Dark Memories (The Phantom Diaries, #2)

by Kailin Gow

  Chapter 3

  “This is all very good and well, Eric, but I’ve grown weary of walking the hard concrete of your city in these boots. And the snow is only making it worse. I think I’ve seen enough of New York.”

  We walked up Broadway, perused the shops of 5th Avenue and took in a scrumptious late lunch. I had one more delight to share with her. I led her to Central Park and hired a carriage.

  She beamed and again I felt it was Annette who was smiling at me. “I came here once.”

  Yes, it was indeed Annette.

  “Shh,” Kristine hissed in irritation an instant before turning to me with a brilliantly seductive smile she’d so practiced. “Oh, Eric. How wonderfully romantic.”

  “The first snow in Central Park is absolutely magical.”

  Nestled comfortably in the crook of my arm, she sighed. The clip clop of hooves and huge snowflakes made for an enchanted afternoon. I held her close and was relieved to sense the tensions in her shoulders dissipate.

  Annette’s brief smile and quickly silenced comment at the sight of the horse-drawn carriage let me believe there was a possibility of overcoming Kristine’s hold on her by way of the happy memories she had here in New York.

  Better yet, New Orleans. Her childhood home, her parents, her city.

  Kristine had had years to hone her powers. She’d had years to plot out this devious plan of hers. She’d had years to ferment the hatred she had for the Aragons into a demented and demonic obsession.

  I only had one day to try to find a way of circumventing her extraordinary powers. I was cautiously optimistic regarding the effects of a trip to New Orleans.

  I hid my elation. Of course a visit to Annette’s home town was in order, and Christmas gave me the convenient and perfect reasoning to talk Kristine into it.

  “This is more than magical, Eric.” Kristine pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. “I’m deliriously happy. Your New York is indeed something to behold.”

  “Happy and cold?” I said with a chuckle.

  “The chill is penetrating,” she admitted.

  “Perhaps a week in the warm bayou would be better,” I suggested.

  “What bayou?”

  “New Orleans.”

  “New Orleans? What could I possibly want to do there?”

  She tensed and I feared she’d see through me.

  “It’s Christmas, Kristine. Annette’s family is expecting her for the holidays. You have a final show tonight and you're off for the week.”

  “Speaking of… I should be at the opera house in no more than an hour. I don’t want to be late.”

  “I’m happy to see how conscientious you are.”

  “Darling, I’ve been waiting a hundred years to return to the stage. Nothing will keep me from making my spectacular debut at the Met.”

  Now was not the time to worry about the quality of performance I feared she’d provide. “And the holidays?” I ventured.

  “Annette is an adult living in a big and exciting city. They’ll understand that she has more interesting things to do than sit with Maman and Papa. I’ll give them a call, wish them a Joyeux Noel and say she… I… can’t make it.” Her hand suddenly fluttered awkwardly a moment then fell still.

  “As you wish,” I bluffed. “But be prepared to face her parents when they come here to see you.”

  “They have no business here,” she argued.

  “Their daughter is here, Kristine. Do you really think they’re going to buy a story about her not being able to return home for the Christmas holidays? If you really want to fill Annette’s shoes and not have everyone suspecting something is wrong with her, you’d better fill her shoes right. Or be prepared to answer to a lot of questions.”

  She huffed and stared straight ahead. Though her chin held a defiant tilt, I knew I had won. She didn’t want to risk being found out.

  That night, after a performance that left her cast members gazing curiously at her and a full house somewhat underwhelmed, I guided her back to my home.

  “I’m ecstatic. I’m absolutely euphoric. That was just the most splendid thing in the world, Eric.” She fluttered across the floor, still high on the applause of the crowd.

  “I’m going to go prepare us each a bag.”

  “What for?”

  “I told you, Kristine. We’re going to New Orleans.”

  “Oh, you're being such a bore, Eric.” She came up to me, her nose barely an inch from mine, and draped a lazy and confident arm around my neck. “You have the hottest, most sultry opera diva in all of New York here at your disposal and all you want to do is run off to meet the parents.”

