No Return: A Contemporary Phantom Tale (42 page)

He hung up the phone and turned to Randall and me. “He’ll be over as soon as he can. In the meantime, can I offer you some coffee? You do look a little—damp.”

It was true. Although it hadn’t been raining when I left the police station, partway through the drive back to Charles Street the heavens had opened up again, and even the moment or so Randall and I had been out in the rain had been enough to dampen each of us quite a bit. My feet in their shredded hose were freezing.

“Um, sure,” Randall replied, looking somewhat bemused. I’m sure he had been expecting shouting, threats—anything but a civilized offer of refreshments while we waited for the police to arrive.

Erik looked over at me, and again I could see that ghost of a smile in the corner of his mouth. “Christine, if you could let Michel know that we’ll need a pot of coffee in the grand salon? And perhaps you’d like to change out of those wet things—you don’t look very comfortable.”

Grateful for the excuse to escape, if even for a few minutes, I nodded and slipped out of the room. I found Michel in the kitchen, standing in front of the open refrigerator door and muttering to himself in French. He started a little when I appeared, then ungraciously accepted the instructions to make coffee and bring a service for four to the grand salon. It still irritated him to have to perform the tasks that Ennis usually handled.

After that I ran upstairs to my rooms and quickly drew off the damp twin set and skirt, then pulled on a pair of jeans and the argyle sweater I had worn my first day here. My feet felt like ice, so I figured the hell with fashion and slipped on a pair of sheepskin-lined house boots. During these operations I couldn’t help but wonder what Erik and Randall could possibly be saying to one another in my absence. Whatever the exchange, I was certain Erik would keep the upper hand. I had seen him passionate, angry, loving, even charming, but this was the first time I had seen Erik as a man secure in his power, used to handling difficult business transactions and legal situations. Watching Randall go up against him was rather like watching a rat terrier take on a pit bull.

By the time I returned to the salon, Michel had already come and gone, leaving the coffee behind. The delicious aroma perfumed the air, and despite the tense atmosphere in the room, I was amused to see Randall take his coffee black under Erik’s watchful gaze, even though I knew he liked cream and sugar, just as I did.

“Ah, Christine,” Erik said, “just in time. Feeling better?”

I nodded. “Much.” I reached for a coffee cup, feeling Randall’s outraged stare on me and choosing to ignore it.
 

No sooner had I dropped a sugar cube and stirred a dollop of cream into my cup than the buzzer sounded, indicating that someone was waiting for the driveway gates to be opened.
 

Erik set down his own cup and saucer. “I’d best get that,” he said, and left the room.

Once he was gone, Randall said, “Who the hell is this guy?”

“According to you, he’s the Phantom of the Opera,” I replied sweetly, taking a sip of ambrosial coffee.
 

“That’s not funny. What kind of sick game are you two playing?”

“It’s not sick, and it’s not a game,” I retorted, knowing that I could never make him understand. “Anyway, he told you his name—it’s Erik Deitrich.”

“Yeah, that tells me a lot—” He shot me a quick, suspicious look. “How did you meet him, anyway?”

“At the restaurant.” I figured it was safe to tell Randall that much. “He came to the Halloween dinner.”

“Well,
that
makes a lot of sense,” Randall began, even as I snapped,

“Do you have to be such a jerk?”

We were interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing, as Erik reentered the room, followed by Detective Ortiz. Randall and I exchanged sulky glares, then settled back on our respective loveseats, just like a couple of children caught quarreling by their parents.

Detective Ortiz caught my eye and nodded. “Good to see you again so soon, Miss Daly,” he said, and I couldn’t be sure whether he was serious or not.

“Coffee, detective?” Erik asked, then poured a cup for him when Ortiz nodded.
 

Erik sat down next to me, so the detective perforce seated himself next to Randall, facing us.

Ortiz took a sip of coffee, then said, “Your call was quite—unexpected, Mr. Deitrich.”

“I can imagine,” Erik said dryly. “But since Mr. Cagney was quite adamant—”

Detective Ortiz lifted an eyebrow at Randall. “What about it, Randall?” From his tone, he was not amused. Probably he had thought he was finally done with the Daly case.

“Well—look at her! She’s brainwashed or something!”

