The Pandora's Box 12

[svetlanacat6]

 

 

A very pale and disheveled Lisa stormed in the office. The number one, section one stared at her . She was panting.

“

 

Well, Lisa, what is it about ? I am late, and...”

“Mr Solo... we have had a call from Peoria, Illinois.”

“Lisa, please... I am sure that this call is important, but...”

And Napoleon Solo stopped talking. Lisa was a competent secretary. Self possessed.

“Mr Solo, they found... A body. Er.. They thought that he was dead, but he isn't.”

“Lisa?”

“He regained consciousness... and he asked for ... you.”

Napoleon Solo shivered. Lisa's face was strained with something like... horror.

“Lisa?”

“I think... I think that they found Illya, Napoleon.”

Napoleon Solo was taken aback. That was absolutely impossible.

“Il-lya?”

“Yes.”

“But you aren't sure! You said “I think”...”

“A blond man, about forty, with extraordinary blue eyes... covered with scares... And he muttered your name, again and again and two others... Russian names! They looked for Napoleon Solo, and...”

“They called the Uncle. Is he...”

“He fell down in a ravine... He lay there for... they don't know how long. Two hunters found him.”

-Where is he ?

“In the hospital, in Peoria...”

“Call them, immediately. And I want a plane...”

Napoleon Solo felt choked with an unbearable grief. He was terrified. The powerful number one, section one of the Uncle, New York, was terrified. The doctor had been... cruelly clear. Illya was dying. Perhaps Napoleon would be... late. Solo had yelled, barked, threatened, begged... He knew that the doctor would have done, anyway, everything possible. But... it gave him the feeling that Illya would know ...

Twelve years. Twelves stupid years. What had he done? Nothing. He had felt offended! His partner was gone? He had left? How interesting! Much good may it do him! Much... good.

Oh, God... He had lost his partner, twelve years ago. And he had almost forgotten him. No, he had desperately tried to. And now...

“Tell him, doctor. Yes, I know, he is unconscious, delirious... But find someone to tell him that Napoleon is coming for him Tell him that, again and again. Tell him, that he'd have better not to dare and die!”

Napoleon Solo didn't remember the flight, he didn't see the town. He stormed along the corridors, his bodyguards running after him. Then, the door. And the doctor. Grim.

“No, Mr Solo, your friend is still alive. But ...”

Napoleon Solo went in the bedroom. A very pale body lay on the bad. Long, very long fair hair glued by the sweat, strained features. Shallow... almost imperceptible breath. And tears.. Napoleon Solo sat on the bed. He brushed the damp locks aside the burning forehead. Blue eyes opened but didn't saw him. Napoleon had expected that his friend would acknowledge his presence...

“Illya... I am here With you. Now, you'll be fine.”

“Sa..sha..”

“Napoleon, Illya. It's Napoleon. Who is Sasha?”

“Napol... Please... hand them back... pleas...”

“Illya...”

Illya grabbed his hand. He squeeze it. In fact... his fingers hardly moved. Lifeless.

“Sasha... Tonya... Napol.. I want them... Please... Napol...”

Tears bathed the hollow cheeks.

“Who are they? Illya, tell me...”

Ghost of Illya's childhood, probably... The doctor gripped Illya's wrist and hissed.

“For all that I understood... They are his children... and they are not. It's a sort of hallucination, a delusion due to the fever and the concussion.”

“What?”

“Sa...sha... Napole... I want Sa... sha...”

Napoleon Solo grabbed his friend's shoulders, and ignoring the doctor's reaction, sat him straight against his chest. Then, he hugged him. The skinny, panting, sobbing, choking body.

“Napol... I saw them... Hand them back... to me. Pleas...plea... They were real...Please... I want...”

“Shhhht, Illya, shhhht...”

The doctor bit his lips and motioned all the others to follow him out of the bedroom. They were alone.

“Illya...”

“Napoleon... I want...”

“Yes, Illya, yes...”

“Thank... you... Thank you for coming...”

For some seconds, it was the real Illya. Illya's voice. Then...

“Hold me, Napoleon. Please, hold me... And tell me... tell me that they'll be there... that I'll see them again... Please...”

“Illya...”

“The limp body stiffened slightly and Napoleon Solo anxiously looked at his friend's face. Illya was staring at the door... and smiling. An angelic smile. So happy.”

“Look, Napoleon, look ! They are here ! Sasha... Tonya... Napoleon, help me...”

Napoleon Solo took a difficult breath. His vision was blurred by tears, and he couldn't have sworn that they were alone in the bedroom. Illya's face was so hopeful...

Yes, Illya. Yes, my friend. Yes, you... you're right. I see them. They're here. They're waiting for you. Go, Illya, go, and be happy with your children.

The limp body fell against him. And Napoleon hugged him again, as a child. And he repeated loudly.

“Go, Illya. Go, my friend. Go, and enjoy yourself.”

And... forgive me.

He couldn't have said how long ... A harsh voice yelled at his ears, and strong hands ruthlessly pulled him away.

“He... He is alive, Mr Solo. Let us do our job!”

***

Napoleon Solo stared at his friend. Against the doctor's advice, in Peoria, he had insisted to take Illya back to New York. The legendary Solo's diplomacy had turned into cold authority: Uncle, reasons of state... Unspoken but... frightening threat...

“Your choice, Mr Solo.”

But he had been right... Lisa had investigated, and the result was... so amazing. Many things were still to be cleared, but... the main point was... in his pocket.

