Chapter Two

It's a rainy day in Em's writing studio in upstate New York. (Yes, I know there aren't any film studios in upstate New York, but this one is insubstantial, so it doesn't matter.) Anyway, back to the story...

angelinhell: *at mixer* Whoa, this is fun.

Erik: What the hell are you doing?

angelinhell: I'm mixing us as voices! Woohoo!!!

Erik: That idiot.

angelinhell: Hey! *throws headphones at him*

Erik: *dodges headphones* Is that thing the only thing in here?

angelinhell: Nope, look up.

Erik: *does so* Wow, cool chandelier. What's it for?

Gabrielle: *coming through door* I get to-

angelinhell: Don't give it away! Do your stupid little telepathic thing!

Gabrielle: *rolls eyes* -drop it on someone's head.

Erik: Why don't I get to do that?

angelinhell: *to Gabrielle* Gr. *to Erik* You do, but you drop a much larger chandelier on a lot more people to chastise your manager friends.

Erik: Oh.

angelinhell: And now comes the big one, what you've all been waiting for- drum roll, please.

Erik and Gabrielle: *stare at her*

angelinhell: *pouts* Do I have to do everything myself? *turns on speakers*

*Drum Roll*

angelinhell: And- I don't own POTO, but you knew that already. However, I do own Charlotte, Father Depruis, Marie-Paulette, and Gabrielle. *looks at Gabrielle* Well, most of Gabrielle.

Gabrielle: *indignantly* Excuse me?

angelinhell: *laughs and jumps out window with hang glider* This one's really long, just warning you. Don't be too harsh on me, pleas-

Erik: Watch out for the-

*BANG*

*CRUMPLE*

*SPLAT*

Erik: -side of the building. *sighs*

angelinhell: Mmmf mmffmmff! (I'm okay!)

Gabrielle: What do you say we leave her there?

Erik: After you, Mademoiselle.

*They leave.*

angelinhell: Mmfmff! (Enjoy!)

* * * * * *

I, Marie-Paulette Lointier, have worked in Madame Reinchart's house for twelve years- eight months longer than the existence of my beloved Monsieur Erik and his lovely sister Mademoiselle Gabrielle, my children more than they ever were Madame Reinchart's. On the day the poor children were born, Father Depruis gave them to me to care for, as their mother would not touch them

"What are their names?" I had asked brightly to cover my revulsion, sure to be looked down upon by the priest.

"Name them yourself," he said, obviously exasperated by the whole situation.

I nodded and dug through my extensive collection of bad novels to find a book with two main characters, one girl and one boy. Pulling one out of the bookshelf at random, I looked at it. 'L'Amour Du Démon,' by Phillippe Perrinet, one of my favorite authors. It was about a girl named Gabrielle, who was kidnapped by a demon named Erik. Eventually they fall in love, and Gabrielle dies, condemning Erik to eternal and immortal existence alone. A truly transparent plot, the writing as dull as dull can be, but there the names were.

C'est la vie.

Long after both they and I had gotten used to the names I thought that they were not the luckiest names in the universe, but even then I thought nothing of it, merely thinking it appropriate that Erik got a demon's name, as his own mother had thought him devil's spawn.

And so they were no more than characters in a book to me, that day. No more, no less. Gabrielle was beautiful because she was; Erik was beautiful because he was unreal.

They could speak at a very young age. Once I caught Erik teaching Gabrielle to speak by saying the words and then looking at her. She repeated and never forgot them. It unnerved me If such talk were true (and I believed avidly in psychic powers then) then Erik and Gabrielle might be strong telepaths Two living prodigies, mysterious and entrancing, lived within this house, under my care.

Their mother never knew. How could she? The only words she ever spoke to me besides those of reprimand were contained within a command to make Erik a mask, to hide the scars she had made and could not bear to see. Having no choice but to comply, I tried to explain it to the child.

Poor thing! He did not understand what I was asking him to do. He did not understand why his mother (or at least the person I said was his mother- I don't think he believed me, then or ever) could not look at him at all, let alone with joy, as I did. I treated him as a toy, as friend, as son- she treated him as a disease. He did not understand why I, Marie, the woman he saw as his mother, was asking him to wear a cloth over his face, the face that he had never seen- I was too afraid of his reaction to show him a mirror.

Silently I appealed to Gabrielle, and she nodded. "Erik, Mother Charlotte wants you to wear the mask so that she will not have to see the scars she made." This seemed so blunt that I flinched, but he seemed to understand- sort of.

