THE DAY HE DIES

Gaston couldn't handle the ride to d'Arque's in his condition.

LeFou went to summon the old man alone, leaving Gaston with some coffee and a bottle of herbal stomachic to nurse him back to strength.

It was good, for Gaston wouldn't have dared go to Belle's house looking such a fright as he did.

Alone, he busily and attentively cleaned, shaved and groomed himself, paying the most careful attention to pristineness and perfection in appearance. After so long waiting and fretting, the real moment was here. Belle would soon be his, soon would be at his side, would be here in his very bedroom…

Huh. It never really crossed his mind before, but he didn't actually like the idea of sharing his bed. She'd probably mess stuff up and disturb his sleep.

Ah, no problem! They'd just be one of those fancy couples with separate rooms. (Ooh la la, forks and separate rooms! Welcome to the royal family!) She'd have LeFou's old room, and her heartthrob husband would just go in to see her whenever it was… suitable. He might have to leave her begging for it from time to time, but, he needed beauty rest as much as anyone. They could build an addition for the kids.

Once washed up, shaved, hair dressed, body powdered, he grabbed the nearest shirt he could find — his red and yellow short-sleeve — and put it on, along with all his weapons so he'd look and feel top of hot. He looked at himself in the mirror.

Ugh.

He deflated. He looked haggard, tired. You could tell he'd had a hard few weeks. He still felt bad from the…. what, week and a half of drunken unconsciousness? But there wasn't any time to delay.

Hell, looking twenty percent less beautiful than usual still put him in the upper echelons of the village. He didn't need to worry. It would be dark outside. He could win Belle with what he still had.

He slugged down the stomachic, grabbed his cape and hurried out. There were a couple of the usual hangers-on decorating his doorway, but it looked as if the random girl he'd tagged to keep watch had disappeared after a few days of neglect. He rolled his eyes in frustration. Worthless!

For the sake of speed, Gaston took his horse to Belle's home. It was a miracle that the animal was alive and well, for he had been so neglected for the last ten days.

Although Gaston arrived at Belle's quite past midnight, he could see there were lights aglow through the cottage windows. Belle and/or Maurice was already awake in there. Perfect.

He made himself comfortable outside, and started to wait.

It was then that he realized that he was just standing out in front of the house, all alone like a stalker. Might look suspicious, like he was plotting something. He couldn't have that, given that he was plotting something.

Then he got an idea.

…

Gaston banged on another window. "Hey, hurry! Get up! Something's happening at Maurice's house!" he cried, then ran on to the next house to rouse another family from their warm bed into the cold night.

His plan was to get everyone in town up and waiting with him. That way, no one would suspect he had been the culprit behind Maurice's confinement. Plus, when Belle inevitably would go ahead and agree to his offer of saving her father in exchange for her hand, he would already have all the witnesses available so he could marry her right away! Then at last everyone would be able to see him, happily married with a beautiful woman, and they would finally quit pestering him for sexual favors and gossiping that he was gay if he didn't want to do them…

Fucking gay if you aren't interested in women — and look how he preens in the mirror that just proves he's homosexual — aw you see how he sews and sings and cleans up after himself and hangs out with his mom all the time — no real man would do any of that, he's like that freak brother of his, the one who drove his dad to suicide — hit him in the nose again, little punk like that doesn't deserve to exist —

The thought flickered, but briefly, that maybe that was the real reason he was in such a hurry to marry, now that he'd found someone suitable.

Maybe it was why he did any of it.

He pounded on another door. "Get up! Get up! There's something at Maurice's house you have to see!" he yelled. He had begun the rush to the next home when he found he had to stop for a moment. Evidently the stomachic wasn't working. He was still quite hungover, and he had to pause briefly to throw up. But there was not time to fret over it — he was back on his feet in an instant, and pounding on more doors like nothing had transpired.

Behind him, he heard someone slip in the puddle of vomit he'd left, but he didn't have time to dillydally about that. More folks to rouse. More witnesses. The whole town would be there to see his triumph with Belle!

Gaston worked through town and observed how her yard was filling up with torchlight and human roar. Wondered how on earth Belle and Maurice hadn't yet noticed that and come out to investigate — whatever. It certainly couldn't be pinned on him. Nope. Someone else must have reported Maurice to the looney bin. Everybody knew that man was a lunatic, afterall.

