Chapter Seven

The divide between fear and loneliness was thin veil as delicate as old silk. In all her travels through the countryside of Belgium and France in her youth, Anna never needed to draw aside that veil. It fell where it fell, and never obscured her ability to see through it. Loneliness didn’t touch her as a child, not when nights brought vagabonds together in communal camps. Fear was something she pushed aside like an unwanted dog, prompted by the life of crime in which she had been forced to live. Oddly, as the roads now wore on, Anna finally found fear and loneliness creeping under the veil.

She sat on the outskirts of the latest communal camp away from the camaraderie of the other travelers. Her thoughts were scattered as she scanned the area for dogs. The rabbit blood on her hands was an all too vivid reminded her of the hound Erik had killed. It sparked a long history of memories she dared not voice.

There had barely been any discussion regarding the night the decree appeared, and the child she carried. Anna tried to convince herself that Erik’s distance had nothing to do with Christine, though the mention of her name would launch him into a distant melancholy. The thoughts hung over Anna’s head like a thundercloud threatening to break open and drown her at any moment.

Her stomach clenched as she watched a stray hound jog from camp to camp in search of food. If that dog came near her, she swore she’d snap in two. Anna used her dress to clean her bloody hands before wiping her brow. Word had spread far and wide, forcing a fevered pace to their travels. The countryside was not gentle to pregnancy, and the stress began to take its toll. When Anna lowered her hand, she caught the seething look behind Erik’s eyes.

“We are staying in the next village,” he said.

“No, we’re not,” she replied pointedly toward the rabbit she skinned.

“You cannot keep going at this pace. You are not healthy. You are tiring and entirely too thin.”

“I’m fine.” Anna groused, threading the rabbit onto a makeshift spit and handing it to Pappy.

“You are not fine,” Erik declared with an insane wag of his head.

Pappy gestured at him with the naked rabbit. “Watch it, Maestro, calm down.” He pointed to her next. “He’s right.”

“I’m fine.” Small lie. “Besides, explain to me why you care about my health?”

“You are with child. You need the pause to get healthy.”

Anna rolled her eyes and tossed the bloody pelt aside. The ice behind Erik’s words nearly doused the fire. She wasn’t going to sit there and mind his words if they didn’t match what was so obviously opposite in his mind. Skinning and gutting rabbits wasn’t exactly kind to a stomach already unsettled by pregnancy anyway. The stray hound padded around didn’t help.

With an equally cold look back at him, Anna stormed out of camp Erik nipping at her heels.

It didn’t take long for him to catch up to her. Anna was no match for his long legs or his determination. Erik slowed his stride and watched as she plunked down beneath a tree and began tearing grass up by the roots instead of acknowledging his glare. The blades Anna dug at were turning her fingers green. Erik folded his arms and stood directly in front of her, and she still refused to meet his eyes.

“There are things you do not understand, Anna.”

She yanked a clump and threw it in a pile. “How do you expect us to settle in some village?”

“I have moved all my life freely. I am not about to stop now simply because of this hunt. I will find a room for us to let.”

“A room to let? With what money?” Anna shot him such a look of contempt he knew better than to suggest the money he had stripped from her dead father’s pocket before crushing his windpipe.

“You forget, I returned to the opera house while that carriage house burned so to see to your needs. I took what coin I had before I left.”

“Then forgive me for forcing you to waste your wealth on me and for demeaning you to live like a peasant. I’m so sorry for being a wanted criminal and altering your rich and illustrious future.”

Testy sarcasm. He should have expected that. “I care not for my future, but that of my child. Frankly, woman, you have no say in the matter. Challenge me on it, and you will lose.”

Her head jerked up. At least something got her attention.

“Oh. So now you say your child?”

Angry women had a way of boring holes into a man’s bones with one look. Erik had to look away. The thoughts that churned in his head for weeks tumbled unorganized in his mind. It was unbearable to see the mess he was making of things play out on Anna’s face. All he wanted as a child was to be loved. He would be damned if another infant came into this world rejected and unwanted by his mother.

“Anna.”

Erik knelt and gestured for her with a ripple of his fingers. The angry retort on her face softened into a pout that only made matter worse. She pushed off the tree and hesitantly shuffled closer. Kneeling face to face, Erik was unable to meet her eyes. He kept his focus on the first indication of the life she carried barely visible beneath her skirts. His voice took a gentle, yet profound threat. “Do not reject this child when it is born.”

“What?”

Erik somberly removed his mask. “Look at my face and tell me you will not be frightened when this is what you bear.”

