Chapter Summary: Christine and Raoul continue to struggle with the aftermath of what has happened. In Grenoble, Inspector Etienne Menard finds himself summoned by Francois Amerlaine. Erik delivers a lullaby to Antoinette. The bonds of a friendship seemingly reach an end. And somewhere the reading of a Tarot deck brings someone much delight.

Author's Notes: Plaster-of-Paris casts became common around the year 1852 and they were actually developed in Belgium and not France. I am using the readings for the Rider-Waite Tarot deck. And I think I will give a Tissue Issue warning for this chapter as it gets a bit weepy near the end.

CHAPTER SIXTY NINE

Christine sat in the second floor drawing room at Chagny surrounded by balls of tangled yarn. They were stuck in the crevasses of the loveseat in which she sat. They were scattered on the floor about her feet. Two of the balls had made good their escape across the Persian rug, trailing long strings in their wake. Yet Christine paid no heed to the mess about her, so intent was she on the yarn and small needle in her hand. Her finely arched brows were creased into a frown and the pink tip of her tongue peaked out from between turned down lips. Fingers that could easily ply a needle between satin and lace found themselves at a loss as to how to manipulate the crochet hook to form the misbehaving yarn into a blanket for her child. Christine's fingers stopped as she intently studied what they held. Then with a loud burst of laughter Christine threw yarn and hook onto the floor.

"I give up," she managed between laughs. "I just … I just … I give up." A hand reached for her child as the laughter softened into giggles. "I shall never be able to make you a blanket. You shall just have to be content to receive them as gifts."

"Or she could have one that her father used," a voice interrupted.

Christine looked up, amazement on her face, to see Raoul standing in the doorway, leaning against it for support. "How long have you been there?" she wondered as she began to push herself up from the loveseat. Christine watched as Raoul shook his head.

"No," he told her. "I need to do this by myself."

Christine eased herself back to the loveseat cushions and tried to maintain an outward composure as she watched her husband walk across the small distance from the doorway to her side. She had to fight back the urge to go to him, to help as she saw Raoul reach for pieces of furniture as support. Christine looked down and tossed the remaining balls of yarn to the floor, sending them rolling in every direction, careful to keep them from Raoul's path. She did not wish to watch her husband's slow faltering progress and when she finally raised her eyes, Raoul was but steps from where she sat. Christine lovingly patted the cushion beside her and gave her husband a huge smile as Raoul finally sat down. She reached for his hand and fixed her smile in place as she felt the trembling in the hand she held and saw the sweat on Raoul's face from the energy he had expended.

"That was more of an effort than I had thought," Raoul breathed as he leaned back against the loveseat.

"You sneaked out of your room and came all the way down the hall without anyone seeing you?" Christine wondered.

"I am not an invalid or a child," Raoul responded.

Christine bit her tongue at her husband's slightly abrasive response. "I did not say that you were," she began and her lips curled into a slight smile as she felt the fingers in her hand intertwine with her own. "I was going to say how delighted I was that you did not get caught." She sighed and winked at Raoul. "Now we can hide here and no one will think to look for us in such a place." Christine leaned over and placed a kiss on Raoul's cheek.

Raoul still breathed heavily from his small journey but he managed to return Christine's smile. "You almost make us sound like a couple of children sneaking away from their parents."

"Are we not?" Christine asked and hummed merrily as Raoul placed his free hand over their child, gently stroking the movements that rolled taut flesh and soft satin. "She likes that," Christine said softly, her eyes partly closing. "I used to talk to her about your touch, how strong your arms were, how gentle your hands…" Her eyes snapped open as Raoul withdrew his hand, turning his head from her. "What did I say wrong?" Christine worried, unable to hear the words that echoed in her husband's head.

"We would not want you to lose circulation in these pretty hands." He leaned forward, tightening his grip on the hand he held. "What would that lovely wife of yours do if anything were to happen to these hands?" Nico asked softly in Raoul's ear. "How would you be able to touch her? How would you be able to make her scream your name?"

Christine watched as Raoul's already pale complexion paled even further as he listened to the voices in his head, the whispered words that only he had heard

"And if you cannot touch her, I will. And I will make her scream far more than my name. I will make her scream for mercy."

