Chap 22:

The landscape in Luxembourg was like a painting taken from a fairy tale. Ripe with lush forests and picturesque views, it was dotted with hamlets and enough medieval castles to entice the imagination. In this land where magic and mystery remained largely hidden in the pristine fields and dark forests, it seemed fitting to Erik to grace the grand tree standing before him with a name: The Tower. It was a simple name; direct, yet respectful. It was a handsome, contorted old man with many branches that stuck out from the angular trunk like the stairs of a spiral staircase. Being the tallest tree on the windy bluff overlooking the manor fields, he was sure the view from the uppermost branches would be glorious. Erik, his body now fully healed, stood at the base of the tall tree and looked up into the canopy. He had been preparing quite some time for this endeavor.

He stepped to one side and threw up a rope around the first branch that was out of his reach. He looped one end through a metal ring that was attached to a harness strapped on his torso and swiftly tied a knot. He was in awe of the way he wielded a rope; it was as if it was an extension of his own arm. A trick from his still largely hidden past, he had surmised. He pulled himself up with the rope, walking up the trunk with little effort until he straddled the first large branch.

"Only about thirty more of these to go. This will be a good journey," he whispered to himself with a smirk. "You are not one to shy away from something that seems unreachable, are you, Erik?"

He threw the gathered rope with ease up to the next branch out of reach, his balance like that of an acrobat. As he worked his way up the Tower, he breathed deeply with the effort, perspiration eventually bathing his face. He enjoyed the stretching and slight aches his muscles released; the physical exertion made him feel alive again. The aching in his left arm and right leg were greater, but he favored those once damaged bones only a little. He believed that the strenuous movements of this expedition would fortify those limbs to equal the great strength in his other extremities. As he climbed up the tree with stealth reminiscent of a large cat, he reflected on the last two months, his blessed time of recovery at Capellen manor.

It had been a time of relative peace for Erik's injured mind. As Dr. Dyson had suggested, he did not actively try to remember his past. The good doctor had given him a tonic to take at night to make his sleep dreamless, but restful. At times he actually resisted his memories, so that he could concentrate on the present. He felt empowered by the rapid progress of his recovery. Over two months, he had settled down to a routine of trips around the manor, composing at the piano, good meals, and visits with Dr. Dyson, Nate, Roland, and Elaine. He felt very at peace; like a man reborn.

As the weeks flew by, Erik had regained his strength and the ability to move around the manor. He was emphatically urged to make himself feel at home. The more people he encountered, however, he ended up experiencing more of what he had expected. The servants and workers were never intentionally rude, but some gawked at him when they first saw him, and a few seemed to remain downright uncomfortable in his presence. He was painfully aware of the talk of the 'deformed man' that was staying at the manor house. Some of the women, not knowing how to really react, used to usher their children away from him, swatting their bottoms or covering their mouths when the innocent little minds queried about his face. Even in the sweet, accepting world of Capellen, he still experienced the pain of being different to a degree.

Other than that, he was largely accepted by the people who lived on the lands of the manor, thanks to Nate. In the beginning, he followed Nate around, learning his routine at managing the lands. At first, Erik helped Nate with the arduous paperwork of keeping the manor running, eventually taking over that task entirely, much to Nate's relief. He was certain that the rest of the world was not as accepting, and would not be that kind to him. He was also certain, from the memories he had recalled, that he used to exist in a living hell.

Perched precariously near the top of the Tower, Erik climbed up to the highest branch that he believed would hold his weight. He looked down, marveling at the fact that the intimidating height had no effect on him. It was as if he was accustomed to looking down from on high, tucked into unsafe places. He turned his eyes to the view, which was astounding. The wind blew with great force up there, a place where only the birds and the clouds have had the pleasure to see the beauty vistas before. The natural music was louder here. He sat quietly listening, nestled in the pipes if its organ. He held his breath as he noted the multicolored fading hills as far as he could see, the fields of Capellen shining like facets of jeweled green seas.

Erik retrieved his journal from his bag and a canteen with some water. He was hot, dirty and had scrapes all over his exposed skin; his clothing was ruined. The feeling of accomplishment was deeply fulfilling. He flipped through his journal, now overflowing with notes, calculations, sketches, and music. He came upon the first sketch he had drawn of Elaine. His first few days at Capellen seemed like an eternity ago. Even then, he had adored her, but his feelings then were but a fraction of how he felt for her now. Her eyes stared at him from the page. He sighed gently, remembering their interactions with a mild ache in his chest, his finger tracing her face.