"But why?" he asked, still not satisfied.

She used the simple answer I could not: "Because Marie says so."

He accepted this, donned the mask, and never said another word about it.

But it was not only speaking that he mastered quickly. Reading took him literally a week to learn, writing two, and drawing a single month. He devoured my novels like a rat in a grain bin; when he realized that the piano in the dining room made noise, he dragged me to it and implored me to play something.

Music took him a mere three days to learn how to read; he was composing long before then. At age four he had perfect pitch; he could make the keys sing as no other could.

And I, Marie-Paulette Lointier, had to watch this massive accumulation of knowledge, this unmistakable and astounding intelligence, by and in the one child who would never be able to use it. This child would never be able to leave the house- indeed, he was not allowed to now. How would he ever be able to do anything meaningful with his life?

He was five when he discovered that the doors were locked, when he found out that he and Gabrielle could not leave the house at will.

"Please, Marie, just let me go outside, only for five minutes. Please?"

It hurt me somewhere deep inside that I had to refuse him, but orders are orders, and I knew his little heart would break without me, his surrogate mother. I could do nothing.

He pleaded with me, the soundless tears running down his face and soaking into the leather of the mask, but what could I do? I could not help him. I cupped his little hand in mine and repeated the rejection I had been ordered to give him.

But he tore away from me, running down the hallway to the latticed window at the end of it, climbing to it by way of the small dresser under it (it sat higher than my head in the wall) and pounded on the window, beat his hands against the glass and iron until the glass cracked and his hands bled, screaming that silent, wordless, telepathic scream no one could hear.

No one but me.

I had run to the end of the hallway when I realized what he was doing. and stood underneath the window pleading for him to come down (the dresser would not support my matronly, 70 kilo weight). Gabrielle heard the telepathic scream, came out of her room, and added her own underlying current of love, forgiveness, reassuring, and calmness to our verbal cajoling.

When he finally came down, he wouldn't let me touch him, wouldn't let me bandage his cuts, and I got the feeling that if he could have, he would have prevented my looking at him. He would only let Gabrielle touch him, help him, heal him. It seemed he was telling me that only Gabrielle was allowed to love him, since I had betrayed him to this imprisonment. It made me feel horrible, and several times during his recuperation I caught myself scolding him for little things, and came back to myself only when he turned those cool, frightening, mismatched eyes on me and gave me the most aggravating glare that I have ever received in my life, all the more annoying because it was well-founded. He had a reason for looking at me like that, I knew it, and I knew he was justified in his annoyance at me.

But he recovered from his temporary 'hatred' of me. I think it was Gabrielle who finally convinced him that I loved him. Gabrielle who told him I was a valuable ally, and that I was his friend. Gabrielle, the girl who stood silent, merely an observer, unless Erik was involved. Only Gabrielle could calm him in his rages, stop his tears, comfort him and protect him from his nightmares. She fought for him; she bled for him; sometimes I think she would have died for him. Never had I seen greater or even equal love in a child before her.

And in return for her utter devotion, Erik gave her some power over him. She could calm him and comfort him when no one else could; she bore blows meant for him and got his love in return.

Eventually I have come to the conclusion that Gabrielle was the stronger telepath. She taught him how to broadcast his thoughts, to project them, to make them audible to the natural human ear, to make them into vibrations that could be heard commonly. She could do so much with her mind that he could not, so much that had never occurred to me, not even in my wildest dreams of power.

Erik made evident and amazing progress in material things like reading and music and drawing. While Gabrielle was equally adept at these, she never seemed to care about them the way he did. She was obviously much more concentrated on her evident mental powers.

They both amazed me every day with what they could do. Once I caught Erik at the piano playing the saddest music I had ever heard, music that filled my soul with ache and my eyes with tears. Gabrielle was singing, with her back to me:

"And so the doors are locked

And the windows barred

With blood the stones are sealed

And the stars shine down on tears

But he is here to love me

His eyes so brightly starred

Within him is my comfort

And with him all my years."

She waited as he played an absolutely exquisite interlude, and as she started singing again, she saw me. She turned around, smiling still, and I saw that her mouth was closed! The words poured from her mind but not her mouth, and I backed away, turned to the door, and ran, ran from the specter of that horrifying, beautiful, mouthless singing:

"...the stars shine down on tears..."

I heard him reprimand her that night. He said that it wasn't right to frighten me like that. I was their mother, I loved them. How could she be so ungrateful?

