Chapter Summary: Tallis confronts "The Phantom" as struggles to pull Erik back from the lair that calls to him. With Antoinette's permission, she gives Christine's address to Erik, hoping to end his torment – no matter the cost to her. And Nico continues to find new ways to torment Raoul.

Author's Warning – Okay folks, the "icky bits" are coming back; although I would consider this more emotional torture than actual physical torture. Well … all right … it is physical as well but not nearly as graphic as other instances. And I am going to seriously start "pushing the envelope" with this story as far as the "icky bits" go. Consider yourselves warned – on all counts.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

"Erik?" Tallis tried as she set the steaming mug of tea down in front of him, taking a seat across from him.

Erik barely lifted his head in acknowledgment.

"This is the first time we have seen you in nearly a week," Tallis said, fixing a smile on her face as she tried to engage the silent ghost in polite conversation. "Madame and I were becoming worried. I told her I would bake some bread and bring it to you." There was still silence from the man who sat at the table, his head in his hands. "I even offered to bring you some soup for I know how much you like it." Tallis forced out a little laugh. "Even in the midst of the summer heat I was ready to stand over a hot stove to find my way to your heart." She inched the mug closer to Erik. "Is that not how they say one gets to a man's heart – through his stomach?" There was no answer to her question; Tallis worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "We thought that you would like to stay for dinner; perhaps you would play for us?" Tallis was met by a stony silence and the sympathy she was feeling for the turmoil Erik was so obviously in was rapidly disappearing under a flood of anger. "I should just go and leave you here to wallow in your dark little corner," Tallis told him as she began to rise to her feet and found her wrist wrapped in a deadly, claw-like grip.

"If you step away from this table," Erik whispered, "from me, I believe I shall go mad." He finally looked up, the pain evident in his masked face.

Tallis sank back to her seat, far more frightened of the mask than what lay beneath it for the mask represented an Erik she did not know, an Erik who was slipping away from her. She gently pried her wrist from his grip and covered his hand with both of hers. She sat silently for a moment, studying the veiled eyes peering at her from beneath the safety of that horrid mask. "I would rather see your face," she said gently.

Erik shook his head, turning it from her. "I cannot."

"Of course you can," Tallis told him. "I have been seeing your face for these last months and it does not frighten me." She reached for his unmasked cheek only to find him pulling away from her.

"I cannot!" he hissed at her.

Tallis swallowed back the tears that wanted to pour forth. "Do not let her do this to you," she pleaded.

"No one is doing anything to me," Erik said as he turned back to face her, his eyes beginning to glitter dangerously.

"Christine and her memory are pulling you back to that place … that lair" Tallis stuck her chin out. "She is turning you back into The Phantom."

Erik's eyes narrowed and his hand began to slip from Tallis' soft clasp. "What do you know of the Phantom, mademoiselle?" He wondered.

"I know that he is not you," Tallis said. "He is not Erik. He is not the man I love."

Erik's hands flashed across the small table, grabbing Tallis by the arms and he drew her up with him, walking her backwards until the pantry door stopped them. "The Phantom is me and I am The Phantom!" Erik told her, his whisper potent, his voice cutting through Tallis, causing her to begin to tremble. "This is the man you love; this monster who bears the mark of Satan upon his face. I am the creature who so terrified his own mother that she sold me to the gypsies to redeem her sin – my own personal Judas. That I was given into sin mattered little." Erik shook his head and tightened his grip on Tallis' arms, not seeing the quiet fear in her gray eyes but the fear in other eyes, darker eyes. "This is the man you love – the man whose flayed back matches his marred face and distorted soul." Erik's hands began to creep up Tallis arms. "This is the man you love – the man who will go to any lengths to get what he desires." His hands crept ever upwards until they closed around the still woman's neck. "This is the man you love – the murderer." Erik leaned in, his eyes burning through to Tallis' soul. "The man who will gladly take that which every other man receives freely."

The angry passion in his eyes left no doubt in Tallis' mind as to what Erik meant; she found she could not tear her eyes away from the lips that leaned ever closer to her own. Tallis found she could not speak, could not call for help, so drawn was she into the spell The Phantom wove with his eyes and his words. The masked face drew closer and Tallis acted out of desperation. Her subconscious acted out of the universal need for self-preservation and it acted out of unselfish love – Tallis leaned forward and met The Phantom's lips before they could claim her own. She kissed him with all the passion she possessed, pressing her lips tightly against his, allowing instinct to take over as her tongue snaked out, tracing along his bottom lip. "And I love The Phantom, too," she said simply as she drew back. "Do with me as you will."

