Thanks for the reviews!!! Oh and I got a job at Macy's!!!
Taylor Swift owns the song, Hugo the characters.
Well, I wasn't going to do this chapter, until I found out the ratio of Phoebus haters to Phoebus likers...but I felt the need to write it anyways. If you are one of the rare few who does like book Phoebus, then you might not want to read this next chapter. It is graphically violent...I'd say an 8 out of ten.
Summary: Phoebus gets tortured by a strange being. Esme and Claude begin making plans for a getaway.
Preview: A letter is given to Fleur from Phoebus.
Claude wandered home. He had been ambushed by Fleur-De-Lys' certainty in who he was and who his wife was. It was time now, to tell Esmeralda what had happened. She would offer up some optimistic way around the captain and his new wife, and oddly, somehow her ideas seemed to work. At the very least, her ideas made Claude a happier man.
"He came by again."
Claude need not ask "who."
"Oh?"
"He knocked once, but when I went to the door he was not there."
She answered, bewildered by why the captain would knock and then leave.
"You are home early Claude. Did things not go well?"
He kissed her cheek, not wanting to talk about it.
"She requested me, only because I am your husband. She knows who I am and wanted me to sign a confession."
"Did you?"
Esmeralda gasped, worried more for the child within her than anything else.
"Yes. I signed it with my alias. The way she wrote the document, it would never hold up in court."
He shrugged, thinking little of the day's events.
"What do you think she'll do?"
Esmeralda was still mildly worried.
"There isn't much she can do, unless I sign a confession, or if I stand before a crowd and confess."
He walked to their bed chamber to lie down, knowing that Esmeralda would follow. Lying down, he yawned. The day had been too taxing.
"I finished making a dress today."
Esmeralda stated.
"The red one?"
Claude felt foolish for not asking her how her day had gone.
"Yes. I'll wear it tomorrow, so you can see it."
She lay down next to him, comforting him.
In the darkened room, Phoebus could not see. He could feel the figure lightly pushing him back into a chair, he could feel the figure wrapping rope around his wrists and ankles. He felt his pulse begin to quicken. He began to seriously doubt that the person who had brought him here was Agnes. The being had not removed his blindfold, which made him even more nervous. He began to panic, turning his head, trying to knock the black cloth loose and see who it was that had brought him here. He heard the door open and close.
"Hello?"
He shook, not knowing what was going to happen. Had he been left there to die? Was this some awful prank? He struggled, only to find that he was bound to the chair.
A while later, he was not sure how long, he heard the door reopen and close once again.
"Who are you?"
His voice was overtaken by fear of this unknown being. He heard a bottle being uncorked and the sound of liquid being poured. He shook, anticipating his captors want for him to drink.
"What are you giving me?"
He asked, turning his head away, hoping to avoid the goblet.
He did not feel mug, or, goblet. He felt a hand removing the blindfold.
"Thank you!"
His voice was barely audible. He assumed that the ordeal was over and that he was being set free. He did not expect to see a cloaked figure standing before him. Was this the "Phantom Monk," or perhaps a deadlier foe?
The figure poured the contents of a small dark vial into the goblet.
"What is that?"
Phoebus frantically stretched his neck to see what was being poured into the goblet.
"Why don't you speak?"
The "Phantom Monk" had spoken and had been quite kind to him. He had given Phoebus the money to pay for the room the night he was to meet Esmeralda.
"If you be the one they call, 'The Phantom Monk' please answer."
His voice was almost a whimper.
The being approached him, this time holding the goblet to his lips. A hand grabbed hold of his neck and roughly tilted his head back. The being wanted to be sure the captain drank every drop.
"No! Dear God no! Please, if it is money you, then take it. I have nothing more to offer."
He attempted bargaining with the figure, as it took from a table a large knife. This being frightened him, far beyond any other. It did not speak, it was cloaked and he had no idea where he was, or what this figure before him wanted. He was at its mercy. He could only sit and watch, as the figure rand the knife down his chest, ripping the fabric of his doublet and drew blood. It would only be a superficial wound, but the sight of blood was enough for Phoebus to believe this figure to be evil.