Ortiz glanced over at me, one eyebrow slightly raised. Probably those steady dark eyes were contrasting my current casual appearance with the stylishly dressed woman who had been in his office only an hour or so ago, but he said only, “She looks fine to me.”

“I am not brainwashed,” I said. “Randall is upset that I’m with Mr. Deitrich—I understand that. But he’s convinced there’s no way I could possibly be here under my own free will.”

Erik interposed, “We tried to point out to Mr. Cagney that Christine returned here of her own volition—but he refused to believe that. He insisted that the police be brought in.”

Ortiz sighed, then took another sip of coffee. His blunt fingers looked especially large against the delicate Spode coffee cup. “Randall, I spoke with Miss Daly at length earlier this afternoon about her disappearance and her association with Mr. Deitrich. The Pasadena police department has concluded that no foul play was involved.”

“Then you’re wrong!”

A brief silence, during which Erik looked on with that same air of indifferent amusement and Ortiz remained sitting quite still; only a slight flaring of the nostrils indicated how irritated he really was.

When he spoke, however, it was with the same no-nonsense tone he had used previously. “You’re entitled to your opinion, Mr. Cagney. But your opinion does not give you the right to trespass on Mr. Deitrich’s property. He would be fully within his rights to press charges.”

Erik lifted a hand. “I’m sure that’s not necessary.”

Randall transferred his outraged glare to me. “Christine—you don’t have to stay here. Whatever he’s made you do—”

“He hasn’t made me
do
anything! Why can’t you get that through your head?”
 

“Maybe because I just don’t believe this half-assed story of yours about suddenly deciding to come stay here for a few weeks without telling anyone!”

And of course he was right…but I couldn’t say that. I had to stick with the story I’d given both him and Detective Ortiz. But I also somehow knew he would hate the truth even more than the lies I’d been telling. The last thing Randall would want to hear was that I had truly fallen in love with the man who had kidnapped me. I could still barely understand it myself. All I did know was that my feelings were true, and my own. I had fought this love for Erik Deitrich, and certainly had not been brainwashed into it.

“My goodness, Randall—I hope you’ve handled your other breakups better than this,” came Erik’s voice, almost too gentle to be mocking. Almost.

“Son of a bitch—” Randall began, and started to rise from the love seat, until Ortiz clamped his hand around his wrist and pulled him back down.

“That’s enough,” he said. “Do you want to add assault to trespassing?”

Apparently not, for Randall subsided, glaring at both Erik and me before he finally picked up his neglected coffee and took a sip, trying to appear calm. I was sure he could have cheerfully throttled the both of us at that point.

Ortiz seemed somewhat encouraged by his silence, as he said next, “If there’s nothing else—”

“I think that’s covered it nicely,” Erik replied. “Although Christine and I would both be grateful if you could make sure Mr. Cagney leaves with you.”

“No problem, Mr. Deitrich.” Detective Ortiz set his cup and saucer down on the coffee table and stood. “Randall?”

Looking cornered, Randall finally burst out, “If everything is so normal around here, why do you wear that mask? What sick fantasy are you forcing her to act out?”

I was certain at that point the explosion would finally come. Erik was silent for a moment, staring at Randall with the sort of disinterested disgust a man might display toward a particularly unique specimen of insect that had invaded his home. “Your manners are sadly lacking, Mr. Cagney,” he said at length.
 

At that Randall stood. Erik was the taller of the two by a few inches, but Randall was broader across the shoulders, more athletic in appearance. “Maybe they are, Mr. Deitrich,” he replied, “but that still doesn’t answer my question.”

Detective Ortiz and I were both silent, as if this final confrontation concerned those two men alone, and we could only provide mute witness to their conflict.

“Then perhaps this will.” And with that he raised his hands to lift the mask from his face.

Randall couldn’t take a step back without tripping over the loveseat, but the color drained from his face even as he whispered, “Jesus Christ...”

Even Ortiz looked shaken. He had probably seen a lot of horrors in his career, but I was sure none of them could compare to the ravaged right side of Erik’s face. And through it all Erik’s eyes glared at the both of them, daring them to say something further, to point, to jeer—to use any and all of the means by which he had always expected to world to deride him.

