AN: SURPRISE! Since we're only a week out from Forgotten Melodies being released in paperback and ebook, I figured why not share an extra chapter?
It was a cold winter's morn— not unlike the one so long ago that had seen her first breath— that threatened to take her last. Professor Valerius and his wife hadn't returned for Christmas as planned, and Papa Daaé had been let go from his job just before the new year. When their savings had dried up, they found themselves out in the cold, their landlord unwilling to grant them another extension.
It had been a foolish move to remain in Perros through the winter.
Christine woke that particular cold morning to find her father still and silent beside her in their little snow nest in the alley near the market. It was where they had slept for the past four nights; it was where little eleven-year-old Christine had watched her father grow sicker and weaker with each passing day.
"Papa?" she asked, shivering as she nudged him in the ribs. A light shudder ran through the man's body, but he made no further movement to show that he had awoken. "Papa?"
Christine pulled her tattered blue mitten from her left hand, exposing her tiny, pale hand to the frigid air, and pressed it to her father's cheek. Almost immediately she pulled back, as though she'd touched a hot stove. He was positively burning up! She shrieked and leapt to her feet.
"Papa!" she cried. "Papa, please wake up! Papa please!" Her tiny, trembling hands shook her father desperately, and while his head lolled back and forth, he made no sign of wakefulness.
The young girl shook him and shook him, but it was to no avail. Beyond quiet groans of protestation there were no signs of life. "Please wake up," she cried as her muscles gave and she collapsed against his chest. Two days had passed since they could afford food, longer since they could afford more than one meal between them in a single day.
Though Papa Daaé had significant reserves of body fat to fall back on, Christine was growing thinner and weaker with each passing day. Without her father playing his violin for the occasional sou from the passersby on the street, she wouldn't last through the winter. As young as she was, she was fully aware of the very real possibility of her death if her father didn't recover.
And it was more terrifying to her than the prospect of living on the street for years to come.
"Help!" she cried, but her voice cracked as a sob worked its way up her throat. "Please, someone! Help me!"
The people of Perros had not yet begun to stir, save for a few merchants on the other side of town. Christine's cries fell on deaf ears as her father drifted further and further from life.
As her shrill, terrified cries echoed between buildings and out into the stillness of the morning, she began to realize that she wasn't going to receive the help she needed. Such was the fundamental problem with the life she had lived with her father in the nearly ten years following her mother's death. Together they had survived on the goodness of others— with a hint of sheer dumb luck at times. In the back of his mind, her father had known it would happen eventually. With Professor Valerius as his patron, however, he'd believed that such a fate was no longer possible.
Christine sobbed into her father's chest, beating her fists against him in a panicked attempt to wake him. "Please, Papa, I cannot do this alone! Come back to me, Papa come back!"
Through her tears and the horrible, choking sobs that tore their way from her chest she didn't hear the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow behind her. Even as long, slender fingers curled around her waist and pulled her gently away from her father's steadily weakening body, the only thing Christine knew was her own sadness and pain. It wasn't until a strange, almost lyrical voice began to speak that she realized she was no longer alone.
"Can you walk, child?" There was no emotion to the question, save perhaps for a hint of annoyance at the girl's continued tears. The man's voice was as smooth as silk and as deep as the night sky. It seemed to fill Christine's head, as though the words were being said within her thoughts.
Blinking back tears and wiping her eyes with her tattered blue scarf, she found herself staring at a tall, impossibly thin figure that loomed over her even as it knelt at her father's side.
"Wh— what?" she asked, sniffling.
"Are you able to walk, or will I have to carry you as well?" Now there was a definite tone of annoyance to his voice. She nodded, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "Come with me and try to keep up. Your father needs a doctor's care."
"You— You'll help my Papa?" Her voice quivered as she realized that this shadowy figure was really standing before her and not simply a figment of her imagination. The man sniffed.
"If it is still a possibility." With that, he threw the man over his shoulder and stood with little effort. Christine watched in shock as the impossibly thin man began to carry her father out of the alley. He was more than seven long strides away from her when she finally willed herself to move and ran after him as fast as her short, numb legs could take her.
The man led her around to the front of Professor Valerius' home, where he threw open the door and ushered her inside. She hesitated at the door, but only for a moment as her body betrayed her mind in favor of the delicious warmth she felt just inside. The man lowered her father to the floor just inside before entering the house. Christine watched, wide-eyed, as the man crouched down just to enter the house.
Outside and from Christine's especially low perspective, he had looked quite tall. With the doorframe for comparison, he looked like a positive giant. Once he'd dragged her father out of the way, he pushed the door closed and crossed the room to stoke a fire that looked positively pitiful.
It wasn't truly that much warmer inside the house, but it was warm enough that Christine could feel the difference. The warmth and the appearance of the strange, shadowy man had all but driven any thought of her father from her mind. It wasn't until he seemed to gasp for breath that she remembered that he was lying there on the cold stone floor.
"Papa!" she shrieked, hurrying to his side. She knelt and cradled his head in her lap, fresh tears welling in her eyes as the man drew a ragged breath.
"Your father is dying," the man said without turning away from the fire he was stoking.
"No! He can't— Papa! Papa stay with me, you promised you'd stay with me!"
"How long were you there in the alleyway?" The man asked. For the first time since entering the house, he glanced over his shoulder at her. His eyes seemed to glow in the dim firelight, and for the first time in a long time, Christine shivered from fear rather than cold. When she opened her mouth to reply to him however, all that came out was a pitiful wail.
"Papa can't die!"
