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)
Kaveh Hushmand – Oded Fehr – (The Mummy, The Mummy Returns) Thanks Mlle.Fox!
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 22
They all entered the small house, half-expecting incense to be burning and a fortuneteller to be sitting in the small living room telling fortunes and selling lies.
Erik's senses were on edge as he looked around the humble residence. He closed his eyes and breathed in the strange combination of aromas that bombarded him: cedar, pine, candles, lavender, and the heavenly aroma of fresh baked bread.
He remembered each one with fondness, but had no idea why.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable." The older woman stated.
Sergei and Kaveh both sat down on the divan she indicated; Christine sat down on a settee, leaving room for Erik.
Erik, however, remained standing. The woman turned her eyes to him and once again smiled warmly. The smile eased his nerves only slightly, but it was enough.
"My name is Elizabeth Warner; I have been a nurse and friend to Manuela for many years. I was recently able to talk her into buying this small house as a residence instead of remaining in the camp…there were just too many memories..."
Erik stood as still as a marble statue, barely hearing anything she was saying. His focus was on a picture over the fireplace.
The face he studied was angled and proportioned in the same way his was, and the black eyes had the same shape and depth as his did. Her dark curls fell about her shoulders in the manner of black fleece. She was stunning.
The picture had to be of his mother.
Christine stood beside him as he studied the face that seemed so familiar to him; and yet, he had never beheld it. She took his strong hand in hers and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze, assuring him of her love.
"She was beautiful…like her mother." Elizabeth whispered, as she came to stand beside the young couple.
In the shadows of the adjoining room, dark, aged eyes followed his every move, taking in his regal stance and straight, broad back. He carried himself like the prince he was – or, the prince he should have been.
Erik sensed her before he saw her and his innate instinct forced his eyes to search the shadows.
Her small frame became visible to his trained eyes and he turned toward the shadow that concealed her from the others.
Manuela locked her eyes with his and moved toward him with a sure step, her eyes never leaving his.
Her voice filled the room, full and strong, despite her age.
"You are her very image, except for the green of your eyes." Manuela affirmed.
Erik swiftly moved to stand before her, towering over her small frame. He looked down into her strong, wearied features and knew she was who she claimed to be. The love that he witnessed, nestled in the black onyx of her eyes was as powerful as the love he knew Christine now held for him.
"Come here boy, so I can get a good look at you." She ordered in a wavering, but motherly tone.
Erik moved closer and she continued to stare up at him, "You are a tall one, aren't you?"
She indicated for him to sit down at the dining room table, which he did, and she turned to him. Erik saw the shimmering, silent tears she held back and his heart ached for all the wasted years.
He saw deep pain in her eyes, a pain that mirrored his own – only her pain seemed much more acute than his was; and he experienced, possibly for the first time since Kaveh's wife had died, compassion for the pain of another.
Manuela delicately reached for the mask that covered half of his face from her searching eyes. Erik did not attempt to stop her as she removed it and placed it on the table beside her.
Her aged hand caressed the scars that covered his right cheek and extended up the side of his face toward his forehead.
Manuela's eyes drifted from his for a moment as she remembered the beautiful face of her only daughter. The last memory of that face had been while the lifeblood flowed from Jenica. She remembered the small, equally beautiful face of the son her daughter had wanted so badly...that face still existed beneath and around the scars that formed.
She once again moved her gaze to Erik and bent to place a kiss upon his forehead. He watched as she shuffled past him and into the next room, to greet the other guests.
"Erik, come and introduce me to those with whom you travel."
Erik retrieved his mask and followed his grandmother's tiny form into the parlor.
Manuela immediately noticed Christine and her gaze turned inquiring. Erik stood beside her and did as he she asked.
"Grand-mère, I believe you are already acquainted with Duke Sergei Beauvais, a dear friend who is much like a father to me."
Sergei raised her wrinkled hand to his lips and placed a kiss upon it. Her smile was radiant as she bowed her head to him.
"The dark one is my true and loyal friend, Kaveh Hushmand. He helped me in Persia on several occasions and then helped me to leave; I owe him my life."
Manuela allowed tears to flow from her wise eyes as she reached up to Kaveh's handsome face.
"I owe you a life debt – for saving my grandson."
"He failed to mention that he saved my life on several occasions also." Kaveh said, smiling at the old woman.
Manuela patted his hand and then fixed her eyes on Christine, once again.
"Grand-mère, this is my wife, the Marchioness Christine Ana Delancy Laroque."
"Wife." Manuela repeated in a whisper, while a smile spread across her face.