“Erik, I’m terrified.”

Slapped stupid by her abrupt frankness, Erik jumped to his feet. One well practice motion had his face, and all vulnerability, caged beneath his mask again.

“The truth comes out then,” he said, icily. “You always claimed you could look upon this accursed skull and not cringe in fright or disgust. Well then. Now we know. ” He gestured to her abdomen with a voice low as a whisper but cutting through the air with the magnitude of hundreds. “You lied to me just as Christine did when she professed to be able to look beyond this face and tremble only from the splendor of my soul. You lie and reject me, and you will deny and reject my child just the same. I may not be a man worthy of love, and I am positive I am not a man worthy of loving a child but mark my words: no one will reject my child!”

“I’m not Christine!” Anna’s response was far louder that Erik expected. She glared at him, her fists balling at the side of her head. “You, stupid, stupid ass! We’re in the middle of nowhere! Our only possessions are a horse, a violin, and a crusty old man! Half of France is on our backs; there’s not a friendly face wherever we go, and you’ve been accused of murdering a nobleman. Do you even know what that implies?”

“Nothing. It is nothing of concern—”

Anna cut him off as if she’d been stewing on her words and waiting for them to implode

“It’s everything! Dogs are tracking us. I hate dogs! And now I’m pregnant in the middle of this mess and… I can’t… we can’t…why now? That’s what frightens me, Erik!”

Shock washed over him like a flash flood. In the blink of an eye Erik yanked her up, anger still glinting behind her eyes. He held her tight as relief rushed through him. Nothing could contain the smile in his voice. “Mon Dieu, Anna. Merci!"

Anna wriggled out of his grip and looked at him sideways. Her expression was queer as if Erik had grown another head. “Merci? You’re not listening. Erik, this can’t happen!”

“It has, and there is nothing that can be done about it.”

Anna groaned and snapped her fingers at the side of her head. “I know that!”

Erik reached for her hands, lowering them down. “Anna, I know this is exasperating but for the first time in my life love does not confuse me. I have been trying to determine how and when you would reject me, and the child I have secretly fallen in love with. I have only known for a matter of seconds that you would not, and I have never in my life been more in love with anything.” He gathered her close and splayed his hand across the tiny bump through her dress. Erik couldn’t hide the laugh that came through his surprise. “He will be perfect; my little piece of you. And he will be all we need. He is mine Anna, ours. I gave him life.”

Anna’s mouth gaped as she struggled for words. Erik silenced her with a fierce hug, joy coming late but coming sincerely. He took his time leading her back to the camp smiling at the way she would look up at him, her expression alternating from confusion to relief. If he thought her precious before, now she was infinitely so. Erik nodded in the direction of the nearest major city.

“I will see what I can come across for a place to stay,” he gently lowered her to the bedroll and sat beside her. “In the meantime, I want you to sleep as much as you can and when you can.”

“Erik, you don’t understand. There will be no rest. If you’re accused of murdering—”

He pressed his hand to her lips and held her until she gave in and burrowed in his lap. “You will not carry the weight of my child alone, Anna. I will not have him suffer your ill health.”

It took a while and several rocks launched toward a mongrel dog before she fell asleep. Erik stroked her hair as she slept in the crook of his arm, feeling every sour look Pappy gave him. Try as he may to ignore him, Pappy interrupted the peace Erik found in watching Anna rest.

“I suggest you fill her in on whatever you’ve been mulling over,” Pappy rumbled.

Erik lifted his eyes and looked at him with all the seriousness of a jungle predator. Didn’t phase the crazy prune one bit.

“One noble act of keeping her safe through winter isn’t enough.” Pappy jerked a crooked finger at him as if it was supposed to intimidate Erik. “You’ve been acting strange ever since you read about that comte’s death. I’m old, not stupid. Don’t use Anna’s baby as a reason to convince yourself that you’re not still pining for that diva.”

Pappy shoved the rabbit that was slowly roasting further into the fire and headed off to the company of his mare.

Erik held Anna close, keeping an intense stare on Pappy’s back. Those words had jammed a pain dead center of his chest. No man would tell him what secrets he should share. Erik’s secrets concerned no one but Erik. He lowered his gaze back to Anna and lost himself in the sensation of holding her in his arms. His temper was lulled into submission by the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. No matter how far he had to reach for her or what demons he had to battle, his arms would always hold her.

Erik swore she would never know the piercing sounds of utter loneliness.