There was a long moment of silence as Tallis and Erik stared at each other, chests heaving from effort expended, rational minds striving through emotional fogs. It was Erik who pulled away, flinging Tallis from him as he turned, striding across the kitchen floor; he did not get far.

"Do not dare to walk away from me!" Tallis nearly shouted as she run up behind Erik, grabbing his arms and twirling him around. Her icy, gray gaze did not back down from the golden fire in his eyes. "You are no longer the Phantom!" she screamed at him as a single hand reached up and pulled the mask from his face, throwing it across the room. "Come back to me," Tallis pleaded as both hands reached up to cup Erik's face, pulling it down so that she could kiss him gently on the lips. "Come back to me," she repeated, her fingers lightly dancing over his skin, certain and unafraid. "Please," came the soft whisper.

Heat expended itself in the face of icy coolness and, in turn, the heat melted the ice into pools of water that quenched the fire. In their wakes, they left two people clinging to each other in the comfortable familiarity of a sunny kitchen. They held to each other, lost in the embrace, lost to the world, as they sought reassurance, as they struggled to bring wandering souls back from the brink.

"What is happening to me?" Erik whispered into the crook of Tallis' neck. He could feel his knees begin to give way. "Dear God, what is happening to me?" He found he could no longer stand and sunk to the floor.

Tallis willingly allowed herself to be pulled down with him. She kept a tight hold on Erik as she moved her knees out from under her, sitting on the floor, feet gently arranging skirts about her. "Look at me," she told Erik and waited until his worried eyes met her own. "I am still here," Tallis said, a small smile crossing her face. "I have not run away. I have not abandoned you. Even in the face of the phantom who still holds sway in your mind, I have not left." She retrieved one of her hands, resting it against his marred cheek. "I like you." Tallis could feel Erik melting into her touch. "I love you," she whispered emphatically and waited a moment for her words to reach into Erik's mind before asking the question to which she already knew the answer even as he did. "What do you want?"

Erik closed his eyes as he memorized the feel of her hand on his face. "I have done nothing but think upon that question for these last days."

"And what answer did you receive?"

Erik could not open his eyes for fear of what he would see when he did. "I need to go to her."

"I know," Tallis replied, unable to keep a touch of sorrow from her voice. "Madame received a telegram two days ago; I know where Christine lives." She watched as Erik's eyes opened - the hope and amazement in them tearing at her heart. "Would you like to know?"

"You would do that for me?"

Tallis had thought carefully upon her next words ever since the telegram had been received. Her thoughts had distracted her during the day and kept her awake during the night. Even Madame Giry, with all her years of observing the human condition, could find no way to breach the walls of doubt that grew about Tallis' heart and mind. There was a fork in the road to the future she wanted and Tallis held the map in her hands, still uncertain of her answer until the moment she had seen the hope in Erik's eyes.

"Yes," Tallis said with a nod of her head. "I would do it for you because I know this is tearing you apart. I would do this for you because I know that you loved Christine enough to set her free, to let her find the life you could not give her. I would do this for you because I know you thought Christine safe and happy with her husband and that helped to assuage the guilt you felt for hating him, for wanting to kill him. Now he is dead and you blame yourself for the guilt she carries, her fears." She took her hand from his cheek to rest it lightly against his pounding heart. "I would do this so that you may seek her forgiveness and set your heart and soul free." Tallis shook her head sadly. "Even if Christine cannot or will not forgive you, at least you will have tried and that takes more courage than I think you know you possess. To swallow one's pride, to humble one's self before another is the very message of every sermon preached in every church on every Sunday." Tallis briefly closed her eyes as a sigh escaped her lips. "I would do this for you because until you can find peace with Christine, you will never be a whole man and while I love all the pieces of you, I want to learn who you are as a whole, complete man."

There was a moment of hesitant silence before Tallis – once again - lightly touched Erik's cheek. "I want to ..." she faltered and steeled her resolve, taking her hands back. "I want to love all of you," Tallis emphasized the last word before looking down as her hands reached into the pocket of the apron she wore, pulling out a folded piece of paper, pressing it into Erik's hands. "This is the address where Christine lives in Boulogne," she said simply. "It is outside the city, near to the ocean." Tallis would not allow herself to cry in front of Erik. "You go with Madame Giry's knowledge." She lowered her eyes, unable any longer to bear the light she saw growing in Erik's own. "And my blessings." Tallis suddenly found herself drawn into a sincere and warm embrace, her arms encircling Erik's back as he held her tightly, committing the feel of him to memory.

