Hi all! Iiiiit's Erik time! This is the very first full chapter of this story that I actually wrote all by myself off the top of my head! No RP, no nothing… haha ;) I'm sure that seems ridiculous to all of you who write everything off the top of your head…But for me, it's a breakthrough!
Enjoy!! Love you all!! And thanks SO much to all those who reviewed! You guys rock!
Two Hours Before the Trial
Clara Varlese's hands were full. In one arm, she cradled a large, brown paper bag, and the other was attempting to dial a cell phone without letting her briefcase fall to the ground. She had two close calls as she tried to add a file box to the pile before she gave up. She groaned and kicked the door shut. She'd have to come back to her car for the box later.
Besides, the call had gone through and phone was ringing now. She started toward the doors of the courthouse, impatient for Corbin's secretary to pick up. Answering machine. Crap. She had already tried his mobile, and no answer there. Where the hell was he? He had better be already inside, or he was in for it. She'd send him back for the files. Make him do a little of the heavy lifting.
She was exhausted. She hoped one of them had at least gotten some sleep last night. It's not like she was running late; they didn't have to be in court until noon, but how could she help feeling a wee bit unprepared for today? It had happened so fast! Usually it took months or even more than a year for a homicide case to get a trial. Even celebrities had to wait for so long! But a few months had not even passed and already it was Day 1, and the press had labeled it the 'Trial of the Summer.' Talk about your sixth amendment! Of course, she knew the speed had absolutely nothing to do with her client's rights. It was all about politics. The witnesses were the celebrities, and they had agendas to keep. How many of the accused had been shirked of their six amendment right so that these barons of fame and wealth might not be inconvenienced? Finish it fast, they had told the D.A., and we will tell you everything you want to hear.
But what could more time have done for Varlese anyway? It was not as if her client was being especially cooperative. In fact, she was half certain he felt the same way as all the witnesses...Finish it fast
Actually, despite her exhaustion, Varlese was feeling at least a little bit confident. The defense may not have celebrity witnesses, but the forensics were on their side. All the scientific evidence and analysis had resulted most favorably for her case. And she knew that, despite whatever the truth of the murders might be, the point of the trial was to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Erik was guilty of homicide (etc., etc.). And it couldn't be done. She didn't know how it was possible, but the man had managed not to leave a single fingerprint, a single footstep, or a single speck of DNA anywhere near any of the bodies. And there were no eyewitnesses that saw him do it. Had he done it? Yes, Varlese was quite sure he had. But that didn't matter; her job was to show the jury that he could not be proved guilty and he was therefore innocent.
But, ah...The jury...How easily could they look at a man like Erik and listen to the testimony of the beloved superstar witnesses and not jump to conclusions regardless of evidence. Varlese remembered jury selection as if it had been yesterday. It practically had! She and Corbin had only been allowed to dismiss so many candidates...And how many were left over at the end with obvious biases...uncanny superstitions and emotionally twisted ideas. She would have objected to the whole lot if she'd been able! But where could she ever have found twelve people completely unbiased toward someone like Erik...The kind of man capable of sparking the deepest fears and darkest sensations in even the most contemporary of human beings with one flash of those strange, strange eyes of his. Any woman on the jury would either be utterly disgusted by him...or fall in love with the very first of his graceful movements...And neither was a good thing. Those that were seduced by his silent charm would only hate him for not even knowing they were alive, and those that were disgusted would smirk in the face of forensic science.
Varlese had no higher hopes for the men on the jury. Those that did not scoff at Erik for his apathy would see what effect he was having on the women, and they would undoubtedly be resentful. Jealousy was hate, and these men would want to punish Erik for the power of seduction of the senses that he never even consciously exerted. To reach a verdict, the jury would easily find itself unanimous...And even if there was one person impartial enough to look at the clear facts, why would he want to? Punishing Erik, guilty of these particular crimes or not, was not punishing an innocent man...For all around him, this one person would feel the sins that Erik commits every moment of his life just being who he is...Erik.