Elaine usually met with him in the afternoons for tea or dinner. They discussed all matter of topics as they took rides in the carriage, then walks once he was able. She was intelligent and delightful, both playful and serious. Even though he tried to maintain a careful emotional distance, he and Elaine had grown more fond of each other each week that passed. They lied to each other, commenting on how close they were becoming 'as friends'.

Against his better judgment, Erik could not bear to deny himself the pleasure of the physical contact she so freely bestowed. She was constantly making the excuse to him that she was just affectionate; but even Nate remarked that he did not see her act towards others the way she was around Erik. Nate was far too observant sometimes.

Their closeness posed problems for him. Every touch burned like hot wax, and her presence made his soul ache. Certain ways that she looked at him, and moved around him made his body burn for her until his head spun, and made him believe he could take no more. Through it all, he maintained his composure, returning her affections as far as he could without betraying his inner feelings.

His heart was longing for her, the physical attraction just a byproduct of how deeply in love he was falling. It was painful on many levels, but pain that he bore gladly. He confessed to himself; he was just a lovesick fool who would follow on this woman's heels to the ends of the earth. There were many things stopping him, the greatest being that he desperately wanted to know more about his past before even thinking of becoming involved romantically with Elaine. As the days went by, he was convinced she was an angel and was afraid that one day she would disappear from his view, and go back to her heavenly abode in the white billows of the sky.

He smiled widely to himself as he remembered the occasion she had removed his arm splint for the last time. What a great day that was. Elaine had walked into his room in the manor house with a grin early that morning.

"I came to free you, my dear Erik," she proclaimed with a smile. He looked back at her from the table on which he had his books, sketches and paintings laid out. All other exposed surfaces of furniture in the room were covered in staff paper. He returned a pleased but questioning look.

"Now how do you intend to free someone who is not imprisoned?" He retorted.

She motioned for him to come to sit next to her, which he did, moving over to the bed with the assistance of a cane.

"Let me show you." she said, looking at him with mischievous delight.

For a second his heart jumped into his throat at the mere thought of Elaine setting him free in the context of a bed. He swiftly put the perfect image out of his head, but not before she had seen his expression and laughed playfully at it. The flirtation could be cruel at times. After he sat on the bed, she took his arm gently and started to take the wrappings off his splint.

"It is time for these to come off for good this time. The bones should be healed by now." Slowly she removed the splint, revealing a slightly withered left arm. She was not surprised at how it appeared, but he seemed dismayed. She comforted him immediately.

"Do not worry Erik, in no time you will build up the muscles again." With gentle but firm hands, she scratched the itchy skin lightly and massaged the unused muscles. Feeling along the bones for alignment and the formation of the healing calluses, she was happy to find the bones straight and strong. He started to flex the hand for the first time in weeks.

"It hurts a little but it feels so good to move." He winced slightly but continued to move his fingers and wrist on his left hand. He looked beyond her to the mirror yet again. His face grew a little sad, in seeing his appearance in stark contrast to her beauty.

She followed his eyes to the mirror and looked back at him.

"I still don't know how you can look at me." he said softly, casting his eyes down.

"Erik, I have grown accustomed to your face. I suggest you do the same." She smiled and held the scarred side of his face gently with a warm, soft hand. He paused for a second, closing his eyes to drink in her touch.

He reached his hand up to cover hers, and their fingers entwined. Out of pure desire, he slid her hand over to his mouth and planted a few kisses in her palm. He opened his eyes to find her mouth opened slightly, her face wonderfully flushed and her soft eyes upon him. He could feel her pulse quicken under his lips as he kissed her wrist. With that, she let out a little sigh and shuddered slightly, her chest rising.

"Thank you, Elaine." He said, wanting to do so much more, but stopping, with whatever will he could muster.

"You are very welcome." She said breathlessly, allowing her hand to move slowly away from his face, but still attached to his hand. They sat there staring into each other's eyes, sensing for the first time how mutual the feelings were. She broke the spell with a smile.

