Don't Speak of the Night
(Ne Parlez Pas de la Nuit)
By
Lady Trueword

Chapter 10: Brother's Keeper

Honoré whistled as he secured the sails of his boat, the Belle Mer. He glanced up at the azure sky. It was a warm, fair day with floating white clouds and a crisp breeze, perfect for sailing. Yards away from him, Erik and Raoul trudged down the dock, towing supplies behind them in a cart. Erik had managed to utter very little to the man beside him, but this only made Raoul all the more eager for conversation.

"It's ironic," Raoul began, "For I had grown weary of traveling everywhere by ship, yet you see me here, looking forward to sailing on a boat. Perhaps it is because I am among amis."

Erik winced at the word. If only the former vicomte knew. Raoul seemed so trusting to the point of being naïve. Clearly some of Christine's innocence had rubbed off on him.

"Perhaps," Erik replied dully. He wished de Chagny would keep his mouth shut and the day would pass quickly.

"Rene," Raoul stopped the man he now regarded as a friend. "I feel as if I can trust you. I cannot thank you enough, by the way, for that beautiful wedding portrait." He did not know what it was that inclined him to trust Rene. It seemed as if they had previously shared in some common life experience together.

Erik was surprised by the depth of emotion in Raoul's voice. Bewildered, he attempted in vain to keep his stony composure as he hardened his grip on the cart. No one had trusted him like this before, at least no man did.

"I… I am honored, monsieur."

"I told you before, you may call me Raoul."

"Raoul," Erik repeated stiffly.

"Perhaps you think that once I acquaint myself with those of high society, I will no longer feel these sentiments. But I assure you, I desire to be your closest friend."

"Why?"

The pointed question did not ruffle Raoul one bit.

"It is precisely because of such forthrightness that I feel I can trust you," he said with a chuckle. "You see, for most of my life--due to my position and wealth--many have flattered me in the hopes of gaining favor. But a true friend is hard to find. A brother in spirit is even rarer."

Erik could not believe his ears. Did de Chagny just use the word, "brother"?

"I am afraid, good monsieur, that I deserve no such compliment," he replied.

"No one is without fault," said Raoul. "I myself have plenty."

"You seem like an honorable man," Erik said with a forced smile. "Certainly you are very generous."

A look of remorse crossed the other man's face. "I try," Raoul replied softly. "Perhaps I will tell you more some day."

Back at the boat, Honoré saw the two men tarrying on the docks and wondered what they were discussing.

"Gentlemen!" he yelled loudly enough to get the attention of all on the dock.

"There are no gentlemen here!" a crude fisherman yelled back, and a roar of laughter ensued from his compatriots. Raoul and Erik hurried on to the boat. As soon as everything was set in place, they sailed out into the blue Mediterranean. Raoul observed everything with utmost fascination and asked Honoré many questions, to the point where Erik became slightly agitated.

"What is our destination today, papa?" he asked.

"Destination? I never have a destination, Rene. But I suppose Monsieur de Chagny wouldn't mind a trip to Cassis today?"

"Why, yes, I would be delighted to visit."

"I assure you, they have the finest seafood there. Rene, be prepared to bring home two crates of poisson."

"Oui," Erik replied as he swallowed hard. De Chagny had everything he had ever desired – the girl, the good name, the respect and the wealth. What more could he possibly want? For the next half hour Erik dragged his feet, immersed in the gloom of pity. It was all the more astonishing to him then, when Raoul later confided to his new friend, "Sometimes I envy you, monsieur."

"Me? Surely you jest."

"Mais non, for your papa is the father I had always wanted. My own father was a good man. He was widely respected, but quite austere, and we were never too close. You, on the other hand, are fortunate to have such a close-knit family."

"And you have a beautiful wife," Erik reminded him as he tried once again to hide any traces of bitterness. He looked away to the dash of white foam running up against the boat.

"Oui, in that I am."

You arrogant fool, thought Erik. At that moment he wondered if he might have the opportunity to push de Chagny overboard.

"And you, Rene, have you never married?"

"Eh? Jamais. I was in love once, but… she spurned me for another."

