Disgust wells up within me, mingling with a tinge of anger, as I recall the harrowing moment when I had to intervene to save her from the clutches of a watery grave. The audacity of her recklessness, her willful disregard for her own life, leaves a bitter taste upon my tongue.
And yet, beneath the layers of my indignation, there lies a profound sorrow, a profound ache that pierces my soul. For in that very moment, as I grasped her flailing form and pulled her from the murky depths, I witnessed the depths of her despair. I glimpsed the darkness that consumed her.
How could she choose to embrace death's cold embrace, driven to such desperation in her attempt to escape from my presence.
However, she ought not to have been present here. She can attribute all that has transpired solely to herself. Her presence is unwelcome, a fact she should have been cognizant of prior to prying her inquisitive nose into affairs that did not concern her.
Just as inquisitive as the Daroga, who himself had taken an untimely plunge into the water not long ago. I had forewarned him. Such a display of ignorance, so remarkably lacking in judgment.
-E
Cold, boney fingers burrowed into her exposed, chilled flesh on her upper arms, forcefully pressing her against an unyielding surface. Hanna was convinced that death had claimed her. The murmur of her own mortality reverberated like a somber chorus in her mind.
Yet, she harbored no fear, though a faint fragment of consciousness struggled within her. It was instead a sensation of liberation, a farewell to the ephemeral nature of human existence. She perceived a gentle embrace from the realm beyond, enveloping her and whispering that it was permissible to relinquish.
Abruptly, a searing agony pierced through her, traversing her chest and causing her body to convulse involuntarily. Shortly thereafter, another piercing pain seared her chest. And again. The breath of mortality lingered on her lips. And while Hanna had been prepared to surrender to death, she was rather unceremoniously yanked back into reality.
Water surged up her throat, inducing excruciating coughs as her body contorted. Her heart raced erratically, pounding forcefully against her chest, inducing a nauseating sensation. Someone spoke to her, yet the amalgamation of pain, disorientation, and the roaring din in her ears rendered the words unintelligible.
Hanna immediately tensed as she expelled the water from her lungs. She remained unbearably fatigued, yearning for respite. However, the whispers had ceased, those whispers that had enticed her toward the other side had now vanished.
Perhaps she had indeed succumbed to death. At any rate, the sensation she experienced was akin to floating on ethereal clouds. She remained motionless, as if frozen in time, before mustering a modicum of strength to stir her left hand. A mattress. Reality crashed upon her with full force as she allowed her last moments of complete awareness to replay in her mind.
She had come perilously close to drowning in that lake. The mere thought of the frigid, obsidian water and how intimately she had once again brushed against the embrace of death sent shivers coursing through her body. With great effort, she pried open her adhesive eyelids.
She lay still in bed, yet her breathing grew labored, and a cold sweat dampened her brow. The room swirled around her, compelling her to shut her eyes once more. She found herself in the cramped space where she had tended to the stranger a mere few days prior. She was still trapped on this cursed island.
Hanna clutched a pillow tightly, burying her tear-streaked face in the plush cotton brimming with feathery down. Within moments, the fabric became saturated by her weeping.
Her trembling fingers brushed away the scalding tears cascading down her cheeks. Gradually, she managed to regain some semblance of emotional composure, just as a gentle knock resonated at the door.
She uttered no sound, fully aware of who lingered behind that threshold. Hanna detected the soft click as the door swung open. An icy hand settled upon her forehead, its abrupt touch causing her eyes to widen in alarm.
The room continued its dizzying whirl, and it took a few fleeting moments for her gaze to hone in on the black mask adorning the countenance of the figure leaning over her. Her sight remained veiled, and the strain of keeping her eyes ajar became palpable as a pulsating ache in her temples mingled with her other pains. The black mask he wore troubled her, leaving her uncertain of his sentiments at that very instant—whether they harbored fury or concern.
Although she hoped he hadn't been the one to drag her back to this island, he had indeed saved her. She wasn't deceased, and that fact held significance. Nervously, she moistened her dry, chapped lips with her tongue. She made an effort to utter a sound, yet no sound escaped her. She tried once more, but to no avail.