"Oh, Erik, you almost made me forget! I have a surprise for you." As she walked swiftly from the room he breathed deeply and shook his head. She returned a few seconds later carrying a violin case. Erik beamed, his eyes widening as Elaine opened the case and pulled out a handsome violin and bow, a Stradivarius. "You must ease into playing it, though. Your muscles will not be ready for a symphony just yet."

He stroked the smooth wood and plucked at the strings, painfully moving his fingers into the positions he would use to play. He drew the bow across the strings, producing a beautiful sound. He then put the instrument down, back in the case and turned to her, his face grateful.

"I don't know what to say," he said. Erik stood up and Elaine approached him, putting her arms around him as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

"You are welcome, Erik. Promise me you will play me a lovely song one day, once you are able." He nodded, with a wide smile. She laid her head on his shoulder and listened to his heartbeat as her hands stroked his back, melting into him.

"Of course I will. Every day," he said, resting his head against her soft hair, breathing her subtle scent in. His arms held her close, his hands feeling the warmth of her skin just underneath the delicate material of her dress. They held each other for several minutes, each not wanting to let go of the other. His lips found her forehead, and he kissed her gently. The moment was intense, yet innocent.

She heard someone call her name out side of the room and she jumped back, breaking the contact they had established. She walked out the room silently; looking back only to smile. Erik flew high on that interaction for days.

Back in the tree, Erik closed his journal and put the book away, his face becoming as serious as the thoughts within his head.

I am better now, am I not? Dr Dyson did say, I was free to stay until I am better. I think my time in heaven may have to come to an end. I should leave, and seek out my past, what I was and where I lived. I doubt much could be better than this place, however. I should go, but I don't really want to. I will have to approach Dr. Dyson on this matter. I would hate to have him think I was taking advantage of his generosity. I will be sad to leave Capellen, but it is Elaine that I will miss something fierce.

Erik climbed swiftly down the tree, his speed aided by the rope he had attached securely to a high bough, left to hang down to about five feet off the ground. After he jumped down the last few feet, he walked over to the black stallion that awaited him. The horse greeted him with a soft nuzzle. He returned the affectionate gesture, stroking the strong face and patting the neck of his old friend, Caesar. Mounting the horse, he rode back down the path to the manor house slowly, thinking how best to approach this topic with Dr. Dyson.

In the manor house, Dr.Dyson stood in the window of his office, staring over the fields of Capellen. He looked down at a rather large letter that he had received via messenger earlier that day. It was addressed to him in unfamiliar writing:

"For the Eyes of Dr. Conrad Dyson ONLY. Confidential"

He ripped it open only to reveal multiple handwritten pages in Angelique's distinctively flamboyant cursive. He sat in his chair and started to read:

My Dearest Dr. Dyson,

I hope my correspondence finds you well. If anyone else is reading this letter with you, including my dear friend Elaine, please cease and embark upon reading it at a later time when you are alone.

At that line, Dr. Dyson became troubled; it was unlike Angelique to keep secrets from her best friend.

That said, I will begin. I write to inform you that since I left Capellen several weeks ago, I have launched a private investigation as to the origins of dear Erik, your border. My facts are not yet complete, however the information I have gleaned has caused me great concern for your wellbeing and the safety of the manor house and its inhabitants. I will now detail the facts as I have discovered them, so that you may form your own opinion.

I had taken a sample of Erik's composition, largely because I recognized the music. I had heard the music before, at the Opera Populaire, on the day of the great disaster. I wanted to find out where it came from, for even Erik was unsure if it was his composition or if he was simply just remembering the work of another.

I assumed that I would find my answers at the Opera Populaire. I had been there the day the chandelier fell, but due to a great stroke of luck, I was in the lobby with my husband when it happened. He did not want to hear more of the music he called "rubbish" and he insisted upon leaving shortly after the overture. I was upset at leaving because I found the music intriguing. I must admit, I thank my late husband for possibly saving my life that day by making us leave so abruptly.

I took the music to my connection, Monsieur Reyer, the conductor of the now destroyed opera house. He was my instructor when I learned to sing in the conservatory, but I digress. Once I showed him the page of the manuscript, he immediately collapsed into convulsions, exclaiming "Devil's music", refusing to speak further about it. I knew him as a reasonable gent in his younger days; I suspected that the goings on in the opera house have caused the man great mental anguish. In any case, he referred me to the managers and to a certain Madame Giry for further information.

