The train stopped at several stations before they reached their destination and disembarked.
“You do know that people fall on subway tracks every year,” she stated.
“Perfect, you’re getting in the right mood for a visit to six million corpses.”
When they arrived at the entrance to the catacombs, she insisted on paying for their tickets. “My treat,” she said.
The somber stone exterior started giving her second thoughts. They were in Paris, a metropolis known for food, fashion, and art. Despite all the options, her stubbornness had led them to one of the most macabre sights in the city.
A trio of teenaged schoolgirls horsed around the entrance. If they could take the tour, so could Orchid.
She descended the stairs, with Phoenix close behind. The brochures said there were 131 steps, but it seemed much more. Jet lag was taking hold of her.
Phoenix leaned forward and whispered into her ear. “You did see those were bones in the pictures, right?”
Orchid stopped, turned, and looked at him, startled. “Bones?” she repeated. She paused to pull out the brochure. “Like patterns of bones on the walls?”
“Like actual human bones,” he clarified.
They’d reached the bottom landing and stood before the mouth of the cavern. Orchid shone her phone light on the cover and leaned closer. What she’d thought was a decorative herringbone pattern were piles of femurs. She gasped. Inside the trifold, an image showed ancient tibias piled floor to ceiling. The next photo flashed neatly arranged skulls, two of them turned out to greet onlookers with gaping eye sockets and bared teeth. Orchid dropped the pamphlet. The horror floated to the dirt floor, abandoned, a pariah. Her knees nearly followed its path to the ground.
Phoenix’s arm was around her when she hadn’t remembered him beginning to comfort her. “To be honest, hungry bird, this isn’t really my thing,” he said. He’d gifted her the kindest untruth.
Orchid glanced up to meet his eyes. He looked stricken, reflecting whatever he saw in hers. Over his head, black letters were carved into the arch above the doorway leading into the Catacombs. Like a warning, they were stenciled in all capitals.
“Arrete! C’est ici L’Empire de la Mort”Stop!This is the empire of the dead.
She gulped breaths. Slick ice. Crumpled metal. Hissing pipes. The smell of gas. Blood, and exploded bits of…No, make it stop.
“It’s okay, Orchid, this way.” His voice was deep and soft, a rumble devoid of meaning, yet one that tethered her to safety. Phoenix held the pieces of her together, her jagged limbs and sack of organs. His ribcage pressed against hers. His arm wrapped around her shoulders like he’d never let her go. He guided her up one step, then the next.
“Pardon,” he said to those descending.
That was then. This is now, she recalled.
“My fault,” Phoenix murmured, sounding wrecked himself.
Inhales came easier as they reached street level, twenty meters up. The sky vaulted blue towards the sun, disinterested in the petty drama of its citizens.
Not then, now, she chanted to herself. Breathe in for four, hold, exhale for four, hold.
Phoenix nudged them towards a sunflower-bright awning, café tables and chairs scattered beneath the shade. A sweet smell wafted towards them. The thought of something as mundane as a snack brought her back to the moment.
“I could use some coffee. What would you say to a pastry?” he asked.
“Bonjour?”
His relief came out as a low chuckle. His hold on her loosened from ACE-bandage-tight to a gentle embrace.
He navigated them into a bakery. Inside, the air was scented with buttery baked goods and café au lait. That, mingled with the sight of worried blue eyes, thawed Orchid’s freeze.
“Chocolate croissant?” he asked her.
“Yes, please,” she said, and dropped into the chair he’d pulled out.
Phoenix departed, then returned with plates of fat croissants. A server delivered two steaming white mugs. Bit by bit, Orchid returned to earth, to Europe, to their little square table, and lost herself in Phoenix’s azure gaze.
“You okay?” he checked.
