Chapter Forty Nine: Death Cometh on Swift Wings
Holmes
I saw Raoul de Chagny raise his gun and unsteadily put his finger on the trigger. I was much too slow in my observations for it was only when he started to apply pressure that I realized his sight was set on me rather then on Erik.
Before I could react, I heard the loud report from the pistol and almost simultaneously, I felt a great weight crash into me, sending me sprawling to the floor.
My head struck the ground and I fought against waves of blackness to remain conscious. I needed to know what crashed into me, possibly saving my life from the viscount's bullet. My mind slowly cleared and I painfully brought myself to a sitting position and glanced around the room. When my eyes fell upon my savior, my heart seemed to stop.
Mackenzie was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, blood covering her tiny frame. I heard a faint wheezing sound and realized it was her lungs attempting to suck in air. I saw her face, which was usually brimming with joyfulness and life, convulsed in agony.
My breathing was suddenly constricted and a feeling as cold as ice wrapped itself around my heart. My mind went numb and I sat there, simply staring at the blood covered girl for several moments. Then, something in my mind snapped and I hurried over to her in attempt to gauge the full extent of her injuries.
It seemed as though a fountain of blood was spewing forth from Mackenzie's chest, covering her with crimson. Panic began to claw at me and I instantly shouldered out of my jacket. I knew a person could not live once they lost five pints of blood and there was no telling how much she had lost already. I balled my jacket and quickly pressed it against Mackenzie's chest. Within moments, the material was soaked through.
I quickly looked around for Watson and spied him leaning over an unconscious Becky. The girl most probably fainted when she saw her best friend shot. I once again looked at Mackenzie and gently touched her forehead. Much to my chagrin, the loss of blood was already causing her skin to cool.
I turned my attention back to Watson who was successfully bringing Becky back into consciousness. "To hell with her!" I shouted, frightened to hear my own voice tremble violently. "Mackenzie has lost a great deal of blood and needs your attention immediately. I do not know how badly she is hurt."
There was only one time in my life that I felt so helpless and that was when my dear mother was murdered. But the helplessness that I felt now was one hundred times worse then what I felt as a boy.
Not knowing what else to do, I gently lifted Mackenzie and cradled her in my arms. With my voice trembling and tears threatening to spill from my eyes, I whispered her name several times. I willed her to open her eyes, for I had the strangest desire to look into her elk colored orbs and see reassurance in her gaze.
It was then that I fully realized the depth of my love for Mackenzie Sterling. I cursed myself for being afraid to admit my emotions, and I cursed my father for making me so slow in accepting her love for me and mine for her.
It seemed like an eternity before Watson arrived at my side, stopping my self chastising. He immediately tore at her jester's costume in attempt to see how badly she was wounded. Watson studied the injury for several agonizing moments before I saw him gently shake his head.
"Watson," I croaked. "Is there anything you can do for her?"
He looked up at me and his green eyes filled with tears. When I saw the hopelessness on his features, an anger that I could not find a rational reason for began to well up inside me. I allowed my rage to spew forth and I verbally attacked Watson, not knowing what else to do.
"Don't just sit there! For Christ's sake Watson, you are a doctor! Do something. Or could it be that your medical skills are mediocre? Is it possible that you do not possess the intellect to help her? Are you nothing more than a vapid cripple and a charlatan?"
Even as I spoke them, I knew the words were unworthy of me, but there was nothing I could do. I just allowed my verbal assault to continue, allowing the anger I felt at myself to be taken out on Watson.
He winced at my words but continued to stare into my face. When I stopped my tirade for breath, he spoke my name gently yet forcefully. "Holmes, listen to me. There is nothing I can do; there is nothing the best surgeon in the world can do. The bullet is lodged in her right lung. She is dying Holmes and there is no way to save her."
My heart protested this diagnosis and I shook my head like a stubborn child. "If you are not willing to admit your own medical inabilities then do not chide me Watson! You have never been one for practical jokes and I do not appreciate your pawky humor now!"
"Holmes you must listen to me. Try to understand, there is no way to save her. "
The gravity with which he spoke those words put a crack in the wall that I used to hide my emotions. Tears instantly surged from my eyes and cascaded down my cheeks, streaking Mackenzie's blood stained face.
"No you cannot die! You cannot!"
Her eyelids suddenly fluttered and my heart soared with hope. Could she be all right after all? Was it possible for Watson's diagnosis to be incorrect? Never being a religious man, I found myself praying that she would be alive and well. However, when her eyes slowly opened, they were clouded over by pain.
