Chandelle Troisiéme: Amour

The third candle came faster than he would think, as the last week passed so fast, in a living dream, half- consciousness, either bending over his desk or sitting at the organ, or giving music lessons to his beloved Christine. By the time he had to light the third candle on the wreath, he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open, and the Mass was only halfway done.

Erik was a slow composer. Not because he didn't have musical ideas, not at all. He had too many of them, to tell the truth. Melodies were constantly racing in his head, he often caught himself softly humming something under his breath, or tapping a rhythm with his feet against the floor. The problem was he only wanted to write down the best one he could manage to create, and this was the hardest thing in his life. It drove him literally crazy, struggling for the ONE best melody. When he finally scribbled something down, hours or days later he suddenly came up with an idea way better than the one he already had, so he threw a tantrum about it. He was walking up and down in his house like a madman, he was fuming and jumping up and down in frustration. His own mind tricked him and he loathed this feeling more than he hated any other thing in the world. Knowing that he only had a week left to finish the Mass, he was way crazier than usual. The stress was slowly building up in him again. He cannot stay peaceful, no matter how he wanted to. He is just made this way- a barrel of gunpowder.

"I have to finish it! Until that I have to finish it!"

He yelled at the top of his lungs and kicked a chair near him. But at the very same moment he felt so tired… so very tired… he just… nearly fell asleep. No, he had to concentrate. If he stays here in the basement, without fresh air he will fall asleep in no time, and that is the least he needed at that time. He needed his brain more than anything. He decided to take a stroll on the streets. It wasn't a thing he did with pleasure, but it was a badly needed walk if he wanted to continue, and he was running out of time.

As he adjusted his false nose and his moustache to be sure it covers his malformed, nearly non-existent lips, and he put on his hat that he pulled right into his eyes, and he adjusted the collar of his coat to cover his face from the sides, he dared to walk out in broad daylight. He was walking on the snowy avenue of Champs Elysées, and would sometimes rest his sore back against a tree and yawn. Cold and fresh air made him some good, he was no longer that much sleepy, but a level of tiredness still bothered him.

As he closed his eyes for a moment while walking, he suddenly felt a hit against his bony shoulder. As he turned to the side to watch what it was, his gaze met a bunch of children, laughing at him.

- Here comes the Grim Reaper! – They laughed cheerfully and teasingly.

Erik shrugged without a word and wanted to walk away, he did not have any urge to talk or threaten them that day.

- Niah – niah – niah, ugly old undertaker! – They kept running after him and he felt another hit, this time, his already aching back got a piece of frozen snow. He did not want to react. He was hoping that the little monsters will finally get tired of their show and leave him alone eventually if he doesn't give them a reason to laugh about.

- Un-der-ta-ker, un-der-ta-ker, un-der-ta-ker! – The small monkeys kept chanting, and he noticed there was more and more of them as he walked.

He decided it was rather more than enough of the fresh air and strolling outside so he wanted to change the direction and go back to the Opera. The little snots did not want to leave him alone, though, and as he was trying to ignore and avoid the snow and ice- balls that were thrown at him, he did not realize a frozen puddle in front of his legs.

He stepped on the ice and the next moment his leg slipped and he, rather gracelessly fell on his rear and back with a loud thud. The children burst out in wild laughter, pointing at him, and calling him by various names. Some of them started chanting:

"On Christmas night is Midnight Mass,

The Grim – Reaper fell on his ass!"

More and more sons of a – b- got into the choir of the nasty little poem, the rest of them still were laughing. He did not yell, he did not threaten them or throw things at them either. He was used to this happening. He sighed and tried to get back into standing position, but he got another snowballs hitting his side which made him lose his balance again. As he landed again, he heard the voices of the little snots – but the voice of an Angel as well.

- Stop this! – The angelic woman voice ordered. – Aren't you ashamed of yourselves, children? – She added angrily.

The kids put the last snowballs off, then slowly walked away.

