Chapter 14
A mask removed, that night, and a mask replaced only an hour after; and when I rose from my night's rest, it was with renewed expression of human countenance. The morning was an uneventful one; I awoke early, cracked Christine's door, and set about preparing breakfast. When, at the close of that meal's preparations she still had not arisen, I adjourned to my study to oversee the cleaning of that destruction. Doing so was no easy task, but with resolve formed heavily in my mind to act the gentleman, I found I could no longer bear the thought of such evidence of my former childishness; I removed that evidence as quickly as I could, and restored all that was possible to its former position of simple elegance.
What was destroyed, I dwelled over for long moments. Never before in such stupid rage had I gone so far as to destroy such priceless articles, and certainly rage had prior visited me for much more monumental purposes. Still, little could be done now; but, unable to throw such treasures away, I packed the torn pages neatly into boxes, and tucked them into my hidden cubby, to act as future work for idle hands.
I thought I heard a stirring in the other room, and with a smile, wandered into the kitchen to greet her. What I found there, however, was not the sleepy-eyed angel I had expected, but rather a stern-faced Persian with a silly red cap perched precariously upon his balding head.
"This is quite the breakfast for yourself, Erik. I was not aware you put such effort into your morning meals." Those eyes were narrowed suspiciously at the plate of food awaiting Christine, even as his meddling fingers pinched off bits of my bread to place it between those frowning lips. "Are you... expecting someone?"
My lips curled upwards into a snarl of a grin, as I advanced forwards to seat myself across from him at the kitchen table. "As you are aware, Nadir, my house is quite the highway--hardly has one guest left, before three more are knocking upon my door. I cannot seem to find a single moment of solitude." Right foot lifted to rest upon left knee, and my fingers curled together and came to lie atop my abdomen. My head cocked sideways, and I fixed him with my most penetrating of gazes.
He frowned only further at my sarcasm, and leaned forwards, dropping his stolen hunk of bread onto the table. "I came here not to play at spoken darts with you, Erik. I seek not to enter into one of your ridiculous verbal contests, but rather to ask you rather important questions as to your activities of late--or rather, the lack thereof."
I shook my head, smiling still. "But as you have pointed out, my dear Daroga, I am expecting company--of the finest nature. So, if it please you, perhaps we could continue this on another occasion?"
"It would please me not, Erik," he said sharply, and a bit too loudly; I winced to think that Christine should hear his voice, and come seeking out the source of it. "I demand you speak with me--candidly--about the disappearance of that little dancer, the DaaƩ girl."
My spine went rigid. "I assure you, Daroga, I know nothing of the matter."
"You are a liar!" he shouted, rising in anger to point a solitary finger at me. I noticed, bizarrely, that his fingers had grown thin--all of him, in fact, had grown thin, as if he grew old and frail. It frightened me, suddenly, to think that harm should come to him, that illness should visit the only man who ever had served as my conscience. I found myself frowning deeply, and considering the consequences of his taking sudden and prolonged second absence.
"Erik!" he snapped, and my eyes jerked upwards. I found not just anger in his face, then, but a somewhat horrified concern. "Have you even heard my words?" he asked suddenly, sinking back down into his chair. "You seem ill..."
I shook my head, and waved a hand before my face, thankful for his momentary sidebar. "Do not think you shall be rid of me so easily, Daroga."
He snorted. "Yes, you are right--no simple sickness will rid me of you, otherwise I'd have infected you long ago."
It was a friendly jest, and yet still it stung me; too closely did it resemble my mother's own true sentiments of me, and I found myself resenting him almost immediately for it.
A sudden shriek burst forth from Christine's room--a long and piercing scream, one that could come only from the throat of a truly terrified woman. I leapt to my feet, my first instinct fear and protection; Nadir, also, became most abruptly upright, and then locked his eyes furiously onto mine own.
"Erik, whose cry was that?" he asked of me, though he needed no reply.
I turned cold eyes on him, and snarled. "Out!" I cried. "Get out!" Without, however, waiting to see him to the door, I rushed to Christine's room.
