By the noon hour, a stiff wind was whirling icy pellets of freezng rain into the faces of those brave enough to be outdoors on that blustery January day. The gloomy afternoon was now edging into the evening hours, but inside the Garnier it was business as usual; another late day rehearsal- another dismissal of Orlov and the corps de ballet, leaving the prima ballerina alone onstage with the ballet master.
He observed them from the deep shadows above the stage as Breda and Louise performed the pas de deux to the practice pianist's music. Nearly three days had passed after deciding to take matters into his own hands. His mouth a grim slash, his body shook with anger as the Italian's hands touched Louise in an overly familiar way. His rage grew as he helplessly watched their movements, graceful and fluid, right up to the coda when Louise started to noticeably tire.
Her slender legs no longer heeding her commands, she stumbled out of her arabesque penche and stopped altogether. She pushed hair back from her forehead and hissed in pain as her foot cramped. In a week's time the company would have their first dress rehearsal with the orchestra and she couldn't afford to have her body fail now, as she tried walking the cramp out.
His burning eyes tracked her progression across the stage, until finally he had enough and quickly slipped down from the scaffolding. He only just managed to stop the powerful urge to fashion hemp line into a make-shift gallows, dropping it over the ballet master's head and hoisting him far above the stage. His satisfaction would have been a savage pleasure, watching him kicking and thrashing in panic as life-giving air deserted his lungs. The desire had been so strong, he had reflexively curled his fingers into the palms of his hands, the nails cutting half moons in the skin.
Breda fumed in silence for a moment then dismissed the pianist for the day before castigating her in earnest. "We are very close to opening night, Sorelli. You don't want word getting back to the Russians that they can perform Swan Lake better than the French, do you?"
"Then why won't you let me perform it with the one I'm slated to dance opposite? I'm sure Uri needs the practice time just as much as I!" She glanced up at him as she halted and stood on one leg, her fingers kneading the cramped muscle. "But I'm beginning to see why the San Carlo let you go, Vincente. Has your style changed so much that your intent is to kill the dancers before the performance even begins?" Her mounting frustration was evident as she straightened up, hands on hips and began walking in circles, testing her foot.
"You have become lazy, that is your problem! Ballet in Paris means dancing like the meanest coryphee. No fire and no brilliance. You French!" he sneered. "The whole lot of you are entirely too pedestrian and dull." He glared at her before looking into the darkened auditorium now cleaned and repaired, awaiting the renovated chandelier- due to be installed just before the debut performance of Swan Lake. He put a hand to his eyes and squinted into the theatre. "Well, where is he? He's been haunting your rehearsals all week long!"
She stifled a gasp- haunting was a word she connected with a ghost- a phantom. She studied Vincente for hidden meanings, and saw nothing but contempt on his face.
"He is overdue, Sorelli," he threw over his shoulder as he stared out into the darkened theatre. He laughed harshly as he spied that familiar thin figure striding purposefully toward the stage. "No, no, I was wrong. Here is your masked lover now," his voice loaded with scorn, and sure enough Erik was coming down the aisle, his glowing eyes never leaving Breda's.
"Rehearsal is over for you this evening, Louise. Go to your room and change your clothes and I will join you in a moment," he said quietly, not sparing her a glance.
"It is not your place to dismiss the prima ballerina," Breda said haughtily, "regardless of your association with her." He turned to Louise. "You will not leave this stage, Sorelli. Not until I release you. Understood?"
She stared at Vincente, torn between telling him to go to the devil or telling her fiance more or less the same thing. Erik finally deigned to look at her and said abruptly, "Practice is over for the day, my dear. Leave us, if you would," and turned back to Breda, silently daring him to stop her.
"Do not presume you have my permission to go." Vincente warned through clenched teeth. He was trying very hard for mastery, but the other man's malevolent eyes were unnerving him and he shifted his feet. A move not lost on his opponent.
Louise only hesitated a moment; she was tired; months of rehearsals and performances had taken their toll- she felt like a candle burning down to the wick, and the now brutal pace wasn't helping. Taking one last look at Erik's unblinking regard of the ballet master, she took the low road and left them to it, but before she quit the stage, she whispered a warning, "Remember what we discussed. Keep your hands to yourself!"
