A/N: I changed a little bit of Ch 120 on Feb 20th 2023 if you read it prior to then. Added about 500 words and some details that weren't there previously, such as what Claude was drawing.

Ch 121

Two men dressed in white appeared at the top of the stairs and approached wordlessly. The sight of them increased my heartrate as I thought of Persia and the many times I had been collected by unfamiliar men that dragged me from my apartments to the prison yard or the prison yard to wherever Kamil requested once I was sufficiently bloodied and incoherent.

The words were lodged in my throat: We have reconsidered. But we were not in Persia and the surgery for Claude was necessary for his well-being.

"Wh-why do you look nervous, Monsieur?" Claude asked. "Is something wrong?"

I realized he had been studying me and how my reaction had rattled him. "Nothing is wrong," I assured him.

Claude did not appear convinced. He warily stared up at me, his trepidation visible on his strained features. He muttered something in Danish, which I assumed was a hastily spoken prayer as he bowed his head and closed his eyes.

"Place the patient on the table," Dr. Anderson commanded.

The two men lifted Claude effortlessly and carried him to the table. One arranged his legs and draped a sheet over his prone form while the other rolled lamps toward the table and another small table on wheels that held a device with a small mask that would fit over Claude's mouth and nose.

"What is that?" Claude asked, his voice shaking. His entire body tensed and I thought for certain he would leap off the table and crawl out of the building.

"This will put you into a peaceful sleep for the procedure," Dr. Khan explained.

"Asleep?" Claude questioned. "Won't I wake when it starts?"

"No," Dr. Anderson said over her shoulder. "You will feel nothing and have no recollection of the time spent on my table. When you wake it will seem as though mere seconds have passed."

Claude looked to me for confirmation and I nodded. Beside me, Dr. Khan turned a dial on the machine and lifted the face mask, which emitted a hissing sound.

"Wait," Claude said, propping himself up on his elbows. "Monsieur Kimmer, would you take my art supplies and book for safekeeping?"

"Of course," Phelan said. "I will continue to enjoy your work while you are sleeping if you wouldn't mind. And I will write an offer for the sketch I intend to purchase."

Claude eased back onto the table and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm ready," he said.

Dr. Khan fit the mask over Claude's mouth and nose and told him to breathe naturally. Within seconds, Claude's eyes closed and body relaxed.

"He is asleep," Dr. Khan said. "You may return home and I will send word once he is awake."

Phelan and I exchanged looks. "How long until he is awake once more?" I asked.

"An hour or so," Dr. Anderson answered.

"I suppose we shall be home in time for supper," Phelan answered.

"Escort these gentlemen to the suite if they are staying," Dr. Anderson ordered.

One of the men who had placed Claude on the table lifted the corner of the blanket to expose Claude's foot and ankle while the other motioned toward the stairs and ushered us away.

There were a dozen chairs in the rectangular suite overlooking the surgical theater, none of which were occupied. The man who had escorted us up asked if we were in need of anything, which we declined.

"I shall return when the procedure has been completed and Dr. Anderson permits you to visit the surgery area," he said before closing the door.

Phelan took his seat and I did the same. We sat in silence for a moment, neither of us looking out the large window at the area below where Dr. Anderson prepared for the surgery and Dr. Khan assisted. We could hear the surgeon's muffled voice issuing orders to Dr. Khan and the other man who had placed Claude onto the table through a long vent at our feet.

"Jail was not my doing," Phelan said. He flipped open Claude's sketchbook to the last page, which was blank, and smoothed his fingers over the bent corner. "The time I was incarcerated and met Pierre, I should say. Other instances of incarceration were absolutely my own doing."

"You were jailed for no reason?"

My brother grunted. "You sound like Val."

I furrowed my brow. "I beg your pardon?"

"He didn't believe me either."

"I was not being accusatory," I said defensively.

Phelan began drawing circles onto the blank page, darkening the edges as he went. He inhaled and paused, examining the shapes. "I am convinced the gendarmes simply wanted each cell to have six people in it, so I was merely incarcerated for the sake of even numbers. Wrong place, Kire, wrong time."

"May I ask what the circumstances were?"

"I was at the Crow and the Cane down on Rue Montorgueil, listening to a poetry reading by a woman I fancied," he said.

