Chapter Twenty

A mind, tormented, is one searching for infinite possibilities and madness, a cancer endlessly looking for asylum. Erik tried to get control of his senses, but the padlocks that covered his wrists also imprisoned his mind.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, crashing him from one wall into another. He had lost track of the number of times he was transferred long ago. Where he was didn’t matter. He only wanted to give in to the noise in his mind—take its poison and be done with it.

“Bon Matin!” Loup exclaimed as he swung the cage doors open. “Welcome to Chaumont. We rest here until we receive our orders from your friend, the comte.”

The centuries-old stone structure they stopped before rose high above the town, standing out like a threat to anyone who dared step out of line. Erik thrashed the entire way from the carriage toward the holding cell giving those who restrained him no small show of his fury. The cell door screeched when Loup yanked it open, and before Erik could blink he was thrown in with such force, he was pitched against the far wall.

The crack of his forehead against the stone he thought a fitting blow to match the thoughts pummeling his mind. The floor rose up to meet him as he sank first to one knee, then the next. Erik inched his way into a corner, dragging pungent hay beneath his knees. He wanted to back away from the bars behind him, but the walls prevented his escape. A grim shadow of his past flashed before his eyes.

It was not the bars or the cell he hated; he hated the idea of a prison not of his making. It was the idea of weakness and vulnerability. It was the illusion that he was merely a beast with no feeling, no soul, and no control. A worthless child to be locked in dark basements, an insignificant man to be jeered at, a skilled mastermind to be feared…

Memories roared to life as guards entered in behind him. Erik spat incomprehensible words at them, fighting back violently as soon as his hands were freed from his binds. Before he could blink however, rusty manacles replaced the ropes and, with two ominous clicks, they encircled his already raw wrists.

As the guards exited, Loup entered and untangled a well-worn chain at Erik’s feet. Loup reached around Erik’s waist and fastened one end to the manacles while grinning at the sickening sound it made as he clasped the other end to a ring in the wall. Loup squatted and leaned in inches from Erik’s face. They locked eyes for a second before Loup jerked down on the chain.

Erik bellowed with pain.

“You tremble, Monsieur,” Loup purred. “Tell me, your quivering? Is that out of fear of me, or do you miss her lips?”

Loup yanked the chain again. Erik breathed through tightly clenched teeth as the metal ripped open his flesh further. Deep inside he fostered an irrepressible urge to kill.

“You miss her, don’t you? The scent of her flesh as she lingers close to you. Her taste as she offers you her lips…”

Without warning, Loup’s teeth slammed against Erik’s as he filled his mouth with his tongue. Erik jerked, the back of his skull slamming into to the wall behind him. Shaking his head from side-to-side, he savagely tore his face away. He may have broken the kiss, but he could do nothing to drown out Loup’s menacing laughter.

“Such cold lips you have. Like the lips of the dead. Like her lips.”

Erik lunged forward with a feral growl of rage as Loup dodged out of his way. The murderous fury fell short, snapped backward only by Erik’s tether.

“Don’t go far,” Loup mocked, as he ran a finger across his mouth and slid it between his lips. Laughing, he backed himself out of the cell and slammed its iron bars shut.

The silence would have been blissful if not for the noise in Erik’s mind. He fought against the invisible arms that hauled him back into a horrific world. There’d be no escaping his dammed memory. The evil presence in his mind had him laughing in glee one minute, and in the next cowering that the thoughts even existed. The minutes were locked together like lovers in an untamed tango, dancing to a brutish rhythm.

Erik cursed and gave one last yank on his chain before giving up and curling into a tight ball. The Phantom had captured him again, and there was no reason to escape. As this malevolent dance twirled in his head, the memory of a dance of a different sort cut in. Erik’s gaze darted left to right as he followed the vision. Sweat and rancid hay stung his eyes making them tear, but he refused to blink. If he closed them again, she would be gone.

Anna was there; laughing while he waltzed with her, her hair glimmering with highlights of copper. She was petite and full of spirit, so simple in a world so complex. Her smile was intoxicating. Her breasts heaved with the anticipation of his touch. When she stood on her toes to reach for his mask, he eagerly leaned forward with his lips to greet her. As her shimmering tresses inched closer to his face, anticipation built in his body until she erupted into a wall of flame, and fire consumed his vision of her.

