A/N:
This replacement chapter is due to problems with ffnet notifications. I will keep replacing this chapter until I get a notice in my own email box.
As always - my eyes are messing with me and editing is nearly impossible. I know I missed a few mixed up tenses... Sorry guys. I hate being legally blind with fluctuating vision.
This was another chapter I struggled with endlessly. Hopefully things will get smoother after I write chapter 16. Please R&R. Let me know what you think and if you believe Erik is lying about his feelings.
Thank you E.M.K.81 for your continued endless support and assistance.
Arabella was startled when she wakened one night from a disturbing dream to discover Erik was not in bed. Sometimes he didn't retire at the same time she did… but he was always, always there whenever she woke. Even if he sat in a chair nearby, he kept close until she woke, so that she wouldn't have another nightmare or sleepwalking episode.
Just by the feeling of how her mind and body awakened, she knew it couldn't possibly be early morning yet. After murmuring Erik's name without receiving any response, she reached over to the bedside table on her side and found the small book of matches there. It was difficult to do in pitch blackness, but after a moment she managed to light the small candle she kept near.
Even the nightstand clock behind her candle confirmed it was much too early for Erik to be awake. She sat up and blinked around the room worriedly, seeing that the bedroom door was wide open and there was no sign of light or life outside of it.
Erik hadn't even brought his mask when he'd left the bed. It sat on the mattress beside his pillow as though he'd gotten up only to relieve himself, and hadn't expected to need it while she was sleeping. He tried so hard to keep his face covered, that even doing something like going to relieve himself without it seemed out of character… but she'd have understood that if there was any sign he'd closed himself up in the bathroom. But there was no light coming from beneath that door, either.
The wardrobe stood open – which was even stranger than Erik's absence. She frowned at the open closet, wondering what in the world Erik could possibly have needed in the entirely feminine array of clothing.
Confused, she pushed back the covers she'd huddled under and reached for the dressing gown she often wrapped up in. She couldn't hear any music in the next room. In fact, the very atmosphere seems outright empty – even before she stepped into the parlor. Erik had eyes like a cat, and knew the flat like the back of his hand. He could easily maneuver about in pitch blackness… but there was no indication he'd done such a thing.
He wasn't there… which she'd already supposed based on how his very presence seemed absent. But what worried her was that Erik was absolutely nowhere in the flat. There was no fire in the hearth, indicating he hadn't intended to stay up in that room. There was only the darkness of the candle she'd lit.
It's a nightmare… I'm not really awake… she thought immediately. She couldn't imagine why Erik would leave her alone in the house for any reason - not without telling her, at least. He had not even tried to write her a note. True, she wasn't a very good reader yet… but she would have at least understood the basic concept of one; meaning he would return in time. Not finding one made it a little scarier.
Maybe he thought he'd be back before you woke up…Adnah offered.
Arabella paused in the middle of the parlor after searching the house. Adnah hadn't been saying very much lately. Sometimes it was almost easy to forget she was being haunted. To be reminded of his presence was sometimes unnerving – but in that moment she was almost relieved to know she wasn't entirely alone. True, her company was an attempted rapist; but he couldn't hurt her now.
"Do you know where he is?" she asked quietly. It still felt strange to talk aloud as though to herself; but when Erik wasn't around, it was easier.
Only by the lake… but you do not need to go. I am sure he will be back shortly enough.
Adnah was warning her away from Erik? That was… strange. Was he in one of his black moods? Was Adnah just jealous? There were times when she thought he still might be, even after all these years.
Like most people warned not to touch something or not to go somewhere dangerous, Arabella only felt more curious. She clutched the dressing gown tightly around her and moved towards the front door, opening it carefully to peer outside. It wasn't easy to do, considering that there was no fire lit in the hearth. There was only a simple candle in her hand, which she held out behind her as she peered outside. If something was wrong – if Adnah was wrong and there was trouble – she didn't want the glaring pinpoint of light to be noticed too easily in all the inky blackness of the underground lake.
She couldn't see Erik… but she could hear him. He must have been rather close to the door – although far enough to be out of sight around the corner of the frame, and possibly further up the tiny embankment that was only large enough for a person to precariously walk down.
Then again, Erik had better balance than a damned cat.
The cat she was comparing Erik's balance to took the open door as an opportunity to squeeze herself past Arabella's legs and out into the underground lake area. No doubt she would find her way into the catacombs to hunt her mice. Arabella jumped at the feeling of the Siamese cats' fur brushing her bare calf, and almost cried out. But most of her concentration was on Erik's presence.
