The Most Unwelcome Visitor

Etienne

There was a hansom waiting for us just outside the Rue Scribe gate, and without much ado Raoul pressed a hand to my back and thrust me up into its carriage. Christine was already seated inside, and as Raoul climbed in as well we ended up squeezing against each other far more than was socially appropriate.

"Go!" Raoul commanded the driver, who snapped the reigns in response and sent us moving through the street at an uncomfortably quick pace.

"Where are we going?" I asked, as it dawned on me that we were traveling in the opposite direction of my flat.

"Christine will never be safe in Paris as long as Erik lives!" Raoul gritted out, poking his head back out to check behind us – presumably under the paranoid fear that Erik was following us.

"He promised, Raoul," Christine said quietly. "He wouldn't do anything to us."

"He's a liar, Christine!" Raoul bit back. "I don't know how you can still defend him even after all his lies and deceptions! Honestly, Christine!"

"You don't know him like I do."

"Do I need to, Christine? I think I can judge his character fairly well by now considering the hell he put us all through!"

"This is not the place for this discussion, Raoul," Christine replied, sending a pointed glance in my direction before firmly turning away from us to look out the window.

Raoul stared in her direction for a heated moment, mouth twitching as if to chase her words with a smart remark – a childish drive to have the last word in an argument - but at last decided to remain silent after all. Smart man.

Our hansom skirted over the Seine and then turned down the Quai Anjou, finally coming to a stop at the end of the street. Setting my eyes upon the building we had come to a stop beside, I couldn't help the gasp that left my lips – for here we were beside the regal Hôtel Lambert!

I eyed Raoul curiously. This was a rather high-class residence… surely I knew Raoul was well-to-do, as his attire was finely tailored and his diction was vaguely noble, but I had not pictured him as a man of quite this high of means. This new development served as a reminder of just how little I knew of his life as well as that of my patient's.

He jumped out of the hansom, and I followed suit, before turning and offering a hand to Christine who simply grasped it as she climbed out as if she were the one escorting me. Raoul herded us into the building and up the stairs to the third-floor, where we entered a flat and found ourselves in a grand foyer of marble and gold.

Raoul poked his head around as we entered, remarking with a measurable level of relief, "Philippe looks to be out at the moment."

I did not bother pondering who this Philippe was. There were far too many other questions burning in my mind at present, and the last thing I wanted to concern myself with was yet another mysterious character in this already-strange-enough tale.

"I must get my hat…" Raoul said suddenly, walking with purpose to the adjoining hall, voice trailing as he thought aloud and flitted between rooms. "…some trousers… and a coat…"

He finally stopped in the middle of the hall, and turned back to face us, arms laden with a clutter of items. Our curious expressions seemed to break his trance, and his face suddenly fell. "What? Oh – oh… Christine, whatever shall you bring?"

Christine sighed, before approaching her beau with far more gracefulness than I ever thought was possible. She brushed a hand to his cheek. "Raoul, dear, I shall bring nothing, because we shall not be leaving Paris."

"But we – we – we must!" Raoul stammered out. "He is alive! We aren't safe!"

"We are," Christine reaffirmed adamantly. "Please, listen, Raoul. He is not a threat to you or me any longer. He promised." Raoul looked to protest but a look from Christine stole his words. "I trust him, Raoul. I know you do not, but I do. I trust him fully on this."

Raoul finally found his words. "But - why?"

"Don't ask me to explain it, darling," Christine said, looking away. "I will refuse every time."

"Aren't you afraid of him?"

"Of course I am…"

"But there's more to it!" Raoul's accusation hung in the air, like a particularly rank perfume, for a long while between us. At long last, he threw up his hands in frustration, letting his pile of things fall unceremoniously to the ground. "Fine, Christine! If you do not wish to leave, I won't make you! We shall instead stay in Paris and let ourselves be preyed upon by that monster perpetually!"

Christine pursed her lips, clearly not appreciating her beau's tone. I could not say I was particularly impressed by his tone, either.

Raoul turned to me, and for the fraction of a second before he spoke I became cognizant of the fact that I was corporally present in that room as well and not just a spectral, unseen spectator. "And you!"

What about me…? I almost asked.

He pointed a finger at me. "You said you know him!"

Christine gaped at me in surprise - and I gaped back at the two of them, as well, unsure of what to say at the present. "I did."

"Well, what opinion do you have on the matter? Can this madman be trusted? And might I remind you that our very lives are on the line here!"

