Chapter Summary: The police sort clues as they try to piece together the puzzle surrounding Raoul's abduction and murder. Henri is haunted by a vision to which he cannot hold. Philippe, his family and friends are shocked and stunned by Christine's letter. And high in the hills outside of Grenoble, someone tormented by a Saint Joseph medallion …

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

Chief Inspector Robert Pichette sat in his office, the end of his pen tapping against the desk as his hand moved nervously up and down. It was a habit that proved irritating to his colleagues but helped him to think. He found the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of metal against wood distracted his conscious mind, clearing the way for his subconscious to wander freely, to make important associations with random facts, to connect disjointed sights into focused pictures, to collect missing pieces and form them into a completed puzzle. Pichette had used this method of thinking nearly his entire career; yet on this day, it seemed to be failing him. On this day he found on solace, no hidden wisdom, no sudden flashes of knowledge in the sound of pen against desk - all it did was annoy him. A knock came at the closed door to his office. Grateful for the distraction, Pichette put the pen down and called out, "Come."

Guy Rosseau entered the office and stood at attention just inside the door he had closed behind him. "You sent for me, sir?"

"I did," Pichette said and waved Guy to one of chairs in front of his simple desk. He waited until Guy had taken the seat before continuing. "Have there been any new developments in the de Chagny case?"

Guy shook his head. "No, sir," he replied as a small smile twitched at his lips. "Not since you asked me the same question yesterday."

Pichette let the small breach of etiquette pass; he was truly fond of the young detective and was grooming the man to one day take his own position. "I am growing old, Rosseau; remind me of what we do know."

Guy straightened in his chair, composing his hands in his lap. "We do not know much," he had to admit. "We know that there has been no sign of the ransom money. We know that there has been no untoward gossip from the underbelly of society."

Pichette leaned back in his chair, a disgusted frown crossing his face. "We really do not know much, do we?"

Guy twisted his head to one side. "We do know that a local pickpocket named Edouard Durant has not been seen for some time."

"This is important?"

"Perhaps not," Guy shrugged. "He is the type of man who fades in and out of even the dregs of society. He is known as an honest man – well – as honest as that type of man can be." A look of puzzled concentration crossed his face. "We also know that he is acquainted with one Francois Amerlaine, who has also not been seen in Lyon in the last six weeks or so."

So many facts had been swirling in Pichette's head since the day he had returned from Chagny after the unsuccessful ransom delivery that the names of Durant and Amerlaine had completely slipped his mind. "Why is this important?" he wondered. "Lyon is a big city – no matter what Paris may think of us – our seedier residents come and go with impunity and with little notice taken, even less concern given."

"It matters," Guy replied, "because Francois Amerlaine had once served in the army and also worked in the mines when he returned." He paused for effect. "And he was an expert in explosives," he finished.

Pichette sat upright in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "You interest me greatly."

"I thought I might."

The pen began tapping again. "What are you doing about this intriguing information?"

Guy, too, sat straighter. "Word has been sent to the streets that there is a sizeable sum for any who will come forward with credible information regarding the whereabouts of either Durant of Amerlaine."

Pichette fixed his subordinate with a knowing look. "I do not remember signing any papers authorizing such a transfer of government funds."

"They are private funds," Guy told him softly, "from my own pocket." He shook his head. "No family – regardless of their station – deserves to suffer through the murder of a loved one. That it was preceded by such unnecessary violence makes it all that more pointless. I cannot let this one go."

"Nor can I," Pichette said. "I tell you this in confidence – there are those in Paris who are watching this case very closely and who are making rather pointed noises regarding its outcome. The de Chagny's are a very old, very wealthy and very powerful family with influential friends in very high places; it does not make our job any easier." He allowed a tiny smile to cross his lips. "I shall match your funds dollar for dollar for the correct information. Let that word go out onto the street."

"Consider it done."

"Good." Pichette once again leaned back in his chair. "I have been ordered to report our progress or lack, thereof, to the Comte. I leave for Chagny on the morrow. It shall be nice to give him at least the hope of a lead in the murder of his brother. I do not wish to go there with empty hands."

Empty hands were also the concern of Henri de Chagny who sat on the edge of his bed in Côté de Vallée, the home of Xavier and Monique de la Censiere – staring into his own empty hands. He studied them closely, the concentration only adding to the headache he already possessed, yet Henri could find nothing in them. He could find no answers or guidance, no meaning to the flashing gold cross that now haunted his every waking and sleeping moment. It was always there - the flashing gold cross that taunted and mocked him - always staying just beyond his physical and emotional reach.

