It was his own fault. He let his eyes crack open, knowing full well he would only see darkness. However, the salah was reverberating around the rancid room now, screaming at him to arise and perform his fajr, his first prayer. But that would not happen.
First, because he was not religious in the slightest.
And second, because he did not feel as if he could move.
His body was heavy, permanently stuck to the thin mattress on the ground, and he could barely swallow. He blinked blearily into the darkness, wishing that the salah could be skipped over for the next several days. Perish the thought. Religion was lost to him in countless ways.
She had been religious…
He cursed and closed his eyes again. His first thoughts of the day, revolving around her. Always her. She had gladly shared her faith with him, telling him about all the times she and her father had sung in her church services and how much she missed them.
However, this situation was his own doing. It was his decision to hide so close to the mosque, hoping to blend in with the swarms of people. Five times a day, that blasted prayer shook his bones, reminding him that he was no doubt damned in at least two religions because of his lack of faith and horrid sins...among other reasons.
What he wished for now, though, was not an opportunity for penance, but rather water and some pills to knock him out. The pounding in his head was only increasing the longer he was conscious, and he lay there a while, listening to the salah and vaguely thinking of variations on its theme, mostly featuring a shourangiz. Then he gave a muffled groan and brought his hand up to his face, hating himself more than he ever thought possible.
His face was covered in dried blood, and he could feel his barely-healed ribs protest the movement. This was his reward for his idiocy the previous night. Unable to sit still, tormented and nearly manic with depression and anger, he had become blindingly-drunk and had then proceeded to become involved in a number of street fights. He had relished each blow then, but now he wished he had been able to simply talk himself into ending it all before he had gone out and allowed himself to be seen, to be beaten on.
After hours, he had crawled back to this hovel, his mind numb from the alcohol and the numerous punches, and he had passed out. Now he was fully experiencing not only the effects of a hangover, but also another dose of physical pain. He had managed to keep the mask on the whole night, but it had cracked in several places and had bruised him more than taking it off would have. His injuries were not serious. He had inflicted a great deal worse on those he had come in contact with, yet it was still painful.
It was beyond stupid of him. Not only had he risked being actually seen and recognized, but he had allowed himself to become incapacitated for the next several days, if the feeling in his chest and head was anything to go by. He was not twenty years old anymore. Recuperation was no more a matter of hours, at most a few days. It took weeks—months now. He had only planned to be in this hovel for another day, yet there was no way he would be able to get up and move himself to another location now. What an idiot.
He breathed slowly for several minutes, knowing he would have to somehow get up and find food sometime today. He could feel his stomach twisting. It had been a while since he had last eaten something substantial, and the copious amounts of alcohol had done nothing to help. All thoughts of any type of food made him nauseous at the moment, but he needed something to sustain him.
The door was old, peeling, bare wood with numerous stains and scratches on it, and he watched it. If someone were to burst in, he would have no way of defending himself. Had someone recognized him from the previous night, it would have been too easy to follow him back to this hole and suffocate him. It would have been a small mercy, actually. However, the lack of armed assailants and assassins at the door meant that he had probably not been recognized, which was undoubtedly good, and at the same time disappointing. Either everyone else had been too drunk or high to realize who he actually was, or he had been in Western countries too long and most had forgotten about him on this side of the world.
For a few blissful, painful minutes, he fantasized of the door opening. She would fly in and apply soothing balms to his bruises and horrid face, whispering and singing platitudes to him, her hands soft and warm and healing. In a particularly insane moment, he imagined that she would press her lovely delicate lips to his wounds. The mere thought was delicious, tormenting. He was a greedy monster. He had already felt those lips on him. There was no way any sort of god would be merciful to grant it to him yet again.
And yet...for all of the misfortunes, all of the disasters and tragedies that had comprised his life, he still considered himself perhaps the most fortunate man on the planet. Christine Daae had kissed him. Christine Daae had touched him. Christine Daae had agreed to marry him. There was only one other man alive who could say the same, and that other man was half his age and was equal to Christine in terms of appearance and character. Both of them young and innocent...And yet she had agreed to marry him. Marry Erik.
Of course it had not been ideal circumstances…
Why are you doing this?! Erik, stop! Stop! You're killing him! Please!
Simply say it, Christine. Say that you will come with me, away from here. Say that you will marry me.
Erik, please...Please! Don't do this!
She had looked so beautiful then, her pale cheeks deeply flushed and tears tumbling down them. She had knelt at his feet, had literally begged him, and then she had actually tried to physically pull him away from her boy. Her hands were so delicate and smooth, grabbing at him, twisting into his jacket.
