Chapter 2: Awake and On Fire
He couldn't remember where he'd been. Just cold, dark water, snow and ice numbing him to his soul, then almost unbearable heat that he welcome to cure his numbness. He'd been stuck in a black cloud of death, for how long, he didn't know. The faces of those who had hurt him floated mockingly above him. The happy faces of Christine and her love, the Vicomte, smiled and kissed each other, then turned their cold faces and smiled at him with smiles that didn't reach their eyes.
How many times had he seen that same expression in his life? The look of terror, then pity. He hated their pity. They could never understand the life he'd been forced to live. They couldn't get passed his disfigurement to see into the soul of a man who yearned for the day someone would look at him and he could see in their eyes, love. A love for him that was absent of pity, horror, or alarm.
Only once had he seen that expression; it had lined the face of his precious Christine, though she too, eventually fell prey to the never-ending cycle of pity where the smile left her eyes and the love left her heart.
He had thought, perhaps Christine could have been the one. The one single person would look through the darkness and say, "I'm here!" The only one he'd known that would love him.
Through his feverish dreams of past horrors and memories, came another face. Only for seconds at a time could he blearily make out an ebony waterfall of silk and oddly colored storm silver eyes rimmed in midnight. Soft whispers echoed in his ears, whispers that caressed his mind and warmed his tired spirit.
I don't want this anymore. I've nothing left, nothing to live for. I just want to rest. Rest forever, his soul would say wearily. However soft the voice, its reply was strong and commanding.
Please don't give up! It would cry, you can't quit now, not when you've worked this hard to stay alive this long!
But I'm just so tired, his soul would answer and faintly the voice would envelope him in warmth and say: Then I shall carry you.
He slipped in and out, went everywhere he could. Time was of no importance and made no sense at all in this dark, foreboding dream place. Seconds passed like hours, hours passed like blinks of the eye. He heard things, like the whispers that carried him, the crackle of fire, and the snowfall on the ground. It did not occur to him that snowfall could not be heard, nor that fire could not be tasted, nor melodies of air be seen. Confusion and fright drove him mad. He heard, he felt, but he could not hear or feel. Physical consciousness lacked and he was left naked with perception as his only cover.
At last, when he was on the verge of throwing himself at the feet of the Reaper of Death and letting himself be dragged over the edge and into the pit of mad death, the heat dissipated and soon died out all together. He could breathe clearly, the mad darkness that flooded his mind dried up and he felt peace at last.
The peace felt good upon his skin and in his mind, like cool stream water washing over slick, water worn pebbles. Joy felt like a breeze wafting the fresh sent of lilac under his nose. But most of all was the relief of escape from his dark prison cell. It tasted like sun warmed honey on a butter biscuit of love made for him buy his caring mother.
It too, did not occur to him that he'd never known a mother.
He felt himself rising toward the surface of the lake of unconsciousness that was the barrier between awake and asleep. He hesitated, afraid of what he would see, but could not stop him from opening his eyes.
Even with open eyes, he still saw black. His heart slammed in his chest and his breathing accelerated. I'm blind! He thought through panic. Calm trickled over him when his vision blurred and cleared. It was dark, but pleasantly warm. He sat up slowly and glanced around him. The room was fairly large, with white, bare walls and a window on the wall opposite the door. A fire across from the bed upon which he lay made the room glow a soft ginger and gold.
His gaze traveled from the fireplace to the floor. A small child, no more than three or four sat playing with a small doll of cloth and yarn. She looked up at his movement. She was small, with a pixyish face, light blonde curls and huge, doleful cobalt blue eyes.
She leapt up with a squeak and ran out the door, letting it slam behind her. Her actions shocked him and immediately his hand went to his face.
His mask was missing! She had run from the sight of his face, he was sure. Gloom overtook him again. I really am nothing but a monster…
He heard a voice approaching. Attempting to throw the covers back, he realized he was completely unclothed and remained in the bed.
"See!" the door opened and the blonde child came in, pulling a young woman behind her by the skirt.
She was one of the more eye-catching girls he'd seen, with black hair that fell to her waist in deep waves, set against delicate white skin. Full red lips, high cheekbones and beautiful sliver eyes were certainly her best features. She was tall, especially for a female. He recognized her face as the one who had whispered to him in his delirium and was stunned into a quiet stupor.
"Yes, I see Emilie. Our guest is awake," she soothed the child who was jumping in place and painting wildly. "Good day, monsieur. We've been waiting for you."
