Chapter Thirty-five
"Fear of something is at the root of hate for others, and hate within will eventually destroy the hater." -George Washington Carver
Fatal Oath
After staying in the dark, dingy hunting shed for so long, a bath in the luxurious chateau suite felt like heaven. Once she'd finished bathing and drying, Alana put on the nightgown Cerise had left for her, since her own had been torn to bits. She crawled into the impossibly soft, warm bed and tried to relax as she waited for the physician to arrive. Without realizing it, she must have dozed off, because she found herself waking to the sound of the door slamming shut.
"The doctor's coming!" Cerise said breathlessly as she sank into an armchair. "I've packed all my things in my room, so I'll be ready to leave as soon as you are."
Alana yawned. "All right. Now, what are my symptoms again? I was feverish, sick to my stomach, my head still aches a little…"
"And you had a bad cough, but it's nearly gone now," her cousin reminded her.
Alana laughed and gave a faint cough, and just moments later there was a knock on her door.
"Come in!" Cerise called, as Alana feigned a cough again.
The doctor entered the room with his black bag in hand, and after a few pleasantries, began inquiring as to Alana's symptoms. She recited the list of false problems, and the doctor felt her head, and examined her throat, continuing to ask her more questions.
"I have been feeling much better though, doctor," she said, seeing the slight annoyance on the man's face as he realized after further examination that there was nothing wrong with her.
"Yes…it seems whatever plagued you before is a thing of the past." The physician packed his bag again. "You're in excellent health, all right to get out of bed and go about your daily business. The master of the house has already paid the fee for this examination, so I take my leave of you now, mademoiselles. Good day to you both." And with that, he left.
"I'm going downstairs to tell Damien that you're better and ready to return home. While I'm gone, you hurry up and pack your things. Don't get too comfortable in that bed!" she said with a laugh as she too left the room.
Alana groaned. She was too comfortable, but reluctantly she dragged herself up out of bed and started to pack. Her stomach fluttered with anxiety as it had ever since the night she followed Christine to the awful scene where she'd found Erik. Soon, it would all be over…or so she hoped.
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"Ah, Mademoiselle Cerise," said Damien as she approached him, grinning. "I trust from the smile on your face that your cousin's received a clean bill of health?"
Cerise nodded. "Yes, she's feeling much better, and we'll be leaving shortly."
"Very well. I'll call a carriage for you straightaway."
Cerise hesitated at first, but then dared to ask, "Have you seen Monsieur Erik around at all? We haven't seen him since the ball, and we have to return to Paris as soon as possible so my parents don't worry about Alana and me..."
Damien shook his head. "No I haven't; however, earlier this morning a note with an urgent message was sent up to Monsieur Erik's room, and I did see a carriage leave the estate shortly thereafter. I can only guess that your friend was suddenly called away on important business."
He spoke the lie in such a calm voice, with such ease that it made Cerise feel sick to her stomach. Maybe Alana was right to be angry with him…
But then she looked at him again…at that handsome face, those deep, dark eyes…and she felt weak at the knees. She still felt something for him, and she wondered…what would it take to make those feelings go away?
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Alana had finished packing by the time that Cerise came back to tell her they'd be meeting Damien downstairs in half an hour to say goodbye. She rolled her eyes. If she ever saw that man again it would be too soon. When Cerise had left to make sure she had all her own things ready to go, Alana slipped out of the room as well.
She walked down the halls, trying to remember where the servant had said Erik's room was the night of the ball. What number was it? She stopped at a room with the number 23 painted on the door…the number sounded familiar enough to her, so she reached out and turned the knob. Luck was with her; the door was unlocked, and she walked into the room.
It was Erik's room, all right, A costume, half black and half white, lay draped over an armchair, a black mask was set on a nightstand, and other clothes were spread across the room. Lying face down on the floor was a book that Alana soon recognized as the Bible she'd given Erik. She felt both happiness and sadness as she knelt down to pick it up.
He'd actually been reading it…it was the last thing he had done before he was lured into the trap that nearly killed him. She turned the book over, and one passage on the page jumped out to her. "Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things."
