Chapter 73 Torment of the worst kind

Meg's face was warm from the late afternoon sun that shown in through the carriage window. She'd nearly fallen asleep a half-dozen times in her trip to the first house. She had no idea if she would be able to fetch another hansom before nightfall, and had settled in her mind that she would have to explore the abandoned farm, hoping some sort of accommodations could be made for the evening. She was dropped here by the hansom every time she visited Paris, so it wouldn't be anything suspicious if Monsieur De Chagny inquired.

She'd not worried about supper. The innkeeper had sent her off with a rather hardy lunch, and it would be more than enough for several meals. She was set for the evening.

Meg's thoughts raced back and forth, traveling as a spider through the intricate webs in her mind. She felt desperate. She felt confused. She felt like her world had been turned upside down, and was spinning, threatening to tumble off its axis into a dark abyss.

Meg had no want to hurt Christine. No desire to cause Erik pain. What would they think of such news? She drew the picture from her pocket, pulling it close to her face, examining each inch of it. "It looks just like him," she muttered to herself. The more she tried to find dissimilarities, the more pronounced the similarities became. The same dark hair. The same stance of his frame. The frown…..it was almost eerie as her mind's-eye flashed between the two men…they were almost…..identical. The shape of their eyes, the turn of their lips. How could this have gone unnoticed? Perhaps De Chagny's age and grey temples, along with his ruddy complexion from years of hard drinking and the cigars he couldn't quite give up, had altered him. Meg couldn't shake the images from her memory. The sheer idea of it seemed all but preposterous. She toyed with the dilemma…if Erik never woke, would it even be worth telling anyone? Would it be better if this were all kept a secret until if or when his condition changed?

Meg jerked back to reality as the carriage slowed as it entered the town. She'd have plenty of time to ponder. A large old house alone was hardly good for anything else. She'd have to be her own company for the night.

The driver, although new, no doubt had been trained well. He escorted her out of the carriage as a lady should be. "May I help you in with the bags mam?" He was curiously scanning the property. Yes, the lawn was cared for, but hardly the manicured perfection that was proper in those days.

"Thank you, I'll be just fine taking them in on my own." Meg smiled politely. "My name is Ronaldo young miss, if ever you are in Paris again, and in need of service, you may contact the concierge at the Starboard, they are able to reach me." Meg smiled, reaching into her pocket to pay her fare. "No need mam, Monsieur DeChagny has already taken care of this." Meg smiled again. "Thank you. Good afternoon to you then."

She turned and moved up the sidewalk. She felt a bit uncomfortable as the carriage did not pull away, nor did she hear any evidence that the hansom had moved toward it. Upon reaching the house she turned to see Ronaldo staring at her. Noticing her glance he turned abruptly and mounted the carriage, and was off.

Meg pushed open the heavy front door, entering and quickly closing and latching it behind her. She began to wander through the house. All the furnishings covered in heavy canvas. There were five bedrooms, a master suite, servant's quarters, a large sunroom facing out over a large flower garden in the back. A full kitchen, sparse dishes, and a few other amenities. Perhaps the house had been occupied, but it was obvious, that if it had been, it was not recently. Meg had never really questioned it.

Meg settled on the room with lavender wallpaper. It had a large four-poster bed, and a lovely window seat. The water closet was just outside of the room, a comfort to her since she'd be alone for the evening. Really, she tried to calm herself, it should be quite safe, no one would know she was there. In the morning she would take the short walk into town and fetch a hansom. She could have done so before the afternoon was out, but decided a night alone to clear her head….sort things out, would be good for her. She needed to make some decisions, and it was always best if they were slept on before executed.

Meg uncovered the bed, finding it was fully made, fine silk duvet, lavender sheets, plump pillows. "Why would he go to all of this trouble and not stay here?" Meg wondered to herself. She couldn't begin to imagine or understand all of Erik's eccentricities, there were far to many, and he was far too complex and private to be analyzed. The window seat became the supper table for Meg. Taking supper in an empty dining room seemed far too distressing in a house as large as this one.

Meg found her mind wandering once again to the subjects that would not leave her. "How can I tell Christine…show Christine this picture?" She fumbled with it in her hands, looking down at Raoul's father, but seeing another man. It could not be a coincidence, it was simply too obvious to deny.

