Disclaimer: I do not own Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. He is Gaston Leroux's.
Chapter Ten – Revelations III
Late at night, while his servant was already long asleep, Eric himself remained restless. She had been much shaken by the encounter and this worried him. He did not know if or how much memory she had regained of the events preceding her dwelling in his underground world. So far, she had not confided in him. A smirk came across the masked face. Of course, she has not told you. How could she? Eric mused. You're her master. She's afraid of you. You've not shown any interest in her personal feelings. He would ask Madeleine tomorrow. However, judging from today's events, it probably was the Count himself who shot the maid.
When the yellow eyes behind the mask looked at the huge clock it was near four in the morning. Taking the heavy cloak from his shoulders with a sigh, Erik headed towards bed.
It was midday when he awoke again, yet somehow he did not feel refreshed. His mind had been occupied while the body rested – if only he remembered what exactly. Lazily, Eric climbed from the coffin he slept in, carefully set the mask in place and used the bell to call for Madeleine. The small tool offered an enchanting and brilliantly clear sound. Eric had manufactured it himself while being interested in metallurgy.
No minute later, there was a knock at the door.
"You may enter."
Madeleine carried a basin filled with water and a towel hung over her arm. She placed both items neatly on the commode. "Good morning, monsieur. Have you slept well?"
She hardly looked at him while speaking but concentrated on her doings. Eric noticed every morning, not without a certain amusement, how carefully she avoided looking at the room in general and the coffin in particular. As it was her nature, she did not ask one question about his strange habits of life.
"Not too well, to be honest. But you do not look much better either."
Momentarily startled, Madeleine turned her head, facing him directly with a puzzled expression.
"I expect my servant to be dressed properly when appearing before me." Eric said haughty but in reality he was only teasing. Her face was still pale and the eyes dark-circled. Locks of hair had escaped her clamps and the apron was tied with the wrong side out.
The girl blushed bringing some colour to the white cheeks. Somehow he liked the view.
"Be so nice and fetch a new shirt together with my velvet morning cloak."
Madeleine went towards the little room that exclusively contained his vast assortment of garments. She needed a few moments to find the requested items and while she searched his wardrobe an unpleasant feeling of déjà vu seized her. The last time she had selected clothes for her master was with the Count…
Suddenly she needed to get away from this room, away from him. Therefore, she grabbed the first shirt she could find, placed it together with the cloak carelessly next to the water basin and turned to leave.
Bewildered, her master observed her shaking movements. "What's wrong?" He asked.
"Nothing." Madeleine answered irritated and much too fast. Having realized her impoliteness towards him, she curtseyed but then left straight away.
When washed and dressed, Eric went in search for the maid. He found her in the kitchen, crying and clinging to a cup of tea. Her sobs were so heartbreaking that he felt obliged to comfort her. If he would dare to touch her… just a light touch. He extended his hand, yet hesitated a few millimetres away from her shoulder before his fingertips made contact. She jumped so hard that the chair tumbled and fell. The cup of tea regorged on the table.
A moment of awkward silence passed between Madeleine and her master who had withdrawn a step or two into the shadow. Suddenly the old terror of him seized her. This man was almighty in his own world, surrounded by mystery and larger than life. The mask seemed to glow and the small yellow eyes pierced into her soul.
"Wipe your tears and tell me." His soft voice was a harsh contrast to his unapproachable demeanour.
Madeleine reached for her apron, but the white gloved hand offered her a handkerchief, which she accepted thankfully. The tissue was so very soft on her face that she wondered if it could be silk. Letters were embroidered in one corner: M and another one she could not identify. Who might this handkerchief – a woman's – have once belonged to?
"Tell me." Erik repeated while he refilled the servant's cup of tea and poured one himself.
"When you bid me earlier to bring your clothes, pictures flooded my head. Fractured memories of the Count's mansion."
She fell silent, unwilling to go any further.
"Go on."
"I can't." She gulped down another sob, fighting for countenance.
"Go on – please."
How was he able to force her into something she did not really want? Madeleine could not but answer. "He called me to his rooms, asked me the same thing you've done only to…" She stopped embarrassed and got up from the table.
"Only to approach me and touch me… where he shouldn't." The words were barely a whispered and though she did not make any sound, Erik sensed that tears had broken out again.
"I refused and fought him, warning him that I would tell his wife Madame la Comtesse …"
Another pause followed that he waited patiently until she was ready to continue.
"But then he hit me, dragging me to the wall. His mouth was on my neck when I could break free. I fled. What way I can't recall. But when reaching the Seine, he was suddenly there. I remember a loud bang… but then… nothing."
Absent-minded, Madeleine stroked the amazing material of the handkerchief – at this moment her only connection to reality. The rational part of her brain still wondered to whom the letters belonged, while she tried to process the traumatic memories.
Madeleine's eyes were in the past and thus unaware of her master's fists clenching. Rage boiled his blood. Among the many ugly crimes mankind was capable of – the abuse of a weak person, child or woman, was by far the most condemnable. Even Erik himself, who had tortured and murdered mostly for defence, sometimes out of rage, sometimes just for pleasure, had never dared to lay hand on an unwilling woman. The Comte needed to pay for that! And so, Erik silently swore by the God he had never believed in, that he would avenge Madeleine.
"I apologize for having brought back dark memories." He meant what he said, but she would never know how well he understood.
What a strange emotion compassion was! He despised it, absolutely despised it. Nobody had ever shown compassion to him and his fate – well, except one – and in consequence he had told himself not to show it to anyone in return. Yet, he could not help it now.
Unexpectedly, a wonderful melody filled the kitchen, echoing in the high ceiling. Madeleine looked up. Master Eric had moved forward again though carefully avoiding any closeness. He was humming cadences so sweet and enchanting that the maid could not but forget her sorrow and loose herself in the music. Soon the stream of tears ceased.
Erik caught her amazed eyes and although her gaze was still painful, a faint spark of hope and thankfulness mingled in. He smiled secretly. He had not lost the power of his voice and with it the power over people.
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