Hello, everyone. I hope you're enjoying the summer. Here's the next vignette, and a big thanks to everyone who continues to read. There may only be one more after this, depending on how long it becomes. It may take two more vignettes to resolve the last issues.
Thanks to MadLizzy for all her support.
Read and Review!!!
It took Erik only a few months to gather the desired documents. Sometimes he would leave for the entire night, and Christine would lie awake in the dark, the covers pulled up to her chin. Two fears circled in her mind. What if he never came back? What if he…injured someone? When Erik returned, she would scoot up to his side and wrap an arm around his waist, burying her face into his chest or shoulder. He would kiss the top of her head and say, "All is well."
One night, he came home and immediately switched on the light. Erik reached into his black jacket and removed several pieces of papers. He presented them to her, and she took them into her shaking hand. There were birth certificates, social security cards, driver's licenses, insurance information…everything. Erik was silent as she flipped through them.
After a minute, she set the papers on the sheets and turned to wrap both her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she murmured into his ear.
"We had better not need them. This house is mine."
"With any luck, we won't. I'm being extra careful. But I haven't seen or heard anything strange."
"Neither have I." Erik paused. "I investigated the boy."
Her heart pounded, but she didn't release him. "You did?"
"I did not lay a hand upon the idiot, and he does not know of my existence. I merely…observed. On the weekends, Mr. Wickham has a fondness for females of the night and certain recreational drugs. If he ever disturbs us, there are various avenues of destroying him."
"Oh…."
"However…it appears he is preparing to leave. Someone else is renting his condominium in one month; it is nearly empty."
"Really? He's leaving?" She relaxed into him. "Oh, Erik. That makes me feel better. Finally."
He glanced at the papers. "Still…now we are prepared for whatever else comes upon us. There must always be an escape route. We should have organized this years ago."
"Well, now we're protected…because of you. And you did it without hurting anyone. I'm…so proud of you."
She looked up into his eyes, and they shared a long kiss. Slowly, she began to undo the buttons of his white shirt. Her lips trailed down his chest, and she smiled against his pale skin as his fingers wandered over her body, gently removing her nightgown. "It is divine," he whispered into her ear once he'd positioned her beneath him, her bare legs entwined with his. "I am undisturbed with my wife in my house."
"Our peace," she softly agreed. "I love you." She pressed her lips to his shoulder and sucked in her breath at the warm, tingling sensations. This was her cocoon. And she felt loved and protected with her husband moving against her and their baby sleeping safely in the other room. She pulled him closer and tilted her head back onto the pillow at the pinnacle, releasing her breath in a heavy sigh. Erik's soft cry was the ending note.
As they rested in the afterglow, she was about to tell him that Eva had stood that day, using the sofa's edge to steady herself. But then Christine decided it was best not to bring up their daughter. Erik considered this their time. Content, she started to drift off against his shoulder.
To her surprise, though, he suddenly mentioned her. "You go out with Eva often."
"Once or twice a week," said Christine, opening her eyes again. "To the park. It's good for her to have fresh air. And she loves the swings and slides. It's a nice playground—never too crowded."
"I see." He didn't seem upset, simply curious.
"You're always welcome to come with us," she added. "We go in the evening sometimes."
"Mm," was his only answer. He rested his cheek against her head, and they slept.
It was still difficult to discern how Erik felt about Eva, but Christine had learned how to handle certain situations so that there was less tension.
Like a good mother, she had bought plastic insertions for the electrical outlets. Unfortunately, she'd taken out one to vacuum and forgotten to replace it. Of course, Eva found the two little holes and thought it would be great fun to poke at them.
Christine jumped as she heard Erik yell one afternoon. "You will not touch that!" he snapped in a frightening voice. "No! You will not touch it!"
