Chapter Twenty-four

“Anna?”

Erik rubbed his upper arm and flexed his hand, trying to get feeling back into his fingertips. How long had he played? The isolated area of the train yard had waxed into dawn. Rusty old cars, piles of ties and track, lay in stacks around him. In the distance, the train he recalled traveling on was gearing up for a new day’s travel. Far down the tracks, the day’s first passengers milled around. Did he dream? Or was he awake? There were no signs of flame or fire and yet, he remembered her. Was she a ghost? He stared at his violin. How did he get it?

“Anna?” Erik waited for an answer, but only a lone rat scurried by in reply.

He sagged into his sorrow and turned toward the tracks, resolved that he would navigate this uncharted sea of grief alone. It had all been a dream, an illusion. Erik stared at his violin, feeling confusion engulf him. The sounds of footsteps crushing against the rock, edged in on his pain. Looking up, he could scarcely believe the two figures moving out from behind a crate.

Erik stared at the child sleeping in the old man’s arms. “Philippe?” Erik reached for him with a murmur of his name, but a woman slid between him the baby.

“Anna?” He moaned in one long breath. Erik registered Pappy’s face hoping the man could confirm her existence. “My Anna?”

“What do you remember?” The restrained tremolo in Anna’s voice slapped Erik hard across the face.

“What?”

“You don’t remember the Siren?”

Blinding pain pierced him behind the eyes. “I played the Siren away. I calmed my madness. Oh, Anna…” Hugging the violin, he dropped to his knees as if a cloak of iron had been thrown across his shoulders. Everything that had happened rolled over him in lucid waves. He laid the instrument aside and begged her with open arms to come to his level, but Anna didn’t move.

The agony! The denial!

Erik buried his mask in his hand. “Please let me hold my son.”

Anna crouched before him but refused his request. “No. Not until I know it’s you who will be holding him.”

A nonsensical wail clawed out his throat. “Then I will never feel his arms! Because I never know who I am.”

“Yes, you do.”

Erik shook his head against her words. “I never expected Philippe to return when we parted ways, but he said he would. If not for his need to check that a monster like me had not sinned again, he would still be alive. I somehow killed the man who gave me back my life.”

“What’s he rambling?” Pappy tried to get Anna to stand and come his way, but she wouldn’t move.

Erik turned away from Anna’s furrowed brow. No matter how anything in life turned out, his madness would always lie too close to the surface. “I am not worthy of this child, Anna. Take him away. My mind will assuredly destroy him and you—like it did Philippe. It will harm all I have ever held dear to my heart.”

“Anna, maybe we should—”

Erik held her gaze as she shooed Pappy silent. “I cannot make him go away. I cannot make the Phantom go away.”

Anna reached toward him. The sudden gesture didn’t reassure him. Erik lashed out at her as soon as she touched his chin and batted her hand away.

“Did you not hear me? Take him away!” Erik curled his body into his pain as the old man tugged on Anna’s shoulder. “Take that child from me before I destroy him! Go with him! The Phantom is here and will never leave me.”

Anna pressed a leather pouch against the violin Erik clutched to his chest. “He shouldn’t. I know now more than I ever have before how impossible it is for you to choose between the two. He’s a part of you.”

Beneath his mask, Erik’s eyes widened in disbelief. She was so gentle and frank that her reply didn’t seem possible. Anna always had a way of understanding him, but the thought that she finally knew that he simply couldn’t separate man from madman, was overwhelming. Laying the violin aside, Erik poured the contents of the pouch into his lap, trembling as he lifted the gold ring and stared at its ornately carved signet. “I did not mean to kill him. He was my friend.”

“His death was an accident, Erik. It is merely a coincidence that he drowned in your lake. If he went down there, he did on his own accord. You had no control over that.”

He wanted to believe her, but the thought of that was wearying. The only thing Erik knew was how sincerely he wanted her and the baby she held. “Do not leave and take my child from me. I did not mean it. Let me hold my son.”