  “It’s for your own good, Kristine.” I backed away and headed to my bedroom to pack our bags.

  Slow, languid and meant to please, she tiptoed around me and sprawled out on the bed. Beaming, her smile still held the triumph of her first night on stage. Completely unaware of the remarks and comments her performance had incurred, she floated on a cloud of pure exaltation.

  “You're overreacting, Mon amour.” She brought her index finger to her lips and bit into it as one would a rose stem.

  Satisfied with the contents of her bag, I yanked on the zipper and set it on the floor. “Look, Kristine, I didn’t want to have to do this, but…”

  Her gaze was suddenly alert.

  “Your performance was wonderful…”

  “How sweet of you to say, Eric.”

  “For a first night’s performance.”

  “What are you saying?” Her brow furrowed and her lips lost their sultry pout.

  “Annette has brought her portrayal of Adelle to perfection. Every note, every intonation, every breath. That is what people have come to expect of her.”

  Kristine gazed sidelong into nothingness before returning her skeptical gaze to me.

  “People are already asking questions. The change you’ve brought about is too sudden; too drastic. Staying here now… not only will Annette’s parents suspect something is up, but so will Annette’s friends and cast members here in New York.”

  She rose suddenly and grabbed the bag off the floor. “Fine,” she blurted out. “Let’s go then and get this sickly sweet homecoming out of the way.”

  *****

  Our late night flight had us arriving in New Orleans in the wee hours of the morning where we found a hotel to sleep for a few hours.

  I sat sipping a tasteless coffee for half an hour before Kristine stirred. The heavy drapes were open and the sun did its part to bring her to complete wakefulness.

  “I don’t know why we simply couldn’t get a flight this morning,” she complained, rubbing the grogginess from her eyes.

  “I’ve brought up a few things you can choose from for breakfast.” I gestured towards the dresser where I’d laid out a few muffins, some buttered toasts, a croissant, orange juice and coffee.

  “You outdid yourself, Mon amour.” She pushed the thin hotel comforter off her and headed to the makeshift buffet.

  Wearing only a t-shirt long enough to cover her torso, but not quite long enough to cover her buttocks, she offered me a glimpse of her white cotton underpants.

  I clucked and forced my gaze to return to my dreary coffee. Unlike Annette, Kristine was obviously unabashed with showing off her body. “We’ll go to the dress shop where Annette’s mother works.”

  I dared a glance up at her in time to see her hand go for the muffin. Kristine met her gaze in the mirror and narrowed her eyes at Annette. “What kind of breakfast is a muffin?” she whispered as she redirected her hand to the croissant.

  Ripping off the tip of the croissant, she turned to pout at me. “Du beurre?”

  “There’s some in those little containers.”

  She grabbed one, peeled back the plastic film and slathered a healthy dollop of butter on her croissant.

  “Keep eating and you’ll play the part of Hannibal’s elephant.” I said with an amused chuckle.

  Just as she was to take a bite, she dropped the croiss
ant. In a fury, she spun to face the mirror. “Bitch!” She grabbed a muffin and threw it to the floor. “Well, you're not going to get a muffin, either.”

  Tempted to laugh, I simply watched her antics, proud of the fight Annette was putting up. Kristine picked up a toast, gripped it tightly, slathered butter over what was already there, and took a huge bite.

  “Where’s her mother’s shop?” I asked.

  “How am I supposed to know?” she irately answered.

  “Ask her.”

  “Oh, seriously. You're going too far, Eric.”

  “Would you prefer we roam the streets aimlessly?”

  She emptied a small container of marmalade on the over-buttered toast.

  “Will you just ask Annette? Then hop in the shower so that we can get on with this.”

  After shoving the rest of the toast in her mouth, she licked butter and marmalade off her fingers and walked to the bathroom. With a flair for drama, she threw off her t-shirt and entered the shower without closing the bathroom door.

