Christine sat at the vanity table that was placed in her room, staring at
her reflection as her mind wandered. Erik reported to her that the opera
house would be closed for the next day or too. Upon asking why, Erik
explained that the police were investigating the death of Joseph Bouquet.
He muttered something about the relevance of it all, but said nothing else.
It troubled Christine a little but knew she shouldn't ask more questions
about it; Erik's temper may flare again.
Picking up the brush Christine began to comb through her hair, her eyes never leaving her reflection. Memories of the night before began to flood her mind; everything was coming back to her in such clarity, the music, the way they had looked at each other, their short conversation, and then the kiss. Closing her eyes she could almost feel the kiss once more. Christine smiled softly, looking at her herself and touching her lips softly. With the compassion of everything, the sound of Erik crying had scared her. She had hurt him, but she didn't know how.
There was a soft knock at the door. Christine put the brush down and looked at her reflection. The memories had brought her near tears. Feverishly she wiped away the on coming tears. The knock sounded again.
"Come in."
The door opened softly; Erik's familiar figure appeared in the doorway. He was in full evening dress and wore a mask Christine had never seen before. The mask covered almost every part of his face, leaving two beautifully engraved holes for his eyes. It stopped on the bridge of Erik's nose and reached half way down his cheeks before leading back up.
Erik held a hat in his gloved hands, his fingers tapping nervously on the rim. His eyes studied Christine for a moment. With a heavy breath Erik put on his hat, tilting it to one side so it tossed a shadow over his face. "Christine, I'm going to leave you alone for a few hours; I have some business to tend to on the other side of the city. I shouldn't be out for long."
Christine's eyes widened. She stood abruptly, knocking over the wooden chair she had sat in. She spun around, her eyes fixing on Erik's immediately. "You're leaving me alone?"
"For no more than four hours, Christine." Erik said. "You'll be fine by yourself. There is nothing to worry about." His hand gripped the doorknob; he studied Christine's frightened eyes for a moment. Turning away quickly, he left the room without a word.
A stunned and frightened silence fell around Christine. 'Alone. . . . In a place I hardly know,' she thought as fear crept in to her mind. She suddenly called for Erik, dashing out of her room. The notion of being alone was something that she couldn't stand. As Christine passed down the hall she almost ran into Erik, who had paused after he heard her call his name.
Erik was startled as Christine threw her arms around him. He slowly returned the embrace, still unsure of himself. "What's wrong?" Erik whispered.
Christine buried her face into his chest, holding onto him tight. "I've never been here without you. What if someone broke in? You wouldn't be here; something horrible could happen." Her voice was muffled in Erik's shirt and the tears that formed quickly disappeared into the material. Christine stiffened as Erik's hands took her face, taking a step back. This was the first instant she realized how much she depended on him. When they first met she felt like straying away and the mask produced a strange fear, but now she didn't mind the mask and saw the angelic creature beneath it. She didn't want to be apart from him.
Erik's brown eyes searched Christine's, noticing the hint of tears as they blinked. "You're safe here, Christine, no one knows of this place." He let his hands fall to his side, but he reached for Christine's hand involuntarily; he was a little more than surprised when Christine took his hand into hers. He paused for an instant before pulling his hands away. "I didn't know you'd be so frightened of being alone. If I would have known I would have requested to have my friend meet me here."
"What friend?" Christine asked. She regretted the question instantly when Erik shot her displeased look. She lowered her eyes and searched her mind for something to say. "What am I to do today than?"
With a slight pause Erik turned away and moved towards his cloak, which had been draped over one of the wooden chairs. His hands disappeared into a pocket, searching around for something. In seconds he had pulled out a single key. "Did you see the path leading away from the dock and the house?" Erik asked, approaching Christine. She nodded slightly, her eyes turning from the key to Erik. "If you follow it, it will lead you to the street. The only way to get out is with this key. Can I trust you with it?"
"Yes."
Erik took Christine's hand into his. He slipped the key into her palm, lingering there for a moment. Christine's hand closed around Erik's causing him to stiffen. He pulled his hand away, his eyes turning to Christine who was watching him closely.
