Education of the Heart

Breaking Point

Christine's visit left Erik in such a depressed state of mind he was no longer able to do anything. He had given himself up and refused to eat or to drink, he would not sleep and not even play music. He just lay on his back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He would have killed himself, if he had the strength and willpower to do that, but right now he couldn't do even that.

Dr. Benevole had given him two days, then he worried the man might suffer from dehydration. So he went up with some of Erik's favorite tea and entered uninvited. Erik did not react to the doctor sitting down on a chair beside his bed. He stared at the ceiling unblinking, his face naked but he did not care about that.

"You need to drink something," Dr. Benevole said.

Erik ignored him.

"You have to drink!"

Erik still ignored him.

Dr. Benevole grabbed his shoulder and forced him to sit up. Then he pushed the cup in Erik's hands. "Drink!" he ordered sternly.

Erik looked at the cup and decided it was less strenuous to drink than to fight the doctor. He did not want to fight now, he wanted nothing but to be left in peace. Forever, if possible. He put the empty cup down and sank back on his bed.

"Talk to me," Dr. Benevole demanded.

"Leave me alone," Erik snarled, but he did not manage to sound menacing, he was too exhausted, too depressed.

"After our talk, yes."

"What do you want? Get it over with!" Erik snapped irritated.

"How do you feel?"

"Like dead shit," Erik answered honestly. Both men fell silent for a long time. Finally it was Erik who spoke up first. "She said it was not my face but my mind that was deformed," he whispered, "I did not want to hurt her, but... I did."

Dr. Benevole nodded. Now they were getting somewhere. Erik obviously had needed to be pushed beyond any limits of his endurance to accept that he was not as sane as he thought he was.

Erik suddenly sat up and looked at the doctor. "She said she hoped you would be able to help me," he said, "Maybe she is right. Maybe I really need help. I do not want to be one of those vile men who beat up women. I do not want to hurt her when I lose my temper. She is wrong and she will accept that one day - and I will be there for her then. But I want to be the one she can come to whenever she needs help - I do not want to be the one she's running from. Can you help me with that?"

The doctor smiled. Finally. His patient was finally ready to admit that he needed help. "Yes, I do think so," he answered gently, "There are techniques to control your temper. I can teach you."

Erik nodded, he looked very sad but not as hopeless as before. Obviously he had found a way to live with Christine's choice - he was sure she would come back one day and he would patiently wait for her. This was surely not what the doctor had hoped for, but as long as it would not harm anyone, this was not high on his priority list.

"I want to be Christine's friend, if I can't be anything else. The one she can trust with everything, the one she can turn to whenever she needs help," Erik said, "Can you teach me how to be a friend? I don't know... I never had any friend."

Erik's attitude changed dramatically. He no longer was the self-confident man feeling superior to everyone. He was torn between accepting Christine's refusal and giving up all hope and carefully nurturing that tiny hope that he might build up a friendship with her so she would one day come back to him when she recognized her relationship with the Vicomte was a mistake. He could not let go of that tiny hope, he needed it so he would not kill himself. Far too often he thought about hanging himself in his room, ending his life of suffering. But every time he tried he lost his determination when the instinct kicked in and the lack of air caused panic - he would always free himself from the noose before he lost consciousness and might have died.

The training with the doctor was unusual. The doctor tried his best to teach Erik different techniques to keep his temper in check and then he tried to provoke him so he could use them, but Erik was far too depressed to feel any anger. He sat there, listened to what he was told, but he could not bring himself to do anything more. They spend weeks like that, the doctor telling him something and Erik not really listening and not able to participate.

Nothing could get Erik's attention, not even when the doctor told him that he had seen the wolf hunting a rabbit with her little ones. Erik did not even react when the doctor sat down at the piano and played something. Dr. Benevole was no pianist but he could play a little bit. He had hoped to get Erik's attention but Erik didn't even bother to tell him that his playing was not good.

Dr. Benevole noticed that Erik suddenly insisted in wearing shawls despite the warm weather. It was summer, so why would he wear a shawl? "Are you cold?" he asked.

As usual, Erik did not show much reaction other than a indifferent shrug. Dr. Benevole slowly edged closer and grabbed the shawl. He was shocked to see the bruises on his patient's throat. "What have you done?" the doctor gasped horrified. He had thought Erik was one of those men who would turn their aggression against others and not against themselves. At least he knew that Erik had always hurt or threatened others when he was upset.

"Not enough," Erik answered in an emotionless voice as if he was talking about something utterly boring.

