Chapter Summary: The police discover who it was that they rescued from the bottom of the cellar stairs and what he tells them sends them racing through the night. Nico returns Raoul "home". Christine has a very vivid, very frightening nightmare. Henri chides Philippe on his trusting nature. While at Raoul's crypt Henri finds himself suffering from auditory "hallucinations". And inside the crypt Raoul hears every word while Nico has some words of his own …
CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN
The coach raced through a night that was slowly beginning to yield to the inevitable rising of the sun. Beyond the closed shades on either side of the black coach, the dark sky was slowly lightening, shades of pale pink fading upwards into lavender, purple and finally the black of the uppermost reaches of the heavens. The black where the full moon still held sway, illuminating the world below almost as if the bright orb hoped to maintain its dominance over the peaceful stillness under its control. Yet the moon could not fight the force of Nature and was already starting to fade beneath the onslaught of a new day. And behind those closed coach shades two men sat, one with fingers curled into fists to stop their nervous drumming; the other still, silent, complacent hiding his nervous anxiety behind his calm demeanor.
Inspector Rousseau heaved a great sigh and slowly began to unfurl his fingers and thought better of it.
"I thank you for not drumming your fingers upon the seat," Chief Inspector Pichette told him in a soft, even tone of voice.
"I did not think it would aid the situation in any manner," Rousseau replied and raised his eyes toward the hatch in the roof of the coach. "Can this thing not go any faster?"
Pichette heard the irritated tone of his favorite inspector and fought to keep the same tone from his voice. "It shall go as fast the driver can urge the animals," he said evenly, rather amazed at his self-control under the circumstances. "The only way to get to Chagny faster would be to fly."
"Would that we could sprout wings," Rousseau muttered.
"Would that we could, indeed," Pichette said softly, turning his head toward the closed shade, his thoughts toward the previous afternoon …
"What is his condition?" Pichette asked the doctor who emerged from the hospital room.
The man Pichette and Rousseau had found on the floor of the farmhouse in the hills had been removed from the bottom of the cellar stairs. A police officer had found a discarded hay cart behind the barn and the injured man had been placed upon it, the cart attached to two of the horses. The man had been in great pain during the trip back to Grenoble, his words muttered and slurred and the inspectors could make no sense of what he said. The man had been conveyed to the small local hospital and delivered into the care of the physicians. Now the inspectors, joined by Inspector Menard, awaited word on the man's status.
The doctor shook his head. "It was certainly a nasty tumble he took," he said. "I have reason to believe he has suffered a slight concussion of the brain and we have had to set his broken leg."
"Will he live?" Pichette asked, the younger inspectors deferring to his rank.
"Most certainly," the doctor assured them.
"May we speak with him?"
"For a few minutes only," the doctor replied. "We have had to give him something to ease the pain from his leg and he may only be coherent for a few more moments."
"Long enough," Rousseau said between clenched teeth as he and Menard followed Pichette into the room.
The injured man lay in bed, his leg now straight, braced and tied. His skin was flushed and his eyes held a slight glaze yet he managed to look away as the police approached his bed.
"We know you to be one of four men who abducted and murdered the Vicomte de Chagny," Pichette began, ignoring the shocked intake of breath from the doctor and the nurse who hovered discreetly in a corner of the room. "Which one are you and who was the new victim whom you held in the farmhouse?"
"Edouard," the man on the bed said, his eyes closing briefly before opening as he turned to look at the ceiling. "Edouard is dead. He never knew." The man's head shook. "He only thought we were taking him for the money. He never knew he was going to die."
"Who never knew?" Pichette asked.
"Edouard never knew he was meant to die in the …" The man on the bed momentarily stopped speaking as his eyes closed. "Edouard never knew."
"Who are you and where are your compatriots and your victim?"
