Disclaimer; I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.
Author Note; Hi everyone! So here is the next update of the story; so far not much has been revealed, but for this story I'm going to attempt some mystery, with the details of the how/why not suddenly being exposed, but gradually revealed. Perhaps you'll figure out those details before Erik and Nadir...? :-)
Again, thank you so much to the lovely reviewers; Filhound and TMara. Reviews are always appreciated, as I like to know what you think :-).
And now...over to Erik!
Two- Angel of the Clan
Despite the optimism that had lulled Erik into sleep, the night spent in a proper bed was wasted on him. He tossed and turned as if the mattress and pillow were filled with sharp stones, kicking the blankets to the un-swept floor and thrashing wildly as the usual nightmares took hold of his vulnerable mind- again, he saw her as she struggled against the attackers grip, again, he saw her break free and desperately charge at him with terrified eyes imploring him to save her and again, he recalled the sickening crack of human skull colliding with slippery stone. In the end, when the images began to reappear as soon as he closed his heavy lids, he became angry and refused to lay back down on the taunting bed, hating the silence and the warmth, wishing for the distractions of sleeping in the cold and the rain as he sunk down onto the end of the bed and placed his heavy head in his hands. It was unbearable, this constant bombardment of guilt and shame; why had he not been stronger? Why had he not known that something bad would happen as soon as the first shreds of hope and happiness were granted? How he had he not foreseen it? The ugly beast, the evil murderer, was not supposed to win; of course something terrible would have occurred. But this time was worse than the usual suffering; the bitter consequences fate had dealt him had entangled Christine too, and for that Erik would never forgive himself.
The night dragged on, and Erik did not sleep. His drooping lids watched as the dark splendour of the night sky slowly became washed with streaks of watery blue and orange, the prologue to a brilliant sunrise that with it brought the heavenly excuse to leave this torture chamber and progress with the day- his heart skipped a little as he realised that this meant their journey with the clan, something he was both ecstatic and nervous for, would at last begin.
He and Nadir kept, on the Persian's icy insistence, far behind the caravan procession that made it's lethargic journey through the French countryside, rumbling along dirt tracks and mowing down dense woodland without a care, as if the world would stand aside for the gypsies as they made their journey. It was a struggle to keep to Nadir's prissy demands, their horses well suited to the rough terrain and covering the distance with little more than a gentle tug of the reigns here or there. As they passed through small villages and towns, Erik watched as women and children came to stand silently at their gates, or how the groups of men in their tatty workers clothes would move aside with barely a murmur. Their eyes, cautious and sharp as they took in every detail of the procession from the drunken gypsies hanging from the sides to the colourful objects they had "borrowed" en route, all held the same bitter thoughts; gypsies were scum, filthy thieves with no morals and a sinful taste for the demon drink and gambling. And yet, Erik thought sadly as he turned away from their curious stares and spurred his agitated horse onwards, if these very people didn't flock to the camps of an evening, to gawp and pay money for their cruel spectacles, perhaps these travelling folk would be forced to return to their honourable nomadic roots.
The journey was hellishly slow, and with Nadir still maintaining his stony silence in protest of joining up with the clan for the tour, Erik was far more perceptive to what lay around him than normal. The quaint little villages made of their rustic grey stone and the rolling greenery with thick woodland were all strange to him, little more than faint memories from a distant past, and as they began to ride through the thick leafy foliage Erik felt what must have been the sharp pangs of homesickness spear his heart. He would never have admitted it to the stubborn Nadir, who would just adore the chance to gloat and demand they leave this band of gypsies, but it was true that he desperately craved the palatial decor of the Opera Populaire, or the feeling of hurrying through the winding streets. So many poets and artists had found the beauty in the open countryside over the centuries, but what about the concealed beauty that lay under the muck and grime of the bustling, living city of Paris?
