A big thank you to NPennyworth, WolfShadow1, EvaLark, Phantomgirl24, peanutpup, Aphaea21, Teen543, FleshofMidnight, Just Me, Pensez-a-Erik, TheTenthMuseSappho, SloaneDestler, ruukii, BehindtheMask31, Mominator124, amandarhoads1, Badpixie06, Child of Dreams, smrb, YinuoTong, and phanrose for the wonderful reviews!
Mominator124 asked some great questions in chapter 39 - hope this chapter answers your questions :)
TW: pedophilia, attempted rape, and animal death. Might be hard to read.
Erik
Chapter 41
The Break
Tonight, there weren't only residents of Lyon in the crowd.
In fact, there weren't only French men and women, either.
Tonight, and for many nights previously - more than my sanity cared to count - there were patrons from Belgium. England. Spain. Germany. Switzerland. Piedmont. Even a couple from America - they'd come all the way from America. And all of them came because they'd heard, by a frighteningly effective word-of-mouth, of Le Fils D'hades, the boy with a face of death, who had the voice of an angel and moved like a demon.
At twelve years old, I was a national spectacle. A horrifying, thrilling spectacle.
I wondered, sometimes, why no one from Lyon made to throw stones through the windows of the caravan at night. Why they didn't protest. Then Javert explained the tourism his show brought to the city, how much more prosperous it was now that his attraction was here. He used this to threaten me, too - should I slack in my performances, tourism may die down, and the people of Lyon may set fire to my living quarters in the middle of the night.
The most I ever found, in fact, were letters from anonymous writers, claiming to be messengers of God, claiming that my dog and I were a scourge on their city. They asked me to end myself and Cerberus, so as to do the right thing and keep them from killing us themselves. I brought this up to Javert, but he didn't seem concerned. At least, if he did, he didn't say so to me. Nothing ever came of it, anyway. After a while, I decided that if they did kill me, then at least I wouldn't have to perform anymore.
But it wasn't the people I needed to worry about as I placed the canvas tarp over the coffin to protect it from the weather, all alone at night. It wasn't them I needed to fear as I got ready for bed.
Javert had been watching me during the show. He'd been watching me, in fact, for the last several weeks.
Though this wasn't abnormal, there was something different about the way he'd looked at me. It reminded me of the way he looked at the children who passed through - too fascinated, too full of unknown intent.
I didn't care for it, but I also didn't think much of it.
As I was falling asleep, Cerberus on top of me, I heard the door to the caravan unlock.
I sat up immediately, forcing Cerberus to jump to the ground. I watched in fear as the door slowly opened. Javert walked in. I couldn't see him well, but he looked to be carrying...something. My dog froze.
"Boy," said Javert gruffly, "light the oil lamp."
I'd learned long ago not to ask him "why". I scrambled out of bed and went to the lamp on the table, quickly lighting it, wondering what was going on. He never came here this late - not now that he had a place to live of his own.
I turned to him, finally, and I swear that my heart surely stopped. Frost lined my veins.
In his hands, pointed at me, was the rifle I'd found years ago.
My head spun, fear gripping me and not letting go. "I don't understand."
"You," he began, "are hideously ugly. You know that, don't you?"
I didn't move.
"You know that, don't you, boy?"
I finally nodded.
"When I see you," he continued, "I am disgusted by your face. I do mean disgusted. It's wondrously terrible to look at, and I keep it together quite well, but Lord! - if my stomach doesn't absolutely churn at the sight of your features... You understand me?"
I swallowed. "Yes, Master."
"Then why is it," he continued darkly, eyes narrowing, "that when I lay my head down at night, when you're no longer around, I have the insatiable urge to take you?"
My breathing stopped. Take me? "Master?"
"I want to do this while you're still young." Javert raised the rifle, which had started to dip as he spoke. "I have no desire to fuck gown men, and you're already taller than me, so if I wait any longer, I will miss my chance."
And now I understood.
I started shaking. The only thought in my head was the word no. No, no, no. I didn't want this. I didn't.
"Master," I whispered, "please. Don't."
He ignored me. "Drop your trousers."
"Please-"
"Do as I said, boy."
My breathing became ragged. The world was spinning. "You're - you're going to rape me." I had to grip the table behind me.
"And be grateful for it; no one will ever touch you otherwise. Drop your trousers."
Hands shaking, I moved them to my pants and pulled them down. I didn't step out of them completely as they pooled at my bare feet. He didn't ask me to. As I stood there, naked below the waist, I felt in my soul that I would never, ever want to be naked again. In front of anyone.
"Now," he said gruffly, still pointing the barrel at me, "go to the middle of the floor and face away from me."
I was numb as I did as he asked, shuffling to the middle of the caravan, past Cerberus so that the dog was watching, between us, off to the side. I wished I could ask him for help.
"Go to your hands and knees."
But I couldn't.
Fear was taking hold of my every muscle and I couldn't move. I didn't want this. I didn't want this.
