CHAPTER FOUR
"He's pacing in there like some kind of wild animal, Doctor." The young night shift nurse, Mindy Winters chewed a nail and hugged herself with her other arm. "I mean, he yelled at me when I just wanted to give him fresh water. He's a wacko, Dr. Edwards, I'm telling you. He should be moved up to Psych, four north or whatever. I won't go back in there. I don't care if you fire me!" Her dark eyes filled with tears and her bottom lip wavered dangerously.
Bradley Edwards sighed and patted Mindy's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I'll go take care of it. I wanted to talk to him anyway," he reassured her.
Mindy sniffed and reached for a tissue. "I wondered why you were here so late." She dabbed at her eyes and squared her shoulders. "I better get back to work. I have paperwork to get done." So saying, she sat down behind the desk and pulled a pile of charts to her.
Brad sighed and ran a hand through his short blonde hair. It stood up in tufts now, adding to his already disheveled appearance. It had been a bitch of a day, everything going wrong. And now he had to deal with Mr. Giry. The perfect end to a perfect day, he thought as he opened the door to Erik's room and shut the door behind him.
Erik was indeed pacing the floor, his long legs carrying him rapidly back and forth in front of the windows. His agitation was palpable; the room seemed charged with energy.
Too bad I can't borrow some of that energy, Brad thought as he sat down in the chair by the bed. "What's wrong, Erik? You've scared the hell out of poor Mindy out there. What's going on?"
Erik paced for a moment as if he hadn't heard, then stopped abruptly and came to tower over Brad, his blue eyes gleaming in his bandaged face. Their color was vibrant in the glare of the light from over the bed. Erik's chest rose and fell a little more rapidly than it should have, indicating his upset. Brad was surprised and pleased at the physical changes in Erik since he'd been his patient. When he'd first arrived at St. Mary's, Erik had been bone thin, ribs showing and his backbone clearly defined. He'd been malnourished, crapped out on drugs and his heart had skipped beats from time to time.
Now, a month later, his heart was no longer skipping beats, but was strong and healthy. He was completely clean and his form had fleshed out with the gain of thirty-five pounds. This was due in part to the fact that his physical activity had been restricted until his heart condition was brought under control. The other factor was that he was eating three meals on a regular basis and seemed to have developed a strong sweet tooth. The weight wasn't hurting him, in fact he looked great, Brad thought. Now if they could just deal with his increasingly bad temper, they'd have it made.
Finally, Erik answered him. "I want to see my face. I want to see what's been done to it." He'd never dreamed he'd ever have a normal face, one that would allow him to go out in public without people screaming and laughing at him. It was driving him insane, this waiting. He understood that he needed to heal. He was no stranger to medicine or how the body worked, but he wanted so badly to view the work that had been done on him. Plus, he was starting to get cabin fever. He was used to moving about freely, even if it was mostly in the shadows and in his underground hideaway. This forced inactivity was becoming unbearable.
"I know it's been hard on you, waiting all this time. But the bandages aren't supposed to be removed for two more days. Dr. Stepanik's orders. He's the best, Erik and you have to trust his judgment. I think the problem is that you're feeling better and you're getting restless. I have something to talk to you about that may distract you for awhile."
Erik gave a huge sigh and sat down on the bed melodramatically, crossing his arms over his chest. What he really wanted to do was to run in the bathroom and rip the bandages from his face. He wanted to see what his nose looked like. He'd never really had a true nose before and feeling it through the gauze was just not giving him much of an idea about its appearance. He had no trouble breathing, but he wondered how his new nose would affect his singing voice. There was no way to know right now, so he turned his attention back to the doctor.
"Alright! What is it you wish to discuss?" he asked impatiently, but not without curiosity.
Brad cleared his throat and sat a little straighter. "I've been holding your belongs for you. The clothes you were wearing were pretty burnt. I still have them, but I don't think they'll be much use to you. But there were some very interesting items in some of your pockets."
Erik blinked a few times trying to remember what all he'd been carrying that night. He'd been to the music shop, buying staff paper and pens. That meant he'd had money. His eyes widened and slid back to Dr. Edwards as he also remembered that his Punjab lasso had been in the hidden pocket inside his cloak. "And what did you find, monsieur?"
"Well, there's some kind of small rope contraption and quite a bit of money. I have no idea what the rope is, but I do recognize that the money is old. Very old. A friend of mine who's a vintage coin dealer appraised the two different types of coins in the sack they were in and they're worth a lot of money." Brad watched Erik closely, trying to gauge his reaction.
