Chapter Forty Five: A Game of Questions and Answers
We left the opera house, after assuring the management that we would return on the morrow. The cool night air caressed my face and kissed my lips. Nothing felt more welcomed than the kiss of Mother Nature after such a harrowing experience.
Watson helped me into the waiting hansom. In the confined area, I was able to observe the great detective. He was attempting to make himself as small and as inconspicuous as possible, a very strange change from the slightly arrogant and overbearing man. However I was much too tired to try and figure out why Holmes was acting so strangely.
The ride back to the hotel was silent, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts. Mine were a muddled mess, mixed with both fear and fatigue. So lost in thought was I that I did not realize the cab had stopped. Watson, ever the gentleman, sat with me inside the cab for several minutes, allowing me to come out of my reverie on my own.
"Come along Mackenzie," he said when I shook my head, clearing the myriad of thoughts that were assaulting my mind.
I looked up at him, slightly stunned. "Where's Holmes and Becky?"
"They went to the room," the doctor said gently. "Come along," he said grasping my arm before I could question how long he sat there with me.
I entered the hotel room with Watson's protective arm around my shoulders. He steered my into the bedroom I shared with Becky and helped me to undress and get into my pajamas. His reason for helping me was simple: he didn't want me to do further damage to my arm.
Becky made no snide comments about Watson undressing me. Her eyes were still wide with fear and her face was deathly white.
"Hey Beck, it's all right," I said, gently touching her arm when Watson finally left the room. "I'm all right."
She turned and faced me and I was surprised to see the light of unshed tears in her eyes. "You scared me; you scared me half to death. I thought…I thought I was going to loose you. What was worse than you hanging there was the look on Mr. Holmes's face. When your hand almost slipped from his, I've never seen anyone more frightened in my entire life. In one second so many emotions crossed his face…" she suddenly stopped talking and threw her arms around me, her well-built frame shuddering with soft sobs. "I don't know what I would have done if you had died."
I forged a half-smile. "I'm not dead, as you can see. I told you that you can't get rid of me easily."
She buried her head in my shoulder, which under normal circumstances would have been funny for she is a good four inches tall then I.
"Mac, promise me something," she said when her sobs subsisted.
"I'll promise you anything," I said, patting the top of her head gently.
She raised her head and pushed away from me, signaling that she wanted to look me in the eye as we spoke. "Mac I want you to promise me that you will not die on me and..." she paused for several moments as though contemplating the best way to phrase something.
My nerves which were strung to the breaking point, as well as my naturally impatient nature could not tolerate my friend's continued stalling. "If you want to say something Becky, then for Christ's sake say it!"
"Well," she averted her eyes from my face and studied the floor at her feet. "I know what you're feeling for this detective."
"Becky, what are you driving at?"
"Well if we ever do find a way to get home, promise me that you will return with me. Promise me that these feelings for Sherlock Holmes aren't strong enough to keep you here in this fucking backwoods century."
My stomach lurched and I suddenly felt sick. I had never considered the strength of my feelings for Holmes. When she posed her question, I found my throat extremely dry. I could not answer her, for I feared something inside me would keep me from leaving Holmes, no matter what the circumstances. For the first time in my entire life, I was frightened of myself. Needing to flee from her question, as well as satisfy my need to be safe, I hurried out of the bedroom and into the sitting room where Holmes and Watson were in deep conversation.
When I entered the room, both looked up and Watson smiled at me. "Mackenzie, how is your shoulder?"
"It's all right, thanks," I said with a slight smile. I attempted to forget Becky's request and asked the doctor if I could join them for a few minutes. Watson nodded, realizing my unspoken fear of being alone. Watson patted the sofa next to him and I sat down, feeling more secure with his arm going protectively around my shoulders.
Holmes smiled quickly; his eyes looked as though his thoughts were far away. "Mackenzie, do you think you can tell me what happened?"
"Holmes…" Watson said, his voice taking on a warning tone.
"No, Doc, it's all right. I want to tell you, I want to tell both of you."
Holmes slouched down in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Pray be precise as to the details."
I took a deep breath to marshal my thoughts and then attempted to recount exactly how I ended up hanging twenty five feet above the ground. When I concluded, both of them were silent.
"Is that everything?" Holmes asked at length.
"Yessir," I said, my voice shaking slightly. Suddenly my zeal for tracing down this Opera Ghost partly dissipated.
"You are extremely lucky you survived," Holmes said matter-of-factly. "You could have been killed."
"I know; if it weren't for the two of you, I would have been dead."
"Let's not think about that," Watson said, putting on a cheerful expression.
"No, Watson, we must discuss this," Holmes said with an expression which meant he was not to be deterred. "Mackenzie, why do you think this Erik spared your life?"
"How the hell should I know? I'm not a psychiatrist; I can't get into people's heads!"
"Think!" Holmes barked.
"He said he didn't want to commit messy murders and that he had business to attend to. He also said with me dead you wouldn't give a damn what happened to Christine."
"A correct assumption, isn't that right Holmes?" Watson asked, attempting to make me feel better.
Holmes shrugged his slender shoulders and ignored his friend's question. "Hmmm. Can you think of anything else?"
"No," was my terse reply.
"Well then, if that is everything, you can return to your room--"
"Not so fast Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I have a few questions of my own that need to be answered."
He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, letting out a sigh as he did so. "What questions?"
"Well, first of all, I wanna know how you two got to me so quickly. I mean I know I screamed and everything, but I somehow doubt you heard me in the auditorium, especially with the bedlam in there."
"Let's just say we were informed."
"By who?"
"A man who was intent on killing you a few days previous," was the tired reply.
"'A man who was intent on killing' me? Who the hell…" Suddenly I stopped my musing when I thought of the encounter I had with the man known as the Persian, several days ago. "You can't mean the Persian."
"I can, and I do," Holmes replied quickly.
"But that is impossible Holmes. He wanted me dead, I'd bet my life on that," I said trying to rationalize what Holmes had just told me. "Are you sure you've got the right guy?"
"Yes."
"All right, second question, how did that croaking sound issue from Carlotta's throat?"
"Have you ever heard of ventriloquism?"
I nodded. "That's how?"
"Yes, anything else?"
"One more Holmes," I said. I took a deep breath, preparing for the outrage that was to follow my question.
"I'm waiting."
"Did you even care that I was in danger?" I opened my eyes and saw his, wide with surprise.
He swallowed a few times before answering. "What are you asking me Mackenzie?"
"I'm asking you if you cared that I was in danger. I'm asking you if you felt anything when the Persian informed you of my predicament."
It was obvious by the detective's silence that he did not know how to answer my question. If he answered in the affirmative, he would be revealing feelings that he himself did not want to acknowledge. If he answered in the negative, he chanced loosing me completely.
"I was a little nervous when I heard of your position, as anyone would be. However, once I saw you, I realized you were not in nearly as much danger as the Persian had said."
Watson glared at his friend's attempt to hide his emotions. "Holmes, you cannot continue this charade…"
Not wanting to see either one of them in any more discomfort, I faked a yawn and stretched my sore shoulder. "You know guys, I'm exhausted. I want to thank you for saving my life, but I really do not have the means to thank you adequately. However," I said, holding up a restraining hand to cease Watson's attempted protest. "I am exhausted and I will thank you by leaving you two gentlemen alone. Good night Doc, good night Holmes."
They bid me good night and I felt their eyes on me as I retired to my bedroom.
