The interview with Jay was priceless, as they all are. Gerry being Gerry is always a joyfest! The man can tell a story like no other and he looked delicious!! Some of the gray is back at the temples - and he seems slightly more relaxed than he has in the past, but still delightfully fidgety!!
I am so thankful he wasn't hurt when he had the accident, at least not seriously.
Visions of Gerry dancing in my head!! (Not necessarily of HIM dancing, just of him - going through my head - I thought I'd better explain!!)
(Clears throat embarrassingly) On we go!!
Warning - there are inferences to man on man sexual preferences in this chapter (nothing graphic), just warning you.
DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS
CHAPTER 16
Never had a room so full of people been completely silent. Annette was busy in her small, but spacious kitchen – getting afternoon tea ready – rather late afternoon tea. The others sat in her living room exchanging glances and little else.
Erik seemed quite content to sit with his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms folded across his chest, his chin down, and his eyes closed; but no one in the room believed him asleep.
Upon entering the opera house, Erik had felt the faintest echo of belonging course though his veins; and he quickly squelched it before it became too much of a desire. They had done a decent job of recovering after the fire, and there were no visible signs of the disaster that had affected so many lives; and destroyed others.
"Monsieur Lacroix, how long do you plan on staying in Paris?"
The question had come from Gilles André. The little man fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair and gnawed on his bottom lip, but he tried to keep from looking anxious.
Erik didn't move, but his eyes floated open and landed gently on the man who had spoken. It felt rather odd, being called Monsieur Lacroix by André and Firmin; they had done nothing but torment him four years ago – now, they wanted to see how long he was willing to stay.
Tarrah nudged him, hoping to pull him out of whatever reverie he was in; but he continued to look straight ahead, making Gilles even more uncomfortable under his unflinching stare.
"He is not sure, Mr. André. There is a matter of business that he must tend to, and then decisions will be made."
A forced smile pulled Gilles' nervous features into a less nauseating look and Erik finally looked away, realizing he was making the man squirm.
"We never thought to see you in Paris again, Monsieur, especially the Opera Populaire...you are most welcome."
Erik pulled his legs in and sat up, looking less bored and more irritated.
"I never intended to come back to Paris; I made that quite clear in my letters to Annette. However, circumstances have come about that I had not anticipated, nor can I ignore them."
His voice was full and deep, resonating off the walls with a melodious ease that could comfort the weary heart one minute, and flood it with fear in the next.
Richard sat forward, supporting his hands on his cane and looking rather thoughtful.
"As I am sure you are aware, the Opera Populaire has not been doing well and we are being forced to close the doors – unless a miracle occurs."
Erik's gaze moved swiftly to Richard and he frowned.
"I was not aware of this…Annette has remained rather mute on the subject of the Opera Populaire; for reasons that I am sure we can all understand."
Raoul leaned forward in his seat, dropping his hands between this knees and raising his head to meet Erik's startled eyes.
"My family will no longer financially support it…the past couple of years have drained our resources to a dangerous level; my father will not permit it – at the insistence of my elder brother."
Raoul's lips quirked at the corners, passing as a makeshift, begrudging smile – he sighed with a strained exuberance.
"I have disappointed them one too many times, they will not listen to me."
Erik scrutinized the young viscount with open interest; he seemed to have come into himself over the last couple of years and Erik found the tiniest inkling of respect for the younger man.
"Disappointed them…." Erik's tone was disbelieving, "…you are level-headed, handsome, articulate, and intelligent; what could they have to be disappointed in?"
Stunned looks passed across the room. No one had expected Erik to admit such things about Raoul – especially Raoul; let alone mention them to anyone.
"If only my mother had been so lucky…"
Erik lowered his eyes and examined his hands with disturbing silence; his words had been barely above a whisper, but all eyes were on him.
"Imagine giving birth to something like me and having to gaze upon my hideousness day in and day out – knowing that you had a monster for a son…." He finally lifted pained eyes and smiled sadly – remembering the others in the room, "…my mother lived with that until the day she died."
Christine felt tears sting her eyes, as did Meg and Annette. However, Tarrah felt the acid sting of indignation fill her heart. The fact that Erik believed such things about himself perturbed her; and her only desire, at that point, was to box his ears.
She held her actions, as she watched Annette go to him and grasp his gloved hand. She felt the softness of the leather against her skin and caressed it as though it were his flesh.
"Erik…."
