CH 68

I had to give Elvira the classified ads so that she would settle for the night rather than engage in a tantrum that was likely to have us tossed from the apartment. I allowed her to take the single sheet to her cage for the night, and she held the paper clutched between her toes like a child clinging to a blanket.

"Rest well, my sweet," I said as I covered her enclosure shortly after ten and walked into the lavatory to clean my teeth and wash my face.

Once I had my shirt removed, I examined the bandage to my arm, surprised and relieved that there was no blood stain from the wound seeping through to the top layer, which I hoped meant it was starting to scab over. I started to unwrap it for a closer look, but my flesh beneath was so tender that I decided it was for the best to leave it covered until morning. Given the hour, there wasn't much I could do with it besides see how the bruising looked before I fumbled to wrap it up again by myself.

My hands were shaking as I patted my face dry and looked in the mirror. Tired eyes stared back at me, tired and listless like a defeated man who had lost everything.

Cynically I reminded myself that I had lost everything so long ago that this newest revelation should not have made a difference, but I was aware that the truth behind Erik's life hurt in a way that was different.

He was different. We were both so much different than we had been, which I expected while at the same time foolishly clinging to the hope that we would still have something in common, some unbreakable bond that would forever link us together.

I slid into bed and laid on my back, staring at the ceiling while my heart continued to pound. Despite only being awake for six hours, I felt weariness deep in my bones, the same type of exhaustion I felt as a boy of seven endlessly searching for my little brother. From sunrise until sunset, I was out alone in the woods, searching our favorite hideaways. I sat on the hill overlooking the shore and waited, my heart in my throat, a feeling of despair I'd never known before coursing through my veins.

Every day that passed without bringing Erik home had taken a significant toll on me mentally and emotionally, and the despair became physical.

I couldn't sleep without the physical weight of Erik suffocating me. For weeks I wrapped myself in both of our blankets, swaddling myself like an infant in need of security, but it didn't lessen the ache that had gone from my heart to my muscles and joints.

Alak had chosen to ignore me in the weeks that followed, and Val made fewer attempts to ask me if he could draw with me or if I wanted to walk down to the beach with him. The world I had known no longer existed, and the longer I spent alone, the more permanent solitude became for me.

The same misery seemed to have returned, all these years later, an indescribable thrum filling my insides. Instead of longing to have my brother back, I dreaded what would be said about him in the next few days, especially once the composite sketch ran in the Epoch.

Another thought crossed my mind, one that I had not expected to fill me with dread: What if Erik saw the advertisement in the program?

I adjusted my position in the center of my bed, eyes wide open and chest heaving. Lying beneath the covers made me more aware of how my arm still throbbed, a steady pulse of heat that made my fingers involuntarily twitch.

Erik would be considered a dangerous fugitive at this point, and inviting him into my home would present risks to my life and career I wasn't certain I wished to take. I wasn't certain what I would do if he came to my door and asked me to help him. Perhaps I would be forced to turn him away, and if he did not go willingly…

Of course I would help him, I reminded myself. Quite possibly I was the only person in all of France who would shelter the so-called Phantom. I would make every attempt to protect my brother–at least I hoped I still would. He had been the most important person in my life for as long as I could recall. Surely I couldn't just throw that aside because he was in trouble.

It's more than trouble. I cannot act like he has stolen bread at the market.

I took a deep breath through my parted lips and closed my eyes, attempting to focus on something else besides the noticeable discomfort in my arm and erratic thoughts flitting through my mind.

Not even Bernard's wise council could help me navigate my thoughts. Every time I had attempted to meditate, I thought of Erik. He had been the only source of calm I could focus upon, the missing part of me I thought could be healed if only I had him back in my life.

But now, as the clock ticked and seconds turned to minutes of restlessness, I started to doubt we had anything in common that could truly make us brothers again. Hell, there was a decent chance Erik would prefer Val over me if he met the two of us as they were both musicians.

I turned onto my stomach, carefully adjusting my arm to prevent pressure along the wound, and added frustration to the list of complaints I had keeping me wide awake.

Perhaps we didn't need to have music in common. I had very little in common with Jean and we were still friends, and Bernard and I were nothing alike, but had forged a swift friendship.

Our unexpected comradery was what I had long since imagined it would be like between myself and Erik, a fluid type of relationship where we had our disagreements with one another, but also the understanding that we had our differences while maintaining respect.

