Child of Freedom

Chapter 12- Rock, Paper, Scissors

Erik woke to the sound of his own breathing. I'm alive, he thought. He opened his eyes and saw white. There was a white ceiling overhead, and, as he turned his head to the sides, he could see that the walls were white as well. The lights were turned to a faint brightness.

There was pain all over his torso, and it was difficult to move. But he tried to move slowly, so it would cause him less pain.

As Erik moved his head on the pillow, he could feel the straps holding him in place. Where am I? Erik thought. He felt his bare cheek against the cold fabric of the pillow. This thought took a few moments to register. He nearly died from shock: He wasn't wearing his mask.

Men and women in white uniforms came in and out of the room. They mostly came and looked at him blatantly. They had never seen someone like him before. He felt a warm flush creep up his neck in embarrassment.

One woman stopped outside the curtain with a child holding her hand. The little girl peeked through the curtain and gasped. She hid behind it.

While her mother wasn't looking, the little girl crept into Erik's room. The nurses didn't seem to notice her. She crept up to Erik and stood in front of his bed.

"Hello," Erik whispered.

"Bonjour," the girl breathed.

"What's your name?" Erik asked her. He would have smiled, but he had a feeling that it wouldn't have made the little girl feel any better.

"Sophie," she replied softly. "What's your name?"

"Erik," Erik said.

Then Sophie pointed to his face. "Qu'est-ce que c'est passer?" She asked.

"I was born like that," Erik replied, explaining his deformity.

"I was born like this," the little girl said, pointing to her face. She wasn't trying to be funny, but Erik couldn't help thinking how cute it was that she said that.

"You were born beautiful," Erik told her. She smiled shyly.

"Are you my new friend?" She asked.

Erik nodded. "If you want me to be," he said.

The little girl nodded, and she reached her little hand up to him. She touched the deformed side of his face.

"Your skin feels neat," she said, and laughed softly.

"How old are you, Sophie?" Erik asked her.

"Four," she said, and held up four fingers. "How old are you?" She asked him.

"Oh, I'm old," he said. "Much older than you."

"How old?" She asked again.

"When you get as old as me, then I'll tell you," Erik told her.

"How will I know when I'm as old as you if I don't know how old you are?" She asked. She was a very smart little girl to be able to figure that out.

"I don't know." Erik smiled faintly. He didn't want to startle her, but he couldn't help but smile at the fact that he had been stumped by a four year-old.

"Where do you live?" Sophie asked, taking his hand and running her finger along it.

"Far from here," Erik said evasively. He was starting to get suspicious that she was spying on him or something. But her next statement erased that suspicion.

"Maybe I could visit you sometime," she said. "I have a really pretty tea set that I could bring."

"I don't think I would be able to do that," Erik said. Then he had an idea. "Sophie," he asked. "Where are we?"

"In a hospital," she said, still tracing lines on his hand with her fingers.

"What kind of hospital?" Erik prodded gently.

"The kind where bad people go," she replied. Then she looked up. "But you're not bad, are you? She asked.

"I have done things that I shouldn't have," Erik replied honestly. "But I'm not like that anymore. I'm a good person now."

"But not perfect," Sophie said.

"No," Erik smiled. "Not perfect.

"Good," Sophie said. "Maman says that if a person says he's perfect, then he's definitely not." She told him.

"You're mother was very wise to say that," Erik replied.

"Maman wasn't wise," Sophie replied. "Just mad."

"At who?" Erik asked.

"I don't know," Sophie answered. Then suddenly she asked eagerly, "Hey, Erik! Do you want to play a game?"

"What game?"

"It's called rock, paper, scissors," she said. "I made it up."

"How do you play?" Erik asked.

"There are three things to choose from," she said. "There's a rock, a piece of paper, or scissors."

"I don't see anything," Erik said, trying to look around for the objects she spoke of.

"That's because you make them with your hand, silly," she said, as though it were obvious. She made her hand into a little fist. "This is rock," she said. Then she lay her hand out flat. "This is paper." Then she put her hand into a fist and stuck two fingers out. "And this is scissors." She said. "Rock beats scissors, scissors beat paper, and paper beats rock," she continued.

"Why does paper beat rock?" Erik asked, slightly confused.

"Because it covers the rock and digs its ends into the ground so rock can't get up. That means that rock is beaten," she replied matter-of-factly. "This is how you play," she continued. Then she held her fist in the air and shook it up and down three times. "Rock, paper, scissors!" She cried, and made her hand into the scissors.

