I'm sorry this has taken so long. It's sort of the crux of the story and I wanted to make sure everything was written properly plot wise. Also it's been a hellish semester and I've been in the studio so by the time I get to writing, i'm exhausted after about two lines. Also I've been updating my other story; Nothing But a Man. ANYWAY. I've almost finished the semester so updates will be more frequent. :D.
Thank you so much for the support guys! Let me know what you think of this chapter. It has been a long time coming... and it was sort of a cliff-hanger so i feel pretty bad. Let me know if it meets your expectations!
Phanty belongs to Leroux and Lloyd Weber.
On with the show!
Erik awoke to the gentle rocking of the moving caravan, the creaking of the weathered wood, the rattle of the couplings and various chains about the cabin. It was comforting at first and yet frighteningly familiar to him. He opened his eyes to the thin beams of sunlight filtering through the cracks in the wood. Again he was troubled by a dull pain at the back of his head. As he brought his hand up to inspect the damage, he realized that his wrists were bound once more; only with rope this time... He had managed to escape from the bindings of rope many times. He was quite familiar with it; its texture, its knots...
His hands drawn together, he rubbed his eyes and as they began to focus on what was around him, his stomach dropped. He inhaled sharply; quick, uneven breaths as panic rose in him. He sat up, a little too hastily for the dull ache in his head began to throb. He looked around him; above, to the left, to the right... beneath him.
Metal bars...
His breath caught in his throat as the cruel reality of the situation dawned on him...
He was in a cage.
He thought of calling out but who was there to listen? With great difficulty he stood up, leaning heavily on the back of the cage for support; his side ached terribly and other injuries he was not aware of became apparent. He staggered to the side of the cage, up against the back of the cabin and squinted out of the small holes in the splintered wood. The country side... they had left the city. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious for and no idea where he was. He turned around and stood with his back to the cage, leaning heavily on it once more and began to breathe deeply. What of Christine? Had she found Nadir as he had instructed or had she returned to her boy just as Emile said she would? No, he could not believe that. He knew her better than that. But even if she had followed his instructions he might still be lost to her. With his back to the steel bars he sank to the floor, oblivious of the discomfort of such a surface, at least for now. He felt helpless. Of course they had only bound him in rope, what did it matter? How could he possibly escape these metal bars?
He could not allow panic to overcome him. His brilliant mind had never failed him before and would surely not this time. He would find a way out of this cage just as he had done before...
But that had taken years...
After a few deep breaths he began to work on the rope around his wrists. It was a simple knot and it took less than a minute untie. He flinched as the rope fell from his wrists; dried blood had now formed over the cuts left by the manacles from the previous night. He touched his left wrist thoughtfully, tracing an old scar that thankfully, Christine had not noticed. Among the mess of scarring left by the many times his wrists had been bound as a child, there lay a long thin one; intentional and almost perfectly straight. He grimaced as the memory returned to him.
His final year in the gypsy camp and he had all but lost hope. A small shard of glass had been left behind from one of the bottles thrown at the cage...
And he thought that perhaps he could use the sharp object against his captor. Why waste such an opportunity? So he snatched it up before anyone noticed. To his disappointment his captor didn't visit him that night. And so he sat in the darkness with his small weapon at the ready, waiting for a chance that would never come. He began to cry from frustration; the knowledge that such a plan was no doubt futile against a man like his master threatened to tear him up. Sobbing, he threw the shard to the ground; it bounced slightly before landing at the other side of his cage... still there... still in reach... He rubbed his wrists, red and sore from the rope that had tethered them on a particularly hot and humid day... And that was when he saw it:
The vein that ran down the center of his small wrist, presumably running the length of his arm...
The vein that was thick and pronounced and was undoubtedly more important than any of the others...
The vein that held power over the others... that held power over him...
...That held power over everything.
He used to read. Before this hell had begun he used to read anything he could get his hands on... There were many books in the attic of his mother's home; books that she did not touch for fear of being reminded of her lost husband. But Erik read them... he read anything he could. He read fiction and books on masonry... he read books on music... and once he read a medical journal...
