Chapter 6 – That Which is Blind
Soft splashes murmured through the waterways beneath the Opera late the next day. Danielle felt her way along the passage, the boat missing. She hadn't been able to sleep at all that night, her father's words echoing ceaselessly in her mind. The picture of Erik standing so forlorn and abandoned wouldn't let her shut her eyes. She stopped at the edge of the wavering candlelight that spilled onto the lake, leaning against the cold stone walls. Her shadow leaned forward, staring through her hidden gloom.
Erik paced across his sparse home and flung a candlestick into the lake. It made barely a sound in the suffocating silence that hung over the entire night. Danielle flinched when she saw the blood on his knuckles. The already shattered mirrors bore more stars on them, refracting the flickering light in a broken travesty. He stopped in front of the organ, coldly considering his hands.
"What a fool you are," he cursed himself quietly, words he seemed to mutter more and more often, "what a damned fool." Danielle's breath caught at the terrible tone of his voice. No longer was the cadence of angels and heaven resonating inside of him; now only the broken voice of a man with no hope, a man with nothing left to live for came from his throat. It barely even echoed in the watery cove, it was so weak and forlorn, as if he had already forsaken this world and left it far behind. "No one would listen." He sighed and turned, picking up something that rested above the keyboard of the organ and fingering it despairingly. His voice shook. "No one but her. And you've thrown it all away. You've broken everything." He gripped the noose harder, dark blood beading over the back of his hand.
"Oh, Erik," Danielle pitied softly, but he heard. He started so badly he kicked over the piano bench, slamming his back against the keyboard.
"You," he growled, a word infused with love and fear enough to weigh down the sky. He stared at her as she emerged from the shadows, lifting her skirts as she waded through the water. "What are you doing here?" His voice nearly broke, but his glare was hard enough to cast the words in stone.
Danielle paused at the anger he managed to glaze his words with. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the rope hanging curled in his hands, like a viper slowly winding its way up his arm. "I had to come back," she murmured distractedly. "I couldn't just…"
"What? You had to be sure that it wasn't a dream? Well it isn't, Danielle, it's a nightmare. A living nightmare that you can never escape from." She lifted her gaze slowly from the rope to look at him.
"No," she said quietly. "No, not that Erik." And in this terrible scene that Goethe himself couldn't have written, she found herself inexorably looking back on that first night she had met him. The same wary, weary look was in his eyes, behind the mask… "Why, Erik? Why do you wear that mask?"
He looked taken aback as she stepped out of the water onto the rocky shore. He backed away as she drew near, watching her cagily. "Because it is the face of a demon," he snapped defensively, "a face that everyone hates and fears, your father rightfully so."
"Why do you wear a mask, Erik?" she asked again.
"I always have. The world has given me one thing, why should I refuse it?" he lied weakly. He was backed against the wall now, and his one hand groped over it as if to find some escape. Danielle reached out and gently took the noose from him, placed it where the coiled viper could do no harm. Her hair fell loose from behind her ear as she turned away from it to look at him.
"Why, Erik?"
His pale eyes locked on her calm hazel pair, and he found that all his reserve had died. "To hide," he admitted brokenly. Erik slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold floor without realizing it. He stared at his hands again as if they were irreparably stained. "I have done terrible things, Danielle, such terrible things. I cannot face them. All I ever wanted was to live, to be free to do as everyone else does. But no one ever wanted me. The one time I tried not to be feared, she hated me for it! For deceiving her. I couldn't win. I can't…I can't face myself. Face you. I did not want you to see."
His words trailed off weakly as Danielle knelt beside him. Her hands were gentle as she took his, carefully wiping the blood on his hands away with the hem of her dress. The few pieces of glass she pulled away as he spoke were thrown into the lake with a single, brief flash of red before falling into the water. He couldn't speak any more, afraid that his voice would finally betray him more than he could bear. Silently, she reached out her hand, and Erik turned his face away, shutting his eyes in pain. Danielle pulled the mask away and set it down at her feet without a word. Tentatively at first, then growing more sure, her fingers delicately traced the lines of his face, pressing her palm against his cheek.
"Why do you do that?" he pleaded.
"So that I can know it," she explained simply. "I've had so long to recognize the rest of your face. I don't like it being uneven in my mind."
