Author Notes:
Here is the long-awaited second chapter of IBYW. I danced around continuing this story due mainly to time constraints, but I recently found myself unable to keep Erik silent much longer and hated not giving you guys something to read. Please read and review, this story will be continued! Thank you to all of you who replied and gave me encouragement!
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I Bid You Welcome: My Folly
Being what I am, I have learned from experience to be prepared for numerous surprises. Most of which, of course, are by nature unpleasant. But what Etienne said to me that evening was nothing short of shocking. After he had left, I sank into my chair, stared blankly into the fire and told myself there simply wasn't enough alcohol in this house.
Not that I have any sort of great interest in alcohol whatsoever. It is mostly an entertainment drink for me – not that I ever entertained! That fact alone should demonstrate how little I actually bothered pouring a brandy or any other sort of drink that happened to take up residence in my cellar.
Rather, my escape is music, and that evening I fled to it. That meddling doctor had not been gone more than 15 minutes before I sat down at the piano and began fingering the keys. Not long after, an explosion of sound erupted from the instrument and I was lost in music. My fingers ran up and down the keyboard nearly franticly, trying desperately to express what I was feeling. But even I did not know what I was feeling, and so I suspect whatever I had been improvising must have sounded very interesting indeed.
But suddenly the sweeping cadenza came to a violent halt as I slammed my hands down on the keyboard, creating a tremendous dissonance that could have very easily woken the dead. I stared ahead in the deafening silence. Had I accepted? In my confusion I managed to completely let the moment pass me by without a hint of recollection. I leaned in toward the piano and closed my eyes. My mind, normally capable of inhuman feats, had been completely shut down once Etienne told me Madeline was alive and desired to see me. I turned into a blithering idiot faster than the Punjab lasso killed.
Equally quick was my temper. Before I even realized my movement, two highly decorative – and highly delicate – china pieces were across the room and in more pieces than I care to remember. I distinctly recall the discord in my mind, as the first thought that came to me was that if Nadir were to see that, he would not have approved. It is not as if I had approved of it afterward, either – I had lost two stylish pieces I enjoyed and gained a disastrous mess that I would be forced to clean up. Splendid.
As I stood there that evening, surveying the damage I had caused, my mind was still racing. Had I agreed? Surely not – I could not have allowed that to happen to myself after all the years I had spent banishing the memories of my life in Boscherville. I spread my arms along the top of the divan and hung my head as I contemplated what action to take next. I looked up and paused as I stared at the shattered china lying strewn across the floor – the shattered pieces of my life.
My life had in no way been a pleasant experience for me, but the one comforting fact was that it was mine. I belonged to no one and was no longer forced to answer to an authority.
It incensed me that Madeline was now trying to claim her mother status. Never was she a mother to me, and I was determined to not let her declare it then. What did she intend to do? Did she truly think she would parade around on my arm, showcasing her genius offspring and his talents? Well much to her surprise she would come to find out that my talents exceeded the fields of science and the arts. Killing had become an art form that had been properly refined and revered in Persia, demented though it was. I was glad to be back in a "civilized" society and keep strict confidence with the few in my employment and my customers – greater discretion meant fewer unpleasant encounters that were likely to end in someone residing beneath the soil. If Madeline was intent on seeking me out, she was sure to find more than she would ever have intended.
I then stood up and placed my hands behind my back as a mysterious calm came over me. I would lie in wait and determine my course of action in the meantime. My answer was soon to come.
Two days later I was out alone surveying a small, secluded plot of land outside the city. I spent the day walking the property and laying out plans for the villa I intended to build there. It was a ridiculous piece of land by my standards, with no distinguishing features or attributes worth mentioning or looking out upon, and the villa matched its location rather well. I took no great pride with this latest business, but the clients paid more than well enough. And so, I was obliged to design the house to its owners' desires, tedious and ungratifying though it may have been.