Of all the things he could have read, that was what Erik had turned to? Did that mean…he was in love with her too? He had kissed her, after all. What a beautiful time they had had that night. But if he did love her, then why in the world had he gone outside with Christine at such an hour? Maybe he was still in love with the other woman, and was only confused about his feelings for Alana. She knew she was certain about what she felt for him. She could've sworn he felt the same.
Alana made herself stop thinking. All she knew was that she was extremely confused, and she desperately wished for a chance to talk to Erik and figure out what exactly was going on between them. She didn't know when that chance would come. Banishing the thoughts from her mind, she took up the Bible, mask, and clothes, and put them in the unmarked suitcase Erik had brought.
Carrying the suitcase, she left the room and headed back to her own hall. She turned the first corner and narrowly avoided running into a man coming from the opposite direction. He did not excuse himself or apologize, but he met Alana's gaze.
Her breath caught in her throat as the gypsy man smirked at her, just as he had when she'd seen him bent over Erik, holding a knife dripping with his blood.
"Please, excuse me, mademoiselle," he said finally. "Could I help you with that suitcase there? It looks…rather heavy for a woman to carry."
Alana just stared at him for a moment. Her blood had turned to ice, and she felt herself panicking. Finally she gathered enough strength to speak. "No." She could not hide the hatred in her voice. "I know who you are, and I know what you've done. Get away from me." She pushed past him and turned the corner without looking back.
Soon she was standing with Cerise in their hallway, setting down Erik's suitcase along with the rest of their luggage. She felt her cousin eying her closely. "What?"
"Is something wrong?"
Alana shook her head. "I'm just nervous…that this won't work."
"It'll work." Cerise said warmly. "I'm going to help you get out of this mess. Everything will be fine, you'll see." Both of them turned at the sound of footsteps. Two servants had arrived to bring their suitcases downstairs.
They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Alana's breath caught in her throat as she caught sight of the man standing in the center of the room.
Damien.
His name, his face, everything in his being made her burn with hatred.
"Mademoiselles Valjean," the Comte said with a bow. "It has been a pleasure hosting the two of you. I trust your health has greatly improved, Alana?"
Say something. Alana vaguely realized she was standing there still and silent as a statue. "Yes, it has. I'm still a bit tired, but I'm feeling much better. My cousin and I thank you for your hospitality," she forced herself to say in the most even tone she could manage. All she wanted to do was fling herself at him, to scream and tear and beat at him, to make him feel just a little of the pain he'd made Erik feel.
Cerise continued to speak with Damien while the carriage was being loaded with their things, but Alana didn't hear a word of the conversation until the Comte said, "I do hope we'll all see each other again when I return to Paris." He was gazing right at her, his eyes seeming to plead with her that she would agree to see him again.
I hope I never see you again as long as I live.
When Alana said nothing, Cerise answered, "I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other. It will be a pleasure, as always. Now, I think my cousin and I should get to our carriage."
"Right." Damien swallowed hard. "I'll see you out."
After a short goodbye, Alana looked out the carriage window and watched as the Comte grew smaller and smaller and eventually faded into the distance.
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The Comte de Bellamy watched the carriage begin to drive away, a painful tightness in his throat.
Alana will never want to see me again. Not after what I did to Erik.
He felt no remorse for what he had done. He knew he'd done the right thing, even done the world a favor, by forever ridding it of a man with such a dark history of evil deeds. But he saw the pain in Alana's eyes, and it hurt that his actions had brought about that suffering in her. Maybe she could forgive him someday. She was such a kind, gentle woman. Surely she would not be able to harbor anger in her heart towards him forever. They had enjoyed happy times together before, and perhaps they could again. No, he wasn't ready to give up on her yet.
"Good afternoon, my lord."
Damien started. Somehow he'd missed the sound of approaching footsteps. "Emilian." He nodded to the gypsy man.
"Fine day, is it not, my lord?" Emilian looked off into the distance.
"Yes, very fine," Damien replied, slightly annoyed. It was clear the other man had something else that he wanted to say.
He didn't have to wait long to find out what it was. "That coach that left just a moment ago," Emilian began, "is it carrying the blonde haired girl from the other night?"
"Yes." Damien's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
The other man shrugged nonchalantly. "I ran into her on the way downstairs…in the hallway where the unattached male guests were rooming."
