Chapter 6 – On the Run

Erik was getting weary. Neither he nor his horse César had had much rest – or food for that matter – in over a week and he knew that they would not be able to go on like that for much longer. Unless they both got a good night's sleep and a meal they would soon drop with exhaustion and die. Erik sighed. What difference would it make if he died? His life had lost all meaning. He would never see the woman again, who had captured his heart. Even though a few days had passed, the pain of losing her was still fresh and the mere thought of her brought about an agony that seemed to drain him of all energy.

A life without Christine! How could he endure being separated from her, knowing that he would never see her again? Knowing that she was with the Vicomte, smiling at him, kissing him… Erik's heart almost stopped beating at the thought of Christine and the Vicomte in bed together, the young nobleman caressing her naked body until he finally… Erik barely suppressed a scream of agony. He had left France a few days ago, but he still did not feel safe. If he wanted not to draw attention to himself he must try to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible.

But why did he still try to survive, now that life had lost all its appeal? Erik was not quite sure. Maybe it was some perverse need to prolong his misery, to wallow in pain and self-pity a few more days before finally giving in and accepting death and the peace of mind it would bring him. Of course, if he truly wanted death, he could have had that the night of "Don Juan". All he would have needed to do would have been to wait for the mob. As devastated and heart-broken as he had been he might not even have felt the pain and all would have been over long ago. His aching heart would be at rest by now.

Erik shook his head. No, he could not have done that. He could not have allowed his enemies such a triumph. The Vicomte had already won Christine, Erik had not wanted him to celebrate yet another victory, that of killing his rival. Erik's determination to deny them the joy of having defeated him was what had given him the strength to leave his lair and try to escape. After wandering through the tunnels of the burning Opera for a few minutes, trying to avoid whoever was down there looking for him, he had remembered César. If the horse was not found by the mob it would certainly die, either from the fire or from lack of food, if Erik did not take his loyal animal with him. He had to get to César for both their sakes. The horse could not remain in its current hiding place, and he, Erik might be better able to escape with César's help.

Using the most deserted tunnels, he quietly made his way to César's stall. To his relief, the horse was not only still there, but also unharmed by the fire and smoke. It had taken a while to wrap César's hooves with old rags so that they would make no noise, and to lead the stallion to the Rue Scribe exit which was unknown to the Vicomte and his gendarmes. Erik hoped that nobody would be looking for him there and he was right. To be on the safe side he had not gone directly to Antoinette's house but made a detour. Thus he had been able to avoid discovery.

Even though it might have been wiser to run as fast as possible and get as far ahead of potential pursuers as possible, he still had stopped at Antoinette's place. He owed her that much. She was the closest thing to family he had ever had and he knew she would be worried. She also deserved to know that Christine was safe with her fiancé. Getting out of his wet clothes had definitely been an additional bonus. After all, it was only February and the outside temperature was only barely above freezing point. At least it was not snowing, so he and César did not leave visible traces.

Erik had hoped to get a good head start and put considerable distance between himself and his pursuers. Maybe they would think he had died in the fire, but once they'd search the ruins without finding his body they would certainly be looking for him. By then they might also know about his horse, assuming the primitive stable was discovered during their search for his remains. He therefore had to make sure that he was as far away from Paris as possible, once they would start searching for him.

As soon as they had left Paris behind, Erik had forced César into a gallop. He had avoided the roads and gone across the fields and through the woods. They had passed the border by night two days later, but Erik did not feel safe yet. He wanted to get as far away from France as possible. Who knew if the Vicomte had friends in Belgium or some of the smaller German sovereignties that he might ask for help? Erik did not dare show himself openly by daylight yet, even though he had left the country of his latest crime behind.

There would also not be much sense in approaching a village, since Erik had next to no money. He had had a few coins on him, sure, but those would not get him far. He might be able to exchange them for some food, but it probably was too soon for that. He was still too close to the French border. Maybe in a few days, when he would be even farther away from the city, where his destiny had fulfilled itself, he would dare buy some provisions. Nothing fancy, just a loaf of bread and some cheese. But he would not risk doing so now.

