Summary: Erik and his companions travel to England to dispense their own form of justice to Michaud. Upon arrival back in Paris, Erik receives a strange summons.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
The ride from Paris to Le Havre could be accomplished two ways - the water route via the Seine or the overland route via wheeled conveyance. The water route added nearly thirty miles as the Seine meandered back and forth through the French countryside. It was faster to hire a private conveyance and take the overland route and faster added expenses. Expensive and faster also meant privacy. Privacy meant no questions would be asked or would need to be answered. Faster just meant faster. The faster that the nightmare would be gone from France. The faster that justice would be served. The faster that Annalise could begin putting the pieces of her life back together. The faster that he could - once more - leave Christine behind.
All these thoughts passed through Erik's mind as he stood on the deck of the ship that was halfway between Le Havre and Portsmouth, England. The channel was calm under the midday sun, a light summer breeze billowed the sails, urging the ship onwards to the English port. If Erik took note of these things, it was only to notice how slowly or quickly they were getting him and his companions to England. He sighed and turned from the railing, moving past men who paid him little heed. This was a working boat, not the usual ferry and if an eccentric, deformed man wished to take his mad relation to England for treatment, what business was it of theirs? They were all being paid well for their silence and the money meant a bit of extra security for a few months.
Erik walked down the stairs to the boat's lower level, stopping at the door guarded by Charles. Erik had found the man useful after Andrew had left with Annalise and kept him to assist with getting Michaud out of the country. Charles was grateful for the money he was paid and some part of him found satisfaction in being on the opposite end of justice - such justice as it was. Charles nodded at Erik.
"How is my nephew?" Erik asked in a very smooth tone of voice designed to fool any within hearing distance.
"He's been putting up a bit of a fuss," Charles said as he unlocked the door.
"What a disappointment," Erik replied. "I must tend to the poor lad." He went through the door that Charles had opened and waited until it closed behind him, the lock falling into place. Erik's eyes swept the small cabin, seeing Tomas sitting at attention on an overturned crate; and on what passed for a bunk, trussed up like a Christmas goose, Michaud lay glaring at the man who had ruined his plans.
"He is not very happy today," Tomas said evenly, never taking his eyes from Michaud.
Erik walked over to Michaud and leaned over him, patting him on the cheek. "I am sorry to hear that," Erik said. "I had so hoped the sea air would be beneficial to your health." He smiled as he laid a hand on the gag that guaranteed Michaud's silence. "I am going to take this off and any screams you may make for help will be utterly ignored." Erik yanked roughly on the gag. "How do you like being the victim?" he hissed.
"I am going to kill you," Michaud snarled.
"It has been tried before," Erik shrugged.
The evil that had so frightened Annalise glittered at the back of Michaud's eyes. "And when I am done with you, I am going to go back and finish what I started!"
It did not even take the space of a single heartbeat before Erik's fingers were wrapped around Michaud's throat, cutting off his air. "You will never again lay a finger on Annalise," the deadly whisper came as Erik lifted Michaud by the throat.
"Kill me," came the desperate plea as sanity fought its way to the surface. "Oh God! Just kill me now!"
Erik was not prepared for the brief moment and he faltered, his brows creasing in consternation.
The moment was gone as quickly as it had come, the anger and the evil and the nothingness regaining control, laying claim to the body, banishing the last vestiges of humanity to a dark, endless void. "Weakling!" the anger shouted. "You cannot even kill when begged to do so!"
"Weak?" Something dangerous gleamed in the back of Erik's eyes. "Weak?" he repeated. "Do you have any idea how much strength it is taking for me to not rip your throat out at this very moment?" There was no answer. "Do you?" Erik shouted as he loosed his fingers and Michaud's head bounced against the wood of the bunk. "You have no idea how much I desire to take and drop you in the Channel and let the fishes have you for dinner." A hand reached up to touch the locket beneath his shirt, a decidedly nasty smile growing on his face. "You, though, are destined for other things."
"Such as what?" the anger asked between clenched teeth.
"Does the term 'poetic justice' mean anything to you?" Erik wondered.
The anger looked confused and Tomas just snorted as Erik turned on his heel and left the room. He would not return again until they had reached the harbor at Portsmouth. Erik would spend the remaining hours standing on deck at the railing, staring at the deep, dark swirling waters of the Channel, his thoughts equally deep and swirling though no longer as dark. Erik placed his hands on the railing, resting his weight on them. He closed his eyes and tried to sort out what it was that he felt.
