The Doctor on Maiden Lane

Black rain fell in unseen sheets on endless rows of brick buildings. An occasional flash of lightning brought the landscape to life; a bleached ghostly white that lasted less than a second, illuminating streets and houses as if caught in surprise. None were out during this midnight torrent save one: a broad figure in a wavering black cloak that marched through the cutting winds, a leather satchel in his grip, his other hand shielding his eyes from the diagonal drench.

Nurse Rivers was at the brink of where her studies had taken her; the apron she wore blood-soaked and her hands quivering, all she could do now was make poor Catherine comfortable with damp cloths, extra pillows, and enough gauze to staunch the seemingly endless flow of blood. The doctor had left an hour ago, departing into the cold rain, jabbering unintelligible words that only the nightly squall would hear. She and the governess were the last lines of defense. The husband stalked the parlor downstairs, the sound of constant shuffling and clinking crystal could be heard easily enough once Catherine's screams subsided.

"Oh dear, oh dear..." The governess, Miss Renfield, seemed to be caught in a loop. "Do you think he will return? I've never seen a doctor just leave before? I mean, my God...What do you think Miss Rivers? Oh dear..." Her voice was moving fast.

Nurse Rivers was removing a thoroughly soaked pile of gauze from Catherine's torn perineum and replacing it with the last fresh stretch she had, "I...I'm not sure Miss Renfield." Air escaped from her as she saw the black blood of the removed bandages. She shudders and takes a deep breath, obscuring the soiled cloth from Miss Renfield's view. "But, he is gone and we are here. Mr. Arthur has sent for someone else and we must have faith in that. In the meantime, Miss Renfield, please start tearing up spare sheets and blankets. We are nearly done with the gauze and will almost certainly require more. Make them four-fingers wide and an arms length." She turns her strongest gaze onto Miss Renfield, to attempt some sort of control over this situation.

For a moment, the governess looked at her as if she were a captured animal. But she came back, shaking her head in understanding. "Yes ma'am. Of course." She leaves the room, a series of 'oh dears' echoing in the hallway.

"Oh, you poor girl..." She says while dabbing a freshly soaked cloth onto Catherine's forehead. A temporary relief, Catherine, now only half-awake, moans slightly from the brief absence of heat from her burning brow.

A powerful knock at the front door shakes the inhabitants inside, as if the rolling thunder cracking the sky had somehow sneaked its way in. Mr. Arthur, the butler of the house, is stunned momentarily before approaching the door and opening it.

Standing outside on the stone stoop is a broad-chested man in soaked black clothes, a drooping mustache lines his mouth. "Good evening!" The man's voice carries into the house. "Is this the Thorpe estate? I'm here for Catherine Thorpe."

Mr. Arthur nods vigorously, "Yes! Yes sir, please come in!" He steps aside to make room for him. "My goodness, what a stroke of luck. I'll have to give that errand boy extra pennies for being good on his suggestion."

The stranger steps inside the entryway, quickly looking around the house. A drenched satchel hangs in his hand and cloak hangs on the ground, spilling onto the wooden floor.

"Please, sir..." Arthur shows him to the parlor, where a roaring fire and Mr. Thorpe await. "Catch some warmth, sir. I will announce your arrival upstairs." Arthur departs with fast steps upstairs.

The parlor smells of years of tobacco laden wood, a grand fireplace bathes the many shelves of books in an orange light. A large red, yellow, and blue Scarlet Macaw sits comfortably on a perch watching the fire. Mr. Thorpe turns to greet him, a nearly full glass of brown liquid in his hand, his face is pale and his eyes are red. He speaks, trying to not let his voice crack. "Ah! You must be the doctor! I...I had thought you departed already!" His voice seems to rise higher than intended as he extends his hand to shake but then quickly forgets the greeting and moves past the stranger to a swan-shaped crystal decanter.

The stranger studies him only for a moment before turning his attention to the fire. "Not at all, sir. I have only just arrived and do not intend to leave until the deed is finished!" He says this extending one of the many rings on his fingers towards the burning wood, there's a quick suction of air as the gold ring glows red and inhales a tendril of flame. As it does, a shroud of embers casts off from the stranger, his cloak billows with it, lightened now, all the dampness about him vanished.

Mr. Thorpe feels a short blast of hot air and looks up from adding to his already full glass and looks to see only the stranger. "Someone..." He tries to say, "someone must have left a hot w-window open..."

