Ander - Part 4: Subchapter 33
33
"James?"
He didn't want to raise his head, not after the way she had called his name: so softly, so delicately, like the sound alone might break him. He was fine just sitting here, looking down at his shoes, tap-tap-tapping in his restlessness. Rufio was right next to him, slowly puffing away on that old pipe of his, filling the room with the smell of pipeweed, but at least he was quiet.
"James?" she said it again, slightly louder, but still just as delicately as before, a sound unbefitting a vixen as large as her.
He raised his head, and the look he saw on Bethany's face was enough to tell him that his life would never be the same again.
Rufio must have known it, too, because he reached out, put a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed down hard, almost hard enough to hurt. "Go," he said, "and whatever you say, make sure it counts. You won't get any second chances."
This couldn't be real. None of this could really be happening. He'd been in his workshop, happily banging a nail into a chair like he'd done a thousand times before when Mateo ran in, completely out of breath, screaming at him to get to the healer's right away. And then, before he could even ask, the boy had said the words that would haunt him forever.
Something had happened to Emily.
And now he was in Rufio's house, a house he had built with his own two hands, being led down a hallway he knew shouldn't be this long. It felt like he'd been walking for hours towards a door he was terrified to open, but he couldn't turn away because he knew his wife needed him. He longed to be with her, to touch her, to hug her, to kiss her, but at the same time he was deathly afraid. It was that mixture of longing and fear that gnawed at him, pulling him both ways at once while Bethany slowly marched him along the endless corridor, to a door that wasn't coming any closer.
Until it was right in front of him, like a sorcerer's trick.
"I did everything I could," Bethany said, her fingers feather-light on his back. "But it just wasn't... I'm sorry, James. I'm so, so sorry."
Some part of him knew he was supposed to thank her for everything she did, or at the very least tell her it wasn't her fault, or that she didn't have anything to be sorry for, but he couldn't bring himself to say any of that.
You're a healer! It's your job to heal people! Why couldn't you do your job!? Why couldn't you save my Emily!? I built you a home! Doesn't that count for anything!? Don't give me an apology! Give me my Emily! Give her back! Give her back!
He couldn't say any of that, either. It felt like he was part of a dark dream he couldn't wake up from, a dream where he had no control over his body and where he had no say in what was happening around him. He couldn't do anything. He could only watch as things happened around him, a powerless spectator.
Bethany was gone. He could hear her speaking to Rufio in hushed tones.
Funeral whispers, he thought, staring at the doorknob. He could vaguely remember shaving this door all those years ago, sanding it down, making it nice and smooth. Beyond this door lay his Emily.
His dying Emily.
His hand reached out and grasped the knob all by itself, and the door slowly swung open, creaking ever so slightly on a pair of old hinges.
"Emily?" he said, not quite daring to go beyond the threshold. He's never been this afraid in his entire life. But then...
"James?"
Her voice sparked the love that had been fighting against his fear this entire time, waging a silent war inside his soul, giving him just enough courage to step over that dreaded line.
It wasn't as bad as he had expected, but that somehow made it all the more terrible.
She lay in bed, her arms down by her sides, on top of the blankets. There were bandages around her head, and a bright spot of blood on her left temple. There wasn't much, but it stood out with horrible clarity.
She saw him standing in the doorway and she smiled so beautifully, lighting up the whole room just like always. It didn't matter whether she was on the porch or in the garden or entertaining guests or having a cup of tea or making one of her sketches or lying on her deathbed. Her smile was exactly the same as it always was, and for that he was infinitely grateful.
"Emily?"
She motioned for him to come closer, or tried to. It was just a feeble movement of the wrist, but James didn't need any more than that. He went to her side, sat down in the chair that had been used by grieving husbands and wives countless times before, and took her hand in his.
It was warm. Her hand was warm and she was smiling. That spot of blood on the side of her face was so small. So why... why was this happening to her? He's seen lads tumble off roofs and bleed buckets onto the grass and then go their merry way to Othello's the very same night, so_WHY!?_
Why did this have to happen to her...?