I wondered when news of the disaster would reach Wissant and what Bernard would think of the catastrophe. After I spoke with Chief Alonzo, I would send a telegram to Bernard to let him know I was unscathed from the fires and the students who attended with me were safe as I suspected Celeste would worry if she read the news.

And then there was the matter of Abigail and the sudden disappearance of the whole Soward family, which would not make news in the Paris papers, let alone Wissant, but was equally concerning on a personal level. I wasn't sure if I should mention it to Bernard until I had all of the facts as there was no reason to worry him.

Eventually I focused on my breathing, mindful of each breath entering and leaving my lungs. I kept my eyes closed and loosened my hands and shoulders, releasing the tension in my jaw and the tightness in my chest and abdomen until I felt consciousness drifting.

I didn't want any tension or heaviness to sit beside me, and I imagined pushing everything off the bed and out the bedroom door, where I swept it into the fireplace and watched it burn into ash. Little scraps traveled like smoke out the chimney and into the night where each piece dissolved into nothingness, forever erased from my life. Without the burden I sank further into the mattress, melding into the comfort. The covers became a second skin that adhered to my flesh, the tick of the clock in time with my heartbeat, the wind outside the windows no different than my breaths. The wood in the hearth crackled, my joints settling into place.

Like a whisper of smoke, he appeared and disappeared at will, leaving no trace of his visits.

The line between wakefulness and sleep blurred. I was aware of my cool, dark bedroom and the sensation of something within the room staring at me. Slowly I realized my eyes were open and saw a cloaked entity standing at the foot of my bed, silently watching me. Its eyes were made of flames and breaths of black smoke. I couldn't tell its intentions as the dark figure had no features, but I sensed I was not supposed to be aware of its presence.

Erik? I wanted to call out, but my voice would not work. Erik, is that you?

He had found me at last. I wasn't sure if I should be filled with alarm or joy.

My jaw refused to move, my lips parted but unable to form words. I tried to turn over, but my body was paralyzed as if my spine had been severed and I had no control over my limbs or tongue. The only parts of me that functioned were my heart, which was beating rapidly, and my mind, flooded with fear when I couldn't speak or move.

Bjorn?

No, he was dead. I'd seen him die before my very eyes. Despite seeing his body wrapped in cloth and removed from the home, I'd had vivid nightmares for weeks following my trip to Conforeit. As someone who had never been prone to bad dreams, the visions that plagued my sleep left me uneasy to close my eyes for fear of him waiting in my dreams.

Hugo had suggested laudanum for a few nights to allow me more peaceful rest, but I refused as I was concerned the elixir would make the nightmares worse.

The entity at the foot of the bed breathed in rasps of air, similar to a growl, and I became convinced it was indeed Bjorn returned to mock me from beyond the grave for my failure to find and protect Erik.

Heaven would not accept Bjorn. I had long suspected he would elude the devil, leaving himself trapped between life and death, suspended for eternity to walk outside the veil. Now he had returned, standing at the foot of my bed to take pleasure in my lifelong pursuit becoming a fruitless endeavor.

I watched him from the corner of my eye, waiting for him to grab me by the ankles or beat me with his fists while I was unnaturally incapacitated. Out of all the brawls I'd participated in through the streets of Paris, I had rarely feared for my own life. The ghost of my own father, however, left me filled with dread.

I managed to swallow, then moved my left ankle and focused on regaining the ability to wiggle my fingers. Sensation returned at last as I turned my head, eyes wide in the dark, searching for whatever evil had crept into my home.

Several times I blinked, my chest heaving and throat dry until I realized that the figure I'd seen was my robe hung on the back of the door with a pair of trousers behind it, making the clothing appear as a human-like form.

Once I had control of my movements, I sat up and wiped my hand down my face, unnerved by the paralysis that pinned me in place. It was not the first time I'd experienced waking in such a condition, but the feeling was nothing less than terrifying.

I squinted at the clock in the dark, noticing it was just after eleven at night. Aggravated and still quite worked up, I took the robe and trousers off the hook and placed them in the bathroom before wandering into the kitchen for a drink of water to sate my thirst and catch my breath.

Val would have absolutely admitted me into an asylum if he had seen me barely able to hold a glass to my lips and take a sip of water. I leaned against the sink, imagining what he would have said if he knew how truly disturbed I'd felt for the last twenty-four hours.

