Riiight... No promises, no nothing, there's no excuse. I'm just sorry that I'm keeping you and me waiting. If there's still anyone reading, that is. If you are, I applaud you.

So much has happened. We got ourselves a movie in between my last update and this one. I haven't seen the movie yet, though.

I hope you enjoy this chapter to some degree. I'm not too fond of it, but I'm hoping that I'll just get this and the next two out and then I'll finally be done with the first part of the story and I'm hoping the next part will be easier to write. I don't know why it's taking me so long. And I've told you there's two parts, right? If not: There are two parts. Yay!

Anyway, on with the chapter.

Take care everyone and please leave a comment. If not that's okay too. I'm not gonna start pressuring you guys with a number of reviews I want before an update. You don't deserve that and I couldn't go through with that anyway.

Disclaimer: Characters: not mine. Some views expressed in this chapter: not mine. Plot: Mine, I think. But who knows? Maybe someone's writing something similar? As far as I know, though, this is my idea.

12 Charles

"Meningitis" they call it. What a name. Who comes up with names like this one? Who goes around thinking: "Look. There's a lethal condition of which I know next to nothing about, that is fully capable of eliminating humankind. What a great thing. I'll call it 'Meningitis'." Who does things like that? It might just be humans inventing and creating diseases by giving them names, not diseases being discovered and then named. A hundred years ago, there was no such thing as a meningitis, there simply wasn't, because we hadn't given a name to it. Consequently, no one would have suffered or died from a meningitis. But now… Now there's a name, now there's one more disease that ends people's lives rather abruptly, now there's one more thing to fear in a world that's growing ever scarier. Elsie always says that inventions are good and that I should embrace change, but isn't this a bad thing? Weren't we better off without this thing?

He was diagnosed right when everyone had been sure that he was getting better. One day, he was sitting up in bed with a headache, the next day he was unconscious again and they were trying to give him something. Some antibiotic. Whatever that does.

Elsie, my sweet wife, was beyond herself. Always talking about how she should have told people, how she should have known better. From what I know, she's not medically trained though. How could she have told anyone anything? How could she have prevented this? It's not as though she infected him with the disease.

When asked about it, she turned her head away and found something to busy herself with. Her hands, which were always so steady in any task they took on, were shaking constantly. The tears in the corner of her eyes never ran down her cheeks and yet her eyes were never dry either.

The day he had been diagnosed, she came home later than usual. I was about to ask her the reason for her delay, when looking her in the eyes rendered my previous notion useless. It was something to do with the doctor. That much was certain.

"What is it?" I had said, trying to sound as understanding as possible.

"Meningitis." she simply answered.

"Pardon me?" I had heard of that word, that disease. Some ten years ago or so there had been many cases in the United States of America, but I hadn't cared much. Why bother with something that was so far away from me, that had a whole ocean between us? Now though, it was suddenly right in my living room, somewhere I had never expected it to appear.

"Meningitis. It's an infection of the cerebral membrane." That could get infected?

"But I thought he was getting better," I said dumbly. Obviously he was not getting better.

"I thought so too, but now he's so much worse. He's unconscious and everyone was rushing around him suddenly. They've started pumping whatever medication into him and Mrs. Crawley - I mean, Grey - went pale as a ghost. I've never seen her so, so… I don't know. One moment she was glued to the wall, eyes white, her hands balled into fists, the next second she was next to him, giving him the medicine a doctor had brought all the while screaming at him to 'get a grip and to stop this nonsense'. Someone pulled her away and brought her over to me and I was supposed to keep her calm but how do you keep someone like her calm? I've never seen someone so far from calm. And all the while Richard was just lying there. As though he had merely fallen asleep. He'd thrown up again -" Again? "- and then just fell back and went still. And they just couldn't wake him up." She took a huge breath then and her head fell against my chest.

"She stayed next to me, alright." Elsie went on in a quiet voice. "But her words, Charles. Her words… 'Don't leave me, too. You can't leave me. Don't you dare.' I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forget the sheer despair in her voice. And to think I judged her so much. To think I-" She stopped abruptly and her arms went around my waist. "Don't ever leave." she whispered. We stayed like this for minutes, maybe hours. Then she pushed away. This was the only time she talked about that particular day.

He must have an army of guardian angels. Miraculously, the medication seemed to work. He was starting to get better again. Elsie told me that everyone was afraid that his brain might be permanently damaged but it wasn't. He seemed to be healing perfectly well.

I went to visit Doctor Clarkson about a week after they had diagnosed him with the brain disease. Most of the time, I just stood next to his bed. I hated hospitals.

"My wife sent me." I finally said.

"How very thoughtful of her." He was not exactly the chatty kind of man either.

"She's nice like that."

"Aye."

A pause.

"I wonder, why did Mrs. Carson send you, Mr. Carson?" he finally said.

"Ah. Yes. She asked me to tell you that she will not be able to come to visit you today."

"Such a pity."

"It is."

Another pause.

"She spending a lot of time here." That sounded a lot more accusatory than I wanted it to.

"I'm sorry. It was not my intention to keep her away from you. I keep telling her -"

"No. That's not how I meant it. She's a loving person. It's great that she's caring for her friends like that."

"It is. Thank you for letting her come here so much."

"You know Mrs. Carson as well as I do. I could never forbid her from coming here." He smiled at that but his smile did not keep us from entering right into the next awkward pause.

"Why are you really here, Mr. Carson? It's not that I'm not glad about the company but you and I are merely acquaintances. You should not feel obligated to come here."

"I don't."

"Then why are you here?"

"Mrs. Carson, Elsie, asked me to come so you do not have the same two visitors all the time. Another face… something like that. Between her and Lady Merton -" he winced. "- there's not much time for you to talk to anyone else. She thought you might need it." He laughed a quiet laugh.

"And here I was happy about all of that female attention." One of my eyebrows rose.

"I'm joking, Mr. Carson. Thank you very much for coming, but I'm fine. It was very thoughtful of you and Mrs. Carson, but I'm quite content with having my two friends visit me. Besides, they are not the only ones who come to visit. I think I've had the whole village over. It's nearly becoming too much. Especially with the way everyone is looking at me as though they are expecting me to drop dead right in front of their eyes." You've done that before, something in the back of my head said. And I can understand them…

He had looked so weak. He was pale and he must have lost weight. His hair looked whiter and thinner. Overall, he did not much resemble the tall, regal man he had been before his sudden sickness.

He was getting better, though. They said he was getting better.

And if men had been able to invent the meningitis we should be able to cure it, shouldn't we?

TBC (Haha. Funny. But honestly though. I WILL continue. I just never know when.) and thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read this story.