He had roused almost everyone in town when he saw the Asylum de Loons wagon along the road. He hurried back to the house immediately so he would not miss the action.

He made his way through the crowd, waving a few quick hellos at friends and family. His first attempted wedding hadn't had so good a turnout! It would be nice to have a big bash with all these folks. He even recognized a few of his enemies in the crowd, like the infamous Giraut who still prowled about the town; and that old son of a bitch Gaspard who had broken his nose on the schoolyard when he was a kid. They, too, were ready to see his moment of glory…

The wagon arrived. Monsieur d'Arque didn't need any prompt: he knew what to do. Just as if he'd been called to collect an inmate for any other reason, just as if there weren't a bizarre crowd standing around to observe him, he walked up the stairs, rapped on the door, and waited.

After a short delay, an attractive young woman opened the door.

Seeing this girl, d'Arque was instantly struck with a recollection of a fair-haired boy, with big blue eyes, long eyelashes, large mouth, a cherubic face, a widow's peak, and a slim figure, who so many years ago had come to the asylum because his mother had just died and he could no longer care for his severely disabled younger brother.

He who had known Gaston since before all the muscles and deep-voiced machismo began, suddenly comprehended what Gaston's type was. One could almost pass Belle and Gaston as twins were it not for their age difference. It was no wonder the young man had so much trouble finding someone he was attracted to — the odds of finding such a mirror were so slim.

"May I help you?" she asked, seeing d'Arque.

"I've come to collect your father," d'Arque answered flatly.

"My father?" echoed Belle, perplexed.

"Don't worry, mademoiselle. We'll take good care of him," said d'Arque, drawing her attention to his wagon marked with the name of the asylum.

Belle's jaw fell. "My father's not crazy!" she cried, defensively stepping forward. D'Arque stepped back, hands raised, always staying professional. He had liveried orderlies to handle things if they should become physical. He gave the men a nod so they would know there was need for their service.

From the front of the crowd, LeFou's voice could be heard rising in a competing cry: "He was raving like a lunatic! We all heard him, didn't we?"

There were murmurs and mutterings of accord with LeFou's statement. Meanwhile the orderlies were emerging from the wagon.

And nestled against the wall of the house, leaning on the cellar door, was Gaston. The fact that he still felt so damn sick was about the only thing that maintained his calm appearance. Despite the cold air, he kept feeling hot flashes and was taking his cape on and off; and his stomach had its own contrary ideas about what it wanted to be doing right now. Still, there was no time for a sick day. He listened to the back and forth as Belle defended her father, Maurice defended himself, and LeFou dutifully incited the crowd.

Then he saw the orderlies taking away the raving old man, and he knew his cue was up.

"No! You can't do this!" Belle cried, attempting to restrain d'Arque, who simply shook her off and moved aside.

Gaston sprang up behind her. "Tsk-tsk! Poor Belle!" he said in mock-pity. "It's a shame about your father." He stretched out his arm and put his hand upon her back. Quite unprompted, she responded by turning and pressing her hands upon his chest.

It was the first time he could ever recall touching her where she didn't immediately pull away. Yet he was unable to enjoy the magic of this moment — he still had acting to work through, and he had to somehow get through it without throwing up on her. He could taste the coffee and stomachic creeping back up even as he spoke.

"You know he's not crazy, Gaston," she pleaded unsuspectingly.

"Hm. I might be able to clear up this… little misunderstanding?" he said with a really forced smile. "If…"

"If what?"

"If you marry me."

In all the times he had played it out in his head, he'd never supposed himself to be quite that brazen about it. He had always conceived that he could suavely suggest the possibility, or even that Belle might somehow give him a prompt to it.

Ah, well. Too late now. Had to run with it. "One little word, Belle, that's all it takes."

"Never!" she cried in horror. No longer were her hands pressed pleadingly on his chest — she reached out and pushed him away by the face, and squirmed from his grasp.

