"I Bid You Welcome"

L.M. Colburn

DISCLAIMER: I do not own "Phantom of the Opera," nor do I own Dr. Etienne Barye and the back story provided by Susan Kay's "Phantom."

Do not steal. I bite hard.

- -----

I had never considered myself an emotional man by most standards. Throughout my life I have learned that emotion is a dangerous being that blinds one's vision and dulls the senses, a lead weight that drags you below the surface without hope of escape. I avoided showing any emotion wherever I could for sake of my own life, say nothing of those around me.

But at the same time it is not as if I could not entirely escape it. To be completely devoid of emotion would be utterly inhuman, which, though some may choose to argue that point, I am not. I must admit I have done rather well removing myself from the human race. However, though I dwell in darkness like a vampire of lore, I am certainly nothing less than human no matter how I, or others try to disprove it, and regrettably enough am still prone to those tireless pangs known as love, hate, anger, and whatever tedious examples one may come up with.

I think perhaps the most common emotion people experienced when reflecting upon my business is that of a guarded curiosity. Since moving from Belgium back to my native France, my contracting had seen a burst of new clients, all of which I handled through the services of my agent. Meeting with the public had grown tedious to me and I steadfastly refused to do so as my reputation for the unique quality of my work had grown. Jean was good enough for me to trust with the arrangements. And, as it seemed, for turning away insistent customers that demanded to meet their builder in person.

One night, however, Jean failed at this one task. It was dark and most likely quite late in the evening. I had a dreadful habit of forgetting the time whilst working on various projects, and it was not entirely uncommon for me to glance at my elegant silver pocket watch and find myself alone at nearly three o'clock in the morning. Between the serenity of the darkness outside my walls and my complete involvement in my work, night often flew by with only the slightest hint of sleep.

It was late in the evening - perhaps eight or nine o'clock. As I remember I was bent over one of my drafting tables studying a design for a villa I had drawn up the night before. One of the angles seemed off by the slightest bit and for the life of me finding a decent solution was eating me from the inside out. I stood for several minutes with my arms spread along the table, staring at the draft in deep thought. For a fleeting moment I thought about pausing to loosen my tie and make myself a bit more comfortable. But as I straightened up and moved away from the table, I glanced over my left shoulder and that's when the answer hit me. Swiftly my hands flew to the pencils and expertly drew in the new lines. I became dimly aware of someone standing in the darkened doorway.

I paused briefly without looking up. Assuming it was Jean, I sighed and pondered his apparent lack of announcement. "I have only one piece of advice for you - learn to knock," I began with a hint of exasperation. "Undoubtedly you shall find your reception a bit more welcome."

There was a long pause. Normally I would welcome this sort of silence, but for some odd reason I grew very apprehensive. I felt a knot grow in my stomach as I slowly looked up from the paper and recognized the dark figure as anything but Jean's. The instinctive feeling of claustrophobia seemed to set in and I tried to assess if he had companions and how I would go about extricating myself from this mess. I paused to gather my composure. When I spoke my voice was calm, low, and resonated of a warning I had often given before.

"You would do well to leave now, Monsieur, before you come to sincerely regret your decision to come here," I said coolly. I felt my blood rise and the stare the figure held on me. It was not one of fear or loathing as I had so often felt before, but rather a sort of marked curiosity. The figure tilted his head slightly to the side as if he were studying me, and it was then I decided I had quite enough. I threw my pencil down on the drafting table and moved to step out from behind it when the man finally spoke.

"Good evening, Erik." I stopped dead. Those words, that voice. That knot in my stomach turned to a lead weight and as I stood there, staring in disbelief, I realized I had forgotten to take a breath. I am quite sure I would have turned blue if I had not already turned a ghastly shade of white.

I would have recognized the voice of Doctor Etienne Barye anywhere. He stepped forward into the candlelight and I could finally see his features. My expression on the left side of my face must have been utterly dumbstruck. A soft smile played on his lips as he removed his hat and I suddenly felt very light headed. I blinked hard several times to make it dissipate, but it refused to do so, and as I grasped the table with my right hand for support, Etienne moved to help steady me, but I waived him off before he had the chance. I turned away from him and took several steps as I tried to calm myself. My heart was racing wildly, my head was spinning, and how I did not find myself on the floor I shall never know. An unpleasant reminder of my troubled past had returned to haunt me and I was not entirely sure I could cope.