Frantically, she searched for his gaze, as hot tears pooled in her eyes upon realizing her voice had vanished. Likely due to shock. Or fear. She couldn't tell. She couldn't even fathom how she should feel in this situation any longer.
She harbored a fear of him, yet felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for his act of rescuing her from drowning. This mixture of emotions and uncertainty tightened her stomach in knots.
"What were you thinking? You barely evaded death," his angelic voice sliced through the stillness, eliciting a whimper from her. She couldn't provide a response, even if she had been capable—she hadn't been thinking. She only retained fragments of her overwhelming emotions as she submerged herself into the frigid abyss before aimlessly swimming in the depths of darkness.
"Oh, drowning, I should have left you to drown! Yet, I would have had to retrieve your lifeless body from the water." He turned away from her and settled onto the mahogany chair positioned in a corner of the room.
"This visitor brings nothing but unease. Reminds me of someone—so inquisitive and so... brainless." Hanna had no words to add, warmth crawled up her neck as she shamefully sank deeper into the cushions. He let out a deep sigh, crossed his legs restlessly multiple times before rising and departing from the room without uttering another word.
Hanna exhaled with a sense of relief and closed her eyes, yet the darkness continued to swirl behind her closed lids. She felt unwell, a feverish taste coating her tongue, while cold sweat alternated with waves of heat. Her hands clenched the bed sheets as she turned restlessly, her breath shallow and irregular, caught in the grip of agonizing discomfort.
She lost all perception of time, although cold compresses were consistently placed on her forehead, and in her bewildered state, she was administered something that left a lingering bitter aftertaste on her parched tongue.
And once again, the whispers returned. With a gentle voice, they tickled Hanna's subconscious, and warmth spread throughout her heart. Alongside the comforting embrace, additional voices joined in, their precise words eluding perception. Nevertheless, she felt a sense of security. It wasn't the unsettling whispering from a few days prior; it was sweet and ethereal.
The voices grew more distinct, and she caught the faint echoes of bright laughter reverberating in her mind. Hanna's body grew increasingly weightless, the pains that once plagued her gradually fading away, replaced by a lightheadedness that settled in her limbs.
The pulsing in her head diminished, and she felt a pleasant dizziness as she listened to the voices. She was certain a smile graced her lips. With a quiet sigh, she immersed herself in the soothing whispers.
When she awoke this time, she experienced a profound sense of renewal. Inhaling deeply through her nose, she parted her eyelids. The past few days had been plagued by fever, accompanied by fever dreams—some haunting, while others held a bittersweet allure. The memory of a dream lingered, where she believed angels whispered sweet words into her ear.
The fever was a natural consequence of her own folly, venturing into the frigid depths of the lake. If not for drowning, the likelihood of succumbing to a fever would have been high. She wasn't inherently religious, yet in desperate moments like these, faith seemed to emerge. It mirrored how nonbelievers, confronted with turbulence during a flight, suddenly found themselves praying for survival.
In this instance, however, Hanna instinctively crossed herself, her hand resting upon her chest, while her other hand gently clasped over it. She uttered a raspy expression of gratitude into the air before closing her eyes momentarily, only to reopen them and slowly elevate herself.
Although she felt emotionally invigorated, her physical state fell far short of that, evident when her feeble attempt to rise was met with a vexed groan from within, followed by a cushioned descent back onto the pillows.
"It would be prudent for you to continue granting your body some respite, Fräulein," a voice startled her. His presence had gone unnoticed until that moment. At first glance, the room appeared devoid of occupants, save for a solitary candle flickering upon a dresser, casting a faint, soothing glow. He remained concealed within the shadows, perched upon a chair, with only his elongated legs discernible within the gentle illumination.
She wanted to retort with a snide remark, something to make her disdain towards him evident. But he was right. So, she lay there, eyes wide open, observing him. He made no effort to say anything further, and excruciatingly long minutes passed in silence. Occasionally, the stillness was punctuated by the turning of a page in a book. He read, and she stared.
She had grown intimately acquainted with the room, having traced the patterns on the walls countless times with her gaze, conjuring shapes and faces within the intricate design. She knew every mundane detail of the ceiling above her, memorized through hours of idle contemplation.
