It struck me as a terribly melodramatic thing to do, really.
I'd never fainted in my life. I'd thought it was something reserved for swooning damsels in distress, all of whom had perfected the art of fainting brilliantly and usually did so with finesse and grace. Delicately, with a hand placed to the forehead and a gentle sigh-and a plush couch or a gentleman to catch them.
Unfortunately, the same could not have been said for me.
"She banged her head pretty hard," said a voice from somewhere above me. "Just crumpled-you should have heard the cracking sound her head made. It was like, BOOM, just like that: BOOM! Check for blood. Make sure-did you check for blood?"
"There's no blood, monsieur, if you'd please step aside-"
"CPR! I know CPR! Judy-that's my wife, I think I told you about her when you first came in, although you may not have heard me because the stretcher was rolling pretty loudly-"
"Monsieur, we need you to-"
"Judy and I took a class at the Y a few years back. But I still remember most of it: press and breathe, right? Or was…was it breathe and then press?"
"Can someone get him to-?"
"The paddles! Use the paddles! She's pale, she needs the paddles-!"
"You only use those when someone's heart's stopped, you idiot!"
"CPR, then, I swear, I remember most-"
"She's breathing! God, just shut up, she's breathing, she doesn't need CPR! Let them do their job!"
"I-she could need it! What if she needs it and we just stand here? What if-?"
"Monsieur Hertz, Mademoiselle Giry, please, we have the situation under control, but we are going to have to ask you to step aside until-"
"I'm sorry-I'm-I talk a lot when I get nervous, and I'm-I also break out in hives, and-geez, wouldn't you know it, there they are. They're not contagious, are they, you guys, because-should-should you check them out? Do I need-I think I need to lie down, too, because they're really acting up here-"
"Oh, my God! What is this?"
From deep within the headache of the century that was rapidly gaining strength behind my temples, I recognized the new voice. I suppose I recognized the others, too, but it had taken me longer to do so than usual. But I'd immediately known who the new voice belonged to, and it rang out like a gunshot in the cacophony, frantic and familiar.
"Christine!" it cried. "What happened-what-? Meg! Meg, what is this?"
"She-"
"Monsieur, this is a medical emergency and as a third party you are not allowed here. Please step aside-"
"Like hell I will! What's wrong with her? What happened?"
"Monsieur! I do not want to call the police, but if you refuse to leave, I won't hesitate to have you arrested! Step aside!"
"I'm a friend! Meg, tell him, tell him she'd want to see me-"
"He's fine! Don't arrest him, he's fine-"
FLASH.
"Monsieur de Changy, I must ask to to leave. The young lady is presently indisposed."
"She knows me, monsieur, we were childhood friends and I only just saw her performance-she would not object to my presence!"
"We cannot be certain of that, seeing as she is currently unable to speak for herself. You are neither a doctor nor a relative, and as such, I must insist that you…"
FLASH.
"Mademoiselle, I am the little boy who fetched your from the sea."
FLASH.
"She's moving! Someone do CPR!"
"She doesn't needCPR!"
FLASH.
"Leave, you must! You do not know-you cannot know-how dangerous this is. Please, leave! Forget all of this and leave!"
"Leave you to what? If there is danger, as you assure me there is, how can I leave you in its midst in good conscience? I love you!"
"Don't say it! Please, don't say it, he might hear, he always hears!"
FLASH.
"Meg, what happened? I still don't-"
"She was fine one minute, and then the next, she just…she just collapsed-"
"Oh, my God."
"We were just looking at…looking at some…stuff, and she…she just-"
FLASH.
"Mademoiselle, I am the little boy who fetched your scarf from the sea."
FLASH.
"You said her name is Christine?"
"Yes."
"Alright." Firm, professional hands somewhere on my arm. "Christine? I'm a medic, we're here to help. Can you hear us? I want you to wiggle your fingers if you can hear us."
FLASH.
"-little boy who-"
FLASH.
"Christine? It's Raoul. Wiggle your fingers, come on-can you hear us? You're going to be fine, I'm-"
FLASH.
"-the little boy who fetched your scarf from the sea."
"Stop," I heard myself groan, but to no avail. The images suddenly reared up and rushed past in a dizzying whirlpool, speeding through my vision like a fevered roll of film.
FLASH.
"-the lady is presently indisposed-"
"-from the sea-"
"-love you!""
"-leave, you must! You do not know-"
"-love you!"
"-how dangerous this is."
FLASH.
"Stop!" I moaned. "Stop! Stop!"
