The large crucifix hung elegantly on the wall, with the figure of the crucified Christ as its center. Erik shuddered as he looked at the agony of the figure. He closed his eyes and tried to blot the image from his mind. No. You cannot truly know what agony is. You have not lived MY life! Suddenly, a movement to his far left startled him and attracted his attention. A priest was milling about, appearing to be speaking to himself. But the longer he watched him, it seemed that the man was actually singing. Erik smirked. So this is what passes for music in GOD'S house?
At once, a voice broke the relative silence in the large room. "You can come out now. They've gone," it said calmly. Erik sucked in a rapid breath. Is he speaking to ME? When Erik refused to move, the priest turned around to face in his direction. The man looked to be about twenty years older than Erik, with thinning brown hair and a round face with a double chin. He seems harmless enough. "I said that you can come out now. The gendarmes have gone. Don't worry, I didn't let them know that you were here." Suddenly, Erik realized that he had no weapons of any kind on him. No dagger, no pistol, no noose…nothing. He had hoped to slip away unnoticed and to be able to easily purchase or pilfer the things that he needed. But now…he was in this place with this "man of God" and he felt somehow…threatened. He cursed inwardly. I could snap his neck with my bare hands if necessary. He is no threat to me, he tried to remind himself. Erik did not understand what was happening to him. He had felt fear as a child, but never as an adult. He loathed this feeling inside of him.
The priest looked as if he were beginning to grow impatient. He raised his voice, "Monsieur, are you going to come out from behind there? I will not harm you, believe me. I am God's servant."
At this, Erik finally spoke, but did not move. "God's servant?" He laughed darkly. "And why would you choose to serve Someone who enjoys bringing others pain?"
The priest cocked his head slightly. "Oh. I see. You are not a religious man."
"Oh, I am religious, Monsieur…religious about many things. But God is not one of them."
The priest seemed genuinely curious. "Monsieur, this may seem a strange question, but…would you care for a cup of tea? I have just made some, you see…and, well, perhaps it would help you to relax a bit. It seems you must have been through some sort of ordeal," the priest said kindly.
Erik could not believe his ears. A priest had just offered the Opera Ghost a cup of tea. Well, if this wasn't just too much! "Monsieur, I assure you, if you knew much about me, you wouldn't be so eager to share my company."
This caused the priest to chuckle. "I assure you, Monsieur, that I have held company with many a colorful character in my time. You are welcome if you choose. If not, then feel free to take your chances with the gendarmes on the street. But that truly seems pointless, after I came to your aid, does it not?"
Erik fumed. He began to raise his voice a bit, losing some of his carefully guarded composure. "Came to my aid? You must be daft! I have no need of aid from any man!"
"Well, it seems that I have given it anyway. Come now. The tea will be getting cold." The priest held his ground and watched as Erik drew the heavy curtain back and stepped out. He lifted his chin and glared down at the priest.
The priest eyed Erik curiously. The first thing he noticed was the very dark and tall appearance of the man before him…and then, the black mask which he wore upon his face. Who IS this man? What have I gotten myself into now? Who was it the gendarmes said they were looking for…a ghost? Phantom? Yes, that was it. Well, this fellow is neither of those things. The priest realized that he was now staring. He forced himself to look away toward the door. "Permit me, Monsieur, I was just about to lock up," he said, producing a key.
Erik gestured toward the door. "By all means."
"By the way, I never did properly introduce myself. My name is Father Michel. And you are…?" he questioned, walking to the door and locking it.
"Don't you already know who I am, Father?" Erik spat out. He saw the priest cringe slightly and immediately regretted his harsh tone with the man. But he would not apologize. This man was beginning to grate on his nerves with all of this…kindness and civility. "I am apparently a wanted man."
"Yes, well, I gathered that. I assume you have committed some sort of crime, Monsieur?" He regretted the words as soon as he had said them. "Rather, if you have not, then why were the gendarmes looking for you?"
"I have committed many crimes. I have harmed many people. And many people have also harmed me. As I see it, the score is now even."
Father Michel gestured toward a door near the far wall. "Shall we have some tea now and sit awhile?" Erik studied the priest for a moment and then nodded. He followed the priest through the door and closed it behind him. They had entered a cozy living room—he assumed it to be the priest's study, though quite small for that—where the priest had a fire lit in the fireplace. Erik surveyed the room. Two armchairs and a small table sat in front of the fireplace near a large rug. The rug was about half the size of the entire room, Erik noted. The walls were fairly plain with only a few portraits hanging on them. Poor excuses for art here, as well, he thought to himself. There was a desk to Erik's left in the corner, and a tall bookshelf filled so full of books that Erik was surprised it had not toppled over or cracked in two. An oil lamp was lit on the desk, and an open book was lying there. A squat curio cabinet sat to the right of the fireplace, filled with teacups and other dishes. The priest strode over to the curio cabinet and retrieved two teacups and saucers, then picked up a tea kettle from the hearth. He walked to the table and poured two steaming cups of tea for himself and Erik. He set the kettle back on the hearth and motioned for Erik to take a seat in one of the armchairs. Erik stood awkwardly for a moment before moving. Somehow, his tension was beginning to ease a bit. He seated himself in the armchair nearest the door, just in case, however. Though he was fully cloaked, he felt slightly exposed before this man, and he could find no reason as to why. As he was contemplating this, the priest spoke again.
