A Mercy Killing

1871

Erik

Erik felt his very bones freezing within his body. With each step he took he felt as though they were turning to glass, and that at any moment they may shatter beneath his skin. His fingers barely bent now as they continued traipsing through the dark forest, Samuel's gun pressed hard into his backbone, the man's heavy breathing the only sound he could hear besides the whistle of the wind through the gnarled tree branches above. They walked for nearly an hour that way, in that terrible and foreboding silence.

Erik was somehow maintaining a flat expression and calm demeanor as they walked, even though every muscle in his body screamed for him to fight, to run. Even though every fiber of his being demanded he turn, disable his opponent, and end this torment. By now he'd thought of a hundred ways to do so. His best scenario, he figured, would be to turn around and grab the pistol's barrel, pointing it up into the air and letting the shot Samuel held with a shaking trigger finger fire off. With that moment of safety he could then swing his leg out and trip the bastard into the snow so that he could take him by surprise and gain the upper hand.

Worst case scenario though, he would turn and immediately his world would go dark as a bullet shattered his skull. There was no telling how such a ploy would play out. It was a fifty-fifty shot, figuratively and literally speaking. For each successful turn of events playing out in his head there seemed to be just as many negative outcomes, and Erik couldn't afford to be shot now, not in such a weakened state. He couldn't afford to have come so far in life only to die in some godforsaken forest where no one would ever even find his body. He wouldn't be surprised if Ronald's corpse had already been buried beneath the fresh snowfall, lost to the world until the thaw of springtime. More likely though a starving predator had already come to claim the body, grateful for the sustenance it would provide over the course of the next harsh week to come.

Erik had been shocked by the murder of Ronald, yes, but found he didn't necessarily feel sorrow over such a man meeting his end. For who knew what sorts of misdeeds his odd jobs had led him to do, who knew just how many felonies he'd committed in his lifetime, how many lives he had torn apart working for dirty, under the table money. Indeed, the world was probably better off without a man such as he. Ronald's death did make Erik wonder though just what kind of a man Samuel was. It seemed to Erik that he felt not one single ounce of remorse for gunning down his partner, which made him very dangerous indeed. Obviously he meant business and was street smart, being able to come of with schemes of his own instead of mindlessly following orders set by others. But to what aim? Erik could only imagine what had caused this man possessed to abandoned his employer's plans, whatever that may have been, and set forth his own.

The forest ahead seemed to be clearing, the trees thinning out slowly, the frosty underbrush becoming more sparse with passing each step. Erik could have sworn he heard the quickening of Samuel's pulse as they emerged from the woods, out onto a vast field, an untouched blanket of ice and snow beneath a dark and cloudy sky. A single mansion lay quietly at the end of the property, the main road just beyond it, its streetlights seeming like far away stars from where the two men stood now. Erik focused his attention on the mansion, assuming the man he supposedly owed his gratitude to was dwelling somewhere within its vast walls. Sure enough, Samuel instructed him to proceed forward.

It was only moments then before they stood amongst the shadows of the great structure. Erik looked up at it, squinting his eye against the falling snow. The bricks of it were covered in frozen yellow moss, the few finely landscaped trees lining it barren from the frost. Large windows without curtains lined the the building every few feet, showing off the grandeur of the interior of the home. Erik could tell from first glance that the owner was a man who enjoyed his wealth. Every piece of furniture looked custom, every bookshelf in his library full of brand new leather books, not a single one with a worn spine or bent corner. No, of course a seedy man like this didn't actually skim his collection. Surely books were merely a decoration to him, like most aristocrats. Such a waste of fine literature, really. Erik groaned inwardly, dreading the prospect of dying at the hands of an illiterate man. That is of course if Samuel didn't kill him first.

"Have you figured out who I am yet?" came Samuel's low, threatening voice from behind him after a moment.

"I've figured out you're a raving lunatic," Erik replied dryly.

"Really? You don't recognize me? The familiar face doesn't haunt you at night? You must truly be a monster then, same as you look. A guiltless, heartless monster."

Samuel spit out the last word, realizing the way it had caused him to flinch. He clenched his fists by his side - once, twice, thrice - flexing his fingers in an attempt to maintain composure. But remaining calm and clear-headed was difficult after the amount of times he'd been called a monster since being arrested. Over and over again for days now he'd heard nothing but insults slung at him in regards to his face. Humanity was truly beginning to wear thin on his temper. He took a deep breath to collect himself, reminding himself that a single bullet was all it took to silence him forever. That being the case he had to tread lightly with his choice of words.

