A/N: I wanted this chapter to have a little levity as well as some of Erik's capricious and volital nature. After all he is to some degree the infamous Phantom.
Chapter Eleven
The Angel's Ire
Damn them! Damn them all to hell. How dare they go behind my back settling my life for me as if I am incompetent. True, I did decline most forcefully any offers of a proper nurse but this, this is…is….well it is unforgivable. I may be a temporary invalid but still I am capable of running my own life and making sound decisions. I forcefully hold back a sneeze. Even if I have to squeeze my nose shut I will not give them the satisfaction of saying "I told you so".
Curse my unusual weakness. To reach the age of forty-five and catch a chill which has weakened me and left me going in and out of deep restless sleep during bouts of rising fever is the final straw in my humiliation. Raoul and Gustave have both seen me in my sickbed weaker than a kitten. It shames me even though Raoul reassures me that at some point in their life every human being is laid low by one illness or another. Well, not me. I never got sick in all the years I lived below the opera house in those cold damp tunnels nor did I succumb to anything in the last ten years until a week ago.
Gustave and I had gone riding. Raoul advised me that a storm was brewing and so we should stay close to home. Naturally I could not heed his warning. The downpour began about halfway back to the house. Raoul had made Gustave promise to keep his slicker on no matter what I said. Damn him. Not that I want Gustave to feel what I am feeling but it galls me that Raoul was right in this and I let my own stubbornness lead me to this torture. I feel horrible and now this new bit of treachery has been revealed to me. Raoul has gone behind my back and asked Meg to come and nurse me back to health. As if that woman knows anything about nursing anyone. What possessed Raoul to even think Meg would come take care of me? Is he not concerned she might take it into her head to kill me while unconscious? Raoul I fear has taken leave of his senses. He calls upon the woman responsible for his own wife's death to nurse back to health his…his what? Sworn enemy, former attempted murderer and kidnapper of ingénues? I see his plan. He hopes to be rid of me so he may have Gustave all to himself. I won't allow it. I'll…I'll…I am not clear just yet what action I will take. Perhaps that is something to be decided once my head stops this infernal pounding.
Even my servants have deserted me in my hour of need, not literally but figuratively as cook will not step one foot in my room after I threw a bowl of soup at her because she refused to hand me my trousers. Wilting lily that she is I haven't seen her since that incident. Try as I might I can't manage to leave the bed. Actually I think I might land on the floor if I did but I won't ever confess such a thing. Howard does not appear in my room until he knows I am deep in an exhausted sleep. It is at these times he comes in and does all that is necessary to keep me somewhat clean and presentable. I am malleable when feverish and tired from howling my lungs out all day as I hurl curses and threats at no one in particular. Presently I am not discriminating. I hate everyone except for Gustave and he is too small to be of much use to me other than for company. Everything small enough for me to use as a missal has already been hurled and broken or taken away by Howard, the bastard. Perhaps I should not have alienated him so soon in the game by those few near misses that first day.
Raoul defends his actions by placing the blame on Gustave, the coward. He knows I won't harm Gustave. Him on the other hand I might find a Punjamb with his name on it. Glancing in the direction of my lower dresser drawer I am sure of it.
What madness possessed Raoul to interfere in my life and in a way he knew I would object to? Meg should be the last person either Gustave or Raoul want anything to do with yet they went out of their way to approach her with this idiotic suggestion that she come and be my nurse.
It is true Meg often got called to aid the opera house doctor during times when he had several patients at the same time. Madame also did service in the infirmary. Christine could not stand to be around illness. I suppose that steamed from having to watch her father slowly die at such a young age. It is my opinion this plan to have Meg come here is a perverse form of revenge on Raoul's part. He jumped at the chance to force me to face Meg and in my own home too. Just because he has come to terms with her does not mean I want to mire myself down with all that emotional baggage again. I cut her out of my life and felt better for it. I imagine she did too. Like as not she will come here, deliver a few choice words, then tell me to go to the devil. I could tell her I doubt the devil would have me.
