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I wanted to add that, yes, this Erik will have more depth of character; a sense of humor to be exact…but he will still be self-deprecating and broody; but his shell is not quite so thick.
Thank you for the reviews, I hope to have more jump on board as we go.
I had to repost this chapter a few times, I kept finding boo boos!
Enjoy my lovlies.
BEYOND THE SHADOWS
CHAPTER 2
Christine and Meg began the footwork at the only known address of an eccentric recluse whose presence had been felt more than seen. Everyone had neighbors or acquaintances; and if this man existed, he would be no different.
No one recalled anything significant about the man whose face was never seen. He simply existed, that was all. Christine spoke with the business manager of the building, she spoke with the security guard, the elevator attendee, the pool guy…everyone she thought might offer some information.
All she had after four weeks were some interesting tidbits that did nothing for locating the man; she knew that he paid cash upfront for the use of the penthouse apartment; he paid extra to keep his name out of the tenant roster; he never called for maintenance; he never used the elevator, spa, pool, restaurant…nothing.
She asked the manager about the housekeeping staff and he said that they had recently changed services. Christine rolled her eyes at that; she had questioned everyone in housekeeping, but nobody bothered to tell her that they weren't even servicing the building at the time.
She obtained the name of the cleaning service that was on duty at the time and finally, several weeks later, she was able to locate the owner and manager of In A Flash maid services.
"Now, I know for certain there was someone living in there, every day I would hear the most sensuous voice from inside the apartment; he would never allow us to enter the premises when he was there, but he would disappear, without leaving the apartment, and we could do our jobs." Cora Blanchard, the manager, stated when Christine asked about the tenant of the penthouse apartment.
"He kept to himself all the time. My staff and I were privy to the other tenants talking about him." The woman seemed as intrigued by this mystery man as Christine was, "He played the piano and violin until the wee hours of the morning…everyone said that his playing was like the angels had left heaven and taken up residence in the penthouse apartment."
Christine noticed that Meg was writing in shorthand, as fast as she could. "He did have access to the roof..."Christine lifted a brow at that, "…he would go there when we entered to do the cleaning, gather the laundry…whatever needed to be done.
"Nadeesh Janaki was the one I dealt with, though; he would tell us when to pick up the laundry and clean." The woman finally stated. "The apartment was spotless and the décor was breathtaking…whoever he is, he has magnificent taste in wall hangings, table decorations, furniture…everything."
"Did Mr. Janaki ever mention where they were going?" Christine inquired.
The woman thought for a few minutes, "No."
Over the next six months, Christine interviewed just about every person who regularly used this street and every vendor and store manager she could find. She followed receipts and phone records, safety deposit box transactions, and word of mouth; nothing led anywhere and frustration was setting in.
Christine had never had such difficulties finding details out about anyone in her entire life. She was sitting in a corner café in the middle of Greenwich Village, eating a bit of lunch, when she spied Jess Harper, the reliable source she had been looking for.
They embraced as the friends that they were, "Jess, I've been looking for you for weeks…where have you been?" Christine asked.
Jess giggled, "I went to visit my mother in Yonkers for a couple of months, she has no one, now that Dad is gone."
Christine smiled and shook her head, "Jess, I have an intriguing case and I need your help."
Jess smiled, bringing out her freckles even more, "Really, what controversial subject are you conquering this time?"
"Well, this time I'm searching for a ghost millionaire, a phantom man whose assumed work is all over town, but no one has ever seen him." Christine stated. "I have been hired by Dollars & Sense magazine to find out; first of all, if he exists; and second of all, who he is."
Christine led Jess over to a park bench, "Do you know anything about a reclusive man who lived in the penthouse apartment of the Hampton Building?"
"Not your normal genre, but…" Jess shrugged her shoulders, "…all I know is what I heard on the streets." Jess whispered. "I heard he was a genius…not just the architect responsible for much of the modern designs in New York, but also a brilliant musician and composer."
Okay, Christine was truly anxious to find this man now. Her hobby and first love had always been music…classical, light jazz, slow and classic rock, country – she loved all sorts. Singing was her joy, and she did it as often as she could, though she had never had any official voice training.
"Do your people on the streets know anything about where he might have gone?" Christine asked.
"I don't think that is common knowledge, but you might ask the head mistress at the new orphanage outside of Mt. Vernon; he supposedly designed and financed the building of that beautiful home for abandoned kids."
"There's an orphanage in Mt. Vernon?" Christine asked, bewildered.
Christine obtained directions to the orphanage, but she was familiar with Mt. Vernon. She knew the area the building was located in; but it had been run down and messy for years; really in need of some urban development. The description that Jess gave made the place out to be a haven of rest for the children whose futures were often as uncertain as the sands on the beach.
This wonderland was located on a remote 5-acre lot going out of New York City, toward Mt. Vernon on I-95. Christine headed out there on a Saturday afternoon. It had taken her six months to find out this much. This man, whoever he was, did not wish to be found.
She walked up to the carved wooden doors and admired the story they told. Carved in their beautiful walnut finish, were the images of fairies, knights on horseback, a castle, a dragon, rolling hills and a large lake; a bridge complete with a troll, giants and beanstalks – and many other images from the pages of story books.
A young woman, not much older than her mid-twenties, answered the door,.
"Hello, and welcome to 'A Child Shall Lead Them'." The woman said with pride.
Christine smiled and held out her hand in greeting, "Hello, I'm Christine Daae. I am seeking information about the man who designed and funded the building of this orphanage and several other structures around town….can you help me?"
The young woman's beautiful features were skeptic and furrowed, she regarded Christine with reserved eyes, but allowed a slight smile to show.