"You'll pay for this, Sorelli, I promise you!" Vincente shouted at her retreating back and watched the other man warily- his bearing was seemingly relaxed, but those yellow eyes were not- something elemental was being held in check; an icy inferno awaiting the right moment to be let loose, and it would not stop until blood was spilled- his blood. He shook himself, usually not one for imagining things, but the prima ballerina's choice in men had become horrific. Clearly, St. Clair was more than he seemed.
He appeared calm enough every time he arrived, although he would shoot Vincente a glance of pure venom, before herding Louise from the stage, her arm tucked through his, nice and cozy. Whether it was the dancer's foyer or the great proscenium stage, he was there, looking gothic and forbidding in stark black- a nightmare of a man. Sorelli was surely mad to allow his touch. Vincente had done some digging, trying to find out the man's identity. He hadn't learned very much. St. Clair was a musician, a pianist and composer not originally from Paris, but he had fought in the siege of the city, and was grievously wounded in the face at Villeneuve Saint Georges in September of 1870. Apparently he had money from somewhere, for he was a subscriber of good standing with Richard and Moncharmin. When asked if they had met the man, they replied in the negative. One needn't see the cash cow, merely accept its bounty, Breda thought acidly. Complaining to anyone about the Garnier's very own illustrious, albeit generous war hero, would be a wasted effort on his part.
Unbeknownst to Vincente, Louise had fabricated most of Erik's new identity. She refused to keep him hidden away, and cajoled him into letting her put about his history as a wounded war veteran. To please her, he greased the whole concoction with money to the opera house, something he did willingly enough, and wasn't surprised when very few questions were asked. Money was a significant motivator in the world of the theatre. The irony did not escape him; he was essentially giving back what he had extorted for years and he found this to be very amusing. He still preferred the bulk of his activities to take place well after dark; that would never change, but he at least was able to traverse the opera house with a little more openness and take his place beside Louise as was his right.
Vincente now eyed Erik with apprehension; there was something sinister about him that wasn't from the mask alone. Breda had at last come to the startling conclusion that the man standing before him would not back down from any confrontation presented to him; in actuality, he would be the one to begin it. Nevertheless, he was surprised when St. Clair smiled. It was a disquieting upturn of the lips, cold and predatory, but soon translated into a chill and precise voice.
"Sorelli is of the opinion that I would like to remove some of your vital organs- via your nose," and the chilling smile grew, "that would be correct. I would enjoy it, but she considers it a loss to kill you." He shook his head. "Not from any affection for you, of course. She loves her Erik, you see, and intends to save his black soul. She is very optimistic. One can't save what is already lost. No, not at all, but because she wishes it, you will live.
"For now."
Vincente heard the threat in that silken purr, and was startled to find the other man standing disturbingly close, unaware of his having moved. Caught off guard, he took a step back, uneasy in the heavy silence of the empty stage. It was just the two of them. Why, he could- "What do you want? I'm a busy man and I have no time for your frequent interruptions. Now if you don't mind, I must-"
"Oh, but I do mind. You would do well to revise your attitude on many things," his intense gaze traveled the length of Breda before staring deep into the man's frightened eyes, "beginning with Louise. She is an exceptional dancer, of which you are well aware, but you are sending her closer to collapse. The managers will not appreciate a stand-in at this juncture if she can not perform. More to the point...I will not appreciate it." He tilted his head and observed the other man as though looking at a nasty bit of offal. "You really must stop singling her out. You have an entire company to inspire. Is that the word I want? Or is plunder a better choice?" He shrugged. "No matter. As long as you understand that Louise is my concern, and outside of the ballet, none of yours. Think about it, monsieur and remain healthy."
"Perhaps I should inform the managers of your threats," he retorted, his manner defensive as he backed slowly away from the other man, wondering how much of this confrontation was due to his past relationship with Louise. Did he know? he wondered sickly. "They will be interested to learn how you halted an important rehearsal." Even to his own ears his voice sounded high-pitched and feeble; he loathed the feeling of being put in his place. That was his prerogative to do, and one with which he had excelled- until now.
Erik nodded agreeably. "By all means. I invite you to do so," and brushed past him on his way backstage.
Vincente was frozen in place for a full minute before his quaking limbs would move. He kept glancing over his shoulder on the way to his small office, expecting any minute to be grabbed from behind by the lunatic Sorelli had taken up with. Safely locked behind his door, he headed straight for the bottle of Burgundy always sitting on the corner of his desk. He poured some wine into a glass and gulped it down quickly, following it with another. By his third, the shaking was gone and so was his fear, to be replaced by a welcome anger. He would not bow to the French freak. These cretins would learn how Neapolitans reacted to threats.