I washed out the glass and dried it, then put it back in the cupboard. My heartrate had at last slowed, but I wasn't sure if I would be able to fall asleep within the next hour. The newspaper on my chair would only add to my current level of stress and I was not in the mood to read or concentrate on drawing, giving me little choice but to return to bed and stare at the ceiling until I either fell asleep or it was time to start my day.

It crossed my mind that Erik could have been out roaming the streets, but I didn't want to leave my apartment on a Saturday night at an hour when the city was ripe for trouble.

I was already seated on my bed when someone pounded on my door with such force that Elvira loudly cursed from beneath her blanket.

Val I suspected, perhaps leaving from a tryst in the middle of the night. I had no desire to speak with him and decided to ignore his rude interruption as he was aware of my sleep schedule and knew I would have been fast asleep.

"Phelan! Open the door!"

Jean pounded as hard as he could, so hard I couldn't tell if it was his fist or him kicking the bottom, but regardless, it sounded as though he would burst through at any second.

"One moment," I said, stepping into my slippers before I went to the door and found him standing with his hand on the frame.

"There you are," he seethed.

"Jean?" I questioned, my brow furrowed. He smelled as though he had bathed in liquor and looked like he was perspiring gin and whiskey. "Are you unwell?"

"You bastard," he slurred.

I blinked at him, feeling fairly certain his tone was not light. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said 'you bastard'," he said, this time louder.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

He attempted to stand upright, but was in such a state that he had to hold onto the door to keep from falling. "I could ask you the same thing, Phelan Kimmer. What in the hell are you doing here?"

"I was asleep," I answered.

"Sleeping?" He licked his lips, his eyes glassy and nostrils flared. "Hello!" he shouted. "I beg your pardon, but I've got to borrow this one for a moment."

"Why are you yelling at this hour?" I asked, growing impatient with his presence. "It's after eleven."

"What the hell do you think I'm doing? I'm letting whatever woman you have in your bed know that I need to speak to you."

"There's no one here, Jean."

He scoffed at my reply and reached for me, missing the collar of my shirt as I stepped back from him.

"Don't you dare move away from me," he hissed. "Don't you dare try to escape."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, my skin prickling at his slurred statement. He reminded me of Bjorn when he had been drinking–and Bjorn was always drinking–barely able to stand, angry as a hornet, and looking to fight. Many times he had cornered me. I was too young to remember most things, but his anger was imprinted on me, the rumble of his voice and the smell of his breath before he snatched me by the shirt or my hair.

"Jean, I cannot speak to you when you are like this," I said, keeping my voice low and even in an attempt to reason with him.

"Because you're a coward," he seethed.

"Because you are not yourself and will not remember this in the morning. I refuse to ruin our friendship over what is said when you are inebriated."

"I won't remember this conversation? Like you don't remember Maribel?"

I blinked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

Jean struck me in the chest with his fist, which was not nearly as hard as I assumed he wanted it to be as he had little coordination.

"You slept with her."

I shook my head. "No, Jean, I have not."

"Quit lying to me!" He struck me again, this time harder than before. "You have put your weapon up every skirt in the city."

"Jean–"

"You don't even remember bedding her, do you? I suppose it should not come as a surprise the way you are prigging every hedge whore you can find. You're bound to lose track of who you've fu–."

"I have not been with Maribel," I said firmly.

"You lying bastard. You have been intimate with her and you know it."

"I am not lying to you, Jean, and quite frankly, your words are far more insulting to Maribel than they are to me. What would you say to that lovely woman if she were here?"

"I would ask if she enjoyed your amorous congress, if you lived up to the rumors she has undoubtedly heard. You're like a stallion bred to all of the mares, aren't you? Tall, short, thin, robust, you've had them all, a sample of every single Venus–"

"Jean, that is enough. I cannot speak to you a moment longer."

"You will listen to me."

"Tomorrow afternoon you will have my full attention. For now I am not asking you, I am telling you to leave."

He lifted his chin, body teetering as he let go of the door frame. "You want to meet tomorrow afternoon?"

"Yes, at your home if you like."

Jean threw his head back and gave a humorless chuckle. "You forgot our meeting, didn't you? That's how little I mean to you. Christ, you are positively an ass."

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Yolanda's," he answered. "Dinner at nine. Where the hell were you two hours ago? With someone else whose name you won't remember in a week? Or do they even tell you their names before you throw their skirts up to their bellies?"

My mouth dropped open. "Yolanda's was tonight?"

"Don't pretend like you have no idea we had plans."

