A Place in This World

CHAPTER 2 – (Margarite's POV)

With those words, he silently left the alcove and turned toward the mob. I continued to sob; my heart was breaking…Erik is like a brother to me and he was just given the death penalty. I have never felt at such a complete loss in my life. I strain to hear the dreaded gun shot that will undoubtedly mean that Erik is dead. Thankfully, I never hear it. I find my way to the inner column of the tunnel, listening to what is being said. There is a small space between the tapestry and the wall through which I could see the events unfolding.

Erik is on the ground in the prone position. His hands are on top of his head and his long, elegant fingers are entwined as they tie his arms behind his back. He is not putting up a fight and, even with him in that vulnerable state, the accusers practice caution; treating him with the same respect they would give a caged lion, it seems their brave words had dissipated along with their courage.

None of them have ever seen him up this close before. I hear whispers; "He doesn't look like a ghost." or "He is just a man, like all of us." I even hear a few of the women comment on his deformity, saying that it is not as bad as they thought; in fact, he is quite attractive if you look past it.

They pull him to his feet and his 6'4" height is evident and overwhelming. Even now his stately demeanor is in place. His mask is absent, but he holds his head high and his shoulders back as he is ushered out of his home by his accusers.

The crowd begins to disperse and make their way back up the long, winding stairway, unaware that I am lurking in the shadows. Erik's home is laid out before me. I have not ever had the opportunity to explore this legendary place. It is impeccably kept, and beautifully esoteric. The artistry is representative of the man himself. He is a genius at everything he sets his mind to.

I take hours just feeling Erik in each atom that I breathe in, inhaling the scent that always signified his presence; it was everywhere, surrounding me with his spirit. It was uniquely him and it was intoxicating. I wander from room to room, marveling in the size of the lair. Erik is immaculate and every room is in place.

I continue into the back rooms and enter a small area that appears to be an office or storage room. A small desk inhabits the corner. I make my way over to it and discover a pile of letters and an open journal. I examine the revealed page of the journal and recognize the handwriting as belonging to the late Joseph Bouquet. I begin to read the page that is laid open…

Journal Entry, October 14, 1870, to Armand de Monet

This will be my greatest triumph. I have discovered the lair that houses the Ghost, nay the man, which struts about making others do his bidding. He sickens me with his rich cloths and posh ways. He thinks himself one of us, or even better than us! It…whose face bears the devil's mark, the gall of it all! I know who he was…The Devil's Child. I witnessed his horrible face first hand, 25-years ago. I will never forget that sight! Those gypsies, what genius' they are. I have learned so much about degradation and exploitation from them. The enjoyment that I derived from the rapes of the dancing girls and the murders of the stage hands and maintenance men were child's play compared to the joy I will get from torturing the beast that resides below. He will be my ultimate conquest. I will see him beaten, broken and bleeding to death like the animal that he is. I have enjoyed no kill as much as I will enjoy this one. He parades around as if he has a place among us! What audacity!

I will need the help of Armand and The Coupe. This is the biggest job I have attempted. He will not be an easy kill; he is sly and virtually invisible. I am going to enjoy this though. I am meeting Armand tomorrow night at the old vintage shop on the corner of Lacét and Curel to make plans.

Joseph

My hands were shaking and I felt like I was going to regurgitate. Erik was innocent! Why didn't he say so? He just stood there and reiterated how worthy he was of death and let me believe the worst about him. Everything pointed to him being the rapist and the murderer…Joseph staged the whole thing!

I skim the contents of the letters and find that they are correspondence between Joseph, this Armand, and many others. The details of their reign of terror were horribly graphic in its description and every page bragged about their exploits. The armed robberies that had been occurring about the city, the many rapes of women of the upper class and aristocracy, and several murders in the city were meticulously laid out on the pages of these letters.

Erik must have come upon them in his many late night jaunts around the opera house…his killing of Bouquet was in self –defense. My mind raced with the knowledge of his innocence. The gravity of the situation hit me hard and I slumped to the ground as my stomach churned with fear. All that had occurred over the last few hours was completely unwarranted.

My hand came to my chest as I gasped for air. If he would have simply said that he did not commit the crimes and presented this evidence, he would be free. Why?...I cannot believe the realization that comes to me…he no longer wishes to live. That has to be it. He would rather die at the hands of the government for crimes he did not commit than be condemned to more lonely years in the darkness that consumes him.

The tears are falling freely as I try to grasp the tragedy of it all. I doubted him; in my heart I new he could not have done those things; and yet, I betrayed him in almost the same fashion as Christine. This man, whose soul can create the most exquisite masterpieces; whether music, sculptures, paintings, clothes or buildings; is now eager to pay for the crimes of another and be hung like a common criminal.

What am I to do? I cannot allow this to happen, even if it is what he wants. I must get this evidence into the hands of the authorities. I need an honest person whose motives are not dictated by thoughts of grandeur or self-gratification…that only leaves one.

Chapter 3 preview – A Friend and flashback