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Post by Jenny on Nov 19, 2008 12:38:02 GMT -5
For the first time since she had temporarily moved to the apartment, Cora Squalor finally deigned to look a little concerned, and she turned to her daughter-in-law after a moment.
'Esmé,' she said sharply, and Esmé forced herself to pay some attention. 'Check if he's breathing.'
The younger woman let out a soft sob at the very thought that he mightn't be, but the gentle rise and fall of his chest assured her otherwise. 'He is,' she responded weakly, but pressed her fingers gently to the inside of his wrist all the same, reassured to feel a slow, steady thump.
Cora nodded, as if this had been what she expected, but her posture changed as if in relief. 'Good,' she said, almost to herself, and turned away to the door.
'Where are you going?' Carmelita cried. 'Don't you want to come to the hospital?'
'Of course I do,' Cora snapped in response. 'I'm just the only one here being even remotely practical. I'm going to pack my son a bag, with some of his clothes inside, in case he feels like a change of clothes if he gets out of a hospital gown at any point.'
Cora was the only one of them who had much experience of hospitals--outside of Esmé's preganancy and the occasional accident, none of the Squalor's had ever needed much medical treatment. Esmé and Carmelita despised them, while Jerome and Emma took a far more rational approach to them. Unfortunately, this time it was Jerome who was going to need to go in, and Emma found herself in the middle of two sobbing, frightened women, and felt a little thankful for Cora's experience.
Emma would have allowed herself a few tears, if she felt she wasn't needed to be the strong link between the three of them. She had never wanted to see Jerome so badly in her whole life than upon returning to the penthouse, and had been faced with this. It almost felt like Olaf had hurt them, in his own roundabout way, even being dead.
How was this fair?
~
After the ambulance had finally arrived, and Jerome had been taken away inside it (which had caused another flood of tears from his wife), it was up to the remaining inhabitants of the penthouse to drive to the hopital and meet him there.
'We can't fit everyone in the car,' Cora sensibly pointed out. 'Colette and Faust will have to stay here.'
'Or drive themselves,' Emma agreed, and watched cautiously as her other picked up the keys for her husband's Lexus instead of her own car.
'It's a bigger car,' Esmé explained. 'If we take Jerome's car, we can take Colette and Faust with us.'
'But why do we want to take them?' Carmelita asked, sniffing. 'It's got nothing to do with them. And Colette just makes everything worse.'
'Like you haven't already made everything worse,' Cora hissed, which caused tears to rush to Carmy's eyes again. Had Nero been there, she would have found someone to cling to, had someone to calm her down. But, as it was, all she had was her little sister, who--taller than Carmelita herself no matter the age difference--wrapped an arm around her shoulders comfortingly.
Seemingly ignoring the conversation behind her, Esmé sped along the corridors, and quickly managed to locate Colette.
'Fernald's meeting us at the hospital,' she bit out, trying not to cry again just at the thought of having to go to the hospital. 'So you should come with us.'
'Why are you going to the hospital?'
'Jerome,' said Esmé, and then blinked her tears back. She didn't add that originally they had been going because she was practically overed in blood from her head to her chest. That no longer seemed important. She didn't have the strength left to add the details, and Colette didn't ask for them, just retrieved Faust (who took one look at the bloody, distressed Mrs Squalor and began to cry again), before setting off.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Nov 19, 2008 14:46:59 GMT -5
“Are you sure you’ll be alright to drive, Mother?” Emma asked, as the elevator doors slid apart and everyone stepped out onto the first floor. “Emma’s right, Esmé,” Cora agreed. “You aren’t really in any fit condition to—” Esmé came to an abrupt halt, and turned accusingly to her mother-in-law. “No,” the financial advisor said sternly. “I’m not, am I? But neither would you if your husband—” She paused, and thought back eleven years to when Maxwell Squalor had been dying of cancer. Along with his health, his relationship with his wife had also begun to deteriorate, and Geraldine Julienne had moved into the Squalor mansion to spend the last few months Maxwell had left by his side. Cora, on the other hand, had acted more as a nurse and a servant to her husband and his mistress. Colette immediately picked up on the tension surfacing in the air, and took a look at the frightened faces of the two children. Placing a hand on Esmé’s shoulder, the contortionist asked, “If you don’t mind, Esmé, I would be happy to drive to the hospital.” With a little sniffle, Esmé turned to the woman she had tricked more than a decade ago. “That’s very kind of you to offer,” she said. Then, wiping the tears from her eyes, she placed the keys in Colette’s open palm. *** The drive to Pincus Hospital seemed to take longer than it should have. Esmé and Carmelita had done nothing but sob on the ride over, but no one had the heart to tell them to quiet down. Colette had taken notice of the tears brimming the corners of Cora’s pale blue eyes from where the older woman was seated next to her. Silent tears were running down the faces of Emma and Faust, who were seated in the back seat between the two sobbing women. It took nearly five minutes for Colette to locate a place to park. By the time the contortionist found one, Esmé was so impatient that she threw open the door and jumped out. She ran across the parking lot and barely missed getting hit by a vehicle as it was backing out. The driver cursed at Esmé, who screamed something else back at them right before collapsing to the concrete in tears. Both Colette and Cora stooped down to help Esmé up, while Emma and Faust ran over to assist Carmelita, who was sobbing even harder than her mother was. Remembering to look both ways before crossing the parking lot, the six of them hurried up to the front doors of the hospital. Faust ran ahead and pushed the emergency button on the wall, enabling the doors to slide open. Straight down the hallway was the front desk, as well as two familiar-looking figures speaking to the receptionist. “Daddy!” Faust exclaimed, and ran over to greet her father. “Uncle Andrew!” cried Emma, who stayed behind for fear that her sister might fall if she let go. As Fernald scooped his daughter up into his arms, Andrew excused himself and rushed over to his mother and the others. “Andrew,” Cora asked. “How’s Jerome? Have you—” Andrew shook his head sadly. “We still have yet to hear anything,” he said. Esmé moaned loudly. “Take her, will you?” Cora asked. “While I go up and find out for myself what’s going on with your brother?” Andrew nodded, and gratefully took Esmé from Cora and Colette, who ran over to embrace her husband. “Esmé,” Andrew said, and felt strangely happy as she threw herself into his arms. “Come over with me to the desk so we can get you checked in.” “N-oh,” Esmé hiccupped. “I d-ont— I only wa-ant… I want m— my hus— I want to— to see m— my hus— Jero-o-ome.” “And you will see him. But first you’ve got to take care of yourself.”Esmé said nothing, but sniffed, right before nodding her head in agreement. Making sure to keep one arm wound protectively around her shoulders, Andrew led her up to the front desk. Emma, who had been left alone with the hysterical Carmelita Spats, ushered her sister into one of the empty chairs set up against the wall. It was the first time in her life that Emma had had to act as an adult in the face of Carmelita, who was known for acting as such for both her younger sister and adoptive mother. “You just relax, Carmy,” Emma said comfortingly, although after what had happened, relaxing was probably the last thing Carmelita was capable of doing. “I’m just going to call Nero and tell him what’s happened.”
