Re-read: 3-18-05
The next chapter for you.
I changed some more details in the previous chapters – thanks to my beta reader. Nothing big, but Erik is a little more menacing now.
Thanks to all my reviewers! I'm very happy that you like what I write! You encourage me to write on:)
Galasriniel: I'd feel honoured if you would put it in your fic as a 'must read'!
-Chapter Nine – Beaten-
"I will be gone for some time, Carla, perhaps until tomorrow evening." he tells her when they return to his house. "I'll show you how the door works so that you can go out and stroll around the lake if you get claustrophobic again. If you want to explore the catacombs take some chalk with you to mark your way. You can use some of that in the arts storage. Torches are here in this box. Always take some matches and one more torch than you think you'll need."
Carla nods tiredly.
"Thanks. I'll go to my room now. The darkness outside has made me all sleepy."
His hand rests on hers again, the small yellowish-white bones shining in contrast to the dark earth.
He didn't dig her out to see if she's alive; he did it to be as close to her as possible. He needs this now.
To carefully free her bones from the earth, to arrange them on the gound into the same correct position they had in the grave - it helped him to calm his racing confusing thoughs. Snuggled comfortably to the earth, a decent half armlength beside her, he can finally rest. He is at home here, close to her in the endless cool darkness.
When he wakes again in the same position in that he fell asleep, he carefully caresses her cheek.
"Carla is still here, Christine." he whispers into her ear "I wanted to tell you this." Then he lies there silently for a very long time with his eyes closed, recalling the sound of Christine's breathing, the fragrance of her hair, the feeling of her small warm hand in his. He loves her more than anything else in this world. "She wanted me to sing for her." he eventually continues. "I did not do it. You wanted to hear my voice all the time, do you remember?" He sits up. "You said my voice is the reason that you will always call me Angel exept when you're angry with me. You were so brave facing me once you knew that I would never fly away and leave you, that I would always be there for you. And see, onehundred years and no three days have passed without me visiting you at least for a while. I know how you hated to be alone in the dark... Do you like the flower that I brought you from the Bois?" with his chin he indicates the blue blossom that lies beside her grave. "As soon as the time field has subsided I will bring you roses again." He caresses her skull where her hairline used to be. "Carla is nearly as beautiful as you were. I flattered her in an amicable way and she blushed. I already told you that I feel... sympathy for her, but when she blushed... it nearly felt like what I feel for you... it felt as if I were betraying you. But you don't consider yourself betrayed, do you? You know that I will always love you and that I will never stop visiting you as long as I live."
Carefully he picks up her bones and lays them back into the shallow hole that is her grave. Then he gently covers them with earth. Wiping his hands to clean them he gets up.
"Carla told me about a book, 'The Lord of the Rings'. It seems to be a rather dark tale but it speaks of hope as well. I will read it and see if you could enjoy it, too. Perhaps I'll read it to you when we're finished with 'Kim'."
After one last smile to her he turns around and heads back to his house.
Having dozed on her bed a little, Carla decides to go to the library and doze on in front of the empty fireside. Her thoughts and feelings drift aimlessly around Erik, Christine, herself...
He can be so cold, so cruel, so regardless, and yet he acts like a perfect gentleman, full of kindness and concern and moved by honest tears... So who is he? And how can she feel for him, if she doesn't know who he is?
After a long while of futile argumentation with herself, it is clear, that in the world of her feelings for Erik there is nothing consistent or certain, exept this one thing: she wants him to heal, to let go of all the memories and feelings that slowly destroy him. And no matter what else she believes to feel for him, no matter what she believes to want, no matter what he sees in her, she has to tell him this.
Holding her torch close to the moist ground, she searches for his trace, some kind of visible path... There it is. With hushed steps she follows it's meandring way, nearly losing it three times where it disappears some meters from narrow entrances that are artfully hidden in the shadows. Finally she reaches the threshold of a small cave. It is only four or five steps long in each direction and in front of the walls stand numerous huge burning candles. On the ground in the middle lies a surprisingly small skeleton and close to it, curled up like an embryo, his hand placed on the skelton's fingerbones, sleeps Erik.
Normally, Carla would have been alienated or repelled by this view, but there is an utter, nearly serene tranquility, hovering over the dreaming man and his dead love. And suddenly she knows that she has no right to interfere with the way in which he chose to spend the rest of his eternity.
Beaten, Carla turns around and leaves as silently as she has come.
When he enters the library on the evening of Carla's ninth day with him, he finds her lying on the blanket in front of the fireside, reading a book.
Standing motionlessly on the threshold for a moment, he follows the line of her shoulders and neck with his eyes.
In all the many years that he's been observing the guided tours, he has seen more than one woman who resembled Christine in one way or another. But never did strike him the idea of stealing one of them.
So why now? Why her?
And what does it mean that Christine insisted on him attending the tour in spite of his plan to read to her for the rest of the day? He could feel quite clearly that she wanted him to go. Did she know, that he secretly longed for a walking companion? And did she know that Carla would stay with him out of her own free will? It would explain the lack of surprise that he perceived when he told her that Carla is still there. For the blink of an eye, he gets the impression, that his love is trying to make herself superfluent.
"Good evening, Carla." he greets his guest.
"Hello." she closes her book and sits up "How was your visit?"
"Relaxing." he answers, a little astonished about the question. "And now I will give you what you stayed for - that means, if you don't prefer to read."
"No. Tell me the next chapter. And tomorrow I want to see the theories."
"Good. But first of all I want to give you the replacement for your lost neckerchief."
Carla frowns.
"But how..."
"It's not a new one." Erik explains and hands her a beautiful dark blue silk shawl "It belongs to Christine; I suddenly felt that she wants you to have it."
"Oh, I... I can't accept that..." Carla mumbles mechanically, touching the soft, here and there bleached fabric full of respect. It nearly seems to vibrate from all the memories that are bound to it - and she realizes that the lack of this strange perception is what has been alienating her about Christine's room all the time.
"You can accept it. Christine insists that you take it. "
She hesitates another moment, but then she winds the shawl around her neck and turns to Erik to show him the outcome. It's the oddest feeling she ever had, putting on something that belonged to such a special person.
"It perfectly matches the colour of your eyes." Erik remarks with a surprised tone in his voice.
"Is that such a strange thing?"
"No, it's just that I had taken the one with the lighter blue colour. But Christine was right, this one is perfect."
"You... kept all her belongings?" Carla asks softly.
There is a short silence.
"I changed nothing about her room." Erik finally answers. "I just wipe the dust and the cobwebs away every now and then."
"So my room is not Christine's..."
"No. I abandoned the old house after Christine..." he can't even think the words "I built a new one of the same design behind the outer wall of her room."
"There are two houses of this size?" Carla frowns.
"No, I enlarged the new one after a while. One grows to own many things when he lives as long as I do."
"May I see Christine's room?"
"No. I... don't think you would like it... the carpet ist full of stains."
'Blood.' Carla thinks 'Then she was shot or stabbed... or did she kill herself?' That's an option she never considered before.
"Then tell me the next chapter."
