Dear Readers, here's an early chapter for you. Happy Easter!

Chapter 43 Grief

Erik slowly rose from his seat, his face frozen in a mask of rage.

"Read it," he breathed.

Glancing at the letter on the desk, Jules shook his head and replied, "I already have. He sent me one as well."

"You knew about this?" Erik asked icily.

Nodding, Jules raised his eyes to Erik, and met his fierce gaze.

The letter was from their agent in Le Havre. The man had left his post for several days to attend to his sick mother. When he had returned, he had discovered that Jade had visited the priest two days before. In his report, he detailed her meeting with the priest, and his investigation at the train terminus.

"Because of that fool, we may have lost our only lead." Erik's tone was murderous. He strode to the cloak rack, and slid the heavy garment over his taut shoulders. Then he faced his wary companion.

Jules knew that it was pointless to defend the man. Cautiously eyeing Erik, he quietly stated, "I have a man standing by to go with us to the train terminus."

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Erik stonily gazed at the black, upholstered carriage wall as the dull light of day brushed its surface. Jade had returned to Paris by train on the afternoon of the fifteenth. Now he needed to do the leg work that would determine where she had traveled to after arriving. Every cab driver and station worker would need to be questioned about seeing a nondescript woman who looked like half of the working class population of Paris. The four day delay had more than likely erased any trace of her from the minds of those who may have noticed her quiet presence. For the first time, Erik wished that she was a great beauty. A stunning example of womanhood would have stamped itself on the memory of males and left him a trail to follow.

On the fifteenth, there had been a particularly bad spot of weather. Therefore, it was highly likely that she had taken a cab back to her residence. Unless she lived close to the terminus, in which case she may have walked.

The thought of her trudging through the icy rain, with a wounded heart maddened him. She felt things deeply—too deeply. Erik wanted to be with her during her time of grief.

Sighing heavily, he massaged his cramped fingers and frowned. His business wasn't the only thing that had been suffering since her absence. The music he composed had taken on a dark and ugly tone of angst and frustration. He would often forego sleep as he played through the night while searching for a bit of elusive satisfaction. When she had left, she had taken with her his joy and peace.

The insomnia had returned. He was spending his nights and days roaming Paris, looking for clues of her whereabouts, and devising new plans for how to find her. The rest of his needs had taken a back seat to this one—the need to have her back in his life.

Lifting his chin, he stared at the approaching train terminus with renewed determination.

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Three days earlier, Jade had opened her eyes to a worthless, gray day.

It was Sunday. She needed to go to mass. After dressing, she sluggishly descended the stairs to the street below, and walked slowly to the church. There were others like her traveling purposely to church, or to the local cafes. Jade ignored them, and set her mind on her task of fulfilling her spiritual duty. It was a mortal sin to miss mass on this day. Her soul was already wounded and didn't need the threat of hell fire on top of everything else. Normally, she would have welcomed the peace and beauty that the mass provided. But today, it was just another onerous task that forced her to be away from her bed when all she wanted to do was to sleep.

On arriving, she didn't slip into the loft as was her usual custom. Instead, she sat at the back of the church with people crowded around her. The priest's voice droned on, and the woman next to her would periodically snort and jerk her head when she nodded off. When it was time for communion, Jade distantly watched the people line up before the rail. Once the service was finished, she let the crowd carry her out of the church. With indifference, she tolerated the jostling of her fellow church goers who were eager to leave. For the first time in months, she didn't bother to check around her for spying eyes.

On the way back to her room, she stepped into a local café, where she purchased a loaf of bread and a piece of cheese. Carrying it back to her room, she returned to her bed. Being outside had caused a chill, so she shivered for awhile before attempting to eat. She wasn't hungry but knew that she must try to get something inside of her, since she hadn't eaten the day before. After forcing herself to swallow several bites, her stomach rebelled, and heaved it back up.

As she lay there with a cramping stomach, she dully thought of what she should do next. All her reasons for being in Paris had disappeared. She no longer needed to be in this part of France to visit Gillian since she was gone.

Dead, she thought. I might as well say it. She's not gone, she's dead.

Listlessly she gazed at the dresser where Gillian's present lay, and wondered what else there was to look forward to.

I have friends, she considered. Yes, they were still here. Perhaps it was time to go to them. For all she knew, Erik had given up on trying to find her a long time ago. He had probably found a replacement for her by now, some one else from the opera house. Her mind meandered over the dancers as she thought of who would be his next choice. There was a very pretty, new dancer with dark hair and a willowy body…

With some effort, she brought her mind back in focus. Tomorrow, she thought. I can go to Jean and Manette's tomorrow.