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Post by Jenny on Nov 19, 2008 15:45:47 GMT -5
Carmelita let out another sob, and Emma felt rather useless in the face of her sister's tears. She had no more comforting words for her than she had already used, and so simply patted her on the shoulder and waited for Carmelita to articulate the words she wanted to say.
'T-tell Nero,' Carmelita said, choking on her tears and sounding higher than she had ever before. 'T-tell N-Nero that I want to see h-him.'
Emma frowned, though it pained her to show her sister any displeasure when she was already so distressed. 'But, Carmy,' she reminded gently. 'Nero has the twins. How will he--'
'--I don't care!' Carmelita screeched, and Emma very nearly stumbled backwards, as Carmelita herself had almost done in the face of Esmé's outburst at the penthouse. 'I j-just want to see m-my husband, Emma!'
The teenager wearily rubbed her eyes, and simply nodded. It couldn't have been easy on Carmelita---Emma only had to think about how her mother would have reacted to being seperated from Jerome for more than her work hours to realize that her older sister had been coping rather well.
And so, Emma stepped outside, smiling at Fernald Widdershins and his wife on the way out. She still hadn't totally warmed again to Faust, and doubted she ever would. She avoided any eye contact with the ten-year-old, and dialled hee brother-in-law's number.
It was five whole rings before anybody picked up.
'Yes?' Nero hissed into the phone, his voice blended with the cries of either one or both of the twins. Emma simply grinned to herself--Nero was evidently not finding looking after the twins alone particularly easy.
'It's Emma,' she clarified. 'And I'm calling to tell you that Count Olaf is dead.'
There was a strange silence on the other end of the reciever, like there had been when Fernald had announced the same thing earlier. It was a curious thing, that even when death was welcomed, it still produced such solemnity.
'And?' Nero eventually asked. 'How is everyone?'
This almost brought tears to Emma's eyes. 'My mother's a bit hurt,' she said hoarsely. 'But she's OK. But Jerome....'
'--What?' Nero asked sharply. 'What's happened---'
'Carmy gave him some of Esmé's tranquilizers to calm him down because Olaf had kidnapped Mother, but she gave him too many. She meant well, but now, J-Jerome isn't waking up a-and we d-don't k-know if he's going to be OK!'
Nero could hear from the way her voice quavered that Emma had begun to cry, and felt useless over the phone. Before he could offer any words of comfort, she continued.
'The point is,' Emma stated. 'Carmelita's crying and she won't stop.And she wants to see you, Nero.'
Nero, with little Kit on one shoulder, his hand on Monty's head and his only remaining hand holding the phone, sighed out loud. 'OK,' he said, determined. 'OK, Emma. Give me twenty minutes.'
~
After Andrew had finsihed giving Esmé's details to the receptionist, and offered a brief explanation as to why she hadn't been able to look up from his shoulder for the entire time. They were shown to a room quicker than they had expected--but, then again, it was very late at night--and Andrew was finally given the opportunity to calm Esmé down. He had...liked having her hang off him in a way, but he was beginning to worry about her health if she continued.
'Esmé,' he said, and sat her down so that he could look at her properly. Her blue eyes seemed even more blue with her tears, and he picked up a few tissues to dry her tears and pat away the thin trail of blood that led down from her cheek. 'Esmé, sweetheart, Jerome is going to be alright.'
'You don't know!' his siter-in-law cried in response. 'What if he never wakes up, Andrew? Then what?'
Before he could tell her that such a scenario was not going to occur, she had continued.
'I wouldn't be able to do anything by myself, Andrew,' she said, and placed her head into her hands. 'I could never carry on without him, on my o-own.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Nov 19, 2008 17:28:41 GMT -5
Although he knew it was wrong to think such thoughts about his brother’s wife, Andrew very quickly found himself surrendering to his painful desire for her.
“Esmé,” he said. “I promise that if anything ever happens to Jerome— and I’m not saying it will —then I would be more than willing to take care of you and Emma both. You could live with me, or I could move into the penthouse. I have more than enough money to support all of us. You wouldn’t even have to work if you didn’t want to—”
What was he saying? Here he sat, practically confessing his love to a woman who wasn’t his to take and was in no position to make a conscious decision. With tears dripping down her face, Esmé lifted her head and stared at her brother-in-law for a long moment before saying anything. “Andrew, what are you—”
Her words were cut off, and she could feel the soft, warm lips of her husband’s brother pressing firmly against her own. Esmé let out a frightened little cry, which caused Andrew to pull back instantly. He stared at her, unable to fathom if what had just happened was all in his head, or something more.
It was only when Esmé let out a loud, mournful sob that Andrew’s fears were confirmed. To make matters worse, she rolled off the bed and hit her head on a nearby metal cabinet. She began to cry harder, and he scrambled off the bed and rushed to her side.
“L-leave me a-alone, Andrew,” Esmé sobbed, brushing his hand off her shoulder.
“Esmé, I’m so sorry,” Andrew apologized. “I don’t know what came over me!”
“How could you, Andrew? When you know full well I am your brother’s wife!”