"Huh-Holmes…" she attempted to wheeze out my name but did not have sufficient strength to do so.
"I'm here," I whispered softly. "I am right here," I took her hand and squeezed it gently. "You're going to be all right."
"Ih-it…too luh-late," she rasped.
"No, no it's not too late! You are going to be fine," I said quickly. "Your wounds are only superficial." My optimism sounded forced but I did not know what else to say. I was suddenly at a loss. The logic that I prided myself on having, the very logic that helped me in so many situations suddenly failed me. There was no chain of reasoning I could follow to save her, or to ease her pain. Without logic and reason I was vulnerable and frightened.
"Mackenzie, you just have to hang on for a bit longer. Then we'll be out of this dungeon and we'll get you medical help."
"Cold…" she muttered. "Make…cold…go…away…"
I obliged and held her tighter in my arms. I cradled her head to my breast and did my best to stop her shivering. "Remember what I was trying to ask you so many times this evening? I was going to ask you for your hand in marriage Mackenzie. We'll return to London together and get married. We'll live in Baker Street and I'll train you in the art of deduction. Together we can solve those trifling problems that arrive at my door." I saw tears in her eyes and a ghost of a smile on her face. Feeling slightly heartened, I continued to paint vivid pictures of what our life would be like when we got back to England. I cannot be sure if I was painting these empty pictures for my own comfort or for hers. "We'll do all that and more, once you become my wife. All you have to do is continue to fight and continue to live. Just hang on for a little while longer and then everything I said will become reality."
My mind was telling me that death was a natural occurrence. I had seen it enough times to realize that. Humans, I knew, rarely lived beyond the age of five and seventy but even then I could find no solace in cold hard fact. Mackenzie was only seventeen!
For the first time in my life, I was able to really see myself as others saw me. I was a cold and unfeeling man, who looked at life as nothing more then a series of puzzles. Even when the woman I loved was dying in my arms, my mind was already looking at it as nothing more than a passing moment, irrelevant to the rest of the world. This view and my cold detached personality frightened me.
Mackenzie began to cough and several spatters of blood flicked onto my shirt. I looked down at her and was chagrined to notice that the pupils of her eyes were no longer the same size or color. Her skin took on a pasty white color and her lips were a light shade of purple.
Suddenly, she grew limp in my arms and panic engulfed me. The words I'd been so afraid to speak came rushing out of my mouth like waves crashing on a wide empty shore. "Mackenzie, you must listen to me. You can't die! You can't die because I love you and I don't know what I would do without you. You've opened my heart, showed me that it is possible for me to love; you helped me cope with the demons of my own past. I need you to be with me now and forever! Mackenzie, I want you to be my wife! I need you by my side! Please don't leave me!" For emphasis, I grabbed the small gold ring I wore on my pinky, the very ring that I had purchased days earlier to serve as an engagement ring, and pushed it onto one of her cold fingers. "Please I love you, don't leave me."
Her eyes saw the ring and then once again she stared into my face. A phantom smile played along her lips, lighting up her face with a glow reminiscent of the one I was use to seeing. "I luh-luh-love you too Huh-Holmes auh-and will…always…luh-love you…"
Suddenly, with her last amount of strength, she raised her head and kissed my lips, filling my mouth with the coppery taste of her blood. Then, her head lolled back onto my arm and her breathing stopped.
Watson
The only time I felt such pain was when I stood at the edge of Reichenbach Falls, thinking Holmes was dead. The grief I felt over Mackenzie's death was immeasurable, for she was almost like a daughter to me. However, as I knelt next to my friend and saw him so distraught, I pushed my own grief aside. A cold lump was in the pit of my stomach. I did not know what to do to assuage his anguish.
"No, she can't be dead! She can't be!" Several tears ran down his face. He turned to me, his eyes filled with grief and anger. "Is there nothing you can do? You are a doctor!"
I had seen death many times and recognized someone in her cold unfeeling grasp almost instantly. Still, as an act of closure for my dearest friend, I placed my fingers on one of Mackenzie's cold unmoving wrists and tried to make out any signs of a heartbeat. There was none.
Red-rimmed grey eyes stared at me with such unguarded hope that I suddenly felt cold and sick. I felt like I had failed my closest friend because I could not tell him the miracle he so desperately wished to hear. I opened my mouth to break the news but my vocal chords were constricted by a lump in my throat, making sound impossible. All I could do was shake my head.
