"Do you suppose they will be all right?" Christine asks, removing her linen suit and silk blouse. Tossing them carelessly in the wicker hamper. Burning them might be an option. Donating them to St. Vincent de Paul, more likely, but wearing the newly purchased ensemble again was unlikely. Attaching events to garments was a habit she developed over the years.

The red scarf Raoul fetched from the sea was a keepsake for many years until he came back into ther life and revealed his true colors. Even after acknowledging her love for Erik, the scarf was kept in a drawer with a lavender sachet – a remembrance of young love. Mostly, though because of her mother, who knit the piece for her. Once Phillippe proved to be a greater influence on their lives that she ever imagined, she took the fine wool scarf and burned it. Sending prayers to her mother apologizing all the while, explaining the pain of seeing the scarf was more than she could bear.

Mothers.

"Tonight or forever?" Erik asks, dealing with his own undressing and preparation for bed. "The bump on the head could be troublesome – I told Nadir to wake her up every few hours to be certain there was no concussion. The cut on her wrist was thankfully minor – did she say if it was deliberate?"

"Not exactly, but I suspect she made the gesture to salve her guilt. Somehow I do not see Adele as a person who would take her own life. But then I never imagined her to be capable of killing. I have always felt suicide was the act of a weak person. She is not weak."

"Committing murder and then taking one's own life are often expressions from people in deep distress or unhappiness," he mutters. "There were any number of times I considered suicide, but I promised I would not commit that sin and yet I killed others – in order to save my own life. Capable of killing - oneself or others?"

"There is killing and there is murder. You never murdered anyone."

"Some might argue with your generosity. I still have debates within myself on that point," he says, sighing deeply, removing his mask to rub his face. "As recently as today,"

"And who won – the face on the left or the one on the right?"

"Is that how you believe I see myself? Good Erik and bad Erik?"

"No. Well, possibly, yes. The thought only occurred to me just now. Most of us have just one visage, but different sides to ourselves internally only we know…or at least believe only we know. Remember how Gustave confronted Raoul about his facial injury – talking about that book by Oscar Wilde?"

"The Picture of Dorian Gray? Yes, I remember. In my case, I walk around the portrait permanently implanted on the right side of my face instead of hiding it in a secret room."

"I think you are mocking me."

"Not at all. You raised an interesting point. Since I cannot see either side of my face most of the time without looking in a mirror, which I avoid, I do react to the response of others. Much as most others do. Beauty tends to attract kindness – at least initially. So as to which face won, I would say both or neither."

"I am sorry, I did not mean to offend you – you know it does not matter to me."

"My darling wife, I know you love me and with you I feel I am the handsomest man alive."

"But?"

"But I am a realist," he manages a soft chuckle, "and know I am more attractive with the lights off."

"Tosh."

"In any event, when I hear of such things I wonder why the murderer simply just takes his or her own life. Why destroy someone else?" Quirking his eyebrow, he continues. "Much like some of these events we must attend – just leave if you are having a bad time. And yet, people will make an elaborate fuss attempting to make everyone else's experience terrible."

Christine laughs in spite of herself. "You are the master of ruining a party when you have had enough."

"I suppose I am," he joins in her laughter. "But in Adele's case, I must agree. There is a heart beneath all that pragmatism – I have seen it myself and I doubt Nadir would be so smitten were she not a person of warmth and passion. Her life made her hard, I suspect – like many of us."

"Adele believed she was doing everyone a favor by taking Meg's life. Solving problems – like she did at the Garnier." Christine takes the pins from her chignon, shaking out the chestnut locks. "I think I am going to cut the rest of my hair to the latest style."

"I love your hair," Erik protests, coming up behind her, lifting the thick waves to his face breathing in her scent. "Gardenia."

"My favorite – I love the way the flower looks so pure with just a touch of yellow at the center – but the scent is one I can never get enough of."

"Precisely."

"We can make you a new wig," she laughs, turning to face him, lifting her face for a kiss.

"Not exactly the same thing," he says, his hand gliding along the curve of her breast past her slim waist to the curve of her hip, resting there – his thumb making small circles on the cream-colored silk.

"Behave yourself – I am serious," she says, stepping away to look at herself in the vanity mirror, combing the tangle of hair with her fingers. "I just need to feel I have some control over things. At the moment, all I can come up with is getting rid of the clothing I wore all day and changing my hair style. Adele said she was cleaning up the used cups and glasses to do something. I understand now what she was saying."

"Were it so simple to just be busy."

"I know," she says, walking behind the dressing screen. "Taking the life of another human being completely shifts the world. As you so astutely commented earlier – the dead do not leave. Being the cause of their death makes them even more present."

"Do you really think she felt she was putting things in order…based on your conversation."

