This chapter took several rewrites to finally get right, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Also, this chapter wouldn't have had the same emotion and tone without Jax helping to edit and making so many suggestions that brought out a lot of background and insight into Julia. Your thoughts are appreciated, as always.
Julia54
I started to enter the apartment with the Comte at my heels when Alex looked at us and gasped.
"He's followed us!" he shouted as he turned to Erik and frantically clutched his waistcoat.
When I looked back, the Comte appeared absolutely mortified. I doubted anyone had ever gazed upon him in sheer horror and I knew instantly he wished to back away.
"He's got her! Father, he's got Madame Seuratti!" Alex shouted. "He will kill her! Please, we must save her from him!"
I gave Erik a pleading look and shook my head. The Comte dealt with enough outbursts from his wife and I doubted he wanted to involve himself in another one from Alex.
"He came with us," Erik replied as he held Alex to him. "He means no harm. We have a truce."
"A what?"
Erik furrowed his brow as though he couldn't believe his son didn't know the meaning of the word. "We have a peace agreement. He came down with us to help find you."
"Why would he do that?" Alex asked as though the idea were horrific. With his face scrunched up, he glared at the Comte and balled his hands into fists as though prepared to fight him.
"Because we agreed to find you together," Erik said with unimaginable calm.
"But he tried to kill you," Alex said almost breathlessly. He had a savage, untrusting look about him, which didn't at all suit a boy his age.
"Well, that was days ago," Erik answered with quite a bit of sarcasm.
His tone made it difficult to tell if his words were meant to take the edge off the situation or if he was becoming agitated.
The Comte exhaled hard and looked around, evidentially effected by Erik's dry humor. He didn't say a word, but I could tell by his expression that he considered finding his own way out.
"Alex is just…nervous," I said gently. "I suspect anyone would be a little cautious considering what he's gone through."
"Which was my doing," he admitted. "I'll wait here," the Comte said as he took a step back, concealing himself within the shadows.
"Do you wish to speak with him still?" I asked.
He appeared twisted, torn by the options set before him. Even if he admitted Alex belonged to Erik, this was still Christine's son, if only by birthright.
By dawn the Comte would be with his daughters and his wife, returned to their secret hell with the woman who had chosen him.
They were a young enough family to bear more children, though I doubted the Comte considered another baby with his wife's condition.
I had no doubt he loved his wife with all of his heart and adored his children, but he was the lone male and the end of his family name.
Alex would never accept him as a father, but perhaps he could at least have peace in seeing Christine's son and knowing this boy thrived in a way he never would if he was forced to stay with his mother.
"I would," he replied at last. "Alone, if I may." He took a deep breath and tapped his fingers together. "Or perhaps in your company, Madame, as the mediator."
In other words, he wanted to see Alex without Erik interfering.
"A moment, please," I said, knowing Erik would disagree before I asked him.
Before Alex could further question his father, I ran toward him and engulfed him in my arms where I nearly lifted him from the ground.
"Are you hurt?" I asked, running my fingers through his dark hair and smoothing his shirt collar.
He shook his head, then gave me a very serious look in the eye. "I may have stubbed my toe," he said. "And a spider fell on me, though I don't know if it was poisonous."
His words made me smile, and as I checked him over thoroughly, he seemed no worse for wear. He held me tight and suffered through a dozen kisses and overbearing concern only women were capable of providing children. He blushed, seemingly embarrassed by my doting.
When he looked up at me and smiled, I saw in him my son. Perhaps he wasn't mine by birth, but I felt a deep sense of responsibility for his wellbeing. He needed a mother in his life—and Erik needed someone there for himself as well as his son.
Looking at Alex, I wanted to be that person, for both this child who had no choice in being raised without a mother and a man who felt he had no choice but to raise his son alone.
Erik stepped away and I noticed him glancing between Alex and the Comte, who had dared to peek around the corner. He was looking for similarities, I knew, reasons to doubt or confirm Alex was his son not only by name, but by blood.
"He would like to see Alexandre," I said, keeping my tone even.
Erik stared at me, his expression blank as he waited for the Comte to enter.
I took a breath. "The Comte de Chagny requested to have me stay with them, however, we thought it would be best if you—"
His eyes filled with fury, his mouth twisted with anger. "Absolutely not. I will not have him—"
"Erik, for God's sake, Raoul is not going to toss Alex over his shoulder and run away with him," I tried to reason, knowing I had set myself up against an unreasonable man. "I've spoken to him in the hallway while you were with Alex and came to an agreement."
"I agreed to nothing!" he seethed.
Alex looked up at me as he took a step back, clearly concerned with the idea of being parted from his father, if even for a moment. He stared at me as though I had betrayed him.
"You agreed to let him come down here to find Alexandre," I said, turning my attention back to Erik. "Raoul simply wants to see Alex, nothing more. He gave you ample time with your son. Let him at least speak with him, just this once."