He was…
Crying?
The sound alarmed her. What was Adnah thinking, telling her to stay away from Erik if he was in distress? What if he was hurt, or sick? Did Adnah just assume that Erik needed time alone, when in actuality-?
She had stepped through the door when she realized Erik wasn't only crying. He was bawling, and moaning and talking. He'd been at it so long and hard that his voice was hoarse, and he was hiccupping rather violently.
"Christine…"
The word registered just as the light from her candle spread out over the lake area for a few feet. That name - that damnable name! - froze her, even though all she wanted to do in that exact moment was turn and run back into the house. She didn't want to hear Erik's lament… she didn't want to feel his pain over the loss over Christine again…
Two months had passed since Christine had left! Would his pain never end?
She wanted to turn and run from it out of sheer denial…
But she couldn't. She couldn't turn from Erik in distress.
"Erik?" she called worriedly, stepping cautiously forward and watching her feet rather than the ground ahead.
The bawling stopped abruptly, and she could hear Erik trying to force himself under instant control as his body shifted. There was a candle up ahead, but he wasn't sitting within the circle of its' light. But as she got closer, she realized there was more than just the glow from the one candle beside him giving off a little light. There was an opening in the wall beside him… and there was just a little bit of light coming from in there. It must have been one of Erik's many bolt holes… one she'd forgotten about through the passage of time since construction had been completed.
Erik clearly hadn't forgotten about it. She moved closer, the light from her own candle finally merging with the light of his – and whatever was in the little alcove. It gave just enough illumination to catch sight of Erik sitting on the thin embankment with a huge pile of satin and silk on his lap carefully kept off the ground or in the water.
"Go away…" His voice was hoarse, and choked; the furthest thing from its' natural beauty without holding onto the ugliness of his demented rage. As Arabella came closer and lit him better, she realized his hand had dug into his vest… where he was used to positioning his lasso. He'd been inches away from lashing out and killing her on instinct alone. He didn't look at her… but down at the candle between them. His eyes were puffy and red and flooding with tears. The place where his nose should have been was leaking what seemed like a fountain of mucus.
She wished she had been wearing a dicklo. The man rarely ever needed a handkerchief, so didn't make a habit of carrying one. But when he was like this… he couldn't sniff back the snot. It just went everywhere… and he was having a hard time keeping whatever was in his lap clean from his bodily fluids.
"Erik-"
"-Go away!" he snapped more desperately, trying to balance himself and cling to the material in his lap – even as he rose to a half-crouch and tried to pass the little candle without setting himself or al the material around him on fire. He tried to get in the way of the alcove where the other light source was coming from – but by the time he tried to shoulder his way in front of it, she was already close enough to peer in. "Don't look at me! Don't look at what I am!"
The wording puzzled her, and she glanced over the shoulder trying so desperately to shield her from the alcove. But she had to take in the silk and satin he carried, too. She realized that he was being as reverent with it as possible, in spite of having to wad it against his body for protection. It was Christine's dress… the wedding dress he'd made especially for her. And in the alcove… lit by just a tiny candle… was a small shelf that contained several of Christine's things. There was a comb he'd bought for her, which she'd worn for him at times – although probably not to please him. There was her brush… and a pearl necklace probably meant to be worn with the wedding gown. Above this shelf Erik had erected a wooden board with sketches of Christine pinned to it, along with articles from newspapers that chronicled her rise to brief glory. He must have found these papers from all over the country.
"Oh…" she whispered, her stomach turning sickly.
It was so much worse than she had thought. Erik wasn't just in pain… He was still … pining for her.
"Oh, Erik…"
"Don't look!" he begged – releasing his face momentarily to seize her by a shoulder and begin advancing on her. He was trying to back her away from the evidence of his… his…
She didn't know what, exactly… but he was clearly ashamed of himself.
"My poor Erik!"
Instead of drawing away in disgust as he probably expected, she reached up and put her arms around him. It was not easy to stay; considering the reason he was out here. But she could not – simply could not – walk away. Not when keeping secrets and grieving on his own clearly had done nothing to help him feel better.
He still gripped her shoulder, and tried to hold her at bay in his shock. But then she was holding him, pulling his head down to her shoulder. She wanted to rain kisses on his mostly bare scalp; but could feel how his body had stiffened. This was almost too much for him in and of itself… but he didn't draw away. It felt as though he couldn't resist the touch of another person, even if he thought it would have been best to avoid it.
