Chapter Summary: It is in the dark hours of the night – when we are most vulnerable to that which we hide – that they come to haunt us. They come – the spirits of the past crying out, the shadows of the present hovering, waiting and the shades of the future beckoning us onward.

Author's Notes: These transition chapters are always difficult for me to write for there is always so much that must be said, so much emotion to pull forth. I have said it several times – that music has a connection to my ability to write … especially the difficult things. There is a song on my newest CD and these are the lyrics that helped me get through this chapter:

There's a place of quiet stillness 'tween the light and shadows reach
Where the hurting and the hopeless seek Everlasting peace
Words of men and songs of angels whisper comfort bittersweet
Mending grief and life eternal where joy and sorrow meet

There's a place the lost surrender and the weary will retreat
Full of grace and mercy tender in times of unbelief
For the wounded there is healing, strength is given to the weak
Broken hearts find love redeeming where joy and sorrow meet
"Where Joy and Sorrow Meet" by David James White from the CD "Stand" by Avalon

CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN

Midnight came softly, carried in on the tiny feet of fragile white flakes that fluttered down from a heavy gray sky. The snow fell steadily for nearly two hours, blanketing all of France beneath a soft warm coat of diamond dust. As the snow moved westward, taking aim for the English Channel and what lay beyond, it trailed the gray clouds in its wake, like the rustling satin of a woman's bustle. And as the clouds parted, flowing away, they left behind a sky full of stars that twinkled brightly in the chilled air of November. The stars looked upon the silence left behind by the snow, granting their blessing to the fairy tale world below. Yet not everyone received the benediction of the peaceful night. There were those whose slumber was troubled, whose thoughts were haunted by the memories of what had been, thoughts of what was and the possibilities of what may come.

Ghosts of a long ago night, a night full of rights asserted and passion forgotten, long surrendered to the realm of "What Might Have Been" haunted the woman's sleep. Her mind's eye watched as doors locked behind a massive shadow and she trembled as the shadow approached her. She tried moving away, fleeing across the bed but found arms pulled backward, her body tossed like a rag doll onto satin that lapped at her like water. Shadowy hands teased at her, touching, exploring even as lips moved over her skin, seeking, demanding. And suddenly the shadow was everywhere, on her, covering her, in her and, frozen by a familiar fear, she could do nothing. She bit back the cries of pain and the tears of regret that she knew would only bring forth further anger and waited until the Shadow finished. She lay silently in shadowy arms, listening as words of possession meant as love were whispered in her ear. Shadowy lips moved closer to her ear and she could read the words that slipped silently from them, stirring old memories and startling her awake with a cry with a cry of "Money". Monique quickly slipped her hands over her mouth, not wishing to disturb any ghosts that may still have slumbered nearby. The look of fear that had crossed her face as she awoke was quickly replaced by one of anger as Monique drew deep breaths to calm her racing heart. She slowly lowered her hands, one reaching behind her head to smooth out a long, black braid. "One day," the whispered promise came. "One day I will have my moment." Her gaze turned toward windows that looked eastward over the valley, toward the other great house. "I promise. I will have my moment."

Other thoughts, different memories played across the mind of the man who slumbered across the hall. A contented smile played across a still visage as he watched young men in scholarly robes move between huge, shadowy buildings. He laughed in his sleep with the two young men whose heads bent so close together, their laughter echoing down long corridors of learning. And suddenly he found himself flying upwards, away from those shadowy buildings and as he looked down he could see cities give way to towns that gave way to villages that gave way to a countryside full of rolling hills, snow-covered mountains, dark forests and babbling water. His feet touched down on soft grass just in time to find himself knocked over by a small, tow-headed child. He laughed as he wrestled the youngster, consciously allowing the child to get the upper hand. And another hand reached down for him, a familiar hand, the hand of a friend. He gratefully took it, allowing his dearest friend to raise him up, placing his hand into the delicate hand of a vision with purple eyes and ebony hair. He returned the gentle smile of the vision whose hand he held as they disappeared into the silvery fog that began to rise up from the ground beneath their feet. He gave a last smile and wave to the man, who waited just beyond the all-encompassing fog, his hand raised in farewell and benediction. He watched from somewhere beyond himself, as hours flowed into days that seamlessly flowed into years, bringing forth a happiness that he never knew was possible as he built a life with his vision. The memories of heated passion and quiet contentment were the embers that faded even as his dream faded into the blackness of sleep. Xavier sighed in his sleep as he rolled over, a single word on his lips – "Monique".

