September 18th 1892: Erik
It was interesting to see how priorities shifted in difficult times. The man called Victor was a very good example. He was weak, powerless and without an own opinion. He needed someone to make decisions for him. That was the one reason why he had tried to free his master. The attempt had not been caused by loyalty or affection, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself of the contrary.
Yet the last minutes had shown him something: His master could no longer help him. He was under my control and just as powerless as he himself. That was why Victor, when given the chance to act a second time, didn't even move towards his master. Without the power to command others, the man had become useless for him.
Someone more intelligent than Victor would have maybe tried to change sides and plead for mercy. Yet Victor was beyond such rational thoughts. He had seen what I could do to his master and was afraid that he could be my next victim. His fear was unfounded, since I had far too much fun with the man to stop playing with him anytime soon, but naturally Victor didn't know that.
So he did the only thing he could think of: He ran for it. He hurried to the wall separating the garden from the street behind it, climbed over it with a few hasty motions and vanished from view, leaving his master to stare after him incredulously, taken by surprise. Not everyone was able to analyse the human mind as well as I did.
"Should I have tried to shoot at him?" the young woman asked uncertainly, looking down at the pistol in her hand. Directly after the fight, I had been busy thinking about her name for minutes, before I had finally remembered that it was Marielle. I had also been able to recall her background, but still it had been interesting to hear what had become of her since Christine had dismissed her.
I shook my head.
"He's not worth the bullet," I replied. "We can be glad that he's gone. One man less to keep under control."
"He won't go far anyway," Marielle said. "Every time something goes wrong on a burglary, he runs back to the abandoned house we're living in at the moment. We can send the police to fetch him from there."
"But don't forget the person who shouted," Christine reminded us. I noticed that she hadn't even turned her head to see where Victor had gone. Her gaze was fixed upon the place that had once been her home. "Someone should go to the house and find out what happened. Perhaps they need help."
"I'll go," the Vicomte offered at once. I should have known that he'd do anything to impress Christine. Now that I thought about it, it didn't sound like such a bad idea after all. I, however, couldn't have done it myself. I'd rather die than let the Vicomte touch my Punjab Lasso, and it seemed to be the only thing that could restrain Marielle's father. So I had to stay here. I could at least comfort myself with the thought that the Vicomte wouldn't be around for a while.
"Could you hold him as well?" the Vicomte asked the man called Pierre.
"You could let us go, too," the man Pierre was holding suggested hopefully. "We did much less than Victor, and you let him go, so…"
"No," Marielle said sharply. "You'll go to prison with my father. And Victor will join you soon. The police with find him. So don't try to flee. Pierre can handle both of you very well, and I'll help him." She indicated her pistol. "You can go now, M. le Comte," she added in the Vicomte's direction, sounding far more polite all of a sudden.
The Vicomte nodded. He waited till Pierre had seized each of the men by one upper arm, then he ran towards the house.
"You should better let all of us go, while there's still time," my prisoner said. He had been blissfully silent for a while, yet apparently the shock of almost being killed hadn't lasted too long. "We'll break free anyway. What are you waiting for?" He looked at his henchmen, who exchanged interested glances.
Sensing the danger, I suggested:
"We should better separate them. You'll stay here with those two, and I'll take this one away, before he makes the other ones rebellious and I'll have to kill him. Christine, would you come with me?".
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. My ability to analyse people had never worked too well with her. I couldn't tell whether it had been the thought of being alone with me or with Marielle's father that had made her hesitate.
We walked till we reached the wall at the back of the garden. Seeing my prisoner eye it hopefully, I said:
"Don't even think about fleeing. You'd be dead before taking the first step.".
He nodded, but didn't make a comment. Well, it was certainly better than having him talk all the time.
I looked over to Christine, only to realise how pale she was. Of course I had noticed it before, but it hadn't seemed to be that bad from the distance.
"Shall we sit down?" I asked her.
