Chapter Sixteen

The Persian watched, in silent horror, as his living room was turned inside out by the four women inside it. From the doorway, the other men also watched in silent fear. Fear that they would be asked to help in this strange and pointless ritual. "You do realize, ladies, that the moment you leave, I intend to return my furniture to the way it was before?" Kirsty shook her head and sighed, "Did it ever occur to you that when we're done, you might just like it?" Meg passed by with her mother and the coffee table. "You never know monsieur, and Kirsty, don't waste your time arguing with him. Men are men."

Raoul watched the scene with a smile, he had also in the past had his home rearranged. But all this for a one night meeting? His eyes met Erik's and both chuckled. Meg looked indignantly in their direction, "And what is so funny?" Neither one of them answered her. "Erik! Would you help me with this… Daroga, what do you call this thing?" Erik shot his friend a helpless look, and went to help his wife with the strange footstool. "It's a footrest Diana, a very long footrest for… I believe the entire couch." She raised an eyebrow. "Daroga… I hate to say it, but your taste in furniture is, well, less than ideal." Everyone except Daroga chuckled lightly. For his part Daroga was trying not to strangle them all. "Well! See if I ever offer to host one of our meetings at my residence again!"

The lights inside the windows of the Persian's house were dim, for night had long since fallen. A somewhat amused specter and a distraught Daroga attempted in the late hours to set the room to rights. "I should never have let those… look at this mess!" Erik chuckled and put his shoulder against the couch. "Well, it certainly could have been worse… I think." Another sharp glance from his companion forced the ghost to recoil, before a chuckle began to form in both their throats. "At least they were content to only throw my living room into chaos, I shudder to think of what they could have done to my study!" He winced slightly at the way their redecoration efforts were turning out. "But I stand by what I said, never again." Erik smiled, "I would offer my residence, but I don't believe my living rooms large enough." Daroga shrugged and pushed the couch into the wall. Plaster cracked, and both stared, "…Erik, can you fix this?"

"Daroga, do I look like a carpenter? I… yes, I'll fix it. Don't look at me that way! I hate that look! I said I'd fix it!" Daroga smiled and moved on to the chair. He, for one, loved that look. Erik stood still, feathers still ruffled, until he gave an aggravated sigh and reached for the footstool. "…Daroga, I have something to tell you. You understand, of course, that I swear you to secrecy." When Daroga failed to respond, Erik continued without pause. "Diana and I, well… we have been considering an early retirement." His friend's stunned expression said everything, confusion, concern, mild relief… "If I may ask, what brought about this change in plans?" Erik sighed, "Oh, quite a few things actually… however if we do not bow out now, things could (grow) to be a bit awkward." Once again Daroga was caught of guard; he turned from the chair he was moving to stare. "I'm sensing some word play in our conversation, what are you telling me?" Erik took a breath, before he could respond a gentle touch on his shoulder alerted him of Diana's presence. "Daroga, we have something to tell you."

Peter

It was silent in the office, Jonathan stood still, eyes wide, disbelieving. Across from him Peter sat with his head bowed, his eyes shut as if expecting a blow to fall. Silence, a log splintered on the hearth. "She has… what? You let her, no, no you didn't. How long were you going to..? Why didn't you tell, Damn it Peter!" His fist hit the desk. "A murderer! You let your sister run away with a murderer! The same murderer you told me killed that stagehand! How could you? Have you no spine? No shame! What have you done! What have you done Peter?"

"Enough John! You'll bring the whole building running!"

"So be it! I have nothing to be ashamed of! It's you who carries the taint! The madness, madness!"

"John! Enough! I confessed, what more do you want! I didn't want this! I didn't want this for her but she did! She wanted him John!"

"…she wanted it…" Across from him Jonathan paced with a distraught look, silent but fuming. "Gods Peter why? Why you? Why this…" The feeling of betrayal deepened, (How could one man, let alone a man as careful as I am, Get into this much trouble? Could my loyalties be more torn? He was my closest friend… he is, still, my friend.) "Why Peter? I trusted you! You… you, I don't know what to say. What can I say?" (Why can't things be the way they were? Oh yes, I remember, things were never what they seemed to be, not from the moment we entered this opera house. Diana… will you forgive me? I could not lie forever…)

Jonathan paused his pacing to look at me, hurt in his eyes… I have never felt so pathetic, so low… "Tell me why Peter! I trusted you! She trusted you! Her brother, whose thought ought to have been for her safety, her life and health, does that mean so little to you?" I sighed, his words sting like hornets. "She loves him John. She loves him… despite everything. How could I have done anything but support her? She's my sister, Christ's sake I know what he is. So does she. But there's something that made me feel… that he would never hurt her. God, I wanted to tell you John, I wanted to." His back is to me, his fists clenching the mantel. "I, I hate him Peter… everything that was good in my life he has contaminated, destroyed.