He looked at his discarded weapon; glistening in the small amount of moonlight streaming in through the weathered wood of his cabin. It was calling him; beckoning him... welcoming him like no other had ever done. He looked back to his wrist... He knew what would happen...
He knew...
Still sobbing, he crawled over to the small shiny object. He held it up to the moonlight. He had always loved shiny objects... always loved beauty in any form... And it was so beautiful.
With fierce intent he pulled the piece of glass down his wrist. He pulled it as far as he could before the pain prevented him from continuing... then he lay back and closed his eyes. The small, sharp object lay at his side... Still shining... Still beautiful...
He was found in the morning, still alive. His master allowed him to recover fully before beating him for what he had done.
Now, he was a man almost three times the size of the boy with the shard of glass. Both mentally and physically he was stronger than he'd ever been...
It had been an odd twenty years since that night but the scar remained.
...As did many others...
A single tear slid down his cheek. He swiftly wiped it away and pulled his sleeve down to cover the scar; cloak the painful reminder. Never again.
Suddenly the caravan came to a halt. Erik looked around as if attempting to peer out of windows that were not there. Then, as if in response to his questioning, the cabin door opened. Erik held his arm up to shield his eyes from the harsh sunlight now flooding the caravan. The door was swiftly shut again and he lowered his arm only to be greeted with the sight of Emile, a sadistic smile upon his face.
"Good morning!" He said.
Erik looked down. He would not give Emile the satisfaction of meeting his gaze, acknowledging him at all.
"How does it feel to be home? Back where you belong?" He continued. Erik could hear the sneer in his voice. "What's the matter?" He asked, crouching down outside the cage. Erik did not look at him.
"I just came in to let you know that tomorrow we will be stopping. And you know what that means..."
Erik knew exactly what it meant. He would be expected to show his face; be nothing more than entertainment; an attraction once more.
He peered up at Emile through misplaced strands of copper hair and sneered.
"It doesn't mean anything to me anymore, Emile."
Emile scoffed.
"I don't know what you think is going to happen." Erik continued. "Did you think that once you captured me I would be the mewling, subservient... broken boy that I was? You could not be more wrong."
"I don't expect anything of you, Erik. I know that you will not perform for me no matter what I do to you and I know that you will not cooperate. But people do not want to see you do anything. People simply want to see you. And so I will give them what they want."
Erik looked down. He knew very well that if Emile wanted to show him, he would do so. He began to panic slightly at the realization that Emile had enough men to do anything he wanted.
"I will make it impossible." He spoke; an attempt at maintaining his persona.
"I thought you might feel that way. So know this, if you try to escape... I know that the authorities would be more than happy to see you hanging from the end of a rope."
"You'd never do that. I'm worth too much to you. You would not simply give me up after so long. No doubt you've been searching for me these past twenty years. Am I correct? Been searching for me while I've been living my life."
"And what sort of life have you been living?" Emile sneered. Visibly affected by Erik's jeer.
"What sort of life have you been living? Spending every waking hour searching for the man who murdered your father!"
Emile's eyes narrowed. He stepped back and knocked on the closed door behind him. Within seconds it opened and two of his men entered. They looked from Erik to Emile expectantly.
"Open the cage and restrain him." He commanded. His men obeyed immediately. Erik did not struggle as they pulled him up from the floor and held his arms tightly.
"Need your men for retribution?" Erik spat. "It would be much more satisfying if you did it on your own. Take it from me..." He added with a smile. Emile laughed and entered the cage.
"You think you're quite clever, don't you? You have always had quite a way with words. Your mouth always did get you into trouble." He placed his hands on Erik's shoulders. "I will find retribution on my own..." He pulled Erik's shoulders down and threw a knee into his body. Erik bent over and coughed deeply.
"...One piece at a time. That feels much better." Emile said with satisfaction, smoothing back a strand of hair that had fallen out of place.
"It does not matter what you do." Erik began, breathing deeply. "Your father is still dead." He remarked with the slight inclination of his head.
Emotionless, Emile threw a punch at Erik's face.
"Why do you do it?" Emile laughed. Erik couldn't help himself. The pain was nothing if he knew his words were affecting Emile in some way.
