ERIK

I felt her die. I knew I had. I woke in the middle of the night with a weight off my chest, like I was floating, hovering over the bed.

Christine moaned in her sleep. I slipped out from beside her and tiptoed to the door so as not to wake her, or more importantly, Viola.

I didn't quite know what I felt now. There was relief, yes, and no anger anymore, but I didn't feel free yet. My memories remained. I had thought they might grow dimmer, though I knew they would never leave me. Their wounds were still so fresh.

My two books rested on an end table in the living room. I lit a few candles and looked them over. Even the scent of them was filled with memories. I had used to smell books before I read them, every single one. It had been one of the only ways I could keep from going mad in that house. Knowledge was my escape. I learned all about the world from pages in books, about other types of people than the ones I knew, other places to live, even other languages. I journeyed to England and Spain when I could, through the pages of novels combined with my imagination. Sometimes I even played in my own fantasies, up in the attic or down in the cellar. I pretended I was on an expedition for gold in Africa, or perhaps voyaging to the North Pole. Then once... once I had an imaginary mother. I concocted her from descriptions in novels. She had a round face, and was always smiling. She wore a blue gown of the finest silk, which pooled on the floor whenever she kneeled to talk to me. Her hair was golden, her eyes big and brown (my real mother's were green). She was always interested in what I had to say. She never hit me, never shouted. Her voice was sweet as honey, and she wore lavender perfume. I had to make my own world or else I would have withered away.

Those were my only good memories. My mind had always been my escape from this miserable world. With my mind, I could make anything, save some real company.

"Erik?" Christine whispered.

Damn it. Why did she sleep so lightly?

Her footsteps drifted down the stairs. She glowed like an angel in the darkness, her nightgown fluttering about her little feet. Her hand came to rest on my shoulder.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.

"She's dead," I replied. "I know she is now. I can feel it in my soul."

"Do you feel at peace now?"

"I don't know how I feel..."

"Do you want me to sit with you? I might as well stay awake. Viola will probably start crying any minute now."

I patted the spot beside me. She assumed it, then set her head on my shoulder and exhaled. I had a sudden desire to clasp her in my arms and never let her go again.

"What are those books?" she asked. "I never asked about them."

"My first science and mathematics books," I replied. "The first time I received any good attention was when my father gave them to me."

"I'm glad you have some good memories to think on."

"I forgot they existed..."

She nodded against my shoulder, and prodded me to wrap my arm about her. I held her against my chest, but I didn't cry. I was in a fog. The fact that they were all dead now, every last member of my family who had been cruel to me, I found myself unable to comprehend. How strange that I had survived. I had been the weak one, the victim. Now I was the only one still standing and not buried beneath layers of earth.

Later that day, we decided to return. Christine wore her darkest dress, but I was glad she had nothing black. My mother was not worthy of Christine being dressed as if in mourning. We were certainly not mourning her. I was celebrating.

We visited to be sure my mother was indeed dead, and the nurse said she had been taken to be buried beside her husband. She could take us there, if we wanted, she said. Christine accepted. I feared she might want to go to place flowers on my mother's grave, but she did no such thing, and for that I was grateful. She only held my hand, allowing me to settle my thoughts in silence as we looked down at her headstone.

Lucille Picard

Beloved Wife and Mother

"Beloved," I scoffed.

Christine kept her eyes down, her brow knitted with thought.

"What are we doing with the house?" she finally asked.

"We are staying here for the night," I replied. "In town, I mean, not the house. I'll show you then what we will do."

She didn't prod further. She simply nodded. "What about the money? We don't need it, do we?"

"Why do you ask? Why can't we save it?"

"Well..." She adjusted her hold on Viola. "We could donate it."

"All of it...? What to?"

"The orphanage, and then some other places. There must be charities in the city we could donate to as well, to help with those less fortunate. I'll have to ask my friends their opinion. They know far more about Rouen than I."

"You don't want to keep any, though?" I asked, thinking it odd to give all of it away. "Perhaps we could buy another house, once the opportunity arises, or... something."

"But I like our house, and I don't need any more than we have already."

I waved my hand in nonchalance. "It's your decision. I couldn't care less."