Despite Pappy’s grumble of protest as Anna rose, she gingerly took Philippe from his arms and laid him Erik’s. Erik melted into his warm and soft embrace. How much he had grown! He smelled like a fresh breeze after new rain. Erik’s breath came in great gulps as he fought to control the emotions surging through him. His baby boy was still perfect. Erik dropped the signet he still held and fumbled to pick up the gold chain and medallions. He laid it over his son’s head.

“These were Philippe de Chagny’s.”

Erik held his breath as Anna leaned close to see. His fought away the sting to his eyes as her scent mingled with that of the baby. She was really alive and his thoughts clear as water. He had to remember to breathe when she asked her question.

“What are they?”

“Philippe de Chagny’s religious medallions.” Erik wasn’t surprised when Anna’s brow shot up. “Saint Joseph and Mary. The patron saint of fathers, the other a patron saint of sinners.” He struggled to his feet, careful not to wake his son. “Come. We leave now.”

Anna slowly gathered the contents that had slid from Erik’s lap and put them back in the leather pouch. She handed them up to Pappy before taking Erik’s violin and bow. Anna was silent as she and held them.

“You are hesitating. Why?” Erik regretted his tone when she scowled. There were a thousand questions about his past to be answered; he could see them in every line on her face. In the coming months, he’d have to answer all of them. There was no way he could expect her to brush aside the madness she had witnessed in him again. The thought of facing it with her was anxiety inciting.

“I will always be unstable, Anna, but I have an equal in you.” Those words only deepened the ripple across her brow. “Not in madness or genius, but in knowing the limits of a heart. My heart. I have confused you, but please—stay by my side.”

Erik held her gaze. It reminded him of a moment not so long ago when he forced her to make a critical decision in an opera house and demanded she chooses between staying behind, or following him as he was. No reply came. He didn’t blame her.

“I cannot find the man in madman, Anna. I have tried for too long. Philippe showed me how to carry that burden by letting people help me. Madness is my fate to carry, but in your eyes, that fate has never been lighter. I want to take you as far away from my nightmare as I can, but I do not know where that road is.” The hand he extended to her shook as he formed words he finally felt in his soul. “Anna, I apologize for hurting you as did with Christine in Lyon. I apologize for everything.” Erik watched her blink as if she’d been blindsided. “Please, forgive me? Lead me home.”

Time was a cruel master of the moment, standing perfectly still. The sensations of her fingers as they laced in his made his body come alive with hope. She drew his hand toward her heart, tugging him and the baby close to her and the violin she held.

“Home is where you love,” she replied.

Her tiny frame dwarfed against his, but for the first time in his life, it was Erik who felt small. The unlikely woman who leaned against him completed a void he had been trying to fill for many years.

Christine may have been his instrument, but Anna was his music.

Erik looked over to where Pappy stood. The old man had gathered up their scattered belonging and struggled to get the bulging satchel across his shoulder. Apprehension carved Pappy’s expression but there was gentleness behind his gaze. “I must make a stop first,” Erik said to him. “There is something I have to I return.”

Turning from Anna, he used his free hand to help Pappy on with the satchel hoping the old man could come to trust him again. A shrill voice made them turn.

“You there! Girl!”

A conductor hastened down the tracks, his attitude not pleasant.

“Erik, hide!” Anna harshly commanded.

Erik stared down the tracks like a matador does a bull. Pappy grabbed him and the baby and tugged them out of sight. Heart pounding blood into his ears, Erik gripped his son in an effort not charge down that man in all his masked glory.

“I see you, girl. Don’t think I’ll let you get away with jumping on a boxcar.” The conductor pointed back toward the train and slowed as he approached. “You damn Bohemians. This is a train station, not a concert hall. I could hear you playing clear down the tracks!”

Erik peered around a crate to see Anna hugging the violin to her chest.

“I was doing no harm, Monsieur.”

“And you won’t any longer. I don’t tolerate vagabonds on my boxcars. You’re coming with me. We will see how the magistrate handles you.”

When the conductor grabbed her arm, Erik leaned out of his spot ready to rip that man’s hands off her. Pappy yanked him back hissing out a warning to stay still.

“Let her go,” a different voice called. “She’s merely a child.”

The conductor opened his mouth, a protest perched on his lips when a man approached and pressed several bills into his hand. Erik’s eyes narrowed first on the man’s dark skin and then on his jade eyes.

