Recap (by Erik) Alex crept downstairs and spoke to me in the night. When I turned up the lamp, my figurine of Christine was left on the bedside table.

On a different note, Gabrina would also like you to know that she will not be in town on Sunday 4/17, thus I will be unable to continue my story until Monday afternoon. Tell her she mustn't leave ever again. It irritates me to no end that I must suffer because of her needs.

Ch 30

Silence has always been a form of torture. Most of my life has been spent alone and always feeling dejected. Even as I shared the same house as Madeline, Meg, Charles and Alexandre, I have never lived with them. They existed in a world separated from mine. I felt the gap expanding as I laid awake in an unfamiliar room with the portrait of a dead man staring at me.

Given far too much time, I did nothing but think. I was beginning to think I was to blame for my own misery. It was not a flattering thought, not in the least. For as long as I could remember, it was always my face that had impregnated in the minds of those around me that I was more a creature than a human. My corpse's face drew people back aghast, spreading horror like disease. Though Madeline had seen me unmasked long ago, and now so had Julia and even my own son. It wasn't my appearance that would drive them away. There was another ugly beast, one more vile and disgusting than the thing on the outside.

That was a beast even I could not tolerate.

Julia came to check on me as the dawn peered through the bottom of the curtain with a slit of gray. Rain still pelted the windows. I was near enough the wall to be able to draw back the curtains and gaze at the drab start to the day. For a while I watched the rivulets streak the windows like tears against a clear face. It almost seemed like a shame that something so easy to see through had nothing to reveal. Julia had made me feel like a pane of glass.

I listened to Julia in the kitchen as she removed pots and pans from the cabinets. For a while I stared at the wheel chair and contemplated wheeling myself to the dining room table, though as much as I wanted to see her, I didn't want to confront her. All I could think of was how she had asked if I need anything and the only thing I could think of was that I needed her. She would never believe me. I had made certain of that.

Before long, however, there was no choice but to confront her again. The smell of bacon and eggs wafted down the hall and I knew she would be bringing breakfast soon enough. This, I thought, must have been how the lion at the zoo feels: his pride diminished, his every need controlled by a hand outside the iron bars.

While I waited, I thought about Alexandre. The wax figurine he had left in the room had been shoved into the drawer and removed a dozen times. Each time I looked at the damned thing, my anger increased. She had betrayed me, and I couldn't help but wonder if I could change her feelings towards me if I saw her one last time. Thinking of her gave me the strength and anger to straighten my fingers back into place.

Alexandre concerned me more than Christine. He had no right to be in my room nosing around like a pig through. Since I had purchased the property, I had always required my privacy. Alex had invaded that privacy by entering my bedroom unescorted. He knew he was not allowed on the upper floor. No one, other than Madeline, was ever allowed to enter and she was only allowed to clean when I was present.

The figurine left behind was a mockery, complete disregard from all trust I had put in him. He had not only wandered around the bedroom, he had rummaged through the cellar. From there, I had no idea where he had gone. For all I knew, he had gone up through the trap door and entered the library or had wandered about all the way to the old opera house.

I only knew for certain that he had taken the figurine and that in and of itself was horrific. He would have seen where the paint was most warn, along the face, the carved breasts, the center of the hips. It angered me that he had found it and that I had left it to be discovered. I could only assume the little heathen had gone through Christine's old letters as well. The letters…He had to have seen all of the letters.

Julia knocked on the door. Startled, I tossed the figurine into the drawer and slammed it shut, nearly catching my finger. She assumed that my stifled curse was an invitation to enter.

"You look terrible," Julia commented as she walked in backwards with a tray in hand.

"Flattery will get you no where," I grumbled. It was painful to look at her. The moment she entered, I looked away. Meeting her eye would only promote lust, and I knew she would deny me.

"Didn't you sleep?" she interrogated me. I made no reply.

She walked towards the bed and stirred the soup again. "You didn't like it?"

"Never tried it."

Her head tilted to the side as she examined me. She leaned forward and gently placed the back of her hand against my forehead, then each cheek until she grunted. The concern I had held before of her seeing me without my normal appearance had left me. I knew there was indifference in her hazel eyes. She saw something entirely different than I had ever seen.

"There's no fever."

"I never said I had a fever."

"No, but you did run a temperature yesterday and it's best to be certain that it didn't return." Julia looked towards the table again and I followed her eyes. The drawer had not closed completely. I couldn't let her see the wax replica of Christine. My hand shot out and slammed the door shut before she could touch the handle. She glared at me, then shook her head, deciding not to ask what I was up to.

"You were starving to death last night," she said as she removed the untouched bowl from the table and set breakfast down in its place. "What is it? Why didn't you eat?"

"Given the circumstances, I would expect you know already," I answered irritably.

"Didn't I tell you to eat? Your stomach is probably upset."

"There is nothing wrong with my stomach."

"Starving children in the world, orphans left to die in the streets,and you waste your perfectly good supper," she mumbled.

"Then send it to them," I snapped. "Find everyone in need of charity and welcome them into your home."

She refused to look at me. "You are simply impossible," she said under her breath. "Nothing will change that, will it? You can't even have sense beaten into you."