The drugs used to kill pain were beginning to take effect, loosening self-control. "Francois," the man on the bed finally admitted and opened his eyes to look at Pichette, quailing slightly under the Chief Inspector's stern gaze. "I do not know where they are. Nico shoved me into the cellar saying the toy was his. I never saw Louis."
"Who and where is your latest victim?" Pichette demanded, his tone of voice brooking no defiance.
Francois' eyes were quickly glazing over and he turned from the stern inspector, seeking a friendlier face. He found it in Inspector Rousseau. "Only one victim," he breathed, his eyes closing. "Edouard died in the explosion." Francois licked his lips and swallowed. "The Vicomte is still alive …"
"Would that we could sprout wings." Chief Inspector Robert Pichette reached over and raised the shade covering the coach window, staring outside before looking down at his pocket watch. "Can this thing not go any faster?"
Faster was not one of the words in Nico's vocabulary; he moved with deliberate slowness, conscious of every move he made, every breath he took. He looked at the horses tethered by the side of the stream and nodded; they would be safe with grass to graze upon and water to drink – he would need them in a few days. Nico turned his gaze toward the wagon that stood hidden carefully in the woods and nodded. No one ventured this way anymore – of that he was certain. A smile twisted his lips as he thought of why his horses and his cart were safe hidden along this long-forgotten trail, pleased at his part in that reason. And then Nico turned on his heel and moved silently through the shadows of the woods. He knew exactly where he was going and did not hurry, each footfall placed exactly in front of the other, his unblinking eyes fixed on an invisible object. The smile on his face faded as the intensity in Nico's eyes grew – the longed for object slowly coming into sight. Nico's eyes seemed to glow in the soft morning light as he surveyed his work from the night before.
The signs of the cart – parallel tracks in the gravel, the grass, had been carefully covered over, all signs of anything having been there in the middle of the night long gone. He looked toward the woods as the sound of a horse could be heard. Nico tilted his head at an odd angle and listened, his head straightening as he satisfied himself that the sound was just another common occurrence of a valley and its people waking to face another day. Nico turned his attention to the object next to him, a single hand reaching out to caress the cold iron door as if it were a lover. His sharp eyes looked carefully at the seam between the iron and the stone, searching for any faults, any signs that it had been opened and was now no longer locked. Nico chuckled to himself as he could find no fault and he slowly opened the door and entered the crypt, quietly closing the door behind him.
He stood silently for a moment in the reflected red light from the Presence lamp. Nico's eyes narrowed at the lamp and he nodded satisfied that there was enough time to accomplish what needed to be done before someone would come to renew the oil in the lamp. Nico then turned his gaze to the elegant wooden box that rested on a stone bier beneath the Presence lamp. He sidestepped the object on the floor and approached the bier, reaching out to touch the box, the long dead calla lily that rested on its top surface.
"Poor, poor Edouard," he tsked. "Must have been so lonely in here all by yourself." A strange smile grew on Nico's face. "But you will not be lonely for much longer."
Nico turned to face the object that rested upon the cold stone floor at an awkward angle. It had been rather difficult for one man to slide the object down the plank from the wagon and into the crypt but Nico had been determined and there had been nothing in Heaven – or Hell – that would have deterred him. Now he walked to the object, bending over and slowly raising the lid. Nico stared down at the man in the coffin, drugged, bound and gagged and he knew it was time. Nico fell to his knees beside the coffin and reached in smack Raoul on the cheek; he received a barely audible moan in response. Nico repeated his action a bit harder. And harder still. He hit Raoul harder and harder until Raoul's eyes slowly blinked open.
"Welcome home," Nico said as Raoul's eyes focused on his surroundings.
The muffled scream was barely audible beyond the unlocked iron door.
Yet the screams coming from behind another closed door could be heard. They echoed throughout the house lit by the dim morning light. They could be heard through the closed door of a bedroom, startling a young woman awake. Her eyes flew open, hazy from sleep, her expression confused. It took only a moment for her to gather her bearings, realizing what it was that had so abruptly pulled her from sleep. Marie quickly tossed aside her blankets – and ignoring the dressing gown on a nearby chair – flew from her room and across the hall. She did not even knock at the door to the other bedroom but burst through it. She paused but a moment in the open doorway before rushing to the side of the bed.
