Ch 68

Alex's restlessness at night turned into fussiness during the day as well. His lessons were cut short as he fell asleep in the middle of placing various blocks together, which was not like him.

"I don't think he is feeling well," Meg commented in a hushed tone as she carried him through the house and into the dining room where I had my work and a cup of tea set out. "He's so warm."

"Fever?"

"Yes."

"Teething?"

"No, he's very congested as well."

I glanced up at Meg, back at my music, then at Meg again and noticed her complexion was pallid but cheeks bright red and eyes glassy.

"You look…"

Before I could finish my observation, she turned away and walked Alex back down the hall and into the nursery. My son groaned and I heard Meg tell him to close his eyes and she would hold him.

The house became eerily quiet for the remainder of the morning. I finished the symphony I had been working on and finished the first act of an opera that had been consuming most of my free time. Once my papers were in order and empty teacup placed in the kitchen sink, I checked on Alex and found Meg asleep in the nursery rocking chair with Alex draped over her.

I stood looking over the two of them for a long time. Alex grunted and began to stir while Meg rocked half-heartedly until my son quieted once more.

Down the hall, Madeline emerged from her bedroom. "I think Alex is teething again," Madeline whispered.

"If Alex is teething then so is your daughter. She looks terrible," I replied.

Madeline met me at the open nursery door and peered inside. "Oh no," she said under her breath. "She shouldn't be around him."

"I honestly doubt it matters now seeing as how they both appear unwell."

Madeline pushed hard on my arm. "You shouldn't be down here. You'll be the next one to catch a fever."

"Indeed, Madame," I grumbled. "Unable to be in my own hallway or my son's nursery. Shall I stay confined to my bedroom?"

She pursed her lips and looked at me from the corner of her eye. "It is for your own good."

"You know full well I have rarely been ill."

"True, but when you have not felt well, you are hit much harder than anyone else I have ever seen."

There was a bit of truth to her words. While I did not catch illnesses easily, when I did not feel well, fevers lasted for days and I remained confined to my bed despite my desire to protest.

I looked from Madeline to Meg and Alex. "If he should call for me, you will bring him to my bedroom at once, is that understood? I will not have him unwell and ignored."

"Erik-"

"Not another word."

"I will care for my daughter and your son."

Meg stopped rocking and turned her head. "I will take care of Alex."

"Meg," Madeline said sharply.

"Mother," Meg said between her teeth. Alex stirred and lifted his head from her chest. He looked around, his eyes droopy and cheeks bright red. He stared at me for several seconds before he laid his head down once more and closed his eyes. "I will care for Alex."

I'd rarely seen the stubborn side of Meg, but in that moment I had no desire to argue with her. Madeline shook her head and turned on her heel and I followed her down the hall where I passed the study and caught sight of Charles with several books open at the desk and a pen in his hand. He looked quite happily oblivious to the current state of the house and I chose to keep walking rather than inform him of his wife's current state. With two of the five people in my home unwell, I knew it would be a matter of time before everyone else followed in their congested, feverish footsteps.

Within forty-eight hours, Meg was unable to leave her bed and Charles was feverish and confined beside her. Madeline took to caring for Alex, who spent most of his time sleeping off his fever and waking to sip broth and clear his lungs of congestion.

By nightfall on the fifth day, my vision blurred and the house was stifling hot. I left my composition unfinished and walked out the front door with my coat slung over my arm. Halfway to the park, I shrugged into my coat and began trembling as the wind picked up and cut through me to the bone. I stopped at the nearest park bench and gripped the top of the backrest as the world viciously tilted and my stomach knotted.

"Damn it," I said under my breath as I pulled up my hood and took several deep breaths. The world refused to right itself. I swallowed hard, feeling sickness stir in my stomach as the wave of fever returned.

Several moments passed before I forced myself to return home. My breaths were labored, my steps unsteady, and as I reached the end of our street, I stopped and leaned against the tree at the corner. Every bit of stamina I posessed seemed to have vanished. My vision wavered, a shiver rattled up my spine, and my legs threatened to give out.

"My God," I muttered, frustrated with myself and desperate for the comfort and safety of my home. If I fell to my knees I doubted I would stand again. Someone would find me there on the street, the masked monster...the Phantom.

The house seemed impossibly far down the street. I willed myself to take another step, but my legs refused to obey.

From the corner of my eye I saw movement and realized someone approached. I pulled my hood down further over my eyes and touched my mask as I waited for the individual to pass. Seconds ticked by, the footsteps grew nearer, and then paused several steps from me. I balled my hands into fists, prepared to take a swing if necessary.

"There you are," Madeline said.

I tilted my head up, my heart stuttering. "What are you doing here?" I breathed.

Madeline gripped my arm much tighter than I anticipated and I tensed. "Taking you home."

"I'm walking home."

