Enjoy!

The song that inspired this chapter, and Erik's arc in general, is "Ghost" by Jacob Lee. One of my favorite songs :) I seriously recommend it.

Erik

Chapter 68

The Ghost

Vincenzo stopped by the morning Christine was ill - he apparently was familiar with my father-in-law's work schedule, as he only ever visited when he was away - and as before, he knocked as a mere warning. Christine and I met him in the parlor. I asked him if he would, perhaps, consider not breaking in going forward.

He said he'd consider my request.

"This is God's answer to all those times you broke into Nadir's house, I think," Christine said to me.

"I'm here," Vincenzo said, sitting again on the arm of the armchair, "to discuss that drawing of yours." He flashed Christine a grin. "I think it's..." He kissed his fingertips. "Brilliant."

Christine smiled back, close-lipped, but looked down. She put her hands in her lap where she sat next to me on the couch. I sighed and informed him what happened at the latest party. His grin was wiped from his face.

"That maiale," he hissed. "If I can be truthful, though, I'm even gladder now for the picture. He deserves any mockery he gets."

"I'm...not. He threatened me, and I want to keep my family safe."

I cringed. Not at her words, but at her tone. Palpable disappointment. The drawing had given her purpose, something she said she'd been lacking, and now-

"We are expecting," she said suddenly to him. "A child, I mean. I want to make sure we have a home free of danger from...angry nobility."

"You-" Vincenzo went wide-eyed at her, then at me. That grin returned. "A child. Really! Congratulations."

Christine and I met one another's gaze. My voice was warm. "Thank you."

"But this doesn't mean the drawings have to stop." He stood. "You can make a change without pinpointing anyone specific. Just...sending out that message - the poor need help, or opportunities, or at the very least to be seen as equal - would likely be enough. More, at least, than many are willing to do. More than many are willing to think."

"The Charles Dickens of art," I mused, smirking, and again looked at my wife. "I don't see the harm in that."

The disappointment faded from her face. She beamed, whether from joy at the idea or from amusement at being compared to M. Dickens. "I don't either. But...it might still be good to wait. At this point, anything outspoken I put out into the world will have de Chagny believing it's about him. With time, he might forget."

"Or," offered Vincenzo with a wink, "with time, I might find a way to drive him out of Paris, and then you can publish whatever you want."

"Or that."

It was several nights later that I worked up the courage to finally confront the ghosts.

There were hundreds of them in my head.

I'd face each one.

I couldn't be a good father until I was rid of these demons. I couldn't be staring at a newborn baby - my baby - while vividly hallucinating its death at my hands. I couldn't. And despite what Christine said, I couldn't be a good husband that way either.

So Christine held the hand mirror out for me. I'd not looked into one since I was a child. Since I was, in fact, eight years old, just before Marie became sick. But it felt fitting - like a portal into my soul. A key to my mental house, where all of the ghosts haunted me.

"Are you sure you want this?" she asked.

I nodded. My core was in knots - but I was going to battle against my own mind. Looking at myself would hurt. There was no war without pain.

"If you need me to take the mirror from you, I can." She put a hand on my arm and gave the glass to me. "Just tell me."

"I will." And, with a breath, I wrapped my fingers around its handle and looked down.

I plunged. The moment I saw my own reflection, I dropped from this world into a different one. One made of memories. Thousands and thousands of memories. But it was like passing through rooms at high speed. Each room was in that underground, dark house in my mind. One room, the grand ballroom, was Persia. As I looked at each face, each person I'd killed, they all nodded to me with sadness in their eye. They looked away. And disappeared. Simply faded completely from view, until I was alone.

These ghosts didn't want to fight. They wanted to forget. They wanted me to forget too.

So I came to another room. A kitchen - a hearth. Here, I found each dead member of my Venetian family. One by one, they approached me. Carmelo embraced me. Luciana kissed my cheek. Salvatore wiped my tears away. And Giovanni took my shoulders in his hands and said, "Vincenzo is right. This was not your fault."

And, like before, one by one they all disappeared. They forgave me. I knew they forgave me, wherever they were.

There were more ghosts in the house.

But not many more.

I was brought to a spare room, a forgotten storage space. A small one, where I found a cot and a cage. A small window let in moonlight from outside, where I knew I was not allowed to go. When I turned, I found Cerberus, watching me. He stepped forward, pressed all three heads into my stomach. I could almost hear the canine thoughts of each of his minds, saying:

"I knew the risks of trying to save you."

"I am happy you got away."

"One of us survived, at least."

And he disappeared too.

I was taken, then, to a bedroom.

I stood in the center of the room, and watched as Marie walked toward me. I could barely breathe through my heartbreak as she took my hands and looked up at me - I was so much taller than her now.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Sasha appeared behind her, laying at our feet as she always did.

"You don't have to be," she said.

"I've made so many mistakes."

"We are proud of the man you have become, Erik."

"How can you be proud-"

"Your kindness, courage, and tenacity. Your choices in the face of impossible decisions. I love you, my baby."

