Chap 27

Elaine stood quaking outside the door until her unconscious movements quieted into mere tremors. She listened intently through the door, approaching it slowly, fingers touching it tenderly. She wanted so much to be with him now, instinctively she felt his pain, and his need to heal that drew her. The tears of pain and fear returned to her slowly, quietly as sadness. She heard him start to sing softly, a low, melodic song, with regret distorting his timbre. It gripped her heart and she slid down, back against his door, wrapping her arms around her legs, possessed by the deep remorse in his tones.

"Christine. Oh, Christine." Elaine heard him say softly before profound painful sobs replaced the beautiful song. Her heart broke within her and she jumped up from her position to run down the stairs. She just wanted to get away from him now, get away from the fact that he was drowning himself in the memory of another woman.

I have lost him. I did it. Now he dwells in our house in body only, he has remembered his love for another. The pain of that love, I can see is destroying him. It will take him away from me, she thought, as tears distorted her vision. She ran headlong into Marjorie as she entered the kitchen.

Marjorie held a shaking, crying Elaine away from her, eyes filling with alarm. The girl was wearing men's clothes, Erik's clothes, and she could see that they were fastened with haste, haphazardly. Elaine's hair was open and wild, her face streaked with tears, old and new, stricken with fear and sadness. On her arm was the bright red stain of blood through the dirty white shirtsleeve.

Marjorie could not help but to think, to fear the worst thing possible.

"Oh my God Elaine! What happened? You are hurt…"

"Erik…" was all Elaine could whisper before bursting into tears on her shoulder.

Marjorie felt an anger rise within her, the anger of a mother lion fiercely, blindly protecting her own. "That wretched man, did he touch you? Did he…tell me…did he hurt you?"

Elaine gasped and looked at her with wide eyes; a look that Marjorie interpreted as a Yes. Marjorie threw her arms around Elaine and held her tight.

"Oh no, Elaine. You poor, poor girl!" Said Marjorie, mortified. She grabbed Elaine's hand and started to walk quickly with her to the doctor's office.

"Where the hell is he now? I will call the men to have him found and restrained! This is a matter for the police now, but I will condone anything the men want to do to him in the interim…" said Marjorie, anger flashing from her matronly eyes.

Elaine stopped abruptly in the hallway just outside the office, pulling her arm away from Marjorie. She had to stop this misunderstanding now.

"Marjorie, no! I was the one who started it…it was my fault. Everything!"

Marjorie walked up to her, still hot with anger. "Do not blame yourself, child, do not fall into that trap again! You did not deserve violence like that! You never did! Nothing you could have done can condone it!"

Elaine pulled Marjorie into an examination room; hoping no one had heard. She closed the door and turned on Marjorie, her eyes now clear, face serious.

"Marjorie, for gods sake, be quiet and listen to me. If you call someone and they try to hurt him now, I will never forgive you! This is not at all what you think."

"Then how do you explain these, and this?" She pulled at the clothes Elaine was wearing and pointed to her arm.

"He did touch me this day but it was with passion and I wanted him to. And I enjoyed it; let that be clear to you." Elaine paused for a second to let her words sink in. Marjorie's angry expression faded to that of confusion.

Elaine continued. "He took me climbing trees with him; that is the reason for the clothes. We kissed, we embraced, we caressed each other, that was all. But it was enough to bring back the memories of another woman. I gave him his ring back and after that, he went mad. By accident, he pushed me and I fell and cut myself. He did not hurt me on purpose, Marjorie."

"You would not lie to protect him, would you?" Marjorie looked at her with a touch of disbelief.

"No, absolutely not. I would die fighting before letting any man hurt me again. Especially a man I love." With that, Elaine covered her face and cried again. "I just realized how I have been feeling, I love him Marjorie. And now, he is languishing in the memory of another woman!"

Marjorie held her again, still uncertain. "My dear girl, I have seen your feelings for him grow for some time now. But there are things you cannot control. Him, and all that is within him are out of you control, love. Come, let us see about your arm."