"We'll decide together," she insisted, "but not today. We need to have a nice, quiet day today. Life has been rather eventful of late."

"Life is always eventful."

She glanced down at Viola. "It is... I think we should go now and have lunch somewhere."

"My mask."

"Then we can get lunch and take it somewhere private to eat. Or perhaps a restaurant has a private room? We can certainly ask."

"All right."

She got into the cart with me, and we went down the hill from the church to the main road. I stopped outside a hat shop and she handed me Viola.

"I'll go see if any have a private room," she said. "I'll be quick."

I nodded. I watched her wander down the street, then disappear to speak to someone new. She reappeared each time, her face growing more and more flushed from failure. Her lips were even beginning to pucker. Then she entered one at the very end. It had a white sign over it with fading print that read, "Chez Léonard." She walked back out of it and waved us over. We went towards her.

"There's a room in the back that they use for large groups of people," she said as I stepped out of the cart. I handed Viola to her. "But it's early enough they don't mind us using it."

"Good," I replied.

"Isn't this wonderful, though?" she told me excitedly. "We can eat at a restaurant together for the first time."

"We've been to restaurants."

"But I'm the only one who ever eats anything... Could you grab her bottle for me?"

"Certainly."

She fed Viola while we ordered our food. I had little appetite, so Christine told me I could just take some of what she had. The server set a plate of brie and baguette on the table.

"How are you feeling?" Christine asked me as I spread cheese on a slice of baguette for her.

"I feel wonderful," I replied. "The root of my suffering is dead."

"You seem a bit... fatigued by it."

"No. I am letting it settle in my heart, that she is gone at last."

I handed her the baguette. She took a thoughtful bite, then gestured for me to have a piece, too. I waved my hand to decline, and she did not prod further as she usually did. She was coddling me, wasn't she? Where was her insistence? Her flame that I so adored?

"I'm fine," I told her sternly.

She blinked in surprise. "I didn't say you weren't."

"Don't act differently around me. I'm fine."

"I believe you, and I'm not trying to act differently."

"But you are."

She glanced down at Viola, a shadow crossing her rosy face. "A woman is dead, and she died unloved. No one should die unloved, not even someone who has committed atrocities, because they will get what is coming to them upon their death. They need love before that horror."

"She touched Viola," I retorted, the memory sending a flame through my heart. "That is far more than she deserved anyway."

"It just makes me so sad, especially about Guillaume dying as well. Imagine having no relatives to clasp your hand on your deathbed..."

"She pushed away those who might have... But I don't want to discuss her now. She is dead, as she deserves."

"We all deserve death..." She shook her head. "I hated her, you know. It is wrong to hate, but I hated her too much to restrain it. I can't bring myself to hate the dead, though, especially when she is likely in such an awful place."

"How is the Brie?" I asked, hastening to change the subject.

"Quite good..." She seemed to know why I asked such a question, as she continued with, "Why don't we look for new shoes for you after this? I noticed your nice ones have a couple marks on them now."

"I will buy new ones so long as you let me buy you something as well."

"A nice hat would be splendid."

"Then we will search for one that suits you perfectly."

She smiled, then finished her baguette. I made another one for her, as her hands were full with Viola still, who was falling into a milk-induced slumber. Only two more months and Christine's friend could nurse her and give her more than a powder with evaporated milk. That likely meant we would be spending much time at another's house, though. But for Viola's wellbeing, I could manage.

After we ate our lunch, I found an inn for us to stay at for the night. Did Christine suspect what was going to happen? I was unsure if she would approve, so I had not told her, but even if she did not, for this once, I didn't care.

"We'll have to wait until Viola wakes to go shopping," Christine told me, sitting down on the white quilted bedsheets. "What ever shall we do until then?"

"Talk," I replied. "That's what we always do."

"We do that quite often, yes... But you know what, my love?"

"What, my love?"

"Do you feel like our love deepens over time? When I first realized I loved you, it was all rather... sudden. Just a sudden feeling, with nothing exactly behind it, I just felt like I loved you. Now it seems different, in a good way. I know why I love you."

"Why do you love me?"

She smiled secretively, "Because of how you love Viola and me, how you would do anything for us."