The first thing Erik felt and recognized was what he had always felt from that first day he had seen the child praying in the deserted chapel - desire. "Christine," he mouthed silently as he opened his eyes allowing himself to be drawn into the mesmerizing movement of the water. It did not matter how many years would pass, how many miles would separate, the desire that burned and rolled in his stomach for her would always be the first thing he would feel.
That desire, much like the waves that lapped against the boat's hull folding into each other, disappeared under the next emotion that flooded him. It was the emotion he had not understood. It was the emotion he had confused with desire. It was the emotion that he had not seen until it was too late. It was the one he had been searching for from his first breath. His Angel had shown him what it was; had placed it within him. It was the one thing he had been certain - until two days ago - would extend beyond his death. He would be no more but the love he had been given and carried with him from that awful night. It was that love that would continue on long after he was dust.
All of that - all the desire, the love, the need, the longing - the things he thought eternal parts of his wretched existence had been changed by a mere slip of a girl. Even without his knowing she had crept into his life from the moment he first saw her carried within her mother. She had been there all those years, reaching deep into his being, as he watched her from the shadows. Finally, courage drawn around him like a shield, he had reached out to her only to find that she had reached back. She had spent those precious two weeks washing away anger and bitterness, reinforcing love, laughter and life. She had finished what her mother had started and he knew that it was not only the love that would carry on after his death; it was something far more precious and something he had never thought to have.
"Thank you, my little angel," Erik whispered softly, hoping - praying - that he would be given the chance to tell Annalise in person.
He continued to ponder upon his life and the two women who had forever changed him even as Portsmouth came into view, its lights twinkling in the summer twilight like ethereal guardians of a gate through which evil could never again pass. Erik turned from his contemplation and went down to the cabin as the sailors began the process of moving the boat into dock. He saw that Charles did not stand guard at the door and smiled - his orders were being followed and he would remember that. Erik passed into the small cabin and stood taking measure.
"Well done," he told Tomas and Charles as he crossed to the bunk where Michaud lay unconscious. Erik laid a finger upon the man's throat feeling the strong pulse beneath. "Good," he whispered, turning to the two men. "You know what to do now."
"Aye," Tomas replied. "We go into the town and hire a coach and drivers. Money not being an object."
"No questions," Charles added.
"How long to get to the place where your friends work?" Erik wondered.
Tomas thought for a moment. "Less than a day if the horses are good and we make no stops."
"A day out, a day back," Erik thought softly and out loud. "That should put us back in France within three days, Paris in five. It will do." He turned his attention back to the other two men. "Go now and be swift." Tomas and Charles left quietly, closing the door behind them and Erik once again looked at the drugged and sleeping man on the bunk. "You owe her your life," he snarled, "such as it will be." He stood, moving to sit on the crate. "We both do," he whispered in a gentler tone.
It would be two more hours before Tomas and Charles would return with the news that they had accomplished what they had set out to do; a coach and four had been hired, the driver - grateful for the extra money - asked no questions. He was waiting at dockside as Tomas and Charles carried an unconscious Michaud off the boat, placing him in the coach, his hands and feet bound, his mouth gagged. Each of them sat on opposite sides of Michaud, Erik on the seat facing them. As the coach slowly wound its way through the crooked streets leading from the docks into and through Portsmouth, Erik slowly relaxed, leaning back in to the leather cushions, his guard never dropped.
The trip from Portsmouth to Southampton was sixteen miles over easy to travel country lanes. The coach driver stopped in Southampton to change horses per his instructions. Tomas and Charles turned their attention towards Michaud as he slowly began to stir, senses heightened, fists curling. Erik just looked at their captive with a raised brow and crossed his legs. Horses changed, the coachman continued the next leg of his journey to Basingstoke, a distance of some twenty-eight miles. Twenty-eight miles in which Erik and his traveling companions watched as their hostage slowly regained consciousness and his gag was removed with a wave of Erik's hand.
"What do you intend to do with me?" the anger wanted to know.
Erik shook his head. "Such impertinence," he tsked. "Do you not even care where you are or to where it is you are going? Do you not care what my intentions are?" He leaned forward, drawing closer to Michaud. "After what you did to Annalise, you should care. You should care very, very much."