Erik slammed his eyes shut. He clawed at his mask as he tried to tear his eyes free from the image. He couldn’t bear to watch her burn again, but nothing stopped it from whirling over and over in his head. His blood raced, his strength failed, and fear took over. Erik retreated unwillingly into his memories.

His dance card it seemed—was full.

The den was a palace of debauchery, not at all where Raoul desired to spend the end to a long and tedious journey. He wove his way through the establishment toward the backroom noting Legard’s equally disgusted look. The place was nothing like the luxury brothels of Paris, but even in a provincial town such as Chaumont it was filled with respectable businessmen and schoolboys—brothel tokens no doubt jingling in their pockets. They found their hunter lounging in a secluded room.

“You seem out of your element, Comte de Chagny,” Loup immediately observed.

Raoul tossed the note Loup had wired on the table. “Where is he?”

“Relax, Monsieur le Comte. Your phantom is across town tucked safe and sound at the magistrate.”

“Then why not meet me there?”

“Because I thought you might need to unwind. Celebrate this moment! He isn’t going anywhere.” Loup snorted. “You painted this man as dangerous. Pathetic is more the word.”

“Why, what did you do to him?” Raoul couldn’t think of a reason for asking that only that he didn’t want to admit that facing the Phantom had wound him tight.

“Nothing, he simply doesn’t like restraints.” Loup turned to the whore to his right and tugged on her earlobe. “Or my lips upon him.”

Raoul’s gut surged.

“What of Mademoiselle Barret?” Legard demanded.

Loup bolted upright, shoving the woman aside. “Or fire!” He slapped his hands repeatedly against the table. “He doesn’t like fire. I like fire. Fire, inspires.”

Raoul clenched his fist until nails bit into his palm. Sliding a glance to Legard, he followed his nod toward the empty bottle, water pitcher, and absinthe spoon on the table.

“Answer me. Did you find her?” Legard gestured to the note drowning in a ring of water on the table.

“I can’t confirm whether she was with him or not, but I suspect she was. My hounds were agitated.” Loup shrugged. “The Phantom was intrigued with the barn we found him near, so I burned it. Your phantom fellow wasn’t happy about that. Who would have thought he’d care so much about a barn.” Loup studied the dirt under his nails.

“You sick excuse for a man!” Raoul barely governed his revulsion.

Loup leaned forward in his chair, sarcasm written all over his face. “You are far too admirable of a man, Comte de Chagny. You respect women too much. Anna is my candy, my toy, my whore. I’ll do with her what I want.”

A barmaid entered and placed a second bottle of Pernod Fils on the table. Raoul grabbed it before Loup had a chance. “I told you no alcohol.”

“Who do you think you’re dealing with?” Loup indicated the bottle. “Deny me that all you want. You have no way of knowing where I am or what I do. That’s the glory of being a hunter. You have no control over me.”

“Duke de Molyneux wanted Mademoiselle Barret brought in alive,” Raoul snapped. “Perhaps I’ll tell him exactly how you operate!”

There’d be no telling how often Raoul would be able to threaten Loup by evoking Molyneux’s name. Despite the hunter’s arrogance, it seemed he did on some level fear the duke. Loup’s eyes tapered. Raoul had hit his mark.

“Let us not match wits,” Loup said, a hint of defeat to his voice. “Have a seat and celebrate this capture. I paid a fine sum for this evening. The Madame has her best waiting for you upstairs. You can deduct it from my pay.”

Raoul clutched the neck of the bottle to keep himself in check. “I don’t bed whores.”

“Really? Then what do you call your wife?”

Raoul dropped the bottle and dove forward, but Legard was the faster man. It was no easy feat to keep Raoul from ramming a fist down Loup’s throat. Legard forced him backward keeping his body between Raoul and the hunter.

“He’s drunk on the green fairy and has no command of his mind or tongue,” Legard cautioned.

“I have command of more than mind and tongue,” Loup implied. “Who I command is soft, naïve, and stupid.”

“What does that mean?” Raoul fumed.

“Mention Molyneux all you want. I can ruin you faster than you ever can me.”

