Hello everyone, I now present to you the new chapter of (Angels and Roses). A note to you my lovely readers: this chapter deals mostly with Erik's past, this is basically based on Leroux's hinting and my imagination since Leroux leaves Erik's history very vague. So I made up this storyline, so basically this is my version of Erik's history. It is different than anything you may have read before. I hope that you will enjoy it. Tell me what you think!
Chapter 25 (The Village) Part Two
The year 1847
He was suffocating as the strong, pungent smell of smoke assailed him; everything was on fire around him. His mother was rocking herself back and forth, in an uncomprehending haze, her eyes glazed over and hollow, humming a tune to herself as the house was lit with flames. He could hear the shouts and sneers from outside. He ran to his mother's side and knelt beside her, his masked face beseeching, his golden eyes brimming with tears.
"We need to get out! The house is burning down!" the eight year old boy exclaimed, frightened and lost. He swiftly rose to his feet and began looking for a way out, but it seemed that everywhere he looked, flames surrounded him. Looking back at his non-responsive mother, he yelled, "Come on, let's get out!" But his mother did not respond; she continued to be seated in her favorite chair, wearing her favorite shawl, looking hollowly into nothingness, rocking and humming a song that he usually sang to her to calm her when she got into a hysterical fit.
Running back to his mother, he grabbed her cold hand and began to tug furiously, sweat dripping from him like water, his breathing labored. The air was so thick with smoke now that he couldn't breathe properly, and he felt his lungs starting to burn. Ironically it was the mask that was protecting him from suffocating or collapsing in the smoke. But his mother would not budge; he shoved and pulled, but she remained unmoving.
"Please," the boy sobbed desperately, but his young age was no match for her stubbornness, and he simply didn't have the strength to pull her off the chair and carry her to safety.
It was the first time he had cried. Even at such a young age, he had learned to be strong and dead to any emotion. But now tears streamed down his face, wetting his cloth mask, a mask that had been cut and put together with the clumsy hands of a 6 year old. He had made it by adjusting the length of what had been his pillow cover, and cutting holes into it, after the mask that his mother had given him - his first mask - had gotten torn.
He could hear the crowd of people cheering and sneering outside, as they watched the house they had set on fire burn - with the monster in it.
There was no way out, and he wouldn't leave without his mother. Taking a shaky sigh, the boy silently looked around, before doing something he had never dared do before. He climbed into his mother's lap. In her state, she wouldn't know. The little boy sobbed again, tears of a joy so deep, a grief so immeasurable, and a peace so profound streamed down his deformed cheeks, as he laid his covered head on his mother's shoulder. He had finally gotten to feel his mother's warmth around him, to finally feel what it would be like to sit in a mother's lap, and to feel safe. He was so utterly broken, and yet so deeply at peace, for he would get to die with her. At last, they would rest.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "It's my entire fault."
The flames were gaining on them; parts of the roof top began to crumble. Straightening in his mother's lap, he looked up at the falling rooftop with blazing eyes. Then he looked at his mother's hollow eyes, knowing that the time was close, they would die very soon. Acting purely on impulse, he wrapped his thin arms around her neck and hugged her, his thin body trembling with all the emotions rolling through him. It was the first hug he had ever been able to give her - and it would be the last.
Suddenly, her eyes weren't lifeless, and shock ran through him, as her gaze met his. His breath caught, his body tensed and he eased his grip on her. Fully expecting her to look shocked and horrified, he braced himself for her scream and look of revulsion, but instead she did something that he would never forget, she smiled. She had smiled at him! And then proceeded to do something even more shocking, she wrapped her arms around him, as the house began to crash around them. That his poor unhappy mother was actually hugging him, whether knowingly or not, was something the boy would never get to know.
"My monster," the woman whispered lovingly, in her insanity. The boy's joy at being hugged was torn in a moment, but he quickly recovered. She had hugged him and she had smiled at him! That was what was important! So, she had called him a monster, but it was true after all, he couldn't blame her for calling him what he was.