"I will return before sunset." Erik said, suddenly turning away from Christine. He strode to his cloak and swung it on. He fixed himself and eyed Christine. She hadn't moved much, and was now clutching the key to her chest. "Will you be okay?"
Christine nodded, feeling tears forming. "Yes." she said, forcing a smile across her face. "I'll be fine."
Erik drew closer to Christine, wiping away her tears with gloved fingers. He took her hand and kissed it softly, his eyes rising to look in her own. Her cheeks flushed and a smile came across his face. Without a word Erik placed a soft kiss on Christine's cheek; he whispered a good bye as he pulled away from her. With a swift turn he was gone, leaving Christine stunned and her mind jumbled with thoughts.
Erik never knew the name of the restaurant he disappeared to once every few months. It was large; large enough so he'd feel safe from prying eyes. The waiters and the owner of the restaurant all knew Erik, both by name and by appearance. They asked no questions when he appeared, but greeted him with a bright smile and a bow. They escorted him through the maze of tables and to one that was nestled in a dark corner. No one asked what he wanted to drink, knowing all too well he wanted the best wine they had.
With soft candlelight and the sound of violins playing on a stage in the center of the restaurant, Erik felt sheltered from the world. His gloved fingers lingered on the rim of the crystal wine glass, sliding across the smooth surface. He gazed at the two artists as they played a sonata on their instruments. His fingers seemed to itch with the urge to snatch the instruments away and begin to play his own music.
"Monsieur!" Erik said, waving his hand into the air.
A waiter turned and bustled over to Erik's table. He gave a curt bow and sighed. "May I be of assistance, Monsieur?"
"Yes." Erik replied softly. He met the young man's gaze, watching as he stiffened with the sudden eye contact. "I was wondering if you have a writing utensil with you." The waiter reached into his pocket and held out a pencil. Erik took it gingerly and nodded. "Thank. That will be all."
Turning away from the waiter, Erik began to scribble musical notes on the cloth napkin. He hummed the notes to himself, pausing and repeating to make sure it sounded right. A soft smile had crossed his face as half of the cloth had been filled within seconds. It seemed like a whole symphony was playing inside his mind.
"Erik?"
"What is it?" Erik muttered, not truly aware of what he said.
Finishing up the note he was working on, Erik sat straight and raised his eyes to the person who had spoken to him. A smile danced across his face instantly. The familiar form of his Persian friend stood before him. His seemed to have changed once more, wearing the best suit the city had to offer.
"Akil!" Erik said merrily. He stood and extended his hand
The Persian smiled and shook Erik's gloved hand happily. The two sat, Erik quickly putting his napkin in a pocket of his cloak. A waiter seemed to appear automatically. He took Akil's drink and food order, somewhat surprised that Erik declined the offer of food.
Akil eyed Erik for a moment. "Have you already eaten, Erik? It's not like you to not eat. Is there something wrong?"
Erik shook his head. "I am not in the mood to eat, Akil. Why the questions? You never seemed surprised before." He took a sip of his wine before turning his attention to the violinists; he seemed a bit more interested in what they were playing. "I swear, sometimes you worry too much. You know it's not good for a man your age."
Akil was taken aback. He opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn't think of anything to say. True he was twenty-five years Erik's senior but hid his age well. Akil always seemed to take offense when Erik poked fun at his age, even though he was growing accustomed to the teasing child.
"You're right. I apologize" Akil said. He tapped his fingers on the table and looked at the violinist. A sigh escaped him, causing Erik to eye him for a moment. The Persian met his friend's gaze. "I can tell, though, that you're hiding something from me, Erik. Being a companion, of sorts, for nearly ten years, I can tell when you are hiding something from me. Tell me Erik; something is bothering you, or should I someone?"
Erik's hands tightened on the laced tablecloth. He glared at Akil for a moment; their eyes met, Akil seeming to stare Erik down for a second. "You should watch where you tread, old man." Erik spat. His eyes flashed with anger. The look in his eyes made Akil flinch, more so then his previous threat. "You may find yourself trapped and when you do, it will be too late."