While Esmé continued to sob, Andrew looked helplessly around the room. He sighed. “I know,” he said, unwilling to look her in the eye, and so focused his gaze on his hands instead. “It was a foolish mistake, one that I am truly sorry for and that I will always regret.”
Esmé sniffed, which was followed quickly by her first sneeze in nearly an hour. Andrew tilted his head to the side— he didn’t believe he had ever heard her do that before. The sound of it was so incredibly sweet and vulnerable that it made his feelings for her grow, but he forced them back down again. He had caused enough trouble already, and was not about to make the same mistake again.
“Come,” said Andrew, grateful that Esmé didn’t seem to mind as he laced his arm around her waist before helping her to her feet. “Let’s get you off this cold floor and back into bed.”
Esmé’s response was another sneeze, one which caused her to fall unintentionally against her brother-in-law. He shivered, and felt a mixture of relief and disappointment as she pulled away from him.
“The doctor should be here any minute,” Andrew told Esmé, frowning as she rolled over on her side so that she wouldn’t be forced to look at him.
“Andrew,” she said, her eyes focused on the cut she had given herself. “I think you’d better leave now.”
Andrew knew better than to argue, and nodded even though Esmé couldn’t see him. “Alright,” he replied. “I’ll send Emma in if you’d like.”
When Esmé didn’t answer, Andrew simply sighed and slipped out of the room unnoticed.
What had he done?
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Post by Jenny on Nov 20, 2008 13:15:33 GMT -5
Emma had avoided returning to the hospital waiting room for as long as possible. She had found it difficult to stop her own tears from falling, and the last thing her big sister needed was to see that she was upset. So she had sat outside miserably after finishng her phone call with Nero, and just as she felt the cold might freeze her tears and stop them running, she heard footsteps behind.
'Emma,' said Fernald Widdershins, and came to sit down next to her on the wall. 'Carmelita is worried about you.'
Emma just sniffed. 'I just felt like some fresh air,' she lied, never turning her face towards him. 'Besides, I had to phone Nero and tell him to come down. Carmy asked me to do that herself.'
Fernald almost felt like wrapping an arm around her, but he wondered if she wanted his hooks anywhere near her at a time like this.
'It's OK if you're upset--'
'--I've got no reason to be upset,' said the teenager. 'You saved us. Everything's turned out just fine, except--' she cut herself off, and her throat was sore and aching from the effort of holding back tears.
'--Except that you're worried,' Fernald said after a moment, and regardless of his earlier thoughts, wrapped both arms around her and linked his hooks together behind her shoulders. 'You're worried about Jerome.'
Emma let out a ragged sob, still never turning to face him, and then suddenly turned and buried her face in his shoulder. She felt a little odd for that--she didn't know him very well after all, but he had done so much for her in the past twenty-four hours that it was unnecessary to be awkward around him anymore.
'What if,' she sniffed, and Fernald just wrapped his arms tighter around her shoulders and let her stay. 'What if he doesn't ever wake up?'
'He will,' Fernald assured softly, and felt Emma pull away.
'But that's what I've been telling Carmelita!' she cried. 'And that's what Andrew has been telling my mother! And Andrew and I don't know that, Mr Widdershins, and neither do you!'
Fernald looked a little less surprised at her outburst than she had felt he might, and she wondered if she was so much like her Mother that he'd seen it all before.
'Nobody knows for sure,' he said quietly, calmly, and she was glad of his honesty. 'But what's the use thinking otherwise?'
'Prepare yourself for the worst,' she responded, and he just shook his head.
'I've never agreed with that, either,' he admitted. 'If you set yourself up for the worst thing possible, how will you ever avoid it?'
Before she could reply to that, the doors swung open again to reveal a pale, tired Andrew Squalor.
'Emma,' he said, rubbing his eyes and cheeks like her stepfather did if he was particularly guilty, or particularly embarrassed. Her eyebrow knotted with confusion. 'Emma, I think it's best you go and sit with your mother and wait for the doctor to see her.'
'But I thought you were going to look after her,' she said, and took note of the way he tiredly carried himself over to where she and Fernald had been sitting wearily, like an old man.
Andrew just turned his eyes to the floor, and rubbed his eyes again.
'I was,' he answered. 'But she doesn't want to see me, Emma. You're of more comfort to her than I am.'
Emma thought that sounded like a reasonable excuse for not wanting to sit with a distraught Esmé Squalor any longer, and simply stood and nodded to her uncle, before disappearing back into the hospital.
Andrew breathed a sigh of relief, and for a moment neither of the men left outside said anything at all, until finally Fernald let out a little chuckle. Andrew turned to him, perplexed. 'What?' he asked, and Fernald smiled in an oddly bitter, sad way back at him.
'You're in love with her.'
Andrew couldn't have been more shocked. 'No,' he said hoarsely after a moment, but even he hears how feeble it sounded.
'Yes,' Fernald responded, and breathed out a hot breath into cold air. 'I know how it looks, Andrew. I'm surprised no-one else sees it.'
'It's well hidden,' Andrew argued, and the hook handed man sent him a pitying glance, and just shook his head.
'Not really,' Fernald answered, and Andrew just gave an irritated sigh and leaned back, leaning his head against the wall, frustrated.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Nov 20, 2008 15:47:33 GMT -5
Emma knocked softly on the inside of the door leading into Esmé’s room. “Mother?” Emma asked. “I spoke to Uncle Andrew… he said you wanted to see me. Is everything alright?”
Emma could see the small figure of her mother lying in bed beneath the thin, beige blanket. Perhaps she was asleep? Just in case, Emma tiptoed quietly into the room and then rounded the bed to the other side. Esmé’s eyes were open, and she seemed to be examining her arm closely. The bandage she had been wearing over her self-inflicted wound the night before had been removed, and Emma sucked in a silent breath as she gazed upon it for the first time.
“Mother,” she said again, and reached down to brush her hand gently over the top of Esmé’s head. “Say something.”
Pulling her wounded arm underneath the blanket, Esmé met her daughter’s eyes. “I’m fine, darling,” she said, and Emma took notice of the fact that her mother looked as though she had recently been crying. “I’m just very tired.”