I knew of the Crown and Cane. Charles, being as worldly as he was, knew many in the artistic community and had ventured there a handful of times with the assistance of his friends. It wasn't particularly far from my home, but, if moving Claude in a wheelchair to and from Dr. Khan's office around the corner from the park had proved anything at all; it was that the streets were not welcoming to anyone incapable of walking on two legs.

"There was a protest of some sort taking place a street over that crept increasingly nearer. A disagreement about unfair wages, if I'm not mistaken. The Crow and Cane owner said he would lock the door to keep his patrons safe, but we heard breaking glass across the street and I decided it was best we leave at once. I managed to get my lady friend into a carriage and then turned and saw the shop owner struck with his own broom."

"You intervened?"

"No, I didn't have the opportunity to do more than gawk as someone came up from behind and shoved me as hard as they could into one of the gendarmes. When I turned around, fully intending to swing at whomever was in my path, there were two more gendarmes, one of whom recognized me from a previous encounter. Boucher, the bastard, told me to put my hands behind my back. Before I could comply, one of his friends clubbed me between the shoulders and made certain I was on my knees."

My hands balled into fists and I sat up straighter as I considered what I might have done to anyone who dared strike my brother.

"Why was Pierre imprisoned?" I questioned.

"They said he had set fire to a home," Phelan answered. "A charge that was dropped as there were witnesses that proved otherwise."

"Then you were both wrongfully held?"

"For three days."

I gaped at him. "Three days?"

"Mysteriously, the bank notes I had in my overcoat pocket went missing when Boucher took my possessions for inventory, thus I was not able to pay my fine. A notice was sent to Val's home, which was returned hours later with a claim that the house had no one with that name residing there."

"He refused to aid you?"

Phelan shrugged. "Val claims the notice never made it to his door, so either he was not telling me the truth or Boucher purposely sent one of his men to the wrong address in order to keep me for the full three days. Something similar also happened to Pierre that prevented his family knowing his whereabouts."

Phelan looked up from his drawing and sniffed. "Breathing hurt like hell, Kire. There was nowhere to sleep aside from the two benches along the wall as the floor was a swamp of various bodily fluids. Each bench could seat two men at a time, meaning there were always two of us standing day and night. One man refused to give up his seat aside from relieving himself, and the rest of us had no desire to challenge his position.

"My back was on fire," he continued. He began to work on shaping eyes and a nose within the circle he'd drawn. "Standing for hours on end made every muscle cramp up along my lower spine. Sitting made it difficult to breathe. I wished to lay on my side, but that wasn't an option."

"What did you do?"

"I paced," Phelan answered, his voice distant. "Until I was weary and nauseous. And then Pierre offered me his turn to sit and convinced another man to give me a half hour of lying down as I was the only one in our cell with a substantial injury.

"When Pierre's turn came around again, he gave up his place a second time. After that, he mentioned that he had seen me around Salon de Vive and had apparently seen an advertisement for one of the art shows I was in. We passed the time talking about his wishes to attend Ecole de Beaux-Arts and his interest in sculpting before his aunt came to collect him at last.

"Three months later I ran into him by chance and he said that the art school had not accepted him as a student. The following week, he and his sister Calista became the first members of the Carlisle Club. Now in my absence, Pierre has largely taken over the group and kept it running."

"They meet on Thursdays?"

Phelan nodded. "Every Thursday evening for the last six years. Although with the Exposition, I'm honestly surprised they were meeting in the park over lunch with intentions to meet tonight. From what I understand Pierre has been working at the exhibition grounds since spring."

I watched as he drew in eyebrows and lips.

"Have you been to the world's fair?" he asked.

"Briefly."

Phelan looked up, eyebrows raised. "I honestly thought you would say that it didn't interest you in the least."

I wasn't sure how to answer. The fair itself with its exhibits of new products and technologies had piqued my interest when I read various articles detailing what the Exposition had on display. I greatly desired to see the pavilions from Argentina and Mexico, and to dine in one of the dozens of restaurants with cuisine from around the world.

The grounds were massive, grand buildings erected solely to display wonders most people had never witnessed and most likely would never see with their own eyes outside of Paris. For the cost of a mere forty centimes, one was able to visit the world without leaving the country.

