Chapter Summary: Ten weeks after he disappeared, Life begins to return to something resembling normal for all those affected by Raoul's "murder". Even Raoul begins to struggle back from the abyss upon which he teeters while Nico happily falls into his own …

CHAPTER FORTY SIX

"Where the blazes is the damn thing?" Xavier wondered to himself as hands opened and closed desk drawers, rummaging through each one in turn. "Damn it," he said aloud as he stood, hands placed flat on his desk, eyes surveying the room about him.

"Such language," Monique chided him as she entered the room, smiling for her husband.

Xavier managed a quick smile in return before his expression grew grim again.

"Those storm clouds on your face like me not," his wife said. "What is it that troubles you so?"

Xavier moved from behind the desk and crossed the large parlor and began to look behind the books that lined the shelves along one wall. "I am looking for something," he replied.

"Obviously," Monique said. "May I ask what it is you seek?"

"A small brown leather pouch," he said, continuing to look along the shelves. "I had it with me when I left for Paris and I am certain I had it when I returned. Now I cannot find the damn thing!"

"Might I help?"

Xavier whirled on his wife. "No!" he angrily said, the tone of his voice just short of a shout.

Monique backed up a step. "I am sorry."

Instantly contrite, Xavier crossed the room, taking his wife's hands in his own, planting a soft kiss on her cheek. "It is I who am sorry," he told her gently. "I should appreciate your help but I did so wish to find it before you did."

"Why?" Monique wondered.

Xavier grinned at her. "That, my dear wife, is a reason I cannot share."

Monique's eyes narrowed. "You are up to no good, monsieur; I am certain of it."

"I am a red-headed devil and the fire in my hair is like to spread to my brain," Xavier said as he let go of his wife's hands. "It is a certainty that I am up to no good."

"Impossible," Monique muttered to herself as Xavier left the room and she took a seat, staring out the window and slowly closing her eyes as she heard the sounds of desperate searching echoing from each room. "Utterly impossible." She remained with her eyes closed, allowing her thoughts to drift backward to a recent afternoon, her head leaning against a strong shoulder, sun-warmed lips lingering against her cheek …

"That is a most pleasant smile," Xavier's voice said, interrupting her daydreams.

"Thoughts of you will always bring such joy to my lips," Monique lied as she opened her eyes. The thought that she had become such a good liar over the years of her marriage turned her stomach but she was accomplished enough to not permit her husband to see it. Monique finally noticed the small bag that Xavier held. "You found it."

"I did," he smiled back at her, holding out the leather pouch.

Monique's delicately arched brows creased in a puzzled frown. "For me?"

"Did you think I would travel all the way to Paris and not find some small trinket of my affection to bring home?"

Monique rose to her feet and took the pouch from her husband's hands. She unknotted and slipped apart the strings holding the pouch closed, peaking into the inside. The smile on her face when she raised her eyes to look at her husband was genuine and meant for him alone. "My tea!" she exclaimed. "How did you …"

"I knew you were nearly finished with what you had and I know how hard it is to find outside of Paris. I simply stopped at the tea merchant and purchased what he had left." Xavier nodded. "He is expecting another shipment in a month and has promised to send an entire chest to you."

Monique drew her husband into a warm hug. "Thank you," she breathed into his ear, planting a kiss on his cheek. "It was very considerate of you to think of me when you were trying to find Christine."

"I shall always think of you," Xavier replied and sighed. "I only wish I had been able to locate Christine. I did not like letting Philippe down."

"He told you he understood."

Xavier nodded his head against the one that leaned against it. "He always understands. Philippe is the best friend I have ever known."

Philippe had understood all too well his friend's lack of success in finding his brother's missing wife. Part of him had clung to the hope that Xavier and his men would be able to succeed where he had failed, find Christine and convince her it was safe to return. Yet the greater part of his mind, the rational part that was slowly beginning to function again, knew differently. Philippe had known that Christine had truly vanished from his life and those who might know where she was would not be easily swayed by pleadings or monetary offerings.

"I only hope they love her enough to see her safely through," he muttered.

"Pardon?" Arthur wondered.

"My mind is wandering again," Philippe said as he returned his attention to the work piled on his desk.