The bastard was smug. Too smug. “You threaten me?” Raoul growled at Loup but pinned Legard with a threatening glance as he kept himself firmly between the two.

“Why not ask your wife whose lips she enjoyed in Lyon, and then attempt to mention Molyneux to me again.” A malicious smile spread across Loup’s face. “Au Revoir, Comte de Chagny. Go fetch your phantom. My work with you is done. I’ll expect my payment in full when I’m through here. It will be nice to add to the lifetime of money your wife will be giving me to keep your good name intact.”

“What are you talking about?” Raoul dodged Legard.

“Enough!” Legard hooked him with his arm and shoved him toward the door.

Once outside, Raoul took several deep breaths, tapping at his chest “Is this what it feels like? Is this what it feels like to want to kill?”

“Lower your voice, Raoul.” Legard spun him around and urged him to walk toward the street.

Raoul pointed toward the brothel. “I could, you know. I could kill them both. The Phantom and that wolf for his vile, disgusting mouth.”

“You never want to kill a man. Trust me. He spoke because he was drunk, nothing more. We’ll transfer Erik to Paris and be done with Loup for good. I told you a hunter wasn’t a wise idea.”

“And Mademoiselle Barret?” Raoul quickened his strides. If he didn’t, there’d be no telling what he’d do if he turned around.

“Loup only became involved with us because of her, and he wanted your purse. If you still desire to press charges against Mademoiselle Barret, I’ll send someone to investigate the barn. See if her body—”

Raoul held up a hand for him to stop. The thought of Legard searching through a charred barn looking for a body… “Just do what you must to make sure this manhunt is over.”

Raoul watched the traffic grow on the street as the town woke for the evening. The establishment behind them held far too much attention for his comfort. He refused to be anywhere near it. He had a Phantom to see.

It didn’t take long to get from the brothel to the narrow hallway outside of Erik’s cell; it only felt that way. For a long while now, everything associated with Erik seemed like some boulder Raoul was dragging along behind him and his family. He was ready to cut the stone loose.

“I do this alone.” Raoul held out his hand to prevent Legard from following.

“No.”

“Legard, he is restrained. I need this moment with him, don’t defy me.”

Legard back away in surrender although he had a look of warning on his face. Raoul acknowledged it before shooting a contemptuous look over Legard’s shoulder toward the balance of Loup’s men as they snickered around their card game. Raoul watched color rise to Legard’s face seconds before his friend cleared the table clear with an arch of his arm. Cards and coins flew across the magistrate’s office. One by one Legard yanked each of them to their feet. Chairs fell over as curses filled the air.

“We’ll be on guard here,” Legard ordered. “One word and we will be at your side.”

Raoul nodded and insisted on the key. He took a moment to stare at it in his hand before taking the longest walk of his life. This was it. The closure he’d be fighting to give Christine, and the answers he’d been looking for about Philippe. It had consumed him for so long.

If he thought brothels to be vile, this was no different. The massive iron bars he stopped before clogged his throat with the scent of excrement and stale air. It was dark and took awhile for his eyes to adjust to the lower light. Raoul slipped the key into the lock. The bars moaned their protest at being opened; a low, mournful sound that rumbled in the center of his chest.

Stepping into the hold, Raoul paused. A platter of bread, cheese, and flat ale sat untouched on the sticky floor. The stone surrounding a high, barred window was riddled with scratches, testimony to one prisoner too many trying to pry their way out. Hay made a small section of the dark room slick, and it was on this hay a figure stirred.

Raoul scowled.

It didn’t make any sense. This was a broken man he was looking at, not the Phantom. Somehow Raoul expected to see that man who held Paris under a spell of intrigue and terror, not some cowering creature who couldn’t even push away a rat.

Raoul boxed away his confusion. Or was it disappointment? He shook his head clear and stared at the ball in the corner. “It seems your travels are over, Erik. It was foolish of you to call on Christine in Lyon. It led us right to you.”

Erik looked up just enough to make Raoul have to stare down that eerie flash of gold that came from his unearthly eyes. Erik leaned out of the shadow sufficiently for Raoul to reaffirm that his hands were tightly bound and chained at an awkward angle. With the change of light, Erik’s yellow eyes disappeared once more in the depths of his mask.

