"Did you think that you could hide from us forever?"
"What are you?"
"Tell us what we want to know and we will make your death painless."
"Answer us! Why did you kill Joseph Buquet? What did you to do Mademoiselle Daaé?"
Erik refused to answer any of the questions put to him by his captor. His resistance was met by a sharp blow to his side accompanied by shouts from the mob. The pain coursed throughout his body. As Erik screamed in response, he hated the fact that he couldn't control his body; his pain. He was at his end. Erik had practically lost all sense of time. He knew he had been captured not more than seven, maybe eight hours ago. He surmised that he'd had about two hours of sleep since his capture. He had no idea as to where he was at the moment. Each time Erik attempted to close his eyes, he was awakened by the stinging sensation of a whip at his back. He had only been given water and a few sips at that; no food. Even then he wondered if there wasn't something else in the water. Now as struggled to stand; tied to a pole; hands hoisted above his head, Erik knew one thing; he was going die. The angry mob would have its pound of flesh.
For many years, Erik hid in the depths of the Opera Populaire; lurking, watching and studying; taking the castoffs from above and little by little creating his own kingdom; his music's throne. For Erik, music was a strange master; it called to him; caressed his soul; brought him to the point of ecstasy and yet, it also teased him; almost to the point of madness. And then, one day… he heard…an angel.
Erik's thoughts were interrupted with yet another blow to his already weakened body. He didn't want to admit it, but the pain was excruciating. Erik had dislocated his shoulder earlier in one of the brutal beatings. He couldn't cry out or even fight back. Erik was powerless as he hung in the cold, damp, darkness. Suddenly and without warning, Erik felt the stinging sensation of a cat-o-nine tails on his chest. No questions were asked. The whipping continued and Erik screamed in agony. No one heard his cries for help.
"Chris . . . ti . . . ne . . ." he whimpered, a barely inaudible murmur escaping his lips. The beatings continued until Erik realized . . .
. . . that it was a dream or rather . . . a nightmare. Erik awoke to find his body sheen in perspiration. He looked around the room and saw Marie-Christine sleeping in a nearby chair. He tried to move quietly in order not to wake her; hoping to leave and run once more, but it didn't work. The nightmare was in fact a reality. His torture was not a dream. It really happened. The pain he felt was evidence of that fact. Erik let out a small groan when he moved his injured shoulder, prompting Marie-Christine to open her eyes.
"Good morning. How are you feeling?" She asked, a smile emerging from her lips.
"Okay. A little worn and actually . . . hungry." Erik's lack of food was now catching up with him.
Placing the blanket, that she used to keep herself warm during the night, at the edge of the bed, Marie-Christine smiled once more. "Well let's get you something to eat. Your shoulder shouldn't hurt too much longer, but I'd still take it easy."
Pulling back the covers, Marie-Christine offered Erik a pair of trousers, socks, boots and a simple shirt. Trying not to really look, she helped Erik to get dressed. It was difficult not staring, considering the fact that, although his face was partially covered, Erik's striking physique proved to be of more interest to Marie-Christine. Although he wasn't exceedingly muscular, Erik certainly would not be referred to as weak. The combination of the tautness and smoothness of the muscles in Erik's chest brought many thoughts to Marie-Christine's mind. From her perspective, Erik seemed to be so perfect, so charming, so . . .
"Where am I? What is this place?" Erik interrupted as Marie-Christine helped him slip on the boots. Marie-Christine stopped herself from daydreaming when Erik spoke. Recovering from her momentary reverie, she provided him with an explanation.
"You stumbled into my house. It's not much, but I call it home. You're safe for now. I think that's all you really need to know. Now what about some breakfast?" Erik did have to admit that he was indeed hungry. He was still a little hesitant, but so far, this woman seemed trustworthy. With a little help from Marie-Christine, Erik made it to the kitchen table and soon, she had managed to feed him a very satisfying breakfast. Although the breakfast was very simplistic in nature, it was very filling. Erik ate all the food that Marie-Christine offered and was actually a little embarrassed when he found himself asking for a second helping. He'd never asked anything of anyone; except Christine; and she betrayed him. Erik's thoughts were interrupted as Marie-Christine obliged his appetite with a second helping of food.
When Erik finished his breakfast, Marie-Christine sat down in a chair next to him and asked, "Well, would you like to clean up?" Erik wasn't sure what she meant, but his curiosity was piqued.
"Come with me," Marie-Christine indicated as she led Erik to her bathroom. One glance in the mirror told the story. He looked awful. It seemed as if he battled the devil himself and afterwards, he had the audacity to go back for seconds. He really did look like hell.
"Over here," Marie-Christine indicated as she pointed to small chair situated near the wash basin. Looking to his right, Erik saw something he'd only seen maybe once in his lifetime. It was called a bathtub he believed. It seemed to be made up of porcelain and was somewhat oblong in its shape; it's white color a stark contrast to the darker hues of the bathroom. Erik was still too weak to argue, and for the moment Marie-Christine seemed to pose no threat to his safety. She helped him undress and allowed him to sit in the chair with a towel wrapped around his waist. When the water was run, Marie-Christine helped ease Erik into the bathtub.
