It was barely gone three am in the dead of night; the sky was still pitch black, and the stars were faintly shining, when Albert was suddenly and unpleasantly awoken by a panicked scream. He sat up instantly, horribly disoriented for a moment before realising that Maximilien, too, had been awakened and was leaping out of bed.
Their eyes met only for a split second across the darkened room before they were both out the door, making it into the drawing room just in time to hear the front door slam. Silence reigned.
"I'll follow, you check here," Maximilien said shortly, expression tense as he ran for the door, not wanting to risk wasting a second. Albert's heart was beating furiously, and he felt gripped by an icy hand of fear. The almost familiar, sick feeling of dread came to him as he began the walk to Eugénie's room. In an oddly detached, painful way, he knew that there was no point hurrying, because she wouldn't be there.
He paused at the doorway to her room, eyes frozen on the scattered mess which was so totally at odds with the neat, tidy area he had seen only a few hours earlier. He felt his fists clench in white-hot anger as he saw her bedcovers strewn on the floor. Evidently Eugénie had not gone quietly; a chair was knocked over and almost blocking the door, and the few belongings she had arranged on her bedside table were carelessly lying all over the carpet. He dashed to Madame Danglars' room; also deserted.
His breathing had quickly become fast and shallow, so he forced himself to slow down a bit; think clearly. Right.
Hardly a second later, and he was sprinting after Maximilien and down the many stairs. He reached the bottom and burst out into the cold night air just as he saw Maximilien turn the key in the car, revving the engine. Without hesitating he vaulted over the side door landing into the seat next to his friend just as the car burst into life and sped forwards up the road.
The topless car hurtled forward at a breakneck speed, Maximilien's expression hard and determined, following the small vehicle in the distance which Albert could now only just make out. The wind was bitterly cold, attacking his face and hair, and forcing him to notice that, in fact, both he and Maximilien were still wearing their nightclothes. But, it couldn't be helped. The streets were dark and mostly deserted; but from time to time there was still the occasional group of drunken revellers, still out and trying to celebrate 'til morning broke.
Suddenly, the car in front of them disappeared, and Maximilien swore, swerving around a corner to try and find where they'd gone. Nothing.
The chill was making Albert shiver violently, and he felt sick with worry and anger, desperately scanning the street ahead for any sign of their target. But it was too late; they had vanished.
It took them nearly twenty minutes of driving around urgently in the darkness, speeding up whenever they saw the lights of another car in the distance, only to realise that it wasn't the same one they were looking for. Albert was scanning the streets, almost beginning to despair at having lost them, when Maximilien suddenly gave a shout.
"There!" Thankfully Maximilien had managed to get a good look at the car they were pursuing before Albert had appeared and joined him, because he was pointing ahead, one hand still on the steering wheel, at a car which looked as though it had been abandoned on the side of the road in front of a row of tall, shabby houses. "It's that one."
They swerved over to the left and pulled up behind the car, immediately jumping out as soon as they'd slowed to a stop. All of the houses looked dark except one; light flickered at one of the windows, and Albert could have sworn he saw a familiar face appear there for a second, before disappearing.
"That has to be it." Maximilien nodded grimly and together they crossed through the small, overgrown garden which lined the pathway up to the entrance. Surprisingly, the heavy front door swung open without any resistance; there was little in the hallway apart from a tall, dark staircase which led upwards.
Albert wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting to find when, after what seemed like a lifetime, he and Maximilien finally burst through the battered wooden door at the top of the stairs... but he knew it certainly hadn't been the odd, unpleasant scene which actually greeted their eyes. The room was reasonably large, and was - for the most part - completely devoid of furniture. It was windowless, with only two doors leading elsewhere, and the darkness was uncomfortably quiet. In the center of the room, though, there was a large dining table; dark lacquered wood with several lit candles spaced evenly out along the middle.
Positioned around the table, there were four chairs. Opposite the doorway which Albert and Maximilien were standing in, horror stuck, Valentine and Eugénie sat on the far side of the table, facing them. Their arms were bound behind them to the backs of the chairs, and their legs, too. Their mouths were gagged, and Valentine looked utterly terrified, while Eugénie, despite the fear in her eyes, looked fiercely angry. They were not alone. At the head of one end of the table, near Eugénie, sat Madame Danglars in a similar position - though unlike the others, she remained un-gagged. Her head had fallen forward so her chin nearly rested on her chest, and there were dark streaks down her cheeks from tears mixing with her makeup. The only sign that she was still alive was the occasional hitching breath which escaped her, as her shoulders shook. At the other end, opposite Madame Danglars, sat Villefort. He was almost expressionless, as though lost in thought, and was almost deathly pale.