Should Corbin and Varlese win this case? Yes. Would they? She doubted it. But they would try. It was their job. And who knew? Perhaps (if he were actually willing to cooperate) she could create a new image for Erik. What she needed to do was convince him to suppress...himself. Couldn't he just pretend to be normal for a few hours each day while in the public eye? But try as she might, whether he was unwilling or incapable, she could not manage to get him to accomplish normalcy. So now she needed him to be less than normal...She needed to make him as invisible and unnoticeable. She knew there was no way she could get the jury to feel sympathy for him. She had thrown out that angle long ago. But if she could just manage to make him fade away...Keep those twelve "impartial" judges from literally noticing him as much as possible...Perhaps they would forget about prejudices. It was a manipulative mental strategy, but she knew it might work...It had worked in the past and it wasn't as if she had many other choices right now.
Strategies, strategies...She would have to take this trial day by day. Cross-examining the prosecution would take some time before the defense even presented their first witness anyway. First of so few. Corbin had given them the choice of coming today to watch, but Varlese doubted they would show up.
But would Corbin show up? That was what she wanted to know right now! She had already made her way through to the back halls of the courthouse, and there was still no sign of him. He'd better be there by the time she was done with Erik.
Because of security measures, Erik had been brought over from the prison at six o'clock that morning and had since been waiting in the cell in one of the back rooms that was even smaller than those at the prison. All that existed behind the bars (besides Erik) were two chairs and one table. But Erik was not using them. He stood very still with his back to the bars, and he did not notice when the guard left to go around the corner and unlock the outward door to let Varlese into the room. Erik also did not notice the sound of the guard unlocking the door of the bars behind him nor the sounds of Varlese's entrance into the cell until she unloaded all that she was carrying onto the table.
Erik turned just in time to see the guard lock the bars again and return to his post in the corner of the room.
Varlese straightened her suit first and the items on the table second. She then looked up at Erik and gave him the once-over.
"And how are we this morning?"
His black mask hid whatever expression that might have been on the face she still had never seen, and he answered simply, "Fine."
She gave him a half-smirk. "Not a morning person, eh?"
He distantly glanced at the windowless walls. "Is it morning...?"
Varlese rolled her eyes. "Turn around, let me get a look at you."
He did as she asked, and she paid absolutely no attention to the obvious cynicism in his participation.
He was dressed in the basic grey suit that had been such a pain for her to find in his size, but it seemed to fit him well. It was a very nice change from orange.
Varlese was impressed. "You look good...Don't glare at me! I mean it." She moved around him a little to make sure there were no wrinkles. "But that mask has to go."
Erik turned to face her again and folded his arms, daring her to even consider such a notion. "I don't think so."
Varlese shook her head and went back to the table. "No, I mean...Black isn't the best color on you."
"...I beg to differ."
Varlese stifled another smirk and picked up the brown bag, unfolding the top. "What I mean is...The mask that you are wearing is not the...most affable façade we could present to your judge and jury. Here, I brought you several options." She turned the paper grocery bag over and about eight or ten various masks spilled out onto the table.
She sorted through them, turning each one right side up. "You have to admit the one you've got is a little bit...sinister. And that's the last image we want to present. I'm thinking more neutral. Here, this one's my top choice." She picked up a very simple, molded mask that was made of somewhat flesh-colored plastic.
Erik barely even glanced at it. "No."
"Why not?"
"It won't fit."
"How do you know? You didn't even try it!" She held it out for him.
His arms remained crossed. "I know."
"How?"
Erik tried to think of an elucidation she might understand. "Haven't you ever...looked at a pair of shoes and simply known they were too small?"
Annoyed, Varlese glanced down at her shoes then at the mask in her hand. "Yeah, but that's shoes; this is a mask. How could you know...? It's not even..." She turned it over in her hand, trying to judge from the inside.
"I know." Erik repeated firmly. "It's too small."
