Erik rolled on his side and contemplated the armchair longingly. It looked so inviting, standing by the fire. He imagined how comfortable it would be to sit upright, to let his arms lean on the armrests, to steeple his fingers in front of him, to stretch his legs in the direction of the fire. It would be pure bliss just to sit up without slouching on the pillows, to be free of the weight of the comforter and the many blankets Gracie and Françoise had piled upon him. He snorted. Ridiculous women. As if one could cure the after effects of a stroke by keeping the patient well wrapped up. He smiled and remembered his last quarrel with them, that same morning. It had taken him more than half an hour to convince them he didn't need any company at least for a few hours, and then he had been so exhausted after so much arguing that he had fallen asleep, and had woken up to find Gracie waiting by the side of his bed. Fortunately, this time it had only taken a quick short-tempered reply to scare her off. He shook his head when he thought he would have to apologise when she showed up again. Those two were hopeless.
He eyed the armchair again, a glimpse of the Promised Land. Sitting on the chair meant he was not laid up any more. It meant that he was not sick, or at least that he was getting better. It meant he would soon be able to resume his life. Erik sighed. The chair was only about six or seven yards away but he was so weak that it might, as well, be on the other side of France.
He nudged the pillows with his shoulder, trying to find a more comfortable position. He whisked away the fringes of the blanket, which were tickling his chin. When the fringes bounced back, he pushed everything, comforter and blankets, down to his waist. His hip started to itch. There was a bump in the mattress. No matter how hard he tried, he knew he wouldn't find a comfortable position. With a jerk, he flung the covers away and slung his legs over the edge of the bed. He couldn't stand lying in that confounded bed any longer.
Slowly, leaning on his arm, he sat up. He clenched his teeth against the bout of nausea. He swallowed hard and concentrated on taking deep breaths when the floor started swaying. If he kept breathing and relaxed a little, his heart would be forced to take in the little extra effort and the light-headedness would disappear in a while. Then he could attempt to stand up, using the headboard for support. And then he would brave the few steps to the armchair. He doubted he would make it that far without anything to lean on, but he would try. He was sure he would die if he didn't get away from that bed.
His left hand grabbed the head of the board tightly and he stood on shaking legs. The world began gaining a greenish tint and Erik hurled himself forward. If he doubted a second more, he would end up fainting in the middle of the room. He managed to give two steps and then he began to come down, but thanks to his long legs, he had by then reached the vicinity of the chair. He clutched the arm of the chair and prayed it would sustain his weight instead of toppling over. As if in slow motion, his knees buckled and hit the carpet with a low thud, but he remained somehow upright. He breathed in and out, in and out until the room had cleared again. Then, with a grunt, he pulled himself to his feet.
And just then, the door swung open. Françoise, a cup of tea in her hand, goggled at him. Erik cursed under his breath.
"But Monsieur!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing?"
She hurried towards him, but Erik flopped onto the chair before she even came close. He looked up to her with a victorious glance. It hadn't been a dignified movement, but he had succeeded in reaching his destination. He would be damned if he let her lead him back to bed now.
Françoise stared at him, the corners of her mouth turned down in a reproachful scowl.
"It's too soon for you to be out of bed, Monsieur."
"Says who?" asked Erik with a smirk.
"Says Doctor Albaret."
"Nonsense," scoffed Erik. "That lad can't tell his hands from his elbows."
"You didn't seem to believe that when you discussed your treatment with him, Monsieur," countered Françoise, but she was already pushing the occasional table to the side of the chair and setting the cup on top of it.
Erik's smile widened. He slowly stretched his legs towards the fire while Françoise retrieved his slippers and a blanket. He was about to protest about the blanket, but thought better about it. It was a bit chilly in the room, anyway. He spread it over his legs. Then, with a slightly shaking hand, he took the cup and had a sip under Françoise's watchful gaze. He returned the cup to the saucer and looked at her evenly.
"Is there anything else you need, Monsieur?"
"No, Françoise, thank you."
She nodded and made her way out of the room. She was about to cross the threshold when he called her back.
"Françoise. . ."
"Yes?"
Françoise couldn't help a pang of worry when she looked at Monsieur Devaux. There was something amiss. He looked sort of. . . tentative.
"Would you happen to know if. . ." Monsieur Devaux made a pause and bit his lip. "If Mademoiselle Daaé has called in?"
She stared at him, alarmed. She had heard when Monsieur Kahn had told him she had dropped by and stayed the whole afternoon and evening the day of the attack. Had he forgotten about it?
"I mean. . . after Wednesday."
Françoise frowned. Hadn't Gracie told him?
"Certainly, Monsieur. She has called in every evening. Unfortunately you have been sleeping."
He nodded, carefully keeping his features neutral, but Françoise could read his enormous relief in his whole posture.
"Thank you Françoise. That will be all."
Françoise curtsied and carefully closed the door behind her. She would have to have a couple of words with Gracie.
Nadir came into the room and dropped the newspaper on Erik's lap.
"I was told you were out of bed this morning," he remarked casually while he pushed the armchair closer to the foot of the bed and sat down.
"I'm not taking reproaches from you, Daroga," scowled Erik as he scanned the headlines.
"I was going to congratulate you," shrugged Nadir.
Erik nodded and apparently was taken over by the first page of the newspaper. Nadir waited patiently. He was sure the first page didn't have anything that could be that interesting and had spotted the spark of anger in Erik's eyes.
"Why didn't you tell me Mademoiselle Daaé had been dropping by the last four days, Daroga?" fumed Erik, and he turned the page.
"I didn't know she had been," was Nadir's smooth reply.
Erik lifted his gaze and pinned Nadir to the back of the chair.
"Do you expect me to believe that?"
Nadir nodded.
"I haven't been here when she has come," he defended himself.
Erik stared at Nadir. If his gaze had some power to destroy, Nadir was sure he would have been reduced to a pile of ashes on the spot. Then, after a beat, Erik frowned. He looked away and massaged his eyebrow with his thumb.
"You're right," he said. "Françoise said she has come in the evenings."
"There you go," commented Nadir.
He waited for the harsh reply that would follow his awfully carefree remark, but Erik said nothing. He looked at the newspaper instead.
There was a long silence, in which Nadir studied the effects of the afternoon sun gleaming through the bottles of prescriptions that crowded Erik's nightstand.
"Why do you think she has been coming in the evenings, Daroga?"
Erik's smooth tone and nonchalant expression didn't trick Nadir. This was everything but casual talking.
"It is my belief that Mademoiselle Daaé has moved to Paris. She has probably found an occupation that does not allow her to come during the day."
Erik's visible eyebrow quirked upwards.
"Is that so? And why would you come through such ideas, Daroga?"
"That first evening, that is, the day you fell ill. . ."
"Last Wednesday," Erik reminded him.
"Last Wednesday," Nadir repeated. "Darius accompanied her to a boarding house. The landlady greeted her most familiarly."
Nadir tried not to smile smugly as Erik stopped pretending to be immersed in the newspaper.
"To a boarding house?"
Nadir nodded. Erik's forehead creased.
"Why on earth would she. . .?"
Nadir shrugged.
"I don't know. I guess you'll have to ask her," he said.
Erik blew out a huff of air and turned the page briskly.
"Shut up, Daroga," he grumbled.
Author's notes: Sorry for the lack of update yesterday. Real life got in the way. Thank you all for your comments. Just keep them coming!