I watched their reactions and wondered why I had never felt the same way. Pity, perhaps, for all the pain he must have endured, but never revulsion, never disgust. Then I realized it was because I knew him in a way they never could, knew what made him laugh, which pieces of music he liked, even which side of the bed he preferred. And I knew then that I had to show them, prove to them that Erik and I were meant to be together, no matter what the world might think of us.

Rising, I turned toward Erik, then deliberately put one hand on the scarred side of his face. “I’m here,” I said, then brought my mouth up to his. I felt him go still at first in surprise, and then his arms tightened around me as I continued the kiss, our lips pressing against one another’s as the seconds ticked on. Compared to most of our previous embraces, the kiss was a very chaste one, but even so Randall was looking on in shock by the time Erik and I pulled apart, and Ortiz appeared distinctly uncomfortable.

“And that,” I said, “is why I’m here. Because I love him. Because he loves me. You don’t have to understand it—you don’t even have to accept it. But you have to leave us in peace. Can you give us that much at least?”

Even as Randall nodded dumbly, Erik raised the mask and carefully set it back in place. He said quietly, “Then I think we have nothing further to say to one another.”

Detective Ortiz seemed to gain some of his composure once Erik’s face was once again half-covered by the mask. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t disturb you again,” he said, then clapped Randall on the shoulder. “Come along, Mr. Cagney. It’s time we left them alone.”

Randall looked from Erik to me, still with that glazed look in his eyes, as if he could not begin to comprehend what he had just seen. But at least he followed Ortiz without comment, even as Erik and I trailed along behind, to make sure they found their way to the front door. Once we were all in the foyer, Erik opened the door, and they both walked out into the wet afternoon. Randall paused for just a second on the doorstep, ignoring the rain that beat down against his bare head. His eyes met mine, and he stared at me for a moment as if he had never seen me before. Then he turned and walked slowly to the car, even as Erik closed the door behind them.

Somehow I knew I would never see Randall Cagney again.

Christmas was almost upon us, and the house was decorated for the first time since Erik was a child.
 

“I never felt much of a need for Christmas, until now,” he told me, with unspoken meaning in his eyes.

If I had thought Erik would immediately enter the world, I was mistaken—he enjoyed the preparations for the holiday, but it was Ennis and I who brought long-unused ornaments down from the attic and who spent an obscene amount of money at Stat’s in Old Pasadena for new ones. And it was Ennis who went with me to choose a tree of handsome enough proportions to decorate the second salon—the grand salon where Randall and I had had our last encounter was too fussy for me, but the second salon, with its dark wood paneling and magnificent fireplace, seemed the perfect home for the Noble fir Ennis and I selected.

It was a difficult decision, but after long deliberation I had decided to transfer to UCLA to finish out my senior year. “At least no one will know me there,” I said to Erik one evening as we lingered by the fire after dinner. “It will probably take me an extra semester, but at least I’ll be done.”

He had agreed, although the commute concerned him. I wasn’t looking forward to it, either, but at least now I didn’t have to worry about rushing back to Pasadena to get in enough hours at work. And Erik, being Erik, had presented me the next morning with the keys to a brand-new Jaguar convertible—to make the commute more bearable, he explained.
 

“I thought perhaps the Mercedes wasn’t to your taste,” he said, and I just had to laugh, still somewhat bemused by the way he threw money around without even thinking twice about it.

Now the Jag sat in lordly splendor next to Erik’s S-Class, with Jerome’s Range Rover putting in fewer and fewer appearances. Of course Erik still required Jerome’s services from time to time, and as far as I knew his payroll status never changed, but certainly he spent more time these days at his condo overlooking the Paseo Colorado than in his flat over the garage.

Now there remained only one last thing for me to do. I hovered in the foyer, waiting for the buzzer to let me know someone was waiting at the front gate. Eventually it did sound, more than ten minutes after I had expected it to. Well, some things never changed.

I tapped in the pass code to open the gates and then walked out on the front steps, lifting my hand to shield my eyes against the bright afternoon sunlight. Today was one of those rare December days of amazing beauty—we were between storms, and the sky was a deep calm blue broken up by large creamy clouds, the air cool against my face even as the sun caught my hair and warmed me. Then I saw Meg’s bright yellow Mini come up the curving driveway, and I raised my hand in greeting.