"That is an interesting reason."

"And yours is because I am kind. I will always remember you saying that to me. That might have been the first time I began to fall in love with you. Little things like that, about seeing the world with such simplicity... I can hardly even describe why I love you, simply that I do, for more reasons than I can name."

"I love you for all that you are."

She smiled again. Her beauty made my pulse quicken. The air in the room was warming to a suddenly unbearable height. But we couldn't make love now, that much I knew, and perhaps it made it all the more exciting to think about.

"Well, come kiss me," she said. "That's what we normally do after proclamations of love."

"One kiss," I replied.

She opened her mouth to speak, but I kissed her then, and she held herself against me. Her arms wrapped around me to pull herself closer.

I released her. Her face was flushed.

"Why only one?" she asked. "Is it because we're not at home?"

"Yes. We would be risking having a baby, which I will not do."

She bit her lip. "Yes... we couldn't risk that... E-excuse me, I need to get some air."

She shut the door behind herself as she left. Why did she need air? To calm her desires? Nothing would calm mine.

I glanced over at Viola in the bassinet Christine had brought for her. It was white and painted with bright flowers. Viola was beneath a lavender blanket, her eyes relaxed with sleep and her arms limp at her sides. One of her hands clenched into a fist as she yawned.

Christine entered the room. Her eyes were red, which startled me into action.

"Why have you been crying?" I demanded.

She shook her head. "I can't say. Not yet."

"Can't say? You will tell me now. I won't have you crying-"

"Better me than you."

The realization came over me like a wave, forcing me down against the sand. My lungs filled with water as again and again I was pressed beneath the tide, gasping for air. She knew now.

"Erik?" Christine whispered, reaching for my hand.

I pulled it from her grasp and went to stand in the corner where I could collect myself. That was when I heard a sound behind me, like a wind-chime. It was her crying. She had never cried like that before. I didn't know what to make of it.

"Are you happy?" I asked her, facing away so she wouldn't see my expression.

"I am... and then I am not," she replied, burying her head in her hands. "I didn't... m-mean it to happen, I promise that much-"

"I know... I know you didn't..."

"We knew it could happen on a-accident still."

I bowed my head. "It's my fault."

"Well... it would be exceedingly difficult for me to make a baby on my own-"

"Christine," I pleaded, turning to her with a pained expression. "Please don't attempt to humor me now... I-I can't."

Her eyes filled up to the brim then poured over. "Oh, I wish I hadn't said anything yet, not today, of all days..."

"I would have found out. I already suspected, but I was so distracted by everything else that I forgot... Don't cry, though, it's not your fault."

"That's not what I'm crying about."

"Then what?"

"I'm crying because you are."

I stared at her for a moment, realizing that she could be happy if only I said I was. She wouldn't be happy without me. I had to find some joy in such a horrible occurrence.

"Stay with Viola," I told her, "it's my turn to get some air."

CHRISTINE

How could I have said such a thing? Erik was having a difficult enough day as it were, and I had made it even worse now! We needed time to talk about this, calm emotions, not grappling with the fact that a woman we both despised was no more.

I waited for him to return. For an entire hour, I sat and waited. I couldn't leave Viola alone, and she continued to sleep, blissfully unaware. Would she like a sister or brother? Would she be old enough to understand when I gave birth?

The reason I knew I must be with child was the obvious changes happening to me. I hadn't noticed them until Erik mentioned that I could be carrying a child. My waist was fuller, my chest was sore, all of the first physical signs were there. I also couldn't stand milk anymore. It was interesting how I still adored cheese, but the thought of milk by itself sent my stomach writhing. That didn't make sense.

Erik came back through the door after over an hour had passed. He held a bud vase in his hands, which contained such a perfect red rose that I nearly wondered if it was fake.

"It's lovely," I told him. "Thank you."

"Something small," he replied absentmindedly, placing it on the dresser.

I reached out for his hand, and he sat down beside me on the bed. I smiled to put him at ease.

"I'm happy," I told him. "I want you to know that, if you were happy, too, it might be the happiest day of my life..." He did not reply in any way, not even with an expression, so I said, "This is part of me being a woman, Erik. I'm supposed to have children."

