Chapter 97

The sun had already set when I walked out of Hugo's home and onto the street, vibrating with anger and drowning in the thickness of grief.

Hugo had insisted several times that I stay, saying that Cecil was on his way out of the door, but I couldn't find it within me to sit a moment longer. I needed to move, to make an attempt to outrun grief on my heels. Speaking with Hugo would only make me more aware of how I felt.

My stomach growled and I felt light-headed. I regretted abandoning the paper bag of bakery sweets somewhere in Hugo's home and wondered when he would discover the treats that I had haphazardly tossed aside.

Thankfully there was food in my studio. It was most likely a stale bag of crisps, but in my state of starvation, I wasn't feeling discerning when it came to my taste.

I walked into the empty studio and stood staring into the darkness, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the size and solitude of what should have felt familiar.

There were no gas lights within the room as it was only used during the way when the windows provided plenty of light, and I had no candles or other means of illuminating the studio as I had never been in the arts building after dark.

I closed the door behind me and didn't bother walking to my desk as the floor sufficed.

There I sat on the tile, back to the wall, legs crossed tailor-style. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled several times in a row.

Clearing my mind proved unsuccessful, and eventually my breaths turned ragged and I realized tears streamed down my cheeks.

I made no attempt to wipe them away or stopper the grief pouring out of me as if I were an ink bottle turned on its side.

Sit with it, Bernard had said.

Emotion did not sit beside me. It was on top of me, inside of my veins, pulsing through each beat of my heart. It was ripping me apart and cauterizing me at the same time. I couldn't escape the sensation, couldn't outrun it or hide.

Grief had always existed beneath the surface. I'd always known it was there, aware of its existence without needing to acknowledge it. Some days I could suppress the feeling, some days it glared at me, refusing to be ignored. It wasn't always in the form of sadness, as one would expect. Sometimes it felt heavy, like a thick wool coat on a hot day, burdensome and unpleasant. Once in a while I barely noticed it at all, like my hair before it grew too long and became a nuisance.

This night, however, grief hovered over me, like flies buzzing over a carcass. The swarm would not relent, no matter how I attempted to shoo it away.

"I cannot begin to imagine how I will live the rest of my life knowing we will never see each other again," I whispered aloud to Erik, my hands folded, treating my words like a prayer.

I had never stepped foot within a house of worship as a young child. There was only one chapel within Conforeit, and since Alak chose to live a distance from the actual town, it was rare that I traveled beyond the edge of the woods.

The memory of a choir singing, of the echo of voices through the woods, was one filled with mystery and wonder. I felt drawn to the music, to the harmony of voices that at the time had sounded sweeter than anything else I'd heard since Erik had disappeared.

They spoke of prayer and God and salvation. They spoke of sins and forgiveness, the latter of which I was desperate to find. Over the course of several weeks I worked up the courage to peer through the church windows and saw unfamiliar people seated on wooden benches, dressed in their best clothing, their heads bowed and hands folded while a man at a podium addressed them and read from a book. I found myself enthralled, my heart lighter. Eagerness filled me, my spirit-which I was suddenly aware of-renewed.

That night, filled with soaring hope, I knelt beside my bed and bowed my head, whispering into the night.

By morning I woke with a hopeful heart, but by nightfall it was clear that none of the prayers had been answered, and I had not asked for much:

Bring my brother back.

Ask my uncle to forgive me.

Make Val play with me.

They were simple requests, perhaps ones that were overlooked by a greater being who thought they were easily discarded. Or perhaps it was because I didn't have nice clothing to present myself properly or that I had never been inside of the building.

I recalled hearing one Sunday morning that God worked in mysterious ways, that the lesson was not always clear, but there was a reason suffering took place. We didn't always need to know why because God knew.

I laid awake all that night, staring at the darkness, assuring God that he didn't need to let Erik suffer a moment longer. If he wanted someone to learn a lesson or pay a price or endure hardships, all he had to do was take me instead. Remove me from my bed and place Erik here and I will take his place, wherever that may be. Please just release him. Please just give him a moment of respite from the devil that took him.

Over and over I begged until the darkness became dawn and Erik was still not in his bed. I could not understand why my request was not good enough for the God the people of Conforeit worshipped. The suffering my brother endured and the uncontainable anxiety that grew within me every single day made no sense. God was not merciful and he had no plans. He looked the other way.

