Ch 24

Two of them were standing before me, one at my back, holding me up under the arms. My body was limp and heavy and I felt like I was falling. Falling…fast…straight to hell.A journey to meet the devil had to be better than what I felt in the alley.

A hand, a smooth, cool hand, took me under the chin and lifted my face.

"Look at him," the vicomte said. "Look at his face and tell me what spell Christine would have to be under to ever touch him?"

Laughter, mocking laughter, the one sound in the world I was most familiar with in my lifetime. Even after the time I spent with the gypsies, I have lived inside a cage. I lifted my eyes, stared at the little boy past lashes thick and heavy with my own blood. I spit at him, spit blood at his fine clothing.

"I touched her twice," I dared to say. "Before you ever did."

A fist clubbed me in the temple. A sliver of time escaped me. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground choking on bile and stagnant water from the alley.

"He'll pay for this. You'll both pay for this."

I lay half asleep and half awake. The dream became reality, and reality became an illusion. Something cool and damp touched my chin. I swallowed and groaned, mumbling to myself. My eyes would not open. They were sealed shut from swelling and caked closed with blood. How much blood had I lost? By how weak I felt I could only assume it was much more than was healthy, though I suppose it isn't healthy to lose blood at all.

"I'm sorry," Julia said. She sounded so distant. I caught the tone of her voice, the pain she felt—or the regret.

SuddenlyI knew why she had apologized. Her fingers moved along my cheek and hairline. She started to pull at the mask.

"Don't," I protested.

"The cuts," Julia murmured. "I have to clean the cuts. You need a compress on the bruises."

I started to fall again, faster than I had before. The blood had sealed the mask against my face. She pulled again, wiping at the edges with a damp cloth.

"Don't," I said again.

"Tell me if it hurts," Julia whispered.

"It hurts," I said at once.

"Erik, stop it."

"Get out of here. Right this minute, damn you, get out of here."

And still she persisted, lifting the edge at my temple, peeling away the mask until I felt the rush of air against my skin, against the swollen redness of flesh that was in no way human. My fingers clutched her wrist. She didn't force me away but she moved her hand, moved until she had entwined her fingers in mine.

With one final wrenching pull she lifted the mask away. I released a hollow moan of useless protest. Warmth trickled from my eyes, tears she wiped away before they fell down the sides of my face. She said nothing though I felt the tremble of her hands as she worked diligently to clean the cuts. Those damned cuts. I would have prefered blood poisoning to this artful torment.

"God no," I said. No, I didn't say it, I wept it. I couldn't open my eyes. I couldn't see her expression; see the horror on her face I knew had to be there. Instead, I imagined what she looked like, here oval face taut, her lips strained to keep from screaming out in sheer repulsion. I thought she would leave the room and retch from what she saw, for what she revealed.

She viewed everything. Every last macabre detail of ruined flesh, of a monster's face. She saw the folded lump of skin along my cheek, the rising mound at my temple, the dragged down appearance of my left eye…the brow that never grew. Not even I wanted to see it in a mirror but that was when I was without bruises and cuts. When she saw me, I had been butchered, andall of my morbid self was displayed for her satisfaction.

"Is that what you wanted to see, Mme Seuratti?" I growled through my teeth. "Are you not yet fully disgusted?"

"Don't move," she whispered. Her voice was so low I could barely hear her. "I don't want to get this into your eye."

"Don't look at it," I begged her. "Please, don't look at any of it."

She sniffled. Why was she crying? What right did she have to shed a tear when she was not the one being ridiculed? I turned away as best as I could but my neck was bruised. It hurt to do anything.

"Erik," she managed. She sniffled again.

"Leave me alone. Just leave me alone."

"There's a cut that needs to be stitched," she said. "Please, just hold still and I'll do it quickly." She paused and brought my fingers to her lips. Pleasure before the deepest pain of all. "It goes into your hairline."

I went numb. I have no idea what I said to her as I struggled to hold onto the top of my head. Whatever I said was in vain. She placed her fingers under the wig and lifted it up. I swatted her away, catching her in the side, I think. All I remember doing was screaming at her and arching my back. One eye I managed to force open at last though it made little difference. She was only a blurred image waving back and forth through the salty shield of tears.

She looked at me when she saw I had fought so hard I could see her through my bloody eyelashes. She had blood all over her hands, all over her green blouse and even her cheeks. My blood, she had my blood covering her as I had fought her tooth and nail.

Even though I couldn't see her clearly I knew she was frustrated. Her hair was stuck to her forehead, her face sheened in sweat.She placed one hand against my chest and told me to stop, to just stop. She was tired and didn't want to fight me all night long. She said something about Madeline and Alexandre. It made no difference what she said. Her hand pressed harder, her trembling hand resting over my heart.

"Just stop it, Erik," she pleaded.

And I stopped fighting her. Exhausted and limp I did nothing more than lay at her mercy, lips trembling, body shaking like a pathetic child. I was reduced to nothing. There was nothing left to fight for.

