A/N: If you're the kind of person who doesn't pay attention to dates, I just want to draw your attention to the 13 year time jump from the beginning of the last chapter. Don't worry, though... we'll get back to the adventures of 'Little Erik' soon!
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1854
Bastien stood upon a chair with a twisted bedsheet coiled around his neck. Every few seconds, he would squeeze his eyes shut, take his foot off the chair…
And then set it back down again.
He'd done this again and again for nearly an hour, weeping openly but somehow unable to make that final step. He had nothing, nobody… the army didn't want him anymore now that they'd taken his leg. Sophie didn't want him; he scared her too much. He was just a freak in a house full of freaks. He shifted his weight again.
And that is when it happened. The lights extinguished all at once and he felt the chair being kicked out from underneath him. He found that he did not die immediately, as he had hoped, but he was quite helpless and unable to breathe. He panicked and opened his eyes, shocked to find twin flames staring back at him… like a cat from the pits of Hell.
"Second thoughts?" said an amused voice. Bastien tried to respond but a weak gurgle was all that emerged.
Erik stood beside him, impassively watching as his legs swing uselessly and his frantic fingers claw at the cloth tightening around his throat. Just as the burning eyes were about to fade out of existence, Bastien felt a light tug before dropping into an ungraceful heap on the ground. Air rushed into his lungs and he felt the world beginning to spin.
"Erik… I…" he rasped, clutching his throat, but he was abruptly cut off by a sharp kick to his ribs. The masked man said nothing, his eyes completely unreadable as he beat him senseless on the stone floor.
Bastien passed out still wondering if the man was a monster or a savior.
Later – much later – Bastien awoke in his bed, aching all over but very much alive. With a groan, he rolled over and saw a number of elixirs on his bedside table, along with a card, which read:
"Drink these and report to me for orders. -E"
He read it several times before turning it over the card and seeing the message on the back:
"If you care to repeat that, come and see me first. I can do it more efficiently."
When he finally gathered the nerve to lift himself out of bed, he found his weathered crutches to be missing. In their place lay an intricately carved walking cane and a polished wooden leg that seemed to have been expertly customized to someone of his weight and height.
The masked man never acknowledged the incident and brushed off Bastien's attempts to express his gratitude… but the fact remained that, on that day, he had earned Bastien's unwavering devotion.
One person at a time, Erik built himself a kingdom.
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1864
By the third morning, Christine felt much better. In fact, she felt well enough to leave Rose's side for short increments to explore on her own.
Rose did not seem to mind at all. "Just use your best judgment, my dear," she'd mildly cautioned. She did not seem overly concerned with Christine wandering as long as she did it during the daytime.
The – house, mansion… whatever it was – was a bit less intimidating now that she had the basic layout of the place. She still found it impossible to comprehend the idea of living out the rest of her life here but… one day at a time. As her initial shock had worn off, she found herself in this odd between-world of shadowed hull and sobbing wreck. The side she leaned toward seemed to change from one moment to the next.
It was awfully silent in this house. Rose had a way of gently forcing people into idle chatter but, today, with Rose off doing her 'rounds' elsewhere, Christine was confronted with the natural quiet in the halls. 'Unnatural quiet' was probably a better description for it, now that she knew just how many people resided in this place.
She supposed it was for the better. After the last day or so, she wasn't sure she had the emotional fortitude to keep up conversation with anyone. Especially not one of… them. Dozens of people, mentally off… and visibly deformed. Artificially deformed! Her mind screamed. She tried to bury the thought; it seemed too much to absorb at the moment.
But where did all these people come from? She knew enough from circus leaflets that such individuals existed… but so many? All in one place? And why did they stay here with… him? Surely Erik could not keep them all as prisoners… at least not by himself. He might be an extraordinary person, but they outnumbered him, considerably. Unless he has help. Is Rose in on this conspiracy as well?
In the corner of her vision, she saw an inconspicuous door swing open long enough for a ray of natural sunlight to sneak in. Suddenly the walls felt unbearably stifling. She struggled for breath but felt as if she was being squeezed from all directions.
I have to get out! I can't stay here! She looked longingly at the closed door. I am not running. I just need some air. I am not running away. Surely Erik wouldn't begrudge me a moment in the sun!