Desperately wanting to spare his mother pain, as he heard the flames swooshing toward them and felt their furious heat, the boy began to sing to her, thinking to ease her suffering. Perhaps if his voice was controlling her, she would be so entranced that she wouldn't feel any pain. He remembered all the times that she had told him that his voice was a curse and gift, that it was heaven and hell. For just this once, he prayed for a miracle. He had prayed only once before, when he had been five. He had prayed for God to make him beautiful so that his mother wouldn't be so sad and angry anymore… so that she would love him…
And now he prayed with desperation. He prayed as he sang that his mother wouldn't feel any pain. And in that moment his mother's eyes became sober. She looked around and screamed as she saw the flames. Instead of pushing him away, she again did something he would never forget all his life - she fell to the ground covering him wholly with her body. It was too late to try to save her now, or himself, so he just continued to sing, despite the wheezing, he sang… despite his burning lungs, he sang… despite everything… he heard his mother sigh in contentment as he continued to sing… then everything went dark, just after the last note… a deathly silence fell like a veil of midnight…
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The breeze blew through the trees, making their leaves rattle. He felt cold and dead inside, and yet he wondered why it still hurt to remember.
"I was born here in Ruoen, Christine," Erik repeated distantly, as he rested his back on the trunk of the oak tree. His gaze fell on a weeping willow that was swaying in the breeze, its branches like waterfalls of evergreen. He swallowed and continued in a detached tone, turning his attention to Christine, who sat quietly listening. "My mother, my poor unhappy mother, she suffered a lot because of me."
"Why?" Christine asked, genuinely curious.
Erik smiled slightly and looked down at her. "You're the only one I know who would ask me that question. I don't deserve you." He ran his thumb up and down her cheek to her lips and continued calmly, "My face, Christine… my cursed face was the reason my mother had such a hard time raising me." Swallowing hard, he continued, "She was a good woman and she loved mein her own way"… she died saving my wretched life, he continued silently.
He removed his hand from her cheek and returned to looking into the distance in front of him as he rested his arms on his raised knees. Christine hugged herself, feeling suddenly cold and heartbroken.
"When I was eight, I left home…my mother had died…and I had no one and nothing left…" He fought to remain as calm and detached as possible as he continued, knowing how many painful details he had skipped, but that was all she would know. He would never want to subject her to that knowledge of horror. "You must understand, Christine, that I had no one to tell me right from wrong, and I was treated like a thing to be feared and reviled ever since I was born, so when I became on my own, I began to learn things, and then I started doing things that I am not proud of."
"What kind of things?" Christine asked quietly, but he could hear the dread in her voice, and a small smile tugged at his lips. His beautiful, innocent Christine…the kind of things you will never know about…
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The year 1847
"Shame on you," the Reverend raged at the crowd of people, as he and several other people from the village who weren't part of that mob, rushed frantically with buckets of water to put out the blistering flames. When the flames had been put out, the reverend turned to the shame-faced mob and continued, outraged, "How dare you behave in such a manner! You shame this village!" That small crowd of people stood there looking like scolded children. The group that had arrived with the vicar started searching frantically among the rubble to see if anyone had survived.
One red-faced man finally came forward to the defense of the group as he stated, "Well, we were just ridding this town of its curse! You should know how much we have been suffering, ever since this woman and her son arrived! No crops, no rain, no new business! A con man even passed by here robbing most of us blind! It's all that woman's fault and her demon of a child!"
"Silence! You will not call - "
The Reverend's retort was cut short as one of the men who were looking through the rubble yelled, "The boy is alive!"
"Thank the Lord!" the Reverend exclaimed as he hurried toward the man carrying the tattered bundle of a masked child. The crowd responsible for the fire murmured unintelligibly. Some were angered that the child hadn't died, others where just annoyed; while others in the group felt relieved that not all had died, since guilt had started to nag at them. The second group cheered that at least one of the two were alive.
