52
Fergus made his presence known to the company the next day, and then went up to box five. Erik was seated there, in the shadow of the curtain.
"There is some tea, if you wish it."
"You were so certain I would come?"
"No, but I expected it." Erik's hands were still gloved, a fact that struck Fergus as odd. "Tell me, what did Katrina say to you of us?"
"Next to nothing." Fergus admitted, feeling that he might have the disadvantage. He began pouring himself a cup of tea, putting the cream and sugar in first. "I suppose she told you all about us."
"I am the only father she has ever known. She tells me everything. But that answers what I need. Let us get the unpleasantness over with." With that, he leaned free of the shadow, showing his shriveled face, yellow skin and sunken eyes in the clear light.
Fergus' body convulsed in shock, and he barely kept his cup and saucer from falling. His face faded to white, and then flushed. "See here, what trick are you trying to play?"
"No trick, no folly. I am Erik Lefevre, and I was born this way. Ah, suddenly think yourself lucky, do you? Well, you are. You have a family that cares for you; I have not always had that advantage."
Jamison leant a little forward, entranced now that the fright was over. He watched closely as Erik removed his gloves, revealing the over slender shape contrasted by the overlarge knuckles and joints. The man was a walking scarecrow, and yet seemed to have no trouble using that fact to his advantage.
"The little girl, she was your daughter?"
"She is my child, yes."
"Have you other children?"
"Five altogether, perhaps there will be others."
"You have let nothing limit you," Fergus observed, feeling both envious and troubled. Erik tapped his fingers in his knee.
"Let me hold up a mirror to you, Monsieur. You see yourself in me, but to a greater degree. You have the privilege of walking among men, and though they may stare, they do however understand scars. Katrina tells me it was in a noble cause, which cannot hurt their opinion of you. She also says you have a gift for writing, but have never attempted to publish. Why, if not guilt and shame? Your own dark obsession is growing, as mine did. It does not end well, and my advice to grow a strong spine and step away from yourself."
"A pretty speech, but you have not left the opera. How are you so different that you can condemn me?"
"Is not that question a condemnation?" Erik's voice grew dangerous, and the eyes flashed. "I have allowed blood to come between me and life away from these walls. I can no longer rest secure in any place but this, and it is the price I pay for my pride. My wife bears it for my sake and the sake of the children. I know where such paths lead, and am qualified to warn you away from eventual madness. Ah, yes, I was a madman as well, the sane kind. Do you not fear the same at night when all is silent and you are left with your own thoughts? Your sister gave up her life because she loved you, do not waste that gift. Write your books, sell them, show your soul, and one day it will be whole."
"And how do you know this?"
"Katrina came during my darkest hours, and saw nothing to fear. She looked upon me as her hope, she loved and awoke every morning certain that things would only improve. Those eyes have ever gazed with that clear, simple expression; has ever sought the creature beyond sight. You ask how I know, how I changed. With Katrina near, how could I not?"
Fergus set the cup down shakily. "Yes, she has a distinct effect on those around her. I can but imagine that it was strong in her childhood."
"It is wiser to the world, but she cannot become a part of the shadow that covers her. She never will. The eyes have always seen the same way. They always will."
"You think to save me, Erik?" Fergus smirked, and forced himself to lean back as if relaxing.
The Phantom smiled, jolting the other afresh. "I think you would like me to try."
They met every day during rehearsals. In truth, Fergus did want saving, very badly.
There is a great difference in suspecting you are becoming a monster, and being told so. There is a great difference in thinking you can save the world and being told so. There is a great difference in believing you can leave behind an immortal legacy and being told so.
Affirmation is a powerful tool, and Erik used it liberally. Having never attempted to aid a fellow human being struggling with depression, pain, the burden of past sins, he found it an uncomfortable experience. More often than not he would walk back to the house on the lake cursing himself for his insensitive bluntness.
And yet, Fergus responded to the verbal beatings. Minerva had saved him with kindness, but the time for softness had passed. He needed to be challenged, mocked, judged and cursed even.
His sister, nephew and niece noted the changes in him, but said nothing. If he smiled more, they were grateful. If he joked oftener, they were glad. If he seemed happier, they encouraged it.
The time for the Masquerade was again upon Paris, and with it, the acknowledgement that the Jamisons would be returning to their home on the shore. Fergus would, however, continue as producer and agreed to aid in writing the libretto to Erik's new opera.
Minerva and the young ones had been introduced to Erik's home and family. Somehow, they found the camaraderie agreeable, and Helen insisted they write often. "It's no use resisting, Minnie," she said cheerfully as the little ones rolled on the floor with Tomino. "I shall find you wherever you hide!"
Jean and Sophie Lefevre unofficially adopted Fergus and Minerva as their own, offering their own home to visit on holidays and vacations. "Paris is only good as Paris," they observed, to the amusement of Helen.
At the beginning of the New Year, they bid fond adieus, and walked to their respective homes with restful hearts.
Minerva's letter six months later that she was engaged was well received. The children would go with her back to England under a new name. Her husband had agreed to adopt them in order to keep them safe from discovery by enemies of their mother.
Andre wrote that he and Shelly were expecting their first child, and wished for Stephan to be godfather. "The poor thing," Erik muttered when he heard, earning him a jab from Anne, who insisted that wasn't nice.
Fergus had completed the libretto and sent a draft for Erik to look at. He had, he said, found a gifted pianist who could manage to play enough of the music to aid him in the timing. A few months letter, he wrote a letter to Jean and Sophie asking if he could bring the pianist to meet them. "The country air would do her good," he offered, as if that would explain it.
Katrina only smiled and shook her head. Erik had been sharing the news from his parents' letter over the fire. He eyed her thoughtfully. "You have often been the cause of people's happiness. I pray that you will one day be given happiness."
"You think I'm not happy?" She seemed surprised.
"No, I know you are. We are first loves after all, aren't we?"
"Oh, always, Uncle Erik. Always."