Apologies for such a late update. Work, Physics, and a very adorable infant have been occupying my time. I hope this was worth the wait.
It's a first draft, but I wanted to get it out now rather than tinker with it further.
Please let me know what you think! And thank you for sticking with this weird little plot.
He walked around the block, tethered to her location like a balloon tied to the wrist yet careful to remain out of view from that boy's gaze. The pair had seated themselves by the window of the café, each had a drink in hand while they chatted. He was utterly frustrated that he could not listen into their conversation, to hang about like an ugly fly on their wall. There was no means by which he could glean any further information about who this young man may be, nor is intentions with Christine, so Erik resigned to keeping a distant eye on the two while discontented with the single piece of information he did have, a name, Raoul.
With each pass he made around the block, with every subsequent minute that passed, he fumed.
A creep, the boy had called him! If only he knew!
If only she knew…
The building he walked beside was lined with reflective, opaque black glass. He halted mid step and turned to observe his gloomy reflection, cast back to him as though staring from a darker dimension. His mouth turned down at the scarecrow that looked back at him. Quickly glancing from side to side to ensure there was no one around on the sidewalk, he pulled the black surgical mask below his chin to reveal the horror of his face.
If God created man in his own image, then where does that leave me?
It had been years since he had truly looked at himself in a mirror, an activity he reserved for the occasional self-indulgent emotional flagellation. Francis Bacon himself could not have painted a more grotesque assortment of flesh and features. Ancient mummies had more lively complexions. At the very least, mummies still had their noses, not whatever hellscape of a sinus cavity he possessed which continued downward like a meandering canyon to a large split on the side of his lip. Ingesting food and liquids had been the bane of his mortal existence…unless it was of the alcoholic persuasion and, only then, did he ignore the steady dribbling of fluid from his chin as it soaked the collar of his stark white dress shirts. He had no taste for solid meals, resigning himself to the rawboned, emaciated physique of a prisoner of war.
This face had come to mean a great many different things to him through this lifetime, it built him a patchwork of identities. It had been a source of shame, power and wealth in equal turn. He reveled in the way grown men had trembled before it, yet lamented the screams it would illicit from women. In Persia he flaunted it like it was God's greatest gift while his later years found him covering it like it was the world's most inglorious secret.
Truth be told, he did not know how he truly felt about the damned thing. Love it or despise it, what difference did it make, so long as he could use it for some purpose or other? Had he not carried such a utilitarian view of his face he would have likely descended much further into madness than he already had. It was a mechanism by which he coped through every stare, sneer, shriek and act of abuse which fell his way.
But at least he had the small consolation price of enviable hair? It could have certainly been far worse, in hindsight. How much worse would it have been if he was patchy or bald?
He scowled at his disastrous reflection before repositioning the surgical mask with a disgruntled huff. What was he doing? He did not know this woman, yet he was trailing on her heels like an idiotic and loyal little puppy. They had never met, had never exchanged words, hell, they had never even exchanged glances!
It was madness! Lunacy! And Erik decided then and there he was not going to worry himself over the little woman or her sickly father any longer. No, he would leave this ugly little city and go elsewhere, far away from her heavenly blue eyes and broken voice. He had an entire eternity to wastefully idle away and he needed to get started now.
With that last thought, he turned on his heel and strode furiously down the block like a man with purpose.
Fifteen minutes later he found himself inexplicably standing on the other side of the café.
Historically, his willpower had always been quite feeble.
"Fuck," he murmured beneath his breath in resignation.
By the time she finally exited the café, the late afternoon sun had sunk lower in the sky where it hung treacherously low on the horizon. Evening was fast approaching with only a short-lived sunset standing as its overture. The pedestrians and cars began to thin as professionals left their workplaces for the evening. She stepped outside with the boy, who still yammered on about some inane thing or other while she self-consciously slung her yellow backpack over her shoulder as though aware of the envelope of money she had pocketed inside a couple of hours before.
Erik impatiently waited for this moment while tucked in an inconspicuous alley across the street. He had spent the time waffling between reason and madness, to stay or to go, but every time his decision to abandon his foolishness arose, he found his body unwilling to vacate. Any passerby must have assumed him a man in need of mental help as he grunted and muttered energetically while pacing about the space between those two buildings, as though acting as his own defense at trail, with the dumpsters and misplaced garbage bags standing as judge and jury.
Yet, despite all the logic and reasonable excuses he could lay upon the proverbial table, he still found himself in that alley to witness the moment the beautiful young man pulled Christine into a steady embrace and kissed the top of her pale hair as they said their farewells. The fingers of one of Erik's hands curled tightly into a painful fist at the sweet sight while his belly flooded with a peculiarly potent wave of jealousy.
Jealousy! He didn't even know the woman! But no, he was merely envious of that scene, for he himself had never found himself comforting a loved one in such a way. No, it was not the woman which evoked such poisonous envy, but the knowledge of that which had never been.
He had surely loved before…or fancied himself in love at any rate, but it was the sort of love which burned like phosphorous, bright and hot, until it's inevitable extinguishment. It had never amounted to much, save long, frustrating nights and wild rages which sent a handful of expensive pieces of furniture to their untimely demise. The objects of his affection never reciprocated his own aching longing. His infatuation with those beautiful creatures was his burden alone to bear.
