A/N: Holy ess, you guys are awesome! I can't believe you're not mad at me for not updating for an eternity. And thank you so much for all your reviews. You're too nice. I'm actually kind of tearing up right now, so let's get this moving. Chapter six, woopah!
Disclaimer: Although I own all the characters, I can claim absolutely no credit for the plot, despite what little embellishments I've made. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is the true author of 'The Dying Detective'.
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Down the Rabbit Hole
a modern Sherlock Holmes fanfiction
by Wakizashi
Chapter Six: The Queen of Hearts
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"Of all ruins, that of a noble mind is the most deplorable."
- John H. Watson, M.D.
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"Rhodes! Come on, Rhodes, hurry up!" I shouted, my words puncuated by the sound of my fists hammering against the bathroom door. I felt physically ill with dread. "Rhodes, please hurry up, I need to talk to you!"
The door swung inward, and a thick cloud of steam wafted out, dampening my clothes. Rhodes stood irately in the doorway, his hair dripping and his shirt on backwards. "All right, Bridges," he said, his accent much stronger, as it usually was when he was annoyed. "What was it that was too important to wait for me to dress myself properly?"
I ignored his sarcasm as he withdrew him arms into his shirt and threaded them through their correct sleeves. "I'm sorry, but Ed Solomon stopped by while you were in the shower."
"Solomon?" Rhodes looked blank. "That's the urgent thing you needed to tell me?"
"No, that's not it," I replied, exasperated. "But while he was here, he told me about that case of yours three years ago. The one involving Laney's father."
He rose a black eyebrow. "Did he," he said evenly, walking past me into his bedroom. He seemed remarkably unconcerned. I followed him, pouring him a glass of water from the pitcher on the table as he sat down weakly on his bed.
"Yes, he did, and he also told me what happened to Laney's father." My gaze locked onto his as I handed him the glass. "He told me he was killed in a prison riot only two months ago." Rhodes gave no reply. "Why didn't you tell me?" I asked quietly.
He patted the bed next to him, and I took a seat. He took a long drink of water, then sighed with a shrug of his shoulders. "I don't know, Bridges, I suppose..." He exhaled heavily, as if he was short of breath. "I suppose it's because I don't enjoy thinking about the past, about my life before I met you. And I certainly don't enjoy talking about it."
I shook my head. "But the past is part of the present." He snorted. "What? Don't look at me like that. It's not just a tired old turn of phrase. You can't choose to forget something that's a piece of your life. Gerard LeFavre was a horrible man, and he deserved what he got. But still, he would probably be alive if you hadn't helped send him to prison." Rhodes gazed at me silently, his face unreadable. "And I'm afraid that Laney might feel the same way," I said in a low voice.
At this his expression grew guarded. "What are you talking about, Bridges?" he asked, his eyebrows drawn together.
I took a deep breath. God, this was hard. "Look. In the two years I've known you, I've learned how to put facts together, how to recognize danger. You taught me never to disregard something as seemingly insignificant as a hunch. Well, I have one now." Just say it, woman! I screamed in my head. "Rhodes, I don't think Laney is what she appears to be."
To my surprise, Rhodes smiled at me. "Well, I can definitely see I've taught you a little too well," he said, jokingly nudging my shoulder with his.
I frowned. "Rhodes, I'm serious. I think there's something going on in that woman's head that we don't know about, that we don't want to know about. You could be in danger."
He emptied his glass and shook his head. "Bridges, all our time working together has made you paranoid," he said, gently but firmly. "Not everyone has a sinister motive behind their actions. Laney was never attached to her father, and she was mortified by the things he did. She was all too relieved to see him behind bars."
"But after he died?" I pressed. "What about then? How do you know it didn't affect her to learn that her own father had been killed? She could have let it brew and fester in her mind until she could think of nothing but vengeance. Vengeance on the person that put her father in prison in the first place."
"Bridges, I know Laney," Rhodes insisted, becoming visibly impatient. "She doesn't harbor such debased thoughts."
"How?" I asked angrily. "How do you know? Nobody knows what secrets people keep, deep down in their hearts. Laney's father just died. And now she's dating you. Isn't it obvious what she's trying to do?" I scoffed. "God, I would have thought that you, of all people, wouldn't allow their feelings for someone to get in the way of pure logic."