"I owe him nothing," he said through his teeth as he pointed his finger toward the apartment entrance. "Why in the hell are you using his given name? Friendly with him, are you?"
His display was worthy of an eye roll, but I did my best to remain civil. Once he was in his mood, there was no way of stopping him from his display, which was all it ever amounted to with him. All I could do was meet his fury with carefully chosen words and wait until he listened to reason—which he eventually would once he either exhausted himself or realized how absurd his argument was over nothing.
He had once spent the better part of an evening gathering every point he could think of about why Luc Testan was a horrible critic who should have retired. In the end he likened him to his least favorite dessert—an apple tart. His comparison had me laughing so hard he stood and walked out, only to return a moment later for his hat…and shortbread cookies. I never made apple tarts after that night.
Eventually he would calm himself down—or so I hoped, as this was neither about food nor critics.
"Do you honestly think that question deserves an answer?" I asked.
He was still breathing hard, but, seeing my calm, he had backed down.
"After everything that has happened, I think you know where I stand." I tilted my head to the side and looked down my nose at him for his foolish notions.
I started to reach for Alex, but he immediately panicked and flung himself onto his father. Erik's face contorted with the onset of pain, but he suffered through his son's assault and held him close.
"Father, please don't let that man take me away," Alex pleaded.
"Alex—" I started to say.
Erik narrowed his eyes at me, clearly still furious with the idea of his son speaking with the Comte. I paused, knowing if it had been my daughter, I would have been skeptical as well.
His gaze left mine and he searched the room as though he suddenly found himself trapped.
Too many times before his hand had been forced—he would not allow anyone to make a decision on his behalf. Ten years prior he had stood within these apartments across from Raoul de Chagny and that had not ended well for him, or rather how he had hoped.
Now, however, he had the advantage, the ability to deny the Comte the opportunity to speak with Alex. This time Erik could leave accompanied by someone he loved while the Comte returned home alone.
"This is your choice," I told him. "Whatever you decide, I will respect."
He exhaled hard. "My choice indeed," he muttered under his breath. He looked to his son and nodded. "Madame Seuratti will stay with you," he said.
Alex looked wild with fear. "Where will you be?" he asked frantically, still clutching Erik as though he sincerely thought he would never see him again.
"Right here," Erik said, mastering calm. "I'll be right here for you."
Alex hesitated and bit his lip. "I hit him with a rock. Intentionally."
"Yes, I know."
"He won't be very happy, Father."
"No, he won't. But I think he will forgive you." Erik placed his palm on Alex's head and ran his fingers through the dark curls.
Alexandre made a face. "Do I have to ask him?"
At last Erik smiled down at him. "If you wish to have him forgive you. As a gentleman, I require you to be civil to him. He is a man to be respected."
"Do you respect him?" Alex asked.
Dear God, I thought. I wasn't sure I wanted Erik to answer that question.
"I pride myself on being a gentleman," Erik replied as he nudged Alex to me. He met my eye, his gaze hardened and untrusting. "Go with Madame Seuratti. She will stay with you."
Alex looked back at Erik one last time before he reluctantly followed me.
"You won't let him hurt Father, will you?" Alex asked me.
"He won't hurt anyone, Alex," I reassured.
"How do you know?"
"He only wishes to speak with you. Trust me, he means no harm."
He clutched my cloak and nodded. "I will try to trust you…and him," he said under his breath.
The Comte stood silently waiting for us, a look of shock on his face when I entered with Alex, who stood rigid at my side. The Comte forced a smile and knelt before Alex in order to look him in the eye. Tall for his age, Alex towered over him and furrowed his brow, confused by the Comte's actions.
"You are a very fortunate young man," the Comte said.
Alex examined him closely for a long moment, his nose wrinkled in repulsion and his hands balled into tight fists. His silence concerned me as there was no telling what he would say or how it would say it, as Erik allowed him to speak his mind freely without consequence.
"I am," Alex said. "I am fortunate you didn't kill my father."
"Alex," I warned.
The Comte held up a hand. "No, no, he is correct. Those were not the actions of a gentleman. I regret what I did and am ashamed of what you saw, young Monsieur Kire."
"It was awful," Alex said quietly. "I thought I would never see him again. I thought you would murder him."
Raoul started to reach out to Alex but stopped himself and balled his hand into a fist, which he lowered to his knee. "Your father is a talented composer, did you know that?"
"Yes," Alex said. "Grand-mere said he is the best composer ever."
"Your grand-mere?" His gaze flickered to mine.
"Madame Giry," Alex said as though it were obvious. "My grand-mere."
The Comte nodded and smiled fondly. "Of course. You are very fortunate to have her as well. I knew her many years ago."
"You did?" Alex questioned, his eyes growing large.
"Indeed. She is a very kind woman."
Alex appeared skeptical. "She's very strict," he groaned. "She thinks any time I leap off the stairs and over the dog that I'll break my neck, but I've done it half a million times and I only once landed wrong."