He kept that promise close to his breast as the night fell darker and wore on. The notes of the melancholy fiddler on the opposite side of camp rose and fell in tandem with a far-off nightingale. With Anna nestled neatly in the crook of his arm, her warm body against him, Erik fought sleep with everything he could.

The music was possessive. How long had it been since he played? Absently, he reached across Anna to touch his shoulder. His fingers probed the flesh where the bullet had entered. Damn Raoul. He took enough from him; did he have to mar his skills with a bow as well?

Slow, steady breaths abated his anger. Erik dared not pick up his violin to join that fiddler. Music was his salvation, his hope, his one power—and the element that would make them more of a target. For that reason alone his instrument stayed wrapped tight and tucked in the satchel strapped to the saddle.

Nonetheless, Erik longed to mold his voice with notes in that sweet intoxication of years ago. Music soothed all things new and unfamiliar to him. Closing his eyes, he heard the strains of his violin. The notes shifted as he rearranged them in his mind, filling his head with an unmatched symphony.

Erik abandoned himself to the sounds. With such an uncertain future looming on the horizon, he lost himself in the music. Sleep tugged at him, but he resisted. Dreaming again wasn’t an option. Too many memories of his years in the labyrinth plagued him at night, summoning forth that blanket of madness he tried hard to fray.

His body swayed in tune to what he heard. The cold leather of his mask touched to the top of Anna’s head. She was inviting. Warm. He buried his lips in her hair. When she cooed softly in her sleep, heat shot down his spine and settled in his core. His music always entranced her. She filled so many of his dreams. Even now, she filled so many dreams.

Erik turned Anna slightly. His lips came down around hers. In the distance, the nightingale mingled with the violin. “Sing, for me?”

Anna moaned sleepily in reply. Heavy-lidded, Erik watched a smile creep across her lips. Tilting her head backward, he took that smile as his own, commanding her lips as the music in his mind rose. The noise grew. Erik caught her chin and turned her to him again.

“Christine…”

Anna jerked her head, breaking apart the kiss. She smacked him on the side of his head, first with one hand then the other. “Holy Mother-of-God, unhand me!”

Anna swung again; full fisted this time. Her small hand glanced off his jawline with a loud pop, punching him back to his senses. Stupefied, Erik watched as she rolled off his lap and pushed herself to her feet. Pregnancy and lack of sleep didn’t do her well; She retched her dinner into a nearby bush.

The fiddler continued his melody, the nightingale warbled on, and Anna vomited as Erik staggered to his feet. He grabbed the back of his head and rubbed his jaw as the camp slowly came more into focus. Aghast, at what he just did, Erik pounded the heel of his palms against his eyes.

“I strongly suggest you rectify that, Maestro.”

Erik swung toward Pappy. The old coot cocked one eye open and shot him a look capable of leveling a mountain. Pappy rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows.

“I’ve had it.” He was as pleasant as an old bear with a compacted colon. “You’ve been keeping something from her ever since you read that paper. I’ve had many more women in my life than you, and one thing I’ve learned about women is that they don’t like secrets. Nor do they like what you just managed to do.”

Erik slammed his palms harder against his eyes. Christine was not in his head! Sweat moistened the flesh beneath his mask to an uncomfortable level. More and more since reading of Comte Philippe’s death, he was being pulled back into the memories of those years in the labyrinth. Would they possess him at their will now? His chest seized.

“You need to get your ugly mug across this camp and let that woman into your deranged mind or trust me, you’ll regret it. You stand warned. You’re not entitled to her love or that life she’s carrying.” Pappy spat at Erik’s feet. “I don’t care if you are the father.”

The slime on his boots shown in the moonlight and flared Erik’s anger but he fought it down. He turned to the bush Anna knelt before.

“Leave off,” she rumbled, running a finger across her lips.

“Anna—”

“Erik, I swear, leave me be.”

“Anna, there are reasons—”

She whirled. “There’s no reason for you to confuse me with the comtesse!”

Erik sank to his knees and recoiled at how she lashed out when he touched her. “Anna, I cannot think clearly. So much has settled in my mind since I read the Époque. There… is noise.” He tapped his temples.

Her face contorted. “Your madness? I figured as much, but you seem reluctant to let me in to share whatever it is the announcement of that comte’s death caused you to remember.”

“I can not—”

“Can’t or won’t? Stop reminding me of her! I accept I’m second best, but how many times am I going to be told without a word, how much you love her? This isn’t the first time since we left the Garnier that you’ve whispered for her in your dreams, you know. You’ve reached for me before while asleep—”

“You are not second best! Damn it, woman. Listen to me—”

“Just tell me what’s going on.” She jammed a finger against the center of his forehead. She was speaking so fast Erik had a hard time keeping up with her. “Madness or no madness, you need to let me in that head of yours. It’s the only way I know how to understand you!”