Christine curtsied at the small woman who stood regally before her. Manuela's eyes held such pain, but the tenderness with which she regarded her sent warmth through Christine like a fire in the hearth on Christmas morning.
Manuela drew Christine into her strong embrace and then seated herself beside her, leaving Erik to sit in the chair across from them.
"You have the coloring of a gypsy, my child." Manuela stated, still gazing at Christine's dark eyes and hair. "You are strong of bone and heart…you will have many strong, healthy children."
Christine smiled broadly, loving this tiny woman instantly.
"Do you love my grandson?"
Christine raised her eyes once more, to look into the concerned eyes of Erik's grand-mère.
"I love him with a passion I never knew existed." Christine assured her.
Manuela seemed content with that answer and turned her head to Erik. She noticed him looking at Christine with desire in his eyes, and the evidence of his love convinced her that he was happy, indeed.
"Love is essential in a marriage…I loved Drakkar with every beat of my heart – and have not loved since."
"My grand-père?" Erik asked in a whisper.
Manuela smiled and nodded with tears filling her eyes.
"You remind me of him…your mother was the apple of his eye…" She caressed his face with her eyes. "…she looked like him, and you look like her."
"What happened, Grand-mère …please tell me why I am the way I am." Erik finally asked.
Her eyes once again drifted into an unknown realm – one that Erik could not enter, except by her words…
FLASHBACK
Somewhere in France, early 1835
Jenica Covaciu was the most stunning young woman within many of the camps. She was a gifted musician and dancer, and people came from miles to see her perform.
Manuela, her mother, kept a watchful eye on her only daughter; as did her father – Drakkar, the king of the gypsies; her three older brothers acted as body guards on most occasions, but those who would court her were few.
She was the princess; and every eligible male in the camp, as well as many outside of it, desired marriage with her – but none would wed her without her fathers consent; and Drakkar would not allow her to see anyone – she was only sixteen.
One night, a group of gorgios entered the camp, eager to gamble their money away on wine, women, fortunetelling, cards and other games – whatever they could find. The group was lead by a nobleman named Pascal Laroque.
He was known throughout the region for his safaris and excursions. He had extravagant taste and wasted a great deal of money everywhere he went. However, many made the mistake of thinking him a harmless man.
He was also quite the lady's man, and he had his pick of women wherever he went. He had left a trail of broken hearts behind him, and wasn't looking to commit to anyone.
When he and his men stumbled into the Covaciu camp, no one paid much attention to him, accept to take his money; that is, until he saw Jenica dance.
He became obsessed with her and he returned every night of the carnival just to watch her. His persistence worried her and she became suspicious of his intentions.
Her three older brothers watched her closely and kept her protected from this man whose eyes held contempt and lust where she was concerned. She was kept under constant vigil.
Pascal was enraged when he was not allowed to be near the girl in any way. He didn't care that gorgios were not acceptable suitors for gypsy girls – he wasn't wanting to court her – he wanted to bed her.
His infatuation turned to obsession and he exercised his noble authority upon a group of thugs with whom he had shady dealings.
He had Jenica kidnapped, right out from underneath the watchful eyes of her older brothers. Once her absence was discovered, Manuela became inconsolable and Drakkar was frantic.
It took Drakkar, several other men of the camp, and Drakkar's three sons two weeks to find her. By the time they found her, he had bound and raped her – who knows how many times.
Pascal was hunted down and brought before the camp – his men were dispersed and told to never return.
Drakkar was livid and the camp was enraged at the dishonorable and violent way their princess had been violated. Normally, a marriage between a gypsy – especially a member of the noble family – and a gorgio was forbidden, but the only way to keep Jenica from being shamed any more than she already had been, was for them to marry.
He protested at first, swearing that to marry a witch was unacceptable; but heated words were exchanged and threatening promises were made, so Pascal accepted the responsibility of his actions.
At first, all seemed well…Pascal seemed content with his new wife and he settled into life with the camp – but he needed to return to his estate. He had been gone for several months and he needed to check on things.
As the months passed, it seemed that Jenica was petrified of her new husband, and no one knew what to do about it. The fear in her eyes every time he entered the room or called her name was quite palpable…but everyone just assumed she was overreacting.
When he left with her, she was about six months pregnant. She had seldom left the camp and was very unfamiliar with any other way of life. To those on the outside looking in, the couple appeared to be happy.
Pascal and Jenica bid a fond farewell, promising to return before the baby was due. No one noticed the look of disdain that settled on Pascal's face or the hatred burning in his green eyes.
