Ch 23

From how long it took to travel from the alleyway outside the Wisteria to home, it suddenly felt like we lived in Cairo. Therewasno other way to explain it taking well over an hour to reach the front steps. I sat in Charles' old wheel chair, doubled over like an old man, completely relying on my former placee and my son to help me home.

Everything about the journey home was dreadful. Charles was considerably smaller than I ever was and my hips were pinned on either side, adding to my discomfort. His short legs resulted in mine being nearly up against my chest, and the high arm rests on the archaic chair meant I was shrugging the entire time.

My lungs felt as though a snake had coiled around them. I could barely breathe, and when I did take in air it was through the mouth. Several times I coughed andwas reminded ofmy armnot beingwhere it should have been—and that the mask over my face no longer fit properly.

Alexandre did his best to keep away from bumps and cracks. The night was dark and he did well for maneuvering blindly. When he did hit one, I stifled a curse and harsh word. He winced along with me each time, andwhen we reachedthe front door, the poor boy was lathered like a race horse. He weighed no more than ninety pounds. I don't know how he managed to push a wheelchair even a block.

Once we reached the house there was silence between the three of us. None of us had considered the front door.

Stairs. Curse them. Managing into the wheelchair had been a nightmare. I couldn't even begin to imagine how I would make it up these first three steps then up an additional twelve to my bedroom.

Julia stood and stared at the door, her brow knit in frustration. How very appropriate that we had traveled from the middle of China all the way to our home planted for the night in Egypt. Not even my stubbornness would get me up the stairs. I was far too exhausted to even move, and my arm ached in a constant murmur of pain.

The boy should have finished me when he had the chance. Ignorant, drunken brat.

"The neighbors—" Julia started.

"No," I said before she could finish.

"Meg and Madeline—"

"They aren't strong enough."

"But if Alex and I—"

"I said no." Sometimes she is more stubborn than I am. How could she even think that the four of them were going to carry me inside? If there was even an ounce of dignity left, that would be ripped from me as three women and a child hoisted me up the stairs of my own house. I would have to be dead before that would ever happen—and even then my ghost would protest.

"You need—"

"I realize that, Julia," I snapped.

"Then what, Erik?"

She seemed surprised that I let her finish a sentence.

"Through the back door."

"No," she said. I had half the mind to ask if she was only mocking me.

I wanted to scream. Honestly that was far beyond the last straw upon the camel's back. I glared at her, my eyes slit open from the swelling on both sides. I tapped my foot on the sidewalk impatiently, calling her every name I could think of in my mind. We had exhausted all options.

"And why not?"

"The stone path is narrow. You'll be stuck in the mud."

I laughed. And why not laugh? It was only appropriate that the night ended here. I was bloodied and beaten outside of my own home, seated in a wheelchair that belonged to my son's tutor after visiting a woman I now had no understanding of why I loved her. This night had slipped farther than I would have ever guessed possible. How very fitting this night seemed to the rest of my existence over the last thirty odd years.

"My house has no stairs," Julia said under her breath.

"Maybe I'll stay with you," I said dryly.

She didn't laugh. Either she was serious or appalled. With a nod toward Alex, she told him to go inside and tell Madeline he was safe. She looked at me sternly once we were alone.

"It would hardly be the most inappropriate thing we have done together," she reasoned.

"Yes, but I always leave once we're done," I said dumbly, as if that made sleeping with a widow any better. If anything it was worse tosleep wth her anddisappear before dawn. I caught myself too late and sighed. "That wasn't what I meant."

A crooked smile graced her lips. At least she found it amusing and not insulting. If she slapped me again, I had no choice but to sit and take it. Icouldn't imagine her beingso cruel. In her eyes, She probablythought I suffered enough. Women are always sympathetic.

"There's a guest room," she said after a long pause. "It was once a library but I sold all of Louis' books. In a few hours I could find a doctor."

"No doctor," I snapped.

She sighed in disgust.

I was not about to let her win. I tilted forward as though I would stand, though with what agony I was already in the movement it was little more than an act. Still, it worked. Julia, that foolish woman, waved her arm in protest and told me to stay sitting down where I wouldn't hurt myself. Of course I paid for my deception. The pain that ripped through my chest proved me foolish as well. For half a minute I couldn't even breathe, another minute passed before I could even speak.

Julia forced herself to nod. She would not call a doctor. "I know a little about wounds from the war," she said absently, looking across the street. Once or twice before she had mentioned being a volunteer nurse, but I knew little of her experience in nursing. There was no reason to have her explain the gruesome details of being a wartime nurse when I was at her house after dinner for physical pleasures. "But if there is something serious—a broken bone or whatnot—you must have someone see to it. Infections could spread, fevers could spike, Erik—"

"Why?"

"Because if you don't…" she paused and turned away.

I finished her sentence. "I'll be horribly disfigured for the rest of my life."

Julia shook her head. Not even she was that cruel. "You'll be in tremendous pain," she corrected me for the sake of being right. She added, "Or you could die."

"Pity."

"Alex would be devastated."

