A/N: The letter that George and Jacques were delivering along with the money is the one Nadir promised Christine that he would send to Erik when he got the chance. You will get to read most of it in this chapter. For those who were uncertain, I will point out that when Jacques first opens the envelope he mentions the bills are surrounded by the white pages (plural) of a letter. But when he picks them up again after having dropped them, he wraps the bills in a white page (singular). Also, in the last line of that section, it mentions one white page of parchment listing a Florence address that is trampled unnoticed on the muck of the stable floor. Remember, Christine is currently employed at the Teatro Communale in Florence. Sorry for all the mix ups. Maybe I made the connections a little too subtle. I just hate to give stuff away. I like to make you guys work for it! (Wink)
sunfire-moondesire: A lemon, hmmm, an interesting idea, but no. However, I think you will like what Erik has in store for "stupid-a" as you so rightfully called him. How do you feel about 'ham'? You will understand after you read today's installment.
erikfan: Of course Erik will know something is amiss. He is a genius after all, even if he didn't catch on to Raoul's humongous lie. Never fear, the guilty will be punished – liberally.
phantomann: I hope this makes up for the lack of Erik previously. We get to see him be a bad boy once again. Phantom-esque in fact. Sadly no, Jacques did not pick up all the pages of the letter. (See my author's note at the top.) I'm so mean. I did that to you guys in 'Voyage' too, didn't I? Erik apparently has bad luck with letters. What can I say?
Captain Oblivious: LOL! I used the translator to read your message too! You hit the nail right on the head with your observation about Christine having to learn to stand on her own and Erik having to learn to get along with people before they can be happy together. That is why I have to keep them apart for a while, so they can grow and change. Erik has a minor setback in his 'learning-to-get-along-with-people' quest in this chapter, however. I guess it could actually be seen as a major break through, depending on how you look at it. You will understand what I mean at the end of the chapter, and if not, I will explain myself next installment.
Pertie: On pins and needles – exactly where I like to keep my readers. You are welcome as always. Thanks for your loyal reviews.
eternalcelestial: Yes, let's all blame 'stupid Jacques' and not our obedient author for delaying E and C's reunion yet again. Take out all your frustrations on him. Erik plans to, I can personally assure you.
Twinkle22: How is this for a quick update? See the author's note at the top for an answer to your question. Sorry if I wasn't clear on that point.
Jema Moda: Here is the second chapter that I "owed" you today. You must have a very unique work environment that no one noticed you rocking away beneath your desk. I will try never to deny you your daily update ever again. Your faith in my dedication to a future EC reunion filled with glorious fluff is inspiring. Perhaps I could squeeze one more chapter in tonight. We shall see...
SabrinaFair: Oh you have made my day! My favorite line in the whole fic is the one you mentioned when Erik asks Raoul that in the doorway. Up until now, no one has mentioned it, and I so wanted someone to laugh at that because I laughed when I wrote it and I have laughed every time I have read it since then. I can just picture Erik there with his famous smirk, leaning idly in the doorway. Can you imagine the look on Raoul's face? As for Erik and Christine's ages, I based this fic on the movie so I went with the starting ages of 17 and 34. Since seven years have now passed, that would make Christine 24, and Erik 41. Thanks for the compliments and I hope you stay with us to the end.
Ch. 12 – Punishment of the Wicked
Somewhat nervously, the two weary travelers approached the dark figure seated in the corner of the room. His face was hidden from them by the shadows that embraced his lithe form, but his powerful presence could be sensed from the moment they had entered the room.
Stepping forward, George cleared his throat awkwardly and laid the envelope on the table across from his mysterious employer. He drew back, waiting with bated breath. A gloved hand reached elegantly to pull the envelope into the shadows. George watched anxiously as the dark man turned the envelope over and brushed his thumb across the red wax of the seal.
As he leaned forward slightly to examine the seal more closely in the light, the startling white of his mask became suddenly visible, illuminated by the glow of the lamp on the opposite side of the table. Jacques gave an involuntary gasp.
Cold gray eyes flicked instantly from the envelope to the unfamiliar face of the shorter man. Under the intensity of his icy gaze, Jacques looked away. He felt himself begin to shake as he imagined the masked man's eyes boring into his very soul. He could not know. He told himself franticly. The seal is perfect and he hasn't even looked inside. By the time he opens the envelope and discovers what is missing, we will be long gone with our money in hand. He repeated the words over and over in his mind, letting out a breath of relief when the strangely piercing eyes at last dropped their gaze.