Maximilien made a convulsive movement towards Valentine, but was stopped by the sudden movement of someone out of the shadows from the back of the room.
"You..." Albert could barely speak, almost trembling with anger as he saw the familiar blond hair and face catch the flickering light of the candles as he came forward.
"I'm flattered... you remember me." Cavalcanti's voice was silken, but as he leaned forward and placed his hands on the table in between Eugénie and Valentine, his eyes were wide and vicious. Albert and Maximilien started forward, but stopped abruptly as Cavalcanti reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun, tossing it carelessly in his hand. "I really wouldn't... move, if I were you," he said casually, smiling as the trailed the barrel of the gun down Valentine's cheek, finally bringing it to rest - not on her chest, but on her stomach. Maximilien's face was anguished, and Albert could tell he was barely controlling his panic as tears began to roll silently from Valentine's eyes.
Cavalcanti looked as though he hadn't eaten properly in a long time; his face was slightly haggard and his clothes and hair were unkempt - a far cry from the handsome aristocratic young man he had professed to being so long ago. His breathing was rough and uneven - though he appeared to be in control, it seemed to Albert that his insanity was a pervasive background presence, making itself known through his somewhat syncopated speech pattern and wild eyes. He tugged viciously on a strand of Valentine's hair - Maximilien choked furiously, horribly tense and ready to snap at any moment. But, it seemed, Cavalcanti was moving on to Madame Danglars. Albert felt sick; he and Maximilien could do little but watch as Cavalcanti toyed with his hostages, always keeping the gun trained carefully on someone.
"Now, mother... aren't you glad to see me?" Cavalcanti was practically simpering, moving to stand behind her and leaning down, his head close to hers. Hearing his voice, her head shot up, eyes confused and spilling over with tears.
"A...Andrea?" She finally focused on him, a strange smile hesitantly appearing, and he nodded, burying a hand in her hair.
"That's right. You've always loved... me, haven't you, mother?" his hand slipped down from her hair, onto the side of her neck. "It wasn't your fault... so you're going to stay with me... you've always wanted that, haven't you. I could tell, you wanted me... always... you wanted me to come - you must have, or you wouldn't have let me in..."
At that, Eugénie cast a tortured expression of disbelief towards her mother. Albert felt his heart skip a beat - so it was true. Madame Danglars...this wasn't right... they should have been able to trust her. They should have realised, really, that her guilt complex about what had happened to Cavalcanti, no, Benedetto, went deeper than they had thought.
"Ohh, Andrea...I'm... I'm sorry..." It was painful to watch; Madame Danglars looked simultaneously enraptured and terrified - Cavalcanti looked victorious. His hand slowly slid down further, inside her dress, and Albert couldn't help but almost turn away. Abruptly, her expression changed, and she almost wailed, eyes desperately panicked, "no, no, Andrea, no..."
"Oh," Cavalcanti sounded surprised, almost lost, but then the smirk returned. "But, mother... that's not what you said before. You begged for this; I called... you mother, and you told me to call you Victoria. Don't you remember? We had such fun..." A tortured sob escaped her then, and Cavalcanti brought his hand back up to stroke her cheek. "Don't worry, mother... it will just be you...and me... and dear Eugénie, of course." He then stood up, moving away, seeming to almost immediately lose interest in the woman he left weeping behind him.
"Eugénie...sweet Eugénie..." he pressed the cold barrel of the gun against the back of her neck, and she stiffened, trying not to show her fear. He rested his chin on top of her head, his long blond hair falling down and mingling with hers. It was an uncomfortable thought, but Albert wondered how no-one had noticed just how much they actually looked like siblings. He felt his skin crawl; it was all he could do to stop himself from rushing forwards and ripping Cavalcanti off her - at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to bury his fist in the side of Cavalcanti's delicate looking face. "Yes... that's right," he continued conversationally, as though she was actually responding to him despite the gag filling her mouth, "you take after your mother... you and I had a lot of fun together too, didn't we?" He ignored her glare, and tapped one finger thoughtfully against his cheek.
Albert bit his lip, so hard it almost bled: having to watch the way Eugénie couldn't help but tremble whenever Cavalcanti touched her was more than he could bear. But she didn't cry, and through it all, he was fiercely proud of her.