"Well fine then." She tossed the mask back among the others. "Just pick one."
Erik turned his back on the table. He was being difficult...again! Varlese didn't have the time or tolerance for this.
"Listen. I don't care which one you pick. Any one of these is better than that Halloween nightmare you're wearing, which alone would make a jury want to have you swinging by the neck. But you have to pick right now, because I have other things to do before we have to be in that courtroom, and I am in absolutely no mood to sweet-talk you into being agreeable."
Erik slowly turned to look back at her over his shoulder. "Why do you always do that?"
She blinked. "Do what? What are you talking about?"
"'Have you swinging by the neck,'" he quoted. "Every occasion, the penalty changes with you. 'They'll gas you,' 'You'll get the chair,' now hanging...What's next? A firing squad? The guillotine? I was not aware this state was so fickle with its methods of execution."
Varlese flipped open her briefcase and shook her head. "It's not...Of course it's not...I just say it that way because 'They'll prick you with their little needle' doesn't have the same emphasis, you know?"
Erik approached the table, somehow seeming to now be interested in the conversation. "Needles can be quire lethal. The deadliest poisons flow from the smallest of stings."
She looked up at him, and as she spoke, waved a pen in the direction of the masks, hoping to save time. "Perhaps, but what's poison compared to electrifying you until your brains fry out your ears?"
Erik delicately spun a couple of the masks around to face him, and it seemed as if he were merely thinking aloud, "Some poisons can be quite excruciating. You could not even begin to dream of the slow, agonizing torture they can cause before the revolting death."
Varlese looked up from the contents of her briefcase. "What's with you and poison? You sound like you'd like the idea of dying by lethal injection."
Erik's voice was strangely hushed as he stared into the vacant eyes of the mask that happened to lie directly before him. "It seems fitting..."
Varlese was not a depressive person, but sometimes Erik just made her feel like shooting herself. She looked at him sadly for a long moment before she spoke. "You know you had a choice...We could have made a deal..."
Erik's eyes snapped up to hers. "And instead of risking execution, I would have been assured of dying in a prison cell after a long life of torturous solitude and immurement?"
She closed the briefcase and took a moment to rub her temple with her free hand. "And you really think that this way you have a chance?" She knew he knew just as well as she what devastating odds were against them.
However, Erik did not seem to take her comment seriously. "You're my lawyer...You're not supposed to be asking me questions like that."
Was that supposed to be a joke...? Varlese studied him as closely as possible. "I'm your lawyer...But I'm not an angel."
"Neither am I..."
She snapped the locks shut on the case. "That's for damn sure." Erik had gone far away again. Damn it all. She tapped the table to get his attention. "Now are you going to pick one of these or do I have to pick for you?"
His eyes drifted back to meet hers again. "...What?"
"The masks." She frowned. "I need you to be in reality right now, capisce?"
He was silent for a moment that unsettled Varlese, and then he moved around to her side of the table. He stared down at the woman from at least a foot above her head, and for some reason, he realized that he was feeling rather violent. "Forgive me." The words were built of black ice.
Varlese did not like the stiffness that had suddenly sprung to Erik's already always rigid frame. She had absolutely no tolerance for threats, and she was about to warn him to back off when he looked back to the table again and picked up one of the masks.
He turned it around in his hand and asked with tangible distaste, "Yellow?"
Varlese glanced from it to him then back to it again. "It matches your outfit."
Erik looked askance at her. "There is not a fleck of yellow on a single thing I'm wearing."
She shrugged. "But it is coordinated."
Erik gave her a dreadfully doubtful look.
She picked up the bag again. "What, you don't like it? I think it's cheerful."
His tone was flat. "You don't know me very well."
She shook her head and took the yellow mask from his hand, stuffing it back into the bag. "For a man with no proof of origin, birth certificate, or social security number, you sure have a strong sense of identity." She reached across the table to grab the one he had called too small and put it away as well. "Are you even an American citizen? Is Erik even your real name?"