Louise turned when Erik came through the door, and paused in the act of fixing her hair. "I hope Breda was able to leave the stage under his own power! Has he replaced me yet, or do we require a new master to succeed the one now deceased?"
He raised an unseen eyebrow. "Your levity is refreshing, Sorelli and it is no on both counts."
"Well, I'm not about to thank you for interfering with Breda! I told you once before that I can take care of him on my own. Why do you consider yourself to be so much better at managing my life than me?"
"Because in this instance I am," he snapped, staring hard at her. "When is the last time you really looked at yourself? Hmm? You have dropped too much weight and you're not sleeping well, are you? You live in this damned place. No one should have that much dedication to their art, for it will eventually wear one down to a dried out husk!"
She stood up and walked over to him, the light of battle in her eyes. "Well, well. Look at the pot calling the kettle black! You don't do either of those things, Erik, as I keep telling you! You barely eat and merely catnap, but you will try and bully me into it. I am perfectly fine, and on opening night you will see, so kindly keep out of my business! And if I am not mistaken, didn't you kidnap a singer to feed your tremendous dedication to this theatre?"
His eyes went flat at the mention of Christine Daae, and he said with a sneer, "Yes, yes I did and look how well that turned out!" He hastily cleared his throat, painfully aware of the irony in her words and said weakly, "I really do not see the parallels in your argument, Louise."
She sniffed disdainfully. "Well, of course you don't! But I must point out that I am to marry you, not consign my entire life over so you may order me about whenever it pleases you to do so!"
"You know very well that is exactly what the law allows, my dear. I may, at my own leisure, order you about with impunity." and he raised a hand when she opened her mouth. "If I may continue?" and gave her a speaking glance. "I merely point out what the law permits- not the kind of marriage I have in mind for us, m'dear. Wedded bliss is my most ardent hope." He regarded her from narrowed eyes, trying very hard to keep the anger at bay. She was over-worked, and if he was any judge, not thinking clearly. He would take her below and give her some dinner- and one last chance to come away with him willingly. If not, then choice would be removed. He would save her from her own stubborn nature, and take her somewhere she could rest and leave behind her worries. They would enjoy a sojourn far away from the opera house and have a marvelous time.
If she was still speaking to him.
Taking a deep breath, he walked over to her and held out his arms, and for a very tense moment, they did nothing but stare at one another, her eyes suspiciously bright and resentful, his, cautious and hopeful. Something moving in their amber depths decided her, and with an irritated huff, she went into his embrace.
He let out the breath he was holding, feeling at the moment, nothing but relief. "Forgive me," he fervently whispered into her hair. "You are right, of course, and I will conspire to do as you wish." Liar.
She stood stiffly in the circle of his arms, but her affectionate nature melted the anger, just as the sun thaws an early spring snow, and her arms likewise wound around his spare waist. She rested her head on his chest and chuckled tiredly. "What am to do with you?" she murmured.
"Just what you are doing now. Don't ever stop." He eyed her shrewdly. "Your foot is still bothering you, isn't it?" At her reluctant nod, he pointed to the chair. "Sit," and when she merely stared at him, he added with a roll of his eyes, "please."
She dutifully sat down and he knelt in front of her, sliding the shoe off of her stockinged foot and settling it on his thigh. With firm and gentle strokes, he massaged her foot beginning with the instep before giving his attention to her arch. She sat back and closed her eyes, feeling the tension draining away as she relaxed. "Mm. That feels wonderful," she said, slightly breathless. "Is there anything you can't do well?"
He continued his ministrations, and shrugged one shoulder, not bothering to look up at her. "I can not seem to make my Louise smile anymore."
She opened her eyes, observing his bowed head and put a hand over his, giving it a squeeze. "Look at me," she said quietly. His hands went still and he raised his head, appearing for all the world as if waiting for a blow. She lightly caressed his bony chin. "I may not smile all of the time, but I will always, always love you."
He sighed deeply and leaned forward, pressing a kiss on her mouth, her foot nestled between their bodies. He gave it a last pat and reached for her shoe, quickly slipping it on. "Better, yes?" At her nod, he stood up and fetched her coat, helping her into it. "I have some supper laid out for you below. Shall I carry you there?"
"I only hope you are not serious! What do I-" and sputtered to a halt when she caught his gleam of amusement. Louise gave him a look from beneath lowered brows as he held the door open for her. "I should let you. It would serve you right to carry me down all those stairs!"