And despite all of the different countries that marched into my city, locations I had wished to explore, I could not freely walk through the fair without drawing unwanted attention to myself, without the possibility of being caught for crimes I had committed a decade earlier.

I hated the World's Fair and everything about it while at the same time longing to walk through like the thousands upon thousands of other people who were not maimed at birth. The very thought of something so grand residing out of my reach incensed me. Jealousy had consumed me, obsession filling my darkened days and endless nights, and sorrow followed my every step.

And the worst part was I never realized how truly miserable I made myself once I caught wind of Christine's return. Music, Julia, Alex and even Bessie were set aside for the only person I could see myself truly loving.

"I attended the opening ceremony," I answered at last.

"In April?"

"End of March, actually" I replied. "The thirty-first, to be exact."

It was a cold spring day that I had marked on my calendar months in advance, a day that I had anticipated so greatly that I lost sleep over for weeks on end as I fantasized about the opening ceremony festivities.

Christine would sing again in the city that had made her famous. She would perform for her first teacher, for the loyal man who adored her more than anyone else ever had and ever could.

I would be able to not only see her again, but hear her heavenly voice. And somehow…somehow I would make her mine. I only need a moment of her precious time and she would see what she'd not seen before: We were destined to be together; the angel of the stage and her angel of music. We completed each other, heart and soul bound by music.

"Christine performed at two-thirty that afternoon after the cannon salute," I answered. "She sang two arias and was on the stage for twenty-eight and a half minutes."

Phelan stopped drawing altogether and met my eye. His expression indicated that he wasn't sure how to respond.

"I had no idea she was scheduled to perform," he carefully said.

I'd known every detail made available to the public. Starting a full year before the fair's opening when it had been confirmed Christine would sing, I had scoured every newspaper for any mention of her name and had collected each word as though it somehow would bind her to me.

"I wanted to see her," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "And I would stop at nothing for my desire."

"You were not courting Julia in March?" Phelan warily asked. "I thought you had been with her for quite some time before you were married."

"No, not courting, at least not properly," I answered. My throat felt dry as sand, my hands cold as ice. The world's fair had opened a mere six months earlier, and yet that now seemed life a lifetime ago. I had been a different person, and in hindsight I did not like the man I had been in the spring. In fact, I despised him for what he had done.

My brother stared back at me wordlessly.

"Our relationship was purely physical," I shamefully explained. "Or at least that is what I told myself and quite foolishly told Julia. And if that was not enough, I spoke to Julia of Christine's performance and my intentions once I heard her sing again."

"What were your intentions?"

"To convince Christine that her place was with me," I answered. I had been so certain she would not deny me this time, that she would hear me speak of Alex and realize she needed to be with us. "She was staying at the Wisteria Hotel not far from my home. I went to pay her a visit and persuade her to stay in Paris with me for the sake of our son."

Phelan looked away. His expression looked more angry than bewildered. His only reply was an exhale of frustration.

"Christine was alone in the sitting room when I arrived at her hotel suite and within minutes of seeing her again I realized my mistake," I answered. My stomach was in knots thinking of how I had startled her, how the moment I had visualized for six months had gone terribly, terribly wrong. "I thought she would understand what I needed for Alex, but she told me she didn't want my son and never did. She went so far as to say that she had never wanted to give birth to him and in fact had attempted to end her condition, but it was unsuccessful."

I inhaled sharply, thinking of how I'd been unable to comprehend how such a lovely and talented woman could feel nothing for her own child.

"And then her husband returned with a couple of his friends after an evening of celebrating. He discovered me in his hotel room with his wife and it was not a pleasant reunion between the two of us." I offered a humorless laugh at how absurd my intentions had been. "They were kind enough to escort me from the hotel and a good distance away from the street into an alley where Raoul de Chagny and his two friends proceeded to attack me so severely that I have no idea how I survived."

"The same Raoul de Chagny who sent Claude's sister to your home?"

"Yes, the same one."

Phelan stared at me for a long moment. "I suppose that is a story for another time. Pardon my interruption."

I fell silent for a moment and gathered my thoughts. "Alex found me," I continued, keeping my voice low. "And somehow he managed to enlist Julia's help. They wheeled me back to Julia's home where I put forth an outstandingly horrid effort into making her regret her kindness by being as condescending and uncooperative as possible. Quite frankly, if she had deposited me into a gutter and walked over my crumpled form, it would have been more than I deserved."