I shook my head. "I don't believe I can make that judgement, Monsieur."

"And why ever not?!"

"Because, Monsieur," I answered, "I have not seen the man in question in over forty years."

"Forty years!" Christine echoed. She looked at me in awe. "Erik must have been hardly more than a child!"

Raoul was alarmed. "If that is so, Doctor, I fear you know nothing of the horrors we have endured at this man's hand. At this point I can hardly conceive of him as ever being a child – an innocent and blameless child, as if he ever could have been one! - and yet that is all you must know him as! Oh, Doctor, I must tell you now: he is an extremely dangerous man, capable of the most wicked, vile deeds imaginable." He further paled. "To think – I thought you knew of his nature and thought it momentarily safe to leave you alone down there – but to know now that you knew nothing -"

"I know enough, Monsieur," I interrupted. "You forget I am experienced in my field. I have dealt with the criminally insane before." I let a slight chuckle escape my lips. "I have met with so many of these sorts of madmen that I hardly remember to be afraid of them anymore."

"You aren't taking this seriously!" Raoul accused. "This man is an incredibly deranged -"

I held up a wrinkled hand. "Again, you forget who you're speaking to. I am certain he is mad – deranged - psychotically ill - however you would like to call it. But ultimately… I intend to be the judge of that."

Raoul frowned at me. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

"From what I have ascertained from observing the two of you this afternoon," I cast a sweeping gesture between them, "there appears to have been some distressing form of affair that occurred amongst both you and this man - this… Erik. I merely wish to understand better what this affair was, so I may better understand him."

"So that's it? You desire to rake us through the coals of this miserable experience? What interest do you have with any of this, beyond nosy curiosity?" Raoul spat, pulling Christine closer to himself.

My careless words had rattled him, and he was on the defensive once again now. I sighed, realizing I would have to be more forthcoming with my intentions.

"I wish to study him," I explained. "I said I knew him forty years ago. That was true. He was a child back then, but even then he was incredibly fascinating to me. I began a rudimentary case study on him. There were many… warning signs. And I saw them, all those years ago." I turned away from them, suddenly disappointed and embarrassed in my past actions. "I should have done more. I could have prevented a lifetime of misery for the boy… if I had just been more adamant with his mother." I clenched my fists, their grips weak in my old age. "I would like to see him now – to study him further – to understand the results of my inaction. How I failed him… and how I can help him now."

"He's beyond help," Raoul said, to which Christine gave him a stern glare.

"In my experience," I replied, "there is no psychiatric disorder that cannot be cured. The only trouble lies with finding the cure." I folded my hands behind my back. "I cannot study him without your help, Monsieur and Mademoiselle. I must know more about the Erik you know: the man he has become."

"I don't believe…" Christine's quiet voice broke through.

"Don't believe what?"

"Erik is a very private man," Christine said at a more audible volume, which my old ears were thankful for. "Excuse me, Doctor Barye, but I doubt very much that Erik would be receptive to you."

"Most of my patients could be described similarly," I replied dismissively. "I shall just have to convince him. But to do that I must first find him… perhaps I shall make another house call?"

"Please, Doctor, you musn't!" Christine cried in alarm.

I chuckled. "I was merely jesting, Mademoiselle. I have observed enough to recognize the gravity with which you both observe that cellar with… and regardless, it appears he has vacated that home at present. But still… I must consider – where might I find Erik now?"

They were both quiet for a moment, honestly pondering. At long last they shrugged and, exchanging worried glances with each other, offered me the most unhelpful answer thus far:

"We have absolutely no idea."

Erik

Sneezing without a nose is a rather unpleasant form of business, I mused as I dabbed my handkerchief at the gaping hole in the center of my face, before returning my attention to the task at hand.

Before me was the useless corpse who had failed in his singular duty to me. My anger was boiling under my skin; I wanted nothing more than to resurrect the worthless fool just so I could strangle him myself. It wasn't his fault, I knew, but something needed to bear the brunt of my temper otherwise I would end up burning the entire city to the ground.

I grabbed him by his shoulders and forcefully dragged him out of the casket, the papers of my composition flying as I struggled against his dead weight. His body was stiff and difficult to manipulate, but finally I found my grasp around his waist and hoisted him over my shoulder so that I could carry him out of my house and to the shore, whereupon I dropped him down and kicked his skeletal form into the lake.

Lake Averne – the name I had dubbed my personal underground cistern – was large but unmoving. The corpse bobbed on its murky surface but otherwise remained in place.