Since it was winter, his chances of survival in the open were rather low. He could not pick some berries or cook some herbs or roots and since he did not bring any weapons hunting would be quite a challenge. Food for himself was not the only problem, though. There barely was any grass for César, the horse was getting just as starved as his master. Then there was the lack of sleep. Because of the cold, even huddled together, they could not rest too long without risking to fall ill. Would it really matter? Maybe it was best to end their misery sooner rather than later. Maybe if he and César laid down tonight they would fall asleep with exhaustion and never wake up again. Erik sighed. Who would care? Antoinette? She might never know that he had died. Christine? As much as he hoped that she would mourn his death despite everything he had put her through, he could not help but think she might actually feel relieved to know that he would never be able to harm her again.

As if he had ever wanted to harm her! No, Erik shook his head. His intention had never been to hurt Christine. His Christine, his fresh rose, the sunshine of his life. He would have done anything in his power to make her happy. He corrected himself. He had done all he could to ensure her happiness. He had let her go. He had allowed her to go with this fiancé of hers, this spoiled brat, who had never learned to take "no" for an answer.

Christine! Erik's thoughts once again returned to her. What was she doing now? Had she already married the Vicomte? Probably not. Even if they rushed their wedding they would most likely not be able to get married within a fortnight. She had gone with the Vicomte though. Were they living together now, before their wedding? Living together – in sin? Once again Erik's mind was assaulted by pictures of a naked Christine, enjoying the Vicomte's caresses and willingly spreading her legs for him. Why could he not get such thoughts out of his mind? What business of his was it to think about what Christine and the Vicomte were or were not doing together? They were engaged, for Heaven's sake, soon to be married. Surely they could enjoy each other's company every way they wanted. They did not need his approval.

Erik sighed. Would this pain ever diminish, would he ever get over the fact that he had lost Christine? Would he ever be able to think of her and remember only the good things, the joy she had brought into his life, their music lessons, the way she had trusted and, yes, loved him, when he had still been her angel?

It was about to get dark and Erik and César were both exhausted, when Erik spotted a small barn not too far away. He could not detect a village or even a farm house nearby. It would therefore be safe for him and César to seek shelter there for the night. Now if only they could find some food as well…

Erik directed the horse towards the barn. At closer inspection it became obvious that nobody had been there for weeks. Erik therefore dared leading César inside. To his surprise the barn was well-stocked with straw and hay. Therefore at least the horse would be able to eat his fill, and they would be warm in the straw. There also was a little creek behind the barn, so they would not be thirsty. When Erik lead César to the creek, he discovered a few fish. It had been years since he had last tried to catch a fish with his bare hands, but after a while he succeeded. He caught more than he would need for dinner and breakfast, intending to fry them all and take some with him for the next day.

Xxxx

For the next few weeks, Erik and César continued their journey like that: When they found something to eat or a place to sleep, they ate and slept, then went without food and sleep for the next few days. It was early spring now and it was getting easier to find some fresh grass for César. Erik had once bought some bread at a market, in the afternoon, when it had already been rather dark and his mask could not be spotted that easily.

Erik was not quite sure where he was at the moment, but he thought that he must be somewhere close to the center of Germany. He had no reason to think that he was still being pursued. He therefore began feeling safe. It would soon be time to think about what he wanted to do with his life now. He grimaced at the thought. With the ruins of his life. The life without Christine. The life in loneliness and despair which he now had to endure till one day death would set him free.

Once again he considered death as an option. It would be easy to prepare a potion that would make him fall asleep peacefully, never to wake up again. He knew the necessary herbs only too well, and now that it was getting warmer, they would soon grow all around him.

Erik sighed. The thought did have its appeal. No more pain, no more hurt, no more feeling of betrayal, just peace and nothingness. But wasn't that what his adversaries wanted? His death? Wasn't that what the Vicomte had planned all along? Somehow he felt that if he gave in to this overwhelming desire to end his misery the Vicomte would win again. He could not let that happen. The young nobleman had lured his Christine away from him, but Erik would not give him reason to think that in doing so he had destroyed Erik's life. Even though he had. But Erik would not admit this. Erik would not prove to his rival how deeply losing Christine had hurt him by taking his own life. He would somehow muster the energy to carry on, to show the Vicomte and … Christine, that he was perfectly fine without her.