As quietly as possible, she followed the person outside, into the brisk winter air.
-0-0-
The door did not lead to the front gates – a fact which made her both grateful and disappointed – but ejected her into an impressively large garden. Many of the plants had lost their leaves, but she suspected the view would be spectacular come spring. It was immaculately kept; whoever tended it must take great pride in his work.
"If you fancied a stroll, young lady, you should have dressed more appropriately. Or perhaps you have forgotten the time of year?"
She turned quickly and saw a smartly-dressed man staring down at her.
"I… I didn't… I wasn't…" she stuttered, giving a panicked glance at the building she'd just left.
"Nonsense," the man said. He did not seem angry… in fact, he removed his own cloak and draped it over her shoulders. "It is easy to become stifled this time of year. There is no harm in fresh air. Still… I do not believe the Master would approve of his new pet catching a chill."
"A pet? Is that what I am, then?" she asked, accepting the coat and tugging it close.
He shrugged. "Truly, Mademoiselle… none of us is really certain what you are or why you are here." He gave a sad smile. "I am Bastien, by the way."
She extended her hand. "I am—"
"Christine. I know," he said, dutifully bowing and lightly kissing her knuckles. It was a chivalrous gesture – oft for granted elsewhere but a rare phenomenon here – and brought a smile to her lips. She doubted Erik would ever be such a gentleman.
Though… she was fairly certain she would die if he touched her thus.
When the man offered her his arm, Christine did not hesitate to grasp it. Together, they strolled through the frozen garden.
Bastien was a tall man – perhaps even taller than Erik, in inches, though not in aura – and had a very somber expression. Something about him made Christine think he was probably a military man at some point. He walked with a gentleman's cane, but she suspected it was more than an affectation for him. He seemed to be hiding a limp. She pretended not to notice.
Still, he had kind, blue eyes that appealed to Christine greatly, despite his stern appearance. Perhaps it was the glimmer of awareness that seemed to be lacking in most of the other people she met.
Whatever the reason, Christine found herself becoming increasingly fond of the man.
"I like you, mademoiselle. You reminded me very much of my daughter. She was about your age when she had me sent here, you know."
"Sent here? What is that supposed to mean?" she grabbed his sleeve and forced him to turn to her. He wobbled a bit but caught himself, shooting her a look of embarrassment. "Please, sir, you must tell me… are you a prisoner here? Has something happened to you?"
"Haha!" he barked, "You have no idea where you are, do you, mademoiselle?"
"Well… no… I suppose I just assumed…"
"No, no, it is fine. You just caught me by surprise. I… I am sorry to admit that I went through a particularly shameful period in my life after the accident," he patted his weak leg, "and I'm afraid I had simply driven the poor girl to her wits' end. I do not blame Sophie – God rest her soul – I think she truly feared I might do harm to someone. I was a much different man, back then."
"How long ago was that?" she asked, mentally trying to put pieces together. He was different than so many others… perhaps he had not been here as long? Could he be an ally? Was he still lucid enough to help her find some escape to this nightmare?
"Oh my… it… why, it has to be nearly ten years now. I think I have lost track of time. That sounds about right, though. Master Erik had only just come, himself. He didn't really want me here, you know, but he had his hands full with the place after he replaced that doctor fellow. He told me, if I could follow orders, I could stay. And after I got word that Sophie's carriage never made it home… well… I really had nowhere else to go. I've been serving him ever since."
So he does have help! I knew it. He is… he is… one of them. He may look normal, but he is one of them.
The cloak slipped off Christine's shoulders as she stepped back. With a frown, Bastien replaced it. "Forgive me," he said, "I seem to have frightened you. Have I said something wrong?"
"No… yes… I do not know. You seem so kind… but you serve him. Why? Are you not afraid?"
"I believe everyone ought to have a healthy fear of Master Erik. He is a dangerous man, and it would be foolish to think otherwise. But… our life is a simple one. We obey him and he protects us."
"Protection?" she spat. "Is that what you call it?"
"It does not matter what we call it. This is our life… and it is yours now, too."
"But are you not… trapped here?"
