The room went dark slowly, as if some heavy, dense fog was coming over him. He had carefully studied the ingredients he needed and the range of action for each of them. He had no interest in suffering or losing control of his body. He just wanted it to be done. Over.
So he decided to make a mixture beverage of a fast-acting opiod that would knock him out, and a late-effect toxin that would eventually stop his organs and finally, his heart. This way, by the time the toxin began to kill him, he would already be unconscious and unaware of its painful effects.
The opiod kicked in sooner than he expected. He had planned on falling asleep peacefully, in front of the fire, while praying for his immortal soul. But a few seconds after he drank the last sip, he began to lose his balance. He moaned softly, with an upset stomach. It was vital (or rather, fatal) that he kept the liquid down, so he grabbed the edge of the table and forced himself to breathe deep through the nose, trying to avoid the nausea. But his legs failed to support him and he fell to the ground, still holding the glass bottle in his hand, which broke with the impact.
He tried to get up and crawl to the chair in front of the fire, but his body wasn't responding anymore. So he laid his face on the stone, finding some comfort in its coldness, and he observed as the images in front of him vanished into the dark fog of his brain shutting down.
His last moment of consciousness went to wondering if he would go straight to hell or if there would be some kind of previous experience, like the one he had lived when he nearly died a few weeks ago, when his soul had floated over to Notre Dame and had encountered his mother's spirit.
He no longer was sure that it had been his mother's spirit, or that any of what she said was true. How could it be true, if God's plan had been to punish him all along? It didn't make sense. However, he still considered what he had felt there to be the realest experience of his life, only equaled by what he had felt with Esmeralda. So maybe there still was a glimpse of hope.
Holding on to that glimpse, he surrendered his soul.
The darkness and absolute silence surrounded him, wrapping him like a thick, inescapable blanket.
And then, some tiny dots of dim white began to dance in front of his gaze, floating gracefully in the empty, black space around him.
What was that? He wondered, curious. He tried stretching his hand to touch them, but when one came in contact with his skin, it promptly vanished. He reached for another one, this time closer to the height of his eyes so he could see better. Again, one of the white dots landed on his palm, and turned transparent and liquid.
Snowflakes.
It was snow.
He looked down to the ground and only then he realized that it was also covered in white. The sole of his dark boots was sunk in the snow. He looked around puzzled. What was this place? But as his gaze reached beyond his feet, he realized he was on the brink of some steps. He looked up and his heart leaped with joy. The imposing view of the cathedral could only mean one thing… his wish had been granted. He was being given the opportunity to meet his mother's spirit again, before heading to his eternal damnation. He felt enormously relieved, and tried to propel himself towards the tower, where they had met the first time. But his feet didn't leave the ground.
He tried again, confused. Last time, it had only taken the power of his will to move around floating. But now he was actually feeling the floor beneath his feet. In fact, he was feeling his feet, which he had been unable to even see during his previous ghostly experience.
So he was no ghost, he concluded. He was feeling… solid.
Fear began to creep in his chest with the lack of understanding. He looked up to Notre Dame again, and suddenly, every statue on its walls looked back at him, with staring, empty eyes. His terror grew beholding those menacing looks. He had only felt such terror once, on another snowy night like this one.
And then it clicked.
This was it. His personal hell wasn't made of fire. It was made of snow, terror and guilt. He was condemned to relive the worst sin of his life. The very thing he was trying to leave behind when he took the poison.
As if to confirm his suspicions, he heard a heavy door creaking, and he looked at the cathedral's feet, where one of the main lateral doors was opening.
Someone came through the door, and stood there, looking at him from afar.
It was a woman. Her dark hair and colorful clothes contrasted with her caramel skin.
A gypsy.
But not any gypsy.
Frollo swallowed hard, horrified. But of course she would be the one to show up in that dreadful hellish nightmare. The one chosen to be his tormentor. She had probably waited a long time for this, and now the moment of justice and revenge had come.
His most primal instincts kicked in, and he looked around desperately, searching for a place to run and hide. But before he could began to move, the gypsy's voice broke the silence:
- Frollo! - she called, and he became paralyzed in his spot.
It was hopeless. There was no place to run, no way to escape. No going back.
His knees weakened and he fell to the ground, where he adopted a fetal position, feeling the cold snow on his cheek, trying to protect himself for what was coming.
He watched the gypsy's feet walking towards him. The woman kneeled slowly before him, getting closer.
- Please… - he pleaded with a trembling voice.
