Chapter Eight: Bruised
The temporary mask he had lifted from the costume section of a theatre shop was genuinely terrible, growing damp inside with each breath he took. His prosthetic had been purposefully designed not to accumulate condensation; its nose acted much like a real, biological one. This pitiful piece of black plastic on his face was ill-fitting, the eyeholes cut into his skin. The mask he kept at home was better designed, not nearly as perfect as his false face, but it was certainly higher quality than this sorry excuse for a facial covering.
His phone began to vibrate in his pocket at he drove home from the private airport outside of town. Despite his tinted windows and the late hour of the evening, he still took backstreets and alleys, attempting to avoid authorities from noticing a man wearing a black mask behind the wheel of the car; it would be far too suspicious. Stopping his matte black Tesla in the middle of the alley, he reached into his pocket and opened the burner phone.
"Yes.", he spoke into the receiver.
"Erik." Her voice was like a blessing, but he heard the distress in that single worded sentence.
"Christine. What's wrong?", he gently demanded.
"Please, is it okay if I come over?", she asked, and he could hear the quiver in her voice and the tears which she fought back. "I'm a block away from your place."
"I will be home in five minutes.", he told her. "Wait for me."
Flipping the phone closed, he tucked it back into his pocket. This phone in particular was reserved for her, it was the longest he had ever held onto a device. Usually, they lasted a whole of a day, before he had no use of them, and they were broken and sent to a landfill. Putting the car back into drive, he quickly made the short trip to the secure garage on the backside of his building.
She was waiting for him when he finally found himself at this front door, her body bundled in the warm black winter coat and scarf. Her eyes looked at him, then were quickly averted. Inwardly, he cursed, realizing how ridiculous he must look in a plain, plastic black Halloween mask. If she had thought him odd before, she certainly did so now. There was something more to her demeanor that concerned him. She was worrying her lip, chewing on it like it was the only thing preventing her from crying.
He ushered her inside and quickly latched the door.
"You are upset.", he commented as they made their way to his apartment, to which she did not reply. The door to his apartment obeyed its masters command, opening with little effort. A trick utilized by carrying a small fob which triggered a sensor and unlocked in his presence.
The backpack and guitar case she carried were set by the door. He offered to take her coat and scarf, but she seemed content to surrender only her coat. It was peculiar behavior, causing his suspicions to grow. As she sat at her usual place on the sofa, he tried to evaluate her behavior. She did not seem overly intoxicated, or under the influence, which made her demeanor more perplexing.
With a flip of a dial, he ignited the gas fire, allowing her to warm up.
"Your mask is different.", she said, quickly looking at his face only to immediately look away.
"Ah, yes. Give me one moment.", he replied, crossing into his bedroom, he entered his walk-in closet and closed the door behind him. His hands flew to the drawer with his old mask inside. Black, but made of a far superior material, with a custom fit, and a lining which prevents chafing. Quickly, he swapped the cheap mask for the new one and returned to the living room.
"You don't need to wear a mask.", she said quietly, "I'm not going to stare at you or whatever."
He gave a sad chuckle, "You would certainly stare, my dear. I am afraid you can never see the face of Erik. Will you tell me why you are so troubled?", he asked as he sat on the far end of the sofa.
Her eyes remained fixated on the flames and she adamantly shook her head. She looked so unbelievably tired, drained, as though she had encountered a vampire who had stolen her life force. Something dreadful had happened and he was determined to know what.
"It may help to talk about it, Christine.", he gently spoke, as though soothing a crying child. Her hand tentatively touched the scarf, as though to ensure it was in place. It was a gesture he was familiar with. How many times had he done the same with the mask on his face? There was definitely something hidden beneath the scarf.
"What are you hiding?", he asked softly, and she responded by looking into his eyes pleadingly, silently begging him not to make her say. With one skeletal hand, he reached forward and carefully pulled the fine woolen material of the scarf down to reveal a hideous black and blue bite mark. A thousand images flew into his head of scenarios in which she could have obtained such a terrible injury. "Christine, how did this happen?"