Erik batted at her hand, but she pulled it away, testing his already barely governable frustration. “Can you truly handle what is in this mind?”

“I handled the time you broke this wrist!” Her small hand shoved in his face, making him jerk sideways. “I managed to watch you kill my father. I handled burning down a carriage house and committing horse theft for you. I think I can handle your reasons for trying to make me into Christine!”

“You could never be Christine!”

The admission splintered the air between them.

Anna angrily pushed her hands against his chest and shoved him backward. It was like a feather trying to knock down a mountain, but she tried nonetheless. Instinctively, his hands flew before him, blocking her second attempt. He grabbed both her wrists unwilling to let her beat out whatever she wanted on him. As quickly as anger had flared in him, seeing her fight like a caged animal had whisked it away like a trail of smoke.

Emotion clamped his throat as he saw the hurt shining behind her eyes. He gathered her close despite the tension between them. Stifling down a sigh, Erik fought memories he didn’t want to reveal. There was no denying he would have none of this if not for Philippe.

“When did you arrive at my Opera House?” He hunched deeply to bury his lips against the nape of her neck.

“Fall of’ ’82,” she replied stiffly.

“And you started leaving packages…?”

She tore her neck away from him. “After the series on Händel, winter, of ’84. What’s your point, Erik?”

He deserved the indignation in her tone. “And our first contact?”

“Spring of ’85.”

“My point is, until our contact in ’85, you know nothing. My existence beneath that Opera House was like burning in the eternal fires of hell.” He took a deep breath, not that it would help. “The year was 1881. Shortly after I became involved with Christine and Raoul, I had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting Philippe Georges Marie, the Comte de Chagny.”

He slid an arm around Anna waist, spreading a possessive hand across his child. From across the camp, he pinned Pappy to his spot with his gaze. The old man should stand warned.

Erik was entitled…

He yanked the last bandage off finally able to take a deep, satisfying breath. Erik cringed. The purple bruises up and down his side had faded to a sickening shade of yellow-green. His ribs still throbbed, but not nearly as bad as they once did. After discovering the effort it took to pull on his shirt, Erik settled back on the divan. Being in that position only reminded him of the piercing pain in his stomach. He should eat something but didn’t care to. Nothing mattered except the memory of Christine.

“I didn’t purchase all this food to feed the rats.”

That voice. God help him, Erik was going to kill that man. Groaning, he threw an arm over his eyes and waited a few seconds in the hopes his uninvited guest would spontaneously combust, but it was to no avail. Erik could still hear him rummaging around. He rose and staggered out of his chambers. Erik sneered as the stranger casually peeled off the gloves he wore, removed his hat and cloak and relit a few candles.

“How do you keep getting down here?” Erik asked, almost too numb for the answer.

The reply was bright, as was the man’s smile. “I’ve my ways.”

Brilliant. His stranger was in a good mood. Far be it from him to ruin it. “I really should kill you,” Erik replied, “but I am afraid there is only one person I want to kill at present. If you will excuse me?” Erik bowed sarcastically and took one step back toward his chambers.

“Speaking of killing, now that you seem to be up and about I have a small request.”

“So do I—go to hell.”

“Stay away from the Vicomte de Chagny.”

Erik pivoted, wincing as his ribs throbbed in protest.

His guest folded his arms. “I only assume you desire to kill him.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

The stranger casually lifted one shoulder. “You recently killed the vicomte’s brother; the Comte de Chagny, didn’t you?”

Erik tapered his eyes as he dusted off his memory. “I vaguely recall an unfortunate accident. When the comte dashed into these infernal vaults after his brother, he merely fell into the lake.” Erik gestured beyond his house in an attempt to cover his lie. “That corpse was already on the shores when I arrived. I had nothing to do with its rather untimely demise.”

His stranger jutted his bottom jaw and scratched a light mustache. “Tell me, how well did you know the comte?”

Erik waved his hand over his mask, wishing he had the strength to strangle his interloper. “I do not wish to speak about Comte Philippe.” The man lifted a brow. Erik gestured impatiently. “What do you want of me? He was no more than a face among thousands in my opera house. One rat among many sneaking about the shores of my lake. You can say I would not know his body if I fell over it.”