Meg swallowed her bite of sandwich, taking a sip from the jar of water. "They look so much alike…it was simply undeniable." Meg shook her head. Though this issue plagued her, another burned still deeper in her. The words of Raoul's father resonating in her mind. "He professed his love for you…..injured state….didn't remember saying those words to you…." Meg only wished she could remember it! Immediately she blushed. Yet there was no one in the house, she felt embarrassed by her feelings. How long would she have to deny her feelings…her obvious attraction to a man who was most decidedly single? She shook her head, frustrated by her own thoughts. He still pined for Christine; that was all she really needed to know.

Meg stood, putting away the rest of her supper; she'd lost her appetite. She planned to go outside to enjoy the sunset, but then thought better of it. The less observable activity, the safer she would be. She wandered back down to the sunroom. True, the view wouldn't be as good here, as it was designed to take benefit of the rising not the setting of the sun, but it still provided vast windows were she could enjoy the night sky as the day drew to a close. She uncovered a lounge and plopped down in it in a rather unladylike fashion. Manners were of little matter when one was alone.

She had brought her writing book and instruments with her. Perhaps putting some of her thoughts on paper would help clear her mind. She settled in and began to write, tears rolling down her cheeks as she recounted the events of the day. She loved Christine…she appreciated Erik…but now Raoul….what to make of him…..

XXXXX

Christine and Madame Giry had taken lunch and supper alone. Nadir had sat with Erik all afternoon, and now as they had finished dinner, they could smell the smoke from the pipe tobacco that Nadir was so fond of, wafting out of the room above the garden. "It is probably best my dear. He needed to talk to an old friend. Nadir has always had a good affect on him, and I have no doubt that today's visit will be the same." Madame Giry laughed, "in fact, I'm quite sure of it. Had it not gone well, Erik would have expelled Nadir from the room hours ago!"

Christine smiled at Madame Giry, but underneath, she was nervous. The longer they were apart, the stronger the urge to run back to him became. She needed to know that he was not angry with her for what she had done. That he would forgive her for allowing the surgeon to do what he had. That he did not think she had done it for her sake; that she loved him just as he had been before.

"Christine…Christine….!" Madame Giry had reached out to touch her shoulder, drawing her back from her thoughts. "Forgive me, I cannot help but…" Madame Giry shook her head. She reached out and took Christine's other shoulder, turning her to face the house.

Instantly her heart leapt for joy. Nadir was strolling towards them, his "patient" in a chair with wheels underneath. Christine gasped. It had been months since she'd seen Erik dressed in his classic white shirt, and dark smoking jacket. Aside from the obvious inconvenience of the chair that was his temporary mobility, he looked every bit the gentleman. Her mind played tricks on her as the evening shadows crossed over the lawn. For a brief moment she thought she saw a mask covering one side of his face. She blinked several times, and as they came closer, she realized he had simply been resting his head in his hand, the white cuff of his sleeve, obscuring her view. She stood patiently by Madame Giry's side, as though they had anticipated Nadir and Erik's arrival in the garden.

"A nice evening for a stroll among the flowers!" Nadir proclaimed as he pushed the chair next to the benches at the center of the garden just shy of where Madame Giry and Christine now stood. "Indeed it is," Madame Giry said as she walked over to join Nadir on the bench.

Christine could feel Erik's gaze upon her. It was as burning and intense as the mid-day sun. She could barely look up from the ground, afraid that he would be angry. She swallowed, surely he would not embarrass her in the company of Nadir and Madame Giry…this was as secure a collection of people as she could have hoped for. She glanced up at Erik, his eyes did not move; they drew her to him.

As she sat on the bench next to his chair, she reached over, hoping only that he wouldn't reject her advances, placing her hand over his in his lap. Her heart melted as she felt his hands warmly wrapping around hers, tenderly caressing it. Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over her lids and down her cheeks before she could stop them. "Shhhh…" came his calming voice, no hint of malice or scorn in his tone.

"Nadir, have I ever showed you the fine orchids by the fence, they are most unusual, some are double blooms, a rare treat indeed." Madame Giry sounding quite genuine, although her intentions were transparent. "Why no, I don't recall every seeing a double orchid, come, do show me." Nadir and Madame Giry rose walking away as if they'd been the only two people present for the exchange.