My renewed spirit withered, and after a while, I doubted its existence at all. U was flesh and blood and nothing more.

Even as an adult, I still felt that way. I had not stepped foot inside a house of worship and doubted that any deity would notice my absence.

Since God had never given me an audience, I chose to speak to Erik and Carmen instead, knowing that the spirit I lacked they certainly had to possess.

"I hope you are together," I said. "And I hope you aren't talking about me unless it's pure flattery in which case by all means continue."

The thought made me chuckle to myself as I wiped my nose with my handkerchief and rubbed my eyes with my knuckles. It brought me comfort thinking of the two of them together, especially Erik as I didn't want him to spend an eternity alone.

"The twenty-third and twenty-fourth of April will never be the same," I said aloud. "Next year, if I am…"

Still alive were the words I intended to speak, but stopped myself, unsure of how either one would respond. I imagined Carmen would have been furious with me for thinking such thoughts, for being selfish enough to leave Elizabeth and Joshua behind. Erik, on the other hand, I thought might welcome me-if I were allowed into the same afterlife as them.

"Next year and every year that follows will be difficult. I will never stop missing either of you."

I pictured both of them separately, Carmen as a young bride filled with hope for the future and the family she and her husband desired. I pictured Erik as a toddler, feeding the birds from a red plate while he stood with his arms outstretched and eyes pinched shut.

"I hope that you take care of each other," I whispered. "And that somehow your spirits take care of me as well from time to time until..."

Until I surrendered to grief and the weight of the world.

Numbness threatened, and I forced myself to stand and write a note to my students. I lost count of how many times I wrote, discarded, and re-wrote the announcement of my absence. My hand shook with each letter I scribed, my eyes filled with more tears than I thought possible to shed.

All,

I have suffered two very devastating losses over the weekend. My beloved brother and my dearest sister-in-law have both passed away. Classes shall resume the third of May.

Apologies,

Kimmer

I doubted I truly needed a full week off and couldn't imagine how I would spend my time away from the studio and my students. Grief didn't need me to set time aside.

With a sigh of aggravation, I crumpled up the note, wrote a new one, and changed the date, deciding I would return on Wednesday as sitting at home until the following Monday would most definitely sever the final string of my sanity.

That was if I still had a position at the university as I imagined Cecil had taken my inappropriate remarks regarding his sister into consideration. If he knew how much I enjoyed Lucille's company, I was certain he would put a stop to not only her time spent swimming laps at the university, but our tennis lessons as well.

The longer I thought about it, the more angry I became, not simply in regards to how Cecil spoke of Lucille, but everything that had transpired over the last few weeks.

From the sets my students had painted for the theater to the man I saw soliciting Celeste Frane, I felt increasingly incensed. I was angry at how Ink had been treated and left to languish in jail over the weekend and how Cecil had decided to punish me with an unnecessary suspension when I had not done anything wrong. I was still livid over the opera house fire and everything else that had transpired since I'd seen Erik for a final time.

Alone in the dark, I heard distant laughter from a female voice and pressed my eyes closed, thinking of Abigail.

I had managed to mostly sweep her memory beneath an imaginary rug, removing her from the forefront of my mind. She had meant a great deal to me and I could not bear to dissect how much it hurt to think I would never hear her voice or see her smile again–or to think that there was another child of mine destined to be born without me being part of their life, this time because the woman bearing that little life had not wanted me to be part of the rearing.

Marco. My son, the boy I should have cherished, a child that I should have provided for in any capacity Florine would allow. She had no need for my meager finances, but I should have been there for my child. I regretted the distance I had kept from both of them, the life I had turned my back on thinking somehow my absence would make their lives better.

The aching inside and out became unbearable, and I felt as though I had been backed into a corner, unable to escape grief. I was drowning in sorrow, unable to reach the surface, and I doubted anything could ever change what I experienced.

I inhaled sharply and stood. Leaving the door unlocked, I secured the note for my students onto the cork board with a thumbtack and proceeded down the stairs to exit the building.

For a brief moment I stood on the steps, staring out into the vacant campus. There was no one else around; not birds, not squirrels, not students or staff. The laughter in the distance had been silenced, the unknown person sharing her mirth having traveled further into the night.