In the darkest, deepest part of the night, three months later, Jenica frantically returned to the camp stating that she had left Pascal in the carriage. While attempting to cross the river, a wheel had come off and the carriage had plummeted into the flowing water.
Pascal had been jerked around and he had hit his head. The impact had knocked him unconscious. Jenica fled on foot, knowing she was not but a mile from camp.
Upon reaching the camp, she stumbled toward her mother's tent – knowing that her precious child was only moments away from entering the world.
Her husbands threatening words still echoed in her mind; he had threatened to cut the baby from her womb and slice it to pieces – simply because the child was part gypsy. He despised her people and the blood that now polluted his child. He had never wanted marriage to begin with and a child would only complicate matters.
Manuela arose to catch her daughter's exhausted body as labor befell her in great waves. Jenica chronicled the tale of her husband's abuse to her mother and all that she had endured over the last few months.
Through her agonized tale, her anticipated baby made his way into the world. Although exhausted from the delivery, Jenica cradled her newborn in her arms, nestling him to her breast as he drank from her; it was love at first sight and she cherished the child deeply.
The infant was exceptional and Jenica could not take her eyes from him. Mounds of black hair spilled over his head, dark lashes fluttered over the deepest green eyes – the one aspect of Pascal that she could still say she admired - he was beautiful.
A small birthmark adorned his right cheek – a mark the gypsies saw as a sign of his future prominence and the great successes he would accomplish. He was a prince among the gypsies and his birth was to be celebrated.
While the celebration forged on, Manuela went to the river to fetch some water to clean up her grandson and her daughter. Had she known what would ensue, she would have never left.
Pascal had been waiting in the darkness for the first sign of his child's birth. He had decided to try to raise the child on his own – away from the tainted ways of the witch that bore it.
While Manuela was away and the others were out looking for him, Pascal snuck toward the tent he knew Jenica had gone into.
She was nursing her son and was not aware of the evil that had just reigned down upon her; his voice pierced the happiness that had settled in her heart.
"Give it to me…no child of mine will be raised by witches!" Pascal seethed.
Jenica could bring no scream to her throat as panic filled her. She held the infant to her breast and tried to shield him from his malevolent father.
Pascal would have none of it as he violently tore the baby from his mother's protective hold.
"NO!!!" Jenica finally screamed. "Pascal! Give him to me…Erik!!!"
Pascal's eyes rested on the birthmark and blatant disgust overtook his features. He literally threw the child back into the arms of his mother, demanding that she remove the mark by divination.
"You are all witches!" Pascal screamed. "Make him perfect!"
Jenica did not respond but backed away from her monstrous husband.
Pascal was enraged. He advanced on her again, and wrenched the screaming infant from her arms.
Jenica reached for her son one last time before Pascal drew his sword and ran her through.
"No son of mine will be raised by witches!" he spat.
Manuela headed back to her tent and, upon hearing the angry voices and her daughter's tortured scream; she ran inside and witnessed a horrifying site.
Jenica writhed in pain on the floor of the tent and Pascal loomed over her with Erik in his arms. He had unsheathed his knife and was cutting the mark out of the cheek of his son; completely unaffected by the piercing screams.
Manuela charged forward, trying to stop the butchery she was witnessing; but from out of nowhere, two of Pascal's men held her back.
His carnage continued until he had completely obliterated the baby's cheek and had torn the flesh from the right side of the infant's face.
When he was finished, he savagely placed the lethargic baby back in the dying arms of his mother.
"A witches monster – how fitting." Pascal spewed at his wife.
He twitched his head at his brutish men and they fled into the night.
Manuela knelt down at her daughter's bleeding form and held her head in her lap as Jenica bid her life farewell.
Jenica shed every tear she had for the son she would never see grow up – she smoothed his bloodied hair from his ravaged and mauled face, and pulled him against her breast.
With the last ounce of strength she possessed, she handed him over to her mother and with her dying breath thanked God for the chance to have held her son, if only for a moment.
"Tell him I loved him, Mama…tell Erik I loved him…"
Weeks past and Manuela nursed the baby back to health while mourning the loss of her only daughter; the joy of having Erik in her life helped ease the emptiness that Jenica had left behind.
The camp was planning an attack on the Laroque Estate to seek revenge for the death of Jenica and the inhumane treatment of Erik.
Little did they know that Pascal had already gathered a small army of a rival gypsy camp and men of his own.
The attack happened in the wee hours of the morning, six weeks after the brutal murder of Jenica.
Manuela awakened to find Pascal and several men from the feuding camp in her tent; her husband was nowhere to be found.