“So,” Erik said, his voice sounding distant, “she had the backbone to tell you, did she?”

“She mentioned you called on her after a performance like a love-sick boy. How many times is she going to need to reject you before you understand she wants nothing to do with you?”

Erik licked his cracked lips and slowly stirred. “Not an emotional boy anymore, are you? But you are still foolishly naïve. How long will it be before you realize she wears one mask for you and one for me? You are married to a stranger, Monsieur. Life is but a masquerade to a Frenchman, though. Where is your domino?”

Raoul refused to be intimidated, even when Erik slid up the length of the wall. He’d forgotten how menacing he was at full height. “Make your jokes. There will be no humor where you’re going.”

“And where might that be—to hell? I have been there before, Monsieur le Comte de Chagny, and I use such formality loosely. You are not worthy of the respect.” Erik dismissed him with a flick of a slender finger and slumped back to the ground.

Raoul stiffened at the use of his style. His voice scratched out his throat. “What did you do to him?”

“To who, Monsieur?”

“Philippe.”

“Philippe?”

Weighty darkness hung in Erik’s voice, one that made Raoul firm up his stance and checked his footing. “You killed him.”

Erik rolled his head back and forth against the wall. His voice was monotone. “I know no Philippes, Monsieur.”

“You’re a liar.” Raoul had to lean in slightly to catch Erik’s next words.

“And a murderer, maestro—”

“They found his body on the shores of your lake,” Raoul shouted, tiring of the game. “Why did he go there? How did my brother die?”

Silence seeped through the walls around them. Erik lifted his head and stared blankly at Raoul’s boots. Raoul looked at his feet, and then behind him following Erik’s gaze as it roamed the cell.

“Philippe. So tiny. So perfect.”

“What the—?” Raoul had no words for the heart-wrenching sob that squeezed out Erik’s chest next. “You’re mad! Why did you kill my brother?”

The cell rattled with an untamed growl. Raoul froze, as Erik with one violent yank, severed the chain from the wall, shattering the manacle around his wrist. Raoul dodged the bits of rusted chain that shot toward him but was too slow to miss Erik’s fist. It cut the air between them cracking against Raoul’s jaw with one swing of Erik’s blood-soaked hand.

The punch knocked Raoul sideways against the wall, splitting his scalp. Landing on the floor, he grabbed the tankard and scrambled back on guard. When Erik lunged again, Raoul swung at his head full force. The blow ripped the edge of his mask, knocking Erik off balance. Raoul set up to strike a second time, but Erik parried. Before Raoul had a chance to attack, or shout for Legard, a metal chain wrapped like a noose around his neck. Erik spun him around and dragged him into his embrace.

“Valiant effort, but you must feel to kill,” Erik spat. “It starts as a tiny flutter somewhere deep inside. A low, monotonous pulse, barely perceptible, until it rises. Yes, it is rising now! It rises until it matches the pitch in your mind. You have never heard what it is like to kill?”

Raoul opened and closed his mouth, fighting for breath. He could feel Erik’s mask against his temple as he hissed into his ear.

“The tones are different, you see. Killing for defense yields one tune, to be an assassin for the Sultana of Persia music all its own. You stiffen, why? Oh, I have a colored past, Monsieur. It should not surprise you. But I have never killed for pleasure.”

Raoul’s boots slid on the hay as he struggled. He glanced at the cell door, his panic rising higher.

“Do I do that now, or save that music for your hunter? A duet you say? No. I will not yield to it. I will not kill again.”

Raoul clawed at the chain as Erik spun him away from the cell door. He tried to buck backward, but the grip on him was too strong. Erik’s voice began to fade the more the chain tightened around Raoul’s neck.

“Too many times, and in too many ways, you have stolen Erik’s loves, Monsieur. And for me to even use ‘love’ in plural form is pure irony. I know the pain of a heart no longer beating, for I am, at last, complete. Erik is finally dead!”

The chain bit into Raoul’s throat making swallowing the saliva flooding his mouth next to impossible. He tried to gargle a reply.