Unlike the people who had taken him in, making him the heir to an ancient family name and fortune, Didier was finding sleep – any sleep – elusive. He sat on the edge of his bed, still in the clothes he had worn to dinner hours earlier. His jacket was carelessly discarded over a chair, his cufflinks thrown on the top of his dresser, his tie undone and hanging loosely about his neck. From the darkness of his room, Didier had watched as the snow fell, hypnotized by the dancing flakes. In each white flake, Didier imagined the innocent, unfulfilled possibilities of the future. He saw all the different, divergent paths that a life may take. He heard the music of laughter, felt the warmth of love. And as the falling snow began to dissipate, giving way to the gray clouds, Didier had bitten his lip, fingers digging into the satin coverlet beneath them. He had wanted to scream to that impenetrable grayness to go away, to stop swallowing the future, to leave lives to be lived, to allow promises to come to fruition. He had wanted to scream but would not. Didier was terrified that if he began to scream, he would not be able to stop and the insanity he had witnessed, that he so feared, would finally claim him as another victim. So he had sat on the edge of his bed, shaking, hands clenching and unclenching, wrinkling expensive satin, as the urge to scream began to creep outwards, threatening to swallow him whole. And just as he had been ready to give in to his urges, the grayness had fled, leaving the bright eyes of angels winking down from heaven. Didier let out a long breath, finally allowing his eyes to close as his head began to droop.

Across the valley, at the other great house, Henri, too, was finding sleep to be an elusive commodity. Yet unlike his friend, Henri was not bound still and senseless by his fears. He had already faced the fear that so terrified Didier and had come away with his sanity intact. A smile briefly crossed Henri's lips; not only he had come away with his sanity but with his cousin and a new-found respect from his family. But as quickly as the smile had appeared it disappeared, replaced by a look of pained resignation. Henri paused in his pacing to shake his head and gather his thoughts before he resumed the back and forth motion across the hand-knotted carpet beneath his feet. He knew that the respect he had earned, the respect that bolstered an ego buried deeply beneath self-doubt, the respect that filled his heart and lifted him up was going to be fleeting. Henri knew that as soon he began to exhibit his old ways of drinking and carousing all that he had earned, all the he had accomplished would be swept away, leaving him lonely and bereft once again. Henri sighed and moved to sit on the window seat, watching the snow-covered world below. He leaned his head against a window pane, allowing the cold to burn into his forehead, even as resolve burned itself into his heart. Henri knew he had no choice, that too many lives were hanging on his ability to pull off this act of subterfuge. He thought of one life yet unlived and knew he would face and accept the consequences of his actions. And – perhaps later– when lives were safe and the future secured those about him would understand and welcome him back into their embrace. Henri closed his eyes and did the only thing he could do - he hoped.

Not far from where Henri hoped into a silent night, Philippe found his dreams full of hope for the first time in months. Gone were the images of a future being swept into an unfathomable darkness; they had been replaced by a brightness that illuminated a life beyond what could be seen. Gone were the sounds of pain and loss replaced the music of laughter, the soft whisperings of love reclaimed. Philippe allowed himself to be swept along on the gentle tide of happy emotions. Much like the youth he had been in days nearly forgotten, Philippe allowed himself to shed the heavy garments of an emotional winter, letting them be replaced by the freedom brought in with the warmth of returning spring. He freely jumped into the light and the future and felt as they surrounded him in a gentle halo of all that they had to offer. Philippe felt himself carried along on the swelling tide of warm emotion and bright promise; yet there was still something that pulled at him from beneath. There was something that threatened to pull him away from all that he wanted, all that had been returned. Philippe looked down and saw a mass of black hands grabbing at his feet, pulling him down even as they crept slowly up his body. Philippe began to panic as the hands reached his throat, closing about it, cutting off his air, stifling the scream that erupted from his throat, forcing him awake. Philippe drew several deep steadying breaths as an arm went over his eyes in an attempt to shut out the remains of his nightmare, the remains of his guilt. "I am so sorry," he whispered to his darkened room.