"Are you sure you wish to continue?" Arthur asked. "I can handle matters."

Philippe nodded his head. "As I am all too aware," he replied, managing a slight grin and leaning back in his chair. "But I can no longer allow events to move past without my attention. June has come and gone. July has come and gone. August has come and is quickly leaving. Raoul has been dead for over two months and he would not wish any in this family to allow life to continue to move forward without us." He sighed and sat up straight. "It is time to resume living." He looked at the paper beneath Arthur's hand. "What is that?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "It is a letter from Pierre Martin," he replied softly and watched as pain quickly washed over Philippe's face before the Comte composed himself. "He wishes to know what you would like to do with the Paris home. The home is still fully staffed and Pierre says they are at a loss to know what to do with themselves."

"Tell Pierre that the Paris home shall remain open and ready for occupancy, as always," Philippe said. "And I know that it must be difficult for the staff but they are being paid for their efforts and I do not wish to let any of them go." His eyes quickly glanced at the two letters to the right of his blotter before turning back to Arthur. "My sisters are fighting over which family should have me come to them for the holidays." He shook his head. "I know they mean well but I cannot yet bear to think of the holidays."

"Perhaps," Arthur had a thought, "your sisters could come here before the holidays – without their children – and, as a family, you could travel to Paris and sort through what Raoul and Christine left behind." He watched as Philippe winced in pain. "I know the thought hurts but it must be done and it is not something that the staff can do. This must be the job of the family."

Philippe sat quietly for a moment and slowly began to nod his head. "That is actually quite a good idea," he began softly, his voice growing stronger with each word. "I could close Chagny and spend the winter in Paris." He grimaced. "Enough time will have passed for even the English to not frown should I choose to venture out for a night at the opera or symphony and it would be comforting to see old friends again. Perhaps, I could even convince Xavier and Monique to join me." A small smile crossed his lips. "What would you think of spending the winter in Paris?"

Arthur smiled inwardly at the life Philippe was showing. "I think I should like that."

"Then we must begin to plan for such a thing now. I shall write to my sisters. It would be easy for Desiree to travel from Rome and meet me here; we could travel to Paris together. Charlotte could then travel from Vienna and met us in Paris. I think October would be a proper time." Philippe paused, blinking back the tears that wanted to begin. "I really will need their help going through …" His words were interrupted by a knock at upon the door; Philippe swallowed down the grief that always seemed so close to the surface. "Come," he called.

The door opened and Mathilde walked in, a huge tray piled with food in her hands. "It is after twelve of the clock and you have been working all morning," she said as she crossed the room, placing the tray on Philippe's desk and crossing her arms over her waist. "It is high time for a break and something to eat." She took note of the tears glistening at the edges of Philippe's eyes. "And I shall stand right here until I see food pass your lips."

"I believe that you would," Arthur chuckled.

"I am certain of it," Philippe said, looking at his housekeeper with warm appreciation.

Mathilde blushed lightly under his gaze but pointed at the tray. "Eat!"

"Did he eat?" a man wondered as another tray was brought into another room.

Francois placed the tray down hard on the kitchen table, the broth in the bowl slopping over the edges. "Since when did I become a nursemaid to some damn spoiled rich brat?"

Louis looked up at Francois from where he sat. "Since we have to get some of his strength back. Now, once again, did he eat?"

"Oh, he ate," Nico replied as he followed Francois into the kitchen of the leased home outside of Grenoble. "He did not want to but I forced his lips open and Francois put the spoon in," Nico's eyes narrowed, "and I made him swallow."

Louis rose to his feet. "I swear, Nico, if you hurt him again …" his words were cut off by Nico lunging across the room, his fingers closing over Louis' throat.

"I did not hurt him," Nico's eyes glittered dangerously, the fingers of his free hand closing about Louis' jaw. "It is about knowing where to press." His fingers pushed and Louis' jaw opened of its own accord. "And where to stroke." Nico's fingers pressed into Louis' throat, stroking it lightly. Suddenly the dangerous glitter in his eyes faded away, replaced by a blank stare that terrified even Louis as Nico's fingers tightened, beginning to cut off his air. "And it would take only a twitch to kill a man."

