Normal reading may resume. The worst is over.
Paladin58
While Citrine prepared to treat the damage Karl had done, Sophia returned to her room alone. It wasn't until she glanced at the clock that she realized it was almost dawn. Her head pounded, her shoulders sore and hand throbbing. More than anything she merely wanted to sleep, but Citrine insisted that she treat Sophia's injuries.
"Fine," Sophia relented at last, realizing it was probably better to have company than to be alone.
Glancing down, Sophia suddenly realized that she was wearing Erik's cloak around her waist. Tears stung her eyes as she sat on the edge of her bed and recalled the manner in which she awoke.
Her skin still crawled at the memory of Karl's touch, but feeling Erik's cloak beneath her outstretched hand had given her a sense of ease. She only wished that his touch, that remembering how frantically he rubbed her back and roused her to life, had been as comforting. Why had waking in his arms suddenly disturbed her? Why did his gentle breaths against her skin frighten her so? He'd never hurt her; he'd never hurt her. And yet she didn't want him anywhere near her—but still she wanted to see him again, if for nothing else but to apologize for being so foolish.
Confusion struck her as hard as her tears. Sophia grasped the fabric tighter, her hand balled into a tight, painful fist that she couldn't bear to release. Her thoughts were torn between the lingering fear of death and wondering what had become of Erik. She had no memory of him leaving or even if they had spoken. Vaguely she recalled him releasing her, but her only true recollection began with Citrine sitting her down in the kitchen. All else, fortunately, was a blur…for now.
Citrine tapped on the door and allowed herself in with a tray full of bandages and bowls. Once she saw that Sophia wasn't yet dressed, she averted her eyes.
"Do you need my assistance?" Citrine questioned with her back turned.
"He gave me his cape," Sophia said, her voice gravelly from her tears.
When Sophia looked up she found Citrine wistfully gazing at her.
"Do you think he is angry with me?" Sophia sniffled.
Standing beside the bed, Citrine cocked her head to the side. "There is only one person who has angered him, and it is not you."
"Where did he go? Is he searching for Philippe?" Sophia couldn't bring herself to say Philippe's body. Her mind couldn't quite grasp the reality of being completely alone, her parents both buried and now her brother joining them.
"I'm not certain," Citrine said, standing poised and ready to clean Sophia's face.
"I wish I were with him," she said, referring to her brother, whom she couldn't imagine living without.
"He may return," Citrine murmured.
Sophia's tears fell again, her body numb to the needle and thread closing a wound to her forehead.
-o-
Unexpected and overwhelming illness prevented Erik from carrying out his plans to torture Karl Turro for days on end. Erik envisioned dedicating his life to seeing Karl suffer, not stopping for food or rest.
He wanted to kill Karl, of that there was no doubt, but his mind was only on Sophia. He could no longer accept what had happened to her, what he had not prevented.
Stripped down to only his shirt and trousers, he wandered the property with Fidelio at his heels, refusing to leave his master's side.
There was no place for Erik to go, no place for him to escape to now that Sophia was with Citrine. Bile rose in his throat as he thought of how he had found Sophia, his anger causing his hands to shake with rage. Before he had the opportunity to grab Karl by the throat, Erik felt his knees go weak. He vomited in the snow, sickened by the very thought of Karl stealing everything from Sophia.
Fidelio nudged Erik with his head, offering his loyalty in his master's darkest hour. Sitting on his knees, Erik accepted and clutched the dog's wavy mass of gray fur, sobbing to himself, not knowing when he had ever before cried so hard.
For most of his life, the idea that he was a monster had been constantly reinforced. A mere glance at his face was punishment to the rest of the world. Karl also deserved to be thought of as a monster, as someone cruel and demonic.
Barely able to breathe, Erik lifted his head at the sound of horses. He spotted both riders immediately and rose to his feet, squinting in the night for a better look. He remained at a distance when he saw Philippe being held up by Gabe.
"My God," Erik muttered to himself.
Keeping his distance, Erik watched Gabe lead Philippe back home, their horses returned to the stable by Rene, who shook his head and said something under his breath to his son.
"I can do it myself," Philippe barked, even though his weight was supported by the horse master's son. His forehead was split open, tiny rivers of dried blood snaking down his face.
"Of course, Monsieur, as soon as we are inside," Gabe obliged. His eyes scanned the snow, and when he spotted Erik and Fidelio he nodded, his eyes trained on Erik's.
It wasn't until then that Erik realized he had completely forgotten about his mask. Receding into shadows, he waited, wondering what he should do. As much as he wanted to see Sophia, he couldn't go near her. She'd made it clear that she didn't want anyone to touch her, and as best as he could understand her situation, Erik decided to obey. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her any pain or fear—he'd done enough of that in his lifetime.
