Chapter 4

Phelan

I never left the house to follow Erik outside, deciding it was better to give my brother and our mother the opportunity to speak in private.

With my sketchbook and a pencil in hand, I sat by the window and began drawing a rough sketch of France and Belgium, intending to mark Paris, Brussels, and Conforeit with small depictions of Erik, myself and our mother for easy reference since she was not able to read or write. I hoped the visual would help her understand the world a little better, perhaps make her more at ease in our absence.

Discovering our mother alive had not been a blessing, in fact it was nothing short of a chaotic disaster, one that left me regretting our unexpected stop in Conforeit.

In hindsight, I should have sent Erik back to Paris without me, sparing him the indignation we suffered at the hands of Gyda.

As much as I tried to focus on the map I drew, I could hear Gyda speaking with Erik through the open window and found myself unable to concentrate on anything else.

I wanted to believe my eavesdropping was not intentional, but when I heard my own mother speak of how much she hated me, the pencil in my hand refused to touch the paper.

Gyda thought I was possessed by Bjorn's evil spirit and that I wanted to harm her. She hated me and thought I hated her.

Every single word she spoke stung far worse than I would have ever imagined. I didn't hate her, I did not wish to harm her, and I was not like my father.

Aside from the incident with Jean Moreau, which I admitted had been severe and had unfortunately long-term consequences, I had lived quietly for several years in Paris until I had moved to Brussels.

I refrained from drinking as well as smoking, I didn't engage in activities that would lead to altercations, and I had abstained from sleeping with various women.

Thankfully with my move to Brussels, I lived close enough to Wissant where Bernard and I could meet every few weeks to practice boxing or meditate, and despite not seeing Lucille as often as I would have liked, I looked forward to a time when we would no longer be apart.

My life was mostly organized, and I was proud of what I had accomplished from the long and meaningful relationship I shared with my mentor Hugo to forming a bond with my maternal grandparents. I had found my brother at last, I had two nieces and a nephew that I adored, I experienced success as a painter, the start of a relationship with my son, and a career that I enjoyed.

Therefore, my mother's opinion of me should not have gnawed at me as it did. I should have been able to shrug off her harsh words and be no worse for wear.

But naturally that was not the case, and the longer I sat alone on the bed I had built with Bernard, the more my insides felt like they were twisting.

One by one, I fixated on my regrets. There were many aspects of my life that were shameful that I found difficult to think about from the lack of a relationship I had with my adult son to my failed first marriage and an attempt to take my own life when I had reached a point that I could not ever imagine surviving.

All three were like open sores that I unsuccessfully attempted to ignore. Ever since I had seen Marco outside of the Carlyle Club, I thought of him constantly and what I should have done differently over the years.

As much as I had no desire to ever think of Daphne again, she crept into my thoughts when I passed the home we had shared, which was currently being rented to a few former students of mine. I had not stepped foot inside the home since I'd moved out, but my students assured me that they kept it well-maintained.

As for the plans to end my own life? I thought about that October evening less and less, but not the people who had been there with me in the days that followed. I had no intention of ever making a second attempt, but the heaviness of what had led up to that desire was ever-present, and I became slightly better at walking beside the pain rather than allowing it to ride on my back.

I smiled to myself. Only Luci was allowed to ride on my back, my little ray of endless sunshine that kept me from settling into the darkness alone.

But not even thoughts of Luci could truly settle my heart and mind as I realized I had a fourth regret: the inability to form a relationship with my own mother, who would never see the person I had become.

I regretted that I had kicked the door open and frightened her half to death. I regretted that I had given chase and attempted to restrain her. I regretted that I resemble the man who had abducted, beat, and raped my mother for years.

I was not Bjorn and I refused to be like him, but I couldn't make Gyda see me differently no matter what I did. She had made up her mind that I was the embodiment of the evil I had watched die in the very house where I sat.

oOo

Erik returned inside a short time later, giving me ample time to finish the map. He shut the bedroom door, pulled off his mask, and sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall.