"Something like that. She kept blaming herself for Meg's behavior, so if she created the monster, as it were, it was her responsibility to remove the cause of everyone's seeming dislike for her."

"Nadir feels awful – he is at a loss. More confused than I have ever seen him."

"I do not believe I have ever seen you so shaken," Erik said, leading Nadir to one of the four wooden chairs surrounding the wooden kitchen table covered with a red and white checked cloth.

The Persian sat down, pressing his head into his hands, fighting back tears – attempting to stop his body from shaking. Ultimately giving into releasing his grief.

"She will be all right." The words sound false to his own ears. "Physically," he adds as an afterthought.

Looking up at his friend with reddened eyes, Nadir says, "Would it surprise you if I said I did not care?"

"No. I suppose not," Erik said, handing him a glass of water before searching the cupboards for the supplies easily accessed in his bag, but forbidden to him because Christine felt the need to be with Adele alone.

"The medical kit is in the pantry." Nadir nods toward a narrow doorway covered with a checkered curtain similar to the tablecloth.

Erik nods and retrieves a black case similar to his own.

"You had yours with you, did you not?"

Erik smiled and shrugged. "The wound did not appear to be serious. I sensed Christine wished to be alone with Adele – to talk to her."

"I am grateful you rescued me," Nadir said. "As I waited for your arrival, I hoped she would die. That whatever she did to herself would put an end to these feelings I cannot understand."

Pulling out another chair, Erik sat and waited.

"When Mitra died, I lost so much of my heart, I thought I could not live," he said, taking a sip of the water.

"Would you like something stronger? Tea?"

"I thought you would insist on whiskey." Nadir finds a smile to offer. "I do not think a small sip would be too offensive to Allah."

Getting up again, Erik returns to the pantry where he found a bottle of Jim Beam. "Interesting brand."

"Raoul liked it."

"Did he?" Erik said. "He swore he gave up drinking."

"He did," Nadir says. "You will notice it has never been opened. He said having it kept him sober. While it made no sense to me – I could not argue with his logic since he never touched the stuff – would just look at it from time to time."

"After an argument with Meg, no doubt"

"Or you."

"I can understand that," Erik snorts, handing him a glass with a splash of the amber liquid. "I suggest downing it, then chasing with the water."

Following Erik's advice, Nadir coughs after swallowing, then chases the whiskey with the water. His face flushed, he rested against the back of the chair, the tension in his body slowly releasing. "Reza kept me alive and then…"

"An amazing child."

"After that all I had was you," Nadir said. "You were the only person I had left in the world and I both loved and hated you."

"Adele?"

"So different from Mitra – both of them strong and willful – Mitra allowed me to lead, though. With Adele I have been content to be content."

Erik raised an eyebrow.

"Do not misunderstand. I loved…love her. She was the perfect match for someone whose purpose in life was gone. I was traveling, going through the motions of living and wound up here – with you again. With life and death issues presented to me, helping me to feel useful again…and a lovely woman who was willing to take on a shell of a man."

"But…"

"I cannot believe she murdered her child," Nadir said. "I would have given my own life for Reza. To this day I am haunted by his death."

"I am the one who administered the drug."

"I allowed it – but it was a true act of mercy. The boy was in pain…dying."

"Perhaps Adele felt the same about Meg."

"Was she…dying?"

Erik shakes his head. "No. That does not mean the act was not one of mercy."

"I never stopped hating her for what she did to Gustave." Nadir's voice hard, his green eyes cold, he says, "I cannot begin to imagine what you and Christine felt about her, but the idea of killing…"

Erik raised his hand. "Do not presume."

"But you did not kill her – which is my point." Shaking his head. "I do not know how I feel – what I feel. I thought I had experienced the worst – but now I am at a loss."

Erik's eyes light up when Christine comes from behind the screen in a negligee of pale green. "That color suits you. Many cannot wear green well – but you have just the right coloring, fair, but with enough of a pink tone so the yellow enhances and does not make you look jaundiced."

She shakes her head. "Every so often you remind me why you stay away from writing the lyrics to your compositions. The words start out so lovely and then you allow reality to destroy the illusions."

"My social shortcomings seem to never get better, do they?"

"Social graces can be highly over-rated. I am pleased your shortcomings stop in in the outside world." Taking his hand, she draws him toward the four-poster. "Enough of other people – I want some life, some joy in living right now. Let us find our own world and be grateful for one another."

"It would be my honor and pleasure," he says, lifting her in his arms, placing her on the bed before lying down next to her. "I hope this will satisfy your need for something to do."

"Oh, Erik," she laughs, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Be grateful you can sing – you are no Cyrano de Bergerac."

"What did I say?"

"Just stop talking and kiss me," she says. "After singing this is my favorite part of you."

"Well, then, I best be at it."