ALL I KNOW OF LOVE
Erik and Christine are the creation of Gaston Leroux; the reference to Persia and some of its customs are derived from Susan Kay's book, "Phantom". All other characters and the backdrop of the story are the creations and property of GerrysJackie.
Some places and all names are fictional.
PLAYERS:
Erik – Gerard Butler - Perfect
Christine – The face and coloring of Zooey Deschanel (Failure to Launch, Elf) – and the body of Marilyn Monroe, except 3 inches taller
Gustav - Billy Connelly – Because I really like him.
Patrick Connelly - Paul Bettany – (A Knights Tale, Firewall, A Beautiful Mind)
Pascal – Mel Gibson's looks (slightly older with graying hair) with the cunning and cruelty of J.R. Ewing from "Dallas".
Madam Marie Forsythe – Miranda Richardson
James Lumpkin (the butler) – Daniel Davis (the butler from the TV show "The Nanny")
Kamilla – Georgie Henley (Chronicles of Narnia)
Duke Sergei Beauvais – Derek Jacobi (Underworld:Evolution)
Use your imagination on all others.
This story has taken a while to develop, but I hope it has been worth it. I have several chapters already written, but I am taking my time. There is humor, drama, and romance in this story, so I hope you will enjoy it.
This rendition of Erik is one of a man who has suffered greatly in his life, at the hands of just about everyone in his life, but his spirit is still intact. He is less self-loathing than others that I have written, but he is very much aware of his self-proclaimed faults. He is dangerous and ruthless, but has had enough of death and destruction. Women are still a mystery to him, and he needs a strong, independent woman who is his equal in every way.
This Christine is not a drop-dead gorgeous woman, but her beauty is less assuming and soft…Erik will see it.
I will try to update twice a week, depending on how quickly I write chapters. I don't anticipate this being a particularly long story, but we'll see.
Enjoy.
CHAPTER 2 – On the Edge of Sanity
Persia, late 1861
Would he ever smell freedom again? The cold, dank walls of his prison cell echoed a resounding "NO", as he was thrown into them with brutal force.
The three palace guards spit on him and each gave one final blow to his ribcage before exiting the cell and locking the door behind them.
'How long have I been here…three, possibly four years?' He thought, his own voice driving the insanity away, once again. 'Why hasn't death come to claim me?'
He had certainly given her plenty of opportunity and plenty of ammunition. No one refused the gifts of the Sultana and then lived to enjoy life – they immediately faced death. Not only had he refused the barely pubescent, harem girls, but he had also refused the Sultana herself.
During the last fourteen years, Erik had earned the respect of those around him. His powerful, unyielding mind was far superior to any man within thousands of miles. He had physical strength and animal-like reflexes, which caused terror in the hearts of many, both men and women.
He had stumbled onto the shores of Persia at the age of ten after stowing away on a merchant ship. Captured and taken to the palace, he was entertainment for the royal family. He proved adept at music; whether composing or playing, his skills with a lasso and knives became legendary, and in the process of becoming an entertainment attraction, he became an embittered and proficient adversary.
He soon captured the eye of the young Sultana whose lust for him was almost as strong as her lust for blood. He had grown into a beautiful specimen, despite the deformity on his face. His body was strong, defined, and graceful; and she wanted to own him; in every way.
He was brilliant and gifted and the Sultana feared the respect he was developing among the palace guard. Giving a prisoner too much power was a dangerous move, and Erik was a dangerous man.
She thought she could control him with the lure of sex and the erotic world she lived in. He reacted to the "shows" as any other man, but he did not act on his urges. However, his reaction was all she needed to afflict him further.
She sent him harem girls as a gift, trying to persuade him to indulge in his male fantasies; but he refused the gifts and sent the girls back untouched. This made the Sultana angry and she began using the torture devices on the girls; the same devices that Erik had been ordered to design for political radicals and criminals.
She propositioned him herself, on many occasions, but the thought of sleeping with her sickened him; he knew she only desired him because he was a peculiarity – an oddity of nature – and he despised her for it. He had never been with a woman, and he was certain he never would be.