He liked her smile; it was gentle and warm. Her smooth lips curving over straight, white teeth in an almost sensual manner, mad his stomach tighten. Her smile reached her eyes.
"Where…? Who…?" he struggled for words. His voice was harsh, almost grating, the complete opposite of the bell-like quality of tone it had once been.
"Fetch him something warm to drink please, Emilie," she gave the blonde child a push, which left the room in a flurry of giggles.
The woman sat at a chair that had been pulled up beside his bed.
"She's quite taken with you. Been sitting in here for awhile," she murmured with an inviting attitude. "You are in the humble village of Endroit des Fantômes. My name is Odessa Laroque. You washed up from the river just down the way. We took you in and cared for you; you were plagued by a fever," she explained. He found that he liked her voice, also. As gentle as her smile, she was soft spoken, her voice as sweet as a nightingale and fluid, comparable to droplets of rain running down bare skin.
Emilie bounced eagerly into the room with a cupful of blessed sassafras tea, which he accepted with a nod of thanks.
"Well, monsieur, Emilie and I will leave you, for the time being. You still need rest," Odessa said, standing to leave. Emilie had already disappeared ahead of her. His hand shot out and arrester her as she got up.
"Wait, please, Madam…"he struggled to form a sentence. "May I have my belongings? I really must be on my way. I'm afraid I've been quite a nuisance so far…" Odessa shook her head almost violently.
"I think not, monsieur. You are still far too ill to be wandering about the countryside in this weather. You never know how long it will be until the next town," she paused to look at him, and noticed he bent his head down and to the right to shield her view of his face. He's ashamed, she thought. Ashamed of his face. Maybe…that's why he was out in the snow and cold. Did he try and drown himself? "Why were you out in the first place, monsieur? Surely you would feel it too cold to be taking a dip in the river this time of year."
"You have nerve, woman, to be asking such impertinent questions! Have you no manners?" He was shocked by her questions and still more shocked by her retort.
"My questions are solely for the purpose of gaining knowledge about the type of person I've brought into my home. I have seven children in this household and they are my top priority. Out here, monsieur, we don't fool with high-class manners. We care enough about others to help them when they need it. And you, good monsieur, need help," she stood with fists upon hips and a fiery blaze in her eyes.
"And what do you imply by that comment, Madam?" he dreaded her answer, though he didn't know hwy her opinion meant so much to him when they had only know one another for a few minutes.
"I implied that no matter how you feel about your face, it doesn't make you the person you are and does not give you leave to expose yourself to the elements to kill yourself," she sat on the bedside. He could only stare at her for a few moments; completely at a loss for words His temper flared and sent a fervor of explosive anger into his voice.
"You certainly are bold! You don't understand half of what you are speaking about!"
"Believe me, I do. I know it has to do with a Christine and the Opera Populaire," she almost regretted her snap when she saw him cringe. "Moreover, I'm not bold. When you live the type of life I do, you find you do not have the time nor the breath to go skirting around and alluding to the subject that needs to be discussed. On that lovely note, I shall leave you. I have mouths to feed. Sleep, we will speak more in the morning. Goodnight, monsieur." He didn't know what to say. How can one possibly respond to that?
"Good evening, Madam," he answered absently. She paused at the door, her hand upon the knob. She glanced at him over her shoulder and he was caught for a few seconds in her black majesty. Her hair gleamed and danced in the firelight; her eyes glittered kindly, transforming her whole face into a mysterious creature of another world.
"It's actually Mademoiselle. Although, I insist that you call me Odessa."
"You may call me Erik." What in the sweet name of music had possessed him to allow her that privilege? He wasn't quite sure.
She nodded and smiled the delightful smile he liked that reached he eyes. "Good evening, Eric."
"Goodnight."
The door shut softly behind her. Erik slid down in the bed and twisted for a comfortable position. He didn't know what to make of this encounter. She was beautiful, kind, and yet, as hard as stone.
I'll deal with this in the morning, he thought with a sigh and closed his eyes to rest.
In the hall, Odessa leaned against the door and pressed her hand upon her heart. I can't let him effect me this way! Well, it can certainly be said that he is awake and on fire! The engagement had been all but what she had planned. Never had she expected to be so attracted to this man. I must put a stop to this right now. I am simply acting as his nurse. It will not continue further.
At least, she hoped.