ROMANOV AUTUMN
Chapter Twelve

When Jack finally settled in after a late dinner with Harry, he also settled into a fit of sneezing, too. Now that he had more time to spend in his room, he was beginning to realize how much dust was in there. It was ridiculous, in his opinion—no doubt Esther would have had a fit if she saw it. Jack groaned, lying down on his bed, and coughed. He wanted to sleep, but the sneezing wouldn’t stop. Giving up at last, Jack went to the window, pulling it open. He stuck his head out, trying to suck in a good breath of sweet, late-evening air.

However, that ended in vain. He felt his chest tighten horribly, and fell to his knees on the floor. No, he thought, recognizing the feeling at once—he was having an asthma attack. It hurt when he attempted to breathe—he coughed, beads of sweat popping out on his forehead and cheeks. Relax, he told himself. I have to relax. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe through his nose, but more coughing and wheezing resulted.

He felt faint and immediately went back over to his bed. His lungs were on fire, and waves of panic rushed through him. If he passed out, no one would know about it…at least, not until morning. He needed to get help, but he was too weak to make it to the door, let alone downstairs.

Trembling, Jack closed his eyes again, trying to slow his breathing. I’m going to pass out, he thought, darkness clouding the edges of his vision.

Then, as he thought he would suffocate, he felt something ice cold brush over his forehead, and a soft, sweet voice began to sing an old love song. Jack, breathless, lay there, trying to listen to the words—it was one his mother used to sing whenever his father went away.

Fair young maid all in the garden
Strange young man passerby
Said fair maiden will ya marry me?
This then, sir, was her reply
Oh, no, kind sir, I cannot marry thee…
He’s been gone for seven years
Still no man shall marry me…

His body began to relax considerably, though he still couldn’t breathe very well.

What if he’s in some battle slain?
Or drownded in the deep salt sea?
What if he’s found another love
And he and his love both married be?
I wish them health and happiness,
Where they dwell across the sea…

Jack groaned, desperately trying to draw a breath. The voice stopped singing, and, when he managed to turn towards it, he saw a figure standing by his bed. He couldn’t make out the distinct features, but from the long hair, he could tell it was a woman. She lifted a hand towards her face, and let out a soft, "Shh."

Jack wanted to ask who she was, and what on earth she was doing in his bedroom, but he couldn’t speak. He watched as the door drifted open, as though by a gust of wind, and realized at that moment how quiet the building was. He sighed, coughing into a fist, which only resulted in more wheezing.

Harry, meanwhile, had fallen asleep while reading his book. He didn’t notice when the door to his room creaked open; nor when the miniature lamp on his desk blew out, leaving the room in complete darkness. Harry usually slept through anything; at least, he thought so.

A shadowy figure drifted across the hardwood floor, appearing to bend over Harry’s sleeping form. "He needs your help, dear. You must go to him."

Harry’s eyes snapped open suddenly, and he shot up in bed. "What?" he demanded, realizing no one was in the room at all. He then noticed how dark it had become, and didn’t remember turning off the lamp. Clutching his book anxiously to his chest, he felt his breath quickening with fright.

It couldn’t have been Mrs. Logger—she usually knocked before entering. "Jesus," he muttered, setting the book aside. He slid out of bed and went to turn the lamp on, but realized the light bulb wasn’t working. "Shit. Must have burned out or something." He ran his fingers through his hair and was nearly jolted out of his skin by the sound of a loud crash from the floor above. The fifth floor. "Jack!" he cried, alarmed, and, after putting on his shoes and a robe, bolted out of the room and towards the staircase. He hated going up to the fifth floor, but if his friend was in trouble, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

"Jack!" Harry found the door to his friend’s room wide open and saw Jack lying in bed. A chair lay overturned against the wall, a leg broken off of it. "What happened?" He hurried over to the bedside and felt his heart stop in mid-beat. Jack’s face was deathly pale and covered with sweat, and he was wheezing horribly. "Oh, damn." He felt his friend’s forehead, finding that he had a fever. "You have asthma, don’t you?" he added, starting to recognize the symptoms; his brother had the same disease. Jack was able to manage a slight nod, gulping as though he were a fish out of water. "I’ll be right back," Harry insisted. "I’m going to get Mrs. Logger. She’ll be able to help." He dashed back out into the hallway, running down the steps in threes.