She stood paralyzed in the center of it, a dressing gown half clasped about her still-damp body; golden locks hung pitifully around her shoulders, further wetting the gown. She was white, and trembling, but not just from the chill that most assuredly was creeping through her bones. She was looking fixedly into the bathroom, eyes wide and mouth parted in utmost horror.
I advanced slowly into the room, carefully, moving as delicately as around a terrified horse. She did not look at me, but obviously noted my presence; without a word, she pointed into the bathroom. I paused next to her for a moment to touch her shoulder; she squeezed her eyes shut, and managed to whisper, "In the bath."
Apprehensively I moved forwards, craning my neck to peer into the soapy water. Within it thrashed a large spider, already near dead from drowning. I scooped it up, and was pleased to find it lively enough to immediately attempt to crawl up my sleeve. Delicately I carried it from the bathroom.
When Christine saw it in my hands, she shrieked again, and scurried backwards to the bed. She was not at all mindful of her gown, and with a hot blush, I found my eyes rather forcibly averted from her completely.
"Erik, what are you doing?" she screamed.
"Taking it outside," I said simply.
She watched me carefully for a moment, as if contemplating what I meant to do with it. "Are you going to.. kill it?" she asked gently.
The muscles on my neck tightened, and I turned to stare at her--though, admittedly, I focused rather firmly on her face, and nothing more. "No," I said with constricted vocals.
"But--"
Enter Nadir, who gave a cry at seeing Christine laid out so upon the bed. She saw him, and screamed all the more loudly; in the commotion, the spider freed itself from my grasp, and went scurrying away into the walls of Christine's room. Too distracted was she to notice; instead, she was busy scrambling to the side of the bed opposite from Nadir, and clutching the gown tighter about her body; little good it did, however, for the wetter her hair forced her to be, the more transparent the gown became.
"Allah save you, Erik," Nadir said breathlessly, as he looked unabashedly at Christine--though I know him well enough to recognize he did so from utter shock, rather than from any perversion of the mind.
Still, looking was looking--I moved protectively in front of her, removed my jacket, and wrapped it around her. Only then did Nadir realize what he did; blushing furiously, he turned his back to us.
"The spider is long gone, my dear, I assure you," I said gently. "Finish your bath; breakfast is waiting for you in the kitchen."
She nodded dumbly, leaning ever closer to my chest. She shivered now with only cold, but it was a horrible shiver, a violent one. I rubbed her arms vigorously for a moment, and then gave her the gentlest of nudges in the direction of the bathroom. "Quick, before you catch your death," I said with a slight smile, though true concern sat heavily on my breast. She nodded, and somewhat meekly, and ever so cautiously, she advanced into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.
I gave a heavy sigh, and in my shirtsleeves returned to the hall, where Nadir stood waiting, as grim-faced as death.
"What are you doing, Erik?" he asked in a voice driven weary by my own actions. "What have you done?"
"I have done nothing at all," I responded tersely.
He shook his head, and covered his face with his hands. "I cannot decide, Erik, if you are a liar, or if you truly do not realize your own actions."
"What are you suggesting I have done, Nadir?" I asked, eyebrows drawing together.
He merely shook his head again, and let it fall back so that his haggard face was lifted towards the ceiling, as if seeking divine assistance. "You must allow her to return to her world, Erik. She cannot exist here, as you can. She is not like you."
I looked away, unwilling to hear his words, for they were the same that I had so often heard my own heart whispering, the same that I had refused to hear time and again.
"She is a creature of the light, Erik," he persisted. "Return her to it, or she will die here."
I gave a long sigh, and turned my eye upon him. "And are you so sure that I will not, Daroga?"
That evening, I spent many hours in my study, apart from Christine. That night was the first in many weeks that I partook of the morphine, without that saving substance from that pretty oriental box. I sank into quiet thoughtful bliss, listening only to the sound of my dying heart muscle throbbing weakly against my sternum. My chair creaked as I leaned backwards, groaned as I shifted my weight into a position of more comfort. After that I was motionless; barely did my chest even rise with breath.