"You tried to kill yourself!"

"I didn't succeed. What a surprise - when did I ever accomplish in anything?"

"When did you try to hang yourself?" the doctor demanded.

Erik shrugged again and lifted his hands, showing seven fingers.

"Seven times? My god!" the doctor gasped, "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you ask for help?"

That got Erik's attention and he asked: "Would you have helped me? I'd prefer to die painlessly. Maybe an overdose of some sleeping drug?"

"No, certainly not! Erik, you suffer a clinical depression, you certainly need help to overcome that!"

Erik turned away and stared out of the window. "Why do you keep feeding me? I would have died of dehydration long ago if you hadn't forced me to eat and drink. There is nothing to live for. Nothing at all. My life is such a waste - I can't do anything, I don't have anything to live for, no one will ever like me. If God had any mercy he would let me die."

"Erik, that is not true," Dr. Benevole objected gently, "There are so many things you can do. Your music..."

"...is worthless without her," Erik snapped.

"But you do have so many talents, you are such a gifted man, surely you could do something with that, do something good and I am sure there will be people who can come to like you," Dr. Benevole said, trying to sound cheerful.

Erik sank down on his bed and covered his head with his pillow. Not a very mature behaviour, but Dr. Benevole understood it was better to leave him alone now.

A few days later the two doctors sat discussing the patients current condition.

"I think he suffered depression before," the supervising doctor said, "You see, while you have been trying to get him interested in anything, I read every newspaper article and I had two students look up every newspaper article they could find about the Phantom. And I had another one going through every police report concerning the opera house. The Phantom used to disappear for weeks, sometimes months, every so often. When he came back it was always with a spectacular scene to re-establish his dominance. I think that man is manic-depressive. In a depressive phase of that illness he hides like a wounded animal and in a manic phase he knows no limits and thinks he can accomplish everything he wants. That is when he is most dangerous - in a manic episode he knows no limits and focuses so much on his goals he does not see anything else. When he's depressed, he does nothing at all."

Dr. Benevole gave this some thought. "Maybe. After the chandelier crash he vanished for six months and came back at the masquerade dressed as Red Death demanding his opera to be staged. We have seen him in both states, I think, but failed to see it for we were too prejudiced by the label 'criminal insanity'. Maybe it is not criminal insanity at all, maybe it is just his manic episodes he can't control."

"You like him, don't you?" the supervising doctor warned, "He might be a manic-depressive man but at the same time he lacks every empathy. He's a sociopath. Have you seen how he reacted to the confrontation with two of his victims? He has an issue with sopranos."

"On the contrary, while he's obsessed with Mademoiselle Daae he hates La Carlotta," Dr. Benevole replied, "I thought about confronting him with other victims as well, but I was not sure - he suffered depression and we mistook it for lovesickness, he tried to kill himself right under our noses and we never knew. I am not sure if another confrontation will do any good."

"You said he might need to be pushed over any limits of his endurance before he accepts that he has to change somehow. Another confrontation might help him overcome his depression."

"What? Invite the managers and let him give them a lengthy lecture why they should turn over their office to him?"

The supervising doctor chuckled. He could imagine that all too well. "No, I got another letter. There is a woman who wants to see him."

"No, not another ballet rat who just wants to satisfy her curiosity! He's not an exotic animal in a zoo!" Dr. Benevole exclaimed angrily.

"No, her name is Madame Buquet. She's the widow of the stagehand he killed and she says she wants to see him face to face and ask him why he murdered her husband."

Erik was not happy when he was told who wanted to see him and refused outright to see her. "She has no right, I never even saw her, I did nothing to her. She does not qualify as victim, certainly not."

Dr. Benevole sighed. Obviously Erik was just recovering from the depression, which was good, but he had found his disputatiousness again. "You killed her husband," he replied, "Since he can't confront you now I think his widow as the closest relative certainly has that right now."

"You take the responsibility!" Erik snapped.

This time the meeting was arranged to be in the hall again, with all guards and care workers on alert. They would not risk another violent tantrum from Erik. If there was need to restrain him, they would see to it.

Erik wore a dark grey suit and paced the hall impatiently as the carriage that had fetched the woman arrived. Madame Buquet was an elderly woman with grey hair. She wore a shabby brown dress but no blouse and no shoes. She looked pale despite the summer sun, slim - her dress was too large on her - and had dark circles around the eyes.

She did not greet anyone, just went up to Erik to look at him. "I wanted to see you face to face," she demanded, "Not face to mask."