"Please don't make me say.", she breathed desperately, her words were filled with fear and shame.
Leaning back, he began to realize he was far out of his depth here, but he knew of someone who could help. Quickly, he made a decision to bring another individual into the equation. It seemed very radical and desperate, but he needed to know what had happened to his little dove.
"Christine, I'm going to take you someplace.", he spoke decisively, "I'll need you to trust me."
She seemed incredibly confused but nodded in agreement. He extinguished the gas to the fire and offered her a hand to assist her from the couch. It was a gesture most perform all the time, the offering of one's hand, but for him it felt entirely out of character. When her small hand went into his, he melted, his heart turning to liquid in his chest.
After bundling her back up into her winter coat, they exited his apartment, leaving her bag and guitar behind. Together they walked towards the back end of his building, towards the interior door which accessed the garage. The motion detecting light ignited, illuminating the large, clean interior space of the garage.
"You have a beautiful car.", she mumbled dumbly as he made his way around to the passenger side door and opened it for her, as though she were trying to fill the awkward silence.
The car's ignition started the moment he sat in his seat and pressed a button, one of the joys of owning such a car, keyless ignition. Reaching up, be depressed the button to his garage entry and slowly backed out when the door had raised an acceptable amount.
"It's so quiet.", Christine softly commented, she was still nervous, and he knew she was trying anything she could to stay present.
He hummed, "It's all electric.", he replied, as though that would be enough to explain everything.
"How do cats know to get out of the way?", she mused aloud.
"I worry less about felines than I do about people, Christine. Cats are far smarter than humans. I prefer animals to people.", he glanced over to see that had earned him a weak smile.
Several minutes passed by before she broke the silence
"Where are we going?", she asked as she watched out the window at the people passing by.
"I'm taking you to see an acquaintance with whom you may be more comfortable speaking with.", he replied, although even he was not certain if this was appropriate. Would she truly be more comfortable speaking with another woman about what had happened to her? Would she open up and reveal the origin of the bite on her neck with a member of the same sex? It begged to be seen, but, regardless, they were now pulling into the alley of their destination.
When he opened Christine's door for her, he understood her confusion. To her, it looked like a nondescript alley. Only those in the know were privy to its secret. He led her to a set of steps and rapped loudly on the heavy steel door. Someone inside slid open the small door to the eyelevel observation window and narrowed their eyes suspiciously at him.
"Sassafras.", Erik said, the password for entry, "I need to speak with Madame Giry."
"I know who you are.", the man behind the door said while sliding a few bolts and opening the door. "What's with the mask? I thought you had a new face these days."
"I'm not in the mood for pleasantries, Hector.", Erik said dismissively.
"Madame is at her usual spot.", Hector said, relocking the entry and sitting back down in his regular chair by the door. "She's probably not busy, been a slow night."
Erik guided Christine down a beautifully decorated hallway. It was one entirely in the Victorian Baroque style, with lush reds and blacks, and embossed velvet wallpaper and thick Persian carpeting. The lighting was moody, ambient, golden, coming from crystal light fixtures installed down the length of the wall. He knew how the entire space was decorated; he had helped Madame by designing the entire space from a gutted-out warehouse to an opulent brothel.
They entered a lush parlor, with velvet sofas and mahogany wood paneling. It looked as though it would be perfectly in place inside the home of a wealthy individual with a taste for the Victorian aesthetic. Erik himself had given Madame the very rug they stood on, a gorgeous Persian with details so immaculate it bordered on criminal. Above them hung a glorious crystal chandelier.