He set his hat on his head, and out of habit, tugged it down over his eyes. "Do not tempt me! I may just throw you over my shoulder and carry you off to my lair!" to which Louise laughed. How he loved her laughter. Soon, very soon now, he would have her undivided attention. No distractions and nothing for her to do but eat, rest, and love her Erik.
He was charmed by Maria's home on the Bay of Naples. It was a two story house once a vibrant red, but the hot Neapolitan sun and wind had long ago faded it to a charming rose stucco. Long windows wearing dark green shutters flanked the heavy oak door, and a large lemon tree stood in front of it; in the heat of summer, it would spread its branches over the front of the house, providing not only fruit, but cool shade. Situated in a courtyard surrounded by homes similar to it, bougainvillea vines now dormant, climbed the walls in a tangle up both sides of the door, and would be covered in splashes of scarlet in a few short months. Large empty crocks stood to each side of the entrance, but at the height of summer they would be a burst of color, filled with red geraniums and sky blue plumbago.
The home's back garden, as he would find, was a private courtyard of its own with a high stuccoed wall separating Maria from her neighbors. A row of olive trees stood like sentinels at the back of the garden, and beyond them the brightly colored houses of Naples marched down the hillside to the dazzling blue waters of the bay. In the light of day, Mt. Vesuvius could be seen looming sinister over it as it had for millennia; asleep, but merely napping. They had taken a carriage from the train station, and after carrying her luggage inside and setting it down in the stone flagged entry, he had gone to his own lodgings at the Hotel Bellini before returning to Maria's home for dinner.
The weather was mild for a January evening, and dinner was on the stone terrace just outside the wide doors of the white-washed dining room. He carried dishes of fresh mozzarella and tomato out to the iron table set for two, and Maria followed with the linguine and scallops she had prepared. She directed him to open a bottle of the excellent local wine and he poured them each a glass.
"You have come here at an auspicious time, Nadir. It is unusually mild, even for the Campania region. I am happy that you get to see my city when the weather is kind."
Khan studied the twinkling of lights dotted here and there on the hillside which curved gracefully down to the waters of the bay and thought it a peaceful place. A lovely place. He could learn to like it here. It was exotic and homey at the same time. He glanced over at his dinner companion, whom he considered as having the same characteristics as her homeland. "It is beautiful, Maria. More than I expected, and I can not help but wonder how you found the strength to leave it all behind."
She shrugged and raised her wine glass and took a sip. "Love for my niece, of course. She is very dear to me. When Louise first came here, she was a thin little thing, big eyes shadowed with grief for her mother and father. Even war-torn as it was, leaving her home behind was very difficult," and on further reflection added, "I believe she also missed Erik. More, I think than she ever realized at the time." She took a bite of her salad and thoughtfully regarded him. "You don't really approve of their love for each other, do you?"
He was enjoying the bay scallops which were sweet and tender, but her words surprised him. "It is not for me to say one way or another, Maria." He shrugged. "Erik I can understand. Women have never held him in high esteem before. Of course he adores your niece. But Louise? I find it difficult to understand what she sees to love in him."
Now it was Maria's turn to shrug. "Why must you look for a reason? She alone knows her heart. It is simply there, and I believe she kept her affection alive with the intention of going back to Paris someday to find him."
He didn't mean to scoff, but found he couldn't help it. "Louise was a mere child when she came to you. She had years to forget him." He smiled ruefully, "I know there have been times I wished I could."
"That is because you are not a young girl whose life was saved from a terrible death. Louise was not a normal fourteen year old. She was aged by events no child should have to endure. Erik came into her life and literally kept her alive for months and it forged a link with him that remained unbroken for years. I have always believed that loyalty to those she loves has always been her greatest asset."
"Forgive me for asking, but...have you any concerns about his suitability for her? His age compared to hers?"
She set her fork down and looked out over her garden, comfortingly familiar to her, cloaked as it was in the indigo shadows of night. It was good to be home. "The heart doesn't count the years, Nadir, and he loves her very much." She brought her gaze back to him. "What else is required?"
"I am certain you have noticed how often he confuses right and wrong. His perceptions, although very acute, are not the same as ours."
She chuckled dryly. "He is unlike anyone I have ever met, that is true, but different isn't always such a bad thing. Convincing my niece to search for a man closer to the ideal would be pointless. What exactly is the ideal, my friend?"
