Chapter 35: The Bad Guys

"Klaus, do you think it's a good idea to spend all day in here by yourself?"

He continued to cover the canvas he was working on in long strokes of jet black. Maybe if he ignored Hayley, she'd go away.

"Hope is setting up her tea table in the courtyard, if you're interested."

Next, some Quinacridone Red to simulate his favorite liquid.

"Okay, how about a snack up here?"

Clearly, she wouldn't take a hint. "If you mean food, I'm not interested. And if you mean blood, again, I'm not interested."

He couldn't see her face, but he knew Hayley was giving him the look she often used when she was frustrated with him. "Klaus, you can't just mope around—"

"You mistake, love. If I were moping, I'd be nursing a bottle of bourbon and singing ghastly songs about cowboys in pickup trucks. Do you hear me singing?"

"You can't do this. Not again."

He threw down his brush. "I'm touched by your concern, Hayley, but I'm fine."

"Argh," she said. "This is about more than just you!" She moved up beside him. "I remember what it was like when Cami left town. You were a mess, Klaus. Angry for a whole year, depressed for a year after that… Everyone in this family, everyone who cares for you, we all went through hell with you. We can't go through it again. It's not fair to Elijah or Freya. It's not fair to Hope."

"Hope is perfectly happy."

"Yes, at the moment. But if she senses her dad is miserable, she will be too. You have to deal with it."

Klaus pulled another paintbrush out of the jar on the table. "I am dealing with it, Hayley. The only way I know how."

She didn't respond to that, and eventually she left the room.

He dipped his brush in paint and returned his attention to the canvas. Hayley was partly right. He was barely hanging on by a thread. He wanted to rage and tear down the house. Find a few victims to torture. Sink his fangs into some pretty girls and watch the life drain out of them.

But now that Hope was of an age that she observed and learned from everything that went on around her, he couldn't take solace in his old habits. He couldn't be the old Klaus Mikaelson anymore. He couldn't vent his anger and frustration, and he didn't know what to do.

Klaus heard a snapping sound and looked down. In each of his hands was one half of the paintbrush he'd just broken in two. "Third one today," he murmured absentmindedly.

He found himself wandering over to the wall next to the balcony where he kept some of his pictures stacked up against each other. Eventually, he found the one he was looking for. He dragged it out and propped it up on an easel.

He could never truly capture the essence of her spirit, but the likeness was good enough to make him feel even worse than he did already. He'd never been a masochist before—hurting others was more his style—but apparently he'd developed a taste for punishing himself. Ironically, if she were here, Camille would be the one to counsel him, bring him through the worst of days and set him on a better path.

Now he had to do it all on his own, and he wasn't sure if he, the most powerful creature on earth, was strong enough to get through it again.

When he thought he heard her voice, his heart jumped. Pain haunted all his senses these days.

When he heard it again, he rushed out into the hallway to find out what was going on down in the courtyard.

"I knew it!" Hope was saying as she bounced up and down. "I knew you were gonna come over! I have a place all set and everything!"

Camille stepped into his line of sight. Her face lit up in response to his daughter's innocent enthusiasm, and he felt a pang as he watched her from the balcony. Despite her smile, she looked drawn and tired. He wanted to take her in his arms and promise her nothing but happiness—except after last night, he had no doubt she would never let him near her again.

So what was she doing here? Had she remembered something after their unfortunate evening together? If she hadn't, how long would it be before she stumbled onto something? With each meeting, it would be harder for him to stay in control, not give anything away. But ignorance of their past was her only protection.

"I wouldn't miss out on an invitation to tea with my new friend," she said. "But I have something to do first, if that's okay, kiddo."

Hope shrugged. "I guess. What do you have to do?"

"I have to talk to your father." She glanced up and saw him. Her eyes widened and then narrowed ominously before she glanced back down at Hope. "After that, I'm all yours."

"Is this talk gonna take a long time?" Hope let out a bone-weary sigh. "'Cause when Mummy and Uncle 'Lijah go upstairs to talk, it takes forever."

Hayley appeared behind Hope, her face flushed. "I've got a great idea. While we're waiting, let's go pick out some of your dolls to bring to tea." She turned to Cami. "Hope has some nineteenth-century porcelain dolls that she adores to bits, which is great since they cost a fortune." She paused to get closer. "I find them kind of creepy," she said in a low voice, "but like a true Mikaelson, Hope has an eye for a quality antique."

"I do hope you're not talking about me." Elijah's voice filtered into the room before he appeared. "If I may put in a request, Hope, I should like Emmaline to come to tea this afternoon. I do so love her lush brown hair. Just like your beautiful mother's." He looked at Hayley adoringly.

"Emmaline's head came off, Uncle 'Lijah," Hope replied. "She had to go to the doctor to get it stuck back on."

"Oh, well, then, since Emmaline is indisposed, perhaps Victoria could accompany us instead."

"I think we put Victoria in storage," Hayley said. "Too many dolls, not enough room."

"This won't do," Elijah replied. "I insist you find her."

Hayley tried not to smile. "That will take a while."

"It's okay, Mummy," Hope said, taking Hayley's hand. "We'll find her."

"I guess we're going to find Victoria." She looked up at Klaus, raising her eyebrows subtly. "So we'll leave you guys to talk." With one last look as if to say Make sure you know what you're doing, Hayley allowed herself to be dragged off towards the basement.

Klaus came down the stairs slowly. "That should buy us some time before my daughter returns to deliver her lecture on the correct sequence of underwear for the fashionable lady in 1860. Would you like to talk in my study?"

"I'm good where I am," Cami replied. "This won't take long. Oh, and before we start, I want you to know that I've taken precautions in preparation for this meeting."

"Precautions?" Elijah said.

"In case I go missing. I've left a note in my hotel room with your names and address on it. I've also informed a friend that if I don't call her within twenty-four hours, she is to inform the police this is where I was."

Elijah nodded. "Though not foolproof, it's a valiant plan, Camille."

"So don't even think about…" She paused. "You know my name," she said questioningly.

Elijah didn't miss a beat. "My brother told me he met an alluring young woman last night, and naturally I assumed it was you."

"I don't believe you." She scowled at Elijah and then at Klaus. "You're lying to me. You've been lying to me the entire time. You know me, but for some reason, I don't know you. Why is that? Did you have my memories wiped because I found out something I shouldn't have?"

Of course she had discovered the truth—a version of it, anyway—and yet she couldn't have been more wrong. Klaus just stared at her. He didn't know what to say.

"Oh my God," she breathed. "The detective was right. You really are the bad guys, aren't you?"