Several theories had popped into my head regarding his arrival, none of which were terribly optimistic. Anything and everything from scientific or medical study to my mother crossed my mind. He married her once I had left, did he not? If he had come, I dared not wonder when she might make an appearance. It nearly brought me to the verge of sanity. But he was not wearing a ring. What on earth was going on?

I stood with my back to Dr. Barye for several moments while I attempted to catch my breath. I heard him gingerly take a step toward me and suddenly I felt my confusion turn to anger as I swung around on him. "Why?" I demanded harshly, stepping up to him and staring him down in what I now consider an appallingly display of poor manners.

Etienne shrunk back slightly at my intensity, but refused to back down. He simply stood there for several long moments, looking back at me calmly while he formulated a response. He glanced down to the floor for a split second before meeting my eyes once more. Inwardly I bid him speak before my temper betrayed me and I did something the both of us would come to regret dearly.

Part of me wanted to take his hat and coat for him and sit down for a casual drink as my manners insisted, but I had already made quite a scene and the only thing that would calm me was a reasonable explanation why this man had suddenly appeared in my life. I had no fond memories of Dr. Barye's presence. Indeed the last time I had seen him was most unpleasant; memories swooped down and momentarily clouded my vision and thoughts. I had to have been about nine years old. The dark garden, Sasha barking feverishly, the torches, the crazed mob wanting nothing more than to tear me apart, the blood. Oh, the blood... And why? Why...

Naturally I owe the rest of what is the disaster of my life to Dr. Barye and his skills as a physician. As I lay on the couch so many years ago with the knife wound to my chest treated, a wave of emotions coursed through me. Grief, hate, fear, uncertainty...all of which I do not care to elaborate on. But as I stood there in that darkened room with Barye standing before me one clear word rang in my ears - asylum. Several things prompted my flight from my childhood home, and I cannot excuse the fact that the threat of being locked in an institution was one of them. And though all I normally experienced about the subject was anger, looking at Etienne then - a gray sort of his former self - the only thing I could feel was annoyance.

"I have my reasons, Erik," Etienne said calmly. "Perhaps you would be willing to hear them over a pipe or cup of tea."

"I do not smoke," I declared.

"Well a cup of tea, then," he suggested as a fleeting smile crossed his lips. If he was fearful of me he was doing a fine job of disguising it. I had watched him and my mother together as a child without their knowing. He had always come off as strong-willed and self-confident, if not a touch arrogant. Indeed that was one thing that we held in common. I relaxed some and studied him warily for a moment before nodding and moving past him to the sitting room down the hall. He must have sensed my deep suspicion, for I was making no attempt to hide it.

"You have nothing to fear, Erik, I assure you my intentions are good."

"I should hope so, Dr. Barye, for your sake." Silence from him as we entered the room and I offered him one of the plush leather chairs furnishing the finely trimmed atmosphere. Regrettably I did not have any need for tea at the moment, and so I offered a bit of brandy and he graciously accepted. As I stood there pouring the rich liquid from the decanter I once more felt his curious stare upon me.

"You look well," he remarked. I held back a scoff as I returned the decanter to its place on the mantle.

"It is imported from the finest tailors in London, I should certainly hope so," I said, referring to the fine black tailcoat and suit I was wearing. If there was one thing about my appearance that did not need any help, it was my taste in dress. The sarcasm was now dripping from my voice and I found I could no longer even try to contain it.

Barye's expression blanched a bit at my insinuation. "That was not what I meant," he defended in a serious tone. I stood stiffly before him, swirling my glass with my right hand and my gaze demanding an explanation for his presence. He leaned back into the chair and studied the room as I continued to wait impatiently. "You have done marvelously well for yourself, if you do not mind my saying."

I maintained my stiff, proper stance despite the infuriating thoughts running through my head. "Indeed. Far better than I would have fared in an institution, wouldn't you say Dr. Barye? The conditions must be positively wretched for business. I hear the clients pay poorly and the architecture is dismal." And there it was, making its first remarkable appearance of the evening - my damned tongue. If my face is the first thing people remember about me, my mouth may very well be the second. I daresay Barye's color fell at least three shades of white at my biting words. I watched in near amusement as he swallowed and then glanced down at the floor, searching for either some words to ease the situation or a straight shot out of the house.