Days passed, as they took care of the boy in the church. While the boy's physical wounds were not severe, he remained silent. He never spoke to anyone; he never uttered a sound. He just ate, drank and slept. It seemed as if he were dead. The reverend became more and more concerned after two weeks had passed and not a sound from the boy, or any flicker of emotion in his eyes. Then one crisp autumn day, the boy vanished. Extremely worried, they searched for him for days, but the boy was never to be found again…they had later found his mask and some tattered clothes, washed ashore, and assumed that he had drowned…and so the tragic tale had come to an end…or so was thought…
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Looking at Christine, he wondered how he should answer her question…Instead he chose to ignore it. "Later, I traveled with the gypsies for a while, I had my own freak show."
"W-what freak show?" Christine uttered, horrified by the prospect. He turned the full impact of his piercing eyes on her and said coldly, "Why, I put myself on display. Nothing better than to make money from myself, don't you think?"
Christine gasped, not just by the prospect of him putting himself on display, but by how coldly he discussed the subject, as if it mildly amused him.
Not liking the horrified look in her eyes, for the last thing he wanted to do was upset her, Erik quickly changed the subject to something good. "Would you like to know about the mirror box I finished, when I met the blind old man Leponte?"
She swallowed and nodded, for that was all she could say. In that moment, Christine knew that Erik was leaving some important parts out…something to be reviled and feared…put himself on display in a freak show…Something was very hauntingly tragic about this entire picture, and Christine felt a lump in her throat. Erik must have suffered a lot…and knowing how hard it must be for him to talk about it, and he was doing it just for her, made her want…His voice cut her train of thought.
"I first met Leponte when I was thirteen…"
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Madame hurried down the street to visit Richard Firmin, to consult him about her daughter's condition. As she made her way through town, to her old friend's shop, she realized that she had done a grave mistake by allowing Christine to go out alone. She should have told her to stay in her room, but at the time she had been so absorbed with what was going on with Meg that she had not paid attention to Christine's request as she should have. Anyway, she swore to herself that as soon as she got back from Richard Firmin's place, with the medication for her daughter, she would look for Christine. Madame could only hope that Christine would have returned by then.
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Meg closed her eyes, as she lay on the bed feeling weak and spent. Something was wrong; she knew that much. She shouldn't be feeling like this… She placed her arm over her eyes and fought to stifle a bitter smile, as if she needed something else now, when everything else had gone so awfully, horribly wrong. Madame was not with her; she had gone to a man she called Richard Firmin to get his advice and several herbal concoctions and medicines for Meg. She had left Meg with strict orders to rest and not to leave the room, not that Meg would leave this room even if she could. She sighed and rolled to her side, thinking about everything that had happened so far; she didn't think she could hurt any more. So absorbed in her thoughts was she, that it took her several moments to notice that a shadow had fallen across her, blocking the light from the window. Her body stiffened and her heart stopped beating for a moment. In that instant she feared opening her eyes, for fear of who she would see in her room. Then she felt a warm, familiar hand gently touch her tear stained cheek. She couldn't control her reaction, and her eyes flew open, as she gasped at the sight of Ned standing by her bed and smiling down at her. She bolted upright in bed, causing his wonderful touch to disappear, as he withdrew his hand from her cheek.
"What are you doing here?" Meg inquired sharply.
Ned was taken aback by her tone, before replying in a matter of fact tone, "I am here for you. Why else?"
Meg hurried to the edge of the bed and wrestled with the covers as she stood up to face him.
"Well, I don't want you here," she stated coldly.
She blinked several times, trying very hard not to break down in front of him and start crying. Her lower lip was trembling, so she bit it to stop the trembling. But when her eyes met Ned's, he had such a tender, keen and knowing look in his eyes, that for a moment she hated him for it.
"I realize that I should have told you this before, but…" he stated as he began walking toward her, causing her to inch backward. "I guess there is no better time than now." Meg's heart beat so quickly that she thought it had become one big heart beat, and her legs trembled as her back hit the wall. He continued toward her. Looking quickly around, she tried to make a move for the door, but his arms flanked her, as they hit either side of the wall next to her, effectively trapping her.