"Why would you want to remember the face of such a demon?" A tear slipped down his cheek, and her thumb brushed it tenderly. She held the little drop on her fingertip for a moment, examining it as if it were a precious diamond.
"I've never seen a demon cry." Erik slowly opened his eyes and turned his face back to hers. They were so beseeching as he looked at her. He was crying, quietly, his body shaking from the effort. Danielle bit back a sob and pulled him to her breast, laying her cheek on the top of his head. A single teardrop slid from her lashes as she knelt beside him, trying to shelter him from the world. Erik's arm wrapped around her hesitantly as he rested his temple against the hollow of her throat, the tears finally overcoming him in soft sobs. Danielle only held him closer, letting him cry his soul onto her shoulders and releasing him from his cold and lonely prison.
And slowly he gave way. The damn he had built within him broke, at first in a small, persistent trickle until he found himself telling her everything. He clung to her as if she were the only thing protecting him from the floodwaters of his own past. When he whispered about that first nightmarish vision in the mirror, she brushed his eyes to try and hide them. In the Gypsy cage, she kissed his corpse's cheek. And in the cellars after Don Juan, she didn't leave. She didn't leave…
Erik barely noticed when she gently coaxed him to his feet and led him to bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Danielle stood staring at him for a long time, watching him sleep the way only an exhausted man could. He looked so weary, yet a calm, accepting peacefulness lay over his face. He looked so…mortal. As he had clung to her, Danielle had realized that, in spite of all his talent, his experience, his prowess at everything she had seen him do, even beneath his often cold demeanor, a part of him was still just a child. A boy, longing to know that he was accepted. To know that he was loved.
She swiped futilely at the tears beading from her eyes again. She turned away, half afraid that Erik would wake to see her red-faced and teary-eyed. The water was freezing as she splashed it onto her face, scrubbing away the salty trails left on her cheeks. How could anyone have done such things to him? A cage. A cage! They had locked him up like an animal, worse than any living thing deserved! And his own mother had shown him the mirror…
Her eyes suddenly rose to the glass panes with a fierce light of determination burning in them. Rising from the water, she strode over to them. They leaned against the wall, two full length mirrors in gilt frames. With a small grunt, Danielle tipped the first one over and very slowly lowered it to the ground. She winced when pieces of the glass fell out and broke on the ground, more out of fear of waking Erik than from the pain as they scratched her arms. A cold breeze stirred her hair as she let go of the second mirror and stepped back. The velvet hanging across the empty frame billowed out faintly, brushing her skin. Danielle shivered and pushed it aside to peer down into the gloom behind the empty frame, but moved no further.
The shiver didn't subside, and she dropped the velvet back as she wrapped her arms around herself. Her dress was sodden, and the cold was suddenly unbearable. Danielle tried to clamp down her chattering teeth. She quietly passed the organ, pausing to straighten the bench. Her hand straightened their papers still arranged on the keyboard, and she slipped back into the bedroom. A little bit of searching produced a pair of old trousers and a coat. The robe was dark green velvet, embroidered on the back and the sleeves with scrollwork, and hung below her waist when she held it up. Glancing over her shoulder, Danielle slipped out of her wet dress. The coat was gratefully warm over her corset.
The sheets rustled as Danielle crawled on top of them, settling with her legs crossed close to Erik's side. For some reason, she felt like she had seen him fall tonight, a weary eagle finally succumb to the flames. But now, stirring in the ashes was a phoenix, even more majestic and beautiful as it rose from the remains of its former life. Her hand crept forward and touched the soft linen of his shirt. Even beneath it, she could trace the ridges of old scars crossing his side.
His back to her, Erik stirred in his sleep. Danielle's hand quivered faintly as she slid her hand beneath his shirt and pressed it against the skin. The scars from the Gypsy cave were still there, still clinging to him mercilessly. But as she tenderly touched his side, she realized that they were as much a part of him as the rest of his skin. No matter how dark his past, how terrible his memories, they had made him what he was today. Her breath was shaky as she shifted on the bed and swiftly drew her hand back.
"Fenris' Cry," she murmured, and Erik opened his eyes. Her throat sounded tight, and he turned just enough to watch her over his shoulder. Her back was hunched as she stared at her hands in her lap, fingering the sheets. "That's what it's called. Fenris' Cry. It's an old legend from Scandinavia. Fenris was a wolf, the son of a god and a giantess. All of the gods played with him when he was a little pup. He loved games. They'd play long into the night. But there was a prophecy, one that said a son of Loki would help to destroy Valhalla in fire at the end of the world.