"Raoul?" Christine ventured in a gentle tone.

"Would you have remarried, Christine?" Raoul asked as he opened his eyes, unwilling to face the memory of Nico's words and the action that followed, willing to instead face a different fear. He turned to look at his wife. "If he had been free would you have married him? Would you have let someone else raise my child? Would there have been someone else my child would have called 'Papa'?"

Christine could feel a familiar pain begin in her side even as she felt her heart breaking. "No, no, no and no." Christine lifted up the hand to which Raoul still held, the one that gleamed with her wedding bands. "I promised to be faithful to you on the day we were joined together in the eyes of God and I have never broken that promise." She took back the hand Raoul had removed and once again placed it over their child. "And this is your baby," she said emphatically. "It has always been your baby. It shall always be your baby." Christine saw a look of resigned disgust cross her husband's face.

"You could have married anyone," Raoul groused. "You thought I was dead. What was stopping you?" Raoul's eyes narrowed. "Guilt, perhaps?"

"Yes, in some part," Christine freely admitted. "I have told you before that I felt guilty for what happened. I still feel guilty for what was done to you. I shall feel guilty till the day I die and I am sure that guilt will deny me entrance into Heaven. Yet I cannot change what was done much as I would wish it." She took her free hand and gently stroked her husband's cheek. "But there are times when I wish I could take your pain."

Raoul suddenly sat upright. "No, you do not!" he said in a forceful tone of voice. "I would never wish that on anyone! Not even him!" Raoul took back his hands and grabbed Christine's upper arms, shaking her slightly. "You have no idea of the constant burning ache day in and day out! You have no idea of what pain is like!"

"I am looking at it this very moment," Christine nearly whispered. Suddenly the hands that gripped her so tightly were released and trembling arms wrapped themselves about her, a head going to bury itself in the crook of her neck.

"What is happening to me?" Raoul cried. "Dear God, what is happening to me?"

Christine looked down at her husband, watching as he turned his head so that he could look at her.

"All I wanted was to come home," Raoul continued. "All I wanted was to hold you again and now that I can, all I keep doing is pushing you away. What is wrong with me?"

Christine ignored the pain that burned down her entire side as she drew her husband's head back to her shoulder. "I do not have an answer for you," she said as she placed a kiss against Raoul's head before resting her own head lightly against his. "But I know that I love you, that this baby loves you and that we will do whatever must be done to bring you back to us." She sighed and remembered Henri's cryptic words. "You must find it within yourself to trust me again. Just a little."

"I am trying, Christine," Raoul told her, "and I do love you." He matched her sigh. "God, how I love you."

One of the men who had participated in abusing Raoul, warping his thoughts and taking away the life he had known, nervously drummed his fingers against the chair to which he was manacled. He looked around himself, at the windowless room with the barest of furnishings in which he found himself and grimaced. He looked down at the manacles about his wrists, waist and one leg, the other leg bound by a plaster cast that needed no chains and laughed.

"What could you possibly find so amusing?" Inspector Etienne Menard wondered as he entered the dark room, pausing by the table and looking down at his prisoner.

Francois Amerlaine tried to raise his manacled hands in vain and laughed again. "Why the need for such things?" He looked down at the leg encased in plaster and lifted his head once again. "Where am I going to go?"

Etienne kept his calm demeanor as he took the chair on the opposite side of the table. "Why the need?" he repeated. "You do not like being manacled and unable to move?" He could not fight the slight smirk that curled his lips. "How much worse was it for the man you abducted and kept manacled for months?" At the inspector's words, some of the bravado Francois projected fled and he visibly deflated; Etienne fought down the urge to rejoice at Francois' reaction. "Now," he continued, "you expressed a desire to speak with me." He leaned back slightly in his chair. "I am listening." He watched as Francois licked his lips, his eyes darting from side to side.

"Does the promise to keep me here in Lyon still hold?" Francois asked. "I need to know that before I utter a single word. I need to know that what I will tell you will not reach certain ears. That I will be safe if I say what little I know."

"You are going to hang for the murder of Edouard Durant so I find it rather incomprehensible that you should fear what might befall you if it is known you were holding speech with me."