Slowly raising bloodshot eyes to the bright sun streaming in through the unshaded window, Henri snarled, "What do you want from me?" and found that there was no answering reply. "What do you want from me?" Henri repeated, as he looked heavenward; there was still no answer. "I cannot do this," Henri said to himself as his eyes closed and his empty hands balled in to fists.

After the fight at the inn, Henri had been dragged back to Cote de Valleeto sober up before returning to Chagny. His first day of sleep had been interrupted by bouts of vomiting that seemed to rip the stomach from his very body and visions of a flashing gold cross that ripped sanity from his mind. Henri was certain, as he lay on the bed, shaking and covered in sweat, that God was punishing him for his irreverence during his cousin's funeral and his behavior toward his family in the days, weeks, months and years before. The next day fared no better for Henri as the effects of a long overdue hangover continued to linger, bringing with it that awful message from God. He had stayed on his bed, the washbasin close by; his head pounded, his throat torn raw from stomach acid, coughing up blood when nothing else remained to lose. And even as the hangover faded into a horrible memory, the flashes of a gold cross remained to torment the troubled young man.

Henri finally bent over, closing his eyes and slipping his head into his hands. Now, two days later, the hangover was gone, his mind and body free of the poison he had so willingly poured into them but the vision lingered. The image of a gold cross would flash across Henri's mind at random times throughout the day and turn into startling dreams during the dark hours of the night. He could not escape it, could not outrun it and could not understand it. "What have I done to deserve this?" he moaned softly.

A knock at the door pulled Henri from the troubled meanderings of his mind. He looked up as Didier stuck his head in the door.

"Are you feeling up to seeing people?" Didier asked and stepped into the room as Henri weakly waved a hand at him.

"You," Henri whispered as he raised his head, his eyes still closed, "always."

Didier stayed near the door, looking at his friend, concerned over what he did not see. "Are you quite sure you are feeling well? You do not seem like yourself."

Henri finally opened his eyes, turning to look at Didier. "I do not believe I am myself," he replied in a pained tone, "and I am damn sure I do not like what I am becoming."

Didier crossed the room to lounge against the dresser facing Henri. "What does that mean?"

"Do you believe in God?" Henri asked.

"Of course."

"Do you think He is a vengeful God?"

Didier's concern was rapidly being replaced by worry. "What are you saying?"

Henri ran trembling hands through his mussed hair, not caring if fingers tangled in knots that pulled strands from his scalp. "I think … I wonder …" Henri's eyes blinked. "I think I might be being punished for something." His head shook. "I think I might be being punished for what I did to Christine." His head once again fell into his hands. "What I tried to do to her."

"I think that might be the hangover talking," Didier snorted.

Henri again raised his head, his visage deadly earnest. "No, it is not," he insisted.

"Then, I do not know." Didier shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "I do not believe that God seeks out a single person for punishment. I do not believe He is as vengeful as the priests would have us believe."

"Then it is me," Henri said softly, his eyes filling with pain, "and I am going mad."

"What are you talking about?" Didier was confused and exasperated.

"I keep seeing flashes in my mind," Henri began, a look of disgust crossing his face. "They are of a golden cross and it does not matter the time of day, whether I am awake or asleep – this damn vision is always there. It is haunting me, Didier! It is going to drive me mad!" Henri's voice had been slowly rising until he very nearly shouted the last sentence.

Didier was silent for a moment as he thought. "Maybe," he finally said, "you just need some time away from here." He waved his arms wide. "From all of this." He managed a small smile. "I know of a hotel in the mountains not far from here. It is quiet and secluded and I think you might find it restful."

"Perhaps."

"I actually came in to tell you that my cousins and I are leaving for Chagny within the hour. They wanted to know if you wished to accompany us."

Henri nodded his head. "Yes, I think I shall." He slowly rose to his feet. "I think I need to speak with Philippe."

Little did Philippe know as, several hours later, he sat in the main reception room of Chagny surrounded by friends and family that the world outside was beating a path to his door, ready once again, to change his forever. All Philippe knew at the moment was that it was comforting to hear the low murmur of voices coming from the corners of the room, to see living, breathing bodies standing and sitting in his home. It had already been too long since anything but tears had been shed within the walls of Chagny and Philippe was feeling a relieved guilt as his life began the process of returning to normal.