So, she gazed at him, seeking to overcome the boredom that shackled her to the bed. He wore black trousers, loosely hanging on his frame, and she could discern black polished shoes in the dim light. Her gaze traveled upward, searching for the rest of his body, swallowed by darkness. How could he possibly read in this light? she wondered.
"Have you had your fill of staring?" he asked in a monotone voice, accompanied by the closing of a book. Rising from his seat, he approached her bedside. "I regret that my present circumstances offer little room for entertainment," she retorted. Once again, he wore that unsettling mask. It might as well have been akin to the masks worn by medieval doctors to ward off the plague.
Not being able to see him behind that silky mask unsettled her more than what lay beyond it. His face had stayed vividly etched in her memory. Likewise, his condition on the floor, where she found him, and his enraged expression when he shouted at her, demanding to know where she had hidden his mask. She huffed at these recollections.
"I am not here to provide you with amusement," he stated, his voice carrying a warning undertone. Placing a pillow behind her, his icy fingers slipped beneath her neck and back, gently lifting her upright. Helplessly, she gazed into his golden eyes, visible through the slits in his mask. They held a warmth she had not anticipated, yet in an instant, his gaze hardened upon meeting her own.
Nothing escaped her lips as she held his gaze. Never before in her life had she encountered such captivating eyes. They contained a depth in which she felt herself teetering on the edge, a warmth that embraced her, but also a hardness that pierced her soul. It was he who turned away, reaching for a bowl on the bedside table.
Silently, he spoon-fed her water, her gaze fixed ahead, into emptiness. His eyes unsettled her too much, as if she could summon the courage to withstand his gaze.
"How long was I feverish?" she asked after taking the last sips.
"Six days," he sighed. Hanna knew what he was thinking. For six days, he had cared for her. He wanted to be rid of her as soon as possible, and she shared that sentiment, but her own foolishness had prolonged their escape. She bit her lower lip.
Her empty stomach, subsisting on a meager amount of water, growled loudly. In embarrassment, she crossed her arms over her belly to muffle any further noises. In vain. Her stomach decided to voice its indignation over the lack of food in the past days.
The man disappeared without a word and returned moments later with another bowl to the bedroom. It contained a tasteless porridge, but it served its purpose, and Hanna almost begged for a second portion, were it not for a thought that crossed her mind. The kitchen cabinets had been nearly empty the last time she was on her feet. Since then, six or seven days had passed. What had he been eating during that time, while she had just devoured the scraps?
Concern washed over her as she studied his slender figure. He wore a tailcoat, a shirt beneath it, as if he were about to attend a gala at any moment. The clothing hung loosely on him, and Hanna imagined she could discern his ribs beneath the dark fabric. Hot tears welled up in her eyes, emotions overwhelming her as she looked at him. He not only saved her life but also sacrificed food for her. It felt like déjà vu. Just a few days ago, he lay in this bed, and now she nearly shared his fate. She wanted to laugh at the irony of destiny.
"I apologize," she began, her voice laced with regret as she cleared her throat, sensing a lump forming. "I have caused you nothing but inconvenience." A profound silence hung in the air as he wordlessly stared down at her. Hanna swallowed, her nerves heightened.
"Leave this island as soon as you're fully recovered," he snapped sharply. Hanna offered a slight nod in response.
"And what about you?"
Silence ensued once again. Hanna nervously moistened her lips, mustering the courage to speak again. "You can't stay here. This island is a certain death sentence for you."
"So be it," he replied curtly.
Confusion etched across her face as she looked at him, bewildered. "But..." She couldn't fathom leaving him behind, despite his threats and physical aggression. Something within Hanna resisted the notion of abandoning him to his fate. Was he so deeply scarred by the outside world that he refused to step foot beyond the island's shores?
"You can accompany me," she offered, her voice earnest. He scoffed dismissively at her proposition.
"I'm serious. We may not have had the most auspicious beginning, but I cannot leave you here alone. Not after everything you've done for me." A voice in her head reminded her of the moments he had nearly choked the life out of her. No, she compelled herself to see the goodness within him. He had saved her life twice. She didn't want to trivialize their past encounters, but she needed to convince herself that leaving him to perish on the island was unjust.
"You need not burden yourself with guilt if you leave me here. Depart from this island. It was my intention to meet my demise. Your presence has merely prolonged the inevitable, but I shall resume my plan once you resurface, Fräulein."