Do you know, how my sister died? Shall I tell you?" His tone grew empty, as if repeating something he had become so numb to that it had lost its meaning. "She went mad Peter, after that night. She didn't sleep, she didn't eat… she kept calling to mother, who was dead. She called, and called, and called, with a voice like an infants, and eyes like a dead fish. She was committed; it was too dangerous to have her in the house. I kept coming home and finding our chandeliers had been cut down. She did that, you know. And then she would sit… and speak to the glass… and call, mother? Are you under there mother?" For a moment It was too terrible, I closed my eyes and shuddered, the imagine he had planted was haunting. "…my sister was eighteen when she died. She never said a word, not another word till she cut herself open with a shard of window glass, and then," he turned to me. "…her last word was mother."

I saw something wake up in his eyes, like a snake raising its head to strike, his voice grew colder, his face savage. "My sister, my mother, he has contaminated you, he has touched your sister, how long Peter? How long till the madness takes her to? He knew, he knew I wanted her! That's why he took her! He knew!" He laughed, laughed at nothing, he massacred the word laugh with that sound, it was more like screaming. "He knew Peter! He knew it! Just wait! Wait till it happens to her!"

"Lord John, stop, stop it!"

"I could have saved her! I could have!"

"You talk like you wanted to marry her!"

… regretted those words as soon as they left my mouth, for John had stopped, but now he was gasping like a fish out of water. His eyes shut; he leaned as if for support against the wall. "Did it ever occur to you Peter… that maybe I did?" My heart stopped, "How long?" His smile unnerved me. "From the moment that I saw her, the first word she spoke… the first time she sang… I loved her." A wave of anger crashing over me, my entire form shaking with my attempts to control it. "…Why didn't you just tell her!" His eyes narrowed dangerously, "I wanted to! I tried! I did all but fall on my knees and beg! And if I thought that would have helped I'd have done so! She buffeted away the courtship I wanted to offer! I waited out of respect for her!" Once again an uneasy silence settled between us, I reached out to him. If we can talk like friends again… maybe he can put this entire horrible mess behind us. He's mad himself, poor devil. What had happened to him was enough to do it. Part of me was crying still. But another part had reached out to my sister, remembered the wedding, the party, and that she had been the lamb who held the lion's jaws. He could not hurt her, he would not hurt her. I have to believe that, if not… I cannot bear the thought… Diana talking to glass…

Something pulled me back from my thoughts, the hair on my neck was up, something was off in here, something was twisted. Jonathan had moved closer, he was almost on top of me, and his eyes… malice is too kind a word for what I saw there. "Peter." I shuddered; the emptiness was back in his voice. "How did this marriage take place, was there a priest? Witnesses?" I struggled to put up a confused expression, "Why, why are you asking these questions? Everything was in order, The only thing missing wa…"

I didn't have a chance to brace myself, he was on me in an instant. "What was missing?" For a second, I could only gape at him, did he know his hands were around my throat? I couldn't breath! Did he hear me gasping? Feel me struggling? His fingers tightened, my eyes were clouding and I tried to kick out at him. "Peter… don't ignore me, what was missing, hmmm?"

…no air… can't… breathe…

Pain! I hit something hard, (the mantle it must have been the mantle), my back hit the ground and I coughed, retched, sucked in air. I couldn't feel my throat, it must already be bruising. Where had this side of him been hiding! Something blunt caught me in the side, "Answer me Peter… your starting to try my patience." Once again on my throat, how could he be this strong! He dragged me over, and my eyes grew wide when I felt the first flame licked my fingers. "John! Augh stop! Stop it! Let goaaaagghhh!"

"…That's not what I wanted to hear Peter, let's try again. What, was, missing?"

I could feel my skin burning! Smell the flesh, "… A last name (Gasp!) On the marriage papers! He didn't write down his last name!"

As quickly as it had happened it was over, his hands were at his sides and I was pulling myself away from the flames, cradling my burnt hand to my chest. "…Are you sure of this?" In my stunned state I could only nod, terrified of the repercussions. John nodded, and settled into the chair across from me. His fingers gently caressing the armrests. "…So the ghost failed to produce his own name… and that means this so called wedding was not official, incomplete." His voice regained its texture, deepened, but his eyes remained cold.

"Which you know, Peter, makes your sister an unmarried woman."