"That is how Alex saw you without the mask for the first time?"

I nodded. "My nose bled quite freely, my face so swollen my eyes would barely open, and my arm dislocated from the altercation." I rubbed my shoulder instinctively. The aching was no longer bothersome, but I still thought of how it felt as though every ligament and muscle was torn. "That is how my son first saw his father for what he truly was."

I started to pinch the bridge of my nose, but realized I was still masked and paused. Strange how I had gone from wearing a mask day and night to only when necessary. A year ago, being without my most prized piece of my wardrobe, would have never been a consideration.

"And Julia saw me as well, witnessing the true monster beneath the mask for the first time. Despite my ugliness inside and out, she repaired me when I asked her to leave me be."

My throat tightened. I thought of how terrible I had treated her, how I had fought her when she attempted to clean the cuts and stitch the split in my forehead that traveled past my hairline. I thought of how I had angered and hurt her purposely, intent on driving her away because the hatred I felt for myself far outweighed how much she cared for me and how much I had grown to love her over the years.

My actions had been purely juvenile-and that was an insult to children. It was clear to me then, as I recounted all that had happened, how I had courted madness.

"All of the love I had desired, all of the compassion and understanding I had been denied had been mine for five wonderful years with Julia and nine with Alex. I'd dismissed their affection in favor of a dream that deep down I'd known would not come to fruition, no matter what I did. And still…I pushed them aside."

My brother couldn't look me in the eye. He rolled the pencil between his thumb and forefinger and stared at the unfinished face.

"I am ashamed of who I was, Lan," I said under my breath. "I regret what I said and what I did, how I hurt Alex, Julia and Madeline. Even Bessie suffered because of me."

Phelan swallowed and I dreaded that I had revealed far too much of myself.

"If there are words of judgment you wish to speak…"

He looked at me sharply, his eyes like iron. "First of all, I am your brother, not a judge and certainly not a man who claims to be innocent or saintly," Phelan said. "Secondly, it is not my place to reprimand you for mistakes you have made in the past. You are clearly still punishing yourself far worse than I would."

I looked away first and bowed my head.

"And third, I am deeply sorry that you could not see what you had in a woman like Julia that you thought you needed someone like Christine de Chagny."

My lips parted, but I had nothing to say.

"If we had been acquainted again prior to the spring, I can guarantee you that in the most loving way possible, I would have knocked you upside the head and shaken you until your brain was sufficiently rattled in your skull in order to set you straight, Kire."

"I doubt that would have made a difference," I said. After all, not even being beaten nearly to death had brought clarity to my muddled mind. "Quite frankly, I still don't understand what Julia could possibly see in me."

Phelan inhaled and began shaping the face on the page. He remained quiet and at work for a long moment, focused on the details before him rather than responding.

"You are attempting to apply rationale and reasoning to something that defies all logic, little brother. Love does not obey science or heed laws. When you find yourself with a woman such as Julia, you thank the heavens, praise every god and goddess you can think of, and pray that the woman who chooses to be at your side never comes to her senses and realizes you are in no way her equal, but a man who should be groveling at her feet until your last dying breath."

"It is truly a pity you were not around in April of this year. I could have used your sage advice."

"I am here now," he offered. "And I am certain you will still need my advice until your last breath, Kire."

"I am grateful that you are here." I said sincerely. I glanced up and saw Dr. Khan remove the mask from Claude's face.

Phelan blew bits of pencil dust off the page. "As you should be," he said absently. He smiled to himself. "Then a bit of advice while we are sitting alone together?"

I humored him, fully expecting a dry remark.

"Take your lovely wife and adoring children to the Exposition, visit the top of that abominable tower, and have Alex point out your home from the observatory before the fair closes. Be with them."

I can't, I wanted to say. I cannot walk into the world's fair, same as everyone else. But I wasn't certain that was still true. My reputation as a composer had seemingly replaced the notoriety of the ghost.

"Enjoy the time with your wife and children before the stork arrives with a third bundle of joy."

My lips parted and brow furrowed. "How–how did you know Julia was expecting?"