"No!" he pleaded. "No… Arabella… You do not have to-"
"-I want to." She whispered into his ear. "Please, Erik. Let me…?"
She didn't move or try to talk to him further. She just stood awkwardly holding him, stroking his skull and the space between his shoulder bones in the back. Erik gripped one of her shoulder as though he was going to push her away… but then he simply stood there. She could tell that he wasn't breathing; unable to cope with his guilt and grief in the face of her presented comfort and understanding.
"It's all right, Erik…" she finally whispered. "You aren't alone anymore…"
She was entirely surprised when this promise made him quite literally crumble. His knees buckled, and the arm around Christine's wedding dress jerked it up hard against his chest so that it could not hit the floor. Arabella had a hard time catching him; but he kept enough control over himself so that they knelt together and her arms tightened all the more around his shoulders.
"I miss her…" he admitted. "I shouldn't… but I miss her. I can't… I can't… seem to stop…"
"I know miri kom…" Arabella whispered gently; trying to keep control of her own sudden need to cry. "I know… It's all right."
"No…" he admitted, shaking his head miserably against her shoulder as his hand finally released her and wrapped tight around her back. "It isn't all right, Bella… It's horrible! Any sane man would be happy right now… would forget the girl that didn't want him…"
"You aren't exactly what most people consider sane, Erik." She teased softly. "And it is all right. You don't control what you feel. As much as I wish you could… you can't… or you would never have loved her at all."
"I am so selfish…" he seems to be ignoring her, but Bella feels how he has begun to rock, and she allows him to guide their body in that way as he clutches tighter to her. "You are the most compassionate, beautiful woman… and I know how much I loved you… I should not be so… so…"
"Erik, it's freezing out here." She offered after a few minutes of waiting for him to continue. "Why don't we go inside? I'll take care of you…"
"I wish I could rip out what I feel for her…" he murmurs, apparently not hearing her. "You don't deserve this… You don't deserve this pain… It's why I brought it all out here… why I hid it… You don't deserve this…"
She had seen him like this before – many times. These dark but mostly sad moods swelled over Erik like a tsunami and dragged him through a terrible undertow of loathing. Usually he would get fall-won drunk or intoxicated on morphine. But Arabella had made sure there was no morphine left to be had in the flat. While he was recovering from his attempted suicide, she had scoured the house so that he would not again poison himself with the liquid demon that had hounded him for so long. By the time he had recovered his strength, it had been out of his system for weeks; and didn't need to be introduced to it again.
Apparently, it wasn't the alcohol or morphine that instigated these depressions.
"Let's go inside." She insisted again; turning and lifting part of Christine's dress so that he would not have to fear it dragging on the ground. He clutched at the material he still held himself tighter – but didn't fight to get it away from her. She then caught Erik under one armpit and heaved, making him quickly stumble to his feet so she wouldn't hurt herself. It amazed her how instinctive Erik was when it came to keeping her safe by doing these kinds of tiny and thoughtless things. She doubted he even realized what he was doing.
She escorted him inside and lowered him into the chair by the fireplace before turning to the fireplace.
"Y-you shouldn't-"Erik began to protest, still clutching to the white gown in his lap.
"Hush." Arabella scolded. "You just take a minute, Erik. You aren't in any state to be doing anything right now."
There was a long minute of quiet as she ignited what was left of the logs on the fire and added fresh ones. It didn't give much warmth or light yet, but it was enough to rise and move around without hurting herself on something. She moved to Erik's liquor cabinet and poured a finger of scotch before turning back to him. He was huddled on the chair, still desperately trying not to leak his facial fluids all over Christine's dress.
A stiff drink? Adnah asked skeptically, reminding her of his presence. He's already in a bad enough mood, and you want to add alcohol to that?
Not everyone is a cad like you when they have a little to drink. She replies silently.
"Erik…" she encourages, pushing the scotch loser to him to draw his attention to it. "May I see the wedding dress, please? I'll put it away for you."
Reluctantly, Erik loosened his grip on the silk and satin gown and accepted the scotch. She expected him to desperately throw the entire contents back – but he did not. He merely took a sip, and sucked in a shaky breath. Arabella made certain to fold the gown carefully, smoothing the fabric as she went along so that he could see he was treating it with the utmost respect. Then she brought it back to the wardrobe and closed the dress away, being sure to put a few of her own new things on top of it to keep it out of sight and out of mind. He rarely went into the wardrobe – but at least next time he searched for it, his reaction would be enough for her to know what he was up to.
