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Chapter 26 - Owned

The small brass bell attached to the door signaled his entry into Mrs. Oliveer's grocery store, producing a musical sound that lingered in the air long after the door had closed behind him. The store was exactly as he remembered it. Dust motes danced around Mrs. Oliveer as she moved towards him.

"Can I help you, M. Rochelle?" Her timid tone brought a smile to his face. Who inspired the most fear? He himself, or the man sitting behind the counter where she used to sit and order James around? The reversed balance of forces was obvious.

"I would like a word with your husband," Erik explained calmly, and watched her lean against the furthest wall, as if trying to be absorbed by the cracking coloring. Her presence would be a complication. The noon-bright light, too. Even though the dirty windows worked in his favor, everyone walking outside could easily see inside the store. His lips twisted up into a wicked smile. Nothing better than improvisation!

He took a good look at the man, approaching him slowly. He was around fifty with thin hair and broad shoulders. His alcohol-soaked breath reached him despite the distance that separated them. So much for not being drunk! All the way to the village, Erik's mind had been filled with images of this man. Jacob clutching at his throat, his fingers working desperately to loosen the tightening noose as it slowly cut the air from his lungs. The first surprise, the pointless struggle until his face began to turn blue, perhaps purple in his case, and his eyes started to bulge. He hadn't seen Jacob before. It was nice to put a face to that image.

He felt the weight of the rope in his hand tucked carefully under his sleeve. Light as a feather. Something so light, so easily capable of inflicting death. He bet Jacob couldn't appreciate the irony. Mrs. Oliveer was right. Jacob was strong as an ox. Looked like it, too. His head looked as if it were glued to his shoulders, a little lower than it should have been. It didn't matter. Even oxen had necks.

Jacob reminded him of another man. It had been years since the last time he had thought about him. He had been even larger and taller than Jacob— taller than Erik— with hair and fat which struggled to find a way to escape his tight clothes. His body, wet from perspiration, had exuded waves of a deep, revolting odor that had assaulted Erik's nose every time the humongous man moved. A secret weapon, no doubt! Killing the man had posed no problem. Killing him while allowing him to make the least possible movement had been the challenge. Erik had killed him immediately, no toying with him as usual. In two moves.

The man had hardly even felt the rope around his neck. He had probably thought it was a fly biting him. Erik couldn't find another way to explain the light waving gesture his enormous hand had made over his neck. One move. The man hadn't tried to take hold of the noose. Erik hadn't given him the chance. Holding his breath, he had pulled the rope with all his might, slamming the surprised giant to the ground. Two moves. He hadn't used the stick that time. Using his foot as leverage on the man's shoulder, he had tightened the rope until the man was lying there, an empty carcass under the hot sun. Erik knew he had spoiled the fun of the kill. Many present had voiced their frustration then. None of them had had to smell the man, though. Repulsive!

Jacob wasn't as strong as that other man, but his weight was only musculature, not fat.
Erik shuddered, thinking what Jacob's fist could do to James if the man really wanted. He had had control over his strength. He had known perfectly well what he had been doing to the boy. Otherwise, he could have crushed James' skull in a single blow. He quickly shoved both the thought and the rising anger aside. There was no point in this, now. Not allowing emotions to interfere was part of the game. Any other option was a suicide wish. Erik didn't intend for Jacob's crooked teeth and closely-set eyes to be the last image of this world before he met his death. No, that wasn't an option.

He was almost amazed at himself. His boiling rage as he had walked towards the village had transformed into perfect calm by the time he entered the store. All his instincts, all his reflexes were ready and focused. He should probably have expected this, but all the years of unused skills had caused him to doubt himself. Maybe this was some sort of second nature.

Jacob was watching him, measuring him in his mind. He wondered how a mind like Jacob's worked, but he sent that thought away, too, uninterested. The man's stare was locked on his mask, his brow furrowed over his small eyes. Erik waited until the inspection was over and Jacob's face relaxed again. When he spoke, his tone was polite, as if he were addressing Father John.

"May I have a word with you in private, Mr. Oliveer?"