When I confronted the managers, to my dismay they too seemed to be under the influence of a great hoax, a ghastly apparition that they called the Opera Ghost. They reported that the opera from which my manuscript page was taken was written by this being. Actually they shouted like madmen, on and on they chattered about a hideous creature with glowing eyes and death's mask that haunted the Opera House and terrorized them endlessly. They spoke hastily, like lunatics, on tales of murder and wickedness, blaming all the recent mishaps at the theatre, including the fall of the chandelier and the subsequent fire on this specter. After all of their ravings about an animalistic demon who had magic on his side, I believed my investigation was leading nowhere. Their descriptions bore no resemblance to your quiet Erik.

It seemed as if I had proved at least one of their accusations false; that the monster had kidnapped a Mademoiselle Christine Daae, the star soprano that night. I found her alive and well staying with her fiancée at his residence. When I questioned them both about the night, and her alleged kidnapping, they denied it as a farce. They were particularly closed mouthed when I attempted to glean any more information on the Opera Ghost. My instinct told me that they were being less than truthful with me.

I then looked for Madame Giry, who I finally found two days ago. I questioned her and she would give up no information until I handed her the page of manuscript. I told her I had found it in the street, after the fire that night. It was as if I had hit her across the face. She immediately recognized the piece of music, and remarked on the handwriting. She held the manuscript to her bosom, tears forming in her stern eyes. She spoke tenderly about the writer of the manuscript, as if she loved him as a brother, and was certain he was dead.

She told me a different tale. She spoke of a man with a horrible deformity who lived in the cellars of the opera house. "He was brilliant; an architect, a composer and a magician. But alas, a life of taunting and pain made him a malicious sort. " she said. Without speaking names, she told me a tale of a lover's triangle and unrequited love that convinced me that Mademoiselle Daae had indeed lied to me, and her silence was to protect someone. After she finished reciting the story, I asked about the murders and destruction attributed to this person, the Opera Ghost. She was overcome with emotion and took her leave immediately, refusing to "speak ill of the dead, particularly this Phantom." She refused to divulge his name. I daresay I am suspicious; I believe it to be Erik.

My investigation is not yet complete. There is one other whom I must speak to, a fellow of Persian descent who is known only as the Daroga. I am convinced he has the information I require, but he has successfully avoided me, which is a difficult task, I assure you. The word is that he knows the Opera Ghost personally.

Now, Dr. Dyson you have all the facts as I know them at your disposal. You will do as you wish, but one thing is certain. This Opera Ghost is indeed a real, brilliant man, and one that may be devious, dangerous, and possibly deadly. I hope and pray I am wrong, that Erik is not this person, and it is all just a great coincidence. But, we being the learned people we are, we must take the information and all that it leads to, and proceed with caution to protect our loved ones.

In my correspondence with Elaine, it seems that she has grown quite attached to Erik. He has yet to regain his memories or so he says. I am sick with worry that Elaine will be hurt; but to be honest, I do not believe that Erik would ever hurt her. I am not as convinced about the Opera Ghost.

I would have come to you personally with this information, but I am hopelessly mired in my ambassador responsibilities, and will be abroad for quite some time.

I hope this message finds you in time for the information to be useful. If not, I will never forgive myself for waiting. I beg you, please reply to me at once to let me know of your thoughts and actions on the matter.

I remain yours truly,

Baroness Angelique

Dr. Dyson allowed his hand to drop to his lap after reading the last lines of her alarming letter. In his heart there was trepidation, in his mind there was disbelief. He was truly taken aback by her concern.

I cannot believe it. I will not believe that the man I rescued from death, the brilliant, caring, creative soul I see in the man I now regard with such affection can be this creature of darkness and death. It is inconceivable to me…but I suppose it is possible…the most terrible things are possible…now what am I to do?

He walked over to the window, his body heavy with the weight of the knowledge forced upon him. A quiet knock came at the door.

"Come in." Said Dr. Dyson, reflexively. He was deeply regretful he had been that quick the very next moment.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Dyson. I was wondering if I could have a word …with you…" Erik had walked in with a smile, his face changing to one of concern the moment he saw Dr. Dyson's expression. His voice trailed off, and the two men stood staring at each other across the room.

Why does he appear as if he has seen a ghost? Erik wondered.

(I must admit to you all, this is one of my favorite chaps!-AW)