About halfway around the lake I came across the remains of an iron grate, ripped asunder by hands made strong with blind rage. The sight of the mangled metal frightened me for some reason. Abandoning all stealth I broke into a run, my feet hammering the ground and the lantern-light bobbing with a jarring rhythm. The pins holding my hair were jolted free and the braid fell down my back, leaving loose tendrils of ebony dangling haphazard around my face. At length I came upon another portal, also showing signs of forced entry, and with a final rush of fear I burst through into the room beyond.
The lantern pierced the gloom just enough to show me that I was in a sort of hall, one which had been richly adorned before the hangings had been ripped from the walls and the ornaments scattered. I righted a few of the large candelabra that had lined the space, lighting the half-broken tapers off my lamp. The increased illumination revealed only the full extent of the mob’s wrath. The curtains had not only been torn down, but slashed and rended as well; the immense pipe organ which had nearly filled one wall was now nothing more than a barely recognizable mass of bent pipes and splintered wood. I ran round the chamber, but could discern no other entry or exit other than the one I had used.
"Erik?….Erik, please, answer if you can hear me…." Silence.
Near one end of the hall there was a small dais, and upon approaching it I found two items which had escaped destruction by half-hiding in the ruin of one of the hangings. One was a high-backed chair, rather like a throne, upholstered in black and silver. The other, seated on a small table beside it, was an ornate music box fashioned of inlaid wood and velvet. I touched the spring on the latter and it responded with the sound of a soft, chiming melody. The simple, sad sound broke my heart, and I knelt against the throne, my tears staining the dark fabric.
"Do get up, Madame; you look like a scullery maid." The soft, mellifluous tenor brought a burst of joy to my heart. I turned to face him, but as I did my sigh of relief turned to a dismayed gasp.
Never, not even in the squalor of that accursed fair, had I seen Erik like this. It wasn’t the horror of his face which distressed me—indeed, like Christine I had long lost any fear of the sight—nor was it the ragged, unkempt state of his normally fastidious attire. Rather, there was something…broken about him; that heretofore-indomitable spirit which had first drawn me to pursue his shadow had been nearly extinguished. He seemed to me like an aged lion, blunted of tooth and claw, clinging to the tattered remains of his majesty as he awaited the inevitable. "You were right," he said softly, the words hoarse with sorrow. "I am extremely thankful that you are not the sort given to gloating."
The words agitated me. "Christine and the Vicomte…where are they?"
He drew a deep, sad breath. "They no longer concern me."
"You were the last person to see them, so they damn well do concern you!" I retorted angrily. "And if you don’t give me a straight answer to the question I might be inclined to finish what that mob set out to do—"
He glanced at me with bitter reproach, and I instantly regretted the words. I somehow knew that whatever had happened, Erik did not deserve any of my criticism. After a moment, he said simply, "I let them go."
The confession robbed me of speech, and I could only stare at him in confusion. He crossed the room with dragging steps to sit beside me on the dais, averting his face as much as possible. Understanding his discomfort, I held out the mask to him, and he donned it with silent gratitude. Then slowly he gave me an account of a scene which is no doubt etched indelibly on your mind. How you found your way into Erik’s home and, having been made careless by your concern for your beloved, were all too easily trapped by him. How Erik had forced upon Christine the impossible choice of pledging her hand to him or watching your death…and how she, in that darkest hour, finally found the courage to forgive and accept him, breaking through the barrier of his madness by giving him the first kiss he had ever received.
"I never really thought she could love me," he murmured, his eyes shining like those of a man who has seen Paradise. "I desired it, dreamt it, fought for it, but never in my soul believed I could succeed. Even when she kissed me, I thought it must be a trick to buy the boy’s life. But then I looked in her eyes…and they were warm and radiant, without fear or pretense, so like my dream that for a moment I was certain I would again wake alone in the dark. But I didn’t wake up…it was real." He smiled through the tears coursing down his masked cheeks. "Christine loves me, Madame….she loves me!"
"Yes," I said softly, crying with him. "I know she does."
He did not seem to hear. "I might have stayed in her arms forever. Even that boy ceased to exist for me…the whole of my world dissolved into the joy of Christine’s embrace." Misery clouded over his face. "But then I heard them coming for me."
I tensed. "I did send the Vicomte after you, but believe me I had nothing to do with—"
"I know," he replied. "It doesn’t matter either way." He rested his elbows on his knees, bending over his hands almost like one in prayer. "In that moment, I realized how it would be for Christine if she became my wife: always living in shadow, running from place to place when my past caught up with me, never able to truly rest or build a life. And I knew…I knew I loved her too much to condemn her to that fate. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, pushing her into the Vicomte’s arms even when I knew she wanted to stay…" As he spoke, he fingered a silver and onyx ring on his little finger—the same ring, I understood suddenly, that he must have given Christine on the stage of the Opera far above us. "But she loves him, and she will be happy. That thought alone kept me from going mad with grief, gave me the presence of mind to conceal myself from the men who would have too gladly ended my wretched existence…Miserable I may be, but not so much as to endure that humiliation."
