"The human heart has hidden treasures, In secret kept, in silence sealed; The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, Whose charms were broken if revealed."
- Charlotte Bronte
Christine Daae settled her skirts in a nervous fashion as she accepted the cup of tea from her strange new friend, the Daroga of Mazandaran. It was such an odd feeling being in the presence of a man that called himself a friend to her Erik, but she was glad of it. Glad to know that she was not the only human that cared for him. Loved him. That he had not always been alone. But, where was he now? Her heart ached for him, and her soul clung to the memories of his voice and touch to help her make it through another day, another moment.
"Do you think he will see the advertisement, sir?" Christine stammered, hands shaking as she attempted to maintain an air of calmness as Nadir sat down on the divan beside her chair.
"Mademoiselle, our mutual friend is nothing if not perceptive. He will see, and he will respond." Nadir took a sip of the hot liquid in his cup. "I dare say, I find it so very refreshing to be in the company of a lady with such fire and passion for a man that the world tossed aside." Christine could not help but offer her host a slight smile, despite her obvious anxiety and distress.
"He deserves all the love and compassion I may give him." And there, she paused, unable to continue without a great lump forming in her throat. The next few hours, or days, however long it would be, were a waiting game. So, Christine chose to give herself to a conversation altogether different than that of the advertisement she and the Daroga had posted in Le Journal. "Please tell me of yourself, my friend," she muttered, genuinely intrigued, as she placed her cup once more on the saucer, her brilliant eyes fixed upon the dark, handsome features of her host.
The Daroga offered her a gentle smile, his lips curving at the corners, perfectly framed by his neatly-trimmed and graying beard. "Mademoiselle Daae-"
"Christine, please." She cleared her throat once more, giggling in the back of her mind at what Erik's response would be to such a simple gesture, the awkward smile of a stranger, well. . .as she had been staying with him as his guest for the last several days, they were hardly strangers now. But, friends, allies even. Christine Daae had become a refugee made of love and opera.
He nodded. "Yes, Christine, it is. After all, are we now not friends searching for a mutually loved companion, a brother to me, and a husband to yourself? You've been a guest in my home for days now. To hell with formalities, I say." Nadir chuckled at his own words, Christine joining him. "Christine," he corrected himself, "I was the police chief of the province of Mazandaran, as you know. I met your fiancé many years ago, when he was young, lost, brilliant, and wild."
"He is still some of those things," she smirked, bringing her teacup to her lips. "Brilliant and wild. . ." she muttered under her breath, missing Erik with each word that escaped her lips.
"We became reluctant friends, Christine." Nadir met her eyes in solemnity. "He saved my life. and I saved his. He brought my son peace. There is much pain in our past, dear lady. If you wish to hear it, you shall. But, it is no fairytale." Nadir gazed down at his feet, reliving a dark past of dark- clouded memories, his wife and son's images flashing through his mind's eye in a silent torture, both welcomed and loathed. He brought his shoulders up once more, offering his guest a gentle smile. There was no need for another spoken explanation.
"Monsieur, I only seek truth and a glimpse into the history of my future husband. And to know more about you, Nadir," she tested his given name on her lips for the first time
"Erik is so many things, Christine. Our friendship, and it is a rare but treasured thing- has been one wrought of anguish and brotherly love. I have a great respect for the man that brought my only child joy and also peace, in his dying moments. "
"I wish to hear more, Nadir." Her voice was measured, calm, open to whatever words he might utter, any truth he chose to share.
"And, you shall. Christine, you are aware of his past- our shared past- in Persia? It is not a pretty thing, and I dare not continue unless I know that Erik has given you a glimpse into it. . .We did not meet in what one would call a manner of normalcy. Our work was harsh and brutal."
"He hinted at such, not long ago. . ." A stark shiver coursed through her body, igniting her nerve endings, as Christine recalled Erik's confession before the premiere of 'Don Juan Triumphant." :I know the manner of the man to whom I have pledged my vow. I am aware that his past-your shared history- is not one littered with rainbows and laughter."
"No, mademoiselle, it is a sordid history." Nadir cleared his throat and settled into his chair to her left. "But, as troubled as Erik is, and the bloodshed of his past do not serve to diminish his greatness as a man, a genius. Nor the depths of his heart."
"Nadir, I saw and felt so vibrantly, so beautifully, the redemption of his soul." Christine's eyes were full of welling tears that threatened to drop into her teacup, but she held them in, the hope of seeing Erik again serving as a fortress against another bout of hysterical sobbing that she usually reserved for the late night hours in Nair's guestroom.