I opened my mouth to beg him not to one more time, but when I opened my mouth, a sob came forth.
"Shut up, boy!" Javert growled. "Just shut up. That harder you cry, the more it will hurt. I will make sure of that."
I forced my sobs to die down, but I couldn't stop the hiccupping, and I could not move.
"Go to your fucking hands and knees!"
I couldn't I couldn't I couldn't I couldn't I couldn't-
And then I felt his foot connect, hard, with my lower back. I fell forward with a cry, now forced to the position he'd asked for.
And as I fell, Cerberus - all three heads - let out a terrifying mixture of barks and growls. A primal, deep, guttural sound. When my hands and knees connected with the floor, I heard Javert scream as well. I moved to sit as soon as I met the ground.
My eyes widened at what I saw; my blood turned even colder.
Javert was on the floor right along with me, face white and contorted in pain.
Middle was sinking his teeth, hard, into his femur. Javert continued screaming, trying to pull away, the rifle next to him. Middle only clamped his jaw down with more ferocity, Left and Right barking and growling as though to encourage their brother to continue. Javert's scream was actually mind-shattering - the utter sound of the agony.
Then Javert remembered the rifle.
Hands shaking, he picked it up.
Time slowed. Javert readied the gun and pointed it directly at Middle's head - and I could only watch in grief and horror as he pulled the trigger.
There was blood. So much blood.
But the moment Middle died, Right and Left did too. I didn't know if this was because Middle controlled the heart, or because his heart needed all three brains functioning to work properly, but I'd lost my only friend in the world.
Again.
I broke.
I broke as Javert made the fatal mistake of dropping his rifle and bringing his quivering hands to his bleeding, shredded leg, grunting and moaning and panting in pain. His eyes were closed, and I think that he was so focused on the pain that he didn't notice me get up, or bring my trousers back up. I don't think he noticed me walk over and pick up the rifle.
But when I pointed the barrel to his forehead, his eyes sprang open.
His moaning stopped. His eyes became focused, and he went very still.
"What are you doing?" he whispered. "What do you think you're doing?"
I didn't respond. He stared at me, eyes calculating. I could see him thinking of ways to move, of things to say, without being shot and killed first.
"Boy," he said at last, "that rifle only has two shots. I just used one on that damned dog - and if you miss -"
I touched the barrel to his skin. A coldness had entered my voice that I'd never heard before. By the widened look in his eyes, he'd clearly never heard it from me, either. "I don't think that I will miss."
Javert's breathing became jagged. I saw, for the first time, panic enter his eyes. "Boy, listen to me," he said, "I know you cared about Cerberus. I cared about him, too. He's been my dog for years, longer than he's been yours...and, of course he was your dog!" He attempted a smile. "I know that. We both know that. I am sorry that I had to take his life. It was necessary. He was going to kill me."
I didn't move.
He continued, and I could see an attempt to make his face soft, gentle. "You're a good boy. You know that? You're so respectful. Always been so respectful of me. And so hardworking. I know I don't tell you enough. And I know it is wrong of me to...to do what I was about to do. I know how wrong it is for me to hit you. But I don't hit you all the time, do I? Only when you misbehave. And you do misbehave, sometimes, boy. We both know you do. But I will get help for my behavior - I will go to church. I will do whatever it takes to be a better man. Do you understand?"
His sudden sweetness made me sick. I'd watched how he'd readied the rifle when he shot my friend. I copied the movement. His panic increased.
He tried a different tactic, losing his feigned kindness like he was snuffing out a candle. "How dare you do this?" he demanded. "How dare you even think about it? After all I've given you. Do you know what your mother was planning to do with you had her lover not sold you to me? An asylum, boy! You were to be trapped in an asylum. But instead, you were given to me, and I...I gave you books! I gave you warm food, a warm bed. A home, all in exchange for what? I half-hour of work a day? A half-hour of work. It's generous - and now you hate me for it? My father hit me, it's nothing I couldn't take. And as for what I was going to do tonight - I maintain what I said the first time. Be grateful for it. No one will ever love you. I'm the only one who will ever give you even an ounce of care. Do you hear me, boy? An ounce-"
"My name isn't boy," I said flatly. "It's Erik."
I pulled the trigger.
More blood as he fell back.
I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.
And because I didn't want to feel something, I refused to touch Cerberus. I refused to look at him.
I dropped the gun. I had to go, to leave, and if authorities eventually came looking for his killer, they'd surely look for someone with a rifle. Though it was out of ammunition, and though I had no idea where to find any, it could still be a valuable resource. But it was simply too conspicuous. However, a knife could do. Not as effective as pointing a rifle at a threat, but it would stop people from coming too close.
I went to the kitchen and picked up the knife I'd used earlier today to spread butter onto bread. Sharp. Good.
I cleaned it off with my shirt. I went to put on my leather shoes. I put on my mask.
And I ran, leaving death behind in my stead.
