OMG! I totally forgot to upload this one. My apologies! I've had this finished for weeks now! Consider this a bonus day with two chapters back to back. Man, in 7 years you'd think I'd learn how to use this ff stuff! Doh!
Giver45
Amelie shrieked as her brother reached down and grabbed me by the shirt. He hauled me to my feet, his mouth twisted and teeth gritted as he looked ready to throw me onto my back again.
He breathed hard in my face, hot and foul-smelling. I wrinkled my nose but didn't turn away. I refused to turn away, no matter how he issued my punishment.
"What do you want with my sister?" he shouted in my face.
"Nothing," I answered plainly, attempting to hide my fear.
He shook me violently and I wrapped my hands around his wrists to steady myself. The look in his eyes was murderous, his hands trembling with rage.
"What have you taken from her already?"
"I am no thief."
"You think she gives into you willingly?" he asked.
I stared back at him. "She gave me nothing," I protested.
"You would not value her," he said as he pulled me closer. "You deserve nothing from any woman."
Despite not knowing what he meant, I knew his words were intended as a great insult. We stood in such close proximity that I couldn't turn away from him. Shamefully I lowered my gaze and hoped he would tire of his ridicule and step away, bored by my complacency.
His mouth twisted, his gaze flickering from the right side of my face to the left. I could see his thoughts behind his gaze, his desire to see for himself what I hid behind a mask.
"Jean-Marcus," Amelie pleaded. She apparently knew as well what he wanted.
"You're hypnotized!" he shouted at her. "Bewitched!"
"No, I'm neither," she protested. She grabbed him by the back of the shirt, but he wriggled her off as though she were a fly to be swatted away. "I'm frightened."
"I will not let him harm you," he assured her.
Again she reached for him, but he elbowed her away, his teeth gritted and gaze fixed on me. I kept my hands around his wrists, twisting and writhing in order to prevent him from grabbing the mask.
"I'm not afraid of him!" she yelled. "I'm afraid of you."
He froze and glared at her from over his shoulder. "Get inside. Now."
She stayed her ground, her posture rigid. "No," she said firmly. She looked from him to me, though I wasn't sure if she gazed at me with loyalty or turned from her brother in stubbornness.
"Amelie," he warned.
"Leave him alone!" she screamed, her voice shrill, cutting through the otherwise quiet late morning. The sound made me cringe.
He glanced back at her one last time. "Fine," he said through his teeth. He turned toward me, his eyes narrowed and fixed on mine.
I knew his expression well, the pause before the first strike. There was hunger in his gaze, a desire to undo me. No matter what I did, he had made up his mind.
With a cruel smile, he jabbed his joined hands toward me and punched me in the throat. I would have stumbled if not for his tight grip on my shirt.
My throat hurt, the breath I desperately needed refusing to move to my lungs. I blinked several times, my eyes watering and lips uselessly moving as I gasped. I felt as though I would suffocate.
He wrenched me forward and clubbed me between the shoulder blades, forcing the air out of my lungs. The blow dazed me and I coughed, struggling for a breath to my burning lungs.
The back door swung open, but my eyes were too blurry and tear-filled to focus.
"Monsieur Batiste," I heard my uncle shout sternly. "Release him. Now."
"As you wish," he replied coldly as he shoved me away. "My sincerest pleasure, Monsieur."
"My God," Madame Batiste gasped. "What in God's name are you doing to him?"
Amelie began to cry. I heard her kicking at the dirt and assumed her brother held her back from me. Most people wanted to keep their distance; she was making an attempt to stay near me—and he would hurt her for her undue loyalty.
"Stop," I begged, my voice hoarse. "Please stop."
I blinked rapidly until they came into focus. At last my throat opened enough to suck in a wild, desperate breath. I stepped back, thumping my fist against my chest until I felt as though I would retch.
"What is he?" Jean Marcus questioned. He turned his head to the side, his hardened gaze once again meeting my eye.
"He is my nephew," my uncle answered. "And he has been through more than his fair share of hardships. You will not lay a hand on him again," he boomed.
Jean-Marcus never looked away from me. He shuffled over the dirt and stone walkway, moved slowly to my left side.
"Leave him alone," his mother demanded. "You will not disrespect your father's house."
He offered a cruel, devious grin while he continued to stalk toward me. I knew what he wanted, but I realized his intentions too late. I stepped back and bumped into Amelie, who wrapped her small hands around my shoulders. Her fingers dug into my flesh, her whimpers enough to draw my attention away from her brother.
I turned, wanting to plead with her to walk away from me, afraid she would be harmed in the scuffle. If she were thrown to the ground or injured, I would not forgive myself.
"Jean-Marcus," Amelie said through her tears. "Please just leave him alone."
"He's just a boy," his mother said, her voice trembling. "Let him walk away."
"Walk away?" Jean-Marcus scoffed. "Roam free? Unchecked?"
"Erik," my uncle commanded. "Come here."
I hesitated, waited for my path to be blocked or for Jean-Marcus to once again hit me in the throat. Standing at a distance from Madame Batiste and my uncle I felt as though he would effectively cull me from the rest.