In silence, Marjorie cleaned, applied a salve, and bandaged up Elaine's arm. Elaine's attention seemed elsewhere, she was constantly looking upstairs.

"Is that where he is now? He is very quiet, too quiet. Look, Elaine, I really think it best you stay away from him while he is having difficulties with his memories. You don't want any more accidents happening." Marjorie said pointedly, before leading Elaine out of the room.

"I know. I know." She said painfully, holding her arm.

Both women jumped and shook as they heard a loud scream from the second floor, the cry like a heart exploding into a thousand pieces.

Locked now in his room, the beast awoke from his long slumber, and the siege rolled on.

No longer could Erik dwell in the sweetness of ignorance. Realization of horror after horror, done to him, committed by him lashed at his mind like dull razors, painful and tearing. The world around him looked dull, barreled and distant. Dread, anger, sorrow so much sorrow ripped through his mind, halting his heart in his chest.

There were too many bad emotions for one man to stand.

Finally, he knew who he was and more importantly, he was quickly remembering all the things in his past. Initially, it was just generalities, and then particular episodes flooded him, one after the other.

He, Erik, was the freak genius child of a shamed mother who hated him. He wad captured and tortured by gypsies. He had become the mason in Italy, the magician in Russia, the advisor and assassin in Persia, the Opera Ghost in France. He was many different entities in one horrible life. It produced such a clash with the man he became, Erik of Capellen that he began to fragment within immediately. That part of him was unbelieving and horrified, bitter at the return of the memories.

He slowly put the ring on his right hand this time, staring at it, feeling the pain of abandonment again, fresh. No longer was he just seeing it, like a play in his mind, a spectator. He was within the play, the leading role in the horror.

Why do I need to feel everything again? Couldn't I just remember the facts? Oh, God, this is too vivid, this is torture. No, I cannot take this all.

To try to stem the tide, he began to sing a soft melody, grasping at the memory that music was his refuge. It was a sad song, which brought tragic memories. He remembered his feelings for Christine, intense and gut-wrenching, but now there was endless regret.

How could I do what I did to her? I let my egotism nearly destroy her, I nearly killed Raoul in my zeal to posses her. I could not have loved her, not really, that is not what love does. I was desperate and lonely, a wretched broken soul, ignoring all the things that make one human. She was just young and innocent, confused and scared, and easy to influence. I betrayed her. I used her. And I did not want to see, could not see that she did not love me. I did not realize that until the end. I had no right. I was filled with my need, my selfishness.

Heavily, he breathed "Christine. Oh, Christine."

He began to sob uncontrollably falling down on the floor. He heard soft footsteps running away, down the hall.

Elaine. My angel of mercy. Stay away, darling one, if you know what is good for you.

He stumbled around the room like a man possessed as his mind reeled.

And now, here I am. I have a newly awakened conscience, I have felt love and compassion and kindness, and have given them. I will regret everything, absolutely everything, for the rest of my life. I am damned to live the rest of my days wallowing in remorse. Oh God, death, killing…oh God, how many people have I killed, how many more have I destroyed, by my own hands or by my terrible inventions? My deadly children…

Instantly, childhood memories of sadness crowded into his mind, beating him into the ground like the many whippings he had received. He saw her, sitting by the fireplace…glaring and screaming. Throwing a mask, a white mask at his feet…

"Oh, mother, you wretch, you unloving woman. You should have taken that ugly creature to the grave before it grew into this thing! This dreadful excuse of a human!"

As the memories played in his mind's eye, even his brilliant mind could not keep up. He was drowning. He could not close his eyes tight enough to keep the memories away.

He looked around at the familiar surroundings of his room in the manor house. For a sweet moment he let the beautiful experiences of his time in Capellen flood him. He had been happier here than any other time in his past. Those memories retreated as quickly as they had come, leaving emptiness and longing.