"I wish Viola was ours," he whispered.

"She is ours, just as much as this one will be."

"May I?" he asked, reaching out to my stomach.

"You wouldn't feel anything yet. It's just a bit... firm is all. But I'll undo my bodice if you want."

He shook his head. "No... No, I don't want to talk about it anymore today."

"Then we won't."

We sat beside each other, awkwardly searching for various ways to fidget. Then I turned and found Viola's eyes latched onto mine, and she beamed, her limbs jerking about with excitement.

"Did you sleep well, my little angel?" I asked as I scooped her up. "Do you want to play now?"

I had recently discovered that leaning over her and making kiss noises would send her into peals of laughter. I set her on the bed and proceeded to do so. She filled the room with her giggles. Her laughter made me do the same, and I hoped Erik might be intoxicated by it as well. I glanced at him and found his eyes sad, but his lips turned up at the corners.

After this, we went shopping. Viola took it upon herself to steal the heart of everyone in each store we entered. Mostly women were enamored, and the only men who cooed over her were ones with their wives. Erik remained aloof, and I knew he was still thinking about the child within me.

We returned to the inn that evening, having bought ourselves ham and cheese on baguette to eat there. It was a quiet meal. The loudest noise came when Viola drank from her bottle. She sucked loudly, with great enthusiasm.

"Will you tell me about the house now?" I asked Erik.

He turned to me from where he sat beside me on the bed. "You'll see. We'll go when it gets dark... You have your cloak with you?"

"You told me to bring it... Are we going to steal something? From the house we own?"

"No, of course not, that makes no sense. Besides, there's nothing worth stealing, not even to sell. I doubt I could even bear to touch the things."

"I understand... I don't understand why you won't say, though, as if I wouldn't like it."

"I will say once it gets dark," he insisted.

I didn't prod further. I gazed out the open window, waiting for the sun to dip all the way beneath the trees in the distance. The sky turned various hues, until it settled upon darkening purple that faded to black. The stars peeked out then, accompanied by the full brightness of the moon.

"Come," Erik said simply, fastening my cloak about me.

I followed him without question. Viola was dozing in my arms, one of her little fists gripping the fabric of my dress.

We walked to the house rather than taking our cart. Erik's eyes were resolute, and they did not meet mine. He was beginning to frighten me.

As we approached, the streets were filled with fewer people. The house stood apart from all else, with an overgrown garden surrounding it. We went behind it rather than through the front, beneath the cover of a tree. Oh, what were we doing?

"Wait here," Erik told me.

He carried a packet of something in his hand. I watched him open the back door of the house; he had evidently left it unlocked for this purpose. Viola's lips smacked in her sleep. I held her tightly.

A light appeared in the window. Then two lights. They grew in number, and in strength, until I realized what they were.

Fire. He was setting the house ablaze.

He came out as smoke began to rise, then hid with us beneath the tree. We were not well hidden by any means, however. He didn't seem to care. There was hunger in his eyes as he watched the flames devour the root of his pain.

"Oh, Erik," I whispered.

"It's over now," he said. "All of it. No more memories of this place. They are burning before our eyes."

I reached out to take his hand. The flames rose higher, lapping at the drapes and fabrics first, then the wooden furniture. We could see it through the windows until they clogged with smoke, then shattered.

A crowd of people gathered in front. We went to join them, as we would be less conspicuous there. No one was trying to put out the fire, though. They were all simply watching with a mixture of awe and horror.

"The ghost did it," one woman whispered to her husband. "They were cursed."

Eventually, firemen arrived. They were too late to extinguish the flames, but upon hearing no one was inside, they left it alone. The people scattered as the house crumbled to ash and dust. The roof caved in, sending soot pouring down the sides. Erik's mouth was slack at the sight, his eyes full of hope and triumph.

"It is done," he said simply.

"It is," I replied, clasping his hand tightly in mine.

He gazed deeply into my eyes, then to Viola, curled up in my arms, then down to where our second child grew within me.

"There is nothing that will happen," he told me, "that can be worse than what has already."

"Nothing," I agreed.

As we left, we did not glance back.