Sasha sighed below, as if she agreed.

And they were gone too. I felt hollow at her absence. I felt anguish. And somehow, I also felt lighter. I felt I could take a breath once more, even if it hurt.

That had to be it, I thought. There was no one else I'd destroyed. No one else that needed to forgive me.

But someone still wailed in the house. Someone still screamed, still wanted to hurl violent images my way. So I took a breath and let whoever it was bring me to them. I closed my eyes.

When I opened them, I was in an attic. Not the attic of my mental house - but the attic of my childhood home, where my mother often sent me if she deemed my actions to be naughty. Marie and Sasha weren't allowed up here when that happened - no one was. It was my little lonely jail.

It was dark, midnight, storming outside - a monsoon. I could barely see a thing, but I'd recognize this space anywhere. The only sound was the whip of the rain on the window.

I was trapped in the attic.

And I hadn't been good.

I'd been in here a very long time.

I heard a sniffle. I spun, and in a sudden crash of lightning and thunder, I spotted a child curled in the corner.

Not any child, I realized.

Me.

At eight years old.

I was the ghost haunting myself.

"I'm bad," he - my younger self - cried. "I'm really bad. I deserve to be punished."

I took a step closer, swallowing. "What did you do?"

"I killed everyone." He looked up at me. Maskless. My own face stared back. I cringed. "I let Sasha out and made Marie sick." He changed. A little older now, voice a bit deeper. "I allowed Cerberus to die for me." Older again. A young man. "I am the reason Cardacci killed my family." And then it was my own twin looking at me, wearing the clothes of Persia. "Do I really need to say more?"

I watched as he changed back into a little boy. As he put his face into his hands. I whispered, "You didn't mean to. You didn't mean to do any of it."

"That doesn't matter. I'm not forgiven."

"You are."

"No, I'm not!" He screamed then, and as he sobbed, there was an onslaught of violent images all around me. Sasha hanging from a tree. Cerberus shot with a bullet. Carmelo and Giovanni too. And the deaths in Persia. So many creative, awful, theatrical deaths. I gritted my teeth through it and focused only on this child.

"I just watched it," I ground out. "Everyone forgives you."

He met my eyes. "You don't."

The visions froze. Didn't go away. Just paused. "What?"

"You hate me. That's all that matters. I want you to love me but you don't. You never will. So I am going to make you suffer. Forever."

The weight of his words crushed me. I went to my knees, stared at him. I knew he was right.

"Tell me," I said. "Tell me how to forgive you."

Tears entered his eyes. "I loved them."

"I know."

"I didn't want them to die."

"I know."

"And you think I'm cursed." His voice broke on the last word. "You think I'm terrible. You think it's my fault, even though nobody else does."

My throat was thick. "I'm sorry."

"I didn't mean any of it. I didn't know letting Sasha outside would make her die. I just didn't want her to make a mess on the floor. Mother would have been angry. And I didn't want her to be angry. Because then she'd be angry at Marie too." The tears fell. "I didn't mean it."

I tried to speak, but couldn't. I choked out a sob, clutching my chest.

"And I didn't know Marie would get sick. I shouldn't have tried to bury Sasha in the rain."

The sobs racked my body. I could do nothing else.

"I just want you to forgive me. I don't want to feel like this is my fault anymore. But every time you blame me, it hurts. So I hurt you back."

"I-" I looked up. He stared back at me. The images, I realized were gone. The rain had stopped, though it was still dark. "I'm going to try. I'm going to learn to."

His eyes became wide.

I continued, "I will learn to forgive you. But I might...it might be hard sometimes."

My younger self's expression darkened again. "Well, if you can't do it, then I will continue hurting you."

"I understand." I crawled forward, toward him. Slowly, I took him in my arms. "I think that's only fair. But I will learn, and one day, neither of us will hurt the other anymore - or if we do, it'll be few and far between."

He put his arms around me too and shuddered. I felt as he grew bigger, older, and then as he melded into me. I watched as the world shifted and changed. The attic disappeared. I was no longer on my knees, but sitting on my bed, with Christine in front of me, gripping my face with her hands. I dropped the mirror with a gasp, and she leapt back as it shattered on the floor.

"Erik!" She stared at me, pale. "Erik, you stopped responding. I thought you...were having a vision. Were you?"

"Yes," I breathed.

"I couldn't pull you out." She brought her hands to her lower lips. "You were just...gone, for almost ten minutes. What did you see?"

I stood, then. I stepped over the broken glass and embraced her. Deeply. She hesitated a moment, still shaken by my episode, but then hugged me tightly.

"What was it?" she asked.

I closed my eyes, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and told her. Everything. I said it without judgement for myself. Without shame. I let my wife comfort me through it. Let her love me through it.

The ghost in my mind gave a sigh of relief.

I felt him relax against the wall of the house's attic. He'd carry the burdens of my past forever. And he'd always, always be there. There was no ridding of him, much as I wanted him gone.

I didn't have to love him.

Perhaps that would come with time.

But forgiveness?

I could try that.