She turned around in time to see Eva quickly withdraw her finger and burst into tears. Christine hesitated, at first wanting to gently explain that he could speak in a nicer voice. But she went with her second instinct. Christine squeezed Erik's arm and simply said, "Thank you for protecting her." She plucked Eva off the floor and cuddled her until she stopped bawling. Eva never again did try to touch an electrical outlet. And Erik only used that horrible voice when it was a matter of danger.
And then there were the moments of slow development—the moments that resulted in both great beauty and fresh problems.
One day, Christine stood in the entryway to their living room and merely admired both of them. Erik was reading a book regarding theories of how the universe began, and Eva was playing with several stuffed animals at his feet. Occasionally, she'd pulled on his pants leg or tap his shoe, trying to get his attention. Finally, Erik set the thick book aside and leaned forward to stare down at her. Eva gazed back with wide eyes. Christine fearfully wondered if Erik was going to tell his daughter to stop pestering him.
"That will eat you, you know?" he said, gesturing to the stuffed tiger. Eva chomped her teeth together. "Yes. That is what it will do. And it will devour the other animals as well." Eva reached behind and grabbed her zebra. "Precisely. There will be no zebra after the tiger is finished." Eva then pulled out a stuffed snake. "Hm. They might ignore each other unless the tiger steps on the snake in which case the snake might strike. I believe, though, that the serpent would much prefer to eat your rabbit." The pink bunny was one of Eva's favorite toys, and she quickly gathered it into her arms. Erik chuckled.
Christine had to keep from laughing aloud. Okay, so maybe it wasn't exactly the most pleasant way to teach a child about the animal kingdom, but…. Oh! She was still delighted with the interaction. With her back to the wall in the other room, she could hear Erik classify the carnivores and herbivores.
These moments became more frequent over the next few months. When Eva was playing with wooden building blocks, he taught her about arches and structural support. She had a rubber blow-up ball that was also a globe, and he named the continents for her. At one point, he even tried to show her how magnets worked, but Eva tried to eat the one that looked like a horseshoe. Erik had snatched the magnets from her, jumped off the couch, and grumbled about 'irritating children' as he marched down to the basement. After that last event, Christine was afraid he'd stop interacting with her. By the next day, though, he was showing Eva pictures of the planets circling the sun.
As Christine watched them with warmth in her heart, she decided to take a chance. After tiptoeing to their bedroom and yanking a digital camera out of her sock drawer, she innocently sauntered back to the living area. She kept the camera behind her back. They were finished with the book by that time.
"Hi, guys," she said. It must have been written all over her face; Erik's eyes were narrowing with great suspicion. "Can I…um…take a picture of you both?"
"Why?" he asked, leaning back.
"Just to have. I don't have one of you both together." Christine also wanted something for Eva to have—evidence that her father had spent time with her from nearly the beginning. "Please?"
"Only with the mask," said Erik with an aggravated sigh. He still disliked photographs; Christine only had about twenty pictures of him and her together.
"That's fine," she gratefully replied. He stood up and stalked away to retrieve it. Eva squinted up at Erik when he returned when the realistic mask. She was always slightly bothered by his other face, although she did seem to understand that Erik was still under there. "Eva, can you smile?" Christine asked, distracting her attention before he became upset by the situation.
Eva curved her lips upward as Erik resumed his place beside her. Christine stepped backward with the camera and held it up to her eyes. The picture could be far from perfect; she only wanted them together. Still, she paused as Eva scooted up against Erik and sleepily leaned her cheek against his arm. Christine felt a lump in her throat. Erik remained tense but motionless, and she quickly snapped several pictures before either one of them ruined the pose.
She eventually printed ten photographs off the computer. One went missing. Without asking any questions, Christine simply made another copy.
Eva's first word came on a rainy Sunday morning. Christine had just finished dressing her in jean overalls and was walking toward the living room. Erik was browsing the computer, his mind probably on his newest piece. Even if he no longer sent his works into a publisher, he was still composing. Nothing could take away his need for music.