"Christine," Nadir reached across and put a comforting palm upon her shoulder. "He is not gone. I have faith that he will return to you."
Christine did not respond, only bowing her head and biting her lip as she stared into the hot brewed beverage in her shaking hands.
It was at that moment that a polite knock came to the study door. It could only be Darius, Nadir's kind and loyal servant, his friend. And now, a great friend to herself in the last several days that she had stayed with them.
"Darius, please do come in," Nadir set his tea down and rose to open the door for him. "Mademoiselle Christine and I were just sharing a cup of tea this morning. Would you care to join us?"
Darius, young and robust, excessively tall, his dark skin offsetting brilliant olive eyes and a huge mane of curly black hair, entered the room slowly, a paper folded under his arm, a little bag of pastries held between his fingers. "Good morning to you both. Monsieur Nadir, I thought you and Mademoiselle Christine might enjoy the morning's issue of Le Journal and some croissants from the market." He placed said newspaper on the table between them and set the bag of pastries atop it. "I know that Mademoiselle Christine has been very adamant about the papers."
"Mademoiselle this, Monsieur that, Darius, really?" Nadir slapped his leg and scooted over on the settee. Gesturing to Darius, he offered him a spot. "No more formalities, my good man. Please join us."
"I already had my own, sir." Darius gave a slight nod of his head, his hands folded together below his waist.
"No less reason to join us and watch us eat the bounty you have brought."
Encouraged in no small way by his master's kind invitation, Darius took a seat to Nadir's right. Christine offered him a welcoming smile as he took his place in the room, but she could not refrain from seeking the latest edition of the paper. With a shaking but delicate hand, she lifted the pastries from atop the latest Le Journal and opened it, immediately moving to the top stories. Her eyes scanned hurriedly, but there was no trace or mention of any masked man, any murder or discovery and capture of a felon.
"I see nothing of him," she muttered in a whisper of frustration, slapping the paper against her knee." No answer."
Nadir leaned forward, setting his own cup down, his fingers reaching for the paper. "You've barely skimmed the surface, mademoiselle. Shall I go through it thoroughly, word for word? I wish to be of service to you, and I have so hated watching your disappointment over the last few mornings without a response from our mutual friend."
With a slight hesitation, Christine offered the paper to him, her face defeated. "Perhaps, he is gone and this is futile. I have lost him." The tumult of emotions suddenly overcoming her, Christine buried her eyes in the heels of her palms and ran from the room, her skirts ruffling in a noisy storm of taffeta as she made her departure. The click of her heels against the wooden steps as she ascended was quick and heavy. A few seconds later, a great sob could be heard from the upstairs guest bedroom accompanied by a not too jarring slam of the door.
Darius and Nadir met eyes, with the former making an observation, "Mademoiselle seems quite bereft. This is the little soprano of Monsieur Erik's, am I correct?"
"A keen observation, Darius. It would appear that our guest of the last few evenings is most definitely growing more and more concerned regarding the absence of her missing fiancé'."
"Sir, I do hope that you find something in this print," Darius gestured to the paper, sincerity gleaming in his dark eyes. "For Mademoiselle Christine is already quite dear to me."
"As she is to me, as well." Nadir opened the paper to spread it broadly across his lap, and grabbed a pair of reading glasses to his left, setting them on his handsome, aquiline nose. "Well then, let us see if today's paper might bring Mademoiselle Daae a reprieve from her grief."
"I doubt as much," Darius answered. "Our mutual friend would never be so obtuse. He does so much enjoy his secrecy."
"This is very true, Darius. I expect we will hear from him in some manner soon, however."
Darius simply nodded, their quiet conversation interrupted by another spell of sobbing from the upstairs bedroom.
"She will need to hear from him soon." Darius' eyes pointed upwards as he settled himself into his spot on the divan and poured a cup of tea.
"Oh, lovers, Darius, they are quite dramatic."
"You say that as if this were a simple affair, no more than a quarrel." Darius took a cautious first sip of the aromatic tea, contemplating the situation involving their old friend and his young lady
Nadir chuckled, "We both know that with Erik, and all matters in which he is involved, nothing is ever simple."
"He is our friend, our brother even. Reza, remember, the mercy Erik gave him." Darius' voice trailed off at the ending of those final words, his heart contemplating what his mouth had just revealed. Unspoken words finally said. "And for all his. . .intricacies and sins, I cannot find it within me to turn away his friendship or to abandon him or those he loves."