He missed the comforts of Paris; his home- no matter how dank or gothic it might be, Erik still missed it- and also the simple delight of playing a piano. He had not been graced with such an instrument in so long, instead having to resort to the violin each day. He adored the violin, with its sleek wooden body and how it would weep the melody as the bow kissed the strings, but there was something so obliging about a piano. He must have been gazing wistfully into the distance as he considered all the things he craved but could not have, for he caught sight of Nadir in the corner of his eye, and the Persian had a smug smile plastered over his face that Erik knew from those rare few times that he had been forced to admit that Nadir was correct. He quickly made his face impassive, angrily yanking on the reigns and cursing under his breath, hoping that the low hanging branches might just give Nadir a leafy smack in the pompous face.
Eventually, just when both Erik and Nadir were starting to worry that the journey from hell might never end, the great procession of caravans and wagons came to a seemingly sudden halt beside a section of woodland, nestled just on the border with Italy. They had rumbled through a small town not a mile from the destination they now set up camp in, a purposeful act that had sparked the interest of the locals. When the afternoon began to fade into dusk and as the musicians tuned their instruments, the tents now hauled up and ready to permit the access of paying spectators, a couple of gypsies lit a huge bonfire that crackled and spat and released gorgeous warmth and the alluring scent of wood smoke. Not twenty minutes later, Erik and Nadir stood back to allow the streams of curious locals to enter the camp, eyes wide and money ready to be handed over the nearest leering gypsy.
"I am warning you now." Nadir murmured in a grouchy tone, grating on Erik's already heightened nerves. "One sign of trouble, or another old 'friend' who decides to try and exploit you as they did when you were a child, and we leave this stinking mess of a camp and set out on our own again. We cannot afford to waste time trying to rescue you from being enslaved again, Erik; I will certainly not be searching for Christine Daae until the day I die, so you had better be sure that this ludicrous set up will benefit us in our search!"
Erik rolled his eyes at the paranoid Persian as he fidgeted and shuffled from foot to foot, giving his anxious friend a little shove as he bent to open his violin case and lift the precious instrument from its nest of silk. He tuned it efficiently, his ears so attuned that he could hear the notes even in the noise of the camp, before preparing his bow and standing up again. Nadir watched with sceptical eyes, huffing irritably as Erik nudged him again, this time with a purposefully teasing grin to try and coax the grumpy man to stop fretting. The vibrant atmosphere of the camp was similar to the days of Persia, but in a surprisingly pleasant manner.
"Khan, kindly patronise someone else and allow me to earn us some much required money." He replied smoothly, not allowing himself to be wound up by Nadir's incessant worrying- he was right in that they could not afford to waste any precious time, so Erik wanted to start earning and stop standing around bickering like a pair of seven year old girls! "I don't need to remind you that I am the unwilling expert of us both in these circumstances- I know how the clan works, how they earn their money. And I will find Christine Daae; I refuse to give up now."
With that final victory, leaving Nadir gaping at his friend's sudden burst of optimism, Erik let the bow fly across the awaiting strings, unleashing a stream of lively notes that wound through the air and danced on the slight breeze, turning the heads of the excited locals who had just entered the boundaries of the camp. Nadir huffily put the open violin case at Erik's feet and stood back to watch the performance, enjoying the cheerful music, which differed from Erik's usual melancholy moaning. His ability to play the violin excellently- it seemed heavenly compared to the out of tune screeching that was echoing from another violin somewhere amongst the tents and caravans- attracted the attention of every person who came streaming into the camp, as did the fact that he became entirely absorbed in the music, his eyes closed as he leaned into the instrument, whilst the other fool who was wielding a tatty fiddle was dancing around with it. The notes of the songs he teased out of the violin soared up and over the mess of the camp, seeking freedom above their heads in the sunset bathed sky, and Nadir watched in first amazement and then utter astonishment as people willingly tossed money into the open case.
It was strange- Erik's complete lack of money grabbing seemed to make the spectators want to hand over their money. Nadir hated to admit to being wrong, especially after he had been so certain and smug regarding this whole affair, but Erik really did know exactly how to play the gypsies game. He was a success, a roaring success, and Nadir could do nothing other than watch in silent amazement.