Emma seated herself in the chair beside the bed, and took her mother’s other hand in hers. “Have you spoken to the doctor yet?”
Esmé shook her head. “I’m still waiting for them to come by. Have you heard anything on your father’s condition?”
Emma shook her head. She avoided eye contact with her mother, for fear Esmé would see the tears reflected in Emma’s and become even more upset.
“We’ll find out,” Emma said softly in an attempt to disguise her sobs. “When the doctor comes, I’ll ask if you want.”
Esmé was just about to tell Emma that it wasn’t necessary, when the sound of someone entering the room caught their attention. Emma looked up, and Esmé turned to see the Squalors’ family physician, Dr. Leer, standing in the doorway.
“Hello, Esmé,” he said. “Emma. From what I’ve heard, the two of you have been through quite an ordeal.”
Esmé rolled over on her side to face the doctor. “How is Jerome?” she asked, allowing her desperation to mix with her concern. “Have there been any changes?”
Dr. Leer shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not. There’s a nurse staying with him now. I’ll be heading right back over there after I’ve seen to you. Now, let’s have a look at these wounds.”
Setting his black medical bag down on the bed, the doctor reached inside and removed a pair of plastic examination gloves. He put them on, and then took a seat in the other available chair beside Esmé, who pulled up her hair to reveal the gash from the knife Olaf had given her.
“Goodness,” Dr. Leer exclaimed, doing his best to be discreet in order to keep from frightening his patient and her daughter. “What was this done with?”
“A carving knife, I think,” replied Esmé, and whimpered as she felt the doctor’s fingers press gently against her wound.
“I see… I think it would be best if you were to have it stitched up.”
As if her husband lying in a coma wasn’t torture enough, the financial advisor was now being faced with the idea of having stitches sewn into the back of her head, in which case she would lose a noticeable portion of her hair. The very thought was so horrible that it caused more tears to burst forth from her eyes, and she shook her head wildly.
“No!”
Dr. Leer had been Esmé’s physician from the time she had been pregnant with Emma. He had grown as accustomed to Esmé’s outbursts as her own husband had, and so her reaction didn’t surprise him.
“It won’t be very much. Just right around here,” Dr. Leer explained, and very gently trailed the tip of his finger over the area just above Esmé’s neck. “You can just wear your hair down for a few months, and no one will be able to tell a difference.”
Esmé gave a little sniffle, and then nodded her head. “What about the one on my face?” she asked. “And the one on my throat?”
“Turn your head to the side,” Dr. Leer directed, and Esmé did so. “It looks painful, but not too deep. I think some mercurochrome and a band-aid is all that will be required.”
The doctor then studied the gash around her throat, and advised the same as he had for the wound on her cheek.
“I’ll just take care of the minor injuries now,” he said. “And then I’ll go find a nurse to help me with your stitches.”
Emma sat quietly, holding her mother’s hand. Esmé flinched as the doctor cleaned the long gash on her cheek with ointment, but relaxed a bit as she felt her daughter squeeze her hand.
“It’ll be easier if you lay down while I do this next part,” Dr. Leer said as he covered the cut on Esmé’s cheek with a band-aid. She did so, settling down on her back in bed.
Because the wound on her throat was so tender, the doctor simply poured the bottle of mercurochrome over it rather than irritate it further by cleaning it thoroughly with a cloth. She flinched as she had done before, squeezing her daughter’s hand.
“Sit up,” instructed Dr. Leer, and Esmé did. Taking a roll of cloth band-aids out of his bag, he wrapped a generous amount around her neck until he could no longer see the mercurochrome seeping through. Using a piece of medical tape, he fastened the band-aid together behind her neck.
Dr. Leer was just about to excuse himself so that he could go fetch a nurse, when he noticed for the first time the razorblade cut on Esmé’s arm.
“This cut here looks to be at least two days old,” he said, pointing to it. “How did it happen?”
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Post by Jenny on Nov 20, 2008 16:35:17 GMT -5
For a long moment, neither Esmé nor Emma said anything, and then Dr Leer slowly nodded, and let Esmé's wrist drop back to her side. She tugged down the sleeve of her nightgown nervously to cover it, and cursed herself for not doing it earlier. 'OK,' he said eventually, and came to sit back down. 'It would be best if we covered that up, too. Just for extra safety.'
'It was covered,' Esmé pointed out. 'Until yesterday morning. I didn't unravel it.'
Her choice of words carefully said nothing about what had happened, but left every possible detail out. Dr Leer, who had knwn Esmé for thirteen years, and her husband much longer, allowed himself to feel sorry for her.
'I'm sorry,' he said, sincerely, and then quickly stood, and retrieved a new bandage, cleaning the oldest wound before applying it, and then gathering up his medical bag. 'I'll be sure to find out how Jeorme's doing,' he said cheerfully, trying not to take too much notice of the two miserable, similar faces staring back at him. 'And I promise I'll get you to see him as soon as I possibly can,' he promised, and then left the room.
'Mother,' said Emma after a moment. 'Mother, are you OK? You're so quiet.'
Emma hated to suspect that her mother's silence had anything whatsoever to do with Andrew, but she had to admit it was starting to look fairly likely. Esmé hadn't been happy before going into the hospital of course, but she hadn't been in this sort of state, and hadn't looked so deep in thought.
'I'm just thinking about Jerome,' Esmé responded, lying flawlessly and ashamed of herself for doing so. But what else could she say? Emma didn't need to know that Andrew had upset her, or how. It wasn't anything to do with her daughter, so why should she make her more miserable by telling her?