He took a long, shuddering breath, then exhaled in the same manner, turning his attention to the mask in his hands.

"You have grass between your toes," I commented.

He looked down at his bare feet, then turned his attention to me and eyed me for a long moment before he wiped his hand down his face.

"The grass is truly the least of my worries," he muttered.

"I know," I replied. "I figured you could use something to get your mind off of everything else."

Erik allowed himself to smile. "Always taking care of me," he said. "From my first breath to my last."

"Perhaps not the last breath," I said. "I hope you die after me. Or at the same time in a moment of pure, shared foolishness."

"Foolishness of your design, no doubt," he said.

"Most likely."

Erik grunted. "I saw the birdhouses."

I was certain he had seen them each time we stepped outside, but merely wished to be difficult simply to annoy me.

"They are impossible to miss considering the sheer number."

"Indeed." Something about Erik's expression made him appear annoyed.

I studied my brother for a moment. "You aren't jealous of Bernard, are you?"

"Jealous? Jealous of what?" Erik dismissively asked. "I've never met this friend and so-called brother of yours. Why would I be jealous?"

Erik may not have been aware, but he had thoroughly answered my question with his own inquiries.

"Because I refer to him as a friend and brother and you seem displeased," I answered.

Erik huffed. "Well, he's not your brother. He is someone that you know." Erik didn't look at me when he spoke, and I found his response fueled with more annoyance than I would have expected.

"We are not related by blood, no, but by association he is very much like a brother to me," I replied. "You must understand, we met shortly before the disaster at the opera house and have been good friends since then."

"You will not claim Val as your brother, but you choose a stranger?" Erik glanced toward me, but didn't make eye contact.

My anger flared as I was certain my brother was trying his damnedest to instigate an argument. I would not give him the satisfaction of fighting over Val, of all people.

"I don't think you realize how difficult it was for me to process what happened at the Opera Populaire that night," I said, feeling my own agitation like a string stretched taut. "How the fire, the searching, and the obituary affected me for years. If I am being honest, it still affects me now, even when we are seated across from one another."

Erik frowned, but still didn't speak, which came as no surprise as I assumed he was ashamed of his own jealousy and had nothing to add.

"I don't know if Val ever told you, but Carmen passed away the day after I saw the news in the Epoch," I said. "Carmen was Val's wife."

"I have heard her name," Erik said quietly. "Were the two of you close?"

I nodded. "At the start, yes, and at the end. In the middle, sadly no. The middle part where we were not on speaking terms lasted a long time, unfortunately."

Erik glanced up at me, his brow furrowed.

"Carmen and I went from having the most wonderful friendship to her not speaking to me for years and finally making amends at the end, shortly before she passed away."

I had no desire to mention the specifics of what had led to the falling out and chose not to speak of it. Val could most certainly inform Erik of the reason why Carmen had abruptly stopped speaking to me.

"I thought Carmen and I would have had more time together and that I would find you and the three of us could play cards or attend a play or…something. I always thought the two of you should meet.

"And then you were both gone and I hoped you would meet without me. Perhaps exchange words about how much the two of you adored me. Or thought I was an ass. Either way, I wanted you both to meet."

The amount of anguish I had experienced, the multiple, crippling breakdowns of sobbing and moments of anger, crept into my thoughts. I had been no better coping with loss at the age of thirty-four than I'd been at the age of seven and a half. In fact, I felt as though I handled it worse as an adult.

"What happened to Carmen? Was she ill? Joshua has never said."

"Cancer," I answered. "Reproductive."

Erik solemnly nodded, and something about his lack of verbal replies increased the tension of the imaginary string. I looked away from him and exhaled, frustrated by the threat of emotion.

"Despite what you may think, I do have plenty of reasons to be jealous of the boxer," he said suddenly, keeping his voice low.

I blinked at my brother, annoyed that he referred to my close friend as 'the boxer' rather than his given name.

"Such as?" I impatiently asked.