"Screaming about it will not bring him back to life. He is not long for this world. Had someone stumbled upon you days ago, perhaps he'd have a chance, but if you've been back there this entire time—"
"We were waiting for Professor and Mamma Valerius!" she wailed. "They were supposed to come for Christmas and they never did. Professor Valerius was supposed to send money to Papa, he never did. We— We—" She hiccuped and any further words she tried to say were lost in a great, painful sob. The man froze, staring at her over his shoulder. For a long moment, he said nothing but simply listened to the sickly sounds coming from the man and the cries of sadness he knew too well coming from Christine.
"You knew the Professor?" His voice was softer than it had been, and Christine had to listen carefully to hear his words.
"He's the reason we came across the sea to France! He pays Papa for his music!"
It was only then that the man turned around and straightened up. Christine's eyes grew ever wider as she realized precisely how tall he was. The top of his head scraped against the ceiling. In the dim light cast by the fire, she caught the outline of a white mask that covered the top half of his face, leaving only his eyes and mouth visible.
"I regret to be the one to have to inform you, but Professor Valerius fell ill in the autumn. He died before Christmas. Madame Valerius has given this dwelling to me as a fulfillment of her husband's wishes."
"What?" Christine's heart fell. "No, but— they sent us a letter! Papa said they were coming back for Christmas! They sent a letter!"
The man cringed, an intense struggle raging within him. His instinct was to smack the child and demand her silence, but there was something about her that begged him to take pity on her.
He crossed the room, passing within a few inches of the girl and her father on the floor, and began to search through cupboards and drawers in the small kitchen.
"Warm yourself by the fire," he commanded when the sensation of the girl's eyes upon him grew too uncomfortable. "It shall do good to no one if you catch your death with a fire within your reach."
"But my father—" Christine looked down at the man who lay sprawled across the floor, burning with fever.
"He would certainly not wish for you to perish alongside him." There was a strange sense of finality to his words, and Christine didn't open her mouth to protest again. She hugged her father once more before standing and stumbling over to the rug in front of the fireplace.
The man in the mask turned his attention back to the task at hand, but he couldn't help but steal another glance at the girl. When she wasn't screaming and sobbing at him, she looked almost angelic.
He brought the items he'd gathered to the table by the sofa that faced the fireplace before turning his attention to Papa Daaé. The man's wheezing had grown less labored, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Moving him would be imperative to his survival in the longterm, but the act of moving him could cause him injury.
Looking down at the defenseless man he felt a flash of white hot anger. How careless this man had been to lie to his child as he had. He couldn't imagine the prideful nature the man had to have in order to justify endangering his life and his young child's on the street in the winter.
"What are you doing?" Christine asked. He froze at the sound of her voice. He had hoped she would be too preoccupied with warming herself to give much thought to what he did.
"I'm preparing to move him closer to the fire."
"So he'll warm up and be all right?" Her lower lip quivered as she broached the question. The man gaped at her, astonished at her complete lack of filter for her ever hopeful thoughts.
He opened his mouth to respond to her, but closed it and opted to say nothing. Instead, he crouched down and grabbed the man under his arms, dragging him across the smooth stone floor until the rug impeded the movement too much.
As he hoisted Papa Daaé up onto the sofa, the Swede gave a soft groan of pain. Christine was at his side before the masked man could finish setting the man upright. "Papa?" she asked hopefully. "Papa, are you awake?"
"Child, he cannot hear you."
"That's not true! Of course he can hear me, I know he can hear me—" One of the man's gloved hands came down and rested on her shoulder, and his face lowered until it was just a breath in front of hers.
"Arguing with me is not going to help your father. I am doing what I can to possibly bring him back to consciousness, but it will be brief if it happens. He is weak, far too weak to fight off whatever it is that has plagued his body. He is not long for this world." The girl stared at him with hatred mixed with fear in her eyes. "I can extend his life, but this will take his life."
"No!" she wailed. The thought of being alone in the world was far too terrifying. Who would care for her? Who would love her? There was no stopping the tears that streamed down her cheeks.
The man turned his full attention to her father, leaving her to cry it out on her own.
It was late in the day when Papa Daaé finally roused. His eyes opened slightly, just enough to make out the blurry image of his daughter leaning over him.
"Papa," she cried. "Papa stay with me."
"Little Lotte," her father whispered, his voice hoarse and halting. He raised his hand to brush one of her golden curls away from her face, but found he was too weak to reach her. "Oh, do not cry."
"Papa—"
"When I am in heaven, I will send an angel to watch over you. When I am in heaven—" Her father lurched forward and coughed violently. The man in the mask held him up as he fought for his breath, and Christine sobbed and pleaded with him not to die.
"Perhaps he should rest now," the masked man suggested. Christine shivered as his eyes flashed in the firelight. Once the coughing fit subsided, he leaned back and closed his eyes, breathing heavily.
"I love you, Christine." The little girl sobbed louder. "I will send the angel of music to you when I at last am in heaven. You shall want for nothing."
With that, the Swede fell limp, his head lolled off to the side, and his breathing ceased. The masked man attempted to revive him to no avail. By sunset, the little girl was an orphan, just like the man who stood nearby and pretended not to see or hear the girl as she wept over her father's body. Once he'd had quite enough of sitting and listening to her wailing, he retired to the back of the house where he would draft a letter to the widow Valerius. Perhaps she would take in the frightened little girl. He knew above all else that, while the girl was welcome in his home in the short term, there would be no long term housing offered.
The life of a mercenary was quite busy, after all.