Education of the Heart

Relapse

It was beginning of summer and Erik still had no idea how to find any other job for Maurice, who seemed to be eager to learn how to build the special clocks and music boxes. He even spend some time after school in the shop, studying the boxes. But whenever Erik tried to approach him, the boy started to stutter in his nervousness. Erik was convinced that, as much as he started to like the boy and his interest in tiny mechanics, he could not be Maurice's teacher. Never. And the fact that he started to like the boy only made everything worse.

He agreed with Madame Buquet that he would start teaching her son, but do everything he could to find another watchmaker or toymaker to take Maurice as apprentice. He was convinced that he was the last man who should become a mentor to Maurice. But doing nothing and allowing the boy to do nothing for weeks or maybe months after finishing school would be even worse.

The closer it came to end of term in school, the more nervous Erik became. He had not thought it would be that difficult to find an apprenticeship place for Maurice, no matter how hard his mother tried. Most masters demanded high payment to take the boy in and they did not have the money. In those professions where no high price for the education and training of the boy would be asked, Maurice would not be accepted for he was weak and of frail health. He would not be accepted as an office boy for he had bad marks in everything except maths. Someone who could not write properly was no use in an office.

Erik was working on a special order from a lady who wanted to have the tiniest possible pocket watch. It was hard to figure out just how tiny a pocket watch could be if it should still function properly. He had failed two times and was getting angry with himself for his miscalculations. "Monsieur, another customer is in the shop. It is someone new - he insists speaking with you," Madame Buquet announced.

"Allright, I am coming. And you," he turned to Dede, Rene and Jules, "You should take a break. The treadmill is only necessary while I am working. Relax, drink some water." The three men nodded. They were happy for running in the treadmill in shifts to provide the electric light Erik needed for working with the tiniest parts was very trying, especially in summer when the weather was hot.

Erik rolled down his sleeves, put on the cufflinks and straightened his collar before he put on his wig and cloak. In the workshop he preferred not to wear more than necessary but facing customers he had to make himself presentable somehow.

He had never guessed whom he would meet in the shop. He would have known this face everywhere - the Vicomte de Chagny. Erik could not help studying the young man with pure envy. Raoul de Chagny was young, in his twenties, he was slim but well-muscled, he was blonde and blue-eyed and had a face that made one just want to make an oil painting for he looked like a greek god. Erik straightened his spine. He was taller, but this did nothing to make the younger men less beautiful.

"You are not welcome," Erik snapped. He had wanted to be cold, but he could not help the hatred and envy be heard in his voice. "Go away."

"I'm not afraid of you," the Vicomte said, it would have been more convincing had he not been playing with his handkerchief in his nervousness.

"Good. Now go before I give you a reason to fear me."

"Don't you want to know why I am here?" the Vicomte asked.

"No!" It was true, Erik did not want to hear anything, he did not care.

"I'll tell you nevertheless."

"You won't go? Very well, then leave. Goodby." Not very mature of Erik to rush towards the door. But he would rather run away than face his rival.

"Christine Daae is very sad that you stopped seeing her," the Vicomte called out.

Erik stopped as if he had been struck by lightning. "I keep away from her, isn't that enough?" Erik replied, his voice husky.

"She blames herself, thinks she's not good enough as a singer," Raoul told him.

"Congratulations, you win. She's going to give up singing and become your mindless little plaything now in exchange for food, shelter and clothing," Erik mocked bitterly, not sure if he wasn't mocking himself more than his rival, "And if you do not want her - I know how to repair things I found in the trash."

"That is exactly what I do not want," the Vicomte said, "I certainly do not want her to marry me because she thinks she's not good enough as a singer and has no other chance in her life. I want her to make her decision freely."

This boy had a noble mind - if it was true what he was saying. A beautiful face, a beautiful body, a rich aristocratic family and a noble mind - could there be anything worse? Erik felt as if he was being drowned in the bitterness of his envy.

"She always has a choice and she knows that," he replied angrily. Christine knew - had to know - how much he loved her. Of course she always could chose him, if she did not want the Vicomte. But this was just a dream, in real life no one would prefer a deformed man declared criminally insane, deep in debt for he would never be able to make up for his crimes, over a rich and good-looking Vicomte.

The Vicomte smirked. "Becoming your wife? Surely you do not call that a choice?" He was not perfect and he could not gloating at his rival's fate - even if he felt that Erik deserved to be locked away in an asylum or prison for the rest of his life, which seemed to be a fate worse than death.

Erik felt as if a dark curtain was falling around him.

He blinked and shook himself, trying to clear his vision. Someone was holding his arms, he could feels someones grip on his arms. He blinked again and found himself towering over the Vicomte who was on the floor at his feet. Someone was screaming, he heard this as if it was very far away. It took some time - time seemed to freeze around him that moment - and his hearing became better along with his vision. The Vicome's nose was bleeding and there was more blood in his hair. His throat was bruised. The screaming became more clear and suddenly Erik realized that it was Dede who was yelling at him. Dede stood next to him and held his right arm. Rene was to his left and held his left arm, Jules was on the floor and had wrapped arms and legs around Erik's left leg to keep him from moving.

"No murder! Erik no murder! No!" Dede pleaded with him.

"What...?" Erik asked, his voice shaking and hoarse as if he had been screaming on top of his lungs. He blinked and tried to remember what had happened just moments before but all he could remember was the Vicomte insulting him and then - nothing.

The grip of his three friends was becoming painful. "You can unhand me. I won't do anything now," Erik promised and they obeyed. Rene's left eye was swelling, Jules had a cut on his forehead and Dede's hands were bruised. Erik tried to remember if he had hurt them, but he could not recall anything. "Are you hurt?" he asked worriedly.

