Lots and lots of thanks to my beta, Lorien Urbani!!!!!!!!!
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I am taking her to the traveling fair. I know how she loves them. And besides. I need to prove something to myself. I cannot have a phobia. I refuse to. I decline. It isn't possible. The opera ghost does not have a phobia. It cannot be. Therefore, I am taking her to the fair. Then, that annoying little voice in my head. 'A phobia is an unreasonable fear. You have every reason and more to be afraid.' 'But she likes the fair anyway.' I argued. The voice growled and went away for the time being.
Christine had come back to me a simple two days after she went off with the foppish viscount. I really didn't blame her. I don't know why she ever chose HIM over ME in the first place. Heh heh. Heh heh heh. Alright, maybe I do. Too bad. Anyway. I'm taking her on her birthday. Which is today. Erm... Just then, a sleepy Christine walks in to find me rolling around on the floor arguing with myself.
"Er, Erik?" she asked. "Is something the matter?"
"No," 7! I answered, winning my mental argument, getting off the floor and dusting my usual formal wear off. "I have a surprise for your birthday!" I said. 'Now you've done it. You're going to the fair whether you like it or not. "Past, the point of no, return."' 'Oh shut up.' I replied tiredly. "We're going to the fair!" Christine jumps up and down happily, then calms down and looks at me.
"Oh, Erik, what about you?"
"What about me?"
"Well, you know,"
"Well, I don't,"
"Well, you should, I actually did know, but I didn't want her to know I had been thinking about that. This was HER day.
"Well, I don't,"
"Well, you should,"
"WHY DON'T YOU JUST TELL ME?!"I finally exploded, exasperated.
"Well," she answered in a small voice, "what about your… your…"
"My what?" I asked, as gently as possible. I had scared her with that outburst.
"Your face! Your history! Your past! What if you lose control?? I can't lose you, not ever, ever, ever!"
"I promise I won't do anything unless I have a good reason. Now let us go, the cab is waiting outside." We went outside. There was the cab, as I expected, the driver tapping his fingers on the edge of the box impatiently. Christine and I got in.
"Take us to the Gypsy fair, please." Christine gaped. She had thought I wouldn't go through with it. When she saw how calm I was, however, (outwardly, anyway), she subsided to bouncing in happy anticipation on the seat. I smiled at her antics. Then, the driver said, (comma – introduction to direct speech!)
"We're here." I got out, resisting the urge to knock him out so I wouldn't have to pay, and dished a few coins into his hand. He smiled and got back into the cab. I watched my lifeline disappear down the street.
We walked into the crowded camp. People shouted at us from all sides. I felt overwhelmed and clung to Christine's hand like a child in spite of myself. Luckily, she was too happy to notice. First we went to watch the fire eaters, then the knife jugglers, then the animal show, and finally, I saw a tent. Just as I was beginning to get used to the fair. Just as I began to loosen my grip on Christine's hand. Just as I was starting to think it was just that one fair that did bad things. The sign on the tent said: "Child from Hell." Christine saw it, but not before I had started pulling her towards it.
"Oh no, Erik. Let's not." It was almost the first time I had not listened to my angel. The first time, well, let's just say it involved the lake and swimming and wishing I had listened to Christine, but not before I remembered the hard way that I kept an emergency lasso at the bottom of the lake. Oh yes. It also involved my ankle. Anyway, enough of that. So, we went into the tent, and I began breathing heavily. I started to clench my body reflexively. Christine noticed and tried to pull me away, but I would not leave. Not until I had done something very important. What made me so angry? A boy, no more than four or five, was in that tent. His face was like a skull, and he was locked up in a cage. A Gypsy was beating him, and everyone was laughing. I started to reach under my coat for the Punjab Lasso, but then remembered that I hadn't brought it with me because I promised Christine that I wouldn't kill anyone anymore unless it was completely and utterly necessary. Curses. Nobody had noticed us standing in the opening yet, but they might soon, and I wanted to take advantage of that. I couldn't lose my element of surprise. I let go of Christine and snuck up behind the person. He had left the door to the cage open, and everyone was so busy watching his crimes that no one yet noticed me. Their mistake, to my benefit. I crouched, felt like a wild cat stalking its prey. Then, I pounced. I was on his back, hands around his throat, squeezing, squeezing, the man gasping, the people screaming, some trying to run in, help the man, but the little boy understood what I was doing for him, closed the door, and I was whispering in the man's ear,
"I am the angel of crime. You have committed an atrocity so great you shall never be forgiven. You must swear that you shall never do such a thing again, and let this boy go, and I will go. Do you swear?" I almost laughed in spite of myself. Angel of Music, Angel of Crime, they were getting closer to the truth every time. The man choked out,
"I swear! I swear I will never commit a crime again!"
"Good." I let go of his neck, dropped lightly to the ground, and went to where the boy stood fearfully.
"Hello, little boy. I suggest that we get out of here while we can, don't you agree?" He nodded, and I picked him up and carried him out. The people parted for us in terror, all the way back to where Christine stood in a similar state.
"My angel, I think it would be wise for us to leave." The people were beginning to get over their shock and gang up on us. Christine nodded dumbly. We walked out, me still carrying the little boy, and walked quickly out of the fair, trying not to pay attention to the fact that more and more people were slowly ganging up behind us. I wished we were closer to home. We needed to disappear. We came to the street and hailed a cab, making sure the boy's face was turned inwards, towards me. We really needed a cab right now. The driver stopped his horse, and we got in.
"Take us to the opera house, please." The boy began to turn, but I gently put his face back in my coat. We COULD NOT have the driver see him.
"Here we are," the cab driver said. We all got out, gave him a coin or two, and were about to leave when he asked with a grin,
"Hey, have ya' heard of the opera ghost? Hear he likes to steal children and boil 'em and eat 'em for his dinner. Be careful with the kid there." He nodded toward the boy I was still carrying. And then, with a happy click and a snap of his reins, he drove off, laughing. Christine looked at me and was surprised to find me perfectly calm. She forgot that when I am maddest, I grow calmest.
"Let us go inside." I told her. She nodded, and we entered through a trapdoor in the side. We came to the house, and I sat the boy down on the bed.
"Now, boy, what is your name?" He looked at me with big fearful eyes, and I decided to let Christine try. I had something important to do, anyway. I looked back at his face, estimating its size, and got some extra mask material. As I worked, I wondered if this was really a good idea. Then I decided not to make him wear it. I would put it on him, and if he took it off, so be it. If he left it on, so be it. His choice. I was finished. I walked back over to give it to him, and was surprised to find Christine bouncing him up and down on her knee, and him laughing. As soon as he caught sight of me, however, he immediately sobered up, and went and hid behind Christine fearfully. I sighed. How could I raise a boy who hides behind my wife whenever I come in the room? I sat on the bed next to him.
"Hello, little boy." He looked at me fearfully.
"Are you the Opera Ghost the driver said about?"
"Talked about," I automatically corrected. "The driver talked about." Then it dawned on me what he said, and I looked over at Christine for help. She shrugged, then sent me a look which said, 'This is your doing. Say something.' I sighed, then turned back to him.
"Listen, no one is going to boil you, and most certainly not eat you. I promise."
"But are you the Opera Ghost?" I looked over at Christine, making it clear that I knew I had it coming, but I truly did not know what to do. She rolled her eyes and turned around to the little boy still eyeing me fearfully.
"We can discuss this later. But now, what is your name?"
"Don't got no name."
"Don't have a name," I corrected once again.
"Well then, we'll just have to choose one, won't we?"
"I like Aaron," the boy said. Or rather, Aaron said.