It was then that I knew he loved me.

But what I saw next startled me. Gabrielle burst into tears and ran, sobbing, into his arms. It really shocked me: in truth, I had never seen such a display of emotion from Gabrielle. She seemed to be made of marble, but when he spoke to her, her eyes softened, her beautiful but cold features becoming less pale, her stance less defensive and more... adoring. I don't know how else to explain. I don't think Gabrielle ever loved a single being, human or not, more than she loved her brother. She did not believe in God- only in Erik.

Her creed, I am sure, was "Erik's will be done."

And while I was shocked by her lack of faith, it also fascinated me. And so I told no one.

No one, that is, except the confessional priest, for which I will never, ever, forgive myself.

The day Father Depruis came to the house was a day I will never forget. (angelinhell: Yes, I know that is so clichéd.) I answered the knocking on the door to greet his grim visage.

"I must speak to your mistress," he stated calmly.

I ushered him into the living room, gracious but confused. As soon as I saw him safely sitting in that spacious apartment I went to get Madame Reinchart.

"Madame," I called through her closed door, "Father Depruis is here and he wants to speak to you."

"About what?" she snarled loudly through the door.

"I don't know, Madame."

She pulled open the door and tore past me down the stairs, her vermillion skirts flapping behind her. I heard her hiss "Incompetent servants!" before she put on her customary guest-receiving smile.

"I'm sorry, Father," she said sweetly as she traveled down the staircase, "but I was... busy." She glared at me.

"It's quite alright, Charlotte," he replied, far too engrossed in his own thoughts to notice. "I'm concerned about your children. You see-"

"Has Erik done anything? If he has, I swear-"

"No, no, Charlotte, Erik has never been anything but kind to me. It's-"

"Gabrielle, then? That little-"

"No, Charlotte, no, you're taking this all wrong. I'm not here to punish your children. I simply want to... talk to them."

The hint of malice in that sentence was something Charlotte could understand. She smiled acidly and the priest and shouted up the stairs:

"Erik! Gabrielle! Father Depruis wants to-"

"Talk to us, I know," came Gabrielle's clear voice. "I'm not a telepath for nothing, you know."

The two children came down together, Gabrielle's long, slender, bare fingers resting gently on her brother's arm. It was an astonishing sight, even to those who have seen it before.

Erik seemed clothed in mystery, in darkness. The mask I had made for him made him seem all the more like Gabrielle's shadow.

Gabrielle was similarly clothed, in a tight-fitting gown that showed off the small curves of her boyish figure. Her black hair hung down to her waist, and her pale skin contrasted sharply with her attire.

It was easy to forget that the twins were only six years old.

The good father was struck absolutely dumb by the sight of these children, acting- and being in all but age and experience- as though they were adults! It had frightened me as well, at first. But I knew both of them savored the look of pure astonishment on the poor priest's face. In fact, I could hear Gabrielle's telepathic laughter ringing inside my head, oppressive and far from silent.

But he recovered quickly and looked down at the three-foot-tall forms of the children.

"So, Gabrielle."

"Yes, Father?" She sounded so innocent, but I could hear the malicious vibe she was broadcasting.

"What do you believe in?"

"'I believe in God, the Father, the Almighty, Creator of-'"

"No, no, child," the priest said kindly, not knowing that memorization took Gabrielle no more effort than breathing. "I mean what do you believe?"

Gabrielle was getting visibly impatient with this. "I believe many things. What do you mean? Specify!"

"I mean, what do you believe about people?"

"I do not believe about people," Gabrielle said offhandedly. "I know."

Depruis was taken aback. "You know? That seems rather arrogant, my child. What do you know?"

"I know there is something everyone wants. It could be power; it could be blood; it could be something as innocent as to make everyone around them happy. I know there is something everyone fears; it could be anything from death to heights. I know that I have power over many of them; I know what they think of me and what they want of me." Her voice was bitter and cold. "I know that you, Father, are afraid of me and yet would like nothing better than to get me into bed. So don't talk to me about belief. I know."

Father Depruis sputtered, "How dare you-"

"How dare I what, Father?" she taunted him. "How dare I tell the truth?"

Charlotte was infuriated. "Hold her," she said to me, moving closer to the children.

Gabrielle stood still as I approached. "I will not move before your paltry blows, Mother," she said quietly.

Charlotte, infuriated, turned around and struck the unsuspecting Erik sharply in the chest. He gave a little half-cry and fell, unconscious, to the carpet.