"You've been gone for almost an hour, twenty minutes of which has been spent standing beneath this tree."

"I've been gone ten minutes," I argued for no other reason than to be disagreeable. Another shiver passed through me, my teeth violently chattering.

"I was worried." Madeline put her palm against my cheek.

"Don't," I said under my breath, but she kept her hand against my face. "Madeline," I warned.

"You will not fight me, not with this fever" she said sternly. "When did you start feeling ill?"

"At the park," I replied.

"Foolish man." At last Madeline pulled her hand away from my face and gripped my arm. "Come with me."

"You wished me to be confined to a single room within my house. You know I do not take orders. I will not be caged." Again, I thought.

"Caged? I wanted you to keep well."

I grunted. "A flawless plan, Madame."

Madeline dug her fingers into my arm. "Must you always be so difficult?"

Yes, I wanted to say, but I was far too weak to continue speaking. My eyes refused to focus, but I took a tentative step with Madeline at my side.

It took an eternity to return home. Several times I paused to catch my breath or wait for the worst of the vertigo to pass. Madeline stayed patiently at my side and helped me into the house. I insisted that I could return upstairs on my own, but she followed me to the top of the stairs and waited for me to change out of my clothing dampened with perspiration. I had already dozed off when she knocked on the door and took my grunt of annoyance as an invitation to come inside.

"I'm fine," I mumbled.

"Clearly."

"How is Alex?"

"Asleep between Meg and Charles. His complexion has cleared. I'm hopeful his appetite will return by morning."

"Good."

Madeline pulled up a chair beside my bed and sat quietly. The world continued to spin even with my eyes closed, and I drew the coverlet up to my chin as another bout of cold settled into my bones.

"You needn't stay."

Madeline answered by placing her hand gently over mine and stroked my hand from my knuckles to my wrist. The repetitive motion soothed me in ways I desperately needed.

I knew Madeline would not readily leave me as she had always stayed. No matter how dark my mood or desperate my actions, she remained at my side. Given how quickly I fell ill and how weak and miserable I felt, I was certain death was immenent.

"Alex," I rasped.

"He's sleeping."

"Has he asked for me?" I questioned.

Madeline continued to run her thumb down the length of my hand. "A time or two."

My heart sank. I wanted to believe he would endlessly ask for me to hold him, to comfort him, to save him from his illness. Five days of illness and he had forgotten me.

"He's been sleeping for the most part," Madeline said. "And Meg has had him cradled in her arms nonstop. He has wanted for nothing."

"Your daughter is still not well?"

"Feeling stronger finally," Madeline answered. "And the color has returned to her cheeks at last. My little Meg had me worried, just as you do now."

I grunted and pushed the coverlet down. "You should not be here."

I was not certain if I fell asleep or if Madeline simply remained quiet. I had no idea how much time had passed, but my head began to pound and I pressed my hand to my forehead. Immediately my eyes popped open as I realized my mask was no longer shielding my face.

Madeline still sat beside me, her hands in her lap and a look of surprise on her visage as I thrashed around.

"Stay still."

"Where is my-"

The mask tumbled off my pillow and onto the floor. I sat up, but the movement was far more than my body could handle and I was forced to remain still for a moment. With my right hand pressed to the left side of my face, I sat panting, my eyes pinned to Madeline's impassive face.

"Leave," I demanded.

Madeline reached down and handed me my mask.

"Turn away."

She studied me for a moment, her gaze filled with disappointment before she finally looked away.

"It left a scar," she said once I faced her again.

From my jaw to the middle of my head on the left side was a scar. The skin was uneven like melted candle wax and discolored like a stain. The face of a monster or a beast, the flesh of a half-man, half-demon that had escaped hell.

Madeline glanced at her cane propped up against my desk, and I shuddered once I realized what she had been referring to in regards to a scar.

"Does it matter?" I growled.

"I didn't think…" She paused and pursed her lips. "If you had let me…"

"You should have struck me harder," I muttered. "In the temple, not the cheek. Several times. That would have done it at last."

Madeline appeared horrified by my words. "No," she said simply.

"You are correct," I said as I glared at her. "Things like me do not die so easily."

We had never discussed the moment she had found me after the Opera House fire. The streets were pure chaos, the air filled with smoke and the night sky bright with flames. Somehow, in the midst of all the maylay, Madeline Giry had found me a mile from the disaster with Meg at her heels.

I had considered turning myself into the gendarmes, but I couldn't bear the thought of my body dissected after my execution and the humiliation that would plague my final days.

The very idea of being placed on display a final time, of being gaped at and struck with stones as I waited to be hanged made me sick to my stomach. I would not be allowed my mask or hairpiece. I would be exposed for every citizen of Paris to see when I simply wanted to die alone and remain unseen and undisturbed. Peace, I told myself, I wanted peace at last from the nightmare I had created.

