Father Once Spoke of an Angel

By: Stealiana

Chapter 17: Building Bridges

Eric tried to weave his way through the crowd - he had to get to Christine, if for nothing else, to apologize for his behavior. She had avoided him for the rest of the performance; luckily the duo had not been required to reappear together onstage. His shaky resolve had boiled away to nothing as she made herself scarce; there was no doubt that she was trying to keep her distance from him.

An elbow caught the young man in the stomach, doubling the dark haired figure almost in two. A swift glance upward revealed the sneering face of Adrian, filled with an insoluble mixture of anger and bitterness. The older man looked down at Eric, his voice drenched with contempt.

"Why don't you pay more attention to what you're doing? You're going to cause trouble if you don't watch it." Leaving the thinly veiled threat hanging, the blonde let his green eyes flit elsewhere, and Eric pushed him away. The motion was quite unnecessary, as Adrian had already begun to hunt through the crowd like a tiger stalking an unknowing prey. Of course, there could only be one person he was searching for with such a frantic intensity, and Eric would have pitied the poor soul at the other end of the pursuit if he had not felt the cold metal in his hands. The bitter copper bit into his hands like a venomous snake and he opened his fingers to reveal exactly what he feared. The key to Christine's room, lifted from Adrian's pocket. Clenching his fists, he moved through the crowd with a new purpose - to run.

The two managers, however, grabbed hold of the young man's shoulder and thrust him around, one of them - and for the life of him Eric couldn't remember which - was vigorously shaking his hand. The other was sputtering compliments on the brilliance of the two newest stars of the Opera.

"My good man!" One of the managers blustered. "You were simply marvelous! Never have I see such genius on the stage of the Paris Opera House. You brought all the audience to their feet after your duet with the lovely Mlle.! And to think, some of the patrons dared to claim you were too young to possess the skill and grace of a seasoned performer! My boy, you made them eat their words! I must congratulate you on what must be the best triumph of the Opera to date!"

Eric merely nodded dumbly, only faintly aware that he had switched hands, and now the other was adding in a slightly nasal voice how the duet had indeed been so enjoyable. Drowning in the jumble of incoherent voices, he begged that they forgive his rudeness, but would they be so kind as to excuse him? They obliged, turning to yet another person in the crowd. The richest and finest in Paris were present, to see and be seen, and few heads turned as Eric fled through the great front doors that graced the Paris Opera House.

The night was crisp, but not as cold as previous January's had been. His chest heaving, Eric sucked in as much of the clear air as he could, before his lungs felt they might burst.

"Damn you!" He shouted, to no one in particular. "DAMN YOU!" He unfolded his fingers again, letting the copper key burn into his eyes. "And to think… I believed… your innocence?! You're a FOOL, Eric, just a fool!" Enraged beyond reason, he began to run towards the Rue Scribe passageway. He needed to get out of the streets; he needed silence. A sanctuary. His hands brushed against the rough stone to steady him as he made his way hastily down the steps towards the quiet black water. He paused at the bottom of the stairwell, the black liquid drawing his attention and absorbing his thoughts. The darkness seemed a comfort to him, and he willingly made his way to the wrought iron gate that closed off the underground water system. He opened the bars, listening to the creaking hinges as they squeaked above the sound of the gently flowing water. He stepped in, feeling the world shut out as the gate clicked behind him. Carefully walking with his hand against the rough wall, he made his way down the tunnels until he saw the faint glowing of the lake. Lanterns had become superfluous baggage as he navigated through the labyrinth; living there for so long, the layout had been etched in his brain. The greenish glow of the water ahead made him pause. His own feelings matched the eerie sensation he received from staring at the oddly green water.

Taking his time, he made his way to the small square landing up at the top of the first six stairs. He hung his legs over the side of the staircase and viewed the water blankly. As an afterthought, he dropped the key with an echoing clatter on the stone steps beside him, rubbing his hands together as if to peel off the skin that touched the horrid thing. Cold and rough, the stones he then rested his palms against were unforgiving as he grated his hands back and forth mindlessly. How could she… after we… after I… I thought…

He snatched the key back up in his hand in a rage, torn between throwing it in the water and marching to her dressing room to humiliate her. But how could he face her; what would he say…?

Lost in his misery, he did not notice the footsteps that echoed down the stairwell. Only when a familiar voice spoke did he pay heed.

"On the night of what could be your finest triumph, you hide away in shadow?"

"What is there to celebrate?" Eric responded gloomily.

"If I had even but one night to be seen as you are, I would not waste it. Chances like these are few, even for one as young as yourself."

"…Erik, I do not mean to be rude, but… I would prefer…"

"To what, cast yourself into the lake and let the heavy water weigh you down? Sinking to the depths, never to be seen again… you know it would only float back up again and then what?" Eric turned, slightly frightened, but his eyes betraying the fact that the thought had crossed his mind. Erik laughed.

"You can't get away from it all that easily. And wouldn't I know." The cloaked man outstretched his hand toward the younger one. "I have walked every path you could ever hope to avoid, thought every thought you lock away - do not think I cannot see it. I watched her flee from you. I can see the key now. That is what disturbs you, yes?"

Eric hesitantly picked up the key that lay beside him, looking at it distrustfully.

"Give it to me." Erik commanded, the strength in his voice all but steering the young man to drop the copper object into the older man's gloved palm. "I doubt the situation is as horrible as you think. I gave a key, very much like this one, to a woman once." He snorted. "But despite that, she still belonged to him."

"You don't understand!" Eric began. "Why, she… she's nothing but… a harlot!"

"… Well, well! Even I did not label her as harshly as that!" Erik mused. "Your thoughts are rather dark tonight; perhaps I was wrong to disturb them? Well, I shall leave you to your brooding. There is a particular young lady I would like to speak with tonight, about her untruthful relations with a particular young man."

"Spare me!" Eric spat out maliciously. "Must you mock me…"

"Why, but I may just be sparing you, boy!" Erik's voice contained a strange humor. "After all, such women do not stay long on this side of Paris - I would think you of all people would know that."

Eric chose not to respond, the reference to his childhood irritating him further. So much time, so much effort, wasted… repaid like this…

"Stay here." Erik commanded. "I shall see what it is exactly that she has been up to. You may be surprised. In any event, do me the courtesy of remaining intact until then. I do not like to waste my time meddling as it is."