Chapter Summary: Chief Inspector Pichette and Inspector Rousseau receive another piece of the puzzle that could possibly lead them to Raoul. Madame Giry seeks out Erik, finding he has returned, declaring that he truly loves Tallis; she does not share her secret. Meg has a little something to share with Val. Raoul begins to wonder if he should not "return". And Nico reclaims his toy …

Author's Notes: Okay folks – Advisory Time. What is about to happen – what Nico is about to do - is not for the claustrophobic or those with tender sensibilities. This was not in the original outline but it is a necessity to get an injured and ill Raoul to where I need him to be and to- at the very least! - get him there alive. Consider yourselves suitably warned!

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

Chief Inspector Robert Pichette studied the eggs on the plate before him – their yellow eyes staring back – and sighed, beginning to tap his fork against the china plate. He was grateful that the hotel in Grenoble where he and Inspector Rousseau were staying had several small private dining rooms for he was an early riser and savored the quiet that privacy afforded. He savored the quiet for it afforded him time to think, to reflect, to look back upon what had been learned since he and Rousseau had arrived in Grenoble nearly two weeks previously. The information had been slow in coming but over the last few days it had started to come in quickly much like a storm over the Alps.

The fork continued to tap against the china as Pichette raised a cup to his lips and took a sip of the slightly bitter coffee.

Louis Foucault had not been seen in Grenoble since slightly before they had arrived and that time amounted to nearly three weeks. The last time any of his associates had been seen had been two weeks ago when Francois Amerlaine had been in the mercantile purchasing basic supplies. Nico Mircea had not been seen in over a month. Chief Inspector Pichette thought that such information meant the men had split up, heading in different directions or they were lying low, waiting for something to happen. It was the thought of the second that bothered Pichette. Knowing just what type of cruelty and deception of which those men were capable bothered him to near distraction. He had to stop them before they hurt another innocent, before they tore another family apart.

"Well, I shall never find the answer in this food," Pichette muttered to himself as he rose to his feet, dropping his napkin on the table. He gathered his overcoat from the empty chair at the other side of the table and slipped it on before leaving the private room and walking toward the lobby of the hotel. He managed a slight smile as he saw Guy Rousseau walking in through the front door; he met his favorite inspector halfway across the lobby.

"Good Morning, Sir," Rousseau said as he extended a hand.

"Inspector," Pichette acknowledged. "You are up and out early this morning.

"I was going over what we know of Foucault and found it distracted me from sleep," Rousseau replied. "So I rose early and found that there was a message awaiting me when I came down this morning."

Pichette's sharp eyes glittered. "You interest me greatly," he said. "What type of message?"

"Shall we walk to the station?" Rousseau wondered. "I can speak as we walk."

There was a tone in his young assistant's voice that made something in Pichette's spine straighten. It was a tone he had heard escaping from his own lips over the years. It was a tone that spoke volumes without the need of words. It was a tone that said something of great import was beginning to unfold. It was a tone that caught and held Pichette's attention.

"We are walking," Pichette said as he and Rousseau exited the hotel and turned left toward the police station. "Now is the time for you to be talking.

Guy ignored the slightly prodding tone in his mentor's voice and drew a deep breath. "The note I received this morning has all ready sent me to the station to speak with the desk sergeant."

"I hope that conversation was more illuminating than the current one," Pichette muttered.

Another chance to ignore the tone of voice. "The desk sergeant has informed me that someone – and he cannot be certain who since the request came through many layers of intermediaries – was searching for farms to lease several months ago." Guy pulled out a notepad from his pocket and briefly scanned the writing. "This information comes from a leasing agent in town. Unfortunately, the request did not amount to a contract but it has given us a new place to search."

"And just where is it we are searching?" Pichette wondered, looking at the young man beside him with a sharp eye.

"The leasing agent who has come forward brought with him a list of the properties he suggested – all rather isolated farms located higher up in the mountains," Guy told him. "Inspector Menard is assembling as many available men as he can find into search parties. He is hoping you will help to plan the search strategy." Guy cleared his throat. "And I am hoping you will let me lead one of those parties."

Chief Inspector Pichette stopped dead in his tracks causing Inspector Rousseau to do the same. He turned to look at the man next to him. "This is the best news we have had since the Vicomte was murdered." A decidedly determined look crossed his face. "I will also be heading one of those search parties." He clapped Guy on the shoulder. "Let us not delay any longer!"

"There is no time for delays!" Erik told Madame Giry as he opened the door to his garret. "Or interruptions,' he said as he glared at her before striding back to sit at his piano.