"Stop what? Stop what, what's she talking-?"
FLASH.
"-try your lies with me, you insolent girl!"
"Please, you must know I've done nothing wrong!"
"Save your pleas! Save your excuses, save them all! He will ruin you! What does he care for your glory? What does he know of your gift? He has ensnared you with false proclamations! Adulations built upon fancy, castles of sand!"
"It is a friendship! An old, old, friendship and nothing more!"
"He desires more. He hungers for more. And he cannot have it. He will crush your desires, rob you of your destiny, keep you caged like a pretty bird and boast about his good fortune!"
"I've given him leave! I've told him to forget me! I am wholly devoted to you, you must know that! He will forget me!"
"He will not."
"He will! I promise you, he will!"
"Damn it all, he will not! He cannot. It is impossible to forget you."
FLASH.
Something was rising inside me, throbbing, threatening, panicked. My eyelids snapped open and I briefly caught sight of a blurred face framed by tousled blonde hair.
"Christine!"
The polite thing to do would have been to offer a kind, if weary, smile and a greeting. Preferably a witty one, showing my grace under pressure. The polite thing to do would have been to thank everyone for their concern.
Instead, I showed my gratitude by bolting upright, twisting to the side, and heaving violently all over Raoul's crisp blue sweater.
Nothing says "polite" like recycled breakfast.
Raoul was very kind about it all. He assured me that he'd seen worse before-his brother had a notoriously weak stomach as a kid and used to have the top bunk in their bedroom. Bad meals meant Raoul would be rained upon by secondhand shellfish in the middle of the night.
"So really, this was nothing," he'd said with a smile. "And stop worrying about the sweater. It was a bargain, anyway, so it's hardly a loss."
Somehow, that did little to reassure me. I'd seen him wear that sweater before: there was nothing remotely cheap about it, but I appreciated the effort. Really, I did.
The paramedics had been incredibly kind, as well, even when I protested as they took me to the hospital as a precaution. It was all routine, they said, an effort to make sure I didn't have a concussion or some rare underlying condition that caused me to spontaneously swoon. Because apparently, I'd swooned pretty violently. Not quite as violently as M. Hertz, though.
I'd already reached the hospital by that point, so I didn't learn about his panic attack until later, when the tale was retold by an exhausted Meg.
"His hives got pretty bad when we were waiting for you in the lobby or whatever you call it," she said as we walked through the parking lot. Raoul was fidgeting beside me as he cast worried glances my way with metronomic regularity. "He started going on about Mad Cow Disease or a flesh eating bacteria or something and then hyperventilated."
"Oh, no."
"'Oh no' is right," Meg said flatly, rubbing her eyes. "The guy at the front desk kept telling him to calm down, you know, 'it's not a flesh-eating bacteria, you're not dying, you don't need CPR, stop squealing,' but Hertz was pretty done by that point. Eyes rolled back into his head and he stumbled around for a bit before tripping over a chair and conking his head on a table edge."
"Then he fell flat on his face on the tile," Raoul added grimly, "Pretty bloody."
Unsurprisingly, that did little to liven my spirits. I gulped.
"Is he alright?"
"Sure, he's fine," Meg said. "They stitched him up and gave him some nice pain meds to keep him all doped up for the night and sent him on his way."
I stopped, frowning. "He cracked his head open and you two just let him leave by himself?"
My voice had risen in disbelief, doing little to assuage the headache that had made itself comfortable throbbing at the base of my skull. I didn't know why I was so concerned. I hardly knew the man, but somehow felt responsible for his breakdown. He was a tad on the frantic side-more than a tad, if I was being honest, but his prattling dialogue aside, he was harmless, and his friendliness had been welcome after the bookstore disaster.
"No, no, don't worry," Raoul said quickly. "His sister came to pick him up."
"He has a sister?"
"Obviously," Meg snapped. I knew she would never admit it, but the day's events had taken a toll on her. She, like her mother, had never been one to openly submit to worrying, but I'd seen the panic flash behind her eyes, and I was touched, in between feeling enormous bouts of guilt for all the strife I'd caused.
Meg, however, was just irritable.
