Giver21

No one had ever been proud of me, but instinct alone told me that the grin on his face was from pride. Pure, genuine pride.

I remained close at his side while he spoke to the bassist and singer. The former violin owner had disappeared, and as much as I wished to speak with her about her instrument, I was filled with excitement from which I had no hope of recovering. Lost to the conversations around me, I stared at my feet and attempted to remember what had happened. It would have been a joy to recall the look on at least one person's face when they watched me play.

But I had nothing physical to remember of the night. The ecstasy I felt pumping through my veins lingered, but not nearly long enough. Eventually I was just a young man in a smoke-filled pub with only a half-dozen people milling around. With nothing to distract me, I returned to being an awkward youth. Fears and uncertainties piled one on top of another in my mind. I was no different from the boy who'd entered at his uncle's heels.

His hand on my shoulder roused me from my disparaging thoughts.

"Let's find Moon," he suggested. The grin had not left his face.

With a nod I followed him out, violin and case in hand.

"Why did she not wish to keep this?" I questioned.

"I'd say you proved to her that she was unworthy." He smiled, but it wasn't as genuine. "Or perhaps it's an older instrument and she's found a newer one she prefers."

"Then why would she bring the old one to play?"

"It makes little difference now. It's yours. What else do you need to know?"

"But she doesn't know me."

"No, she doesn't. But I doubt she'll ever forget you. No one here will forget what they heard tonight for quite some time."

They would remember a nameless child with a mask. The thought saddened me. Unknown as always…for one night, at least, I wanted them to hear my name. I am Erik, and I play the violin. No, that wasn't it. I am Erik, and I have mastered the violin. Yes, that suited me better.

"She won't ask to have it returned?"

"You needn't worry. I think she's a little too proud to make such a ridiculous request. And if she does? Well, I will speak to her."

I nodded, but his answers didn't satisfy my voracious hunger for the truth. The untold reason for this violin coming into my possession continued to gnaw at me. I had my speculations—though they weren't the same reasons my uncle had given me. She most likely feared that my flesh would scar her flesh if she dared hold the violin to her face.

As we walked, I slipped my fingers beneath the cloth mask and touched my skin. My father had slapped me many times but his fingers and palm were never scarred. I wasn't contagious or diseased, and I had half the mind to search the whole town to tell this woman that I would not make her ugly.

Suddenly I was angry. I glanced up and found The Shadow several paces ahead of me, lost in his own reverie. He apparently hadn't taken notice that I lagged behind. Head bowed, I sighed and trudged forward.

"You know, old man, that boy you have could make you a fortune."

I paused as two wiry-looking fellows approached my uncle. I knew they had seen me but I still slowed my pace, as though this would make me invisible.

"I've never been good with a fortune, I'm afraid," he replied.

The men exchanged glances. I found myself two steps behind The Shadow.

"He'd be a delight to a crowd."

The Shadow held his cane in one hand and shifted his weight. "Aye, but he needs to learn more than one song before he can consider playing for the Pope."

"What else can he do?"

The Shadow moved, putting himself between me and the two strangers. "You've seen what he can do. Perhaps you will be so fortunate as to see him again in the future."

"He should perform nightly. Before paying crowds, old man."

My muscles tensed. I stood very near my uncle and held my breath, feeling like a cornered animal.

"You've pussy-footed around your true intentions long enough. Tell me, how much would you offer me for the boy?"

Both men smiled and nodded as though they'd bought a fatted calf for half its asking price. I took a step back, prepared to run. If only I knew which direction would lead me to safety.

One of the men glanced over The Shadow's shoulder and eyed me. "He's thin."

"His stature has nothing to do with his talent. Your asking price need only rely on what you've seen tonight."

"But if he dies during transport, he's not worth a damn thing."

Gooseflesh rose along my arms and the hairs at the back of my neck stood on end. Briefly I thought I would pass out, but somehow I managed to stand and listen.

"He's not ill. You could take him halfway around the world and I assure you he would survive."

"There's a gypsy camp not more than three days from here."

The Shadow nodded. "So the coin you give me becomes two for you once you sell him."

The older of the two men scratched his jaw. "Does he hold sentimental value?"

"Why should I consider the first offer I hear? Perhaps in the next town I would receive twice the amount you offer."

"Aye, but there is no way to tell for certain, is there? Who knows? The next town you pass through might request you leave at once."

"I've traveled through these parts many times. I know where I'm wanted and where I'm not welcomed, which is more than most men could say." He leaned back and studied them. "Answer me honestly, gentlemen. What intrigues you about the boy: His musical talent or the intrigue of his mask?"

"Both."

The Shadow gave a slow nod. I wondered if I'd put my trust in a false man.

By their rigid posture I knew the two men were frustrated and anxious to strike their bargain and be on their way.

"Would you like to see what is behind the mask?"

The men exchanged grins and nodded. They were already bald, and all they needed were wings and beaks to become true vultures.

The Shadow stuck his hand out. "Your drinking money, gentleman. If you wish a show, then you'll pay for it upfront."

My heart sank, senses reeled, yet still I made no attempt to escape. He'd saved me from one fate in order to exchange my pride for drinking money. He no longer seemed like a caring uncle. He was no different than my father deep down inside. I felt like a fool for ever allowing myself to believe there was love in the world left for a dog with a monster's face.

Coins dropped into his hand, unseen by my eyes. Tears threatened to steal my vision and ice filled my veins. I wondered how long they would examine me, what words would escape their lips, what prayers would fill their thoughts.

"Erik."

The sound of my name made me wince. He touched my arm and found my hand. Cold metal touched my palm.

"Put these in your pocket."

The world grew darker as I crawled into the recess of my mind, the only shelter I still possessed. One by one I dropped the payment into my pocket and stood, frozen by my pending shame. I hadn't the strength or the inclination to beg him for mercy, to ask him to reconsider. If he'd glanced over his shoulder he would have seen my terror.

"We've paid. Where's the show?"

I swear I felt the droplets of blood on my cheek well before I ever saw my uncle's cane leave his side. With two vicious strikes, he hit both men in the face, then pulled the cane apart where a thin sword was concealed. Stunned, I watched as he cut them both across the neck. He didn't slice their throats and bleed them to death, but he issued considerable damage that left them sprawled on the ground.

My heart had ceased to beat in the time it took him to carve them up and wipe the blade.

"Gentleman, I urge you take caution, especially when you wish to deal in slavery," he said, his voice as calm as though he spoke of the weather. "No one is as they seem. An old, dying man still has dignity, and a boy behind a mask is not a creature to be bought and sold. He is human, and you will see him again on a stage of his choosing, not a damned exhibit in a fair." He glanced back at me, his eyes vacant of expression. "Retrieve the beast. I shall gather our belongings."

I don't recall untying Moon or setting off down the road. All I remembered was seeing the sun rise, a ball of blood in a sea or pink. Pink like their throats, red like the blood in my veins that would be cold for quite some time. Though I still respected my uncle, I feared him as well. But much more than respect or fear, I was envious of his strength.

By appearance he was deceptive. To me, it was an art form.

-o-

A/N: When I sat down to write this scene I kept thinking about the part in ALW's film where The Phantom looks at Christine. You know she's going to pull off the mask, but he just looks so darned love sick and convinced that he's finally won her over. And then she ruins it, the little twit.

Anyhow, that's the sort of feeling I wanted to convey with this vignette. Only in this instance, it didn't work against Erik. Or did it?