In the last chapter--if anyone remembers that far back--the boy and I were at odds. I nearly choked him to death

ICh 53

The boy never took his eyes off me as he wobbled to his feet. The cravat was torn away from his neck enough to display the reddened indentations beneath.

Once he had his legs beneath him I lunged forward and drove him away from the front door. He leapt away from me and managed to reach the wall to my right. He groped along the wall and bumped a small table. The vase of red roses on top slid to one side and precariously balanced on the edge.

There was nothing along the right wall aside from bouquets of roses and calla lilies probably delivered to the diva after her performance. There had been so many other things on my mind that I didn't realize how much it smelled like a funeral parlor.

"I said answer me," I growled through my teeth. My legs were starting to atrophy again, which only added to my foul disposition.

The boy stared wide-eyed at me with one hand against the wall and the other at his throat. He was terrified. Slowly I withdrew from my darling little vicomte and waited for him to continue moving farther into the room. Whenever he stopped I stalked forward. His mind was more knotted than my legs. He had no idea what I was doing. He made it rather easy to lure him into the corner.

The boy held his hands up, palms out as a plea for mercy. I held my own palm up and showed him the long, reddened lines where the streets had torn my skin open. He would get no mercy from me. He was a bigger damned fool than I had thought if he assumed I would show him benevolence.

"You know he's not your son," I said through my teeth. "I don't give a damn what Christine has said to you! Both of you know he is not your son."

The boy stumbled over an armchair and fell on his back. The moment he was sprawled out I stood over him. I drew my foot back and aimed the toes of my shoe at his ribs.

"An eye for an eye," I snarled.

"Erik, don't. You'll regret it later," Julia warned. I glanced at her and obeyed her request.

The boy turned onto his side and dabbed at his mouth with the back of his hand. Blood smeared across his chin. He must have bitten his tongue when he fell.

He scrambled to his feet and attempted to run past me but knew there was not enough room to escape. He gave up and doubled back finding himself trapped. He stared at the doorway where Christine had disappeared and realized he was a million miles away.

"What did you say to Alexandre?"

The vicomte made a futile attempt to move around me. He couldn't find momentum and I rammed him in the chest with my shoulder. The impact jolted him backwards and he hit the wall behind him. As excruciating as it was I drew back and hit him again, punching the air from his lungs. He glared up at me, his eyes filled with terror. He groped at my lapels and I stared back at him. Something else lingered beyond the fear, something I wanted to beat out of him.

Julia called out to me but I missed her words. I opened the balcony door and grabbed the vicomte by the overcoat. He had no idea what was happening when I shoved him onto the balcony. A rush of bitterly cold air stung the exposed side of my face before the glass rattled shut and I locked the door. The vicomte let out a muffled cry and pounded on the glass, rattling the door in the frame.

"You let that man back in here this minute," Julia demanded.

The tone of her voice startled me almost as much as her storming across the room. Before I even knew what was happening, Julia stood before me with her finger pressed against my chest.

"He's fine," I argued.

"Erik, I came with you to help you find your son, not torment and taunt this man. Let him back inside."

"He beat the hell out of me. He deserves to suffer."

"You've already made him suffer."

"Not nearly enough."

"Didn't you hear what he said?"

"I don't care what he said."

Julia briefly turned away from me. "He said 'Don't hurt my daughters.'"

"I haven't even threatened his daughters but he has threatened my son."

"When did he…?" She grumbled in disgust. "Erik, let him back inside."

Her matriarchal side reared its head at me. "Whose side are you on?"

"Quit acting so infantile! There are no sides to take, Erik! The only person I care for right now is Alex. You should be ashamed of yourself for wasting your time on petty endeavors when your son is still missing."

"He's hiding, not missing."

Her expression changed from anger to perplexity. "What does that mean?"

"It means I know where he is. And I think both of them know it as well."

"Where is he then?" she asked. She placed her hands on her hips as she interrogated me.

"The opera house," I answered. Before Julia could ask me further I opened the door to the balcony and stepped into the night.

Julia followed directly on my heels.

The boy had his back to us when we walked outside. He leaned over the wrought iron railing and gazed at the damp streets below. The rain had passed on for the night though a light fog drifted over the ground. Given the hour it was quiet save the sound of wind rattling through the barren trees.

The vicomte glanced at me over his shoulder but said nothing. Steam left his nostrils and clouded my view of his face. He turned back to the street. I realized after a while that he was staring at the alleyway.