"You should sing, Khan." Erik grinned between songs, and Nadir saw a spark in his yellow eyes, gleaming with the love for performance that Erik had clearly been born with. It was a trait that only heightened his musical ability, as he never wanted to stop playing it and delighting his few friends with the melodies he could forge. "If you were to sing to my violin, I'm sure our profits would double."
"Shut up, Erik, and play your damned violin." Nadir growled, turning crimson and making Erik roar with laughter. Nadir was stunned to see that kind of happiness on Erik's face, and Erik realised as he turned back to the awaiting spectators and struck up the next tune that he had not felt this happy and free since...well, since Christine had told him that she loved him.
The night rolled on, the continuous surge of people coming and going from the camp gradually filling the violin case with money and swelling their profits- Erik did not have to ask for money once, and the visitors were happy to throw their coins and savour the music that seemed far more worthy of an opera house orchestra than a gypsy camp. The calls of the other acts rang out into the crisp night air, accompanied by the bright, vibrant music coming from Erik and other musicians as well as the rowdy dancing and the crackle of the huge bonfire. The flow of money never slowed- if anything, the rate increased, so when Erik at last stopped to give his aching fingers a rest from the harsh texture of the strings- even his experienced, calloused tips could not withstand the constant friction for hours on end without rest- he and Nadir found smiles for each other as they counted a fine sum of money nestled in the case. And the night was not over yet.
"So," Erik commented a little smugly to Nadir as they retreated a little from the hectic mass of people and found some cool grass to sit on, staring up at the glittering night sky. It looked as if a giant had crushed a diamond in his careless fist, scattering the glittering shards all over the jet black. "Do you finally accept that maybe, just maybe, this idea of mine could benefit us after all Khan? Because you may behave like a stubborn ass all you like, but I know that you are just as pleased about the profits I have made tonight as I am."
"Whatever you like to think, Erik." Nadir huffed, trying to ignore the drone of his friend's smug voice by staring up at the star patterns above them, hoping to find a constellation to focus on rather than Erik's wittering.
"Now, now Daroga. Haven't you a few more patronising words for me? Some further cautious advice?"
"Do shut up Erik. Go back to your violin."
Erik looked at the stars for a moment longer before shaking his head, pocketing the heavy mass of coins and lovingly placing the violin back in its case, conscious of Nadir's bewildered eyes on him. Once the money and violin were secure, he took one moment to turn to face the darkness of the woodland and remove his mask from his face. The cool night air kissed the warped skin and felt like ice on a burn; a euphoric sign escaped his lips, swollen and bloated on the deformed side, and Nadir watched with anxious eyes as Erik gently massaged the twisted skin- it looked rubbed raw and he could imagine that it must be inflamed and horrifically painful. He was about to suggest they find some water from the small river he had caught sight of earlier, to bathe the inflamed skin and hopefully ease the discomfort, but Erik placed the mask back onto his face without even a murmur and stood up purposefully, staring down at Nadir where he still sat.
"No, Khan, I shall not be returning to my violin tonight." He said simply, turning to look at the mass of people again, wondering if he might lose himself in that vibrant crowd and forget his worries for one night. "I think I might take a look around the camp, see the so-called performances and what our competition is. Would you care to join me?"
"Erik you know that you will only upset yourself if you see some poor lonely child incarcerated in a cage just as...just as you suffered?" Nadir asked in a wary voice, hating how casual Erik's tone was- he sounded as if he were asking Nadir out for a carriage drive, or to take tea at some delightful little cafe overlooking the Seine, not to explore the depths of a hideous slavery circus! He stood up and brushed the few stray bits of grass from his coat.
"Yes." Erik replied, too lost in watching how the visitors seemed to be swallowed up by the mass of vibrant people to check himself. His brutal honesty hit Nadir like a tonne of bricks. "But Nadir, I believe Pali- I don't think that the clan locks up little boys and girls in cages anymore. However, if I do happen to stumble across such things, I intend to liberate the incarcerated individuals and then leave. Despite what you may think of me, I refuse to be associated with slavery."