Meg's breathing became shallow, her emotions so jumbled, that she didn't know if she wanted to run away from him screaming or to hug him and melt into him. Looking at her, Ned's heart expanded with so much love. A fierce urge to protect her overcame him; when her beautiful haunted eyes met his, he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and keep her safe. She was his… the other part of him… and he confessed, "I love you, Meg. I think that I fell in love with you the first time you opened your beautiful eyes and looked at me. I was just too stupid to realize it."
Meg's eyes filled with tears; he had never said the words to her. Not that they had had a chance, with everything happening so quickly. She felt elated in that moment, a feeling that she had not felt for a long time, and yet a feeling of fear crept up her spine as well.
Then he brought his hands down to caress her arms, as he gently drew her even closer to him. "I have told you this before but I guess it bears saying again. I hope you know that I would never hurt or harm you in any way. As a matter of fact, I promise you that no one will ever hurt you again, not as long as I have anything to say about it."
"I - I don't know anything about you," she whispered as he leaned toward her, his lips getting closer to hers. She felt his warm breath on her face. Her entire body tingled with a need so deep, she ached with it, and yet she feared it. "H -how do I know that you won't h - hurt me?" she squeaked.
His lips were a scant inch from hers. He answered hoarsely, "I'll tell you everything you want to know about me, but first" he caressed her cheek lovingly "I really, really need to kiss you."
"But –" her breathy whisper was cut short as his lips caressed hers and every coherent thought deserted her. She whimpered and opened her mouth to him. But that glimpse of heaven was not to last.
"Get away from her," a threatening, calm voice said - firmly enunciating each word and syllable - from behind the lovers, and a click of a revolver could be heard. Meg stiffened instantly at the sound of her mother's voice. She pushed away from Ned, who in turn calmly turned around to face Madame's wrath.
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The year 1852,
For five years, Erik had lived on the streets, singing for money. He made a good living, and no one knew where he lived or why he wore a mask. Some gypsies had tried to approach him and convince him to join their fair, but Erik had refused at the time and ran away from them before they had a chance to grab him. He had remained moving from place to place, like a leaf blown in the wind. He didn't talk to any one; he shopped during the evening and no one ever asked him if he had parents or about his family. However, rumors where running wild about the mysterious masked child who sang on the streets, who had the voice of an angel. And since Erik rarely stayed in one place for long, no one could inquire more about him.
When he returned to his hideout at night, which was nothing more than a small rundown cottage, he went back to working on his secret invention, the only bright spot in Erik's life, something he had been working on ever since he had run away from Rouen. It was a small box lined with small mirrors which Erik had made from pieces of broken glass, in which a person could look inside and see a dream… a room of beautiful illusion, a place were a hideous monster could seem beautiful. Erik had hopes of turning this mini structure into a full blown room, a room of beautiful wonder and illusion.
Then one warm spring day, Erik had met the old blind man, Leponte, who had stopped and listened to Erik singing on the street. Leponte had returned the next day, and the next, always hitting his cane on the ground before removing some money from his pockets and giving them to the boy. On the fourth day, the blind man finally spoke. "What's your name, boy?"
A moment of silence passed before Erik replied. "Erik." That was the first time that Erik had spoken to another human being, after his mother's death. Leponte had inquired about Erik's age and where he lived; Erik told him that he was thirteen but did not answer the question as to where he lived. Then Leponte had stated that Erik's singing had given him hope and brightened up his day.
Then he had come the next day and talked to Erik again. He told Erik that he had been an architect in his younger days, before he had become blind. Erik had expressed his interest in architecture and so Leponte offered Erik an invitation to come to his house to look at all the drawings and designs for several buildings, houses, and churches that Leponte had done in his younger days. Erik hesitated, but his curiosity finally won out. And so it was the Erik started to visit the old man once a week for a few hours. He also began to nurture his architectural skills as he studied Leponte's drawings and designs and then worked on his as well. Leponte gave him some invaluable advice on the art of architecture. Leponte's house was big and luxurious; it was also beautifully designed. The maids always offered Erik food and drink but he rarely ate or drank anything; he just wanted to observe all the art as he roamed the halls and rooms. Leponte allowed him to roam through his house while he sat by the fire waiting for Erik to come and tell him about his latest architectural discovery in the house.
