CH 93
"Uncle Phelan!" Alex exclaimed. "You lost your beard."
"So I did," my brother said pleasantly. "Have you seen it?"
"No! You are trying to trick me."
"Perhaps I am."
"Would you sit next to me?" Alex asked.
"It would be an honor, my dear nephew. Lisette, may I sit between you and Alex?"
Lisette examined Phelan for a long moment, her expression filled with curiosity as she looked him over. "You look...you look like Papa without your beard," she said at last.
My brother genuinely smiled back at Lisette. "Like a younger version of your father?" Phelan teased.
"No, you still look older," Lisette answered.
Phelan cleared his voice. "I appreciate your honesty."
"I'll bring out more coffee if you'd like," Julia offered while Phelan seated himself between Alex and Lisette.
"You are too kind, Julia," Phelan said as he handed over his coffee mug.
"Your breakfast is getting cold," Julia said to me once she returned inside and closed the door with her foot. She walked toward the table in the middle of the kitchen. "What's left of it, at least. Alex must be due for a growth spurt with how much he's been eating."
"I'm not hungry."
Julia paused and regarded me a moment before she filled the cups with coffee from a carafe. "I shut the bedroom door as quickly as I could," she said apologetically. "I'm afraid it wasn't quick enough."
I looked away from her, still quite ashamed of myself. "It was not your fault."
"Nor was it yours."
I stared at the rug again, the words I had spoken, the request of a child gone ignored, echoing through my mind. For as long as I lived I would wish I had fought back. For as long as I lived I would wish I hadn't needed to fear my own father or protect myself from him.
"You're coming outside with us, aren't you?" Julia asked. "Please don't stay inside on such a beautiful day."
"In a moment," I promised.
Julia left the cups on the table and walked toward me. Without a word, she placed her arms around me and rested her head against my shoulder. It took all of my strength to hold back the sudden rush of emotion, the automatic response of gratitude and relief of her freely offered affection when I felt I deserved it the least.
"I love you," I whispered.
Julia squeezed me tighter. "We want you with us. Alex and Lisette have both asked a dozen times when you would be at the table. Please come out and sit with us, even if you aren't hungry."
"Tea first," I said.
"The kettle is already warm." Julia stepped back and took one last look at me before she walked back outside, leaving the door open behind her.
"Alex, don't eat your father's food," Julia gently scolded.
"But it's already cold and he won't mind," Alex answered. "Besides, Uncle Phelan already ate the blueberries."
Phelan dramatically gasped. "That was to be our secret, Alexandre."
I smiled to myself as I poured steaming water through the strainer into a mug and added a spoonful of honey. The soft clink of the spoon against the edges of the mug gave off a musical sound as I listened to their conversation.
"Oh, is that why you kept winking at me?"
"It's a pity I cannot share secrets with you," Phelan said. "I had more stories to share with you and your sister, but I am not sure I can confide in you, Alex."
"Are they-are they stories about Father?" Alex asked.
"Of course. Stories I've never told anyone."
"But you should tell us!" Alex exclaimed. "Before you get too old and forget like Grandmere."
"Alex, you are being quite rude," Lisette said, her voice barely over a whisper.
"Old," Phelan groused. "Why, now that I've shaved off my beard, I've heard I look at least fifteen years younger. Isn't that right, Julia? Old indeed, Nephew."
"Did you cut yourself shaving?" Alex asked. "Is that what the scar on your neck is from?"
"This? No, it's an old injury from a very long time ago when I was younger than you are now. Another good story, but I doubt you want to hear about it."
There was a moment of silence at the table. I moved toward the doorway, tea in hand, and saw Alex wide-eyed and leaning toward his uncle while Lisette sat patiently with her hands in her lap.
"I want to hear about it," Lisette said softly.
Phelan sighed. "You are very kind to say so, Lisette."
"I want to hear about it too," Alex pleaded.
"It's from a very long time ago. Are you certain you would be interested?"
Their mutual excitement was undeniable. I smiled to myself and leaned against the doorway. Phelan glanced at me but said nothing and no one aside from my brother noticed where I stood.
"Your father and I were out together, as we always were, exploring the woods near our uncle's home. You could wander for hours through the trees, streams, and rock formations that made natural shelters and not see another living soul. We even had our own secret fort where your father had quite the collection of rocks and a few animal skulls we found over the winter. It was our own little cave where we were certain we could live for weeks on our own, eating berries and snails."
Lisette wrinkled her nose. "Oh, it sounds exciting. Was it filthy?"
"We sank down to our ankles in mud when it rained hard enough."