This was all a bit of a surprise to Gaston. He'd imagined she'd at least… well, hesitate to refuse. And he was so queasy he could scarcely make a comeback. "Have it your way," he blurted angrily, then desperately hastened away so he could vomit in greater privacy. He disappeared around the side of her house and quietly threw up into the water wheel by her door, hoping no one had seen him.

Once another load of poison was out of his stomach, he felt better. Calmer. Cheerier. Hope wasn't lost — on the contrary, Belle probably just needed a few moments for her situation to settle in. He crossed back towards the cellar, watching with delight as Maurice was dragged into the wagon. Once Belle saw that, she'd be back, and begging for help once again, eager to take up his offer of marriage in return for —

"My father's not crazy and I can prove it!" he heard her scream, as she came running across her porch with something in hand. Then she called out like a magician in a conjure show: "Magic mirror, show me the Beast!"

The mirror exploded. Not like Maurice's famed smokey kabooms — green light radiated out like flames, like lightning. The sound was that of water sizzling on a hot griddle. And then, there was an image of the Beast. Not a painting, but a living image, as clear as if the creature were positioned right before the mirror-glass.

And all Gaston could think was: fucking hell. Belle is a witch?

He should have known this is what would come of her reading all those books. And now everybody in town knew it, too.

Gaston's shock at the sudden appearance of magic in his life was mitigated only by his interest in what Belle was saying about it to everyone. The crowd seemed less bothered by the magic mirror than by the picture of the Beast, and Belle was providing a full-on educational lecture about this creature and his nature — talking up how kind and gentle he was, and it was like she was glowing with affection as she said it.

Gaston was not usually good at reading other people's emotions; but operating on a mixture of love hormones, caffeine, wormwood dregs, and unbeknownst to him a stomachic that was mostly laudanum and cannabis, his mind was in a different place than usual. And he perceived, with astonishment, that Belle wasn't being a snooty little head-in-the-clouds bitch like she usually was. She was talking about that mirror-Beast with some real… some real…

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you had feelings for this monster," grumbled Gaston, jealously.

"He's no monster, Gaston," Belle snapped back. "You are!"

He was stunned.

Of all possible things she could think of him, that?

He was a monster?

Why? Because he wasn't sitting on chandeliers and drinking himself fat instead of doing something useful with his life?

Because he wasn't reading pornographic witchcraft books then disappearing with his father for weeks on end then reappearing with a bunch of tools of bewitchment to ensorcel a crowd?

Because he wasn't prying holes in the walls of the person he lusted for?

Because he wasn't busting little kids in the nose?

Because he wasn't severely intellectually disabled?

He wanted to hit her. He raised his hand — but only to grab away the magic mirror, because his mother hadn't raised a goddamn savage.

"She's as crazy as the old man," he declared to the crowd.

He felt the stomachic starting to kick in. He evidently hadn't vomited all of it up. While it was dulling the discomfort, he was suddenly feeling very, very strange. He was perceiving something he usually didn't perceive.

It was like, for the first time in his life, he could comprehend other people's feelings.

Belle was upset with him. She'd seen through his scheme and was horrified by his efforts to force her to marry him.

LeFou was dutifully doing his best to keep Gaston happy. But he maintained doubts about this scheme; and in this moment he was actually pleased that it seemed to have failed.

D'Arque was just thrilled at what he was observing, scientist he was.

Maurice was relieved that Belle had just proved he wasn't mad.

And the crowd… oh shit.

The crowd was about ten seconds from turning on Belle and burning her as a witch.

Gaston clenched his jaw. That stupid woman! She just whipped out a magic mirror, showed everyone a horrible monster, and declared him to be "her friend"? In front of these monstrous villagers, who'd been gossiping about what a wacko she was for the last eight years? It was amazing it had taken them this long to turn on her. Her beauty had bought her only so much time. Flowers don't bloom forever…

Ugh. She and her father were such incredible idiots! He ought to just let them get…

Aw, fuck.

"The Beast will make off with your children! He'll come after them in the night!" Gaston cried to the villagers in a booming voice. He'd done this type of storytelling often enough at the tavern, at parties, on hunting trips. Crowds loved it. Were almost hypnotized by it.

Maybe Belle and Maurice would comprehend what he was doing, much as they seemed to comprehend his blackmail scheme? He occasionally glanced their way — but Belle and Maurice weren't fleeing to safety under cover of his distraction.