Confusion flickered in her eyes. "Resurface?" she echoed, grappling to comprehend his previous words, but that solitary word lodged itself firmly in her mind.
The man sighed heavily. "Perhaps someone had indeed dealt you a blow to the head before you stumbled upon my abode," he spat sarcastically. Hanna brushed off his insult and repeated, "Resurface?"
Panic surged through her being. The revelation that she was meant to be beneath the surface filled her with profound unease. "Beneath what?" she squeaked, her voice trembling. "Where am I?" Her breaths grew increasingly rapid, and her heart raced with palpable fear.
With a protracted sigh, the man gracefully exited the room, leaving her alone to grapple with her swirling thoughts about her unknown whereabouts. It made sense, she reasoned. The perpetual darkness, the absence of stars and moon in the sky—how had she never questioned it before? Her own foolishness seemed undeniable, prompting her to emit an exasperated groan.
As she pulled the blanket over her head, she froze mid-motion. Clad in a nightgown of antiquated fashion, she couldn't help but fixate on this detail. It wasn't merely the garment's outdated style, reminiscent of everything else in the house. No, it was the realization that she was dressed at all.
A surge of understanding and shame washed over her as she recalled her naked entrance into the lake. He hadn't merely seen her in the nude; he had also clothed her. Hanna fervently wished for a fissure in the earth to appear and swallow her whole.
She reeked, an unpleasant, pungent odor of sweat and illness. It didn't take much persuasion on her part to take a bath; he himself had pointed it out. She didn't know how many times in the past two days she had blushed upon seeing him.
Sighing, she eased herself into the warm, almost hot water. Using scented soap, she lathered her body and massaged her tense arms.
His behavior puzzled her. Sometimes he responded to her almost arrogantly, sarcastically, and condescendingly when she attempted to start a conversation with him. Yet, in certain situations, she caught glimpses of how almost shy he behaved around her, especially when she thanked him for taking care of her.
Most of the time, he didn't respond as if he hadn't heard her. However, his eyes gave him away, nervously darting back and forth.
Once she had recalled the numerous instruments in the adjacent rooms and the scattered sheet music. "I enjoy listening to classical music," she had said between bites of the more tasteless porridge. She didn't want to appear ungrateful, but she would give anything to have even a hint of flavor on her tongue.
"Not only do you play, but you also compose, don't you?" Silence. "I particularly enjoy Schubert and Ravel."
"Ravel?"
Hanna nodded vigorously and hummed. "Yes. Hmm, I'm sure you're familiar with his Boléro. It's quite famous, you know? I think I might have it on my smartphone."
She received only an empty, bewildered stare in response. She chuckled lightly. "No worries. I don't even know most pieces by name either."
He didn't say anything further, and she decided it was better to continue eating her porridge in silence, lest she further escalate an uncomfortable situation.
Drowning in the bathtub, the water reaching up to her chin, Hanna sank deeper, her mind dwelling on the failed attempts to find a common topic with him. And she had made an effort: she complimented his selection of books, inquired about whether he owned any newer works by classical authors.
Hanna struggled to decipher the enigmatic gaze with which he studied her. It carried a mixture of bewilderment and confusion, leaving Hanna even more perplexed. Eventually, she conceded, realizing that her attempts were in vain. She had made an effort, but he remained largely uncommunicative, with no further displays of emotion in her presence. Most of the time, he would be outside her room, maintaining absolute silence.
Hanna continued massaging her arms for a while longer before gracefully emerging from the warm, almost scalding water. She proceeded to dry herself off and dressed in the clothes she had arrived in, consciously opting against the outdated attire that would undoubtedly draw attention during her journey back home.
Pausing to observe herself in the mirror while attaching her earrings, Hanna couldn't help but notice her exhausted appearance. Dark circles, intensified by the recent events, accentuated her eyes, giving her a wearied countenance. Her complexion had lost its vibrancy, replaced by a pallid, sickly hue, while her slightly sunken cheeks, a consequence of meager meals, only added to her somewhat spectral visage.