Nadir rolled his eyes in the gloom and allowed an exasperated sigh to escape his pursed mouth. Was Erik really so foolish to believe that this clan of the same gypsies who had imprisoned and exploited him as an innocent child could have really changed all that much? It was true that Pali, or whatever his name was, seemed a decent enough man, but even he had said that some of the acts currently touring with the clan did not wish to be there; just because they were not in a cage or tortured did not mean that it was not barbaric slavery.
Of course there was that other worry, the worry that had left Nadir sleepless and agitated all last night. What if someone recognised Erik and decided to seize him? He had, after all, killed his gypsy tormentor and run away from the clan, no doubt losing them a lot of money as they had lost their best attraction, the famed Devils Child. Nadir shuddered to consider what they might to do his friend if they caught him- he doubted that, even amongst these barbaric types, murder would be tolerated. Especially by a person they considered as their property, their 'slave'.
"So? Are you joining me, oaf, or are you going to stand there pulling that unattractive expression all night?" Erik demanded, his harsh voice cutting through Nadir's mental fretting. He pulled a face- in the nicest possible way, Erik was hardly the one to comment on what was unattractive and what wasn't.
"I don't suppose I have much of a choice; I will follow you, oh leader." Nadir replied scathingly, his sarcasm earning him a scornful look from Erik, who strode ahead with a flash of his yellow eyes, his pace suggesting that he was in a demented hurry or even knew where he was going in this maze of caravans, tents, money grabbing gypsies and amazed visitors.
Dressed all in black, tall, elegant, pale faced and sinister...he cut straight through the lively colours and vibrant atmosphere like a knife, his silence and dark expression only adding to his efficient parting of the crowds. Nadir had at last come to terms with the fact that the loud, bright feel of the Romany camp was what he had been craving for so long as he fondly recalled the fiery heat and cultured spectacles of his home in the Orient- but Erik, the one who seemed adamant on their staying with this clan, was far better suited to the gothic, grey, cold cities such as Paris that had never held any beauty for Nadir. Cities such as Paris, comprised of their unfeeling grey stone and so often coated in the muck and grime of everyday life, reminded Nadir of Erik perfectly; it was hard to believe that his forbidding and withdrawn companion could feel every emotion with unequalled passion, or could make music to outshine even the greatest of composers- and yet he came alive in this riot of emotion and beauty just as the bland stone of Paris came alive as the everyday bustle and rush spilled out onto the mucky streets, transforming it.
Nadir knew that there would never be another man quite like Erik; he had the ability to create wonders the world had never even dreamt of with his music and his design, and yet he did not require the praise of the world to continue. It was not that he was modest, or shy, he was simply so used to living a forgotten life beneath humanity that he no longer needed recognition or praise from anyone save himself. If he was happy, that was all that mattered; Nadir knew that Erik had no idea how fulfilling this way of life was, nor how respectful he was of it. Of course Erik's lack of desire to show off also contributed to his success as a composer- his music could be more dramatic and ridiculous than that ghastly diva from Paris, La Carlotta, but because he did not brag or boast or blast his music at anyone he could, it remained dark and mysterious and alluring.
They continued through the thick crowds that filled the camp completely, threatening to burst at the seams, and as they fought their way into the most popular area of the camp Nadir was forced to reach out and grip onto Erik's arm to stop himself from being washed away by the sea of clamouring people who surged outside one particular tent. The immovable wall of people further proved the accolade of most popular attraction, and Erik took a firmer hold of Nadir's arm and began to barge his way through, the violin case proving to be quite the battering ram. Nadir squealed as Erik's far from gentle grip inflicted great pain on his wrist, but it was preferable to being lost in this overwhelming mass of frantic visitors who didn't seem to understand the concept of orderly queuing.
Amid the tightly packed, body odour and alcohol stinking crowd of eager locals stood one of the gypsies. He was balanced precariously atop an overturned bucket, calling out to advertise the act or show or whatever it was that was causing so much excitement amongst the squealing fools around them.