Esmé didn't like to think that this was the sort of thinking that had kept her locked in an abusive relationship for so many years.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Nov 20, 2008 19:35:57 GMT -5
Carmelita was sitting alone in the waiting room, head bowed with her hands covering her face. She wasn’t even aware of Colette Widdershins sitting down beside her until the contortionist spoke. “How are you holding up?” Carmelita sniffled loudly, and permitted a sob she had been fighting to contain as Colette laid her hand on the redheaded woman’s shoulder. “How do you think?” Carmelita asked, drawing her hands away from her face and gazing in despair down at the floor. She hadn’t meant to sound cruel; but it was very difficult to be friendly when the man who had raised her as his daughter from the time she was twelve years old was in danger. “My father may die, and all because of me and my own stupidity!” Turning a pair of piercing, tear-filled azure eyes on Colette, Carmelita shouted: “If that happens, then how will I ever expect to be forgiven?” “Carmelita,” Colette said, not realizing that she had spoken the other woman’s name for the very first time without a single hint of distaste. “Listen to me: I know you’re worried about your father, but you can’t worry about what may come, nor can you blame yourself for something that isn’t your fault.” “But it is my fault!” the redhead insisted. “I gave Jerome those tranquilizers! Esmé and Cora are right— I should have thought better of it. I should have—”“It was an accident,” Colette answered firmly. “One which would never have occurred had Count Olaf not returned.” Carmelita nodded, if somewhat hesitantly, ignoring the tears as they spilled from her eyes and splashed onto her blouse. “Have you contacted your husband?” the contortionist asked. “Emma did that for me,” replied Carmelita. “Nero should be here any minute with our children.” Colette gave Carmelita a reassuring smile. Then, to the young chef’s surprise, the contortionist reached out and coiled her arms around her. “I’ll stay with you until your family arrives,” Colette promised. *** Esmé lay still as she felt the slight pressure of the needle slide through the skin at the back of her head (Dr. Leer had given her a shot of nova cane so that she wouldn’t feel any pain when he inserted her stitches). She was laying flat on her stomach, her eyes focused on the face of Emma, whose hand had not let go of her mother’s for even a moment since the teenager had entered the room. “You’re doing very well, Esmé,” Dr. Leer said. “As soon as we’ve finished, the nurse will take you to see your husband.” Emma gave her mother a hopeful smile, and Esmé kissed her daughter’s hand. “Thank you for keeping me company, darling,” Esmé said. “After this, why don’t you go out to the waiting area and check on your sister? She was so upset when we left the apartment, and I’m worried about her.” “O.K.,” Emma said. “But what about Jerome? When will it be alright for us to come see him?” “If Carmelita is too upset, then I don’t think that seeing your father would be of much comfort to her. But if she’s calmed down, then the two of you may come together to his room.” Ten minutes later, Dr. Leer finished sewing up Esmé’s stitches. “There,” he said. “You’re all done.” Reaching into the pocket of his white coat, he produced a slip of paper, which he handed to Esmé. “Here is a prescription for some antibiotics. I doubt you’re at any risk for an infection, as you’ve assured me that the blade was clean, but it’s always wise to take precaution.” He turned to Emma. “Make sure your mother takes those.” Emma smiled. She had always liked Dr. Leer, who was kind-hearted and had always had a sense of humor. “I will,” she said.
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Post by Jenny on Nov 21, 2008 16:37:50 GMT -5
Dr Leer smiled back at Emma kindly, and then at Esmé, whose face was turned away towards the wall, before he left (hopefully to return soon with news on Jerome and his condition.) It was only a few seconds after that Emma noticed the tears in her mother's eyes, and put an arm around her while the first tear fell.
'Mother?' she asked quietly. 'What is it? Jerome's going to be OK, Dr Leer practically said so.'
'It isn't that,' Esmé responded, though, of course, that was a part of it. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, and caused her cheeks to turn blotchy. She reached a hand behind her head to feel the new stitches on the tender skin,
'I'm going to have a scar, Emma,' she told her daughter, and Emma suddenly recognized this behaviour. Esmé had always been very proud of her appearance (and, during her younger years, of nothing much else), and it upset her an incredible amount to see her looks damaged, or faded. She let out a tiny sob, and more tears spilled onto her cheeks. 'I'm going to have a scar, and everyone's going to see it.
'No,' Emma responded, and hugged her mother tightly, afraid despite herself that she might try to hurt herself if she didn't. 'No, Mother. It's behind your hair. And it'll barely even be there after the stitches heal.'
This didn't seem to comfort Esmé tremendously, and she sobbed again. 'It'll be there,' she said simply.
'But you won't even be able to see the back of your neck!' Emma said quickly. 'Mother, the scar will fade away, and even if it is still noticeable, you'll never see it. Nobody will ever see it.'
Esmé said nothing, simply dried her tears, but she stared ahead at the wall as if particularly lonely. Jerome would notice, and that was what mattered to her the most. She might never see it, but Jerome would see it, and then they would always have to remember what had happened, and what Olaf had done. Jerome would notce the little scar that would be left on her cheek, and the ones around her throat, and the one on her back, even if she somehow managed to forget about them, and how could he make light of that? There was nothing good about them, nothing he could say to make her feel better about them as he had about her gaining weight during her pregnancy and afterwards. And how was she ever going to forget about what Andrew had done? She was going to have to keep that a secret from her husband, and she hated having secrets, because didn't secrets just amount to lies?
But, instead of relating any of this to Emma, who wouldn't have uderstood it, ahe simply nodded to her daughter, and gave her a light kiss on her forehead as a silent thank-you for attempting to comfort her.
She wasn't sure how long they had sat like that, in silence, but suddenly there was a knock at the door, and Dr Leer peeked his head around the corner. 'Hello,' he said. 'I just came by to tell you that I've located Jerome, and although he isn't awake, you're very welcome to come and see him yourself if you like.'
Emma wasn't sure her mother had moved as quickly as she did then for years, and Emma had to stride to keep up with Esmé's walking speed down the corridor with Dr Leer, who was a little too old maybe to be walking so fast. Just before they entered Jerome's room, however, Emma caught up, and grasped her mother's hand for extra comfort, in case she saw something that worried her.
There was nothing too worrying about him. He looked very peaceful, and very asleep, still, although perhaps this was what made Esmé suck in a breath and fall into a chair beside his bed. He looked so peaceful, so asleep, that maybe if he were just a little paler he might have passed for dead.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Nov 21, 2008 19:28:24 GMT -5
Without taking her eyes off the serene face of her husband, Esmé said softly, “Emma, go and do what we talked about before.”
“Yes, Mother,” Emma replied. She took one last look at her (step) father before leaving the room.
“If you need anything,” Dr. Leer said from the doorway, “I’ll be at the front desk.”
