Ch 5 – Starting Over
Erik stepped back to survey his work. The design was both inspired and flawless, as was all of his work in every endeavor he undertook, and yet still he paused to change one or two small details. Upon looking once more, he seemed satisfied, and then turned the plans so that the two well-dressed gentlemen on the other side of the table could see. These two impressive men would have seemed intimidating individuals to most people in their own right. Yet they waited with bated breath for some gesture of assent from the dark, mysterious man in front of them before presuming to look upon his work. With a nod of his dark head, they sprang forward like excited children, poring over the elaborate sketches.
After several moments of whispering back and forth, pointing to various aspects of the design, the taller of the two men, M. Montclair, stood up reaching out his hand, which Erik met with his own in a firm handshake. "Monsieur, your work is truly the work of a genius. I am honored that you have agreed to become part of our venture. My partner and I humbly offer to make you a full partner in our business, entitling you to one-third of all its profits. And I can assure you, monsieur, that with designs such as this, that will be a most satisfactory amount." The second partner, M. Lebaux, extended his hand as well, and after all the appropriate pleasantries had been exchanged, M. Montclair rolled the plans into a tight bundle, and tucked them safely under his arm. "Monsieur, before we take your leave, I would ask for the pleasure of your name, so that I might have the appropriate paperwork drawn up to formalize our agreement." M. Montclair looked somewhat apprehensive at this request, as if expecting the powerful, enigmatic man before him to be angered by his presumptuous inquiry. Erik, however, touched by the man's care not to upset him, simply replied quietly, "Erik. You may call me Monsieur Erik de Noir."
The sun was setting in layers of soft gold, magenta, and lavender over the delicate blue of the sea as Erik made his way home through the streets of Nice. It was strange, he mused, how he had grown accustomed to the light of day so quickly. Ironically, it had been Christine's betrayal which had propelled him from his comforting solitude and darkness into the world of society and daylight. He supposed he had that, at least, to thank her for. After she had revealed him and he had seen himself for what he had become, that place which had once been his sanctuary had seemed to him a prison in his pain. He had ventured forth from Paris the very next night, with the help of one or two trusted contacts he had made over the years. They were paid handsomely as always for their silence, and he had escaped from the city with little difficulty. He had then arranged to purchase a comfortable manor just outside of Nice in a secluded area with a breathtaking view of the sea. The city of Nice was far removed from the scandals of Paris, and too caught up in its own affairs to give much thought to the ghost stories of its rival. Here, even his masked countenance drew only the attention that any deformity of the human form might attract, and it was not long before Erik had become almost entirely comfortable walking down the street as any other citizen might.
In fact, Erik had to admit that in the absence of his former anti-social behavior, he had been accepted into society very easily, even with his curious appearance. And he had begun to wonder if perhaps his own insecurities and self pity had been his true prison and not the mask at all.
He stopped at the gate, and turned to watch the last glorious rays of sunlight dance across the water, remembering the events of the past year. After settling himself comfortably in his new home, he had turned to his long abandoned but undiminished skills as an architect, both as a means to secure a living and as a welcome distraction from the painful memories that plagued him. He had carefully watched the local newspaper for news of all proposed building projects until he had found one that suited his taste, and then he set to work. He was as much a perfectionist in his architecture as he was with his music, and the project consumed him for several weeks. Once satisfied, he sent the plans to the address listed in the article along with a return address where a reply could be sent. He waited only a matter of hours before he received his enthusiastic reply, and a meeting was arranged for the next day. With that, his career had resumed on an enormous scale.
Erik finally turned and entered the gate. He walked up the steps and through the door of his home, still lost in his thoughts as he hung his cloak and hat near the door. Although he had already acquired some measure of wealth through various endeavors in his life, Erik was now quite quickly becoming a very rich man. And with this new found fortune, came an opportunity that he had awaited the entire thirty-four years of his life.
Always a veracious reader, his attention had recently turned to the latest in medical journals. He pored over them relentlessly each night, his brilliant mind retaining every notation, every name, every procedure described. Through his endless studies, he had begun to jot down careful notes, and after a long search, a name.
Tonight, he sat down at his desk and with a trembling hand, began to write the carefully worded letter that he had been planning. After rereading it several times, Erik signed his name with a flourish. Then, tucking his notes inside, he sealed the envelope. He carefully placed the letter in his breast pocket and turned to leave the room, but his eyes fell upon the handsome mahogany wardrobe that rested against the opposite wall.
Hesitantly, he crossed the room and stood before it, slowly opening the door to reveal a long mirror. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he stepped in front of it and slowly opened his eyes once again. Looking at the cruel honesty of his reflection had always been difficult for him, but tonight it was even more painful, because where a resigned acceptance had once resided in his mind before, a dangerous sliver of hope had now taken up residence. He surveyed himself cautiously – gray-blue eyes framed by long dark lashes, smooth skin stretched taut across a strong jaw, broad shoulders and a tall, agile frame tapering from narrow hips to long, muscular legs. In fact, with the exception of the right side of his face, he might even have been considered a handsome man – an irony that was not lost to him.
He removed his mask with his left hand and reached up with his right, extending his palm so that it covered the twisted flesh of his deformity, showing only the perfect half of his face. Did he even dare to hope that it was possible?
Erik stepped back abruptly, and fitted the mask back into place, quickly closing the wardrobe door. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, as he withdrew the letter from his pocket. With his decision made, he strode purposefully from the study to the front door, donning his cloak and hat once more. Possible or not, he would know soon enough.