It hovered on the tip of his tongue to explain some of the things less than ideal which Erik had accomplished over the years. Murder. Theft. Extortion. Kidnapping. The list went on. He was never certain how much she knew about her niece's fiance, but perhaps it was a little late to say anything at all. And he was more than weary of making Erik the topic of conversation. It was time to allow fate to play out its hand. With a start, he realized Maria was speaking.
"...wallowing in self-pity and grief, and she became a daughter to me. I had lost my husband after a long illness, and I was rudderless. Too much grieving wears out the body's defenses, and she gave me new purpose and life. In return, I gave her a home and my love."
He caught the scents of wild sage and lavender coming from the wide sweep of hillside in front of them, along with the subtle perfume of the woman sitting across from him. "I understand you completely, madame. I had a wife many years ago who was very dear to me. Her name was Parisa," his voice soft. "I know what it is like to grieve for that which you will never have again in this life."
Maria reached a hand across the small table and he grasped her fingers gently. "I wasn't aware of this. Any children?"
He shook his head. "We were married only a short while- not even a year, when she developed a terrible pain in her side. She suffered for many hours with it and finally...left me." He drained the contents of his glass. "I was almost glad at the end. Her agony became mine...it was...very hard to sit and do nothing for her."
"Her appendix ruptured, perhaps," and at his nod, "I am so sorry, Nadir. So very sorry. It never quits hurting, does it? The ache dulls over time, but it is always crouching there, ready to spring at one and remind them of their loss."
"Yes. That is so. That is so." He looked up at Maria, her intelligent brown eyes shining with empathy, and thought it would be nice to share many things with this woman. Good times needn't remain in the past. He could have them again and so could she. They merely had to reach out and take it. "Perhaps you could show me around Naples tomorrow."
She had been studying him as well, and thought she would like nothing better. "Yes! Naples...and Pompeii! Herculaneum. I will show you my country's treasures, Nadir and we will have a wonderful time!"
"Nothing less than that, Maria. And you will be my guest for dinner tomorrow, won't you?"
Louise's words at the train station drifted into her consciousness. "Of course!" she replied, smiling. "I know just the place. You will love their food. Everything is locally grown."
He spied a dimple in one of Maria's cheeks; oddly, he hadn't noticed it before. She was a pretty woman when she smiled like that. He cleared his throat and directed his gaze to the quiet garden. "The weather in Paris must be cold and dreary compared to this. A pity that Louise and Erik can not be enjoying this as well," thinking it fortuitous that they did not, for Erik would only find a way to muck it up.
Her eyes shone with amusement, and his breath caught. "They are probably thankful they are not," she replied lightly. "I am sure they are using the weather as an excuse to curl up together in front of a warm fire."
The French countryside slid past them as he wearily laid his head back against the seat. His eyes never left her, as she sat beside him lightly dozing. He had removed her coat and hat, tenderly seeing to her every need as they began their journey to upper Normandy; to Rouen, the ancient city of his birth. His one-time home sat on the very edge of the town, with the River Seine flowing past the house at the foot of the garden gate, as it made its slow meandering way from Paris and out to sea.
They had begun dinner in his home the night before, and during the meal of beef ragout and parslied potatoes, he poured Louise a glass of Merlot and sat down in his own chair. Before handing it to her, he issued his last offer. "Come away with me. We can go anywhere you choose and I will take care of you. Please. Leave with me tonight, or...or tomorrow, if you like."
"I can't, Erik. You know that! Why do you persist?"
He shrugged and set the glass of wine in front of her. "Very well. I will say no more," and pushed the wine closer to her hand. "Drink, darling." He went out to the kitchen and brought in their dinner, noting on his return that she had drunk a good portion of it.
She took another mouthful of the Merlot and swirled it around her mouth before swallowing, all the while staring at him with a slightly predatory smile on her face, as though he was a large sugary confection she would simply gobble up. She got to her feet, coming around the table, and without ceremony, squeezed between it and his chair, settling on his lap. She placed both hands on Erik's face, now devoid of the mask, and kissed him with hunger, ravaging his thin mouth as she kept his head pressed hard against the back of the chair. Her hand worked its way into his shirt, pushing aside waistcoat and cravat- the cravat ending up twisted beneath one ear, as she impatiently sought his bare flesh. His hand buried itself in her fragrant hair, knocking pins loose, as desire rose and nearly shoved all other thoughts from his mind. He hissed through his teeth when Louise's mouth closed on his neck, her tongue flicking against the sensitive skin. The little rogue. She would upset everything at the rate she was going. With a fortitude he hadn't known he possessed, he put her reluctantly from him with one last hard kiss, and propelled her back to her chair.
