A/N: Thanks to Swiftpaw2012, venivincivivez and invaderoperaghost for following! Do let me know your thoughts so I can improve.
Chapter 3: Saint-Martin-de-Boscherville
1839
His room was almost pitch black at night once the sun had set thanks to the heavy cloth Madeleine had draped over the window. The darkness might have frightened him as an infant, though he could not say with certainty, but now it was transparent to him. Perhaps his vision had adjusted to it sufficiently or perhaps it was just another peculiar feature of his strange, amber eyes. Nothing about the night scared him now. It was much too quiet and much too gentle. When the sun rose in the morning it brought with it the sharp, jagged edges of life itself, it brought restrictions, but the dark veil of night softened everything, showing even the greatest abomination from a more favourable side.
He was all too familiar with the concept of ugliness, had felt from a very young age that he was different somehow. When words had not made much sense to him, he had seen it in the shifty eyes of the priest or heard it in the hushed whispers that tried to exclude him. He was not like his mother, not worthy to be looked upon fully or spoken to like a young gentleman.
Still, for the longest time he had tried to be respectful, hoping against hope that it would win them over. But the matter of the mask seemed to change everything, it seemed to erase the importance of how he conducted himself. Madeleine had been lying to him when she had claimed that the mask would protect him from the monster, for he knew now that the monster would always be there, born out of stares and whispers and broken hope. Even the mask could hide only a small part of that hideousness. Erik didn't much care for dwelling on the memory of the day he had discovered the truth about his own reflection. It had shown him how ugly his mother could be, how destructive mirrors could be and how innocent and desperate he had been to believe that it could all be undone somehow.
No sound had emanated from his mother's room for quite some time now and he gingerly slipped out of his bed. With feather light steps he tiptoed to his door and pressed one ear to it. Closing his eyes, he listened intently for a minute or two but when he was satisfied that the house lay silent and still, he made his way to the window. Brushing the heavy curtains aside he used the makeshift screwdriver he had assembled to pull the screws out that were blocking the path to freedom. Then he gently pushed open the window, crawled through it and began his descent. He had done this so many times in the past that his movements were fluid and firm as his hands had committed every brick, every crack in the structure to memory.
With a soft sigh he landed comfortably on his feet and drew in a big breath, savouring the clean air around him, before he hurriedly sought shelter in the shadows of the trees nearby. How silly it would be to be caught by Madeleine when he had just overcome the most treacherous part of his excursion. Erik did not like making simple mistakes since they really were unnecessary and could easily be avoided provided one did not lose focus. There were few times when he had slipped up and he was determined not to do so again.
"Come along, Sasha," he addressed the empty air around him and began wandering towards the village.
The Cocker Spaniel had made an excellent companion in the past, she had been affectionate and warm, offering up her basket when he had been a small, defenceless infant, a simple kindness his mother had never extended to him. He knew, rationally, that she had passed away years ago. He had sneaked out of the front door that day when his mother had gone to the market but upon his return she'd somehow been waiting for him, a strange look on her face telling him that the dog had fallen asleep while he had been gone. Something about her tone had told him that he was to take this as a cautionary tale, as if more pets would just cease to live if people vacated the house without them. Erik had not seen a connection between the two, but he did know that that incident had caused the lock to appear on his door.
He had missed Sasha from the very moment she had died, but since Madeleine had not allowed him to see the body because she had buried it already, Erik had decided that Sasha might just as well have run away. And if she had run away, who was to say that she wouldn't return? Dogs were very smart animals, after all. And if everyone else was entitled to a friend, why couldn't he be?
Silently, he streaked through the forest, felt the branches underneath his thin shoes and the blades of grass as they tickled the bare skin that his short trousers did not cover. Fresh moisture had settled everywhere and the cool evening air was filled with the scent of rain. Erik liked to believe that Sasha was chasing through the greenery, barking at beetles and shaking the water out of her fur. It was a lovely thought that brought a smile to his face.
Within his mind, within his fantasy there was no room for loneliness or despair. With it he could shape his own reality, create his own happiness. He had long ago decided that it was his very own kind of magic.
At the edge of the forest, the village stretched out before him. The church was like a beacon in the distance while all the houses around it lay in absolute darkness. Above, the blanket of stars glistened and gleamed in the night sky.