A sly smile came across Akil's face. He leaned his face closer to Erik's, his eyes studying his masked friend as he leaned back a little. "Who is she?"
"What?" Erik gasped, amazed at his Persian friend's perception. "I'll never understand you, Akil." He tried his greatest to suppress his rising anger. He figured out Akil knew about her. He always seemed to see past everything and get beneath Erik's skin; no matter how hard he tried to hide things Akil always knew about it.
"I want a name." Akil said sternly, his eyes suddenly taking on a harsh demeanor.
Erik fidgeted for a moment, feeling like he was a child again. Akil always held him as a pupil, even though the shah had presented Erik as a higher court member than Akil himself. Only being at the age of fifteen, and having an intellect greater than the people he met, Erik felt like Akil overpowered him in so many ways.
"Christine." Erik replied softly as he abandoned all thought and hope of keeping it hidden from his Persian friend.
"Where did you meet her?" Akil asked, pushing Erik on.
"The Opera House. Where else would I meet someone?"
"She sings than?"
Erik nodded.
"How old is she?"
"Almost twenty, Akil."
Akil nodded. He pulled a notepad out of his pocket and began to write on it. Erik watched Akil for a moment. He wondered what he was doing; Akil always seemed to carry a notepad with him, jotting things down after Erik would explain or do something out of the ordinary. Erik wanted to know what Akil was writing.
"Do you have what I need?" Erik asked, finally turning his attention back to the initial point.
"Yes, of course." Akil muttered without looking up; he continued to write. He paused for a moment and looked at Erik who was growing impatient. "I just have one more question, Erik. Have you done anything to her; hurt her in any way? I hope you remember what we agreed to. The last thing I want. . . ."
"Are you serious?" Erik asked, sounding disgusted. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Akil. "I've been taught better. Above everything else I know that I mustn't go back on a promise and that doing harm to a woman is something that even I wouldn't think of doing. My years in the Opera House have been peaceful, Akil, and you knew that."
Akil eyed Erik for a moment before placing a black cloth bag on to the table. "There you are. I'm very pleased with you, Erik."
Erik suddenly slammed his hand on the table, causing Akil's to spill over and staining the lace cloth. Akil jumped and stared at Erik in amazement. "I am not a damned dog, Akil; I will not work for your approval and these God forsaken 'treats.'" Erik yelled. The room seemed to fall silent and all eyes turned to Erik. The usual feeling of uneasiness didn't fall upon Erik, instead it seemed like he didn't notice.
"Erik, please sit down." Akil said, reaching for Erik's arm.
"Don't you touch me." Erik snarled. He slapped Akil's hand away violently, causing Akil to take in a sharp breath and pull his hand towards him. Erik snatched the bag and frowned. "I'm a man, Akil, and I don't need to be treated as an absent minded child. I know right from wrong and I don't need you to tell me what I can or can't do. I thank you for bringing this and I bid you good day!"
With a few simple movements Erik had his cloak and hat, putting them on swiftly. He slipped the black bag in a hidden pocket. Drinking the remnants of his wine and Erik slammed the glass onto the table, a spider- web crack slithered up the glass's base.
Akil let out an amazed gasp as he looked up at Erik. For the first time in years, he saw that Erik had changed. He obviously held much more power than he had at fifteen. Erik had grown, in height and strength and held an overpowering air. Throughout it all, though, he seemed to hold the elegance of every person and the kindness he once knew was buried away in the exterior of a once morbid man.
The restaurant had finally gone back to its usual course; the sounds of the cooks from kitchen, the waiters bustling about, and the guests turning back to their companions. The people began to eat but they began to whisper about the strange masked man, his sudden outburst, and the Persian who was his company. After a moment of silence the violinists began to play.
"Erik, don't leave like this." Akil said, standing and catching Erik by the arm. Erik looked at him angrily, but Akil didn't let go. "I know I've offended you. . . ."