The colorful bird speaks from the corner of the room, a nasally mimic sound, "What in God's name! What in God's name!"

The stranger, now fully dried, looks towards the bird puzzled. "Is that something he normally says, Mr. Thorpe?"

Thorpe shakes his head, spilling dribbles of whiskey onto the lavish rug, "Oh no. No. That is...something he recently picked up." He says pointing upstairs. "The doctor yelled it on the way out. Hup!" He hiccups harshly, causing him to stumble, catching himself on the black wood desk holding the decanter.

"I see." The stranger nods gravely. He opens the leather satchel, pulling from it a worn top-hat and a long black cane with a silver lion head roaring ferociously at the top of it; the contents of the bag could not possibly fit in the satchel, however, out they came nonetheless. Mr. Thorpe paid no heed to this as he fought against violent vertigo.

"We are ready for you, sir!" From upstairs Mr. Arthur calls loudly, a hint of panic to his voice now.

"Very well." The stranger answers back, placing the tall hat on his head and tapping the cane onto the ground. "A pleasure, Mr. Thorpe." He tips his hat and departs.

Thorpe, well after the stranger leaves the room, nods in agreement, "And to you as well, sir."

As the stranger climbs the bending stairs, the macaw calls once more from below, "What in God's name!"

The stranger walks down a high-ceiling hallway and steps through the threshold into a dimly lit room. Inside a yellow-glowing candle lightens part of the space, rain patters against a narrow window which sends forth continuous white flashes, a dreary reminder of the world outside. A sickly, sweat-ridden young woman lies on the bed, a pool of red at hips, by her side a thin, young nurse with her brown hair covered in a white bonnet is wiping the patient's brow. She looks up to him with hopeful green eyes.

"Are you the...new doctor, sir?"

"Indeed I am, madam." He steps near the bed, setting his satchel down. "Doctor Edward Rochester, ma'am. And you are the attending nurse?" He extends his large, calloused hand.

She puts her frail fingers in his palm and shakes. She feels his strength, a moment of comfort from the past few hours. "Yes, sir. Jane Rivers. You are a most welcome sight, sir."

He sees her blood-stained hands and dirty apron, her face is white; she has seen a horror he thinks to himself, but there is also good steel in her eyes. "What happened here, nurse?"

She nods, trying to recount. "Well, sir. We've been attending for several hours. She's been fully dilated for quite some time; more blood than I've ever seen...She was pushing for hours. When we thought the baby was coming, the doctor was ready to deliver. But he shrieked, something slashed him, instead of a baby...I-I don't know what it was, I saw a...claw sir, but only for a moment and it was gone. The doctor, wounded, got full sight of it and ran off..." She sits, her eyes watching the past, "I know it sounds fantastic, sir, but..."

"I believe you, Jane." His dark eyes look into hers. "But you stayed then?"

She nods again, "I can't leave her, doctor. She is my patient and I too swore an oath to protect." The steel resets in her green eyes, like hardened emeralds.

For the first time since arriving a slight smile cracks his stone jaw. "And good that you did, Jane! She'd have bled out without you." He turns away and retrieves a silver and blue vial from his satchel. "Unfortunate for you, Miss Jane. You are witness to Hell itself on this dark night." He looks to her briefly, uncorking the vial, a thin stream of silver vapor exudes from it. "I ask that you strengthen yourself once more, madam. Plant your feet firmly and turn your mind to iron."

She looks at him with widening eyes but nods firmly. Unsure of what to expect she looks on, pushing her feet into the wooden floor as hard as she can and holds Catherine's hand.

Doctor Rochester lowers the vial between Catherine's legs, the vapor wafting inside her. There is a horrid screech and then something climbs out from inside her vagina. Not a baby, but something else. Something with many small claws scampers out onto the bed, it writhes in what looks like agony before it flops onto its back, a lone angry red eye looks up to Jane, several needle-like teeth surrounding it. She gasps in fright at it, her mind almost unable to comprehend. Her thoughts are cracking but she focuses on the iron, the metal within her mind, and stares daggers back at the fiend.

He detaches the lion head handle from his cane, revealing a silver blade attached to it, white ethereal wisps exuding from the metal. "Begone, beast!" He yells, trying to stab it but the clawed thing is a moment faster and launches itself towards Jane's head. The iron in her mind holds and she reacts, ducking out of the way as it instead connects to the wall where her head was, it's many crab-like claws dig into the wood. She grabs a bucket of water, used to cool Catherine's fever by her bedside, and smashes it against the creature, sending a spray of water all over her and the floor, toppling the monster to the ground. "Away!" She yells at it, standing guard by her patient.