He ruffled the blond hair, and put his hand on Illya's forehead. No more fever. His breath was still shallow, but regular. New York... New York...

“Illya?”

The Russian suddenly tossed and turned in bed. He was pale... less pale than before, although. Napoleon Solo grabbed his shoulders and tried to ease him.

“Illya? Open your eyes. Look at me. Illya? Rise and shine, partner...

The blue eyes opened. Solo released the shoulders, leaned over, and took hold of Illya's face.

“Illya ? Look at me.”

The blue eyes wandered but eventually stared at him. The first real eye contact...

“Illya? Do you know who I am?”

He felt the nod more than he saw it. He smiled broadly.

“Do you want some ice?”

He marveled at the “Yes...” that his friend hissed, and obligingly rubbed his lips with the ice. The Russian averted his glaze. He was looking around.

“Do you know where we are, Illya?”

A slight nod, again.

“Please, tell me. Talk to me.”

“Napoleon...”

Not bad at all!

“Yes, Illya, yes. Napoleon... And we are...?”

“Unc... Uncle?”

“Yes, Illya, you deserve a reward. Some more ice?”

Illya Kuryakin moved his arm, and raised his hand towards Solo's face. Napoleon took the hand and squeezed it.

“You... you...”

“Yes, my friend?”

“You ... look old.”

The Uncle Number one Section one nearly choked with laughter.

“Charming! Just twelve years older, Illya. I would like to say the same about you... but ...”

“How many years?”

“Twelve years, Illya.”

“Twelve...”

“Illya?”

“I... I'd like to sleep, Napoleon... I ... I feel exhausted.”

Liar. But Solo didn't insist. He dimmed the light and silently settled himself in the chair for the next hours.

“Napoleon... I don't need you here... Go home...”

“Shhhh, Illya, shhhh...”

As partners, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin were expert in several matters... Bedside vigil, for example...

“Napoleon?”

“Yes, Illya?”

“You're still here...”

Napoleon Solo was tempt to tease, but his friend's voice stopped him.

“Yes, Illya. I'm here... As usual. I am always, for you.”

Silence... He thought that the Russian had fallen asleep.

“Not always...”

Silence. He was abashed... It wasn't a blame. Just an acknowledgment. Illya was fully awake. So... It was time.

“Illya?”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to tell me... about Sasha? About Tonya?”

In the dim light, he saw his friend jerking back. He heard him choking. It was ... cruel, but he had to go on.

“Would you like to tell me about Elena?”

The long blond hair flied when the Russian shook his head.

“They... They don't exist, Napoleon. They're... dream. Nightmare...”

“Illya...”

He reached to find his friend's shoulders, and held him tight.

“Close your eyes, Illya, and... tell me about Sasha.”

“NO!”

But he closed his eyes...

“Tell me. Tell me about your son, Illya.”

“No, no, no... Please, don't do that.”

“Shhh, easy, Illya, easy. Tell me about the boy...”

He felt the body shaking, but he refused to give up.

“Illya.”

Silence... Illya...

“He... looks like me.”

“Yes, Illya.”

“He is blond, with blue eyes. He is seven...almost eight years old. He is so intelligent, brilliant...and he loves science, history, museum, languages... and ...”

“And?”

“And cats.”

Napoleon Solo sat on the bed, side to side with the Russian, as slowly as he could, not to break the spell. Illya leaned against him.

“And Tonya. He loves Tonya very much.”

“Tonya?

“She is five...with blue eyes, too, but dark hair, as Elena's. She... she smells pastry and strawberry... She is an extraordinary little girl.”

“I guess she is... Your eyes, Elena's hai...”

Napoleon Solo suddenly choked. A strong, powerful hand had grabbed his throat and squeezed it.

“What... what are you doing ? Who are you ? You ... you are not Napoleon... Napoleon is my friend...”

Solo easily wrenched himself free, and lit up. They looked at each other, eyes in eyes.

“I am Napoleon, Illya. And I am your friend.”

“No ! You aren't!”

Napoleon Solo saw horror in his friend's look.

“Why, Napoleon? You are deluding me. You want to fool me. Why?”

“Sasha...”

“SHUT UP! There is no Sasha... They don't exist... They are illusions. Nothing more than illusions.”

“Very real illusions, in your mind, Illya. You could draw them. Sasha, and Tonya.”

The Russian curled into a ball. Pitilessly, Solo insisted.

“Illya? Do you want drawing paper, and pencils ? You were a drawer... Do you remember?”

“Don't do that...”

“Or... perhaps... you'd prefer...”

A dull voice asked.

“Prefer... what?”

“Something like a ... photo?”

“What the hell do you think you are doing?”

The doctor' voice was harsh.

“Mr Solo, please, stop that immediately. Give me this photo!”

A very few men could bark at Napoleon Solo. Less could bark at the New York Uncle headquarter Number One Section One... This man could. He was the doctor. He was the chief. ... He knew Napoleon Solo for a long time... and he knew Illya Kuryakin.

“Napoleon, please...”

Napoleon Solo woke up with a start, trying vainly to ease his breath. He looked around. He was at home and he got up to drink some water. It was ridiculous, he knew for sure that he wanted to meet again Illya. To meet again his closest friend. It was to be a great happiness... Two friends, two families, so alike... But he was ... panicked. No, not really panic. Nervousness... More precisely, a sort of stage fright... Guilt and remorse. Awful nightmares.