CH 162

Bodil and I went our separate ways, and I returned to the suites alone. Once I was inside my room, I heard Phelan and Myrna in the midst of conversation. With no desire to interrupt, I removed my shoes and quietly padded across the plush carpet where I paused near my open trunk.

With a moment to myself, I removed my mask temporarily, allowing my flesh to breathe.

"You look unsettled, Phelan," Myrna observed.

"Merely exhausted from lengthy travel and farm work."

"Perhaps distant is the more apt description."

"Forgive me, but I have not seen you in forty years and I find it difficult to believe you would know me well enough to evaluate my mood in such a manner."

"Physically distant is what I meant."

My brother scoffed. "I am hardly able to fit on your lap these days."

"I am aware. As you stated it has been forty years and that is far too long," Myrna agreed.

"Forgive me, but I do not recall having a decision in the matter."

I winced at his words, aware that his tone was fueled by the deep wounds he'd accumulated over the years.

"No, it was not your decision. You were still very much a baby the last time I saw you."

The conversation abruptly paused and I considered announcing my presence. Myrna–our grandmother–was the mythical 'woman with the cart' that my brother had fondly recalled throughout his life. I knew his memory of her was foggy, but that he had been quite fond of their time together. Judging by how the conversation had gone thus far, it seemed as though Phelan had forgotten his feelings toward her.

"Why did you stop?" I heard Phelan ask suddenly.

"I beg your pardon?" Myrna replied.

"Why did you stop coming to see me? With the cart and the pony? Was it…was it something I did that…that offended you?"

I held my breath, my body tense. The blame my brother had managed to place on himself for everyone else's actions was difficult to comprehend.

"No, it was nothing you did."

"Then why?"

"Because your father did not want me to visit," she answered.

"And you obeyed his wishes?" Phelan questioned.

I noted the inflection of anger and sadness, the tightness to his tone in an attempt to mask his true feelings.

In a matter of months, through scattered visits, I had come to know the sibling I'd been parted from for most of my life. How swiftly we had come to understand one another, learning each other's personality and mannerisms. I wondered if there was anything Myrna could have said that would lessen the turmoil my brother had felt with her abandonment.

"Bjorn was very insistent that I return home," she answered. "But my Alak promised to keep an eye on you on my behalf."

Phelan didn't reply to her statement. Given the strained relationship between my brother and uncle, I was not surprised that he held his tongue.

"Was Alak true to his word?" Myrna answered.

"If his word was that he would keep us alive, then he did what was necessary in order to succeed, but he did nothing more."

"I am quite sorry to hear that."

Phelan scoffed. "Are you? Truly?"

It was Myrna's turn to remain quiet. I pulled out the last of my clothing from the trunk and found the music Tadhg Bruno had composed was toward the bottom of my trunk, beneath the remaining articles of clean clothing.

His full name and address were typed across the top right corner of the first page, and I smoothed the papers, straightening the curled corners. As long as I was still conducting the performances in October, I intended to write to Monsieur Bruno and invite him to one of the shows, gifting him a coveted ticket I had reserved.

Tadhg would be the most attentive member of the audience, and I had no doubt he would know my music better than me–and most likely point out any errors I made for the evening. Our paths had crossed and diverged far too swiftly, and I genuinely hoped he would accept my offer of a ticket reserved for friends and family.

Friends and family. Two words that I had never been able to associate with my own life, made me smile to myself. How strange it still felt to be able to say I had not only a wife and children, but grandparents, a brother, a sister, and a cousin as well as a niece and nephew.

The sightless eye of the mask stared back at me, but I paid it no heed. What remained hidden beneath the mask had not crippled me as much as I had always imagined. Somehow, despite all of the ways I was different, I had found similarities with others. I had found the elusive acceptance that had seemed so distant for far too long–and the loneliness I had considered infinite was no longer a prominent part of my life.

What would my father think? I wondered silently. What would the man who spent his every waking moment attempting to snuff out any hope or joy I experience think of what I have become?