Louis found himself bent over the table, gasping for air as Nico released his grip.

"But I am an expert and know where to press," Nico leaned over to breath in Louis' ear. "And when." He walked across the floor and out the door, toward the barn.

"Jesus Christ," Francois said, finally able to draw his own breath, his frightened heart pounding in his chest.

"Has nothing to do with this," Louis finished as he straightened.

"Why do you let him get away that?" Francois wondered, rolling his eyes as the sound of pounding could once again be heard from the barn.

"Because for the moment we need him," Louis replied.

"For the moment?"

"What did I just say?" Louis snapped.

"What the hell are you yelling at me?" Francois shouted. "I just asked a damn question!"

Louis waved to a seat and watched as Francois crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to move. "Sit down," he ordered softly and waited to continue until Francois had done as he was told. "He," Louis nodded toward the ceiling, "may not exactly be himself but we cannot exactly trust that, now can we? Nico is the only one who can still strike fear into his heart and keep him under control. So we need Nico until we can get our guest to wherever the hell it is he is going to be going."

Francois' eyes narrowed. "So you are saying that Nico …"

"I am not saying anything," Louis quickly interrupted him. "And I suggest you leave it at that. Now I have a question for you."

"What?"

"Did you see a leather pouch anywhere?"

Francois snorted. "They are all over the damn place!"

"I mean the pouch with the ring in it," Louis told him softly.

"Aw Christ," Francois said softly, running a hand through his hair.

The angel was upstairs at the same moment running soft hands through Raoul's hair. "I think I like your hair shorter," she said gently, fingers lightly touching the sparse hair replacing that which had been forcibly torn away. "Soon it shall all be the same length."

Raoul just sat on the floor and did not respond.

"Raoul," the angel said as she cupped his face in her hands, "please talk to me. Tell me what you are thinking. Say you are angry with me, with those men. Say you never want to see me again. Say something!" A single tear traced down the angel's cheek. "Please!" She watched as Raoul's lips moved. "What, my love?"

"Hurt," Raoul whispered.

"Did they hurt you again?" the angel wondered worriedly.

Raoul finally focused on the vision kneeling before him. "You," he said.

The angel's slight smile straightened, her lips forming a straight line. She shook her head, her thumbs caressing the cheeks beneath them. "I would never hurt you," she told him. "You are my husband, my lover, my best friend. You are my strength. You are my whole world!"

"You lied," Raoul told her.

The angel withdrew her hands and hung her head. "I did," she replied. "I lied about the baby." She raised her head. "But I did not do it to hurt you."

Raoul turned his head away from her. "Go away," he told her.

"As you would," the angel said as she stood, beginning to fade into the sparsely furnished room. "But know that I am always with you for you cannot run from your heart."

Raoul closed his eyes and carefully leaned his head against the wall behind him. "I know," he whispered to the empty room.

Even as Raoul's subconscious mind struggled to pull him back from the brink of the abyss, out in the barn Nico was already falling over that brink. Each echoing thud from the hammer he held pushed him a bit further into the darkness. Finally Nico threw the hammer to the ground, the last thuds resounding off the barn walls and disappearing into the afternoon. He stepped back to look at his handiwork.

"So pretty," Nico said as a hand reached out to caress the wooden object. His hand lingered over a hole that had been from the top. "So pretty," he whispered again, leaning over to rest his upper body on the top. "So pretty."

"So pretty," Didier sighed as he hugged Arlette, the local barmaid about the waist.

Arlette laughed and lightly tapped Didier on the head. "You are so brazen, sir!" She turned to look at Henri who was seated across from Didier, an eyebrow raising. "What is with him?" she whispered as she turned her attention back to Didier. "Is he ever going to be fun again?"

"Give us a minute," Didier told her, squeezing her lightly.

Arlette bent over and kissed the top of Didier's head. "I hope you can do something to bring him back to us," she whispered before turning and gliding suggestively across the crowded inn.

Didier did not even watch her leave but had his attention entirely focused on his friend seated across from him. "Henri?" he questioned.