That night replayed in his mind, over and over and over. He was quite positive that it would be his last thought before he finally ended it all; the thought of her kiss.
To his chagrin, he felt the phone in his pocket buzz, and he groaned as he pulled it out and brought it up to his eyes, squinting to read the message.
Are you still alive? I haven't received the money yet, you know…You had better not cheat me out of this.
He rolled his eyes and swore, setting the phone aside and feeling himself relax just a bit as the salah finally began to fade away. And as blessed, peaceful silence once again settled into the room, he allowed himself to fade away as well.
Christine nervously straightened the book in front of her, checking what time it was yet again. Four more minutes, still...She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and bent over her book, hoping it looked like she was doing homework. The library was full of students, and she wasn't one anymore. It wasn't as if anyone would come look or try to kick her out, but still...Just the knowledge that she wasn't a student here anymore made her feel like more of an outsider than ever.
The books she had taken from Erik's apartment were before her. Two of them, she obviously could not read. Paradise Lost was sitting in front of her, looking somehow threatening. The two phrases she had read had been painful, and just the night before she had picked it up and had pulled the book open to the next marked page, which had a phrase that read:
Better to reign in Hell, than to serve in Heaven.
It had given her nightmares.
"Hey! Christine!"
Christine jumped and put Paradise Lost down on the two other books to hide them, looking up and seeing her roommate, Rebecca, waving and hurrying toward her. Looking around, Christine frantically tried to think of what to do, if she would be able to hide or somehow get Rebecca to go away, but there was nothing she could think of, and she groaned silently as Rebecca came to the table and sat by her, grinning.
"Hey! I didn't know you'd be here. I thought you were in class." Rebecca reached over to her backpack and pulled out a sandwich, and Christine felt her heart begin to thud, realizing that Rebecca was intent on staying here and eating her lunch with company.
"Ha. Yeah...just studying. Trying to focus for a test that's coming up…" Christine glanced at the time again. He was late. Maybe that was a good thing now.
Rebecca nodded enthusiastically. "I'm already dying, and the semester is only half over! I don't know how I'm going to survive finals. And next semester I have to design four pieces based on a specific decade. They're assigned to us randomly. Ugh, I better not get the nineties."
As her roommate continued to chatter absentmindedly about the latest projects she was working on, Christine looked over and felt her stomach jump when she saw someone headed over to the table. He was walking with purpose, dark eyes framed behind glasses, and he paused for a moment as he caught Christine's eye, hesitating until she gave an affirmative.
Feeling sick to her stomach and wishing her roommate would just leave, Christine finally nodded, and the man approached, smiling a little as he took a seat. Rebecca had gone quiet in an instant, looking between the two.
"Christine?" the man said. When she nodded, he smiled a little wider. "Good. I'm Arash. Sorry I'm late. I got out of class later than I thought I would." His voice was bright and slightly-accented, and Christine could feel herself blushing a little.
"Yeah, that's fine. I'm...um. This is my roommate." She gestured vaguely over to Rebecca, hoping Arash would just mostly ignore her like Christine was trying to do. "Thanks so much for agreeing to do this for me."
"It's not any trouble. You found these books a friend's house, you said?" Arash looked over interestedly at the books stacked, and Christine hurriedly pulled the two out from underneath Paradise Lost and handed them over.
"Yes, that's right. Like I said, I don't need a translation of the entire book or anything. I'd just like to know...what the books actually are and what they're about. Also…" She grabbed the thicker one, opening it to the front cover. "There's this inscription here that I'd like translated, if that's not too much trouble."
"Of course it's not too much trouble. It looks short." Arash took it from her and read over it, and Christine pulled out her notebook and a pen, hating that Rebecca was still there and was staring at the scene, her sandwich forgotten on the table.
A few minutes went by as Arash read over the inscription. He then looked over the two books and read what Christine could only assume to be the books' summaries. At last, he looked over, and Christine held her pen ready.
"Well, this first book is Shahnameh," Arash said, tapping on the one with the inscription. "It is very...classic, I suppose. It is the history of Iran told in poetry." He opened up the cover again and said, "This note is short. I will give you the best translation I can."
"That's fine," Christine said hurriedly, her heart pounding. "Just read it, please."
Arash cleared his throat and furrowed his brow a bit before saying slowly, obviously translating as he read, "Erik sir, welcome to Tehran. The city is honored to have you here. It is clear we need you now, as our need for improved development is ongoing. Your talents and skills will be used well. I am at your disposal if you need anything. Please enjoy one of Iran's greatest works. Iran welcomes you, Dr. Nadir Farhadi Khan."