His refusal turned her lust to hate, and she sought ways to break his spirit. Nothing she had done so far, had achieved the desired effect. He was blissfully ignorant of the torture of the girls, until he witnessed it with his own eyes.
Unable to bear the burden of their deaths, he made a bargain with the Sultana - bring him no more girls, torture no more girls, and she could do as she willed with him.
Beaten profusely on a daily basis, the whip became a constant companion. She tested his body with drugs and torture; noting how his body and mind reacted to her sick perversions. She would then put his beaten and bleeding body on display as a deterrent to others.
Between beatings, whippings, drug induced comas, and public humiliation, Erik kept his body in shape. He used his keen intellect and knowledge of human anatomy to build his muscles and stay in top condition; hoping that someday he would be free.
Of course, he was good for other things, also. Two nights ago, she had demanded he entertain her with his music; the piano, violin and his voice – she had been moved to tears. Loathing her reaction to him, she ordered each of his fingers dislocated.
The pain had been excruciating, but Erik had refused to beg for mercy or show any weakness, and she had been furious. She watched as he was whipped and then she poured alcohol on his wounds until he passed out from the pain.
Just before sweet oblivion claimed him, she bent down to his face and looked him in the eye as she caressed his perfect cheek with her soft, blood-stained hand, "These are scars you'll not soon forget…never cross me again, my pet." She continued to caress his cheek and spoke again, in deadly, silken tones, "You're lucky I have need of your music and the joy I get from admiring and torturing your beautiful body, or you would likely be dead…" she placed a cold, heartless kiss upon his lips, "…never refuse me again…remember, you are still nothing but a slave."
Fighting the urge to regurgitate from the feel of her lips on his, he was hauled unceremoniously back to his cell and doused in putrid water. It was hours later before he was able to move and then the prison doctor came in and reset his fingers without regard to the extreme pain he was feeling. He treated the whip marks on his back and thighs before infection sat in, and then left without saying a word.
Today had started out no differently than any other day, drugs were administered and Erik was beaten, but before he could be escorted to the torture chamber, the chief of security for the palace, and Erik's one true friend, interrupted them and ordered him to be taken to the royal bath.
Kaveh tried to rouse the man to whom he owed his life, "Erik, you must gather your strength…you are a free man." Kaveh uttered while lifting Erik's head to give him some water.
Still under the influence of the strong elixir the Sultana had given him, Erik's eyes could not focus, and his mind was hazy. He tried to answer, but his tongue has swollen from the drugs and lack of water. Two large eunuchs lifted him to their shoulders and helped him to the bath.
The feel of the soothing water against his tortured skin and quiet music playing in the background lulled Erik to sleep as two harem girls bathed him under the watchful gaze of the eunuchs.
Erik would have been mortified had he known they were touching his body in any way, but he remained mercifully asleep and unaware of their gentle, kind touch and their admiring gaze.
Once he was clean, they wrapped him in a silk robe, had him delivered to the top-floor suite of the hotel, and left in the care of the two men who had obtained his freedom.
Kaveh accompanied Erik to the hotel and helped carry him into the suite, Edmond Pierpont and Walther Garnier visually examined him as he was carried into the room.
"He is seriously ill." Kaveh insisted. "He is in no shape to travel at this time."
Pierpont watched as they gently laid the imposing, injured man face down on the large, soft bed. The years of abuse were evident in the ashen color of his skin, the dark circles under his eyes, and the faded scars that covered many areas of his body; not to mention the fresh wounds that were puckered and irritated looking.
"He will get the proper care before we leave, it has already been arranged." Garnier stated, a sever sadness on his face.
Kaveh was not going to leave Erik's side. He owed Erik his life and that meant that he would follow him, anywhere; these men seemed concerned for Erik, and eager to serve him.
The doctor arrived within the hour; he was one of the best in modern medicine. He had studied in Switzerland and the Duke commissioned him to oversee Erik's health and welfare.
The examination took a couple of hours and when the doctor emerged from the room, his look was weary but hopeful.