But that night, with smoke in my lungs and soot on my exposed flesh and clothing, I was numb. Meg still had my mask in hand when they found me. She spoke to me, her tone pleading, but I had no idea what she said. Madeline stormed toward me, and before I could fully comprehend her actions, she beat her fists against my chest and cursed me for my foolish actions.

Wordlessly I accepted her anger, but I had not expected her to lift her cane from the ground and strike me with the brass head. She hit me twice in the face, both times in the cheek. I had no idea which one had broken the skin, but a warm gush of blood ran down my exposed face and I made no attempt to shield myself.

Her daughter had most likely stopped the third blow, if there was to be another one. My recollection of the incident was murky, but I remembered Meg pulling her mother away and at last forcing my mask into my hand, which I held at my side as my face had swelled.

Somehow we had found our way through the streets of Paris as dawn approached and Madeline had pulled me through the doorway of the home she had purchased with the funds I collected over the years.

"Why did you stop?" I asked.

Madeline blinked at me. "Stop?"

"Beating me with your cane."

Tear-filled, haunted eyes stared back at me. "I truly, sincerely regret ever hurting you."

I closed my eyes. "If you had continued, the pain would have ended."

She released a sob at last, a sound I almost welcomed. I heard her inhale sharply and release a trembling breath. Far too many times Madeline had wept for me, but her tears were wasted.

"Forgive me," Madeline sniffled. Her hand gripped mine tight as a vice, and I squeezed back.

I had no idea how long we would have sat together, hand in hand with silence stretching out between us, if not for Alexandre. Neither of us heard him climb up the stairs to my room. He went virtually unnoticed until he attempted to pull himself onto my bed.

"Da," Alex said. He wheezed out a single word, which immediately made me sit up. He coughed directly in my face the moment I plucked him off the ground and settled him beside me.

"Alex, how did you get up here?" I asked.

"Climb," he answered with a shrug. His small fingers tugged at the buttons of my nightshirt until he managed to unbutton one and stick his hand between the opening at my chest. He placed his palm against my flesh and frowned.

"Your father isn't feeling well," Madeline said.

Alex nodded and poked me in the chest. "May sleep with Da. Feel better."

In my state of delirium I was uncertain as to whether I heard my son correctly, but I had no intention of asking him to repeat his words. I assumed he thought all of the time he spent with Meg made him recover and that time spent with his aunt would have the same effect on me.

"Alex," I rasped.

He leaned forward, the side of his face against my chest and his arms wrapped around me. He wiped his nose against my shirt and coughed again, and I patted his back until he stopped.

"I stay?"

"Yes, of course," I answered. I held him tighter, feeling the notches in his spine. He had lost weight in a matter of days, and the reality of how I could have lost him to illness lodged a lump in my throat. I would not have survived burying my child. Alex was not simply what I wanted, he was what I needed.

"Da?" Alex said, then promptly sneezed as I looked down at him.

"Impeccable timing," I said under my breath.

Madeline stood and grabbed a handkerchief from my desk, which she handed to me. I wiped my face and then cleaned Alex best I could. He blew his nose before resting his head against me again.

"Are you tired?" I asked.

He nodded without looking up at me.

Another rush of fever took hold, and I closed my eyes, attempting to ignore my own symptoms and focus on Alex.

"Let's get you changed first," Madeline said. "Lift your arms up, Alex."

He did as requsted and Madeline pulled him off my lap, settling him onto her hip.

"Let your father rest a moment and I'll bring you back to him."

I watched them leave before I fell back onto my pillow and shut my eyes. Despite the small amount of time Alex had spent in my room for the evening, his absence was noticeable. How at ease I had become caring for a small child with his sticky hands and nose running with mucous. I had no recollection of the exact moment I had assumed my role as his father and commited to the duties that came with raising a child, but as I lay panting out each breath, I realized I had no qualms about changing diapers and wiping his nose. For all of my wrongdoings and terrible mistakes, Alex was my salvation.

I was asleep when Madeline returned Alex. She placed him beside me and he crawled halfway onto me, his leg draped over my hips, hand between the buttons of my shirt, and his head on my chest.

"Da?" Alex yawned.

"Yes, Alex?"

"Love," he said.

I ran my fingers through his curls. "Yes, I love you."

"No," he said firmly. He played with the button on my nightshirt. "I love you."

His second sentence. I smiled as he squeezed me tightly before his small body went limp and he fell asleep.

"Sweet boy." Madeline rubbed my son's back and told him goodnight before turning to leave.

"Madeline," I whispered.

At first I wasn't certain she heard me as she didn't reply, but when I turned my head and opened my eyes, I found her standing in the doorway.

"Thank you," I said. "For everything you've done."

"Not everything," Madeline said before she closed the bedroom door.