Words whispered into the dark could also be heard in a softly lit bedroom down the hall from where Philippe's peaceful slumber had fallen victim to the guilt he still bore. "Dear God," Raoul whispered as he sat in the middle of the huge bed, "when is it going to stop?" He looked down at hands till shaking from the latest nightmare and quickly closed them, just as quickly opening them. He winced and bit back the cry of pain as healing nail beds protested their indignation at such treatment. "When is any of it going to stop?" Raoul wondered. He wanted to close his eyes against the images that raced across his mind but was terrified of the different monsters the dark would bring forth. He was not yet ready to face those monsters again. He was not yet ready to let them take more of his strength, his pride, his dignity than they already claimed with each breath he drew. Raoul slipped his legs over the edge of his mattress and glared at the gas lamps glowing above the bed. "I cannot even sleep in the dark any more," he groused. "Am I child or a man?" Raoul watched the shadows dancing on the wall, studying them as he sought an answer he was not sure he wanted. Raoul was not sure of anything he wanted anymore. He no longer knew who he was, where he fit in, what he wanted out of his life. He no longer trusted his judgement. He no longer trusted the motives and emotions of those about him. Raoul no longer trusted life. "One thing I can trust," he said softly as he rose to his feet, moving slowly across his bedroom, into the hall and through the door beyond, closing it quietly behind him.

Christine hummed lightly, a happy sound as the shades of her dream drew into focus, clarity coming forth, bringing with it the images that always brought a smile to her lips, a song to her heart. She watched from just beyond the shadows as her husband bent over a cradle swathed in glowing white lace. The smile grew on her face as Raoul straightened, a small bundle wrapped in white cradled carefully in his arms. Christine stayed in the shadows and watched as a tiny hand reached upward and Raoul bent over, kissing it gently. The tears in her eyes began to blur the vision in front of her and Christine reached up to wipe them away. As she lowered her hands, Christine watched the image before her change, her smile growing broader, a song escaping her lips. Raoul waltzed around holding onto the hands of small girl who stood on the top of his shoes. The little girl looked up at Raoul, her gaze just as adoring as his own. Christine watched as the notes she sang drifted off into the unknown, taking with them the couple who waltzed before her eyes. She listened as the music grew from her simple melody into a richly orchestrated symphony. And as rich as the music was, it could not match the richness of her dreams. Christine watched as husband and daughter moved through the years, growing, changing, yet always constant in their adoration of each other. She watched and knew. She knew that they did not need her, that they had long ago left her behind in the shadows. Christine raised a single hand to her lips and blew a kiss at the man on whose arm clung a blonde angel dressed in a white wedding gown. Christine watched them silently, finally turning her back on them and retreating into a lonely past she understood. "Goodbye," she whispered in her sleep and turned her head on her pillow, a single hand going to rest over her child.

"What do you dream about?" Raoul asked as he stood at the end of his wife's bed. A sad look crossed his face. "Do you yet dream about me?"

Even as two people struggled to hold onto individual dreams, even as one couple fought to hold onto shared dreams, two other individuals, another couple clung to each other. They clung to their own dreams, the dreams they willingly shared with the other. They clung to their shared dreams, to shared hopes, to the plans they made together. They clung to each other beneath the down comforter, spooned together, her back to his chest, his arms wrapped about her. He had his head buried in her soft hair. She moved her head so that she could feel his breath on her ear. Their fingers were intertwined and their hands rested gently over her abdomen, carefully protecting their future beneath a loving touch. She sighed in her sleep as scattered images of a happy past whirled by in swirling skirts of colorful cotton. She felt something draw her close as a strong shape moved into her life, turning her head, swelling her heart, promising a life of warmth and safety. Her sighs were heard by the man who gave her that warmth and safety. He matched her sigh for sigh, memory for memory and dream for dream. He remembered the beautiful blonde dancing like a goddess across the stage. He dreamed of all the time he pursued her, wearing her down, giving her no quarter to back away. He remembered her brilliant smile the day she finally gave in even as he knew she just did it so he would stop chasing her. Val drew his wife close as he walked in the mist between sleep and wakefulness. "Meg," he whispered in her ear, drifting back to sleep as he heard her whisper back, "Val".

