Destiny Takes Time | By : GueritaSalome Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 19820 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Chapter 9 – Erik’s Worst Memory
“Why did you disobey me, woman?” came the cold male voice.
“He has to eat. What would you have me to do? Starve him?” Jovanka asked angrily.
“I told you to feed him only once a day. He needs to be thin. I should have known when he started to fill out that you’d been nourishing him too much. And why do you insist on treating him like your son?” yelled Branko.
At the shouts, the baby woke up and started to cry.
“Now see what you’ve done?” she said, agitated.
“You didn’t answer my question. Why do you take so much interest in whether he is well or not? He is a gadjó and nothing of ours!”
Jovanka threw her hands up and paced the floor.
“Erik, would you please pick up Fardy?” she asked.
He set his plate aside and was about to get up from the table where he sat eating to do as she asked.
“Don’t touch my son!” the man hissed, glaring at Erik and making him freeze on the spot.
“He won’t hurt him, Branko! Erik is a good boy. He doesn’t deserve what you put him through day after day.”
“What happens to him isn’t for you to decide. I own him, and if I say that you are to stop pampering him so, then that is how it will be! Do you understand me?”
She didn’t speak, looking at him defiantly.
“All right then. Have it your way, but if I catch you again letting him eat anything but scraps, you will be sorry.”
Something about the way he said those final words left Erik with a very bad feeling that Branko was not playing games. After his first beating, Jovanka had appealed to her husband’s greed and told him that if he beat the boy to death he would no longer have his show. He was still hit, but not beaten to the point that he could barely stand up. Until now, her efforts had made at least some difference. This confrontation was distinct, though. When her husband left the tent, Jovanka looked at Erik with an uneasiness that he had never seen before.
“Don’t be afraid. It will be all right,” she told him as she went to pick up her son. It was obvious, however, that she had her doubts. “And please, finish your food,” she added.
“But Jovanka…” he began.
“Eat Erik. You need your strength,” she insisted.
Her dark eyes were so somber that he couldn’t refuse.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Erik was lying down, nearly asleep when he heard something fall. Jovanka didn’t even see her husband’s fist until it made contact with her face, knocking her to the floor. Soon he was kicking her. The boy was in shock, his back turned to the horrible scene but completely aware of what was happening. With each blow that landed, he shuddered. It wasn’t long before he heard footsteps leaving the tent. He waited, listening for his foster mother to get up. There was only silence. Erik squeezed his eyes shut, the tears burning his cheeks, afraid to look. The seconds seemed to drag by.
He had to see if she was all right. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he turned over very slowly. In the paleness of the moonlight that illuminated the tent, he could make out her motionless form on the ground. Crawling over to where she was, he felt numb with fear.
“Jovanka?” he whispered.
No answer.
“Jovanka,” he tried again, this time speaking a little louder.
Still, she gave no sign that she’d heard him.
“Please God…if there is a God...don’t let her be dead.”
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