Carrying Eva with one arm, Christine paused in the entryway. "Who is that?" she softly asked as she sometimes did when Eva watched him. Christine never expected an answer. "Who is that over there?"
"Ek."
Christine blinked. "What? Who?"
"Ek."
"Yes!" she quickly agreed. "Very good. You're right, Angel. That is Erik, isn't it?" A part of her was thrilled that Eva had said her first word. And yet another part was disappointed that it wasn't da or ma.
Erik glanced up from his work. "Am I so fascinating that you must stand there and stare at me for the entire morning?"
"She said your name," stated Christine, walking into the room with a smile. "Who is that?" she again asked Eva.
"Ek."
He seemed uncomfortable, adjusting his position on the couch. "That is not my name. Perhaps she is saying something else."
"No," replied Christine. "She's trying to say 'Erik.'"
"Ek," Eva agreed.
Erik hesitated. "Fine. I am Erik. She is correct."
He didn't mention whether he wanted Eva to call him by his first name, and Christine didn't ask. Maybe she'd let time and Eva decide. At night, Christine started reading her a children's series about families, and, of course, there was a Mom, Dad, sister, and brother. The woman in the pictures was blonde, and so Eva quickly formed a connection between that mother and her mommy.
The father had dark brown hair, glasses, and a moustache, and Eva had a harder time making the comparison. At one point, she touched the father's nose, touched her own, and then touched Christine's. Unable to express herself further, Eva frowned.
"Yes," whispered Christine once she understood. "You have a nose, and I have one. And that father has one. But your dad doesn't, and that's okay. It's okay not to have a nose."
Instead of saying: Erik doesn't, she'd mistakenly said: Dad doesn't.
"Ek."
"Yes. Erik doesn't. And Erik is your father and dad. Just like that father. But you can call him Erik." Eva was staring at her as though she'd lost her mind. Christine rubbed her temples. "I don't even know now."
"Ma." Eva patted her arm.
"Yes," she gratefully replied, kissing Eva on the forehead. "That one is definitely right."
Eva also had difficulty making a decision. And the next time she pulled on Erik's pants leg, she exclaimed, "Ek! Da!"
Erik's shoulders tensed, and he turned to Christine with an accusatory stare.
"We're reading a book with a mother and father," she quickly explained, trying to extinguish the spark before it started a fire. "But she can call you if Erik, if that's what you want. I didn't know…. Tell her what you want her to call you, and it'll be fine."
He shook his head and glanced at Eva. Still, Erik didn't say anything, and Eva eventually switched over to Da. He allowed it, responding to the name and never correcting her. Maybe Erik found it acceptable if Eva adopted him as her father; he just didn't want to take responsibility for initiating it. That way, he could never be blamed if anything went wrong.
Wrapped up in these strange but sweet morsels of life, Christine nearly forgot some of the realities of living. Thankfully, Erik remembered. "How is our financial situation?" he asked one evening, glancing up from his pen and notebook.
"We're…good," she said, needing a moment to recall the last figure she'd calculated. "Even with Eva, we don't spend too much each month. I think we're okay for several years. Eventually, either I'm going to have to sing, or you're going to have to compose."
"Do you miss singing?"
"Sometimes. Maybe I'd like to do it again someday…but not right now."
"Ah. You can always sing only for me. I wish to hear your voice again."
"I'll always do that," she murmured. "It would be a good idea to keep my voice in shape."
"We will," he agreed. "And we will watch our accounts. Did you make the investments that I asked of you?" Erik had chosen several stocks that he believed had potential, and she had invested some of their disposable income under her name. He still disliked money but had come to see it as a necessary part of keeping his beloved home.
"Yeah," she said with a smile. "They're doing well, aren't they? You were right about that company making cancer drugs."
"Yes, but we will not depend upon them like some idiots who are now living in their cars. If nothing else, I will send my music to a European publisher who cannot come near us. That, or I will write dull music that can be used in elevators and shopping centers. No one will notice it then." He glared slightly. "Americans are far too inquisitive."