"He hurt," Rene said and pointed to the Vicomte.

"O God!" Erik knelt down next to the Vicomte, examining the young man. His nose was bleeding but not broken. He had a wound on the back of his head as if he had fallen backwards to the floor and his neck was bruised. Erik shuddered as he saw just how well his hands fitted the bruises. Had he tried to strangle the Vicomte with his bare hands?

"Monsieur, do you hear me? Monsieur?" he asked worriedly. The Vicomte groaned. At least he was alive. Erik would have never thought he would feel such a warm wave of relief wash over him at the knowledge that the Vicomte was not dead. Not dead. He had not killed.

"Monsieur de Chagny?" he tried again and this time the Vicomte opened his eyes. "Sir, can you see me? Do you hear me?"

"...sick..." the Vicomte mumbled and Erik hurried to turn him over to his side so he would not suffocate if he really was sick. He was.

Erik looked around helpless. His three friends had obviously taken cover behind the counter. Only now did he notice that Madame Buquet was standing in the door that lead to the corridor which lead to her flat and the workshop. Her face was white and she was trembling. "He needs a doctor!" Erik yelled. He had not meant to yell, but his voice did not obey him now. "Call a doctor! Now!"

The Vicomte tried to say something. "Hush, it is allright," Erik tried to use his most angelic voice to calm the young man, "Everything allright. The doctor will be here soon and you'll be better." He moved to hold the Vicomte in some half-sitting half-lying position to ease his breathing and help his sickness.

Madame Buquet did not come back, she was too shocked at what she had just witnessed. Instead the female doctor from the first floor entered the store. She didn't even ask what had happened, it was obvious to her. She started to examine the Vicomte immediately. "Bruises and a severe concussion. Minor damage to trachea, it will heal in time."

"Do we need to take him to the hospital?" Erik asked.

The doctor gently started to clean the Vicomte's wound at the back of his head. "No. What could they do for him in hospital? Put him to bed and wait for the concussion to get better. I think he will be more comfortable at home."

"Monsieur? Is your carriage waiting nearby?" Erik asked, still trying to sound calm and comforting.

"No. I... my horse is tied to the post," the Vicomte said.

Erik turned to have a look. A white steed was waiting there. "The white steed? You can't ride with a concussion. We better call a cab."

The Vicomte coughed. "Give him some water, lukewarm!" the doctor ordered and Erik went to the workshop for a bottle of water and a glass. Dede, Rene and Jules were sitting on Dede's bed and stared at him. He could not face them now, he was ashamed of himself and frightened. Hadn't the doctor told him that he was cured? Then why had he lost control like that - and could not even remember what he had done?

The Vicomte was able to swallow a bit of water. "Sir? Do you feel well enough to try to ride a carriage?" Erik asked.

"I think so," the Vicomte answered and tried to get up, but the doctor pushed him down again.

"O no, you can't walk alone now. First, we need a cab, then I will accompany you, just to make sure nothing bad happens. Monsieur Morriere - go find a cab!"

"Yes, Madame." Erik was glad that someone told him what to do, so he did not have to think. He was too confused, he better not even try to think now. Just act.

It was not easy to find a cab, he had to walk some streets until he found a cab and told the driver where to go. He helped the Vicomte to climb into the cab and asked the driver if they could tie his horse to the carriage. Erik knew the old doctor would look after the injured young men during the ride, but who was to deliver his horse? Erik did not even think about the possibility to ride the horse himself, he could not do this. He could not accompany the young man home and face his family after nearly killing him.

When the cab started slowly, Erik decided to clean up the mess. Blood and vomit on a wooden floor would do no good. He was still busy cleaning up when Claude Meunier, the policeman, showed up.

"What do I hear about you now, Erik?" Claude asked in a highly amused tone, "Killing young men now instead of women? And - worse of all - yelling and thus disturbing the well-deserved nap of your neighbors?" He had heard so many complaints about Erik that he did not believe this one.

Erik sat back on his heels and stared at Claude in shock. "Let me clean this up and then you can arrest me," Erik said sadly.

"Where is your shopkeeper? Isn't it her job to clean up?" Claude asked.

"Running off in fear," Erik sighed and continued to scrub the floor. He was serious, he was quite sure Madame Buquet was still running.

Only the policeman did not take any of this serious, he chuckled: "You and your black humor. Let's discuss this over a beer, shall we?"

Erik shuddered. It was a disgusting job to clean up the mess and the mere though of having to drink a beer now on an empty stomach made him cringe in disgust. He got up to fetch a beer for the officer, but he would not drink one himself.

"What is it, Erik, are you not well?" Claude asked worriedly and took a seat.

"No... Claude, please, don't ask me now," Erik sighed, "I have too much on my mind, I cannot think clearly right now."

Claude drank his beer in silence, watching Erik cleaning the floor. "You are not scrubbing off blood, are you?" he asked, more serious now. Erik's behavior was far from his normal clownish way to make fun of his bad reputation when dealing with the police.

"Claude, please! A customer was sick, that is all I can tell you now for I do not know more myself."

"The yelling?"

"I can't remember yelling or trying to kill anyone," Erik answered truthfully. He really had no idea what he had done and that scared him more than he cared to admit to himself.

"Very well. Thanks for the beer. I guess this one goes to the file as 'rumors and assumptions'," Claude answered and left.

Erik stared at the door as it closed behind the policeman. This was not really happening, was it? He had been arrested far too many times when he had done nothing, once even been beaten up in the interrogation, and now that he was guilty no one would arrest him for everyone thought this was just another defamation. He sighed. It was just a question of time until the Vicomte would now use this to destroy him. Every minute now the door could open and someone would arrest him.

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Erik's temper gets him in trouble again. But the Vicomte really did provoke him, didn't he?