"I have never seen such an inhumane case of abuse in all my years." He said. "His inner strength of character is tremendous and his will to live is the strongest I have ever seen."
Kaveh followed the doctor back into the area where Erik was resting. He had begun to fidget and murmur; and all that were present knew the worst was yet to come.
"There will be weeks of cravings, profuse sweating, general illness. He will demand to be given the drug and will probably become violent when it is not administered." The doctor instructed.
"This is through no fault of his; I want you to understand that." Kaveh stated. "She would have him tortured and then fill him with the drugs when he was unable to fight back."
They all nodded, showing their understanding of the situation. It was important to Kaveh that they know that Erik was an unwilling participant in the atrocities that were performed on him; he was not a drug addict by choice.
"I have a ship available for my personal use; compliments of the Sultana, she just does not know it yet. I am having the vessel prepared now and a room is being readied for Erik…I want to get him out of Persia tonight and his treatments can begin on the ship."
Kaveh knew he would never return to Persia, to do so would be certain death. He had defied the Sultana, commandeered a royal ship, and acquired a crew from his loyal men; he was now a criminal.
Edmond agreed, "We can take care of him there as well as anywhere and when we get to France, the Duke will see that he is properly cared for until he can assume his proper position. You are both under his protection."
"You may have to restrain him when the withdrawal symptoms become especially intense; which will occur within the next few hours." Dr. Zeigler stated.
All preparations were completed and the journey began. Kaveh did not look back as his country of birth disappeared into the horizen, his place was with Erik…no matter what.
ЖЖ
The sea was a worrisome mistress as the weeks progressed. The days and nights stretched on endlessly for Kaveh as he almost lost his best friend on several occasions.
In Erik's confusion and pain, he attempted suicide on several occasions and Kaveh found himself wrestling knives and other weapons away from him, often times in the wee hours of the morning. Often, it seemed as though the withdrawal symptoms were worse than the side effects and Kaveh could do nothing to ease the pain his adopted brother was in, no matter how hard he tried.
Seven weeks into the voyage, Erik managed to perch one eye open and examine his surroundings with a clear mind. His head was still swimming, but he felt better than he had in many, many months.
He spotted Kaveh standing near the window, peering out at whatever was there.
"Where am I?" He asked, hardly recognizing the strained sound coming from his throat.
Kaveh turned toward him and a smile slowly formed on his face. He came to stand by the bed and looked down at Erik with guarded concern.
"You're on my ship, my friend."
Erik wrinkled his brow and looked confused, unsure of what to believe.
"You don't have a ship." Erik stated with quiet humor.
Kaveh placed a friendly hand upon his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, feeling Erik stiffen beneath his touch.
"When you feel better, my friend, I will explain everything to you."
Darkness once again claimed him, and he slept for another two days. Then, he finally sat up and began to feel human – for the first time in a very long time.
ЖЖ
Kaveh had explained the situation to Erik, but his friend was reluctant to accept the life he was being offered. They sat at the table, eating some lunch.
They were three months into their journey and France would be on the horizon within the next few days.
"How did you convince the Sultana to let me go?" Erik asked.
"It's a matter of principle, Erik. You are the only remaining male heir to the Laroque Estate and the title of Marquis of Merlot." Kaveh relayed, "The Sultana cannot afford to disregard the request of the Duke…things are already a bit strained with Europe, it was in her best interest to release you."
Erik scowled at Kaveh; he was speculative, to say the least...freedom had been an unattainable dream for so long that he was sure he was being pulled into a trap.
"Why now?" Erik spat, completely at a loss. "I am more of an animal than a man."
Kaveh hung his head at the vehement words Erik used to describe himself.
"You are what you are because the world has made you this way…you have the power to be anyone and anything you desire to be." Kaveh stated. "Your dream of being an architect is within your grasp, Erik…many of the nobles have careers as well as being nobility."
Erik frowned and pulled his eyes from Kaveh, he was troubled of heart and Kaveh understood why; Erik knew nothing about being a nobleman, nor what was expected of him.