"Let me go and no one will ever know of this."
The figure seemed to be pondering his offer.
"Thank you!"
He exclaimed, watching as the figure went behind him to untie the ropes from around his ankles. He felt the ropes being cut and he was almost ready to stand and draw his sword. The figure came back around to the front and he could feel the blade slide beneath the ropes on his wrists. He felt the tip of the knife, driving into his palm, felt it pierce right through the flesh and heard it hit the arm of the chair.
"NO!"
He cried in agony. The sound did nothing to sway the being. The figure drug the knife from the center of his palm, between his middle finger and ring finger. His eyes were closed tightly in pain. He did not want to see what was going to happen next. The figure raised the knife over his other palm and then struck down, pinning his hand face up. The figure grabbed the bottle of wine and another tool. Although, he could not see this being's face, he could tell that it was pondering something. It tilted the bottle in its hand and then poured the remaining liquid into the captain's palm.
"It burns!"
The stinging sensation cause him to cry out.
"What are you?"
He had given up asking "who." He was now convinced that this was some demon from Hell.
The figure placed the other tool to the captain's chest. It the torture's branding iron.
"OH GOD!"
He heard his flesh sizzle, smelled it burn and saw the black mark, as the iron was pulled away. Then it was placed, lightly against his cheek. His shaking seemed to satisfy his captor. This person wanted him afraid and vulnerable, this person wanted to see him in pain. The iron was pressed against his flesh. The captain thought of all those pretty girls he had once been able to woo. He thought about what they would think of these new deformities and prayed that this being killed him. With his head turned away, the captain did not see the figure leave his side or grab another instrument of torture. The next thing he felt was a smooth hand on his charred cheek. This was not a touch of kindness though. His captor was admiring its work. This was the most foul of instruments.
"Is this what you wanted?"
Phoebus questioned, knowing that he would be a ruined man if his captor were to let him live.
With that the figure quickly stood and took up another instrument of torture. One swift blow of a hammer misaligned the captain's jaw. His captor reveled in the sound of clicking and crunching the joint made.
"Naw mar!"
Even he was unable to comprehend the words. He had meant to beg for the being to stop, but unable to move the entire right side of his mouth made speaking difficult.
"Kale me! Jus ples kale me!"
He was begging for a swift death.
He watched as the being stooped down and grabbed hold of his jaw.
"Naw! NAW!"
He had been reduced to tears.
The hand swiftly realigned his jaw. It was a painful moment, but he was glad that it had been swift. He only had to watch and wait for whatever was to happen next. This was obviously a skilled tormenter. He felt cold hands unexpectedly unlace his hoisiers. Was this some game? Some bizarre sexual romp?
He watched the being move across the room and turn to face him. He waited for a hand to lift the next device. And then, two hands went up to remove the hood. He now saw his torturer, clear as day. She meandered back over to him, kneeling down. She smiled, before placing her full pink lips around his flaccid cock. She reached up, extracting the knife from his palm. She was teasing him, he knew that this must be a prelude to his death. And then, she spoke.
"You may leave now."
Her voice was casual, as if telling a guest that they ought go home, before wearing out their welcome.
Phoebus felt his lip quivering. He felt his mind racing, picturing his hands around that white neck, forcing her to gasp for air.
He stood, he felt light headed and weak, he felt himself falling. There were two gashes on his legs. She had cut his heels.
A murderous grin spread across her face, as she lunged at him. He felt the knife strike in his chest and felt as it was dragged down from his chest to his loins.
"Esmeralda…"
He croaked in his final breath.
It had been a quiet day for the happy couple. They enjoyed lying on their bed and planning. She wanted to take a trip somewhere new and exciting, he too felt it would be nice to go away and not have to worry about anything for a while.