Nadir offered a gentle smile, thumbing through to the next section of Le Journal, and not gazing up, responded, "Perhaps, Darius, that is the true mark of friendship."
"And what would that be, sir?" The gawkish young servant settled his china teacup upon the end table to his right, his eyes fixed on those of his kind and wise master.
"Acceptance, Darius, acceptance and compassion for another despite their history, their sins. I have always believed in Erik's incredible genius and his incomparable ability to love, despite the hell into which he was cast beginning on the day of his birth. Though, there may be little excuse for many of his actions, as rash, and violent as they were, I do not think him beyond redemption."
"And, sir, may I be so bold as to assume Monsieur Erik's redemption may lay in the small, white hands of the young mademoiselle that has been staying with us for these last several days?"
"Very perceptive, Darius, very." Nadir stood, folding the paper up in resignation before placing it soundlessly on the coffee table. "Nothing today, sadly. No news of note. But, though the dear mademoiselle mourning upstairs may have lost hope, I have not. I do not believe our friend will respond via the newspaper. Fear of detection, and he is far too clever for that." For a brief moment, the former Daroga of Mazandaran paused, contemplating his next words. "Darius, there is one thing for certain that I know, and that is the very fact that Erik is not dead. A misplaced bullet to the shoulder would never take him out. He has survived far worse, as you and I both know from our shared history. He will come for her, as soon as he is able, I am sure."
"I do not doubt that. Still, I wish we could offer Mademoiselle Christine some solace," Darius rose from his seat, as well, slight disappointment written across his olive features, his full lips turned down at the corners. "I guess I shall attend to the morning errands, and let chef know to prepare lunch, then. Is there anything else you require, sir?"
"No thank you, Darius. I think I'll retire to my chambers until the meal is prepared. I have some work to handle. As you know, the documents never cease to come to my desk. I would have thought the Surete to have hired a more qualified detective by now, rather than seeking out my consultation once more. Please ring the bell when the meal is ready." Nadir turned the corner to make his way to his study, only to be interrupted by an urgent knocking upon the front door. Startled by the abrupt interruption, he pivoted in his steps and looked to Darius.
"It is very unusual at this hour of the day to be receiving a guest, sir." Darius held his voice to a whisper.
"Answer it, please."
Darius made for the door and opened it slowly, with a small bit of caution. On the other side of the door stood a tall, brutish sort of a man, bald headed with thick eyebrows and clothes far too small on his gargantuan frame. His face was a symmetry of hard lines, not unkind, but stern. In his large extended palm rested an envelope.
"Bonjour, sir. How can I help you?" Darius greeted with an awkward smile.
The visitor did not return the smile, only pushed the envelope towards Darius' hand. "I have a letter for Monsieur Khan. Please see that he receives it. It is of the most urgent and utmost importance." The messenger's voice was soft and low, and did not at all seem to match the intimidating frame of its owner.
Stunned and with a slight shaking of his hand, Darius took the letter. The visitor bowed and turned to walk away in silence. As soon as he had closed the door behind the strange guest, Darius was placing the envelope into his master's hand. A silent hope passed between master and servant in that moment, their eyes both fixed upon the letter as Nadir hurriedly broke the seal and pried it open.
And there in a familiar scrawl known to both of them, though not in the usual crimson ink, was a message from the elusive Doctor O.G.
To the esteemed N.K,
I received your urgent request regarding a patient in the pages of Le Journal a handful of days ago. I am very concerned about the condition of your patient. So much so, that I will call upon you at your home late this evening. Please provide for my discretion, as I do not wish for the patient's dire condition to be known to those outside of the home. Also, it would be in the best interest of the household if the balcony doors to the patient's bedroom were to remain unlocked this evening. I wish not to cause a stir at my arrival.
With all due respect,
Doctor O. G.
Nadir and Darius stared at the message in satisfied disbelief, a shared grin sweeping across their features. "I told you he was a crafty fellow, Darius." Nadir folded the envelope up in a neat square, such as it had arrived, despite the necessary breaking of the plain wax seal. "Please slip this under Mademoiselle Daae's door and alert her with a simple knock. She is in a fragile state and I would prefer she not have witnesses upon reading this news." Nadir once again placed the missive in the younger man's hands.
"Of course, sir." Darius, ever dutiful, made his way up the stairs, slipped the envelope under the guest bedroom door and knocked. "A message has arrived for you, Mademoiselle Daae."