September 18th 1892: Gabriel
I had expected a simple reply, a reply that would make the nagging suspicion in my stomach go away. I had expected Madame to say ´Oh, she's right over there,´ pointing at a spot where I'd see Jacqueline standing, waving at me. What I had not expected was wide-eyed surprise. Madame, Jacques and the woman who had been in the living room with them all looked around themselves.
"Where is she?" Madame asked. "I thought she was right behind me…"
"She left the room after me," the woman said, shaking her head incredulously. "Or didn't she? I… I'm not sure anymore… everything happened so quickly outside… the fight… and the pistol… I didn't pay attention to whether she was there…"
"So we have to assume that she has not left the living room," Jacques stated.
I had always regarded his ability to remain composed in every situation as very useful, if a little irritating. Yet looking over to him, I realised that he wasn't composed at all. On the contrary, his face had gone pale, and his hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly hold on to the arm of the man standing in front of him.
I only had one moment for that astonishing observation, however, for in the next, Jacques let go of the man and broke into a run. His destination was clear: the house. The living room. Jacqueline. I didn't think about what was the right thing to do for me. I let go of the man I was holding and tore after Jacques.
I caught up with him halfway across the lawn. He was an old man, after all, and I was young and more or less healthy. Even having recently recovered from my illness, I was faster than him. I didn't wait for him, but continued running till I reached the two smashed windows. Smoke was coming out of them, obscuring the view into the room.
The house didn't look like a place I'd like to enter. But then, it was not as if I had a choice. I apporached the left window, not sure which one was better or why both were smashed at all, when a voice held me back.
"Not… that one!" Jacques called, breathing hard. He came towards me, pressing a hand to his chest, while the other one held his side.
"Why not?" I asked blankly, almost a little angry at him. I had just summoned enough courage to go in there, and now he came and disturbed me.
"Because… because it's the window… the window we left the room through," he replied, taking deep breaths between the words. "If she's… still in there… she could be lying… right under it. You'd step… onto her."
I nodded briefly to show him that I had understood and went to the other window instead.
"I'll… go with you," Jacques declared, joining me at the window.
"No," I said flatly. "Too dangerous. Jacqueline is my responsibility because I… I…" I interrupted myself. There were things men simply didn't speak about, and that kind of feelings belonged to that category. I hadn't even told Jacqueline about them yet… and if I continued standing here, doing nothing, I'd never get the chance to do so.
I turned away, but Jacques, behaving in a way so unlike his usual self that it made me speechless, seized me by the shoulder and forced me to face him.
"I love her, too," he told me seriously, but with great urgency. "Not like you do, of course. I never had a family, but… If I had had a daughter, she'd have been just like Jacqueline. I promised her that… that we'd all get out alive. I have to keep that promise…"
I looked at him. It was not a comforting sight. His face was ashen-coloured and covered with a layer of perspiration. He looked old, very old, and very weak. And still there was a certain gleaming in his eyes.
"You'll help her from out here," I decided. "The smoke will be very thick in the room. I may not find the way out again without someone guiding me."
He nodded.
"But if you need anything else, do not hesitate to call," he instructed me, suddenly sounding very much like the butler I knew again.
"Of course," I agreed, giving him a smile.
I pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it over my mouth and nose. It made breathing rather difficult, but it was better than inhaling smoke all the time. Holding the handkerchief in place with one hand, I swung my legs over the windowsill and entered the room, fortunately without stepping onto anyone.
It was worse than I could have ever imagined. The smoke, which had looked so thick from outside, seemed even thicker in here. I couldn't see the walls or the floor or the furniture. I couldn't see anything but a mass of grey and black clouds. I felt strangely light-headed, as if I were a cloud myself, drifting through the sky, without a worry on my mind.
I had almost forgotten who I was or where I was, when a voice brought me back to reality.
"Gabriel! Have you found her yet?" It was Jacques.
"No," I gave back, my voice sounding muffled from behind the handkerchief. "Can't see…"
"I'll help you," he called. "I'll go to the other window. If she's there, you'll find her by following my voice."
He had difficulties in speaking as well. His sentences were interrupted by coughs again and again. Still I heard him again, just a few moments after he had spoken for the first time.
"I'm here… Gabriel… here…"
His voice was like a ray of sunshine penetrating the darkness. I still couldn't see anything but smoke, but I let the voice guide me. Keeping one hand on the wall, I made my way forwards hesitantly. It was very strange, walking without seeing where I was going.
And then, quite suddenly, my foot hit something solid, nearly making me fall to the floor. I paused, thinking. It had definitely been too soft for the leg of a chair or the sofa. A cushion, maybe? Or…? I couldn't think of another way of finding out what it was than crouching down and touching it, so that was what I did.
The carpet was warm under my hands and knees, and I guessed that somewhere I couldn't see it was on fire, just like the rest of the room. Still… the fire didn't seem to have reached the window yet, which was at least one good aspect about it. Tentatively I stretched out a hand to the spot that my foot had touched before. It came into contact with something warm and soft. It was an arm.
Feeling shocked and relieved at the same time, I shook the arm.
´Jacqueline!´ I wanted to call, yet when I removed the handkerchief from my mouth, only coughs came out. Abandoning the thought of talking to her for the moment, I felt my way up her arm to find out in which position she was lying on the floor.
My fingers lingered on her face. I couldn't see it, but that wasn't necessary. I knew every inch of it so well that I could have drawn a painting of her. Fortunately she had no idea how often I looked at her.
I forced myself to go on, running my hands over her arms, torso and legs, resisting the temptation to let my fingers stay a little longer on certain places. I'd never sink that low as to molest a girl while she was… My heart skipped a beat. Was she merely unconscious, or was there a far more serious reason why she didn't move?
I couldn't tell. I simply didn't know how to find out whether a person was alive without as much as seeing them. Yet I told myself that it didn't make any difference. I couldn't just let her lie here, while the fire drew nearer and nearer and would eventually… I forbade myself to think about it. I had to get her out of here, whether she was alive or…or not.
Now that I knew where her head was, I could pick her up in my arms cautiously. She was much heavier than I had expected, and I had carried around quite a few girls in my life. It was normal for an older brother. I felt her head move against my arm as I came into a standing position and tried to support it more.
The windowframe bumped against my shoulder, so I turned around, glad that I knew where the window was. Although my instincts told me to leave the room as quickly as possible, I made my way out slowly, holding Jacqueline safely in my arms like a new-born child.
Staggering under her weight, I collapsed on the ground as soon as we were outside. Jacqueline slipped out of my arms. She lay on her back, and I could clearly see her chest heave as she took a deep breath.
"She's not dead," I muttered, sounding very hoarse. "She's not dead, Jacques… Jacques?"
It was only then that I realised that I hadn't heard his voice for quite a while. He hadn't even offered to help me out of the room. I looked over to the window. Jacques was lying under it in a crumpled heap, motionless. One hand was still clutching his chest.