Ch 22

Honestly, they wasted no time on words and I wasted no time with blubbering for forgiveness. Christine was nowhere in sight. Can't imagine why she didn't stay to watch them beat the holy hell out of me considering she had administered the most lethal blow.

"If he comes here," I shouted, me and my vindictive, belligerent nature. "Tell Alex there will be hell to pay for leaving so late at night, even if it was to meet his mother for the first time. Christine! Are you listening to me, Christine?"

At least I felt slightly satisfied in stirring the pot.

"I should have known you would appear," the vicomte said.

"Then you should have been more prepared," I replied. There was a sense of bravery in knowing there was nothing I could do to escape. If I jumped out the window, I would break a leg-or worse-my back. I would not result to cowardice; I would stand my ground for as long as possible.

They all reeked of alcohol as they neared me, and as much as the smell made my stomach churn, I hoped their state of inebriation would at least give me better odds of surviving.

I unbuttoned my overcoat and vest in preparation for a fight, then casually rolled up my sleeves without sparing them a glance. I had been beaten without a fight before, worse than any dog. More times than I could count I was defenseless but not this time. I had no intention of standing there while he, of all people, beat me to death. No, there would be a fight. There would be hell. I would blacken his eye and split his lip. He would bear the mark of our encounter for weeks.

"Raoul," came Christine's voice. "Don't."

A flint spark of hope struck my heart. My mind reeled back to when her lover had nearly skewered me with a sword and she had begged for my life to be spared. A merciful action, one that I regretted for years afterwards. Had he ended it that day, that stark white day in the graveyard, none of this would have transpired. She either cared or wanted to further my grief.

Why did I ever think she cared?

"You'll wake the girls," Christine said. "Take him outside." And with that she disappeared into the bedroom.

They escorted me outside in silence, down the stairs at the opposite end of the hallway. I hadn't even noticed that there was another doorway until we passed through. I covered my face again with a scarf, despite how useless it seemed, and headed into the crisp night. For a moment I thought that was all that they wanted, to make sure that I left. I crossed the street, hearing the bells in the distance. It was either three or four, I didn't count the times the bells tolled. I couldn't concentrate as they were behind me, directly behind me where I could feel their drunken breaths. Intimidation. What a fine tactic.

"You are most gracious seeing your guest out safely," I said to break the silence.

No one said a word.

"How have you been all of these years, Vicomte?"

"This is far enough," the boy said.

I hadn't even turned around to face them when one of them—and I had no idea which one—grabbed my arm. I spun around and hammered my fist into a face. It didn't matter who I hit, all three of them would eventually make me pay dearly for whatever I did. But at least I would leave a mark. That was my only intention. Something for Christine to see in the morning.

Hands clubbed my back like a half a dozen hammers striking at once. I kicked, I swung wildly, I growled like a feral beast, sometimes catching an arm or a torso, mostly swinging and doing little to no damage. For all of my effort they drove me to my knees, fists and feet connecting with my chest, my stomach, my legs, and my back. Twice I managed to stand again, but the world spun. One of them held my arms behind my back while the vicomte waited for me to look him in the eye. My mouth filled with blood, my head throbbing with pain.

"I touched her first," I said. My words sounded slurred to my own ears. Honestly I had no idea why I bothered speaking at all. "I had Christine before you ever did."

"You lying son of a bitch," the Vicomte said.

I smiled back at him, thinking he would hit me in the face, but instead he punched me in the gut. They released their hold on my arms and I fell to my knees, gasping for air. Eventually I threw up in the alley. More than once. They shoved me into the wall and tore at my clothing, clawed at my face—which was fully exposed. They punched me once in the jaw well after I had stopped fighting. They possibly did more, but if that happened I was too dazed to know it. All that I recalled was the copper taste of blood that I swallowed and a dull throbbing pain that consumed my body.

And then there was nothing. Sound faded, and I faded, too.

"What did you see?"

A voice, a faint voice without gender called in my ear, replacing the silence. Something splashed through a puddle. Footsteps. There were people around. Oh God, I thought, there are people around. I should be dead. I wanted to be dead, considering the amount of pain I was in.

I struggled to move. Couldn't do it. Far too weak, far too bruised and bloodied to even roll from face down to face up. A blessing, perhaps. None could see my face if I remained with my head to the ground.

"They beat him. Three of them."

The answering voice I knew. Oh if there was a sweeter voice, I had not heard it. So familiar, so much what I needed. At last, what I needed. There was nothing to fear now. Alexandre was beside me. My son, the one I alone had wanted and cared for. How I wished I could speak but, as it was, I had little control over my consciousness. The darkened world began to fade again but I fought to keep my wits. If only I could see his face, if only I could have erased the last twelve months.

"Who beat him?"

"The Vicomte. The rest I didn't know."

"Did they see you?"

"No."

"Good."

"I should have killed all three of them."

"Alex, don't say such things."

I knew this voice as well. Another person I would never have expected. Why had she come here? Why would she help me? After everything, what did she gain from this?

"Take his arms but do it gently."

A moan escaped my lips as one of them—and who it was I didn't know yet—touched my shoulder. It must have been Alexandre, judging from what Julia had said.