Erik took his time examining a couple more of the masks before handing them to Varlese to put away. "I have no name, and I have no origin. I told you that."
She scowled at how easily he dismissed the masks she had taken hours to compile. "I thought you were just being supercilious."
Erik flipped a couple brown masks aside. "No. It's the truth."
Was she in the mood to piss him off? "So, that's it? You're no one? You're nothing?"
He looked down at her again. "A Phantom?"
Varlese was not sure if the question was meant to be amusing or miserable. She studied Erik in silence then, and it took her a moment before she realized that he was staring at her. The surprise was enough to make her breath catch in her throat, and she was about to say something when he slowly began to lean towards her. She tried to take a step back, but the table prevented her. Why was he staring at her like this? And still moving closer? She sensed her own pulse quicken as he lifted an arm and reached behind her. The bizarre tension Clara felt now derisorily stretched this brief moment a little too long for her comfort. But it was at the very moment that she comprehended that she was at a loss—that his eyes let hers go.
Erik withdrew. Varlese exhaled a suppressed sigh...Strange for her. Varlese? Sighing in such a way? Erik took no notice of her as he was examining the plain, angular, white mask he had taken from the table. He turned it over in his hand slowly in contemplation.
Varlese stepped around the table and felt the nervous need to occupy herself by brushing invisible dust off the skirt of her suit. "Yeah, I like that one too."
Erik looked up at her. She looked away. After a moment, his eyes went back down to the mask and hers returned to look at him.
"Turn around," he ordered in a low voice.
Varlese blinked, not understanding at first, and then she shook her head, "That's quite all right. It's about time I saw what you look like anyway."
Erik stared at her again in cold silence a moment before speaking, "You think so?"
She nodded and gestured with a wave of her hand. "Go for it."
Erik's eyes narrowed into that hostile glare brought on by instinct that had been constructed within him from before the first years in even his unnaturally acute memory. Since the earliest screams at the moment of his birth, the world had feared the sight of the horror that was Erik's face. He knew what Varlese would say if he objected. She would claim not to be a child. She would say she'd seen a lot in her life in this world of modern terrors and that a man's mere face was nothing more than a shrug of the shoulders and the bat of an eyelash. But Erik had seen such things too. In fact, he had probably seen much worse in his reclusive life of study than even a worldly professional woman like Varlese. He had always entertained a strange fascination with the macabre...It was as if he had been on a never-ending search for something in the realm of evils, for something, anything more grotesque than his face. An impossible search. Yes, Erik had seen the worst the world had to offer, but he had also seen his face.
How he hated mirrors.
Erik had truly seen it all...And he knew that no Hollywood horror film, spectacle of avant-garde special effects and illusions, or terror of publicized human brutality could prepare this woman for what lay beyond the mask.
But she did not know this and was impatient. "Go on," she insisted.
Perhaps it was about time she saw. After all, how could Erik deny her the honor? For all she had were his best interests at heart. Yes, she deserved to see. She deserved a good nightmare.
A brief span of silence, then Erik took off the black mask. Another moment of silence. Then he put on the white mask with a flash of hand that could have only come with countless years of habit. The moment had been very brief, yes; Erik hadn't looked at her in that time. It very well could have been that he knew if he looked at her, the sight of her face would have filled him with more disgust than his had filled her.
Erik hated mirrors, and when people looked at his face, even when they did not scream and even when their expressions remained blank, dumb, and unchanging—like eternal carvings, even then—their faces were the coldest mirrors Hell could ever offer. Had Erik looked at Varlese's face, what would he have seen in that mirror of paled flesh? He didn't want to know. He didn't have to know. He really didn't.
So what was her reaction to the sight of his face? Well, Erik would never know. But it was a long time before she spoke. Erik spent that time examining his black mask. They hadn't kept good care of it...The lavishly lacquered surface of the dark wood was scratched and scuffed in places. Nothing ordinarily noticeable...Fine lines...tiny specks on its edges and its beautifully carved nose.