She returned quickly to the parlor. By then the new logs were burning merrily in the hearth of the fireplace, and she sat on the arm of his chair and put a gentle light arm over his shoulders. He had taken another obvious sip of the scotch while she was gone, and now he barely even seemed to register her presence and touch as he stared into the hypnotic flames.
"I haven't been comforted like that…" he said distantly, making her watch him in curiosity. "… Since before you ever left me…"
It hurt to be told she'd left him – as though she'd been given a choice as Christine had. But she didn't let the ache his words caused get to her. Erik was already in a miserably depressed mood. No doubt it would be hard to look at anything in his past as something that hadn't been carefully plotted against him. She sighed heavily and looked away, but she didn't take her arm from his shoulders. She thought maybe his thoughts were rambling, and in a moment if he spoke again it would be about something entirely different.
"You're the only one who ever … ever comforted me…" He whispered. "And if I could rip my love for Christine out … so that I couldn't hurt you anymore with it… I would…"
"I know that, Erik." She promised, not looking back at him again. Honestly, she was stunned that he actually realized – in that moment at least – that his grief was hurting her at all. Usually in these kinds of moods, Erik was oblivious to anything but his own feelings. It wasn't because of his selfishness. It was because he lost all ability to concentrate on anything around him.
"I can't even compose…" he moaned, apparently slipping into his despair as he buried his face in his hands and rubbed at it vigorously. "All that glorious music I could create with her… for her… Now every time I play I just feel hollow… like a music box with all the notes and absolutely none of the inspiration or passion."
"Your music has always been beautiful…" she admits. "But… I don't think that what you've written for her was your best. I actually thought it was rather… sterile."
He jerked his head up in her direction, blinking owlishly in astonishment.
"Is that your professional opinion?" he demanded.
Arabella slowly looked down into his eyes and smiled softly.
"I am biased." She admitted. "I think what you wrote for me had far more fire. It was always so easy to want to dance when you played music for me… I loved how we fed off of each other. With the other songs… when you wrote inspired by her… it sounded like something any opera could adopt. Any soprano could sing it."
"Only Christine can sing my music!"
Erik half-rose from his seat in a brief flash of hot rage, but Arabella squeezed his shoulder with her arm and somehow managed to keep him down. She felt his body stiffen at the slight restraint… but it was astounding that he let her keep him still.
You know the kind of damage this man can cause. Be careful, Bella.
She ignored the voice entirely this time.
"Does that mean only I can dance to it?" she asked curiously.
Sighing, Erik let the rage drain out of him.
"I hurt you…" he moaned, rolling his head against the back of his chair to face away from her. "I do not mean to… I swear I do not…"
"Maybe you cannot compose because everything is still for her in your mind." She suggested, ignoring what was not quite an apology. "Maybe… if I danced for you like I used to… it would inspire something different - something that wouldn't remind you so much of her?"
"I always loved when you would dance…" he admitted slowly, his voice once more quiet and distant. It was clear that his mind was taking him in multiple confusing directions… He seemed tired and unable to entirely focus. "I can remember when … when you used to comfort me. I never forgot how you treated me… I used to feel like any other man. And I was just a scared and pathetic boy lying huddled in a cage… I think I fell in love with you before I ever even left that cage. I would still be there now if it weren't for you… or I would be dead…"
"I'm not the only who kept you alive." She pointed out. "Actually… it was also partly due to Adnah…"
Erik jolted so violently that what he had left of his scotch nearly splashed over the rim of his glass and onto his hand and wrist. He sat up ramrod straight and glared up into her eyes.
"How?" he demanded.
"We made an arrangement." She stated. "I would be a little kinder to him – mostly I would talk to him and eat an occasional meal with him. In return, he would keep himself and the others from beating you without what they felt good cause. And he would make sure you were given halfway decent food."
"But he tried to-"
"-That was later…" she interrupted. "When I started to show that I liked you… he became jealous. He tried to shut me out and began to hurt you again. That was when I went to Anton; and you were in your own tent by nightfall."
Erik shook his head, apparently flummoxed by the thought that Adnah was partly responsible for the little comforts he'd finally experienced. Adnah had always been there – one of his tormentors – but mostly in the background. Maybe Erik had assumed he was just another jackass who did what he was told by his more regular abuser.