"You'd think we would have known about mystery sister, considering the guy told us everything else about his stupid life, but no, forget it, he's too busy head butting chairs to mention it," she continued, the color in her cheeks evident even in the dim glow of the street lamps. "And you know what? The sister's just as annoying! God, just what I needed, to sit in the waiting room with two of them, listening to him go on about how he had to have stitches before when he was a kid after he was gored by a deer, and listening to her go on about how she pulled the antlers out. Too bad they didn't stitch his mouth up, the stupid…"
Meg continued to mutter most of the way to the metro, and though she squeezed my hand and assured me that she was relieved I hadn't "spilled any brains," she was clearly not in a comforting mood. I didn't hold it against her. Stress always turned her into a blonde nightmare, and she either took to dealing out sucker punches or falling asleep to remedy the onslaught of overwhelming crankiness. Thankfully, this time, she chose to conk out on the ride home, her head lolling onto Raoul's shoulder and bobbing up and down as the train rattled over the tracks. Anyone else would have at least scowled at a sudden onslaught of drool dripping on their sleeve, but Raoul just chuckled and flashed a crooked smile.
"Vomit and drool in one day, huh? Next time you and Miss Personality here decide to ruin two of my sweaters in the span of a few hours, give me a heads up. I'll bring my hazmat suit. "
"Raoul, I am so sorry-" I started, biting my lip, but he just laughed, waving one hand dismissively.
"Christine, I'm joking. Really. Probably not the best time for jokes, anyway, after such an interesting day."
"'Interesting' isn't exactly the word I'd go for," I said dryly. Remorse welled up in my stomach, and it took a surprising amount of courage to look him in the eye. "Honestly, I am so sorry. You shouldn't have had to deal with all that, especially since you just got home, and I…what a way to ruin a homecoming."
Raoul was of the navy breed, like his father and grandfather and so-on before him. Having just completed a seven-month world tour, he'd decided to touch down in Paris for a while, finish up his degree (business and economics, courtesy of the navy), and wait until active duty called once more. He'd always loved sailing, even when we were kids, and the mammoth vessels he'd just spent half a year on had infused him with an impenetrable sort of glow, a happiness that bordered on childlike glee. He was at home on the ocean, and the ocean seemed to embrace him in return-in more ways than one. Raoul was in terrific shape, honed by heavy lifting and incessant physical fitness training. His skin had been bronzed by months beneath the sun's glow, setting the crispness of his light blue eyes and the whiteness of his teeth-flashing beneath that crooked grin-into even higher relief. His sun-bleached hair was cropped shorter than he preferred due to navy regulations, but showing tell-tale signs that it was more than ready to grow to back down his shoulders and fall into his face with its customary casual elegance.
In fact, in all the fuss of the afternoon, I hadn't had a chance to really take in his appearance. Of course, Raoul was still in there, the perennially ten-year-old, goofy, gangly, self-deprecating Raoul, but it was as if someone had turned a knob that had magnified his charm tenfold.
And it suddenly struck me how handsome he looked. Devastatingly handsome, actually.
Which, of course, made my pallid, minced, rather frazzled appearance all the more pathetic. I was still trembling slightly and coated with a lovely sheen of sweat that only served to frizz my hair further into curl cacophony. And I had ruined his sweater.
Life just kept getting better and better.
As usual, Raoul brushed off my apologies and fixed me with an expression that was so genuinely caring, I was almost able to push my mortification and nagging nausea aside.
Almost.
"Don't apologize," he said earnestly, "Please don't apologize. There's nothing to apologize for, Chris, you couldn't help 're exhausted, you're overworked, the flu's going around…I wouldn't be surprised if your immune system had just had it and enacted its revenge. It's not like you fainted on purpose." The sincerity in his eyes suddenly faded and was replaced by that all-too-familiar twinkle. "Although, if you have perfected the art of fainting on cue, it would be perfect for that 'Welcome Home' thing my mom is having. I'm thinking right in the middle of 80s karaoke, you can conk out on the h'ors d'oeuvres and spare us all from watching Dad gyrate to Addicted To Love."
"Again," I added, managing a smile.
"Again. Man, you'd think the fact that he threw out his hip last time would be enough to put the brakes on karaoke, but I guess not. Ah, well. As long as he forgoes the leather this time, I'll let it slide."
We laughed, quietly, so as not to disturb a now snoring Meg or the other passengers. But in that brief moment, I forgot my untamable hair and Raoul's horrible, vomit-stained homecoming and my throbbing head and the ruined store. Sitting side by side on the hard plastic seats beneath the sterile florescent glow of the overhead lights, Raoul and I were problem-free once more, five years old in Perros, splashing and cracking up in the waves. Eight years old, listening to a fiddler play wildly by the campfire on the beach, pausing only to make faces or tell terrible jokes that never failed to fall flat and embarrass his daughter. For whatever reason, Raoul had the unique ability to make me forget negativity, to forget the grief and loneliness that echoed loss. We chatted pleasantly for the next few minutes, eager to be away from the hospital and health scares. We talked school and traveling and Meg's right hook until the looming memory of a score etched in red ink had been reduced to a small blot at the back of my mind, tucked aside, forgotten.
