Chapter 6: Pain of Past and Present
Erik never knew what time it was. All he knew was the rocking of the boat. Back, forth, back.. and forth. He did know that Nadir would come despite his lack of 'knocking' as he was instructed to do. Every once in a while the Persian would enter after knocking, despite Erik never inviting him or responding to the gesture. Nadir would arrive with food and water, each meal was different and exotic yet simple. Erik, rarely ever thanked him for it and continued to dream of lying dead atop the opera house. His imagination soared to the possibilities of being released of this world. His mind was swiftly leaving him with each movement of the boat. Sometimes the boat would rock hard enough to actually move him physically from one position on the bed to an entirely different one. Other times the boat was so still, he could close his eyes and imagine still being in his home beneath the opera and listening to that sweet voice..
God, how with the boredom of his situation allowed thoughts of her to enter into his mind.
How much he loved her..
How much he completely hated her.
But most of all..
How much that damned Vicomte had the rights to what he deserved.
A faint hiss escaped his lips as he rolled onto his side, wrapping his arms about himself, settling in. His bulk and weight had rolled ontop of his bandaged hands, a faint sting stretched out from each finger tip to remind him of his injury.
Although it was not as sharp as it had been when he first had awakened on the dreaful boat, it still caused him discomfort. A flashback came to his eyes as he pulled his bandaged hands up to his face, the neatness of the linen contrasted against his earlier memory..
"Eww.. Mommy, that man's face looks like he's dead" a little girl passing the cage commented as she blatantly stared through the bars. Erik's golden eyes looked up passively from his hands that were covered in bloody and crusted make-shift bandages. The little girl was young, perhaps nine or ten. Her long blond curls bounced around her round face as she catiously moved closer to the enclosure.
"Monseuir, why do you live?"
Erik smiled softly before reaching to the edge of the cage to answer her. But before his crusted lips could part to give a reasonable answer, the little girl screeched in absolute terror and ran back to the safety of her mother's skirts.
He shrugged and sat back, it's not like that wasn't the first time he had received that response. As a matter of fact, the question she had innocently asked was one he wasn't too foreign of. The thoughts of suicide, ending this tourmented hell of remaining a rich man's pet and ultimate investment, were one that often saturated Erik's mind. What would it take? Nothing really if the damned gypsy had been stupid enough to leave a bit of rope or something to choke upon inside of the cage. But no, he left several guards surrounding his "prize exibit" all through the night and day to 'protect' it.
Every night he went through the same routine. The guards would close up the flaps to the tent, whip out the cubed pieces of ivory with numbers on their sides. Whomever would get the lowest numbers of the two pieces combined would be given the right of sleeping first and each number higher would warrant the subsequent shifts given out. Afterwards, if there was no fighting over the results, they would settle into a rather loud nightly chorus of singing and bickering. Sometimes throwing each other about the small tent, jarring Erik's cage and even knocking it over occasionally. Any protest from Erik from the disturbances of their drunken nights would earn him a beating. They would tear him out of his cage, tying his thin wrists to the edges of the cage top, and whipping only long enough to produce enough blood to cover his back or for him to pass out. His cries were music to their ears and generally they would laugh in response to the agonized screams. Sometimes, if they were cruel enough, they would dip their own fingers in his fresh blood. They would then illustrate upon the burlap sack that lay upon his face what they interpreted lay beneath with the strange medium. Some nights they beat him for no reason at all. If he was lucky enough, they would all partake in a large amount of alcohol and all of them would pass out. On those nights in particular he would lean towards the edge of his cage and listen for the music. Yes, the violin music that the head prostitute would play once everyone else was asleep. The sweet notes had intrigued Erik, and also given him passion and love within his soul, despite all that he knew was the cruelties and pain of the world. Although he had never seen her, the guttural tongue of the gypsies had disclosed eventually what the instrument was and who was playing it. On the worst of nights, she would be in the middle of a beautiful piece and one of the guards would awaken. The hangover for the damnable creature would be so painful that even the music was peircingly painful (not that Erik really had any pity) so he would stamp angrily to the flap of the tent and drunkedly throw one of the empty wine bottles in the direction of her tent. That, of course, would end the music. Erik would then to turn his back to the guards, so they could not see him cry himself to sleep. Crying was a weakness, something mosters were not supposed to be able to do. The sight of tears would only get him beaten.
Another scream and the thud interrupted Erik's thoughts. It had been a woman that had leaned forward to view him as he was deep in his memories. Apparently as his musings had shifted to the violin music, he had moved one side of mouth into a smile. It had been too much of a grotesque sight for the specator and she had fainted. She was completely unconscious with a twisted look of pain on her face, two men had rushed to her side to drag her out.
Erik sighed and sat back against the edge of the cage, turning his face to the side to hide a tear that slid down his cheek. A sharp sting interrupted his moment of peace as the pain ripped across his neck. The clang of the metal bar was enough to jar Erik back into a sitting position as he whipped around to see what had caused it.
The large black eyes bore into his own with a menacing glare.
"you will turn that devil born cheek of yours to the people. They paid to see it, so they will see all of it!" the whip tore through the cage and wrapped itself around Erik's calf and quickly disappeared as the gypsy flicked his wrist. The pain was intense as Erik fell to his knees, the coiling welt was stinging along his leg like a snake slithering up and into the muscle tissue. He heard the snap of the whip again, and instinctively sat up as sharp as he could and as he was classically trained.. turned his face to the crowd.
A sharp gasp rose up from them..
"Monster!" some said..
"How could god possibly let a creature like this live!" others would yell..
But mostly the screams haunted him.
Oh god those screams.
Even though he had only been ten at that time.
The screams..
Tears began running down Erik's cheeks as he lay in the bed. Remembering those terrible bandages that he had self constructed in his life before. He then ripped the ones currently on his hands. Underneath the bandages, his hands were scabbed over. The crusty flesh was nothing like the soft hands of a genius he had previously owned. In his delierious world he had created for himself ontop of the Opera Populaire, his actions had taken away the only thing he had honestly held value in.
His hands. The creators of music, poetry, writings, designs for buildings.. Now they were healing from his own doing, perhaps to never perform again.
Erik couldn't take it any more, he had to leave the cabin. He had to leave the ship.
"Where will you go?" his conscious rang out into his head. "Everything you have ever loved, you have lost. Now even your hands cannot create the beauty that you desired to own in your own heart. The only gift that god gave to you, you destroyed. Look at what you've done.." the voice mocked.. "You Monster".
"NOOO!" Erik screamed and ran to the door, pounding at it with his fists. "No! Let me out! NOW!" Erik continued to pound against the door for a long time and then he finally collapsed against it, Exhausted from what seemed like hours of frantic pounding, he slid down the edge of the door frame. His bloody hands slipped over a hidden mechanism and a door slid open from behind the bed.
Nadir had heard the cries from his own room and leapt to get out of his bed. As he moved to the edge, a sharp and agonizing pain took his chest and he fell back into the expanse of covers. Entangled in both sheets and pain he was unable to force his body to rise to the sound of his struggling friend in the bowels of the ship.
"Oh, no" Nadir rasped, "not right now.." He grasped his chest as the pain became deeper and more agonizing. His entire body felt as if it were being crushed under a wave of water, his arm in particular was stinging and wracked with agony. "Eri..k.." Nadir cried as he fell back, fighting for every breath he took, and then slowly the breath died out and stopped.
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