Antoinette looked about the usually darkened room, her sharp eyes taking in the opened curtains letting the sun pour in, the music paper scattered about the piano, the half-eaten food resting on the table. "You have not been to see me since you returned," she told him as she entered his garret, closing the door behind her. "I did not even know you had returned."

Erik looked over his shoulder at her. "I do not have the time for idle chit-chat."

"So you have said," Antoinette replied as she took her gloves off and settled into a chair near the piano. "I wish to hear how Christine is doing." She narrowed her eyes at Erik. "And I should think you would wish to hear how Tallis is doing."

"Damn impertinent woman," Erik grumped and put his pen down, turning on the piano bench so he could face Antoinette. "Christine is well; she has felt her child move for the first time."

A genuine smile crossed Antoinette's face. "That is wonderful news!" she exclaimed.

"Hmmm," Erik replied "I take it that the next news will be just as wonderful – she told me goodbye and made me bid her the same."

"Goodbye?" Antoinette wondered. "As in 'I shall never see you again'?"

"That would be the word."

Antoinette leaned back in her chair. "Well, well, well. I do believe Christine is finally maturing into the woman I always knew she could become." She eyed Erik shrewdly. "And what do you intend to do about it?"

Erik waved his hands at the music papers about him. "I was trying to do something about it when you interrupted me!" he exclaimed impatiently.

"You are scribbling notes on paper?"

Erik threw up his hands and let out an exasperated sigh as he rose to his feet and began to pace. "I am trying to compose my feelings for Tallis! I am trying to put the music of her life down on paper!" He stopped his pacing for a moment, the harshness fleeing from his countenance. "I once promised her that I would write a song for her – much as I did for Meg. I promised her that it would be a simple melody, full of her sweetness." Erik grew irritated again. "I would like to have it done before she returns from her parents and I cannot do that if I keep getting interrupted!"

"Will you please sit for a moment?" Antoinette asked him, waiting until Erik had taken a seat on the edge of the piano bench. "I want a truthful answer to my next question and you know I will know if you are lying."

"All too well," Erik muttered.

Antoinette chose to ignore his rapidly fluctuating moods; she had grown used to them over the years. "Do you truly love Tallis or is she just a substitute for Christine?"

Erik frowned at her. "Why must you do this?"

"Because I am your oldest and dearest friend," Antoinette told him, "and because I love Tallis dearly and if you have intentions of hurting her, I want to know now."

Something in Erik seemed to deflate. "I love her, Antoinette," he said softly. "I do not think I realized that it was truly love and not just a desire for another possession until I spoke with Christine." His gaze drifted away. "I watched Christine as she spoke of Raoul and what she lost when he died. I realized the hurt and pain I saw in her face could have been what I might have seen for eternity had I not let them leave that night. She loved him; she really loved him." Erik's heart paid dearly for that admission. "And it was not till that moment that I finally saw it. Christine told me I should hold to Tallis and not take for granted that there would always be a tomorrow." Erik closed his eyes and shook his head. "I am trying very hard to heed her words."

Antoinette was grateful that Erik had his eyes closed and could not see the look on her face.

But Val could see the look on his wife's face and a puzzled one crossed his own. "What are you hiding?"

Meg slipped the fashionable hat from her head and placed it into the hands of a waiting valet before crossing the foyer and taking her husband's outstretched hand. "Who says I am hiding anything?"

"Meg," Val playfully frowned at her, reaching a single finger to run gently across her brow, "I know that look and you have been doing something that I should probably know about."

"I have been out shopping all morning," Meg told him. "Does Cook have lunch ready yet?" She twinkled merrily. "Spending your money is hard work and makes me quite hungry."

Val looked purposefully at his wife's empty hands. "If you have been shopping, where are the packages?"

Meg took back the hand she held. "To be delivered," she said airily as she walked away, entering the bright front parlor.

Val looked after her for a moment, dumbstruck, before chasing her. He followed her into the parlor and closed the door. "What is going on?" he demanded of the woman lounging rather carelessly on the sofa.

"Shopping and packages," Meg said as she reached up and pulled several pins from her hair, the loose locks tumbling down over her shoulders.

"Do not think to get round me with that, Madame," Val said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"With what?" Meg was all wide-eyed innocence.

"That!" Val gestured irritably in her direction. "I know there is something and I damn well mean to know what it is." He turned his back to the room, turning the key in the door and turning back to the room. "There," he said as he dropped the key into an inner pocket of his jacket, "we are now locked in and you cannot leave until you tell me what is going on!"

Meg rose to her feet and sashayed over to her husband, slipping her arms about his waist. "Dearest Valery," she said softly, kissing his neck. "You know I shall always enjoy being locked in a room with you."