Michaud's tense shoulders slowly relaxed; the anger that glittered in his eyes surrendering to a strange blankness. He leaned back into his seat. "Why should I care?" he wondered. "You have already made the decision regarding my fate. What can I do about such things now?"
The two men studied each other for a moment. The nothingness that now held sway over Michaud refusing to give any ground. Erik knew the nothingness, the anger and the evil, had embraced them and used them for most of his life; he leaned back in his seat, a part of him delighting in his own evil and anger.
"Then let me explain," Erik said softly, the emotion and power behind his words reverberating off the walls of the coach. "You did unspeakable things to an innocent girl who never caused harm to anyone."
The evil leaning back in the seat across from him also spoke softly. "So did you," he interrupted.
The truth cut through Erik like a burning knife. "I did," he acknowledged. "I killed for her. I destroyed lives for her. Yet I never directly hurt her the way you hurt her child." Erik sat up straighter. "I never beat her. I never tortured her. I would never have done the things that you did."
"You wanted to," the evil replied in a voice as soft and deadly as a snake. "You wanted to break her, to make her crawl to you." The evil leaned slightly forward, his movements matched by the men seated on either side. "You wanted her. You wanted to consume her, to hear her cry your name as you possessed her - body and soul." An unpleasant half-smile curled his lips. "I just took what you were not man enough ..."
His words were cut off as Erik moved in one smooth motion to pin Michaud against the wall of the coach. "A man would never take a woman against her will. Do not mistake me for you." Erik let him go and once again leaned back in his seat. "Besides, you are not much of a man, are you? You did not accomplish what you set out to do or have you forgotten that small detail?" His smile was full and as unpleasant as Michaud's had been.
The growl that emanated from Michaud filled the coach. The actions that followed seemed to happen in the time that it took to draw a single breath. Michaud made to leap upon Erik, his body springing upwards from his seated position. Erik sat motionless, watching him, one eyebrow raised in mild amusement. Even as Michaud's knees began to straighten, the hands of Tomas and Charles reached out for him, grabbing at his arms, drawing him backwards. Michaud struggled against them, still trying to reach for the man sitting nonchalantly opposite him, his anger growing more palpable by the moment. The strength of a man consumed by hatred and madness was no match for Tomas and Charles and as they began to lose their battle to restrain him, a blur passed in front of their eyes, followed by a choking sound as the nothingness regained control. Tomas and Charles looked to Erik who kept hold of one end of a lasso.
"Did you think I would be unprepared for the likes of you?" he asked Michaud with a tilt of his head. The nothingness had no answer. "Such a good little beastie." Erik loosed the tension of the rope in his hands the tiniest bit as Tomas and Charles regained their hold on the man seated between them. "This is how it is going to be," Erik began. "My friend Tomas knows of a place in the countryside outside of Basingstoke. It is a place that deals with the likes of you - with no questions asked as long as the money is paid." His smile was most decidedly unpleasant. "And they are being paid well to care for you. You shall spend the rest of your miserable existence in their care but do not expect to be cognizant of your surroundings." Erik's countenance grew dark, his voice deadly. "You will be spending the rest of your life locked in a little room with no means of escape. You will be kept drugged night and day except for the times when you are overlooked. Such times will be most difficult for you as the drug works its way out of your system." His voice lowered even further. "Those are the times when you will crawl and beg for release." Erik's eyes narrowed. "And should you - by some chance - not survive those moments, I do not think anyone would mourn."
The anger resurfaced. "You cannot do this!"
"Cannot?" Erik wondered calmly. "Oh, I most certainly can. I am only doing to you what you did to Annalise." He gave a gentle tug on the lasso. "Do not think to talk your way out of this, either. They think you are my crazed nephew who requires special treatment after murdering his parents. Treatment I can no longer give." He raised an eyebrow in amusement as the anger smoldered. "I would, also, not think anyone in Paris will care where you are after they discover it was you who abducted Annalise. I can assure you her father's name carries enough power to make such a thing happen." The one time in his life Erik was glad to acknowledge the power Raoul held. "You are going to experience everything you put my little angel through; just be glad you are not going to be beaten."