"He was a degenerate." He decided stubbornly after a few moments.
"But he wasn't a complete monster, Erik." Arabella murmured gently. "He tried to … hurt me. You put explosives on a chandelier and set them off in the middle of a packed auditorium. He beat many people mercilessly over the years –including you. You kidnapped and extorted people. Neither of you are perfect."
He shook his head as though trying to ignore her attempt at common sense.
"Why would you stand up for someone like him?" he demanded.
"Because I cannot excuse the acts of one man and ignore the acts of another."
"What did I ever do to you?" he began to get irate again, but Arabella shook her head.
"Nothing." She said quickly. "But you have done far more than he ever did in general… and I do not think you are a monster, either."
Sighing, Erik slumped completely in his chair.
Shivering, Arabella slowly rose from the arm of his chair … only to tentatively begin lowering herself into the seat on top of his lap. Erik's eyes had been at half-mast – but seeing and feeling her come so close made his body go taut with strain.
"What are you doing?" he nearly croaked. His arms went out to either side of him, giving her plenty of room to maneuver – but this was by sheer coincidence. He clearly didn't know how else to react.
"I am comforting you." She said simply, settling herself across his thighs and sliding her arms up around his shoulders. "Let me comfort you, miri ves'tacha."
"You do not need to get so close to me!" he protested almost desperately.
"But I want to." She stated simply. "I am going to do what I can to help you be happy someday, Erik… and it is going to start now."
"I am happy…" he began weakly. "… Happy that you are here… grateful for all you do for me. I would be dead now… Perhaps I'd be a true ghost just as you were… haunting her… unable to move on or to leave her…"
"I stayed because I chose to, Erik." She pointed out gently. "If you cannot accept my comfort… then let me take some from you. Please hold me, Erik. We've both been lonely for so long… we can do this small thing for each other."
She could tell, even as he reluctantly settled his arms around her and drew her head to his shoulder, that there was nothing simple about holding her. He had never held a woman across his lap before. He had never been so clearly embraced. Being wrapped up in the arms of a woman while he sat unmasked, wallowing in self-pity; and with his breath smelling of alcohol… it was clearly a confusing moment for him.
Eventually his arms relaxed around her, and he pressed his cheek to the top of her head. The quiet settled comfortably around them and Arabella was not entirely surprised to feel herself drifting off. It was the middle of the night, after all. She was in no way prepared to be awake for the day.
"I don't remember ever being held by someone…" he whispered into the dark.
"I held you on the day I … we … lost my daughter…" she replied almost instantly as though instinctively needing to prove he was not as deprived as he imagined. She winced at her bluntness, but was still floating somewhere between the land of consciousness and the land of dreams. "I love you, Erik."
He sighed, moving one hand to gently stroke at her hair.
"You are the only one to ever tell me so." He breathed into her tresses. "I hope someday I can love you the way you love me. You deserve at least that much love from a man…"
"I only want love from one man…" she mumbled.
Her tone of voice and the slight slur in it seems to make him away how heavy her body is getting in his arms.
"You should not be up at this hour." He mumbles, as though scolding hiself. "Hold on a little tighter, Bella."
She obeys, and then clutches even tighter as he almost smoothly rises to his feet with her in his arms. She doesn't open her eyes, though. She can feel the sway of his gait as he walks her through the house and settles her onto the mattress. He tries to roll her partially away from him so that he can release her and pull the blankets up over her body, but she doesn't want to let go of him. She holds onto one of his forearms in a steady but weak grip even as she sinks deeper into sleep.
"Don't go…"
"I am not going anywhere, ma belle…" he promises, settling onto his ide of the bed and changing her hold on him so that she clutches his hand. "Sweet Bella…"
Before he can say more – if, indeed, he said any more – Arabella drops off to sleep. She doesn't know how long they'd been sitting in his chair together, just taking comfort in one another. It was hard to judge time when your body insisted it should be sleeping instead of wandering around and talking. No doubt Erik would not sleep again – at least for a while. He needed more sleep than he used to; but still not as much as most people. Just like with food, he was able to function on much less.
She dreamed about the gypsy camp that night… about all the times they had sat together on the edge of his stage and talked. She dreamed about one night sitting under a tree when he'd picked debris out of her hair. She dreamed about Erik holding her up from behind as a beautiful new life was lost from inside of her… and all the love and comfort he'd shown as a boy… She dreamed of nothing but his tenderness…. And wished that somehow it could still be theirs to share.