Chap 20

Erik sat on the bench in the parlor, eyes closed. With his fingertips he stroked the smooth wood on the lid of the piano, sliding them gently over the varnished, polished surface. Slowly he opened the lid of the piano and with open eyes he silently stroked the ebony and ivory keys with feathery touches, from the angelic highs to the lows that reverberated, teetering on the edge of perception. He did not need to make the hammers touch the strings; the sounds each key would make rang within his mind, his fingers gently moving as they played a silent, ethereal air.

Erik needed to find calm. He felt an urge to run away and hide like a child who had been exposed to too much too fast. He yearned for tranquility, salvation from the storm of human drama into which he had been flung over the last day. The strain of socializing with others seemed so foreign and difficult to him. He never knew what to say or do, and struggled to find words, even though his brilliant mind did it so rapidly, the persons around him were unaware of the turmoil within him. He felt a longing for solitude. That thought brought him comfort. He needed to be alone with his thoughts and with his music, if only for a short while, just enough time to dispel the tension growing within him.

Music, the muse of his life. The connection he felt with music was so deep, so unnatural, it was consuming. It was as if music had filled all the roles in his life until there was very little left outside of it. The memories of music came relatively easily, sometimes alone, but usually linked to deep emotion. If he concentrated, he could remember music without the pain. He placed both hands on the top of the piano and rested his face against the cold, hard, smooth wood. He started to play with his uninjured hand, touching only single notes at a time. He felt the music vibrate through the strings, the wood, then to his skull, reaching his ears.

Yes, here you are. Music, sweet music. You are the cloth to catch my tears, the whipping post for my terrible anger, that which I play with unbridled passion and incredible lust. You, my blind, insensate, friend; you, my fickle lover. I betray you now. No longer are you sufficient comfort for my soul. You never were, really, were you? I remember loneliness under your care, sadness in your invisible arms, despair so deep it hurt physically. How did I expect to find comfort in a thing without warm blood, without soft flesh to melt into, without a caring touch to soothe me, a sweet mouth to utter a loving word ? I am yearning for that touch. I will never be gifted with that joy. That I know.

He felt on the precipice of a dangerous perch, with the sense that the fall would shatter him. He distracted the negative thoughts by thinking about the conversation he had earlier with Dr. Dyson. His hand wondering over the keys began playing a disturbing melody.

They were alone in the big, bright kitchen when Dr. Dyson changed his line of questioning from lighthearted banter to business.

"Do you remember where you were going that night?" asked Dr. Dyson, the clasped hands and raised brow revealing to Erik that he was in the presence of the physician.

"No." Said Erik, putting down his food. The question disturbed him, but why?

"Do you know where you had traveled from?"

"No." Erik kept his answers terse.

"Do you remember a friend, or loved one that we should contact?"

"No one cared for me, I feel it." Dr. Dyson's eyes flashed sadness when Erik spoke those words. Erik clasped his hand around the bench where he sat. The questions, though necessary and innocent were angering him.

"Do you remember where your home is?" Dr. Dyson leaned back and let Erik think. After a few moments with Erik staring downward, he responded.

"No."

This will be my last question, he already looks quite disturbed. Why is he becoming so agitated? I wonder what he is trying to hide. Is he lying? Are the answers that are hidden from him as well causing him discomfort? One thing is true; this line of questioning must be abandoned for now.

"I am sorry my questions are bothering you, Erik, but I felt the need to elicit some information before I tell you this," said Dr. Dyson as he got up.

"Yes?" Said Erik, who had nearly burned a hole in the table with his stare, turned his questioning eye to the good doctor.

"I think, given your post-traumatic state that you should not actively TRY to remember."

"Why?" Said Erik.

"From what I have been reading, it appears that to do so would only distress you more. Your brain, your mind needs time to heal, just like your body does. Trying to force memories from an injured brain, the experts say, may just be worse than letting them come together when they will."

"Then I should resign myself to forgetting it all? Everything in my past? I do not follow."

"No, what I mean is don't try to wrack your brain to dig up specific memories. As the parts of your brain heal, they should work fine, including, eventually, the areas that hold and process your memories. Don't torture yourself, Erik," Dr. Dyson said, taking a seat next to Erik again. "Just do that which makes you feel content and comfortable. Think upon the things that come with ease. Oh, and, most importantly, make sure you sleep well. That is the most important part of recovery for a healing brain, according to the recommendations set forth in the literature." Erik grunted his understanding, ruminating over sips of tea upon the on the doctor's recommendations.

"One problem: My sleep is well, quite disturbed at present."

By men with masks, and wandering, molesting, drunken women, He thought darkly.

"I can cure that problem with some elixir for sleep."

"What else can I say Dr. Dyson? I will try my best to obey to your instructions for my recovery," Erik said, resuming his breakfast.

Trying to not remember anything will be difficult indeed. At least I can start concentrating on the here and now, looking forward. Except for one thing.

"One thing I really would like to continue to remember is my music. It gives me great pleasure."