The Daroga? Tension of a different sort twitched its way up Erik’s spine.

“I’ll pay for her ticket. And she won’t jump any more trains on your route. Isn’t that right, Mademoiselle?”

“Yes…” Anna stammered, yanking her arm free from the conductor.

With a mumble of thanks a sharp reprimand to Anna, the conductor left. They both watched him disappear down the tracks until Anna glanced to where Erik hid.

“You’re that Persian,” Anna said, looking back to the man at her side.

“The Daroga of Mazanderan, yes. Why aren’t with Darius?”

“That’s not your concern.”

“Then answer to where your child is. When I last saw you were well underway.”

“Child?” Anna shifted from one foot to the next. “I won’t answer that either.”

The Daroga sighed. “Then where is Erik? You can’t convince me you traded your baby for a violin to take up the life of a wandering minstrel. The only person who can play like that is Erik. I heard the music clear across the train yard. You’re damn lucky half the town isn’t over here.”

“Lower your voice, Daroga. That is no way to address a lady.” Stepping from the shadow and into the early light, Erik leveled his eyes at his old friend. The Daroga stiffened, as he always did in the past when Erik snuck up on him. He stared for a moment at the infant in his arms, and then lifted his piercing green eyes to Erik’s face. “What are you doing here?”

“Traveling like a free man,” the Daroga said, tightly. “I have only ever heard music that angry during the rosy hours of Mazanderan. When your madness was so consuming all the sands of Persia shook.”

Erik moved from his spot. He instructed Pappy to reclaim the stallion before turning his attention to the tone the Daroga chose to take. “My madness is not your concern. I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“When the entire town is practically awakened by such music, Erik, I’m duty bound as an investigator to discover why. Either that, or I am foolishly curious. You can be sure that conductor will still bring the authorities. Vagabonds aren’t welcome on trains.”

“What will you do when they come? Turn us in to Chagny?” Erik laughed. “I have not been followed by any marksmen for many months. I fear they have given up.” His mirth faded upon seeing the blank stare on Anna’s face. “Anna?”

“Loup’s hounds found us a fortnight ago,” she replied.

The Daroga huffed, causing Erik to whirl toward him. He looked over the Daroga’s clothing from his polished boots to the Ashakran hat upon his head. “Betray us if you must, Daroga. But you do not seem like the man who is in need of a bounty.”

“Leave,” he replied sharply. “Go where you need to go. I’ll not say a word you were here.”

Erik’s eyes tapered. “Why do this for me? It only tangles you in my life, and we both know how unwise that is.”

“I’m always tangled in your life,” he bitterly replied. “I do this for the child.”

The Daroga stepped forward. “May I?”

Instinctively, Erik stepped back and pulled Philippe closer to his chest. He sought confidence in Anna’s eyes. She subtly nodded before Erik pointed her down the tracks to where Pappy was heading. Erik didn’t care if strangers looked on his infant. Strangers, unlike the Persian, did not know of what lay beneath his mask. The idea of the Daroga seeing his child filled Erik with awkward unease. He peeled back the cloth of his opera cloak and turned Philippe’s pink and flawless face toward his old rival.

The Daroga’s lips slipped open. Wrinkles inched into the corner of his eyes as he smiled down at the baby. A paralyzed wonder etched on the Daroga’s face making shame heat Erik’s cheeks. Erik had forgotten the years of strained rapport that lay awkwardly beneath their bitter disdain for each other.

“Your…?”

“Son,” Erik replied.

“His name?”

“Leave, Daroga,” Erik said abruptly. “It is best we stay away from one another.” He pushed past him only to be hooked by the arm.

“Christine Daaé has asked that I instruct her if our paths ever cross. Why?”

“That is a question to ask her. Not me.” Erik yanked his arm free and took two paces away only to be snared again.

“You’re not a stable man, Erik. What do you intend to do with the girl?”

Erik followed the Daroga’s nod toward Anna and the old man. They were slowly making their way down the tracks. Tearing his eyes from her back, Erik addressed the years of mistrust that leeched into the Daroga’s statement.