Erik's pride had won out. He would somehow learn to live without Christine. It could not be too difficult, or could it? After all, he had lived over twenty years before she had come into his life. He had been happy without her then, why shouldn't he be able to be content now? Deep down he knew the answer to this question. Back then he had not known yet what it was like to be in love, how it felt to listen to a beloved woman's voice, to hold her hand and guide a trusting woman to his lair, to watch her sleep, to … feel her lips on his and her slender fingers on his disfigured cheek. Oh Christine! How much he missed her already and it had only been a few weeks since he last saw her. His hand reached for his breast pocket. The ring – Christine's engagement ring – that she had returned to him that night after having worn it on her finger for a short time, as his bride, burned there as a reminder of his lost love, of the cruel choice he had put her through and of the sacrifice that had broken his heart.

He took the ring out of the pocket and looked at it. This ring had seen him at his absolute worst, but it had also witnessed his one moment of absolute bliss, when Christine had kissed him. And the ring was there when he did the hardest, but also most noble thing he had done in his whole life, when he released Christine, when he put her needs first and gave up on every hope of happiness for himself. Christine had worn that ring on her finger, if only briefly, for him. When she had left him, she had returned it to him. She had put it into his hand and wrapped his fingers around it to show him she wanted him to have that ring. As a reminder of what had been between them, could have been between them, but now never would be. Erik looked at the ring. He would draw strength from it, strength to survive and to begin a new life elsewhere – alone.

Erik mustered his surroundings. Where exactly was he? And where did he want to go? Where would it be safe for him to start this new life? Somehow he was not so comfortable at the thought of remaining somewhere in Central Europe. Maybe a lesser civilized country would be safer for him, though the Eastern coast of the Mediterranean might not be such a good choice either. That would be too close to Persia. He thought for a moment. Maybe the Balkans? Or Egypt? One of the larger islands in the Mediterranean might also be an option. Malta, perhaps, Sicily, or even Cyprus.

But what would he do, once he had found a place to live? He would need to find a way to provide for himself, a steady income. He doubted that a composer or a designer of torture chambers would be in high demand in either of these places. If he wanted to work as an architect he would have to live in a large city, which he wanted to avoid. What else could he do? He could of course try to find work as either a carpenter or a mason, but who would hire him – despite his mask? People in those areas were even more superstitious than in civilized countries and he might be setting himself for even more rejection by going to the fringes of the civilized world.

Erik cursed. How would he even get to any of these remote places? He would need passage on a ship if he wanted to go anywhere in the Mediterranean, and in order to get passage he would need money. Which he did not have access to. Why had he not planned ahead better and taken some cash with him? He had had enough lying around in his lair. Erik knew why. He had been too depressed, too heart-broken to think about such worldly things as money. Now it would be extremely hard to get his hands on a sum large enough to pay for passage to one of the islands.

What should he do? Erik dismissed the idea of stealing immediately. He had barely shaken off the French authorities, he did not want to risk drawing attention to himself by getting into conflict with the law again. He bit his lip. He could of course try to sell César, but somehow he did not want to get rid of his one remaining companion. Also, César was a rather well-bred horse, and with his borrowed, now filthy clothes, Erik looked like a vagabond. What if a potential buyer doubted his ownership of the stallion?

Erik definitely would not sell the ring. He would rather starve to death. And of course it would not be any easier to convince a jeweler that the ring was rightfully his than it would be with César. Should he try to find work? Somehow he still felt too close to Paris and the Vicomte. Rumors of a masked man working somewhere in the middle of Europe could easily reach his rival. Maybe if he went farther south. He would have to go south anyway, if he wanted to reach the Mediterranean. Maybe once he reached Italy, he would dare trying to find a job.

Italy. Erik did not particularly relish the thought of going there again, even though it had been over fifteen years since he had left that country in a mad rush. A feeling of guilt surged within him at the memory of Luciana. She had been so young, so full of life. So curious and meddlesome. He had not intended to kill her, and yet, in a way, he had caused her death, had destroyed a young woman's life.

Erik suddenly stiffened. So many deaths had lined his way. Luciana was just one of them. For the first time since the night that had ended his dreams did it occur to him that maybe losing Christine was his punishment for the crimes he had committed in his youth, long before she had entered his life. He stopped César, jumped off his back and lay down on the ground, crying like he had never cried before, crying about his crimes, for his victims and for his lost love, for he finally understood why he had been unworthy of Christine and what she had meant that night when she had told him that his true distortion was in his soul.