Phelan glanced up and raised a brow. "I'm not an idiot, Kire," he said, eyeing me. "Ginger cookies to settle the nausea, an illness that only takes place in the morning, and not to mention patterns for baby clothes strewn all over the dining room today. Someone was obviously in a family way and by sheer deduction I eliminated both Madame Giry and Bessie."

"I had no idea Julia was with child until this afternoon when she told me," I said.

Phelan grunted and added curls to his drawing. Immediately I knew for certain that he drew his nephew.

"Is it too late for me to sit you down for a conversation regarding the birds and the bees?" my brother asked.

I snorted. "A few decades, at least."

He blew on the rough sketch and held it up for me to see. "Alex, listening to his father play the violin in the park this afternoon. Working title, of course."

"He looks happy," I commented, appreciating the likeness of my son. Alex would have been absolutely thrilled to see his portrait.

"He was happy. And quite proud of his father, I might add."

Skepticism took hold. "Alex has never shown much interest in my music…"

"Kire," my brother said, his tone gruff and warning. "Minds are allowed to change and hearts to mend. It would be a great disservice to my nephew to think that the person he was a year ago–or even six months ago– is who he is today. Perhaps he has experienced the world in a new way and appreciates what he has around him, even if it has been there the whole time."

"Maybe you're right."

Phelan grunted and closed the sketchbook. "Do you have any idea to whom you are speaking? Of course I'm right, Kire. I'm your older brother and thus I've never been wrong a day in my life."

OoO

Dr. Khan came to fetch us once the surgery was complete. He walked into the observation area with such a sullen expression that Phelan and I immediately rose to our feet.

"What happened?" Phelan asked before I could utter a word.

Dr. Khan inhaled. "I am not attempting to alarm you," he said, which did nothing but alarm me. "Claude is having a bit of a struggle regaining his wits."

I looked out the large window at the surgical table below where Dr. Anderson stood tapping Claude's cheeks.

"He will come to, won't he?" I asked.

"Yes, he should–"

"Should or will?"

Dr. Khan didn't offer an answer readily. "He should," he said at last. "In the next fifteen minutes."

"And if he doesn't?" I pressed.

"Then we will reevaluate in sixteen minutes."

"May we see him?" Phelan asked.

Dr. Khan nodded and stepped aside, allowing me to proceed down to the surgical area ahead of him.

Claude was breathing faintly when I approached. His flesh lacked color, his lips appearing almost bloodless.

"Why isn't he awake?" I demanded.

Dr. Anderson squeezed Claude's palm and massaged his fingers. "Everyone responds differently to the anesthesia," she said. "Some better than others."

"What can be done?" I asked.

"Talk to him," she said. "Move his hands and fingers and tap his cheeks until he responds."

Phelan came up beside Claude on the other side and looked from him to Dr. Anderson. "What if he doesn't wake?"

Dr. Anderson offered little more than a frown. "I will return in a moment."

Phelan and I exchanged looks before my brother cleared his throat. "Claude Gillis," he said loudly. "I suggest you cease this absurdity at once and open your eyes. Do you hear me?"

Claude didn't respond. His left cheek was red where the surgeon had tapped him repeatedly, but other than that one area, he looked like a ghost.

"Claude," I said. "Your sister is in my home waiting for me to tell her that you are on the mend. What do you wish for me to tell her?"

I swore he took a deep breath–or at least deeper than the barely noticeable breaths he'd been taking since we approached. Phelan grabbed Claude by the jaw and jostled his head. The next breath was noticeably deeper, the air hissing through his parted lips.

"Claude," he said firmly.

Dr. Anderson returned with a steaming white bowl. She pushed Claude's shirt up and used a pair of tongs to remove a towel from the bowl, which she placed on his abdomen. The moment the hot cloth touched his flesh, Claude's mouth opened wide, the sound emerging from the back of his throat like a guttural cry from some demonic beast.

His eyes popped open, his pupils dilated and gaze darting around desperately. I grabbed the cloth immediately and flung it aside, noting the reddened mark to his flesh where the wet fabric had burned him.

All at once he writhed, nearly squirming off the edge of the table. I grabbed his left arm while Phelan grabbed his right and Dr. Khan took hold of Claude's good ankle.

Claude focused on Phelan first. He swallowed and gulped for air, his dilated eyes filled with fear.