As normal as it can be without you, he thought to the one piece that was missing, the one piece of the puzzle that made up his family, the one piece that would never return. I know you would want us to resume living, to return to life. Philippe closed his eyes, a single finger reaching up to massage his forehead. But it is so hard for I miss you so much. It was different before when you were not here for I knew you were only in Paris. Now … Philippe felt a gentle hand on his arm, a voice calling his name and he opened his eyes.

"Philippe," Monique tried again.

A sheepish half-smile crossed Philippe's face. "I am here," he told her and sighed. "I was just thinking how pleased Raoul would be to see life coming back into this house," he shook his head, "and how guilty I am feeling because it has."

Monique shook her head, a stern look crossing her face. "You know Raoul would not be happy if he could hear you say such a thing."

Philippe heaved a great sigh. "I know, I know." He took the hands Monique offered and rose to his feet.

"Time," Monique told him, "you just need time."

"I wonder if there will ever be enough time," Philippe muttered to no one in particular.

"And I wonder how long it will take Arthur to bring Christine back from the guest house," Xavier said as he approached his wife and friend. He laid a comforting hand on Philippe's arm. "You are looking better, I will say that. I hope this week has done Christine the same good." He looked at his wife. "I must tell you that Monique was none-too-pleased that I followed your instructions and kept us away."

"And I thank you for that," Philippe assured him. "My sisters and I just needed the time to ourselves to ..." Philippe could not find the words.

"It is all right, I understand." Xavier looked at the mantle clock slowly ticking away the afternoon. "Should Arthur not have returned by now?"

"I still cannot believe you allowed Christine to spend time in that guest house," Desiree said from across the room.

"She should have been here with us," Charlotte finished.

"We have been over this," Philippe told his sisters in a long-suffering voice. "You know she wanted time to be with her family."

The sound of knock on the door distracted whatever words may have been on the lips of the two sisters; everyone turned toward the door as Philippe called out to enter the room. Hearts dropped as the valet from the front door entered the room.

"Yes?" Philippe wondered.

"Pardon the intrusion, Monsieur le Comte," the valet began, "but Senor Gallardo is at the front door and is requesting to see the Vicomtess."

Philippe looked perplexed. "Have him come in," he said and turned to look at Monique as the valet left the room. "Did …" Philippe paused and swallowed before continuing. "Did Raoul not have Christine see the physician the day that you both went shopping?"

Monique nodded. "He did and Christine assured us that nothing was wrong – that it was just a small case of nerves."

All eyes returned to the door as Juan Antonio Gallardo, the physician who cared for the populace of the valley surrounding Chagny and Cote de Vallee, entered the room. Philippe crossed to the physician, meeting him halfway, hand extended in greeting.

"I am so sorry for your loss," Juan Antonio told him as he warmly clasped Philippe's hand.

"Thank you," Philippe told him. "I understand you wish to see my sister?"

Juan Antonio nodded. "I realize this is a difficult time for her," his gaze scanned the room, "for all of you but I am concerned for the Vicomtess' health." He struggled with the knowledge he held. "I know she was suffering from a nervous anxiety when she first came to see me; I just wish to assure myself that she is faring as well as can be expected given the circumstances."

"She has been staying at the guest house with her family," Philippe told him. "I expect her back shortly. Will you not join us?"

Before the physician could answer, Arthur came through the door, disheveled, breathing heavily and alone. "She is gone," he said simply.

A stunned silence met his words.

"Who?" Xavier wondered aloud and voiced the question suddenly uppermost in everyone's mind. "Christine?"

Arthur held onto the door as he struggled to catch his breath. "Yes."

"What!" Philippe exploded, taking a step forward. Only the grip of Xavier's hand on his arm prevented Philippe from assaulting Arthur.

"How could you let her leave?" Juan Antonio asked, his worry growing exponentially.

"No one let her," Philippe said. "No one knew." He turned his attention back to Arthur. "What has happened?"

Arthur began slowly walking toward Philippe. "I went to the guest house and it was empty. It appears as if no one has been there for several days." His expression was deeply pained. "I found the library torn apart; there were shelves of books tossed across the room."

Another knock on the door interrupted Arthur.

"What!" Philippe bellowed as the valet once again appeared.

"Monsieur, please," the valet cringed. "There is a man at the front door bearing a letter for you. He says it is from the Vicomtess."