Madame Giry's dreams also turned toward the future. The dreams of the past, of a strong man with an easy laugh and gentle arms had begun to fade. She had watched as the man she had held onto through so many years began to disappear in the face of the future for which they had planned. She dreamed of him raising a hand in farewell as he walked into her past. She had watched him disappear and turned around to face her daughter, watching as Meg held out a hand, drawing Val forth. She had watched as the young couple danced through a world full of open meadows full of bright sunshine. She had smiled her blessing upon them, as Val took Meg's hand and turned her daughter into a princess. Now the princess was going to grace the prince with a child and Madame Giry dreamed of a small boy. She dreamed a small blonde-haired boy dressed in a sailor suit, smiling up at her as they sailed boats on a lake in a park. She dreamed of a little boy who chattered and laughed and lit her world with his smile. He would chase away the dark shadows from her life. He would be the small gift that would take the sorrow and the care from her world and renew her faith in the world. Once that small hand was placed in her own, once that sweet little face smiled up at her, no longer would she have to fear the future, no longer would she search the shadows for what they held. She would finally be free of the cares of a lifetime. She would finally be free to resume a life she had put on hold for all those about her – all of them.

And as Madame Giry dreamed of a reclaiming a life, one of the people who had haunted her dreams and waking hours for so many years, was awake, unwilling to close his eyes for fear of what his mind would tell him. He did not want to know what sordid images sleep would draw forth from an unguarded sub-conscience. He did not want to know for he all ready knew. He knew the living, breathing shadows that haunted him day and night. He knew the misshapen faces that leered at him, loomed over him even as they thought they had beaten him into submission. He knew the beautiful face full of pity that had released him from the nightmare into which he had been tossed. He knew the gentle brown eyes that had pulled him in, offering him everything he had ever desired. They had offered him a chance to place himself before the world from the safety of the shadows he had wrapped about himself. He had watched as those eyes had changed, maturing. He had watched as the admiration for teacher had changed to the love that he had wanted to see. And he watched, realizing that they love he had sought was not not the love that she offered. Erik lifted a hand to rest against the pouch he now carried next to his heart, seeing in his mind's eye brown eyes fade away to silver-gray. He remembered the glitter of stars in those eyes that had gradually faded into an icy frost, forcing his own eyes to remain open when they wanted to close. He turned on the piano bench, lifting the cover, placing a single hand on the keys beneath, one hand remaining over the music that somehow managed to warm the chilled heart beneath. "Help me to remember," he breathed as fingers began to move over the keys in a soft melody.

The melody of Erik's music drifted unobserved through a slight crack in a garret window. It was picked up in the wake of the weather that moved past. It found itself entangled in the turbulent remnants of heavy gray clouds. Notes brought forth from the depths of a dying heart fought to remain together as they were tossed about like the boats harbored far below, bouncing and bobbing upon storm-lashed waters. The wild winds caught up the melody as they moved the storm across the Channel, over the coastal landscape of England, the huge inland cities, the country towns and toward the open Atlantic. They preserved the lightness of a lullaby – a life - that was only beginning to be realized. The winds whispered the melody forward, weaving it through the soft flakes that fell to the earth. As the flakes fell, hitting the warmer air beneath, some of them melted away into unwept tears, freeing their melody to the sleeping world. The notes found their way through the nearly invisible crevices of ancient stone buildings and into the minds of those who rested within those walls.

Tallis frowned in her sleep as an unseen melody began to dance through the misty reaches of her mind. She rolled over, pulling a pillow close to her chest, drawing her knees upward. She moaned lightly as the melody in her mind began to grow stronger, wrapping her in its embrace. As small black notes with weaving tails began to dance about her, Tallis allowed them to twirl her around and around, a smile growing on her face. In their movement, their touch upon her body, she could feel another touch. She could feel the incredible strength hidden just below the surface of her dancing partners. She could hear the sad longing beneath their outward gaiety. Yet Tallis laughed along with the melody, her feet dancing above a world she could not see. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the power that was drawing her in, subtly gaining control. Suddenly Tallis found herself in the midst of a swirling maelstrom, tumbled about like a rag doll thrown about in a fit of pique. Her legs began to move restlessly beneath the down comforter as the struggle for freedom continued in her mind. Her hands pulled at the pillow they held even as her hands pulled at the notes that were attacking her from all sides. And then Tallis was screaming, sitting bolt upright in her bed, as the notes broke away and she fell and fell through an interminable blackness until she landed in something strong and soft and safe. Her eyes opened as she was released in her dream, from her dream and a single word escaped her lips in a pained gasp. "Erik," she cried and buried her face in her hands, tears slipping through shaking hands.

