Chapter 12

The next set of rehearsals started and Madeline's time was once again divided between her duties in the theater and her visits with me, which became less frequent and more brief as the weeks passed. She seldom ate when she brought me food, and I noticed her face became thinner and she seemed to be in a perpetual state of exhaustion.

"What are you performing?" I asked one afternoon as Madeline removed her ballet slippers and gingerly made her way toward the lake. Two weeks of all-day rehearsals had taken a toll, she had said when she hobbled into the cellar.

She curled her toes in the shallow water and sighed in relief. "Fidelio," she answered with her eyes closed. "Beethoven. Cathedra is quite displeased with her role, which means we will all suffer her wrath and tantrums. The woman is thirty-five but acts as though she is three when she is dissatisfied."

"The woman with the red hair?" I asked.

Madeline seemed surprised by my question. "How did you know she has red hair?"

"The front of the theater has banners with her image."

Madeline kicked at the water and rolled her eyes. "Ah, yes, at her husband's insistence the managers put up those garish woman is simply impossible. Instead of calling her the Incomparable Cathedra di Carlo it should be the Impossible. She looked over her shoulder at me and gave a devilish grin. "And you know what else? She wears a wig."

I stood with my hands on my hips and shook my head, amused by Madeline's wicked tone. "She does not."

Madeline laughed to herself, which was the first time I had seen her jovial in several weeks. "I swear on my life. You should see it. When she is not wearing it she looks like a fat thumb."

My eyes widened and Madeline gave a shriek of unexpected laughter before she fanned her face and asked God to forgive her.

"I would like to see a performance," I said once she settled down and our laughter faded. Indeed, it was the only thought running through my mind day and night.

Madeline turned to fully face me, her expression sobered. "I suspect you tire of being down here for days at a time."

She looked at me with sympathy and frowned. Too many people on too many nights had set their gazes upon me as I languished behind iron bars and pitied the creature before them. Her expression irritated me.

"It's been more than two weeks," I said bitterly. Seventeen days, to be exact, although I very much doubted she kept count as I did.

She stepped out of the water and grimaced as she made her way toward the armchairs and proceeded to collapse into the nearest one. Once seated, she rotated her right ankle and flexed her toes.

"What about attending a rehearsal? I would stay out of sight," I said once she didn't answer me.

"I will see if I can find you a suitable spot," Madeline responded absently. "Would you bring my basket to me, please?"

My shoulders dropped but I did as she requested before I took a seat beside her and slouched miserably in the armchair.

"When will you find a suitable spot?" I persisted.

"When my feet have recovered enough to find one."

Her answer did nothing to placate me.

"You're sulking," Madeline said as she proceeded to bandage her right foot. She looked at me from the corner of her eye as she tended to her blisters.

"Am I to stay a prisoner?" I snapped. "Your own monster tucked away beneath the Opera House for your own perverse entertainment?"

I fully expected Madeline to match my belligerent tone, however, she simply paused and raised an eyebrow. In an instant I swore she gazed through me. "I do beg your pardon?" she casually replied.

Her calm rattled me to the core. I sat upright, my teeth clenched and body rigid.

"You insist I must stay down here unless you accompany me and yet you have not allowed me to leave here in seventeen days. The gypsies have left Paris, have they not? Why must I remain here day in and day out with you bringing me rations like a pet locked away? I have done nothing more than exchanged one cage for another." I slammed my fists onto the arm of the chair, though the cushion failed to sufficiently accent my anger.

Rage got the best of me and I sucked in a wild breath, afraid my indignation would morph into tears. At last I turned away from her, my heart feeling barely contained by my ribcage.

"Erik."

Madeline took a deep breath and I met her gaze with reservation. She remained perfectly calm, her eyes soft and expression unreadable. In silence she looked me over which made me feel like a foolish child who had spoken out of turn. Indeed, that was exactly how I had behaved.

"First of all," she said without looking away. "I did not realize so much time had passed since we were able to see the rooftop. These rehearsals have been quite grueling and I have had a difficult time since my brother's passing with focusing on my duties here in the Opera House. I fear one too many mistakes on my part and I will be released from my contract. If I should be terminated from employment, I am not certain where you would find safety."