Exhaustion made it useless to argue. I realized no matter what, she was going to persist. I sighed again. "A guest room?"

"It's nearly as big as the master bedroom. There's a reading lamp, a nice window facing south, and the water closet is down the hall."

There was no need to convince me further. I glanced at the stairs and thought of how difficult it would be to make it up to the door. I knew already that if I managed that far, I would be laid outin the foyer for hours if not days. Eventually they wouldcall a doctor, or a coroner.

"Fine," I said at last.

Julia pushed the wheelchair along the street just as dawn broke in a pallid streak across the horizon. I had the strength to protest one last time as she ran the left wheel into the grass but felt no reason to fight her a moment longer. My night of fighting had come to an end. God have mercy, my night had come to a bloody, miserable end.

As foolish as it was, I still wanted to see Christine and ask her if this was what she wanted. All I ever wanted was to make her happy.

By the time we made it through the wrought iron gate in the front of her home, I was feeling pensive. I needed to understand the night and all that had transpired.

The last thing I remembered was the attack. Though distorted in my mind, I at least knew more or less what had happened. Itangered me. Out of the boy I had at least expected something more chivalrous than an attack of that nature. But there was nothing I could do about it at the present moment. My mind trudged on, where darkness and uncertainty clouded the night. That was when I passed out. Nothing would ever return those moments.

Once I recovered my senses, however, nothing made sense. Alex had been missing from around eight that night until nearly dawn. He had spent an entire nightaway from home. Apparently he had not been with Christine unless she was lying about seeing him. After all that had happened, I didn't doubt she was hiding something from me, the little tart.

Alexandre came by shortly after we reached her front door, but Julia sent him back home to bed.He frowned but did as she said and walked out the back door of Julia's home with Meg at his side. Meg, Julia explained, had come to stay with Lisette. There were times when I forgot Lisette existed. I'd only seen the girl a handful of times and, as one might expect, each encounter was brief.

"Tell Madeline that at least for the night, Erik will be here in the guest room," Julia told Meg before she and Alex returned home. "Maybe tomorrow he'll be feeling up to returning home."

Naturally Meg nodded, though there was a peculiar look in her eyes as though she accused us both of something. What faith she had to think I would even be able to find the strength to please Julia—or myself.

"How do you feel?" Meg asked me. It was just like her to ask something so ridiculous but of course she was attempting to be polite. She was always a nice girl, so much like her mother. If she had not been afraid of me for so long perhaps we could have spoken to one another rather than me always glaring at her and little Meg cowering and running away.

"Tell your mother not to worry," I said to her.

The look on Meg's face told me that the beating had been quite successful. Her eyes were drawn again and again to the center of my face, where my nose had bled quite freely. For the first time in my life, I wanted a mirror.

Meg left without much else to say, escorting Alex out in front of her. Alex looked back one last time as the door closed. His eyes looked exactly like his mother's. And then he was gone.

I suddenly became very uncomfortable.

"I want to sleep," I said once Julia wheeled me down the wood floor of the hallway. She maneuvered the chair through the doorway and carefully over the rug.

"You should be cleaned up first," she suggested.

"In the morning. Late in the morning."

She left me in the wheelchair beside the bed and walked around to close the curtains since the sun was rising. "All of my linens are clean. I would hate to have them all bloodied by you."

"I'll sleep sitting up. I'll be fine in this chair." The moment I spoke, I started to silently pray that she would protest my words. It was impossible to remain sitting up for much longer.

Julia grinned, amused by the banter. She had no idea what tremendous pain I was in or how badly I wanted to close my eyes. I had forgotten how exhausting pain could be. The last time I had been beaten so mercilessly I was only ten.

"You can sleep if you want," she said. She held her hand over her mouth and yawned. "I'll clean the blood away while you rest."

As reasonable as it sounded, there had to be something. There is always something. I started to sit forward and, using my dislocated left arm, nearly passed out from the pain.

"Put it back into place," I said through my teeth. "For the love of God, put it back into place."

Julia turned from where she stood and sucked in her cheeks. She swallowed visibly and gave a weak nod. "I've never done it before."

Oh, Julia! I turned away from her and stared at the wall. She had good intentions but not much else. I was almost certain I could have made it up those stairs at that moment.

"But I've seen it done before."

I turned toward her and watched as she wrung her hands nervously. She hesitated a moment then began rambling on about needing a water basin and clean towels for the cuts. I closed my eyes and wished that the back of the chair was high enough to rest my head. Each time I dozed, and I did start to doze off, my body fell forward and stopped in a rush of pain. There had to be a rib broken. There was no other explanation for why it hurt to breathe so damned much.

Without warning, Julia lifted my arm and pushed it back into place with a sickening crunch. The curse that left my mouth seemed to linger in the room long after she had finished. The first clear thought on my mind was if I ever saw the vicomte again, God save his miserable neck.

"I'll be back in a moment," Julia promised.