"You don't know what you've done, Akil." Erik snarled as he pulled his arm away. He turned sharply, causing his cloak to swirl around him. "I would advise you to call before coming to me again; it would be very dreadful if something would happen to you."
Before Akil could react Erik was already gone.
Picking up the brush Christine began to comb through her hair, her eyes never leaving her reflection. Memories of the night before began to flood her mind; everything was coming back to her in such clarity, the music, the way they had looked at each other, their short conversation, and then the kiss. Closing her eyes she could almost feel the kiss once more. Christine smiled softly, looking at her herself and touching her lips softly. With the compassion of everything, the sound of Erik crying had scared her. She had hurt him, but she didn't know how.
There was a soft knock at the door. Christine put the brush down and looked at her reflection. The memories had brought her near tears. Feverishly she wiped away the on coming tears. The knock sounded again.
"Come in."
The door opened softly; Erik's familiar figure appeared in the doorway. He was in full evening dress and wore a mask Christine had never seen before. The mask covered almost every part of his face, leaving two beautifully engraved holes for his eyes. It stopped on the bridge of Erik's nose and reached half way down his cheeks before leading back up.
Erik held a hat in his gloved hands, his fingers tapping nervously on the rim. His eyes studied Christine for a moment. With a heavy breath Erik put on his hat, tilting it to one side so it tossed a shadow over his face. "Christine, I'm going to leave you alone for a few hours; I have some business to tend to on the other side of the city. I shouldn't be out for long."
Christine's eyes widened. She stood abruptly, knocking over the wooden chair she had sat in. She spun around, her eyes fixing on Erik's immediately. "You're leaving me alone?"
"For no more than four hours, Christine." Erik said. "You'll be fine by yourself. There is nothing to worry about." His hand gripped the doorknob; he studied Christine's frightened eyes for a moment. Turning away quickly, he left the room without a word.
A stunned and frightened silence fell around Christine. 'Alone. . . . In a place I hardly know,' she thought as fear crept in to her mind. She suddenly called for Erik, dashing out of her room. The notion of being alone was something that she couldn't stand. As Christine passed down the hall she almost ran into Erik, who had paused after he heard her call his name.
Erik was startled as Christine threw her arms around him. He slowly returned the embrace, still unsure of himself. "What's wrong?" Erik whispered.
Christine buried her face into his chest, holding onto him tight. "I've never been here without you. What if someone broke in? You wouldn't be here; something horrible could happen." Her voice was muffled in Erik's shirt and the tears that formed quickly disappeared into the material. Christine stiffened as Erik's hands took her face, taking a step back. This was the first instant she realized how much she depended on him. When they first met she felt like straying away and the mask produced a strange fear, but now she didn't mind the mask and saw the angelic creature beneath it. She didn't want to be apart from him.
Erik's brown eyes searched Christine's, noticing the hint of tears as they blinked. "You're safe here, Christine, no one knows of this place." He let his hands fall to his side, but he reached for Christine's hand involuntarily; he was a little more than surprised when Christine took his hand into hers. He paused for an instant before pulling his hands away. "I didn't know you'd be so frightened of being alone. If I would have known I would have requested to have my friend meet me here."
"What friend?" Christine asked. She regretted the question instantly when Erik shot her displeased look. She lowered her eyes and searched her mind for something to say. "What am I to do today than?"
With a slight pause Erik turned away and moved towards his cloak, which had been draped over one of the wooden chairs. His hands disappeared into a pocket, searching around for something. In seconds he had pulled out a single key. "Did you see the path leading away from the dock and the house?" Erik asked, approaching Christine. She nodded slightly, her eyes turning from the key to Erik. "If you follow it, it will lead you to the street. The only way to get out is with this key. Can I trust you with it?"
"Yes."
Erik took Christine's hand into his. He slipped the key into her palm, lingering there for a moment. Christine's hand closed around Erik's causing him to stiffen. He pulled his hand away, his eyes turning to Christine who was watching him closely.
"I will return before sunset." Erik said, suddenly turning away from Christine. He strode to his cloak and swung it on. He fixed himself and eyed Christine. She hadn't moved much, and was now clutching the key to her chest. "Will you be okay?"