I was alone. No matter what I did, that would not truly change.

The very thought stole the air from my lungs, the solitude igniting something within me, something that I had managed to keep controlled for many years. I was more than grief-stricken and angry, I was vibrating with rage, regret, and self-hatred.

Very deliberately I rolled up my sleeves, glanced at my left arm, and took a long, slow breath. I straightened my spine, feeling an unnatural stillness within me, a sort of calm before the storm took over and I was at the mercy of its unmerciful rage.

The other side of the city beckoned me. I felt it white-hot in my veins, thrumming through me. My jaw clamped in anticipation, my empty stomach tight. I flexed my hands, testing my fists over and over, preparing my muscles, readying my mind for destruction.

There would be no stopping, no turning back once I reached the other side of the city. I would abandon all sense and reasoning, relinquish the life I had built to satisfy the anger.

What did it matter, anyhow? I had four days to myself, to spend my time grieving as I wished and I wanted nothing more than to meet grief head-on rather than hiding. I would meet the devastation with my fists, beating it bloody and being pummeled in the process.

Rage churned through me. I craved destruction, to strike others with my fists and more importantly, to feel someone hurt me as well, to feel pain followed by the rush of adrenaline that put agony temporarily on hold.

I found myself passing through the theater district where buildings were no longer filled with people seeking entertainment as the shows had ended and the viewers had returned to their homes, satisfied for the night.

My release was further ahead, in the midst of brothels and taverns, in the unlit alleys of the city where nothing good happened as the hours grew later and later. I had no idea what time it was; perhaps eleven, perhaps much later. All I knew for certain was that I was ravenous for trouble and had no reservations about the consequences.

Take it all, take everything away from me. There is nothing more than scraps remaining.

My heart stuttered, my pace slowing. There was still Lucille. There was still Elizabeth. There was still Bernard and Celeste. There was still an entire studio of students that needed me and a salon filled with artists that struggled to find meaning and purpose in their art.

But Erik was still dead and that was reason enough to discard all else. I would do this for him. No, I would do this because of him, because I could not live the rest of my days without him.

The sound of people shouting further ahead drew me closer. Tavern fights, from the sound of it, brawls with complete strangers fueled by their whiskey and gin into altercations that they wouldn't remember in the morning. I stalked ever closer, heart thudding, eyes in search of a fight.

I saw two men grappling with one another, the two of them stumbling into the street, hands on each other's necks as they wrestled back and forth. They were followed by two more men attempting to break them apart, which proved unsuccessful. Several other people poured into the street, followed by screaming and shouts, both encouraging the melee and begging the participants to stop.

It was the perfect amount of chaos. I was less than five hundred feet away when I heard whistles blowing and heard the rumble of a cart. Suddenly the fight broke up, people darting in all directions as multiple gendarmes appeared and began clubbing anyone in sight. Multiple people were face-down on the street, hands cuffed behind their backs.

I found myself remaining at a distance, a disappointed observer watching the aftermath. Before the gendarmes took notice of me, I exited down an alley, walking the length of darkness, disappearing from sight.

Like a ghost, I cynically thought.

There was a man and a woman up ahead, at the more private entrance to one of the brothels. I could see the woman up against the brick wall, legs wrapped around the man's hips, taking each thrust with an exaggerated groan. I wondered if her John realized the show she put on for him, how the look on her face didn't match the sounds coming from her throat.

She looked directly at me as I walked past them, smiling at me. She raised a brow, reddened lips curled as if she thought it was seductive.

"Do you want to be next?" she mouthed.

I would never entertain the thought of being with a filthy whore. You'd have to pay me, not the other way around, I considered saying, but decided to look straight ahead, toward the mouth of the alley in the distance.

Someone ran past me the second I walked onto the street, followed by two more individuals. They were teens by the looks of it, delinquent boys most likely running from the authorities that were giving chase. I glanced in the direction they had come from, but didn't see anyone in pursuit, then turned my attention to where they were running further and further into the distance.

From the corner of my eye I noticed the wall of a building still papered with Erik's likeness and turned away, unable to bear facing dozens of sketches, each one a reminder of my loss and the mistakes that kept us apart.

Hands in my pockets, I made my way across the street to the other side where the sidewalk was crowded with both men and women standing outside of a pub. The crowd seemed peaceful, but I purposely drove my shoulder into the nearest person, sending him stumbling back.