Rhodes stood up indignantly, towering over me. "My feelings have nothing to do with it," he said in a biting voice. "And I do not appreciate my intelligence being insulted, Bridges, when your own thinking ability might be the one that needs to be considered."
Oh, that hurt. Rhodes and I had gotten into arguments before, but he had never openly insulted me. I felt like I had been stabbed. "You must really be blind," I said in a low, calm voice, rising slowly to my feet. "Don't you see that Laney has polluted your mind? She's got you wrapped around her perfect, manicured little finger - got you thinking everything she wants you to think, to the point that you would ignore the advice of your best friend."
"God, Bridges, if only you could hear yourself--"
"No, you should hear yourself, Rhodes! You sound absolutely, stark raving mad! Any idiot can see that you have nothing in common with that phony little primadonna. She's practically the opposite of everything you are. And may I remind you, she was the furthest thing from your mind earlier this morning, when you, shall we say, got a little carried away with your affection."
Rhodes' green eyes literally burned with humiliation and anger. "Now you know I wasn't thinking clearly, Bridges," he said defensively.
"Oh, and you're thinking clearly now?" I asked scornfully. "I don't understand you, Rhodes. If you care so much about me, why do you ignore me every time I try to help you?"
"Because I never asked you to help me!" he shouted.
The silence following this statement was deafening.
I felt a tear roll down my cheek, and I wiped it roughly away.
"Well, if you don't need me," I said softly, "then I guess I'll leave."
And I left.
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And I didn't come back for a very long time. I didn't call him. I didn't even pick up the phone when his number came up on the caller ID. I didn't want to see him, I didn't want to hear his voice, I didn't even want to think about him. He had hurt me; he had scarred me. And I couldn't forgive him.
I still loved Rhodes. Somehow, I still loved him. He had saved my life, had stepped in front of a bullet for me; how could I not love him? But I knew now that he didn't need me. He had never needed me. How had I fooled myself into believing that he did?
And despite myself, I did think about him. I loved him, I raged at him, I worried about him. I worried what might happen to him, whether his illness might progress, or whether Laney might do something to him. But I didn't tell him. What good would it do? He wouldn't have listened to a word I said.
Three days went by, then four. The phone calls from Rhodes stopped. One day, Laney came to my apartment. She told me that Rhodes was getting worse, and that he was becoming delirious. She pleaded with me to go see him. She told me that Rhodes kept asking about me, and saying that he was sorry for being so harsh with me.
I told her to tell him that I was sorry to disappoint him.
On the 31st of December I was invited by one of my fellow massage therapists to come to a New Year's Eve party, and to "bring your cute friend Rhodes with you." I told her he wasn't feeling well, and that I didn't feel like going out. She said she hoped Rhodes would feel better soon.
That evening, as I was making pasta while half-watching "Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve", I found a small, plain envelope while I was looking for the remote control. Frowning, I opened it and pulled out a brochure for Crystal Peaks Ski Resort and Lodge in Lake Tahoe, Nevada. Carefully tucked inside was a photograph of a stunning Appaloosa mare that was with foal. The foal that would be mine after it was born.
An agonized sob escaped me, and I slumped down onto my sagging couch. Rhodes had done so much for me. I had come to San Francisco friendless, and he had taken me under his wing. He had made me whole. He may not have needed me, but I needed him.
Turning off the stove and the television, I pulled on my shoes and coat and walked out the door. I raced down the stairs out onto the street, waving my arms maniacally for a taxi. The detail about Rhodes having a girlfriend, which had seemed like such an enormous obstacle, was now meaningless. I had to tell him how I felt about him.
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Tossing my fare to the taxi driver and hastily wishing him a Happy New Year, I stepped out into the frigid night and made my way up to the ornate iron gate that led into the quartet of brick buildings beyond. I walked inside, the gate squealing on its hinges, and stole across the courtyard, past the bald trees and silent fountain.
Racing up the steps to the front door of Number 3, I knocked and, getting no response, I tried the brass handle. It was locked, but I knew by the light in the upstairs window that the condo wasn't empty. Feeling unsettlingly like a cat burglar, I fished a keyring out of my purse and turned the copy Rhodes had made for me in the lock. I opened the door and stepped noiselessly into the dark living room, searching for the man I so dearly loved.