"We can go to the basement…" Jacob suggested with a beaming smile. Erik felt the familiar throbbing in his temples. His face turned hard. There was no way he could control his temper in the room where James had been left hurt and broken. "I hope you don't want any money for the lessons to the kid." Jacob laughed at his own joke, allowing another glimpse of his crooked teeth.

"Is that the only option?" Erik was greatly disappointed by the rage he heard dripping from his voice. He pressed his lips into a firm line, trying to restrain any other word from escaping his mouth.

Jacob stood and opened a small door behind him which Erik had never noticed before. The room was on the same floor. Erik sighed, relieved.

"Don't pick a fight with me, boy," Jacob muttered under his breath, walking inside the large, dimly illuminated room with the arrogance of a man who knew he was stronger than his opponent. "You'll regret it!" he sneered, taking a sip of his beer. He even seemed bored.

It was Erik's turn to beam. This was going to be fun.

II II II

Erik didn't know how long he had walked among the tall trees. He had followed a stream flowing in the forest at the borders of the village, avoiding the green patchwork formed by fields. The lane dividing the patchwork like tight stitchery showed the way home, but Erik wasn't ready to go back home.

It was dusk when his steps guided him towards the waters of the lake. His lake. How strange it felt to own a lake, a house – two houses! He could comprehend owning the houses – after all, he had built one of them almost from scratch – but a lake, a forest? Wasn't the thought ridiculous in its futility? They would be there long after he was dead. Long after all memory of him was gone. Yet he claimed he owned them; strong, ageless trees, dark waters fed by the rain that now soaked him to the bone. If owning a solid part of nature was comprehensible, why did owning a human being feel so wrong? Was it because of how vulnerable people were? With limited lives and a weird, elusive sense of freedom? He had told Christine he understood the need to possess the person who was his own absolute master. He still did. It was only a means of defense. When you surrender yourself in love, you want some insurance. That wasn't the case here.

He took off his mask, letting the thick raindrops soothe his flushed skin; cleanse him. How much more repulsive would he be without it? A lot! He smiled at the instant, spontaneous answer, looking at the white piece of leather in his hands. It was like looking at a body part. He couldn't imagine himself without it. Even as a child, he had had great difficulty combining the unmasked reflection in the mirror with himself. Only with the mask did he recognize his face, feel whole.

He secured it in place once more and jumped over the tall fence that separated the Red Door Cottage estate from the rest of the world. Christine wouldn't be happy with him. He was not even happy with himself. Half measures had a tendency to feel that way.

He entered through the front door and immediately heard Mrs. Oliveer's annoying voice from inside the library. Wasn't one dose of that miserable creature enough for one day? Christine was with her. How many times had he eavesdropped on her conversations lately? His old habits were back with full force.

"I don't know what happened! I wasn't in the room!" Mrs. Oliveer was whimpering in an irritating manner. "I heard some glass breaking and the usual noise from Jacob, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't hear M. Rochelle's voice."

Erik smiled at the memory of Jacob's futile attempt to use the broken glass against him.

"The usual noise…?" Christine's apprehensive voice made him wince.

"You know…curses, threats…about his pals and what they could do…things like that. He hadn't been traveling, as I'd been saying to people, you know. He'd been in jail…"

What a surprise! For an unjust cause, no doubt!

"Ahh…!" Christine's barely audible exclamation knotted up Erik's stomach. Why was this woman's distress so painful to him?

"Only when I heard some strange noises did I dare to open the door."

"And?" Christine urged her to speak.

"I swear to God! That man is a magician! True evil!"

"What did you see?" She sounded impatient now. Poor Christine!

"Jacob was dancing! He was flying through the air, dancing! He seemed to be trying to grasp something at his throat, but I didn't see anything there—"

"He was hanged?" The horror in Christine's voice was more than he could take. Erik took a step, intent on leaving, when he heard Mrs. Oliveer's voice again.

"No! I'm telling you he was flying! Up and down, as if floating in the air. His hands – one on his neck, the other moving as if trying to swim. His leg, too. It moved up and down in rhythm with his body."