I returned late in the evening and put Allemande away in the stable. As I stepped in my house and began removing my gloves, I noticed a note of some sort inside the door. I looked at it curiously and pondered it for a moment whilst I finished with my gloves and put them on the nearest counter. I did not recognize the handwriting, but had a reasonable idea who it belonged to as I bent down to retrieve it.
The note was from Etienne. I cursed under my breath, and then went about reading it as I removed my cloak and loosened my tie. I had to give the man credit, for he did not give up. The very fact that he had entered my house that evening should have told me that he was strong-willed and intended to win this battle.
I nearly began to laugh at the situation, but promptly decided there was nothing quite funny about it. He was inviting me to dinner with him and Madeline. Dr. Etienne Barye was inviting me to dine like I was any other human being, when it was he who said that I belonged locked away. "Unbelievable," I muttered to myself. I am disfigured, not stupid, and at that moment I had the right mind to tell Barye so.
I folded the note and prepared to throw it into the fire where it would no longer threaten me. But I stopped and opened up again thoughtfully. This was an opportunity to be had. Etienne knew of my residence, which of course meant that Madeline knew as well, and the only guarantee of relief was relocate. I was not prepared to leave my business and the reputation I had earned over the past several years. I had a comfortable living at the time, made a great deal of money, and had little trouble with my privacy. No…I was not about to flee as I had done in the past from what I had built for myself. I folded the invitation once more and placed it in my breast pocket as I began formulating a reply.
My intention was not necessarily to "scare" them off as it were, but I was certainly going to intimidate them and be inexcusably clear that my life was not to be disturbed. My door was not open, and I would make damn sure that they not interfere with any of my business or dare speak my name in public. I had my way of exerting my influence when I felt the need. I had no idea how my opinions were about to change.
I was surprisingly calm that morning as I began preparing for the trip. I had hired a coach to travel by, and would tether Alle to the back so that I had a horse with me and a quick escape should the occasion arise. Carefully I packed what I needed in the saddlebags and laid them by the stall. I planned to travel by coach to the outskirts of Boscherville, and then ride in on my own to attract less attention. Why on earth I had agreed to travel to Boscherville I will never know. I have nothing but contempt for that village and the place where I had lived as a young child. Regrettably, however, it was a much more agreeable situation than having Madeline and Etienne travel to my house or meet in a public restaurant.
Naturally, my first solution would have been to not meet them at all.
Even so, I had agreed to arrive at the house of Mademoiselle Perrault that evening to take dinner with the three of them. The neutral location eased my apprehension some. I feared entering my childhood home would do nothing but send me over the edge and ruin the evening for everyone, and potentially raise hell in the neighborhood. A mysterious visitor to the outcast mother of a monster would attract unwanted attention. To this day I still am not able to fully explain what in the bloody hell I was thinking when I agreed to this trip. My boredom must have truly been driving me mad if my new hobby was wallowing in the black mud of the past.
And so I prepared myself and departed Paris. Dressed in my best, of course, as my tastes had grown increasingly expensive over time. Etienne failed to specify dress for the evening, but I quickly decided that eveningwear was more than appropriate. I suspect it would be shocking for someone from my bleak past to have seen me then – dressed in the finest Paris and London had to offer, my stark white shirt neatly starched and my tailcoat impeccably black. Ever the formal one, I am.
Unfortunately for my productivity and peace, I learned early in the trip that attempting to write and prepare designs while in a moving coach simply does not work, however gifted the architect may be. After an hour of futile attempts I placed the papers back in my bag and was left with nothing but my thoughts to keep me entertained. This, like so many times before and since, led to nothing but trouble for my already unstable mind.
Though I much would have preferred to dwell on music, I found myself drifting dangerously close to the events of my childhood. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach that had not been there before. As the journey wore on I became increasingly agitated over the images mixing in my mind – images of what was, and what could have been. I heard Etienne's cruel words and insistence on an asylum – an institution, as he called it. I found it disgusting to apply such a socially acceptable word – scientifically appealing, even – to such a deplorable prison.