Henri said nothing but stared silently into the depths of his mug. He lifted the mug to his lips and drained what remained inside, placing the mug back on the table and finally raising his head to look at Didier. "You are a better man than I," he began.

"Henri …" Didier interrupted with a shake of his head.

"Let me finish, please!" Henri pleaded, catching Arlette's eye and raising his hand. He waited until Arlette returned with a mug full of foamy ale and left, downing nearly half of what was in the mug before speaking again. "If you knew something and knew that it could destroy everything about you, would you tell someone?"

"If it was important," Didier nodded, "yes, I would."

"But what if you were not sure if it was real or not?" Henri drained the last of his ale. "What if it was only a nightmare?" He looked frightened. "What if it was something you only imagined? What if it was your mind slowly going insane?"

"Now you are just being dramatic!" Didier crossed his hands over his chest. "Was there ever a member of your family not prone to theatrics?"

Henri scowled at his friend. "I really do not need this from you," he said and rose to his feet, turning on his heel and walking quickly toward the front door of the inn.

"Henri," Didier said as he, too, rose to his feet, moving after his friend, "wait!"

But Henri did not heed Didier and left the inn. He walked across the graveled area in front of the inn, grabbing the reins of his horse and easily mounting. Henri looked down when he felt a hand on his ankle.

"You are in on condition to ride," Didier warned.

"Let go of me," Henri said and kicked out at Didier, knocking the other young man aside, spurring his horse forward and away from the inn.

"Damn it," Didier muttered, as he moved quickly to his own horse, chasing Henri down the road. "Henri!" he shouted to the rider galloping some distance from him. "Will you stop!" He spurred his own horse forward, trying to catch up before something happened to Henri.

He would be too late.

"Henri!" Didier shouted as a dog bolted across the road in front of Henri's horse. Didier watched helplessly as the startled horse reared back and Henri was thrown, landing flat on his back on the hardened summer ground. Didier pulled up short as he reached the spot where Henri lay still and prone on the ground. Didier quickly slipped from his horse to kneel next to his friend. "Henri?" he asked hesitantly, reaching out a hand to rest against the other man's shoulder. Didier breathed a sigh of relief as Henri opened his eyes. "Thank God."

Henri settled his elbows on the ground and tried to lift himself to a sitting position.

"Do not," Didier cautioned. "Are you sure nothing is broken?"

"Other than my bruised pride?" Henri shook his head. "No."

Didier helped Henri rise to a sitting position, concern written all over his young face. "Are you certain you are all right? Should you try to be moving?"

Henri nodded his head and looked at Didier with frightened eyes. "I am going insane," he breathed. "It is a surety that I am losing my mind and my parents will have to lock me away in Bedlam before I hurt anyone." He gave Didier a strange look. "Before I say anything that will destroy everyone about me."

"Henri …"

"I am losing my mind," Henri said, the tears beginning to form. "What am I going to do?" he wondered as he placed his head into his hands, his shoulders beginning to shake.

Didier could do nothing but sit in the road with his friend, offering whatever comfort could be found in the touch of a hand.

Touching hands, comforting hands were the also the gift that Tallis offered to Erik as they sat quietly on the iron bench in Madame Giry's back garden. She kept both of his hands gently held in her own as she studied the face that was turned from her.

"It is all right, you know," Tallis told him.

Erik heaved an angry sigh and turned to look at the woman seated next to him. "I know and I do not wish it to be all right."

Tallis looked puzzled. "What would you have me do?"

"Yell. Shout. Scream obscenities at me! Beat me on the chest! Order me not to return to her!" Erik told her, his voice rising with each word.

"I love you," Tallis replied softly.

Erik raised her hands to his lips, kissing in each in turn, his anger deflated by her softly spoken words. "And I do not know which of us that makes the fool – you for loving me," Erik reached it to take a willing kiss. "Or me for wanting it so."

A smile curled the ends of Tallis' lips. "Definitely you."

Erik laughed delightedly and took back his hands, slipping an arm about Tallis' waist, drawing her close, feeling her head go to his shoulder. His free hand reached up to caress her cheek, his head going against hers. "Then I am the greatest fool in the world."

Tallis bit the inside of her lip. "You still love her, do you not?"