He turned slightly to glance over his shoulder. Should he recognize Samuel? A familiar face, he'd said. But was it familiar? At his slight movement Samuel reacted, raising the gun higher so that Erik was staring directly into its cold, steel face. His hands were shaking with the sheer tightness that he held the pistol with, his trigger finger itching, his narrow eyes widening. It was in those wide, frightened eyes that Erik finally recognized him. In that face that Erik saw the man he'd once had the unfortunate means to meet. Samuel had the same long face as him. He also had the same wiry brown hair, only his was dusted with gray patches. His figure was just the same, short and large but strong.

"You're Buquet's brother," Erik said quietly.

Samuel visibly twitched, hearing his dead sibling's name spoken aloud. "That's right, Destler. Joseph was my brother. The brother you stole from me."

Erik continued to turn around slowly, to face the grieving, broken man. "I hate to disappoint you, to put a damper on your obviously well thought out revenge plan, but Buquet did not die by my hands, Samuel."

Samuel's face went cross as he whipped the pistol sideways, striking it across Erik's deformity. He may have yelled then, calling Erik a liar along with a multitude of other choice words, but Erik hadn't heard a word of them through his own cry as he felt the thin and fragile skin of his face tear away. He raised his hand to his cheek, feeling warm blood pour over his fingers and trail down his neck. His eyes stung with tears, as this was a pain he'd never experienced before. Not a whip on his back or a knife upon his limbs had ever compared to the sheer sharpness of Samuel's gun hitting what Erik could only assume was now exposed bone. Samuel didn't stop there though. He then brought the gun up under his jaw, and Erik felt blood spray upwards as he was thrown backwards, staggering to the side until he fell to the snow.

It was there, laying in the frozen earth, that Erik nearly gave in. Nearly begged for death. He didn't know if he could physically carry on, not with his entire body numb, sore and bleeding as it was. Lying there he felt as though the last twenty years had never happened. That perhaps it had all been a dream and he was still just an abused freakshow receiving his nightly beating. He placed his palm down into the snow to steady himself, watching the blood from his face drip down onto the undisturbed white ground like wine spilling across a fine lace tablecloth. Such a perfect landscape, ruined. Everything he touched he seemed to ruin. Everything in his life, no matter how hard he fought to preserve it, was eventually ruined. Such was the curse of his birth.

He saw the shadow of Samuel Buquet loom over him. "Don't you lie to me, Destler! You killed him! Killed my baby brother! My only flesh and blood!" The man had tears running down his face as he leaned down to look him in the eye. "Our mum died young, you know. I was barely ten when I had to bury her. Do you know what that felt like? It was like burying a piece of my own soul in the ground. And then father, oh father, of course he couldn't stick around after that. No sir, he left in the dead of night, leaving us alone to rot. So you see after that it was me that had to man up and raise Joseph. Me! I taught him to speak, to read! I taught him everything he knew! I had to be his brother and his father, while I was no more than a child myself. And he wasn't perfect all the time but he was still my brother dammit...we were still a family and he was all I had. And then you...you took him away. You took him away from me!"

A blow from Samuel's boot came to his chest then, knocking the wind from his lungs as he fell once more to his face, the ice on the ground cutting into his arms as he broke the fall. Erik glared up at the man, almost feeling sorry that he obviously didn't seem to know the truth about what an awful drunkard his brother had been. He placed his hand down into the snow once more to steady himself as he shakily rose to his feet. "Believe me or don't Samuel, it makes no difference to me. That's your choice to make. But why drag this out? If you'd simply wanted to kill me you would've done so back in the woods. So what is it you want?"

Samuel's face went red with furry. "I want you to know my pain, Destler! I want you to suffer just the same as I did! I want to watch you crumble and fall apart, knowing you too have lost the only person in this world you ever truly care for!"

A darkness stirred deep within Erik. It was obvious the man was referring to Christine. A rather foolish thing to do. "I would retract that threat, Samuel. I really would. I would take it back right now, because anything you try and do to her, I will unleash back on you tenfold, you bastard! She has no part in this!"