Erik felt an involuntary smile on his face. That was how having a man hanged by two Punjab lassos, one around his neck, the other around his leg, looked! Interesting! He had to thank the exposed wooden beams for making it possible. When he had had the noose around the man's fat neck, it had felt so easy, so tempting, to turn the stick, tightening it notch by notch. He didn't know what stopped him. Maybe he had known there was no way back after that. He could never have returned to Red Door Cottage.

But that man's words had made his blood boil in rage. He had thrown the ropes over the beam, and the "flying" part had begun. His mad fury alone had been the cause of his ability to maneuver Jacob's weight in the air.

"Like a puppet…" Christine's voice trailed off in understanding.

"M. Rochelle had his back turned to me, but he was just looking at Jacob. He didn't even touch him! He moved his hands like a magician, or like the man who stands in front of an orchestra…I once saw one in Swindon."

"A maestro." Erik shuddered at Christine's faint voice laced with horror. Her desperate tone when she spoke again shook him to the core.

"Please, Mrs. Oliveer, you have to keep this to yourself. Tell no one about this! It's very important!" She was almost begging. For him?

"I've already told Mrs. Conrad. Her husband and Mr. Hamilton helped me move Jacob to his bed. I didn't know it was a secret!" she exclaimed defensively. "But she didn't believe me. She thought I had been drinking, but I swear to you, Madame Giry, I haven't even had a sip today! You've got to believe me!"

"I believe you, Mrs. Oliveer. Did they see Erik?"

"M. Rochelle was gone before anyone came. He should have been here hours ago. I came because I knew Dr. McKinnan would change James's bandages today, and I want to take him to see Jacob."

"Is your husband hurt? Is he going to—?" Christine's voice broke.

"I don't know! When he stopped…flying, he looked fine. He was shaken and his hand never left his neck. M. Rochelle seemed to help him with something, and turned to leave. When he had almost left the room, Jacob tried to shout at him, but his voice was hoarse, more like a croak. 'If I see the bastard here again, the deal's off. I'll break his neck. Just like his stupid bird.' That's what he said."

Erik gritted his teeth at the memory.

"M. Rochelle turned back, bent over Jacob sitting on the floor, and whispered something in his ear I couldn't hear. Jacob's body started shaking like those men in church who're possessed by Satan – his eyes turned back into his head, and foam covered his mouth. It was frightening! M. Rochelle was gone, but I couldn't move Jacob alone. I asked for help…I left him half sleeping, half awake, but he doesn't remember anything of this last part. And I didn't tell him much because if he hears so many people saw him like this, with the foam and all…he had pissed himself…" Mrs. Oliveer was crying, and Erik could imagine her dirty, disgusting tears flowing.
"But I want Jamie to come back!" she said between her sobs "I want him with me—"

"That will be very dangerous for a while, Mrs. Oliveer. You have to tell Jamie you don't need him, to stay here—"

"But I do need him! He is my child! He loves me, and he has sworn to protect me, to keep us both safe…what will happen to me now?" That was more than Erik could bear. He walked to his room, leaving a trail behind, his wet clothes dripping on the floor.

II II II

Erik had just changed into fresh clothes when Christine entered his room after a short, harsh knock on the door.
He was applying some ointment on the deep cuts the rope had left on his palms. Lifting a heavy man into the air had its disadvantages. At the time, he had felt no pain at all.

"Do you want me to call Dr. McKinnan?" She raised her brow, looking at his hands.

"There is no need. I can handle this. I guess he has more serious patients to attend to," he replied with scorn.

"Is Jacob's condition serious?" Erik smiled at the disgust lacing her voice as she said Jacob's name.

"He will live, if that is what you are worrying about. He just needs a good night's sleep, and then he will go back to his normal self we all so admire and adore!"

"Is that what you think? That I'm worrying about him?" She sounded angry. "Do you know how worried I was when Jamie came back alone? I'd been afraid you would go there…I was thinking of you with that brute…"

"I think I had made it clear there was nothing to worry about.
Anyway, I truly apologize. I didn't want to cause you such distress! Worrying about me!"

"Are you mocking me?"

"I wouldn't dream of such vulgarity!" he continued in the same sarcastic tone. "You had nothing to be anxious about. We did come to an agreement."