Until Raoul innocently tossed it into the conversation.
"Hey, Meg mentioned something about some sheet music you were looking at before you passed out?" His elbows rested on his knees, fingers loosely laced and hanging limply over his worn tennis shoes. He had settled into another easy smile, a joke on the tip of his tongue as he surveyed me with mock seriousness, oblivious. "What was it, the world's worst set of lyrics? Neil Diamond, am I right? What was that one…? 'I am, I said!'"
The casual remark was like the abrupt yelp of a gunshot, and shattered the fragile pieces of normalcy I'd hastily built in disaster's aftermath. The rushing in my ears threatened to gain momentum, but I fought with nonexistent energy to keep chaos at bay.
What did he say? Neil Diamond? That was funny. It was funny, wasn't-?
I am the little boy who fetched your scarf from the-
No. No.
"Ha ha ha," I managed. It was a pitiful attempt at lightheartedness, sounding more like metal grinding against metal than a carefree chuckle. I gulped, wiping my slick palms on my jeans in a sort of desperate stupor. Please, no, not again, not here, please-
"Alright, bad joke, I get it," Raoul said, thankfully mistaking the hollow laugh for sarcasm. "Unfortunately for you, there's more where that came from."
"Lucky me." The lights flickered as the train rolled forward and over a bump on the tracks, jolting us in our seats and causing Meg to grunt loudly before she resumed snoring with a vengeance. I prayed fervently for a change of subject, for a distraction, for anything that would stop Raoul from asking a seemingly harmless question that was weighted down with something so sinister, I could barely wrap my mind around it.
I knew, however, that hope was futile. Raoul had every right to know the truth, but even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't give it to him.
I had no idea what the truth was.
"…boxes he brought in?" he was saying.
I stared at him blankly for several seconds before clearing my throat and letting out a squeaky, "Sorry, what?"
Raoul's brows knit together, and once again, concerned flared into his expression. "I just wanted to know if the sheet music was from one of the boxes M. Hertz brought in."
"Yeah," I said a little too quickly, "Yeah, I mean…I mean yes, it was. In one…one of the boxes."
I could feel Raoul's eyes studying me carefully, worriedly. He drew in a breath and asked, "Are you-?"
"Fine. Really, I promise, I'm fine." Lies, lies, lies.
He has ensnared you with false-
NO.
"Sorry," I offered weakly. My heart was beating so ferociously it threatened to shatter my ribcage. Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it. Just ignore it."I'm kind of dazed still, I suppose. I…what…what were you saying?"
"The sheet music…? You know what? It doesn't matter, Christine, never mind, really, it's-"
"It's fine." Ludicrous. Oh, I was a horrible lier. It wasn't fine. It was as far from "fine" as anything could be. "Yes, it was some sort of…um, score in one of the-one of the boxes he brought in-remember how he said he had a bunch of…a bunch of-?"
"Libr-"
"Librettos, yes!" I sounded almost hysterical. But I couldn't stop. I ached for normalcy. I ached to pretend that this had all been some sort of bizarre occurrence, a freak accident, nothing more. I was tired, that was all. Tired. Fine, everything was fine, normal. "Anyway, it was one of the old librettos he'd purchased at auction. I can't even remember what it was, really-" Lies! "-because by that point I was just sort of…"
"Out?"
"Out. Yes. Out. I think you're right. I think I'm either coming down with something or I just need-"
"The longest nap ever?"
"Yes!" I laughed, again with a slight edge of hysteria, but one that was tinged with relief. He'd bought it. He'd bought it, he'd dismissed it, and all was forgotten.
"You'd better hurry up with that nap, then," he said, jerking a thumb to the mass of snoring blonde hair fanned out over his arm. "This one's already got a head start."
My chuckle this time was more genuine. My muscles relaxed bit by bit as the minutes passed and I felt the warm, gentle pressure of Raoul's hand on my shoulder.
"I'm glad you're okay," he said softly. The pristine blue of his eyes held mine for a moment, intensely and touchingly sincere. And I was safe. No echoing, feverish proclamations, no dizzying…but what were they? What was this? Visions, memories? Dreams from childhood, but more. Never like this, never this vivid, never this...