It struck Hanna that she now bore a resemblance to him. She let out a sigh of resignation as this realization dawned upon her. Having spent nearly two weeks in this subterranean realm, she appeared deathly pale. She shuddered to contemplate how long he had been dwelling here. A touch of sunlight would undoubtedly work wonders for his well-being. Perhaps he would be persuaded to accept her offer after all. But then what? A wave of uncertainty washed over her.
In accepting his company, she would assume a certain responsibility towards him. He possessed knowledge of the way out; otherwise, he wouldn't have insisted on personally escorting her from his abode. It was the subsequent journey that troubled her—the process of reintegrating him into society.
But was it truly such a formidable task? Hanna pondered this question. Countless introverted individuals seldom ventured beyond the confines of their homes. With the internet at his disposal, he could have anything delivered to his doorstep, sparing him the need for human interaction, if that was his concern.
Hanna found herself dumbfounded by his behavior. There had to be underlying reasons that propelled him to seclude himself in this subterranean darkness. Bitterly, she surmised that these motivations must be weighty indeed.
As Hanna contemplated the possible rationale behind his choices, she idly combed her damp hair, her gaze eventually falling upon a perfume bottle gracing the surface of a dresser. It exuded an unmistakable feminine fragrance. Her thoughts now meandered towards the perfume and the feminine garments that adorned the nearby closets.
Did they belong to this Kristina, or whatever her name was?
She quickly regained her composure, admonishing herself for prying into other people's affairs. She had more than enough troubles to deal with—her abduction, and still not knowing her exact whereabouts. A sigh escaped her lips, and it wasn't the only reason that caused her to tremble with fear and stress. Her job weighed heavily on her mind.
She had disappeared without a word for two weeks. And while it wasn't her fault, the thought of confronting her department head filled her with dread. The mere anticipation sent a knot twisting in her stomach, and she could feel her veins pulsating in her wrists. Anxiously, she bit down on her lower lip, chewing on it as she forcefully tugged a brush through her tangled hair.
Escape was imperative. Every passing moment brought her closer to the brink of being fired. One last glance in the mirrors, and she practically sprinted into the living room. He stood by the fireplace, his back turned to her. He wore his customary tailcoat, but this time, a long black cloak draped over his shoulders, and a black hat was pulled low over his face.
"I'm ready," she sniffled, grabbing her smartphone, keys, and wallet from the table. Swiftly, she tucked her belongings into her pocket, not waiting for him, and left the house.
Attached to a metal ring was a gondola. Hanna inspected the meticulously crafted boat with a puzzled expression, noting that it had enough space for three people. However, her main question remained unanswered: How? She was certain she had searched every wooden object in the house, and if a piece of furniture had been removed, she would have noticed.
Not that he would ever consider sacrificing a piece of furniture; she vividly remembered his outburst of rage. While standing before the gondola on the water's edge, he reached her side. Without any intention to explain how he managed to construct a gondola with nonexistent materials, he extended his arm. She took his gloved hand, the coolness of the leather jolting her back to the present moment.
Muttering a thank you, she stepped onto the unsteady boat, settling herself at the front, facing him. With a long pole, he untied the gondola and pushed it away from the shore. It would have been almost romantic had they been in Venice, and not who knew how far below the surface... and if she didn't still harbor a secret fear of him.
Unbeknownst to her, she had been staring at him. The light affixed to the front of the gondola cast enough illumination to discern his silhouette. A wide-brimmed slouch hat sat low on his face, and she almost had the sensation that his eyes glowed in the darkness.
She had to admit, his theatrical entrance left an indelible impression. She knew no one else who dressed quite like him, and despite his apparent detachment from the world, she found it strangely appealing.
She blinked, trying to wipe away the dazed feeling on her mind. Attractive? In this moment, she wanted to administer a firm smack to herself. Her gaze averted from him, a blush spreading across her face as she fixed her gaze on the water.
"It would be wise for you to refrain from such actions," he cautioned.
She regarded him with a questioning look, taken aback by his warning. Was he afraid she was merely biding her time for the opportune moment to plunge into that murky, inky abyss? Certainly not. She scoffed, "I have no intention of making another attempt to drown myself, if that's what you're implying."
He sighed. Goodness, how frequently he sighed! As if she personified disappointment.
"It is more to do with what resides within the water," he conveyed.