A cold half-smirk replaced the icy stare and Jacques shivered in spite of himself. He could see now why George had been unwilling to invoke this man's wrath. There was indeed something horribly powerful and threatening about him. Jacques had been around many hardened men in his lifetime, a great deal of them with violent pasts. Yet even without so much as a word from the dark man before him he felt he had more to fear in this room than in any of the filthiest holes in all of Paris. He shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other as the unfeeling smile turned from him to George at last.
"It appears all is in order." His voice was low and silky, unnervingly calm. "You will find your payment beneath a loose floorboard at the foot of the bed in your room. This will be the end of our association. I have included a generous additional sum as always for your continued silence." Erik leaned back in his chair again eying the treacherous-looking man steadily from the shadows.
Jacques nearly fell over himself in his haste to leave the room. George, however, remained behind to extend his hand to the employer who had been so good to him over the years. Erik shifted his eyes in vague surprise to the extended hand and after a moment's pause, offered his own.
"Thank you, sir. May God go with you in your travels." George smiled sincerely as he released the gloved hand at last.
"I'm afraid, my young friend, that God seems to have other occupations at the moment," Erik said lightly, but the corners of his mouth curved upward ever so little in acknowledgment of the young man's sincerity.
Bemused by his words, George bowed and stepped from the room, closing the door behind him.
Erik sat looking thoughtfully at the door for a moment after the two men had left. He trusted George. They had done business together many times in the past and always the young man had completed his various errands faithfully and with discretion. The second fellow on the other hand had a nasty look about him. Erik could almost taste the man's fear and guilt as he had cowered beneath his gaze.
He would deal with the traitorous wretch later, but right now he looked forward to hearing word from his old friend. Erik hated to admit it, but he found that he missed the Persian's patient face and wise counsel sorely. Perhaps once he was settled, he would give the Daroga permission to visit on occasion. After all, the man had been invaluable in tying up the many loose ends when Erik had been forced to leave Paris so suddenly, in addition, of course, to saving Erik's life in the past on more than one occasion.
With an eagerness that surprised him, Erik opened the seal, noting with a snort the dirty thumbprint in the red wax. The Daroga would never have been so careless. The sunken faced man was a fool and he would pay dearly for his arrogance in thinking himself of greater intelligence than the man he had attempted to rob.
Erik moved to the other side of the table where the light was stronger, withdrawing the bundle of bank notes from inside the letter and spreading the lone white page in the familiar sloping hand out before him on the table.
My dear friend,
The funds I collected from the recent sale of your home are enclosed as requested. It was sold for the exact price that you specified, so the amount enclosed should be satisfactory to you.
On a more personal note, I have often wondered how you are faring in your travels. I hope you have come to find some measure of peace in your time away, though I greatly miss your company. It is indeed odd, considering what an obstinate, insufferable grouch you tend to be the vast majority of the time.
But I jest my friend. Life in Paris continues on much as it always has. I find myself in need of a change of scenery for a time, now that my work here for you is complete. Perhaps in time you might allow me to visit you in whatever far off land you happen to find yourself in.
There is one final item I must mention. Shortly after you left, Christine came to see me. She is looking well and is fully recovered, as I am sure you will be relieved to learn. However, she had a request to ask of me. She asked that I make you aware upon our next correspondence that she wishes to speak with you. She was most insistent, but I made no promises other than to pass along the information to you...
Erik turned the paper over, searching for the remainder of the sentence. Seeing nothing, he flipped it back over anxiously and reread the last paragraph. It was very unlike Nadir to finish a letter without an appropriate closing and his familiar sloping signature. No, it seemed almost as if the last few sentences of the letter had been lost somehow.
Angrily he flung the paper to the floor. There had been more to Nadir's words of Christine, he was sure of it. The traitorous man with George had no doubt lost the other page in his foolish attempt to rob Erik blind. He shook his dark head in disgust. Fate had once again intervened to deny him even the few meager words of her that could have helped to sustain him in his eternal banishment from her presence.
He glowered at the letter for a time, cursing his ill-fated luck. Finally, he could resist no longer. He picked it up and began once more to read the final paragraph. She wishes to speak with me, he thought with a small flutter of hope somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.
As he pondered what this might mean, he had to admit even in his desperation that it most likely meant she wanted to thank him for saving her life and returning her to her precious vicomte. Though the words would be bittersweet to his ears indeed, they did not change the fact that he had promised never to return to France. Besides, what good could come of it? No matter how he wished otherwise, Christine was a married woman and had been for the past seven years. There was no future for them. He had come to accept it.