"Where are you going with this?" The Comte folded his arms across his chest.
Emilian seemed to enjoy watching him in suspense. "She was carrying a man's suitcase." He paused for a moment and then asked, "Was there another man accompanying her?"
"No," Damien said firmly. "Just the one." He still didn't know what Emilian was getting at. "Perhaps she was getting some of the things he left in his room, to remember him by. She was quite attached to that man, as you saw. Now tell me, just what about this encounter has you so interested?"
Emilian shrugged his shoulders again.
Damien thought for a moment. "Wait. I remember…the other night, Alana said she recognized you…that you had…attacked her on the road!" He moved until his face was just inches from Emilian's and his hands were close enough to wrap around the gypsy man's throat. "Stay away from her." His grip tightened. "You leave her alone, understand?"
"She's…nothing to me," he gasped. Damien let him go and he rubbed his neck slowly, wincing a little.
"And she'd better stay nothing to you, because if you ever think about laying even a finger on her…"
"You'll what, my lord?"
"I'll have you arrested," Damien said coolly. "Or worse. Don't think I won't."
"Oh, I don't doubt you, Monsieur Comte," Emilian said, holding his hands up in submission. "As I was saying, the girl is of no importance to me. I was merely suspicious is all."
Damien tried not to roll his eyes. "Suspicious of what? Her having that suitcase?"
Emilian nodded, watching as the carriage disappeared over a hill. "It's just that…the Devil's Child always seemed to find a way to escape…"
"Not this time. You know as well as I that there is no way he could have possibly survived."
Emilian grunted his agreement. "What I really came to tell you after all is that I'll be leaving today, my lord. Going back to Paris. Try and find some work."
Damien laughed. "Have you seen things in the city lately? You'll never find decent work there." Despite his occasional distaste for the man, the Comte had to admit that Emilian had been a great help to him and Raoul. Perhaps he could continue to reward him. "Why don't you stay on here instead?" he offered. "You've been quite a bit of help to me. You could be a footman, or server, or coachman…"
"Coachman." Emilian put his hand to his chin and looked up in thought. "Now there's an idea. I'll accept that offer, good monsieur. Shall I get started today then?"
A bit taken aback at the man's eagerness, Damien nodded. "If you wish. I know there are several other guests who are going to be leaving this afternoon. You can go and get outfitted and take one of their parties back to their homes. You can either choose to come back here or stay on at my city house. Your choice."
"We shall see, my lord." Emilian bowed deeply.
"I think I'll go to the stables to check on the new stallion my father's bought. Go and find Monsieur Ames inside; he can find a uniform for you." He turned on his heel and left the newly hired coachman grinning to himself.
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Alana looked out the carriage window, her heart already beginning to race. "We're out of sight here...we should stop now." She turned in her seat and rapped on the pane of glass that separated them from their driver. The carriage slowed to a halt, and both girls climbed out.
"Is there a problem, mademoiselles?" The driver asked.
"No, there's no problem here," Alana said. "We just need to please turn and drive into that meadow." She pointed to the wide grassy field to their right.
The driver raised an eyebrow. "Might I ask why, mademoiselle?"
"Please, just do it. We'll pay you an additional sum of money when we get back to Paris if you do."
The man thought for a moment and then let out a long sigh. "Very well, mademoiselles."
Alana and Cerise stepped aside as he guided the two chestnut horses off the road and into the meadow, and they set off toward the woods on the edge of it.
"What are you doing?" They heard the driver shout after them.
"Don't worry!" Cerise called to him. "We'll be back soon! Don't go anywhere!" They left him shaking his head and muttering to himself as they disappeared into the trees.
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The first sensations on waking were pain and cold, the first sight nothing but darkness. Erik blinked in the dark and turned his head, trying to rise. Movement hurt, so he lay back down, working to remember where he was and what had happened to him. Despite the pain, he raised his hand up to touch the right side of his face. It was covered with a layer of cloth. Bandages.
Immediately he remembered, physical and emotional pain coursing through him once again. Where is Alana? He thought. I'm alone here…
He had a terrible thought that she had changed her mind about helping him, about loving him…and that she had abandoned him to die alone in the dark. He wouldn't blame her if she did.