"My apologies, Jean, after the incident at the opera house, I haven't been able to concentrate. I was under the impression dinner was Sunday, not tonight."

Jean scoffed. "One story after another," he said with a shake of his head, his lips quivering as though he might burst into tears.

"I apologize for the folly."

"No, Phelan, you needn't apologize to me. This was a night to celebrate you and your accomplishments and quite frankly I shouldn't be surprised that you didn't have the courtesy to attend. You are as selfish as they come, do you know that? You left me waiting for two hours. Now that you have a broker and a few paintings sold, I suppose you no longer need me."

"That is not true at all. I will make it up to you."

"No, that will not be necessary." Jean started to turn away, but paused and whirled around, his finger in my face. "After everything I've done for you over the years, all of the times I went to the art museum with you or out to supper even when I knew it would reflect badly upon me being your friend, I never once canceled on you. I never denied being your friend in public or in private despite you acting as though you were too damn good to be seen in my home. Hell, I asked all of my guests to leave so that I could tend to you when you thought that your mentor was dying."

I released a shuddering breath. "I know, Jean, and I am sorry."

Jean shook his head at me. "I shouldn't be surprised that you left me waiting for two hours tonight. You have no title, you have no money, you have no good name or even a plot of land to call your own. You have nothing but your looks and I hope it's enough for you to get by because I will no longer financially support your endeavors. Your art certainly won't be enough to keep you comfortable and lord knows you barely make enough to survive teaching at the university." His lip began to quiver as he swallowed. "I've spent far too much money on your rubbish paintings."

If Jean had not been stinking drunk I would have taken more offense to his words. I was still deeply hurt by his comments, but far too experienced with men who drank until they passed out to pay him much mind. By the morning he would wake with a splitting headache and a vague memory of coming to my apartment door wishing to argue.

"Hit me," he challenged, holding his fists up. "Come on, Phelan, hit me."

"No," I said. "I will never, ever raise my fist at you, Jean."

"You won't fight me? That ugly bastard you befriended didn't give you the lessons you desired?"

"Bernard taught well enough. You have no reason to insult him and I have no reason to fight you."

"You have every reason to fight me."

"Go home," I pleaded. "Go home and sleep off your current state of mind."

Unexpectedly Jean took a swing at my face, but his reflexes were slow and I easily blocked his fist well before it would have connected.

"I will never speak to you again," Jean said through his teeth before he turned and stumbled down the stairs.

OoO

Thirty minutes after Jean left, I returned to bed, but had no recollection of falling asleep.

I woke not long after six, my throat scratchy and my nose plugged. After the brief cold snap followed by a return to normal spring weather, my allergies kicked up with a vengeance, and I felt pressure building behind my eyes.

Elvira woke in a chipper mood, however, the newspaper still clutched between her claws. She came out of her enclosure whistling and bobbing her head toward her stand, which meant she desired her breakfast and a moment to herself to shred the paper. With her bowls of food and water filled, she ate all of the nuts and then proceeded to shred her paper while I made myself coffee and toasted bread, which I enjoyed with jam while watching Elvira meticulously destroy the classified ads.

"We should pack up our belongings and disappear to another city," I said as she tore the top of the paper into long strips, which she carefully set on her branch. "Or perhaps an entirely different country. How does that sound, my darling? You and me starting a new life?"

She cackled in response and I held up my coffee cup, toasting her somewhat maniacal mirth.

Watching Elivra keep herself entertained was always fascinating to me. The way she arranged and rearranged the strips to her preference, head tilted to the side, eyes strategically examining the different piles and where to put the newest strip, left me wondering what went through her complex mind.

"Where would you like to go, my love?"

She paid no attention to me for a long moment as she fixed one of the strips before it fell on the ground.

"Let's go to the park," she said.

"A park in a different city," I said, brows raised. "Do they have parks in the Amazon? Or is it one big jungle?"

Heavens knew why I consulted a thirty-five-year-old bird who had been removed from the rainforest at a young age and who had no true conversation skills. She stared at me and vocalized clearing her throat, which I took it as her asking me to cease bothering her.

"I have to walk down to the precinct," I told her, refilling my cup of coffee. "Hopefully Chief Alonzo will spare a moment to speak with me about Abigail."

Elvira looked at me from her perch in a way that made me certain my desire to keep speaking was nothing less than annoying to her. She waited until I sat in silence before she continued to tear up the paper.

