Chapter Thirty Eight: Confusion and Confessions
Mackenzie, you screwed this whole situation up. You had to make that comment to Becky right then and there didn't you? You couldn't wait till you were in private. No, why would you? Why would you discuss something like that in private when you could totally embarrass yourself and Holmes?
I shook my head, trying to clear the myriad thoughts that were assaulting my brain. I stopped walking and took in my surroundings. I found myself near the very tree that played such a key part in our adventures last night. Suddenly my mind focused on me leaning against him, for both warmth and comfort. If only I could go back to that moment, I would change everything.
Going back in time is impossible Mac. Deal with it. I chuckled when I realized how absurd that sounded. Here I was stuck in the nineteenth century and still denying the possibility of time travel. Some things will never change!
When I saw Monsieur Daaé's grave, I walked over to it and knelt down in the snow. I crossed myself and bent my head. I muttered a quick prayer, apologizing for watching his daughter in prayer. I also apologized for inadvertently running across his grave while in pursuit of the phantom. So lost in thought/prayer was I that I didn't hear the faint crunching of footsteps in the snow and was quite surprised to find a hand on my shoulder.
I jumped a little and looked up, to find myself staring into the face of Christine Daaé. "Bonjour Mademoiselle," I said standing and brushing snow from my knees. I was slightly embarrassed that she found me praying at her father's grave. "I…I thought it would be best, if I apologized to him. Last night, I accidentally ran across his grave."
"That is very kind of you," she said offering me a slight smile. "I asked your friends where you were but they said they didn't know."
"Yeah," I said averting my eyes, "I kinda ran off without telling anyone. How did you find me?"
The soprano laughed. "I saw your footprints in the snow."
I smiled self-deprecatingly. "I guess I'm not too good with stealth. I just need some time alone," I said, hoping that she would not be offended by my dismissal.
"I just wanted to thank you personally for what you did last night. You save dear Raoul's life."
"Mademoiselle, really I don't understand--"
"Shh, no need to act like you do not understand. Dr. Watson told me everything. You were very brave."
"There is no need to thank me Mademoiselle," I said quietly. "Now if you will please excuse me," I turned away from her, hoping she'd leave me alone.
I had no such luck. "Please wait!"
I turned around with an exasperated sigh. "Yes Mademoiselle?"
"You seem troubled," she observed. "You do not seem like yourself."
"You do not know me Mademoiselle! Do not presume to judge me!" I replied hotly. When I heard her gasp, my anger dissipated. After all, it wasn't her fault that my life was going downhill. "I apologize Mademoiselle; I did not mean to bark at you. I am just having some difficulties, that's all."
She tilted her head innocently. "Does your foul mood have to do with what happened this morning?"
I raised my eyebrows in shock. "You weren't there! How do you know about that?"
She blushed slightly. "When I inquired as to your whereabouts, Becky, I believe that is her name, told me what had happened, why you ran off, also why I couldn't find Mr. Holmes."
"Christ!" I growled, kicking at the snow. "Now everyone knows! I didn't want him to find out that way! I didn't want him to find out at all. He probably hates me, despises me, never wants to see me again." When I realized I was talking aloud, I instantly changed the subject. My own failings and misgivings were not the concern of Christine Daaé. "Sorry. Is there something else you wanted?"
She hesitated for several moments, staring at the snow which surrounded her white ankles. "I…I didn't just follow you here to thank you, although I am very grateful for what you and Mr. Holmes did for Raoul," she confessed, her eyes still adverted.
"Then why did you follow me?"
"I know you think it was my Angel that tried to kill dear Raoul."
"That is the most likely hypothesis," I replied dryly.
Suddenly she rushed forward and clasped my hands tightly in her own. "Please do not believe that! My Angel, although very strict, is not a murderer! He is kind and harmless, sensitive. He cares deeply about me and would never hurt me."
I sighed and extricated myself from her grasp. "Mademoiselle, I cannot believe what you say. Your so-called Angle attempted to kill me!"
"What?" There was a look of complete horror in her eyes.
Quickly I told her about what had happened in the cellars of the opera house, told her about the Phantom's warning. I also informed her as to my confrontation with her 'Angel' in the alleyway.
"You must be mistaken! My Angel would not do this!" She said, her voice rising in intensity. She once again grasped my hands and forced me to stare into her wild green eyes. "You cannot believe that! He would never harm anyone!"
"Listen to me Christine," I said using her first name. Although she was several years my senior, I felt as though I was speaking to a child. "I want to tell you something, and I am going to say this to you because I consider you my friend.