Sherlock Holmes glared at me and pushed me squarely in the chest. "You're nothing more then a charlatan Watson! You, who pose as an all-knowing doctor, cannot save someone when they are in need! Why did I ever put up with you? You do not care about me; you cannot even save the woman I love, not even when I beg you! You…" Suddenly, he choked on his rage and all strength seemed to disappear from his body. He collapsed on the ground, head buried in his hands, sobbing violently.
As I watched sobs wrack his slender frame, his painful words echoed in my mind. There was nothing anyone could have done to save her. I felt tears well in my eyes and I quickly brushed them away. Did I truly fail him? He was right, and I knew it. I always wanted to shield him from pain and now, when he needed shielding the most, I was unable to give it to him.
I looked down at his trembling frame once more and fervently wished that my heart was torn from my chest, that I was feeling the agony instead of him. I would do anything to spare him from unnecessary pain, surely he must know that. Surely he must know that if it was in my power to save Mackenzie, I would have. He must know that I care…
I pushed those thoughts from my mind. Now, my friend needed me and I was going to be there for him whether or not he wanted me. I was going to help him through this difficult time.
I reached beside me and placed a hand on his trembling shoulder. His tear-stained face looked into mine and he once again began to sob. I pulled him close to me, allowing him to weep into my shoulder.
While most of his words were made unintelligible by the fabric of my coat, I distinctly heard him say my name. "Watson…"
"It's all right Holmes," I muttered, rubbing his back soothingly.
"Watson I am so sorry…I never meant anything I said…I am so sorry…"
"Shsh, it's all forgotten Holmes, it's all forgotten," I said, using my physician's tone which had helped me in the past calm frightened patients. I continued to whisper words of comfort into his ear.
I was well aware how empty my words sounded, for I could not empathize with him. The woman I loved was safe in our home in Kensington anxiously awaiting my return. My inability to understand his grief showed in my feeble attempts to ease his pain. I stopped speaking when I realized my words were mocking rather then consoling him.
I held him for awhile longer, saying nothing, just allowing him to cry out all his tears. When he seemed as though he was once again master of some of his emotions, he pushed away from me, never once meeting my eyes. Without glancing at anyone in the room, Holmes took his bloodstained jacket and used it to cover Mackenzie's lifeless body.
His eyes lingered on the crimson fabric for several seconds, as though for the first time, registering what lie beneath it. Although I could not see his full face, I saw him run his hand across his eyes, undoubtedly to stop the tears from flowing once more. When he was once again master of his sadness, he looked up and fixed the viscount with a venomous stare that made the young man step back in terror.
"You are a murderer de Chagny!" Holmes bellowed. His voice was still filled with raw emotion. He stood and drew himself to his full height, which was a little over six feet. His height combined with the deep-seated hatred and despair on his face and the shadows in the room made him quite an imposing figure. Rapidly, he closed the space between himself and the viscount.
In an instant, he had the sniveling man pinned to the wall with one of his strong hands around the younger man's throat. "It would give me great pleasure to kill you right now de Chagny."
"No, please don't!" Raoul begged. His face was contorted in terror. "I never meant to kill her. It was an accident, I swear, Monsieur. You must believe me; the lethal shot was supposed to be for that monster, not for her."
"You are the only monster I see in this room," the detective snarled. "You took an innocent life tonight de Chagny! You gun was aimed at me, hence Mackenzie's intervention!" As he spoke, Holmes increased the pressure on the viscount's neck. "Your apologies, your admittance of your stupidity will not bring her back! Have you ever experienced heart-wrenching pain, Monsieur? Have you ever experienced any type of pain at all?" For emphasis, Holmes squeezed the viscount's neck so hard that the little man let out a squeal of pain.
Realizing that my friend was overcome with emotion and was not in full control of his faculties, I rushed forward and pushed him away from de Chagny. When Holmes faced me, I was forced to steel myself against the daggers in his grey eyes.
"What the devil are you doing Watson? That man deserves to die!"
"Holmes," I said his name sharply. "Holmes, listen to me. Killing him will do no good. It will not ease your pain nor will it bring Mackenzie back. Nothing can bring her back Holmes, nothing can."
I winced at the harshness of my words and the effect they had on my friend. All color drained from his face and he glanced at me shamefully. "You are right Watson," he said listlessly. "You are right; I do not know what I was thinking."
"Doctor," it was the voice of Raoul de Chagny. "How can I thank you? You most probably saved my life. Your friend was attempting to kill me."
"I should have let him," I answered coldly. "You will continue to live your life in happiness while he suffers from your folly. However, I knew eliminating you would not change what has been done, nor would it help him. So do not think it was any feeling of concern for your well-being that made me stop his hands."
