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Erik

Chapter 41

The Turmoil

At the change in Christine's face, at the silent question I saw there, I nearly broke down entirely. Her father didn't notice - he was too focused on watching the reunion between Franklin and his daughter. I wanted to be overcome with joy at seeing my employer finally see the child stolen from him. It was what I'd looked forward to, what M. Knight deserved.

But the shadows in my head, the ghosts in my mind, were crushing. Crippling. Watching Vincenzo plunge that knife through Vaillancourt's heart...I was immediately transplanted to another place. Another time. A realm of pain. Of fury and heartache and chains.

Christine took a single step toward me, and it was all I needed to rush forward, around the embracing Knights, and take Christine's hands. I knew mine were shaking. The concern in her eyes was enough confirmation that they were, as if I couldn't feel them myself. My heart was shaking too. My mind as well. Every part of me was unstable.

"I am..." I whispered. "I am in need of you." It was impossible to keep the waver from my voice.

She looked into my eyes. I wondered if she could read my thoughts. It wouldn't surprise me if she could. Christine understood me so much better than anyone alive. Including Vincenzo. Especially Vincenzo. I wanted my brother to understand me. I wanted to understand him. But God, tonight, I could hardly even think straight.

Having visions of violence was one thing. Seeing play out in real time was entirely another.

My father-in-law seemed not to have heard my words. He went toward Franklin, leaving Christine and me alone.

"What do you need, my love?" she whispered back to me. At the loveliness, the lovingness, of her voice, I nearly came undone right then and there.

"Is there anything I can get, or do, for you, M. Knight?" said Gustave behind me. "Anything at all?"

"I need..." I started, still looking at Christine, trying to answer her question.

"No," said Franklin to Gustave, voice thick. "No, M. Daae. Thank you. Thank you so very much."

"Erik?" prompted Christine.

I swallowed. "I need my wife. I need to be alone with you."

She nodded. A quick glance toward her father and the Knights, and she pulled me toward our bedroom. I let her, unable to move without guidance. Another moment and I might have dropped to my knees again. Once in the room, Christine let go of my hands and locked the door. I stood there, unmoving, and waited for her to tell me where to go, what to do. Any decision made on my own would have sent panic waves through me. All I could do was stare at the bed, at Ayesha who dozed atop it, silence wrapping around like a blanket. Comforting yet suffocating.

She appeared in front of me. A hand reached up to remove the mask, place it on the bed behind her, and then that same hand cupped my cheek. So soft. Gentle and tender and warm.

It tore a hole completely through me. A sob loosed itself from my chest, from somewhere very deep down.

Alarm colored her face white. "Erik, my darling, what has happened?"

"Vincenzo," I breathed between gasps. Images flew across my vision - not just of the knife, but of a rope around a neck, a poisoned cup. Dead bodies everywhere. "Vincenzo - he-"

"Is he all right?" Christine led me to the bed and sat me down, herself taking a seat beside me.

"He's...fine." I tried in vain to calm my breathing. To even it out against the cries. I gave a bitter laugh. "He's perfectly fine."

"Then what?"

I looked her in the eye. "He...killed... He killed Vaillancourt."

A stretch of quiet, the only sound me attempting to quell the hiccups that took hold of my throat. I felt like a damned child in this state.

"He killed him?"

"With a knife," I said. I closed my eyes. I inhaled deeply, sighing. I did that a few more times. The hiccups mostly subsided, though one more did escape. "And the thing is, Christine, he deserved it. Just like Mario deserved it. They both ruined lives. Tore families apart." Just like me. Just like I'd done in a country very far away. "So he deserved to die."

"Mario?"

At the confusion in her gaze, I thought perhaps she'd forgotten that particular piece of my past. "Cardacci. Do you not remember who he is?" If I had to reiterate it, I'd come apart again.

"I know who he is," she said gently. "But you said Mario deserved it too."

"Ah." I looked down. "I did not tell you. Vincenzo killed him before he came to France to find me."

"Oh." She searched my face, her brows stitched. "Oh, God. That's... How do you...how are you feeling about that?"

"I feel like I understand why he killed them." I gripped her hand tighter. "I feel like I would have done the exact same as him, to both Mario and Vaillancourt had I been in his shoes."

"But?"

"But because of the path I was forced to walk, seeing another murder is...unbearable." Another shaky breath left my lips, threatening a sob. I swallowed it down. "The things Vaillancourt has done, it runs deeper than kidnapping a child. He's...he's taken a man's wife, assaulted her...driven her to take her own life. He's-" The ghosts in my mind wailed. I winced against them. "I wanted to kill him too. I almost did, twice. But to see it, to really see it... Aurgh!"

The pain that lanced through me, the sheer mental and emotional pain, was debilitating, blinding. It was worse than it had ever been.

"I keep seeing myself killing all those people in Persia. I see Vincenzo putting that knife to his chest, and I picture the countless deaths I caused. I can't stop seeing them."

Christine whispered, "Do you want to stay away from Vincenzo?"

"No." I breathed hard. "I want my brother. He wouldn't hurt me, or you. I believe that. But I don't know how to tell him why his violence affects me so - he told me he wouldn't expose me to deaths after tonight, but he doesn't understand why it's necessary. And I'm too frightened to tell him. I fear he'd see me as a monster for killing innocents, and I couldn't...I couldn't..."

I broke apart into tears. The weight of my emotions had me tipping back onto my back. I laid there on the bed, quietly sobbing.

Christine, my beautiful wife, laid down with me and let me cry, head pressed to my neck and arm around my waist.