I frowned. This would not do. I did not want this corpse to remain on my property… or at least, I did not want this corpse to remain in view. I retrieved my skull-headed cane from its spot in the corner of my foyer and returned once more to the shore, and began poking at the corpse in the hopes of pushing it across the surface.

It did the trick, allowing the body to float away on what little tide the lake had – a tide, I knew, was caused by its slow drainage into the adjacent Paris sewers – and I watched as it disappeared behind a shadowy rock formation. With any luck it would drift gently into the darkness… but I knew enough to know that I could not trust such an unreliable, cold-hearted vengeful beast as luck. On my return to the surface, I decided, I would trace the body's path to confirm its departure from my domain.

I turned back to my house and entered it once more. My little parlor greeted me, as it had for the past ten years, but standing in the midst of it now only served to remind me of the terrible intrusion that had occurred. My teeth bared themselves at the memory of the doctor's hands brushing against my polished mantle, of eyes peering nosily at the hidden mirror behind my world map. I did not like intruders as a rule, but this doctor – this Etienne Barye – was without a doubt my most unwelcome visitor to date.

My privacy had been violated severely, and now my nerves were on edge. Had I been unclear in my instructions to Christine? Why had she brought that blasted doctor along? Everything felt wrong now. The air felt suffocating, burning my lungs with every breath, and a certain foulness surrounded me.

Foulness – which rippled around me, pounding against my skull, drumming into my mind until my vision darkened to the deepest shades of red the human mind can see – rippled, and tore at every fiber of my being, until it localized to a single spot in the room hidden behind an inconspicuous door. I stumbled towards it and wrenched it open.

Within that small little closet, on the side of my parlor, stood my beautiful Christine, dressed exactly as she had been that night three weeks ago, in her pristine wedding dress of white lace and tulle. It had taken a small effort to mend the seams and remove the stains after I'd recovered it. I allowed myself to stand there for a long while, admiring her cherubic face, smiling – actually smiling! – at me, cheeks rosy with painted blush, lips sparkling with ersatz gloss, eyes glistening with glassy finish…

It was rather funny, I supposed, that I tucked such a disturbing tribute to my love away in this hidden cache. As if I entertained enough in this underground realm to require this manifestation of my madness to be concealed from sight!

No, I knew the truth. I was embarrassed of myself. I didn't want to see it… I didn't want to see her. Except when I did.

And I did want to see her, very much so. Now, anyway. I raised up my quivering hand and brushed it through her golden hair. Oh, it wasn't the same at all as running my hand through Christine's real locks, but it was truly very close!

How perfectly lovely it felt to hold my Christine… to touch my Christine… without rejection…

But… not without guilt.

I looked into her glassy eyes. That same blank expression smiled back at me, the same one I had painted her with when I had first created her months ago. Wasn't it tiring for her to always pitch her features in that way?

With a sigh, I stepped away. This glorified mannequin was a sad substitute for my real Christine. In the months before I had revealed myself to Christine and had contented myself with loitering in the shadows as the Angel of Music, this mannequin had served her purpose well. It was easy to pretend she was Christine when I had no basis to compare her to.

But now that I had touched – actually touched! – the real Christine, I couldn't shake the knowledge. This mannequin would never be Christine. She would never have the same perfect soft skin, or the same beating heart, or the same heavenly voice angelic enough to bring the devil to his knees…

Staring at this mannequin, it was hard to reconcile the idea of who I had been with who I was now. As Erik, I had been a pathetic, sobbing man whose shriveled heart had raced with the touch of a mannequin. Now, though – now I was Charles L'Esprit, a man who had no need of such a miserable diversion.

I refused to keep this pathetic machination in my house any longer. I grabbed the mannequin by its waist, feeling the solid metal bars of its birdcage torso against my arms, and carried it in my arms like a pile of refuse to the lake.

I loathed its touch against my skin, but even as I stood there, preparing to toss it in the lake, I couldn't help but gaze in its eyes.

Oh, Christine, why couldn't you have just been this mannequin?

With a great amount of reluctance, I let the mannequin drop from my arms and land unceremoniously in the lake.

She floated away too, just like the body before her, after some prodding from my cane, leaving me squatting on the balls of my feet on the shore of Lake Averne. In a moment I would return to the surface and resume my duties as Charles L'Esprit. I had been down here for far too long, and my other managers were bound to notice my absence. I needed to return. And I would, in a moment.

For now, though… for now I just needed a moment to be alone with my broken heart.

.