Michaud sunk back into his seat, his muscles relaxing, the anger giving way to the nothingness. There was no response to Erik's words. There would be no other response for the rest of the trip. Michaud sat limp and still between the watchful Tomas and Charles. Erik reclined against the back of his seat, seemingly disinterested in his captive, except for the fingers that kept careful hold of the lasso.
Night was giving way to day as the coach turned down a country lane, stopping in front of two massive gates set into a stone wall nearly eight feet high. A man atop the wall looked down and gave a signal causing the gates to open. The coach moved through and into a quiet, grim courtyard where it stopped by another set of doors. These doors were set into the front of a large, sprawling building made of the same stone as the surrounding wall - a fortress. A fortress of high walls, barred windows, heavy stone, all meant to keep the outside world out and those inside secreted away.
"It will be but a moment," Tomas said and looked at the silent man sitting next to him.
Erik finally moved; if only to give a warning tug on the lasso. "Be a good little boy," he warned, "and do not make this difficult." The nothingness said nothing and Erik addressed Tomas without taking his attention from Michaud. "Go now."
Tomas exited the coach and Charles tightened his grip on the arm that he been holding.
Erik leaned forward, drawing the rope closer and closer, taking up the slack. "This is a place where people are put to be forgotten," he began softly, a brow arching in cruel amusement. "Think of it as an oubliette; I am sure you are familiar with the term." No outward sign of acknowledgement was given and Erik continued. "There are people here who are genuinely ill. Others are here because they cannot pay their monetary debts. There are others who are like Tomas and must pay their debt to society." Erik laughed softly. "Tomas paid his debt and stayed to work here, helping to save a life in the process; it earned him his freedom." Erik gave a tug on the lasso. "Do not think to be that fortunate."
The door to the coach opened at that moment, Tomas standing there with an officious man in a somber suit. Behind them stood two others, strong and large, arms crossed over their chests. "This is Doctor Preston," he said.
The nothingness grew tense as the anger laid claim to the body. "You cannot do this to me!" the anger shouted.
Doctor Preston motioned to the two burly men. "You know what to do," he said simply.
Two hours of shouting, cursing and struggling later, Michaud was securely bound in a straight jacket. He sat on the floor of a tiny room with only a bed and a narrow window high up in the wall, his head beginning to loll as the drugs took effect. It was quiet at that end of the building - money afforded privacy, peace and quiet. Erik watched Michaud from the doorway, Doctor Preston at his side.
"Do not distress yourself," Doctor Preston was saying. "We shall have a care for your nephew."
"Thank you," Erik replied smoothly with just the right sigh in his voice as he looked at the doctor. "It pains me to leave him alone in a strange land with no relations but Tomas assures me you can do for him what I can no longer accomplish on my own." He turned his attention back to Michaud. "May I speak with him one last time?"
Doctor Preston nodded. "You must do it quickly before he succumbs fully to the drugs."
Nodding, Erik moved gracefully into room, going to Michaud's side, lifting his chin so that Michaud was forced to look at him. Erik was intimately familiar the dangerous gleam that still lived in Michaud's eyes - in spite of the drugs - and knew he had made the right decision. "You do not deserve it," he said softly, "but she will pray for your soul. Be thankful you have that much."
Erik turned on his heel and never looked back.
The coach ride back to Portsmouth was accomplished in utter silence; Tomas and Charles wise enough to know not to disturb the deep contemplation in which Erik wrapped himself. It was a silent contemplation that did not unwrap during the boat ride across the channel. It slowly began to release itself as the three men shared another coach from Le Havre back to Paris.
"We are not going back to the country?" Charles had wondered.
"No," Erik said without taking his eyes from the countryside that rolled gently past the coach window. "Andrew gave me directions to an apartment in Paris before we left to save Mademoiselle de Chagny. We are to be expected." There was another long moment of silence. "I trust him," Erik said softly and without pain.
They were expected when they arrived at the apartment two days later. It was in a very fashionable part of Paris, the entire second floor of a converted town home. The man who opened the door for them gave a slight nod.
"I have been waiting for you," he said simply. "Monsieur Cameron has left instructions that you are to request from me anything you need and I shall see that it is accomplished."
A puzzled look crossed Erik's face. "He said nothing else?" He had been hoping for news about Annalise.
"No," another voice said as Regine Trombley rose from a high-backed chair and turned to face the astonished men. He looked directly at Erik. "But Monsieur le Vicomte would like to see you."