"My husband will return shortly." Manuela stated, hoping to warn them off.
"I think not, Manuela."
She looked up into the loathing, lusting eyes of her former fiancé, Javert. He was from a neighboring camp and he had never forgiven her for choosing Drakkar over him.
"Javert…what are you doing?" Manuela pleaded.
Javert's evil smile made her skin crawl and his snarling voice turned her blood cold, "I told you I would make you sorry for denying me…"
Several burly men entered the tent and threw Drakkar's bloody body and the bodies of her three sons at her feet…she collapsed on them in tears.
"The monster rests there – take it, just as I promised you…it will surely bring you a great deal of money." Pascal stated as he pointed to the crib.
"NO!!" Manuela started toward Erik, only to be knocked to the ground by a strong fist.
Pascal's sinister laugh was the last thing she heard.
When Manuela roused from the hard hit she had sustained, almost her entire camp had been slaughtered – and Erik was gone.
END FLASHBACK
Erik saw the tears flow down her face and engulfed the woman in his tender embrace; trying desperately to rid her mind of all the tragedy she had endured.
His tears mingled with hers as he at last came to terms with why his face was severely scarred and his gypsy master had despised him so.
Her entire family had been wiped out in a single night; and the murderer was his father and his men. Pascal had murdered his mother, his uncles, his grandfather, and many others that night. Thankfully, his grandmother had been spared.
Manuela pulled out of Erik's embrace and stared into his eyes. She saw the eyes of her daughter, despite their color, and smiled genuinely at him.
"He spared you, thinking Javert would kill you in a short time – apparently, he found other uses for you." Manuela stated with a sad smile.
Erik dropped his eyes and trembled slightly from the reality of it all.
"He made me into a freak for his traveling show…I was his biggest attraction – The Devil's Child."
Erik's voice was low and controlled, but anger and pain lingered in the undertones.
"I don't remember much before the age of four…but after that all I knew was jeering eyes, the crack of a whip, the blunt edge of a rod, screaming…"
His face became a blank slate and the coloring drained from his flesh. Images – horrible, humiliating images crowded his mind. Images he had fought to keep buried for years – images that had been replaced by another time and another place – thousands of miles away.
"They violated me in the most degrading way…" Erik felt his stomach wretch at the memory…the pain had been excruciating.
Erik ran from the room and spilled the contents of his stomach into the lavatory. A tormented wail came from deep within him as he faced the reality of his treatment at the hands of his gypsy cousins.
Christine could bare it no longer and ran to him. She found him in a heap on the floor as he faced memories he had so long dismissed and ignored.
She sat down beside him and pulled him into her arms, resting his head across her lap. She played her fingers through his thick hair and allowed his tears to cleanse his parched soul.
"They raped me, Christine…numerous times..." his voice was soft and broken – like a child whose will had been extricated from him in the vilest of ways. "…mostly with objects…"
He went silent for a few moments and then he raised his head to her breast and wrapped his arms around her waist.
"I've never known such pain…everything after that was like child's play."
Kaveh, Sergei, and Manuela watched and listened from the door. Manuela could not stop the tears that flowed for the anguish her grandson had endured.
Erik was suddenly very exhausted and wanted nothing more than to lie in his wife's arms and rest.
Manuela watched the tenderness shared by the two young lovers and smiled her approval; Erik had found his soul mate, and life was going to be good. She moved forward and bent her small frame to sweep her hand through Erik's dark hair.
"Take him to bed, Christine….make him forget."
Christine smiled at the woman who was now her grandmother and nodded at her.
"Come Erik, let's get you to bed."
Erik lifted his head from her neck and then stood up. He looked down at the small, yet strong form of his grandmother and meant her eyes with pride.
"He's dead, Grand-mère…Javert is dead by my own hand..." Erik stated with little remorse, "…I strangled him."
"Pascal?" Manuela asked.
"He is serving at the penal monastery in the Alps – for crimes committed while he resided with me…he will never be a free man."
Manuela smiled her approval and cupped his chin her hand, drawing him down to her level.
"Let the rest go, my love…you need peace – as do I."
She placed a gentle kiss to the scars on his face and lingered her cheek on his for a brief moment before letting him go.
"She loved you, Erik…more than life itself."
The whispered words made his heart sore with the eagles. He belonged. He never realized how much he longed for that until this very moment.
She pulled from him and wiped the tears from his face with her soft, weathered hands.
Erik took Christine's hand and allowed her to lead him to the bedroom where the solace he sought could only be found in her arms.
TBC