"Thank you," came the whispered breath in her ear before Erik drew back, locking his eyes with hers. "I promise that I shall return to you."

"I know," Tallis told him with a smile that she did not feel.

Erik's fingers closed around the paper as his lips met Tallis' for a brief moment and then he was on his feet and out the door before Tallis could even draw a breath.

Tallis sat on the kitchen floor, brown skirts surrounding her like a pool of quicksand, drawing her into an endless oblivion. She stared at the closed kitchen door for long moments, her heart willing Erik back to her arms even as her mind knew it was useless. Tallis finally rose to her feet, walking slowly to the door that led to the rest of the house. As her feet crossed the threshold into the hallway, she broke into a run, flying sightlessly down the hall and through the open door of the reception room, into the arms of Madame Giry who had turned from the window where she had been watching Erik leave.

"It shall be all right child," she told Tallis as the young woman burst into tears.

Dear God, Antoinette thought, let this be all right.

"Dear God," Nico mocked Antoinette's thoughts in a tone of voice that would have shocked and appalled that gracious woman. "Let her be all right." He stooped down, grabbing the puddle of silver that rested amidst the hay, shoving it into his pocket, out of sight, beyond reach.

Raoul shut his eyes against the sight.

"Do you really think even your prayers are hidden from me?" Nico wondered as he approached Raoul, squatting down before the man whose chains would not allow him to rise to his feet. He reached out and twisted a broken toe, receiving only a sibilant intake of breath in reply. "Ooh," he breathed. "Are you getting used to the pain?"

"You. Cannot. Hurt. Me. Anymore." Raoul ignored the new pain that flared from his foot as he spat out the words, opening his eyes to glare at Nico.

Nico raised a finger to tap against his lips, his eyes going wide. "Oh, dear," he said sadly. "What am I going to do?" His eyes grew distant as he began to think out loud. "Perhaps I could break more of your bones. No, that obviously will not work." Nico shook his head. "And if you can take the pain from broken bones, then I highly doubt another beating will make an impact." Nico focused his gaze on Raoul. "The knife? He wondered. "The branding iron?"

Raoul swallowed down his growing fear at the words that passed Nico's lips, each one more terrifying than the last. For all of his brave words, Raoul knew that he could not take any more pain. He knew that another broken bone not given the chance to heal, another knife wound untreated and allowed to develop an infection, another beating that would leave him bruised and senseless would break the last string that tethered him to reality. He had barely eaten since they had taken him; his only water what they would toss over his head. His shoulder ached from the burn he was sure was also infected, his cracked ribs sending flares of pain with every breath drawn. His head pounded from even the smallest of movements and Raoul found he was having trouble focusing his vision on distant objects. He felt himself growing dizzy as he began to hyperventilate from the dread anticipation; strong fingers pinching a bruised jaw, pulling him back to his darkened prison.

"No, no, no," Nico told him in a strange sing-song voice. "That will just not do. I need you here with me."

"Go away," Raoul pleaded, knowing his words did no good as Nico's eyes began to glow, his face drawing closer.

"But if I go away," Nico's tone was deadly normal, "how will I ever tell you about your wife?"

Raoul found himself drawn into Nico's eyes, unable to find his way out.

"Much better," Nico murmured to himself and pinched Raoul's jaw again, relishing the flash of pain he witnessed. "Such a good boy." He smiled; it was an odd expression with no emotion behind it, frightening in its emptiness. "What do you want to know about your lovely wife? Shall I tell you how she stood at the door of your crypt demanding that God give you back to her?" Nico shook his head. "Did she really think I would do that?" He wondered aloud. "Do you want to know how she jumped when we called her name? How the skin of her pale cheek prickled with cold as I ran the barrel of my gun down it? Do you want to know how she pleaded with us not to hurt her?" Nico's smile disappeared, undisguised lust replacing it. "Shall I tell you how she trembled in my arms when I grabbed her? How soft her lips were beneath my hands? How her skin smells of lilies and the touch of her hair is as soft as a feather?"

"You son of a bitch!" Raoul shouted and slammed his head into Nico's, throwing the crazed man off balance. Raoul screamed from the pain his actions caused even as he struggled with the vision of his wife in the arms of another madman. Confusion joined hands with the pain and Raoul found the images in his mind contorting, blending, changing. He heard Nico's eerie laugh crescendo upwards into the stirring voice of an angel. Raoul could see the eyes behind the masked face flare with golden fire, turning into the mad orbs of his chief tormentor. Raoul found he could not shake the image of The Phantom becoming Nico, wrapping his arms about Christine, pulling her close, his hands moving downwards … toward the child she carried … their child … Raoul felt cold hands grab his head.