"Your father is dead." He repeated, turning his head to the side and spitting out a mass of blood that had gathered in his mouth. "He is dead and I killed him." He smiled.
Emile threw another punch at his face but Erik was not fazed.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Emile asked through gritted teeth. Erik spat to the side again before smiling.
"...More than anything."
"Say what you wish, Erik." He said, turning away from Erik and flexing his hand; sore from the contact with Erik's jaw. "Your fate is sealed... You will never..."
"Do you remember, Emile? Do you remember when you found him?"
Emile spun around.
"I wish I could have been there to see your face." Erik spat. "I think about it all the time..."
"Stop it." Emile spoke.
"I think about you finding him like that. The knife... the blood..."
"Stop it!" He barked.
"I was only a child... But I have never felt anything like that moment..."
"Stop it!" He repeated. He marched up to Erik and threw another punch at his face.
"I enjoyed it!" He jeered. "And I will enjoy seeing you meet that same end by my hand!"
Emile threw his knee into Erik's body several times before punching him in the face once more. This hurt... but Erik did not regret his words. He now knew that Emile was not as strong as he purported to me and it did not take much to un-hinge him. He fell to the ground as Emile's men released him.
"You... will never be free!" Emile yelled as he threw a kick into Erik's ribs. "I own you! Just as my father did! And you will never escape!" He kicked him again. And again. Erik knew he had brought it upon himself and he knew that the pain would make things much more difficult. But as much as his body was wracked with pain, his mind was more at ease. He had made progress with Emile; had taken his first step towards escape.
"Look at me." Emile demanded, bending down and taking a handful of Erik's hair. "Let me see that face that's worth so much."
Erik punched him hard in the face before falling on top of him; hands fixed securely around Emile's throat. Several strikes from Emile's men forced him to let go.
Emile scrambled up, his eyes wide with anger.
"You... will pay for that." He spat, rubbing his throat. He nodded to his men who returned the gesture and smiled. Emile left the cabin. His men stayed...
A smile spread across Emile's face as the sounds filled his ears...
A few minutes later they emerged and locked the door behind them.
Emile looked at them. His gaze traveled down to their hands; their red knuckles...
"Good." He said.
Erik lay on his back; breathing deeply and holding his side. A warm, thick substance began to cool his face as it dried.
And yet through blood-stained teeth he smiled into the darkness.
He had won.
Christine and Nadir watched helplessly as the men entered Erik's caravan and exited with satisfied looks on their faces and blood on their knuckles. The convoy lurched forward
"Hush, Christine. We cannot do anything. We must wait."
"How can you say that, Monsieur? He is your friend. Isn't that what you told me?"
"Yes. He is my friend. And that is why we must choose our actions carefully."
"I just..." Christine sighed, frustrated. "I don't know how much longer I can do this. Simply watch... sit here and observe while he is going through so much and do nothing. There has to be something we can do now!"
"Keep your voice down, Mademoiselle. Please." Nadir said. They had resumed their position far behind the last caravan; Erik's caravan. "I know that you are upset. But there is nothing we can do without jeopardizing Erik further."
"I just need to know whether he is alright. And I need him to know that I haven't given up on him. I want to give him the strength to get through this. It's the only thing in my power... I wish there was a way..."
"Well... I don't have a plan yet. Not as such. But I was thinking about paying him a visit. When they stopped..."
He would be surprised to see Nadir, that much was certain. But perhaps Christine was right? Perhaps knowing that she had not given up on him would give him the strength he needed. Nadir had not actually seen them together and as fond as he was of Erik, he could not imagine being intimate with anyone. He had however recalled Erik speaking of her vaguely and he could remember with unusual clarity the affection with which he did. Regardless, he could imagine how much value Erik would place on love...
"They may stop for the night? Would you go then?" Christine asked excitedly.
It would be a great risk. Being seen by this 'Emile' could jeopardize everything. Yes, if seen he would lie; say that he was a policeman or that he was simply a man interested in the attractions... but Emile would probably see through that. At this point in time his paranoia would get the better of him and he would link anything at all out of the ordinary to Erik... It would be better to wait until there were more people; it would be better to remain hidden within the crowd...