"Christine, I hope you do not mind," Erik began, "but I've shared our news with Nadir. He is the closest thing I've ever had to a brother, and I know he will keep it in his confidences until we are ready." Christine smiled. This was going to be a normal conversation, and it had been a long while since they'd had one of those.

"He will be quite the dotting uncle I'm afraid, we might have difficulty seeing our own child once it arrives!" Christine smiled even wider, as she finally had the courage to look up at Erik. Even now it still startled her to see an entire face. When he was at rest, it had looked almost artificial, but now, having animation, it was quite real, and that was unsettling even for her. He was treacherously hansom, his eyes like molten pools of gravity that could have attracted the most reticent creature.

Christine smiled, squeezing her hand against Erik's palm. "No doubt the child will be loved by many, a fortunate young lad he will be indeed!" she said. Erik smiled at Christine "and if it is a daughter that graces our family first, what then?" Erik asked as he looked down. He continued, "I've been dreaming Christine….dreaming of a daughter…she is the very image of you, dark flowing locks, soft eyes, and the voice of an angel…." He trailed off. "She rather likes riding on my shoulders as we walk along the beach as the sun sets, or running through the tide as it moves in…." He smiled, a distant look on his face as though he was peering through a fog into the future, and it brought him such unparalleled joy. "The dream was so real, it simply repeated itself over and over again."

"Nadir told me that you could hear me!" Erik turned his head inquisitively "whatever do you mean?" Christine settled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder, slipping both hands into his lap, winding her fingers through his hands mindlessly. "When you slept I talked…sometimes incessantly. Each morning during your bath, I'd tell you of my dreams from the previous night. Something about that particular dream seemed to calm you. It was as if you could hear me and responded with your silence like a child does that is enchanted with a story. Though your body slept, it was your mind that refused to give way, though it could not communicate with the outside world." Christine paused, breathing deeply, "it was this that gave me hope that you would come back to us."

Erik sighed, a cough rising from his lungs. He held his bandaged side as he allowed his reflexes to take over. Coughing was good he reminded himself of what the physician had said. It would make him stronger.

Madame Giry and Nadir glanced back out of concern for the wretched wheezing that came from Erik, fighting the urge to rush to him like an invalid. Short of being unconscious, they knew Erik would have none of the infernal codling that they'd been able to do while he slept.

Soon the coughing fit subsided, and a maid appeared with a fresh pitcher of lemon water, and a bit of honey to soothe his raspy throat. Christine nodded, and the maid disappeared. She didn't mind the help, but caring for Erik was hers to do, and hers alone. She wanted to be able to help him every step of the way. He'd been there for her in so many ways….she had much to repay.

"Now what did you and Nadir visit about all afternoon that was so much more important than joining the ladies in your life for lunch?" Christine said, as she filled the silver spoon with a full serving of the sticky amber liquid, resting it slightly above Erik's lips. Erik gave her a disapproving look before realizing she would not relent. He opened his mouth obediently as she slid the spoon in. He closed his lips around it, sliding his tongue along the rim as she slid the spoon back out. Something about this stirred her, and she leaned tenderly kissing him. The taste of honey on his lips, the caress of her tongue as she glided it along his lower lip. Erik shuddered.

Christine at once felt a flush of crimson on her cheeks. "I am sorry Erik, I simply, it was…I didn't think before…" She was flustered. Erik blinked his eyes several times. It had been a painful embarrassment last night, that he could not even embrace his wife, and now, in that moment, she tormented them both. "Christine…" was all he could say.

"Erik, please let me….I am…." she stammered. "I love you!" Christine put her head again on Erik's shoulder, hoping that he would understand. Erik let out a staggered breath, "do not worry my dear…at least we are certain that our passions have not died while I slept." Erik tried to comfort her, making Christine smile. He was always trying to be considerate of her feelings, no matter the pain or discomfort it caused him.

"Now my dear husband, do tell, what else did you dream of during your sleep?" Erik smiled, resting his head on hers as they watched the sun set. "I'd be most inclined to explain them to you, but I fear that you may already know them, as they were most likely your dreams before they were mine!" The pair laughed.

Off in the distance Nadir said to Madame Giry, "it is good to hear them laugh, quite good indeed." Nadir smiled at Madame Giry as he reached out placing his hand over hers on the fence.