"Christine?" Marie asked as she sat down, hands reaching out.
Christine had both hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks and she was trembling.
"What is it?" Marie's expression was worried and concerned. "Is it the baby? Do you wish me to call for a doctor?"
Christine could only shake her head, her chest heaving. Her fingers spread wide and Christine drew a deep breath. "Raoul," she breathed and broke into deep sobs, her hand going over her eyes.
"Christine," Marie said softly and took Christine's hands in her own. "Let me help you sit up." Marie drew Christine into a sitting position before wrapping her arms about the other woman, feeling Christine's head go to her shoulder as she continued to cry. Marie held Christine for a few moments, rubbing her back, allowing her tears to be shed, before speaking. "What happened?" Marie wondered.
"I am sorry," Christine said as she drew back, wiping the tears from her face before reaching down to caress her child. "I had the most awful nightmare and I knew I woke up screaming but I could not stop." She shook her head. "I did not mean to frighten you, as well."
"Do you wish to speak about it?" Marie asked.
"It was so dark," Christine said, her eyes dropping, a frown creasing her brow, "and I could hear noises and I followed them." Her tone grew haunted. "I came up against a window and I could see Raoul lying on a bed and he was not moving." Christine's eyes opened wide. "And I could see our baby on his chest and she was crying and I could not reach her. I could not reach her! Then someone grabbed me from behind and said the baby and Raoul would be together forever. Oh, God," Christine raised her head and gripped Marie's arms tightly. "And the baby and Raoul turned into skeletons and I could hear them calling out for me – for my help. But I was pulled away and someone was laughing and …"
"Shhh," Marie tried to calm Christine. "It was only a dream."
"It was so real," Christine whispered. "So real."
"Is the baby all right?"
Christine nodded. "I can feel her moving." She managed a slight smile. "I do not think she is very happy with me at the moment, though."
Marie rose to her feet. "You stay here and I shall go downstairs to make a pot of tea that I shall bring back." She studied Christine. "Are you certain there is nothing wrong?"
"At the moment, yes," Christine replied. "I just need a few minutes." She managed a smile. "And some tea?"
Marie smiled back. "I shall not be long." She turned and walked out of the room, careful to leave the door open behind her.
Christine swung her legs over the side of the bed, a hand reaching up to push the tangled mass of hair from her face. She sat on the edge of the bed, breathing deeply to settle her still rattled nerves, feeling her child fluttering at odd angles, demanding her attention. Christine reached both hands down to her swollen abdomen, lightly tracing the movements of the baby, feeling the anxious fluttering begin to slow, to become the gentle movements she had grown to know.
"I am sorry little one," she whispered. "I did not mean to frighten you, as well." Christine drew several deep breaths, her hands growing still and settling over her child. "And your father would never let anyone hurt you. He would do everything in the world to protect you and keep you safe." She sniffled, "Just as he did for me." A sad smile crossed Christine's face. "I know that the minute he would hear you cry or fuss, he would be at your side, lifting you into his arms, calming your fears and sorrow. And your father would tell you wonderful stories to make you laugh and sing you to happy dreams with his sweet voice." Her gaze drifted out the window as her child fluttered gently under her hands. "I wonder if your Uncle Philippe sings."
At that moment, Uncle Philippe did not feel like singing; he only felt disappointment as he stood in the doorway of Henri's room surveying the mess scattered all about the room. The gas lights were turned on low to aide the early morning light that had begun to illuminate the bedroom, the clothes neatly stacked on every surface, the open trunks and the young man who sat on the edge of the bed staring at it all.