Undoubtedly he would have hated my success, I knew. He would not have celebrated my music or acknowledged my wife or our children. Phelan and I rekindling our lost connection would have galled him to no end, and meeting both of our grandmothers as well as our maternal grandfather would have boiled his blood that we had pieced together a family he had kept us from knowing.

It saddened me that even if our father still lived and breathed, I doubted he would have put forth the effort to reconcile with his children. His only concern was the bottle, and in the end, his infatuation ruined his family and claimed his bitter life.

I felt no anger toward our father when I thought of him. He didn't deserve my pity, yet I still felt the depths of sorrow for all he had taken from me and what he would not receive in return.

My heart ached with longing to see my wife and our children, to have Alex fling his arms around me with such force that I nearly lost my balance and Lisette to politely walk up and ask for a hug. The small moments I cherished with my children, my father had denied himself. I wondered if he ever regretted picking up an amber colored bottle rather than gently lifting his children from bed to hold them.

"Erik?" Phelan called, startling me from my thoughts. "Are you and Bodil in there?"

"Only me," I answered, quickly donning my mask before I walked into his suite.

"Myrna is about to leave," he said.

"Already?"

"She's been here for an hour and tomorrow she must be up early to serve guests at the train station."

I walked into the suite and noticed Myrna reached for Phelan, but he made no attempt to take her hand. His features were strained, his eyes such a dark shade of gray they nearly appeared black.

"Myrna, it was lovely seeing you," Phelan said, his tone not matching his words. He spared no glance in her direction, preferring instead to study the arm of his chair.

"You as well." Myrna looked as though she wished to say something more, but bowed her head and left it at that.

She walked to me and offered a half-hearted smile. "Good evening to you. I am sorry I was not able to make your acquaintance better," she said.

"Will you come tomorrow to see Phelan sketch portraits?" I asked.

Myrna appeared surprised by my question. "I would be pleased to see him draw," she said. "At what time?"

We both turned to Phelan, who had returned to the table where he sat with his hands folded.

"Eleven," he answered without looking up. "Eleven until one. You are under no obligation to attend."

I offered Myrna my arm, which she hesitated to accept, and walked her out the door and into the lobby. Once we reached the bottom of the stairs, she removed her hand from my forearm and glanced back at the hotel doors one last time.

"Phelan was such a sweet little boy," she said, frowning as she spoke. "So kind and so thoughtful, always gentle when he held the reins. I loved him so, so much."

"He is still thoughtful," I said. "Kind, despite the burdens of life that have weighed quite heavily on him in your absence."

"He blames me for leaving."

"No," I said. "He blames himself."

Myrna lowered her gaze. "He should not."

"And yet he will believe he is responsible for your abandonment for the rest of his life unless you provide him with a better reason than your son asked you not to visit your grandson."

"Abandonment?"

"He was three the last time you saw him. What else would a child of that age call the abrupt absence of a beloved grandmother? One that was never explained to him?"

"It was a complicated situation."

"My brother's life was complicated," I said through my teeth. "He has endured greater burdens than should have been expected of him from an extraordinarily young age."

"Forgive me, Erik, but I will ask that you spare me the details of those burdens. My heart cannot take it, I'm afraid."

My breath stilled, my muscles tense. "Thankfully for you, the hardships my brother endured are not mine to share, thus you shall not be troubled further."

"You are upset with me."

"I do not know you well enough to be upset."

Myrna frowned at me, her eyes pinned to my mask. "I never stopped thinking about him."

"For better or worse, Phelan never stopped thinking about you either."

Myrna's lip parted and she inhaled sharply. "Tell him I am very sorry for my absence."

"No. Tell him yourself tomorrow. I believe you at least owe him that much. It may not bring him closure, but he deserves to hear it from you."

Without another word, she turned to leave. I watched her exit the hotel, certain she would not attend my brother's art session in town. Aggravated by her cowardice, I turned and walked up the stairs, thrumming with anger I had not felt in quite some time. I started to open the door to my brother's suite but reconsidered, knowing that if I burst into the room and saw my Phelan, he would immediately focus his energy on quelling my temper.

Still seething, I walked the length of the hall and back again, forcing air in and out of my lungs with each brisk step, scarcely able to believe that while Toke and Hilda welcomed us with open arms, our paternal grandmother was far more distant.

