Dietfried's Letter

Shadow Voices

Logic had always been a strongpoint for Gabriella Fitzhugh. It was what qualified her to do her job as police inspector of Dresgorn over the past 8 years with an extraordinarily high rate of success.
She simply envisioned every case as a tangled web of riddles that were hers to solve, and solve them she did with terrific speed and accuracy. Whenever her phenomenal sense of logic unraveled the tangle of one case and it was neatly tucked away in her case file, Fitz was immediately ready for the next.
It then all came to a screeching halt. Fitz found herself in a hospital bed, with a loud respirator machine forcing, oxygen through a tube in her throat and into her damaged lungs, Fitz was terrified for the first time in her life. It was not the fear of dying, it was the fear of the growing void in her head where a new case should be, but was not.
There would be times of great pain in her chest and she would wince, then open her eyes to nothing but painful bright light and shadows. The shadows had muffled voices telling her to please relax, to stay calm. Soon after would be a blissfully pleasant relief, apparently from an administrated drug through the intravenous catheter in her arm.
         Fitz knew the shadows were real. They were doctors and nurses and nursing assistants. A couple of the shadows were not any of those but ones she considered her friends. Well, one of them was her true friend, the other. . .the jury was still out on him. 
            Was it hours? Days? Weeks? All time ceased to have any meaning. There was only times of great pain, times of heavenly relief and times of the muffled voiced shadows. After a fashion, the muffled voices became clearer to her ears, but their shadows did not.
           Apparently her eyes had suffered damage as well as her lungs.  She needed both to perform her duties.  Without her duties. . . who was Gabriella Fitzhugh??  She suddenly began to panic.
        "If you do not shut it, then that tube will not ever come out of your throat."  said a low female voice near her ear. "Your lungs are healing, slowly, but surely. A decision to remove it will be made soon, but the panic brings pain, pain leads to narcotics, narcotics lead to more time with a tube stuck in your throat. Do you understand? Nod your head if you understand."
         Fitz did understand and even appreciated the strong tone of the nurse's (if it was, indeed, a nurse) voice.  It was a tone she often used on suspects she found to be difficult.  She was obviously being a difficult patient. Fitz calmed herself and nodded.
          So, there was a light at the end of the tunnel for this tube in her throat. Fitz focused on keeping calm, and the pain did not come around as often.  Whenever it did, she was asked if she needed a narcotic for pain relief, she would shake her head.
           Weaning herself from the drugs became the ultimate goal. After reaching this goal of getting the tube out of her throat, then, and only then, would she confront the eye dilemma.
          The tube was eventually removed and her throat felt far more sore than she ever imagined.  It was as if her tonsils were ripped out along with the tube.
          "Open your mouth." said the familiar female voice, "I'm going it place a small chip of ice on your tongue. Let it melt before you try to swallow.  The pain will be excruciating but will get better with time."
            Fitz tried to speak, but the voice interrupted her. "No. Not yet. Save it for when you are able."  Fitz obeyed and dutifully did as she was told. 
          The owner of the voice still was no more than a blurry, shadowy figure, but tended to be there to give Fitz her ice chips at certain intervals of the day. She began to suspect those intervals were approximately four to six hours apart, and lasted no more than for ten minutes. During those ten minutes, they were never disturbed by any others of the medical staff, which was odd. Others were continuously interrupting anyone else who stepped in, especially her visitors.
Her power of logic quickly brushed away the illogical thought of the voice possibly being disembodied. It did come from a shadowy figure, just as everyone appeared to her anymore. Besides, Fitz simply did not believe in such things. Too many contradictions came with explaining the presence of the supernatural. To be truthful, the only moment she doubted reason was while taking the tangles out of her most recent case. The case that just nearly left her dead.
In that case, she met a celestial scribe who read the past, present and future through the position of celestial bodies, and tended to have random visions he could not control. His accuracy was uncanny, but disturbing. No one should have such an ability, but Petrich Hollenburg did. Fitz pitied him for it, and also very much loved him as the kid brother she never had and wanted to protect.
Petrich's visits were not as often as her other visitor, that being Captain Dietfried Baugainvillea. Fitz tolerated the older man for the most part. He had saved her life, but still clamped rather tightly onto his spoiled aristocratic manners. But throughout her recovery time, she heard his southern aristocratic accent demanding upmost care for her. Fitz wanted to laugh at how the nurse staff sighed irritably and murmured under their breaths about him and his former naval captain style of barking orders.
           "Ah!" cried Dietfried, "You've been extubated! Excellent!" Fitz watched his tall shadow have a seat beside her bed. "The prognosis of your eyesight, however, well. . ." Dietfried cleared his throat a bit nervously, "There are specialists in Leiden that may. . ."
It is true that without sight, the other senses do their best to make up for the loss.  Without her sight, her sense of hearing sharpened, especially since the loud respiratory machine was no longer an auditory obstruction. 
          Just as Fitz was listening to Dietfried Baugainvillea and his not so confident stance relating to her eye health, she heard the door open, and held open. She saw Dietfried's shadow stand and his words come to an abrupt end.
         "Eye specialists in Leiden??" scoffed the familiar female voice, "Glorified eyeglass crafters, if you're asking me."
         "Hmm. Then count all that is lucky, madam, for you were not being asked."
         "Perhaps I should have been, Captain Baugainvillea."
         "And why is that, Ms. . ."
         "That would be Mrs. Drusella Madrid."
         "Mmm. I see." Dietfried remarked.  In her mind's eye, Fitz could see Dietfried glancing at the stranger's hands in search (and finding) a sign of matrimony.  "And to what do we owe the pleasure, Mrs. Madrid?"
             "I was sent by special request of Madame Jonae Le Souvenir."
            "Le Souvenir? She is no one of my acquaintance."
             "How astonishing, Captain Baugainvillea, being unfamiliar with any female over the age of 18 years in the Leidenshaftlich region and beyond."
             "I am certainly not familiar with you and you look to be well over 18 years."
              As they bantered in the way Dietfried Baugainvillea bantered with most women, herself included, Fitz latched onto the name Jonae Le Souvenir.
This name. . .it's an alias." she thought, the wheels in her logic wheelhouse began to spin. 
             "Yes, I am well into womanhood, and within it I've experienced motherhood, and unfortunately, widowhood. But now I am part of a special envoy funded by Madame Le Souvenir."
             "And why, pray tell, would this Madame Le Souvenir care for the plight of Ms. Fitzhugh?"
             "This is to be confidential under Madame's orders. All I was told to do was find, and assist in the recovery."
Jonae. . . Jon. . . Jonathan. . . The tangle of this mysterious benefactor was beginning to unravel.  . . . Lord Jonathan. . Le Souvenir. . the remembered. . .the unforgotten. . .
            The case that had Fitz knocking on death's
door in a hospital began as attempted murder of celestial scribe, Petrich Hollenburg, and ended up with herself snatching up a months old baby Lord Jonathan out of its crib as its homicidal father detonated a gas bomb in the nursery. 
            The baby's mother had been ordered to flee for her life as Fitz, Petrich Hollenburg and Dietfried Baugainvillea risked life and limb to save the baby that had been proven to be illegitimate and, according to old Gardonian law, subject for execution.
           Fitz had been told the Lady Lydia Bryce-Rykindella had, indeed, caught a train for a week long journey to Leiden, but without her infant son.  He had, unfortunately, succumbed to the toxic fumes of the gas bomb days after his exposure. Fitz would never quite forgive herself for not acting quicker, even though Petrich and Dietfried gave her every reason why she should.
This Madame Jonae Le Souvenir could be none other than Lady Lydia Bryce-Rykindella. Fitz reached out to the shadow of Dietfried and took hold of the cuff of his jacket.
His shadow sat next to her again. "Yes?" he asked gently, "What is it, my girl?"
Fitz had no idea what kind of noise she would make in her attempt to talk, but tried anyway in a pained whisper. "Lady Lydia. Le Souvenir is Lady Lydia. . ."
"Is this true, Mrs. Madrid? Is Madame Le Souvenir the alias of Lady Lydia Bryce-Rykindella?"
"I do not know a Lady Lydia." Ms. Madrid confessed. "All I know is that the Madame has instructed me to read a sealed letter to a Ms. Gabriella Fitzhugh as soon as she was able to utter her first words."
Dietfried chuckled. "Well, it seems the time has come. Let us hear this letter."
"Oh, no, it must be in confidence." Ms. Madrid insisted.
"But. . ."
Fitz touched his sleeve again. "Please honor this request." she whispered.
Dietfried sighed and patted her hand and stood up. "Very well, then. I need time with my pipe, anyway. I shall return momentarily."
Fitz listened for his footsteps to approach the door, open it then close it. She then looked to the shadow of Drusella Madrid, and waited.
There was an audible snap of a wax seal breaking and an unfolding of stationary paper. Then Drusella Madrid began to read:

My Dear Ms. Fitzhugh,

If you are being read this letter, then you are now free from your intubation tube and well on your way to recovery. My appreciation for your bravery in the attempt to rescue my son runs very deep. So much so that I now consider you my kin and wish to aid you in all ways possible

Through information of your condition from your devoted friends, I have been in contact with a bioengineer who is making great strides in the field of optics. Restoring your sight is of upmost importance. It is the least I can do for one who has suffered so much for the sake of my darling boy.

I shall be expecting you soon in Leiden with Mrs. Madrid as escort. She has been the most trusted of friends, but only knows me by my alias. It is time she learn the truth. When you are able, give her the truth of who I am and why I've come to be. Drusella is counted as one who deserves to know.

May your journey be safe and secure.
Jonae Le Souvenir, and also Lydia Bryce-Rykindella

Fitz stared at the shadow figure, as she heard the letter being folded up again. She wondered how Mrs. Madrid perceived her friendship with this Jonae Le Souvenir, for now she had discovered that her friend had not been truthful with her. Fitz listened carefully for any sort of reaction, and only heard silence.
She reached out her hand to touch the shadow figure in front of her and felt a satin sleeve beneath her fingertips.
"Thank you for coming to me." Fitz told her in a painful whisper, "I will explain everything she wishes you to know."
"Yes. . .I would like that very much," said Drucella gratefully, "We'll have plenty of time on our journey east."
They were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Fitz knew it was Dietfried, pawing at the door like an overly curious dog.
"Oh, must we let him back in?" Drucella asked, plaintively.
Fitz grinned, and nodded. "He is my friend." she whispered.