"If it causes you no mental discomfort, then be my guest." Dr. Dyson smiled. "Besides, I enjoy hearing music in the house, it brings back good memories. My wife, Clemencia used to play…"

They continued the discussion on a lighter note. From the discourse, Erik was able to witness the tenderness in his eyes as Dr. Dyson remembered his wife. With the telling of each vignette, glimpses into the life they shared together, the loving memory revealed how much he missed his darling Clemencia.

It is wonderful to love and be loved like that. Erik said, a sadness gripping him.

Bringing his mind back to the present, back in the parlor, Erik glanced at the staff paper he had taken from the drawer in the bench. Notes and markings unexpectedly began to swirl before his eyes. He started to write down the fleeting arrangement furiously, trying to get it all down before it vanished. The music played within him as he thought one instrument's part and played another. He found his voice and he hummed yet another part. The music that came was flooding him, the movements and chords harsh but leading, angst-ridden combinations, devilish and eerie, as if an evil was clawing its way from hell. It was both dissonant and perfect. He scrawled through many sheets of paper feverishly, his hand struggling to keep up with the music raging in his head with such energy, such biting fury.

Then, out of the clamoring din, a clear, high pitched, moving solo emerged, beautiful and pure. He saw her in his mind again, the beautiful, dark haired damsel. It no longer shocked him to imagine her, but her memory did upset him. A rose graced her dark hair, a low cut dress revealed white shoulders, and as she looked around, a sultry expression found his eyes, seducing him. Or was she taunting him?

Christine. Who is this woman who fills my thoughts, parading through my head like she lives there? A figment? No, she is real. I can sense it, and from the look on her face, there was something between us, but what? Oh, god. It is her voice in the solo. So, she is a singer, and I, a composer. The partnership seems to be a natural match. But she is so beautiful. I can feel something for her, but it is cloaked in anger, sadness, pain…Could she have possibly been with me? I think not. You are a fool, Erik.

What of this man on the gate in the cave? She ran to him, she embraced him. This is all very confusing. There are too many questions left unanswered.

He pushed the girl's beautiful face from his mind and again found solace in continuing to write his music. Discordant, the music was mentally stimulating, yet immensely calming as it flowed onto the paper and the keys. This was his communion, he felt more whole doing this than anything else he had experienced thus far in Capellen.

(BANG!)

Something had fallen heavily against the door.

Why can't I have more than a few moments of quiet in this place? Damn it!

"Hello? Who is it?" he said, trying to not sound irritated, waiting for the response.

The door handle turned slowly and opened. A pale looking Angelique looked at him with intense eyes. Erik looked at her cynically. She walked into the room, avoiding his glare. After she shut the door, she spoke.

"Hello Erik," she said softly as her eyes rose again to see him.

Ok, Angelique how are you going to do this again? The formal way does not seem appropriate. Begging for forgiveness will not seem believable. Good lord, his eyes could kill… She searched his expression for some clues as to what he was thinking.

"Hello Angelique." He said, crossing his arms, letting his displeasure in her intrusion show.

Angelique was very adept at the art of 'reading' people's minds, which was, in actuality, just finely honed perception. She had learned to notice the slightest changes in breathing, movement around the eyes, minute changes of the expression on the face. That, blended with the whole host of messages given off by the body, gives the 'mind reader' a good idea of the person's state of mind. Combine that with the correct statements to provoke the subconscious physical and emotional responses and Angelique usually had the answers to her questions, most of the time. Her gift was very useful in her career as an envoy.

He is breathing a little quicker than normal, his jaw is clenched, but his eyes are pensive and intense. I see; he is still quite angry but open to communicate. Good. I cannot really interpret his facial expressions well, his deformity is distracting me. God, do I feel ill.

The envoy decided to keep everything as simple and truthful as possible. No doubt, if this man was as intelligent as Elaine had said he was, he would not appreciate anything other than that.

"Is there any way we can just start over somehow, Monsieur Erik, on the right foot this time?" Angelique said, after a pregnant pause.

"What? And forget our morning together?" Erik was not willing to just let the fiasco of the morning just be pushed aside. Any of it. His instant, biting sarcasm surprised and pleased her.

I see; an opponent, how intriguing. You will not win a war of words against me, sir. But this is not about an exercise in legerdemain. I am actually too hung over. This is about apology. Groveling it is.

"Your room is the suite I usually stay in when I come to see the Dyson's. I thought it strange that I was not taken there yesterday when I arrived. I guess that I lost my way in the halls last night after a few drinks, and ended up in your room as a matter of habit."

"I would have expected a little more tact from a woman with your graces." Erik grumbled, the sarcasm thick.

"My initial reaction was a product of the situation. I was more shocked that a strange man was in what I thought was my room this morning..." She explained.

"You mean a strange monster." He said, glaring at her, not wanting to hide his irritation. She had ruined his fragile sense of normalcy. The room fell silent as Angelique's eyes closed.