"I don't understand," Erik said, now really confused. The pain was getting to him.

"That's because you weren't paying attention," she said. Erik had to restrain himself to keep from laughing. Here was a four-year-old girl telling him to pay attention. It was too funny.

"When I go rock, paper, scissors, you do the same thing. But you think in your head which thing you want to pick. Then when you're finished saying rock, paper, scissors, you make your hand into the thing you chose."

"Okay," Erik said, finally understanding what she was telling him.

"Rock, paper, scissors!" Sophie cried, and made her hand flat. Erik had made his hand into a fist. Sophie put her little piece of "paper" over his hand and said, "I win!" She smiled triumphantly. "Let's play again!" She said eagerly, and held out her hand. But before they could play again, they heard a sound.

"Sophie!" A voice cried angrily. Erik looked up to see the girl's mother come into the room. She dashed over to Sophie and picked her up.

"Monstre!" She cried in French, and dashed out of the room.

"Erik!" She cried. "Maman put me down! He's my friend!" But the girl's mother wouldn't listen. She just carried Sophie out of the room.

Erik closed his eyes. Then he remembered Rebecca. He tried to ask a nurse about her, but the nurse ignored him. Eventually, Erik passed out. He dreamed of Rebecca.

-

I sat on the bed, staring at the wall. I was still wearing the dress that Erik had given me. Now, though, it was covered in his blood.

The Monsieur had offered to let me borrow one of his late sister's dresses, but I had declined. The dress was all I had left of Erik. I knew that he was still alive, but I didn't know if he would stay that way.

There was a knock on the door and I called, "Come in."

Pierre opened the door and stood on the threshold. He shifted from foot to foot.

I turned my head and glared at him with pure, unadulterated, hatred. He wouldn't look me in the eye.

"What do you want?" I demanded.

He shifted his feet again. "I just wanted to apologize," he said, his head tilted to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"No you're not," I said flatly. Without him noticing, I reached under my pillow. "It was stupid of you to come here," I stated. "I won't go back on my promise to kill you."

"I'm serious," he replied, looking up. "I am sorry."

"Liar," I hissed. My fingers closed around the hard, metal object that I had hidden there after dinner. "You shouldn't have come here," I repeated, and threw the knife. It landed right in his breast.

Pierre stared at the knife stuck in his chest, surprise written all over his features. "Would you look at that?" He said, pulling the knife out of his chest. Then he fell to the floor and landed with a thud.

I stood up and picked the knife up off of the floor. I wiped the blade on Pierre's now-bloodied shirt. I pushed Pierre's body away from the doorway, and closed the door. Then I went down to the kitchen and plopped the knife the soapy water that was in the sink.

On my way to find the Monsieur, I was stopped by M. Didier. "Do you know where Pierre is?" He asked.

"I suspect that he's in hell," I replied, and pushed past him. I needed to know if the Monsieur had made any progress in helping Erik.

-

Henri paced the sitting room. He was wracking his brain for an idea as to how to convince the mayor to pardon Erik.

Perhaps if he gave the mayor some money, and assured him that Erik would return all that he had taken from the owners of the Opera Populaire. No, that still wouldn't be good enough for the murder aspect of it all.

While Henri was pacing, his niece was asleep in her bassinet. Lynaea was a good name for her, but still not like the ones from his parents' homeland. His sister had wanted her daughter to have a name from their parents' homeland. Henri wondered if he would be able to come up with something.

As he was thinking this, Rebecca came into the room. She still wore the old, bloody, dress that her friend, Erik, had given her. Henri thought she should change, but she seemed determined to wear it until she knew that Erik was safe.

"Is there something that you need?" Henri asked.

"I was wondering if you had made any progress," she answered. He noticed that her feet were bare.

"No," Henri replied. "None." He turned away from her so he could think.

"By the way," she said. Henri turned back to her. "I thought I should let you know that Pierre is dead." Her voice was flat, and her expression blank.

"I see," Henri said. Actually, he wasn't in the least bit surprised. From the moment he saw her, Henri had a feeling that she always kept her word, and never gave up.

Most people thought that Henri was blind, but it was just the opposite. Henri eyes were white because a doctor had performed an experimental operation to increase Henri's vision. The result had turned his eyes white. But he could still see.

"Let me know when you have results," Rebecca said.

"Of course," Henri replied. He inclined his head at Rebecca's retreating figure.

A/N: I hope you liked that. I don't know if scissors were invented back then, but in this story they exist. Sophie is so cute! Please review and let me know what you think.