Tears in a Bottle

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read and review the first chapter! I love hearing from you all. Here's a little chapter for you to enjoy before we meet Christine.


If Erik had been frazzled during that short car drive from Paris to Angers with Arabella and adjusting to life with his niece, he was doubly so now. His life and business were going from bad to worse. He, of all people, should have known that if something looked too good to be true it was. He had invested a sum of his money, and convinced several hundred others to invest with him in a scheme, which should see their wealth tripled in four years.

Everything had looked perfect on paper. When his colleague, who he had invested with on numerous other occasions, spoke of it, Erik saw no problem with it. It was not until Jean had all the money – several million Euros – that Erik realised things weren't quite as they seemed. Jean was not quite as he seemed.

There was no scheme. There were no highflying deals. Jean, who Erik had trusted so deeply that he leant his business name to the scheme, had robbed him and hundreds of other average French-men and -women of their money.

Now, as the face of the scheme, Erik – and Lechmere Enterprises – was suffering the abuse from the investors whose lifesavings were gone in a nonexistent scheme. He could see his peaceful life and reputation going down the drain and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He had tried explaining to the first investor who called that it had not been his fault, that he was as much a victim as she was. But the woman continued to abuse him and demand her money back. That was the first and last call Erik took. Never again would he confess to being such a trusting idiot and never again would he allow a stranger to upset his life in such a fashion.

Guilty, distraught and anxious, Erik hid himself away in his study, where despite being surrounded by beautiful things he did not feel any better. It was all Jean's fault and there was nothing he could do. All he could do to ease everyone's suffering was to pay back the money. He pulled his mask off and cried as he imagined the investors hunting him down and burning his house to the ground; his life and reputation in tatters. His nails dug at the right side of his face in a poor attempt to distract himself from the pain of his peaceful, ideal life slipping away. Jean and Arabella had both seen to that.

For more than a week Arabella continued to turn his life and house upside down. He had hired an interior designer and had her redecorate Arabella's room in shades of pink and blue. That had pleased the little girl and made her happy – at least for an hour. But every night, alone in her bedroom, she would cry. He had enrolled her in the best school in the area and hoped that if she would make friends she would stop crying herself to sleep.

At night, he would stand by her closed bedroom door and listen as she cried, imagining her little body wracking with sobs. With every sob, part of his heart would break along with Arabella's. He knew how lonely she must feel when it seemed as if she were the only person in the world and that no one cared about her. The poor child's life had gone from secure to upside-down in a matter of days. He had once been that child.

Erik suspected that if he had someone sit by his side as he tried to fall asleep as a little boy he would not have cried himself to sleep nearly every night until he was seven, not would he feel so sullen and opposed to the world. Only once had Victoire sat on the end on his bed and rested her hand on his foot which was tucked beneath the covers. It had only taken their mother a few minutes to discover Victoire's whereabouts and order her from the room. She did everything should could to keep the two children from each other. It was as if she was afraid that Erik's ugliness would rub off on her beautiful daughter.

Delving deeper into the forgotten memories of his childhood, Erik recalled the hours he spent alone at school and in the backyard, hidden out of sight under a tree. Not only had he been cursed with being poor as a child, but his face also tormented him. A freak accident that had occurred just after his conception, that even now he didn't understand, had left him without a nose and with wrinkled and discoloured skin over the right side of his face. The left side of his face was perfect, almost Adonis-like. It tormented him every day with its perfection.

All his life, he had questioned the world, an invisible force and society. For the past thirty-four years he had asked the same questions and for the past thirty-four years he had received no response. Why had he been cursed with being poor and ugly? Why couldn't he have been as good looking and popular as his sister? Why could no one see his kind heart? Whatever had he done to deserve such treatment not only from his teachers and strangers but also his mother? Why could no one touch him with any kindness? Why did everyone hate him because he was different?

Receiving no response from these questions, he found the world lacking in any warmth or kindness. The world had only hated him and he would hate it in return. It deserved nothing but his hatred. It had condemned him and now he was condemning it in return.

All his life he had fought. As a child he had fought to be noticed by his mother and sister, to be accepted at school, to be seen as an intelligent child rather than a monster, to earn some money so life wouldn't be so difficult. And even now he was still fighting. He struggled to find recognition and companionship.

He had been a good boy; he had always tried to do the right thing. The boys at school had started fights with him and at first Erik had tried not to hit them; he just curled up on the ground, not wanting to hurt them. But in the end, he realised that they would beat him until he did fight back. It was always Erik who got the cane. He never protested and he never tattled on the boys who had started the fight.

The only person who had ever shown him any type of kindness was Victoire. But, fearing their mother's anger and the teasing of the other children at school, was always careful about spending too much time with Erik or defending him against others.

He tried to make his mother love him with gifts and deeds and pretty songs. With no money, he had been forced to be creative. But that was never good enough for her; only Victoire and her gifts were good enough. But society, a distant mother and a cruel world all turned the little boy, with so much heart and potential, into an anxious and, at times, severe man. If it weren't for Victoire, life would have been much worse than it was already.

He hoped that with Arabella living with him, he would find that companionship he craved. Together, he and Arabella would forge a bond. She would be able to ease the loneliness he had suffered his entire life and he would ease her sadness at losing her parents.

One day after a particularly difficult call with his lawyer, Erik left his study to find his niece in the kitchen with Cook, crying into a cup of hot chocolate. As always, the curtains were drawn against the bright sunlight and the room – like all the others in the house – was lit with low voltage lights so no one would be able to see Erik clearly and also so his eyes, unaccustomed to bright lights, wouldn't sting.

"What's wrong, Arabella?" he asked with a sigh as he sat down on the stool beside his niece. He was tired of seeing her pain and being reminded daily of the pain of his childhood he had tried so hard to forget. "Arabella? What is the matter?"

Cook shook her head as if to say he was approaching the situation the wrong way but it was too late.

"I miss Mama and Papa! I don't want to live here with you any more! I want to go home."

Erik sighed. He had no idea how to deal with the little girl, how to reach out to her. He could feel her pain as if it were his own, but he did not know what to do about it. He wanted to love her. He wanted to give her the childhood and love he had never had but he did not know how to do it. He had tried so hard to build a relationship with someone – anyone – and had been rejected so many times that he didn't know how to begin to build a relationship with his niece.

"I'm an orphan!" she cried, tears spilling down her cheeks and plopping into her chocolate.

"I know. I am too," Erik responded softly as he reached out to wipe a tear from her cheek but pulled his hand away before he could touch her skin. A lifetime of rejection prevented him reaching out to comfort her. He tucked his hand in his pocket so he wouldn't be tempted to touch her.

"You are?" She wiped her eyes and looked at Erik in a different way, realising she wasn't the only child in the world without parents.