But then there was a crash, and a sudden flash of light that sent him backing quickly away into the shadows, putting his hands over his eyes to shield them from the light. His back struck the wall and he grimaced with pain.
"Erik! You're awake!" Alana was standing there with her cousin, both of them looking at him with surprise.
Hearing her voice again gave Erik the strength to inch forward slowly. "Yes…" he managed to croak out the word, breathing heavily from the exertion of moving and the alarm caused by the girls' sudden entrance. "…what's going on?"
"We have to get you out of here." She spoke quickly, her gaze intense. "Now's our only chance. We have a carriage waiting just outside of these woods. Do you think you can walk? Cerise and I can help you."
Erik closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. Every movement hurt. But he knew he had to get up. He feared death more than he feared pain; he had endured years of physical torture, and he would survive. He'd always pulled through, even as a child. He'd survive now. Slowly, he made himself rise to his knees, every inch of his body stiff and sore. Alana held out a hand to help him, but he waved it aside, shaking his head. He could do this. One foot at a time, he rose until he was standing freely, swaying slightly. Then, he took a step. Immediately he felt himself falling, and two pairs of arms reaching out to catch him before he fell all the way to the floor. A groan of pain escaped his lips, but with their support he raised himself up again.
Be strong, he told himself over and over. Be strong.
"Let's go," he whispered, and the three of them began to move towards the door. Erik hesitated for a moment, wincing at the light.
"Erik," came Alana's voice, and he turned to look down into those eyes, those beautiful eyes he loved. "It's all right."
He took a step forward, then another, and another, and then they were walking through the woods. All were silent, focusing all their efforts on the task at hand; Erik staying on his feet, and Alana and Cerise holding him up, refusing to let him fall. At last, they came out of the woods, where a carriage and driver stood waiting, looking strangely out of place off road in the sunny meadow.
Erik stopped in his tracks, panic rising up inside him. "What is this?" He asked, lowering his voice so only Alana and her cousin would hear. "No one can see me! Everyone thinks I'm dead…don't they?"
"This man doesn't know a thing about it," Alana said softly. "Besides, with half your face bandaged I don't think he'll recognize you even if he knew who you were. And we've said we'll pay him extra when we make it back to Paris. If he doesn't ask questions, we'll pay him even more."
Erik just shook his head wearily. There was no way he could let these two women get any more involved in this. "Go on without me…don't endanger yourselves."
"Oh, be quiet!" Alana said with a toss of her hair. "Come on now. Just a little bit farther, you're doing so well. Just a little bit more, and you'll be able to rest again. Come on."
Erik sighed. There would be no convincing her to leave him. That was another thing he loved about her. Somewhat reluctantly, he moved forward, and the driver of the carriage turned around when he heard them coming. Erik felt the man looking him up and down, shaking his head incredulously.
"What in God's name is this?" he yelled, unable to maintain his professional composure.
"The less questions you ask," said Alana's cousin, "the better paid you'll be when we get back to Paris."
Slowly and with the help of the two women, Erik limped towards the carriage, and Alana opened the door. "You're going to have to step up now." She grimaced in anticipation of the pain he would feel. "Can you manage it?"
Erik nodded and shrugged free of both of them despite their protests. He reached out to take hold of the door for support, and slowly raised one leg up to step inside, and the other to climb in. As soon as he was inside he lost his balance and crashed onto the floor, dragging himself onto the seat. He lay there breathing heavily, completely exhausted by the effort, but thinking to himself with something like pride, I made it.
Looking at him sympathetically, Alana and Cerise climbed in after him and sat on the opposite seat. "We're ready to go now, driver!" Cerise called, and soon they were off. "What are we going to do with him now?" Alana's cousin asked after a while.
"Erik?" At Alana's voice he opened his eyes, trying to keep his exhaustion from pulling him into sleep against his will. "Do you know where we can find your friend Madame Giry?"
Erik did not recall Alana knowing Madame Giry personally. Apparently they had met at some time, probably while Alana was visiting the Comte de Bellamy. "The last time I saw her…she and her daughter were living underground with me…in my old home. They may have found somewhere else to live by now. I'm not sure. If we can reach that place undetected, however, we should all be safe."