"Yes," Erik replied, knowing whom Tallis meant. "But not in the way that I should hope to love you one day."

Tallis could feel her heart skip a beat as she finally heard the words for which she had been praying slip from Erik's lips.

"Yet, I fear there shall always be something about Christine that will stir the hidden embers of my heart." He shook his head, his free hand reaching for one of Tallis, fingers intertwining. "I will always love her for it was she who showed me what it means to love and one does not forget the first great love of a life." Erik's voice lowered. "Especially a life that was so devoid of any warm emotion."

Tallis blinked back her tears. "One never does forget," she agreed, lightly squeezing the hand that held to her own. "When do you return?"

"Two days time," Erik told her. "Firstly, I must give the Baron his music." A real smile crossed his face. "I have played it for Antoinette and she says she can hear her daughter in every note. I think it will be a lovely gift for their first anniversary."

"And secondly?" Tallis wondered.

Erik placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. "I wish to spend time with you," he said simply, seeking her lips. "Perhaps someday I shall write a piece of music for you," he whispered against Tallis lips before demanding and receiving another kiss.

"What would it be like?" Tallis sighed as she settled back into Erik's side.

Erik did not even need to think about what it would be like. "Simple and peaceful," he told her, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. "Like this moment."

Tallis sighed, her heart easing at his words even as her mind knew he was still torn between the two women who laid claim – in one way or another – to his troubled heart.

Marie, too, was suffering from a troubled heart as she sat in the sunny garden with Christine, a tray of lemonade on the table between their two chairs. "I do not think that is such a good idea," she said.

Christine sipped at the lemonade, something in the sweet tartness satisfying the craving that she had been having all day. "That is so good," she breathed as she set the glass down. "I am so glad your brother was able to find lemons at the market."

"It is easy enough this time of the year," Marie told her, knowing that Christine was changing the subject. "I still do not think what you are planning on doing is wise."

"Marie," Christine began with a shake of her head. "What choice do I have?"

"You could stay here!" Marie exclaimed. "I know there is enough money to purchase this house and then still have money left over. You do not need to be taking the Vicomte's baby half-way around the world!"

Christine sat silently for a moment. "Do you think I wish to leave? Do you not think I want to run back to Chagny and the safety and security that Philippe could offer?" Christine's hand reached across the small table to rest on Marie's. "I am terrified! I am not terrified of being on my own but I am terrified of raising Raoul's baby on my own."

"You do not have to!" Marie insisted.

"Someday, perhaps, there will come a time when I need not be frightened," Christine had to agree. "But that moment is not yet come. When my child is old enough to fight for herself, when she is old enough to speak her mind, then it will be time to stop being frightened of losing her. Now, I cannot take the chance that she will be ripped from my arms." Tears slipped down Christine's cheeks and she did not stop them. "I cannot bear to have anyone else ripped from my arms and lost forever to me. I cannot."

"But America!" Marie shook her head. "What of Sweden? Is that not where you were from originally? Could you not go there? It is closer to France?"

Christine finally wiped at her tears. "I had thought of Sweden but sooner or later they will think to look for me there." She sniffled. "And America is such a huge land and it is said that if offers the opportunity to create a new life for everyone. I would like to create that new life for myself and my child. I would like to buy a small house – near a lake, perhaps. If we lived cautiously, there would be enough money for years and I could always give voice lessons should the need arise." She smiled to herself, her thoughts turning inward. "I did have a wonderful teacher." Christine sighed as she once again turned her attention to Marie. "I will have my baby in France because I know Raoul would have wanted his child born in the land he loved but after that …" her head shook.

Marie pouted. "I know I cannot change your mind," she said, "but do not think to leave me behind."

"You cannot leave your family to follow me around the world."

"And I cannot let you and your child do this alone." Marie tilted her head, eyebrow raising, lips setting. "The Vicomte would expect me to be there to help and help is exactly what I intend to do."

It took but a moment of silence before Christine laughed delightedly. "You are such a good friend!"

"And you and the Vicomte were very good to me," Marie replied softly.

Christine's gaze turned toward the sea, a hand going to the growing bulge beneath her mourning gown. "He was very good to everyone," she whispered.