free as she could expect to be. This could be her only chance at starting over…
By the time she reached the flat early that morning, she had made up her mind.
She would do it.
Lizz: This is very melodramatic.
Luke: Yeah, I thought you were trying to get away from this melodrama stuff, Meg.
Meg: I never said that.
RAEB: But you were just upset because your teacher told you that you were too melodramatic.
Meg: Yeah, but then I thought long and hard about it, and I came to the realization that pretty much every single fiction writer is melodramatic: Edgar Allen Poe, the Bronte sisters, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens. Even our good friend Arty Conan Doyle had his moments of melodrama in his writing.
Luke: Well, I think you need to lighten up. This story is really starting to drag with all the melodrama.
Meg: I'm working on finishing it, don't worry.
JWJ: How many more chapters?
Meg: Three. Well, two, and then an epilogue.
JWJ: YES! I'LL FINALLY BE FREE! (runs off)
Meg: I resent that! Grrr… I need to kill him one of these days.