My turn to talk before Erik! I will be gone on Saturday and possibly Sunday. Last update will be Friday afternoon/evening. Erik? I think he would like to recap.

I could sink no further than begging God for mercy in letting me keep my son. As I slipped into the farthest reaches of Hell, Alex showed up.

Ch 42

Ch 42

There was nothing left.

My dignity had been removed. I was raw, stripped of my hide like a carcass in a butcher shop window. I was nothing more than a mass on the floor unhindered by false hair and a white mask.

There was nothing left.

The hatred I felt for myself could flare no brighter; my shame could dig claws no deeper. I was crucified by my own foolishness, guillotined by my pursuit for Christine, and fed to the lions of my own deceit. I was executed for false hopes and resurrected only to lie on the floor and beg for mercy.

There was only one thing left to do.

"I need to sit up."

Alexandre said nothing. I heard his shoes rub against the floor followed by the lamp rattling as he pressed his back to the nightstand. He softly apologized, then accidentally kicked me between the shoulder blades and apologized again. The bruises to my upper back let out a resonating scream of fiery pain but I only shook my head.

Sitting upright made me feel worse. My head pounded at the temples and in the middle of my forehead where I had split my stitches the previous day. To keep the room from making a vicious spin I closed my eyes and pressed my palms to the cool floor.

"Do you want me to leave?" Alex asked under his breath.

"No," I answered him quickly. I exhaled slowly, waiting for my stomach to settle.

He was quiet. I knew without looking at him that he had been staring at the back of my head.

"Alex—"

"Did Mme Seuratti make your hair fall off?"

Despite his education he couldn't help but inquire in ways that were callous yet expected for his age. My mouth opened as I thought of an answer. Nothing elaborate seemed appropriate as I knew that no matter what, any answer would open a Pandora's Box of questions.

"No."

I glanced over my shoulder. Alex sat with his back up against the nightstand. His legs were drawn up to his chest and his wrists dangled over his knees. He looked away once he saw my head turn.

There was nothing left to hide from him, nothing left I could keep in secret a moment longer. He had seen something far more grotesque over the last twelve months, something I wished he had never seen in me.

I turned back towards the wall and felt myself shudder. "Alex—"

"Mme Seuratti wouldn't let me see you earlier. She's making me stay in Lisette's room even though I told her you said I could stay in here."

"Alex, this is Mme Seuratti's home. You must listen to her and do as she asks."

"Do you have to listen to her as well?"

He amused me in even my darkest hour. "I respect her."

"Does that mean you don't have to follow her orders?"

"It means that you should do as she tells you and not argue." My tone was unduly harsh and I caught myself and sighed. "It is no different here than it is at home. Julia deserves the same respect from you as the adults in our home."

He was silent for a moment. I started to turn again.

"Father?" he said before I had a chance to address him. He had moved nearer as we spoke so that he sat with his right side against the bed.

"Yes, Alexandre?"

"Father, did you fall? Is that why you weren't in bed?"

"Farther than you know," I whispered.

"May I stay a little longer?"

"You may stay as long as you wish," I replied as I started to climb to my feet. "But get off the floor first. It's too cold for you to sit down there. You'll catch a fever."

Alex scrambled up and took my left arm, then knowing my pride and foolishness, quickly backed away. Standing up was far better than being on my knees but I reached back and blindly searched the air. I needed him. I wanted him to know that I needed him.

"Alex?" I asked without turning.

His hand met mine and I pulled him towards me, wrapping my arm over his shoulder. He supported none of my weight but he didn't hesitate to wedge himself up against me as though he was much stronger than he looked.

I could feel how tense he was, how uncertain he felt in my presence. His head stayed bowed as it usually did when we were together. I couldn't even remember the last time when I had spoken to my own child and looked him in the eye. The only time I seemed to look at him was when he was being reprimanded for something and Madeline sent him to me.

"You may turn down the lamp if you wish to stay," I offered.

His head shook, rustling the dark curls. "How will you read, then?"

"I'm too tired to read any more tonight." That wasn't what I wanted to say to him. I was sick of my own excuses. "The books can wait. I wanted to speak with you."

He glanced up but looked away before he ever made it to my face. "Am I in trouble?"

"Not with me. Should you be?"

His shoulders dropped, his arms relaxing as I pressed him closer. "Are you going to punish me for running away?"

"Not this time." My legs had turned to knots the longer I stood upright. I stifled a groan of sheer agony and stared at the bed. "Alex, I must lie down again."

Alex helped me to sit, carefully staying to my left. Once I was sitting he moved into the chair and slunk down low averting his eyes.

"Alexand—"

"Father."

We kept verbally running into one another. I felt like I was drowning, like I was looking up from the bottom of the sea and watching him. He had fought—tooth and nail—he had fought and struggled as the waves beat him, tossed him. If only I had realized sooner that I was the one who controlled the tide.