"And to think, you were so very nearly almost mine..." he trailed off as he said this, eyes narrowing as he looked up at Albert, pulling back the safety of the gun with an ominous click, and pressing it harder into her neck.
"Eugénie--!" Her name escaped Albert almost involuntarily, panic overwhelming him as he realised that Cavalcanti would not let go of Albert disrupting the wedding so easily. He started forward, one hand outstretched, and saw her eyes widen in fear as the gun left her neck.
A second later he was on the floor, clutching his leg and gritting his teeth in agony. "Ah..gh..." His eyes were burning, screwed shut in pain, and for a while all he was aware of was the crippling hot sensation in his thigh, and the warm sticky liquid seeping out between his fingers. Albert's breathing was ragged and heavy, and after a moment, he opened his eyes again and saw Maximilien poised over him - but frozen, with Cavalcanti still pointing the gun in their direction.
"I wouldn't… recommend you help him, really." Cavalcanti's expression was cold, but then a split second later he was grinning widely once more and gesturing with the gun. "Please, step back."
Albert noticed distantly that his leg seemed to be going numb, and with difficulty he looked up, feeling nauseous. "It's not...worth it; I'm all right, Max... stay back--"
"What did you do!"
Albert looked up in shock, recognising the voice even through the anger of the scream. A figure, who must have been lurking in the room beyond, suddenly darted forwards past Cavalcanti and around the table to crouch in front of Albert, expression horrified and pained.
"C...Camille?"
The darkness of the room cast heavy shadows over the young man's face, but there was no doubt about it. The driver was hovering over Albert where he lay, and helped him gently up into a sitting position. Cavalcanti seemed to be watching in vague amusement, with an arm draped over Eugénie's shoulders.
"You said nothing would happen to him!" Albert blinked, trying to clear his head and ignore the deep, distracting ache in his leg. He couldn't quite… he wasn't… wait, what was going on?
"Camille… what are you doing here?" he said with some effort, drawing in a deep breath and leaning back, placing his weight on his elbows. A delighted laugh sounded from across the room, and Albert looked up to see Cavalcanti watching him with pleasure.
"But why do you think, Albert? He--"
"Andrea, shut up!" The cry slipped from his lips reflexively, and anything else he was about to say caught in his throat as he realised what he'd done. He started to back away from Albert as the wounded man turned to him with incredulous eyes.
"Andrea?" Albert said quietly, his voice hoarse as he gazed at Camille's hunted expression, barely able to believe what he was hearing. "What… what have you done?"
"N - nothing!" Camille sounded frightened and turned pleading eyes on Albert, "I just -- I just wanted to--"
"--It was all for you, dear Monsieur de Morcerf, " Cavalcanti interrupted, tone mocking as he eyed the two of them, focusing finally on Albert.
Albert turned to look at Camille in confusion once more, but the dark-haired young man was refusing to meet his eyes. "What does he mean?" he asked quietly; when at last Camille turned to him, he as faced with a distraught, broken expression.
"I…" He trailed off, and obviously couldn't bring himself to continue, backing away from Albert until he found himself against the corner of the room, sliding down to the floor in defeat.
"Oh, fine." Cavalcanti sighed, sounding almost bored. "I was simply assisting him, that's all. For whatever reason… he wanted you to himself. I wanted Eugénie to myself; worked quite well, really… it would have been much more irritating trying to do all of this by myself, don't you think?"
Albert was stunned, and sat watching the slightly shaking form of Camille hunched in the corner; he looked so much younger than his nineteen years - and Albert found that though he felt empty, and that he felt betrayed… he did not really feel angry. Cavalcanti had just managed to find a pawn he could easily manipulate; if anything else, Albert felt pity.
"Cavalcanti…" Albert narrowed his blue eyes, voice bitter. "What is it that you want?"
"Hmm, what do I… what do I want…" he twirled the gun around casually on his finger, before his expression hardened, and he pointed it directly in the face of the previously ignored captive. "I want my family, and I want justice." He moved away from Eugénie and approached Villefort, who looked up at him blankly. "But then, you'd know all about justice, wouldn't you, father?"
Cavalcanti dug the barrel of the gun into Villefort's cheek, frowning slightly as he did not respond. "My father left me to die. Oh no, actually, rather - my father tried to murder me, unbeknownst to my mother." This elicited a low sob from Madame Danglars, which Cavalcanti ignored and continued. "It's because of him I had a poor, filthy childhood. It's because of him I became a petty criminal, when I should have been leading the life of an aristocrat. This is just… justice."