"Uh, uh. Very ingenious! Ply Erik with kisses and get out of eating the nice dinner he prepared just for you." He ran a none too steady hand through his mussed hair and straightened his clothing, thinking it would be wonderful to let her ravage him. He quite liked it. Standing with a ragged sigh, he dished up a gigantic helping of beef ragout and potatoes onto a plate, and set it in front of Sorelli, then sat down and poured wine for himself. Raising his glass, a lustful Louise smiled suggestively when he toasted her. Behave yourself, my girl, or I will be clearing this table and you will be the main course. He swallowed, his prominent Adam's apple jumping up and down. "T-To my prima ballerina. May you once again have wings on your feet as you become the soul of the Swan Queen," and he indicated her dinner. "Now eat, for I labored long in the kitchen to prepare it."
She took another sip of her wine and looked in dismay at the loaded plate before her. "My goodness, Erik! You don't expect me to eat all of this do you?" she said in near exasperation. "This is more than I can consume in an entire day!"
He shook out his own napkin and waved a spidery hand in her direction. "Do your best, but be aware that there will be no macarons until you make a fine showing with that," pointing a finger at her heaped plate.
This perked her up as he'd known it would, for Louise had changed little in her greed for sweets; nevertheless, she ate them sparingly, always mindful of her dancer's figure. When she did eat her favorites, that particular confection made of meringue and filled with luscious buttercreams or ganaches, easily made it to the top of her list. He made sure to have them for her in a variety of flavors whenever she came to dinner.
"You are too good to me," she said, regarding him with soft eyes as she forked more potatoes into her mouth, "but then I think that's why I love you so much." She stopped what she was doing; reaching out a hand to him, and he set his wine glass down, threading his pale fingers through hers and clasping them tightly.
Her words made him cringe in shame, for that would surely change when she found out what he had done. He stiffened his resolve and let go of her hand, nodding at her wine glass. "Drink the nice Merlot, darling. It pairs well with the beef."
She did as he bid her, laughing after she drank more of it. She glanced at him from under sooty lashes, and he felt a fine sweat break out on his forehead. She was tempting fate and trying to call forth that nasty little imp that he worked endlessly to keep away from her. He wanted her so badly, and she teased him mercilessly at times, goading him into getting closer and closer to the moment when he could no longer control it.
She had the audacity to wink at him, and it occurred to Erik that this was just a little over the top, even for Louise. The drug beginning to work perhaps? He was in trouble then, for that tiny closing of one eye, held an inordinate amount of meaning. Birdlike, she tipped her head sideways, watching him with bright eyes, appearing just like one of the little wrens found everywhere in Paris. "If I didn't know better I would accuse you of trying to get me drunk," and she swayed a little in her chair, nearly spilling her wine in the process. "Ooh, how clumsy of me," when Erik gently took it from her. Elbow on the table, she cupped her chin in one hand and observed him as she began to grow drowsy. "It must be working. I... feel... slightly light headed at the moment."
He glanced at her sharply, then relaxed. She means the wine, you fool. She knows nothing of your treachery.
"Eat some more, Louise. You need food in your stomach to counteract the alcohol." He glanced at her pale face and drooping eyelids, realizing she wouldn't last much longer before she was sedated and in a trance-like state. Unseen by her, he had poured a measure of amantia muscaria tincture into her watered down wine, just before serving her. He had distilled it from a toadstool whose color was a cheery, white spotted red. It's active ingredient was muscimol, a sedatory with hypnotic affects, allowing those ingesting the drug to remain awake, but in a trance-like state, able to walk, perform small tasks, and in some instances, even answer simple questions put to them.
She obeyed him by eating a little more, then swallowed the rest of the Merlot. "All right, that's all I can manage. A macaron would taste very good now. I do love you, if that helps me any," she added hopefully, and blinked sleepily at him before laying her head on the table, perilously close to her plate of unfinished dinner.