Lisette's eyes widened. "That is quite a bit of mud. Were there worms and snails?"
"Hundreds."
Alex wrinkled his nose in disgust while Lisette appeared enthralled. "Please tell us more, if you wouldn't mind."
"Very well, Lisette, since you asked so politely. I will tell you that your father had found several pieces of stone that were turquoise in color. He had acquired quite the collection, and on this particular day he had spotted another one that was larger than the rest combined, but it was down a very steep embankment where it was difficult to find purchase in the mud and sand. The drop was at least fifty meters from the game trail we traveled to the stream at the bottom, which wound through the woods like a menacing snake."
"Oh my," Lisette gasped.
My brother offered a somber nod. "Your father attempted to lie down and reach the stone, but his arms weren't long enough, so I anchored myself to a branch with one hand and held onto him with the other."
"Did he get the rock?" Alex asked.
"He did," Phelan answered. "And as I shifted my weight to hoist him back up, the branch snapped."
Julia gasped in horror. "My goodness, how frightful."
"We slid down a nearly straight drop, toppling over one another. Rather than attempt to grab onto a sapling or tree root, I held onto my brother with both hands and my legs wrapped around him so that we would not become separated. We must have bounced at least twenty times before we rolled to a stop at the bottom of the forest floor some hundred meters down."
"A hundred meters!" Alex exclaimed. "I thought you said fifty!"
"Possibly two hundred, Alex. I landed on my back with your father on top of me. My hair, as I recall, was wet from the stream, that's how close we were to falling in."
"You're fortunate the two of you weren't seriously injured or killed with such a fall," Julia said.
"We didn't survive completely unscathed. Erik split his lip open and had several scratches and bruises, but that was the extent of his injuries," Phelan explained. "I had a knot on my head and a black eye and I seem to recall we both had the wind knocked out of us."
"What about your neck?" Lisette asked.
Phelan lifted his chin and ran two fingers across the scar that spanned from ear to ear across his throat. "Ah, yes, I almost forgot about that part. This battle scar is from a broken tree branch. Thankfully it wasn't a deep cut."
"It must have hurt," Lisette said sympathetically. She frowned and leaned toward my brother, examining the scar. "Does it still hurt now?"
My brother shook his head. "No, my dearest niece, it has healed and causes me no trouble, but at the time it stung quite a bit."
"Did you grow a beard so that no one would see the scar?" Lisette asked.
Phelan's lips twitched. "No, no of course not. This scar I gained quite proudly from protecting my little brother when we were much younger. I would have done anything for him. If he would allow it, I still would."
My breath hitched and I swallowed hard, barely able to comprehend the sincerity in his voice. Despite the amount of time we had been separated, I knew for certain that Phelan wanted me in his life and I wanted him in mine.
I looked from my brother to my wife and our children and felt my throat tighten. Four people sat before me; one I had not seen since I was three, a son I had raised since he was an infant, a woman who had given me five years of her company and had vowed a lifetime at my side and our daughter who had accepted me as her father. Inexplicably they did not think of me as a broken monster, but as someone deserving of their time and affection.
Alex tapped Phelan on the shoulder several times. "What happened to the rock?"
Phelan inhaled and turned his attention toward my son. "I am glad you asked, Nephew. After nearly falling to our deaths, your father still had the rock in his palm."
Julia sat back and smiled. "Surely he did not."
"With God as my witness, I assure you he did. It amazes me how your husband is able to hold onto things." Again Phelan glanced at me, his eyes steely gray. "I imagine that rock is still in the cave where we used to play, along with a hundred other items he collected."
"Uncle Phelan, may we come with you and look for the cave?" Alex asked.
"When you're older."
"But you said that you were younger than me when you used to play in the woods," Alex pointed out.
"Yes, I was, and if you recall from my story, your father and I were nearly killed. What sort of uncle would put his most favorite niece and nephew in harm's way?"
"We would be very careful," Lisette promised.
"It's not my decision," Phelan replied. "And I'm afraid I do not have the time to lead you through the woods of Conforeit." He met my eye and frowned. "I shall return home sooner than I intended."
"Nothing wrong, I hope?" Julia said.
Phelan shook his head. "Nothing that will not remedy itself in time."
His words left me speechless. I didn't ask my brother when he would leave and he offered no further details. The conversation abruptly ended and my heart ached in a way I had not expected, a preemptive response to a loss I had not anticipated with him taking his leave before we returned to Paris. Although Phelan hadn't given an official date for his return home, somehow I had convinced myself that he would remain in Calais for the duration of our holiday.
"Alex, Lisette, why don't we take a walk down the beach?" Julia said brightly.
