I want to take a big ol' bite out of an Eriksicle. Mmmmmm……sexy sweet.
Reviewers, how do I love thee, let me count the ways…wait, there's too many…but I'll get around to counting them eventually! Because I love you, I have enabled anonymous reviews! Mi amore, bambinos!
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If it had been in his nature, Erik would have skipped down his passageways signing, "For bonny sweet Jules is all my joy!" Erik had a reason to be happy with Jules. The packet of paper under Erik's arm was satisfyingly heavy, and contained everything he could ever want to know about Doctor DuBoise.
Sitting in his chair with a steaming cup of tea in one hand and the papers in his lap, Erik settled himself to do some hopefully informative reading.
Doctor Henri DuBoise was born in Nice, and moved to Marsailles to begin a medical career. He was known for his charming and genial demeanor, and was trusted by all of his patients. At the zenith of his career, he suddenly began to stay in his house much more often to pursue his research of the human anatomy. There were no reports about what exactly he was doing, but whatever it was must have been deeply secret, because the curtains were closed at all times. After about sixteen years of this, the doctor took on an apprentice, a certain Louis Tremaine. The boy was about twenty, and reportedly quite good looking.
For a year, both the doctor and the boy disappeared inside the doctor's mansion, the lights in the windows the only testament to their presence. Until one day, the lights stopped coming on. For almost a week, the house stood silent and dark. Then, a horrible sickly sweet stench rose from the grounds, and the town decided to investigate.
When they knocked down the door and stepped into the hallway, the searchers were met with a grisly sight. There, on the bloodstained floor, were the bodies of the doctor and his apprentice. But it was hard to tell who was who at first, because the bodies were so horribly disfigured.
The doctor's arm ears, eyes and nose were wrenched out of his body and strewn across the floor, and his throat was gouged out. The boy's jaw was torn off, leaving a bloody, gaping hole where the rest of his face had been.
When the house was searched, no evidence was found of whom could have done such a thing, and so the attack was attributed to a wild animal.
Graphic pictures accompanied the writings, and the sight was enough to turn Erik's stomach, if only a little.
That was the end of Jules's written notes.
What followed was a series of newspaper articles detailing the continuation of attacks from the vicious animal that killed the doctor and his apprentice.
Erik felt a strange sinking sensation. He had a feeling that he knew exactly who was responsible for the murders. It all fit together. The book by the doctor, Adrian's strange, cold demeanor, the murders…
Adrian was the killer.
Erik's thoughts were racing. No, I need proof. Solid proof. But how to get it?
Erik's jaw tightened slightly. To confirm his suspicions, or ease his thoughts, he would have to invade Mlle. Cartier's privacy in a way he had not really wanted to.
The hallways Erik walked down seemed to echo with the beat of his heart, and the words of the newspaper articles ran in a panicked mantra through his head. Killer…brutally mauled…no traces of the killer…carnage beyond imagination…
He had reached Adrian's mirror. Feeling a little sick to his stomach, he stood before the glass and waited. He did not have to wait long. Adrian unlocked her door and entered with a sigh. She seemed very troubled about something, and kept rubbing he temples. She unwound her hair from its coil and massaged her scalp to relieve the tension built up from her tight hairstyle.
Erik held his breath. Just one short look was all he needed. But it pained him to invade her privacy like that. In all the days after he had first looked at her, the temptation to watch her dressing had been hard to resist, but he had managed, only because he respected her enough to honor he taciturn wish for privacy. He still respected her, but he could not rest at ease until he knew…
She was unbuttoning her collar, her hands capably unfastening each one without the customary fumble. Her hands parted the fabric and peeled the dress off, leaving her in her shift.
Erik turned away resolutely, and began to march back down the hallways. Her body was beautiful in form, and graceful, but was marred by terrible scars, too precise and neat to be accidental. Surgical scars, made with a doctor's scalpel. They wound up her arms a little above the wrist, climbed around her neck like vines, and encircled her legs like so many pale spiders. Every scar was pearly white ringed with pink or red, at least, every scar he had seen. Large, dark shapes were slightly visible through her shift, suggesting something more severe on her torso. She was the killer.
It made perfect sense. To further his research, the doctor had followed the ressurectionist path and taken on a human subject. Except this one wasn't dead. She had no right to be alive, but somehow, Adrian was, and after years of torture, had taken vengeance on her captors, the boy and the doctor.
After committing the grisly murders, Adrian escaped, and for reasons unknown, had killed five others. Those were the tiny wooden figures. She had probably made them herself out of remorse for her actions. But then, where did Isobel come in?
Erik decided that he would ponder that question later. Larger ones demanded his attention. Was she sane? Probably not. No one could endure such severe torture and come out untouched mentally. If she was insane, did he still want to pursue her?
Erik stopped dead in his tracks. Wait, since when had he decided to pursue her? He loved Christine, even if she had murdered him in cold blood. Could he ever possibly love another woman as much?
He had reached his home. His chair called to him, and his legs responded in kind. Erik sat down, and sliding his hand up his mask, slipped the thing off.
They were both scarred. They were both murderers. They were both insane. They both treasured their solitude at times. But the need to feel human skin, warm and alive under his hands, poisoned his solitude and turned it into loneliness. Was it the same for her? Did she feel the same empty feeling in her core when lovers passed hand in hand? Did she wish for a weapon when she saw a stolen kiss between them?
People don't value one another enough. They fight and quibble and break away from one another. A single word is enough to turn what might have been happiness into bitter anger. If they knew the pain of loneliness, they would rush at each other with open arms, and say, "I'm sorry. We won't ever fight again." And then maybe the world would be a better place. Mothers would not shun their children, Fathers would be proud of all their offspring. Brothers and sisters would walk together hand in hand.
But that's not how the world works. Thought Erik angrily.
Erik glanced about his home. He was self-sufficient. He needed no one. What he needed was for someone to need him. He needed someone to depend on him, to curl up in his arms and bury their face in his chest to shut out he world. In a way, he felt that maybe Adrian needed someone. If not a lover, maybe just a friend.
Just a friend. Maybe she will never love me, but perhaps I can be her friend.
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Um, I'm ver self conscious about his chapter, so I need reviews especially. I've counted the ways I love my reviewers, and I think it's somewhere around a million. Hope you enjoy! P.S.: Accents, be they French, Canadian, German, Irish, English or Scottish, are awesomely cool!