He hadn't planned on her pitching forward into the ragout, and he hastily rose to his feet and gently raised her head, wiping sauce from her hair. "I will give you all the macarons you require, once we reach Rouen, but now it is time for you to sleep," and he led her into the Louis-Philippe room and stood her near the bed, where he bent down and peered into her face. "Trust me, Louise. This is for your own good." He couldn't help but kiss those plump lips once, before turning her around and undoing all the tiny buttons on her bodice. "Why do women's clothing have so many blasted buttons?" he hissed in frustration, and once he undid the last one, he turned her back to face him, and unhooked the corset busk, revealing her white linen chemise. She responded so very, very obediently to his touch. He licked at suddenly dry lips and swallowed hard, beating down the beast inside him, capering to take what he had longed to possess for so long.
He bit savagely on his tongue, tasting blood, and tipped her drooping chin up to meet his gaze. Louise trusts me. "Listen to me. I want you to put on the nightdress, yes? Then hop into bed. Can you do that for Erik?" and was gratified when she nodded sluggishly and began looking for the gown. He groaned at her willingness to do whatever he wished, and turned on rubbery knees. "I-I'll leave you to it then and...and come back in five minutes t-time," his voice breaking in a way it hadn't since he began his journey into manhood all those long years ago. Louise trusts me. He took one last longing look at her exposed back and the firm rosy flesh exposed to his starved gaze, and left her to slip into the simple white nightdress.
He didn't go far away, preferring to stay close by, but he went to the sideboard in the dining room and snagged another glass of Merlot before returning to the parlor. He sat down in his chair and closed his eyes, willing his hands to stop shaking, and wishing now that he would have had the foresight to simply put her to bed in her dress. Louise trusts me. That he hadn't, only caused the lustful mind pictures to play out behind his lids whenever he closed his eyes. In a slight panic, he snapped them open, but an image of Louise lying on the bed wearing nothing but a welcoming smile was still there. "Go to sleep, Louise. I beg you," he whispered.
He wondered not for the first time, how angry she would be when she discovered he had drugged her. Gathering his flagging courage, he rose after ten minutes and went to her room to find her curled up on the counterpane asleep. He scooped her into his arms, pulling the bedclothes down and tucked her into bed. She briefly opened her eyes and drowsily stared at him for a moment before closing them again. He beat a hasty retreat into the parlor where he stood for a full five minutes, his breath coming hard and fast as though he had been running a foot race.
Gradually he grew calmer and scrubbed a hand through his hair, standing it on end. He didn't care at all for Louise in this state, her expressive eyes had been cloudy and dull, blankly gazing back at him. He much preferred her mischievous grin when she was teasing him as she often did, or the way she had of looking at him as if he were the only man in the world and the most desired. On leaden feet, he went back into her room and stood beside the bed, pensively watching her sleep, at last leaning over and smoothing the wayward curls off of her face.
"How I love you, my girl," he whispered, "never doubt that," and gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead. Leaving the room, he pulled the door closed quietly and put on hat and cloak for his trip to Sorelli's apartment. He would collect enough clothing to last her a few days and make certain the cat was not trapped inside. A well-placed letter had been written to Estelle to feed it while they were gone. Not for his benefit, of course, he thought snidely. She hugged the damned thing far too many times for him to enjoy the little beast's company, but Louise would never forgive him if the cat had to fend for itself. He sniffed through his non-existent nose; as if it hadn't taken good care of itself before Louise came along.
She would need another dose of the tincture in the early morning hours, and once she was dressed and ready, they would leave for the train station, a suitcase packed with everything needed for a few days. Anything else could be bought in Rouen.
He surfaced now from his musings and glanced out the window of their rail car before tugging the blind shut. He slipped an arm around Louise, pulling her down onto his shoulder and slid one of her eyelids up, satisfied that she was in a light doze. His eyes lovingly roamed her features as his fingers caressed one petal smooth cheek. "I would never harm you. Remember that. Never." He studied her closed lids and the fine bone structure of her face.
"Erik-" It was a breath of sound, a soft hesitant whisper made while she slept on.
"Yes, yes, your Erik," he replied quietly, his ghastly face complete with transparent nose pressed to his face with spirit gum. He would pay for the privilege later when he peeled it off, bringing skin with it. He rubbed at his eyes, and felt tired enough to rest a little. "You will sleep and eat, and we will talk and read books and go for walks." He tilted his head. "Moonlight walks, and I will buy you roses and all the macarons you can hold." He rested his head against hers as the train cut through the early morning fog, and emerged into the bright sunshine of a new day.
Next up- You Make Me Sick!