The Art of Jessica Jane のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 151 - チャプター 160

Time seemed to slow. Jessica would remember the next few seconds for the rest of her life. Not clearly. Not perfectly. Memory never worked that way. Instead she would remember fragments. The sound of her own voice shouting Henri's name. The movement of officers surging forward. The look in Henri's eyes. And Philippe's face. A face that seemed to crack apart under the weight of everything he had spent years carrying. Henri took another step. Then another. Ignoring the officers. Ignoring the danger. Ignoring every sensible instinct telling him to stay back. "Henri!" Jessica moved too. But not quickly enough. Never quickly enough. The old man stopped directly beneath the upper gallery level and looked up. For a brief moment, neither man spoke. The ruined gallery fell completely silent. Only the distant creak of damaged beams echoed somewhere above them. Then Henri did something nobody expected. He smiled. Not a triumphant smile. Not a v

For a moment, Jessica couldn't breathe.The world seemed to narrow to a single point.Henri.Nothing else mattered.Not Philippe.Not the police.Not the collapsing gallery.Only Henri.The old man lay motionless beneath a tangle of broken timber and twisted metal.Dust covered his clothes.His face.His hair.The sight felt unreal.Impossible.Like a nightmare refusing to end."HENRI!"Jessica was moving before anyone could stop her.Hands grabbed for her.Officers shouted.Someone tried to pull her back.She broke free.The desperation gave her strength she didn't know she possessed.By the time she reached him, several officers were already lifting debris away.Every second felt like an hour.Every movement felt too slow.Far too slow.Then she saw it.His hand.A small movement.Barely visible.But there.The breath she had been holding escaped in a sob."He's alive."The words sounded broken.Hopeful.Terrified.Someone called for the paramedics.Someone else shouted for more equ

Hospitals had a strange way of making time behave differently.Minutes felt like hours.Hours felt like days.Every clock seemed slower than it should have been.Jessica sat staring at the same wall for what felt like an eternity, yet when she checked the time only twelve minutes had passed.Twelve minutes.The number felt absurd.Impossible.The ambulance had arrived almost three hours earlier.Since then she had heard very little.Tests.Scans.Assessments.Procedures.The language of uncertainty.The language of waiting.The language she had come to hate.Around her, the hospital continued functioning as normal. Doctors moved through corridors carrying notes and coffee. Nurses hurried between departments. Families sat in waiting rooms carrying their own fears and hopes.Life and loss existed side by side.Always.The lesson felt cruel.Henri Beaumont was fighting for his life and somewhere nearby a child was being born.Somebody was receiving good news.Somebody else was receiving

The following week passed more quietly than anyone expected.For the first time in months, there were no threats.No photographs.No anonymous messages.No sudden phone calls in the middle of the night.The silence felt strange.Almost suspicious.Jessica kept waiting for something to happen.For disaster to return.For her phone to vibrate with another warning.Nothing came.Philippe Marchand remained in custody.The investigation continued to expand around him.More witnesses came forward.More evidence emerged.More pieces of the story finally fell into place.Yet for the first time, none of it occupied Jessica's thoughts every waking moment.Because Henri was home.Not fully recovered.Not even close.But home.The doctors had eventually agreed to discharge him under strict conditions.Conditions Henri immediately began ignoring.At least the less important ones.The arguments started on the second day.By the fourth day, everyone involved accepted that Henri Beaumont was incapabl

The changes began so gradually that nobody noticed.Not at first.Henri reviewed paperwork more often. He updated records, organised files and completed projects that had been sitting unfinished for years.Everyone assumed he was simply being thorough.Only Henri knew the truth.He was putting things in order.One afternoon he met privately with the gallery solicitor. Another day he spent several hours reviewing Oak Project funding. The following week he updated documents Jessica didn't even know existed.Every task seemed small on its own.Together they formed a pattern.A farewell hidden inside administration.Henri found the irony amusing.Most people imagined death arriving with dramatic speeches and final revelations. In reality, it often looked like filing cabinets, legal documents and unfinished paperwork.Life was rarely as theatrical as people expected.Meanwhile, life continued.Construction crews finally entered the gallery.Repairs began.The rebuilding everyone had hoped