Varlese's voice drew back his attention as she finally spoke, "Well...ah...We won't show that to the jury."
Had she been intending to show it to the jury?
Erik lifted his head and glared at her fiercely as his grip on the mask instantly tightened.
Varlese was unexpectedly startled and backed away from him a couple steps, but she stopped again when she felt her legs hit the chair at the table behind her.
He moved towards her once more. "You didn't like it as much as you thought you would?"
"No!—I mean—" She pretended to be annoyed by the chair and moved around to its other side, keeping her eyes off him and beginning to gather up the masks left on the table. "I'm sorry, Erik...I didn't mean to—I don't think it's...It doesn't bother me, it's just that...The way you...." She couldn't quite get a grasp on exactly what it was she wanted to say. She looked up at him, suddenly realizing he was now a lot closer than he had been only a moment ago. "The way you looked...I don't mean the way you looked! I mean..." One of the masks fell from her fingers and landed under the table.
The burden of Erik's eyes would not retreat. He said, flatly, "You are shuddering."
"No, it's not that!" Varlese shook her head and tried very hard to find the right words. "I'm just—I'm thinking about the case... We know you're a very intelligent and gifted man, Erik, and—We know what you look like—It shouldn't matter...It's..." Was she trying to make up for the true reason for her reaction? "I'm just thinking about the jury...But it's not...It's..."
Her words trailed off, and for a few seconds the halted silence was more portentous than any past unspoken threats.
But then Erik shook his head and sighed to himself, "A chiacchiere costei mi par cosmopolita..."
Varlese was in the process of reaching under the table to retrieve the lost mask, but she looked up when he spoke. She understood the words well enough as her close Italian heritage allowed her to take offence at the comment. "What?"
Erik's back was to her, and he didn't really address her question, but said more as if in thoughtful remembrance, "Madama Butterfly...Lovely opera. She kills herself in the end..."
Varlese stood up and tucked the chair back under the table. "Who wrote that?"
Erik was looking down at the black mask in his hand, tightening his grip on it even more, and, for a moment, Varlese thought he had not heard her...But then he answered softly, "Puccini."
She watched him in perplexed silence for a moment and then held out her hand for the black mask. "You better give that to me before you break it."
He tossed it at her, but she missed catching it, and it hit the bars behind her, fell to the ground sideways, and then slipped between, coming to rest just on the other side.
"...Great," she muttered and then gathered the rest of the masks on the table back into the paper bag. She crunched up the top and looked up at Erik. "Lose the attitude before you get into that courtroom."
He didn't answer. She took up her briefcase in her other hand and signaled to the guard to unlock the grate. But before going, she stopped and looked Erik up and down, then back up again one last time. "Don't let me catch you standing with your arms folded like that anymore. And loosen up a little; you don't have to look so tense. We'll be the ones working today, not you. The press will pen you as a stiff."
She knelt down once outside the bars and picked up the fallen mask between two free fingers. She then glanced back at Erik once more as the guard locked the bars.
"And you know, it wouldn't kill you to smile."
After she was gone, Erik only whispered to himself, "Partout...la même..."
Footnote!!: ::lol:: This for anyone who might be wondering about Erik's Italian quote (I know everyone's not as obsessed with Opera). These are the actual lyrics from Puccini's Madame Butterfly. Pinkerton says them right after he meets Suzuki, Butterfly's housemaid, who babbles on and on as soon as she's introduced. In one lyrical translation to English, they mean: "When they begin to talk, alike I find all women." This and slight variations of these words seem to be the most popular translation (though not literal, of course, it's all about the meaning, not the definition) of the Italian lyrics. Now, don't think Erik's being sexist or anything... I just mean that he's just disappointedly commenting that he has gotten a lot of similar reactions to this particular situation, namely, Christine's "If I ever shudder when I look at you, it will be because I am thinking of the splendor of your genius" etc. etc.
...mmmmm... splendor... ;)