He would challenge me, dare me to make a move. Steeling my nerves, I took a step forward, determined to show no fear despite my trembling hands and racing heart.
I had barely taken more than a couple paces when I froze. From the edge of my vision I saw him lunge toward me. The movement made me snap my eyes shut, expecting a blow to the side of the head. Instead, his nails scratched my chin and neck and the right side of my face as he raked his fingers across my bare, exposed flesh.
My mask was hurtled through the air and landed out of reach. With a sharp inhale, I fell to my knees, my hand over my face as I dove for the covering.
Quick as a cat, Jean-Marcus kicked the mask farther from my reach. On hands and knees, reduced to a beast, I crawled away in pursuit, desperate for my only protection.
Both Amelie and her mother screamed; Amelie in fear as I scrambled away, her mother's shriek in horror of what had transpired. At first I thought she had seen my face, but I heard her shout at her son and knew she raised her voice only at him. In my desperation, I had no idea what anyone said or did around me.
"That's right," Jean-Marcus taunted as he kicked dirt and rubble at my back. "Fetch it, just like a dog."
"Enough!" my uncle bellowed.
His words, though not directed at me, still gave me pause. With my hand outstretched, I froze and swallowed hard. The incident left me trembling, afraid and enraged. My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat.
"What is this hostility?" my uncle seethed. "What is this senseless hatred toward this boy?"
"A boy?" Jean-Marcus scoffed. "Is that what you believe?"
"Do not question the humanity of a child who does not fight back," my uncle admonished. His voice took on an entity of its own, power beyond comprehension in a dying man. I envied the strength he possessed despite his physical weakness.
Amelie sank to her knees before me and sobbed, her breaths harsh and uncontrolled. She spoke quietly, her voice uneven, words forced from her lips between harsh sobs. Over and over she apologized to me and asked for forgiveness. I dared to look at her between my parted fingers, to search her face and see the horror in her eyes.
She reached out to me, my mask scuffed and dirty, but held tenderly in her hand. Without a word, she pushed the covering into my grasp.
"I don't want him near my sisters," Jean-Marcus seethed. "Nowhere near them, do you hear me?"
Heavy footsteps rounded the side of the house and I shuddered, expecting more people had arrived to witness my humiliation. On my knees, with trembling hands, I finally fit my mask into place.
"What happened?" I heard Marie gasp.
I sighed, relieved a stranger hadn't stumbled upon me. Despite her brother's protest, Marie slipped past him and knelt at my side. She placed her hand on the center of my back and I cringed, recoiling from her touch.
"You look frightened half to death," Marie said quietly. She stared at my neck where her brother had raked his nails across my flesh and frowned. "Jesus, have mercy."
There would be no mercy for me. Despite her good intentions, there would always be more suffering than redemption. I tired of attempting to obtain mercy when cruelty was so freely offered.
"What happened to you?" Marie asked. She turned and searched my eyes, then stared at my neck. Her expression changed and I knew she studied the overlay of new, reddened marks over deep bruises. "Who did this to you?"
Ashamed, I looked away from her.
"Amelie?" Marie prompted.
"Jean-Marcus," Amelie mumbled.
"My brother did this to you?" she questioned, leaning toward me in order to garner my attention. Her expression hardened and she turned from me, glaring at her brother. "You did this to him? Why?"
"Get him out of here," Jean-Marcus ordered.
"He is a boy," Marie argued. "He did not kill Father."
"Do you know what he's capable of?" her brother shot back.
"What are you capable of doing, Jean-Marcus?" Marie questioned.
"Defending my family," he replied sharply.
"From what?" she challenged, her voice a decibel higher, sharper than before.
"From him."
"No," she said with a shake of her head. She kept her hand on the center of my back and dragged her fingers up and down my spine. "This was not defense. This was an attack."
I had no desire for them to argue over me. Numb inside and out, I stumbled to my feet and started toward the small, dilapidated barn where Moon was presumably kept. My stomach churned, but I kept my chin up and eyes focused on the path ahead, too afraid to glance back.
More than anything, I wanted to disappear. I felt weak and defeated, exposed and raw. I wished we had stolen away in the night. Choking back tears became nearly impossible, but I held my breath until I once again succeeded in snuffing out worthless emotion.
The barn had only three stalls, only one of which was occupied. I unlatched the gate, walked into Moon's pen, and knotted my fingers in her freshly combed mane. She snorted, her tail swishing back and forth as flies buzzed around her.
She wouldn't be safe there. Her fate, I feared, mirrored mine.
Footsteps crunched over straw and pebbles, but I didn't bother to turn. Still unable to catch her breath, I had expected Amelie to follow me.
"You don't want to leave her here," Amelie sniffled.
Without looking at her, I shook my head.
"What will you do with her?"
Forethought wasn't one of my strengths. Angered by her question, I whipped around, fully prepared to tell her my intentions were none of her concern.
She had stepped closer to me, however, her movements slow and careful. In silence she stood beside me and patted Moon's neck, her actions gentle, her expression pensive.