He ran down the hill with measured steps, careful to dig his feet into the earth so he would not slip and draw attention to himself. The wind whispered across his skin and made him shiver, but it did not diminish the excitement that was bubbling in his belly. Sometimes he yearned to see the village by daytime, if only to observe what all the other people were doing, but then he quickly reminded himself that the sun would probably rob it of its appeal.
He had almost reached the church when something else caught his attention, something out of the ordinary. This wasn't his first excursion, after all, and he could not remember ever having seen such a strange carriage in the middle of the market square. It was of an oddly elongated shape with an uneven amount of wheels on either side. The horse that had been sleeping nearby neighed nervously as he drew close. Slowly, as not to startle it, he offered his hand and giggled when the horse's soft nose tickled over it. When he was confident that the animal would not give him away, he shifted towards the carriage and peered carefully into one of the murky windows. A man appeared to be sleeping on a folded out bed, on his chest a giant top hat.
There wasn't much else to see and so Erik moved on to the other half of the carriage that differed so greatly from the first it was as if someone had stitched hand and foot together. Gently, he stepped onto the little foothold and peeked inside and his eyes widened at what he saw. Shimmering strange objects, foreign items and a number of boxes in varying sizes all stuffed together. Clearly this was the man's treasure stash.
With a quick glance to the front compartment he tried the handle and when the door did not open, he produced a needle from his pocket and slowly fiddled with the lock until it sprang open with a soft click. Suppressing any sounds of delight with great difficulty, Erik stuck his hand inside the carriage and retrieved the first item it encountered. Swiftly, he stowed the small box away, closed the door and sped off towards the church to find a secluded spot to examine his acquisition.
As he edged deeper into the church, the sound of his footsteps reverberated faintly but they hardly registered, he had even forgotten about the little dog that was supposedly following him. His unwavering focus was resting on the box that seemed to be burning a hole into his pocket. Finally, he crouched down in the corner behind the pipe organ, propped the box up on his bony knees and carefully extracted the item. This time he could not bite his tongue and his gasp of amazement filled the still air around him.
Right there in his palm sat a minuscule scorpion, its beady black eyes glistening up at him. It was the most well-crafted replica he had ever seen and with curious fingers he turned it upside down, studied it and felt even the smallest corner. When his fingernail encountered a little ridge, he tugged at it impatiently and dropped the object when it moved all of a sudden. It was as if he had angered the animal, for it seemed to produce a tiny hiss as his tail turned upwards into the air. Unable to believe his eyes, he remained perfectly still and kept observing it. How could cold, hard metal be manipulated to move in such a life-like, fluent way? Quickly, he picked it up again, held it closer to his face to inspect it more thoroughly, the sudden slamming of the church doors and the giggling that filled the air completely inaudible to him. His mind was reeling from his new discovery, trying to remember any information he had ever encountered in the books he had read, trying to find an explanation for the clever mechanism.
It was only when he was beginning to grow frustrated and decided to return home, that the movements caught his attention. And all at once the air around him was filled with strange sounds he couldn't quite place. Somebody was panting and out of breath, then silence would wash over the wooden benches and beautifully frescoed walls before groans emanated from the same spot. Whoever it was, they sounded in pain.
Erik stuck close to the ground and crept forward gingerly. He could still make out movements but his line of sight was always blocked by something, making identifying the person impossible. The panting grew heavier the closer he got and the groans far more peculiar. They made him feel ill and strange and yet when he finally spotted the bodies awkwardly intertwined on one of the benches, he could not look away. The couple was rocking back and forth, the wood creaking under their weight. His face burned with shame as he willed his body into motion but it refused to cooperate. It was only when, in midst of a passionate thrust, the girl's hazy eyes landed on him and her scream suddenly filled the air, that his legs obeyed him and he fled the church as quickly as he could.
He tore down the steps and into the square where the man with the giant topped hat had sleepily emerged from his vehicle. Angry words rang in his ears as he turned towards the forest. Pain was burning in his lungs and when he made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder, he lost his footing and fell. The village was alive now, lights burning bright in the windows, black figures chasing after him. The word "monster" began to well up around him, a contorted, angry wave of its own.
His fingertips slipped over earth and stone as he forcefully pushed himself upright and began running once again. They would not believe him, even if he told them the truth. Darting in between the trees he hoped that the villagers would lose sight of him but it wasn't long before a whole number of twigs broke behind him, setting the forest alight like firecrackers. Every gulp of air seemed to be his last as his body was assaulted by fresh pain time and time again.