My office was as empty as I had left it, thankfully. I'd had enough of people today and was in no mood to be further disturbed.

I sat at my polished rococo desk and contemplated the tasks before me. My promotion from ghost to manager did not come without certain responsibilities and expectations. I was given this position with the understanding that I would be able to restore this opera house… I was being trusted to pull this off.

I ran my hand through my hairpiece as I studied the ledgerbooks I'd pilfered from Firmin. We were certainly in a tight spot. Prior to the incident, we had been losing money steadily with decreased ticket sales and wasteful expenditures – my salary not included. Now, with the destroyed auditorium and shattered chandelier, I found myself wondering how we were going to pay for the repairs at all.

We certainly had no surplus to draw from. That much was evident from the books. Every account was in the red! Furthermore, I considered my own funds. I supposed I'd taken a great deal of money from the company over the years and it would be only proper to assist their unfortunate situation by donating back a lump sum, but unfortunately the majority of my savings were tied up in foreign investment accounts and were not readily accessible. I had perhaps a meager quarter million francs at my disposal at the moment, which was certainly not enough to rescue this operation by itself.

Thus – we needed to generate the money ourselves. But how? I scoured the books once more, looking at the expenses that would be coming due. Employee salaries, building taxes, production costs - and all of that was apart from the repair expenses!

A knock at my door stirred me from my thoughts. Who dared to disturb me? Firmin? Or was it Andre? Truly, such moronic managers ought to be cast right out.

"Enter," I commanded.

The door opened and out from behind it stepped the greatest booby of them all.

I groaned. "What do you want now, you meddlesome Daroga?"

He did not speak until the door was securely shut, after which he turned back to me with a stoic face. "How did it go?"

"How did what go?" I echoed, before leaning back away from the desk with feigned nonchalance. "Faking my death, perhaps?"

My anger was indeed brimming under the surface, and Nadir could surely feel it. "Well, did Mademoiselle Daae return or no?"

"She did," I sneered, rising suddenly. "Did I not tell you she would? My Christine keeps her promises, even when made to a devil as corrupt as Erik!"

"So the matter is settled?" Nadir asked.

I pressed my hands into the table, knuckles turning white. "Why do you insist on asking further when I just answered your question?"

"Because you are notorious for telling half-truths and omitting important details, Erik," Nadir replied. "So again – is the matter settled?"

I glared at him, acid burning beneath my eyes. Then I turned away. I couldn't lie to him. Not my conscience. "No."

"What happened?"

"She knew the corpse wasn't me," I replied bitterly, then moved to the window. Paris was covered in a fine layer of snow, stretched across the streets as thin as my patience was becoming with this conversation. "She knows my face too well. Isn't that funny, Nadir? She recognizes my horrible face."

A sigh. "Why didn't you just put a mask over its face?"

"I did," I said. "The doctor took it off."

"What doctor?"

"Questions, Daroga, more questions! Do you not tire of barraging me with your relentless inquiries?" I huffed.

I could feel Nadir's glare burning into the back of my head. "You only get this defensive when you're hiding something from me."

"I am not being defensive," I replied, unfortunately with large overtones of obvious, obstinate defensiveness. "For your information, they brought a doctor with them. I do not know why. He is the one who lifted the mask and ruined everything." I gritted my teeth as I recalled the matter with irritation. "And that is all there is to say."

He was unsatisfied. "I do not believe that for a second."

"And why ever not? It's the truth!" I spun around and slammed my hand on my desk. "Damn your infernal questions, Daroga! Do you truly wish to stir my rage? I am not in the mood to have every single one of my actions and words questioned and critiqued! You would do well not to anger me further at this moment!"

"Erik," his voice was level, and I could tell my anger hardly disturbed him, "if anything, your current fit is proving my point exactly."

"Do you not enjoy drawing breaths in this world?" I hissed.

Ah, there we go! That damnable Daroga was now rubbing his neck. But still he remained relentless with his pursuit. "See, now you're trying to intimidate me. I know you're better than idle threats. I can see you're hiding something. Out with it, Erik!"

"Idle, Daroga?" I let out a poisonous laugh. "Idle? Hardly!"

I moved around the desk, approaching him with my towering form.

"I'm not afraid of you!" he shouted, even as he backed towards the door. "You are being completely irrational right now!"

My twitching hands raised of their own accord. "I didn't take you for a suicidal man!"

"I just want to ensure the safety of -"

A knock at the door just behind him interrupted his words. We locked eyes for a moment, before I called out to the visitor. "Yes?"