At my words, the viscount paled and backed away from me. I had the almost irresistible urge to throttle him. In effort to suppress that feeling, I tore my eyes from him and focused on Holmes who was kneeling over the body of his beloved.
"I have loved you all along Mackenzie Sterling. I loved you the first day I met you, although I did not realize it then. Although we were not married, you will always be my wife. It pains me to have to say goodbye, but I hope you are in a better place, free from pain and sadness. Lord knows I made you feel enough of both during our acquaintance. One day Mackenzie Sterling, we will be together once again and that day will be the happiest day of my life. Goodbye my love," he gently pealed back the fabric of his coat and kissed her cold forehead before covering her once again.
When he stood, he looked directly at the three main players in the tragedy that we watched unfold. "There was no need for bloodshed. There was no need for rash actions. However I cannot change what is in the past, no matter how much I would like to. I was hired by le Comte de Chagny to see what caused his brother so much distress and by the management to solve the problem of the opera ghost.
'The two seemingly different threads intertwined and led me here, standing before you. It seems I have solved both problems, so my work is done. However," he quickly glanced at the covered form on the ground. "She would have wanted to see this through to the end, so I am prepared to do so.
'Erik," he said addressing the magnificent figure clad in evening clothes, "you are to stand next to your pipe organ. You!" he glared at de Chagny, "are to stand next to him. Closer! Good!
'Now, Mademoiselle Daaé you must choose between them."
The diva took several steps towards my friend, stopping within mere inches from him. "Monsieur Holmes, you must understand that I cannot make the choice after what has happened. I have just lost one of my dearest friends…"
Holmes's jaw clenched tightly and he spoke to the young woman through slowly grinding teeth. "Do not speak to me of pain Miss for I am experiencing enough for both of us. Waste no more time and make your choice!"
Christine Daaé stared at the detective as though he had lost his wits. "Monsieur, you cannot be serious."
"I am gravely serious Mademoiselle. You have wronged both these men for too long. Now make your choice and make it quickly!"
I winced at Holmes's treatment of the young singer. I moved to place a comforting hand on her thin shoulder, but Holmes restrained me.
"Do not attempt to reassure her Watson! She brought herself to this and now she must pay the consequences." His grey eyes were two pieces of granite as he stared at the hesitant girl.
Nervously, Christine Daaé glanced from Erik to Raoul and then back again as if unsure of whom to choose. Then, almost tentatively, she took several steps toward the viscount. He anxiously threw his arms around her, but she did not return the embrace. She simply stood like stone, staring at the floor in front of her.
Erik gave a cry of anguish and Holmes cautiously approached him, not bothering to hide his disgust at the diva's choice. He walked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Gone was the proud, swaggering and occasionally conceited Sherlock Holmes. He was replaced by a humbled, despondent shadow of a man. I was shaken and chilled when I saw the change.
Mac
When my vision cleared I was lying in his arms. Tears were rushing down his face. I felt strangely disconnected from my own body. I was vaguely aware of a rasping/gurgling sound, and it took me a moment before I realized that the sound was coming from my own lungs.
"Holmes," I tried to whisper his name but I could manage to get it out in one breath.
"I'm here," he said in a trembling voice. Why does he seem so frightened? "I'm right here." He took my hand and squeezed it gently. "You're going to be all right."
He told me my wounds were superficial but I knew better. Shadows were pulling at the corners of my eyes and I knew I was not long for this world.
"It's too late Holmes," I managed to squeak out the words.
"No, it's not," he whispered. "You just have to hang on for a bit longer and we'll get you medical help."
There was so much I wanted to tell him, but I could not find sufficient strength to do so. I wanted to give him my soul but my wretched body would not let me speak.
Coldness began to descend and I shivered. "Make the cold go away. Please make it go away."
He cradled my head to his breast and I smelt the familiar scent of shag tobacco and sandalwood. The heat of his body did little to warm me. The shadows were steadily growing denser. It was an effort to see his handsome face clearly and I grew frightened. In truth, I was scared to die. I didn't want to leave Holmes and I was scared of what awaited me on the other side.
Holmes suddenly blurted out that he had wanted to ask for my hand in marriage. My heart soared at this proposal and I wanted nothing more then to tell him that I would gladly be his wife. However, all I could do was smile. He began painting pictures of our married life in London, in effort to calm me.
My heart was heavy because I knew I would never become his wife or see his London. I knew he realized that his face and the dank dark room would be the last things I would ever see. The thought brought tears to my eyes.
