Alone

Disclaimer: - I don’t own any of the characters of The Mummy, I’m just borrowing them to play with.

Alone Chapter 16


Jonathan felt…he felt everything. He yearned for the time before he’d been so ill when he’d managed to withdraw from the world, from the memories, from himself. He’d cocooned himself into a nice, safe void where nothing and no one could reach him. But now everything crowded in on him and every sensation seemed to scrape over all the raw places he had inside of himself tearing and burning like acid. There was a maelstrom of negative emotions that pressed down on him so heavily that at times he found it hard to breathe.

Then there were the memories. They assaulted every one of his senses. Sometimes they’d rise up and overwhelm him even when he was awake. He’d suddenly find himself back there…in that hot, stinking room. It would be so real, so visceral, that he’d smell the sweat and the sex, hear the brutal grunts of his attackers, feel the burning stab of violation and taste the salt of his tears on his lips.

Then Evy or O’Connell or Ardeth would call his name loudly enough to break through into his waking nightmare and he’d find himself back in his room sobbing and shaking, confused and surrounded by other people’s pity and sadness. He’d have no choice but to close his eyes, curl himself up into a ball and wish that the infection and fever had finished him off. He thought that maybe in death he would’ve been able to find some peace or at least oblivion.

He certainly wasn’t getting much peace at the moment. There were always questions, pleas for him to think, to try and remember. Did he know who’d attacked him? Could he remember their faces, their voices, their clothes? Could he describe them? On and on, everyday no matter how many times he shook his head, or how often he told them he didn’t remember anything, Jonathan knew they didn’t believe him.

The first time he’d woken up and had felt any degree of clarity of mind he’d been surprised to find Ardeth Bey by his bedside. Well, that wasn’t quite true. The surprise at his presence had come after the initial blind terror of opening his eyes feeling confused and finding a figure, obviously a male figure, standing over him. Jonathan cringed as he remembered how he’d reacted, trying to squirm away from the looming presence only for the movement to cause pain to erupt seemingly all over his body robbing him of his breath and what little strength he had. Thankfully the deep, cool sound of Ardeth’s voice, it’s cadence hazily remembered from his fever, had brought him to his senses before he’d made too much of a fool of himself, and although he’d meant to stammer out an apology all he managed to say in a puzzled voice was,

“What are you doing here?”

He’d found Ardeth’s reply of,

“You were hurt, you needed me, I came.”

Strangely comforting in it’s honesty and simplicity.

Since then Evy had explained to him that the Medjai leader had saved his life, bringing him back from the edge of death with ancient remedies when all the best of early twentieth century medicine had failed. Jonathan had seen the dark shadow of fear flutter briefly in his sister’s eyes when she’d told him in hushed tones how sick he’d been. It was only the rather surprising realisation at how upset Evy would be if he’d died that prevented Jonathan from wanting to curse Ardeth for his skill in healing him. At least if he’d died he’d have been spared his present state – constantly afraid and feeling defiled.

Perhaps the worst thing of all though was knowing that the three people he’d risked his life with, who were the bravest people he’d ever known, all knew what had happened to him. They all knew what he’d let be done to him, too weak and too much of a coward to be able to fight his attackers off and stop them from hurting him. Jonathan felt his shame burning his cheeks red and for perhaps the thousandth time since he’d emerged from his illness he asked himself “why me?” He knew that other people would accuse him of wallowing in self-pity, and maybe he was, but after what had happened didn’t he have the right to indulge himself in some wallowing if he wanted to? A small, taunting voice in Jonathan’s head whispered that if God-forbid anything as awful had befallen O’Connell or Ardeth they wouldn’t be lying in bed feeling sorry for themselves and sniveling. No, they’d be strong and dignified, not like him at all.

He remembered a few months before his death his father, exasperated after paying off some of Jonathan’s gambling debts, had told him that he had a weak character which was easily led and would get him into serious trouble one day. The words had stung at the time, but as with so many things that hurt him Jonathan had put up a brave front and laughed it off, telling his father to “think nothing of it” when he’d apologised to him the next day. It seemed though that his father was correct, just as Jonathan had always suspected he was. Even as he’d laughed it off the pain of the words spoken in haste and anger had bitten deep, because inside he’d known them to be true, and here was the proof. His gambling had gotten him into trouble that he hadn’t been able to talk and charm his way out of and he’d paid the price, and now his weakness showed itself again as he found himself sinking deeper and deeper into a pit of unhappiness that seemed impossible to climb out of.

Just then he heard the door handle of his room rattle slightly signaling that someone was about to enter. Jonathan quickly reached up and rubbed the heel of his hand across his eyes hiding any bitter, unshed tears that had begun to gather there. The door swung open and Evy bustled into the room carrying a tray with the broth and tea that seemed to be his mainstay diet at the moment. The thought that he had to stick to this virtually liquid diet until he’d healed and his body could cope with something more substantial and solid quickly quashed the appetite that the aroma of the warm broth that pervaded the room had produced. However, he knew that if he didn’t eat he’d see that worried frown wrinkling Evy’s forehead and the sadness would creep back into her eyes and he’d crawl over hot coals not to see that look on her face, especially if it was there because of him. So he put on a false smile as she approached and pulled himself up in the bed so he was sitting up and said,

“Hello old mum, is it feeding time already?”

“A little late actually Jonathan.” Evy replied as she set the tray down on the bedside table and leant over to fuss with his pillows. “I went into the museum this morning to try and finish re-ordering the library and lost track of time.”

Jonathan laughed quietly at that thinking that only Evy could become so entranced by a load of dusty, old books so as to lose track of time. He was about to tease her gently about it when she continued talking.

“I would probably have been even later since I brought a couple of particularly interesting texts home with me and they were jolly heavy, but a knight in shining armour came to my rescue and helped me carry them home."

“Oh, is O’Connell playing Sir Lancelot to impress you?” Jonathan asked as he let Evy carefully place the tray on his lap.

Laughing lightly she replied,

“No, no…it was a friend of yours actually. He asked after you and said he’d been wanting to meet me since he’d heard you talking about you clever sister. Really Jonathan I’m very flattered.”

The cheerful façade that he’d been holding in place for Evy’s sake suddenly shattered and Jonathan felt something dark and icy cold stir deep inside himself in the place where he thought his soul might have once been – before.

His voice cracked slightly as he asked,

“Who...who was it? Did he tell you his name?”

Seeing the change that had overcome her brother Evy asked worriedly,

“What is it Jonathan? Are you feeling ill? Should I call to Ardeth?”

Ignoring her questions Jonathan asked more forcefully, even as he feared the answer,

“Who was it…what was his name?”

“He said his name was James…James Holden. That he was a friend of yours…” Evy broke off abruptly as she saw the affect her words had on her brother.

Jonathan felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. That…that thing, that evil creature had been near Evy, had walked with her, spoken to her. He had to swallow down the gorge that rose up in his throat at the thought.

He knew what Holden was doing. James had known that Evy would tell him that they’d spoken and was trying to taunt him with the threat he’d used to keep Jonathan quiet, that he might attack Evy next.

For a moment Jonathan felt dizzy and sick with fear for Evy, but as he gazed into her face which was rapidly becoming frantic with worry he knew what he had to do. He knew that Holden didn’t know the friends that Jonathan was lucky enough and privileged enough to have. Reach up he grasped Evy’s hand and urged her,

“Get Rick and Ardeth!”

Evy paused for a moment and Jonathan knew when the realisation of just who Holden was gripped her by the way her face paled and her lips thinned in determination.