"What is it, Alexandre?"

He hesitated and tapped his fingers together. I turned to fully face him knowing he would not lift his eyes.

"Father," he started again. A ragged breath left his parted lips. "Did you want to see her so that she would take me back?"

The bits of my heart which had shattered turned to dust. Not only did he think that I didn't love him but he thought that I wanted to be rid of him.

"No," I answered before I lost a chance to tell him anything.

He nodded, his face visibly contorted. He had received about as much as he had come to expect. There were no longer lengthy conversations, no longer reading the morning paper or flipping through books. His time was spent studying and aggravating Meg and Madeline. My time was spent elsewhere, on nothing that seemed important.

"Alex," I started. He sucked in a breath through his nose and wiped his face. He had thrown plenty of tantrums before me but tears were rare for him. We were both easily irritated, prone to reacting before thinking, though never emotional beyond that.

"Sit with me," I whispered. I stared at the bedside table, at the hair he had never seen me without and the mask that he had once tried to remove. I moved over on the bed. "If you want…"

He moved at once and sat on the bed with his back to me. He wiped at his eyes again but said nothing and the silence between us blanketed the room. There were so many things I wanted to tell him, most of all that I loved him. I could tell God that I loved my own son but I couldn't bring myself to tell Alex how I felt about him. It had been too long, I had wasted too many years, and I had not done enough.

"Did Mme Seuratti take your…your other face away?"

The mask. For as bright of a boy as he was he thought of the mask as my other face.

"No, she didn't take it from me, but I must wait until my face heals before I can wear it again."

"Oh. How long will that take?" he asked. He turned his head to the side and risked a glance but thought better of it and stopped.

"A week I would think."

He nodded. "Then I may see you again?"

There was such shame in not knowing what to tell him. I said the first thing that came to mind.

"I have another face. It's not like the other one."

He turned his head again and looked at me from the corner of his eye. "Do you want to put it on?"

I looked away from him for a moment and regretted never showing him before now. This would have been easier had he been a toddler, not a boy slowly becoming a young man. "Alex, it's not a mask, it's real. It's skin. Like…like your skin." I closed my eyes and felt along the inside of my mouth with my tongue. "You may look if you wish to see it."

The bed creaked and I knew that he faced me. My eyes opened slowly and I found that he was staring at the middle of my chest. His gaze flickered up and met mine, and he forced a half-smile then looked away. The corners of his mouth twitched but he said nothing. Another attempt at eye contact failed both of us.

"Were you scared?" he asked under his breath. "When…they…"

"Yes," I admitted before he could finish. I swallowed hard. My heart was racing. I had expected him to stare only a moment before he screamed and ran from the room.

"Me too," he said quietly. He moved closer and clasped his hands together. His eyes flashed up and he stared at my nose before he looked away again. "I thought they would kill you."

"You shouldn't have been there, Alex."

"I wanted to see her."

"I know."

"But not anymore. I don't like her. I know I won't like her."

"Alex—"

"And I hate him. I hope he dies. I hate him."

"Alex, don't say that."

He let out a single sob. "I hate her too for watching, for doing nothing. I hate her standing there on her balcony. I hate her. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her."

"Alex—"

He hit the bed with both of his hands and I grabbed him around the chest and drew him toward me. I brought him to me the way I did when he was a small child, when he would hold his breath or throw himself down. Madeline hated how I would coddle him rather than reprimand him after his tantrums.

His fists balled around the back of my shirt, his face pressed against my chest as I held him and he cried. It was the first time in four years that he had been this close to me. His heart was pounding, his body trembling. He suddenly felt like a toddler again, like a frightened boy clinging to his father.

And he was a frightened boy, a child confused and injured. With my eyes closed, I kissed the top of his head and felt drops of warmth in his dark curls. I couldn't lose him. I couldn't bear to ever think of him gone from my life.

"I'll hate her forever," he said as he caught his breath again.

My own hatred was a terrible lump in my throat that I forced myself to swallow. I didn't want him to feel as I had felt for so long. I didn't want him to despise her as I did. "You mustn't say that, Alexandre. She's…she's your mother."

He was quiet for a while and I expected that he had exhausted himself and fallen asleep. I pressed my cheek to the top of his head and closed my eyes, listening to him breathe, feeling his body move as he sighed. Slowly, his arms slipped down from my back. I held him closer.

This was my last moment to hold him, to cradle him as I had when he was an infant. This was the ending to the years I had wasted on mourning what was not yet gone.

Two more days and she would claim him. I dreaded that moment. He would think I had lied to him, that I did see Christine to send him away.

"Alex, I love you," I whispered as his breaths evened out. I kissed his head again, the warmth and wetness against my cheeks growing. "No matter what happens I will always love you."

"I love you too," he whispered back.