Chapter Thirteen

The thin silk sheets twisted around Erik's form tightly as he shifted in his bed. The air was humid, thick and hot and suffocating. He turned again, quietly cursing as he kicked the blankets from his bed. It was just too bloody hot to sleep. But he was tired. Finally, the exhaustion was winning, and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and slip into blissful unconsciousness.

So, of course, the blasted preternaturally warm weather wasn't allowing it.

A clap of thunder roared overheard and Erik struck the pillow next to his head forcefully. Sliding off the bed, he sighed as his feet hit the cool wood of the floor. He lit a candle and picked the mask up off the bedside table, slipping it onto his face.

He lifted a black, silken robe off the rack near his closet and slid it onto his shoulders, leaving his bedroom quickly as another crack of thunder sounded.

Thudding down the stairs, he tied the robe sash loosely around his hips and entered the kitchen, stopping in front of the washing basin and peering out the window. Rain was falling in thick sheets, obscuring the view from the house. He absently glanced upwards as the thunder continued, followed closely by a white streak of lightening.

Even over the raging storm, he could hear the horses moving in the stable, panicking thuds of hooves on wood and loud, frightened whinnying. He hastened to the backdoor and swung it open, rushing to the small building by the gardens as quickly as he could. Sliding the door open, he stepped into the stable and went to Loki. The gelding was tossing his head frantically and let out a loud shriek, dropping to its knees and huddling in the corner of his pen. Erik climbed the fence and knelt next to the scared animal, speaking soothing words in a calm voice. His hand stroked the animal's neck gently, and Loki lowered his head, eager for the contact. Smiling softly, Erik gave the animal a final pat and stood, slipping out of the pen through the gate. Bellerophon seemed undaunted by the storm and merely stared at Erik curiously as he passed. Pressing his fingers briefly to the horse's dark nose, Erik exited the stable and slid the door shut behind him.

He leaned against the building, shutting his eyes and feeling the cool water hit his robe. He stepped out further and the downpour descended onto him, immediately soaking his silk robe to his body and running off his skin in thin streams. He tilted his head up and silently reveled in the cool water hitting the flesh of his face. It dripped down the mask, catching in the eyehole and slowly dampening the skin beneath. He removed the porcelain slowly, letting the hand that held it drop to his side, and shuddered at the sensation of the water touching the deformity so openly.

The rain continued, cooling his skin.

For several minutes he stood, motionless, letting the storm soak him. He raised his hand and placed the mask back onto his face, securing it tightly. He turned and hurried back into the house, running a hand through his hair and shaking out the water that clung to it. The sleeves of the robe dripped onto the floor of the kitchen, leaving a puddle around his feet. He shrugged it off and went to the cabinet, withdrawing a large bowl. He squeezed the sleeves and hem of the robe, the water pouring from the material into the small basin. Shaking the black silk and wincing as drops of rainwater struck his skin, he folded the robe over his arm carefully and leaned forward, opening another cabinet door.

Bottle of spirits lined the cupboard and he selected one at random, pulling the cork. He lifted it to his lips, anxious to feel the liquor's calming warmth take effect, when a figure moved out of the corner of his eye. He lowered the bottle and turned to fully face the intruder.

Isabel stood in the kitchen doorway, a shawl around her shoulders, her white nightshift falling around her frame loosely. Her dark hair was down, the first time he has seen it so, and the straight locks were in a tangle. Her eyes, wide with surprise, looked darker than usual, the honey-brown tinted with dark gold. He noticed, with amusement, that there were pillow creases on her cheek.

"Mr. Bertrand?"

Her voice cracked with sleep and she paused, pressing a hand to her throat and clearing it.

"Mrs. Bauer?" He set the bottle on the table gently and Isabel's eyes darted to it, a look of alarm taking her features.

"What are you doing?" she asked, clutching her shawl and tightening it around her.

"I am standing in my kitchen. What are you doing?"

"Oh, I... I thought I would..." her fingers grasped the shawl and tugged at it absently. "I just thought I would check on the horses. The storm and all. They may have been frightened."

"How very noble of you. I only did just that, and they appeared to be fine."

Isabel dropped her hand from the shawl. "Oh. Good. I wasn't sure how they would react, this storm being so awful and... and this being their first night here and all..."

Erik sighed impatiently. "Yes, well, all is well, so you may return to bed."

Isabel's eyes narrowed. "There's no need to sound like a headmaster."

Erik reached behind him and gripped the bottle, drawing it behind his back. "Really, Mrs. Bauer, your fierce sarcasm and wit has the ability to wound when properly applied. Kindly spare my feelings and return to bed."

Her eyes were hovering on the right side of his face, her gaze raking the edge of the mask.

"Mrs. Bauer."

She remained still, silently staring at him.

"Mrs. Bauer!"