I don't belong here. I am a snake in the nest of a dove. A demon among angels. I must leave before I hurt someone…again. No hiding anymore, no longer can I relax in a place of comfort. I know my wretched past. I know what I am.

He screamed a loud deep cry that was heard even outside the manor house.

Reality was getting hard to discern from vision. He stood up, trying to focus. He made his way to the door after grabbing a thick, dark cloak from his closet. Opening the door, assuring that no one was around, he then rushed down the stairs. As he stumbled out of the door, the fleeting image of Dr. Dyson appeared before his eyes momentarily. Imagining or reality, he did not pause long enough to find out. He looked to the direction of the spectre briefly, with confusion, then continued on, passing it swiftly. Then he started to run. With great speed he began to run through the fields then to the edge of the woods. He struggled to concentrate, to define his bewildering emotions but the only emotion he could cling onto tightly at the moment was anger. He held onto it, and was consumed by it. At least it was effective in bringing him back to reality.

Erik stormed through the forest, eyes blazing skin hot with anger, sheer unadulterated anger. This ire was what most of most of the experiences in his life left him with, anger, hatred, bitterness. He stormed about and threw things, heaved rocks larger than he would have ever thought possible and pounded the pulp out of anything that would yield. He found and axe and took out his frustrations on at least 30 young trees, until his hands were bleeding and his arms shook with the effort. His destructive wake looked as if a small tornado had torn through that patch of forest.

God help any living breathing thing, man or beast that happens on me now.

Long after his arms recovered his hands still shook uncontrollably. He wanted to hurt something, kill something. He had unleashed it, but now, he would try anything to just stop this sinister rage from eating him alive. A lasso around the throat, his hands strangling, a dagger fining its place through flesh, spilling blood; a fine killing was calling him like a siren. It was mocking his regret. Right now, ripping and tearing into the flesh of something screaming was sounding good and he could not stand to feel that way. Repeatedly he screamed until his ragged, bleeding throat would no longer produce noise audible by human ears.

He wanted to turn the anger into something productive, but was too blinded to know exactly how. Instead, he ran through the underbrush at breakneck speed, the pain of low branches lashing into his flesh only temporarily pulling him away from the unrelenting fury. He tripped and rolled, breathing heavily at the fall, his aching body forcing him to be still. He cried with frustration, wishing upon wish that he had some opium, laudanum, morphine, a gallon of liquor or even the devilish hashish to dull the piercing emotions.

How easily the desire for my vices return to me now…

The red haze in his brain started to clear. Slowly, more structured thoughts crawled into his mind.

Anger, so much anger at the multitudes that laughed and pointed, screamed at me in horror calling me animal, monster, devil, and demon. They were to blame! I know that now. All those, from my unloving mother, to the men who kept me caged, to the people who connived against me and attacked me because I was ugly, different, and inhumanly intelligent. Developing without love to guide me from a young age, the distinction between good and bad had no meaning for me. All that mattered was survival. Yes, somehow, this thing survived.

Unwittingly, those wretches taught me this: that I needed to be a brutal, thieving, murdering monster in order to survive. I began to hate all of the members of so-called humanity, with very few exceptions. I felt that that I was outside, above their putrid lives. When the lives of others became unimportant their murders came easily. The power of mortal combat, the power of the ability to kill at will, almost anyone. That power was my release; revenge was my drug, so intoxicating. Strangling the breath from men satisfied a need with in me; revenge, dark justice. Ah, but I did have some scruples; there is a crime I could never commit: I could never take a woman forcefully. I refuse to violate that which is so precious, when given freely. Not that any woman would give that gift to me…until, maybe now. But that dream is gone.

I suppose that my conscience developed, after all, despite all the hatred within my soul. A few good people actually helped me out of pity, admiration, or a genuine, unimaginable fondness of this horrific being I am. I just ignored my conscience for the most part, I did not let something like guilt get in my way. That is, until I came here, and realized I could love again. And regret again. Damned in love am I.