But what if her assumption was wrong? What if Erik was even angrier now then when she had left? If she involved her friends, he might punish them.

Shaking her head, she realized that she was too tired to think straight. Besides, she didn't want to think about anything. Not about friends, Paris, or Erik…

Sinking deeper into the bed, she tucked the cloak around her, and drifted into sleep.

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The next day, she awoke feeling very chilled and sick to her stomach. After using the water closet, she went back to bed, and listened to the rain beating on the small window in her chilly room. There was no point in going to the shop today to get more work. She was too sick to work anyway. She would go tomorrow.

Jade lay there and stared at the gray walls of her room, and kept her chilled hands under the cashmere cloak. She felt bone tired. The thought of leaving her room made her feel even sicker. At that moment, the best feeling she could muster was a sleep driven numbness. The room was paid up until the end of the month. If she couldn't work for a few days, she could always dip into her savings. After several hours of bleak musings, she shut her eyes and fell back to sleep.

Over the next few days, she ate some of the bread and cheese, made visits to the water closet, and did her best to stay warm. The time was spent in bed, either staring at the ceiling and walls, or at the window. Days slipped into nights and then back until she lost all sense of time. One evening, there was a knock on her door.

Opening it, Jade looked into the concerned eyes of Mme. Pissaro.

"Good evening, my dear. I haven't seen you since last Thursday. How are you feeling?" the woman asked.

Staring at her for a moment, Jade tried to make sense of what she was saying. Was it really Thursday? It seemed as if she had just gone to church yesterday.

"I'm fine, Mme. Pissaro," she said quietly.

The older woman leaned forward a little, and smiled brightly at Jade. Having left her warm room below, she was wearing one of her colorful, woolen shawls. She was a breath of life in the dark, upper halls of the building.

"Would you like a cup of tea, my dear? I could bring a pot up here to your room if you'd like."

Nodding, Jade left the door ajar, and lit the lamp. Then she sat on the edge of her bed, and absently stared at her worn chemise. It was grimed with the ink of the newspapers that she stuffed beneath it for warmth. Getting up, she put on a cloak to rid herself of the chill that had gripped her thin body.

Fifteen minutes later, the older woman carried the tray up the stairs to Jade's room. Jade heard the rustle of her skirts as she bustled down the hall. Pouring a cup of the hot beverage, Madame carefully handed it to the younger woman. She sat on the only chair in the bedroom, and watched as Jade slowly sipped her tea.

Mme. Pissaro stifled the urge to stare at the woman. She almost didn't recognize her. With dark circles under her eyes and wild, uncombed hair, Jade looked like one of the lost souls she saw on the street. The self composed woman that she was accustomed to had vanished.

She talked about the week's events in an attempt to spark some life in the woman. After ten minutes, she stopped. Jade wasn't paying attention. Her eyes were dull, and she looked right through her as if she wasn't there.

Lifting up the tea tray, the gray haired woman left, and then returned a few minutes later with a thick blanket. It was very cold up in her young friend's room. She had had no idea that Jade's room was that uncomfortable. She could spare the blanket until the woman felt better.

Laying the cover over her, Mme. Pissaro looked down at the dark haired woman for a few moments. Then impulsively, she bent over her, and kissed her forehead. "Good night, my dear," she said softly. She locked the door, and slipped the key beneath it.

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The next few days were the same as the previous ones. Jade would get up, use the water closet, wash her face, bring water back to her room, and then climb back into bed. It was all one, unending cycle. In the back of her mind, she knew that she needed to go to work, that the money wouldn't last forever. Emptily staring at the green gown, she wondered how much she could pawn it for. She didn't have the strength or the heart to do it herself but perhaps the next time Mme. Pisssaro visited her, she could persuade her to sell it for her. She might be able to live on that money for a couple of weeks.

Sunday came and went. By then, Jade was unaware of which day was which. She continued to sleep, and live in her dreams.

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Madame Pissaro gazed up the flight of stairs to the dark hall beyond. It was Wednesday evening. She was wondering if she should go upstairs and check on her friend. It had been four days since she had last seen her. She had hoped that by now, Jade would have been feeling better, and would have been back to her normal routine. But she had a sinking feeling that the young woman was still upstairs, stuck in her room.