I didn’t know what to say, and perhaps it was best that I didn’t say anything. Erik studied me for a moment and then rose, leaning his weight against the back of the throne. "You should go," he said presently. "I think I will no longer be requiring your services."
"I beg to differ," I said, standing as well. "From my perspective, you now need my aid more than ever."
He chuckled mirthlessly. "To the contrary, I am rapidly coming upon the time when I shall be beyond the need or aid of anyone." He looked up, seeing my puzzlement. "I’m dying, Madame."
I shook my head. "I know it must feel that way now, but—"
"You don’t understand," he interrupted. "I am ill….I have been for nearly a year now. For a while I fought it, for Christine…but now that she is gone, I see no reason to delay the inevitable."
I didn’t like the truth of his words. He had no reason to lie to me, and I now understood the feebleness I had observed in his unguarded moments. "Is there nothing to be done?"
"Even if there was, I would have none of it," he replied. "I have long been weary of this life, so much so that I wondered at my continued existence on the earth. Now I know what I was waiting for…and I also know that it is time for me to leave this mortal coil."
I tried to hold my tears back, determined to be brave in his presence…but sad to say that was a task at which I failed miserably.
"Go," he repeated, turning away from me. "There is nothing left for you here."
I didn’t exactly make the decision—it was just there suddenly. "You’re wrong," I said gently, even though I had thought the same thing not twenty-four hours before. "You are here. And until that changes, I will stay and do what I can for you."
"There’s no need," he snapped, but his irritability seemed half-hearted. "I have no intention of burdening anyone with the tiresome process of my decease. I have lived alone…and I will die alone."
"No man deserves either fate, no matter what he or the world believes," I asserted. "I could do nothing to prevent the one, but at least I can spare you the indignity of the other." I approached him calmly but firmly. "I’ve walked with you this far, Erik. I’m not about to turn aside simply because your journey is nearly ended."
He looked back at me, his gaze both annoyed and thankful. "I have two things to say to you. First, that you are the most stubborn, ungovernable, brusque, headstrong woman I have ever known in my life."
"That doesn’t surprise me too much," I said. "And the second?"
His eyes softened. "I wish…I wish my mother had been more like you."
To my immense embarrassment, I found I was blushing, and suddenly I was highly aware of the sight I must have been: skirts limp and draggled with damp, face flushed, hair hanging carelessly down my back and about my head.
"Forgive me," Erik continued with sudden urbanity, "I’ve been a most neglectful host, leaving you standing in my front hall all this time. Would you care to join me in the parlor?"
I agreed and he led me to an apparently innocuous section of the wall near what remained of the organ. The pressure of his hand upon a certain stone unveiled a well-concealed door, and I was ushered through it into an elegantly furnished sitting room. The tasteful but obviously expensive furniture would have been at home in any palace in Europe, and I thanked God that Erik had the foresight to conceal the majority of his house from those who might seek him out.
He invited me to make myself comfortable, but even as he spoke was beset with a sudden bout of weakness and staggered to rest his weight against the grand piano in one corner of the room. I ran to his aid without thinking, my hands closing over his arm before I knew what happened. We seldom if ever touched each other, and the sudden contact made both of us pause. "You should rest," I said in an attempt to hide my unease.
He glanced instinctively at an open doorway; the room beyond could only be described as a mortuary chamber, with a coffin under a silken canopy. "Yes," he said, seeing the horror on my face, "that is where I have slept for some time." He frowned thoughtfully. "But it’s strange…even though I am now closer to requiring that bed than I have ever been, I feel no particular inclination to take my place there just yet…"
I nodded sympathetically. "Is there anyplace else…?"
He thought for a moment. "Yes," he said, almost to himself. "I suppose it would be quite fitting, in a way…"
Leaning his weight on my arm, he led me to another door; this one opened upon an exquisite but otherwise ordinary bedroom. The lace-trimmed furnishings and finely carved vanity were unquestionably feminine, and there could be no doubt as to whom this room had been intended for. But I made no comment as I helped him into the soft bed; if Erik wished to spend his last days surrounded by the memories of his beloved, I would not say him nay.
At his direction, I found a small bottle of laudanum, and carefully poured a moderate dosage. "I have some matters to attend to outside, but I should return before you wake," I said as he drank.
He inclined his head. "You’ll find the catch to the outer door on the right side of the cupboard in the parlor," he instructed. "Do you remember how to get back in?" I indicated that I did. "Very well," he continued, his voice growing drowsy. "Then I can depend upon you to return."
"Always, Erik," I said as his eyes closed. "Always."
Go on to Chapter 29
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