"Is Papa coming too?" Lisette asked.
"Later," I promised as I watched them head toward the water. Bessie chose to remain at my side with her body pressed to my leg and I reached down to scratch her neck. "When are you leaving?" I asked Phelan, keeping my eyes trained on Julia and our children.
"Late afternoon on the twenty-seventh or first thing in the morning on the twenty-eighth. Most likely in the morning as Christophe is not one for traveling at night and honestly I am not either."
"In two days, then?"
He nodded. "Are you able to tolerate me for two more days, little brother?"
"If I must," I said, matching his sardonic tone.
My brother sat back and stared into his cup of coffee, his brow knit and lips in a frown. Two more days to solidify a relationship with my only living immediate family member. Two more days of conversation and meals before our communication was reduced to letters. The very thought of us being separated yet again felt like betrayal.
"I wrote to Toke and Hilda yesterday," Phelan said suddenly. "Normally I pay them a visit in November, however, I believe this year I shall travel to Skyderhelm in September or early October before the weather turns."
"What about the university?"
"What about it?"
"You would be leaving weeks after the semester starts. What will your students do?"
Phelan shrugged. "They will survive in their utter stupidity with or without me for two weeks."
I grunted in response to his brash answer and knew an exchange of letters would not suffice once we were separated.
"I promised I would invite you."
I blinked at him. "I...I was invited to conduct at the Grand Palace in October. There was no date set yet, though I suppose I could ask for the performance to be moved back a month."
"Or we could travel in September."
I glanced toward the water where Julia held Lisette by the wrists and twirled her around. The two of them were laughing to the point of being out of breath while Alex stood jumping up and down as he awaited his turn.
Phelan went momentarily silent and watched them with me. "I imagine you would wish to discuss the details with your wife before committing to travel, however, I assure you that Hilda will be eager to meet you, even if you are unable to stay for more than a handful of days."
Based solely on the portrait that I had seen of my grandmother, I was eager to meet her as well and convinced that I would be fond of her the moment we were introduced.
"Are they aware that…" their grandson is deformed? That he wears a mask to conceal unsightly scars?
My brother's gaze momentarily settled on the side of my face that was typically masked. "I gave them a portrait of you years ago," he answered. "Created from memory of when we were children. One of my most favorite pieces, I should say, and one I replicated for myself."
My breath hitched. In the back of my mind I imagined my grandmother and grandfather repulsed by the sight of me in a portrait and disgusted by my appearance as an adult, the two of them huddled together and wary of my presence once I stepped foot on their property. Perhaps they would not allow a masked man into their home out of concern that evil spirits surrounded me. Perhaps they would not permit me onto their farm out of fear and superstition, both of which I had extensive experience with from the traveling fair. The villages with more livestock than people were always the most dangerous.
"Toke asked what had happened," Phelan continued. He flexed his damaged hand. "I explained that the scars were an injury before birth, not a wound inflicted like this one."
I eyed him. "You told them that our father burned you?"
Phelan nodded once. "Toke asked and I answered. The incident was not my fault, why would I be untruthful?"
"What did our grandfather say?"
"He was not pleased. I believe the translation for his words were roughly something to the effect of digging up Bjorn's bones to spit on him."
I stared at the table, unsure of how I felt about my maternal grandparents acquiring a portrait of me as a child that depicted what I truly looked like without my mask.
"You should meet them once," Phelan said. "While they are of good health and sound mind. Every time I've visited them for the last several years, I worry it will be the last moment I see them both alive and well." Phelan leaned forward. "Come with me, little brother, if only for a few days."
"And if they do not wish to meet me?"
Phelan eyed me suspiciously. "You think they will be disappointed in their well-known, widely celebrated composer of a grandson?"
"That is not all that I am," I said under my breath.
From the beach, Lisette and Alex collapsed in the sand, both of them clutching their bellies as they laughed. Julia sat between them, smiling as she glanced over her shoulder at me, her face flushed and eyes bright.
"How in the world did you convince such a delightful woman to marry you?" Phelan asked as he nodded toward Julia. "Honestly, I must know your secret."
"My natural charm," I dryly answered.
Phelan grunted. "Did Julia know who you were when the two of you met?"
"She thankfully realized a time later."
"Thankfully? Surely there are not many with the surname Kire in Paris where it was difficult to perceive your identity."
I stared at him briefly. "You...you meant as a composer?"
"Of course. What did you think I…?" Phelan's expression darkened. "You were referring to the ghost?"
"The most famous ghost in Paris," I said quietly, repeating the words my brother had said to me when we first met.