Pausing, Philippe saw Karl lying in the snow. His words were unclear, but Erik looked on as Philippe lunged with all of his might, spitting and kicking at Karl's unconscious body until he collapsed.
"I'll kill you! One scratch to my sister and I'll rip the head from your shoulders!" Philippe shouted, his voice tearing through the night.
Helping him to his feet, Gabe led Philippe past Karl and ushered him into the house.
Once Gabe and Philippe walked inside, Erik turned away and flexed his hands which were stiff from the cold. He stalked toward Karl, but Fidelio reached their prey first and clamped his jaw around Karl's bloody hand.
With a yelp, Karl sat up as the pain registered. Erik grabbed his feet before Karl could move or speak, and with Fidelio still latched on, he dragged Karl into the smokehouse and slammed the door.
"I am a monster, an uncaring beast of a man," Erik said, his voice low and cruel. Rolling up his shirt sleeves, he removed a butcher's knife hanging above his head. "And by morning you will have a face to match your soul."
With his eyes fixed on Karl, Erik's hand tightened around the butcher's knife handle.
-o-
Sophia screamed the moment Philippe burst into her room. Gabe was forced to release Philippe, as both of them couldn't fit through the doorway, and Philippe immediately fell to his knees at the foot of the bed.
"My God," Citrine said under her breath as she momentarily left Sophia in favor of Philippe. "You look as though you've been resurrected from the dead."
"I'll kill him," Philippe panted. He trembled with anger, his face bone white beneath his dried blood.
"Philippe," Sophia whispered. Her hand still clutching Erik's cape, she leaned forward on her bed and touched Philippe's cold, outstretched hand. "He told me you were dead."
Refusing Gabe's help, Philippe pulled himself up and sat beside Sophia in his damp, dirty clothes. Before he could examine Sophia, Citrine placed her palm against his chest and lifted his chin, her eyes squinting at his forehead.
"You need stitches, Monsieur," Citrine said.
"Not yet," Philippe said as he continued to stare at Sophia.
With her hand still holding his chin, Citrine shook her head. "There is no waiting," she said firmly. "Sit still, Monsieur."
"Care for my sister," Philippe waved her off. He scooted closer to Sophia, his eyes turning glassy as he looked into his sister's face. "Someone must care for my sister."
Sophia cautiously inched back as Philippe reached for her and he froze, his fingertips lingering mere inches from her knees. His eyes continued to stare at the cloak draped around her, his Adam's apple noticeably bobbing as he pressed his lips together. The relief that had been evident in his eyes the moment he saw Sophia had faded.
Citrine's hand brushed against his shoulder and she nodded, her lips forming a barely noticeable smile. "Monsieur Belmont," she said, keeping her voice low.
Philippe gazed at Citrine, his eyes void of understanding. "I saw him in the yard with the dog."
With a nod, Citrine looked to Sophia, who was studying her bruised hand. Her lips quivered at the mention of the property owner's name, but she didn't lift her eyes or utter a word.
"He should return inside," Citrine said simply.
Philippe forced himself to stand once more. "I will kill Karl Turro," he vowed, his voice shaking with rage.
Citrine gave Philippe a sharp look. "Would you be so kind as to ask Monsieur Belmont to return to the parlor before he or my dog freezes to death?"
Philippe studied Citrine a moment before nodding at last. His strength was sapped, but his anger showed no signs of deteriorating for quite some time. Unfortunately, there was little he could do with his anger, as every step he took made him sick to his stomach and his head pounded with such intense pressure that he had half the mind to drive a nail into his skull to stop the throbbing.
"I'll find him," Gabe volunteered. "Monsieur Dupree should not stand a moment longer. He's not well."
"Don't speak of me as though I don't exist!" Philippe bellowed.
"Stop, please," Sophia begged, her voice so low that she nearly went unheard. Her eyes had filled with tears again, her mottled face showing the signs of bruises she would wear for weeks to come. "Please don't yell any more, Philippe."
Ashamed, Philippe nodded and bowed his head. He reached for Sophia's hand but she withdrew from him. With nothing left to do Philippe remained at the end of the bed while Sophia sat in silence.
"I will boil water," Citrine announced as she followed Gabe out of Sophia's room.
"There are no words to tell you how sorry I am," Philippe whispered once he and Sophia were alone. He paused and studied the top of her lowered head. "But I swear to you, Sophia, he will pay for this. He will pay quite dearly."
-o-
Citrine grabbed hold of Gabe's arm before he lumbered out the front door.
"Be careful," she warned.
Gabe's eyes narrowed. "Careful of what?"
Shaking her head, Citrine handed him her apron. "You stay here."
"Citrine—"
"Gabe, please. I will find him. You've not an ounce of a woman's touch, my dear."
Exhaling, Gabe ran his hand through his black hair. "Then we shall stay together."
Citrine smiled and reached for the doorknob. "He has my dog. He will listen to me," she said before she disappeared.