This wasn't the first time that she had seen a serious case of melancholy. She remembered when her sister had lost her newborn, and how she had behaved afterwards. Louise had refused to speak with her family, and had withdrawn from everyone, including her grief stricken husband. It had been a devastating experience to witness her deterioration.

Now here was another who had succumbed to that affliction. Mme. Pissaro nervously glanced up the stairs, and wondered what was to be done.

Entering her apartment, she loaded a tray with food and tea, and slowly carried it up the stairs to Jade's room. She knocked on the door several times and then listened. There was no response. Perhaps Jade had finally gone out. But her instincts said 'no'. She set the tray down, and walked below to the concierge's apartment. Once there, she talked the woman into coming upstairs with her, and opening her friend's door.

The room was dark and icy. The concierge held the lamp out in front of her, and the light fell on the still figure lying on the bed. Madame Pissaro gasped as she stared at the eerie, quiet form whose back was to them. There was a feeling of death in the air.

Slowly, she approached the bed, and tentatively reached out and touched the small figure. The other woman stood behind her, and held the light up so that they both could see. Madame Pissaro pulled Jade's shoulder, and rolled her onto her back.

The young woman was unaware of them, lost in an unnaturally deep sleep. Her skin was pale and her lips cracked. The large, dark circles beneath her eyes, and her hollow cheeks gave her a spectral appearance. She had the sour smell of someone who hadn't washed for some time, and her hair was oily. The concierge reached beneath the bed, and pulled out a full chamber pot.

Glancing about the room, Mme. Pissaro saw the half loaf of stale bread, and wondered when Jade had last eaten. The other woman gave her a firm look, and jerked her head towards the door in a signal that they step outside.

In the hall, the two women discussed what they had seen. Were there relatives? The concierge wanted to know. Mme. Pissaro shook her head. "No one," she replied. Shrugging off the responsibility, the concierge handed the other woman the key, and waddled back towards her room.

Standing alone in the hall, the gray haired woman stared into the dark room, and then finally shut the door. She needed to think.

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A half hour later, she returned to Jade's room with a basin of water and towels. Then she bathed her. Afterwards, she gave her water, and tried to get a little broth into her. Returning to her own room, she immediately sat down, and wrote a letter to Etienne Coupeau, asking that he contact the man who had spoken with Jade at the holiday party—a M. de Chagny. Perhaps he would be willing to help the poor woman.

It was the only plan that she could think of.

An hour later she was combing out her hair for the night when she heard a knock on her door. Opening it, she looked up at the kind face of a brown haired man who was holding his hat in his hands.

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Earlier that day Jules was in his office as he interviewed the last of the cab drivers. He had spent a week tracking down each worker at the train terminus as well as an army of drivers. Besides those he had spoken with, he had also retrieved the names of several missing men. Today those last drivers had come to his office.

So far, there had been no leads as to Jade's whereabouts. No one had recognized the thumbnail sketches that Erik had provided.

Jules turned to the scruffy young driver who had shown up half an hour before. He's here for the stipend, he thought. Just like the rest of them. Well, at least the flow of cash will stop after today. He was weary of handing out money to every man that had showed up at the office in the last week. He suspected that more than a few had no association with the train station and were simply there to milk the system.

By the time he got around to the young driver, he was tired and irritable.

"Monsieur Madinier, is it?" he brusquely asked the thin man who sat before him.

"Yes Monsieur," the man answered with a saucy tone.

Jules looked up from his paper with a frown. "You were driving a cab at the Gare Montparnasse the Saturday before last?" he asked sharply.

The driver took his time answering as he coolly watched Jules. "I was there, Monsieur."

Again, there was that rude tone that grated on Jules' nerves. The fellow had come down to the office to play games with him as he earned a little drinking money.

Abruptly pushing the sketch of Jade across the desk towards the fellow, Jules asked, "Did you see this woman on that day?"

Madinier looked down at the sketch for a few moments, and then raised his eyes to the man. His thin lips parted in a slow, insolent smile. "There is something familiar about this woman. Perhaps you will tell me what the reward is for information about her?"

Quickly, Jules pulled the sketch back, and glared at the man. It had been like this all day. The stragglers that had shown up at the office had heard of the rich reward that Erik was offering. They all wanted a free suckle off of a wealthy tit. But this bastard was cheekier than the rest.

Showing his teeth, the man gauged Jules' reaction, and then slowly continued. "I had a fare late that afternoon. It might have been that woman."

"To where?" snapped Jules.

Madinier feigned interest in a painting on the wall, and then finally turned his eyes to the man sitting across from him. "I believe it was to the east side, Monsieur."