“Every madman has a sane man inside of them screaming ‘you are mad,’ Daroga. Mine screams ‘you can love.’ Pity that frightens you so.”

Without a further word, Erik hastened down the tracks, leaving this particular part of his past standing dumbstruck in his wake. Exhausted, Erik wanted to wander as far as he could with his future in his arms, and the rest of his existence buried somewhere behind him. He watched his child sleep and projected the baby’s name through the air around him, so that it blanketed the train yard with as much chilling silence as it had done years ago in his labyrinth.

“His name is Philippe Georges Marie.”

Whether or not the Daroga heard he didn’t know. And Erik didn’t turn to find out.

 

They roamed the dank vaults as if it were natural and commonplace. These nightly walks had become a tradition throughout the years. There was no fighting his stranger’s visits, and once Erik stopped trying, he found his perpetually uninvited guest to be quite charming. Their regular rituals turned away from debating one another on morals versus madness and more into casual conversations.

Erik briefly looked at the communard road leading from the cellars to the opera house. He kept on walking. “What are they planning on performing for the winter season?” he asked. This stranger was a much-needed lifeline to the world above.

“As if you don’t know. Come now, I’m fully aware you never once heeded my demand to stay away from that theater. You still haunt the place.”

Erik clasped his hand behind his back and replied frankly. “Rarely. I barely find any reason worth going up there anymore.”

His companion’s eyebrow cocked. “Fine then. The new managers, Laroque and Wischard, have selected a series of works by Händel.”

The words stopped Erik in his tracks. “Are they insane? Why not allow the good citizens of Paris to destroy this theater on their own then? They would be better off digging their grave than perform work by a German composer.” He pointed to his stranger. “That country is not exactly high in French regard.”

The stranger made a gesture as if to say he agreed. “This theater is failing. It has been since—well, you’re aware why.” The stranger chuckled. “The new managers seem to think the risk is worth the chance. Sounds like a scandal to me.”

“Even I despise scandal but will admit, however stupid on the managers’ behalf, Händel is a brilliant choice.”

“Stay away from that theater,” his stranger warned before caving to defeat. “At the very least, stay out of sight.”

“I assure you, I want nothing to do with that theater or your precious little world.”

“We’ve been taking these strolls for awhile now, and you still haven’t shunned or killed me, so that can’t be entirely true.”

“Momentary sanity.”

Even the stranger’s laugh had grown on Erik.

“Tell me, Maestro, why haven’t you inquired about her? It has been quite some time since I even heard you whisper Christine’s name.”

Erik’s hands remained behind his back; his focus in front of him as if all that mattered to him was what lay was ahead. He sighed toward the ceiling. “There is nothing in the past we can bring back by longing for it. There is only an eternally new now that builds and creates itself out of the best as the past withdraws.”

The words brought his stranger up short. “That was poetic.”

“That was Göethe.”

“Powerful words. Since when did you take an interest in German philosophy? I thought you despised all things German.”

“I do. I am simply running out of ways to entertain myself.” He sized up his stranger. “Three feet is all the space that is necessary to kill with a Punjab. Target practice would entertain me.”

“I have no doubt it would.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, their tandem strides echoing together through the wet halls and passages. The stranger broke the silence.

“I’m taking my leave of Paris for a while, Maestro.”

Erik looked at him but didn’t slow his pace. “If you missed it, that it was my sob of sorrow.”

“Ah. Sarcasm, I’ve come to like that on you.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve some affairs to attend to in Bayonne, and then I figured a little respite Pamplona might be nice. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen Spain.”

Erik grumbled under his breath. “Must be nice to be afforded freedom like a normal man.”

“You could have freedom too if you were willing to accept the changes and consequences it would bring.”

“I want nothing to do with humanity. I told you that.”

“Man wasn’t designed to live alone. If you so want solitude why do you keep taking walks with me?”

Erik couldn’t answer. Did he feel indebted to his stranger for saving his life even though at the time he sincerely wished he hadn’t? He didn’t know why he hadn’t attempted suicide a second time. The life he led now was worse than before. Forced into shadows deep underground as a wanted man, only surfacing in the dark of night if he had to, and relentlessly pursued by the memories of days long gone. Perhaps he lived for his music?