I rolled my eyes at his hesitation. Let it go for the moment, Erik, I told myself. I did not need his head on my wall - this old man most likely did not need the grief. I took a step toward him and I saw him flinch slightly at my approach - I placed my glass down on the table between us and proceeded to seat myself just off to Barye's right. I find it both amusing and tragic how even my most mundane actions always seemed to reflect proper positioning to give others the slightest view of the mask possible.

I sighed, and then reached down for my glass. "I think it would be best if you simply stated your reason for coming here, Dr. Barye. It is quite obvious neither of us are comfortable and I tire of the guessing."

He nodded in agreement. "Do call me Etienne, Erik. We're both accomplished adults now, no need to doddle with such a formality," he jested.

I only stared at him before sipping my brandy. "Quite."

Etienne placed his glass down and leaned toward me, his eyes reflecting his growing resolve. "Than I shall be quite frank with you about this whole thing. As you may know I have been working in Paris off an on throughout my medical career," he began, his face searching mine for a response.

I only returned his stare. "I do not make a hobby out of meddling in the affairs of others," I said coldly. That was a lie. Somewhere Satan was probably having a good laugh.

Etienne paused thoughtfully. "Well, it is true. One year ago I took a position as an instructor at one of the laboratories and have since spent a great deal of time in this area." I stared at my shrinking glass and listened to him speak. Get on with it, I thought impatiently. "So it is no surprise that when I thought of looking at permanent living arrangements I pursued some contractors in the area and eventually ran across your name, not knowing who it belonged to. I've spent the last bit finding anything out I could about you."

Lie. Bloody liar. The man was nearly as bad as I was. I rolled my eyes once more and took another sip of my dwindling brandy. "What, do you not believe me?" he asked.

"No, I do not."

"And why is that?"

"Because, Etienne," I began with a slightly condescending tone. "If you had been pursuing me as a contractor, you would have quickly realized there is nothing to find out. I conduct my business nearly in strict anonymity because of who I am, and I go to great lengths to see that it stays that way. People insist on meeting me and prying into my personal life, but they never get any further than Jean as far as that is concerned."

"It is not as if the man cannot be bought," Etienne commented, his eyes narrowing some.

"He has a terribly distinct sense of loyalty to he who possesses the most money," I declared triumphantly. "Which, in all cases, happens to be myself."

"Erik, there is another reason I came here tonight," Etienne muttered. I carried on as if I hadn't heard his comment.

"Then of course, who's to say how much he goes in fear of what I might do to him." I suppressed a sardonic laugh as I took another sip of my drink.

"Your mother insists on meeting with you."

It is funny how quickly a drink may touch the inside of one's mouth and then come sputtering back out. I flung myself forward in an attempt to both catch my breath and avoid spitting my drink on my trousers. Then silence. I sat there in stunned disbelief wondering if he had honestly said those words. Once again my heart began to race and I found it increasingly difficult to breathe.

Etienne looked at me curiously. I then turned to him, and in a most elegant and sophisticated - or perhaps stupid - fashion muttered, "What?"

Barye sat across from me calmly as he leaned back and rested his chin on this thumb and forefinger. "She has been needing greatly to see you again. I came back into touch with her several years ago and she had heard rumors of this mysterious architect. She begged me to find you."

And as I sat and listened to his explanation, I had the sudden need to pour myself a rather large helping of brandy.

"She is not here, then?" I asked, fearful that the one encounter I wished to avoid the most may have been standing around the corner.

Etienne shook his head. "No, she is not," he said quietly. "I regret to say that she is still in Boscherville."

My stomach felt like a lead weight as I slumped deeper into my chair. Why in Heaven's name was she in Boscherville? Of all places! My mind raced back to that awful village and its damned inhabitants, its quaint roads and charming country houses. How dare it be so welcoming when to me it represented nothing but pain and rejection. A sharp cracking noise interrupted my pained reflection, and as I looked up sharply I realized it was coming from the stable. Numbly I checked my watch and then glanced over to Etienne, who was staring out into the hall.

"This is time for his evening feed," I said numbly. I sat there for another few seconds before finally dragging myself slowly from the chair and making my way to the doorway and motioning for Etienne to follow.