Without looking up, Esmé nodded. “Thank you, doctor,” she said, and waited until he had left before turning all of her attention to the love of her life.
“My sweet darling,” Esmé whispered, being incredibly careful of the I.V. connected to Jerome’s wrist as she reached for his hand. Lifting it to her lips, she placed gentle kiss on each of his fingertips, and last of all on his palm. “I love you so very much, and I’m so very sorry that you’ve been reduced to…” She broke off, not trusting in herself to finish what she was saying without it resulting in tears. And so, she simply chose to change the direction of her words instead, in the form of an alphabet pledge: “I think you’re amazing, boyish, cuddly, darling, eager, fabulous, gallant, handsome, incredible, jolly, kind-hearted, lovable, more than handsome, nifty, open-minded, perfect, quite handsome, resourceful, sweet, terribly handsome, unique, very handsome, well-read, xylophone, youthful, and zestfully handsome, every morning, every afternoon, every night, and… and…” Tears had begun to gather in Esmé’s eyes less than halfway through her pledge, and her throat was aching from the amount of sobs she was struggling to keep at bay. But she couldn’t do it anymore, and so she uttered the final three words in a string of anguished, strangled sobs. “All day long!”
Her head flopped down on top of her husband’s chest, her hand holding tightly to his.
“I love you!” Esmé sobbed. “In sickness and in health, whether you’re fat or thin, I love you, Jerome! You are my wonderful, sweet, handsome, fashionably-inept husband, and you mean more to me than the air I breathe! I love your social awkwardness and your ridiculous tie collection. I love your sweet smile and your fat stomach. I love your majestic green eyes and how they shine like emeralds every time you look my way. I love—”
Esmé was almost too beleaguered by her tears to notice that someone was very gently stroking her head. Her sobs instantly halted, and she slowly lifted her head and turned to see the sweet face of her husband staring back at her.
“You think I’m fat?” Jerome asked, his pale pink lips curling up into an amused smile.
Esmé’s mouth dropped open into a perfect little ‘o’, and her eyes filled quickly with fresh tears. “J— Jerome?” she asked in a high-pitched whisper.
Still smiling, the billionaire held out his arms. “Come here to me, my darling.”
Seeing no need to be asked twice, Esmé Gigi Genevieve Squalor dove across the bed, landing squarely on top of her husband. As Jerome’s arms tightened around her, she could feel her stomach pressing firmly down on his. She felt a familiar shiver travel swiftly up her spine, and she leaned down to kiss him for the first time in what seemed like one-hundred years.
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Post by Jenny on Nov 22, 2008 9:20:43 GMT -5
Jerome was looking particularly exhausted, but he grinned back at his wife all the same. Her blue eyes were filled with tears, and he reached up a hand to thumb them away and place a little kiss on the spots where they had been.
‘I hate to ask,’ he said, and cleared his throat afterwards. He took one long look around, at the white walls, and the IV and the gauze covering bits of his wife’s skin, before looking back at her. ‘But, darling, why am I in a hospital?’
He tried not to let himself become too scared; it was his job to be brave, especially after all his darling little wife had gone through in the last few days, but he couldn’t help testing whether he could feel his toes and fingers in succession, just to check he wasn’t minus any limbs. Esmé placed another kiss on his lips, before smiling.
‘You had two too many tranquilizers,’ she answered. ‘Carmelita gave them to you in your tea when Emma was kidnapped, because you were so inconsolable, and you refused to get any sleep. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t know the proper dosage.’
He had no way of knowing how much she had changed her tone about her eldest daughter’s actions in the last few hours since Olaf had died and she had found out about Jerome’s condition. She didn’t add that Carmelita was still sobbing, partly because she felt guilty about putting Jerome’s life in danger, and partly because of the way her adoptive mother had acted towards her after she had found out about it. Esmé herself started to feel a little guilty for not supporting Carmelita when she was obviously so upset.
Jerome didn’t look angry. He didn’t ask any more questions about what had happened to him, but instead reached up a hand to touch the gauze covering a bit of his wife’s cheek and her neck, and then her still-swollen lip, and the bruise still covering the other side of her face from when she stepped in front of her daughter.
‘What happened?’ he asked, and pushed her hair back from her face as she rolled over to lie beside him. She hoped Dr Leer wasn’t going to be cross.
‘I’m OK,’ she promised, and decided that as of yet she wouldn’t show him the stitches in her back. What if that caused him to fall into unconsciousness again, and then he never woke up? No, he didn’t need that. ‘Fernald and Andrew and Carmelita climbed over to Olaf’s apartment and rescued Emma and I. I suppose Carmelita knew you would never have let them all go if you’d been awake.’
‘No,’ Jerome responded. ‘But I would have insisted on coming with them.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t,’ she admitted. ‘It would have upset you too much, darling.’
Jerome said nothing in response to that, and gently touched her red bottom lip, and then frowned. ‘He hurt you,’ he said simply. ‘Are you very hurt, my darling?’
‘No, I’m OK,’ she replied, repeating her earlier phrase. ‘Nobody else is hurt, but Carmy’s very very upset.’ Jerome wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her closer so that she could rest her head in his neck. ‘She thinks it’s her fault you were basically in a coma. And I—’ she paused, and sniffed. ‘I didn’t help. I was terribly angry at her earlier, Jerome, and I still haven’t apologized for it.’
Jerome kissed her forehead. ‘I’m sure she—’ he began, but then his fingers fell accidentally on the light bandage covering the stitches decorating her neck and back, and she flinched when he was unable to complete his sentence. He followed it from where a small portion of her hair was missing at the back of her head down to just underneath her shoulder blades, where it had stopped, and then tilted her face up with his other hand to look him in the eye.
‘Darling,’ he breathed, and she could see tears in his green eyes, which caused tears to form in her own. ‘My darling, what’s this?’
This caused all of her earlier insecurities to return with a vengeance. Of course Jerome had noticed it, how could he not have? And now it had made him cry. And she was going to have to tell him it was Olaf, and it was always going to be there, like a constant reminder, just another reason she could never forget the violent arsonist she had been in love with for so many years.