Phelan frowned and nodded. "I owe you an apology for being so ill-mannered and quarrelsome when we were first introduced. I regret my attempt at instigating an argument."
"Instigating an argument as well as insulting my dog, which is far more egregious."
My brother snorted. "My apologies to Bessie. In all honesty, little brother, it is quite evident that what you said is true; the phantom of the old opera house is not who you are any longer."
I looked away from him and ran my fingernails along the grates on the metal surface of the table. There was a small bubble of rust that I chipped away at while considering his words.
"It is always who I will be," I answered. "When Julia and I met almost six years ago, a few of my compositions had sold here and there, but the majority were not considered or did not meet my expectations so I burned them and started over," I continued. "I was not much of anything when we met."
"You were-"
"An utter failure," I said before my brother could finish. "The only place I had considered a home was destroyed by my own ruinous hands, the woman who had abandoned our child in my care had fled Paris, and...and what else was there?"
Phelan remained quiet for a long moment and turned his attention back to the beach where Alex had rolled up his trousers legs and attempted a handstand. He managed to hold the position for several seconds before he landed gently back on his bare feet. For a heartbeat I saw how much he resembled Christine as a dancer, his movements filled with grace and ease.
Alex's eyes met mine and he waved enthusiastically with a grin spread wide across his face, clearly pleased that I had witnessed his acrobatic display. The joyful expression was all his own, and the way in which he threw his head back and laughed filled me with warmth that had not existed at any other point in my life.
"What else was there indeed," Phelan said as he nodded toward his nephew. "In six years time you have gone from a self-described nothing to a man married to an exceptional woman and the father of two bright children. You are arguably one of the most prolific composers of our time and, God willing, you have decades left to add to your legacy." He lifted his index finger, silencing me before I could argue, and issued a stern look. "Accept my compliment, Kire."
"I was fortunate to receive much needed guidance from Madeline Giry, even when I did not wish for her input."
Phelan raised a brow. "Madeline Giry? Related to Annette Giry?"
"They are one and the same," I replied.
He continued to study me for a moment. "The Madame Giry?"
"I've no idea if there is more than one woman by the name of Madame Giry."
"Madame Giry the ballet mistress?"
I nodded.
"The consultant to countless opera houses? The woman who discovered Nicolette Stan?" my brother asked incredulously.
"Discovered?"
"Mademoiselle Stan has credited Madame Giry for her career. She has thanked Madame in each season's program for the last four years at least," Phelan said, clearly annoyed by my lack of knowledge on the subject.
"Then apparently so."
"Madame is...what to you, exactly?"
"Family," I answered. "To the rest of the world Madeline is famous for her work in the theater, but to me she is...she has been my sister and my mother since the time I was twelve years of age and a grandmother to my son. By all accounts she is an invaluable member of my family and undoubtedly my closest and oldest friend."
Had Madeline been seated at the table I had no doubt she would have dramatically gasped and flung her arms around me, such was her inability to harness her emotions.
Phelan seemed shocked by my words. "You met her at the theater then, I assume? After the traveling fair?"
I shook my head and stared past him at the beach where Julia had walked our children to the very edge of the water and far from earshot. My breath caught, heart stammering as I considered my next words with care.
"Madeline Giry attended the traveling fair on the last night the gypsies passed through Paris," I said without looking my brother in the eye. "In a crowd of perhaps three dozen people, she was the only one who did not laugh or goad Garouche on when he entered the cage."
"The cage where you were kept?" Phelan asked.
My jaw clenched. I swallowed and nodded, my vision distant and blurred. No one had asked me directly about the fair and I had never offered up the details willingly.
"What happened?" he asked.
I braced myself, unsure of whether I truly desired an audience to share the shameful horrors of nearly a year of my life.
"There were six shows a day, six days a week," I said at last. "Garouche used a rod thick as a rolling pin and struck me between the shoulder blades as part of the...act. Six blows each time."
The air would be forced from my lungs and my eyes would fill with tears and my legs, if I was standing at all, would be taken out from under me.
While the sensation of being beaten had eluded my memory, my heart raced at the mere thought of Garouche standing over me, of how helpless and humiliated I felt every single show.
"He would leave me in the dirt for a moment and speak to the crowd of what they would witness and then he would stand over me, usually with his boot over my hand or his knee against my chest if I was seated in order to keep me in one place, and then he would pull off the burlap sack that obscured my face."
The sack made breathing difficult and it stank from my own sweat and the rot of the fair. All at once the damp, heavy heat of the sack turned to a shock of cooler air and a sea of faces staring back at me, a wall of stunned individuals staring back at me in collective wide-eyed in disbelief.
