Paladin62

As much as he originally wanted to protest, Erik couldn't ask Philippe to leave. The hopelessness in Philippe's eyes revealed far too much, and when Erik had seen Sophia and her brother sitting side by side, he had felt unnecessary.

"I must sit down," Philippe groaned. The last Erik had seen of Sophia's brother was him leaning against the wall as he walked down the hall and disappeared into the parlor. Judging by his injury, Erik was certain Philippe would be out cold by the time he walked downstairs again.

Returning to his room to change clothes, Erik wondered when he had ever felt necessary. Certainly he'd never been needed in the opera house. He'd entertained, never served, others in Persia, and that seemed his greatest use. But nowas he stood alone in his room he couldn't bear to think of those days. The opera house had felt like a much-needed holiday to a man who wasn't quite thirty years old. The darkness welcomed him, shrouded him in a world that hid the horrors he had known through his travels. Candlelight muted colors, dulled perception. He no longer merely observed the world around him; he felt it.

But now Erik felt nothing, and the lack of sensation frightened him. Days before he left Persia he'd felt it, this apathy, the indifference between survival and death. The numbness had returned but it had changed—mutated or evolved,he wasn't sure. He merely knew that it existed and that was why he had to see Philippe. Just as with Citrine leading him back to Sophia, Philippe was yet another reminder of humanity.

Returning to the parlor in fresh clothes, Erik looked at Philippe, who was slumped in his chair with a handkerchief pressed to his forehead. He was so pale that Erik was surprised Philippe didn't bleed white.

"Stay here," Erik instructed before he turned and walked to the kitchen.

-o-

Philippe was certain he was about to pass out. He was cold, his vision dark around the edges. His stomach growled from its contents being violently removed hours ago, leaving him thirsty and with a terrible taste in his mouth.

But he would have died for Sophia. Perhaps he was dying for her now. His only solace was that Karl Turro hadn't violated her, which meant that his sister was not in danger of conceiving. Sighing, Philippe was aware of the tears gathering in his eyes but he had no strength to brush them away. It felt as though days had passed since Monsieur Belmont had told him to wait in the parlor. Philippe had no choice but to wait.

Unable to think, Philippe closed his eyes and did nothing more than focus on his breathing, fearing that if he didn't, the next breath wouldn't come.

-o-

Erik was gravely concerned about Philippe's condition. Head injuries were dangerous, and by the looks of it, Philippe was quite fortunate that his neck hadn't snapped.

Erik returned to the parlor with chicken livers from the birds Citrine had killed earlier in the night. They were soaking in wine sauce for tomorrow's dinner, the smell so strong that Erik had to look away when he heated them.

Not wanting to leave Philippe for long, Erik had cooked them for several minutes and shoveled the contents into a bowl. The food didn't appear the least bit appetizing, but taste was of little concern. As he carried the bowl down the hall, Erik had no idea why he hadn't demanded that Philippe remain in his own home. Citrine was the cook and caretaker. He was the one who left a half-dead man bleeding in the smokehouse with his arms sliced open and a bloody, broken face.

Nothing made sense. That was as far as he was willing to reason.

Philippe was sleeping—or he appeared to be falling asleep when Erik opened the door. With Philippe's eyes half-open, Erik couldn't tell if he were exhausted or if the swelling to his forehead had forced his eyes to close.

"Eat," he said as he placed the bowl beside Philippe.

The sound of Erik's voice startled Philippe and he strained to sit up, the handkerchief he loosely clutched slipping from his fingers.

"What is that smell?" he asked weakly.

"Chicken liver. You've lost a lot of blood," Erik answered without looking at him.

"Not nearly enough to warrant eating this," Philippe groaned as he picked at the bowl's content with the fork and examined it. "Liver and what?"

"Wine sauce."

Philippe rested his head against the back of the chair. "I beg your pardon, but it appears that Citrine has planned a cruel and unusual experiment on your stomach's tolerance, Monsieur."

"It will keep you alive," Erik replied.

"Taste it and you may change your mind."

Erik briefly stared at Philippe before he trained his gaze on the piano and found the memories it conjured up unbearable.

"Sophia said that you would find my humor lacking," Philippe continued after he swallowed the last of his food. "I don't know why I'm bothering to speak right now or why I assume you are willing to listen. I don't know anything. I never have. Do you know why I realize this?"

Erik glanced at Philippe and then turned his attention to a picture on the wall.

"Because if I had one scrap of knowledge I sure as hell would not have allowed that man anywhere near my sister." He paused, and for a moment Erik thought Philippe had passed out.

"Sophia never wanted to be near him. I thought it was because she was being difficult and wanted to leave for Paris like her friends and cousin. But it was always him. He was the reason she fought me so and I wouldn't listen to her. And now this has happened. He could have killed her. He could have done many terrible, wretched things to her. He would have…" Philippe choked on his words and lowered his head until his chin touched his chest.

Erik felt his heart begin to pound. All night he had assumed he'd found her too late, but Philippe mercifully revealed the truth.

"He didn't…?"

Philippe shook his head and curled his fingers around his handkerchief. "Thank God you found her, Monsieur. Thank God you saved her."

Neither of them spoke for quite some time. Erik didn't know what to say or how to react, as Philippe had been adamant about instilling strict boundaries between Erik and Sophia. Even if Philippe allowed slack, it was unlikely that Sophia would willingly see him again soon, if ever.

"You're certain…" Erik stammered at last. "That she wasn't…?"

Philippe blinked slowly, his ordeal finally hitting him full force. "You didn't realize?"

"Fidelio attacked Turro. When I walked into your house I found her…" Erik said, his voice fading away. Clearing his throat, he stared at his hands. "The belt…"

"I saw," Philippe said through his teeth.

Erik ran his fingertips along his forehead and sighed. He wondered when the image of Sophia splayed out on the floor would leave him, when the regret he felt like a boulder atop his heart would disappear. He already knew the answer. As long as he saw Sophia, he would never forget this night. None of them would.

It wasn't until a few moments later, when Citrine walked into the house that Philippe started to stand.

"I need to be with her," he explained.

"You haven't the strength to return home," Erik said, thinking that even if Philippe made it to his door he would most likely collapse in the threshold and do himself worse damage.

"It's not far."

"Far enough," Erik grumbled.

"I am of no concern to you," Philippe said under his breath, his dignity and stubbornness outweighing good sense.

"But Sophia is," Erik blurted out, his words catching him by surprise. He stood and turned away, knowing he should retract his words. "I care greatly for her, Monsieur."

"I know," Philippe answered. "I know."

Citrine knocked on the door and popped her head into the room. "Sophia is asleep again. Gabe is sitting outside her bedroom. Shall I spend the night in her room?"

"Yes, Citrine, if you would," Philippe answered.

"I will, Monsieur." She squinted at the empty bowl. "You ate my chicken liver?"

Philippe started to point at Erik, but Citrine shook her head. "Rest, Monsieur." She turned her attention to Erik. "Do you want your dog back?" she asked with a slight smile.

Erik shook his head.

Citrine's smile widened. "I hear you named him Fidelio. You know, Monsieur, I fed him for weeks and now he is your best friend? If I had known that I would have named him Traitor."

Clicking her tongue on the roof of her mouth, Citrine left.

Once she was gone, Philippe stumbled to the door.

"There is a spare bedroom upstairs. It's as far as you will make it tonight," Erik warned.

"I'm not returning home," Philippe said. "I plan to kill him first."