XXXXX

Meg had faded off into sleep, papers in her lap fluttering in the breeze, the ink of her pen now staining her dress as it laid carelessly at her side. She was startled awake by a loud thud. She sat straight up, blinking fiercely trying to focus her eyes. The sun was not yet completely set, but the shadows were crossing over on the lawn, the trees casting eerie images across the house. Perhaps it had been her imagination, after all, no one knew that she was there.

Meg slid her legs off of the lounge and stood. She began straightening the papers that had fallen to the floor. She noticed the large stain of ink on her dress by the pocket, and looked down at the pen that had rolled to the middle of the chair. "Blast!" At least it was one of her older dresses. Perhaps part of the fabric could be removed and replaced.

She lifted her head looking toward the door to the hallway, her breath caught in her chest. It must have been her imagination, she thought she had seen something move in the shadow. She shook her head "I'm giving myself such a fright, and for no good reason," she thought as she went to the door and opened it, walking into the decidedly warmer hallway. The air was stale. A house shut up for months had a special kind of heaviness that seemed to hang in the air, having no escape.

The hall was dark as she made her way back to her room. She found the kerosene lantern that hung in the corner, hoping that it still contained fuel to light. She shrugged as she thought of how careless it was that she hadn't checked that before. It would be nearly impossible to find her way around the house without it, and who knew if or where a cache of candles would be kept. She held up the match to the wick, but it did not light. Carefully pulling down the lantern, she could tell by the weight of it, that it contained no oil.

She plopped down onto the bed. Where would she begin to look in this big old house? "The dining room!" she said. At least she could feel her way back down the hallway to the staircase. The dining room was just off of the foyer and she was convinced she could find her way without killing herself.

She moved quietly down the stairs, though there was little need to do so. Perhaps it was her training as a ballerina that made her so, but it came as an almost involuntary reflex. If she traveled, she did so with grace and elegance, or not at all. Once at the bottom of the stairs she looked over toward the door. She thought she had latched it securely when she came in, and yet now it looked to be ajar. She felt a chilly shiver run up her back as she focused in the darkness at the latch on the door…it was indeed undone.

She jerked to her side, as she heard another thud, the same as the sound before, it had not been her imagination! Meg moved quickly but as quietly as a butterfly in an afternoon breeze. She found her hand on the long stem of the poker from the fireplace in the dining room. Perhaps it was an animal, a stray dog or cat, having smelled the food, come looking for scraps. She shook her head again at the irrational thought, an animal cannot unlatch a door!

She tried to calm herself, but her trembling hands, and racing heart made her feel faint. She heard it again, shuffling of feet…yes most decidedly feet. She drew in a deep breath, pushing her body rigidly against the wall as she realized that whoever it was, they were only feet from her. In the shadows she could barely make out the frame of the person. It was crouched, trying to take advantage of the darkness of the shadows. It moved slowly passed her down the hall and toward the stairs. It carried no weapon, but had a rope and strips of cloth in its hands. Meg thought if it had been a robber, he surely would have spent his time in the silver closet, or at the very least, taken paintings off the walls, or items from the library.

Meg felt herself going weak at the knees. She was holding her breath hoping only to wait until it mounted the stairs before exhaling. The person, all dressed in black, moved painfully slow, attempting to make no sound. It was both terrifying and intriguing to observe someone who thought they were moving without the knowledge of another. In spite of her best attempts to wait, Meg gasped, lurching forward, grabbing the side of the table in the foyer.

Hearing the sound, the man stood to full height and rushed back down the stairs. Meg was able only to let out one shrill scream before he descended upon her. As he grabbed at her violently she thrashed about like an animal in a trap. She clawed at his face, feeling flesh under her nails as he shrieked in pain.

Meg managed to get free by kicking him hard in the shin with her heel, and he dropped her. She ran for the front door, reaching out she grabbed the handle. As she did she heard an angered growl come from behind her as the man grabbed her around the waist with his hands, pulling her down onto the floor. Through the open door Meg could see out into the blackness. Though she knew that no one could hear her, she cried out in fear anyway as the man dragged her by her feet back toward the dark recesses of the kitchen.

The last thing Meg saw was the face of the man, contorted and filled with anger, several large gashes where her nails had done their carving in his flesh. He reached up, wiping the blood from his face, and looked back at her. "Now you'll pay for this…flesh for flesh…as he back handed her across the face. The room spun and went black.