"He knows you better than I do," Erik said quietly. "And he lives closer to you in Brussels. He helped you make all of the furniture in this house–"

"What of it?"

"He has been in your life for the last nine years. I have not."

"Yes, because you and I didn't know one another until a few months ago. That is not Bernard's fault and doesn't warrant jealousy or apathy toward him."

"I am jealous because I am a jealous person," Erik snapped. "Is that what you want me to admit?"

I scoffed at his words. "You realize that you are being unreasonable, don't you? And petty. It is not becoming of a man your age to act in this fashion."

"Not becoming of a man my age?" Erik sputtered. "Fine. Do you want a better reason?"
"Yes, I do, Kire. A valid reason," I said, making no attempt to curb my tone.

"I am upset because I don't want you to choose a boxer over me. I do not care that you have known him longer than we have known each other. I don't want to be your second choice," he said, his voice louder with each word. "I am jealous, I am petty, and I don't want you to choose him over me. That is why I am upset. Does that suffice?"

He slammed his fist on the mattress and finished with a muttered curse.

We both stared at each other. Erik looked away first, his chest heaving with each breath and I realized that he had gotten himself quite worked up, same as he had done countless times as a toddler. His jaw twitched as it did when he was frustrated.

I ran my hand over my hair, boiling blood coursing through my veins. I clamped my jaw shut, aware that I had to carefully pick my words before our precarious conversation took a free fall into territory that our relationship could not survive.

Truly your funds are insufficient...

"At what point did I ever indicate I would pick Bernard over you?" I asked, keeping my voice reasonably lower despite how incensed he left me feeling.

"Last night. You said you hoped Bernard and I got along or you would have to choose him over me."

I fought the urge to laugh in his face over his childish remark. "Erik, you cannot be serious. My words were clearly spoken lightly and you know it."

"You still said it," Erik said under his breath.

Everything about his voice and posture turned from white-hot anger to melancholy, the apathy giving way to the underlying hurt he could no longer mask.

"You have never been my second choice," I said firmly. "You have always been first. Everything I've ever done was with you in mind. Surely you know this."

Erik exhaled, but didn't reply, stubbornly choosing silence over speaking.

I flipped through the pages in my sketchbook and found myself staring at the image of my brother as a toddler.

"You will never understand how devastated I was after I read your false obituary," I continued, averting my gaze. "How crushing it was to know we would never see each other again."

My emotions were dangerously mixed between grief, sadness, and anger. In the back of my mind, I could once again hear Erik saying that my suffering was not equal to his, that my funds were insufficient, the pain I had endured for years bankrupt to his fortune.

"My world was burning, Erik, and I found myself unable to cope with losing you for good." I tugged at my left sleeve and pulled it up to my elbow, displaying the scar. "The night the opera house burned down, when I was so close to seeing you again and ended up outside of the building, I gripped onto my arm with such force that I left a bruise probably down to the bone. It hurt like hell for weeks. I honestly have no idea how I didn't black out from inflicting such an injury on myself. That was how frustrated I was in losing you."

His eyes slightly widened, mouth set in a grimace.

"And then two weeks later, when I read the newspaper and realized that I'd seen you for the last time, I was devastated. Nothing mattered anymore. I went out in search of destruction and didn't care if I ended up in a jail cell or dead in an alley. I actually think I would have preferred the latter that night."

He looked at me again, his eyes filled with horror.

"If not for Bernard's concern for my well being and his friendship over the years, I honestly don't know if I would be sitting here today. He found me on the streets, took me back to my apartment, and stayed in town for two weeks to make sure I was...recovering, I suppose.

"There is nothing I will ever be able to do to repay Bernard for what he has done for me over the years. He is truly invaluable as a friend and a brother to me. He is, he has been, and I hope that he will always be like a brother to me. You have no reason to be offended or jealous. In fact, I hope once you meet him that you will be as grateful as I am that there is someone out there in the world named Bernard Montlaur. I care for you dearly, Erik, but I care equally for Bernard and no amount of stomping about will make me reconsider calling Bernard my brother."