“I suggest you strip off Christine’s mask and recognize her lies! I do not know how your brother died. I would never dare kill the man responsible for giving me back my life. If you do not know why your brother would be at my lake, then figure it out before you die, and the torment becomes too heavy to carry. The grasshopper shall be a burden. Ecclesiastes, 12:5.”

With a final bit of pressure on the chain, the room spun before Raoul collapsed at Erik’s feet. He landed on the ground with a heavy thump as the chain fell around him. Raoul gulped as much air as he could while the room came back into focus. Motionless on the floor, he watched Erik step out of the cell and toward the cloak of the night.

Raoul dragged himself palm over palm upright against the wall. Each move made the room spin, and the slice to his scalp had his head throbbing. Despite it, he bent and picked up the broken manacle. Every word Erik said echoed in his mind. Every blasted, blasphemous, lying word! Raoul grabbed the chain and slammed it into the far wall.

“Damn you, Erik. Legard!” Raoul’s cry sounded like a pencil down a slate. It heated his throat but was loud enough to send Legard and the balance of the marksmen skidding around the corridor in time to see him stumble from the cell.

Legard slid to a stop. “Raoul—?”

“Whatever is the problem?” Loup called, appearing from behind the crowd. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “Phantom issues?”

Raoul ground his teeth as Legard keep him upright. He gestured to his neck as Legard helped him loosen his cravat. Raoul nodded his thanks as he rubbed the raised bits of flesh around his throat.

Loup pushed forward a mocking look on his face. “That has to hurt.”

“Enough!” Raoul’s vocal chords snapped. He managed a throaty whisper. “You may think you have something to hold over me, but while you’re in France, you operate under my authority.”

Legard tightened his grip on Raoul’s arm. “What are you doing? His association with us is over. Let this go.”

Raoul jerked his arm free and took a few paces toward Loup. Nothing would satisfy him more than to wipe the smug look off his face. “You’ll bend to my every whim in this manhunt. Do I make myself clear?” Raoul ignored the curses rumbling out of Legard from behind him.

“My, my, Comte de Chagny, such fire in your words. What exactly are you asking?”

Something singsong in the tone of Loup’s voice lit the last bit of Raoul’s temper. All the rage he was incapable of unleashing on Erik came out toward Loup. “Find him. Find him and make him rot in prison! I’ll pay double what Molyneux is, so longs as you put finding Erik first and Mademoiselle Barret second.” More curses sprung from Legard’s mouth. Raoul yanked his cravat free turned toward him. “Shut it, Legard, and do your job! Dispatch some men to that barn and find out if she is alive or dead.” Raoul turned back to Loup. “In the meantime—find me the Phantom.”

Loup sent several marksmen out the door. “Return to Chagny, Monsieur le Comte. Inform your wife that you are a failure and a disappointment. Tell her that her hopes of being rid of me are dashed because of your stupidity in letting the Phantom go. It seems I will be clinging to Chagny like the ivy on the walls.”

“Find him,” Raoul spat.

Laughter tumbled around him as Loup turned down the hall. “Oh, and remind her not to forget our conversation.”

The door slammed, leaving a thick silence that spread throughout the building. Legard turned his back on Raoul punctuating the strain of disapproval Raoul heard to his voice.

“We need to get your head stitched and your bruises covered. I don’t need you returning to Chagny looking like you lost a fight.”

Raoul didn’t look at him. Loup’s last words were the only thing ringing in his ears.

Erik tried to beat the memories out of his head by using the brick wall, but nothing stopped the images of Philippe de Chagny. They rose to the surface like a mushrooming cloud of ash, fogging everything in its path. Leaning against the wall of the alleyway, feeling his foundation shake from under him, Erik fought for calm. Unseen hands were all that held him back from plunging over a dark and familiar abyss of madness. The ripped flesh around his wrists pooled blood into palms, making them warm and red.

“I did not kill him,” Erik whispered to walls of the alleyways and the shadows that hid him from the bustling streets of Chaumont.

Philippe de Chagny’s face swam before his eyes. His face heated beneath the mask to an unbearable level causing him to roll his head to the side seeking the cooling relief of the brick. Erik pushed off the building, the momentum causing him to lose his balance. He staggered toward an odd golden glow as he regained his balance. Erik froze. Pad by pad, the hound’s hackles rose as it bared ghostly white fangs. Erik looked up from the dog and leveled his eyes on the figure that followed behind it.