Demanding my trousers be brought to me is useless. Why did I decide to climb into bed without at least putting on my pajama bottoms? The fever that started out only a degree or two higher than normal ended up being four or five degrees above normal by nightfall. The cough and pains in my chest developed over the next few days until now I look to be at deaths door and feel even worse.
If I had a normal face I would not hesitate to have a doctor look at me. Being what I am I do not want anyone poking and prodding at me. I am not a sideshow curiosity anymore. I'll not be put under a microscope to be studied by anyone.
My nerves are not the best either. I can't seem to settle thus ending up with my sheets and blankets in a hopeless knot around me. Movement is very minimal. If my current predicament wouldn't point out just how badly I do need a caretaker I'd ring down for Howard. If I kept ringing sooner or later his conscience would have him coming up to make sure I hadn't done something stupid such as try to get out of bed to use the facilities on my own. That mistake I will not repeat in a hurry. I don't care for anyone seeing my disfigurement but I have discovered I am shy about anyone seeing me unclothed as well, no matter what the reason may be.
Frustration and boredom are not pleasant at the best of times but when one is incapacitated and tied to a bed they are worse. Just when I come to the conclusion my house is deserted I hear the front doorbell chime. Howard's voice is a deep baritone and I clearly make out his voice among two others, both women. One is Cook and the other is Meg if I am not mistaken.
Panic sets in causing me to thrash about trying to sit up. I am too weak and all the thrashing did not help any. Now my blankets are wrapped around my middle providing very little cover to parts of me I'd rather not be on display. Why did I have to be so stubborn and refuse to allow anyone to help me at least pull on the bottoms to my nightwear? It appears I have cut off my nose to spite my face. I won't be humiliated in this fashion. If I have to use my last breath I will pull at least the sheet up to my shoulders. By the grace of God I manage to accomplish that feat just as there is a knock on the door. Howard is not one to stand on ceremony at the best of times so he enters my room before I can open my mouth to bid him entrance. There are times when I have the notion that I work for Howard instead of the other way around.
"Ah Master Erik you are awake. Good, good. Someone has come to visit. Miss Meg is here to check on your health," Howard says as he comes to my bedside to help me sit up. He places another pillow behind my back and gives me a stern look as he whispers for my ears alone, "Behave yourself. The young miss is not yet recovered from her recent ordeal."
Well damn it neither am I yet I manage to carry on through life and without any kind words or encouragement from him. Should he not show more sympathy toward me? I did not pull the trigger of the gun that killed Christine. Howard knows all about my illustrious past in Paris and most of what took place this last month. Divulging my secrets did not come easy but in order to win his loyalty I had to lay out everything before him so he could decide if coming to work for me was something he could do. Once committed to me I would not let him leave my employ easily. Cook's contract is the same. She is unaware just what kind of man she works for but she has an idea. Dimwittedness is not part of her makeup. Sharp as a tack best describes her.
I give Howard a disdainful look in return but he is oblivious or at least pretends to be. No matter what I do I cannot frighten him. The closest I came is when he refused to return to my room while I was awake and able to hurl insults and throw objects at him. I am beginning to realize he was not so much afraid of me as he was tired of my childish behavior. Letting me simmer in my own miserable juices proved to be a suitable punishment.
Meg comes forward and if I did not know better I would believe her to be a shy maiden. Her cheeks are tinged with pink that did not come from any rouge or tinted powder. In fact the only unnatural color I can detect is on her lips. My focus is captured by the slight quirk of said lips. Did she always have that dimple in her left cheek? I can't say as I ever noticed if she did. Did I really pay so little attention to her?
Shyly she sits on the edge of my bed causing disturbances within me I do not care to feel. Glaring at Howard I censure him for not bringing a chair to my bedside or offering Meg one near the fireplace on the other side of the room. Better still he could have left her to wait downstairs then came up to help me dress so I could receive her in my parlor. Being in no condition to climb out of bed let alone down several flights of stairs is beside the point.