Her voice was steady, her light eyes unwavering. With each word she spoke, I realized how ludicrous my outburst had been.

"Secondly," she continued. "The gypsies have indeed left Paris, however, there are still posters with your description throughout the city, including one nailed within steps of the Opera House entrance. There is a modest reward for your capture on behalf of The Garouche family….and it does not say you must be brought to them alive. In fact, it says the body of the Living Corpse need only be shown to a member of the family for a swiftly paid reward."

My heart raced as she spoke, hands balling into fists at my sides. I thought of the two men who had attempted to pickpocket me on the street the night I had locked myself out of the theater and what could have happened if they had seen my face.

"And lastly, Erik, I do not consider you a pet or any type of beast. Perhaps you have become accustomed to others labeling you as such, but I have and will continue to do as much as I can to keep you safe. Strange as this may be to you, I do not look upon your face and see an animal or the devil's son. You remind me of my brother Thomas, and right now I cannot bear to think of anything happening to you. I sincerely apologize if you thought my actions or lack of have been spiteful or cruel. That was not my intention."

I looked away well before she finished speaking and hung my head in shame. My lips quivered as frustration subsided and the familiar swell of self-loathing washed over me. I had wanted her to argue with me, to hate me as much as I hated myself. An ungrateful bastard, my father would have called me, undeserving of her kindness. He had been correct about me all along.

We sat in silence. Madeline continued to bandage her feet while I contemplated what I should say. My father's words taunted me internally, countless harsh words that replaced my own thoughts. Darkness flowed through my mind, familiar and yet dreaded all the same.

You are worthless, lower than the worms in the soil. Such an ugly, disgusting wretch pretending to be human. You were made from the devil's seed. No one will ever see you as anything but a filthy, mindless monster.

My father's words rang loud and clear in my tumultuous head. My vision tunneled as I thought of him standing over me, a cruel monolith more than ready to strike without notice. I pictured him standing over my body, arm held at an angle as he threatened to hit me again if I dared to flinch or show emotion.

I thought of how he would kick dirt at my outstretched leg and spit tobacco into my tangled hair before he finally stumbled up the stairs and to his wife. Sometimes the house fell silent, other times I sat numb on the cold ground and listened to them argue. Often I waited for the embodiment of my terror to return and leave me wishing he would end my suffering once and for all.

Strange how it seemed the bruises faded and the welts were no longer visible, but it was his words that stabbed me repeatedly. From some wounds there was no healing and no visible scars left behind on my flesh. Those hurt the worst-and I had inflicted some of my own on Madeline.

The cellar door slammed shut and I jumped clear out of the armchair. Several seconds passed before I registered my surroundings and realized Madeline had walked out of the cavern. I blinked until my vision regained focus, then bolted toward the door and pulled it open.

"Madeline!" I yelled.

She was halfway up the first set of steps and whipped around, clearly startled by my sudden presence. Her ballet slippers, which she carried in her left hand, fell from her grasp and landed on the second to the last step.

I collected them quickly and met her in the middle of the dark stairway. Eyes averted, I handed her the slippers and collapsed on the stairs, my chest tight and a lump as big as my fist lodged in my throat.

A dozen apologies and pleas raced through my mind but not one managed to find its way to my lips. Tears pricked my tightly shut eyes and I leaned against the wall, once again trapped between sorrow and burning rage.

I was acutely aware of why I was to remain alone. No one would tolerate such a faceless creature unable to keep his emotions in check. I had tested my uncle's kindness on many occasions and tonight I had all but destroyed Madeline's faith in me.

"Erik?"

"Please forgive me," I whispered, my voice quivering.

Madeline pulled me toward her until my head rested against her shoulder. I shivered at the warmth of her unexpected touch and released a pent up sob despite fearing she would find my display of emotion more than she could tolerate.

"I am not upset with you," Madeline said into my ear. She stroked my hair back from my face, her caress soft and motherly. "I am upset for you."