"Apparently not," I replied.

Julia didn't appreciate my need to have the last word. She slammed the door shut and left for a while with the soup bowl in her hands. While I picked at breakfast, I heard her as she stomped down the hall and woke the children. The back door opened and closed and I assumed she had sent Lisette down to the bakery or out to run an errand. It was nearly nine when I saw Julia again.

"What happened?" I asked when she entered the guest room. I had found a book stowed beneath the bed and, with nothing else to do, had read myself into boredom over Norse mythology.

"It's still raining," she replied.

Her hair was damp, as was her face and dress. She held up a cloth sack, though with how her clothes clung to her body I had no interest in the bag.

"I have your belongings," she said as she turned to the side and pulled the drawstring apart. "Madeline said she would stop by later. She has a letter for you."

"From who?"

Julia looked away. "I haven't any idea." That was a lie, but I said nothing. I already knew the answer.

For all I cared, Julia could have been speaking Chinese. There was nothing on my mind other than what was beneath the layers of wet clothing. Her curves were unmistakable, leaving nothing to my ravenous imagination. My desire increased. I set the book on my lap and folded my arms.

Julia glanced up and sighed as she noticed me at last. She placed her hands on her hips and shook her head. "Honestly, Erik," she scolded. "Have you no self control?"

Being caught brought no shame and I didn't even bother to look at her face. It had been exactly eight days since she had last invited me to her home.

"Erik," she warned.

My eyes met hers. "Why didn't you say you were going to visit Madeline? There are things I wanted you to retrieve." I couldn't help but look away, wishing my hands could be in the same place as my eyes.

Julia crossed her arms and forced me to look at her face again. Her cheeks had flushed by my brazen interest. "Retrieve? Such as what?"

"Alex's dog."

She forced a smile from her lips, knowing very well that calling it Alex's dog was a fabrication. "Absolutely not, Erik. I'll not have a dog in my house. They're filthy creatures."

"The dog makes less of a mess than Alex."

She rolled her eyes and began folding the clothes into a neat pile. "Well, it seems your dog and your son now have something in common." She walked the clothes over to the dresser and moved several items out, setting them on the dresser. Men's clothes, I realized, and Louis Seuratti's clothes at that. That gave me a sense of satisfaction. "Did you know your son threw a rock and hit the vicomte?"

"I knew he threw a rock." I would have shook his hand had I known actually hit the boy.

She looked away again, not realizing I could see her smile reflected in the mirror. "Your dog bit his hand."

"Good. Now if Meg and Madeline beat the holy hell out of him, I'd say we were even."

"This is serious. He threatened to have the gendarmes come down and take the dog away. Madeline said she hid the dog in your bedroom all night."

"I'll kill him if anything happens to that damned dog."

Julia turned and looked at me, her eyes sliding downward. I followed her gaze and realized she was staring at the dark bruises. Her eyes lingered a moment before she swallowed hard and turned away, fixing her wet hair behind her head.

"You should dress. It isn't healthy to lie around like this. You will catch a fever if you sit around half-naked," Julia commented. She opened the drawer she had just closed and removed a shirt I had watched her fold. Without meeting my eye, she neared the bed. By all appearances, she was flustered. "I have a thousand things to do today and not a moment to spare to you and your dawdling. Come on, lift your arms."

She leaned over me and threaded my arm through the new shirt, which would have been humiliating had it not been for her position at my side. I stared at the outline of her breast, drinking in each detail with unabashed delight.

"I have half the mind to sock you in the eye, Erik," she murmured as she sat on the bedside and buttoned my shirt. It never ceased to amaze me that she was more aware of my roving eyes than I gave her credit for. Still, I refused to look away.

"Perhaps you should not be so tempting," I muttered.

Something came over me, a strange spell of sorts as her fingers grazed my skin. She smelled different than I remembered, sweeter, perhaps. There were so many things about her that I noticed for the first time, like the way she moved her mouth as she fitted each button through the hole, counting as she went. I was mesmerized by way she moved her tongue over her upper lip when she concentrated, as she did when she stopped and checked a long scratch across my stomach. She had me completely entranced, awestruck by the warmth of her smooth fingers and the gentle scrape of her nails as they moved deftly from my neck down to where I feared she would notice my interest in her. But I couldn't look away. I stared at her painted lips and envisioned them red and swollen from hours of kissing, damp from the contact with mine.

More than anything, I wanted to know what her kiss tasted like. Sex seemed secondary. I had slept with her. I had the pleasure of touching her, of kissing her shoulders, her neck and wherever else she allowed, but never her lips. Not once. Not ever. I felt like I was missing something, a strange secret that the world enjoyed but that had always eluded me, that I had denied myself.

"There. Good. I'll be back in an hour or so, the children will be upstairs…" she started to say. She began to rise but I caught her by the wrist and she stopped, perfect lips agape as she stared down at me. "What is it?"

My heart was thundering so loudly, I couldn't even hear my own thoughts. "If you closed your eyes, if you didn't have to see it, would you allow me to kiss you? Just once?" I blurted out. "Just once."