"Good shot, Jane!" Rochester springs forth towards it, this time driving the silver blade into the creature's eye, pinning it to the wooden floor, the lion head hilt roaring above its skewed prey. The monster screeches again, all it's claws grasping wildly. "Back to the Underworld with you!" Rochester aims the still red-glowing ring from earlier at the beast, a jet of thin fire springs forth from it, consuming the monster. It curls in pain, its body locks up and ceases moving. The purple creature, now charred and black.

Jane watches, her chest rising and falling, as Rochester opens his satchel again, removing, almost impossibly, a black box, and a small broom and dustpan. He sweeps the monster's remains up and deposits it into the black box, putting it all away into the satchel. He removes one more vial containing red liquid and hands it to her.

"Administer this to Mrs. Thorpe, two drops every hour until she is well again." He looks back to where the thing died, a circle of soot and a silhouette of lighter-colored wood within it. "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do for the hardwood though."

She stares at it all in disbelief, shock running through her veins. With great effort, she forces herself to move again, grabbing a metal spoon from a bedside nightstand and pours out two drops into it and carefully slides the liquid into Catherine's mouth, immediately a shade of color returns to her cheeks, her breathing seems to increase.

At that moment the governess runs in, a myriad of torn things in her arms as she places it on the bed. Her nose crinkles sharply, "What on earth is that dreadful stench. My goodness!" She stiffens seeing the burnt floor. "By the gates of Saint Peter, what happened?"

Jane quickly leads her out of the room, "That is all, thank you, Miss Renfield." She shuts the door and then gets to work immediately, changing out the old bandages for Catherine. She shakes her head while doing so, "Doctor Rochester...what...what did I just witness? What kind of nightmare was that...that thing?"

He thinks on her question, pulling the lion blade from the floor and sheathing it back into his cane, the once glowing ring on his finger now a dull gold again. "Well, Jane. I'm afraid you have seen into another world that most never will. A shadow world that exists beneath and behind our very own. Sometimes, there truly is something underneath your bed or residing in your closet." He looks at Catherine's now sleeping face. "As for our unfortunate patient, dear Catherine's baby was likely consumed some time ago by this hellish parasite." His face turns to almost complete stone, tired black rings now fully pronounced around his eyes, "Poor girl. It would've consumed her too, likely, if not for our intervention."

Jane, the evaporating fear now replaced with hot anger. "Gone? You mean to say...that thing killed her child?" She places her hand on Catherine's stomach, her eyes hot with tears. The triumph she had tasted now ash in her mouth. "Oh...it's not fair." She covers up Catherine's bottom half, tucking in her legs and hips with blankets.

"No...it's not." Rochester's dark eyes see something in his own past, something long gone, something taken unfairly as well. He puts hand on Jane's shoulder. "It's not fair at all. And that's why I'm in this work. To try and make it slightly more fair. But, it's never quite enough."

She won't look up at him because she knows she will cry, instead she holds her patient's hand, petting it gently.

"Most who see into this hellish world are driven mad, Jane. Their minds cannot, will not comprehend it. It breaks them." He pauses. "But some...some withstand." He pulls a small card from his pocket and hands it to her. "I am in need of someone strong. Someone with good steel in their eyes. Please, think about it...or not, if you wish."

He turns to leave, his billowing cape spins about him and he tips his hat to her. "Good evening, Miss Jane. I hope to see you again." And then he is gone. Out of the room, down the stairs, and out into the storm again.

Jane breathes a sigh of relief, her weary heart hopeful that the night's trial is over. She continues dampening Catherine's head and keeps awake throughout the night, giving her two drops of the tonic every hour. By the witching hour she is exhausted but she does not relent. She wants to be awake when Catherine is, she wants to be the one to tell her about her baby.

To keep awake in the night, she reads the card Rochester gave her, now crumpled and blood-stained.

Dr. Edward Rochester of 24 Maiden Lane; For peculiar ailments and unexplainable conditions.

She almost laughs at the absurdity of it, if the night hadn't been what it was. She slides the card into a pocket of her apron while she continues holding Catherine's hand, stowing the idea away to think on for another time; a time with a clearer head and when the sun had risen.