Valentine made a muffled kind of noise at that, straining at her bonds and watching her father with a fearful desperation. Cavalcanti reached out with his other hand and pinched Valentine's cheek, looking down at her haughtily. "Oh, don't worry," he leaned closer to her face and smirked at Maximilien's expression, "you'll be joining your father soon enough. After all, you've led the kind of life I was suppose to have, and…well. That's really not fair now, is it?" As if to punctuate his point he casually backhanded her across the face, anticipating Maximilien's roar of rage and subsequent movement by training the gun directly on his forehead, and taking off the safety for the second time. Cavalcanti gave a strange smile, eyes not quite focused. "Please, do go ahead."
Albert saw tears of rage spring to Maximilien's eyes as a dark red mark began to appear on Valentine's cheek; she sat with her head lowered, hair falling over her face. He winced as shooting pains began in his leg again, the congealing blood making his trousers stick to his skin. He glanced around as he shifted painfully to try and sit up properly, and suddenly noticed out of the corner of his eye, that Camille had vanished.
Albert was at a loss. What were they supposed to do? What had he and Maximilien been thinking, anyway, charging in here without even considering what they might do afterwards? From everything he had said it appeared that Cavalcanti was planning on killing Valentine and Villefort anyway, and unarmed as they were, currently it seemed like there was very little they could do to stop him. Besides, Albert thought bitterly, he'd already managed to get himself incapacitated - so as much as he hated to admit it, he was completely at a loss for ideas.
Albert couldn't help but wonder how long Cavalcanti's vanity would hold out - if he continued at this rate, he'd be making speeches at them all night. But on the other hand, if that helped to give them more time to try and work something out, then it could only be a good thing.
Suddenly, seemingly without provocation, Villefort exploded into a torrent of garbled, unintelligible words; the gag ensuring that any possible sense that might have been made of them was lost. He strained forwards, mouth twisted into a grimace and eyes wild, seemingly staring into nothing. Cavalcanti looked faintly surprised, and merely watched with interest until Villefort finally seemed to calm down. Evidently, he had not been around for one of Villefort's episodes before.
"Hmm," Cavalcanti leaned over and peered at Villefort's face, examining him curiously, "it seems you're even more messed up in the head than I thought!" And he laughed delightedly, twirling the gun once more.
He suddenly stopped, stiffening as a slight noise was heard from downstairs. Cavalcanti muttered something to himself and then frowned, looking back up at Albert.
"Well, now it's time for you both to go. You should have… realised that it wouldn't be the best idea to come here….and I don't appreciate you interfering with my family!" He raised the gun and levelled it with Albert's head.
For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. Albert couldn't help but notice the way the shadows played over everything; the way the flickering candlelight illuminated Eugenie's tired, scared face. The way Valentine sat awkwardly, her advanced pregnancy making it impossible for her to sit normally while bound. Madame Danglars still wept, and Monsieur de Villefort glared at the table.
When the shot rang out, though, it was Cavalcanti who screamed. He fell awkwardly to the ground, the right side of his shirt quickly becoming saturated with crimson blood. Standing behind him in the darkened doorway, still holding a gun at arms length and shaking violently, was Camille. Cavalcanti's breath came in heavy, pained gasps; he clutched at his side with one hand while he groped around on the floor, searching for his gun, with the other.
After a moment of stunned disbelief, Maximilien sprung into action and rushed forwards, kicking Cavalcanti's gun away from him, before retrieving it for himself. He stood above the wounded blond man, expression fierce but distraught, pointing the gun in his face.
Even now, Cavalcanti gave a shaky laugh. His eyes were half lidded, but he made no attempt to move or escape. A few moments later, the battered door banged open and several gendarmes rushed in, headed by a familiar face.
"D'Anton…" Albert said, voice breaking in a mixture of surprise and relief. The older man nodded, expression serious as he took in the situation. Cavalcanti was quickly surrounded and moved over to the side of the room, while Maximilien and several of the other officers hastened to untie the captives.
Albert swore under his breath, immensely irritated that he couldn't move to help at all. Someone was hovering near him with something that looked like bandages, but he waved them off in annoyance and leaned as far to the side as he could, to try and see past the gendarmes to catch a glimpse of any of his friends.