But when he looked at her face it was distorted, as if her human essence was turning demonic. Her voice sounded strangled with anger when she spoke:
- What did you do?
Her accusatory words hammered his mind and heart. She knew exactly what he had done, of course. But she wasn't satisfied by that. She wanted him to know she knew. She wanted a confession.
- I'm sorry! - he cried, shaking.
- What did you do!? - the woman asked again, demanding an answer.
For the first time, he truly understood the magnitude of his crime. It was a long time ago that he had understood it rationally, that he had realized it had been wrong. But even so, he had never quite grasped the horror he had inflicted. Only now, as he laid defenseless on the floor, at the expense of a stronger being that held the power to decide what would happen to him, he deeply understood in his flesh and bone what the gypsy must have felt that night, when he had chased her and taken her life. An unbearable wave of regret and sorrow took over his entire being. He began weeping uncontrollably, finally falling apart. If he had understood then the way he did now, he would never have done that. The horror of being chased by a cruel, vindictive soul and knowing you don't stand a chance against it… how could he have inflict such damage onto another human being?
But there was a big, definite difference between what he had done and his current situation.
The gypsy had been innocent. He wasn't. She didn't deserve what happened to her, but he did.
So once again, Frollo realized there was no point in begging, or trying to resist. This wasn't cruel… this was justice. And he believed in justice up to its final consequences.
- I'm so sorry. - he muttered again, looking back at her.
- Damn you! - the gypsy yelled.
He couldn't blame her for her rage. It was the least he deserved.
But the woman wasn't satisfied with cursing. She suddenly grabbed his shoulders and began shaking him with all her strength. The violence of her grasp took him by surprise. He was shock at its solidity. It was nothing like the gentle touch of his mother's spirit. Apparently, hell was much more similar to physical life than that middle realm. It made sense, he thought. That way, whatever torture they put souls through, it would be felt in the realest of ways.
He got lost in this thought for a moment, finding the answers to the theological questions he had always pondered about. The gypsy must have noticed his absence somehow, for she slapped him hard, bringing him back to her raging figure. The pain was so real, it made him shiver in anticipation to what his eternal damnation would have in store for him.
- How could you do this to me? - she cried out, and her voice cracked.
- I'm so sorry! - he whined again, with another surge of guilt.
He wanted to explain that it had been all his fault, that it had nothing to do with her. He had been taken over by demons from his past, that twisted his judgment with prejudice and hate. He wanted to say that he saw now how unfair her death had been, that she was innocent. But before he could gather the courage to even begin to explain, she suddenly changed her attitude.
She let go of his shoulders and her hands covered her face as she wept. In between sharp sobs, she suddenly begged:
- Please, don't take him!
Frollo was confused for a moment, but then it hit him. He had been so focused on the guilt from his murder that he had forgotten all about the other crime he had committed that night; separating a baby from his mother.
He hadn't even given the woman a chance to say goodbye, or to ask for mercy. He just ripped her baby son from her arms.
And now he was there, watching her desperate plea, hearing the anguish in her tone as she begged that what she loved most in this world wasn't taken away from her. It crushed his heart to dust.
He gave up completely. There was no ounce of himself left that didn't believe he deserved this fate.
As he thought that, he began to feel heavier, as if he was falling asleep. The sound of her crying started fading away, though he could still feel her right next to him. But he felt like he was slowly falling into a dark abyss below his body. He wanted to let go. Maybe he was being banished into oblivion, and his punishment ended with him ceasing to exist at all. He was okay with that.
But with the last bit of awareness left, he noticed the gypsy getting closer. He suddenly felt her hands on both sides of his face, the warmth of her palm on his cheek so different from the cold snow.
He didn't have any strength left to open his eyes, so what she did next caught him by surprise.
He felt the softest pressure on his lips.
His heart jumped weakly inside his ribs. The gentleness in which she was kissing him brought an unexpected surge of life and hope with it. He felt his cheeks wet with her tears, that were still flowing from her eyes. Her lips moved away an inch and he felt her warm breath as she whispered:
- I love you, Claude.
He used the little strength he had just regained to slightly open his eyes, in absolute astonishment and disbelief. All he was able to see was her caramel face so close to his, but he managed to focus his gaze into her eyes for the first time. They were emerald.
.
Esmeralda was frozen in her spot, with the door still open behind her.
The image of the judge lying there on the floor, in that unnatural posture, with his empty eyes fixed in her direction, shook her to her core.