Val rolled his eyes. "Do you think seduction will work?"

Meg grinned. "It has never failed me before," she breathed into his ear, her hands moving down his back.

"Not. This. Time." Val was insistent and placed his hands on his wife's arms, moving Meg slightly away from him. "I want to know what is going on!"

"My, my, my," Meg said, a brow rising. "You did arise on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Monsieur." She turned her back to him and walked toward the windows overlooking the street. A single hand reached up and drew back one of the heavy drapes. "I wonder how many other husbands there are who also rose on the wrong side of their beds this day."

"You should be worrying about this husband," Val said between clenched teeth, rapidly coming to the end of his patience for his wife's nonsense.

Meg turned back to the room. "Why?" she smiled at him. "You seem perfectly fine."

"Dammit, Marguerite!" Val shouted as he stormed across the room, grabbing Meg by the arms and shaking her. "Will you stop being so damn giddy and tell me …"

"Do not shake me!" Meg shouted. "The baby!"

Val stopped shaking his wife, stunned. "What?" the word came out in several syllables.

Meg had the good sense to blush. "We are going to have a baby," she said and burst into tears. "We are going to have a baby!" Her words hung in the startled stillness of the parlor.

Val's delighted shout could be heard all over the elegant town home.

And while sounds of rejoicing echoed off the walls of a fine Paris town home, it was a deathly silence that echoed off the walls of a farm high in the hills over Grenoble.

"Are you sure about this?" Francois wondered, watching as Louis bent over Raoul, holding a cup to their hostage's lips.

Louis waited a moment, looking in the cup before straightening. "What else are we going to do?" He nudged Raoul's painfully thin hipbone with his heavy boot and received no response. "At least he is complacent." Louis patted Raoul on the head. "And quiet."

"But to keep him drugged like this," Francois shook his head. "I am just not sure it is the right thing to do."

"It is only every two days or so," Louis said as he turned around, "and it means that when our boss pays a return visit, we will not have to explain that Nico beat him one too many times and made him senseless. I do not think that is something he will wish to hear."

"But …" Francois tried again.

"But nothing," Louis interrupted. "The drug at this dosage only keeps him from functioning on his own. It is not hurting him and we can always say we just did it to make him ready for the trip to Spain." He gestured toward Raoul sitting eerily still and silent. "Once he is on that boat and we have our money, it will no longer be our problem what happens." Louis crossed the room to Francois, laying a friendly hand on his shoulder. "We will each have twenty thousand francs and we can disappear into the world."

Francois gave Louis a studious look. "And just where is he going to be going?"

"You think our boss would tell me?" Louis feigned aggrieved shock.

"I think," Francois emphasized the words, "that he tells you a good deal more than you are willing to tell us." He narrowed his eyes. "I think that – perhaps – I should be a bit more careful next time in who I befriend."

"I am sure that was Edouard's last thought as you pulled the trigger and blew his brains out." Louis smirked at him, hiding his thoughts behind that expression; he had underestimated Francois – the man could actually think and reason. It could prove dangerous.

Francois stood for a moment, stunned. "Goddamn you to hell!" he shouted at Louis and stormed off.

Louis was startled by the angry outburst and precious moments passed before he ran after Francois leaving Raoul still sitting motionless on the floor.

"Did you hear something?" Raoul wondered as he picked up shells from the pile he had collected, skipping them over the gentle waves.

"No," the little angel replied, tugging at his sleeve to get his attention, waiting for him to look at her. "And you should not listen."

Raoul sighed. "I know," he said as he took the little angel's hand and walked her over to the fairy bench. "I know you told me it was safe here." The wind ruffled his pale blonde hair. "But there are times when I think it might be important that I go back." A puzzled frown crossed his face. "I think that if I do not go back, I may miss something."

The little angel swung feet that could not reach the sand back and forth. "If you go back, they will continue to hurt you."

"I do not want to be hurt again." Raoul admitted as he turned to the little angel seated next to him. "But what if I stay here forever? Are there not people who will miss me if I never come back? What about Philippe? What about Henri?" Raoul looked curiously at the little angel. "What about you?"

"They all ready miss you more than you can ever know," the little angel said.

"What about you?" Raoul wondered again.

"I miss you every moment of every day." The little angel smiled brightly at Raoul. "Yet I do not miss you for I carry you in my heart every moment of every day. I am going to promise you that on the day we get married."

Raoul was taken aback. "Married?"

"Of course, silly!" The little angel giggled and swung her feet faster. "We are going to get married when we grow up and we are going to have lots of babies!"