My wretched, terrible soul was not spared the need for love. In love I found pain worse than any physical torture I had ever experienced. I have died at the hands of love and desire. I had the ability to love deeply, completely, but alas, no woman would find it in themselves to love me in return. I was cursed with the skin and organs of man, longing for the feel of a woman. No woman would even touch me, kiss me unless coerced like Christine, until I was someone else and Elaine allowed me to experience a few divine moments. I can only imagine the full beauty of love in her arms, I have only tasted from the cup. I will never know that kind of beauty again. What I have had will leave me with an insatiable thirst for the rest of my days…

If I actually stop to think of the things I did, am capable of doing. I always come to one answer: I should be severely punished for crimes, regardless of why I did them. In the end it was me who tied the noose, drove in the blade, caused pain and destruction. I should not be allowed to live, but I am the only one capable of ending my own existence. And that I will not do. That may change.

Something intangible had always stayed Erik from taking his own life. Fear of eternal damnation? He did not really believe in an afterlife, but maybe he was not willing to make that miscalculation. Maybe he thought he was now already in hell. Or maybe it was the desperate, distant, faint light of hope that still burned in his soul.

In the sweet cradle that was Capellen, the love and acceptance he was shown had made him become a different person, yet the same. He reflected the compassion he had been shown, and impressed those around him with his intellect and gifts of music. He had developed a personality capable of drawing the attention of a fantastic lady, whose unique ability to look within allowed her to actually become attracted to him. There was the hope of a rewarding, mutual love, in those precious few weeks. A hope now gone.

The gift that Elaine posses to see past my external imperfections will now see into the true depravity of my soul, as if barrel of filth was poured into me, with the return of these putrid memories. I remember, therefore I now am that horrible person once again. And once again, I am out of the grasp of the possibility of love. What a terrible, cruel twist of fate. I guess existentially, I deserve my punishment.

He lay back flat on the floor of the forest, feeling the canopy pulling up and away, feeling that the floor had vanished and the earth had opened up to swallow him whole. Voices started to chatter in his head again, drowning all thoughts of sanity. Low, horrible voices within began to rebuke him:

"He will not go down easily, you know, there is still so much killing to do!"

"Leave the man alone, he already has a pyre in hell with his name. The devil is waiting"

"What's a few more logs? Pile up the bodies!"

"The idiot should have just raped the little wench; he is strong enough to hold her down…"

"Oh poor, poor me. Ugh. All this remorse is making me ill. This self-reflection is so tiring and droll."

"And ridiculous coming from the Angel of Death. Just embrace it; you are a murderer."

"Remember, you used to sleep in a coffin. Welcome back to your true self, demon!!"

Erik sat up and screamed. "NO! NO! That is not my true self. That is not what I am!!" a strange sinking sensation found root in his chest. "Or is it?"

Shut down, Erik.

He heard it, the voice of reason within himself, a loud and booming staccato, over all the rest.

"What?" He said, looking around as if talking to another person. There was no one else around him in the dark, shadowy woods.

Your demon voices are too strong, Erik. Shut down. Shut them out. Shut everything out right now. It is your only chance.

"How?" He asked the voice.

Back in Capellen manor, Elaine lay in her bed upstairs, holding her sleeping son in her arms. As she looked towards the window to the forest beyond, tears ran from her eyes.

Marjorie sat at the kitchen table across from Nate over tea and uneaten pastries, looking at each other without words, both filled with worry.

Dr. Dyson stood alone in his office leaning against the frame of the window, rubbing his chin, face drawn with concern. He sighed for the umpteenth time, heart heavy, staring out towards the forest where he had seen Erik run to, two days ago now.

They were afraid of what had happened, but uncertain of what to do.

Alone in the forest, Erik sat in the center of a patch of destroyed trees, wrapped in his cloak. He was rocking, staring into nothingness, face strangely stripped of emotion.

He was deep in the cold silence of catatonia.