A loud click alerted me that Howard left the room, the coward. I have half a notion to fire him. The day it is a complete idea I shall hand him his walking papers. Meg is fiddling with the strings on her bag. Me, I keep my eyes on her fiddling fingers. What can I say to her? We parted on angry terms. Still I am unable to give her complete pardon for what she did yet I feel a stirring within me for her. I console myself that it is only pity for someone who had lost their sanity as I did years ago.
"Well you won't be much good to me if all you are going to do is take up space in my bed." No sooner did the words leave my mouth than I realized they could be taken two different ways. Meg's blossoming cheeks let me know she was aware of my misspoken words. For a woman who had worked her way through a long line of men Meg portrayed the innocent quite convincingly. I know of her past so I am not fooled. My own face is burning but it is from my fever, partially.
Meg jumps up from my bed then steps backward awkwardly nearly falling on her backside. So much for her dancer's gracefulness. My chuckle escapes me before I can stop it. Lifting her chin her blue eyes have caught fire in response to my enjoyment at her expense. Hands planting firmly on her hips Meg tosses me a challenge, "Well what would you have me do?" I don't care for the smile twitching at her lips other than it causes an identical dimple to appear on the other side of her lips. Now she has a twin set.
"So, oh great one, what should I do? Perhaps we should see about getting you into some trousers or pajamas. What's your pleasure," she asks cheekily. I don't care for this side of her at all. Where did the woman plagued by sorrow and guilt go?
She steps closer and my hands grab at the blanket edge desperately. Damn her. She will pay for this. I will wipe that wicked smile of satisfaction clean off her face. She'll be sniveling by the time I am done with her. My head begins to spin with my sudden movement to sit up on my own and toss my legs to the side. Lurching in my stomach warns me that I am about to disgrace myself. Meg must have read the signs on my face for she quickly reaches down beside the bed to retrieve the trash receptacle.
A soft hand at the nap of neck feels soothing but I want to brush it aside. I can't even do that I am so weak. Her hand moves from my neck to my back where she rubs from shoulder to shoulder then down the center. It does help calm the churning or maybe it is that my mind is concentrated on something else, somewhere else, somewhere much lower. I am a scurrilous scoundrel. Nearly at deaths door and my body is ready to betray me. I hate not being able to control that odious free spirited part of me that acts with little thought to any consequences. If I did not hope to someday enjoy what it was created for I'd lob it off or become an eunuch.
Shame for betraying Christine's memory should have riddled me by now but oddly I feel only a slight twinge. Meg bending nearer to fill my nostrils with her sweet seductive scent is little inducement to calm the sphincter now hard and proud with want just underneath the sheet. Lust starts to cloud my already fever fogged brain. In a second I shall most likely give into the womanly habit of fainting. If I do the next time I see Little Meg Giry will be the last regardless of any responsibilities I might have toward her.
Shoving at her middle with the flat of my hand I send her away from me but not as far as I would like. Flopping down inelegantly onto my back as weakness prohibits me sitting up on my own I growl dangerously for one in my condition, "Touch me again and you shall not like what happens. I do not need you or anyone else. I am perfectly able to fend for myself. Go back to the hotel. Did you not tell me you had sufficient funds to support yourself yet here you are at the first opportunity offering…just what are you offering Meg? What price do you put on your services?" I leave no room for misinterpretation of my meaning.
Only a sharp intake of breath belies her calm exterior. She is a better actress than everyone gave her credit for. Wanting to humiliate her into leaving me I continue on in the same vein, "I am sorry I cannot oblige at the moment. Perhaps if you come later I may be recovered enough to make use of your services." Again I stress my words leaving no doubt what my true meaning is.
Without a word Meg turns to leave. She does not slam the door angrily or sniffle. The door opens quietly and closes behind her just as quietly. I should feel triumphant. I do feel victorious. "Good riddance," I shout for her benefit. Even to me the words sound hollow and flat. Once again I have gotten my way so why do I feel so deserted and alone?