As was his nature, Alex began a dissertation on the fine art of jumping over a dog. This was the difference between Alex and Erik; whereas Alex could speak of any subject for hours at a time, Erik was reserved. Critics, music, and occasionally food made him talkative, but he was a quiet man.
The Comte looked up at me and smiled, then nodded and humored Alex a moment longer with his story.
My candle burned down to the smallest of stumps, the hall becoming increasingly dark. With the puddle of wax at my feet seemingly larger than the remaining taper, I looked to the Comte, whose own candle was nearing the same fate.
"Half a moment," I said.
He nodded readily while Alex continued chattering about how he nearly made Madame Giry faint dead on a daily basis.
I quietly excused myself and decided to find Erik, whom I suspected stood directly outside the doorway listening to every word.
When I didn't find him eavesdropping, I padded into the apartment and started toward a room filled with the soft glow of candlelight. I pushed aside the curtain and found him standing in a small space crowded with furniture.
He faced away from me, but he clutched something to his chest, which I at first suspected was another relic from Christine. Disappointed, I started to turn away and leave him with his final goodbyes, but his voice startled me.
"Everything would have been different," he whispered, his tone low and trembling.
He breathed hard, his emotions teetering as he stood with his shoulders hunched, defeated by some long ago demon. He brought his hand toward his face and I saw what appeared to be the figurine of a child. Eyes narrowed, I watched him, wondering what memory had trapped him this time. There honestly didn't seem like enough room within one person to harbor so much anguish.
"Why couldn't you kiss me once? Why did you run from me, Mother?"
I held my breath and heard him sob once. The intimacy of the moment broke my heart and sent goosebumps down my arms. He took a shuddering breath and wiped his hand over his face before he straightened and placed the object back onto the dresser into a small, dust-covered wax cradle.
"Your imperfect son," he mumbled. His words made me shiver. "Still alive, still…here. You would not guess where this face has taken me," he said with a humorless chuckle.
The image of him standing there within that small room haunted me for many years. The opera house had been both solace and torment, a place of escape from one life, yet filled with a different type of turmoil.
There were nights when he woke with a start and pushed away a memory, adamant about escape. In those last moments of terror, before the past faded and he realized his mistake, he would sometimes tell his father to stop. The way he jerked away in bed or sat up suddenly in the parlor made it clear he still attempted to free himself from whatever his father had done to him.
I had never heard him utter his mother's name before and I assumed she had died when he was an infant. Judging by his whispered, sullen words, I knew she had lived, but she hadn't allowed her son to be part of her life.
For a child to be denied such a simple gesture, a small token of affection like a kiss from his own mother, seemed beyond comprehension. I had no qualms of kissing Lissy goodnight because she was my daughter, not because she was a perfect child. Once Alex had been found safe and sound I hadn't thought twice about kissing him and smoothing back his hair.
These moments should have come easily between a mother and child. Erik's fear of rejection had started with the woman who had given birth to him, but who had never given him a life.
This horrible beginning, this unimaginable childhood, made me understand why he pushed everyone away. He knew nothing else—and he grew to expect no different.
Just one kiss…and then never again…
How many times had he asked that question? How many times had he been denied something so simple?
Tears flooded my eyes, the damage of his forty years spent wanting to be loved painfully clear. On the outside he feigned strength and stone-cold integrity, but behind the façade he was still deeply hurting and vulnerable.
He was not a man to show weakness no matter the circumstance, but in the past four days I had seen him as raw and drained as he could be, as far from grace as he could fall.
Yet still, despite all he had been denied, Erik loved his son with all of his heart. In the only way he knew how—guarded and precise on what he showed—he loved me as well.
I wondered what sort of man he would have become if his parents had given him their love and attention. I had every intention of finding the man he truly was inside. He was so much more than the world gave him credit for, much more than he ever realized.
He blew out the candles one by one and the smoke swirled around his form, separate tendrils refusing to join in the air. It looked as though their spirits had come back one last time to view him, both still too terrified to touch him.
It amazed and concerned me that he had kept his life so hidden, so buried. His parents fear and hatred still bothered him immensely, even if he wouldn't admit it. More than anything, it hurt me to think he simply didn't trust me enough to tell me of his past. I couldn't erase what had happened, but I could sincerely understand his pain.
"I forgive you both," he said quietly. He sobbed again and buried his face in his hands, his body shaking. "I forgive you for everything because I have known happiness. True happiness."
He started to turn and I practically flung myself against the apartment wall so he wouldn't see me. Breath held, I marched quickly toward the hall, but Erik's voice carried, haunted my every step. I nearly forgot to grab a candle as I hurried into the hall.
"I have known true happiness, and none will take that from me."
I treaded as lightly as I could, assuming if the acoustics made his voice louder then he could most likely also hear my heavy breathing and hard footfalls.
My heart ached for him, but I hoped his words would hold true. He deserved to know true happiness, and after four decades of being shunned, ridiculed, and hurt, I prayed he would finally realize how many people in his life loved him unconditionally.