Blackness grew heavier and I began to cough. Blood spattered on Holmes's shirt and I noticed tears in his eyes. Strength seemed to have left my body. I could no longer move my arms and I was tired. For a moment, shadows completely engulfed me. Holmes must have thought I was gone because he began to call my name in a voice filled with panic.
I fought the waves of blackness. "I'm here Holmes, I'm still here."
He began to profess his love for me and my slowing heart was filled with joy. I knew I was going to die, but at least I would die with the knowledge that Holmes loved me as deeply as I loved him.
I felt him place something hard and cool on my finger. I forced my eyes to focus and I saw a ring on my finger. I did not doubt it was an engagement ring. I wanted to tell Sherlock Holmes that I would live with him forever, but I was only able to tell him that I loved him and would love him forever. I didn't want to die; I did not want to leave Holmes but the thickening shadows informed me that my time on earth was running out.
The shadows were impenetrable and bright light shone in front of me. I saw a hand beckoning me forward.
I didn't want to leave. I couldn't leave without telling Holmes goodbye. With a great deal of effort, I raised my head and kissed his lips, finishing what we started the day before. I did not want to leave Holmes but the hand was so alluring, so soft and so white. The palm opened and I saw people, their faces filled with joy. Standing in the middle of everyone, was Holmes with me in his embrace. There was a smile on his face and I wondered if I took the hand, would Holmes and I be together?
As if to answer my unspoken question, the figure of Holmes waved to me and motioned for me to go with him. Not knowing what else to do, I grasped the hand to follow the man I love.
I had the strangest sensation that I was floating. I looked around and to my astonishment, I saw Holmes cradling me in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Holmes was not happy; instead his body seemed torn with grief. Watson was kneeling next to him, attempting to give him consolation.
"Holmes! Holmes don't cry! For God's sake don't cry! I am all right, I'm alive! Holmes, why aren't you listening to me? Can't you see I'm all right?"
"He cannot hear you!" A deep booming voice filled my brain.
"Why is he crying?" I heard the words but I did not feel my lips move.
The booming voice filled my head once again. "He believes you are dead," it said nonchalantly. "And to him you are."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your time here is finished Mackenzie Sterling. You taught Sherlock Holmes that he could love another; you helped ease the demons of his past. That was what you were sent here to do and you did it. I am going to give you another chance at life, but it is going to be in the time where you belong."
"No!" I heard myself scream the single word. "No! I don't belong anywhere, save in his arms. I am in love with him! I'd rather die then have him grieve!"
"He is resilient and will heal."
"What about the hand? I saw him, I saw us together?"
"That was the only way I could bring you back!"
"Holmes!" I cried his name once more before everything went black.
There is not too much more of the tragic tale to tell. When I awoke, I was lying on the floor of Madame Sophie's caravan. Becky was lying beside me and looked as confused as I felt. Memories assaulted me, and I called out Holmes's name, but Madame Sophie managed to subdue me. I remember she called an ambulance because she thought that I had sustained a terrible blow to the head when I fell. For a moment, I honestly believed I did, until I clasped my hands together in agitation and felt the engagement ring from Holmes on my finger. I allow my hand to travel to my throat and I felt the chain with the cameo.
It was then I realized that what had happened to me was reality, not a delusion caused by a blow to the head. I was rushed to the hospital and then kept there overnight for observation. Doctors were treating me for a severe concussion as well as shock. I heard the doctor's low murmurings and he was telling my parents that something had happened to me, something had affected my brain causing me to have delusions. He also said it might be good if I met with a clinical therapist.
Thankfully, my parents told the doctor to simply treat my concussion and not worry about any delusions. They believed once the medics treated my concussion, the hallucinations would disappear. My parents arranged for me to have a private room, where I was free from prying eyes.
At about eight o'clock in the evening, when I no longer had the strength or energy to cry, the nurse came into my room to see if I needed anything. After a few moments of begging, I convinced her to put the TV on for me. I hoped idle television would somewhat take my mind of my broken heart. However, when the nurse turned on the television, I cried when I saw the BBC replaying episodes of the Granada Television series, 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.'
The nurse grew extremely nervous at the effect the program had on me but I stopped her as she reached for the remote.
"Nurse," I said before she could change the channel. "Leave this on, please."
"Yes, but-"
"No buts, please! Just, leave this on and leave me alone," I said with asperity.
With a shrug of her shoulders the nurse nodded and exited the room. When I heard Jeremy Brett's voice, a new wave of tears spilled down my cheeks and I cried myself to sleep remembering the time I spent in the Victorian Era and my love for the world's first and only consulting detective and "the best and wisest man I have ever known." (Doyle, 240)