Mrs. Logger was sitting at the desk, which she usually did until midnight. "Mrs. Logger," he spoke, causing her to look up from her account books. "My friend’s really sick…he’s having an asthma attack."

Her eyes widened in alarm and she immediately put on her glasses, getting out of her chair. "Run out to the back garden and fetch me some eucalyptus leaves," she ordered. "We’ll boil them and make them into a tea. The fumes should help open up his airways."

"There has to be a faster way," Harry told her.

"Bring a few of the leaves up to him and just the scent from the fresh eucalyptus will be a start. Go, hurry!"

Harry ran out into the cold night air, his teeth chattering as he ran around to the tiny herb and vegetable garden in the back of the apartment. He found the eucalyptus trees, pulling off as many leaves as he felt were necessary. When he went back into the building, Mrs. Logger took a handful of the leaves into the miniature kitchen and Harry hurried back upstairs. He entered Jack’s room and pulled the banged-up chair against the side of the bed. It wobbled to the side a bit, but he didn’t care.

"Jack," he spoke, touching his friend’s shoulder. "I have some eucalyptus leaves for you. Can you sit up a little?"

Jack allowed Harry to ease him against the headboard, but his breathing seemed to grow worse with movement. "Hang in there," Harry encouraged. "It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be fine, all right?" He encouraged Jack to breathe in the scent of the leaves, though any effort to breathe deeply through his nose caused his friend to sob from the pain. "Do you have any medicine you take for this?" Harry asked, wishing Mrs. Logger would hurry up with the tea.

Jack, after coughing, nodded, and Harry spotted his travel pack sitting on top of the desk. He eased Jack against the pillows before running over to it. He wrenched the bag open, searching frantically for a pill container. He just found the medication when Mrs. Logger entered with the pot of tea and a porcelain mug. "Oh, thank God," he said with relief as she set the pot on the desk. "I’ve just found his medicine."

"He’ll choke on it," Mrs. Logger told Harry seriously. "It’s not wise to give someone a pill if they’re not breathing well." She smoothed Jack’s feverish forehead, brushing his hair away from his eyes. "Oh, my dear, I am so sorry," she apologized. "I haven’t cleaned up here in so long. I should have been more considerate."

Harry carefully poured a cup of tea and brought it over to Mrs. Logger. "Thank you," she told him. "The leaves didn’t help much, did they?" she asked, and Harry shook his head.

"He’s doing pretty badly."

Mrs. Logger held the mug under Jack’s head and told him to take as deep of a breath as he could. "The steam will help," she said, and Jack, wide-eyed with fright, tried to do what he was told. The eucalyptus steam eased its way into his system, causing his nerves to calm down considerably.

He took her up in all his arms
And kisses gave her one, two, three
Sayin’ weep no more my own true love,
I am your long lost John Reilly…
Sayin’ weep no more my own true love,
I am your long lost John Reilly…

Jack gulped, hearing the gentle woman singing again. "Do…" He gasped. "You hear her?"

Mrs. Logger smoothed his hair back again. "Hear whom, love?" she asked, and Harry looked scared from where he stood by the window.

"That…woman?"

Sayin’ weep no more, my own true love…
I am your long lost John Reilly…

"Dear, I do not know what you’re talking about."

Jack felt his chest open up considerably at this point, and was able to take a good gulp of air. "The…ghost," he gulped, and Harry bit his lip.

"She’s singing to you, Jack?" he asked, and Mrs. Logger looked at him.

"You’ve heard it, too?"