Christine nodded, feeling tears forming. "Yes." she said, forcing a smile across her face. "I'll be fine."
Erik drew closer to Christine, wiping away her tears with gloved fingers. He took her hand and kissed it softly, his eyes rising to look in her own. Her cheeks flushed and a smile came across his face. Without a word Erik placed a soft kiss on Christine's cheek; he whispered a good bye as he pulled away from her. With a swift turn he was gone, leaving Christine stunned and her mind jumbled with thoughts.
Erik never knew the name of the restaurant he disappeared to once every few months. It was large; large enough so he'd feel safe from prying eyes. The waiters and the owner of the restaurant all knew Erik, both by name and by appearance. They asked no questions when he appeared, but greeted him with a bright smile and a bow. They escorted him through the maze of tables and to one that was nestled in a dark corner. No one asked what he wanted to drink, knowing all too well he wanted the best wine they had.
With soft candlelight and the sound of violins playing on a stage in the center of the restaurant, Erik felt sheltered from the world. His gloved fingers lingered on the rim of the crystal wine glass, sliding across the smooth surface. He gazed at the two artists as they played a sonata on their instruments. His fingers seemed to itch with the urge to snatch the instruments away and begin to play his own music.
"Monsieur!" Erik said, waving his hand into the air.
A waiter turned and bustled over to Erik's table. He gave a curt bow and sighed. "May I be of assistance, Monsieur?"
"Yes." Erik replied softly. He met the young man's gaze, watching as he stiffened with the sudden eye contact. "I was wondering if you have a writing utensil with you." The waiter reached into his pocket and held out a pencil. Erik took it gingerly and nodded. "Thank. That will be all."
Turning away from the waiter, Erik began to scribble musical notes on the cloth napkin. He hummed the notes to himself, pausing and repeating to make sure it sounded right. A soft smile had crossed his face as half of the cloth had been filled within seconds. It seemed like a whole symphony was playing inside his mind.
"Erik?"
"What is it?" Erik muttered, not truly aware of what he said.
Finishing up the note he was working on, Erik sat straight and raised his eyes to the person who had spoken to him. A smile danced across his face instantly. The familiar form of his Persian friend stood before him. His seemed to have changed once more, wearing the best suit the city had to offer.
"Akil!" Erik said merrily. He stood and extended his hand
The Persian smiled and shook Erik's gloved hand happily. The two sat, Erik quickly putting his napkin in a pocket of his cloak. A waiter seemed to appear automatically. He took Akil's drink and food order, somewhat surprised that Erik declined the offer of food.
Akil eyed Erik for a moment. "Have you already eaten, Erik? It's not like you to not eat. Is there something wrong?"
Erik shook his head. "I am not in the mood to eat, Akil. Why the questions? You never seemed surprised before." He took a sip of his wine before turning his attention to the violinists; he seemed a bit more interested in what they were playing. "I swear, sometimes you worry too much. You know it's not good for a man your age."
Akil was taken aback. He opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn't think of anything to say. True he was twenty-five years Erik's senior but hid his age well. Akil always seemed to take offense when Erik poked fun at his age, even though he was growing accustomed to the teasing child.
"You're right. I apologize" Akil said. He tapped his fingers on the table and looked at the violinist. A sigh escaped him, causing Erik to eye him for a moment. The Persian met his friend's gaze. "I can tell, though, that you're hiding something from me, Erik. Being a companion, of sorts, for nearly ten years, I can tell when you are hiding something from me. Tell me Erik; something is bothering you, or should I someone?"
Erik's hands tightened on the laced tablecloth. He glared at Akil for a moment; their eyes met, Akil seeming to stare Erik down for a second. "You should watch where you tread, old man." Erik spat. His eyes flashed with anger. The look in his eyes made Akil flinch, more so then his previous threat. "You may find yourself trapped and when you do, it will be too late."
A sly smile came across Akil's face. He leaned his face closer to Erik's, his eyes studying his masked friend as he leaned back a little. "Who is she?"