Her head snapped up and she flushed a deep crimson. "Of course. I do apologize for... right, of course." She spun around and fled the room, her shawl snapping behind her.


Isabel tossed her shawl over the footboard of the bed and sat on the mattress, absently wiping at the thin layer of sweat forming on her brow. The shawl had been more for modesty than anything else, and the added heat had made her brief visit downstairs unbearable. She let herself fall back onto the bed and stared at the darkness above her. The window beside her bed was open, the curtains billowing. A fresh gust of cool air hit her skin, and she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, exhaling slowly, imagining all her tensed emotions leaving her with that breath.

A deafening crack of thunder startled her, and she sat up, wrapping her arms around herself. She wouldn't be able to sleep with this commotion... it would be a miracle if Thomas made it through the night without coming to her room for comfort from the frightening noises outside. She gazed out the window, watching the bright flash of lightening against the black sky.

A dull thud sounded downstairs and she held her breath, silently praying that Mr. Bertrand was simply returning to his rooms. An eerie quiet fell over the house once more, and she rested her head against the wall behind her, noticing the steady thrum of her heart in her chest and focusing on its rhythm, grateful for its unwavering consistency.

Mr. Bertrand. She shut her eyes again, tightly. His words still echoed in her mind, the domineering command tainting his ethereal voice. Return to bed. As if she was a child, an ingrate to be bullied. She felt a dull sort of anger build in her, and she exhaled slowly, willing it to pass. Her reaction to the man disgusted her. The only other person who could irritate her so easily was Daniel, but he knew her only too well; he could always select the perfect nerve to pinch to get her to react in whatever way he desired. She rolled her closed eyes. She really was just a child... a twenty-eight year old child who was easily annoyed.

Another clap of thunder sounded outside and she glanced at the window. Rain was pelting into the room, a small puddle beneath the will reflecting the sharp bolt of lightening that exploded overhead. She stood and rushed to the window, slamming it shut. She turned quickly and slipped on the water at her feet, her legs splaying in front of her and her bottom connecting with the floor loudly.

She sat there for a moment, her nightshift rapidly absorbing the water, and clenched her jaw. Standing slowly, she wrung the shift out, splashing water along the floor. Muttering to herself darkly, she glanced back out the window and saw the stable illuminated by the lightening. It stood among the thunder and rain solidly while the trees around it shook and swayed, a pillar of strength amidst beings only too willing to bend to nature's commands.

She wasn't sure why the horses were the excuse she used earlier, facing Mr. Bertrand's potential anger. Their well-being wasn't something she was particularly concerned with, but it would have made an acceptable reason to be downstairs in the middle of the night.

Massaging her temple, she remembered what had drawn her down there in the first place.

It was the storm that had awakened her.

She slid out of bed and stared out the window, hypnotized by the roar of thunder and sudden, blinding streaks of lightening.

Storms had always captured her, ever since her childhood... the thick air that surrounded them, the rainwater raging down with a force akin to vengeance. The horses were restless inside the stable - even from the distance she was at, she could hear them: hooves against walls, loud, scared noises seeping through the thunder and rain. Standing, she was about to return to her bed when a form emerged from the house below her, a tall figure striding towards the stable. She squinted and peered closer, trying to make out a face in the thick sheets of rain pouring. The form disappeared into the building for several minutes, then slipped back out, sliding the door shut behind them. It drew nearer the house again, slowly, and recognition dawned. Mr. Bertrand stood in the rain quietly, head tilted up into the water. He was soaked to the skin, his clothes sticking to his thin frame tightly. For several moments he simply stood, absorbing the storm. Isabel sank to her knees and watched, wishing she could make out the expression on his face. She had never seen him look content, not really, and the thought that he may be displaying some sort of happiness that she just couldn't see, somehow frightened her. She chewed her lip absently as she continued to gaze on him, trying to bring his form into focus as much as possible.

Then, his hand rose to his face.

It was a slow, gentle movement, so fluid she barely noticed he performed it. She saw his fingers grasp the edge of the mask, carefully, deliberately, then tug. She watched the porcelain disconnect from his face and felt a shiver run through her; it was as if she was watching someone remove their very flesh. It took a moment for her to realize that she hadn't taken her eyes off the mask that he now held in his hand, at his side. She couldn't raise them to his face. A fear gripped her, thick and hot. If she saw... and he knew... she would need God's mercy. If she saw, she would be violating him, taking unfair advantage of his brief moment of security. If she saw, she would never again be able to meet his eyes. If she saw, she would never again be able to look upon him without fear, or pity, or repulsion.

She stood abruptly, backing away from the window. She couldn't look at his face.

She just couldn't.