"We'll figure out something within the next years. Our music has always gotten us by."
"Always," he whispered in agreement.
She soon wondered if Eva had inherited any musical talent. Christine bought a colorful toy xylophone and attempted to teach Eva a few simple songs like "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." The ding-ding sound made Erik twitchy, though, and so she only let Eva play when he was in his basement. "I will teach her music when she is capable of…appreciating it properly," he explained, casting an icy stare toward the xylophone. "As of now, she does not have enough coordination nor sense of rhythm. It is a disaster. No, it would not be good. Not at all, Christine."
So, for the time being, Christine became Eva's only music teacher. It was still too early to tell whether Eva had any natural ability. She did seem to enjoy music, though, swaying back and forth to it and sometimes attempting to sing along with children's songs.
Erik did begin reading to her on some nights but refused to 'go through the torture of children's fiction.' "If Spot and his mother embarked on a walk by themselves," he began, "they would be captured by animal control and likely euthanized. If a cat the size of a human being entered my home and acted in such a crazed manner, I would kill him. Or sell him to science for study. I will not subject myself to such ridiculousness." He'd thrown the books aside.
Christine didn't know if A Tale of Two Cities was appropriate reading material for a one-year-old. Hopefully Eva was too young to understand most of it--like the decapitation. Still, Christine enjoyed seeing Erik sit beside the crib as Eva snuggled up beneath her blanket. No matter what he was reading, Erik's voice was beautiful and hypnotic. Eva usually fell asleep within ten minutes.
Maybe it wasn't a completely normal situation, but Christine felt they were successfully stimulating Eva without putting her around other children. She handled Eva's basic needs along with affection, and Erik was providing her with knowledge. They could probably continue to do so until she reached pre-school age. And then…Christine wasn't quite sure what would happen.
Eva quickly learned the word "out." It usually meant that she wanted to leave their house and go somewhere else, even if it was only to the bank or grocery store. Erik soon disliked the word and, depending on his mood, would either leave the room or distract Eva with a song.
If Eva was insistent on going out, loudly whining and bursting with energy, Christine usually drove her to one of the nearby parks. Usually, they were empty…vacant swings rocking back and forth in the breeze as birds hopped around the trashcans. Sometimes other children were playing, and Christine would cautiously allow Eva to wander around them. She was still too young to interact, and the other kids usually ignored her. What would she do when Eva started talking? Your dad has a nose, but mine doesn't.
At least Erik's face was the only risky topic that Eva could mention to other people. She knew nothing of Erik's past activities, and Christine intended to keep it that way. Was it really necessary that Eva knew her father had taken lives? Was it really necessary that Eva ever found out her parents had first met in a hostage situation? Christine didn't think so.
One sunny day, she took Eva to the park and sat down on the wooden bench. Eva toddled around, smiling at some nearby pigeons that were dining on an overturned bag of popcorn. Two squirrels chasing each other up and around a tree caused her to giggle with delight. The light made her eyes sparkle, and her glowing face indicated that she was thriving in the open environment. Christine sighed.
Within ten minutes, another mother arrived with her small blond son. Christine shifted and politely smiled. She noticed that the mother was carrying a messy blue and green painting of…something.
"Finally stopped raining," said the woman, sitting on the closest bench. She fluffed out her dark-brown perm. "We were going crazy being cooped up all week. My husband ran out with his golf clubs at six this morning, and I haven't seen him since."
Christine softly laughed. "Yeah. It is nice out."
The woman smiled at Eva. "How old is your little girl?"
"She's about one and a half." Christine hesitated and decided to make safe conversation. "And your son?"
"Just turned three." She proudly held up the painting. "We came back from his art class and decided to play at the park for a bit."
"Art class?"
"Yes. I wanted to enroll him in some type of activity but wasn't quite ready to put him in preschool all day. So we go to a child's art class twice a week."