Once I reached the end of the hall and turned on my heel, I saw Harald approach with two bottles of perfume in one hand and several telegram cards in the other.

"Good evening, again, Herr Kire," he said with a smile. "I took the liberty of retrieving the telegrams that arrived for you this evening before Riddo and Myyri departed for the night." He waved the telegrams in front of his face. "You and Herr Kimmer are by far our two most famous guests! Look at all of these telegrams from Paris! It is an honor to have you stay with us, Herr Kire. I do hope you will sign the guest book so that we have record of your stay."

"Of course," I said.

I accepted the thick stack of telegrams from him and glanced over the first two, noting both were addressed to my brother. Curiosity peaked, I flipped through three more and saw they were also addressed to Phelan.

"The service your hotel provides is quite exceptional. I would be honored to sign the guest book."

Harald appeared pleased by my statement. "What a compliment from the famed composer himself. We shall prepare your baths at once, Herr Kire? You look quite tense and in need of relaxation."

I stared at the two bottles in his hand. "I would prefer filling the tubs myself this evening."

Harald's lips parted. "No, Herr Kire, your brother has paid–"

"More than enough, I am aware," I said. "I shall see to the tubs being filled."

"Are you certain?"

"Positive."

Harald handed me the glass bottles with a bit of reluctance. "If you should need anything, Herr Kire, please do not hesitate to hit the buzzer in your suite and we shall come immediately. It is our pleasure to see to the comfort of our esteemed guests."

"We will need nothing further."

"Are you certain?"

I nodded and turned away from him, entering through my own suite and into Lan's where I found him still sitting at the table. He briefly glanced up when he saw me and took a deep breath that sounded more like a sudden gasp of air as if he had forgotten how to breathe.

"Erik," he said, wiping his face with his hand. "My nerves are unsettled. If you would give me another moment to myself I would be grateful."

I studied him briefly in silence before I nodded, placed the telegrams on the table beside his plate, and walked into the tub room, allowing him a moment to collect his thoughts and settle his nerves.

With the glass bottles of perfume placed on the vanity, I pulled out several fluffy white towels from the taller cabinet against the wall, and retrieved the silver bucket from beneath the wooden fixture concealing the pipes.

The iron pump handle was hot to the touch as I pumped out water and deposited it into the tub, watching as the steam rose and filled the air, bucket by bucket.

It was strenuous work, similar to the type of activity on the farm that left my arms sore and trembling from repetition. After several buckets, I removed my mask and rolled up my sleeves and then finally pulled off my shirt entirely, setting it aside in my own room as the tub room became increasingly warm and humid.

With each splash of water, I thought of the sacrifices my brother had made on my behalf, and the burdens he had accepted for others as well in the form of a failed marriage and consequent loss of his adopted daughter. I thought of how difficult it must have been for him to know he had a son of his own yet still remain at a distance from Marco, and the fractured relationship with our cousin for reasons that remained unclear.

I thought of Phelan alone in Brussels, the ache within him that had become so overwhelming it had nearly claimed his life.

Your funds are truly insufficient.

My throat tightened, and I thought of what I would have said or done if our places had been exchanged, if the one individual I had loved had disappeared for decades and spoken to me in such a cruel manner.

"What are you doing?" Phelan asked.

I nearly dropped the bucket of steaming water onto the floor at his sudden appearance in the doorway. His eyes were bloodshot and complexion sallow, and there was a listlessness about him that gravely concerned me.

"I am taking care of you," I answered.

Phelan blinked at me, his hardened features slowly softening. "This is not necessary," he said, stepping toward me. "Erik–"

"This is absolutely necessary."

Phelan started to reach for the bucket, but I turned, blocking him.

"Erik," he said sternly.

"It's Kire," I replied. "Not Erik."

My brother huffed, but still managed an appreciative smile. "You are being ridiculous. Now give me the bucket."

"Sit," I commanded, ignoring his words. "Sit and allow me to do something for you, for once in our lives, even if it is as minuscule as filling a tub with water so that you can relax."