He did not make the mistake of looking behind him now but kept his eyes trained on the cottage that was slowly coming into view. If only he could hold on a little bit longer. But the voices were growing louder, angrier even, seemed to circle around him, drawing closer and closer.
He set one foot onto a brick of the house and pulled himself up. Another step followed but he was so tired from running that he missed the jump and skidded down, his fingers clawing the wall for support until his nails broke and blood oozed from the nail-bed. Tears were staining the ugly face beneath the mask but he tried again.
The first stone hit him between his shoulder blades, knocking the air out of his lungs and sending him tumbling to the ground once more.
"I got him!"
Yells of triumph turning hideous quickly.
"Perverted freak!"
Another stone hit the side of his face, forcing the mask away.
"Mother!" he screamed.
He didn't care anymore that he would get into trouble. Her beatings were favourable to this torment any day.
Arms were grabbing him, shoving him, hurting him.
"Mother!"
Lights appeared in the house, synonymous with hope and Erik lunged forward a last time. But when the pale face of his mother appeared in the downstairs window he could see nothing but contempt, shame and fear. She stood watching as the throng yanked him back, kicked him until the world was turning black around the edges.
"The little corpse has more fight in him than his little dog had!"
The sentence prickled at his senses, sent realisation through him like a shock wave while ugly laughter rippled all around him. Another scream tore from his throat as he clambered upright, striking out at everything in sight. Then something blunt collided with his Adam's apple and everything went dark. Perhaps this was what it felt like to be dying.
When his vision became clear again he could see a familiar face hovering above him.
"Father…"
His voice was raspy and weak.
"Rest, Erik," the priest replied. His eyes refused to settle on him. "It is by God's will alone that you're alive."
He thought of the golden-coloured Cocker Spaniel and wept. His body was aching violently, every movement enough to make him feel sick. It did not seem to consist of muscles, bones and skin anymore but only of flesh; raw, bloodied and exposed, tender enough to be aggravated by the soft cushions on the sofa he had been placed upon.
"Tonight you have disappointed very many people," the sermon continued. "Your mother who has dedicated herself to your welfare. Me and everything I have taught you. But most of all God. To steal out at night, set foot in a church-"
"I like the hymns we sing together, Father, I only wished to see…"
"To spy on the most intimate act known to mankind. Must I remind you how sinful such acts, such desires are?"
"I did not follow them into the church. They embraced the sin, Father! I did not mean to-"
But the priest cut him off, filled the room with the sound of his monotonous voice, reminded him of good and evil. But none of it was making sense, not in the face of violence and murder, not when Erik had never felt any of the drives he was being lectured about.
He wanted to scream, wanted to tear at the priest's face, at his throat until he was unable to produce another hateful sound. But his body was fatigued and the fatigue held him paralysed and caged. For all the freedom he had yearned for, he was nothing but a prisoner yet again, gagged, blindfolded and tied up. He might have been screaming but he could not say with certainty. Everything had become black, even his hearing.
Then, slowly, his mother's face swam into view. Beautiful pale skin, dark locks and cool blue eyes. When looking at her it was almost too easy to forget that she had ignored his cries for help, had stood there watching as if a part of her had hoped that he would be beaten to death.
"Doctor Barye has arrived, Father. He will take a look at the boy now."
The priest's thick eyebrows furrowed and with a deep sigh he shifted away from Erik.
"I blame myself, Madeleine, I should have started guiding him sooner. A boy like this was always prone to be seduced by temptation."
Madeleine's eyes did not soften and Erik knew she was only humouring him. "Thank you for your help, Father."
He nodded and walked towards the door, shook the hand of a man who was tall and elegantly dressed.
"You should have notified me sooner!" the handsome stranger spoke urgently when the door had closed behind Father Mansart.
"I did not want you to become involved, Etienne."
There was something in the familiarity of the name, in the way she clutched at his waistcoat as she seemed to crumble before him that seemed much more intimate than the scene he had witnessed in the church. It conveyed a kind of closeness that left no space for him and hurriedly, Erik averted his eyes. The betrayal left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth and he knew instinctively that from that day onwards, nothing would quite be the same.