“You underestimate me.” Loup’s rifle leveled with Erik’s chest. “I too have run for the shadows a time or two in my day. You’ll have to learn to run faster and smarter if you’re going to win against me.”

Erik dropped deeper into shadow. He had no weapons, and his throat was so dry that using his voice would do nothing. The dog moved forward. Loup lowered his rifle and tucked it carefully under one arm. The sound of his heavy footsteps echoed in the narrow alleyway, forcing Erik to slip back farther into a darkened corner. The alley erupted with a bright light, momentarily blinding even eyes as keen as his.

The matched burned close to Loup’s fingers before he flicked it at Erik. “You don’t like fire, do you? I wonder what fire ever did to you.” Match after match extinguished at Erik’s feet, causing him to writhe like a charmed cobra. “Come. Kill me. You know you want to.”

The next match lit a small pile of debris, flooding the alley with light. Erik’s hands flew to the sides of his head. A dried crate went up in smoke, the wood crackling and popping just like the barn had.

Loup laughed. “Kill me or burn as she did.”

The fire licked up the side of the building, scaring the brick black with soot. All Erik saw was that barn. All he heard were what must have been Anna’s screams and Philippe’s wails. Unable to contain the inferno of hatred within him, Erik’s hands jerked forward aiming for Loup’s neck. They never got close enough to satiate his taste for murder. The dog lunged, tumbling Erik backward deep into the shadowy parts of the alley. Growls of rage, tearing fabric, and Loup’s laughter rent the air.

Yet as abruptly as the night had exploded with the fight, it ended. Despite the hustle of the streets beyond and the crackle of the now dying fire, the narrow space fell silent. Erik, wholly transformed, stepped from the shadows. In the crook of one arm, he held the body of a dog and in his heart, no remorse. In the opposite hand, he clutched his mask, the very emblem of his curse.

Loup backed away, his eyes locked with a horror-struck expression on the blood-draining image of Erik’s face. The dog hit the ground at the Loup’s feet with a sickening, lifeless thud. Erik circled both of them. He towered over the Huntsman, locking his sunken eyes and inhuman ugliness on the dumb confusion on Loup’s face.

In a merciless mood, Erik grabbed Loup’s throat and pinned him one-handed high against the wall. Wild noise soared at a breathtaking pace in his mind. Kill or not to kill? He leaned in harder, toying with his decision before a flicker of light interrupted his pleasure.

The fire in the corner had burned out and with it Anna’s face. Exquisite grief edged him forward as arrows of pain drained his heart. His body searched for the memory of her arms, but the translucent embrace in his mind was not strong enough to feel. Loved for a moment, alone for a lifetime.

Erik sucked in a breath of smoky air, feeling it burn deep into his lungs. An overwhelming desire to join Anna in death filled every corner of his soul. Why give Loup the satisfaction of such peaceful tranquility?

Guilt overpowered grief. He took his eyes off the glowing embers of the crate and stared at the man he had pinned to the wall. As much as he wanted to see Loup, he instead saw Philippe de Chagny and knew he couldn’t dishonor his memory by killing. After bringing life into the world, Erik could never prostitute his anger again. He kept his prisoner in check and in as much pain as he dared inflict until the alley plunged into darkness.

Erik leaned in close to Loup and studied every pore on his face. They would meet again, somewhere. Perhaps then, if his conscious faded, Erik would finish this deed. For now, the shroud of the night beckoned him.

Erik’s fingers spread like bony spider legs across Loup’s face, bracing the bastard’s head against the wall. Erik smiled at the fear and confusion on Loup’s face. Erik’s skeletal fingers raked down Loup’s cheek as he lowered his palm. Tilting his head, he met Loup’s lips in a feather-light kiss.

“The kiss of Death,” Erik whispered

With a quick adjustment to the pressure against Loup’s throat, he fell to the ground, unconscious. The edge of Erik’s cloak brushed over Loup in one final caress as he headed toward the streets of Chaumont. Everything had left his life. Erik no longer had the will to fight destiny. A light breeze stirred up the cloak, fanning it behind him like a black-winged messenger. Replacing his mask served only to hide his face; it could never cover the unspeakable crimes against humanity that had made him what was he was: a towering shadow of a man, glutted like a spider on the harsh breast of Death. Robbed forever of the gossamer wings of love; his life was a chrysalis of darkness.