- Instead of making fun of the Monsieur, you should have helped him! – She scolded the passing youngsters, then headed to Erik and leaned closer to him. – Monsieur… are you all right…?

What should he say to this? An angel, a beautiful Swedish angel just CARED for his well – being and… he could not, and did not even want to say anything. Partly because he was afraid Christine Daaé might recognize his voice from the music lessons, and there would come the shattered illusion of the Angel of Music… but … he did not even know how to answer a question like this. It was the first time ever that someone noticed his suffering and asked if he was all right or not. If he totally wanted to be honest, he should have answered with no, as his back and bottom were really bothering him, and he got nasty hits from the icy snowballs on his side as well, but he knew people usually don't honestly state their physical conditions to such a question, and will rather lie they are feeling wonderful. He did not want to say that though, it was too big of a lie, and the girl should know the answer. He just nodded and softly stated:

- Quite… thank you.

He thought this answer will suffice and she did not hear him speak for that much for him to be recognizable by the voice.

The girl looked at him, trying to observe his face. She could have sworn she had seen him before, at the Opera House. But she did not have too much opportunity to look at him any longer than a few seconds as he turned his head away and tried to get on his feet again.

- May I help you, Monsieur? Do you need help?

Erik was astonished again. She offered him help. All by herself. He always knew, from the beginning that this girl is unique and has a heart of gold. But he did not dare to think she would ask him, the hideous monster, the oddity if he needed any help. He tried his best to manage to stand up alone, but he suddenly felt the wonderful girl supporting him from behind. It was a totally unknown feeling to him, someone touching his back without wanting to harm him, and he wished his back wasn't that sore at that moment so that he could enjoy it without bitterness. She walked him past the puddle and as he felt dry pavement under his boots again, he got way calmer. Even though he would have given his whole life for the hug of this angelic creature and stay by her side for an eternity, it was Erik who pulled away from Christine.

- Thank you. – He mumbled softly.

- Are you sure you don't need me to… accompany you? Or don't you need a doctor?

- No, thank you. – He shook his head and slowly staggered away with pain in his body, but not in his heart, this time.

How wonderful it was to feel the love and compassion of someone who was secretly in his heart for months! She didn't ignore him, did not make fun of him, she did not laugh, even though he knew he was sure a pitiful, laughable and a bit frightening sight. She even scolded those kids and defended him against the crowd of the little troublemakers. How sweet, sweet girl Christine Daaé is… and she was kind to him. The Grim Reaper.

Maybe is this a sign of God's acceptance to him, paying off his effort to write a Mass for his Son's Birthday? Maybe he will show poor unhappy Erik some compassion finally, and he might… MIGHT live like anyone else? Might be that Christine Daaé isn't that an unreachable thing? Might be she could… love him back?

Well, he was really trying hard in these weeks, so he would deserve at least a crumble of love. He fought back his usual disgust for Christmas. He did not even throw things off any more. He lit the candles in order. He was composing day by night on the Mass and had so little sleep…

Yes… sleep... again the sleep came to his mind, and yet, it was the thing he wanted to avoid the most. He was tired and sore from the fall. He was walking with a drag, and massaged his side from time to time. He had no idea how should he sit at the organ that day… maybe now he should just use the desk…?

No… he shook his head. He was not any more in the shape of being up and composing. The physical and emotional jolts wore poor old Erik out even more than composing itself. He did not want anything more than a warm bath and a long sleep.

As he took a nice bath in calming warm water with bathing oils added, he got more and more relaxed and all the stress caused by the kids faded away, and the pain started to numb as well. Only the memory of Christine's beautiful and worried face was floating in front of his eyes, he saw it so close that he could have touched it. With a smile he remembered back the tone of her beautiful soprano voice and it rang in his ears like an enchanting and sweet melody. His heart was beating faster, and a strange kind of warmth he felt in all his body.

It was like resurrection itself.

He just felt what love is like – and felt he just grew a heart in his chest.