Erik left the hotel and turned in the direction of his club. He didn't want to think too much about Sholokhov's revelations, he was done being hurt by the actions of others, especially women. He resolved to slam the door on his past once and for all. He'd look to the future, to spending the remainder of his days running a successful business and enjoying the good life his money could buy him. As for love—he was done with it.
His restless feet took him far past the club and down to the docks. He found solace in watching the water. It had always been so, wherever he lived when he had the choice, he'd seek out water.
In Persia, his rooms opened out to a private pool. When he was particularly weary after a long day at the build site, or heartsick from yet another 'assignment' the Shah forced upon him, he'd sit by the pool and watch the stars reflecting in its depths.
In Paris, he deliberately chose the site by the underground lake. Not for its depth and distance from humanity, but for the soothing sound of water lapping against the shore. He couldn't see the stars, but he could imagine them and draw some little comfort from knowing he'd finally found a place where he could be safe. Until he wasn't.
He didn't feel safe again until they reached America. He supposed he could have stayed in New York. Nasir even suggested considering buying property on Coney Island, but Erik rejected it out of hand. The Island was gaining a reputation as an amusement venue, and the last place he ever wanted to be was near a carnival midway.
So they'd traveled through the country and eventually settled in San Francisco. There was an energy here that drew Erik. A rawness, a newness, a feeling that anything could be accomplished. Of course, he'd never be fully accepted by society, but his business acumen and the money it accumulated gave him enough status that he was grudgingly accepted at events where he could pay the price of admission.
Nasir was right about him needing to make contacts, so he used people as ruthlessly as the gypsies used him as a youth. He took what he could and when making deals was necessary, he made sure that the deal always had a favorable outcome for him but he never cheated or betrayed anyone to gain his own ends.
He was thinking now about the agreement he'd made with Ping Sai. Erik knew that in his own way, Ping Sai was a man of honor. He also knew that sometimes exigent circumstances, such as coercion from a force more powerful, could turn a man to do things against his nature. He accepted that their agreement would soon end, there was no way around that, so he had to be prepared to withdraw with the least amount of damage to himself and his business.
He'd give himself a week, and then go back to Chinatown. If a new agreement couldn't be forged, then he would take whatever steps were necessary to protect himself. He didn't want to return to the Phantom's ways, but if given no other choice, he'd let the ghost rise again. He wouldn't run anymore. San Francisco was his home and nothing and no one would drive him away from his home again.
Erik pulled in a deep breath of sea air. He felt calmer than he had when he first left the hotel. He owed Lillian an apology for his churlish behavior, although she'd been nothing but gracious. She truly did understand him. They'd known of each other across the years, but only discovered their true selves within the past twenty-four hours. Yet he felt he knew her and she knew him, better than anyone else in his life. In some ways, she even knew him better than Nasir.
Nasir knew the man, the brilliant architect, musician, and entrepreneur. But Lillian had known the child, lonely and afraid, trapped in a cage. Unlike Nasir, she instinctively understood that the child still lived within him, at the core of everything he'd done in his life. She didn't know about the madness with Christine, and he would never tell her; but he knew in his bones, that if he did, she would understand.
"That you, Mr. Dantes?"
He spun around, instantly on guard, then saw the small man standing beside him and relaxed. "Hello, Danny." He smiled; Danny Imperiali was a friend from Erik's earliest days in San Francisco. He'd hired the masked stranger and his dark-skinned companion who'd come to him looking for work.
"Haven't seen you down here for quite a while," Danny observed. "Waiting on a shipment?"
Erik shook his head. "Just walking. How are you doing, Danny?"
The small man nodded smiling. "Doing all right, Mr. Dantes. You know what it's like down here."
"Yes, I do." Erik thought back to months of backbreaking work moving cargo from ships to the dock. He and Nasir both worked the docks and any other jobs they could find to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table during the two years it took him to raise enough money to open his club. "And what happened to calling me Erik?"
"Well, you don't work for me anymore, do you? In fact, in a way, I work for you."
"I suppose you do, Danny." He turned to the small man, suddenly serious. "Have I ever thanked you properly for helping me?"
"Don't worry about it." Danny said. "Helping you and the Persian turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. You were good workers and then the way you showed me to organize the shipping books and keep everything on the up-and-up got me in so good with the bosses that I've been able to set aside enough for me and the missus to buy that boardinghouse we been looking at."
"Soon, I hope."
"We're meeting the owner at the bank next week. The money's all set and once we sign the papers, it's ours." Danny looked up at Erik. "We figure with me working here and Alma running the boardinghouse, we should be able to pay it off within the next five years."
"I'm glad to hear it. You're smart to be making an investment into your future."
"I learned from watching you, Mr. Dantes."
"Please, Danny, you didn't have any trouble calling me Erik, and several other choice names, if I wasn't working fast enough for you." He turned, extending his hand to the smaller man. "I'm Erik to my friends."
"Erik it is," Danny said, giving the proffered hand a hearty shake. "And you're invited to dinner on the night we open the boardinghouse."
Something out on the water caught Erik's eye. The wave pattern suddenly shifted, becoming choppy. "What's that?"
"What?" Danny looked over the water. "I don't see nothing."
"Hmm. Maybe a trick of the light." For a few seconds the ground under his feet seemed to tremble. "Did you feel that?"
"Yeah. Happens sometimes when a heavy wagon goes by. Or maybe somebody dropped a big load farther up the dock."
"Maybe. Well, I must be off." Erik turned back to the man, patting his shoulder. "Good to see you again, Danny. I look forward to that dinner invitation."
"It'll come, Mr.—Erik. Not much longer now." He waved and moved off.
Erik turned back for home. He'd been out walking longer than he'd thought, but it was good for him. The turmoil he'd felt when he left Lillian was gone. He felt strangely calm, as if all the burdens he carried from his past were suddenly gone. He felt a sense of anticipation, almost like something was coming, something that would put him on a new path.
He told Lillian he loved the opera. That was true, but he hadn't attended a performance since that devastating night in Paris. Maybe going to see Caruso with her was the beginning of a new phase in his life, one that could include music without heartache. He hoped so.
Glancing at his watch, he realized he'd been out all afternoon. It didn't leave him much time to get back to his apartment and bathe and dress for the evening. If he hurried, he could just make it to pick up Lillian on time. Feeling a new lightness in his step, Erik ran down the wharf to the street, hoping to find an available carriage to take him home. For the first time, it truly felt like home.