He watched her move her hand over his and then brought it to his lips; he did not touch his lips to her skin, but placed the kiss in the air just above her flesh.
"I do not want your pity, Annette, I never have and I never will…I simply say what I know to be the truth."
"That is the truth as you know it…why will you not allow us to disprove what you have been made to believe?"
It was past time to change the subject and Erik leaned back and crossed his legs; hoping this would end the conversation.
Meg had somehow moved to the couch to sit beside her mother. She was a quiet girl who only spoke when she was troubled or she wanted to know about something.
"Erik…why do you always wear gloves…I have never seen you without them?"
Her voice was soft and very breathy, but beautiful and distinctly female; Erik immediately liked the sound of it.
"It prevents complications, it is that simple." He murmured.
"What complications?" Annette asked, softly.
Every woman in the room wanted an answer to that timeless question. The only time he had been without them was during Don Juan Triumphant…and Christine remembered his hands as being incredibly gentle, masculine, and beautiful.
He was delightfully unaware of the interest they had all taken in his answer; he brushed the subject aside – hating to discuss himself.
"Not important…" he stood abruptly, dropping Annette's hand from his and walking toward the window. He turned toward them, with the evening sun fading behind him, "…I must prepare for the arrival of my bride…"
He almost laughed at the words as they proceeded from his lips; it was a mockery to think that some poor woman would bind herself to him. As it was, his tone was skeptical and his eyes were dark.
"…I need somewhere to work; to keep my mind occupied. I must sort through some things before she arrives." He looked to Richard and Gilles for the answer, "…someplace with a piano, violin, and a desk."
They stood and began heading toward the door, Erik took two graceful strides to them and then his soft, low voice quietly promised what they had all hoped to hear as he swept past them in an indomitable rush.
"The Opera Populaire will not close its doors – I will see to that."
André and Firmin shared a delighted smile and shook hands as the man they had feared and loathed four years ago, now became their salvation.
♦♣♠♥
Everyone who dealt with him felt the icy hatred that seemed to emanate from him. His eyes were barely human and he bore little resemblance to the stately young man they had locked away two years ago.
In those two years, he had hardly said a complete sentence to anyone, and many believed he was a mute; but the unspeakable evil that lurked in the silent darkness of his eyes, imbedded itself in the sickness of his mind.
No one could share his room, he had already killed one unfortunate soul they had been ignorant enough to lock up with him; they doubted that he would hesitate to do it again.
Restraints didn't work, either – he found his way out of all of them, as though trained by the best escape artists across the world.
They had given him a barred window, which he seemed to appreciate. He was often seen staring blankly out at the night sky or watching the other "patients" interact together during group activities.
Much of the time, they kept him pumped full of morphine, a drug he had become addicted to and craved with every beat of his wicked heart. Mostly, however, he filled his diseased mind with images of a man in a white mask, with dancing green eyes, and a voice that convinced his psychotic conscience that there was more to their relationship than there had ever been.
How long had it been since they had shared a gaze – seven years – eight maybe? Pieter smiled ruthlessly as he thought about the times they had spent together – brilliant teacher and avid student.
His hormonally dominated, teen-age body melted with desire, as he stood within such a close proximity of the man who made music come alive – the man who entertained him with acts of magic and escape; the man whose genius was only surpassed by his beauty.
Pieter understood, at a very early age, that Erik was special. The scars he bore were a testimony of his uniqueness and the personal obstacles he had overcome. They didn't make him any less deserving of Pieter's love; in fact, they made him seem more human than godlike being that Pieter remembered him to be.
FLASHBACK
1866
Erik wandered the tunnels that stretched beneath the opera house. His steps were sure and silent, stopping every so often to listen to the strong, boyish tenor that resonated off the walls.
'Such a voice should not be wasted on rats and cobwebs.' Erik thought. 'The boy has talent. I must harvest it.'
He knew he was drawing closer to the source, but as Erik ascended toward the surface, he heard the degrading words of Ubaldo Piangi echo down toward him.
"Stop that incessant noise, Pieter, you will never be the star your mother is…you do not possess the necessary intelligence."
Erik could not see the child, but he recognized the calm, dead silence that what was coming – demoralizing, dehumanizing words that cut deeper than any knife.
"I had better not see tears, boy…do you hear me…boys do not cry like sissies…"
The words abruptly halted until Erik heard the distinct sound of a slap. The boys whimpering cry followed the sound and Erik seethed from fury; in the world, there were two things that Erik despised above all others – violence against women, and violence against children.