"James?" she said, speaking softly, but clearly, not like a dying person at all. "Where are the kids?"
"They're at home. Jon is looking after them."
"Oh, that's good. Good..." She closed her eyes, only for a little while, but long enough for James to first wonder if she had drifted off to sleep, and then long enough for him to wonder if she had... left. But then she opened them again. She looked so tired. "Is Laura okay?"
"She... she's fine."
"Liar."
He's never been able to lie to her. She could always see right through him. But what was he supposed to tell her? That Laura was in a state, wailing her eyes out, slapping away any attempts at comfort? He couldn't blame her, though. If she was feeling even half of what he was feeling right now, then she must be going through hell.
"She's with Sarah and Mateo, I think. They're taking good care of her, so don't worry. Everyone is perfectly fine, so... so..." He rubbed at his treacherous eyes, willing them to obey. He had to be strong right now. Emily needed him.
"What of Markus?"
This was the question he had been dreading, and she asked it of him so suddenly, before he could prepare himself for it.
Go, and whatever you say, make sure it counts. You won't get any second chances.
He'd have to lie. There was no other way. He couldn't let her go thinking that everything she did, everything she sacrificed, was for naught. Hoping that she wouldn't notice the way his hands were shaking, he said: "Markus is fine, dear. You did it. You saved him. You'll be the talk of the town. The heroine of Grovenglen, they'll call you."
She looked confused, so very, very confused. It reminded him of his youth, of all the times his parents dragged him along on those uncomfortable visits to his grandmother. She would sit in her rocking chair, old and grey, the whole house smelling vaguely of urine and spoiled food, a smell that would seep into your fur for days and make you feel contaminated just by breathing the air. Grandmother was a good ways down the road to senility, and she would often look at him just like Emily was looking at him right now: so confused, as if she didn't understand who he was or what he was saying.
But this wasn't his grandmother, dammit! This was his wife! No one in all of creation was more alive than his Emily! But to see her like this... her eyes so dull and unfocussed, straining to understand his words, it was almost more than he could bear.
"James...?" she said his name, and James leaned in a little closer. "What did Laura tell you?"
An odd question, but at least one he could answer. "She told me everything that happened. She told me how you and Markus were talking at the top of the stairs, and how he slipped, and how you grabbed him and tried to - How you did save him. The two of you took a tumble, but you slowed him down just enough to save his life. I've never been so proud of you, Emily. You're a real -"
"That story..." she said, closing her eyes yet again, "won't save her..."
"What?" James waited for an answer, but none came. He didn't know what to do. Should he call for Bethany? She was still breathing, and breathing perfectly fine. A bit slow, perhaps, but certainly not so slow that she would...
Could Bethany have made a mistake? She was only a Fox of flesh and blood, just like any other, so maybe she was wrong? It wasn't impossible. Maybe she could still pull through. His Emily was tough, much tougher than anybody knew. And she wasn't even that badly hurt! That was what really got to him. That spot of blood on the side of her head that smelled faintly of rubbing alcohol wasn't that big. No bigger than his fist, really. He's bled worse than that from banging his thumb with a hammer! What does Bethany know, that husky quack!?
But Emily wasn't opening her eyes. What should he do?
"Emily?" James whispered.
No answer.
"Emmy? Are you asleep?"
Her eyes fluttered and looked around the room, roving aimlessly until they found his again. "Hey..."
"Hey, Emmy," James said and kissed her hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
"James... is Markus really still alive? Is he?"
She knows you're lying. Just tell her the truth.
I can't tell her that! It will crush her!
Do you really want to spend your last few minutes with her telling lies?
Whatever you say, make sure it counts. You won't get any second chances.
I can't. She died for him. I can't let her know it was all for nothing. That would be far too cruel.
"Yes, dear," he said, praying that the gods would forgive him this small sin. "He's hurt a little, but it's not serious."
He was expecting to see a look of relief wash over her face, but instead it contorted into a mask of agony.
"Emily? Is it the pain? Should I go get Beth?"