But perhaps Erik needed it before he was subject to that... needed to know that he wasn't alone. Not like before.
"Yes..." Nadir replied reluctantly. "If they stop tonight. I will go to him."
Sure enough the troupe did stop that night. Christine and Nadir had de-mounted their horse and set up a temporary campsite under the cover of foliage. They could not light a fire for fear of being discovered, so they simply sat across from one another in a makeshift tent, covered in every blanket they had brought along with them.
"At least it is not snowing as it was last night." Christine spoke with an inkling of hope in her voice.
"Yes." Nadir smiled faintly. "But it always seems to be colder when it isn't..."
"Yes." She said, looking in the direction of Erik's caravan.
"He will be alright, Christine." He said, handing her a piece of bread from within a calico bag beside him. Although disinterested in food at this point, she took it. "Eat." He said. "It has been a long day. And tomorrow may be worse."
She looked down at the piece of food in her hands and picket at it absentmindedly. Tomorrow would be worse.
Nadir took out his pocket watch and inspected it; it revealed the time to be eight o'clock.
"I suppose that I should go." He said to Christine. "While I am gone, stay alert. If it does not seem safe I will return directly... but if I take too long."
"You're going to tell me to leave, aren't you?"
Nadir looked at her sternly.
"Erik would never forgive me I put you in harm's way." He stood up and dusted his pants. "Is there anything in particular you wish for me to tell him?"
"Just tell him not to give up... And... that I love him." She wiped a tear and looked down. Nadir nodded. He bent down and pulled a pistol from within the same bag. Christine's eyes widened as she saw the object.
"I didn't know you had that. Is that for Erik? With that you can free him, can you not?" Christine questioned enthusiastically.
"I will try to give it to him... But there may be nowhere for him to hide it."
Christine nodded solemnly. Nadir turned to leave.
"Wait!" She said. "Give him this..." She handed Nadir the bread he had given her. He smiled and tucked it into his coat.
"Please be careful." She said.
In the darkness Nadir made his way toward Erik. As the camp grew nearer he was able to see a faint glow a few yards from Erik's caravan. On closer inspection he could see that it was in fact a fire, surrounded by the many gypsies of the clan; hopefully all of them. They were talking and playing music and laughing... he could not help but think that in another life Erik would have been one of them...
The caravans had been left in a cluster; presumably Erik's was in the center. As soundlessly as he could, Nadir slipped between them, constantly looking around him as if danger could reveal itself at any moment, from any direction. He could not help but feel as though he was being watched... This filled him with dread, but still he moved forward. There were many more caravans than he had originally noted there to be.
Crunch...
Someone behind him? Walking?
He spun around... No one there... He took a deep breath and brought his hand to his forehand.
"Calm yourself..." He whispered. He continued his search.
He was beginning to lose hope until finally he came upon the very caravan he and Christine had been watching tirelessly for the past twenty four hours.
That was a start...
As deftly as he could, he walked up to door of the caravan and pulled a small dagger from his boot. He brought it up to the door and began working on the large, embellished padlock; one of the many skills learned from Erik...
How ironic.
Within a few seconds it had sprung open. He placed the dagger back in his boot before climbing the wooden steps and entering the cabin. Swiftly he closed the door behind him before anyone could see. It took his eyes several moments to adjust to the darkness... and then... he saw...
A cage filled most of the space...
And sitting in the corner of the cage was a figure, shaking from the cold.
Erik?
He seemed to be covered in a dark substance. He could not see what it was...
...Blood?
Usually with Erik it was someone else's but presumably this time it was his own... which was much worse.
"Daroga?" A deep, hoarse voice spoke softly from within the darkness; familiar in it's cynical quality It was Erik. "Come to arrest me at last? I am afraid somebody has beaten you to the post..."
"Erik..." As Nadir's eyes adjusted further he could not help but bring his hand to his mouth in shock. His chest tightened. It was his blood... and there was so much of it.
What did you think? What do you think will happen next? :0
I actually can't wait to write Erik/Daroga dialogue. :)