Christine wrote hurriedly, doing her best to copy verbatim what Arash had just read. There would be time later to read it over and think about it. Mostly she just wanted to get this meeting over with as quickly as possible, as Rebecca was obviously confused and fascinated and much too curious for Christine's comfort.
"And the other one?" Christine prompted. "The other book? What's it about?"
"It's a guide and history of Tehran," Arash said. "That is the biggest city in Iran and its capital."
Christine nodded, jotting down the information, and looked back up as Arash continued: "Do you know Dr. Khan, Christine?"
She shook her head. "No, of course not...I just found these books at a friend's house, like I said."
Arash looked at the inscription again, squinting a little. "Then your friend must have known him, maybe?"
She shrugged. "Maybe. I have no idea…"
"If it's the same Dr. Nadir Farhadi Khan, then he is a little famous in Iran." Arash pulled out his phone and typed something in, saying, "He worked for the government for a long time, but then there were problems, and he left. He lives in London, now."
He handed over his phone, and Christine took it, looking at the pictures that had been pulled up when the name was searched. The man was middle-aged and handsome, though he looked tired in the more recent photos.
"What kind of problems?" Christine asked, handing the phone back.
"I think it was a...scandal. Is that the right word? A scandal. It was maybe ten years ago, but I remember, because my father always supported Dr. Khan and was very unhappy about what happened."
Hoping she could find more clarifying details online later, Christine nodded, pushing the books into her bag and pulling out a plain envelope, saying, "Well, thank you again so much for doing this. You've really helped me. And...here." She handed it over, and Arash took it and looked into it briefly before smiling and standing.
"Thank you. I'm glad I can help. Let me know if you need translating again." And with a smile and a goodbye to both her and Rebecca, he left, disappearing behind a corner.
Only a few seconds passed before Rebecca exhaled and asked forcefully, "What was that?"
Christine bristled a little. It wasn't her business. Still, she always hoped that providing Rebecca with half-true answers would satisfy her enough to stop her from searching for her own answers online or from other people.
"Like I said, I found these books in my friend's house in New York." Christine zipped up her bag, eager to leave and go do more research on her own. "I couldn't read them, obviously, so I posted something online and asked for a translator on campus. Arash responded, and we agreed to meet here today."
Rebecca nodded, picking up her sandwich again. "Couldn't you just ask your friend?" she asked. "You could have saved yourself some money."
Christine shrugged, feeling her blush return. "He moved before I could ask him. He's...out of contact for a while for a trip he's taking, and I was curious. Not a big deal."
"Hmm." Rebecca looked unconvinced, her eyebrow raised and her mouth thin, but she didn't say anything else, and Christine didn't really feel like elaborating or inventing anything else. Instead she grabbed her bag and jacket and stood.
"Have a nice afternoon. See you later." And she left, her stomach flipping in excitement and her heart pounding.
Tehran. So Erik had been to Tehran, and he spoke Persian. He had never told her any of that, but the proof was in her bag. Just when he had been and how long he had been there was still unknown, but this discovery made her want to skip back to her apartment. It was one of the first things she had found out by herself, one more piece to the puzzle. She was still a little miffed that Rebecca had shown up and had tried to poke her nose into it all again. Christine would have asked Arash a few more questions had her roommate not been sitting there, but he had given Christine more than enough to go on for now. If necessary, she would contact him again later and ask. He had been nice enough, and the fact that he had given her a bit of information on this...Dr. Khan had been an unforeseen stroke of pure luck. Of course, like Arash said, it was possible that the person who had written in the book and the person Arash said worked in the government could be two different people, but Christine had a feeling that they were the same. It seemed to fit somehow that Erik had been...acquaintances with someone in the Iranian government. Hopefully he hadn't done anything bad or dangerous, but she couldn't really be sure at this point, and she wouldn't put it past him…
An internet search of Dr. Nadir Farhadi Khan brought up the pictures Arash had shown her as well as a couple small articles. She was sure there was more information available on Iranian websites or from Iranian papers and sources, but as that was out of the question for now, she skimmed over the English articles. Most were about internal Iranian conflicts with only brief mentions or a few sentences about Dr. Khan, and out of seven or eight articles, she was able to patch together some type of framework, and she wrote it down in her notebook.