"So," Father Michel began, seating himself in the armchair opposite Erik, "what brings you to my little church at this hour, if I may ask?" He smiled slightly, hoping that Erik would return the gesture. He was disappointed.
"Obviously, I had nowhere else to go," Erik stated flatly, resenting the fact that this man asked him any questions at all.
"Have you no family, then?" Father Michel asked innocently.
"Family? The Opera Ghost has no family! Yes, that is who I am, Father! Are you shocked? I am sure that you have heard of me. If you have, then I am certain that you fear me as well." Erik sneered.
"Opera Ghost?" Father Michel repeated. "Yes, I believe that I have heard of you. However, I do not believe in ghosts, so I assumed that it was all a fable. Then again, you are sitting in my armchair, so it appears that I was correct. You are no ghost, Monsieur."
Erik had to chuckle slightly at the simplicity of the man. "True, I am no ghost. I am far worse than any ghost could be. I am a nightmare walking. I am darkness. I am…" Erik stopped short, shocked, as the priest let out a chuckle.
"Forgive me, Monsieur," Father Michel managed to say, "but I have never actually heard anyone refer to himself as a 'nightmare' and 'darkness.' Why, you make it sound as though you are the Devil himself!"
"How do you know that I am not?" Erik replied coldly.
The priest shifted in his chair. Erik could tell that his reply had slightly disturbed the man. Father Michel leaned forward. "You are a man, Monsieur. A man who, like all of us, has made mistakes and done wrong. The Devil, Monsieur, is beyond redemption. And you are not."
Erik was speechless. Redemption? Has this man heard me at all? He realized that his mouth was hanging open slightly and he quickly closed it. The priest was looking at him as if he expected him to speak. Erik could think of nothing to say. The man's statement had shocked him and had actually frightened him a little. He felt the unfamiliar sensation of fear beginning to creep into his bones again. And again, he loathed himself for it. Loathing. Now that was something he could grasp. After what seemed an eternity, Erik finally spat back angrily at the priest. "You could not possibly know of what you speak! You do not know me or what I have done! You know nothing!"
"If you say so," the priest replied casually. This man is going to be a difficult one, he thought to himself. "Why don't you tell me about it."
Erik squirmed in his chair. He had surely come to the worst place possible. He felt panic begin to rise in his throat. He grasped the teacup before him and gulped. The hot liquid ran down his throat, and he thought it felt strangely...helpful. He managed to stumble over a reply. "I…I don't really…care to." He sat, staring down at his tea.
"Well, you've made it clear to me thus far that I should fear you, that you believe yourself to be a ghost, and that you are a dark nightmare who has committed crimes. Does that about sum it up, then?" Father Michel looked amused.
Is that a smirk on his face? Erik thought. I could kill him where he sits, and he is mocking me at this very moment! Erik leaned forward in his chair, glaring at the man. He spoke quietly, yet his words were like daggers. "Mock me again, and you will meet your God face to face this very night."
The priest gulped audibly. His eyes widened for a brief second before he composed himself. "Monsieur, I assure you, I did not mean to offend you. I apologize," he said sincerely. Erik studied the man's face and saw that he meant it. "Well, I suppose if you will not do any of the talking, then I can manage for the both of us. Would you like to hear a story?"
Erik looked at the man, dumbfounded. "Am I a child, Father, that I need a bedtime story?" he asked sarcastically.