  Moments later she emerged wet, freshly fragrant and barely conceal behind the thinning hotel towel. Leaving a trail of water droplets behind her, she went to her bag and rummaged through the contents. With disgruntled huffs, she discarded a series of garments, allowing them to pile up on the bed.

  “Did you pack every dull article of clothing this nit of a girl has, or is all her clothing truly this dull?”

  “We’re here to visit her parents, Kristine, not seduce all of Louisiana.”

  “Quelle Dommage.” Foregoing all decency, she released the towel and let it fall to the ground.

  Only my respect for Annette forced me to avert my gaze. As I busied myself putting away my toiletries, I heard Kristine snicker.

  “Really, Eric.Why the puritan?”

  Ignoring her, I carried our bags out to the rented car and waited for her.

  “So let me see,” Kristine pondered as she got in beside me. “If my cousin Beatrice had Arthur and Thomas, Thomas had Victor, Hugh and Colette, Collette had seven children including Pauline and Pauline had Michelle who is Annette’s mother, that makes Annette…” She turned to flash me a mischievous grin. “That makes her virtually nothing to me.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince me or herself of the distance in her relation to Annette. For the first time that I could recall, she seemed nervous and on edge. Was this meeting with Michelle that intimidating?

  I pulled up in front of the dress shop that was just outside the French Quarter and watched Kristine’s reaction. Her eyes lit up with excitement while her lips remained caught in the uncertain grip of her teeth.

  “Ready?” I got out before she could respond.

  Getting out of the car was a dramatic affair and she drew it out as long as she could. However, once we entered the shop and Michelle came into view, it was clear Annette had the upper hand.

  “Maman!” she exclaimed as she threw herself into her mother’s arms.

  As the older woman reveled in her daughter’s presence, I saw the perplexed expression that took over Kristine.

  Having met Kristine’s mother only once, and briefly, I was able to see the startling resemblance between the women. Surely the sight of Michelle had a profound effect on Kristine.

  “Let me look at you, ma belle,” Michelle cooed. She pushed Annette’s hair behind her ears and gazed lovingly at her. “Even more beautiful than on your last visit.”

  Kristine remained slightly aloof and standoffish, and for a moment I thought she would give herself away, but a tear formed in her eye and slowly streaked its way down her cheek. She brought a hand to Michelle’s cheek, cupped it gently and stared for a long moment. “Je t’aime, Maman.”

  “Oh, sweetie. I love you, too. And I’m so happy to see you made it home.” She hugged her once again before acknowledging me with a quizzical nod.

  “Bonjour,” I said.

  “Oh, Maman. This is Eric.”

  “The Eric who helped my little girl become the talk of New York?” The pride for her daughter’s success was evident and her gratitude for my part in it touching.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Binoche.”

  “Please, call me Michelle.”

  “D’accord.”

  “Look, I only came in this morning to finalize a dress I’d promised to a client. But it’s Christmas Eve and I won’t be keeping the shop open too long. Give me another hour to finish up, then we can go home and settle you two in.”

  “Parfait, Maman,” Annette said. “It’ll give me a few moments to show Eric around a bit. Perhaps we could share a beignet.”

  We strolled the length of

  Bourbon Street

  and while Annette seemed to take the lead from time to time, Kristine maintained control and I simply tried to enjoy the tour as much as I could.

  New Orleans was fascinating and I knew I would enjoy our stay here, especially since Annette was becoming stronger.

  As promised, we met up with Michelle at the family home and again Annette’s excitement came through. However, less given to being taken in again, Kristine held a firmer grip on the emotions Annette sought to display.

  “I’ll set Eric up in the guest room,” Michelle said, opening the door to a simple but comfortable room. “You can take up your old room, Annette. Not much has changed, you’ll see.”

  Kristine stood in the hall unsure what direction to take.

  “Don’t be silly, ma cocotte,” Michelle said with a laugh as she pointed to her right. “You haven’t been away so long that you’ve already forgotten your life here?”