"Hvem er du?" he frantically questioned, his voice strained. He swallowed again and licked his lips, coughing suddenly before he turned his attention to me. "Far? Er det dig?"

"He's speaking Danish, I believe," Phelan said.

"He is asking if you are his father," Dr. Anderson said to me. She rubbed a strong-smelling bitter salve onto her fingers and gingerly applied it to the burn, then covered him up to the middle of his chest with a blanket before she walked away and looked through the bottles on one of the shelves.

I doubted I resembled his father, but assumed we were of similar age. "No, Claude, I am not your father."

He blinked when I spoke, his lips parting in awe. "Your voice," he whispered in French. "I know your voice." His eyes closed briefly and he smiled to himself. "I wish you were my father. Perhaps if I fall asleep again I will wake and my wish will be granted."

He didn't see me smile back at him, flattered by his words. When he opened his eyes again, he looked at Phelan.

"Monsieur Kimmer?"

"In the flesh."

"What year is it?"

"Eighty-nine."

"Why do you look different?"

My brother rubbed his chin. "The beard is gone."

"I don't like it."

Phelan laughed. "It is a shame you will have no recollection of this conversation tomorrow."

For the first time, Claude looked down at his own body and the sheet that was draped over him from the chest down. His eyes widened and he gasped. "Am I dead?" he asked, frantically looking around. "This sheet, does it mean I am destined for the morgue?"

"No, no," Dr. Khan said, placing his hand firmly on Claude's shoulder. "You had surgery to repair your broken ankle and you are still very heavily under the influence of the substance used to keep you asleep. You were in my office earlier. Do you remember that?"

Claude shook his head and attempted to sit up, but Dr. Khan would not permit him to move. "A broken ankle? If that is so, why can't I feel anything? Is my back broken?"

He switched back to Danish, muttering frantically to himself until Dr. Anderson returned to his side. She replied to him in Danish, her voice soft and soothing when addressing her patient. I watched as she ran her fingers over his hair and nodded before taking a hypodermic needle and inserting it into the crook of Claude's arm.

"A small dose of morphine," she said. "Enough to relax you for the evening and keep you comfortable a while longer. Are you ready to move to a more comfortable bed?"

Claude nodded. The two men who had moved him onto the table returned with a cot, which Claude was able to scoot himself onto with relative ease.

He mumbled something to the men carrying him away, his words slurred and eyes glazed as the morphine pulsed through his veins.

Once they passed through the doorway at the top of the stairs, Dr. Anderson folded her hands and turned to me.

"Monsieur Kire?" she addressed me, the air of stearness returning once more.

"Dr. Anderson," I replied.

"Has the injury from birth ever been examined by a physician?"

My gaze slid to Dr. Khan, who busied himself by collecting various instruments on a silver tray beside the table where Claude had been a moment earlier.

"No," I answered. "And I do not believe it is necessary."

Dr. Anderson lifted her chin. "Do you know what caused the scarring? Was there instruments used in a difficult birth?"

I had no idea if my birth had been difficult or not, though I often imagined given the rest of my life that coming into the world had not been easy.

"I apologize, but I have no information to provide, Dr. Anderson."

She nodded, her stern expression softening. "There are surgeries that may lessen the appearance of the scars," she said. "Have you heard of this before?"

I shook my head wordlessly.

"Flesh is removed from a different part of the anatomy, typically the buttocks or the back of the thigh, and sewn onto the area that was previously scarred. It can greatly increase the aesthetic nature of one's appearance."

"This is something you have performed previously?" I hated that I asked, that I showed interest in undergoing such a procedure. She offered me something that I'd never thought possible: an opportunity to be rid of the scars.

"Where I practice medicine, I see many patients who have not received proper care and have suffered for years. They struggle in every aspect of their lives, including injuries and scars from labor that have gone untreated. I do as much as I can to aid those who struggle."

"I appreciate the offer, but at this time I am not interested. I shall compensate you for your skills this evening and return home to my family."

"Very well," she replied. "If the surgery is something that interests you in the future, have Dr. Khan contact me and I will be in touch the next time I pay a visit to France."

She then scribbled an amount onto a notepad, ripped the page clean from the book, and handed it to me.

"Dr. Khan will send word of Mr. Gillis' recovery in the morning. Enjoy your evening."