"Bring him to me immediately," Philippe commanded.

Barely a moment later, a middle-aged man, simply dressed, walked rather apprehensively into the room. He held a creamy linen envelope between his hands. "Begging your pardon, Monsieur," he said softly. "My name is Jean Lisle; I am a private coach driver."

Philippe's foot tapped impatiently.

"Please, continue," Xavier told the man gently, trying desperately to diffuse the situation.

"Five days ago, I drove a young woman to the train station in Lyon. She handed me this envelope on the journey, telling me to bring it here on this day. She said if I was to encounter any trouble to say it came from the Vicomtess," Jean finished as he held out the envelope.

Philippe crossed to his side, snatching the envelope from the man's hand. "Oh, God," Philippe breathed, recognizing the writing. He quickly tore open the envelope as those in the room gathered about him, his worst fears realized as he saw the signature at the bottom. "Dearest Philippe," he began to read aloud, "I misled you when I said I was coming to the guest house to stay with Meg and Val for they left for Paris the day after I arrived. Now I find that there are not words to tell you how sorry I am for what I must say and what I am about to do." The women sank into the nearest chairs, fear tingling at the base of their spines. "I know that everyone places the ultimate blame for Raoul's death at my feet because of the disagreement we were having." Philippe's expression began to harden and he could not look at the people about him. "That there was a problem is the truth. That Raoul believed there was another person in my life is also the truth. That there is another person in my life is the final truth. It is also the reason I must leave Chagny and Paris forever." Philippe could feel his heart begin to race. "I know the terms of your will for Raoul insisted I know as much about the family's business as possible. I know what rested on any child Raoul and I might have had. And I overheard a conversation wherein someone said it was a good thing I never had a child because of the control the child would have placed in my hands. It was also said that my child would have had to be taken from me to be raised properly."

"Oh God," Henri breathed as he rose to his feet and stumbled toward the windows overlooking the front drive, sagging against them. He felt a hand on his shoulder and was grateful for the friendship of at least one person in the world.

Philippe's angry glance turned from Henri and Didier to his blushing sisters who could not meet his eyes before turning back to the letter in his hands. "The ultimate truth in all of this tragedy, the truth I was too frightened to share with Raoul, the truth that led to our fight and his death is that there is a child."

A shocked silence descended upon the sunny reception room. Philippe turned to the doctor. "You knew?" he accused.

Juan Antonio set his shoulders. "I did," he said, feeling free to answer since the Vicomtess' letter relayed the information. "It is why she came to me but I could say nothing because of the confidentiality between physician and patient. It is why I came today; to assure myself that she and her child were well given the recent tragedy."

Philippe could find no words and returned to the letter he held in his hands. "Raoul and I waited so long for this baby. I only wanted the time to assure myself that I would not lose the child that Raoul and I wanted so desperately; that is why I did not tell him. That is why I told no one. Raoul would have adored our baby and I owe it to his memory, to his patience and gentleness, to his friendship, to the love he always showed me regardless of the silly girl I could be to raise his child in a world of love." Philippe could feel the tears begin to well in the corners of his eyes. "Raoul left a sizeable bank account in my name and it is all I am taking from this marriage. I am leaving everything in Paris – furniture, jewels, clothes - as he left it. I was an orphan from the age of seven and I have learned to care for myself so you need not fear for me. Now I shall learn to care for our child and, perhaps, someday when our baby is older and I am stronger, I shall return. Until then I promise that my child shall know of her family, her heritage and the father who loved me and who will love her from Heaven. I want to thank you for the love you have given to me; it shall never be forgotten. All My Love, Christine."

As the sounds of watery sniffles filled the room, Philippe placed a hand behind himself; feeling for support, before sinking into the chair he had suspected was there. "Dear God," he breathed, "there is a child."

Christine's child was also on the mind of the man who held the Saint Joseph medallion in his hands. He played with the chain, allowing it to run like silver water through his fingers. He finally held the chain up before his eyes, swinging the medallion back and forth, never blinking as his eyes followed its arc.

"What are you planning on doing with that?" Francois wondered, not hiding his irritation. "You have been playing with that damn thing nearly the last week.

"Patience," Nico breathed softly. "Patience is a virtue; everything comes to those who wait."

Francois snorted. "Wonder what Louis would say to that?"