"Was that agreement settled before or after he started flying?"

"Before, of course! Flying was just part of an argument. I had to persuade him I could keep my end of the bargain. In such cases, words fail to describe correctly—"

"His life was part of that bargain?"

"A worthless part for both of us as it seems. I had to offer money, too."

"What was the point in taking such a risk?"

"You can't blame a man for having some fun, Christine!"

Her face was flushed with fury. His light tone didn't seem to satisfy her. Erik couldn't care less. He looked at her standing in his room as if she belonged there. Jacob was a parasite, a leech, but wasn't she more dangerous? He had chosen that very room for himself so as not to torture himself with figments of his wild, wishful imagination, yet he had allowed her into his life, into his bed.
He watched tears of frustration and anger welling up in her eyes.

"I can't believe you are doing this! Risking so much! In front of Mrs. Oliveer!"

"Would it serve you better if it were in the middle of the night?"

"Stop it! Stop talking like this! Stop using that tone, or we will both say things we'll regret later!" Was she threatening him?

"Perhaps you would like to enlighten me, Christine! Don't leave me in the dark!" His sarcastic voice made her wince.
"Now is as good a time as ever! Talk to me, Christine! Let's not keep secrets between us. Remember?"

"How can I even talk to you when you are like this? This Jacob…I wish…I wish he were dead!" she moaned in despair, allowing the tears to flow. "I just don't want you to be the one who kills him!"

All the anger left him as he heard her words. For Christine to say – to even think such words was heartbreaking. He had done this to her. He had darkened her soul. If he truly loved her, he should be the one sending her to her husband.

"You know there is no point trying." He was talking more to himself. "I will never change."

"But I know your soul!" She stood before him, lightly stroking the back of his hand.
"I know you love Jamie! I know you would never do anything to hurt me—"

The blood drained from his face. The haunting image of her emerged in front of his eyes.

"You are so wrong, Christine! You can't imagine how wrong you are!" he whispered, that image still in his mind.

Her violet eyes locked on his, hard, unyielding. A tremor passed through her. Did she guess how wicked, how truly rotten he was?

"It makes no difference. I don't care," she said in an unreadable voice. Fear, determination, resignation glinted on her face? He couldn't tell. He just stood there, looking at her, stunned.

"What was the agreement? Will he leave Jamie alone?" she asked after a long silence.

"It is worse than that—" He heard the guilt, the shame saturating his voice, but he couldn't help it. "I bought James."

Christine's eyes widened in horror. She opened her mouth to ask something, but no sound came from her lips as understanding sank in.

"It's not that James is going to find out any of this! This is all in Jacob's head anyway! It is not some kind of slavery! He has just asked for an amount of money to leave the child alone. After that, he said he didn't care what I do with him as long as he never sees him again." He knew he was rambling. The shame of this "deal" wasn't easy to swallow.

"Is he going to keep his word after—?"

"Money is so tempting. He would never think otherwise."

In Jacob's mind, Erik owned James now, as he owned the lake, the forest. As he had been owned by his master so many years ago. James' value was less than the Spanish chess set's. If a child and a piano had the same value, which was more precious? Would it depend on whether the one who chose was a music lover? If the choice was between a man and a unique work of art? If that work of art was a Velázquez and the man Jacob? What sick train of thought was that? And he had agreed to this. Wasn't killing Jacob more ethical than buying – than owning James? What was the punishment for Jacob's crime? Where was the justice for the victim? What was a man without his principles? He felt his soul empty.

As if knowing his anguish, her arms slid around his waist in a tight grip. She had her face against his shirt as she mouthed a low, muffled "Forgive me."

Forgive her for what? For Raoul? For not wanting him to kill Jacob? For coming here, or for staying? At that moment, as he held her in his arms, her breath brushing his chest, he knew he would never be free again. He knew that if she left, he would follow, if only to watch her from afar. He knew that if she stayed, for whatever reason she stayed, he would be beside her in any role she chose for him. Forgiveness didn't matter at all. Understanding didn't matter at all. Even truth and ugly, disturbing memories had no use anymore. She wasn't to blame for anything. He had surrendered to her, and he was the one who needed her, who would never be whole without her. That night, they fell asleep in their clothes, on his bed, holding each other. A strange feeling of relief overwhelmed him. No physical intimacy could have replaced that.