Hanna tilted her head to the side, her comprehension eluding her. Was he referring to the currents, perhaps? "What exactly do you mean?" His eyes locked onto hers, seemingly aglow amidst the darkness.
"Whatever sounds you may hear emanating from the water, remain where you are. For your own safety," he advised.
She swallowed, his words triggering a cascade of thoughts. What precisely lurked beneath the water's surface? Her mind raced, contemplating her past encounters. Had she been fortunate enough to evade the entity he alluded to? Or perchance, was he merely attempting to startle her? Since when did she hold his words in high regard? After all, he was the one who had deceived her previously.
She crossed her arms, hugging herself protectively. She refused to bestow any credence upon his absurd statements. Nonetheless, for the remainder of their journey, she dared not cast another glimpse at the water. Was there truly any need to take such risks?
As the gondola grounded on the opposite shore, a wave of relief washed over her. Soon, she would step foot out of this subterranean confinement. The man assisted her out of the gondola, yet before she could take another step, he grasped her upper arm somewhat roughly, tugging her back towards him.
"Excuse me!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with indignation, as she tried in vain to break free from his grip. Out of nowhere, her vision was obstructed by a delicate silk cloth. "What is the meaning of this?" She attempted to rip the cloth away from her eyes, but a firm hand held her wrist, preventing her from doing so.
"Cease," he commanded.
Hanna swallowed hard and reluctantly lowered her hands. He refused to release her. "Why...?" she managed to utter, her voice laced with curiosity and frustration.
"It's a precaution," he replied in a measured tone.
Once again, she emitted a derisive snort. Did he truly believe she would willingly descend into this abyss again? "Please, Monsieur," she retorted sarcastically, "do guide the young lady to the surface."
His grip on her wrist tightened, causing Hanna to inhale sharply, her breath catching in her throat. With a sudden jolt, he forcefully pulled her along, paying no heed to her plea for a slower pace. Although she shared the urgency to reach the surface, she yearned to emerge unscathed, without the discomfort of sprained ankles.
As they ascended an endlessly long staircase, her steps became unsteady, causing her to stumble repeatedly. She occasionally collided with his figure, his damp cloak brushing against her. Each time, he briefly halted their progress, allowing her to regain her composure before resuming their brisk journey.
Perhaps it was time to reconsider her decision to bring him along. If, by some chance, he had reconsidered her offer and agreed to accompany her, would she still hesitate to rescind her invitation?
Suddenly, the man abruptly halted their movement, catching Hanna off guard. Without warning, she collided with his solid frame, her body recoiling as she stumbled backward and collided with a cold, unyielding wall.
Before she could let out a startled cry, he swiftly covered her mouth, silencing her scream. "Remain quiet," he whispered into her ear, his voice dangerously close. The sensation of his body pressed against hers caused her to tense up, reminding her not to challenge her limits in that moment.
Painfully long moments passed in that position before he released his grip. Without a word of explanation, he continued to drag her along. "Keep your mouth shut until we're outside," he calmly instructed. Hanna bit her lower lip, suppressing any urge to speak.
Throughout the journey, she refrained from uttering a single sound, even when she felt fleeting movements brush past her feet. It felt like an eternity until she heard a clicking sound, and he swiftly removed the cloth from her eyes.
Blinding light poured in, causing her to squint. Fresh air filled her lungs, a stark contrast to the days spent underground. She inhaled deeply, her vision gradually clearing, but then her breath caught in her throat.
As she took in the scene before her, she held her breath. They stood on a bustling street, its cobblestones adorned with horse-drawn carriages maneuvering in every direction. Yet, it was the attire of the people that froze her in place. They all donned peculiarly antiquated garments, much like the stranger by her side. It was as if they had emerged from a photograph of the late 19th or early 20th century.
It was undeniable that she stood out amidst the crowd with her modern clothing.
Her mind raced, overwhelmed by the fears that had consumed her thoughts just days ago. Could she truly believe that the past life regression had succeeded? Or was this an elaborate setup? Surely, one wouldn't go to such lengths merely to frighten her?
"Where exactly are we?" she asked, her voice trembling. She had a hunch, suggesting that they were beyond the borders of Germany, if Germany even existed at this point.
"Paris," he responded calmly, as though he had anticipated her question.