"It's out of the socket," Julia said. She muttered a curse. "Be very careful. When he wakes he'll be in pain."

The pain she said would come about like a lightning-strike through my body. That was what brought me fully aware. I groaned again, feeling the need to vomit, but I stopped it. I already smelled vile retching in the air and remembered how the impact to the belly had forced a swell of sickness from me.

"Oh good," Julia said. That hardly seemed like a word appropriate for what I felt at that moment. "You're awake. That's a good sign."

She was standing too near, even in the darkness. I recoiled from her.

"My mask," I groaned. My tongue felt swollen and thick in my sour, acid-filled mouth. The first words to leave my lips were not words of praise or gratitude. I needed my mask. As if that would do anything to hide the ugliness.

"Stay still," Julia said.

Naturally I did not listen. "Don't look at me! Either of you, do you understand? Just put it in my hand. And get away!"

"You stubborn ass," I heard Julia mutter.

"Do not look at me!" I wanted to shout, but my voice was far too strained. "Give me my mask!"

"It's there," Julia said to Alex. "By the wall."

"I see it," Alex replied softly. I heard him dash away before he returned to my side.

Alex placed my mask into my hand. He lingered a moment, his fingers touching mine. Without a word, he stepped back and let out a small sound, a little noise that I knew was a sob.

Refusing their help, I managed to sit upright on my own accord after what felt like an eternity of maneuvering. My hair, by some miracle, had not been removed. I touched along my hairline to be certain it was straight.

And then I felt the mistake of sitting upright wash over me. I couldn't control it any longer and I bent to the side and vomited again into a puddle already swirling with blood, my blood. There was nothing inside of me, nothing at all. Only the burn of stomach acid in the back of my throat, which made me cough. From there it was a chain effect. Blood gushed from my nostrils, entering my mouth. I spit and cursed and pushed their hands away. But mostly, like an infant, I sobbed. And I couldn't stop myself, as much as I tried, I couldn't stop the sudden flood of emotion and despair.

I cried for my pathetic self, for my foolish dreams, for the deep cavern of loneliness I had plummeted into in all of my ignorance. But I also cried for Alexandre, who suffered greater than I did that night. And for Julia, who came without reason. And I cried because I loved them and hated them—loved them for caring and hated them for the same reason. Because they cared, and I had not—because they still cared and I couldn't even bring myself to say that I returned their affection.

"Leave me," I said at last when words found a way from my throat.

There was no protest to my words. For a moment I thought that they had already left me, and the sadness I thought had reached the end of my tolerance burrowed deeper. These were walls I built by hand to keep the world away. The barriers I hated and still insisted on making higher.

But then there was a hand, Julia's hand, on my shoulder. She dabbed my face with a handkerchief. I sighed at her touch, at her gesture. And then I pulled away. She would not treat me like a child! She would not add to my humiliation.

"Do it yourself, then," she murmured, and she placed the bloodied rag in my hand and stood.

But of course that was impossible as my arm hung useless, ripped from the socket. And the fingers of my other hand were bent and jammed from punching my three attackers. If she thought for a moment I would beg her to help me, she was mistaken. Teeth grinding together, I made my fingers move, forced each one to bend until I held the handkerchief in my grasp and managed to dab at my nose.

Miserably I sat on the cold, wet ground, pants saturated, body bruised and numbed. My eyes, which had started to swell shut, remained fixed on the rag as though it was the most interesting thing I had ever held. All I could think of was Christine. Damn her to hell, but she was still on my mind standing in the most unflattering light.

"Your son found an old wheelchair belonging to Monsieur Lowry," Julia said at last. "If you can stand…" her voice trailed off. She knew me well enough, at least, to realize I would have protest anything at that point. Even if they had torn both of my legs off, I would have insisted that I could walk home. "Erik, please. They only left a while ago. You don't know that they will be back—and if they see Alex?" She stopped again and I knew whatever she would say next was going to be something I didn't want to hear. "What do you think he would do to Alex if he saw him?" Her voice lowered. "Since you told him."

"I told him nothing," I hissed.

She decided not to argue with a liar. "Since you will refuse our help, it is up to you to find a way to stand. If you should decide that for once you can put aside your stubbornness, Alex is beside you. If he chooses to help you now, then he is a better person than I am. Good night, Erik."

"Madame Seuratti, please do not leave!" Alex pleaded. I turned and found that he was crouched beside me. His tear-streaked face was tight as he tried to keep himself from crying. "You promised me."

Julia lingered a moment longer. She crossed her arms and turned her back, more to me than to Alex. But she didn't leave. For Alexandre, she stayed and waited for me to make a choice.

There was really no need to make the correct choice. I had spent the last two days doing nothing but satisfying my own madness, so why should I have thought of anyone else in that moment? Alex sensed I would not look to him for assistance. He moved away on his arms and legs like a crab.

My dignity was all but gone. There was nothing else I could do to humiliate myself. The only thing I had left to lose was my son.

"Where are you going?" I forced myself to ask. I glanced at Alex from over my shoulder and saw him wipe the tears from his eyes. He looked at me in disbelief as he rushed to my side and gently placed his hand on my arm.

"I will help you, Father," he vowed.

For the first time in a year, I felt as though I could have Alex back in my life once more.