…Be still my beating heart
Love is whispering your name
There were days suffering in the dark
Holding back your tears and pain…

-Gone Are the Dark Days, By Point of Grace

Chapter Forty Four: My Beating Heart, P.3

Eric

As soon as she was out of sight, I set off in search of a cure.

Much as I enjoyed fencing, both for the sake of the art itself and for the company in which it was practiced, the sport did little for my accursed face. The exertion caused me to sweat profusely, and perspiration irritated the delicate skin that covered my God-forsaken skull.

The wig I wore didn't help matters one iota. The rough underside scraped my tender scalp and the glue solution that I used to affix the expensive hair-piece to my skin sometimes caused me to develop rashes. Though these afflictions were bothersome, I had learned to cope with the facts of my 'condition' years before.

Unfortunately, the increasing time that I spent in Mlle. Iglesias's company had caused new difficulties to arise. Hours occupied with sweat soaked pursuits had vexed my skin in a new and exceptionally painful manner. Because I was required to wear my mask for longer and longer, whenever I was in her presence, it had rubbed against the already agitated skin incessantly.

Now, instead of the paper thin, yellow-gray skin that was usually stretched across my facial bones, there was a series of reddish-purple welts. I had a sneaking suspicion that they were infected, for they sometimes broke open and secreted a sludge-like puss.

Perhaps it was for the best that the girl had not been keen on intimacy this evening, for she often became very enthusiastic when amorous and no doubt would have caused my black prison to further chafe my injuries while our mouths were … otherwise occupied. Tonight, my face was on fire, and each lesion sent jolts of pain throughout my body. I knew that I was in dire need of a medicinal salve, but the difficulty of procuring it had stayed my hand till now.

There was only one man that I could turn to: Dr. Giry.

Under any other circumstances, I would have found another means to my desired end, but I had no other option.

I would be lucky to reach the place by eleven o'clock on foot, but I distained using any other means of transportation. It was far too risky, even with my newly acquired fedora tipped low to conceal the slightly reflective nature of my ebony mask. I hated the sensation of eyes that followed me and stared at me as though I were an artifact on display.

"I suppose it is a blessing that the man is in my eternal debt." I muttered to myself as I strode through the quickly darkening alleyways on my way to St. Elizabeth's hospital.

I had met the man while traveling aimlessly after Azadeh dismissed me from the palace in Persia. He had been in search of a cure for his dying brother, Jules Giry, and I had had nothing better to do after being discarded like a dirty rag by the one person I had hoped had learned to care for me. I had returned to France with him and done what I could for the infirm man simply because it had felt indescribably wonderful to still be needed by someone. It had not even mattered that the man was a complete stranger. I simply needed to assure myself that there was still some purpose to my diseased existence.

Despite my all of my vast medical knowledge and nearly two years of my very best efforts, Jules Giry had succumbed to the disease. I would have left the country, frustrated and useless, had it not been for his daughter. Margosha (little Meg to her dotting mother, Luda) became afflicted with the same infirmity as her father, and her family's pleas for my aid had softened my discouraged heart. I had been able to save the child, and both Dr. Giry and Mame Jules had offered their lives in gratitude for my help.

Little did they know how dearly it would cost them.

When I had discovered that a second brother of Dr. Giry was employed as the head of matinence at the Garnier, I jumped at the opportunity to acquire such a wonderful place of residence. No one would bother me, or gawk at my misfortune, and I would be surrounded by music constantly! It had taken a good deal of persuasion, but he had finally been convinced to adapt the old smuggling tunnels to my specifications and construct a pleasant little den for me between the double retaining walls in the fifth cellar.

I had seen little of Dr. Giry since the day I took up residence in my new abode, and even less of Luda and Margosha, who lived in his household after Jules passed away. The man had taken care of the occasional business transaction for me, but I had not spoken with him in years. I was a bit anxious about his reaction to my sudden reappearance in his life, but any qualms that I had about disrupting him paled in comparison to my pain.

I continued to tell myself this as I opened a little used back door of the hospital.

With practiced stealth, I made my way to a familiar office and waited inside for the occupant to return. It was nearly an hour before the little door opened again to reveal my old acquaintance. He was naturally quite shocked to see me, but after several minutes of tedious explanations he began to calm himself enough to revert to a professional outlook on the situation.

"Great Scott man! You nearly gave me an attack of the heart, popping out of the shadows like that. Why don't you just knock like everybody else?"

"Dr., I do not wish to reiterate my apologies."

I was attempting to be polite. A gentleman would do such things in this situation, and that was my objective and the reason that I had come in the first place. If I had not been conducting my little experiment and trying to prove my humanity, I never would have had reason to come to him.