Jerome didn’t wait for an answer, and put all the pieces together himself. ‘Does it hurt?’ he asked, his voice strained with all the tears he was trying to hold back for his wife’s sake. He felt her nod into his shoulder, and he took his hand back, fearful he might be hurting her by touching the fabric covering the wound.
Jerome himself didn’t care much about the scars she would have leftover from her ordeal—she would always be the most perfect, beautiful, flawless thing he’d ever seen, regardless—but he knew she cared about it immensely, and it pained him that all he was able to do to help her was hold her and let her cry.
After a minute, a more pressing issue came to mind. ‘What about Olaf?’ he asked, and the name almost stuck in his throat. ‘Where is he?’
‘Dead,’ his wife said simply, quietly into his neck. ‘He’s gone. We don’t have to worry anymore.’
Something about the way she said it made her husband gently pull her back and look at her.
‘Sweetheart,’ he said, not sure how best to say it. Perhaps it was silly, but it was better he asked her the question than left it unsaid. He worried what her reaction was going to be, but he convinced himself that if he just looped his arms around her, she couldn’t run away from him. ‘Sweetheart, it’s OK if you’re—‘ he cut off, and she stared up at him. ‘It’s OK if you’re sad.’ Her eyebrows furrowed sweetly, and he cleared his throat. ‘About Olaf, I mean. It’s OK if you’re….sad that he’s dead. It doesn’t make you—’
‘What?’ his wife asked, almost sharply, and Jerome flinched at the tone of her voice, but her eyes were kind, as always.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Nov 22, 2008 15:27:47 GMT -5
“Wicked,” he said, and Esmé nodded.
“I suppose a part of me is sad,” she admitted. “I don’t feel empty like I did when I knew he had abandoned me at the hotel, but… but I’m sad because he chose not to change the way I did. Instead, he chose to continue being the ruthless villain, continued to let greed be the center of his universe.” She quieted for a moment, and nuzzled her nose against her husband’s shoulder. “It makes me feel all the more lucky that I had you to save me from my life of villainy. If you… if you hadn’t received that message requesting your presence at the Hotel Denouement, then I… I doubt I would have made it out of that fire alive.”
Jerome could feel his wife’s hot tears soaking through the thin sleeve of his hospital gown, and he trembled at the gentle touch of her hand as it rested affectionately over his stomach.
“It wasn’t luck that saved you that day, my dear,” Jerome said, trailing his own hand down through the sheets until he found what he was looking for. “It was love. The love I’ve felt from the moment you stepped into my life. I always knew I’d see you again, but I could never have dared to hope that we would end up where we are now.”
As Esmé felt her husband’s palm press ever so gently against her, she looked up into the face of the man who meant so much to her. Jerome smiled a little at the confusion in Esmé’s face, which somehow made her appear even more adorable. “You meant that in a positive sense,” she asked, “didn’t you?”
Jerome answered by nodding in earnest, right before tracing a heart around his wife’s bellybutton on the outside of her nightgown.
The financial advisor blushed, and scooted closer to her husband. The bed was only a twin, and so she found herself being pushed to the edge unintentionally. But she was determined to lie here and cuddle her husband, who she had missed terribly and had been so worried about.
“Jerome,” Esmé asked in a tiny, childlike voice as she began to very lovingly circle the tip of one newly manicured fingernail around his stomach. “Will you still find me attractive, even after I’m all scarred up?”
“Oh, my darling,” he sighed, though he hardly sounded annoyed. “What sort of question is that?”
Esmé blushed deeply and buried her face deeper into his shoulder with the hope that he wouldn’t see her. But he already had, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“I find you every bit as attractive now as I did the day I peered over my menu and saw you looking back at me,” Jerome said honestly. “You were standing by the front doors of the Veritable French Diner, wearing a beautiful magenta dress and a black hat with a feather in it. You had on a pair of fishnet stockings and black leather pumps. Your lips were ruby red, and your short hair curled up at the ends. I found you to be indisputably charming— if not a little too thin —and you had the sweetest, most curious look on your face.”
“You remember all that?” Esmé asked, making no attempt to hide her apparent surprise.
“Well, of course, sweetheart. After all, it was a meaningful turning point in my life. It’s only natural that I recall everything down to the smallest detail.”
Esmé felt rather guilty that she couldn’t say the same for Jerome, and wrapped both of her arms around his. She had never cared much for reminiscing about that fateful morning fourteen years ago at the Veritable French Diner, simply because of all the facts that lay behind it. But Jerome had always had an entirely different opinion from his wife. For he had been able to spot the positives— much like he had been able to spot Esmé’s nobility, no matter how cleverly it had been masked.
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Post by Jenny on Nov 22, 2008 16:41:53 GMT -5
Esmé let out a shaky breath, and had to scoot a little further into the bed, finding herself on the edge again. The last thing she wanted was to fall out. 'It makes me wonder,' she said softly, and pressed one of her fingers against her husband's bottom lip, just to feel the softness there. 'How I ever could have not loved you.' She tried to stop hersself feeling too guilty, but it was difficult. 'How could I not have seen how kind and wonderful you were when it was right in front of me?'
'It wouldn't have made any difference,' Jerome comforted silently. 'Even if you had, Olaf would never have left you behind with me, not when all his plans hinged on you leaving.'
She nodded. 'Perhaps,' she answered, and then her eyes glazed over a little. 'But he planned it all: it must have been a risk, mustn't it? You were more my age, you were more handsome, kinder---'
'Wealthier,' Jerome added, pleased despite himself that this had not been one of the characteristics she had listed.
She rolled her eyes, and kissed him on the end of his nose. 'And wealthier. How could he have known I wouldn't fall in love with you and want to stay?'
Jerome shook his heasd, and shrugged. 'I'm sorry, darling,' he said after a moment. 'But I don't think you'll ever know the answer to that.'
Esmé's bottom lip quivered. 'He must have thought me so stupid,' she said after a second, and her husband's hands gently running through her hair was the only thing that kept her tears away. 'He must have thought me so naive and foolish. And what's worse is that he was quite right, wasn't he? I couldn't see past the end of my own nose.'