He started trying to get the crowd riled up against something else. "Kill the Beast!" he cried at them.

Belle came racing toward him. "No! I won't let you do this!" she cried.

For people with pretensions of being smart, Belle and Maurice were so incredibly dumb! It was obviously because of those books. They fucked you up so just couldn't see what was right in front of you. Gaston had to try a new plan to get them out of sight of the bloodthirsty crowd.

"If you're not with us, you're against us!" he cried, almost overacting it. "Bring the old man! We can't have them running off to warn the creature!" With that he had LeFou throw open the cellar doors, and he stuffed both Belle and her father inside. Pretending not to care about them, he focused on keeping the herd of swine before him in order. "We'll rid the village of this Beast. Who's with me?"

Just about everyone was. Were Gaston not so busy plugging holes like the sailors on the Turkish Reveille, he'd be puffed up with pride right now. He understood what an insane comeback he had just managed — from puking while the girl of his dreams called him a monster to leading the whole town, enemies included, on a 2 AM hunt to murder his rival, all while so hungover he was literally struggling not to shit himself?

He looked at the magic mirror, its image of a shrieking Beast still running on and on. "Kind and gentle" indeed, this thing was just begging to have his ass handed to him. Apparently Maurice had been telling the truth about Belle locked up in a dungeon with a Beast — that's why she'd been gone so long.

Well, Gaston would take care of that!

He led the way, taking his horse to conserve his energy. He could pretty well surmise where to go — there was only one place around that would have a dungeon. That would be the abandoned castle in the forest. There'd been rumors about that place for years. Gaston secretly felt foolish for not having checked there immediately when Belle vanished. But whatever. That was past, and he was going there now.

"Boy, Gaston," said LeFou, walking along his side, holding a torch as the vicious crowd of townsfolk trailed him through the night. "You sure dodged a bullet with Belle! I mean, imagine if you'd really ended up marrying that hot mess? She's into bestiality and everything!"

Gaston flung his cousin an angry look. "What are you talking about, LeFou? I'm still going to marry her! That's why I have to kill this Beast — he's my rival!"

LeFou was agog. "But — but — "

"Does 'crazy' alter her looks?"

"Well, no," he sputtered, "but — "

"Then she's still the best girl in town, LeFou! Get over it!"

Gaston's love was strongly based upon Belle's appearance — that was undeniable. But what would he have in common with a girl who wasn't beautiful? And what girl would be beautiful who didn't resemble the most beautiful people he knew?

LeFou didn't have time to respond to Gaston's reaffirmed passion — the crowd behind them piped up with a Grab your sword, grab your bow, praise the Lord and here we go! and he had to rush to join in.

"We'll lay siege to the castle and bring back his head!" Gaston screamed with all the drama he could muster. His innards were going numb. He swung the magic mirror over his head and waved it to and fro, stirring up noise and light to titillate the senses of all the creeps that followed behind him, while trying to rile his own body into complaisance. The adrenaline helped him so much.

…

The men had come to the castle. It was found dark, and apparently, empty. Assuming this Beast was still about and hadn't fled round the back when it saw everyone coming at its lair with torches and battering rams, it would probably be upstairs somewhere, cowering and shrieking its kind and gentle little head off.

Gaston headed the group. His bow and arrow was faster and more reliable than a gun, in this situation. He had it ready to go. The village men followed close behind him.

Suddenly all hell broke loose in the antechamber. It was kind of like… was the furniture attacking everyone of its own volition?

It really seemed so. Witchcraft!

Gaston watched the violence unleash. He was farther ahead than the others and managed to fall out of range of the action. He watched the villagers being pummeled and strangled by the finery of fixtures. Bah! Served all those bastards right.

Gaston simply raced up the stairs to scout out this Beast for himself.

He was already considering what he would say to Belle when he got back home — how he could describe his proud accomplishment. Maybe he'd be extra lucky, and the villagers would all die downstairs and it would be just the two of them left in that town. That could be nice! No need to explain away the witchcraft stuff to anybody. Also no more potato-shaped perverts flocking the two of them.