Dr. Nadir Farhadi Khan. Got his medical degree at Cambridge. Worked for Iranian government for ten years. Worked on civil rights and human rights campaigns. Fired because of insubordination. (Over what?) Went to London.
After a few more minutes of searching, she stumbled across a small, one-page website that was apparently run by Dr. Khan himself. It was very minimal in design and content, and Christine looked over, her stomach still rolling in excitement and nervousness.
Dr. Nadir Farhadi Khan, MD
Private General Practitioner
Those wishing to receive treatment from Dr. Khan may inquire at his office:
32 Warriner Gardens, London
There was nothing else. Christine frowned, trying to look for links or other extensions that would provide more information, but there was nothing. No telephone number, no email address...As fast as the excitement had come, it was fading away. Was this another dead-end? Another wall? Another mystery she couldn't solve?
She gave an angry, frustrated huff and shut her laptop, folding her arms and glaring at it. For a few minutes, she tried to convince herself that it really wasn't that much of a disappointment. Maybe the Dr. Khan of London was a different Dr. Khan who had written in the book...But Christine still felt, deep down, that they were the same. And he had somehow known Erik.
Pulling the laptop back open, Christine spent the next half hour attempting to scour the internet for any contact information for Dr. Khan other than the address. Again, nothing. Apparently he enjoyed his privacy and secrets just as much as Erik had. Did.
To her annoyance, she felt some tears sting her eyes, and she sniffled pitifully for a minute before pushing the laptop away and standing to go over to her dresser. Opening the top drawer, she pulled out the silver bracelet and slipped it on. He had given it to her during her first night in the city, and she, already overwhelmed by everything, had accepted it with a nod and a whispered thank you, robotically putting it on her wrist. It had remained there over the next several months.
Her mind still full of questions, possibilities, hopes, and fears, she grabbed Paradise Lost off of her desk and opened to the next turned-down page, unsure of what she would find. The passage was short and again haunting.
Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely; and pined his loss.
In the margins of the pages was a small sketch, and she looked, surprised, and realized that it was of a girl, the outlining minimal but the expression somehow peaceful, the lips turned up slightly and the eyes downcast in what appeared to be virtuous modesty. After a few moments of staring, she realized that it was her. Erik had drawn her small, round mouth and thin nose with only a few lines of ink. The drawing faded into nothing at the neck, but she blushed just looking at it.
Her hands shook holding the book, and she sat down on the bed again, staring hard at the page. Why. Why. Why. The questions kept flooding, and she shut her eyes for a few moments, trying to breathe. What was she supposed to do now? She had quit school for this—this stupid research project! And it was going nowhere. Raoul would have been so disappointed in her…
Christine put the book aside and pressed her hands over her face, hearing the front door open and close, meaning Rebecca had just come back to the apartment. To her continued annoyance, there was a knock on her door.
"Christine? I'm back! Want to get some sushi with me for dinner?"
Hoping her voice sounded normal, Christine called, "No...no, thanks. I'm really swamped with homework. Sorry. Have fun."
A pause. "Okay. See you...later." A few minutes later, and Rebecca had left again, the apartment once again silent.
Brushing her hair out of her face, Christine grabbed the book again, taking a deep breath. As she scanned the pages, she saw another passage, and she stared at it.
Awake, arise or be forever fall'n.
Erik had not marked this one, but it seemed to enter into her and shake her. Her mind began to flood with protests and objections. She couldn't possibly...It wasn't really even feasible…
But why not?
What was holding her back? There was no school, no job...definitely no boyfriend. She had the money, and she definitely had the time. That was why she stopped going to school, wasn't it? For things like this? And it was another huge stroke of luck. It was England, where they spoke English. It wasn't Iran or...or...who knew where else. China. Russia. Anywhere else.
Feeling energized but petrified, she pulled the laptop toward her, her mind already reeling with possibilities and preparation. She would need a passport, a ticket...She would need to research the area, find somewhere to stay, find out where 32 Warriner Gardens actually was.
As she began looking at the passport requirements, she felt something like girlish thrill overtake her. Just like every other young woman, she had always dreamed of traveling.
You will see the great cities of the world. You shall rule over them with your voice. Simply pick anywhere on any map, and I will whisk you away at your command.
Well, I'd have to finish college first before I go anywhere, Erik!
Nonsense. The world will be your teacher. I will be your teacher.
Would you really do that? Would you really take me places?
Yes. For you, I would. For you.
He would never take her to any of the great cities of the world. She would go alone and chase after the ghost of a man who did not want to be found.
And who knew if any of it would be worth it.