No matter what Barye wanted to think, a prison was not reserved for criminals. A prison may come in many forms, but in all cases they were dark and dangerous. Perhaps not physically, but mentally they turned the inhabitant into a prisoner of their own thoughts. My dark moods and ill-temper, combined with the abyss that was my mind was courtesy of my past and my own jail keeper – the woman now claiming to love me. How dare he threaten to throw me in a prison when I already carried one with me.
I looked down at my hands and shook my head sadly. Perhaps Barye had a point. If I was not considered a monster because of my deformity, I had become one through my actions. My soul had been twisted and blackened over time with each person that came to harm at my hand. While in many cases it was self-defense, taking a life does not weigh easily, even for a veteran such as myself. My horrific appearance drove me to the edge of humanity – my actions kept me there.
Damn this accursed face…
I tried desperately to take my mind off my current plight by focusing on a different – but perhaps equally frightening reality – my mother. I tried to make sense of what Etienne had told me that night. The woman I had imagined over the years, freed from the burden of her monstrous son, did not exist. I had thought that she and Barye would have married, moved away, and had a family. I had never believed in fairy tales and found them laughable, but as a young child running away from the only home I had known, I wanted that fairy tale to come true for Mother.
Mother…as I sat there in the coach, steadily approaching Boscherville, I realized that was the first time I had referred to her in that fashion since learning she was still alive. My hatred had driven that word from my vocabulary entirely as if I had no use for it. But now it suddenly returned and made me uneasier. If she had not married, what had she done with herself? Surely she could not have become a recluse, longing for the lost son she never could love in person. I tried to envision her alone, staring at the empty piano or holding my early compositions.
And to my own horror, I could picture it in my mind. I could see her arranging my work from so long ago and discussing what should have been with Marie – dear Marie Perrault. Etienne had told me of my mother's intense regret, but I had adamantly refused to believe it. He told me how Madeline would go on for hours about my music, or compositions, designs, and other work I had done. Etienne expressed such concern for her it blinded me to the fact that as much as she warped and twisted my mind, I had warped and twisted hers. We were each other's jailor.
Where I had felt hatred not long before, I now felt a tinge of guilt. I was now torn between cutting the ties with the woman who had made my childhood miserable and apologizing for what I had done. My purpose was beginning to wane just as we reached the outskirts of the village that was my childhood hell. I felt my heart begin to race as the coach came to a halt. I got out, paid the driver handsomely as promised, and prepared for my final leg of the journey. I was thankful for the darkness that allowed me more freedom, for once again my mind was overrun with emotions.
I should not be here, I told myself frantically. This will only lead to disaster…most likely my own. I mounted Allemande and he immediately sensed my nervousness. He grew incredibly tense and began pawing hastily. As I tried to calm him a small number of onlookers glanced over. They could not possibly know who I was, but their curious stare made me nervous. When would I ever learn! I moved Alle on with my cloak properly covering my face and mask. The two gentlemen stared on after me, no doubt pondering the black clad stranger who moved off into the distance.
As I rode on into the night toward my destination, I recalled the last seconds of conversation earlier that day between Jules and I. I had just told him of my destination and a short description of my feelings on the matter. He looked whiter than usual in my presence, and appeared uneasy with my attitude. I made no effort to hide my contempt for my mother and Dr. Barye, and I suspect my biting tongue was making the situation nerve-wracking for the little Belgian. Once I had explained everything to him, Jules paused, visibly confused. "Pardon my asking, Sir," he began, speaking as if it was not his place. "But if you feel this way than why did you agree to attend?"
I paused at the door and tilted my head back a moment to think. All the times I swore I would never be involved with the human race, and all the times I had found myself getting involved once more due to blind optimism. Though all the pain in my life I could not seem to accept my pathetic existence in this world.
I then looked back at Jules sadly and declared, "Because I am thoroughly unable to take a hint."
And while I rode onward, realizing once again that I had failed, I hoped that my life and sanity would not be forfeit due to my folly.
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