"Not that I know of," he answered, honestly. "Though, now that you mention it, I do not believe I have ever seen anyone leave."
"Does that not strike you as suspicious?"
"Why should it? Erik has ensured that none of us would ever want to leave."
Again Christine felt as if her chest was compressed… though this time she did not have the excuse of being trapped indoors.
"Are you quite alright, mademoiselle? Have I offended you again?"
She excused herself, pointing out the quickly-turning weather, and fled inside as quickly as she could.
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Rose was pleasantly surprised when Erik requested – well, demanded, but she expected no less – to join her for tea after the midday meal. He gave no reason wanting to see her and he mostly ignored her many attempts to engage him in conversation. He took no tea for himself, either. Though, she supposed, that was understandable; if he still wore masks like the ones he favored as a boy, it would be impossible to eat or drink.
"You know, Erik, if you are thirs—"
"No."
There was a tender part of her, almost motherly, that urged Rose to press the matter, but experience told her not to bother. Erik knew his own mind and did not react well to force. And he was too smart for coercion; her dear César had seen to that, years ago.
So she sat beside his desk, sipped her tea, and waited to find out whatever it was Erik needed. And, if that was merely some quiet company, she was happy to offer it.
Time passed, and the silence was finally broken by a loud rap on the door.
"Enter."
Uneven footsteps and the clicking of a cane. "Bastien," Rose greeted with a welcoming smile, "how have you been?"
Erik interrupted in his businesslike tone. "Capitaine. You have news?"
"I do, sir. I have received word from the man you had following Daae. Whatever it is you wrote in your letter… apparently he has headed away from us. In the opposite direction, actually, back toward the city. Do you still want him watched?"
Erik was mildly surprised at this. He knew Daae would give up… he just did not expect it to be so soon. He does not understand his daughter's worth. "No… no I believe not. Just notify me if he is seen again, in town."
"Understood, sir."
Bastien turned to leave, but seemed to change his mind at the last minute. "She's a nice girl, Daae's daughter. I spoke to her some, this afternoon."
"Your opinion is irrelevant. Was something said that I should be aware of?"
"She seems frightened. I think—"
"It is not necessary for me to know what you think. You are to write down every word of your conversation – leave nothing out! – and bring me the transcription."
"I… ah… as you wish, sir. I'll get it to you within the hour."
"Erik, is that really necessary?" Rose protested. This behavior seemed excessive, even for him.
"See that you do," Erik said, ignoring Rose completely.
Then, in a milder tone, Erik added, "Wait! Before you go… what can you report on that new infusion I gave you?"
The man's posture relaxed slightly and he almost-smiled. "It seems to be working. I have slept better, at least."
"You will inform me if you experience any more nausea or headaches."
"Of course, sir."
"Very well. Dismissed."
When the man left, Erik made a thoughtful sound.
"It is a shame," Rose commented, "that he should die so young."
"It is," Erik agreed. And it was a shame. He was older than Erik, but should have had many good years, yet.
"You should tell him."
"I think not."
Rose paused… arguing with Erik was futile, anyway. Instead she asked, "Will you sing his Requiem?"
"I will. I always do, you know, you need not pester me about it. Besides… the poor man is not gone yet. You will not bury him – mentally, of course! Do not look at me like that! – before his time."
Now it was Rose's turn to hum.
"What?"
"Nothing, really. It is just that I have never seen you express sorrow over another. Not since you were a boy. Something has changed in you, and I suspect I know what it is."
"Nonsense! I merely find it… frustrating. It is the same illness that killed the prince and it is no more curable now than it was, then."
"You know, you have never told me much about Persia."
"Nor will I."
They sat in silence for a time, just reflecting. Something bothered Rose. Erik seemed tense – he often was, she suspected, but it was never apparent – and she suddenly felt the pressing need to reassure him in some way. "You have done all you can for him. You know that."
"For all the difference it makes to him," he said with a sneer. Quieter, he added, "For all the difference it makes to Christine."
Ah. So that is what this is about. "You might consider telling her, then. It might… alter her opinion of you."
Erik scoffed. "Yes, I can see that conversation going well. She will probably accuse me of holding him for ransom and poisoning him when he refused to pay. The girl has a habit of jumping to conclusions."