"That sounds nice. And you're…with him the whole time?"
The woman nodded. "Yes. He's still a bit shy. I don't know why. My nine-year-old never quits talking." She turned to look at her son and started to softly laugh. Christine glanced in that direction, and her eyes widened. Eva was following the little boy. Whenever he stopped walking, she would stop, too. He kept glancing over his shoulder with a frown of deep concern. Eva was giggling, but the boy appeared slightly frightened.
"Honey, calm down," said the other mother. "She's just trying to play with you."
"No, no!" he cried. Eva laughed again.
Christine couldn't hide her smile. "Come here, Eva," she called. "Leave him alone."
"It's fine," said the mother, rolling her eyes. "He needs to learn how to play with other kids. I dread kindergarten."
Christine made sure Eva didn't pester the poor little boy too much. Still, the encounter left her somewhat optimistic. At least Eva didn't fear people. Yet.
And the art class sounded like a good idea—or something similar to it. Eva would be able to interact with other children, and Christine would be able to monitor her. It would be an ideal situation until Eva was old enough to understand that certain things were better left unsaid.
"I think it would be good for her," she explained to Erik several nights later.
"Why?" He was already folding his arms against his chest.
"Well, she could meet other people and learn about art…and being creative. I'm not saying I'm enrolling her tomorrow. But maybe in a year or two."
"She does not need that."
"But I think it'd be…."
"I will teach her art much more adequately than they are able to do so. Why did you not simply ask me? You think I will allow our offspring to become uneducated?" Erik leaned over and kissed her cheek in an almost condescending manner. "Our child will be much more intelligent than all the others. Do not worry."
"But…maybe she should meet other children."
He brushed his hand to the side. "Eva should not be influenced by other children. They will only delay her development and intrude into our lives. And tomorrow I will teach her more about art than most adults know."
And Erik did. The following morning, he picked her up beneath the arms and placed her in the middle of the sofa. Eva stared at him with fascination as he took out an art history book, sat beside her, and spread the book over their laps. By the end of the day, she was pointing at Leonardo's famous portrait and declaring, "Mona!"
"Do you see?" asked Erik. "She will learn much more without making an idiotic necklace out of pasta wheels. When her hand is steadier, I will permit her to paint. But now is not the proper time for that. She only needs to understand the various periods and styles." He gently patted Eva on the head and then stood up with the book in one hand, humming all the way down to the basement.
Christine stood there speechless.
"Mona," said Eva and then yawned.
Within another month, there was an orange swing set in their backyard, complete with a plastic slide and monkey bars. Stepping out of the house with Eva one morning, Christine put a hand over her mouth in shock upon seeing it for the first time. "Look what your father built for you," she whispered into her daughter's ear. Eva squirmed in her arms and pointed at the swings, desperately wanting them.
"Now you will not have to go to the park," stated Erik from behind them. "You can stay here."
That afternoon, as Christine pushed her daughter in one of the baby swings, she realized that she'd forgotten something important. With Erik, there was rarely a happy medium. He loved, and he hated. There was no in between. From the beginning, he'd been doomed to either despise Eva for intruding into his life…or to deem her as his.
Words couldn't express how grateful Christine was Erik hadn't chosen the former path. But that didn't mean the latter path was going to be easy.
During the night, Erik had also assembled a wooden porch swing with a soft blue cushion. That evening, she sat upon the comfortable seat with him, watching the sunset as the chair swung back and forth on its chains. Eva dozed in her lap. When it was dark, Erik removed his mask.
Closing her eyes, Christine allowed the breeze to brush against her cheeks and forehead. The wind seemed to whisper a single word: Bliss…. For the time being, she didn't disturb it. For the time being, she let Erik have his way.
Someday, she would have to have a long conversation with him. If we don't give Eva choices, she'll want to escape us. She'll want to run away. Can you imagine how awful that would be?
But for the time being, she let it go.