His features tensed again momentarily, but he didn't argue. "Then what am I supposed to do?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Supervise," I answered.

A sly smile crept over his face. "And offer my suggestions, of which I have many?"

"I am in need of your brotherly company, but not your suggestions," I replied. "Sit quietly. If you are capable of such a profound feat."

Lan sighed. "Fine. I shall sit here on this stool and observe quite miserably."

"And why, pray tell, would you be miserable watching me do something for you?" I asked as I pumped more water into the bucket.

"Because, little brother, you clearly do not need me nearly as much as I need you," he answered. I heard him inhale sharply as he looked away from me, overcome by emotion.

I paused, allowing the pump handle to settle into place, dismayed that my actions seemed to be detrimental. "Lan, that is not what this means."

Phelan visibly swallowed. "I know." He wiped his hand down his face. "I don't know what has come over me. Perhaps you should allow me to finish filling the tub before I ruin this evening and our holiday together with my melancholy state."

"To say that I have enjoyed our time together on holiday would be a gross understatement," I said, pushing the iron handle down once more. "I may not rely on you in the same manner as I did when I was three, but if I have learned nothing else in the time we have spent together this week, it is how much I truly want you in my life and cherish the relationship we have built."

Phelan studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. At last he inhaled. "Every year, I used to wonder what you were like and what you were doing. I attempted to imagine you at the age of ten, writing full operas. Age twenty, courting different women. Age thirty, surrounded by a dozen children…" He looked away from me. "Even when I thought you were dead, I still imagined you at the age of forty, graying from your twelve children driving you mad."

I raised a brow and chuckled to myself. "Merciful heaven, you imagined me with twelve children?"

"By the age of forty, I assumed you would have another set of twins, giving you fourteen."

I blinked at him. "Another set of twins? My God, how many twins did you imagine me fathering?"

"Three sets, back-to-back," he answered. "Six children within four years."

My mouth dropped open. "I must say, I am quite glad your premonition did not come to fruition."

"I suppose it still could. Not by the age of forty, of course, but fifty is still possible."

I cleared my throat, unable to imagine Julia and I expanding our family from two children to eight. "Bite your tongue, brother, lest you release an entire army of children into the universe and beneath my roof," I playfully replied.

Phelan grunted. "My apologies." He regarded me again, a wistful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I must say, no matter how I attempted to picture you as an adult, I always still imagined you at the age of three." Absently he touched his throat. "I would think of your hands clasped around my neck and your legs locked around my waist as I carried you uphill from the beach."

My breath hitched, and I mentally reached for a memory buried deep within my mind, beneath Persia, the Opera House, wandering Europe as an oddity, and the home in Conforeit that had been little more than a prison.

The thought was so distant it didn't seem real, like morning fog burnt away by the midday sun. I allowed my eyes to lose focus, to keep the distractions of the room from crowding the thoughts at the edge of my mind, willing it to step into the forefront of my mind.

It wasn't frequent, but I had dreams of clinging to something or someone, fragments of a childhood that could not have possibly been real. My life had been beating after beating, cruel words and curses for as long as I could recall.

And yet I woke on several occasions with my arms wrapped around my pillow, the damaged side of my face crushed to the warm fabric, desperate to return to that feeling of security that seemed so false.

Don't put me down, I remembered thinking. Not yet. Just a little longer.

But no one had ever held me as far as I could recall. There had been no kind touch or loving caresses, no arms wrapped around my body to keep me safe and secure. I had always been forced into solitude, required to hide from the rest of the world and the dangers of being seen as a monster-at least until my uncle took me away and then Madeline took me in.

My heart felt heavier, my mind reeling, desperate for that sensation on the cusp of dreams where I had been safe, where I had been loved by the person who had taken me in moments after I had drawn my first breath.

It had always been Phelan. He had been there in the back of my mind, a memory tucked far away for safe keeping.

"Kire?" Phelan questioned. "You look unwell."

"I'm fine."

My brother narrowed his eyes. "I'll finish filling the tub. You are clearly not yourself."

I inhaled sharply and blinked at him. "No, you will not."