"I simply wish to know if you are willing to help me or not."

"Of course, my boy! Of course! You know that I am always willing to help you."

"Thank you, Monsieur." She would be proud of me, I was sure. The girl believed me to be a refined gentleman, and I was slowly learning the part.

"It is nothing worth mentioning. Now, let me see what is troubling you." The comfortable little man adjusted his reading glasses and straightened expectantly, his dark skin reflecting his mother's Arabic descent.

WAS HE MAD?

I would never show my face to anyone! Never again, not after Mitra. Only Mlle. Iglesias had any hope of such a terrible event, and that was only because she was a test subject of sorts, a dispensable experiment. But Dr. Giry was the closest thing that I had to a friend since the day that De Tham died. I would not allow my curse to poison a meaningful relationship, for they were hard won rarities in my miserable life.

"I will do no such thing! You know of my affliction, Giry! Why do you seek to stare at it? Are you curious? Am I still some sort of freakish attraction?"

Anger began to pulse in every vein. I was not a commodity, to be used and sold and goggled at! Damn it all, I was trying to be a human being!

Giry must have recognized the signs of my inner fury, for he sought to placate me. "Calm yourself, man! I want no such thing. I only need to diagnose your problem before I prescribe the medication."

"Like Hell you do! I am perfectly capably of self diagnosis."

"I can't do that, boy. It's unethical, even though I'd trust you with my skin."

"No!" I felt trapped and fearful. If he saw the evil that my mask concealed, he would surely sever any connections that we shared. No sane person had ever willingly remained in my repulsive presence after the nauseating sight.

"Good God! I'm a doctor, Monsieur. I'm sure it can't be anything worse than I've seen in my lifetime." He spoke in a jesting tone, but I fought to believe him.

Could it be that I could trust him? Could someone truly look upon my deformity without fear? The spark of hope that the girl had ignited in me began to grow into a tiny flame, fanned by Giry's repeated assurances.

I had to try!

With infinite reluctance, I released the cords that held my prison in place. With my back turned to him, I wavered in my resolve. Could I go through with this? What was I doing?

"Are you sure you want to see this, Doctor?"

"Yes, yes. Come along now, boy. I have other patients to see tonight." He replied in an exasperated tone.

When I didn't turn around, he continued.

"I'll even set the bottle on my desk for you. One quick look over, and it's yours." I heard the light tap of a glass jar being placed on the corner of his desk.

"I can do this, I can do this…" I repeated to myself as I slowly turned around.

The expression on his face stopped me dead.

Notes: Well, I think Larry found his hairbrush … though there's still that problem of finding a use for it (Vegitales, what can you do) and I'm not sure about that whole end of the world thing, but it seems that I'm producing these short chapters a lot quicker. Also, 'My Beating Heart' is going to last for four updates I think. Kinda drawn out, but the updates are quicker! I'm trying to get a lot of material written before the end of August, when I leave for collage.

No stoning, or else.

Pirate Pants- He is an arrogant nitwit, and the nincompoop thing was a favorite line of mine as well.  Mmm, streaking…I am truly going to find a way to get that in here, and when I do, I'll dedicate the chapter to you. And yeah, gentlemen wouldn't do that, but good luck telling Philippe (or Eric) about that.

JPT- Your insight on the contrasts was right on the money! Yay, somebody picked up my crazy undertones! As for the mythology, both of those stories will end up mentioned in the plot, so keep your eyes peeled. (On second thought, please refrain from peeling your eyeballs, cause then you couldn't read the next chapter… and it might hurt a bit too.) Nope, not exactly a mortal wound, but what Eric does next just might be … whoops, clumsy me, spilling the beans on an upcoming chapter … oh well (she grins maliciously)

Fish- I laughed really hard about that thing with the French poem. I bet he would too! (Must edit! So little time, SO FEW BRAINCELLS! ARG!) Thanks for all your help with finding my little faults, it means the world to me! And yes, the pace is a little jumpy for the next three chapters, but it's a span of time that I couldn't figure out how to write. I will probably work more material in between those gaps when I rework the piece… If I ever finish it that is…

Kipper, the salty one- You and your adages make me laugh and brighten my obsessive-writing-filled days. As for Eric being erm.. pervy… I duno, do you think ch. 43 was pervy?

Avid- Congratulations, you have just joined the elite few to have made correct predictions about my twisted plot line. Yay for Newsboys! I was listening to Audio A's song 'My Chevette' and wishing I had a chevette instead of my ancient mercury sable named Betty Lou. (My brother named her, the poor car.)