Erik sat in silence for a long time, his jaw still twitching, hands still grasping the mask he had removed. His decision to ignore my inquiry frustrated me to no end.

"Erik," I said sharply. "Is this truly why you are upset? Because of a joke I made last night?"

"No," he said at last. "No Bernard is not the reason I am upset. At least not completely."

I couldn't say anything to Erik in his already agitated state, but I truly missed Bernard and our moments of deep, private conversations that he called 'not talking'. We could say anything to one another, both of us aware that whatever we discussed would go no further than wherever we sat.

At times Bernard and I pissed each other off, but for the most part, I felt a sense of resolve with our conversations, and we had never parted ways angry with one another. Sometimes we would go a few practice rounds in the ring after we spoke and take out the last of frustrations swinging at one another, but we never left angry.

Erik, however, sat in frustrated silence, and I had no idea what I could say or do that would open communication and put him at ease with whatever was on his mind.

"Do you want to discuss what is bothering you or would you rather…"

Stew in your own hatred, you horse's ass.

Bernard would have been displeased with my words. I inhaled, counted to five, and exhaled.

"Would you rather keep what is bothering you to yourself?"

Erik's frown deepened. "I am upset because she picked a pile of rocks to mourn over me," he said at last, his eyes fixed on his mask.

I studied him in silence, knowing that he spoke of Gyda.

"I was standing right there in front of our mother and she still didn't seem convinced that I was truly her son. She saw me multiple times over the years and had no idea who I was and made no attempt to help me. Surely she knew–"

"She didn't. She barely knows herself," I assured him.

"Because she has been kept heavily beneath the veil of laudanum."

I exhaled. "Yes, I fear you are correct."

Erik pinched the bridge of his nose. "And the worst of it, when she became angry, it was a mirror image of Christine when her mood changed. I didn't know what to do then to appease Christine and I don't know what to do to appease our mother now. I am beyond frustrated."

"There is nothing you can do."

"That is not a satisfactory answer," he snapped, catching himself too late.

"My apologies, but I don't have a better one."

Erik studied me for a long moment, his expression mirroring the listlessness Gyda displayed when she was on the floor.

"I will not accept that there is nothing we can do for our mother," he said, bowing his head. "I cannot accept that. Perhaps it is foolishness on my part, same as it was with Christine, but...I want her to be well."

The ever present ache within me became more prevalent. I nodded in agreement. I wanted our mother to be well again, but she had spent decades beneath the spell of a bottle.

"Nothing needs to be done or decided right this moment," I pointed out. "She's been living on her own here alone for the last twelve years. As long as she has access to the house and provisions to last her through the winter I'm sure she will survive a while longer without us."

"Surviving," Erik said under his breath. "Not living, but surviving."

I chewed on the inside of my lower lip. "Against the odds, she has persevered. Gyda certainly has admiral strength or the stubbornness to refuse the offered hand of death."

"A bit of both, I would assume," Erik said.

"At least we come from sturdy stock, Kire."

My brother grunted, and the conversation came to a pause.

I turned another page in my sketchbook and looked at the images of Bernard, Celeste, Hugo, and Lucille. Once we arrived at the train station in Calais, I would send word to Luci and also Marco to let them know our travel had resumed and an estimate of when we would arrive.

Erik looked up at me suddenly and inhaled. "Our mother aside, you have my word, Lan, if Bernard is that important to you, I will not voice my jealousy or treat him poorly."

"I certainly hope not. He will knock you on your ass with one punch if you disrespect him."

Erik made a face. "Truly?"

"In his very loving and respectful way, of course," I added, clearing my throat.

Erik appeared wary, but nodded all the same. "I look forward to meeting him whenever we leave here, that is…"

"Quite frankly, I do not think we can leave soon enough," I said. "Let's pack up our belongings and walk back to town."

Erik didn't hesitate, which came as a surprise as I expected more protest from him. He grabbed his socks and shoes and began unbuttoning his shirt, preparing to change back into his travel clothes.