He was right, and that was what most disturbed me. There was no possible way that Christine could survive here with me, but facing that reality was something that I was uncertain I could do. Blissful had my sleep been, knowing she was only a room away from me; I felt as if every day pulled her a little closer to understanding me, perhaps even to... caring for me, if nothing else--and I was not stupid enough to think there would ever be something else.
But he was right. I could not keep her here indefinitely. She had matters to attend to; she had friends, few though they were, and a career--I could not isolate her, if I wished for her to excel in the Paris Opera. And yet, how could I let her leave me, when I knew full well that she would not return to me?
At length, I rose from my position, to wander somewhat dreamily into the parlor. When first I saw her, I knew something was wrong; instead of advancing upon her, however, I stood back to watch her and see if I could perhaps catch some glimpse of her malady. There was a book clutched in her white-knuckled hands, and those glittering eyes were focused intently upon its contents. Wide were those eyes, and white the face they so complimented. Her pretty lips first pinched, and then parted limply as terror swept over that countenance. After some few moments of such behavior, she flung the book aside, and stood up quickly.
I moved forwards, for she seemed on the verge of collapse. At the sight of me, however, she gave a dull cry, and flinched away from my presence. She was terrified, I could tell; what I represented to her merely heightened that, and with tears of fright slipping down her cheeks, she ran from the room.
For a moment I stood in shock, and then I walked slowly forwards to lift the book which she read. The title of the collection was worn away; I opened it, and the pages fell to where she had been reading. "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" sat before me; the last words she had read still outlined by where a tear had fallen.
"And
straight the Sun was flecked with bars,
(Heaven's
Mother send us grace!)
As
if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With
broad and burning face.
And
its ribs are seen as bars on the face of the setting Sun.
Alas!
(thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How
fast she nears and nears!
Are
those her sails that glance in the Sun,
Like
restless gossameres?
The Spectre-Woman and her Death-mate, and no other on board the skeleton ship.
And
those her ribs through which the Sun
Did
peer, as through a grate?
And
is that Woman all her crew?
Is
that a DEATH? and are there two?
Is
DEATH that woman's mate?
Like
vessel, like crew!
Her
lips were red, her looks were free,
Her
locks were yellow as gold:
Her
skin was as white as leprosy,
The
Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,
Who
thicks man's blood with cold.
Death and Life-In-Death have diced for the ship's crew, and she (the latter) winneth the ancient Mariner.
The
naked hulk alongside came,
And
the twain were castign dice;
'The
game is done! I've won! I've won!' "
The tale sent a chill up even my spine; I shut it firmly, and cast it down upon the sofa's cushions. The poem was a horrible one, with further horrors aplenty before that moment; knowing my sweet innocent had read them all caused me a thick and horrible moment of pity. I turned from the room and journeyed to her own, where I found her curled and trembling, sobbing horribly upon her bed.
Quietly I went to her, and sat lightly upon the side of her bed. She felt me there, and moved to me, resting her head in my lap and allowing me to comfort her.
"It's horrible!" she cried. "Terrible! Who could write such a thing? Why, why would you write such a terrible thing?" Her tears dampened the leg of my pants, and still she cried on. "I thought... I thought it would not be... I thought it would get better... A Rime... How could a rime be such a frightening thing? ... I... Oh, oh, Erik... Your house is filled with such terrible things!"
I scooped her into my arms, and held her long, until she had quieted, and eventually fallen asleep. I laid her out upon the bed, and covered her, as carefully and sweetly as a father with his child. But no father would have let his little girl live in such a horrible place--she was right, my house was filled with terrible things, and I had brought her here amongst them without a single thought for her own well-being.
"Oh, my sweet Christine," I whispered, before pressing a single kiss upon her sleeping brow. "I am so sorry..."
As I left her room, preparing myself for my own coming horrors, I reflected again on Nadir's words. He was right. She was not meant for this place.
A mask removed, and a mask replaced, and I awoke that morning with renewed expression of human countenance. I awoke that morning with quiet, horrible, aching, saddened resolve, to return my little songbird to the life of sunlight and happiness that she had so long missed. "Be peaceful then, thou art of men--a god we could not keep."