It crossed his mind that, actually, Belle didn't have a lot of weirdos hanging around her house the way he did. Huh. In fact, the only wacko who was creeping around her house all the time was…

Oh God.

Oh, but I'm different from all those freaks who decorate my own doorstep and hunt me around, thought Gaston as he kicked in another door and found nothing behind it. See, he wasn't hunting Belle for a sexual conquest like everyone was doing to him. He wanted her because she was so pretty, that she obviously belonged with him, because together they'd do far superior things by simply being together —

He kicked in another door, peered in, and jumped. There it was.

The monster.

Evidently it didn't hear well, because it didn't make much of a reaction to his intrusion. Gaston figured he didn't have long before it would see him. He jumped in, with that soft step he'd learned to take as a kid, devised so the kind of guys who were right now getting torn apart downstairs wouldn't tear him apart on the schoolyard…

With his arrow aimed, the monster just sat and stared at him, almost glumly. Gaston released the string. The bolt went flying and pierced the massive Beast in its back, sending it afresh to that same shrieking and howling it had displayed in the mirror.

This was nice, thought Gaston. A nice hunt to calm him down, after a rather long and aggravating couple of weeks.

He grabbed the Beast as it screamed and he tossed it, heavy as it was, through a window. It landed on a balcony outside. No wonder Belle liked this thing — it was about as animated as one of her books. Gaston began laughing with relief at how easy this was turning out to be.

Once he would taxidermy the creature and have the head mounted, Belle would be happy enough. She'd still have this Beast around to admire, active as it ever was; and it wouldn't be anymore bother to anyone.

Leaping out the window after the creature, Gaston could feel the cold air impacting his arm. Damn thing always hurt in cold weather. As the Beast rose to its paws, he kicked the monster in its shoulder, knocking it over the balustrade of the balcony.

With another laugh of astonishment at the absolute lack of any reaction at all, Gaston leapt down in pursuit of the furball.

It was so unbelievable. Even Michel would have put up a better fight than this.

Gaston landed beside the Beast, on a flying buttress with a different architectural style than the rest of the castle. "Get up," he commanded the monster, somewhat surprised at himself. Why the fuck should he care if this animal fought back or not? Bastard had his chance already, and if he was too stupid to take that chance, it was no fault of the hunter.

The Beast just kept laying there.

"Get up," reiterated Gaston, frustration mounting. "What's the matter, Beast? Too 'kind and gentle' to fight back?" Animals might be slow moving or confused about what was happening when you killed them, but they moved. What could you even call this pile of vegetation?

He began to giggle as he realized what he was reading into the situation. Michel. Never moving but to scream his head off, or maybe once in a while to shit on the floor. Yet still — always able to ruin his life in that inane stillness, to deprive him of those little sparks of joy that made life worth living, sap existence of its beauty, take away all mom's attention in the little time she had, the useless little vampire he was.

God, that was what started all that. All the shit he put up with on the schoolyard. It wasn't even his preening and faggy mannerisms, it was everyone mocking him for his retarded brother.

Alright, enough thinking. That's what always led to trouble. Thinking that anything was a good idea, thinking that things could be better, thinking out strategies and fantasies and dreams…

Act.

He went to the ledge of the buttress and pulled a bit of crumbling stonework from the side, meaning to use it as a cudgel. Most men wouldn't have been able to lift something so heavy, much less uproot it; but Gaston was Gaston, strong from so many years of wrath.

He could make quick kills with arrows or bullets or knives, even snap a creature's neck if it came down to it. But his favorite — really his instinctive method — was to bludgeon. It was a terrible choice if one intended to do a taxidermy, of course — this Beast was absolutely not going to be fit to put up on the wall after this was over. But, who wanted something this ugly up on the wall, anyway?

The pleasure would be in the killing; and the memory alone would be a sufficient token.

He moved towards the recumbent creature, flashes of lightning putting the sky aglow. That was when he heard the voice of Belle.

"No!" she cried, in a tone almost wailing. She was far away — Gaston couldn't see her from where he stood, but she was probably down on the bridge or the terrace below.