"It's Andre," a voice called back. "May I enter?"

Nadir narrowed his eyes at me. I could tell he knew my immediate reaction would be to turn the fool away, as I was hardly in the appropriate state of mind to be conversing with civilized company. But perhaps Nadir didn't know me as well as he thought he did anymore.

"You may," I replied, much to Nadir's frustration, but I knew he would be a good sport about it. He groaned and moved out of the way of the door, just as I flew back behind my desk to feign natural order. As the door opened, my eyes snapped back to Nadir for just enough time to watch him silently mouth to me, This conversation is not over.

Andre entered, taking the spot Nadir had previously occupied in front of my desk. I watched with hidden amusement as restrained confusion printed itself across his face as he took note of Nadir's presence. I could only imagine the thoughts going through the fool's head.

And as it turned out, I hardly had to use my imagination for that, as Andre's first words were directed at the old booby. "My apologies, Monsieur Khan, I did not know you were in here."

Monsieur Khan? This was quite an interesting development. At what point did these two become acquainted? Nadir could be terribly intrusive around this place, it appeared. I would have to keep a closer eye on him in the future. "He was just leaving."

Nadir shot me a vexed glare but fortunately did not protest his dismissal. Instead, he left through the door, but not before leaving us with a parting remark to me. "Don't forget I know where to find you."

"Always the inspector," I muttered, watching the door close behind him with satisfaction. I then turned to Andre, whom I now found myself alone with. "And what matter do you come to discuss?"

Greater confusion wrought itself on his features. I could tell he was trying but failing to suppress his curiosity. "I came to discuss… to discuss the matter of… of - I'm sorry, but do you know Monsieur Khan?"

Again, that name! I could only hope their acquaintanceship was only surface deep. Let names be all they knew of each other… "We have met."

"I see…" Andre nodded, as if absorbing my response took a great amount of brain power. Another question dared to escape him: "Before yesterday, though?"

"He's a meddlesome man. Don't trouble yourself over him." I rapped on the desk with a note of finality, hoping to put an end to this train of discussion. "Now, you were saying?"

"Right," Andre visibly shook himself free of his Persian thoughts. "The auditorium – what are your thoughts?"

"My thoughts are exactly the same as yours and Firmin's, I dare hope," I said. "It needs to be repaired."

"Yes, but – how, exactly?"

"The same way any building is repaired." I gestured to the books strewn on my desk. "I will meet with some contractors starting tomorrow morning. When I find one I can place my complete confidence in – and that can quote us a reasonable price - then the repairs will begin posthaste."

"Can we afford this?"

"That," I said, "is for me to determine."

Andre frowned. "Monsieur L'Esprit, though we no doubt trust your expertise on these matters, we believe the financial situation in particular would be best handled in a… cooperative manner." Sensing my spark of ire with those words, he hastily tacked on a pitiful attempt at placation. "We are all managers of equal footing, after all. One should not have to bear the brunt of the workload all by himself."

As polite as he was trying to be about it, Andre's meaning was clear: he did not want me making decisions independently from him and Firmin. Well. That would prove to be quite a difficult ask for me. The opera ghost runs the theater, or the theater does not run at all.

Through my annoyance, Andre continued blathering on about the importance of working together. "Firmin has already arranged for a dinner with the patrons at Le Grand Véfour for this Friday evening. We will need to really sell ourselves to them. If we can get just one of them to increase their monthly patronage by, say, five percent – well, I won't say that it would fix absolutely everything but it would be a good start."

"Five percent?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "That's quite optimistic, don't you think?"

"I thought it was rather low, actually… but anyway, that was Firmin's estimate," Andre defended readily. "I won't pretend to know the finances as well as you or Firmin."

"We have no opera house at the moment. Any sort of continued patronage at this point would be incredibly optimistic." I snorted. "Regardless. That chandelier costs thirty thousand francs by itself. The renovations and repairs to the theater will most likely cost several million in addition. A five percent increase from a single patron would not even come close to covering those costs."

Andre was quiet for a moment. "Then what precisely do you propose, Monsieur L'Esprit?"

I looked at the books on my desk, and at long last sighed. "Nothing. The patron dinner is probably for the best right now, until we can figure out a better source of funds."

"You will attend?"

Erik would not. Erik had many reservations about spending an extended amount of time with people. Erik had spent enough time in the company of the worst breed of humans in the world to last him a lifetime. Erik knew only bad things could come from a meeting such as this.