Francois leaned forward, struggling against that which physically held him back. "You do not know what those men … what Nico is capable of doing! I do! You think I want to face that? I would rather the hangman's noose than anything that sick bastard could do!"

Etienne raised an eyebrow. "And what choice did the Vicomte have?" There was no answer as Francois stopped his struggling. Etienne reached down, removing his pocket watch and looking at it. "I am a busy man," he said as he raised his eyes. "If you have brought me in here merely for your own amusement …"

"No," Francois shook his head sadly. "No; I do know things, things that must be said." He sighed. "I know I am to hang and I do not wish to take my regrets into damnation with me. I wish to make some kind of amends for what happened to Edouard." Francois squared his shoulders. "He knew nothing of what was to happen to him. Edouard only thought we were taking the Vicomte until the ransom could be paid. He had no idea why I asked him to join us."

"That settles lingering doubts about why Durant was involved in this nefarious scheme," Etienne replied, carefully watching the emotions that played across the head that Francois bowed in a useless attempt to avoid being seen. "What else is there?" he asked cautiously.

"Louis was not in control of what happened to the Vicomte," Francois replied in a quiet voice and raised his head. "He never was."

Etienne leaned forward, toward his prisoner. "You interest me greatly," he breathed. "Please, continue."

An hour later, Inspector Etienne Menard walked silently from the interrogation room, his gaze distant and distracted. He walked across the floor full of junior officers, not heeding their inquiring looks, instead concentrating upon the new found knowledge that raced through his thoughts. "You," he addressed a young man in a suit, "come with me."

The young man jumped up and followed at the inspector's command. He trailed the inspector into his small office.

"Please close the door after yourself," Etienne requested; watching as the young office did as he was told. "I want you to listen carefully and follow my instructions with equal care." He waited until the young man nodded before continuing.

Those officers and detectives and inspectors who sat beyond the windows of Inspector Menard's office unabashedly watched what was transpiring; they all knew who the manacled prisoner was in the interrogation room. Several sets of eyes quickly returned to their own work as the door opened and the young officer came out. Yet they had not returned quickly enough so that they did not see the stunned look on the face of the officer. Nor could they fail to hear the barked order from Inspector Menard.

"Close that door!"

Closing doors that left no open windows in their wake haunted every step that Erik took through the snow-blanketed woods that morning. With each step that crunched on the frozen ground beneath, Erik could hear the sound of a door slamming shut. With each soft thud of melting snow falling from a barren tree limb, Erik could hear the soft sound of a window closing, the lock on its sash being turned, forbidding entry – or exit. The cloak clasped at his neck flowed open from his shoulders to flutter about his feet but the cold that swirled through his open cloak was an old friend that Erik could embrace with equal amounts of fondness and disgust. The ungloved fingers of one hand clutched tightly to the pouch they held, fiercely guarding the remnants of his soul that snuggled safe inside the soft leather. The other ungloved hand reached up to adjust the fedora that covered one side of his face. His fingers reached out to his skin, looking to find the mask that was not there and Erik snorted in derision; he had fought a great mental battle that morning to avoid hiding beneath its comfort and familiarity.

It was a battle he had very nearly lost.

Erik had withdrawn the black leather mask from where it had rested, unwanted and unneeded, in the back of a bottom drawer. He had held it in his hands, turning it over and over, as he struggled with the past that beckoned so seductively and the present that was quickly slipping away. He had placed it upon his face, walking to the mirror that hung on the wall, staring for long moments at that which stared back at him. His fingers had curled into talons, reaching up to tear the offending item from his face and throw it across the room, back into the dark drawer from whence it had come. But at the last moment, his fingers had uncurled and Erik simply reached up to remove the mask. He had stared at his unmasked reflection before turning to gently place the mask back into its drawer. "The man has one last thing to do before the Beast returns," he had whispered to himself as the drawer closed, hiding the mask in the darkness.

And now the last pieces of the man to whom Erik held were within steps of their final goal.