Samuel almost seemed amused then, not at all bothered by the fact that Erik was already mentally strangling him, slowly pulling the life from his body with drawn out pleasure. "Why Destler, listen to you...you're so full of rage. You must really love this woman."

Erik advanced towards the man, furiously determined to end things now before any sort of tragedy ever had the chance to befall Christine. He only got in one step though before Samuel once more raised the gun once more to his face. "It's a shame really, that you're willing to die for her. She certainly wouldn't do the same for you. I doubt she even cares that you've been gone."

"You vile piece of shit. You have no right to speak for her!" Erik spat.

"Oh, but I do! For I speak the truth, unlike you. If you don't believe me then take a look for yourself. See with your own eyes that I don't lie."

Samuel had a low, smug tone in his voice as he gestured for Erik to continue walking. Erik hesitated, his first thought being that Samuel's words were a dirty trick. That the man merely meant to distract him, to get him to turn away so that he could exterminate him without conflict. But if Christine were here, if she was trapped or hurt or worse...no, he had to see with his own eyes that she was safe and whole. He made his choice and turned away from his captor, slowly rounding the corner of the mansion, all the while dreading each breath and step he took, knowing very well that Samuel once more held his life in his hands from where he stood.

The far side of the mansion had the same large windows, these ones facing inwards to reveal a grand dining hall. It was far too extravagant of a setup in Erik's opinion, and he himself had quite the extravagant taste. It wasn't the awful interior that caught his attention though, but the woman dining within it.

Erik fell to his knees at the sight of her. His Christine, his angel...why he barely even recognized her. That long wild hair of hers that he loved so much was wrapped up tight in a neat spiral atop her head, each hair perfectly in place as if she'd always worn it in such a fashion. The dress she wore was over the top and gaudy, with shimmering gold stitching and heavy, mauve colored fabric. From afar he could see that she was smiling, perhaps even laughing, at something the man across from her had said. His stomach churned as he closed his eyes, willing away the scene before him. Yet when he opened them once more it hadn't changed one bit. There his fiancee remained, smiling that same sweet smile he loved so much, at none other than the viscount himself.

Erik wondered if the heartbreak he felt inside himself then would kill him. It hurt badly enough that he thought it to be an actual possibility. His pulse seemed to slow and he felt as though his breathing were becoming far too shallow to sustain life. He couldn't even begin to describe such a pain. It was hollowing and degrading, all the while stinging like salt rubbed into every wound he'd ever known. He recalled Adelaide's word from years ago. In that other time she had prayed he would never get to know this feeling. He finally understood those long nights of hers, hidden away from the world, too crippled to emerge.

"You were gone, Destler. You left her distraught and alone. It only made sense for her to find comfort in another."

"No, this can't be real," Erik whispered, raising a hand up to touch the glass, hoping for it all to be some sick, twisted joke. The surface of the window was icy as he left a smudge of blood on its flawless surface. Tears fell from his eyes, but he couldn't force himself to look away from Christine's face. He searched it, scanned it for any sign that this was merely a ploy, a facade somehow. But he found no faults in her smile. She didn't seem distressed or upset in the least as she dined on her fine, French cuisine off a porcelain platter. Erik watched her actions in disgust as she lifted her fork and spoke soft, silent words, gesturing with it. The utensil itself seemed to be made of solid silver. Could his lover have been bought so easily? It just didn't seem like her. His gaze fell to her other hand, which rested atop the table. She tapped her fingers ever so slightly as she spoke, and it was staring at that small gesture that Erik felt the lump in his throat stiffen to the point where he may have stopped breathing altogether.

Because her engagement ring...it was gone. The beautiful golden ring he had designed just for her, the drafts which had taken him hours to design, the shop he'd searched days for to craft it, it was all gone. She'd gone and discarded it. He wondered where. In the Seine? Down the sewers of the opera house itself? Why, she'd probably assumed from the start that he would be a man condemned. Probably taken it off the moment the police had escorted him away. What a treacherous viper his beloved was. Was a foul, beautiful vixen she had proven herself to be. She had played him, strung him along like an old violin, and he had happily let her. Had it been that way ever since the beginning? Could a love he'd thought so true and pure have been nothing but a mirage the entire time?

No, it couldn't have been. He refused to believe it! Something about this was wrong, it had to be! But as the seconds dragged on her true feelings seemed all the more plain. The viscount, in all his smug glory, eventually stood up from his chair at the head of the table and crossed over to her side, holding out his hand for hers.