My shoulders bunched as I waited for him to address me, to grab me by the arm and ask what in the hell was wrong with me.

"Rude fellow, that one," the man muttered.

I looked over my shoulder at him, jaw set and nostrils flared, prepared to instigate a fight with a stranger. My hand balled into a fist as I considered punching him in the nose and then asking why he called my rude.

"What did you say to me?" I seethed, stalking toward him.

The man blinked at me. "Professor Kimmer?"

I stared at him for a long moment, aggravated by the number of people I seemed to know in the whole damnable city, none of which I could instigate into a fight.

"Ivo," I said under my breath.

"My apologies, I must have bumped into you," he said politely.

"My fault," I said as I turned away, shaken by my near mistake.

"Professor Kimmer! Would you care to join us for a drink!"

"No," I said without looking at him, embarrassed by my behavior, afraid that if I stopped to chat I would end up feeling emptier than I already did.

Ivo managed to catch up to me, tugging on my arm. "Professor?" he questioned.

I couldn't bear to look him in the face, preferring instead to avert my gaze.

"Are you unwell?" he inquired. "You look…forgive me, you don't look like yourself."

"I will be fine."

Ivo frowned. "Are you certain nothing is wrong? Sebastian told me he saw you in the park and Duke took a liking to you. If there is a way I be of assistance to you, by all means say the word."

There was nothing Ivo or anyone else was capable of doing for me.

"I'm perfectly fine," I said before I turned and briskly walked away.

I wandered further into the district that was unfamiliar to me, past men pissing in alleys and drunks on the street. Every time I thought I heard a commotion it turned out to be nothing.

Until I reached the end of the taverns and brothels, at the very edge of where I had spent years getting into fights or starting them.

It was not a large gathering of people. I estimated about fourteen to eighteen and it looked as though at least four had ganged up on one person in particular. I watched for longer than I should have as the man on the ground was kicked repeatedly in the abdomen and back. If not for his writhing about, I would have thought they were beating a corpse.

My body jerked forward. As a teen I would not have ever considered intervening, but I looked at the man on the ground and imagined what I would do if he was one of my students, someone who had found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

If I shouted loud enough, I was fairly certain the crowd would scatter. I started to step forward, but drew back suddenly at the sound of a man shouting a threat to kill everyone. Before he finished speaking, several gunshots rang out, and the man appeared out of the alley across from where I stood. He holstered one pistol and retrieved another, which he used to fire several more shots. People dropped to the ground, either wounded or in an attempt to evade the shooter. One of the bullets from his pistol struck a glass window not ten feet from where I stood, sending shards of glass in all directions.

I drew in a breath, gaze darting around as more people dropped to the ground, hands covering their heads. Instead of fleeing or dropping to the ground, I stood frozen, feeling as though I had walked into a nightmare.

"Run!" someone shrieked, and everyone that was able to stand scattered in all directions, screaming in terror.

Two boys–the same ones I'd seen running earlier–managed to pick up the beaten man and carry him off while the gunman eyed me. He evaluated his surroundings before he holstered his weapon and ran back down the alley.

I remained paralyzed in disbelief, suddenly aware of how far I was from home and sensibilities. Sickness churned in my empty belly, my mind swimming with grief all over again. I felt my throat tighten and hands loosen at my side.

I blinked several times, my mind reeling and ears ringing from the gunshots.

Far too late I realized I needed to leave, to return home before I ended up bleeding out in the gutter with a bullet through my intestines or taken to a jail cell for being on the wrong side of the city.

"Hey! You wanna fight someone? Get over here and fight me."

My stomach dropped and my mouth went dry, the need for violence snuffed out. I turned, searching the night until I spotted the person addressing me. It took several seconds for me to register who it was stalking toward me, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his face twisted in malice. He lurched forward with his uneven gate, a murderous look in his eyes.

My heart was in my throat, every fiber in my being desperate to retreat as he gained ground.

"Where the hell are you going?" he growled.

"Bernard," I panted, my back suddenly to the wall. "Wh–what are you doing here?"

"Me? The hell you doing here in this shit part of town?" he snarled, holding his fists up. "You wanna fight someone, Professor? Come over here and fight me."