He stood silently at the very edge of the woods that bordered Madame Giry's backyard. Erik closed his eyes for a moment and could see Tallis sitting in the sun, her hair gleaming like warm honey. He could hear her laughter that had a melody all its own to rival the song of the birds that twittered overhead. Erik shook his head as he slowly opened his eyes, looking upon a landscape that was now as barren and as bleak as his heart. He also noticed that no one was about so he moved from the shelter of the woods, still careful to cling to the shadows around the edges of the property as he approached the house. He paused by the door to the kitchen, listening for the sound of the new maid that had been hired. Upon hearing nothing but the stillness of the house, Erik slowly opened the door and slipped easily into the kitchen. He willfully ignored the images and sounds of a happier time that called to him from every corner of the kitchen and walked into the hallway that led to the rest of the home. He walked to the double doors that gave entrance to the drawing room and paused before them, a hand reaching out.

"When did you get back?" a voice asked.

Erik turned to see Antoinette at the bottom of the stairs, her hand on the banister, a pleasantly surprised smile on her face.

"Ten days ago," he replied, managing a small smile in return for the woman who approached him. He watched her eyes narrow as she stopped by his side, appraising him with a wisdom born from the years of friendship that followed behind them.

"And you could not come to see me before now?" Antoinette wondered as she reached around Erik's hands to open the door to her drawing room.

The gentleman that still held to a small portion of Erik's heart and soul waived his friend into the room before him. He waited until Antoinette had perched herself on the edge of a brocaded sofa before closing the door. Erik placed his cape over a nearby chair, careful to keep its wet edges from touching the expensive carpet beneath and gently rested his hat upon it. He moved across the room to take a seat by Antoinette's side, the pouch still in his hands. He looked at it lovingly for a moment, elegant fingers caressing the leather, before handing it to Antoinette. "That," Erik said as she took it from his hands, "is the lullaby for your grandchild."

A wistful look passed over Antoinette's face, taking some of the care with it, as she looked at that which she now held. "Meg and Val will be so pleased," she said softly and raised her head. "Thank you very much."

Erik simply nodded as he gathered his thoughts about him like a shield. "Are you not going to ask about your former companion?" He could see the intelligence that flashed behind Antoinette's clear gaze. He could see her wondering why he did not refer to Tallis by name. And Erik knew perfectly well that Antoinette would never ask him why he had done such a thing for he knew she had no need to do so.

"I had a letter from her just the other day," Antoinette replied as she placed the music for her grandchild on the table beside the sofa. "She seems to be happy enough with the choices she has made."

"She certainly does," Erik replied as he folded his hands and leaned against the back of the sofa. "And I am not one of those choices."

"She let you go?" Antoinette asked the pertinent question.

Erik nodded once. "Obviously." He held out his hands. "If she had not, why would I be here?"

"Why are you here?" Antoinette wanted to know and tapped the pouch containing the music. "Other than that which stares us in the face."

"I am done," Erik began. "I am done with trying to reach for that which every other man receives so easily. I am done with chasing foolish dreams I left behind before I even knew how to dream." His eyes began to glitter dangerously. "I am done with humanity. I have never understood it. I will never understand it. I do not understand it now. I thought – for a brief moment – that I might truly understand this world in which you move but that moment came and went like that!" He snapped his fingers. "I will no longer subject myself to such trivial, mundane things such as life and romance. Such things are for those blessed with beauty and innocent hearts; I have neither." Erik shook his head. "No, I am truly done, Antoinette; there are only so many times a dog may be kicked before it tucks its tail between its legs and scurries back to where it cannot be seen or heard. I am tucking my tail between my legs. I am surrendering to the will of a fickle God that probably does not even exist." His expression softened. "I am here to say goodbye to the only friend I have ever known." Erik waited for Antoinette to once again save him from himself.

"If that is what you truly want," Antoinette told him, "then I shall wish you joy of it."

Erik raised a brow at her response. "You are not going to stop me? You are not going to pull me from my darkness? You are not going to save me from myself?" He heard the sigh that escaped Antoinette's lips.

"Do you truly want me to do so?" she wondered.

There was a moment of silence as the two friends studied each other, the emotions that played over the other face, hearing the words left unspoken, seeing years of secrets suddenly looming upward into a wall that could not be breached.

"No," came Erik's simple, one word reply. He refused to shy away from the knowing stare that bore into his soul. "I know you would not."