"I am so sorry for everything, Erik. Words cannot describe how awful I feel about this morning. I had no right pushing you out of your bed, throwing things at you, and insulting you. Especially that. Please accept my apology." Her sincere plea had reached him, that she could see, but she also noticed a pained, bitter expression return to his face. This was not settled.

He started to play a slow, sad melody on the piano.

"What has Elaine told you about my situation?" He said, his eyes on the keyboard. He left the question open on purpose, just to see where she would go with it. Angelique knitted her brows.

"I know you were attacked, beaten nearly to death. Dr. Dyson found you and brought you here to get better. I know that, as a result of your injuries, you have very little recollection of your past. Why do you want to know?" Angelique left out the details of her discussion with Elaine that morning.

"These sweet people here have treated me with such kindness that I had also largely forgotten the abuse, the insults, the hatred aimed towards me, the ill treatment that had no doubt permeated my life. Until you reminded me how I appear to the rest of the world. A monster." As Erik said those words he glared at Angelique. His words hung heavily in the silence of the room. Angelique lowered her eyes. Erik noticed her getting paler and a little unsteady. She was shaking, just a little.

As the silence continued, Angelique began to get a little impatient, mainly because her head was pounding.

"Erik, I can't take back what I said. Or what I did. But I will be honest with you. Your deformity, and the way you looked did cause me quite the fright this morning. And the fact that you don't look like a raving maniac anymore helps. But now I am familiar with how you look and such vile words will not be uttered by me again," she said, noting his rather neat appearance. Had she seen him like this, her reaction would not have been as severe. She was beginning to feel a little nauseated and was hoping it did not show.

"I repulsed you. When even the mere suggestion was made that we…you were disgusted," he charged, wanting everything aired out.

"You are not repulsive. Trust me, I have seen worse. I was simply shocked and responded unkindly. Look, Erik; I know how much Elaine cares about you. I really hope you can accept my apology and we can move beyond this. I expect to be seeing you often in the future and I don't want animosity to remain between us. It would make Elaine feel badly," she said.

He stopped playing, feeling his face get a little flushed at the mention of Elaine. Then he realized that Angelique was swaying a little.

"Angelique, maybe you should sit down." Angelique looked back at Erik. Now his expression was one of concern with only a touch of anger.

"No, I'm alright." She said, holding on to the piano for support.

"Angelique, please. If you fall, I will be unable to help you get up. Please, sit." Angelique nodded and plopped down on the nearest chair, still in full view of Erik.

"I am afraid I have not yet recovered from my overindulgence with the whiskey last night." She breathed a few times deeply and felt much better.

Erik continued to play the beautiful sad, melody. Angelique crinkled her pretty nose. She had yet to obtain an acceptance of her apology. On a hunch, Angelique he decided to try something different. She had only one Ace…

"Monsieur Erik. To answer to your question upstairs, the one you asked me this morning. I have remembered… being with you was not bad at all. I remember rather enjoying your company between the sheets. Did you enjoy mine?" The effect of her words was exactly what she needed to gather her information.

His head whipped around quickly to stare at her as his fingers froze on the keys. He had the surprised expression that screamed 'So you do remember!' Angelique had a curious smirk on her face.

Erik realized quickly what had transpired. Angelique had been lying about remembering anything. His expression had revealed everything to her. He cursed himself for being so transparent.

Now we are seeing the ambassador at work. Very clever, Angelique.

"Hmm. I see, " Angelique said, relishing her new position. She wondered exactly what had occurred between them during the night. Obviously, from his expression, something had. She leaned forward and whispered to the shocked man on the piano bench.

"I have a proposition for you. I will promise never to talk about that subject ever again if you promise to forgive me my rudeness. What is a little blackmail between friends?" The look in her eye was serious.

"You are quite adept in making these contracts, I see. Agreed, Angelique." He looked away from her with waning annoyance. He begrudgingly admired her ability to control the situation. Angelique was a very dangerous woman, indeed.

"Do you mind if I stay a while and hear you play? It sounded interesting from outside…"

"Well, actually I am just trying to put it together now, it is quite unfinished." He really did not want her to stay, but it may just be easier to allow it. Angelique got up and started to look through the pages strewn on the top of the piano. With the pen sitting nearby, she assumed he had written it. She looked at the music with knowing eyes. She hummed a few notes, sight reading quite well. Erik was impressed.

"You use the shorthand of a composer." She said, looking at the rapidly written notes and the scrawled comments. The music was complex and dark, discordant. She recognized it but did not know where she had heard it before.

"Yes, I believe that is what I am. So Angelique, you read music?" he asked.

"Yes, I was at the conservatory in Denmark. Could you play this part? I just can't seem to follow it." She handed him the sheet with the solo.

"What instrument?" he said, starting to play.

"Not instrument, voice. I am a mezzo-soprano in range." He stopped playing abruptly. She smiled and curtsied. "Maestro."

"Now that is interesting. I may actually have to change my opinion of you, Angelique." Erik said, resuming his playing.

"I hope you do." She said, smiling.