Nico's eyes never left the swinging medallion. "I think he would say that I have been patient long enough." Nico tossed the medallion up in the air and expertly caught it as it came down, closing his fist about it. "I think my virtue deserves to be rewarded, do you not?"

"As you would," Francois said as he moved to sit at a table, reaching for the liquor bottle in the middle. He watched as Nico jauntily sauntered from the house in which they stayed. He raised the bottle to his lips, taking a healthy swig, before setting it back down. "Enjoy your fun before Louis gets back," he muttered, not wishing to know what type of "fun" Nico was planning this time.

Nico knew exactly what type of "fun" he was planning as he left the house high in the mountains outside Grenoble. He walked across the courtyard, toward the stone barn at the back. He paused before the locked door, reaching into this pocket and pulling out a key. Nico purposefully rattled the chains as he released them before stepping into the dimly lit building. He stood just inside the door as his eyes grew accustomed to the light that only came in through a single window high in the roof. He looked across the hay-strewn floor to the stall door that was also locked, a nasty smile crossing his face as he walked toward it. Nico stopped in front of the door, looking in through the iron bars at the top. "And how are you today?" he asked with all the sweetness of a snake.

The person, manacled and chained to the back wall of the locked stall, slowly raised its head, blank eyes staring at Nico before once again lowering its head. "Why do you care?"

Nico slowly unlocked the stall door, walking inside, staying out of reach of the bundle of rags that passed for a human being. "You know what kind of treatment such words will earn you.

"I do not care," came the answer.

"You know you care," Nico tsk'd. "Now tell me nicely how you are and I promise there will be no pain today."

The chest of the person across from Nico, heaved with emotion and effort as the person raised its head. "You cannot inflict any more pain on me."

"Defiance. Defiance. Defiance." Nico said as he approached the bound person. "Such defiance." He squatted down before the other person. "And you know what that means."

"Just kill me," the person said as it glared at Nico.

"There are many ways to die," Nico purred, satisfaction screaming in his mind as he took note of the startled reaction from the person before him. Nico held up his closed fist, allowing the medallion in his hand to slowly fall. "Do you know what this is?" Nico did not wait for an answer. "It is a Saint Joseph Medallion," he said as he began to swing the chain to which the medallion was attached. "Do you know that Saint Joseph is the patron saint of fathers?" Nico was having trouble concealing the glee that wanted to overwhelm him as he watched the expressions that raced over the face of the person before him. "Do you know where I found it?" He leaned closer. "I found it on the door to your crypt."

"You bastard!" Raoul said as he strained forward, the chains and the manacles drawing him back to the cold wall. "You lie!"

"Do I?" Nico laughed as he rose to his feet, the medallion still swinging back and forth, Raoul's eyes never leaving the moving silver that gleamed like a star in the darkness of his prison. "I watched as your wife placed it on the door." Nico was taking extreme pleasure in the anguish he watched growing in Raoul's eyes. "She looked so forlorn all dressed in black as she laid her head against the door, saying she was sorry and congratulating you on becoming a father."

"If you hurt her …" Raoul managed to spit out before deep coughs rattled his pained body.

"Now why would I want to hurt her?" Nico wondered. "She is carrying your child and you will never know it." He stared blankly down at Raoul. "You will spend the rest of your days in this place with the knowledge that somewhere out in the world there is a child that looks like you. A child that you will never know. A child that will never know you." He finally smiled – it was a cold, evil thing. "A child that will call someone else 'Papa'," Nico laughed as he turned on his heel, leaving the stall and dropping the medallion just out of Raoul's reach.

Raoul ignored the sound of slamming doors as Nico exited the barn, his manacled hands reaching in vain for the medallion that rested so close and yet so far away. He finally leaned his head back against the stone wall, allowing tears to come for the first time in two weeks. He had thought he could bear his imprisonment. He had thought he could handle the knowledge that he would never see his family again. He had thought he could handle anything as long as he knew Christine was safe. He knew she would have mourned him, grieving his loss, grieving all that might have been. But Raoul knew that she would have eventually been all right with his family surrounding her, supporting her, loving her.

"Oh, God," he breathed as the tears streaked down dirty, unshaven cheeks and his mind strayed back to the disagreement he had shared with her, the distance she had placed between them. "It all makes sense." His eyes strayed to the silver medallion that winked at him from the darkness.

"Christine," Raoul whispered, his head rising to look at the small piece of world beyond the window high above his prison. "What have I done?"

"Christine," he whimpered as his eyes closed and his heart shattered.