A moment later, though, he saw Eugénie push through the men around him and practically fall on him, arms tight around his torso as she buried her face in his shoulder. He tentatively returned the embrace, but winced from the almost unbearable pressure it was putting on his wounded thigh. She abruptly sat back, realising, and frantically apologised as he shook his head.
"Eugénie…" he reached out and touched a hand to her pale cheek. "I'm…" he found his throat was tight and forced himself to say the words. "I'm so… so glad you're all right." She nodded, eyes shining with unshed tears, smiling fiercely at him as she held onto his hand tightly.
"I'm sorry…" she said quietly, "I promised you I'd be careful… and look where that go me." He brushed a thumb over her bitter smile, and frowned.
"No, Eugénie; it wasn't your fault" He pulled her close to his side, painfully forcing his leg out the way.
"You really need your leg treating, Monsieur," the man who had been bothering him earlier said apologetically, and Eugénie nodded, standing up.
"He's right - I'm going to go and check on Valentine and my mother." She ruffled his hair and gave a quiet smile, before turning and leaving him to face the medic. The man looked over his wound carefully, frowning.
"You should really get to a hospital with this, you know…" Albert groaned, and the medic pulled out a small portable electronic scanner, which he waved over the bloody mess on Albert's trousers. "Hmm, the bullet's not actually in too deep; I may be able to do something here."
Albert nodded gratefully; having to go into hospital was not exactly highest on his list of priorities. From where he was sitting, he could just about see Camille, who was kneeling in the doorway where he had shot Cavalcanti; he still looked terrified and kept glancing around himself in disbelief, while a concerned looking gendarme kept trying to talk to him, only to be ignored. The man examining his leg noticed where he was looking, and nodded. "Yeah, that's the young man who put the call through to us - d'Anton had managed to track Cavalcanti to this area, but if it hadn't been for him letting us pinpoint you…" he trailed off, and shrugged lightly. "Well best not to think about that, eh?" Albert didn't reply.
It was hard to take in, really. It was impossible to deny that Camille had betrayed him, whatever his intentions - though Albert felt the familiar pangs of guilt that it was, in fact, to do with him. Almost because of him; had he taken Camille too much for granted? It was true that technically Camille had been his employee… but he had always felt that they had become more than that; friends, even.
And perhaps, he realised, maybe that was the problem.
The medic rummaged around in his bag and took out a small tubular object, and pressed it against Albert's bare skin where it seemed to stab him and let out a slow hiss. He didn't even flinch, though, as the sensation was nothing compared to the pain he'd been enduring prior. The pain which was, pleasantly enough, now receding. Albert looked away with a grimace as the medic began to probe into the leg wound with some other electronic instrument; he couldn't really feel it anymore, but it was still unpleasant to watch.
Madame Danglars, though now unbound, was still sitting down - hands clasped together while Eugénie attempted to comfort her. The young woman was looking more and more worried, though, as her mother continued refusing to acknowledge her. He shifted and tried to peer around the medic working on his leg in an effort to find Valentine and Maximilien; the latter was holding his wife close, and Albert didn't think he'd ever seen such a fervent expression of relief and happiness before. Villefort was nearby, also still sitting down as there was not a wheelchair to hand, with one of the gendarmes trying fruitlessly to elicit some kind of response from him.
And he could well have been imagining things - but for a split second, Albert thought he simply saw an expression of pure sadness flicker across Villefort's usually stoic countenance.
The darkness still lent the room an ominous feel, even though, really, it was all mostly over. It was heightened more by the fact that he knew it was dawn already; the back room evidently had a window, because he could see a stream of light shining down onto the ground somewhere behind Camille.
"There, done." The medic announced, binding up Albert's leg efficiently. "I'm afraid you won't be able to walk normally for a while yet - thankfully it missed the bone, but you'd still better get used to walking with crutches!"
Albert looked down in surprise; he'd been completely unaware of what the man had been doing. He broke into a tired grin, though, and nodded. "Thank you." He yelped a little as the medic suddenly stood up, pulling Albert up with him.
"Here, lean on me," the man said patiently, as Albert draped an arm over the other's shoulders and used him for a support, as he balanced on his good left leg. "Right, and now we have to navigate those stairs!"
"W-what? We're leaving?" Albert twisted around hurriedly, looking for his friends
"Yes… please calm down, Monsieur; all the others are coming too - but we can't stay here."
Grudgingly, Albert acquiesced, hobbling with assistance towards the door. He glanced behind him a final time, and afterwards, he could never quite banish from his mind the strange smile that Cavalcanti gave him from where he sat quietly on the floor.