Charles, on the other hand, was a normal man. Charles could, theoretically, quite possibly, reasonably, find it within himself to even enjoy their company. Maybe I would find myself to be a people person at last.

"I will."

Andre smiled professionally, certainly glad that this errand of inviting me to this dinner – in the most mandatory sense of the phrase – had been completed. No doubt Firmin and he had drawn lots over who would be the unfortunate one to approach me about this matter; already I had presented myself as an intimidating figure to them, even without them knowing about my old employment as their resident opera ghost, and I sorely doubted either one would have volunteered for the opportunity to broach such a topic with me. Even with a normal face, I radiated animosity and detachment.

"Now, are we quite through here?" I asked, seeing him still loitering before me. But his attention was now elsewhere… I followed his eyes to find him staring at Ayesha, who was napping on the gilded bergère beside my desk.

He blinked. "You have a cat."

"Is that a problem, Monsieur?" My voice was menacingly low. I couldn't help it; Ayesha always brought out a profoundly protective side of me.

"No, not at all…" Andre said. "I actually adore cats."

And then, as if needing to prove himself to me, he reached out to my little lady's crown - and almost managed to touch her fur before she sprang up and hissed at him. Splendid work, Ayesha!

"She's not fond of strangers, it appears," Andre laughed nervously. "No matter. I'm sure she'll warm up to me in time."

Unlikely, I knew. She never warmed up to Christine, after all - even after all those long, terrible months.

"Monsieur L'Esprit, thank you for your time," Andre said with a nod, escorting himself out the door. "As always, Firmin and I are right down the hall if you need us."

The door clicked closed behind him, leaving me once again alone in my office. Ayesha returned to her slumber, but I found myself unable to return my mind to my books.

Rays from the setting sun were flickering past my large frosted window now, casting a glare against the glass of one of the old framed sketches hanging upon my wall. I stood and approached it with a considerate mind, already aware of the secrets stowed within.

It was an architectural draft I had made during those long years of the revolution during the opera house's construction. Reasonably the same as any other draft, except for one key difference.

The sun sank a little lower on the horizon, shifting the light up just an inch higher, and at last the angle was right.

Etched in the glass was my secret – the only sketch in the world that recorded evidence of my underground domain. Its dimensions and location were only visible at this precise moment of the day, when the muted yellow sunbeams would land on this patch of wall for just a few brief minutes.

My home – and my prison – five cellars below this opera house.

.

Nadir was waiting for me with crossed arms and a tapping foot when I returned home in the evening. I expected nothing less, after all; he was an entirely too-predictable man.

"Finally, you're here!" He sounded completely exasperated.

"One tends to return to his home at the end of the day," I quipped, dropping my cloak upon the back of my settee. "And one tends to wonder why you haven't done the same."

"I told you we would finish our conversation, Erik," Nadir said. "I am here. You are here. Now speak."

My shoulders raised themselves in an innocent shrug, and I walked from the sitting room to the hall as I spoke. "I have said everything there is to say."

"Must I chase you around your house?" Nadir called as he followed me into my bedchamber. "You can't avoid me forever!"

"Is it too much to ask for a little privacy?" I asked, as I stood before my mask menagerie and began to delicately peel the thin layer of false flesh from my face.

My normal-face mask was the product of a lifetime of trial and error, a combination of materials ranging from silk to paper-mâché to leather to gelatin, stretched with the articulations of my own bones and ligaments. As such, it was very flexible yet at the same time very fragile, and it could tear easily if mishandled... which was not really such a problem for me, honestly, as I could replicate it within a week or so if needed now that I knew how to construct it. But the point stood that I had no desire to go through the efforts if it was not necessary – and thus I commanded my fingers to handle it with fine care.

"Privacy?" Nadir was suddenly at my side. "Did Mademoiselle Daae have any privacy when you hid behind her mirror for months on end?"

My fingers twitched, and the mask stretched dangerously on my fingertips. "Daroga, I swear I will make good on every threat I have ever uttered to you if you make me tear this mask."

That actually silenced him, surprisingly, although he now chose to gaze at me with intent curiosity – and how I loathed intent curiosity!

I paused my work to glare at him. "Must you watch?"

"I did not mean to," he said quickly, averting his eyes when he glimpsed the half of my true face that was now exposed. He never did have the stomach for my wretched face. "It's just that your talents are truly remarkable."

"Believe me, Daroga, I am well aware of that," I said, resuming my work. The other half of the mask was peeling off much more smoothly. "If only this cruel world we live in could see that, too."