Her nose was so tiny he didn't think that possible, but Jerome understood the concept.
'It's only natural that you were like that,' he said, before she looked a little insulted and he clarified. 'A little self-centered, sweetheart. A little conceited. That's how he wanted you to be. If you think about it, my sweetheart, all you were trying to do was make other people happy.' He smiled, and planted another soft kiss on her slightly swollen lips. 'How is that stupid?'
She smiled, but sadly, and before she could tell him that trying to please everyone else was never an incredibly intelligent way to go about thngs, Dr Leer cleared his throat from the doorway.
'I see you're awake,' Dr Leer said from the doorway, grinning at the couple and at the way the previously miserable Mrs Squalor looked very happy.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Nov 22, 2008 20:40:21 GMT -5
“When may my husband be able to come home?” was the first question out of Esmé’s mouth.
“He’s free to leave whenever he’d like,” Dr. Leer replied with a smile.
Grinning, Jerome held up the arm to which the I.V. was attached. “Before I do that,” he said, “I was wondering if you could do something about this.”
“Of course.”
Dr. Leer stepped into the room and unhooked the I.V. from Jerome’s arm, tossing the needle into the garbage pail underneath the bed.
“Take care,” Dr. Leer said. “You’re sure to sleep well tonight.”
Turning to his wife, Jerome replied, “I’m certain of it.”
“I’ve brought you some clothes, darling,” Esmé said after Dr. Leer had left. “I figured you’d prefer to leave the hospital in something other than one of those terribly un-smashing gowns.”
Sliding out of bed, Esmé went over to the other side of the room. She gathered up the bag of clothing she had brought for her husband, and then closed the door before returning to his side.
“I packed your pinstripe shirt,” she explained, setting the bag down in his lap, “and your gray pants.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Esmé seated herself down in the chair by the bed and folded her arms together across it. Her twinkling eyes settled on Jerome, and she smiled sweetly.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m just… waiting,” Esmé said.
“For what?”
“For you to undress, silly.”
Jerome’s face flushed. “Esmé,” he said sternly. “You know how I feel about—”
He trailed off, taking notice of the way his wife’s lower lip pushed out. “Please, Jeromey-rome?” Esmé begged, using the nickname she referred to him by only when they were alone together. It sounded so cute the way she said it, and besides, it was better than being called ‘Jerry’ anyway. “Just so I can see your stomach?”
Jerome was about to refuse when Esmé’s eyes widened, and she pushed out her lower lip a few inches further. God, but she really knew how to work him, didn’t she?
He found himself giving in almost immediately, his hands untying the string of the gown behind his neck. He tugged the gown off so that it crumpled around his waist, smiling at how quickly his wife crawled back into bed beside him.
Seating herself beside Jerome, Esmé wrapped one arm around him. Using the bottom of her other hand, she began to rub it in a circle around the curve of his stomach. The thought of how Andrew had kissed her earlier in the examination room was still weighing heavily on her mind, and she wanted more than anything to disclose it to her husband. Resting her head on his shoulder, she looked down at where her hand was. Jerome’s own hand closed over hers, stilling it, and pressed it against his skin.
Esmé was just getting ready to tell him what was on her mind, when she inadvertently sneezed. She opened her mouth once more to speak, only to be interrupted again by another squeak. Then another. And another. And another. She sneezed a minimum of seven times in a row, and had just begun to recover when she felt Jerome let go of her hand and place his on her forehead.
“Why, Esmé darling,” he exclaimed. “You have a temperature!”
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Post by Jenny on Nov 23, 2008 11:56:40 GMT -5
Her husband kissed the slightly pink tip of her nose, and then handed her the jacket she had packed for him.
'I can't say I'm surprised,' he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and letting her snuggle closer to him. 'After all, you've been wearing just a nightgown for over a day.'
'I had a blanket,' Esmé admitted, though she sounded so sweetly stuffed up that the sentence meant absolutely nothing. Her husband ignored her, and instead of responding, just helped her gently to her feet.
'We'd better be going,' he said, keeping her close to him even as he dressed and stood, as if he was afraid someone might steal her again from him. 'Besides, everyone else thinks I'm still unconscious.'
'I need to apologize to Carmelita,' Esmé said softly, and then sneezed again, cutely. 'And,' she pasued, and for a second said absolutely nothing. How could she say it, and how would he react? 'And I need to tell you something.'
Evidently the way she had spoken the words had made him realize it was serious, and he turned back to her immediately. 'What?' he asked softly, and grasped one of her small hands in his larger ones. His eyes were instantly concerned, and she felt guilty for worrying him.
'You have to promise---' Promnise what? He wouldn't be angry with her of course, but didn't he have a right somehwat to be angry with Andrew? '---that you won't be too upset. I'm only going to say it because I can't keep things from you, not because I want you to do anything. And keep it in mind that Andrew put his life in danger to come and rescue Emma and I.'
Jerome's eyebrows furrowed, and he looked so sweetly confused that she could have thrown her arms around him. 'Andrew?' he asked quietly. 'Is this about Andrew?' He would have understood if it had been about Cora or Colette, or what had happened while she was being held hostage, but Andrew? Andrew had always liked Esmé. Andrew had always been one of the few people who had stood by Jerome's decision to take her back after the fire at the Hotel Denouement. This had to be a misunderstanding. Andrew would never have said anything--
'In the examination room,' Esmé rushed, and her eyes darted away, worrying him even more. 'It was---just before I saw Dr Leer. I was talking, I was saying how lost I would have been without you, and then Andrew said that if anything did happen he'd look after Emma and I, and then--'
Esmé tighetened her hand around his, frightened that he might react badly.
'And then what?' Jerome enquired, pushing her dark hair lightly away from her face, and touching her cheek lightly on his way.
'And then he kissed me.' Esmé blurted, and wasn't surprised to see her husband's face change.
~
Carmelita had only just stopped crying when Emma had assured her that Jerome was going to be OK, when Nero and the twins appeared, which caused another rush of tears from the redhead. She had thrown herself into her husband's arms on sight, and Emma hadn't been able to suppress a smile, even if her hard work had been ruined.
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