The woman scrutinized Christine from under watchful eyes, "Why do you seek him?" she asked, "You're not a reporter…are you?"
Christine snorted at that, "No, I'm not a reporter." She debated about how to express her purpose without blowing her chances, "Look, I'm not going to lie to you and make up some lame story about why I wish to talk to Mr. St. Clair."
The young woman seemed surprised that Christine knew the man's name. She stood tall and raised confident eyes, "I was commissioned by Dollars & Sense magazine to find out as much as I could about him…they wish to do an article on him; announcing him as the Bachelor of the Year, 2007." The woman's face took on a strange, unknown look, "I'm not a reporter." Christine said quickly, before the woman threw her out. "I'm an investigative journalist, free-lance."
"How did you find out about him, he is a very private man and only deals with others through his trusted confidant and friend, Nadeesh Janaki?" The woman asked.
"It hasn't been easy, but I don't give up easily." Christine stated with confidence.
A smile of understanding and recognition lit up the younger woman's face, "Ahhh, I see…they couldn't find him through conventional methods, so they enlisted the services of one of the most gifted and original thinking journalists of our time."
Christine was surprised; it seemed that this woman had heard of her.
"Your work speaks for itself." The woman stated with admiration in her voice.
Christine had the eerie feeling that this was not going exactly as she had hoped it would. She needed to come back with Meg, and get some sort of handle on the situation. She needed to know about this man; this was quickly going from a hired job, to a case of curiosity.
"Tell you what," Christine began, "I'll come back tomorrow with my assistant…she takes shorthand and can save you a great deal of time." Christine chuckled, "I hunt and peck at the keyboard and am lucky to type two words in one minute."
That brought a smile to the woman's mouth, "I hope you are not wasting your time, Ms. Daae…" She young woman stated, "…I will not betray him."
"I am not asking you to…I just want some answers."
Christine walked out the door more convinced than ever that Mr. St. Clair did exist, and he was protected by a circle of people who would die to keep him in the shadows.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOO
"Meg, you have to come with me tomorrow…we need to go to the orphanage in Mt. Vernon." Christine told her best friend over the phone that night.
There was silence on the line for a few seconds, "There's an orphanage in Mt. Vernon?"
Christine chuckled as Meg repeated the exact words she had spoken the day before.
"Yes, there is…and it contains secrets that will help lead me to Erik St. Clair."
Meg agreed to meet her at the coffee shop on the corner of 5th Ave at 8:30 am, the following morning.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOO
(Dream Sequence)
She stood in the middle of the playground, ready to pounce on the first boy who pulled her hair. Everyday it was the same thing…she was sneered and mocked at, because she was poor and wore old tattered clothing and worn out shoes.
Her eight-year-old temper was boiling over and she wanted to hurt them for all that they had done to her…everyday.
Bobby Eastman chanced a yank at her hair, and made her drop her books. Christine screamed at him and the tears made him laugh even more.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, the boy that everyone called "The Devil's Child" was standing beside her and helping her pick up her books. He didn't speak or even look at her, he simply picked up the books and handed them back to her.
He did look at the boys who had been mocking her; his shoulders were rigid, and his feet were spread apart; he was ready for battle.
The mocking faces and teasing words tore through her like hurricane force winds, building her anger and brining it to surface.
Bobby started the chant and all the boys joined in…
"Chrissie and Devil's Child sittin' in a tree…K.I.S.S.I.N.G. – first comes love, then comes marriage…then comes Devil's Child with a demon carriage."
The laughter was raucous and Christine turned beat red – she took her anger out on the source of their latest tease; catching him off guard, she pushed the boy away from her, shoving him to the ground.
"Don't touch me, you beast!" She screamed.
She kicked him in the side, reached down and yanked the mask from his face, and stood there in complete shock. A good portion of the right side of his face was distorted and deformed, half of his nose was ravaged, and his skin was puckered and irritated.
The boys started laughing and pointing, circled him, and kicked and beat him; not even allowing him to get up off the ground. Although he fought back as best he could, it was ten to one.
Finally, the P.E. teacher came and pulled the boys off him, but he had blood coming out of his malformed nose, both of his eyes were blackened, and his mouth was; also, it was found out later, he had five broken ribs.
Christine watched as the teacher ushered The Devil's Child away, his mask in hand. A feeling of deep regret washed over her as she realized what she had done; she had treated him the same way those boys treated her; and all he had tried to do, was help her.
She knelt down in the middle of the playground and wept. She had seen his face, but it wasn't bad enough to warrant the name calling and cruel treatment he received every day; she didn't even know his name.
She would never forget those eyes, as long as she lived; the most vivid shade of green she had ever seen. When they had finally looked at her, after she ripped the mask from his face, the pain and sorrow within their depths was almost unbearable.
(End dream sequence)
Christine shot up out of the bed in a deep sweat. The shame she felt from that day still haunted her. She had not seen the boy after that day…he never came back to school. She often wondered what had become of him.
Her own problems had paled compared to the ones that she was sure he had been through. Even now, almost twenty years later, she wished she could tell him how ashamed she was for the way she had acted.
She had found out that he was only a couple of years older than her, and that he was a genius…it seemed to her, that if he would have just left the mask off and allowed people to get to know him, he may not have been the object of so much humiliation.
Those jade eyes haunted her no matter where she went; she could not remember much of what he had looked like, apart from the deformity – but she knew that her actions had caused him deep pain and sorrow, both physically and mentally.
Christine did remember that the other side of his face had been normal, at least to an eight-year-old. Why had he worn a mask that covered both sides?
Christine got up and went to the kitchen for a drink. She poured herself a big glass of grape juice and curled up on the couch. In the morning, that was where she awoke, with Cheshire purring in her ear.
TBC