"Are you certain this is what you want to do?" Philippe wondered yet again, knowing that Henri must surely be as tired of hearing the words as he was of saying them.
Henri turned his head to look at Philippe, a resigned look on his face. "I must," he said simply.
Philippe walked into the room and perched on the edge of the window seat across from Henri. "I do not understand. I wish you could make me understand. I thought you were coming to Paris with me for the season."
Henri managed a slight smile. "Perhaps I shall join you in Paris after the turn of the year," he said and shrugged. "Or perhaps I shall just get snowed in at the manor; the weather on the high moors is notoriously dreadful this time of the year."
"I have lost my brother," Philippe began. "I have lost his wife and child. My dearest friends in the world think I am becoming senile and now you are leaving and will not say why." He let out a disgusted sigh. "I want someone to explain something to me!"
"Philippe," Henri began and hung his head, unable to bear the hurt in his cousin's eyes, unwilling to let Philippe see what lived in his own, "you know that I am the family scoundrel." Henri shook his head. "I am a womanizer, a drunkard and a reprobate. The saddest thing is that it took Raoul's death for me to finally face myself." He laughed – a bitter, degrading sound. "Raoul was the only one who – I think – ever really saw the good in me. And now I need to find that good. I need to sober up. I need to search my heart and soul." Henri lifted his head. "I need to exorcize the ghosts that haunt me."
"I am proud of you for wishing to do so," Philippe assured him. "And I am certain your parents will be, as well. Yet that does not help me to understand."
Henri snorted. "You are a good person and far too trusting and that is why you do not understand."
A perplexed look crossed Philippe's face. "Pardon me?"
"Philippe," Henri said with a shake of his head. "You are a good person and you think everyone else around you is the same." Henri rose to his feet and laid a hand upon his cousin's shoulder. "And should I be the one forced to disillusion you of such a fool notion, I wish to be as sober and calm as a priest when I do." Henri walked out of his bedroom, leaving a stunned Philippe in his wake.
Henri walked down the grand staircase, turning to move down the hallway that led to the back portico. He passed through the French doors and out into the cool autumn morning. He did not spare any glance – either backward or sideways – for the passing landscape as he moved over carefully tended paths. Henri knew where he was going and walked rapidly, his heart beating faster and faster with each footfall. He inhaled in through his nose and out through his mouth, feeling the crisp air sting at his lungs, the scent of a dying year somehow invigorating. It took less than ten minutes for Henri to reach his destination and his eyes misted over as he stopped outside of Raoul's crypt, turning and sitting down by the iron door. Henri raised his eyes to the sky, closing them as he heaved a deep sigh.
"Raoul, what am I going to do about Philippe?" Henri asked and lowered his head. "I may be a drunken louse but he is a fool." Henri turned his head toward the door. "I am hoping that when I get sober this damn vision you have sent to haunt me will turn out to be nothing more than drunken wishes. I am hoping that this damn cross will vanish along with the image of the person who wears it." Henri drew a deep shuddering breath. "I do not want to break Philippe's heart. I do not wish to destroy his illusions of the world." His voice was unsteady. "I have all ready destroyed Christine's illusions of the kind of man I was. I would never have hurt her; I would never have done anything." Henri ran a hand through his hair. "She is so like Philippe – so trusting, seeing the good in everything."
Henri slowly rose to his feet, turning toward the door, resting his hand against it. "But we know differently, do we not?" Henri's tearful emotion could be heard in his tone of voice. "Well, I have always known the world is not the wonderful place most people think it. And you learned that lesson far too late. I just hope that I can straighten my life out quickly enough so that Philippe does not suffer the same fate as you." Henri smiled. "Do you know he is going to Paris to try and find a wife? Is that not passing strange?" Henri grew solemn. "I think if he knew where Christine and your child were living, he would not feel so pressured. It is that pressure, that need to perpetuate this family line that will be his undoing. It is what I must prevent."