Erik strained to hear the gypsy, finally managing to pinpoint which words were his in this mass of noise and struggling to comprehend the words due to the man's thick and unusual accent- it was probably made worse by the fact he was a swaying drunkard- but once he managed to blot out the other noise and focus on his words alone, his understanding became quick and painless.
"Come in, come in tonight and see an Angel! Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, an Angel from heaven for you to see tonight! Come in, come in, a sight you won't want to miss!"
The crowd began to move towards the gaping opening of a large, dull and rather lifeless looking tent and Erik decided that this must be the tent that held the supposed Angel. He turned to join the crowd as they moved along towards it, oddly curious, but Nadir tripped and yanked on his arm harshly to steady himself.
"Come on, Erik, let's try and fight our way out of this mess and go back to the boundaries- it was cooler there." He yelled over the excited chattering of the crowd, his face flushed and his eyes glassy with the unbearable stuffy heat. "We don't need to see some poor wretch dressed up as an Angel. We could be earning money- I've decided to sell herbal remedies whilst you play the violin."
But Erik, stubborn as anything and set on viewing this spectacle for some reason he could never hope to fathom, would not agree to the Persian's perfectly reasonable proposition, wordlessly shaking his head and heading once more for the flow of people, already rummaging for some money to hand to the gypsy guarding the entrance to the tent. Nadir, made irritable by the heat and confused, placed a well earned thump between Erik's shoulder blades.
"Erik!" he exclaimed in a nearing hysterical voice. "What the blazes are you doing? Have you gone insane?!"
"I'm curious, Nadir; what makes this attraction so very popular?" he replied, not at all fazed by the punch Nadir had sent rocketing at him, or the fact that Nadir's face told him he was likely to receive another very shortly. His ears pricked up, suddenly hearing something from inside the tent that explained the popularity of this attraction. "Ah- did you hear that, Nadir? There's a piano inside that tent. That must be why it's so popular, it's a singing act- we should see what the quality is like..."
Nadir was too hot and bothered to muster the energy to argue. He knew, with an annoyed slump of his shoulders, that now Erik was set upon this venture into the stuffy tent he would have to endure it, as changing Erik's mind when he was in such a stubborn mood was not possible. It might break into a row if he did try to resist, but Erik would win that row and then be irritable even once he got his own way. It was a sad fact that Nadir knew, from years and years of experience, that the painless way to endure unpleasant situations such as these was simply to let Erik do as he pleased. That way, it would not extend any further than the present and would be hassle free...or so Nadir thought as he relented and allowed Erik to tug him along.
Erik passed the money to the gypsy with the outstretched palm without prompt, too focused on the sound of the piano music to think of anything else. He was blind to the stupidly excited faces around him, deaf to Nadirs grumbling from behind him, only focused on the sweet melody of that beautiful instrument and nearly drooling with the thought of perhaps managing to persuade the gypsies running this attraction to allow him to play. Oh, the thought of being the master of a spread of smooth keys, to allow his fingers to tease a luxurious melody from the soul of such a wondrous instrument once more-! Erik was nearly stumbling in a euphoric haze at the thought alone. He gladly followed the line of people in front, so close to entering the tent now that he stopped fidgeting and calmly waited, still unable to see the so called Angel but perfectly able to hear every spellbinding note of the instrument he so craved-
But then the singing started. It reached his eardrums and froze his legs as his brain registered those notes, that voice, and he suddenly could not make himself walk. Despite the moans and yells of protest behind him as the procession of people halted behind him, Erik could not physically walk onwards, petrified to a resolute halt as he heard that- that gorgeous voice. He suddenly felt Nadir give him a shove, a hard shove, and he was so focused on the heavenly voice that he was taken unawares and nearly fell flat on his face.
"Erik!" Nadir snapped, his irritation building as the shouts from behind them became threatening. He wanted to turn and head butt the man behind, who was muttering the most offensive insults, but he forced himself to focus on the problem- Erik. "Stop being such an idiot! Move your feet like a normal human being and we'll end this ludicrous game of yours and get outside, into the fresh air. I was right, evidently- it's far too stuffy in here. Come on, you oaf, move!"