After a moment of staring into those calculating eyes, Jules got up and walked around the desk where he stood at the side of the seated man. Then he spoke in a low voice. "Do you see that door behind my desk, Monsieur?" he asked as he cocked his head in that direction. He followed the quick dart of the younger man's eyes, and then continued. "Behind it is my employer. It is he who has offered the reward for this information. He is a wealthy man, and like so many of his class, he has little patience with men who wish to rob him or trifle with his affairs."

Jules was smiling a false smile when he sat on the desk, and faced the man.

"He is generous with those who give him what he wants. But, for those who would lie to him or try to squeeze him for more than their just desserts, he has something else." Pausing for effect, Jules continued. "Have you seen the guillotine do its work, my friend? She is quick and ruthless."

The man before him had stopped smiling, and his eyes widened a hair at the mention of that national symbol. Jules held his gaze with a penetrating stare.

"Personally, I would rather face that steel lady before I would attempt to cross that man behind the door. Now, if you have information, I suggest you spill it or I will be forced to lead you to him." He leaned towards the man and whispered, "Even as we speak, I am certain that he hears what we are saying." He gave Madinier a knowing look, and returned to his seat.

Jules wasn't much of an actor. However, knowing what Erik was capable of made it easy for him to deliver his threat.

The young man had lost his smirk, and was watching Jules closely. "I took her to the tenth arrondissement," he offered.

Jules stared at him coolly. "Do you know the exact address?"

He was surprised to see the man nod assent.

"Yes. After I dropped her off, a fight began in the street in front of me. I watched it for a few minutes as I ate my dinner. Later, some of his friends carried the wounded man into the building that she had gone into."

Eyeing the man, Jules rose and said, "Wait here."

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Erik rode inside as Jules drove the carriage, and followed the cab in front of them. They were traveling through the tenth arrondissement in the direction of the Cemetery of Pere-Lachaise. Around them loomed the tenement houses of Paris's working class.

The rain had finally stopped, and for once the night wasn't unbearably wet or cold. The half moon lit up the dirty streets, and revealed an occasional prostitute standing under a soot smeared gas lamp as she waited for a profitable encounter. As the carriage slid past shuttered shops and down narrow streets, Erik remembered his time in this part of Paris. Before the opera house had been constructed, these streets had been his last refuge. The ever present poverty and his ready money had allowed him easy access to housing. But it had been a dismal life, a cruel reminder of the stigma caused by his mask.

The carriage finally stopped in a small plaza that was surrounded by tenement houses. Erik listened to the brief exchange between Jules and the cab driver, and then heard the driver depart.

An electric pulse ran through him as he exited the carriage, and watched as Jules approached the building that was straight ahead.

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"May I help you Monsieur?" the older woman asked the man standing at her door.

"If you please, Madame, I am looking for a woman. Her name is Jade Bouta. I have been told that she lives in this building."

Mme. Pissaro looked at him with sharp eyes.

Smiling gently, Jules continued. "I have information for her that is very important."

There was something wholesome about the man's disarming smile and politeness. The woman opened the door and invited him in. As she bound up her hair, she watched him from the mirror. He was sitting in a chair, and quietly staring at his hat which was in his lap. The longer she looked at him, the more certain she felt that her prayer had been answered.

Taking a seat across from him, she said, "Mlle. Bouta has not been herself lately. She is feeling rather poorly at this time." She watched for his response.

The man's eyes widened with dismay, and he said, "Madame is there anything that I can do to help?"

Nodding slowly, Mme. Pissaro picked up a key from her table. Rising, she motioned for him to follow.

They walked the stairs to Jade's room where the woman unlocked and opened the door.

The room was as she had left it—dark, and very cold. Jade still lay on her back in the same position she was in an hour before. Her eyes were shut, and she was breathing very slowly.

Jules stared at the sleeping woman for a few moments, and then turned to his companion. "She looks very ill. Has a doctor been called?" he asked quietly.

Shaking her head, Mme. Pissaro replied, "No, Monsieur." Then she turned to him and asked, "Is there someone who can help her? I don't believe she has family in Paris."

Jules nodded slowly and replied, "I know of someone who will take care of her. I will arrange for it immediately." He reached out and took her hands in his, and pressed them gently. "Rest assured, she will be in good hands, Madame."

They descended the stairs together, and Jules stepped out of the building. Quickly, he walked to the carriage where Erik waited. The white mask emerged from the blackness as Erik stepped from behind the carriage.