"I would not," Antoinette agreed, "but not for the reasons you think."

"What reasons then?" Erik asked.

"I am tired." Antoinette shook her head. "You are not the only one who has had a hard life. I am not saying that I had as difficult a time as you have; but it has not always been easy. Oh yes, there was a brief time when life was easy and everything I had dreamed it could be. I had a husband who loved me and a child we loved. I had a secure future and not a care in this world. It was a lovely dream that I shall treasure each and every day for the rest of my life. Yet, even as the dreams that come unbidden at night, that dream was fleeting and faded into memory when my husband died." Her hand reached out to touch the leather pouch that contained a lullaby. "And now I have a new dream. I have joy and laughter to once again anticipate. I have a chance to find myself loved unconditionally and without reservation." Her brow creased in determination. "I need such a thing. I crave it. And I no longer have the strength to pull you from your darkness." Once again her look grew gentle. "Nor do I think you wish me to do such a thing." The hand that rested upon the leather pouch moved to rest upon Erik's knee. "You know you do not have to do this."

"I know," Erik acknowledged. "But – much like you – I want to do so." He sighed as his shoulders sagged. "I, too, am tired. I find that I only have enough energy to get through the moment in which I find myself and even that energy fades. I want my peace and solitude returned to me."

"You will not fight with her and for her?"

Erik merely shook his head.

"Why?"

"Because she has stated her wishes quite clearly. Because – contrary to popular belief – I do have some self-respect and I would like to hold to it." Erik paused, his chin trembling, as he fought to get his emotions back under control. Only in the presence of his dearest friend would he allow himself a moment of surrender. Yet that was all it was – a moment. "Allow me at least this much dignity," he pleaded, the restrained emotions evident in the crack of his voice and for one last time, Erik, the man, humbled himself. "Please," he pleaded.

Antoinette swallowed her own pride, willed away her own tears and nodded her head. "Yes," she said and raised her arms, grateful that Erik could find the strength to accept her embrace. "Go whither you will and know that you take a piece of my heart and soul with you."

"Thank you," Erik breathed, " my dearest and truest friend."

And even as Erik and Antoinette bade goodbye to a lifelong friendship and to the lives that had been, another person absently cut an ancient deck of Tarot cards. Elegant fingers cut and re-cut the cards, feeling the edges, listening to the rustle of the heavy paper. This person sat in a room full of gleaming furnishings and rich tapestries. November sunlight spilled in through velvet drapes, lighting the room with a chilled brightness. Thin hands stopped their cutting of the cards and spread the entire deck in a straight line across the top of the highly polished desk.

"Soon," the person whispered as the first card was turned over. "The Queen of Cups." A half-smile turned up lips. "Dear, sweet Christine and the growth of a family." The card was laid down and another card turned over.

"The Knight of Cups," the person chortled. "How terribly appropriate!" The knight was laid next to the Queen. "A knight in the truest sense of the word. A knight who shall never be separated from his one true love." The person tsk'd. "And now Raoul knows that such a thing is only true in fairy tales."

The Fool was turned over and a strange look crossed the face of the person. "Not knowing where he goes, while a dog yaps playfully at his heels, he is unable to see the cliff off which he and his dog are falling." The card was laid atop the other two. "Henri and Didier. Do you not think I know what game you play?"

Another card turned over. Another player in the game defined. "Ah, Philippe," the words came, "you are The Hermit. You sought peace and solitude, thinking no one was aware of where your heart lies. What your heart sought." The card was slammed down. "But I am aware. I have always been aware."

"One last card," the person said as a hand moved over the remaining cards, hovering just above them, feeling the psychic vibrations, searching for just the right one.

And finding it.

The half-smile on the person's face grew wide, a definite self-satisfaction spreading from that smile across the entire face. Fingers lovingly caressed the card they held. "Death," the whispered word echoed about the room. "Death," the person repeated. "A change to come. Death. Perhaps death upon death." The hand holding the card lovingly placed it atop all the other cards that had been turned over, the hand resting over all the cards. "And now it is time for a change." The smile turned down into a snarl. "It is far past time for a change."

Eerie laughter bounced off the walls of the elegant room.