Then Leponte had introduced Erik to one of his peers, a man named Monchirmin. Monchirmin was not blind and was taken aback by the sight of the masked boy. Leponte asked Monchirmin to look at Erik's drawings and see if Erik was as talented as he suspected. For the first time, Erik felt excited, knowing that he might have finally found something to do with his life, become an architect! So thrilled was the boy, that he failed to see Monchirmin's distaste. However the man couldn't be impolite so as to refuse his blind friend's request, so he followed Erik into the drawing room, where Erik finally dared to show his most secret invention to someone.
"What in the world is this?" the man scoffed at the sight of the old box, lined with broken glass on the inside.
"Oh monsieur, just wait for the lighting, and I will show you. This is a room of illusion, where a person can see the most beautiful things," the boy stated, hardly able to keep the excitement from his voice.
Monchirmin scoffed, not believing the boy, for such an invention had never been heard of before and was so farfetched that he was convinced that Erik was lying and that such a thing was only caught in the fanciful thoughts of a boy. He abruptly rose from his chair and said, "Listen, boy, I don't have time to waste on you or your fanciful stories. You may have some talent, but with a face like yours, you will never find a job." Erik stood there speechless. In one moment he was overtaken with hope and in the next, he felt as if he had crashed back to earth. The man waved his hand and stated, "Do you think I am stupid? Wasting my time with a joke of an invention, such as this!" and with one swing of his hand, unmeaning though he was, he hit the old box which Erik had been working on for years, causing the box to topple over and crash to the floor.
Erik stood there like a statue, his eyes not leaving the destroyed box.
"My apologies, I didn't mean to crash it. But get your head out of the clouds. No amount of wishful thinking will change what you are. You can not change reality with fanciful thoughts." With those parting cold words, the man left, crashing with him the last remnants of any hope Erik might have had.
That was the last visit Erik had paid to Leponte, no longer interested to talk or think about architecture. But as he had left Luponte's house that evening, he was surprised to see Monchirmin awaiting him outside with two other men. Before Erik had time to react, they had grabbed him and smothered him with chloroform. Erik awoke to find himself chained to a surgical table, For the next year, he would be tortured by being caged and beaten to see how he would react, how quickly he would heal… he would be starved for days, without food or water to see how long he could go on.
Erik had realized too late that he had been sold by Monchirmin to a so called scientist, one who enjoyed studying strange creatures. When Erik had finally escaped, he had killed that mad scientist; it had been Erik's first kill. He had chained the man to his own surgical table and ripped him apart with his bare hands. Then he had visited Monchirmin in his house and killed him as well.
Then for the next months, the monster had roamed the streets at night, where people talked of a masked ghost that howled at the moon at night, and killed without a thought. It was after those months that Erik began to regain his mind, and then he remembered that there was something very important he still hadn't done. He needed to finish planning his revenge against those who had killed his mother.
He berated himself for having wasted time on thoughts of becoming an architect, for associating with humans. What had that gotten him other than broken dreams and being caged like an animal to be studied and experimented on for a year? If he hadn't wasted time with those humans, he would have exacted his revenge on those who had killed his mother.
