Ch. 13 - Resolution
Erik gingerly touched the bandages around his face. The pain had been excruciating, but his treatments were nearing an end. He hadn't dared to look at the progress that had been made, preferring to wait until the end of the long process to see the final result. Dr. Van Hausen had assured him that all was going well and that he was making amazing progress, but still Erik didn't dare to raise his hopes. All he was anticipating was improvement. If he could regain even the slightest resemblance of normalcy in his appearance, if he could be rid of his mask forever, that would be enough.
His eyes traveled to the partially finished score resting on the piano before him. He had begun composing again. Somehow, the idea of a new start had opened his mind to the possibility of music once more. When Dr. Van Hausen had learned of his interest in music, he had insisted that the baby grand piano from the ball room be moved into the sitting area of Erik's suite. Erik had declined at first, but the temptation to play had proved too powerful to resist.
He sat down now and began to play softly, closing his eyes and swaying slightly as the melody embraced him. After all, music had always been his release, his comforter, the only faithful lover he had ever known. He could not be kept from her for long, as she was entwined hopelessly in the threads of his soul. His hands stilled as he completed the piece, and the unwelcome thought came to his mind, "as is Christine."
He stood abruptly, running a hand restlessly through his dark hair. Damn her! Would she always haunt him? Coming unbidden, entangling herself in everything he did? He looked down at the sketches lying on the table beside him. In his spare time, he had taken to designing a luxurious, sprawling home for himself, now that he could afford it. Even in this, she is everywhere, he thought wrathfully, flinging the papers to the floor. He was angry at his own weakness. Without realizing it, he had designed the home as much for her as for himself, adding little touches here and there that he had thought might please her.
He hung his dark head, standing braced against the fireplace, staring at the flames. She was always there. In his music, in his sketches, in his dreams, his mind, his heart, his soul – he could not be free of her. He ruthlessly grabbed the glass of brandy he had poured himself earlier from the mantle and hurled it against the far wall, feeling a warped satisfaction as he watched it shatter into oblivion.
Even now, when he was so close to a fresh start, the past wove itself around him, its velvet chains embracing him stealthily and attempting to drag him back into darkness.
He sighed in frustration and stepped to the door. Perhaps a walk would calm him and clear his mind of its ghosts. He donned his hat and cloak, and replaced his mask carefully over his bandaged face.
Erik opened the door and stepped out into the winter evening, taking a deep breath of the fresh, chilling air. He wandered down the front walk of the grand estate and toward the village. As he made his way through the cobbled streets, his eyes were drawn to one light that remained burning - a small news stand on the corner. He often stopped there to buy a copy of a Paris newspaper, wanting to keep abreast of the political upheaval in his native country. He crossed the street and found a recent copy with a headline that attracted his interest. Erik paid the old man minding the stand and murmured his thanks.
The cold was beginning to chill him through, and he hastened back up the road to the Van Hausen estate, coming in the back way so as not to awaken anyone in the household. He returned to his room and removed his hat and cloak once more, sitting near to the fire to warm himself and read for a time.
Erik had been reading for several moments when he turned the page and saw at once the words that stopped him cold. "Vicomte de Chagny to wed Mademoiselle Christine Daae Later This Week". He read every word of the article again and again, as if to prove to his rebellious heart that it was finally over. A small part of him, a part that he would not admit to himself existed, had been encouraged by the delay in the announcement of their engagement. That same small part had thought that perhaps, if Christine were to be free once more, with his repaired face, he might be able to win her.
At the words of the paper, he could no longer hold onto even the shreds of hope. Since the copy was nearly a week old, she was most likely already married. All of his fantasies of a bittersweet reunion evaporated to nothing more than the delusions of a desperate man. My God! She has only thought me dead for three months! He thought incredulously. If she had cared for him in the slightest, she would have surely waited longer than that before marrying another. It was obvious to him now that the trivial matter of his death had only served to free her from him once and for all.
When he had mailed the announcement of his death to the Paris newspaper, he had felt regret, even guilt for the pain he had thought it would cause her. Obviously, he had worried needlessly. She had felt none. That knowledge undid him. He was broken, this time, irreparably. His head dropped into his hands and his knees to the floor. It was as if she had left him all over again. Once again he was that pitiful creature from the lair, sobbing helplessly as he watched her sail away with her prince. He knelt there before the fire sobbing long into the night.
The next morning, Erik awoke with a new resolve and a sense of self-loathing unlike he had ever before experienced. He would not allow himself to be reduced to that creature he had been last night ever again. He would not give her that power any longer.
His demeanor was clad in an armor of icy steel as he burned ruthlessly the newspaper and the score he had been working on in the flames of the fireplace. He would not burn the sketches. Those had taken far too much time and he was still planning on building his estate. Instead, he would simply erase her from it - removing all traces that alluded to her. He rolled up the plans and set them aside.
The last trace of her in his possession, her ring, still sparkled tauntingly from his little finger. He turned it thoughtfully. No, he would not remove it. He would force himself to remember its purpose there – to remind him of her betrayals, of which there were now two.
He moved purposefully for the door. Today was the day of his last treatment. After three more months of recovery, the bandages would be removed, and he would have a new life. He fully intended to take it and live it to the fullest. He would allow Christine's memory to hold him back no longer.
God watched from His heaven with both sympathy and faint amusement as Erik strode so determinedly down the path he believed led away from Christine forever, knowing in His divine wisdom that all paths led only to where He himself directed.