He made no comment to that, and I continued to remove the mask.

Finally, once the last bit of adhesive was rubbed off and my face free of the mask, Nadir sighed. "I'm afraid you are right. Perhaps I should allow you some more privacy."

I turned my death's head to him and raised a bare eyebrow. "Change of heart, Daroga?"

"Hardly," Nadir said, turning away from my face. "I think my intrusiveness in your affairs is proving counterproductive at this point, though."

A smile graced my malformed lips. "Ah, so you're finally washing your hands of me…?"

"As therapeutic as that sounds, I am not." His hand grabbed for the first mask he could find amongst my menagerie – a blue porcelain shard with swirling golden roses laid around the eyes – and thrust it in my general direction.

I held it in my hands for a silent breath, its weight heavier than ever in my hands. My eyes focused on the back of Nadir's head as I placed the mask over my face. With a sneer, I beckoned him, "Ah, at last I am decent. Are you happy, now?"

He turned and examined my masked face. "I truly do not know what to do with you anymore, Erik. It's almost as if you enjoy knowing that your face makes people uncomfortable."

I barked a laugh. "Truly, Daroga? Truly! I daresay that's why I kept myself locked down here for the past decade!"

His eyes stayed on mine. "And I honestly can't tell if you truly loathe yourself that much, or if you're just secretly sadistic."

"Why are you here?" I questioned, suddenly feeling very much like snapping the man's neck for implying I derive any pleasure at all from my revolting face. "Why can't you just leave Erik alone to wallow in his misery? Why must he be subjected to your terribly intrusive curiosity and your uninvited interrogations?"

"Why are you here?" he retorted. "You talk of a life you deserve above ground, and yet you still obviously return here night after night."

"Logistics," I breathed, my voice rasping for air.

A look from him told me he didn't believe that lie for a second.

"Perhaps you enjoy making yourself miserable." He shook his head. "Perhaps you think you're beyond help."

"I am."

"No, you're not," he said. "No person is beyond help."

"Oh, ho, is that what you think? What a kind-hearted, sympathetic man you are, Daroga! Have the Christian Parisians gotten to you finally? What lunacy! What drivel, what tripe! - everyone is good and everyone can be saved! And would you suggest, too, that Lucifer renounce all his sins and crawl back to God, and beg like a dog for his position amongst the angels again?" I raised my eyebrows at him, pausing just long enough to underline the clear lack of an answer from him. "Lucifer renounced his goodness – and I did as well. There is nothing but evil and wickedness left in me. I belong to hell."

"You are absolutely infuriating when you're in a mood like this, Erik." Nadir shook his head. "Your current position – this hell, as you call it - is entirely one of your own creation."

"And isn't that poetic?" I gritted out, turning to face the macabre furnishings of my bedchamber. "This face… which I never asked for, which I was blessed with against my will… condemned me to a lifetime of scorn, fear, and loathing… and yet I alone am to blame for my own misery!"

"You have always been in control of your own circumstances."

"Don't mock me now, Daroga…"

"It was a compliment, Erik! Don't assume the worst of my words. Where is the man who refused to bow before the shah? Where is the man who stood in the court of the khanum and dared to oppose her?" Nadir asked. "You were fearless then. What happened to that Erik?"

"You know nothing of my life, Nadir," I spat – or at very least attempted. My voice was far more broken than I intended. I sunk to the floor, leaning on the triad of steps leading up to my velvet-lined casket. I closed my eyes and muttered, "Persia was just three short years of my wretched life."

"And the rest?"

"Everywhere I go, I wear a mask," I lamented, brushing my fingers to the cold, unfeeling porcelain upon my features. "You met a proud monster in Persia. I suppose it makes sense, then, that you would believe me to be that still. But I am not the monster you know from Persia. I am only Erik. And Erik has been the abuser as many times as he has been the abused."

"You speak of Christine, clearly."

I pressed my masked face into the cold stone of the steps, and whispered, "I speak, Nadir, of being locked in a cage."

"Prison?" he hazarded.

"It was a type, surely," I murmured. "And, like you said, one of my own creation."

"You're not making sense, Erik," Nadir said. "Do you mean to say you locked yourself in a cage?"

His words struck a chord within me, and I whirled around against the steps to glare up at him. "I chose nothing!"

"And yet you just said you claim responsibility for being locked in a cage…?"