There was a moment of silence as Henri leaned forward, resting his head against the cool door. "I promise I will find Christine and your child and bring them home. I promise I will keep them safe. I promise I will keep Philippe safe. I will not let anything happen to the family that you loved." Henri straightened. "Even if it costs me my life."
A muffled, strangled cry rang in Henri's ears.
"Is it not enough that you send me visions," Henri said, his voice raised. "Must you now answer me, as well!" Henri closed his eyes in pain. "I will take care of your family," he said through clenched teeth. "I promise! Just give me some time!" Henri's eyes opened and his tone grew soft. "I just need some time, Raoul; just some time."
Henri turned and began to walk away from the crypt, through the cemetery, when another sound - more clear, more real - assailed his ears. Henri shook his head, picking up his pace and clasping his hands over his ears as a pained screamed rang through the still morning. "Give me some time!" Henri screamed at the top of his voice.
"You heard him," Nico said inside the tomb as Henri's words filtered through the slight space between the door and the stones. He withdrew his knife from where he had planted it in Raoul's thigh, trailing the point upwards along Raoul's body until it rested at the pulse point in his neck. "He just wants some time."
"Do not go," Raoul breathed, his throat painful, his tone desperate and pleading. "Please do not go." He winced as Nico pushed the point of the knife into his throat.
"Did I give you permission to speak?" Nico wondered and he flung the knife away, placing his hands over Raoul's mouth, staring down into his victim's face. "I do all the speaking." He grew still, his blank eyes staring into blue ones full of pain and desperation. "Did you ever wonder how long it takes before a person dies from lack of water?" Nico wondered and chuckled. "We are going to find out."
Raoul tried moving beneath Nico's hands and Nico exerted more pressure to hold him still.
"We are going to stay here and you are going to listen to your family and friends as they come to pay their respects to you," Nico told him, watching as the tears gathered in Raoul's eyes. "They will never know you are here, of course; but you will listen to them as you lay here dying."
Raoul managed to shake his head back and forth slightly.
"Oh yes," Nico purred. "You will die and then it will no longer be a lie that you rest here." Nico smiled, an eerie and strange thing. "And when you have finally gone to your rest, I shall leave to find your wife." He lowered his head closer to Raoul's. "I shall find her – I always find my toys – and then I shall bring her and your child here. I shall return them to you." Nico chuckled. "Would you not like that?" He raised his hands.
"Do not touch her," Raoul croaked, the thought of his angel in trouble momentarily chasing all other thoughts from his mind.
Nico's hand flashed out and closed around Raoul's throat. "I am God!" he declared. "I shall do what I wish!" Nico turned his gaze from Raoul to the glowing light of the Presence lamp. "I shall find your wife and child and bring them here. I shall give your child to you for I know you would like that. I will rest your child on your chest and your wife and I shall sit and watch as your child finds eternal rest with its father." Nico turned back to look into Raoul's stunned eyes. "Then I shall take your wife with me and I shall play with her until I tire of my new toy." His voice took on that strange sing-song quality. "And who knows how long that will be? Perhaps, someday you shall find her in Heaven." Nico removed his hand from about Raoul's throat, listening to the desperate intake of air. "Or not." Nico smirked. "It all depends upon how good of a toy I find her to be!"
"Do what you want with me," Raoul managed as he struggled to even out his breathing. "Kill me, watch me die." His voice cracked. "Just do not hurt them. Please!"
Nico reached into his pocket and pulled out another gag, wrapping it around Raoul's mouth, finding it easy to control the struggles of the weaker man. When he was done, Nico patted Raoul's cheek as if he were caressing a well-loved child. "I shall do what I want with you," Nico told him. "And I shall do what I want with your wife and child for I am God." Nico straightened and looked down at Raoul, his hand reaching for the coffin lid. "And God always does as he pleases!"
Nico let the coffin lid slam closed over the man desperately struggling against his bonds, frightened tears falling down his cheeks.