In a second, she understood everything. After everything that had happened in the past few days, he had killed himself with poison. The shock quickly became burning rage.
- Frollo!- she yelled, racing towards him and slowly kneeling beside his body.
Once she was closer she was able to notice the almost inaudible sound of his breathing. It was shallow and intermittent, but it was there. He was still alive! But his gaze was lost, and though his eyes reacted to the sound of her voice, she knew he wasn't seeing her.
- What did you do? - she asked with a strangled tone.
Frollo didn't answer. In fact, he didn't look like he understood a word she was saying. She didn't know what was going on or how to help him, if there was anything that could help him at this point. She was so angry that he had put her in this position, and that she was now the only one that could do something when she didn't have a clue what to do. She didn't even know what kind of poison he had taken. If only he would tell her!
- What did you do? - she insisted, demanding an answer.
She looked at the broken bottle, but didn't recognize any of the words written in the parchment. Even his handwriting was complicated, for God's sake! He had left nothing behind that she could use to save him.
- Damn you! - she cursed loudly.
Her eyes began to fill with burning tears as the realization hit her. She couldn't save him. It was too late. He was going to die in front of her, and he didn't even know she was beside him.
Another wave of rage took over her, and she grabbed his shoulders and began shaking him violently, in a desperate attempt to wake him up. His head hanged back and forth, lifeless. She saw his eyes beginning to close, so she slapped him hard, but not even that made the judge react. He was gone beyond her reach.
- How could you do this to me? - she cried, and her voice cracked.
The pain of his betrayal felt like a knife to her heart. Despite everything that had happened between them, she realized that a part of her had always believed they would figure it out, and be together in the end. But he hadn't believed that. He had given up on her, unilaterally deciding their future once again. Stealing her choice away.
That painful realization washed away the rage, leaving her with only heartbreak and anguish. What was the point of resisting, or being angry, when the die was cast?
She let go of Frollo's shoulders, and the judge's body fell limp to the floor.
There was only one thing left that she could do. Something she wasn't used to do, but which seemed like the only hope left.
- Please, don't take him. - she begged God, covering her face with her palms.
Her sharp sobs made it impossible for her to say anything else, but her heart silently continued her prayer; don't take him. Don't accept his soul. Give it back, bring it back to me. Please. I know he's done bad things, but there's light in him, I know it! He just needs another chance. Please… I love him.
Once again, she noticed Frollo's eyes closing, and his breaths became more spaced from each other. This was it. He was dying now. Not even her prayer would save him.
She carefully took his face between her hands. She shivered when she realized it was almost as cold as the stone floor.
She studied his relaxed features. He looked so peaceful that for a second, she didn't feel angry anymore. The everlasting wrinkles on his forehead were miraculously gone. His suffering was coming to an end. But it wasn't fair. It only meant her suffering had just begun, and would last forever.
The tears dropping from her eyes fell onto his cheeks, sliding down to his lips. The same lips that had insulted her, mocked her, comforted her, loved her. The lips of the man she loved.
She leaned forward and kissed those lips in the gentlest way possible.
- I love you, Claude. - she whispered, giving up all hope.
And then she felt the softest movement in his face. She leaned back an inch, to get a better look. His eyelids were struggling to open. She watched astonished as his gaze wandered around her face, trying to focus. And then he looked her in the eye, and for the first time, Esmeralda knew he was aware of her presence.
- Claude!?- she called, with her own eyes opening widely, and her heart racing again.
The judge blinked languidly again, she felt him trying to move his head but unable to hold its weight. He grunted.
- What did you take? How can I help you? - she hurried him anxiously.
But the man was too far gone to be able to articulate any answer.
- God, Claude, please! - she begged him.
The urgency in her tone helped him gather his strength. With a titanic effort, he lifted his fingers from the ground, weakly pointing towards the table, and then with a soft moan, he dropped unconscious.
But it was enough. Esmeralda jumped to the table and her eyes scanned its surface at full speed. In one of the corners she saw a group of small glass bottles like the one Frollo was holding. She reached for them so urgently that she almost dropped all of them, but her quick reflexes prevented it.
She took a deep breath, for the excess adrenaline was making her vision blurry. But fortunately, it was also making her brain sharper than ever. So it wasn't hard for her to read the labels on each bottle. To her dismay, she didn't recognized the names of the plants or substances the first two ones contained. But then, her heart stopped in her chest when she read the third label. "Antidote".