Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay
To mould me Man, did I solicit thee
From darkness to promote me?...John Milton, Paradise Lost
Chapter Eleven: Scraps
Victor
I have had a tedious day. One of my patients is a woman of middle age that complains endlessly about the sanitarium. I placate her once again with promises, and my jaw aches from holding a fictitious smile. The cow should have to suffer the kind of rooms I lived in while performing my experiments to understand what it truly is to be miserable.
Working in solitude, I could trust no one with the knowledge of what I was doing. The professors had spurned my ideas and chastised me for questioning rebirth for the dead. The fools; we live in the self proclaimed age of the enlightenment. How could they not see what an achievement my work would be?
Educated men now toil at the forefront of science. Each day brings discoveries about the true nature of life. We grow closer to eradicating disease. My name should stand at the head of those men. While they toil away in structured communities, I burst forth and wrote my own vision of man. My work should stand as an inspiration.
Michael
I read another chapter in my book. This will make the fifth time I have read Milton's work. Paradise Lost is the story of the war of heaven, the revolt of Lucifer and his host of the fallen being cast into the lake of fire. Cursed to suffer in hell, he goes out to beguile Adam and his mate, taking a kind of small revenge upon them.
The first time, I found myself taking the part of Adam, turned out of my Eden for my disobedience. The next time I read it, I was Lucifer. I stood cursing the divine, planning on ways to make mankind suffer for my rejection and lonliness. As I read it this time, I take the part of Michael, archangel and leader of the host against Lucifer. My little wife has innocently given me a role to play along with the name she chose for me.
Victorious warrior, I am the appointed who will bind Satan and cast him down into the pit he has created by his sin of pride.
Therese
Thomas is rather subdued today. He tells me he could not sleep very well last night. I am sorry that I have laid my burden at his feet.
Going about my work, Victor has been watching me. This makes me nervous, I start looking behind me as I go out to one of the outer buildings and come back. I peek outside of doors to see if someone else is around. I worry that I will miss something, and someone Victor has hired will take me away.
How long would it take before someone would notice? Would the staff tell anyone? Would Thomas look for me, or assume that I was busy elsewhere? I am chased by shadows, haunted by sounds, and pursued by my own dread.
In the late afternoon I was sent to get the clean sheets and bring them into the main building to stock up the linen closet. The closet was locked, and I had to find Frau Radmacher and tell her that the key seemed to have been misplaced. Leading me to the closet, she lifts her weighty ring of keys from her apron and unlocks the door. I work inside, stacking the shelves when there is a click, and the door closes. Someone turns down the lantern on the shelf, and we are alone in the darkness.
Thomas
One of the staff brings me my mail for the day. The papers from London and Paris, several missives from my solicitors and the steward who watches over my property are included. The item I sent for waits in an unopened box.
Therese
I stand absolutely still. I try to picture the dimensions of the room. How far is the door? And more importantly, who is between it and me?
"Therese," I hear a whisper.
I swallow, deciding if I should answer. I try to keep my breathing quiet.
"Therese." A light touch skitters over my arm.
I am frightened. More than that, I am angry. Fear brings back to me flashes of the face of the man who stabbed me. His lips twisting into an ugly sneer as he backhanded me. The feeling of how helpless I was against his strength. I cannot stomach the helplessness.
Someone's breath moves tendrils of my hair on my neck. The light touch turns warm against my skin and very soft. The hand travels down my arm, and down to my apron, pushing something inside of the pocket.
Soundlessly the door is opened a crack. A shadow moves between me and the light on the other side. I see her open the door and leave, allowing the door to let in some light.
I rush to the door, wedging my basket in it in case someone tries to close it on me again. My breathing unsteady, my shaking hand turns up the lantern.
Thomas
I tell the staff I shall dine in my room. When I give this instruction, it is Therese who usually brings me a tray with a covered plate upon it. Tonight, I am surprised to see Frau Radmacher bringing the tray. I keep my smile in place, but needn't have bothered. The Frau is immune to my charming airs. She is as cool as the plain grey gown she wears. She turns to leave with a stiff nod to me.
Since my accident I spend a lot of time looking at the lives of other people. What kind of life must she have had? I try to picture a happy child, a blushing young woman, a dutiful wife. Were her smiles erased by the burdens of her life, or are they merely subdued by her dedication to her work.
After I dine, Therese finally comes to my room. She looks as if she has witnessed an apparition, her skin looking pale and her eyes bright. I worry that something has happened, "Are you all right?"
With a curt nod she tells me, "I am going over to the abbey tonight."
"Are you sure, lass? It's freezing out there."
"I have to see Michael," she gets up and checks my window. Her movements are agitated.
"Therese," I say rolling forward to grasp her fingers. "I don't think it is a good idea for you to leave the building. It's been snowing; someone might notice the tracks to the abbey." More than noticing the footprints, I worry that someone might be waiting a chance to snare her and remove her from here. I can hope to do nothing from my chair, and Michael has to be careful not to be seen.
She glances outside again, brow furrowed and I know she worries for Michael. "Here," I say, offering her the box. "It's a gift for both of you." She opens it and lifts out the pair of dark tinted spectacles. She rewards me with one of her heart melting smiles.
Therese
I take the tray back to the kitchen from Thomas' dinner. I can hardly contain my excitement to meet with Michael and tell him all that has transpired today.
Going towards the hall to my room from the kitchen, Victor steps out and takes my arm. I could resist him, but I don't think causing a scene would be any good for either of us right now. He pulls me closer to him and tells me to follow him to his study.