"Of course not! Let me rephrase that…I will tell you a true account. Not a bedtime story, nor a fable." He cleared his throat. "About thirty years ago, a man was walking through the streets of Paris. He was alone and he was starving. He hadn't eaten in days and had no place to go for shelter. Winter was coming, and the nights were growing colder. The man's family had abandoned him because of his wild living. He was disowned by them, you see, because they were ashamed of his behavior. He was known to take up with prostitutes and other unsavories, and he spent all of his nights in drunkenness. During the day, he was so exhausted from his revelry that eventually he lost his employment and no one else would hire him due to his poor reputation. It was after his family threw him out that he realized what he had done, but it was too late for him. His family no longer wanted anything to do with him, so he was forced to wander the streets. And since he had no more money, his acquaintances had no use for him, either. One particularly frigid night, he was searching for a place to sleep that would protect him from the biting wind, and he stepped into an alley. He sat, leaning against the wall and trying to keep warm, dozing off periodically from his exhaustion. The next thing he knew, he was being kicked and punched by someone. He struggled to his feet to defend himself when he saw it: a dagger in his attacker's hands. The man panicked and froze for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. Then, as if it had a mind of its own, his right hand shot out, grabbing his attacker's hands, wrestling the dagger from him. He managed to grip the dagger and face his attacker. It was a vagabond, apparently trying to rob him…but the man had nothing of value to even steal. The vagabond looked at the man and lunged for him, and suddenly the dagger found its way into the vagabond's abdomen. He slumped down to the cobblestones and died there. The first man didn't know what to do…he was covered in the vagabond's blood. The only clothes he had were the ones on his back, and they bore witness to his crime. He was a murderer. He ran to the opposite end of the alley, hoping that no one would see him, and he ducked into the first doorway he could find—much as you did, young man," the priest paused to study Erik's eyes.
It seemed that Erik was listening, so he continued. "There through that doorway, he found his future and his redemption. He also had stepped into a church, much like this one. And a priest found him, much as I did you." Father Michel paused again, and Erik thought he saw the man's eyes beginning to fill with tears. "You see, Monsieur, that murderer was me. That abandoned, drunken whoremonger…was me."
Erik sat in stunned silence, but only for a moment. Is this man trying to gain my sympathy? Does he think his own life has been as difficult as my own? "Father, what was the point of this 'true account' to which you have subjected my ears?" Erik replied cruelly.
Father Michel looked up into Erik's masked face and replied, "The point? I'm not sure what you mean, monsieur. It is my story and nothing more. Whenever I tell it, I am reminded of how far I have come…of how far I have been carried."
"Carried? And who is it that you think has carried you, Father? Your God? I must say that I rather think that you have lost your mind from all your years of wanton drunkenness!" Erik retorted.
"Perhaps you are partly right, monsieur. By the way, I still do not know your name… you could at least show me the same courtesy I have shown you this night, could you not?" The priest questioned.
"I suppose I could, then. My name is Erik. But very few people know me by that name, as I am sure you have guessed," Erik smirked. "Most people do not even think me a man. And perhaps I am not a man."
"Well, then, what exactly would you presume to be, Monsieur Erik?" the priest laughed softly.
"A monster. I have become that which people fear. I too am a murderer, Father, as I told you before. But I have killed for sport and for the hunt, and not simply in self defense as you did. And I have actually enjoyed it." Erik waited for the look of shock to cross the priest's countenance, but it never came. Instead, he saw something else in Father Michel's eyes…what was it? Where had he seen that before? No! It couldn't be! Pity? Anger began to boil inside Erik at the thought. "Father, it would be unwise to pity me in any way, I assure you," Erik spoke through clenched teeth. "I do not need anyone's pity! I will not…" He was interrupted.
"I do not pity you. But I believe that I understand you somewhat. It appears that you have not had an easy life, mon ami. And for that I am sorry, but I do not pity you. Pity is no good to anyone…pity simply shakes its head and walks past those in need. Compassion, however, is very different, Monsieur Erik. Compassion motivates us to take action to help those who are in need. What I feel for you is compassion. And if that angers you, so be it." Father Michel stated simply.
"So you say," Erik retorted, "that compassion motivates you to help others…just how do you presume that you can help me, Father?"
"I do believe that I already have, Monsieur Erik. The gendarmes will not be likely to come back here, now that I have already spoken with them. And now, I would like to know what your plans are," the priest spoke with an authoritative air.
"I do believe that I could have easily broken the necks of those gendarmes without your help, Father! And as for my plans…" Erik thought a moment. "As for my plans, I will find someplace to stay and purchase some new clothing for myself. I will do whatever I please, and it is no business of yours!" He was nearly shouting now.
"Well, if you please, Monsieur, you may stay here. I have quarters here on the premises, though they are…shall we say…cozy? You are welcome to remain here and grace me with your presence," Father Michel smiled slightly. "I have a rather small parish, and I am the only priest residing here, so…" He trailed off, awaiting Erik's reaction.
Erik was once again stunned speechless. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his cloak and sighed. Will this man never give up? He is by far the most persistent and annoying man I have ever met! And yet… Erik thought. "I will stay for now. Until the gendarmes have ceased their searching in this area."
Father Michel looked pleased. He clapped his hands and stood to his feet. "Splendid! Now come with me and I will show you to your new quarters. Perhaps tomorrow we can arrange for you to secure any necessities you may require?" he asked.
"Tomorrow," Erik replied.