But now he had all the time in the world, and, he giggled, it was going to be wonderful! He would kill them all…kill them all…
In the year 1855, the village of Rouen lived a phase of horror, in which a ghostly masked siren was said to have visited those people who had burnt down the monster's house, luring them to their deaths with his voice. When some of them tried to escape, they were later found hanging from trees in the outskirts of Rouen. Not one man was spared out of that group of those who had cheered and sneered. It was said that Erik's spirit had come back to haunt the town for the great injustice that he had suffered…It was said that a phantom had come to extract justice on the murderers that had killed a defenseless child and its mother…many things were said…but one thing was true…Rouen would never be the same again…
When his mission was accomplished, Erik had left, traveling aimlessly, wherever the wind took him. He met a gypsy fair and decided to accompany them, for which he proceeded for the next three years to display himself in a unique show…the people would get to see the Angel of Death…the monster with an angel's voice…for a price… it amused him so to see them gasp in shock when they saw the face, after he had sung for them…
Then in Constantinople he was arrested and brought to the king, where he was asked to build a new castle for the king. But Erik had not stayed to see the castle built, he had escaped before that. He then had worked briefly as an assassin in India. And when he had finally gotten back to France, 21 year old Erik met Lucienne, and he accepted work from him. Lucienne had told him that he had heard of his fame and that he would pay him well for his services. He wanted something special of Erik; he wanted Erik to build him a torture chamber. Erik had coldly stated that it would cost Lucienne a great deal of money, to which Lucienne had replied, "Oh, I can pay."
And so Erik turned that idea of a room filled with dreams, which he had initially meant for beauty… into a torture chamber.
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"A room of dreams, how strange!" Christine exclaimed. Erik was relieved that she looked excited now and smiling. He was willing in that moment to rebuild his original idea, just to show it to Christine.
"I just don't understand. Why didn't you continue visiting that kind old blind man? He might have helped you find work as an architect."
"I didn't want to impose on his hospitality any longer," Erik replied casually, lying through his teeth. "Not to mention that I wouldn't have gotten a job anywhere because of my face."
Christine bit her lip and looked at Erik before asking cautiously, "So what happened to that room of dreams? I would like to see it."
"I stopped working on it a long, long time ago." Turning to look at her, he continued, "But for you, I would rebuild it."
"I - I would love to see it one day." Erik caressed her cheek and Christine's breath swooshed out of her lungs. As she looked into Erik's eyes, she was struck by the look of utter sorrow that appeared there, only for a moment, before disappearing. He touched the tip of her nose with his finger and smiled slightly.
"So what is it that you do for a living?" Christine asked, tilting her head, so that her cheek was completely caressed by his palm.
Erik thought about that for a moment before he replied, "As you know, I displayed myself in the freak show, with the gypsies and I made a lot of money from that. I also made a lot of money designing one of the castles in Constantinople. Then I came back to France and I worked here for different men doing different things. Now I have my own" he thought about it for a moment before continuing "firm, if you may. People pay me, to send someone to protect them. Some very prominent figures from different countries have wanted me to protect them myself, but I never did…will never do so."
"Why don't you protect them yourself?"
"No one can afford me…my services are not for sale…" he replied casually
It was the irony of how he had turned from an assassin to founding a firm for security services…but that was another story for another time…
Christine bit her lower lip before she asked, "And how did you meet Ned?"
Erik started to respond, when he heard a branch snap a few feet away from where they were seated. In a flash he had grabbed Christine, who squeaked, but he placed his hand on her mouth cutting the sound off. He dragged her behind the tree and then bent down to whisper in her ear: "Don't make a sound."
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"Madame," Ned said calmly, looking at Madame and at the barrel of the gun she held in her hand, pointing it directly at his heart
"Don't you ever touch my daughter again," Madame replied. "I could kill you for what you did to her."
Ned frowned, not completely understanding what Madame was going on about.
"Maman, please!" Meg cried. "He wasn't doing anything. I let him kiss me."
"Indeed, you did!" Madame snapped. "And apparently you let him do a lot more than that to you!" Madame's voice dripped with rage.
"W - what do you mean?" Meg asked confused.
"Madame, you have no reason to doubt me or Meg - "
Madame cut off Ned's statement, almost shouting, "Of course, especially not when she's pregnant!"
Ned's entire body stiffened and Meg swayed on her feet. Her mouth opened but she couldn't speak, before completely passing out.