Erik did a quick mental calculation of what he'd been carrying on him. Yes, he'd had quite a tidy sum on him when he'd started crossing the bridge.
He nodded his head, saying, "Yes, I remember carrying a large sum of money with me. And you say you've had it appraised? What exactly is it worth in this day and age?"
Brad shook his head and gave a short, derisive laugh. "You're a pretty rich fellow, Erik. If that's your real name."
The doctor's accusation made Erik narrow his eyes and tighten his jaw. "I can assure you that that is my name, Dr. Edwards. What makes you think it's not?"
Rubbing a hand through his hair again, Brad said, "Because I've tried to have you investigated and as near as anyone can tell Erik Giry doesn't exist. That and the fact that you're carrying around a large amount of old coins that are worth a small fortune. Are you into something illegal?"
Erik's irritation was rapidly growing into fury. "No, I am not involved in anything illegal. That money was mine. I didn't steal it, I earned it. That was part of my—salary." That was true. The francs and other coins were only a part of his payment from the Opera House, the rest being hidden in his underground sanctuary.
Brad's gray eyes darkened. "Don't play me for a fool, Erik. Who the hell pays people in money that was made over a hundred years ago? Would you mind telling me that?" his voice had risen several notches.
"That's very easy to answer, monsieur." Erik's tone had quieted to a deadly whisper that made Brad's stomach do a flip-flop. "I get paid with that particular currency because I am not from this time. Nor am I from this country, as you know. My last place of residence was the fifth level cellar, across the lake, underneath the Paris Opera House, the year eighteen eighty and one."
Erik took an immense pleasure in the shock that caused the doctor's mouth to fall open. He chuckled, then let loose a full-blown Phantom laugh. He laughed even harder when Brad got up from his chair and backed up against the wall. The laughter rang off the walls in the small enclosure. Brad clapped his hands over his ears and shook his head until the sound faded and Erik was once again quiet.
Slowly, Brad's hands came away from his offended ears, his breathing fast and hard. "Wh-what the hell was that? How?" His voice cracked at this point. He swallowed and tried to continue. "Where did that come from? So loud like that? And what do you mean that you're from the year eighteen eighty one? That's impossible. You're talking about time travel and no one has done that. They've tried but no one's ever succeeded." Now it was Brad's turn to pace as he tried to reason everything out. "I mean at least nothing's ever been published that time travel has actually occurred. This can't be-"
"Why not? Just because you say so? There are many things that can't be explained. Think about it, Bradley-may I call you Bradley?" Erik went on at Brad's distracted nod. "Good. Doesn't it all make sense? My clothing is a good place to start. I've watched a lot of television since I've been- well, here and no one except actors in recreated costumes dress in anything resembling my attire." Erik propped an elbow on his knee and turned his palm up. "Then there's the money. You're right, not even in today's France would this money be used. It's not stolen, it's mine, paid to me by the good monsieurs who run- or ran the Opera house. They'd be dead now, of course-" Erik's breath caught as another realization came to him.
They'd all be long gone by now. His beloved Christine, who'd betrayed him with the vile Raoul. Mrs. Giry, from whom he'd borrowed his last name, and her daughter Meg. Carlotta and all the other members of the opera. They would have to be dead. Sorrow crashed through him, battling with anger and bitterness at his situation. He'd been so preoccupied with receiving a new face and recovering from his ordeal that he'd completely blocked out the reality of his situation. His whole life, the only life he'd known was gone. All of it lost to him on a dark, storm-ridden night when the cruel fates had added another horrid twist to his already wretched existence.
Now she had been stripped from him once again. There would be no chance meeting, no surprising her or catching a glimpse of her. She was permanently erased from his life. He choked back the tears, the grief. Mrs. Giry, his one true ally, existed no more. She'd been his savior when they were both youngsters and now she was gone.
His voice was ragged with emotion as he spoke.
"Why else would I have no comprehension of this modern world or the technology? Things that you take for granted, TV's, electric, automobiles… they hadn't been invented yet, in the era that I come from. I knew nothing of such things. Why do you think I was studying everything so intently, asking endless questions? I still do. There's so much I still have to learn, to adapt to in order to survive." He raised his gaze to Brad's, the strange blue burning brightly. "What other choice do I have?"
Brad shook his head as though trying to clear away a fog. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. There's no way this could be true. I'm going to order a psych eval on you tomorrow. There has to be another explanation," he protested. Yet as he looked back into Erik's eyes, a dark certainty wound its way into his chest that the man who sat on the bed before him was just as he said. From another time.