"She does have a judgmental streak, I'll give you that. From her father, no doubt."
"Christine once said that she loved her father because he was all she had. Now I am all she has… so… she must love me, yes?"
"Oh, Erik, has love become so important to you?"
"Not in general, no. But… it would certainly make things easier."
"In what way?"
"When a person believes himself – or herself, that is – to be in love, they would give anything for the object of their affection." He'd seen it, heard it, read about it a hundred times. People bragged and lamented of it in turns, depending on who was besotted with whom. He found the whole notion objectionable on a number of levels.
"He said he loved me!" the gypsy girl cried. "How could I have been such a fool?"
"Because you are a fool," Erik answered.
The girl screamed, looking up at the boy who was staring at her from high up in a tree. "YOU! What are you doing up there? Why are you out of your cage?"
"Anyone with eyes could see that he only wanted to advance his position in the camp. The daughter of an elder allowed herself to be blinded… he'd have to be an imbecile not to exploit that! I know I'd never waste an opportunity like that."
"Well then I guess it's good no one will ever love you, isn't it?" she snapped. "Get back in your cage or I'll… I'll scream!"
Erik shrugged and swung his legs, gesturing to the commotion beginning to stir in the heart of the camp. "It will not matter, soon. But – " he added with a wicked grin, "I shall make you a deal. If you do not scream, then I promise not to kill you. Your new husband will likely die this night, and your father is long gone… but, keep your silence and I shall spare you. You can start afresh… and learn, this time, to keep your weakness better guarded."
She screamed anyway, turning toward the camp. "Run Dmitri! Save yourself!"
Erik rolled his eyes; she was preparing to die for someone who did not return her love. A wonder humanity doesn't collapse in on itself! "Well, off I go," he said, dropping gracefully out of the tree. "Best of luck to you."
"You're not going to kill me?" she asked. An impish giggle was her only reply. She looked for its source… but the corpse-boy was gone.
Erik shook off the unbidden memory with a roll of his shoulders. It proved his point, though, he supposed. If Christine loved him, surely she would give him what he wanted.
Then why did that idea make him slightly ill? He found he did not want to exploit her. Well, he did… but he didn't.
Rose's voice centered him. "What is it you seek, Erik? Is it her voice?"
Erik waved his hand, searching for words that were not forthcoming. "Yes… no. No, the voice is the medium. I want the source. I want that… something… that exudes from her very soul. I hear it when she sings, but it disappears when she returns to earth."
"What would you give for that something, Erik? What would you give to Christine."
"The world," he said without hesitation, adding, "the stars, if she asked."
Rose's laughter was loud and incredulous, but she was quick to rein it in.
"WHAT?" Erik snapped. He did not appreciate mockery.
"Oh, dear boy... you are as blind as I, some days."
He looked up at her. Jewel eyes, striking against her pale complexion… only the most delicate of scarring around the sockets. The surgery had been masterfully – almost lovingly – done. Just finding matching sapphires of that size must have taken months… at least.
He touched his own mask, contemplated removing it, but decided against it. He refreshed Rose's tea, just to give his hands something to do. Never fidget, Erik.
"Daae is gone. He made the wrong choice."
"Yes?"
"I believe he will return. But… but it will be too late, no?"
"You would know better than I, Erik. Can you remember? If your mother had changed her mind, would you have forgiven her?"
"I have no mother."
"Well, that answers that question, then! Erik?"
"Mm?"
"You, too, will have to make a choice someday. Will you remember this conversation?"
He looked offended at that. "Erik does not forget."
"Bastien said he likes Christine. I like her, too. She reminds me of myself at that age."
"Do not say that again."
"Is she pretty? Have you told her so? César used to go on and on about how pretty I was."
"Yes, well, he was the expert when it came to beauty," he sneered. "I am finished talking about this."
"You know, I do believe this is the longest conversation I've ever had with you. We should do this again."
He sighed. "You do seem to have a knack for drawing out idle chatter. Have you been teaching Christine your interrogation techniques? Or have you spoken to her as I ordered you to do some time ago?"