"Yes… perhaps that would be better," she replied faintly. Holding the Punjab Lasso in one hand, I used my other arm to keep her from falling as she sank down on the ground. I encouraged her to lean against the wall before I sat down as well, pulling Marielle's father with me. I soon found myself between Christine and him, and for obvious reasons, I preferred the former as my company. I threw a brief glance at the house, yet fortunately it was hidden from view by several trees. So my beloved didn't have to see it.
When I had suggested taking Marielle's father away from the others, my only intention had been to keep all of us secure. I had wanted to remove the temptation of killing him after all, thus making Marielle miserable. Yet now that I was sitting here, mere inches away from Christine, it occurred to me that our sudden solitude could have other advantages as well. It seemed to have been a year since the last time I had had a decent conversation with the woman I loved.
"Are you all right?" I wanted to know. "What happened to you? Mme.Gardé and the new coachman told me a few things, but I can't seem to remember them too well."
So Christine told me her entire story, starting with Meg's visit and her setting off to the opera and ending with the moment I had come to the house. I couldn't help feeling ashamed because I had caused so many people so much trouble, confusion and pain. Yet I was also angry.
"If I had known what that Victor almost did to you, I wouldn't have let him go," I remarked grimly after she was finished. "And Pierre doesn't sound too reliable either. Are you sure that he's on our side now?"
"He's on Marielle's side," Christine answered simply. "He'll do whatever she asks him to. He's – "
"He's a fool, that's what he is!" my prisoner interrupted her. He didn't seem to be familiar with even the most basic rules of politeness. Had he never heard of the well-known fact that interrupting someone, especially a woman, was highly inappropriate? "I've had enough of it," he went on, uttering exactly what I was thinking about him in that moment. "If I had had any idea that he was in love with my daughter, I'd have thrown him out into the street right away. He wasn't good for much anyway. And love only distracts people from what's really important. But then…" He threw us a sideways glance, sneering. "…you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? Jumping around in bed at night, so loudly that everyone wakes up! Is that the right behaviour for a married woman and a… a… whatever you are? I wonder what the Comte would say if someone happened to tell – "
He finished his sentence with a gurgling sound, keeled over and lay motionless on the grass. There had been no other way. I wouldn't have been able to stand him for another second.
"Erik!" Christine exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock. "You weren't supposed to kill him. And I… I didn't think you'd do such a thing anymore…" She looked at me, and there was a great sadness in her eyes.
"He's not dead," I hastened to explain. "I merely tightened the noose a little, enough to make him pass out because of the lack of air. I should have thought of doing it sooner. It would have saved us a lot of trouble. He won't recover completely until about half an hour has passed, and he certainly won't be able to tell the Vicomte anything. So you don't have to worry. But why did he know about us at all? Or is he simply a very good guesser?"
Christine gave a sigh.
"He must have read the note Jacqueline put into my pocket. You see, we… we must have been a little too loud last night, Jacqueline heard us and wrote the note to tell us to be more careful in the future, lest we woke someone up," she said, her pale cheeks flushing.
"Oh…" I made, feeling both embarrassed and proud.
"And what happened to you?" she asked quickly. "Why didn't you recognise us anymore?"
Perhaps I would have liked to discuss our bedroom activities a little longer, yet since she seemed so eager to move away from the topic, I didn't elaborate either, but answered her questions as well as I could.
"I don't know why all this happened," I finished. "But I'm glad that I came back just in time."
"So am I," Christine said quietly. "You saved our lives, you and… and Raoul." The expression on her face grew very serious. I knew what was on her mind.
"What will become of us, now that he's back?" I asked, hating myself for the note of panic in my voice. I had fought against dangerous men with and without pistols, yet now was the first time that I was truly afraid.
She gave me a sad smile.
"I have no idea, Erik," she replied. "I have no idea."
Her hand found mine, and we held onto each other till we saw people running onto the lawn from all directions. The police had come at last.