Taking a small washcloth in hand, Marie-Christine began to help Erik feel a little more normal. She gently dabbed at the scratches and marks which were littered across his face; taking care so as not to touch the mask that covered the one side. Then, she would gently lift or raise the part of Erik's body that needed to be cleansed. First, she raised each of his arms carefully, pouring a cup of heated water over the strained muscles. As she reached Erik's leg, she did her best to preserve the small element of modesty she had provided for him. He didn't seem to mind. During the entire time, his eyes rarely opened. Erik seemed to be in a trance-like state. He would open them once to look at Marie-Christine and then Erik would close his eyes again and allow himself to relax, his head tilting forward in the process. Marie-Christine's massaging hands along with the warmth of the heated water produced a slight moan from Erik. Marie-Christine smiled and continued with her ministrations. Her next step was to wash Erik's hair. Placing a small amount of soap in the palm of her hand, Marie-Christine began to massage the liquid into his scalp. Erik couldn't help but feel a momentary hint of pleasure. It felt as if Marie-Christine had been blessed with, "magic fingers." Her touch stirred feelings within him that he'd long thought he'd banished. He'd not felt this way since . . . Christine . . . since . . .
"Tilt your head back," Marie-Christine interrupted as she proceeded to rinse the shampoo from Erik's hair. Once more Marie-Christine found that the distinct and almost angelic features of Erik's face distracted her. She quickly reminded herself to focus on Erik as a patient of sorts to put those "other" thought and out of her mind.
"Okay. Lean back again." Marie-Christine requested. She needed to clean his chest. It was the most bruised part of his body, but she wanted to save it for last so as not to cause much pain. It was then, that Marie-Christine was able to take a really good look at Erik. The sight of it made her ill. He was covered in numerous welts and old scars. She didn't know why she hadn't seen them the night before. Marie-Christine had a strong suspicion as to who was responsible for Erik's pain. However she held her thoughts to herself.
"Chagny . . ." was the one word she allowed to escape her lips.
"What?" Erik asked in return, not sure of what exactly he had heard.
"Oh . . . uh who did this to you? Those animals need to be punished. I can't believe someone would do this . . . barbarity." Marie-Christine held her tongue, afraid that her emotions would betray her true thoughts and feelings.
Erik thought for a moment. What did happen? The last thing he remembered was watching as Christine and Raoul glided gently down the waterway beneath the Opera Populaire. He had broken some mirrors and stepped into a hidden passageway behind one of them. The mob had come; seeking their retribution. And then . . . he could recall no more. Each time he tried to remember, the pain would begin to come back. Erik closed his eyes. The headache he thought had long disappeared seemed to be inching back its way to torture him. He didn't want to experience the pain once more; the physical pain, the emotional pain . . . his life with the gypsies, the love and rejection he felt from Christine."
"Erik?" Marie-Christine interrupted.
"Sorry. I just can't remember right now." He answered, still holding his head in his hands.
"I'm sure it will all come back later." Marie-Christine placed a reassuring hand on Erik's shoulder. She knew the meaning of her words all too well. "Well, I'm done. Why don't you dry off and put on some clothes. I'll try to help you find your way home if you want. Just tell me what you want me to do." Marie-Christine left the bathroom and allowed Erik a moment to change.
The rest of the day continued with little fanfare. Erik ate some lunch and rested while Marie-Christine read a book and did some chores around her house. Periodically, she tended to Erik's wounds, using some ointments on his bruises and such. Although the pain did not permanently go away, Marie-Christine's massages seemed to make thing disappear for a time.
Later that day, Marie-Christine offered to help Erik get home. She wasn't sure what she could or would do, but she did promise to help in whatever way she could. While Erik was grateful for the offer, he was also a bit hesitant. He remembered the last time he allowed himself to care for another. Her name was Christine; his love for her consumed him; her rejection almost killed him. Erik wasn't sure he could stand losing another, even a stranger such as Marie-Christine. Another factor to consider was that of Marie-Christine. Erik knew Marie-Christine to be a puzzle that he could not yet resolve. She seemed so knowledgeable and resourceful. She also seemed to be a medical miracle of sorts; particular since she didn't seem to be a doctor. When Erik questioned her about these abnormalities, Marie-Christine could only provide a vague answer of, "My family taught me the importance of being alive." While the answer wasn't exactly what he wanted, Erik decided the best approach was to a take a "wait and see" attitude. Marie-Christine was becoming more and more of a puzzle that Erik was determined to solve.
Later that night, Erik awoke to the sound a crying. Stumbling in the dark, Erik found his way to the kitchen table he had breakfast at earlier in the day. Once there, he saw Marie-Christine holding or rather clutching a picture and crying. Quietly, he moved forward and placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Marie-Christine?" He began.
It was at that moment that Marie-Christine turned and buried her head in Erik's chest. "Please . . . hold me . . . please Erik don't let go . . ." Erik was dumbfounded, but he continued to cradle Marie-Christine in his arms. This was one more piece to the puzzle of Marie-Christine that he had not anticipated. He wondered if he would have enough time . . . for what, he did not know.