"Do not bother. I am immune to your sarcasm, Erik. You forget… I've seen the worst and came out unscathed."
"Unscathed, you say?" Erik knew he was being uncharitable, but he did not have the patience for one of Rose's forgetful spells. "Pray tell, madame, how do you know that you've seen the worst? How much have you seen lately."
"My word! That was cruel of you, Erik. I was born this way; it was no fault of mine… you, of all people, should know how difficult that can be.
"Born? Are you m—" he began, before catching himself. Carefully, he asked, "Rose… do you know where you are right now?"
"I am right where I am supposed to be," she answered, with a cheery smile. "Will you tell my husband that I'll have his supper ready in an hour?"
"Tell him yourself, madame… if you can find him," he countered sharply, as he rose from his chair. Erik groaned inwardly, then added, "There is tea to your right. Do not burn yourself."
Erik left, though his keen ears could still hear her behind the closed door.
"I like Mlle. Daae. She reminds me of myself at that age."
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"I hear you have been making friends today."
"Is that not allowed?"
Erik looked at Christine thoughtfully. "You should stay away from him," he responded, simply.
"W-why?"
Erik glanced away. "Because personal attachments are hazardous. If something unfortunate happened… it would make you cry."
"Are you… is that a threat?"
"It is not." He responded, honestly. Then – considering the matter closed – he turned and began sorting through sheet music. Christine frowned when he did not elaborate. She was never sure what to make of his succinct responses… but was beginning to suspect it was just his way.
"I just… I liked having someone to talk to. Everybody else…" she trailed off, not quite sure how to delicately describe her fellow housemates. "Erik, I must ask you… what is this place?"
Erik paused in his activity and turned to her. "What does your mind tell you, Christine?" he asked her soberly.
"Well… it is too big to be just a house. At first I thought it a boarding house… but it is so remote. A hospital, since I have seen people moving about in sleepwear… but no one ever leaves. Except my father, of course," she added with a touch of bitterness.
Erik steepled his fingers, urging her to work out a conclusion. "Whom have you met? What information have you gathered?"
"People… unusual people. Not sick but…" her eyes darted away, "You know what I speak of. Do not make me say it."
"I see. And what do they call this place?"
"Home."
"That answer is unacceptable to you?"
"It is. This is not my home… no matter what you insist. I'd just like to know what to call my prison."
If Erik took offense to her assertion, he did not show it. Instead, he merely tilted his head and considered her through hooded eyes. At last, he leaned forward on his elbows and gave her an answer. "A sanctuary, Christine. A place for people to live out their lives in peace, away from a society that despises them."
"A sanctuary?" she said, eyes widening as the pieces came together. "This is a lunatic asylum, isn't it? I… I should have seen it. Is everybody here mad?" She shuddered, wondering what horrid things were really going through the minds of the disturbed individuals she'd been interacting with every day.
"Wake up, girl!" Erik shouted. "The world is mad! We… we just are the unwanted ones."
"What does that mean?"
"The epileptics, the infirm… embarrassments to their families. Inconvenient people who needed to disappear. Just look at the twins, whose only crime was to be born bastards!"
"Jean-Pierre and Jacques? But they are… they are…" she winced, wondering if she'd stepped too far. But… they looked so unnatural. Surely that was why their families refused to claim them.
"Enough!" he snapped. "You know nothing! You and your… loving family and privileged life," she opened her mouth to protest, but he continued in a mocking tone, "Sweet Christine, so kind to everyone… so afraid of everything. Speaks her mind but never thinks."
There was a pause as Erik seemed to be panting for breath.
"You did that to them, didn't you?" Christine said as a horrifying realization began to dawn on her. "Rose… the twins… you're the reason they're like that! Why? Why would you do such a horrible thing? Is it so they couldn't leave? Are you so desperate for company that you would –"
"Get out, Christine."
"What do you have planned for me?"
"Get out!"
"Are you going to disfigure me, too?"
"OUT!"
With a cry, she left… but just before she disappeared out the door, Erik stopped her. "I do not need to do anything to you, Christine. In case you have forgotten, you are here in exchange for your dear father's life. Keep your pretty face. You belong to me, dear, and nothing will ever change that."
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