My heart pounding, I climbed the stairs and crept down the hall to his bedroom. A shaft of light was shining through a thin crack in the door, and I peered inside. Good: Laney was nowhere to be seen. I knocked lightly, and the door eased open.
Rhodes was lying in bed under the dim circle of light cast by an overhead lamp. His eyes, ringed by dark circles, were shining with fever and delirium, his face was unshaven, and his hair hung limp across his forehead. In his hands was an old book: 'Alice's Adventures Underground'. He was not reading it, but clutching it against his chest and staring listlessly into space.
As I entered, he looked at me and laid the book aside. "Bridges?" he said, his voice alarmingly faint.
In an instant I was kneeling at his bedside, my vision blurred with tears. I grabbed his cold, clammy hands in mine and brought them to my lips, kissing them again and again. I had prepared an entire speech to confess my feelings for him, and had gone over it a thousand times in my head. But at the sight of him, at the feel of his skin, all words fled from my mouth.
"Bridges," he murmured, stroking my face with his long fingers. "I'm so, so sorry."
I bent forward and laid my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, to the rhythm of his breathing. He rubbed my back, ran his fingers through my hair.
"I've been such a fool, Bridges," he said weakly. "I don't know why I let you think that I don't need you." He felt so frail underneath me. "I do need you," he breathed, his voice breaking as he wrapped an arm around me and held me tightly. "Ohhh, I need you so much, baby."
Tears streamed down my cheeks, and he brushed them gently away. "You will never know how much I need you, Nadia Lynn Bridges," he whispered. "I need you more than anyone else on this planet could possibly need you. I would not be here if it weren't for you."
Swallowing a feeling of apprehension, I looked up at him. He had a very grave expression on his face. "Before I met you," he said quietly, his hand moving slowly up and down my back, "I had no joy, no meaning in my life. My parents, my sister, were dead. I had to live every day with the knowledge that I was responsible for Alice's death. I..." His breath hitched in his throat. "I was going to kill myself."
I stared at him, aghast. It felt as if an icy hand had closed around my heart and had frozen the blood in my veins. I was too stunned even for tears. All my life, I had always thought of suicide as the coward's way out. But Rhodes had been so miserable that he had decided that dying would be better than living with his guilt. He must have felt so hopeless.
Then the realization hit me. If he had gone through with it, I would never have given him a second thought. I would never have gotten to know him, how wonderful and kind and generous he was. I would never have fallen in love with him. And I would never have known the difference.
Slowly, my head dropped against his chest again, and I began sobbing painfully.
"I had it all planned, the sleeping pills, everything," he continued over the sound of my weeping. "I knew no one would miss me, no one would care. And then I met you."
I was choking on my tears.
"Shhh, it's all right, baby," Rhodes whispered, his hand cupped against my cheek.
Getting up off the floor, I kicked off my shoes and crawled into bed beside him, clinging to his neck and entwining my legs in his. I cried into his shirt, and he held me patiently, tenderly, as he waited for my tears to subside. Eventually they did, and I was hit instead with a sudden overwhelming rush of affection, and gratitude to have him here with me. I placed my hands on both sides of his head, my fingers buried in his shaggy hair, and I kissed his sweat-slicked forehead, speaking for the first time since entering the room.
"I love you," I whispered.
His fevered eyes fluttered shut. When he opened them, he was smiling. "I love you, too."
My heart leapt into my throat at his words. He loved me. God in heaven, Ethan Rhodes loved me. I could have sprouted wings and flown out the window and over the city if I wanted to. But for the moment, all I wanted was to lie here in this crazy Van Gogh room in the arms of the most kind, unbearable, lonely, stubborn, wonderful, precious man I had ever known. And now, finally, I could.
After a long while, it could have been minutes or hours, Rhodes spoke to me. "I wish I could have said all this earlier," he mumbled feverishly, his face buried in my throat. I stroked his hair reassuringly. "Wish that... I could have had more time with you."
My hand froze in place.
"Two years... doesn't seem all that long, does it?" he continued deliriously, unaware that I had stopped breathing. "We're both so young, after all..."
"Rhodes," I said in a strangled voice. "What are you talking about?"