As we reach the end of the hall, Frau Radmacher steps out of one of the doors. "Therese! I need that hot water!"
I stammer a confused apology. Victor eyes the two of us. She makes a dismissive gesture and walks towards the kitchen, "Come on. I might as well go with you and make sure you bring it this time," she huffs.
I turn and follow her, away from Victor. I will not return to him if I can help it.
Following the Frau, we go to the kitchen and she swings the door closed, her hand braced on the door jamb. She tsks, "Get a pan of water and follow me back."
I nod and go to work. I hardly know what to think of her actions.
"It's enough that he visits Astrid." She gives me a penetrating look, "Stay clear of him, Therese. He's got a wife, let him sleep with her."
I do as she says. Nothing would please me more than to not have to deal with him at all. I follow her to one of the patient's rooms. We give the man a bed bath, and leaving go our separate ways.
Waiting momentarily in the dimmed lights of the hall, I go to my room. Despite Thomas' warning, I grab my patched coat. Stuffing my arms into the coat I move quietly to the doors, and out to the abbey.
Michael
From below the loft, I hear the faint movement of the old door. Looking down over the edge, I see it is Therese. I meet her at the stairs, "You shouldn't come out in the cold, Therese."
She smiles, "It's not that far. I'll soon warm up."
We toss her coat over one of the crates in the loft, and I lead her to my pallet. She has food for me; bread with a wedge of cheese and some apples.
"I have something for you. I could have given it to Thomas, but I am sure that you could read it to me." She offers me a small folded piece of paper. The scrap looks to be torn from the corner of a book, the words scrawled in a crabbed hand. One word draws my attention. Sebastian.
The French speak of a phenomenon called simply Déjà vu. I get a rapid flash of images. I see my wife's face, her eyes filled with passion. I can feel her body against me, she moans, "Sebastian." Again, my attention is drawn elsewhere; I am addressed by a chorus of voices, a miasma of ghostly faces. I hear the echo of a voice and realize it is Therese who has spoken.
She turns her head a little, the unspoken question in her eyes.
Therese
He has the oddest look about him. His fingers loosely hold the scrap of paper I brought to him. His brows are down and his lips are a flat line. "What . . ." The intensity of his eyes as they move to me makes me afraid.
He blinks like a sleeper who is clearing dream cobwebs from their mind. "It's my name," he says in a toneless voice.
I feel as if someone has invaded my stomach with fingers of ice. "What do you mean? Are you saying she knows who you were?" I remember her lovely face, the intense look in her eyes as she leaves me behind in the darkened linen closet.
My question snaps him out of his reverie, "Who gave you this?"
His steps pursue me as I back away; his hand is a blur as he snatches my wrist. His anger is like a fierce wind, enveloping me as I step back from him. Grasping my forearms he leans over me, "Who gave you this, Therese?" His voice is like stone grinding against stone.
Once again I am afraid. I feel the anger well up inside me. I twist my arm, trying to pull it out of his grip. I turn my face up to his defiantly, "Let me go, Michael."
He releases my hand. "My name is Sebastian."
My thoughts race, anger still colors my voice, "No it isn't." I turn away from him and wrap my arms around myself. "Remember what you told me, here, not long ago?" Turning back to him, he is looking down his nose at me, an arrogant man I have never met before. "You said we were dead to the world we came from. You said we could never go back."
"You can't," he replies haughtily. "I had a life." His teeth grind, "I had a future."
Michael
As my words die in the air between us, I can see the color leaving her face, her mouth turns grim. "How dare you." She sounds as if she is choking on something.
"How dare you speak to me like that!" A look of injured anger suffuses her face. "I'm just some silly village girl, is that it? I got my hands dirty pulling turnips from the ground and feeding the goat. There's no future in that is there except to toil and birth a handful of children. You lived in a house with a wife, and that gives you a future?"
I make a slashing gesture, "I don't care. I want to know who gave you this paper, Therese."
Her look is appraising, "If you cared about anything you'd wonder why they gave it to me."
"Don't be stupid. They gave it to you knowing full well you knew where you could find me."
She stands so still I wonder if she has stopped breathing. Transmuted from flesh to stone the emotion drains from her eyes and I realize that I have hurt her. She is moving away from me. "Stupid," she repeats in a small voice. "Stupid dirty peasant girl."
I advance towards her, but she holds up a hand. "I came here to see Michael, not whoever you are. I don't like you."
Darkness closes at the edges of my vision. I reach out and snare her by the shoulders of her dress and pick her up. One of her hands closes on my wrist. A whirling storm of angry voices say my name. "Michael," her soft voice startles me. I realize what I am doing, and set her down on her feet slowly.
My hands smooth the shoulders of her dress down, descending over the soft swelling of her breast. I look at the scars that manacle one part of me to the other. "Oh, God."
I step to embrace her body and lift her in my arms. Retreating to my pallet, I lean my body against the wall and ease us down. Like the fox in the trap, she quivers under my hands. I hold her to me hoping the warmth of my ugly frame can once again warm her heart towards me.
"I'm sorry, Therese. I'm sorry."
Therese
I don't know which one of us is shaking harder. For my part it is relief which took hold as I saw the change in his eyes when I said his name. Whoever he thought he was, he had the presence of mind to recall who he is now.
"Why…Why did she do it?"
It takes him several tries to find his voice. He holds me so gently, and turns his face into my hair. "Who Therese?"
