Note: I am re posting this chapter because last time I forgot to thank PhemalePhantom for all the awesome reviews! Keep them coming! Ok, back to story….
By the time I returned to the house, CJ was already in her room with the door closed. I went to my own room and lay down on the bed.
Most couples spent their first night of marriage making passionate love; we were not even in the same room. Candice Joselyn Phann was now alone, my wife, and pregnant with my child. What she deserved was a husband who would care for her, CJ was an independent minded woman who certainly knew how to look after herself; but for once in her life she deserved to have someone look out for her.
I could try to do that; to keep her safe and healthy. I could not love her as she deserved, nor could I be the man who she could fall in love with. She might have cared for my once; even loved me, but I had told her I could not return her affection and she had wisely let me go. Now she was forced back to my side.
Deep in my heart I believed that I would fail her; I would fail our child. We would run out of money and our child would starve. The baby would be born with my disfiguration and CJ would leave it with me one night and I would never see her again. I would lose her in the end and there was nothing I could do about it. She had said she would love the child, even if it did look like me but I knew; when she saw the child, and found a gift from the devil instead of an angel, she would leave us.
CJ would reject myself and the baby; just as my mother had rejected me, and just as Christine had rejected me. I turned and let my eyes close. If I had not been so exhausted I never would have fallen asleep; but I had had to walk a lot that day trying to find a witness the police were looking for so I dropped into a fitful sleep.
Late in the night; I woke to hear the noise of someone walking around in the house. I thought I must have been dreaming; but I had a strange feeling so I eventually got up and walked out of my room. I saw a light coming from the bathroom and I raced toward it, pulling the door open.
I looked inside and to my horror CJ lay slumped on the floor; eyes closed. I rushed to her side, not sure if she was dead she lay so still.
"CJ?" I shook her shoulder and to my relief her eyes opened.
"Where am I?" she whispered sleepily,
"On your way back to your room, go to sleep," I said softly, and I scooped her up in my arms and carried her back to her bed; laying her down gently and pulling the one thin sheet of the bed up to her chin.
I suspected she had been sick and then so tired she had fallen asleep in the bathroom. I went back and blew out the candle and was on my way to my room when I changed my mind. I went into CJ's room and lay on the bed next to hers. If she needed anything else I would be right there.
She did not need anything else that night, and she did not wake when I left in the morning for the station. I was about to take a cab to the police station when I realized that was money better spent elsewhere. Besides, I liked walking better. I had not been so active in years; there was only so much one could do under an opera house. Now that I was getting used to physical activity I was beginning to enjoy it. It certainly was good for my physic; I had noticed during my brief but wonderful time spent with CJ that my stomach was flat, my arms seemed bigger, and my legs were stronger.
As I walked I thought about how much I loathed working at the police station. I was used to no one talking to me and everyone hating me; but it was worse to be subordinate to them. I did their paperwork, I was assigned to the jobs they would not be caught dead doing because they were too humiliating. I almost missed working as an assassin; at least then I had been trusted to do my job, and it was less mundane, and I had been with CJ.
Just as I had expected, when I arrived at the station I was greeted my cold indifference of hot anger; in either case I was not spoken to. If it was possible, I believed that most of them hated me more. In face, now I was sure everyone loathed my presence; Tom walked past my desk with out saying a word; he at least usually said 'good morning,' but now that I had ruined things between his friend and CJ, I was alone…again.
Most of my day I spent filling reports and various other things which were beneath me. Around noon, the station was very busy and my desk was the only one at which there was no complaint being lodged. So, when a young couple came into the station house they were forced to come over to me; something most avoided if it was possible.
There was only one chair in front of my desk and the young woman; a frightened looking blond with bright blue eyes, sat down while her husband; a pompous looking creature brown hair, stood behind her.
"How can I help you?" I and the tone of my voice indicated I wanted nothing more than to not help them,
A bit taken aback by my indifferent manner, it took the man a moment to respond, but he finally did, in a very superior tone, "We need to report a robbery,"
I pulled a blank form from the stack of papers on my desk and took up my quill, "What is your name?" I asked mechanically,
"Louis Rousseau," he said proudly,
"Related to the philosopher?" I asked before I could stop myself
"What philosopher?" He asked sharply, and I rolled my eyes,
"Apparently not," I muttered and I wrote his name on the form, "And what is your address?"
"Why?" the man asked and I stared at him a moment,
"Why? So I know where the robbery took place," I said exasperatedly,
"It did not take place in our home," Rousseau said huffily,
"Well than where did it take place?" I asked, beginning to lose my patience,
"Just outside in one of the cafes," That was odd, I thought,
"And what was stolen?"
"My pocket watch," Rousseau said outraged that something so tragic could happen to him,
I sat back in my chair and stared at him with narrowed eyes; "You came here to report a pickpocket?" it was the most ridiculous act because unless you caught the pickpocket in the act, or yelled after them as they ran away, it was almost impossible to find them once again,
"Yes! That watch meant a lot to me! It was my grandfathers! And I demand you do something about it!"
