The roughness with which he removed my mask and my wig reminded me of my time as part of the freak show with the circus. However, instead of being met with gasps of horror, I snapped my eyes open to find the viscomte staring intently at my disfigurement with a peculiar interest. I didn't have to wonder what he was about to do for long, when his knuckles connected with the exposed cheekbone of my now unmasked face. The pain was like none I'd experienced since escaping that godforsaken circus. I'd never imagined that a boy such as the viscomte could apply such force with his fists.
Even the torment of watching him with my Christine paled in comparison as he hit me again, this time digging his nails into the tender flesh of my now-exposed temple. "You foolish monster," he laughed, "You think Christine could love something so hideous as you?"
The sound of his laughter stirred up rage within me the likes of which I hadn't felt in years. I clenched my hands into fists and fought against the ropes that restrained me. More laughter. Oh how I wished he would stop laughing. How he would cry were the tables turned, and oh how they would be. Even if it took every ounce of my will, all of my strength and the rest of my life, I would have revenge on him for this. But more than I wanted the revenge, I wanted to see Christine again. So when he picked up a large stick, I closed my eyes again, bracing for what would come next.
The wood was thick and heavy, but his first blow was softened by how sodden the stick was. It was warm enough that day for the snow to begin to thaw, and it very probably saved me from being knocked unconscious in the first few blows, which I took the full force of directly to my disfigured head.
"Such an ugly creature, who were you trying to kid? How could someone like Christine ever love someone such as yourself?" Raoul laughed. "No wonder she was so frightened of you."
"At least when she looks at me in fear there is truth in her eyes," I said. He jabbed me in the flesh of my stomach for my words.
"Let there be truth to your pain as well."
I flinched, but I refused to grant him the satisfaction of crying out in pain. Let him drag it out, let him do whatever he would, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. If he killed me, then he also killed Christine, for she would surely get lost and die in the sewers if she tried to come and find me. We would be together in death. I hoped it would be maddening to the viscomte. Perhaps then he could understand.
He brought back the stick and hit me across the chest, then across the face. "You will tell me how to reach her, or you will die at my hand."
"If you kill me," I growled, "You will stand no chance at finding her."
"Enough with this!" he said, throwing the stick at me. It made contact with my head and I slumped over, opening my eyes only to find that everything was spinning. The viscomte took something from his pocket, something small and glaring in the sunlight. It wasn't until he knelt down beside me and in one swift movement pressed it deep into my side that I realized it was a long, thin knife. "I hope you enjoy pain monsieur."
I hissed and tried to pull away from him, but with my arms bound I was useless. He twisted the knife in my side before withdrawing it quickly, wiping the blood on my shirt.
"Where is Christine?" he asked. I spat at him. He scowled at me as he stood up. "I'll ask you one more time. Where is Christine?" I refused to say anything in reply, and he kicked me, his foot connecting very close to where he had stabbed me. The pain that radiated from the wound was exquisite. Molten lead running through my veins would've been less painful.
"Your silence will cost you your life!" he roared. I fought to calm myself enough to speak, but he kicked me again in the same spot, only much harder this time. I rolled painfully onto my back, my hands digging into the icy, snow-covered ground. I grabbed for anything that I might be able to use to loosen the rope that bound my wrists together, but before I could get my hands around anything, Raoul's boot came smashing down in my face. Turning my head as the shadow hit me was the only thing that saved my nose from being flattened by his anger.
My vision was growing dark. Soon I would pass out, and who could know if I would ever rouse again?