Frankly, I never wanted to see her again. I kept my watering eyes shut and listened as she walked out of the room. The floorboards creaked as she walked. I tried to concentrate on the steady sound. There was nothing else to do as I sat shaking, biting my lip to keep from sobbing in agony. All I wanted to do was sleep. Couldn't she understand that? Why did she torture me? By the time I would wake in the afternoon I was certain the pain would have dulled. Damn her, she wouldn't let me sleep.

Time ticked by slowly as I waited for her to return to the guest room. There was far too much time to spend thinking.

This was all Christine's doing. I had dedicated years of my life to giving her a voice. I had dotted over her, cherished her, and had done everything within my power to see her succeed and for what? To have her sleep with me out of pity once and spite the next time. Out of pity! To grant me a son she wanted nothing to do with and, as she had said, had never intended to birth. If she had ever seen Alex, she would have known it was a mistake to have considered harming him.

After all, I was quite familiar with mistakes. All of those years in the opera house spent for nothing. Each night I came to her and trained her voice, praised her progress, sang her to sleep did nothing. All of those years only to have her husband and two of his drunken friends follow me into an alley.

A warm, slow tear slipped down my face, hidden only by the mask. No one else would cry for me. Might as well resort to self-pity. And damn it if Julia still hadn't returned! She needed water and towels. Her house was as big as a postage stamp. It should have taken half a minute to fetch what she needed.

My hands began to shake and my body felt cold. I didn't even want to think of testing my newly repaired arm otherwise I would have retrieved the blanket at the end of the bed. For some reason, I shut my eyes and hoped that I could block out my misery.

Julia returned a while later. I opened my eyes and noticed how exhausted she appeared. She had probably been awake the entire night worrying over Alexandre.

She sat down on the bed and placed the bowl of water on the end table beside several towels. She stood again and left the room. I was about to scream at her to get in here and do whatever was needed but she returned before I could open my mouth. She placed a white pitcher and a matching glass on the table then brought me closer to the bed. She started to hand me the glass of water but realized that I couldn't even hold it.

Humiliated, I refused but she insisted and brought the cup to my lips. I drank down two full glassed before I felt that my thirst was gone. She wiped the corner of my mouth, to which I glared at her, then she flopped down again on the bed. I watched as she pulled her light brown hair back into a pony tail, which made her eyes look even darker underneath. She was strangely beautiful. I was fascinated by her.

She caught me staring but said nothing.

"Your mouth is bloody," she said. "Let me see your teeth."

I opened my mouth as far as a split lip would allow and she craned her neck for a better view. With a nod of approval, she turned to her bowl of water. I was glad when she looked away from me. I could watch her again.

"Did you see her?" Julia asked quietly. She dipped the first rag into the water and wrung it out, carefully averting her eyes. The bowl of water smelled medicinal, though what was in it I didn't know and didn't bother to ask. Medicine has never been an interest of mine.

"Who?" I asked. If she was going to blatantly ask me such a question, I would make her labor for the answer. This, I expected, would stop her meddling.

"Christine."

I sighed in disgust. I should have known she would ask me outright. "Yes."

"You found a way into the hotel?" She dabbed the rag along my neck and I lifted my chin. Either the water was extremely cold or I was running a fever. I shivered as she rubbed the towel against my ear and she paused, allowing me a moment to adjust. A bead of sweat dripped down the bridge of my nose and answered my question as to whether or not the water was cold or I was becoming ill.

"I followed him inside."

"Who?"

"Who do you think?"

Her hand pulled away.

"Her husband," I answered, harnessing my tone. I looked away from Julia and stared at a painting on the wall. It was a portrait of Julia and Louis when Lisette was an infant. All I could think of was why she had kept that, of all things? Why keep a painting of the man who had hurt her for so many years? Why would she ever want to see that disgusting, despicable man with his greased back black hair and small, cruel eyes? What did she ever see in him to begin with, I wondered.

"He didn't see you?"

Her words startled me and for a moment I didn't know what she was talking about. I glanced at her and then at the dresser. I had no desire to meet her eye. "He was drinking."

She was silent for a while. The cloth turned the water bright red as she dipped it in and wrung it out over and over again, clearing away the mask of blood from my neck up to my left cheek. Eventually it became impossible to keep my eyes open. Fighting the sensation was futile and the next thing I knew Julia was waking me.

"You should lie down for a while. Let me help you to bed."

"I'm fine."

She watched in silence as I leaned forward and used the momentum to rock to my feet. Everything hurt and I let out a ragged sigh. Standing was a mistake to do alone. I was falling. Straight to the floor.

Julia pushed me in the opposite direction and I collapsed on the bed with a grunt. The mattress gave enough so that, though it was uncomfortable, it was not as painful as it would have been had I fallen to the floor.

She said nothing, thank God, as she removed my shoes and lifted both of my legs onto the bed. Once she finished, she seemed slightly disgusted.

"I should have asked about your coat. Are you going to be comfortable?"

"A coat is the least of my complaints," I murmured with a yawn that stretched my busted lip to the limits.

If she said another word I didn't hear it. Flat on my back and completely dressed, I slept. It was nightfall when I woke again.