II II II

Alexander had been right. Truth didn't mean much. It was too subjective. In the very perception of it lay its own worst enemy. Erik tried to be calmer. He tried to give Christine the space to talk to him, to offer her own perception of the truth. But that wasn't easy. James' bad mood only got worse. His own mood followed one step behind.
Even if truth was elusive, lies were always there. Palpable, solid, building a thin but unbreakable glass wall between him and Christine. They never got back to what they had had before Raoul's visit. No matter how short that bliss had been, it now seemed enormous, as an era long lost with no chance of coming back. Intimacy was never sought by either of them the week that followed, and the distance between them seemed to get farther apart. At this point, he was ready to forgive anything, whatever it was, no matter how absurd it may have been. He had thought of everything anyway. But how can one forgive something when it wasn't even addressed? What if she didn't want to ask for forgiveness? What if she wanted time to decide? That thought was eating at him as he walked on the narrow road that afternoon. What if he had a chance to change her mind and wasted it by waiting?

His previous anger had subsided by now. The argument that had taken place with James hadn't been the first of these last days. It had just been fiercer than at any other time, and he was to blame for it. The pattern had been more or less the same: James wanting to go to the village, meeting his unexplained denial. That morning, Erik had felt his patience wearing extremely thin with that particular matter.

"You won't go to the village. Take my word for it!" Would he have spoken like that if there hadn't been that abomination of a deal with Jacob? He probably would have, but now he'd always doubt himself. Was he becoming a master? Had he been talking like a master?

"No, I won't take your word! Who are you that I should blindly obey you? God? You are not my father to tell me what to do!"

Christine had seemed shocked by the boy's manner.

What could have evoked a smile in any other case had now only inflamed Erik's rage. It wasn't James' way to talk like this, and Erik's worst fear was for James to find out the truth about the "deal." Erik had never dealt with his fears gracefully.

"You will do as I say, and not set a foot in your mother's store or anywhere near the village for that matter, or you will dearly regret it!" His voice had been low but gravely serious.

"What will you do? Break my other hand?" James had been right. What was the difference between his words and Jacob's threats? Now he could see it. At that moment, he had only felt the blood throbbing in his temple. He had approached James, trying very hard to keep his voice under control.

"I don't break children's hands, James." He hadn't raised his voice. Christine's frightened stare had alarmed him enough to keep him composed.

"I'm not a child!" James had yelled in his face, sending any sense of self-control away.

"If you are not a child, mark this in your mind. I can make your worst nightmare a living truth before your very eyes! Now leave, boy."

James had looked shaken, but hadn't taken a step. Probably he hadn't been able to move.

"I said leave! Leave me! Out of my sight!" Erik had yelled, and it was Christine who had taken James by the shoulders and dragged him out of the room.

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik had seen James leaning against the hallway wall, his legs too weak to support him. Christine had enclosed him in her arms, not caring about the child's weak protests. She had held him tightly until he had given up. She had kept holding him until the trembling had subsided. Only then had she put some distance between them and wiped the tears from his eyes. His freckles had disappeared under his deep blush. He had obviously felt ashamed of his tears. Erik hadn't been able to avert his eyes from them.

"Erik loves you! More than you know!" Christine had said passionately, looking at the boy's distressed face.

Erik had felt his own face grow hot.

"I don't care!" James had muttered under his breath and run to his room, closing the door behind him with a thud. Erik couldn't blame him.

Horse's hooves broke the silence of the fields. Sometimes, travelers chose that road as a shortcut to Swindon. Erik turned to see a lone, thin-looking rider approaching, and stepped toward the hedges to make way. He felt the hair rising at his nape, his body alerting him to something his mind didn't comprehend yet. He turned again towards the traveler, but didn't have the time for even a good glance at the man. He just glimpsed something moving rapidly towards his head, and fell, slamming down hard against the damp soil.