A score etched in red, burning beneath my fingertips.
1881.
Ignore it. Forget it. Forget it, it's nothing.
But even then, I knew that such a boldfaced lie would reveal itself in due time. Even then, I knew that the truth lurked near, biding its time, curled like a serpent in dusty boxes and atop parchment that lay discarded upon a wooden floor. Sealed behind walls, pressed between time-withered pages. Floating in the distant fog of memories and dreams. Even then, I knew the truth was inescapable.
I did not care to know the truth.
"What are you saying?"
Silence. Heavy and foreboding, like the baritone of a bell tower ringing through a churchyard. The feeble response wavered across the table.
"Merely that the institution did what it felt was best at the time for all parties involved, Monsieur."
"'The institution?'Do not attempt to remove yourself from this, Bertrand, any of you, do not attempt to separate yourselves from the reality of the situation! My God, I cannot believe-"
"Now just a minute, just a minute!" A different voice this time, deeper, older, infused with more authority. "It's hardly his fault, he wasn't even here when the decision was made-"
"I was in school in Romania!"
"He was in school in Romania! You can hardly blame Bertrand for this! He is-we are taking the necessary precautions to ensure that everyone involved, including the patient, benefits accordingly."
"Romania be damned, I don't care if he was in Cancun, Massachusetts, or Taiwan! This is the 21st century, not some medieval hell hole!"
"Doctor, if you just familiarize yourself with the patient's file, you will understand why-"
"Yes, let's talk about that file. Smashing idea, let's talk about that file. You know what's in that file? Answer me!"
"I thought it was a rhetorical-"
"I'll tell you what's in that file: a whole lot of nothing!"
"That is absolutely false. We've documented everything since his arrival-"
"Twenty-two years! Twenty-two years, and you mean to tell me you haven't found a scrap of information? Nothing?"
"We've searched-"
"But you gave up. You gave up, didn't you, Poirot? Which is just grand, if you ask me, really an ideal characteristic for a man of your profession: a doctor who gives up on patients."
"There was nothing! Absolutely nothing! And by God, I wasn't here either when the initial investigation took place! Do not pin this on me, desMarais! What is done is done! This is an extremely reputable institution! It is our duty to make sure that the patients here are afforded the utmost care and safety, and we will go to any means necessary to prevent further altercations!"
"I do wonder what the Board will think of your preventative measures when I inform them of your treatment of this man. See how your reputable institutionfares after that!"
"See how you fare after this: the Board approved our measures!"
DesMarais paused for a beat. Then, "I cannot believe that."
"It's in the file."
"Well, that would be one thing that actually isincluded in that file, then!"
"Actually, there are a few other things included in his file, such as his physical condition upon arrival-"
"Shut up, Bertrand!" Poirot barked. Then, to DesMarias, "Come, now, man, see reason! We can't put anyone's life in jeopardy here simply because you haven't familiarized yourself with the…uniqueness of the situation."
"As if I haven't tried! You people have reached an unparalleled level of incompetence that any sane man would see as grounds for immediate dismissal! Now I don't know what you told the board in order to convince them to push through with your medieval methods, but your days of tyranny-"
"Is the melodrama really necess-?"
"YOUR DAYS OF TYRANNY," DesMarais bellowed, "are over! An entire floor for one patient! Holing him up like a damned leper in Biblical Jerusalem, well, I won't have it! I won't!" A tense pause before, "This meeting is adjourned."
"It can't be adjourned, we haven't covered half of-"
"I am in charge, Poirot, and the meeting is adjourned. Who is his charge nurse?"
Silence. The eyes in the anxious faces hovering over the long table darted from one end of the room to another, as if searching for a life raft aboard a sinking ship. Foreboding hung heavily in the air.
"Who is his charge nurse? Bertrand!"
"Yes?"
"Who. Is. His. Charge. NURSE?"
"It's in the file, Monsieur."
"Nothing of any use is in that file, Bertrand, and i's going in the bin along with your job if you do not answer my question immediately."
"I-that would be-Madame Valerius."
"And where is this Madame Valerius?"
"I don't…I'm not absolutely certain where she is at the moment."
"Then you'd do well to find her, wouldn't you? Because I am inspecting the conditions of room 3327 in ten minutes, and I expect some answers, and if she cannot provide them, I will find someone who can-regardless of how many of you I have to dismiss."
"You won't find answers." Poirot spat in furious exasperation. DesMarais fixed him with a hard, steely glare.
"Oh, believe me, my friend, I intend to."