"I see," said Raoul carefully. "And you have never recovered?"

"My heart will recover in time, I suppose, when I am in my grave."

Erik expected his rival to protest, but Raoul remained silent. Instead, a look of sympathy crossed his face, which sickened Erik to the core. Sympathy from de Chagny? Never!

"Let us go to my father. I am sure we are within sight of Cassis now."

"Yes," said Raoul, grateful for the change of subject. He thought he detected something in Erik's tone that reminded him of a man he once knew – a man of darkness.

Honoré's boat sailed back into Marseille harbor that afternoon with crate loads of tuna and anchovies, just as he had promised his guest. The three sailors walked into the house, greeted by the women who belonged to them. Pain wrenched Erik's heart when he saw how Christine greeted Raoul. As soon as he finished putting everything away, he announced that he would go back out to sail.

"But it's almost night!" Sylvie protested.

"You know I like sailing at night, maman," Erik replied. He bowed stiffly to Raoul and Christine. "My apologies, but I take my leave of you."

"We should return home as well," said Raoul. "Thank you, Monsieur Bonhomme, for having us."

"My pleasure," replied Honoré. "I shall accompany you."

"There is no need," Raoul declined politely. "For we live only a short distance away." He turned to Christine. "Darling, if you don't mind, I would like to extend our hospitality to the Bonhommes next month."

Christine's eyes lit up like rays of sunshine.

"Oh, yes! That would be wonderful!" she said.

Erik immediately felt a surge of pain, a piercing ache within. As soon as all formalities were exchanged, he escorted them out of the house, and with a nod of his head, went down to the docks. He never saw the look of affection in Christine's eyes as she gazed wistfully after him, nor could he feel the strong affinity she felt to him. It was as if she had known him all her life, and could read the great sadness and loneliness that permeated his life.

Erik could not wait to slip into his boat, la Rose. He had been careful to avoid all references to the past except this one, and was glad that he did not name it le masque or something similar. It was a small boat, an old, cheap boat he had purchased with money he received from his new patrons. But he loved working hard to paint and refurnish it. With le Mistral not yet arrived, he was still able to sail often during spare moments. He would sing only when he was on board, in a place far enough from shore where no one could hear him. Tonight he sang the angry, lusty notes of Point of No Return, but the melody quickly gave way to melancholy strains of All I Ask of You.

"Say you love me… every waking moment…"

Erik struck the side of the boat. What was he doing? Why was he torturing himself again? Memories of that night in the lair made his eyes water, but he quickly dashed them away. Christine would not be his – ever. Oh, maybe someday when she was an old widow she might care for him, but he was sure by then he would already be in the ground.

Help me, angel? He waited and listened quietly for an answer, but only heard the sound of the ocean at night. He tried to think of an excuse to sail far, far away. Perhaps he could sign up for the military, make up a story to go back to Paris, or travel anywhere but a place where Christine was located. He wondered if she knew. Did she have any inkling that he was the man who had once adored and terrorized her?

But if he left Marseille, he was sure that the Bonhommes would miss him terribly, especially little Adèle. He had grown to love his adopted family, for they fully accepted him. He shuddered as he thought of his former underground home--dark, damp, and void of laughter. And what of his duty as the oldest son? Oldest son! What duty? He was not their son, no matter how Honoré and Sylvie insisted. He had no obligation—

You owe them.

Erik groaned. His head hurt just trying to figure it all out.

Why can't I just let her go?

"She was mine," he cried out into the darkness.

He heard the gentle reply that came to him. Love them the way I love you.

He thought of her husband. Did he have to love de Chagny as himself?

When Erik returned home, everyone was asleep except for Alain, who sat at the kitchen table with his usual cup of tea and a couple of books. Tonight he was reading about Siam.

"Where did you go? Did you make it all the way to Italy?" he inquired. "We saved you some supper, if you're still hungry."

Erik gazed at the long face behind the wire-rimmed spectacles. Alain always acted as if he knew too much.

"I lost track of time, uncle," he replied matter-of-factly.

Alain's lips parted into a sardonic grin.

