The Persian sat restlessly in the back of the cab, hoping he would arrive at the home of his friend soon, he hated long carriage rides.
Nadir had written to Erik to say that he was coming and not even waited for a reply before leaving. He reasoned that his friend had had more than enough time to wallow in lonely grief and now he was going to have to move on. Nadir sighed as he remembered how destroyed his friend had been the last time he had seen him; his eyes which always glowed that strange amber color, had been absolutely lifeless.
After the incident at the opera, Nadir had been ready to wash his hands completely of his destructive friend, but when he had seen just how pitiful and broken Erik had been something in him cold not simply let him go on all alone.
Nadir watched the beautiful French countryside pass by out the window and he wondered if his friend had even noticed the serenity of it all. Probably not, the Persian thought sadly as he pictured what his friend was most likely doing; sitting alone in the old estate he had purchased, curtains drawn, and thinking about Christine. He sighed again; he had his work cut out for him.
These thoughts in mind the Persian had to do a double take as the cab turned down a drive way,
"The driver must be lost," he muttered to himself, "this cannot be right,"
He thought this because the house they had pulled up to had a large cart in front of it and people were milling about. The cab stopped and Nadir got out to tell the driver they must be at the wrong house, when he saw the very person he had come to see. He gaped as his friend came out to greet him.
Erik walked out to his friend. He had received the latter saying he had already left and there was nothing he could do to stop him from coming so he should not bother. Erik had shaken his head and smiled at his persistent friend. He had been on the verge of writing him himself to say that the house was currently under construction and he could come out and see it when it was finished.
This was the reason for all the people who were at the estate. Erik had finally written to Andre Calvin, who had jumped at the chance to renovate the house. Calvin had arrived two days prior the Persian, and Erik had nearly died when he saw that he had brought a crew of people with him to help with the house.
The crew was a rag tag bunch of men, most of which were polish and did not speak a word of French. The only two who did speak French were Calvin himself, and then the young, blond haired blue eyed boy of about twenty who spoke halting French whenever the occasion called for it.
As there was no where else for them to go, they were all camping in the living room of the estate. Erik was still getting used to the idea of having a fairly large number of people in the house, but his situation had been becoming ridiculous. He had still not gone into the upstairs and it had also occurred to him that if he did not start work on the house soon it would be impossible to stay there in the winter months.
And Erik had no intention of leaving. He was deep in the relationship between himself and the ghostly vision of the ballerina which visited him each night. She was the most graceful, beautiful thing Erik had ever seen and he was fascinated with her every move. He was content just to play for her and watch her dance and it was killing him that he might not be able to see her for some time; but that was better than having to leave in the winter.
What change that was occurring in him he attributed to the company of the ghost. She was the perfect companion; she would listen to his music, and she could not talk to him to reject him. Erik believed in her as a kind of friend, and somehow it gave him confidence to interact with others. In fact, he had an idea involving Jaimie Davis and he planned on carrying it out that day.
"Welcome," Erik said, and he had to laugh at the stunned look on his friends face,
"What…?" Nadir gestured to the surrounding goings on,
"Renovation, and if you would have been a bit more patient you would have known that; I was planning on writing to you," Erik responded,
Nadir stared at his friend for a moment. He could not have been the same man he had been the time he had seen him last. He looked alive again; he even had a bit of color in his skin which was normally as white as a sheet. However it was Erik still, as the white mask covered half of his face.
"You look…different," He commented
Erik raised an eyebrow, "I always look different,"
"No, I mean, you look…more human," He knew these were the wrong words to use but he could think of no other way to put it,
"You always knew how to flatter, old friend," Erik shook his head and helped his friend carry his luggage up to the estate. Nadir noticed that his friend seemed to be able to hold much more with greater ease than he had before.
Nadir took in the house; there were signs of construction everywhere. Flooring was being removed, walls were being patched, and there was a general bustle of activity that Nadir would never have thought possible in close proximity to Erik.
"I hope you don't mind sleeping on the floor for a few nights while we fix the upstairs," Erik said as he led his old friend thought the house; he was going to take him to the music room where Erik decided he would sleep.
"Not at all," the Persian said, still amazed at the apparent change in his friend,
"What do you think if the house?" Erik asked him, but by this time they had entered the music room and the Persian felt the strangeness immediately. Something in the air made his heart beat loud in his ears. He glanced nervously around the room, looking for the source of his uneasy feeling,
Erik noticed his friends discomfort and smiled; this was the reaction everyone had at first to the room. Nadir turned to see his friend had a knowing smirk on his lips, and something about this frightened him; what did the lover of trap doors know about this room that he did not?
"Why are you smiling so?" Nadir asked shakily, taking a step back from his friend, wondering what he had done in this room; if he had fallen back on him old Persian ways of murder,
Erik realized what the Persian was thinking and he shook his head, "Will you never trust me? I have done nothing to this room; it was this way when I arrived," he lowered his voice, "There is a sprit in this room, a young ballerina who listens and dances to my music,"
The Persian felt his stomach drop along with his heart; he had believe that his friend had changed, that something in the country air had helped him, but now he realized he was just as mad as ever,
"Oh, Erik," he sighed, staring at the wild light in his friends amber eyes; he had been so happy to see this light return to him, and now he realized it was nothing more than his rebounded madness,
Erik looked at the Persian, "You do not believe me, do you? No, I know you do not, you need not answer; but then if there is no sprit in here why does the room feel like it does? You must feel it, that suspicion as though you are not alone?" Erik paused and stare at his confused friend,
"Erik!" a voice he recognized as Jaimie Davis called to him, and with a large smile Erik motioned for his friend to follow him. Erik had been planning this for some time and he could not wait to carry it out…
Erik realized that Jaimie was a beautiful girl, but she was too young for him; to young and to innocently sweet. However, he recognized her desire to fall in love and have grand adventures. When he had first seen the handsome, young boy who was helping Calvin to renovate his house he had thought of Jaimie immediately, and now he was going to introduce the two.
"Jaimie!" Erik greeted her happily, "how are you?"
"Fine," she smiled back, "here is the name you wanted from my father," and she handed him a slip of paper,
Erik smiled; he had asked Elliot if he knew a good horse dealer, hoping that he would send Jaimie over with the name. So far has plan had worked perfectly.
Jaimie looked around at the construction, "It looks like everything is…going well," her voice tapered off as she spotted the very man Erik had wanted her to. The blond haired blue eyed John Zimich. Erik called to the young man,
"John! Come over here," the baby faced worker came to stand beside him, and Jaimie blushed considerably,
"Jaimie, this is John Zimich, John, this is Jaimie Davis from down the road," Erik watched as the boy nervously took Jaimie's hand, staring at her as though she were a goddess, and making her blush even deeper.
He left the two to their business and walked back to stand beside his friend who was leaning against the door frame of the living room. Nadir was stunned; he had just seen his friend do something to kind he could hardly believe it. Just when he had thought he was as mad as ever, he had done something so human
"Did you just introduce those two?" Nadir asked amazed,
"Yes," Erik said, and his voice was oddly dreamy, "Love at first sight, wouldn't you say?"
Nadir watched the young man and woman smile and speak to each other with glowing eyes, "Yes, I would say," he turned to look at his friend Erik was watching them with a certain look of longing in his eyes. Nadir changed his opinion again. His friend might have been mad, but he had changed, and he wanted to fall in lover.