Yet he had not been entirely unloved. He had resided within the heart of another once. Erik would have been a complete dullard not to have known of Nadir's secret desires. It was why the Persian had saved his life, after all, despite the lengthy list of sins which had clearly warranted his execution.
Yes, Erik knew about the man's love for him, a love that Erik was too frightened and ill-equipped to return. It had smoldered within in the Persian's dark eyes for years, until the day they parted ways and it was replaced with the desolate, mile-long stare of heartbreak. He looked like an old sailor watching his beloved ship sink and Erik could do nothing more than ride his horse from the scene with the sort of frenzied energy reserved for a man fleeing from a disappointment of his own creation.
Would life had charted a different course had he only crossed that invisible threshold and allowed Nadir into his own heart? Perhaps it was best not to dwell on that now….
The dark nostalgia had distracted him so much, that when he finally returned to the present, he realized with a start that he was vacantly staring at an empty patch of sidewalk where he had spied the pair embracing only moments before. He scrambled to catch his bearings, rushing headlong into the street as he looked in both directions.
The boy was getting into an expensive vehicle parked alongside the café, but Christine was noticeably absent. Spinning the opposite direction, he saw her heading back towards her own neighborhood. She was walking with such vigor that she was nearly two blocks away. Remembering himself, he made it back to the sidewalk and tried to keep her in his sights as he began to trail her.
He couldn't help but notice the boy –Raoul, was it?—had not given her a ride home. Erik couldn't help but think it was terribly unchivalrous, while silently calculating the implications it held for the pair's relationship. That embrace certainly held all the trappings of a romantic gesture, he could see it in the boy's face…perhaps it was unrequited? There were missing variables to this equation and Erik was determined he should obtain them.
He nearly caught up to her while maintaining adequate distance. Together they passed over the boundary between the gentrified neighborhood and into the derelict, crumbling part of the city. A handful of homeless were milling about, and cars had disappeared from the streets leaving a disconcerting quiet behind.
They had nearly reached their block when Christine halted her progress and turned to look over her shoulder. He quickly diverted his course, ducking down a different street to avoid her suspicions. He could take a roundabout, U-shaped detour and still catch her in time before she made it through her front door and out of his sight for the night.
With his odd evening vigil nearing its completion, he found himself walking down the alley leading back to his street when he heard a small cry and a scuffling sound coming from the street up ahead.
Less than a second later, a lanky man with unkempt, shoulder-length hair and a scruffy, weathered face rounded the corner and down the very alley Erik walked. In the man's hand he clutched a very familiar yellow backpack.
Red clouded Erik's vision as he sprung into action. It had been over a century since he had the motive for violence and those acts had resulted in an agonizing punishment, but certainly this would be well worth it. His arm thrust out and gripped the man's scrawny neck just as he nearly sped past and with little effort, he slammed the stranger into the unforgiving brick wall of the alley. The moment he touched the sweat-lined skin of thief he could interface with his soul. A flurry of images crossed through his mind's eye, like a zoetrope animation of depravity and poor circumstance. The man was so terribly easy to hate and pity.
"Please," the man managed to choke out past the skeletal hand which now clenched his throat.
"I could kill you now and the entire world would go on as it had before, not a single soul would mourn you," he sneered and tightened his grip. The man's face grew a furious shade of red. "However, I find you unworthy of the consequences. Yet, mark my words, if I see you in this neighborhood again, I will finish what I started this evening."
The man sputtered and made a pitiful attempt at a nod in agreement before Erik released him.
With a harsh bout of coughing the man fell to his knees, but quickly rose his eyes to meet Erik's.
Erik mutely pointed a finger in the opposite direction of the alley while the man scrambled to his feet in a panic, unwilling to test the patience of the terrifying specter with eyes that seemed to glow like a demon's.
Once the man had fled the alley, Erik walked over to the yellow backpack which had been dropped in the encounter. He brushed off the offending dirt which had coated one side as he exited the alley.
She was still there, dazed and on her knees, holding her palms up to see them under the dim streetlight. They were raw and bleeding. The thief had shoved her as he took her pack, causing her to fall painfully onto the concrete sidewalk. Erik had seen the moment flash through the other's memories. Had she been injured further; Erik would not have been so lenient. He would have gladly paid the price for the man's life.
Although, he had never truly committed a murder that wasn't sanctioned since he began this sentence. What hell would he endure if he did?
As he approached, she became aware of his presence and lifted her face to reveal wide eyes brimmed with tears which were precariously closed to spilling over. How confused she must have been! One man had absconded with her pack while another comes to return it.
"That's mine…" she breathed as he placed the pack at her sore knees.
He wordlessly extended a hand to help her to her feet. She considered him for a second, before accepting, reaching the least injured of her hands back.
But then their fingers touched, and the moment that happened….Oh! Oh! Dear, God her soul!
It was far too sweet and tender for words and filled with memories that would make the most exquisite of music, but she was so terribly broken, so terribly melancholy!
He yanked his hand away as though he had been burned.
"I apologize," he muttered, while stumbling back as though he had been dealt a mortal blow.
He shouldn't have touched her. This was a terrible, terrible mistake.
She opened her mouth to speak but, before he could hear what she intended to say, he fled in blind panic back to his own building across the street, leaving there on her knees, confused and wounded.
He should have never touched her!