"So…am I to assume the two of you never married then?" I asked as we walked through the darkened hallway. I felt nothing. I trailed my hand along the carved wood paneling of the wall, but was completely numb inside and out. Even my mind ceased to function in its normal capacity.

Etienne stopped abruptly. "What do you mean?"

I stopped at the stable entrance and looked accusingly over my shoulder at Etienne.

He furrowed his brow in a fleeting expression of confusion. "The night you were attacked," he began, speaking as though he had to recall every word directly from his memory of that evening. "She no longer wanted to hear my opinion on the matter. She wanted to stay with you. She told me to leave and we didn't see each other until recently."

What little color I have must have drained from my face immediately as Etienne's expression became wrought with concern. "My God, Erik, I thought you knew…" But I hadn't known. I did not know because I was not there. I ran from the only home I had ever known that night because I knew my mother could never live the life she desired so long as I lived under her roof. There were times when I hated her with all my being; times when I shook with loathing. But I could not deny her the happiness she wanted so desperately – happiness she found with this man before me now.

I leaned up against the doorframe and hung my head. It had all been for nothing. Positively nothing! I struggled through the wretched pits of the deepest, darkest hell on this forsaken earth and now even my sacrifice was reduced to nothing but a bloody farce. The beatings, the cage, the fairs and the stupid people, the killings and lies in Persia…I was condemned morally and I had nothing to show for it. Now I could only turn my back on it and wish it back into the darkest corners of my mind where it undoubtedly belonged.

"That part of my life is over," I muttered as I turned to the door and opened it. Etienne stared after me for a moment before following me into the stable where Allemande waited somewhat impatiently for his evening meal. The black gelding nickered expectantly, making it quite clear that his insatiable appetite had not been looked after. As if the incessant pawing of his door would allow me to forget.

Etienne studied the horse briefly before turning back to me. "It is not over, Erik," he insisted. His tone was insistent, confident. I felt exhaustion creeping over me as I began to prepare oat, corn, and molasses dinner for the virtual black hole that was my horse.

"It is over," I insisted, shaking my head slightly at the thought. "I have no desire to revisit it."

Etienne took a brazen step forward. "You really should reconsider-"

"Damn you, Barye!" I yelled as I swung around on him. My temper was rising and my blood began to boil at his persistence. "Damn your impertinence! How dare you walk into my life and threaten to destroy the very fabric of my sanity by insisting I meet with a woman who hated me, feared me, and blamed me for the shipwreck that was her life! You are very lucky, sir, that I do not kill you now and be rid of you forever," I spat. I could sense the piercing venom in my voice. And yet Etienne did not move. He simply stood there, seemingly detached, as he watched me make my way to Allemande's stall.

At this point the tall, imposing German-bred gelding was standing in the far corner, white-eyed and fearful of all the sudden commotion. I had little company in my life and I relished the feeling of his soft muzzle on my face, completely unknowing or uncaring of what lie beneath the strange white fabric. I admired his beauty, his grace, and his powerful stride. I envied his innocence and at the same time cursed the life of servitude he and other animals like him were forced to live. He would never know whips or chains. I would never raise my voice to him over what he had done. He would never know the fear and despair behind cold, iron bars. I would never allow the tragedy of my life to be repeated, even if all that trouble was over an animal. At least animals do not judge me.

As Allemande slowly made his way over to me, I greeted his muzzle with an open palm and invited him closer. He stepped forward and lowered his forehead to my chest and stood quietly as I stroked his face and tangled my fingers in his glorious forelock. It was all threatening to destroy me - Etienne, my mother, my troubled past. It was too much, far too much. The emotional torment I suffered through throughout my childhood and later was welling to the surface. I spread my hands along the top of the stall and closed my eyes.

"She could never bring herself to kiss me," I muttered. "Why should I return to her now?" I heard Etienne take a step toward me. I opened my eyes briefly to see him standing to my left, close enough to touch me. But he did not. I do now know why I had expected him to – few people in my life ever had. Once more I closed my eyes and fought the impending blackness. Moments later I felt a tentative hand upon my shoulder.

My eyes shot open and I looked to see Etienne gazing down on my reassuringly. "Because she is finally prepared to become the mother you never had."