"I never said a word to him," he said at last. "I never said a word to Alexandre."

"Yes you did. You called him a bastard. He told me you called him a bastard."

"I shouted at him, but I never spoke to him," the boy replied. He dabbed at his nose to check for blood. "He started to throw rocks at us and I chased him to the end of the street."

"If you had dared to hurt him, I swear to God—"

"I didn't hurt him. I would not have hurt him no matter what."

"Then why did you come to my house looking for him?" I asked. My anger was rekindled by his words. He was a damned liar. He had every intention of harming my son.

"To see what he looked like. I wanted to know. I had to see him for myself."

Chest heaving, I paused and stared at him. "And what do you know?"

The vicomte went silent and shook his head. He looked away from me before he spoke again. "I know his face." He exhaled and his breath rolled out before him on the damp, cold air. "You know who he looks like. You know exactly who he looks like. His eyes, his hair…"

"I don't care who he looks like. Alexandre is my son! He's been in my house for eight and a half years and I will be damned if you think you will take him from me." My voice rose again and the sound of my anger reverberated in the quiet night.

"The only thing we know for certain is that he is Christine's son." He looked at me then. Right in the eye, he stared at me. "I would never hurt Alexandre. I would never know if I punish my son…or another man's child."

The devastation in his eyes caught me off guard. I had come here expecting him to hate Alexandre as much as he hated me. A ragged sigh left his lips. He glanced away from me and I followed his gaze to the bedroom door.

"All these years," he said under his breath. "All these years of thinking we were happy and then this." He turned and leaned over the balcony, his hands balled into fists. "You've given me countless reasons to hate you. For the past nine years I have been constantly looking over my shoulder. At every performance I search each shadow, watch each step, expect each curtain fall will be the last time I see my wife. You're never there when I search. Yet I know you're always there.

"I don't know who Alexandre belongs to, but those are my daughters in there," the boy blurted out. "When I came home and Christine told me you were in our bedroom…I wanted to kill you. You have no right to be around my family."

I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him toward my face. "Look at me and tell me we are even. You have a wife, you have two children and you are allowed to see the world. I had my son."

"I never took your son from you! He left of his own accord." He brushed my hand away from his neck. "You had that coming to you after all these years," he said between his teeth. He pointed at the darkened alleyway and took a step toward me so that our chests nearly met. "I would gladly beat the life from your body if you dared to come near my family again," he shouted in my face.

As much as I wanted to kill him I still respected him for that. Perhaps we had something in common after all.

We remained inches from one another, two bulls stuck in the same pen. "I wasn't coming for your family."

"You came for my wife!"

"Your children were safe."

"And my wife?" The boy challenged. "Is she ever safe from you?"

I started to reach for his throat again but restrained myself. "I would never hurt her. She…she was dear to me for a very long time. No matter what she did to me, I would not harm her or her daughters."

His hardened stare never wavered as I spoke. The night dripped with anxiety as we confronted one another, both of us too damned full of pride to back down. Had Julia not stepped onto the balcony with me we would have grappled or come to blows until one of us was tossed over the railing. Blood would have been spilled, I have no doubt, and most likely it would have been mine. Already I was exhausted from overexertion. Blood had dripped and caked onto my eyebrow from the stitched-up laceration.

"Gentlemen," Julia said quietly. That was the only thing she said but it was a one-word warning. We backed away from one another out of shame more than duty.

It was a long time before either of us spoke. Julia put her hood over her head and huddled closer to the building. From the corner of my eye I could see her trembling with cold. As much as I wanted to put my arm around her I knew she would not allow it. She was attempting to remain impartial. Her only concern was Alexandre.

The vicomte lowered his head. "She took it hard when our daughter died," he said suddenly. He was breathing heavier than before. "There were nights when she would wake and tell me Suzette was fine. She would check on the girls, come back to bed and tell me Suzette was with Madame Giry. I had no idea why she would say such a thing. Now I know why. All of these years of silence and she's thought of him. Not once did she mention him but she must have always thought of him."

He looked at me strangely. "I thought she was thinking of you. I suppose in a way she still was."

"Why would you tell me this?" I asked. "Sympathy?"

He turned to fully face me. "I don't want your sympathy just as you do not want mine."

"Then what do you want?" I demanded.

"If there is any chance—any chance at all that Alexandre is my son I must see him again. I must know for certain if he is my blood…and I willWe all will."

He looked past me at the balcony door. "I must find peace," he whispered.