He sighed. "I was hoping to spend the rest of my life with you. But now... I'm not sure... how much longer that will be."
There was that icy cold hand again, ready to freeze my heart in my chest. No way this is happening, I thought fiercely. Not now. "Please, Rhodes, don't talk like that," I choked out, holding my hand to the back of his neck. "It really upsets me."
"I'm sorry," he murmured weakly, rubbing my back soothingly. "I don't mean to. It's just... There were so many things I wanted to do with you... So many things I wanted us to share." His voice was becoming fainter by the minute. "I... I wanted us to get married... to have children... We could have redecorated the spare bedroom..." He chuckled feebly. "Little... cowboys and horses everywhere."
"Shut up, Rhodes," I sobbed, clutching his shirt in my fists.
"Oh, Bridges." He lifted his head with a great effort and, whispering reassurances, began kissing me all over; my forehead, my eyes, my jawline, my throat. His breathing became quicker, heavier.
"Oh, Bridges," he said again, in an entirely different tone.
I had been waiting an eternity for this moment. And now, the moment had become so bittersweet that I could hardly bear it. Rhodes swept my hair back from my face, bent down until his lips were inches from mine. His nose brushed lightly against mine, and he released a shaky sigh and leaned forward.
And then a volley of furious knocking drifted up to our ears from below.
"Ethan? Ethan, it's me, Laney! I know you are awake in there!"
A string of florid curses flowed through my mind, and to my surprise I heard Rhodes utter a sharp profanity of his own. It was the first time in the history of our relationship that I had known him to swear. In his mouth, it sounded like a different language. "Did you lock the door behind you when you came?" he asked quietly.
I cringed. "No," I replied.
"She'll be coming up here any minute," he said to himself darkly. Suddenly he grabbed my arms with a strength that shocked me, considering his weakened condition. "Bridges, you've got to get out of here, right now."
"What?" I could hardly believe my ears. He really was delirious. "No, Rhodes, I'm not leaving you alone with her--"
"Then you've got to hide somewhere, before she sees you!" His eyes, which had been glassy and distant before, were now perfectly clear. "Please, Bridges, if you trust me, if you love me, you'll do as I ask!"
He was wild with fear. I had no idea what had so moved him. But I did trust him, and I did love him. Kissing him briefly on the forehead, I climbed off the bed and scanned the room quickly, looking for a place to hide. I heard the front door open downstairs, and without thinking, I dove under the bed and crawled as far back as I could, barely remembering to pull my shoes under with me.
"Don't move, Bridges," Rhodes whispered above me. "Don't make any noise. No matter what happens, do not come out unless I tell you."
Despite my confusion, I began to feel a growing dread. Delirious or not, Rhodes never did anything without good reason. Perhaps there was reason for his alarm now.
I felt the floor shake slightly beneath me, and I knew Laney was coming up the stairs. The footsteps were coming closer now, and as I breathed the dusty air through my nose, trying desperately not to sneeze, I heard the door creak open.
"Laney," Rhodes said weakly, as I watched a pair of high heels come toward the bed. "What are you doing here?"
I heard an overly exasperated sigh. "I came to see how you are feeling, silly," she replied good-humoredly. "So? How are you feeling?"
Rhodes sounded so faint, so exhausted, when he answered her. "I... I'm not... I don't... Not good," he ended, out of breath.
"I'm glad to hear it," Laney said calmly. My head shot up, and I almost hit it on the bed above me. "Because you are certainly taking a long time to die."
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A/N: "Hello. My name is Gislaine LeFavre. You killed my father. Prepare to die." Sorry, I had to do it. But oh man, this was the hardest chapter I've ever had to write, for any story. I got teary-eyed about fifty times, and I was the one writing it. But it's definitely the best chapter I've written, in my history of writing dumb little stories. Ohhh, jeez. Wow. I don't even care if no one agrees with me, I loved it. I loved every word of it. My personal favorite part was when Rhodes called Bridges "baby". It seemed, at least to me, like he had wanted to say it forever. But you don't have to listen to me rant about my own work. Leave a review, please, and tell me what you thought. What was your favorite part? What was your least favorite? Tell me everything. I hope it moved you as much as it moved me. And now, off I go to write chapter seven.
-Wakizashi