Author's Note: I'd like to apologize beforehand for the lack of anything particularly slashy as of yet, but I promise that chapter three will get to it.
Asad Bayoumi was in a state that could be described as a mixture between subtle delight and utter perturbation. The man was delighted because he felt clever – terribly clever for making this discovery on his own. No assistance from his apathetic Darius, nor any help from the doubtful Sûreté on this one. It was several months' hard work that had led him to this moment, and he was completely sure that he wasn't about to be disappointed. However, as he adjusted the flame in his lantern, M. Bayoumi could not easily ignore the more negative emotions stirring inside of him. His discovery was obviously leading him to danger, which was why Asad adjusted his lantern as swiftly as possible, returning his free hand to the level of his eyes. 'Best to be prepared for any kind of danger down here,' he had warned himself many times. When one was dealing with a character like Erik, it was wise to be expectant of the unexpected.
Erik. That lone name brought back memories for Asad that were a plethora of emotions. This was the man that had managed to get deeper under the Shah's skin than anyone else he had ever known. A man who was both a terror and a delight to the Persian court. A man who could manage to shock Asad and then make him laugh only seconds later … A man who could simultaneously create works of unparalleled beauty and instruments of unspeakable horror.
'Beauty … horror. How appallingly well they blend together with Erik,' mused Asad.
Yes, there were some undoubtedly beautiful things about the Erik he remembered. This man was an artist in almost all respects. He was an unparalleled when it came to music, art, architecture, and magic … He was even a talented actor, noted Asad with a grim smile. The number of times the sly devil had managed to lie to the Shah and not only come out alive, but actually fool him, was nothing short of amazing. And apart from his dexterity in the arts, Erik surely had to be one of the most intelligent people Asad had the chance to meet. His quick wit, way with words, and knowledge regarding a boundless amount of subjects was enough to make even the most self-absorbed scholar shrink away in shame. However, it wasn't his intelligence or artistic side that Asad thought of most fondly, but of the untamable passion Erik had for what he believed in … for what he loved.
Tragically enough, though, it was these very loveable qualities about Erik that also made him the most terror-inducing being on the Earth. His words and music could take a sinister turn by using their peerless splendor to manipulate and control the weak-minded. His genius as a draftsman would turn out buildings and contraptions designed to drive men mad or give them the most morbidly unique deaths. And Erik's vast erudition certainly encompassed a taste for the unspeakably dark, being skilled with poisoning, weaponry, and explosives. Perhaps his unbridled passion was the most dangerous – 'Allah help anyone who easily manages to get on his bad side.'
Asad shuddered at this reflection as he made his way deeper into the cellars. This direct contradiction of Erik's behavior matched his physical appearance perfectly. His face ... Well, what was there to say about Erik's face? Even though he had not seen the man in more than twenty years, Asad was still able to picture it all in his weary mind. It was as if all of Erik's more monstrous tendencies had taken physical form, creating a countenance that only a decaying corpse could match. Sadly, Asad reminded himself that his face was not a punishment for his unspeakable crimes … that he had come into this world a very frightened, very ugly, and very cloistered boy. That was all he knew concerning Erik's miserable childhood. Nothing more, nothing less …
But, like his terrible qualities had admirable ones to counter them, Erik's face was dissented by his other physical aspects. He was unnaturally thin and tall, a body type that one could associate with a skeleton. This combined with his penchant for dark clothing gave Erik the appearance of being nothing more than a slender shadow shifting quickly through the palace corridors. When he walked, his movement seemed to embody beautiful music, his footsteps moving in time to harmonies so brilliant that normal men were not privileged to hear them. And his eyes, like Asad's, were of an unusual color. While Asad's were of a bright jade that was growing murkier with his slowly diminishing eyesight, Erik's were of a shade of brown so light that they seemed to be speckled with gold.
However, the most intriguing physical features of Erik, at least to Asad, were his hands. Long and slender, capable of killing and creating in the most unique ways, there was a power in them that seemed to be unworldly. He had only seen them uncovered once or twice, for Erik normally clad them in leather gloves, despite the warm weather. While Erik was obviously highly self-conscious about his face, he was also the same way about those digits of his. He thought them to be frighteningly bony, and couldn't stand the sight of them, for their appearance and for the acts they had committed. It was sad and definitely odd, but gloves helped him forget. Asad, though he would admit that Erik's hands certainly were something that one needed to get use to, thought there was something very beautiful about them. Along with his eyes, they expressed what his masked face could not with matchless poetry.
And so, it was this description of his appearance and personality that had convinced Asad that Erik was capable of being the opera ghost he had so strongly suspected him to be. The clues and signs that pointed to him as the culprit had certain qualities about them that only Asad was knowledgeable enough to recognize. The efficiency of the ghost's mischief, the constant criticism given to the managers and company, the ghost's alleged wisdom of music, the wild descriptions overheard from the corps de ballet … it all seemed to point in one direction. This made Asad feel flattered in a way– certainly most people would never meet anyone like Erik, let alone know him as well as he did. And now that he had seen specter disappear into the basements of the opera house countless times, he was positive he had found his long lost companion.
As he made his way into the fourth cellar, Asad began to ponder if Erik had kept to the last words he had given him when they parted more than a quarter of a century ago. Did he stop with the murders? He knew that Erik had taken to extortion in his new occupation, but that was one thing. Killing … well, that was another. Both were highly immoral, but Asad didn't think he could live with the idea that Erik hadn't tried to put an end to his most malevolent habit after all of this time. And it was because of this unease that Asad still walked with his hand at the level of his eyes – if Erik still kept to his most wicked ways, then he would surely meet an intruder with the Punjab lasso.
How much did the trap-door lover, still arrogant and impulsive in his youth, change to become this mysterious and calculated opera ghost? Twenty-six years was a long time, after all. He could have recaptured his sanity or could have finally fallen into the deep end of dementia. Given the circumstances, Asad was willing to bet that Erik was in the latter condition of mental health. It would take someone without nerves or sanity to pull off a stunt like this.
After having unknowingly tripped the alarm that would ultimately lead Erik to him, Asad Bayoumi was to have his questions answered.