  “Oh no, Maman,” Kristine said. “I’d never forget you or the life I’ve had here.”

  It was becoming increasingly difficult to discern who was speaking. Either Annette was succeeding in pushing through or this whole encounter with Michelle had softened Kristine’s resolve. It almost seemed as though they’d both spoken and Annette’s eyes showed a touch of surprise for the shared response to Michelle.

  “Good. Now put your things away and come join me downstairs for some tea.”

  Kristine eyed me once Michelle’s back was turned. The emotions that played on her face were new to the Kristine I’d always known. Her pain had always been expressed through violence and anger, revenge and spite. Now a fresh wave of pain appeared in the form of sorrow and regret.

  We met at the head of the stairs a few moments later and headed down to find Michelle at the kitchen table with a big pot of steaming tea and four cups set out.

  “Expecting company?” Kristine let out.

  Michelle smiled and poured tea into two cups.

  “Merci,” I said as I grabbed the warm cup.

  Kristine reached for hers, then set it down with an angry clang that almost had its contents spilling out. Michelle gazed curiously at her, but said nothing. Again she picked it up and again she set it down, though with more restraint. Holding the cup firmly in place, she reached for the tongs and picked up a sugar cube and dropped it in her cup.

  “Since when do you sweeten your tea?” Michelle asked with amusement.

  Her second sugar cube held aloft over her cup, Kristine smiled stiffly.

  “That’s how they drink it at the Opera House. I didn’t want to make a fuss and have them change their ways just for my sake, so I became accustomed to drinking it this way.”

  “Oh, heavens. What else has New York changed about you?”

  A blank expression came over Kristine’s features and I had difficulty containing my laughter.

  “Well, Maman…”

  “Is that my princess I hear?”

  We all turned to the throaty yet gentle voice that came from the entry hall.

  “Luis, honey, I’m so happy you came home early,” Michelle said. “Look who’s here.”

  “I know. I know.” He gazed fondly at Kristine and suspiciously at me.

  “And this is Annette’s singing coach from New York,” Michelle was quick to explain.

 
He put his hand out to me, but the guarded expression remained in his eyes. “Singing coach, hey? Doing house calls? All the way from New York?” Soft and melodious, his tone nonetheless gave the impression of great authority.

  I couldn’t remember when last I’d been so closely scrutinized. Putting my hand in his I felt the tinge of power he tried to convey. This wasn’t a man to let his daughter be taken advantage of.

  “Eric,” Michelle interjected. “This is Annette’s overbearing and overprotective father. Please forgive him for coming on like a bear. As a police officer he tends to take the role of protector a little too far sometimes.”

  My surprise was evident as was his recognition of such.

  Kristine blanched and I instantly knew the fear this man evoked in her. As a man of the law, he might be more apt to see through her pretense.

  “And what has my princess so mute and immobile?”

  She rose, steadying herself on the edge of the table.

  “Dear, are you all right?” Michelle asked. “You're positively green.”

  “We didn’t get much sleep last night,” I explained in light of Kristine’s prolonged silence.

  This garnered me a murderous glare from the police officer.

  “We took a late night flight,” I hurried to add. “Only a few moments to close our eyes there and a few uncomfortable hours in a hotel room… two hotel rooms.”

  “Oh, stop it now, Luis. Annette is a grown woman and…”

  “And she is the unmarried grown daughter of a police officer, need I remind you?” He turned his attention to Annette. Seeing her still hinged to the table, he walked up to her and pulled her into his arms. “Nice to have you safely at home.”

  He eyed me from above Annette’s head and I swallowed my pride and looked at the floor.

  We finally settled down to have our tea. Over time color managed to return to Annette’s cheeks, though Kristine spoke barely a word throughout. I was left to expound of the great success Annette had become in New York and to convey to her father how well-surrounded she was. “The cast, crew and directors all love and cherish her. Nothing bad could ever befall her with all the support and help she has.”