I sighed, "Did you see who ever you think stole it?" If I could get a description than it would be something to go on, or at least it would appear that I cared and maybe make them go away,
"No, it was the strangest thing," Rousseau muttered, "We did not see anyone, I know I had it when I sat down, and then at the end of our meal I took my wallet out of my pocket and paid, then when we walked away it was gone!"
I stopped writing and had a sudden idea, "You took your wallet out of your pocket?" I repeated,
"Yes,"
"Alright, follow me," I led them out of the station, "Where did you eat?" I asked and Rousseau pointed to one of the many cafes and we walked over to it, "and what table did you sit at?"
Rousseau pointed and I saw the currently unoccupied table and looked under it; sure enough there was the pocket watch. I grabbed it and handed it back to a stunned looking Rousseau,
"It must have fallen out when you took out your wallet," I said coldly, "But thank you for this false report, it was fun," and without looking at them again I walked back to the station house. Sad too say, this was the most excitement I had all day.
I walked home much later; it was July and the evening was warm and my pace was slow. I wondered what CJ was doing, and what she had been doing all day. She would have thought the pickpocket people were funny; I could tell her about them.
However when I returned I found CJ asleep in her room; disappointed, I went back to my own room. Without CJ to talk to; I had nothing to do but brood. It was not really a conscious decision to that I thought about what I thought about; it was just that the moment I sat down all these images popped into my head; Christine leaving me, her arm around Raoul, CJ glaring at me, Denton shrieking at me, my mother…
It was all to much and I swiftly rose from my bed and walked out of my room, shutting the door behind me as though I thought this would keep those sad thoughts from following me. I walked aimlessly around the house; remembering each event.
I walked down to the basement and thought about the first time I had ever seen CJ when she had been shoved into the room. The first time I had ever touched her when I had untied her hands.
My first impression of her had been that she was an offensive, ugly creature. I sank down on my old bed; that had not been true about CJ. She was not the kind of woman who possessed a beauty like Christine's, but she was alluring, and she was intriguing. I also had the distinct feeling that if CJ ever met Christine, she would waste no time in breaking her elegant little neck.
I missed her; why I had ruined everything I did not understand. I trudged back to my room and fell into my bed. Sleep came…eventually.
CJ and I spent the next three weeks with out every really seeing each other. I would leave early and come home late; not on purpose, I was just always stuck with the worst hours. Every day I came home expecting to see some sign of something CJ had done that day, or some sign of her. However the house always looked exactly the same, and I always opened her door to see her sleeping; her back to me so I did not even know if she was showing yet. Once or twice I heard CJ being sick in the bathroom; once I held her hair back while she vomited, but she did not say a word to me.
I thought it was going to be a day just like any other when I walked home one evening; I walked up to CJ's door and expected to see her sleeping. However when I opened the door, I saw the two beds had been shoved into the middle of the room and CJ was standing at the wall. The walls were clean and covered in a new coat of fresh paint.
"What…" I gaped at the clean wall, gleaming white in the candle light,
"What do you think? This white is just a base coat," CJ stepped back from the wall, paint brush in hand,
"How did you get all of this?" I asked amazed as I walked into the room and eyed two more buckets of paint and several brushes,
CJ smiled triumphantly; I had not seen her smile in some time, "Did you read the paper this morning?" she asked and jerked her head in the direction of one of the beds on which I saw a copy of the paper was lying,
I picked it up and stared at the articles on the page it was open to; something about a new road being built, bad farming conditions in the country side, and then I saw a story in the paper. There were often stories submitted by authors which showed up in installments every week or so. This story appeared to be about the escapades of a pirate, and it was written by a Christopher Johnson Eriksson,
"Did you write this?" I asked her,
"Yes," She turned and smiled at me, "My father used to tell me all these stories about what he used to do when he was a pirate, and all that combined with all the stuff I have done; I always thought it would make a good story. I have been writing it ever since the day Dumas sent me home; I browed the parchment and ink you brought up from the opera house, hope you don't mind,"
"Not at all," I said, still stunned,
"Anyway I sold the story to the paper; that is how I got the money for the paint; I thought…" she paused and looked around the room, "I thought this could be the baby's room,"
"I think that would be a good idea,"
"Good! Than you take this brush," she handed the brush to me, "And finish, because I am sitting down,"
I took up the task of painting gratefully, glad to be doing something other than moping around the house. CJ was sitting on the bed watching me for some time before she spoke,
"I used some of your life in the story too; I hope you don't mind,"
"Not at all,"
"The main character was abused in his childhood so he runs away and becomes a pirate,"
"Why didn't I think of doing that?" I said sarcastically, and CJ let out a small laugh, "Did you use a crazed mother?"
"Drunk father,"
"I guess that works too,"
I spent the next hour painting, and I finished the wall. It was a shame I had to go to sleep; I had missed being around CJ very much and it was nice to talk to her again,
"I suppose I should turn in," I said as I set down the brush,
"Alright, I will be there in a minute," CJ said and I started,
"Be where…?" I asked, confused,
"I can't sleep in here; the wet paint smells,"
I felt my heart leap; she was coming back to my room.
