It was hospital visiting day, and St. Charles was teeming with life. Visitors were asked to sign-in at the front desk, where an already occupied secretary was busying herself with a rather unsatisfied client, who was complaining about bed pillows and blanket thickness. The conversation went something along the lines of:
"I will be sure to take note and tell the faculty that, sir-"The secretary assured, eyeing the clock in the corner, possibly to see when her shift was done.
"You had better, honestly. I thought St. Charles was the best hospital in the whole of London, nay, England! The quantity is impressive, no doubt. The quality, however, is key to success in these places. I have inspected my room incredibly thoroughly and have thus far to find a suitable pillow in the whole of this place. I am allergic to down!" The selfish patient complained.
"Yes yes, sir. I am sad to say that I am only the visitor's secretary, and heartily suggest you take your dissatisfaction to another area." The secretary rebuffed, looking grimmer by the moment. The patient replied with a choking noise, and walked away with his chest held high, but his nightgown not so. The secretary sighed and continued on, checking files, et cetera.
"Excuse me, mademoiselle. I was looking for ze singer, Erik-"Said a rather anxious young man, with bloodshot eyes, as if he was crying moments earlier. The secretary nodded somberly, sympathetic. She pointed to the left hallway.
"He is in the burn victims unit, which is room 113. Sign your name here please." She added, "And your business and what is your relation to the er-patient." León nodded, and signed with quite a flourish.
León Chanleaur, ex-opera owner, employee.
The secretary nodded in gratitude, and added hastily "He is recovering well, but you might be warned that-"but it was too late, the pompous man had already hurried down the hall. The secretary sighed, and frowned. "He'll be in for a revelation." She muttered to herself.
Meanwhile, the ex-opera owner had been practically running down the hallway. When he finally did reach room 113, he barged in without knocking. It was a bad idea, for doctors were unwrapping Erik's bandages. León nearly fainted, being so prudish.
"What are you doing here?" A doctor barked, and Erik turned his face toward him, and lo! It was certainly a sight to behold, if not gruesome and ghastly than terrible and frightening. Half of Erik's tissue was exposed, and the scabs that had perhaps dried before were bleeding again. Blood was everywhere and anywhere, and León vomited then and there.
Rather embarrassed, he added "I am," he frowned and continued "I was the Opera Chanleaur owner." The doctor nodded.
"León! How is the opera house? I knew insurance would have problems but I managed to take the records before the house fell and I've some innovations on the fresh designs and-"Erik gushed his heart out. He obviously hasn't seen a mirror lately, León thought. León backed away towards the door, looking uncomfortable.
"Doctors? I would like it if ze would 'ave a word. Now s'il vous plaît! It ez very important business matter."