Given the early hour, there wasn't much open in the city aside from churches holding early service and the Danish bakery. I was too comfortable in my pajamas with my own cup of coffee to consider leaving the house yet, particularly when it was still dark out.

I pulled my sleeve up to my elbow and I eyed the bandage beneath, knowing the wound needed to breathe and the wrap changed. Necessary as it was, I had no desire to look at the self-inflicted bruise and felt my stomach churn merely thinking about what I would discover.

If I needed to see a physician for further care, I would have to come up with a reason for the bruising as I could not admit I'd caused the injury to myself without being further questioned on my sanity.

Teeth gritted, I slowly unwrapped the bandage, my gaze pinned to the coffee cup until the entire length of gauze was pooled on the breakfast table. I swallowed and risked a glance at the small rectangular pad covering the wound itself before I peeled it away.

The bruising was still the same color; deep purples and blues with yellow along the outer edges. The wound itself had thankfully closed and there was only a small stain of dried blood on the pad while the salve left a greasy spot on my arm. Overall it appeared to be healing better than I expected, and I sighed in relief.

"At least some good news," I said under my breath as I stood and retrieved the medical kit, which only had one fresh cotton pad left in the tin.

"I suppose I will add pharmacy to the list of errands I need to run today," I said to Elvira. "Pharmacy, market, search for Erik, and perhaps a relaxing night at Val's home since I am positive he will be particularly glad to see me. What else, my love?"

"Keep it down!" Elvira had all of her newspaper strips lined up in preparation to be shredded into smaller pieces. She turned her head to the side and vocalized a sigh to let me know I was still interrupting.

"I will add changing the canvas mat to my list because you are messy and also quite rude, if I do say so, Elvira," I groused as she began to tear off smaller pieces and fling them about. "Remember who gave you the newspaper."

"Newspaper!" she happily sang over and over again as she continued to tear apart the paper, whistling in delight.

While Elvira continued to keep herself entertained, I grabbed the newspaper from the previous day and decided to read through the last of the pages, assuming I had already read the worst of what could be said about Erik and the Opera Populaire.

For the most part I skimmed through repetitive verbiage until Florine's name caught my eye in the middle of an article on the second page.

The reporter had interviewed several long-time season ticket holders in attendance, including Florine, who had been a supporter since the Opera Populaire first opened its doors in the sixties and had proudly attended every performance offered throughout almost two decades of performances.

Madame Fabienne's terrifying account of the evening is as follows: I knew from the moment the so-called actor took to the stage that it was no longer Signor Piangi. I have had the pleasure of meeting Signor many times over the years, and his figure is as robust as his voice and presence.

The man, if he could be called such, who took Signor Piangi's place was skeletal in appearance, not an ounce of extra flesh visible on his person. He looked as though someone had stretched pale skin over a corpse and animated the being, which perhaps they had and that is the reason behind his evil deeds.

At first I thought that it was part of the storyline for this man to replace Piangi, but the longer the devil prowled the stage, it was abundantly clear that Mademoiselle Daae was terror-stricken by his very presence. God only knows what that vicious and unpredictable monster has done to her in the past. I pray the rumors circulating after her abduction are not true.

The Phantom must be located and brought to justice. Paris must protect its most vulnerable citizens, the women and their children, before another woman falls victim to this perverse monster.

I implore Chief Alonzo to make haste. I shall not sleep well knowing this devil infects our city.

For a long moment I stared numbly at the page, unable to comprehend the words used to describe my brother. All of my adult life I had expected Erik to be celebrated for his music, to be adored by the masses for the emotions his compositions evoked. The critics would say Erik was more talented than Bach, Mozart, and Beethooven combined. Audiences would adore him, and he would be considered the greatest musical genius of our time. That was what I had always wanted for my brother, to be celebrated the world over when I could not be there to cheer him on and praise him.

My heart ached as I imagined Erik somewhere in the city, hunkered down in hiding, reading through the newspaper in absolute horror of how he had been labeled by others. A monster. A devil. An animated corpse.

I imagined the sorrow and loneliness he must have experienced, the anger and resentment as well for the hand he had been dealt in life.

I took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled, attempting to find a shred of inner peace when I felt as though turmoil had me cornered.

"I will be there for you, Kire, whenever you need me," I whispered.

Somehow I would make it work for my brother's safety. For the brief time we had been together, I had always kept him safe. As long as I could find him again, I would shelter him with my own life.

I placed the paper on the side table, secured Elvira to her stand and grabbed my coat, needing something to clear my mind before I went mad.