"Erik?" she questioned softly.
"I did nothing to stoke his anger," I whispered. My voice refused to cooperate. Anger faded, my shoulders dropped, and my throat turned painfully tight.
The slightest taste of kindness made the cruelty I had faced all the more bitter. I wasn't sure if I should be angry, ashamed, or indifferent to his treatment. Deep inside, I longed to feel nothing at all.
"He's not normally like that," she answered, her tone still soft and trembling.
"What is he normally like?" I asked.
"He used to have a wonderful sense of humor, he was gentle, kind…" She paused and waited for me to look her in the eye. "He worries too much now."
"Because you and your sister are his responsibility," I said as I looked away from her.
From the corner of my eye I saw her cross her arms. "We weren't given a choice."
Neither was I.
Amelie turned and looked at me suddenly, which made me realize I had spoken aloud. Both of us stood in silence while the flies buzzed around the stable.
"You are acting like a fool," I heard Marie shout at her brother as they stood in the yard. She picked up shards of the broken dishes and tossed them into a bucket while her brother looked on.
"The three of you left alone are far too trusting," her brother argued. "Like damned sheep inviting the wolf into the pasture."
I could see them both through the wooden boards as they glared at one another. Marie finished cleaning up the mess I had made and stood with her hands on her hips while Jean-Marcus had his arms tightly crossed over his chest.
"Oh, quiet down," Marie snapped.
"Listen to me—"
"No, you listen to me, Jean-Marcus," she said as she jabbed her finger at his chest. "Do you honestly think if he wished to harm Amelie he would have waited until morning?"
Her brother fumed in silence, his hardened gaze fixed on the ground.
"Do you?" she challenged.
"How would I know what he would do?" he grumbled.
"Ah, how would you indeed?"
He started toward her and I noticed my uncle standing behind him. With his passive expression and stance, I wondered how he could stay so calm at the wayside rather than defending me.
"You should have seen her," Marie said before her brother could speak. "For the first time in weeks, she seemed happy."
"Because of the festival," Jean-Marcus reasoned.
Marie shook her head. "Because she had someone to talk to," she said. "Someone her own age."
"There are more than enough girls and boys her age right here," Jean-Marcus said, his words thick with irritation.
"Why can't you be happy for Amelie? You know how difficult she's taken his death."
I risked a glance in Amelie's direction and saw her look away. Unshed tears clouded her eyes, which she attempted to blink away before she turned from me.
She was grief-stricken still whereas I had hoped my father dead. When I studied her, I wanted to see her happy, smiling and laughing as she had done the previous night. I wondered how Monsieur Batiste had treated his youngest daughter, if he spoke softly to her and with kindness. I couldn't bear to think of someone so perfect ever being hurt, either verbally or with a heavy hand.
I wondered what sort of man raised two daughters who showed compassion to a stranger and a son fueled by rage for what he didn't know.
"We all took Father's death hard," Jean-Marcus retorted.
"And we all show our grief differently," Marie replied. She shook her head. "You should have seen her dance, Jean-Marcus, you should have seen her dance and act like a girl again."
He threw his hands in the air and waved off her words. "I don't want her anywhere near that thing...that monster. Did you see his face?"
Marie caught him by the arm and yanked him forward. "If you had heard him play, if you had seen his skill, you would think differently. Beauty does not come from monsters. He has suffered, we have all suffered. Show some pity, Jean-Marcus, show a bit of decency and respect."
"I want him gone," Jean-Marcus warned as he ripped his arm from his sister's grasp.
"He will be soon enough," Marie replied sadly. "And then you will need to explain to your sister why you were so cruel to him, to a friend of hers."
"I do not owe her any explanation," he said sharply.
Marie shrugged and turned away. "What would Father have said?"
"Nothing," he said firmly. "He would not have allowed his daughter near someone like that."
"Like what?" Marie questioned. She looked over her shoulder at him and scowled.
Before he could answer, Madame Batiste appeared in the doorway and motioned to her son. "You will allow them to leave here in peace," she said firmly. "Whether they leave in an hour or by sunset, I will not allow you to disgrace this house with your discourtesy."
"Discourtesy," he scowled.
"You know very well your father would not have turned away a man and his adopted son," Madame said, her voice trembling with either emotion or rage.
"And you wonder what killed him?" Jean-Marcus replied. "Perhaps too much charity and trust." His words garnered a gasp of disgust from Madame Batiste and Marie. When he turned away, I saw him shake his head and work his jaw. He stared toward the barn where I stood beside Amelie in shadows.
I swore he looked me dead in the eye, his expression cold and piercing. "Nothing but a damned monster from hell," he seethed.
Amelie stood closer to me and placed her hand on my arm. I turned toward her just as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
"I don't care what he says. I don't see a monster," she whispered.
As much as I wanted to believe her words, I knew the monster existed; she had merely not witnessed the beast. Her brother had not seen the devil he taunted-at least not yet.
With any luck, I could keep the monster hidden a while longer.