But Erik could not allow the Persian to push him along and out of the tent again. He grabbed Nadir by the shoulders, none too lightly, and shook him hard, completely oblivious to the stares and moans of the other visitors who were now starting to become boisterous.
"Nadir." He could barely speak; barely force the words to leave his mouth he was trembling so much. Nadir saw this, and closed his mouth and did not protest, letting Erik speak. "Nadir, listen- listen to that voice!"
So Nadir, after turning and bellowing the most offensive thing he could think of at the shoving buffoons behind them- unfortunately in his native tongue, so it was rather futile- tried to stop thinking about the heat and the smell, instead listening intently to the beautiful singing from inside the tent. Erik watched as his eyes, ancient and clouded with confusion, suddenly pooled with understanding; gripping Erik's arm with sudden force which made Erik tremble so much his knees very nearly gave way beneath him. Their eyes met and they came to a mutual resolve to battle into that tent as soon as possible.
For that voice, that sweet, heavenly, seraphic voice belonged to the one person in this cruel world who might be called an Angel and deserve the title. It was a voice that Erik knew better than his own, a voice that he would never be able to get to leave his mind- it was etched into his heart and soul, it commanded his mind when awake or asleep. It was a voice he had nurtured and encouraged and surrendered his heart to, a voice that had called out to him and mingled with his own to form the harmony of bliss and desire itself. For that voice, that perfect Angel's voice, belonged to the love of Erik's existence; it was the hauntingly perfect voice of none other than Christine Daae!
"It's her." Erik whispered, the words falling from his lips and sending his heart into a wild frenzy inside his chest. Before Nadir could dream up any advice on how to approach this delicate situation, let alone voice it, Erik had released his arm and dashed into the tent as if chased by demons, smack into the wall of heat and odour that came from so many bodies crammed into a small enclosed space.
He was immune to those unpleasant details, his eyes frantically scanning the entire tent as he searched for her, using the siren call of the piano and her sweet soprano tones to guide him to her as he had done all those years ago upon first hearing her sobbing inside the chapel, and then suddenly after a year- a year of pain and dread and guilt and torture- she was standing there in his line of sight. The frantic thoughts that were spiralling round in his ecstatic soul suddenly all collided and smashed and exploded into a million jagged pieces as his eyes focused on her, widening first in shock, and then in horror.
She was standing there, undoubtedly Christine, but standing there barely covered by a purposefully revealing, ragged dress, her hair unkempt and wild, her feet bare and dirty, her eyes staring down at her feet and utterly devoid of light or life. Erik was frozen to the spot as he took in her dishevelled appearance, the questions as to how his Christine had wound up singing in a gypsy camp suddenly becoming more imperative and demanding with each second he watched her in frozen horror. The visiting men standing closest to her began to reach out and touch her, calling disgusting comments and laughing raucously. She didn't even step back, let alone retaliate- she stood still and let them paw over her as if she were a piece of meat.
The men started to get daring, their grasping hands increasingly rougher and tugging on her- still she did not react, simply staring down at her feet. As one tried to yank at her dress, the gypsy standing at the side of the little chalked out square for her to stand as she sang saw that it was not going to end well so swiftly intervened. The piano music and her singing stopped as he took her arm, leading her away from the men with a shout to the other gypsy to herd everyone out of the tent. Christine looked like a prisoner as she was led away, following silently and stumbling a little in a way that she, the elegant and poised opera star, would never have done before. Her head bent, her eyes lifeless- Erik was suddenly lost to all propriety and consideration.
"CHRISTINE!" he yelled in desperation, and his heart hammered against his ribcage as she turned and lifted her head, peeking through her long matted curls out at the mass of people in the tent to look at him. But she didn't look at him; she looked through him, before turning back to her gypsy captor and following him blindly.
Erik felt all the breath leave his body in a trembling gasp of pain and confusion.
It was almost as if...as if she had not known who he was. As if she did not know him at all.