"You are not the only one who has demons to exorcise," he replied as he put down his cup. He slid one of the books over to Erik and then excused himself to go to bed.

Erik stared at Alain's back, wondering what he meant. What demons could possibly haunt him? He sighed. Maybe in time Alain would trust him enough to tell. Until then, Erik would pray for him as he had started to do for the entire Bonhomme family every night. He looked down at the book Alain passed him. It was the Bible--in Latin. After promising himself that he would read it from start to finish, Erik's thoughts drifted back to Raoul and Christine. Could he love Raoul as himself for Christine's sake? For God's sake? His natural desires and passions resisted such a notion, but the best part of him, the part that God had touched, knew what had to be done. He had to be noble. He had to be honorable. In short, he had to be a true gentleman.

A rustling noise startled him and he swiveled around. There stood Adèle in her nightgown, clutching her doll. She rubbed her sleepy eyes as she shuffled towards him.

"I'm thirsty."

Wordlessly, Erik got up and filled a clean glass with water. He gave it to her and she gulped it down. Afterwards he expected her to run back to bed, but instead she stood there, as if studying him.

"What is it, Adèle?"

"What will you wear to the ball?"

"Ball? What ball?"

"Madame de Chagny's costume ball, of course," Adèle's excitement grew with each word. "I asked if she was going to put on a fancy ball, and she said 'Oui Adèle, a new year's ball would be perfect.' She said I could be a princess! And maman's going to make me a new dress!"

Erik blinked. A costume ball? Why a costume ball? He remembered all the careful preparation it took for him just to dress as Red Death. All the fabrics, leathers, cosmetics, jewelry, weapons… yes, weapons…

"Maybe you could be a prince," Adèle continued in her unabated enthusiasm. "You will attend, won't you? Grandmaman was delighted when Madame said she will invite many young ladies. Maybe you will find a wife! Then I'll have a sister. Wouldn't that be grand?"

Yes… Of course… And no one would recognize him… Erik's lips curled into a crooked grin.

"I could be something better than a prince."

"Like what?" asked the little girl curiously.

"It's a secret. But I promise you that it will be better."

She wrinkled her nose.

"What could be better than being a prince?" she wondered aloud. But he would not give her the answer, despite her pleas.

"Go to bed now, Adèle. When the time comes, you will see," he said as he escorted her back to her room, Bible in hand. After he put her to bed, he hummed as he half-waltzed to his room. That old familiar feeling of sheer power came over him as his mind reveled in his memories of that night at the opera house--the gruesome white mask he wore, the flow of his red cape over his shoulders, and the sword he once carried--all of which had petrified his spellbound audience.

Why so silent good monsieurs?

Did you think that I had left you for good?

Have you missed me good monsieurs?

I have come back from the dead!

He could do it again. Only this time, they would all succumb, and he would have complete domination over them. Now that his appearance was no longer an obstacle, he could lay hold of what so ever he desired. Wealth, fame, fortune, and power--all the delights of man--he would obtain, as he deserved. And a wife, too…

Angel, help! I'm falling!

Get close to the vicomte… learn his secrets… then destroy him. A dark voice whispered. Something in his heart resisted, but it was no use. His flesh was already intoxicated by this new notion which had invaded his mind. Dreams of glory and love, importance and might--all that the world had to give, now permeated him and clouded his vision.

"I will, and no one will stop me!"

Falling…

With a loud thud the heavy Bible fell from his hand to the floor, where its pages splayed open. As Erik stooped to pick it up, he could not help but read: "For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?

The words were like cool, refreshing water poured over his thirsty, desert-like soul. Yet they seemed to have the opposite effect on his flesh, where he felt a burning sensation akin to setting his skin on fire.

Escape… I must escape!

Erik dashed out of his room and looked about wildly, hoping to see light coming from a room—any room! At last he saw the light that shone underneath Alain's door and wavered before tiptoeing to it. Agitated, he knocked and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Alain opened the door as if he expected Erik. Everything Erik was going to say froze in his mouth, until Alain said it for him.

"dieu m'aide s'il vous plaît."