"Kire–"

"Your back would be soaking wet by the time you reached the top of the hill," I said.

Lan's eyes widened, his lips parted, but he said nothing to confirm my statement.

"I pressed my face to your shoulder," I continued. "And I would hum. I remember how it felt, the vibration against your back."

I held on with my eyes closed, I was certain, clinging to my brother as he carried me home.

"You were always making some sort of noise." Phelan swallowed and offered a barely noticeable nod of acknowledgement. "But inevitably you would start to slide down my back because we were both sweating profusely."

"And I would choke you," I said. "Not on purpose, but–"

"You were impossibly heavy," he said. "For someone who was so little. And as your arms became slick with perspiration, you tightened your grip to keep from sliding off."

A little bit further, he would tell me. And then you can walk on your own.

"You never complained about the extra weight."

Lan shook his head.

Goose flesh covered my arms and I shivered, knowing the bits and pieces I recalled were real memories, real moments of a life that had been stolen from me one summer evening when I had been three and a half years old.

"Why didn't you make me walk up the hill?" I asked.

Phelan swallowed and looked away from me, his voice silenced by a deep, shuddering breath. "Because we couldn't see the house until we reached the top," he answered, digging his knuckles into his eye socket. He took another breath, one that sounded like the start of a sob. "And I didn't want you to get lost. It was my biggest fear every time we came home after sunset, the two of us becoming separated."

"Lan…"

"I still cannot believe that my greatest fear became a nightmare for nearly forty years. And even now, it is difficult to believe I found you again."

For a long moment neither of us spoke, and I thought of how truly devastating my disappearance had been for my brother.

"Do you remember what happened next?" Lan asked hoarsely. "When we reached the top?"

"Not clearly," I said.

Phelan dried his reddened eyes. "I would ask you to walk for a bit once my legs began to shake and my thighs knotted up. You would attempt to crush my windpipe, wriggle down, and announce that we were racing. And then you would dash ahead of me, knowing full well I could barely walk let alone race you in my fatigued state."

I smiled to myself. "I assume you would not allow me to win."

Phelan grunted. "Allow? Never. Every so often I was able to grab you by the legs and scramble ahead, but typically you were quite energized and the victor of the newly announced race, you little cheater."

We both grinned at each other.

"I'm surprised you would remember those moments," Lan said. "You were so young."

"I didn't think it was real," I answered. "It was not the type of memory I was accustomed to having, but I suppose it makes sense that the fondest memories of my childhood, distant as they seem, involved you."

Phelan smiled to himself. "You seem to have forgotten being covered in insect bites. Perhaps because you always wanted me to scratch them for you."

"Did you?"

"Of course."

I finished filling the rest of the tub while my brother sat changing positions a dozen times as if he could not possibly find a moment of comfort while he was supposed to be relaxing.

"There's a chair with a cushion," I said, nodding toward the corner. "If you would prefer sitting there?"

"Am I disturbing you?"

"Yes, you and your squirming about is quite distracting."

"Pity. Nothing will make me more comfortable," he said under his breath. "I am not good at…this," he said, gesturing around the room. "At giving someone else control, I suppose."

"Do you care for others out of enjoyment or habit?" I asked.

Lan thought for a moment. "Habit, I suppose. Which is not to say there is no enjoyment in caring for others, but I prefer being in control."

"Surprising," I said dryly.

He sighed heavily. "Why must you ask me to sit here doing nothing?"

"Because I hope that one day you will relent and allow me or someone else the pleasure of taking care of you in the way that you deserve."

"Highly doubtful," he said under his breath.

"I am not easily dissuaded, elder brother, and I fully intend to take every opportunity that presents itself and dote upon you in the most obnoxious fashion." I placed the bucket near the door to my own suite. "Without further ado, I present your bath, Monsieur Kimmer," I said with a flourish. "I shall allow you to disrobe in private and add the perfume yourself while I fill my own soaking basin."

"You're not going to place me into the tub?" he asked, lifting a brow.

"I am confident you are able to continue without my assistance and spare both of us the embarrassment of me seeing you stark naked."