"I should have run!" I moaned, sinking back against the steps. "I knew how to pick a lock. And yet I stayed! I let them tie me up with a rope and display me in those fairs for all those crowds, night after night…" I shivered, thousands of eyes leering at me even now through my memory. "I could have left whenever I wanted, but… where was I to go? And so I stayed… Nadir, I stayed, and I let myself be humiliated and – and – oh, I shouldn't say it… but perhaps I shall, just so you will know… I was fully and completely, in every definition of the word, degraded."

Nadir studied me, seemingly trying to make sense of my rambling. A glint fell from his eyes, and as he nodded understandingly I was certain he had completely misunderstood me.

"And then I came along," Nadir said sullenly. "To think of the horrors I rescued you from, just to bring you to the Mazenderan Court!"

The silence hung between us, as tangible as the stone against my hot, damp face. When had I begun to cry? And when had I removed the mask?

"You saw me perform in Russia," I reminded him in a quiet, terrible voice. Oh, why did I feel the need to correct him?

"Yes, I did." Nadir was a smart man. I could hear it in his voice – he knew now. He knew what it was that I was saying. "There was no cage there."

"No, there wasn't."

I felt his eyes boring into my skull. Somehow he was looking at me without disgust, but perhaps he wasn't truly looking at me now. Perhaps he was more interested in satisfying his blasted curiosity on the current matter. I desperately wished he wouldn't ask further. But when had the world ever granted my wishes?

"So it was before that?"

I gave an imperceptible nod.

"How old were you, then?"

I wouldn't say it. Damn it, I would not say it. Nadir didn't need to know. We shouldn't have even been having this conversation.

And yet the answer spilled from my trembling lips regardless - "Nine."

His breath caught, and for a moment I worried he might actually have felt a little pity for me. Oh, I sorely hoped he hadn't fallen into that trap. But then I recalled his little son, Reza, and remembered he had been nine at his death, as well. Nine years old, when I kil…

"Then it has been a great many years since," Nadir declared. "Let those memories have no more reign over you, Erik. Or would you rather just lie here pathetically for the rest of your life?"

"People like you could never understand!" I sobbed – actually sobbed, now, with hot tears spilling unrestrainedly down my sunken cheeks. "You, who have lived a normal life with all the normal things a normal person gets to experience! A normal boy wouldn't be loathed by his mother, or beaten into submission, or locked in a cage, or – or – degraded by an older, stronger man! A normal man can't understand the hell I have lived and why I can never be free of it. Don't you think I want to forget? Why do you think I was so taken with the hashish and opium, and now the morphine? I can't bear my own thoughts without dilution!"

Nadir sighed, pressing a fist to his forehead. For a long while he was quiet, examining me with concentrated eyes. When he at last spoke, it was with a carefully leveled voice. "This has gone on for far too long. We are both getting too old for this, Erik. I do not wish to actively trouble myself with your personal affairs any longer. You said it yourself; you have a normal face like any normal man. It's time you used it for your own good and learned how to act like everyone else. You don't need to be a recluse in this damp basement anymore. Society is vast; the resources you were denied in the past are now yours for the taking."

"Resources such as…?"

"For Allah's sake, Erik, get some therapy!" At my bewildered gaping stare, he explained. "You mentioned a doctor had accompanied the young soprano and the Vicomte down here. I did some investigating after you dismissed me from your office. He's a psychiatrist, Erik. Retired, but had a good reputation when he was practicing."

"I'm not talking to that damn doctor!" I snapped.

"It's what the rest of society does," Nadir continued, in that maddeningly logical voice of his, "when they suffer through things that disturb them. And you, Erik, in particular, are one of the most disturbed individuals I have ever met."

I turned my back to him once more and seethed against the stone.

"It doesn't have to be that particular doctor, but you have to admit that he would be ideal. After all, he already knows your circumstances." He leaned towards me imploringly. "Will you consider it, Erik?"

Would I consider it? Of course not! The very thought was preposterous! How could Nadir expect me to pour out my heart and soul to the very man who had helped ruin everything all those years ago? To the very man who had threatened to ship me off to an asylum just to free up my mother for courtship?

But Nadir was right… a fact I loathed to admit. Normal people were not burdened like me. Their thoughts were not diseased, their minds not poisoned by thoughts of murder and vile deeds, and their hands were not invisibly yet permanently stained with blood. If I were to wish to really incorporate myself into society as Charles L'Esprit, a normal man like anyone else, I would have to figure out how to snuff out the effects of those traumatic memories on my life.

And so, begrudgingly, I replied, "I'll consider it."