In medias res (in the middle of things). The one thing you need to know, Erik has no eyes either.
Niki sat on the edge of the bed, fidgeting nervously with the empty sleeve laying across his lap. Jules came and brushed the offending sleeve away, replacing it with a tissue wrapped box.
"Merry Christmas, Nikolas," he said softly, sitting next to Niki on the bed.
"What is it?" Niki asked.
"A snake," Jules said teasingly, nudging him playfully. "Open it."
Velvety fabric spilled from the box when the wrappings and top were removed. Jules took it up in his hands and flipped it out to drape beside Niki like a deep blue lake against the bed covers. He drew it up by two gold tasseled cords to tuck under Niki's collar, the velvet now spilling down his right side as the two men stood.
So expertly tailored was the half-cape that when it draped over his shoulder, the fact his arm was missing was not the least apparent.
"You are the picture of fashion," Jules said, smiling. He then suddenly pressed a quick, warm kiss against the corner of Niki's mouth and moved toward the door. Niki could do naught but follow.
...
The room at the foot of the stairs seemed almost crowded even though there were only four other people. No one noticed their descent at first, so Niki was able to take the group in for a moment.
A girl of sixteen and a matron of sixty worked together putting the last touches on a shimmering Christmas tree. A woman with a glossy waterfall of dark hair handed a small, festively wrapped box to a man standing with his back to them leaning against the fireplace mantle. Niki was only distracted by the man's tall stature and unique thinness. This physiognomy was almost expertly masked by the same fine tailoring as cape and, had Niki been a passerby on the street, he would most likely have taken no more than a passing notice of the man.
Then the other turned his face to speak and Niki saw the Angel of Death.
Surely that specter had only recently sat at his bedside! Niki remembered what he thought were fevered dreams of that countenance; veined skin that stretched over the sharp contours of a skull-thin face, the grimacing mouth with thin lips which could only close when moved to do so. The death's head was fully realized by the absence of nose and eyes, a corpse made animate.
Niki must have swayed on the stair because he felt Jules' strong arm steady him.
Jules had told Niki about Erik many times, but words could never adequately prepare one for reality.
Then, Erik turned and looked at Niki!
The maestro, it was said, had preternatural hearing and, having been blind since birth, acted as though he saw everything around him. Now, he walked straight to Niki and unerringly reached out and lifted the young man's left arm to press a cool glass into his hand.
"Have a drink Nikolas-" he said in a quiet voice, a voice that must have been divine compensation for all his physical horror. "Have a drink. It will help."
Even if one could not detect humor in that face, it was certainly there.
...
Jules sat Niki on a couch close to the hearth and, seating himself close by, did not quit his side. He formally introduced Niki to the dark-haired beauty, Christine. The woman had been a gentle nurse who floated about when he was conscious, Niki remembered, and Jules referred to her as 'mother'. The lady kissed Niki lightly on the cheek and said she was glad to see him up and about.
Meg, who Jules introduced as his sister, blushed all the way to the roots of her hair looking at them together and had to turn away to keep from giggling.
Antoinette Giry, unhesitatingly referring to Erik as her son, took up Niki's hand in her weathered grasp and wished him well.
Though Jules had plainly told him of the family's odd, unrelated makeup, it seemed to Niki that none of the appellations which were applied to the various members seemed the least bit implied. Madame Giry was Erik's mother and anyone who pointed out a discrepancy, say in age, would get a thorough education on how familial bonds went far outside of blood relations. The fact that Erik had wife was an incredible story in and of itself, let alone the tale of how he had acquired a son, daughter, and a mother.
Nikki thought of his own strange history and realized how easy it would be to fit to this family, how much more difficult it would be to leave...
A bell rang to announce dinner. Niki was surprised when Jules disentangled himself from strewn package ribbons and, covertly, the warmth of a clasped hand.
"We can stand on ceremony as we have an equal number," he said when Niki held him back. "We can escort the ladies in."