"You stupid, pathetic fool!" Nico shouted, beating Raoul's head against the stone wall with every word in a strange punctuation to his anger. "Why do you make me do this to you?" Nico's anger deflated with each sickening thud of Raoul's skull against stone and he finally drew his hands away from the unconscious man, staring curiously at the blood on his fingertips. "Why?" Nico backhanded Raoul once; the moan that escaped all unknowingly from Raoul's lips further deflating Nico's anger. "Now I shall have to punish you."

He giggled as he stood, throwing upon the stall door, striding across the barn to a large object in a darkened corner. Nico's hands ran lovingly over the cold metal. "Not that that was not what I was going to do anyway," he whispered to no one in particular as his hands reached through the small hole at the top of the object. Nico slowly dragged the heavy object across the hay-strewn floor, stopping in front of the door to the stall where Raoul was kept chained. Nico's acute vision allowed him to see the opening and he turned the object so that the opening was facing the opened stall door. He reached into his pants pocket as he walked back toward Raoul, pulling out a key. Nico leaned over, placing the key into the manacle encircling Raoul's left wrist, smiling at the click that caused the manacle to fall away. He repeated the action on Raoul's right wrist and took one step back as Raoul's limp body slumped over onto the hay. Nico's booted foot reached out, swiftly kicking at Raoul's hip, jostling his body away from the back wall of the barn, taking sweet satisfaction in the explosive breath that escaped Raoul's lungs. Nico leaned over, placing the key in another lock, releasing the chains that bound Raoul's legs, placing the key back in his pocket.

Nico remained bent over as he grabbed at Raoul's bruised and cut wrists, dragging him across the floor. He paused at the opening that gaped just beyond the stall door and with little ceremony and less gentleness, Nico threw Raoul's unconscious body into the iron box. His hand paused on the door and Nico stared at the jumbled form beneath his gaze. He removed his hand and reached in, straightening Raoul so that he sat upwards, his head lolling against his chest. "If you are going to be spending the next days in here," Nico said as a smile crossed his face, "you might as well be comfortable." He slammed the door to the box shut, turning back to the stall, grabbing the chains and wrapping them around the box, locking them in place.

Nico wrapped his hands about the chains and began dragging the iron box toward the main door of the barn. He was forced to pause at the door, to slide it open, allowing the bright summer sun to flood in, illuminating the empty structure. Nico continued to drag the chained box holding Raoul outward, into the courtyard between the house and the barn, into that hot summer sun. He paused for a moment when he reached the center of the court, raising his head to the glaring sun overhead, another of those strange smiles crossing his face. Nico turned back to the box, leaning over it to look in through the slit at the top. "Welcome home," he whispered, patting the box before backing off, walking a short distance away and sitting down on the cobblestones. Nico crossed his legs and began to whistle as his unblinking eyes never left the box that now sat under the summer sun that baked the open courtyard.

"What is that?" Francois asked as he sauntered up, his hands carrying two satchels containing food and drink from the nearby village.

Nico's head whirled on his body, seeming to almost turn completely around. "It is mine," Nico hissed, his eyes narrowing at Francois.

Francois backed away a step before turning his gaze from Nico to the box; his head began to shake slowly. "Please tell me he is not in there," Francois said softly even as his eyes took in the locked chains, his mind already knowing the answer.

"It is mine!" Nico repeated, his body tensing, ready to defend that which his mind claimed as personal property.

"You cannot leave him in there!" Francois said as he put the satchels down on the cobblestones. "We were told to keep him miserable but alive." He took two steps forward, toward the box that held Raoul. "He will die in there!"

"Mine!" Nico screamed as he leapt to his feet in one fluid movement, seeming to fly across the courtyard until he stood, spread-eagled, before the iron box like some guardian pulled from the very depths of Hell. "Mine! Mine! Mine!" he screamed again.

Francois held up his hands in supplication, slowly returning to the two satchels. "Yours," he said softly. He leaned over to retrieve the satchels, his eyes never leaving Nico's. "You do with him what you will," Francois said with a nod as he cautiously worked his way to the front door of the house. "I am going to be just inside; there is food and drink if you would like," Francois finished and slid gently through the door, closing it, sagging against the safety it provided against the madman outside. He staggered to the window, keeping just out of sight as he peered through it. He saw Nico once again sitting on the cobblestones, staring at the iron box.

"Jesus, Louis," Francois said to the empty house. "Hurry up and get your ass back here before something happens that we all will regret."