“Ah. I see. Makes no matter who you kill so long as it’s to protect your humble abode.” The stranger lifted his arms in defeat and let them slap back to his sides. “Well then, if he’s dead he’s dead. That’s all that matters to you, correct?”

“You know nothing of what matters to me! Go already! Leave me!” Erik yelled suffering the burn it caused in his ribs.

The stranger laughed. “I know what I can piece together. I can’t imagine you enjoy being trapped down here like a rat in a maze.” He picked up an untouched basket of food, removed what was perishing, and carried the rest closer to Erik. “If I were you, my desires would lie in the arms of Christine Daaé, and I’d have a taste to wring the neck of that Vicomte she chose over you. Loneliness and betrayal is a piercing pain you know.” He tapped his chest. “Like an arrow into a man’s heart.”

“Really?” Erik’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I was unaware.”

“Keep away from the Vicomte. He’s not responsible for your loneliness. You orchestrate your destiny.”

“What do you care for the Vicomte de Chagny?”

“I care for everyone. Just leave him be. He’s young, headstrong, and overly zealous at times. You spared his life once, spare it again. Let him build his life by staying away from him and his intended.”

“A bold request, Monsieur. One I fear I cannot uphold so long as I live.”

“Then I’ll make you a proposition. You honor my request for leaving them in peace, and I’ll see to it you’re left undisturbed, and any preposterous investigations into your whereabouts dropped.”

Erik shook his head. What a cocky bastard. Thinking he can play God. “And how will you see that?”

“First by turning the attention away from the regretful death of Comte Philippe.”

Erik rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of the false nose on his mask. “You are obsessed with that man! Tell me, are you his lover? Because I am curious as to how that works.”

“Furthermore,” the stranger snapped, making Erik chuckle. It seems he struck a nerve. “I’ll prove that Christine Daaé’s doesn’t love you. You asked her to return here and bury you upon your death, didn’t you?”

Erik’s heart raced to his stomach. “How do you know that?”

“Let’s say I came as a recent shock to a Persian friend of yours.”

Anger rose like a plume of smoke and with it Erik’s suspicion. He eyed the man’s current state of dress. He again donned expensive clothes but covered them with the cloak of a pauper. No one knew of Erik’s connection to the Persian except for one meddling man constantly underfoot in his labyrinth.

“Who are you?” Erik demanded hotly, speaking as fast as his thoughts. “Why do you come here and question me about Comte Philippe? How do you know my Persian acquaintance?”

“Before your unfortunate mugging, you visited the Persian. He grilled you over the comte—accused you of his death—which you denied. You told him he would need to pay for a line in L’Epoque announcing your death?” The stranger laughed. “Do you expect the Vicomte de Chagny will allow her to bury you should you die? You’d be rotting down here never knowing if she ever returned. Is that what you want?”

Erik turned away. His face rippled beneath his mask. The stranger had a point.

“And are you such a genius that you can predict your death, or are you merely a coward and intending to kill yourself? Think you will die of a broken heart perhaps?”

Erik’s fist lifted to his lips. He didn’t want to hear this.

“If you want to see her one last time,” the stranger continued, “then I’ll help under the conditions you don’t set foot near them again, and you never murder another man—whether justifiable or not. Simply go on and live in blissful oblivion. Allow me to assist in faking your death, and I’ll see to it Mademoiselle Daaé arrives here as you wished.”

Fake his death? Absurd! Why would he want to live? Still, Erik was intrigued. “How?”

“I’m known to the family. She’ll listen to me. I’m giving you the opportunity to slip out of their lives forever perhaps even putting you on a path of more noble intentions. You’re a genius, Monsieur. It would be a shame to see the greatness you could do go to waste. There’s a world of forgiving men beyond these vaults. I’m living proof. I suggest you take this offer. It comes at great cost to me.”

“What cost?”

The man’s lips tightened. “I don’t do all this merely for you. I do it so the Vicomte de Chagny can overcome this stigma you’ve smeared on his name. If you continue to press me, I’ll refuse to help, and you’ll never see Mademoiselle Daaé again.”

Those words wrung Erik’s spleen. The idea of anonymity had been seeping down his spine for years. After all, the thought of having any joy in his life had died the moment his mother had masked him. He’d been riding a false euphoria ever since, hoping to find a glimmer of happiness in his life. If this stranger could assure him, he’d see Christine and reach for hope one last time—then so be it. It might be worth the chance of living.

“I accept your proposal, stranger. However, you would be a wise man to leave my labyrinth this instant before the person I kill one final time—is you.”