'Look, I know how much you want to believe in this Angel of Music, and I can't say I blame you! But, I just want you to be careful all right? And the minute you think there is anything amiss; Holmes and I are but a telegram away." I said, hoping to impress my sense of worry and distrust into her mind. I was beginning to freeze and I looked down and remembered why. I was outside, clad in nothing but a nightgown, jeans and sneakers. Hopefully Christine would leave quickly!
The soprano nodded and gave me a brief hug. "I will be careful, my friend."
We then went our separate ways, she back to the Setting Sun and I further into the graveyard.
Despite the cold I knew I could not return to the inn. I had to figure out just what to say to Holmes, to try and patch the gaping crater between us.
Hey Holmes, how are you? Look, I just wanted to say that I don't love you because it makes you uncomfortable. See, so can everything be cool again?
Lame, lame, lame! Okay Mac, what are you going to do just go up to him and say that?
I sighed and continued to walk aimlessly, never anticipating the events which were to follow, events which would turn my world completely upside down.
Holmes
"Watson, go away!"
"Yes, but Holmes--"
"I am not in the mood for one of your lectures. Allow me some time alone."
Watson continued to pound on the bedroom door, but I ignored him. I could have no distractions. Two problems weighed on my mind, both of extremely pressing nature. One was the case at hand, and the other was Mackenzie.
She loves me. I looked at the problem from every angle, examined her words and actions and come to the conclusion that I was indeed the man whom she was talking about. My maxim once again proved to be correct: 'when you eliminate the impossible, what ever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'
But what can I do? I cannot allow myself to love her; I do not feel those emotions. I have blocked them out of my mind. The only woman I ever cared about committed adultery and was murdered. My Father impressed the fact upon me that I am unlovable.
And yet, she loves me. What can I do? I could tell her that she must be mistaken, that it is impossible to love me. But I know her nature; it is similar to my own. She will question me; demand to know why I deem it impossible. Then I would have to explain. But I cannot do that. She will turn from me forever, she will never touch me. She will consider me tainted, as indeed I most probably am. Worst than that she will tell Watson, and he too would turn away from me, not because of what happened to me, but because he did not hear it directly from me.
I could tell him. No I cannot. I cannot bear the look of pity and sorrow and anger that will be in his eyes. He will never treat me the same. But yet I must do something! If I tell Mackenzie, I chance loosing both her and Watson. If I tell Watson, I still chance loosing him and Mackenzie. Either way I am damned!
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. My mind was made up. "Watson!"
The bedroom door opened and my friend and roommate for several years entered. His face was creased with worry. "Holmes, are you all right?"
I shook my head. "No old fellow, I'm not. I am confused Watson, utterly confused. My thoughts are muddled."
"It's what Mackenzie said, isn't it?"
I nodded. "Yes, but not only that old boy. Not only that."
He raised his eyebrows in confusion. "What else is troubling you?"
I took a deep breath to calm my unsteady nerves. "Watson, you would not call me an affectionate man, would you?"
My friend looked puzzled but he answered honestly. "No Holmes I would not."
"Nor would you call me a loving man."
"Correct."
I swallowed because suddenly my airways seemed very constricted. "Would you call me unlovable?"
My question caught Watson off-guard. He started and stared at me as though I had lost my senses. "Holmes I don't seem to follow--"
"Do not reason! Just answer the question!" I barked, with a touch of my old impatience.
He hesitated for several moments. "Holmes, I would not say you are unlovable. Indeed, you are not because if you were, how could Mackenzie love you?"
"That is precisely my conundrum Watson!" I stood and began to pace. "I am unlovable! I was taught that in my youth. I was a mere boy of six when I learned that lesson!"
I stopped pacing and noted Watson's expression. It was one of open surprise and curiosity. His expression brought back the memory of when I first told him something of my past. A twinge of fear brushed across my heart. What I want to tell him…it could drive him away from me. Can I risk that? Does this girl mean enough to me; is my confusion so great that I must risk loosing my dear Boswell?
"Holmes, come sit down. You look as though you are going to faint." Watson's voice broke into my thoughts. I looked down at my hands and noticed they were shaking horribly. I passed a hand over my brow and felt that it was damp with perspiration.
"Mackenzie must be mistaken Watson," I said. I chose my words slowly and deliberately. "I know my statement sounds ridiculous, and I am going to explain myself. However," I said lowering my voice. I stared at him for a long moment, attempting to remember his features and expression as they were. "I fear after I make my confession, you may never want to see me again."