"You will be as successful at this as you are at everything you attempt, my friend…don't underestimate yourself."
Erik placed his hand on Kaveh's shoulder and gave it a strong, friendly squeeze, "You did not have to follow me, Kaveh…you could have had a life in Persia – now you are nothing more than a criminal."
"What! And let you have all the fun? Not a chance…" Kaveh teased.
His eyes took on a serious light before he continued, "…there was nothing there for me, the Sultana and her family have made a mockery out of the country that I love…I belong with the man who saved my life almost at the cost of his own." Kaveh stated.
Erik did not wish to dwell on events of the past…he did not feel that Kaveh owed him anything. He had happened to be in the right place, at the right time.
"I need to get out of this room, Kaveh…I wish to take my meal outside."
No one had been allowed into his room except Kaveh, and Erik was anxious to breathe the sea air and feel the sun on his skin. He stood on steady feet, dressed in casual breeches and a white shirt, and made his way to the deck.
He deeply breathed in the fresh air and, for the first time in months, smiled. He was drug free and hadn't felt this good in years. He placed his forearms on the rail of the ship and looked out over the horizon, knowing his fate awaited him.
Erik heard a man clear his throat and turned to see two men standing before him. They appeared nervous, but very respectful.
"My lord…" The shorter, stately one bestowed. "…I am Edmond Pierpont; personal assistant to Duke Beauvais in the Jenei Province in France. This man…" he indicated the taller man beside him, "…is my assistant, Walther Garnier."
The two men briefly took in the man before them. He had certainly cleaned up well and there was no sign of addiction left in his keen, sea-green eyes. The intense intelligence they sensed in him was disturbingly intimidating, but not nearly as much as the man himself was.
"What makes you so sure that I am this long lost lord of yours?" Erik asked, unaware of their apprehension, "Mr. Hushmand has informed me of your intentions…how can you be sure that I am the one you seek?"
"If his lordship will allow me, I will be more than happy to tell him what I know." Edmond stated, with a respectful bow.
Erik was not used to such respect from men who did not know of the things he was capable of doing; he certainly was not used to being called "my lord" and found it slightly disturbing.
He indicated for them to sit down and then trained his sharp eyes on them,
"Proceed."
ЖЖ
The train was even more harrowing than the ship had been. Erik detested not being able to plant his feet on solid ground. He was lying on his bed in their cabin, trying to get some much needed rest and fighting the urge to be sick.
What was he to do? His life had turned upside down; most would say for the better, but Erik had his doubts.
His "name" was in need of saving; at first, it had seemed rather humorous to him; his "name" meant nothing to him…he hadn't even known his name until he was halfway to France.
Erik Rameau Laroque. It seemed foreign to him, but vaguely familiar. He was expected to restore the glory of the Laroque family, a glory his father had squandered away and destroyed with his greed and debauched lifestyle.
For twenty-four years, Erik had believed himself an orphan…left to die at birth because of his hideous features; but that was not the case. He had a father, a father with whom he was at war.
Edmond and Walther were not forthcoming with news about his birth and early childhood; Erik was certain they knew more than they were saying, but he chose to let it pass – for now.
"He told you nothing of your birth?" Kaveh asked.
Erik shook his head and stared into the moving horizon. The train ride was almost over and they would soon catch a royal carriage to the Duke's estate.
"He says he knows nothing…but I suspect that is not entirely the truth."
Kaveh sighed and hung his head. The despair he heard in Erik's voice was not new to him. He desired to know why he had been born with the deformity; what had caused it…but he still knew nothing.
"Perhaps your family records or the estate will hold the answers." Kaveh voiced.
"Yes; or the Duke himself." Erik mumbled.
Erik turned from him and began gathering their things. They would be getting off at the next stop.
Erik kept looking at the passing landscape, remembering how he had watched it grow smaller and smaller from the back of a merchant ship he had stowed away on fourteen years ago…he had thought he was never to see the gypsies or his beloved France again.
Well, things had certainly changed.
TBC