"There would be a second or two of silence before Garouche would encourage the crowd to pelt me with rotting tomatoes and wilted greens. I would feel it in my ears and in my hair, this slimy, rotten mix of produce and spit from those who were able to stand near enough."
I paused, feeling the rise of goose flesh on my arms as the months of cruelty and humiliation rushed back into the forefront of my mind. From the corner of my eye I saw Phelan grimace, his lips pulled back in disgust of my long ago plight.
For a long moment I fell silent. There had been many times when I told myself that this had not happened, that I had made up the entire ten months and I was truly mad and deserved to be committed to an asylum. It seemed impossible that I could have survived a week let alone ten months, but the flyers from the fair itself and the wanted posters glued to buildings after my escape revealed that I had very much survived the traveling show.
"I was not permitted to wash between shows," I said at last. "By the sixth one I was coated in filth so thick I wretched and often there was a splatter of my own blood across the backs of my hands from being struck in the knuckles or a stone striking me in the face. Countless people across Europe witnessed this display for nearly a year and only one person looked me in the eye."
"Anne Giry," Phelan said automatically. He offered the slightest of smiles.
I nodded. "She didn't throw rotten food or spit on me as the others did and her sympathy did not go unnoticed. Garouche called out to her and she told him that he should be ashamed of himself."
"That was brave of her. Given what I know of Madame, I am not surprised. She has quite the reputation from what I understand."
"Back then Madeline was nothing more than another girl in the ballet. She lingered as the crowd made their way out of the tent and I thought that she might approach, but Garouche stood in the way and she turned to leave."
I glanced at Phelan, who waited in silence for me to continue before I lowered my gaze and stared at the grates in the table. My chest tightened as I dreaded my next words.
"Garouche had his back to me, muttering as he often did of how worthless it was to keep me around when I barely produced any income," I said. "He spoke of how he could slit my throat and the crowd would pay to watch me bleed out like a pig," I said with a humorless laugh.
Phelan stared silently at me, his eyes slightly narrowed and features taut.
"I saw the club Garouche used to strike me discarded outside of the cage and far from his reach. As he bent to retrieve more coins, I noticed a rope fell into the straw from his pocket and...and I was sick to death of being beaten over and over, of the crowd cheering for him to strike me again and again when I could barely lift my head and my lungs were void of air. I couldn't bear it again. I grabbed the rope and pulled it around his neck. The next thing I knew, he slumped over."
My stomach churned, my head buzzing with the sensation that came before loss of consciousness at the thought of the man I had murdered. Bessie unexpectedly jumped up and placed her paws on my lap and I grasped her long ears and wrinkles of extra flesh in my hands, focusing on the warmth of her body rather than the chill in my blood.
"You killed him?" Phelan asked, his voice far more even than I had anticipated.
"Not intentionally," I answered quickly. My heart raced, same as it had done that long ago day forever etched into my memory. "He fought against me, digging his fingernails into my forearms and the backs of my hands until he grew weaker. Each time I considered releasing him, I knew that if he gained the upper hand, he would beat me to death. I held the rope tight around his neck until his eyes bulged open and his body went still. And then I thought I would be sick after what I had done."
"What you had done?" Phelan questioned incredulously.
"I murdered him," I answered, my voice quivering.
I was the son of the devil, a monster far too grotesque to be considered human, and a killer by the age of twelve. I had wanted none of it.
Phelan lifted a brow and shook his head. "No, Kire, a man who clubs a child into submission thirty-six times in a week received precisely what he deserved," he said through his teeth. His damaged hand formed a fist, which he relaxed once he saw me staring. "Quite frankly, every individual who stood watching such a vile act deserves to be strung up by the neck."
"If not for Madeline's kindness, I knew for certain I would have been the one to swing from the gallows. Instead, she guided me to the Opera House."
"Into the cellars?"
I nodded, noting the tightness in his voice. "The moments that followed are a blur to me still, but Madeline fed, clothed, and hid me while mobs searched the city. She owed me nothing and yet..." I swallowed and looked away from him. "And yet she has been my truest friend. I would not have survived without her help."
Phelan regarded me for a long moment. "You are a bigger mystery than I would have wagered, little brother."
I grunted. "What was it like when you arrived in Paris?" I asked, desiring to draw the conversation away from myself.
My brother sighed. "There was plenty of trouble to find oneself in frequently."
I furrowed my brow. "What sort of trouble?"
Phelan offered a devilish grin. "The kind no young man can resist, little brother. Delightfully feminine trouble of the most exquisite kind."
I shook my head. "Indeed."
