Chapter 6- History

Erik leant with his back rested against one of the strong trees lining the river watching the water tumble over itself in a rage he understood so well. He believed water was almost as human as he, if it were that he were human at all. When it was like this, so raging and violent it was as wonderful to watch as it was frightening and indecisive. Yet when it was still it was so magnificent in it's complexity, it's reflections and it's colours. Yet under that calm exterior swirled a rampant current of power and unpredictable thoughts. And water was undeniably dangerous, he thought with a smirk.

He ran his hand along his uncovered jaw and rubbed his chin and neck softly as he stared and listened to the river but it could not stop his mind from working. He thought of Antoinette Giry and her news for him and his eyes began to ache. What would life be like without her solid dependability in answer to his punctured chaos? In less than a month she would no longer be there and who would rescue him then? His mind flirted with the past as he remembered her.

The first time she had been a teenager and he a boy with a travelling show shadowed with the sneers and jeers of the crowd. There she had been in the crowd with an apple but without the same expression as the other repulsed on lookers. Her eyes had portrayed a horror that had shocked him to the core for it had not been horror at the sight of his torn flesh but horror at the way he was being treated. That same night she had returned and freed him from the clutches of the circus he had been trapped within. She had guided him to the cellars of the opera house, she had touched his hand. She had touched him. And he remembered her words to this day.

'I am Antoinette, what is your name?'

'Erik,' He had just managed to choke back. And she had looked at him with soft eyes.

'You must hide here but I will bring you food tomorrow. And clothes, yes, I will bring you clothes. I know it will be cold tonight but I will bring blankets tomorrow also.'

He had simply nodded his appreciation.

'Erik, it is important that you stay here. If you are caught you will be killed. Do you understand?'

Again his only answer was to nod and with that she had left him there, under the opera house, alone. He had not expected her to return and had explored the damp cellars through the night as it was impossible to sleep with the excitement of a jail break whizzing around his mind. He found it to be cold but bearable and rather interesting. It was huge and there was such a magnificent lake. Over the years he found that he could get into just about any part of the theatre from down there. He had found it so wonderfully free from all that had haunted him.

There were no mirrors.

The next day Antoinette had returned with the things she had promised him so earnestly the night before. She saw him everyday for the first few weeks, although they rarely spoke, after all what was there to talk about? She had fed him and bought him books and candles to read them under. After the first few weeks her visits became less frequent but their conversations had become longer.

He had found ways to fend for himself and he had begun, out of the gifts from his friend and things he had found during the night in the theatre, to build himself a home. Slowly he began to master the labyrinth of tunnels and later he built a boat, an oar, a bed and a chair. He furnished it with old costumes from the past shows and he made himself clothes. And he had learned so much from the books Antoinette had given him. He devoured the books, he realised he loved them for the knowledge they gave him.

She saw him less but when she did manage to see him she had given him more books. Every time a new book and in the end he had to build shelves to house them, they were starting the make the dirt look untidy.

Before he knew it years were passing and he was growing taller, his body was filling out and his voice was deepening with the time. Then he found an organ and with his friends help had managed to have it discretely transported to his new home. He polished it and mended it and tuned it back to perfection, he realised he could sing. He had a voice so beautiful it seemed impossible that it could come from his mutilated face. But it did and he practised often and hard, determined not the waste the one gift that nature had afforded him.

He was man and Antoinette a woman with a new husband whom she adored for many years. Who gave her a child she had named Meg and spoke of fondly. But the ignorant fool had left her, it seemed he had been unfaithful and although her coolness did not allow her to show it, she was heart broken. And he was furious. The anger seemed to come from places he did not know existed and he revelled in the glorious emotion. He did, however, resist the urge to hunt him down and slit his throat for his incompetence.

He shuddered at the thought and balled his fist before jamming it into his pocket, away from the wind. Again he stared at the water and thought of the second time she had helped him. No, she hadn't helped him. She had saved him. She had saved him a second time and he was forever grateful for her kind soul behind that cold exterior. She had saved him from his lair, from the mob, track down this murderer…

He ran his hand back over his face and shook the thought from his crowded mind, he did not want to be back there at that time. It was history now.