Erik hung the robe on its hook and seated himself on the overstuffed chair next to the fireplace. He gazed into the dark hearth, a finger stroking his still-smooth chin. Extending his injured hand in front of him, he stared at the crisp whiteness of the bandage, blending so easily with his pale skin. The bottle of gin he had taken from the kitchen sat on the table beside him and he reached for it, turning it over in his hands and watching the liquid inside roll with his movements. He set it back on the table and crossed his arms over her stomach, fingering the bandage. The rainwater on him had woken him fully, he realized, eyeing the bed with distaste. Sleep would never come now. Fatigue was such a delicate thing for him, a necessary demon that was too easily frightened away. He felt the material of the chair begin to absorb the water from his clothes and he shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with the chilled dampness touching his skin.

A creak sounded behind him.

Resting his head against the back of the chair, he closed his eyes. "Come in, Nadir."

He received an irked grunt in reply.

Footsteps thudded towards him and he heard a wooden chair scrape across the floor, stopping beside him.

"Still a mind-reader, I see."

Erik snorted and cracked an eye open, glancing at the Persian disinterestedly. "My talents are many."

"And humble, as well." Nadir settled onto the hard chair and grimaced. "This is how you treat your guests? Take the most comfortable chair for yourself and then not even offer them a drink?"

"The bottle is right here," Erik said pleasantly, nudging it with an elbow.

"Are there glasses?"

"No. I was not prepared to entertain anyone this evening. You will have to forgive me."

Nadir picked the bottle up and examined it mistrustfully. "Surely you do not expect me to drink directly from this."

"I expect you to go back to the study and fall into a fitful, nightmare-ridden sleep." Erik passed a hand over his face. "Why are you awake, anyhow? Really, daroga, you are much too old to be frightened by thunderstorms."

"I am afraid I cannot seem to sleep tonight." Nadir gestured around the room lazily, the bottle still in his hand. "The heat, I would imagine." He tugged at the collar of his shirt.

"Hmm." Erik stretched his legs out and slid down into the chair, resting his chin on his chest.

Nadir paused and peered at the man next to him. "When on earth did you shave?"

Erik's eyes snapped to the Persian's face. "Pardon?"

"You were distinctly scruffy earlier in the day, and now you are clean-shaven." Nadir leaned back in his chair, tapping the glass bottle in his hand absently.

"Truly, your eye for detail is unmatched."

"It simply strikes me as odd." He raised a finger to his chin thoughtfully. "Of course, most of your idiosyncrasies are, I suppose."

Erik grunted.

Nadir shook his head and lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a small sip of gin. He lowered the bottle and sputtered, his face twisted unpleasantly. "Cheap liquor, Erik? How unlike you." He set the bottle down on the table and coughed.

Erik grabbed the bottle and glared at Nadir. "I had all the spirits in this house brought up from London, daroga, and they were anything but cheap." He took a swig of the liquor and winced, brusquely wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"It tastes thin." Nadir's eye sudden lit up with amusement. "Almost as if it's been watered down."

Erik set the bottle on the table with a deadly slowness. "What did you say?"

Nadir's delighted grin only incensed him more. "I do believe your little maid is looking out for you, my friend."

Erik stood, knocking the chair back. He strode towards the door and banged it open, sweeping through the hall and down the stairs, entering the kitchen silently. Jerking the cabinet door open, he withdrew several bottles, pulling the corks out of each one and tasting the liquid inside. The amber color of the brandy was lighter than it had been last night, the flavor duller. Seething, he took a gulp of the whiskey - the same bottle that he had poured over his wound - and groaned at the flat taste. He threw the bottle against the wall and struck the cupboard door. The thin wood cracked beneath his fist and he felt a surge of satisfaction, tracing the split with his finger.

He spun and walked towards the door calmly, ignoring the shattered glass under his feet. Climbing the stairs, he passed Nadir silently. The Persian was wearing that frustrating expression: the soothing, steady look that all fathers learned to acquire to calm screaming children.

"Erik, I am sure it was not meant as-"

"The woman is insufferable!" Erik hissed, not looking back at Nadir. "She has no sense of boundaries and I have had enough of her inexcusable behavior!" He opened the door to the third floor and started up the stairs.

"Erik, perhaps she simply worries for your health... you barely eat, you work your body far too hard, and now consuming spirits like a common drunk? Of course she is concerned!"

Erik reeled around on the staircase, his eyes flashing dangerously. "You know nothing of me now! You know nothing!"

Nadir slumped against the doorframe limply, sighing. "I know more than you think, my friend. I know how you waste away. Do not release your venom on her because she does not wish to see what I have seen."

A moment of silence passed, the two men staring at each other.

Erik tore his eyes from Nadirs' and continued up the stairs. "Perhaps it is time for Isabel Bauer to learn what many other have." He let an ironic smile take his lips. "The Phantom will not be defied."


It takes me twelve years to update and when I do, it's short with this weird cliffhanger thing on the end. How lame am I?
Chat's mad betaing skills continue to stun me.
Reviews do, too. Stable-shaped candy to you all!