It was the piercing voice of Carlotta that kept Erik from teaching Piangi a thing or two about how to treat a child…he rolled his eyes and dropped his head upon hearing her.
"Leave him alone, my love, he is only a child."
Her words served only to infuriate Ubaldo even more and his voice sounded equally as condescending.
"You pamper him and turn in him into a spineless, gutless freak! I cannot stand the sight of him!"
Carlotta's response was as close to a scream as she could get.
"Let him seeng, Ubaldo; you seeng, I seeng…is it so hard to believe that he wishes to seeng!"
"He is strange…a half-wit; he will never amount to anything!"
She stood in front of him, breathing heavily and in full protective mode for her child.
"You haf bin jealous of him since he is born – the two ingrates you haf with that witch of a wife are special to you, but Pieter is just a bothersome reminder of me."
"Think what you will…mark my words, that boy is a freak!"
Neither one of them noticed when Pieter slipped out the door and headed toward one of the entrances to Erik's world; they were completely locked in verbal combat.
Erik threw his voice and caused the boy to look around for the source of the calming, deep voice; it seemed to be coming from a small, mangy looking dog that sat on the street corner wagging its sloppy tail.
As Pieter drew closer to him, Erik stepped out of the shadows and motioned for the boy to come to him, at this point, Pieter was immediately smitten; the man's eyes were like sparkling, green diamonds, and Pieter went to him without question.
"Come with me, child; I will teach you to sing like an angel and deceive like a devil."
Pieter learned all that Erik was willing to teach him, all the while harboring a growing passion for the man; there was only ten years between them, and Pieter cherished the idea of declaring his love.
For the next five years, they developed a close relationship, or so Pieter thought. Erik was always a bit reserved, but Pieter knew that he would return his love if he would but profess it.
Which he did, technically; Pieter touched Erik at every opportunity – on the shoulder, the thigh, the hand, the knee – he had even managed to place his hand to Erik's chest one time; warm, hard, chiseled – Pieter was lost.
Then, abruptly, five years after changing his life, Erik ended their relationship – just as Pieter was ready to profess his undying love and devotion and yield himself to Erik in every way.
What Erik thought a done deal, Pieter held in his heart and his mind. He was always finding ways – or creating them – to start a new life with Erik…but they never worked.
But someday…
END FLASHBACK
Pieter didn't tell Erik of his plans for them, he was not sure if Erik returned his feelings – not that this made any difference, Pieter would just have to convince him.
He is innocence and decadence all in one… Pieter closed his eyes and pictured the object of his obsession in his mind; his body responding with eager anticipation.
Pieter lived in the past, he didn't care that years had past and Erik no longer gave him one scrap of thought. He didn't care that Erik had never seemed to notice his attempts at flirtatious banter or take his suggestive innuendos seriously. To him, no time had passed at all.
The door to his room unlocked and Pieter snarled with an angry growl.
The nervous doctor stood just inside the door and kept his hand on his pocket – a syringe was ready to level the young man should he make a run for the door.
"You have a visitor, Mallory."
A tall, distinguished man walked through the door and Pieter narrowed his empty eyes; what was the purpose behind this visit?
"Thank you, doctor; you may leave us….I want complete privacy."
"Yes, my lord." Came the muddled reply.
The door closed and they faced each other with curious, mistrusting glares.
"Trust me; this is not a social call."
Pieter smirked with an evil joy and stood, facing the man he had seen on occasion, frequenting the bathhouses and less prominent areas of Paris; places their kind could satiate their needs without going public.
"Then to what do I owe the honor of your visit?"
The regal man braced himself against the wall and looked around the meager quarters with distaste.
"A problem for me and a dream come true for you."
One shifty eyebrow rose and Pieter crossed his arms over his chest and continued to stare with mild interest.
"I have worked long and hard to bring the opera house to its knees, only to have my efforts thwarted by the former Phantom…"
Pieter's eyes lit up and a boiling inferno of lust filled his loins.
"…I see that you are still interested in him."
Pieter gave a slight nod of his head and the man smiled maliciously.
"Here is my plan."
The two men shared thoughts and a few heated caresses before the plans formed completely in their minds.
"When?" Pieter asked, accepting a kiss from the older man.
"Soon." He replied.
The door closed and Pieter went back to being the silent menace he enjoyed being; thoughts of sweet, lustful revenge building an inferno in his mind.
TBC