"What?" Erik gasped, amazed at his Persian friend's perception. "I'll never understand you, Akil." He tried his greatest to suppress his rising anger. He figured out Akil knew about her. He always seemed to see past everything and get beneath Erik's skin; no matter how hard he tried to hide things Akil always knew about it.
"I want a name." Akil said sternly, his eyes suddenly taking on a harsh demeanor.
Erik fidgeted for a moment, feeling like he was a child again. Akil always held him as a pupil, even though the shah had presented Erik as a higher court member than Akil himself. Only being at the age of fifteen, and having an intellect greater than the people he met, Erik felt like Akil overpowered him in so many ways.
"Christine." Erik replied softly as he abandoned all thought and hope of keeping it hidden from his Persian friend.
"Where did you meet her?" Akil asked, pushing Erik on.
"The Opera House. Where else would I meet someone?"
"She sings than?"
Erik nodded.
"How old is she?"
"Almost twenty, Akil."
Akil nodded. He pulled a notepad out of his pocket and began to write on it. Erik watched Akil for a moment. He wondered what he was doing; Akil always seemed to carry a notepad with him, jotting things down after Erik would explain or do something out of the ordinary. Erik wanted to know what Akil was writing.
"Do you have what I need?" Erik asked, finally turning his attention back to the initial point.
"Yes, of course." Akil muttered without looking up; he continued to write. He paused for a moment and looked at Erik who was growing impatient. "I just have one more question, Erik. Have you done anything to her; hurt her in any way? I hope you remember what we agreed to. The last thing I want. . . ."
"Are you serious?" Erik asked, sounding disgusted. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Akil. "I've been taught better. Above everything else I know that I mustn't go back on a promise and that doing harm to a woman is something that even I wouldn't think of doing. My years in the Opera House have been peaceful, Akil, and you knew that."
Akil eyed Erik for a moment before placing a black cloth bag on to the table. "There you are. I'm very pleased with you, Erik."
Erik suddenly slammed his hand on the table, causing Akil's to spill over and staining the lace cloth. Akil jumped and stared at Erik in amazement. "I am not a damned dog, Akil; I will not work for your approval and these God forsaken 'treats.'" Erik yelled. The room seemed to fall silent and all eyes turned to Erik. The usual feeling of uneasiness didn't fall upon Erik, instead it seemed like he didn't notice.
"Erik, please sit down." Akil said, reaching for Erik's arm.
"Don't you touch me." Erik snarled. He slapped Akil's hand away violently, causing Akil to take in a sharp breath and pull his hand towards him. Erik snatched the bag and frowned. "I'm a man, Akil, and I don't need to be treated as an absent minded child. I know right from wrong and I don't need you to tell me what I can or can't do. I thank you for bringing this and I bid you good day!"
With a few simple movements Erik had his cloak and hat, putting them on swiftly. He slipped the black bag in a hidden pocket. Drinking the remnants of his wine and Erik slammed the glass onto the table, a spider- web crack slithered up the glass's base.
Akil let out an amazed gasp as he looked up at Erik. For the first time in years, he saw that Erik had changed. He obviously held much more power than he had at fifteen. Erik had grown, in height and strength and held an overpowering air. Throughout it all, though, he seemed to hold the elegance of every person and the kindness he once knew was buried away in the exterior of a once morbid man.
The restaurant had finally gone back to its usual course; the sounds of the cooks from kitchen, the waiters bustling about, and the guests turning back to their companions. The people began to eat but they began to whisper about the strange masked man, his sudden outburst, and the Persian who was his company. After a moment of silence the violinists began to play.
"Erik, don't leave like this." Akil said, standing and catching Erik by the arm. Erik looked at him angrily, but Akil didn't let go. "I know I've offended you. . . ."
"You don't know what you've done, Akil." Erik snarled as he pulled his arm away. He turned sharply, causing his cloak to swirl around him. "I would advise you to call before coming to me again; it would be very dreadful if something would happen to you."
Before Akil could react Erik was already gone.