What Tallis could did not know, could she could not see was the man who stood just beyond her closed bedroom door. A look of worried sorrow colored Serge's handsome features as he rested a single hand against Tallis' door. Her cries of anguish had been waking him for nearly the last week but he was too much of a gentleman to intrude upon a lady's private sorrow. So with each call that woke him from a slumber haunted by his own fears and grief, Serge would walk down the hall and wait at the edge of Tallis' private pain. He would stand by and listen as she cried for all that had been, all that might have been and the shattered pieces of what remained. He constantly fought down the urge to knock upon that door and go in to shake some sense into this woman who had come all unexpected and unbidden into his life. Serge had discovered a familiar soul within Tallis, a soul that understood his own pain and confusion, his own sighs and longings. Yet he had found the courage to face the emotions that rolled about in the tempest of his soul. He had found the resolve to demand his future his happiness and the peace to accept whatever it was that would come. As Serge listened to lessening of the cries from the other side of the closed door, he knew he would have happily given Tallis some of his own resolute peace if she would only relent and follow where her heart wished to lead her. He knew she would never be happy, be the woman he had first met, the friend he was growing to value, unless she could settle her restless, seeking spirit. Serge heard stirrings from beyond the closed door and he turned on his heel, moving quietly down the hall and back to his own room, leaving Tallis to her personal thoughts and private grief.

And as the cold night began to fade away into the pink dawn, it was private thoughts that haunted the waking moments of two very different people.

Chief Inspector Pichette stood at the vanity in the bathroom of his hotel room, staring at the reflection in the mirror. In the unshaved face and the shadowed eyes that stared back at him, Robert could see a man who had spent a lifetime in service to his fellow man, burying his own needs beneath the needs of others. He had wanted to make a difference in the world, to change but one life for the better. Now, as he thought upon the events that had brought him to this hotel in the countryside beyond Lyon, Robert wondered if he had spent a lifetime being a slave to his foolish wishes. What had he accomplished over the last five months? Had he and those he trusted done anything correctly? Had any of them even made any difference? He knew that the young man's family did not blame him for the mistakes made, the opportunities missed. He knew that the greater powers beyond the countryside in Paris did not hold him responsible and were – in fact – trusting that he would see justice done. Yet, Robert blamed himself, held himself responsible. He sighed and ran a hand over his face, the rough stubble upon his cheeks. He was getting old; perhaps too told to continue on in such a job. Perhaps it was time to retire, to hand his baton to a new generation of inspector. Perhaps it was time to listen to his wife's wishes to spend more time with her and their children. Robert nodded; he did miss her company and often wondered what kind of people his children were becoming. Still, the thought crossed his mind as his lips compressed into a fine line, there were still people in whose lives he could make a difference. And that was what would keep him strong, allow him to face another day.

Even as Chief Inspector Robert Pichette looked at his reflection in the mirror, drawing strength and renewing his resolve to make a difference to his fellow man, another person was also awake. This person also longed to make a difference in the lives of those who moved in and out of the sphere of its existence. But the difference this person wished to make was the polar opposite of the difference Robert Pichette wished to make. While the Chief Inspector longed to make just one life better, to show one person that there was a hope beyond that which they imagined, this person longed to take that same hope and destroy it. This person longed to take the promise of the future and crush it beneath a heavy foot. This person longed to release the pain that had pounded at the fragile walls of sanity for years uncounted and reclaim an elusive peace. This person looked about and coveted what was before its eyes. This person knew that if a simple change could made in one life, the peace for which it longed would return. This person knew that if the sorrow that overwhelmed its life could be transferred to another, then the pain would stop and life could resume. This person knew that if such a thing could be accomplished, the years of accumulated sorrow and disappointment would be lifted from shoulders that could no longer bear the burden. This person knew that freedom would follow such actions. This person knew it as surely as a mind knew how to draw breath. As this person arose from a night of troubled dreams to look out upon the chilled, snow-covered morning, a smile turned up frowning lips and a mind knew just how to accomplish that which it desired.

"Nearly time," whispered words slipped from between those smiling lips. "Nearly time."