"I found her," Jules said.

The two men swiftly mounted the stairs to Jade's room. There, Erik deftly picked the lock and they slipped in. Jules lit the lamp, and turned to the tall man who was standing over the bed.

Erik was frozen in place, and staring at the haggard looking woman who lay there oblivious to their presence. Jules held his breath and waited.

"I will meet you in the carriage, Jules," Erik said in a low, controlled voice.

Glancing around him, Jules saw the green dress which was draped over a wooden pole that was suspended from the ceiling by string. He reached up and removed it, and then left.

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With his eyes fixed on Jade's face, Erik slowly sat on the edge of the bed. Reaching out, he gently ran his fingers along her brow, and then across her hollow cheek. Underneath the mound of cloaks and heavy blanket he could feel the bony curve of a shoulder.

"You have grown very thin, my dear," he said softly as he stroked the line of her arm.

He waited for her to open her eyes in response to his voice and touch. When she didn't, he bent down and softly kissed her forehead. Then reaching under the blanket, he gathered her into his arms.

Wrapping the cloaks tightly around her, he carried her out of the room, and shut the door. Then he descended the stairs to the street below.

Jules was seated in the driver's seat and waiting. Once Erik had entered the carriage, he snapped the reins and the horse moved into the night.

Inside, Erik held Jade in his arms. She had yet to stir, and become aware of his presence. If it hadn't been for her slow breathing, he would have sworn that she had already fled the earth and was sleeping with the angels. When he had carried her down the stairs, his heart had ached in response to her incredible lightness. She weighed little more than a child.

"Foolish girl," he murmured to her as he watched the moonlight slip across her face. Whatever wasting away that had resulted because of her discovery of the child's death, it was evident that she had been depriving herself long before that. Her thinness was frightening. She had probably been up to her old, bad habits of missing meals when she was upset. Or worse yet, maybe she had simply not eaten because of her impoverished state.

That last thought brought grim tears to his eyes as he gazed at her gaunt face. He was partly responsible for the state that she was in. If he hadn't driven her away with his anger, and if he hadn't repeatedly forced his presence upon her when she had lived in the opera house, she wouldn't have hid from him. She could have remained there with shelter and adequate food. And when she had finally discovered the child's death, the blow would not have caused her as much harm.

But, he knew as well as she that he wouldn't have been able to stay away from her if she had remained. If she had tried to separate from him, it would have inevitably caused him to seek her out. His need for contact with her was too strong. Once the barriers between them had been lowered, he could not bear to have them resurrected.

Bringing her to his chest he held her close. She was in bad shape but was not past the point of recovery.

The oily smell of her hair filled his nostrils. There was a sharp scent of soap about her, as if she had recently been bathed. She felt like a sparrow in his arms, a delicate bird that might escape his grasp if he held her too lightly, but would be crushed if his grip was carelessly firm. As he held her life carefully in his arms, he felt joined to her, and his mind settled into a quiet peace.

The carriage stopped in front of the iron-gate. With his black cloak swept back, Erik carried the bundled woman through the opening to the blackness beyond. Jules laid the velvet gown across the floor of the boat, and Erik gently lowered Jade onto it. Then Jules shut the gate and the heavy clanking of metal followed the man and woman into the darkness.

Swiftly, he propelled the boat to his home. On entering it, the heated air was a welcoming sensation as he glanced down at her pale face. He carried her past the kitchen to the bedrooms. There he paused as he looked at both bedroom doors. Decisively, he took her to his bed where he placed her under the covers.

With his hands at his sides, Erik stared down at her small face which was surrounded by the heap of soft blankets. Removing his gloves, he laid his hand on her cheek. It was unusually cool. He suddenly remembered how chilled the body could get when it was underfed and close to starvation. Quickly, he shed his suit coat and waistcoat, and then climbed in beside her. Pulling her close to him, he pushed the cloaks aside and wrapped his arms around her. Then he balanced her so that her head rested against his chest. Gently he arranged the blanket so that she was almost completely covered.

With one hand cradling the back of her head, he felt her warm, even breath against his neck. A shiver ran through him as his body welcomed the intimacy of that moment. After one long breath, he slowly exhaled and pulled her closer.

It was late, and he was tired. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep since she had left. Now, with her beside him, he let go of the tension and relentless drive that had kept him moving and searching for the last two months. Gently, he drifted into sleep as he held his prize in his arms.

A/N: The reference to Erik once living in a poor part of Paris is taken from Susan Kay's novel Phantom.