Madame Antoinette Giry was lounging back on a sofa, wearing a burgundy silk robe, with a book in her hand. A few other incredibly lovely, similarly dressed, women were also relaxing in the parlor, some were browsing on their phones, others sipping on cocktails. Madame's eyes met his when he entered. Antoinette was a beautiful older woman; she had taken excellent care of herself and indulged in all the luxuries a woman can to keep her youth preserved. Most of her beauty was natural, but she had some work done, some fillers and Botox to keep the winkles away. She never touched her hair, though, which fell to her waist in all its dazzling silver glory, giving her an almost exotic quality.
"To what do I owe this pleasure, Erik?", Antoinette asked as she placed her book down upon the sofa and rose to meet them, her robe clinging to her long, curvaceous figure.
Erik turned towards Christine, "Wait here a moment." He nodded his head towards the door to Madame's office, silently informing her he needed to speak privately. Antoinette followed him to the door of her office and opened it, revealing an interior that was more modern than the rest of the establishment. The furnishings were more contemporary, with a glass topped desk and black leather furniture.
"What is this about?", she asked curiously as she closed the door behind them, leaving Christine out of earshot.
"That girl.", Erik began, unsure of how to explain. "She has been on the street for nearly a year."
"And you wish to get her a job here?", Madame Giry interrupted, an eyebrow raised.
"Absolutely not!", Erik's anger flared bright, "She is far too pure for your line of work." Immediately regretting the sentence once it left his mouth, realizing how cruel it was, he tried to retract the statement, "I apologize,", he immediately muttered, "Sex workers are not below anyone. I misspoke."
Antoinette simply laughed, and winked suggestively "I understand what you meant, my dear. Why have you brought her?"
"Something happened to her. There is a mark on her neck, a bite…she appears traumatized. I thought, perhaps, you could discover what had happened to her. I fear she was assaulted."
"Send her in, I'll see what I can find out."
While Christine spoke with Antoinette in the office, Erik waited impatiently for nearly an hour, pacing around in the parlor and making the lounging girls nervous. A man entered the parlor at some point, a customer, and one of the girls escorted him down a hallway where Erik knew all the bedrooms were located. It reminded Erik of the one time he had taken Madame Giry's offer and purchased the services of one of her fair ladies…the humiliation still burned in his chest. It wasn't as though he were impotent, but there was something lacking in the whole experience that did not arouse him. The woman was breathtakingly beautiful, but there was unfamiliarity. The entire encounter felt professional, cold, detached. After a painfully awkward hour, he redressed and left the room, thoroughly unfulfilled.
Antoinette emerged, approaching him alone. "She's just having a cup of tea.", she said, "The Keurig is a lifesaver."
"That is revolting.", he scoffed, "Tea out of a tiny plastic container cannot be pleasant. Did she tell you anything?"
"There is a man at the shelter she often stays. He assaulted her.", she explained.
The lust for murder brewed in his heart, "Did she tell you what happened?", he demanded, keeping his voice low.
"He's raped a few women in the shelter. Christine has been good at knowing what days he works to stay away from him, but he was working on a night he typically has off."
"She was raped?", he breathed.
Antoinette shook her head, "Not entirely. She put up a fight, he bit her, hard from the looks of it, and she managed to make enough noise that some other workers heard and she was able to get away."
"He works at the shelter…", he mused aloud.
"Want to know his name?", Antoinette asked indulgently, as though she knew full well what would occur once Erik knew the identity of the individual. "Brad.", she offered without his response. "He's been getting away with this for a while. When workers asked him what happened with Christine, he told them she had come onto him and he had to fight her off. Can you believe it?"
"I gave her funds for a hotel, why did she not use it?", he spoke aloud in frustration.
"She's an incredibly sweet woman, but she's broken. Perhaps she felt undeserving of your help, Erik.", she offered, pausing she looked in his eyes thoughtfully, "There's one more thing you should know…Brad like to take pictures of the girls. Polaroids. There are a few of Christine."
He offered his awkward gratitude for her help while simultaneously filled with a black rage that he knew would consume him like acid.
When he eventually began to drive Christine back to his home, he knew that Brad was going to meet a very terrible end. The Angel of Death would need to pay him a visit.