"Where is this place?" Alana asked.
It pained him to say it. "The Opera Populaire."
He heard Cerise gasp. "The opera house? Hasn't it been destroyed? I heard there was a fire…"
"Yes, that's right."
He dared to glance at her, and she stared back, almost unbelieving. "So…you were the Phantom of the Opera, weren't you?"
He nodded and she looked at him coolly.
"Cerise, he's not the same man he was then." Alana smiled at him just a little. "Get some rest now, Erik. We'll tell the driver to drop us off somewhere near the Opera House."
I love you, Erik thought, drifting off to sleep as the two women continued their conversation.
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Just hours after the first carriage departed from the Chateau de Bellamy, a second began its journey to Paris. Inside was Comtesse Seraphine, along with her parents and older brother, who were discussing the seemingly imminent failure of the two families' plan for Damien and Seraphine to marry. For once, the dark-haired Comtesse remained silent, and her wide, ever smiling mouth stayed in a permanent, tight-lipped frown as she stared out the carriage window, willing herself to keep her emotions under control.
The driver of the carriage was completely untouched by the melancholy of his passengers. Dressed in his brand new uniform, the cleanest and finest clothes he'd ever worn, Emilian grinned to himself as he guided his team of twin white horses along the country road. This was the first "respectable" job he'd ever landed, and he couldn't help but be proud of himself. But there was more to his cheer than the excitement of a new and steady job.
Since that morning, his encounter with that blonde haired girl, Alana Valjean, had replayed itself over and over in his mind. There was something suspicious about it. Perhaps it was his imagination. But perhaps it wasn't. He knew, maybe better than anyone, how the man once called the Devil's Child always found a way to escape, to survive, even with seemingly impossible odds stacked against him. No matter how much a person wanted him to suffer and die, despite all the efforts to destroy him, the Devil's Child, or the Phantom as many called him, simply refused to do it.
There is dark magic at work in him, Emilian's mother had once said of the deformed boy. Her son believed his mother's words. Emilian had, at times, seen that dark magic glistening in the eyes of the Devil's Child, and then there came the day when the boy in the cage suddenly rose up against his master, Emilian's uncle, and murdered him. How a small child found the strength to kill a man in his prime was a mystery to some, but the others attributed his ferocity to the Devil himself. It turned out the boy had been aptly named by the circus, for soon all the powers of Hell were unleashed on them, perhaps by the boy's own hateful curses. The years that followed brought nothing but conflict between everyone involved with the traveling fair, be it arguments or fistfights. Emilian's widowed aunt committed suicide. Many of their company became violently sick, and some died. Emilian's father, who owned the circus, fell into complete and utter financial ruin. One day he left, never to be seen again by his wife and son.
Emilian had been on his own for a while now, often joining up with other bands of gypsies for a time before moving on to something else. Much of the time he was a highwayman, as he'd been when he'd run into the Devil's Child and his little whore on the road months ago. Oh, how he wished he hadn't been a coward, and had killed the murderous circus freak while he'd had the chance.
But then, he thought, he wouldn't be in this position now. He had a simple job that would pay him well, and he wouldn't have the opportunity to do something he loved…to spy. He'd relished the chance to be an informant for the Comte de Bellamy, and though Damien believed that his enemy was dead and gone forever, Emilian knew better than to be certain of that. Alana Valjean seemed to love the monstrous Devil's Child, and something in her manner, or her eyes perhaps, that made him think there was a chance the man was still alive, and that she knew where he was.
Emilian knew where she lived. When he got back to Paris, he would return to Sacree Boulevard, and keep a watchful eye on her and the Valjean family. If he discovered the supposedly dead man still lived, then he would find him and take him by surprise. He had had enough of the dark magic that had cursed his family and friends over the years. Killing the freak would never make up for all the suffering they'd endured, but still…taking his life would be a relief, a pleasure. Emilian burned inside with longing, to send the Devil's Child back where he belonged.
As long I have life in me, demon spawn, I will hate you, and I swear I will never rest until I see your dark soul leave your body and return to its fiery home in the deepest circle of Hell.