"James, you have to listen... very carefully..." She strained to get the words out, her chest rising and falling much faster than before.
"Don't go overboard, dear! You're very badly -"
"Listen."
James shut his mouth with an audible snap.
"Laura... is in trouble. She's been in trouble... for years..."
Laura? What's all this now?
"Dear? I think you might be a bit confused. Laura is fine."
"He beats her, James. He damn near kills her. I tried to stop him, but..."
Everything changed then. That sensation slowly creeped back into his heart, that sense of dreaming an endless dream, like he was a powerless spectator outside of himself, watching everything happen with cold detachment, as though the one sitting in this chair wasn't really him, but some random stranger without a name. Before, it was like a dark mist spreading tendrils around his feet, trapping him in despair, but now it had flipped completely upside down. The mist was now a solid, black roof of thunderclouds, spewing white arcs of lightning, flashing random bursts of anger, barely held in check. It was that last sentence that triggered it, those six simple words...
I tried to stop him, but...
But...
He slowly came back into himself, _willed_himself back. Maybe he misunderstood. "Emily? What exactly are you talking about?"
"He's going to kill her, James," she said, squeezing down on his hand. He knew from personal experience that she could squeeze damn hard when moved to do so, like the time with Luke's birth, but her grip was so weak now, no stronger than an infant's. "You have to stop him, let people know..."
"Emily."
"I tried! But I couldn't stop him! After -"
"Emily."
"-what Laura did, he'll kill her for sure! She's been hiding it for years, but she can't do that anymore. She's in danger, James! You have to help -"
"Emily!" He didn't mean to shout. What kind of husband shouts at his wife as she lay on her deathbed? But he couldn't stop himself. His hands still shook, but now with furious anger instead of fear and sorrow. "I am going to ask you a question, and I want you to be honest with me, okay?" She looked at him, so small and fragile, his darling Emily. "Did Markus do this to you?"
It took a long time for her to answer. Every second that dragged by in silence was like a screaming damnation of its own. Finally, she nodded her head - just once, but that was the only confirmation he needed.
James stood up, not knowing what he wanted to do, knowing only that he had to do something. He walked to one side of the room, then came back, tearing at his hair in frustration. He wanted to rip the mirror from the wall, kick over the chair, bang on the door, anything that will vent some of these horrid, black feelings welling up inside of him.
He wanted to find out where they put Markus's cold, dead body so he could punch the bastard right in the face.
"James...? Please..."
Her voice cut through the stormclouds like a ray of sunshine, and he realized he had left her side when she needed him the most. She was reaching out to him, unable to do more than lift her wrist off the blankets, ever so slightly, her fingers shaking. He sat back down, choking back his anger, his grief, his hopelessness, and took her hand in his. They were both shaking now. "I'm sorry, Emmy," he said. "It's... But Laura, she said that -" He swallowed, wiped his eyes with his free hand, tried again. "She said that you fell down the stairs. You and Markus together. She told me that you tried to save him, but he was too heavy and you both got pulled down."
"That story would have worked... if only Markus hadn't survived."
"Story? Emily, what in the gods' holy names are you talking about? What really happened in that house!?"
"He might stick to it for a while, but he won't forgive her. He'll kill her, James. Sooner or later. You have to help her. You -"
"Markus is dead, Emmy!" James said, unable to bear it any longer. He took her hand, held it up to his forehead, and looked down at the sheets, unable to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry I lied to you, more sorry than you can ever know. Laura said you tried to save him, so I thought... I thought..."
Small spots of grey materialized on the white sheets, conjured out of nowhere, their appearance preceded only by the faintest of tapping sounds. He was crying. The storm had finally broken, and he was powerless to stop it. He held her hand tightly in both of his, thinking that maybe, if he never let go, she could stay with him forever. If he could only hold on tightly enough.
"James, please look at me."
He looked up. The whole world was a blur of white and brown in his eyes, fragmented by tears that would not stop flowing. The only clear thing in this mess was his darling Emily, a shining beacon of gold. She was much too good for him. Even after twelve years of marriage, he still couldn't figure out why she had chosen him, out of all the Foxes of Grovenglen, but she did. And now... to see her like this... all because of that bastard.