She apologized once more for what she was about to do and then it was over. I felt her pull off the wig in one swift motion. The cool air touched my sweating head where the hair grew thin and in scattered patches, barely covering the rivers of blue veins running beneath the surface of tightly pulled skin. The rag ran over the newly exposed disaster, the wretchedness of God's most loathsome creature. I howled with tears and anguish, pounding the mattress several times with my fists before pain outweighed frustration. If she still wept for what she forced herself to see I didn't know.

I wondered if she regretted each night I had spent with her. I wondered if the memories made her sick to her stomach. This strange beast was what had crawled into bed beside her and left well before the dawn. This was what she allowed to share her company. I hoped to God she was satisfied.

"I hate you," I said aloud. I know I said it aloud and that she heard me because she started to cry. But she didn't understand that I wasn't talking to her.

I was talking to myself then, and to whatever sinister maker had designed such a face.

The doorbell woke me with a violent start. I jolted in bed, the nightmare of all that had happened in the alley resurfacing in my mind yet again.

Disoriented, I groped along the sides of my body and discovered the sheets and the edge of the bed. Suddenly I panicked, my breathes turning ragged, my muscles tightening, thoughts racing through my mind. I couldn't see again. My hand touched my eyes and I discovered there was a compress placed over them. I ripped it off and tossed it aside.

Slowly I remembered I hadn't returned home from the Wisteria. This was Julia's home. She and Alexandre had brought me back at dawn after the boy and two of his aristocrat friends had beaten me within an inch of my life. I felt as though I had been killed and resurrected.

With a groan, I shifted in bed. Then I remembered Julia coming into the room. My mask! My God, I hoped it was nothing more than a nightmare, a strange vision. Had she given me anything for pain? Perhaps the White Goddess played tricks with my mind.

My hand touched my face and my hair, my missing hair and unmasked face. It hadn't all been a nightmare. Julia had seen it. She had seen it all.

Emotion threatened me again but I forced myself to stay quiet. I heard footsteps along the wooden floor and the groan of the front door opening. There was someone there. Again I felt a rush of panic. If it was a doctor I would crawl out the window if need be. I had warned her. I had told her no doctor.

"He walked past the house twice," I heard a woman speak. I held my breath and listened. Madeline. I knew her voice like no other. "The second time I thought for certain he would knock on the door but he didn't. He just walked by and continued down the street, glancing over his shoulder."

"He was alone?" Julia asked.

"Yes, as far as I know. But still, on his own, he would…I don't even want to think about it, Mme Seuratti. He might be out there now for all I know. I really shouldn't be gone long. I don't want to leave Meg and Charles alone in the house, not after last night."

The boy, I knew, they were talking about my dear little friend the vicomte. He had come past the house but hadn't the nerve to call. Perhaps he wanted to finish what he had started. If he wanted someone to torture me, he should have very well called Julia, that vile and hateful woman.

"I'm sorry to trouble you," Madeline added after a brief pause.

"He can stay here as long as he needs to," Julia replied. "Really, it's no trouble."

"But you have Lisette," Madeline protested.

"She's old enough to take care of herself. I can manage two at once."

It was galling to think that they were making arrangements. What nerve the two of them had to decide where I would stay without my consent. As soon as I was able to walk again, and I expected that this would be soon, I would return home. Then I would wait for the boy to come past the house. He would regret ever stepping foot on my street.

"But you already have Erik to look after. Really, I don't want to burden you with Alexandre as well."

My breath caught in my throat. My God, they weren't talking about me. It was Alex. I leaned toward the edge of the bed and waited for them to continue. Why were they talking about Alex?

"No, no, if he was threatened at all…if you think he is at all safer here than your home, by all means he may stay with me. He's a good boy. He'll be no trouble."

Threatened? No, there would be no threats against Alex. Never would anyone threaten my flesh and blood. I would kill the vicomte if he ever even thought ill of my son, if he dared to even assume he would take anything ever again that belonged to me.

Madeline sighed. "Oh, thank you, Madame. I'll pack him some clean clothes and have Meg bring him here in a few hours. I'll be certain to bring fresh clothes for Erik, too. How is he?"

"Do you want to see him? I could wake him, if you wish."

There was hesitation. I couldn't blame her if she said she had no interest in ever seeing me again.

"From what Alex said, his father needs his rest. I cannot believe Raoul would do such a thing, but from what Alex overheard? I hate to say it but it seems as though Erik brought this on himself."

"Erik said he never mentioned Alex."

Madeline sighed. "Someone had to mention Alex and I know it was not Christine. I don't think Alexandre would lie to me about what he overheard. He was too distraught when he came home, the poor child. No, Julia, it was Erik. It had to be Erik."

"If Erik thought his son would be in danger, I don't think he would do it. He loves him. I know he does, even if he doesn't want to believe it himself."

Madeline made no reply. She couldn't convince herself any longer.

"What will you tell him if Monsieur de Chagny inquires?"

"I'll tell him Erik is dead and Alex ran away. What else could I tell him?"

"Do you think he will believe you?"

"No."

They both went silent. There was nothing else they could say to one another that would affect me. I was devastated. Alexandre was in danger, terrible danger. And it was all my doing.