"Embarrassment indeed. I will have you know I am quite proud of my physique." Phelan stood and unbuttoned his shirt while I scoffed and turned away.

My brother chuckled to himself. "Clearly you have no recollection of the many times I wrestled you into a pair of drawers while you kicked and screamed. Believe me, Kire, one does not easily forget those struggles of dressing someone who preferred being disrobed quite often."

"I do not recall an aversion to clothing and quite frankly I wish you didn't either."

Phelan chuckled to himself again. "You were like a piglet, snorting and wriggling. Pink, too, once you worked yourself up. It was exhausting."

"You are mad." I rolled my eyes at his description.

"And you–" Phelan inhaled sharply and I turned to face him as he shook out his left hand.

"Are you all right?"

"No worse than usual. But…" he sighed and shook his head.

I turned my head to the side, my gaze drawn to his damaged arm. He had removed his shirt and shoes, but still donned his socks and trousers.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's nothing."

"Lan…"

My brother took a deep breath. "Myrna didn't ask about the burn," he said with his eyes averted. "I know she saw it, but she didn't say a word."

"Did you want her to ask?"

"I wanted her to care," Phelan answered, an edge to his voice. "I wanted her to be concerned about what transpired during the years of her absence. But I suppose…I suppose I was expecting more than she was willing to give."

My shoulders dropped. "No one offers a fraction of what you give of yourself."

Phelan eyed me. "Quite possibly my greatest fault."

I lifted the bucket and walked into my own tub room, knowing Lan would follow me. What I hadn't expected was for him to reach for the bucket, which I pulled away from him.

"What are you doing?" he grumbled.

"What are you doing?"

"Reciprocating. You filled the tub for me, I shall fill yours."

I inhaled. "Although appreciated, I am in need of your company and nothing more."

It was evident my words grated on my brother's nerves and the very idea of sitting idle while I provided water for my own tub irritated him. His jaw tensed, but surprisingly there was no argument. Instead, Lan huffed and walked out of the tub room, returning a moment later with his stack of telegrams.

"You honestly want me to keep you company and nothing more?"

"I do," I said over my shoulder.

Phelan grumbled to himself, but didn't otherwise protest.

"You have become quite popular, it seems," I said, eyeing the number of correspondences.

"Hardly."

"Who has written to you now?" I questioned as I began filling the tub.

"Alex apparently needed to tell us both good-night, but wisely decided to send one telegram instead of two. He is quite proud of himself for being frugal."

"A trait he didn't inherit from me," I said under my breath. "And the others?"

Lan held up one of the cards. "Friends. And do not act surprised that I have a number of friends who wish to correspond with me."

"All from Paris?"

"In and around," Phelan answered quite vaguely.

"I don't believe you've mentioned anyone previously."

"I don't believe you ever asked."

I gave my brother a significant look, which made him smirk in return before he thumbed through the stack.

"I'm certain you'll meet all of them once we return-and I do mean the very second we are off the train."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Marco wants to know what time our train arrives."

"He must want to see you the moment you return."

Lan shrugged. "A full welcome party by the sound of it."

"Quite eager friends?"

"I've quite regretfully ignored a few friends who are less than pleased that I have chosen to come into town without telling them."

"A welcoming party or a gang of angry citizens?"

"I suppose I shall find out in a few days." He shuffled through the cards and rolled his tongue along the inside on his cheek. "Half of Paris must know I shall be in town."

"Is that good or bad?"

Lan eyed me. "As you are aware, I am not always welcomed in your fine city. If Boucher catches wind of my arrival, the crowd will swiftly be dispersed and I will undoubtedly be sent on my way to Brussels on the next train."

I paused from filling the bucket. "Surely something can be done to pardon you from whatever misdeeds have banned you from the city."

"Perhaps it can and perhaps it cannot, he vaguely answered.

"I will speak to Madeline."

"Giry?" My brother furrowed his brow.

"The one and only."

"What sort of power does this woman wield?"

"More than you would ever suspect."

"Ballet mistress by evening and full-time spy for France during the day?"

I lifted a brow. "That is quite possible and I would not dare question her on the matter or wish to find myself on her bad side."