She squeezed his hand, running her thumb across his fingers in that special way of hers. "Are the kids okay?"
James sniffled (it felt like he was drowning), and nodded. "The kids are fine, I promise you that. Don't worry."
"Where are they?"
Dread settled in the pit of his stomach, heavier than stone. "Th-They're at home. Jon is looking after them."
"Oh..." She turned her head away and slowly closed her eyes. "That's good. They love their Uncle Jon..."
"Emily?" Her hand was so limp, and her breathing was so shallow. Oh gods... was this it? Was this how it ends? "Emily? Sweetheart, please, don't go just yet. I... I need you to stay just a little bit longer. I can't, I can't..."
"...ame?"
"Yes?"
"James?"
"Yes, I'm right here, sweety, right here." He rubbed her hand as if she'd been caught out in the snow, hoping to get some kind of response.
"James... wh..." She opened her eyes, but didn't look at him. She just stared off at nothing. "Where is this?"
"You're at Bethany's, dear. She's been taking good care of you." His voice sounded even enough, calm enough, at least to his own ears, but he couldn't keep his eyes off that worrying spot of blood on her temple. So small, and yet bigger than the world. It had no business being there.
"It..." Her voice was getting fainter, so he leaned in a little closer, only to hear the words that would rip out his heart and echo in his memories forever. "It hurts, James... it hurts..."
James closed his eyes and bit down on his tongue. It felt like he was about to go mad, that he had to fight against it physically. He felt so powerless, so useless. His wife was in pain, and there was nothing he could do about it. It pressed against him from all sides, this dark reality, trying to force his eyes open and face what his life was about to become: a world without Emily. A world without his world. Just an empty blackness, like the shadow that lay behind his closed eyelids, but permanent.
"Where am I?" she asked again.
James opened his eyes, praying that she wouldn't be wearing that horrible, heartbreakingly confused look on her face, but this particular prayer was denied.
She was slowly looking around the room, not just confused about where she was, but confused about why she was so confused. He could see it.
James carefully leaned his body across her chest and rested his cheek against hers in as soft a hug as he could manage, and said: "You're with me. That's all you need to know, Emmy. You're with me."
She reached up, put her hand against the back of his head, and returned his embrace as best she could. "Are the kids okay?"
"The kids are fine. They're playing outside."
"Oh... that's good. That's good... The boys aren't teasing Valery again, are they?"
"No, dear," James whispered against the pillow, hoping that it would muffle the pain in his voice. "They're all playing nice."
"Okay..."
He could feel her breathing. He could feel her body rise and fall. It was slow, agonisingly slow, and the pauses between each breath were gradually getting longer and longer.
"James?"
"Hm?"
"You'll take good care of the kids, won't you?"
My gods, the kids... How am I going to explain this? What am I going to tell them when this is all over?
"Of course, dear. I'll take real good care of them, just like always."
She ran her hand through his hair, caressing him just like when they were courting. "Will you do something for me?"
"Anything."
"When they come back inside, will you give them a hug for me? Tell them I love them? I'm so tired... I don't think I can get up today..."
James pressed his face against the pillow, smothering the scream in clammy darkness before it could get a chance to build into something real. When he got himself back under control, he raised his head. "Sure thing, my love. I'll give them the biggest bear hug ever, and I'll be sure to tell them it's coming from you."
"Thank you, dear..."
Her hand stopped moving through his hair and only sat there, a small weight on the back of his head. "Emily?"
Her chest rose... and fell... slowing.
"Emily, I love you so much. More than anything else in the world. Can you hear me, Emmy? I love you! Please hear me! I love you!"
Her eyes were closed again, and his shouting could not open them. By the gods, did he wait too long? The most important thing he had to tell her, and did she even hear it?
"Emily?" He reached out and caressed her cheek as her chest rose for the final time. He kissed the corner of her mouth, and as she blew out her final breath, she whispered the last words that would ever cross her lips in this world.
"I love you, too..."
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