Watson
I will admit I was surprised at my friend's outburst. It was not the first time that Holmes had said those words to me, but they were never spoken with such gravity. Even when he told me his horrible past, his body language did not betray the inner turmoil he was feeling, indeed, he seemed in control of his emotions until he related the very end of his narrative. This time however, outwardly he was without any confidence.
"My dear Holmes," I said in my best physician's voice, a voice which usually calms patients. "You have nothing to fear. I would never leave you."
He shook his head and smiled grimly. "You say that now Watson, but I fear you will change your mind. Everyone else has."
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Others knew of his confession he was about to make? "Holmes you have my word…"
He raised a hand to silence me. "Watson, pray do not make promises that you are unable to keep. I have already told you about my Father, a drunken wicked man. He blamed me for everything that happened in our family, and I suppose most of it was my fault, on some level. He blamed me for Mother's distance from him, hated me for it. I suppose he had every right to," he ceased speaking and his eyes took on a far away gaze. His faced paled and sweat droplets appeared on his forehead. He swallowed several times and averted his eyes from mine.
"I suppose I am, indirectly responsible for my parents' death. You remember I told you how they died?"
I nodded but said nothing.
"Yes, I thought you would remember," he said swallowing several times. "It is my fault my mother was unfaithful to Father."
"Holmes that is impossible!" I ejaculated.
"You will understand why. One night, I was roughly six years old, Father came home in a drunken rage. He threw open my bedroom door, the sound echoing through the silence of the house. Even from my bed I could smell the alcohol on him. I knew at that moment, things were not right. He was fearfully angry; the veins in his neck were standing out.
'He screamed at me, called me unlovable, blamed me for all his troubles. Then h…he approached my bed and tore my night shirt from me. He then…" I have never seen my friend struggle so much with inner emotion. Even though his face was averted from me, I could see pain and tears in his eyes. "He took away my innocence that night.
'He continued to do this every night, and there was nothing I could do. Mother knew, I told her, but she allowed him to continue his nightly acts, allowed him to continually hurt me. Sh…she never once was there for me. She attempted to find comfort for herself else where, and became romantically involved with another man.
'Of course, secrets cannot be kept, and people began to gossip. Whenever I went anywhere with Mycroft, people would turn away, mostly in disgust. I endured this until the night I have told you about previously.
'I am an unlovable person. If I was not, then why would Father hurt me, and Mother allow it? Why did people turn from me as though I had the plague? Why did…" The detective could no longer hold his composure and the first stirrings of a sob entered his voice. "So you see, Mackenzie is mistaken, her feelings for me are ill-founded. I cannot be loved by anyone, it has been proven. Now you know everything of my past Watson. If you feel you can no longer be in my presence than go, but please go now! Go, without another word if you must I…" all his composure disappeared and he began to sob. Every time he attempted to speak, his words were choked back by tears.
I was speechless, torn with grief. Never did I realize how horrible his childhood was. I could not comprehend a father doing that to a son. I could not believe the burden of pain and guilt, the terrible self-image that Holmes carried with him every day and night of his life. How he remained so strong is a mystery to me; other people would have allowed something like this to ruin their lives completely, but my friend managed to survive. He remained strong, his life seemingly unhampered by his horrible past.
After learning his secret, I knew so much more about him. The nightmares that he had were suddenly explained. I realized how he was able to survive. He built a mental wall between himself and the demons that haunt him. The wall was broken only at night, when his subconscious took over and those long forgotten memories made themselves known. The wall was also broken this morning, when Mackenzie brought love back into his mind, back into his life. Once that confession was made, the wall cracked and Holmes was once again tormented by horrible memories.
Not knowing what else to do, I stood and wrapped an arm around the trembling shoulders of my friend. The act, which I meant to be comforting, seemed to have the adverse effect on my friend. His shoulders tensed and he faced me, his tear-filled eyes flashed anger.
"I cannot bear your pity Watson!" He barked savagely. "You can hate me, turn from me, but do not pity me!"
"Holmes, I do not pity you," I said quietly. "I could never pity you. But I can be here for you. What your father did is the worst thing I have ever heard, I will not deny that. But you are not to blame Holmes, not for the death of your parents, nor for what he did to you. That is not your fault! You are not unlovable, do you understand that? If you need any proof, look at the young lady who stares at you with sparkling eyes and who blushes at your every compliment. The girl who would do anything for you Holmes and do you know why that is? It is because she loves you."
He shook his head. "It is not possible. Don't you understand? If I was capable of being loved, my Mother would not have permitted Father to--"
"Holmes, please. Your Mother was unsure of what to do. She was afraid to go against your Father for fear that you would suffer worse repercussions. She sought solace in another, because she did not understand how to cope. Do you honestly think she liked seeing you put through such pain? You were and still are her son Holmes; surely you must realize that she loved you."