He was a little surprised, even dismayed by her arrival, since he'd locked her in that cellar to keep her out of trouble with the townsfolk — and now the stupid bitch had just followed him to where all the townsfolk were. He really hoped they'd all died downstairs, 'cause that was the only way they wouldn't see her.

He was even more startled when the Beast then muttered the name: "Belle."

That thing could actually talk?

"No! Gaston! Don't!" Belle cried.

And suddenly the Beast leapt to its feet and repulsed Gaston's intended blow from the stone cudgel.

Gaston was just baffled. Baffled by how insanely stupid both Belle and the Beast were. If this Beast was able to just pick up and fight any time he wanted, why didn't he start five minutes ago? How weak and stupid was he, to just put up with all that, only to make an attack after being humiliated and abused? And Belle. He was going to have to spell it out in a book if he wanted her to understand anything.

But damn it, he had never loved anyone before and he knew this was the only chance he was ever going to get at it. He couldn't walk away.

They fought — Gaston and the Beast. Grappling. Chasing. Pouncing. Leaping. Yet somehow, Gaston perceived that his mind wasn't going blank like it normally should have done during a good chase like this — where all the world would disappear and he'd know nothing but the joy of the hunt. No, this was like in the tavern when he played pinfinger — his brain just kept falling back to thoughts of Belle.

"Were you in love with her, Beast? Did you honestly think she'd want you, when she had someone like me?!" His voice was rising into a maniacal scream. Because even he was slowly comprehending the real answer to his question.

No matter what he did for this woman, she was never going to respond with what he needed from her.

And he needed so little from her.

It was a terrible moment for such a depressing realization, because he needed his already weakened body to be surging with passion and wrath and interest and motive if he was to get through this fight alive.

Instead it was almost laughable how listless and ineffective he suddenly became. He swung his cudgel carelessly at the Beast, missing him by a mile each time.

He made some futile efforts to work himself up, but it simply wasn't getting him through it. He just had stopped caring.

Then —

The Beast grabbed him by the throat.

That was a trigger for Gaston. The end all be all of his triggers.

Not yet sixteen, alone in the woods with a fellow he thought was a friend. He consequently had tried to dismiss Giraut's increasingly disturbing behavior as just strange adult ways. By the time that man had him pinned by his throat to a tree, he was out of of excuses. He could see he just had to do whatever was wanted from him.

He'd submitted. (Egg whites, ugh, too similar in taste.)

It was afterwards when the outrage hit. It was afterwards when he got up the nerve to counter-attack. And thus it was afterwards when he punched the fellow so hard that he broke his own arm, and it was never right again.

That arm was suddenly throbbing, as Gaston pleaded and cried just like he did back then: "Let me go! Let me go! Please — don't hurt me! I'll do anything! Anything!"

Unbeknownst to Gaston, the Beast was having a catharsis of his own at those words, which inadvertently echoed something Belle had once said to him. Moved, the Beast drew a tearful Gaston back onto the secure rooftop, and released him with a simple, albeit not unthreatening, "Get out."

The Beast's massive paw pushed Gaston to the rooftiles. Gaston sank with a heartbreaking sob.

He always was a crybaby, wasn't he? Deserved to have his ass kicked all those times. Deserved to suffer, because that's all a pretty boy was good for.

Then, ever as before, it took about twenty seconds for the outrage to really overtake him.

The fact that Belle now appeared on the rooftop didn't even strike Gaston. He didn't care anymore. He needed to avenge an absolute wrong that was done to him — the kind that forces you to eat dozens of eggs every day for the rest of your life. Maybe it wasn't done by anyone here tonight, but someone had to pay for it.

He wiped at his crooked nose with one hand and reached for his trusty hunting knife with the other.

Gaston crawled up behind the Beast and, wordlessly, stabbed him in the lower back. It was an utter delight, how the meat resisted, how the organs swam aside, how the bit of blood swam up from the fur and cloth. He enjoyed the howls and growls of pain it produced from the monster.

Clinging to the edge of the rain-slickened balcony, the Beast flailed beside him. Gaston drew back his knife with the intent to stab the brute a second time.

Somehow it didn't work.

It was just as at his wedding — the world fell down.

A perplexed Gaston did not win his fight, did not win his love, did not prove himself. He was only let to kiss his shadow in the brook.