Harry scuffed the side of his shoe against the floor. "I have heard singing from upstairs late at night on occasion, but…"

"Can you tell me what she’s singing, Jack?" Mrs. Logger asked once she saw that Jack was beginning to calm down again.

He swallowed, his throat feeling as dry as sandpaper. "I’ve heard it before," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "John Reilly?"

Harry and Mrs. Logger looked at each other, and then back at Jack. "How come we couldn’t hear her just now when we could before?" Harry asked, confused.

Mrs. Logger allowed Jack to sip from the teacup once it had cooled off and stood from the chair. "I think she only comes when she thinks we need her."

"Need her?" Harry asked. "I don’t need a ghost scaring me out of my wits, thanks."

"She’s not scary, though," Jack told him after he drank most of the tea. "She sounds sad."

"Who wouldn’t be after her husband killed her?" Harry asked.

"But you don’t feel frightened when you hear her sing, do you, son?" Mrs. Logger asked Harry. "When do you hear her most often?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Well, now that you mention it, when I’m kind of stressed out about something, I find myself standing at the bottom of the staircase and…it’s almost like I expect to hear something, you know?"

Mrs. Logger nodded. "And you hear her voice from this room."

Harry frowned. "So she’s like a paranormal psychologist, eh?"

Jack managed a small chuckle, and Mrs. Logger shook her head. "Dear, you shouldn’t try to exert yourself at all. I can move you to another room if you like; I was hoping someone would fill this, but it’s clearly not fit for the living."

Jack shook his head. "I can stay here. I don’t mind," he insisted, and Harry gave him a strange look.

"You want to stay in here? And have you risk another asthma attack? Are you mad?"

Mrs. Logger looked at Harry. "Of course, we’ll set to cleaning this room tomorrow and changing the bedding. I suppose I felt guilty touching anything after the poor girl died. It felt wrong somehow."

"Why did you want someone to fill the room, then?" Harry asked. "Wouldn’t that be invading her space?"

Mrs. Logger looked at him. "Well, it’s economical, and I think it had to be the right person. I’ve tried, Mr. Dawson, but you seem to be the only one she hasn’t frightened away. I think, as I said before, she has taken a liking to you."

Jack sighed. "Well, I would like to stay, then, if she’ll have me."

"That would be very kind, dear. But do be aware that I will be cleaning this place for a good part of the day tomorrow, so you may not have privacy for a good couple of hours."

"Well," Harry broke in, "Jack and I will be working at the studio from seven in the morning ‘til at least seven at night, so you can take all the time you want."

Jack groaned; he’d completely forgotten about the job in the event of his illness, and wasn’t sure how he’d survive a twelve hour workday. He had to go, especially since he’d just been hired. "Then you should rest as much as you can tonight, dear," Mrs. Logger told Jack. "Are you feeling better? Do you wish for me to send for the doctor?"

Jack shook his head. "No," he croaked. "I’m feeling better, thanks."

"Phew!" Harry ran a hand across his forehead. "That’s a relief. You should take your medicine anyway, just in case." He handed the pill bottle to Jack, who nodded in agreement. "Well, if you don’t need anything else, I’ll be heading back to bed myself. I’ll come get you when it’s time to go?" he asked, and Jack nodded softly.

"Okay." He swallowed one of the pills from the bottle and put the cap back on it. "Thanks, Harry."

Harry saluted him. "Anytime. G’night, Mrs. Logger."

Mrs. Logger nodded politely and watched as he left for his own room. Jack handed her the mug at that moment, which was a good thing, because he sneezed a moment later.

"Bless you." Mrs. Logger chuckled. "Well, I’ll be downstairs until midnight, so feel free to come fetch me if you start to feel ill again."

Jack nodded. "Thanks," he croaked, and settled back down against the mattress as she left. He did feel considerably better than he had a few moments before, though he still felt a tiny bit dizzy. He closed his eyes, smiling softly when he felt someone pull the blankets up to his shoulders, and drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Thirteen
Stories