Erik inhaled sharply and answered coldly: "I will not being stared at like an animal in a zoo. If you have something to say, do so. If not, stop wasting my time." As cold and haughty as always. Both doctors sighed in annoyance.

"Then you are just a coward," Madame Buquet replied calmly. Erik reached up for his mask and wig and removed them, waiting for her to scream, to faint or to run in terror. She did nothing like that, she just looked at him and nodded.

"I guessed that much, you are deformed," Madame Buquet said, "I want to tell you about my husband. Joseph was a very kind man. Not a clever man, not an educated man, but a good-natured and hard working stagehand. We have five children and he was such a devoted father, he didn't just do his job as stagehand but had another job too running errands for the managers to earn the extra money we needed to pay the school fees. He wanted all our children to graduate and learn a decent profession so they would have a good live in the future."

Erik shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like to hear that the man he had killed was a good husband and father.

"I know he did talk a bit about you - but who didn't? Was that why you killed him? Because he gave a description of your face that is not even true?" Madame Buquet asked, still in full control of her emotions.

Erik shook his head slightly, still holding eye-contact with her, not replacing his mask or wig. It made him uncomfortable to have her looking in his face and showing no reaction at all. It would have been easier to hate her if she had shown any reaction at all, be it disgust, fear, hatred, whatever. But she did nothing, she looked at him with the same expression as she would look upon any other face. Maybe after all she knew about him, she had expected him to look even worse?

"No?" Madame Buquet seemed to be surprised, "Then why did you do it? Why did you kill my poor Joseph, the only man I ever loved, the man who loved me and our children so much? When he died you destroyed us with him. We couldn't pay the school fee, we couldn't pay the rent for our flat, we lost everything. My children and I are beggars on the street now, my eldest son is in prison for he stole some bread. You did not just kill Joseph - you destroyed all our lives. I would have kept silent if it was just about me - but my son is in prison, there's a mark on his record and he will never get any job, his life is ruined once and for all and he's just fourteen. My younger son and the three girls had to leave school and without any graduation they will never find any work. The girls tried to work in a factory but they are too young, they don't have the strength. I can't work for my right hand is crippled." She held up her hand - it looked like it had been smashed by something very heavy and healed together as a clump of disorganized flesh and bones. "With only one hand who would hire me? Monsieur, when you killed Joseph you condemned me and our five children to a fate worse than death."

Erik stood stock still and kept his face neutral as much as possible. He would have loved to clasp his hands over his ears or run away or shout at her for her words caused him so much pain. It was a physical pain he felt in his chest, as if she had stabbed him through the heart. He tried to hold back the tears that suddenly threatened to fall from his eyes and give away his weakness, trying to swallow the lump in his throat that made it difficult to breathe.

"I came here to ask you why you destroyed us all," Madame Buquet said, her voice trembling as she began to cry, "Why did you murder him? Why did you destroy us all? Just because he was in your way?"

"He wasn't even in my way," Erik whispered, his voice did not obey him now, "I just used him as a warning." He did not know what to do now. He felt like the whole weight of his guilt crushed down on him in that moment as he realized what he had done. He had not just murdered an innocent man, a man who had done nothing to deserve his wrath, and destroyed the lives of his wife and their children.

Madame Buquet still held eye contact but Erik could no longer. He lowered his eyes and his shoulders slumped in defeat. Could he tell her he was sorry? It was such an empty phrase after all he had done to her.

She turned round and started to leave, her head high, even dressed in rags and barefooted she had the dignity of a queen.

As soon as the door closed behind her Erik sank to the floor and curled up in a small ball, crying silently. Dr. Benevole signaled the other men to leave them alone, then knelt down beside Erik and gently touched his shoulder.

Erik's head jerked up and he looked at the doctor in utter despair. "I can't live with that," Erik whispered, "I can't."

"Come here," Dr. Benevole ordered gently and pulled him into his embrace, holding the other man like one would hold a child as Erik lost control of his emotions. He felt like the solid damn he had build to hold back the flood of guilt and remorse had crumbled and the tidal wave was drowning him. He no longer cared if the doctor might think him utterly mad or if he made a fool of himself, he allowed the doctor to hold him like a frightened child and cried in that pain that seemed to tear him apart.

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Most people like to forget about Buquet as if he was not important. But I rather like to think that he was an ordinary working class man with a family. So his death would affect his wife and his children. Now Erik has to face the ugly consequences of the murder he committed so carelessly.