He had no response for my statement and even seemed to relax a little. Finally, after several minutes, he looked up at me, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "Do you honestly believe that?"
I nodded. "Of course."
"Watson," he said, clutching both of my shoulders. "Although your reasoning is sound, I cannot believe it. Do not protest!" He said when I tried to open my mouth. "As you are still my friend, at least until what I told you has had time to register in your mind, I would be much obliged to you if you would do something for me."
"Anything Holmes."
He smiled slightly and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Mackenzie is close to you; you seem to have a good rapport with her. Tell her, impress upon her that her feelings are erroneous. Do not tell her why, I cannot bear it if she turned away from me as well. But tell that she is mistaken, and tell her that I do not hold any ill feelings toward her. Explain to her that I am more than willing to return to our previous relationship, prior to her emotional error. Please do this for me Watson."
I knew I could refuse him nothing, and yet I saw the intense emotion in Mackenzie's eyes. I knew that she loved him; there was not a doubt in my mind as to her feelings for him. What was I to do? I must speak with her that much is clear. What I was to say, I had no idea.
"As you wish Holmes," I whispered, rubbing his back gently. "As you wish. Will you be all right?"
He nodded and turned from me. "Watson," his voice was so soft that I wasn't sure if I heard him. "When you do realize what I told you, when you comprehend the meaning of what I said, of what happened to me, if you do decide to leave me, I understand and will not hold that against you. You will always be the one man on whom I could rely and the best and wisest man I have ever been privileged to know. For that I will always be grateful."
"Holmes--"
"Go and tell Mackenzie, I believe you will find her somewhere in the graveyard. Once you relay my message, then make your decision about me. Good-bye Watson," the tone of his voice reflected the feeling of utter isolation he felt; the belief that I would relay his message and never return.
With one last look at his shaken form, I exited the room, my mind reeling.
Mac
I was getting colder, but still refused to return to the Setting Sun. I would rather get pneumonia than face Sherlock Holmes again.
I continued to walk until I came upon the sacristy. I stepped into the ancient building and shuddered involuntarily when I recalled the gruesome discovery Holmes and I found the night before.
I walked past the pile of skulls and up to the ancient alter. I dropped to my knees in front of it, and after making sure that no one was around, buried my head in my hands and allowed myself to cry, to let all the sadness and frustration I was feeling out.
It was then that I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and groaned when I saw Watson standing behind me, clad in warm clothing.
Without a word, he removed his coat and draped it around my shoulders. "You'll catch your death in this weather."
I shrugged. "I don't care, it doesn't matter."
"Mackenzie--"
"No, Doc, please. I'd rather die than face Holmes again. You don't understand, he probably hates me. When he heard me, he just stood there and then walked away, shaking. He was probably disgusted with me."
Watson sighed sympathetically and held me tightly, despite my protests. "No Mackenzie, it isn't you that he hates. Your confession of love is not what made him run-off."
Could he be serious? Is it possible for him to be right? "What do you mean?"
"I was just talking to Holmes," he said gently. "He asked me to give you a message."
My heart sank. "Obviously, he doesn't want to ever see me again. Otherwise he would have told me himself."
"No, that's not true. No, in fact, Holmes told me to tell you that he wants to see you again. He said that he will be more than willing to return to your old relationship, and act like you never said anything."
"You serious?"
Watson nodded. "Yes, why?"
"Because it is impossible! I mean if Holmes feels any anger toward me it will be impossible for us to return to our 'earlier relationship.' I mean come on Doc, can you honestly pretend that I never confessed my love for him, he never walked away from me and everything that happened was just some nightmare? Honestly Doc, you're not dense. Tell me if that is possible."
Watson
Her question startled me and I was chagrined to realize I had no answer for her. Of course she was correct; those words she spoke could never be retracted. And yet, I cannot allow her to walk out of our lives simply because Holmes cannot deal with his own past demons. (Yes I know that thought was unworthy of me).
"Mackenzie, please listen to me."
Her brown eyes were filled with such hopelessness that my heart went out to her. For the first time, I realized how young she was. Her ten and seven years did not give her enough experience to deal with problems such as Holmes's. It was obvious by her eyes that she felt she would never recover from Holmes's brash reaction to her words. "What Doc? Are you going to try and give me a speech that everything will be all right?"
I shook my head. "No Mackenzie, I am not going to give you false hopes. I do not know what Holmes will do, if he will do anything regarding your love for him. But I can tell you one thing."