Erik affectionately tucked Madame Giry's hand into the crook of his left elbow. Niki was confused by this as what he knew of etiquette said the lady walked on the right. Then he realized, as Christine took his arm, squeezing his hand lightly, that he no longer had a right arm!
In the brief time he had been downstairs, he'd somehow completely forgotten the loss of the amputated limb.
...
At the table, the formal organization of seating was paid no mind. Erik was at the head of the table but, again against etiquette, Christine sat to his right. It was as if he couldn't stand to put her away from him unless it were beyond necessity. Madame Giry and Meg further broke with tradition by sitting beside her, consigning the ladies to one side of the table. Jules sat to his fathers' left, across from his mother with Niki close on his own left.
As they began the first course, Niki's suspicions were confirmed. Jules was on his right at close proximity so as to help him in small, unobtrusive ways as Niki attempted to navigate his first normal meal, awkward in the use his non-dominant hand. Even now, as he fumbled with the dinnerware, he felt Jules' warm touch reassuringly settle on his thigh. Though he was not of Erik's blood, Jules was - oddly enough - lefthanded just as his father was.
The meal was light, perhaps for Niki's sake and his still somewhat uncertain constitution. He somehow fumbled through it, inept at everything in the use of his arbitrary left side. Jules covered for him with distracting comments, making sure he sipped the light wine and trying to break the tension that set Niki on edge. Erik lent the singular harmonics of his voice to keep up conversation while Christine and Meg subtly clattered the china to cover Niki's awkwardness.
Then, as the last course was cleared, there was suddenly a companionable silence, as of a close family thinking together what should be made of the rest of the evening.
Niki suddenly ached after this familiarity in a phantom place he could only name as his soul. He only realized he was clutching Jules' hand quite openly when the other pulled lightly away to stand as the bells of the front door jangled.
Carolers, it was announced, awaited their pleasure and seemed eager to get out of the damp snow for the relied upon payment of hot cider.
All but Erik rose to greet the little neighborhood band. Jules gently pushed Niki back into his chair, ignoring the other man's plaintive glances as he passed from the dining room.
The silence hung now like a thick shroud, the snapping and popping of the Yule log on the fire the only sound. Niki sat with his head bowed, his hand pleating the edge of the cape draped over his right side into hard folds. He looked up to find Erik's unimaginably gruesome visage turned toward him as if the man were, impossibly, studying him. Niki turned away and swallowed hard, trying to find his voice.
"I've…" the word choked him, but he struggled through, "...taken something from you, and I need to give it back."
Erik didn't answer immediately, but instead took time to unfold his tall frame and move around the table to where Niki sat.
"But Valjean," Erik said finally, "they were gifts, and you forgot the candlesticks."
He sat down beside Niki. "Victor Hugo," he said by way of explanation. "Christine is very good about keeping us in vogue on the latest literature."
The analogy was lost on Niki.
"I...I need you to tell Jules," he hurried on. "Tell Jules I have relatives in the country or...that I took monastic orders...or…"
Erik sat in silence for a moment, letting Niki run himself out.
"And where will you go?" he asked finally, his voice pulling deep emotion out of the younger man with a few simple words.
"People disappear…" Niki said, closing his eyes, trying to shut out what he could of Erik's influence, "...into the workhouses every day."
The room almost seemed to constrict then, and tears started to cascade down Niki's face.
"I didn't save your life to lose my son…"
"I will go!" Niki was surprised at the vehemence in his own voice. He had not expected anyone to openly acknowledge the relationship growing between Jules and him, least of all use it to purposely drive him away when he was already preparing to leave.
Another few moments of silence eased the tension in the room and Erik spoke again.
"I did not save your life to lose my son," he said evenly. "No matter what I would say to him, he would be like Orpheus trailing in your wake. And if he could not follow you bodily, his affection would chase your ghost and I would be left only a likeness, a mere mask of my son that would eventually fall to dust."
A cool touch settled on Niki, grazing the skin of his neck just above the ruined right shoulder. "Don't go."
Blinking his eyes open, his vision fogged by a shroud of tears, Niki looked into that skull-like visage.
"Stay," Erik said.
Christmas bells began to toll.