Chapter Ninety-Seven

September 17th 1892: Erik

"Then I'll come with you," Christine declared instantly.

"What?" I muttered. "No. That's impossible. You…" Hastily I searched for a good reason. It just took me a moment to find one. "You can't leave Philippe alone at home."

"We could take him with us as well," she suggested. "I'm sure he won't disturb us. We could hire a coach to get to the butcher's, so we won't have to walk."

The image of me trying to get answers out of a man while a woman and a little boy were standing next to me made me chuckle, although the situation was far from funny. Besides, where did the ´we´ come from all of a sudden? Until a minute ago, it had still be ´I´. I couldn't understand why Christine thought she could just come along.

"This won't be a pleasant pastime," I explained patiently. "It's possible that the butcher won't be willing to talk to me. Then I'll have to use… well, unusual methods to make him talk."

"You won't… kill him, will you?" she asked, growing a little pale.

"No," I replied, both shocked about her assumption and indignant. "Of course I won't kill him. Is that why you want to come with me? To keep me from killing people?" My voice had become slightly louder while I had spoken the last words. I just couldn't believe that she trusted me so little.

Christine shook her head emphatically, but seemed too astonished for words. That was all right with me, for I wasn't finished yet anyway. After taking a deep breath I could go on.

"You think I haven't changed at all, don't you? You think I've a pile of dead bodies hidden somewhere in my world. You think I'm a madman. Isn't that what you think?" Now my voice was growing softer again. What was the point in shouting? I felt very empty, now that all those words had left my mouth.

My beloved had listened to my outburst in silence without trying to interrupt me. She seized my hand, which was lying on the table, shaking slightly.

"No," she said simply, giving it a light squeeze. "That's not what I think. I know you're not a madman, and I know you wouldn't kill the butcher… or anyone, for that matter. I'm not sure why I asked that question. I'm just… confused by all the things that have happened in the last days. Somehow nothing seems impossible anymore."

"I know what you mean," I muttered. "But I promise that I'll find whoever is doing those things, and they'll be brought to justice… by the police, not by the Punjab Lasso," I added, in case there was any doubt about it. "And in order to do that, I'll have to talk to the butcher, to ask him and the people working for him whether they've noticed anything. Maybe one of them has been persuaded to bring to wrong bag to your door. But you've got to understand that I can't take you with me. It would be too dangerous. A butcher has access to a lot of knives…"

"I see," she said. I noticed that her face had become even paler than before, and it occurred to me that perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned the knives. "But I'm frightened. What if something happens while you're gone?"

"You won't open the door, no matter who is outside," I told her. "When I get back, I'll use the back entrance, the one through the kitchen. I'll let your daughter and the others in myself; they'll be gone longer than me. In the meantime, no one is to leave the house. Stay away from the windows, in case they get smashed again."

She nodded, and I knew she'd follow each of my instructions. She was too worried about their safety to be careless. I was worried as well. If I could have stayed with her, I'd have done so. But we couldn't just sit around and wait for the next terrible event to take place. This had to stop.

Sighing, I took the last sip of my coffee, which was absolutely cold by now, and stood up. The sooner I'd leave, the sooner I'd get back.

"Erik?" Christine whispered.

"Yes?" I asked, leaning down to her.

She cupped my face, and suddenly her lips were on mine. I gasped for breath, taken by surprise, and she seized the chance to invade my mouth with her tongue. It was a wonderful kiss, yet I had hardly had time to get used to the feeling when it was over again.

"Be careful," she said, giving me a breathless smile. I returned the smile, too confused for anything else. I still had difficulties in taking in what had just happened.

"I will," I finally promised. "I'll be back as soon as I can. And you've got to be careful as well."

"Of course I will," she told me. "I'll use the time to do some thinking. Maybe I'll even think about us."

I didn't know whether that prospect made it harder or easier for me to leave. All I knew was that somehow I managed to drag myself out of the door, stopping briefly in the kitchen to get the butcher's address. In general I knew that address, just like I knew most details about Christine's life, but the kiss had made me forget it.

The kiss… I had planned to think about different strategies to make the butcher talk while I was on my way to him, but now my mind was busy with something else. Why had she kissed me, when I had told her not to? Well, strictly speaking she hadn't broken any of the rules she or I had set. She had neither approached me at night not showed her feelings in front of others.

Actually I didn't even know what kinds of feelings were behind that kiss. Was it love or at least affection? Probably yes. People rarely kissed those they hated. Yet that didn't tell me anything new. Of course Christine didn't hate me. Maybe it had simply been a display of friendship. Friends kissed each other when they said goodbye, didn't they? Yet while I didn't have a lot of experience in the area of friendship, I couldn't imagine that friends kissed each other like that.

It hadn't felt like the kiss of a friend either. It had felt… oh, it had felt wonderful, warm and soft and exciting. The mere memory made my body tingle. Yet admittedly it was possible that it had only felt like that for me, who had almost buried the hope of getting close to her in the nearer future. Who knew what it had felt like for her?

I was so absorbed in my pondering that I almost walked past the house in which the butcher's shop had to be. I looked up and down the building, only to find… nothing. There wasn't as much as a sign at the door. Either this butcher was working in secret or… I checked the address and could have slapped myself. It was the right number, but the wrong street. All that thinking had made me take a wrong turning. That had never happened to me before, never.

I glanced around nervously, yet no one seemed to have noticed my mistake.This was rather logical, given the fact that they didn't know where I wanted to go. Quickly I walked away into the direction which I had come from, shaking my head. Well, this was not the first time that a single kiss had led me astray.

After a few minutes of walking and trying to think of nothing in particular I reached the right house. I knew it immediately, for a woman just left it with a bag just like the one I had disposed of not too long ago. I could only hope that the contents of hers were not the same as of mine. I caught the door before it closed and entered the shop.

A man was standing behind the counter. He had to be about fifty years old. There was little hair left on his head, but his black beard was thick and well-groomed. He was rather tall, too, maybe one or two inches shorter than myself. Apart from him, the shop was empty. This was very good, for it enabled me to speak openly without having to wait. I cleared my throat, and the man looked up.

"Good day, Monsieur," he greeted me with a smile. If the mask on my face irritated him, he didn't show it. "How can I help you? Do you already know what you want to buy, or would you like me to recommend you something? Today we've got very nice – "

"I'm not interested in meat at the moment," I interrupted him. I took a few steps forwards, till only the counter separated us. Like this, I didn't have to speak up, and it would be easy to stop in case someone entered the shop. "I'd like to talk to you about a certain event that took place this morning at the de Chagny estate. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about…"

The butcher's eyes narrowed.

"Oh yes, I know," he growled, the smile slipping from his face like butter from a hot potato. "But I won't have all that again." Quickly he grabbed a large knife from the counter and pressed the tip of it against my throat. "Marie!" he called over his shoulder. "I've got another one here. Go and fetch the police!"