“I’ll call on you again when I return from my travels,” the stranger assured. “I don’t know when that will be, but I’ll return.”

“Again, if you missed that, such was my skip of excitement.”

Erik’s sarcasm fell by the wayside as he stumbled, tripping over a bundle on the ground. Scowling, he picked up the parcel: a simple brown package with no markings and tied neatly with twine. Perplexed, he turned it over.

“What is that?” the stranger asked.

“How should I know?” Erik noticed the sewer archway above his head. “It must have fallen from a carriage.”

“Open it.”

“I am not going to open it. It is clearly not meant to be here.” He reached overhead to shove it back through the archway when his stranger stopped him.

“I would wager a guess that it was. Random acts my friend—are found in all sorts of bizarre places. Open it. I may be a virtuous old fool, but I’m not stupid. Free is free.”

Erik tore into it. “Is this some sort of joke?”

His stranger shrugged, the look on his face, smug. “Interesting contents. Perhaps it’s not so random. Proves my point do you not think? How things tend to tumble into one another?”

Erik wasn’t listening. He rifled through the contents as curious as a child on Christmas, The music in his mind suddenly screaming to be released.

His stranger turned to leave. “Au revoir, Maestro. ‘Till we meet again.”

Erik glanced up from the package. “Erik,” he said abruptly. “My name. It is Erik.”

The stranger nodded and smiled as he turned away. “I know. Au revoir, Erik.”

“Are you not going to afford me the same courtesy, stranger? Or am I still to go through the years not knowing your rightful name?” Erik glared at his stranger’s back until the man turned, and gave him an equally challenging stare. Erik scoffed. He spread his arms wide. “Should I not know the identity of The Shade?”

His stranger stiffened. “The Shade?”

Erik laughed. “Do not act so innocent. For all the years I have been a presence in this opera house, a mysterious man wandered about my labyrinth dressed in a cloak and felt hat arresting those lost in the cellars and returning them above ground. It was so easy for all to assume I was The Shade, but the clues were there that I was not. While I claim that I am everywhere, even I cannot be in two places at once. Come—how long have you been The Shade? How long have you known me?”

“And how long have you known of me?” he asked cautiously.

“Long enough. Do you make it a habit to be so philanthropic with your time, or do you enjoy dressing up and wandering around dark cellars?”

The man’s eyes tapered. “I’m a wealthy man, Erik. I’ve spent many years making sure the less fortunate are safe and cared for.”

“And I need to be cared for?”

“No. You need to be understood, and it is time someone beyond me starts to do that. You’re ready to move on.” He pointed to the ceiling. “I’d rather you leave that old box keeper you used to annoy alone. Her heart is not exactly strong. Don’t go looking to her for outside help while I’m away.” He gestured to the package. “I made other arrangements. Someone knows you’re down here.”

Erik’s eyes flew open in anger. “You liar! I thought you faked my death to keep me anonymous.”

“No,” the stranger snapped. “I faked your death to prove men can be forgiven for all transgressions—even attempted murder.”

“You are still a persistent little fart! I told you, I had nothing to do with the death of that sniveling nobleman. He fell simply, and naturally, into the lake.” It was a boldfaced lie, one that the man before him found no humor in.

“His death?”

“Yes, his death. Who knows of me?” Erik didn’t like stance the stranger took or his question.

“Just a good Samaritan. I made your new caretaker aware of your needs. Leave it alone and accept the packages with an open mind. Perhaps in this, you will find your new beginning.” He gestured to the parcel. “Do what you want with the figs. You did say you liked them, didn’t you?” He waved his hand and turned away “Godspeed, Erik.”

Erik watched his stranger walk deeper into the shadows of the sewers. Confusion tumbled in his mind. He didn’t expect his emotions to be so disorganized. “Your name, Monsieur.”

“I honestly don’t think you want to know.”

“Think otherwise.”

“Philippe.”

Erik tucked the package under his arm. “’Till we meet again, Philippe.”

The man stopped. He turned. “Philippe Georges Marie. I am the Comte de Chagny.”

Paris never heard such awesome silence.