Raoul turned his attention to the rolling sea. "Baby," he whispered in a curious tone of voice for a child.

A worried look crossed the little angel's face as Raoul's attention turned outwards; she tugged at his sleeve and hopped from the fairy bench. "Come catch me!" she called as she ran down the beach.

"Wait for me!" Raoul called as he, too, hopped off the bench and began to run after her.

And out in the barn, Nico gently caressed the end of the long box he had slipped into the back of the cart that had originally brought Raoul and his captors to the house in the hills beyond Grenoble. He looked over it carefully, checking the sides, the ends, making sure that everything was in place. Once Nico was assured that everything was as it should be with his box, he turned his attention to the other things in the cart, his hands lingering lovingly over each item – a carefully coiled pile of rope, several long strips of material, a crowbar and a stoppered jug. Finally Nico turned his gaze to the house.

"Now it begins," he whispered and left the barn, making his way across the enclosed courtyard and into the house just in time to see Francois stomp down the stairs.

"What are you looking at?" Francois demanded, still angry at being reminded of his part in Edouard's murder.

Nico was careful to keep his emotions controlled, his tone of voice neutral. "Louis?" he asked.

"Who the hell else?" Francois shot back as he blew past Nico, heading into the kitchen.

Nico stared after him, unblinking. "How nice," he breathed and followed Francois.

"Damn that man!" Francois was muttering as Nico entered the kitchen. "Damn him all to Hell! How dare he constantly throw Edouard in my face!"

Nico crossed to Francois' side. "You do not wish him to hear you speak in such a manner," he told Francois, lowering his voice, making the moment intimate, pulling an unknowing Francois into his scheme. "You know he has a temper."

Francois grimaced. "All too well."

Nico nodded his head toward the cellar door. "Why do we not go down to the cellar and get a bottle of the wine that Louis keeps hidden there? Why should he have all the best of things? Why should he be the only one who gets to leave here to meet with our boss?"

Francois licked his lips. "Why indeed?" He grinned at Nico. "You are not half bad when you want to be."

Nico threw a comradely arm about Francois' shoulders. "You have no idea," he breathed, keeping his arm about Francois' shoulders as they reached the cellar door.

"To an afternoon of good wine," Francois said as he opened the door, turning to Nico, "for Edouard's memory."

Nico fixed Francois with a look that froze that man's soul. "For my toy," Nico hissed and shoved Francois into the gaping black mouth of the cellar before slamming the door closed and moving to the buffet that rested against one wall.

"Where the hell is Francois?" Louis demanded as he entered the kitchen.

Nico turned around, a glass in his hand. "Did you not hear the door slam?" He stared down into his glass. "He stormed through here, muttering words I could not understand and walked out the door, slamming it behind him. I do not know where he went." Nico finally raised his head, eyes unblinking. "I came to get a drink." He held out the glass. "You look like you could use it more than I."

Louis' face was twisted by emotions he could not even begin to name and he stared at the glass that Nico held out; he ran a hand over his face. "I could use a drink," he said and took the glass that Nico offered, his eyes suddenly narrowing. "What about you?"

Nico moved slightly aside so that Louis could see and turned back to the buffet. He poured amber liquid out of the dusty bottle that rested upon the buffet, filling an identical glass to that which Louis held. Nico smiled as he raised the glass. "See," he said. "A drink. Nothing more." His eyes remained unblinking, his face expressionless. "Nothing less."

"I could use this," Louis said as he tilted his head back and downed his glass in one long swallow, unable to see that Nico poured a portion of the liquid in his own glass back into the bottle on the buffet. Louis finally lowered his head, wiping a single hand over his mouth, holding out the glass. "More," he said simply as he settled into one of the kitchen chairs.

Nico was only too happy to oblige and lifted the bottle from the buffet, moving to the table in the middle of the kitchen and pouring another full glass for Louis before taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. "What happened?" He asked innocently.

"Damn stupid fool thinks he has the right to question my decisions," Louis said, his hand reaching for the bottle and topping off his glass. "I am in charge here! No one questions my decisions!"

"As I have learned," Nico breathed, smiling sweetly at Louis.

"You might want to tell that to Francois," Louis said and reached a hand to rest against his forehead. "Jesus, that stuff is vile."

"You have no idea," Nico said, fixing his unblinking eyes on Louis, drawing the other man into the pits of his madness. "You have no idea."

Louis began to rise to his feet, feeling his legs shake. "What the hell did you do?" he demanded as his hands reached for the table to steady his swaying body.

"My toy!" Nico said as he, too, rose to his feet. "Mine! No one takes away my toy!"