Don't!

Erik's plea was silent, desperate, calling out to Christine from his very soul. He was begging her to turn away from the man before her, to reject him. But it did no good. His wish fell upon her like a ghost, seeming to pass right through her as her little hand raised up to take a hold of Raoul's. He turned away, unable to bare this torture anymore. He couldn't look at his Christine, happily playing bride to another man, a man more vulgar than a vulture. He couldn't stomach the sight of such a thing. Blood continued dripping down his neck, the warmth of it the only warmth he felt in the cool, unforgiving night as even his heart itself seemed to freeze over.

"How's this bullet looking now, Destler?" Samuel prompted, "Not too bad, huh? Seems to me that offing you now would almost be an act of kindness. A mercy killing, if you will. So go on. Ask for it. Ask me to kill you. I'll gladly oblige, may my brother's soul finally find peace with yours in Hell."

Erik looked up into the barrel of Samuel's pistol. One shot, one small moment, and all would be done. Over. There would be no more pain, no gut wrenching betrayal on the other side. Only a sense of peace as sweet darkness finally overcame him. It was so tempting. It had been tempting for years now. For who was he to walk amongst man? Surely he was never meant to be a part of their crowds, their kindnesses. Tonight had proved that for the thousandth time over. Samuel was right, perhaps killing him now would be doing him a favor. After all he was a convicted murderer, a man on the run. Could he really spend the rest of his life running, hunted down like a wild animal? Would it even be worth it? At the end of each long, dreadful night there would be no one else besides him. Only he himself, alone, trapped and haunted by the memories of what could've been. Of what once was. Of his Christine. Oh, his Christine...how could she?

He decided then that he would allow Buquet to kill him. It wasn't worth it to fight anymore. His life wasn't worth anything and he was tired of pretending that it ever had been. All the shit that he'd been dragged through in his near thirty years of life, he'd endured it all without one ounce of reprieve. And to be honest, at this point he was simply exhausted. He had been cursed from birth, such was apparent, and it was long past due now to bury him, to send him back to the depths of Hell from whence he'd been spawned. He turned back towards the window. One last glance, he decided, to at least pretend that she was still his. To pretend that she hadn't abandoned all they were and that his life had held at least some meaning at one time. He watched her speaking to the viscount and in his head he whispered to her a kind farewell, wishing her nothing but the best in life. He wished her endless happiness, even after she had hurt him so. For he knew he could never truly hate her, no matter what she did. He loved her too endlessly.

It was perhaps fate in that moment that he had turned to say his goodbyes when he had. Had he been a more bitter man he would have just taken Samuel's bullet right then and there. As it was though he was facing inwards during that fateful, vital moment when Raoul's hand flew, striking Christine across her cheek. A bright red spot of blood appeared on her lip from the force of his action, which she reached up with shock and fear to wipe away with her fingertips. Erik decided then that he couldn't just lay down and die. He couldn't leave his Christine to be treated in such a manner, even though she had left him to endure much much worse. No, he wouldn't allow such a sweet, perfect flower to be bruised on his watch. Couldn't leave this world with her in any sort of harm's way.

And so he turned, a vengeful guardian angel, and moved faster than Samuel could react, grabbing the barrel of the gun and pointing it upwards towards the sky. It played out almost exactly as he'd planned it to earlier. The stunned man staggered backwards, thrown off balance, giving Erik enough time to dive for his legs. He grabbed them, pulling them tightly together, causing him to fumble over. The portly man landed with a cry as Erik climbed atop him and struck his face. Samuel went to swing his pistol then, to strike out, but Erik grabbed his wrist and twisted it violently, causing the pistol to fall unclaimed into the snow beside them. They both froze for a moment then before simultaneously diving for the weapon, tumbling into the frozen ground and sliding it far beneath the surface somewhere. When Samuel saw that the gun was a lost cause he bucked Erik away, abandoning his plan and scrambling to his feet, taking off in a sprint. Erik was behind him in seconds, not having bothered to dig around for the pistol. Attempting to try and find it would have been time consuming, and he didn't have a second to waste. He couldn't risk Samuel going to Raoul and possibly placing Christine in the middle of all this. He caught up with his opponent as he rounded the corner of the mansion, wrapping his arms around his thick waist and tackling him.

They both fell then, through the nearest window, shards of glass raining down upon them.

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