"Did you ever have resort to that lust liqueur, Daroga?"
"Hm? Me? No. Why?"
"Well, it's awful, that's why! You get this…this THING…"
"Funny, I thought that was the idea," he cracked.
"Shut up! I mean it's not the usual enjoyable thing. It hurts like a bastard, and it doesn't go away when you're through with it. I don't like it," I grumbled.
"Will you stop complaining? You're not supposed to like it. Was the 'thing' serviceable? Did you accomplish your objective?"
"But what's the point if it's no fun?" I whined.
"Erik. If you recall, I procured that little elixir because you were experiencing a…minor setback. Did you get your trouble sorted out, or not?"
"I suppose," I admitted.
"You're not resorting to that stuff regularly--remember what I told you!" He scolded.
"I told you, it's not the most delightful root I've experienced. No, I'm not abusing it."
"Right, then stop complaining. Ungrateful scoundrel."
Masson was showing his little sister his ducks. He raced ahead of us, laughing. I carried Miri-ange to the pond's edge and sat her on my knee. Masson threw breadcrumbs as Miri-ange wriggled and squealed with excitement. Christine curled up in the pram to doze in the sunshine.
Masson poured some breadcrumbs into his sister's hand.
"Throw it, Miri-ange! Feed the ducks! You have to throw it!" he urged her.
The baby flailed and giggled, her fists clamped tight.
"Papa, she's not doing it."
"I don't think she can open her hand as easily as we can, Masson," I smiled. "It's alright, she's having fun learning about ducks with her big brother."
"How do we get the crumbs then?" he frowned.
"She'll forget about them in a bit," I assured him.
Suddenly, there was a cacophony of shouting as I was thrown forward. I clutched Miri-ange, terrified of dropping her, as unseen hands pummelled my head and shoulders.
"It's him! Get him!"
"BASTARD!"
"MURDERER!"
"PAPA! PAA-PAA!" Masson struggled in the grip of a policeman. Another policeman snatched Miri-ange from me. Still others wrestled me to the ground.
"Masson, it's alright--please, my children—"
"LIAR!" They tore my mask away. I couldn't hide my face as I struggled for a glimpse of the baby.
"Whose child is this? It can't be yours! MONSTER!"
Someone struck my head. My ear buzzed and rang.
"I tell you, I'll go with you; just take them home, please. Please, their mother…they're innocent, please take them home." I gave them Reza's address. Masson bit and kicked as they carted him away. Miri-ange screeched in alarm. She didn't understand, but she smelled the fear and anger.
I watched until they were out of sight. As long as my babies were home safe with Christine, I could turn back to these people who wanted my head. I believe there were six of them, but I couldn't be sure. They dragged me out of the park, punching, kicking and cursing at me.
They hauled me into a room and threw me into a chair. I was left with two of them; a tall one who looked afraid whenever he wasn't hitting me, and a stocky one who simply appeared to hate everyone, me in particular. I tried to take stock of my physical condition. My chest hurt. My head was ringing, and my neck was sticky; I guessed the ear they'd cracked had bled. My ribs ached from a couple of good punches; overall, not too bad. My face was bare. I kept my head down as much as possible out of habit and fear. I was just on the cusp of panic, but as I didn't know what was going on yet, it was a bad time to surrender to my old, untamed fears. I was still slightly hopeful that I'd be able to influence the outcome of whatever was happening, so I fought for calm.
"May I have my mask?"
"SHUT UP!" My tall captor cracked the other ear; blessedly, a glancing blow.
"We ask, you answer, Creature! Understand?"
I nodded.
A rat-faced man entered with two other policemen. His suit was rumpled and he reeked of smoke. The scribbled papers he carried were rumpled, as well. They forced my head back to give him a better view of my face. He only flinched slightly, but I think nothing would have shocked him. He studied me, not unkindly--blankly. I didn't meet his eyes. I don't like to be studied by strangers, obviously, and I was still struggling to remain calm.
"You're the Opera Ghost?" Ratman began.
"I was; no more—"
"You go there still." He insisted.
"Yes; sometimes I do, but I don't live there anymore."
He glanced at his papers.
"What name do you go by? Where do you live now?"
"Erik Rouen. I live at the home of my friend, Re—"
"Where the officers took the children?"
I nodded.
He asked how long I'd lived there, what I'd been doing since I left my lair. He asked me where I got my money. It was a hard job convincing him that yes, they really were my children, and that Christine was my wife.
"Christine Daae? The little songbird you abducted? Impossible!"
The tall one punched me in the stomach and accused me of lying. The chair and I went over. For the few seconds that I lay there, I felt an ocean of grief wash over me. Will I see Christine and the babies again? Christine, I'm sorry. No…no, I had to push those thoughts away or I would never get through.
Tall and Stocky righted me. Ratman began reading names from his paper.
"Did you murder Rene Demilnes?"
I shook my head. "I don't know who he is. No."
"Jean Boulanger? Alain Messner?"
"No."
"Sarah Allee? She was only twelve years old, Ghost," he snapped.
"A child? I wouldn't kill a child!" I was becoming steadily more frantic with each name he recited, beginning to understand what I was doing there.
"Joseph Mandela? Claudine Fletcher?"
"Who are these people? I tell you, I don't know any of them!" I insisted.
They left me then. All my limbs were stiffening, aching. They could have untied me; the door was guarded, after all. I realized that I had come to expect the same compassion, the same civilized treatment they might have given someone they considered a real human being. Could it be that I finally believed I merited such treatment? My god, so much love, I realized; so much love. I wriggled to make my ribs ache; I would not cry in that room. I would not think of the blessed life I now lived; would not mourn my hard-won humanity, even if they ripped it from me.
Two different policemen returned; I don't know how long I'd been sitting there. They brought me to a genuine cell, untied my hands, and threw me in. Back to a cage for Erik. I threw myself against the bars, rattled them, roared, screamed til I went hoarse. My demonstration set the entire jail into an uproar. The guards tried to threaten me into behaving myself, but I was beyond their reach. I reckon it looked like the second storming of the Bastille to them, with all the inmates in revolt, so they entered my cell and beat me unconscious.