"The sleeping powder," Louis breathed as his knees began to give way. "Nico, you fool!"

Nico watched patiently as Louis' knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor, banging his head against the edge of the table as he did so. Nico stood still, unblinking, as he watched Louis' eyelids flutter as he struggled to keep his hold on consciousness; it was not long before Louis failed. Nico walked over to this still figure, kicking out at him. "My toy!" he hissed, raising his head and turning his attention to the stairs.

Slowly and deliberately, not wishing to rush the situation, wishing to enjoy every moment of his plan as it came to fruition, Nico climbed the stairs. He paused before the open door to the room where Raoul sat in a drugged stupor. Nico stared blankly at his toy, a decidedly nasty smile coloring his otherwise unreadable expression. Nico entered the room and crossed to Raoul's side, squatting down before him.

"Would you like to go for a little ride?" Nico asked.

There was no response from the man who had retreated into the safe harbor of his mind.

Nico ran his hands down Raoul's arms as if he were caressing a lover. "I think it is about time that we head home, would you not agree?"

Not even a blink of an eye to acknowledge the words that had come from Nico's lips.

"Perfect," Nico breathed and gripped Raoul's arms, bringing Raoul to his feet as he rose to his own. "I will help you down the stairs and out to the barn." Nico tightened his grip on one arm of the man who was proving to be unsteady on his legs after so many months of little use. He took his other hand and palmed Raoul's cheek, leaning in to breathe into Raoul's ear. "Time to pick up the mess and put my toy where it belongs."

Raoul stood silently.

"Come along," Nico chirped, his mood brightening, as he guided a drugged Raoul from the sparsely furnished room and down the stairs.

Nico did not even spare a backward glance for the figure slumped on the kitchen floor; nor did he spare a second thought for the one sprawled at the bottom of the basement stairs. All Nico's attention was focused on getting Raoul out of the house, across the courtyard and into the barn. It was slow going for the effects of the drug that Louis had given him made Raoul unable to function on his own; it made him the perfect toy. Nico kept hold of Raoul as they entered the barn, moving across the hay-strewn floor to the cart that awaited them. Nico finally stopped Raoul, turning him around and sitting him down on the three steps that permitted access to the cart.

"Now stay right there," Nico told Raoul in perfect seriousness as he reached into the cart and pulled out the jug, removing the stopper and placing the rim against Raoul's lips. "Drink a bit of this," he said as he tilted the jug slightly. "It is time to take a little nap."

Raoul did as he was told and swallowed twice, not noticing the liquid that dribbled down from the sides of his mouth.

Nico once again reached into the cart, replacing the jug and bringing out the rope. "I think a blanket would help keep you warm," he said as he wound the rope about Raoul's chest, pinning his arms to his sides.

Raoul could not feel as the knots were pulled tight.

One last time into the cart to pull out a strip of material. "And we would not want anyone to disturb you," Nico told Raoul as he gagged him.

Raoul did not care as he was rendered helpless and lifted to his feet.

"Up into the cart so that you can go to bed," Nico said as he helped Raoul mount the three stairs, following close behind. Nico smiled, knowing that Raoul could not see or acknowledge the object on the floor of the cart. "Time to crawl into the toy box," Nico said as he guided Raoul over the edge of the box, turning him around. "Sit down."

Raoul did as he was told.

"Lie down."

Raoul did as he was told.

Nico paused for a moment to admire his handiwork. "Such a good little boy," he said as he moved to the end of the box, pulling ropes from each side and tightening them over Raoul's legs. "We would not want you moving around and hurting yourself." Nico moved back to the top of the box, noting the fluttering eyelids on the supine man. "Not that you could anyway." He patted Raoul's cheek. "I must go for a few moments but I shall be back to tuck you in."

Nico left Raoul as he drifted off into drugged slumber, moving to the stalls where the two horses were kept. He walked them from their stalls and to the front of the cart. Nico whistled a tuneless melody as he placed their tack on, hitching them to the cart. He took the reins and walked the horses and cart from the barn and out into the courtyard. Once there, he stopped the horses, let go of the reins and moved to the rear of the cart, climbing back in.

"I said I would be back to tuck you in," he told Raoul, staring at him for a moment before reaching up and pulling the lid of the coffin into place, staring at Raoul's sleeping face through the hole he had cut through the top. "Pleasant dreams."

Nico hopped off the back of the cart, slipping the stairs into place, closing and bolting the door. He walked back to the front of the cart, climbing onto the driver's bench, picking up the reins and tapping them lightly against the horses' backs.

The tuneless melody returned to Nico's lips as the cart ambled through the courtyard and into the lengthening shadows of an autumn evening.