Gabrielle shrieked with rage and jumped for her mother, her mismatched eyes glowing with fury. She landed on the woman and scratched at her face. Charlotte retaliated not with an attack on Gabrielle herself, but by kicking her prostrate brother. This, however, was a mistake. The woman nearly lost and eye before Father Depruis managed to pull Gabrielle away.

He flung her to the ground where she lay, breathing hard, her tight skirt preventing her from rising. Charlotte, a malicious grin on lighting up her heavily bleeding face, began to her son harder than before. Gabrielle screamed wordlessly from where she lay, her scream quickly going from loud to telepathically deafening.

But I, who had gotten used to this mind scream, could hear what Gabrielle was muttering beneath it:

*Break. Break. Break. BREAK!* and I could the cord that held the chandelier fraying.

But with Gabrielle's screams ringing in his ears, Father Depruis did not notice where he was standing until it was too late.

With a crash, the huge chandelier fell to the carpet, its many sharp glass pieces cutting through his skin and killing him within seconds.

Charlotte abruptly ceased her movement and commenced to faint. Gabrielle's scream turned into loud weeping, and my shock prevented me from moving.

Gabrielle ripped open her open her skirt and ran over to her brother, lying senseless near Charlotte's body. She knelt by his side and called out, "Erik, please, say something, do something, don't leave me... Please, Erik, you have to be alive..."

His eyes flutter open. "One beating will not kill me, my dear sister. I'm not going to die. I'm not even going to be incapacitated."

"Oh, Erik, thank God!" Gabrielle cried before throwing herself, sobbing onto him. "I killed him, Erik, I didn't mean to, I meant to make Mother stop hurting you, and it worked, only I didn't want to kill him, but I did, and in a way I'm glad, I hated the lecherous bastard, but I killed him, Erik, I killed him, I did..."

And he held her with one arm, the other hanging painfully at his side. "Sh, Gabrielle, it's all right, I know you didn't mean to kill him, I know."

I didn't have the heart to break their embrace, come between them.

"Oh, God, I love you, Erik," she choked.

And he held her, his unspoken message of reciprocation radiating throughout the room.

* * * * * *

angelinhell: I'm not even going to ask you if you like it, he's just going to make some crack about it.

Erik: I'm insulted that you think I'm that heartless.

angelinhell: Well, aren't you?

Erik: *smirks* Of course. But I'm insulted that you think so.

angelinhell: Oy.

*Doorbell rings.*

angelinhell: Oh, that must be the shipment of sets I ordered! *runs off stage*

*Door opens.*

angelinhell: Sets R Us? What? No, I didn't order two large anchovy pizzas. No, I'm not going to pay for them-

*The rest, after a cheesy squelch, is silence.*

angelinhell: *reappears covered in cheese and tomato sauce* All right, own up. Who ordered these? *points to own head*

evilemmylou: *popping up timidly from behind mixer* I did?

angelinhell: *growls and proceeds to chase evilemmylou around the room*

Erik: This is mildly amusing, don't you agree?

Gabrielle: It's just annoying.

Erik: *gets hit with large glob of flying tomato sauce and cheese* You're right, it's just annoying.

angelinhell: I'm going to kill you!!!!!!!!!

evilemmylou: *shrieks and runs into Nick, who has randomly appeared* Ow. *looks back and sees angelinhell in hot pursuit* EEP! *runs away*

Nick: *seeing angelinhell running past covered in pizza glop* Ha ha! Pizza the Hut!

angelinhell: *looks at Nick strangely and flings glob of pizza goop at him*

Nick: FOOD FIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *grabs packages of coconut doughnuts that have randomly appeared and begins to fling them around the room*

Gabrielle: *grabs Erik's arm and looks at camera* We're leaving, and I advise you to do the same.

angelinhell: Don't go away! Coming up next, the third chapter! Any ideas as to the perspective of the story are welco- *gets hit in the mouth with doughnut*

evilemmylou: See you next time! *looks around room* You know, Em, you've really got to clean this place up.

angelinhell: *pulls doughnut out of mouth and throws it at evilemmylou, along with some pizza glop*

evilemmylou: *dodges pizza-covered doughnut*

*doughnuts burst into flame*

Nick: FIRE!!!!!!!!!!!!

angelinhell: *rubs forehead* Shit. Go away, I've got to clean this up.

Nick: FIRE!!!!!!!!!!!!

evilemmylou: You heard the woman. The show is over! Shoo!