And yet, part of him still remained undecided. Erik had never yet found the will to deny Christine any request that it was in his power to grant. What if she did not merely wish to thank him? What if she needed something or was in danger somehow? His mind began to race franticly, thinking of all manner of imagined sufferings that might have befallen her in his absence.
Ah, but is she not in even greater danger from you? The mocking voice echoed in his mind as he remembered painfully the damning horizontal lines etched eternally into the creamy skin of her wrists.
Erik sighed. No, his exile from Christine had been self-inflicted, intended for the sole purpose of her safety and happiness; he would enforce it vigorously until his dying day, no matter how it tore him apart inside. Nothing in the world could make him risk being the cause of her unhappiness, let alone her death.
With his sad resolution firmly planted in his mind, Erik slid the corner of the letter into the flame of the lamp. He held the shriveling parchment in his hand, watching the flames dance mockingly before his eyes. The smoldering letter at last dissolved into nothingness, and he blew the remaining ashes from the table. With its tantalizing words destroyed, there would be nothing to tempt his weak heart into further self-torment.
Tucking the thick bundle of bills inside his pocket, there was only one further matter that required his attention before he could make his way out of Switzerland and begin the final leg of his journey. Rising to his feet at last, he glanced at the clock on the bedside table: 2:00 AM. A perfect time for justice, he thought. The two men would most likely be very drunk and fast asleep by now.
He removed from his belt a length of rope, tied carefully in his trademark Punjab lasso. Holding it hidden beneath the folds of his cloak, he opened the door and disappeared soundlessly into the shadow of the hall.
The next morning, a plump, middle-aged maid held a breakfast tray in her left hand and knocked impatiently with her right on the door of the room at the top of the stairs. The two young Frenchmen who had arrived late last night were no doubt feeling the effects of their drunken antics from the previous evening, for it was nearing nine o'clock and they had yet to emerge from their room.
The maid shook her head in disgust. She had no time for their self-inflicted suffering, nor for their late rising. Reaching for the knob, she flung open the door rudely. The sight that met her eyes brought them open wide and she let out a hideous shriek as the breakfast tray crashed forgotten to the floor.
There, hanging from the ceiling by his ankles, was the sunken faced man, entirely naked accept for a dingy pair of undershorts. A noose had been tied neatly around his neck and its other end had been used to bind the man's wrists behind him, successfully bending his head and arching his back at an absurdly painful angle.
Upon seeing her in the doorway, he began to struggle violently, motioning with his head for her to cut him down, and attempting to communicate in a series of muffled grunts. With every movement of his arms, however, the noose pulled more tightly around his neck, reducing his oxygen supply and forcing him at last to hang motionless in miserable defeat, like a ham in a butcher's window.
Finding her wits at last, the terrified maid flew down the stairs and returned quickly with a police inspector who had been enjoying his breakfast in the dining room below. When the inspector entered the room, he blinked his eyes twice to be certain of what they were seeing. The man suspended from the ceiling jerked and motioned comically once more at the sight of the uniformed man, but was once again forced to forego his futile efforts in order to avoid certain strangulation.
The inspector stood marveling for a moment at the brilliance and intricacy of the torture. The man before him must have done something very impudent to deserve such a harsh and demeaning punishment. The desperate muffled voice of the man swinging from the ceiling broke him from his amusement. His brow wrinkling slightly, the inspector stepped forward to find the source of the man's distorted speech. To his astonishment, something looking like a note and a great deal of what appeared to be franc notes had been stuffed into the man's throat.
Unfolding the note, the inspector had to bite his tongue to keep from bursting out in laughter as he read.
Good Inspector:
The money that you will find shoved down this ungrateful wretch's throat was stolen from me. Please see that he is punished appropriately. If you need a further witness to the crime, the drunk man in the next bed will likely be able to assist you. I do not believe he was in any way involved; however, if you discover differently, feel free to arrest him and do with them both what you will.
Your obedient servant,
Comte de Renoir
Having been awakened by the commotion in the room, George stumbled over groggily in shocked disbelief at the site before him. The inspector handed him the note. "I suggest you cut your friend down and both of you find some clothes. It seems an explanation is in order."
Stepping over to the struggling man's livid face, which was now turning a dull shade of purple, the inspector smiled down at him. "It appears you have angered the wrong man, my friend. The safety of a jail cell will perhaps be of comfort to you." Turning swiftly, he strode from the room, leaving Jacques to his struggle.