"What's that Doc?"
"He cares about you, he cares about you deeply."
At my remark, Mackenzie threw her head back and laughed a mirthless laugh. There was no humor in that cackle, just pain. "That's rich Doc, that's grand! You know something? I've never heard anything better in my life. How can you stand there, stone faced and tell me that Sherlock Holmes cares about me, after you saw his reaction? Damn Doc, you're a good liar. What are you going to tell me next, Holmes is secretly pining over me?"
"No, I am not going to tell you that. If you will allow me a few words without interrupting, I think I will be able to show you where everyone lies."
"Sure Doc," she said, a faint gleam of hope appeared in her eyes but disappeared so quickly that I could not be sure that I didn't imagine it.
I took several deep breaths. This was going to be difficult.
Mac
"Mackenzie, you must understand something about Holmes. He does not hate you for what you said, but he feels you've made a mistake in your emotions."
I raised my eyebrows. What was this man talking about? "Come again Doc?"
"He thinks himself unlovable, was taught that in his youth. So he feels that you cannot love him, because it is not possible."
I was utterly confused. "What are you talking about? A person cannot be unlovable!"
He put his arm around me in a fatherly embrace and stroked my hair. "Do you remember what I told you, about Holmes's past?"
How could I forget? That anger toward the late Mr. Holmes has been clawing at me since Watson told me about him. "Yeah I remember."
"That is not the only reason he does not acknowledge the softer emotions."
Watson had succeeded in piquing my curiosity. "What's the other reason?"
Watson
I had a feeling she would ask that question. I did not have the slightest idea how to answer it. It would not be possible for a complete answer without betraying Holmes's confidence, indeed, I did not know how that was viewed in the time Mackenzie was from, nor did I know what her reaction would be. But I did owe her an explanation.
I swallowed, for I had to choose my words very carefully. "Mackenzie, Holmes's father taught him that he was unlovable. Indeed, he impressed the fact on Holmes's mind so harshly that he continues to believe it today. His mother's reaction to the 'lesson' did not help Holmes in changing his perspective of himself. On the contrary, by his mother's feigned ignorance and lack of support, Holmes believed and still does, that it is impossible for someone to love him.
'I cannot say anything more, but I hope you understand that you are not to blame for Holmes's inability to react to your confession. You did NOT drive him away."
Mac
Although I did not completely understand what Watson was saying I had some inkling and that inkling made my blood run cold. Holmes was hiding some deep dark secret that was affecting him still. Could that secret be the root of his nightmares?
I swallowed and stared at Watson. It took me several moments before I could find the courage to speak. When I did, my voice was a harsh whisper of disbelief. "So Holmes…he doesn't hate me? He doesn't believe that I, that anyone can love him because of something his father did? He forgives me, for saying what I did?"
"Yes," Watson said with a small smile. "Yes. Now come along, let's go back to the Setting Sun before you catch your death of cold."
"All right," I said. I wanted to see Holmes again, to apologize to him. It was not going to be an easy apology. "Uh just give me one minute Doc," I said walking toward the alter. If nothing else, this time travel episode renewed my faith in God. I knelt to say a brief payer of thanks for allowing me to see Holmes again. I also prayed for peace for the detective so he would be released from the inner demons he carries around.
When I stood, something black and fluttering caught my eye. Curious to see what it was, I walked toward it.
"Mackenzie, what are you doing?"
"Shut up for a sec Doc!" I growled. I wanted; no I needed to see what this fluttering thing was. When I got closer, I realized it was a piece of black silk snared on the corner of the alter. I took the fabric in my hands and examined it closely. There was a slight discoloration on it, but the cause I could not determine. I decided to bring it back to Sherlock Holmes. Carefully folding the silk, I stuffed it in the band of my jeans . "Ready to go Doc."
He nodded and we began to walk back through the frozen snow. I was filled with trepidation, and a half understanding of Sherlock Holmes. How was he going to react when he saw me again?
"Did you suddenly get a chill?"
"Huh? Oh sorry Doc. No, I didn't," I replied.
"You're shivering. From what?"
"Fear."
"You have nothing to be afraid of," Watson said putting his arm around my shoulders. "There is no one you should be nervous about seeing," he said amending his previous statement.
I nodded and we continued to walk in silence. When we finally arrived at the Setting Sun, my nerves were all on edge. My stomach and intestines were tied into one giant knot, despite the fact that is anatomically impossible. My hands shook as Watson opened the door to the lobby. I squeezed my eyes shut as we crossed the threshold.