"They kept playing. But as the years passed, Fenris grew. He grew and grew, until he could have swallowed the whole earth. And the gods grew afraid. So they decided to capture him, and lock him away so that he couldn't destroy them. They called to him, and said, 'Come, Fenris, let's play a game. We'll put this chain around your neck, and you try to break it.' Fenris was strong, and when they put it around his neck, he broke the chain in a moment.
"So the gods tried again. They made another chain of everything strong they could find, every metal, every stone. But he broke that, too. So they made one more chain. This one was full of magic, things immeasurable. It wasn't even a chain, it was just a ribbon, made of cats' footsteps and birds' breath. The gods came and asked Fenris to play again, but he didn't like this game anymore. He said that he would only try and break this one if one of the gods put a hand in his jaws. So at the price of one limb, they won. They chained Fenris for good and locked him away in the deeps of the earth."
Erik's hand was on her shoulder, and she laced her fingers through his and hugged it close. "He was such an adorable little pup, and they chained him away for eternity. All because he frightened them, because he was different." His arm wrapped around her waist, and she curled up in his arms for a minute, leaning back against his warmth. "I'm sorry," she said finally, letting go of his hand. "I'm sorry, Erik, go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you." The smile she gave him was sad, but she suddenly laughed quietly at herself. "Go back to sleep." Erik let her slip from his arms and push him back against the pillows. He could see the faint tremble in her hands as she reached out to the music box sitting on the dresser. But when she turned back, he had fallen asleep again beneath the weight of his exhaustion.
The music box tinkled faintly behind her as she knelt down and took his hand to look at his knuckles. The cuts had stopped bleeding and were already beginning to dry. Her fingers deftly pulled one last piece of glass from them. As she was about to stand, Erik sighed in his sleep and pulled her hand close to his chest. Her fingers were pressed against him, and after a moment of holding her breath she could feel his heart beneath her palm.
She didn't want to leave. She didn't want him to have to wake alone. But if he woke first, he would probably be gone. Glancing around, Danielle pulled the little music box closer. As she awkwardly lifted it down with one hand, a small drawer fell open, revealing a glint of jewels. The diamond ring nestled on the little satin cushion glinted in the candlelight, and Danielle admired it curiously. When she picked it up, she realized that it was resting in the middle of another ring. It was the silver ring that Danielle had gotten from the Persian, nestled in the little drawer beside this beautiful diamond. It looked rather pale and plain beside it, but for some reason it contented her. Shutting the drawer on the two rings, she wound the little key and rested her finger on it before it could turn.
The first time her finger slipped, she started back awake and rewound it before it had played three notes. The second time, it was a few more crystalline chimes before she caught herself.
A few hours later, Erik woke up to the soft sound of the brass mechanism's notes. He stared at Danielle sleepily for a moment before realizing that he was holding her hand. The girl was kneeling on the floor, her cheek pillowed on her arm and the music box sitting beside her. He smiled faintly as he realized that she had been trying to stay awake with the music.
He might as well have been a reborn phoenix rising from the ashes. Erik swung his legs over the side of the bed without disturbing Danielle and very carefully gathered her in his arms. He carried her to the boat and draped his cloak over her. All the way up from the cellars, he carried her. She was exhausted. Erik was accustomed, to a point, of not sleeping, and that short rest beneath her gaze felt like a year of rejuvenation to him. His little Angel, she curled up against his chest with all the trust in the world after two sleepless nights of worrying over him.
She came back. He exchanged his cloak for a warm blanket thrown over the back of the chair in her dressing room. She shifted and murmured something of a thanks in her sleep as she pulled it around her shoulders. Fenris, he thought to himself as he turned back to the mirror. He had a fine folder stored somewhere, and enough fresh paper to copy it all…
"Erik?" He turned back in the mirror's frame. Danielle's eyes were hooded with fatigue, and he didn't doubt that she was barely aware she was speaking. She burrowed her way deeper into the cushions of the divan and shut her eyes. "Will you come to the New Year's ball?" He smiled.
"Of course, Angel." He didn't shut the mirror as he walked back into the dim corridor.