When Anna died, new life was born.

The darkness welcomed the Phantom’s return, and though no one could hear the music, a symphony rose in Erik’s mind and pasted its extraordinary melody on the night.

 

The words his stranger had said pooled like poison in his mind: Life is like a key in a lock, Maestro, with one twist you can have a turning point that can open more than simply doors.

Erik surveyed years of his accumulated clutter. Every item in his house filled a void in his life. That void seemed smaller of late, but he couldn’t put his finger on why.

He slung one long leg over the arm of his chair and twirled a glass of honey-colored Tokay before his eyes. He stared through it to make all the images around the room as distorted as his face. The pen nib in his opposite hand dripped ink onto the pages coating the floor. Another unfinished composition littered his home. He couldn’t find his new beginning.

He twirled the wine in the opposite direction and closed one eye. Symphonies were getting boring—chamber music, operettas, and arias were dull. He needed something different, but couldn’t compose a thing so long as the stranger’s words about ripples and random acts kept plaguing him.

Erik sneered. Who was this stranger with his damn handsome face, his overly muscular physique, and elegant clothing? Except for that ratty cloak and hat. Erik had seen them before. Down in his cellars.

He bolted upright. The papers on his lap slid in every direction. Tokay splashed to the floor. How could he be so stupid! That blasted stranger was the—

“Have a bee up your bottom?”

Erik swung around, watching as his visitor removed his outerwear and laid them neatly aside.

“You moved so fast I thought one flew up your rump,” the stranger laughed. “You look better, less on the brink of death. You must be eating. I half expected to return down here and find you dead—finally.”

He roamed around the house as if he lived there. Erik followed with his eyes scarcely able to contain his disbelief.

“I actually don’t know why I returned,” the stranger continued. “Perhaps many things in life are connected—like a circle. I can’t seem to avoid coming here. Have you determined what you’re going to do? Live like a man or ignore those connections?”

“Whatever choices I make are mine, stranger. They are in no way connected to you.”

“Ah, but they are. You chose to let Christine go, and she chose to marry the Vicomte. You chose my assistance, and I chose to defy your wish for death.” The stranger lifted a red pincushion artfully crafted in the shape of a skull. He scowled at the pins plunged into it before setting it aside. “The next choice comes back to you. Ripples make a circle, you know.”

“What I choose, Monsieur, is not to relive the past in any way. I know the importance of choices and had I elected to choose differently, the outcome of your precious ripples could have been very different.”

His stranger folded his arms. He looked skeptical. “And how is that?”

“I could have given in to my madness long ago and blown Paris apart, taking an ungodly number with me. Killing for the sheer pleasure of it.”

“But you didn’t. Why?”

“Because I love Christine.”

“Because you have a conscious.”

“Because I love Christine.”

“Because you’re not truly mad.”

“Because I love Christine!”

“Because you love.”

Those words jolted Erik just like that bee his stranger has spoken about earlier. He stared down at the class of Tokay he still held and slowly lowered it to an end table. The stranger was staring at him with a look of compassion that made Erik uncomfortable.

“Recognize your burdens, Maestro, and you can choose to change them before it’s too late.” The stranger lifted a small brass sculpture of a grasshopper and examined it thoughtfully before placing it down. “You’re a man getting on in years. Like the rest of us, you’re trying to find your way in the world and realize it’s not as easy as you may think. You may indeed carry around the—pardon the alliteration, Maestro—mask of that Phantom persona you’ve woven for yourself, and it may comfortably hide you, but deep down you’re just a man searching for what all men need in life: a reason for living.”

Erik rocked the glass side to side finding it easier to watch the wine slosh around. Anything was easier than taking stock in what he was hearing.

“You’re doing what we all do. You’re carrying the weight of the world around on your shoulders while looking for the right match to help lessen the load. The thing is, we needn’t look at all. Our burdens were removed from us before we were even born, and the perfect match is only a prayer away.” The stranger shook his head, his sigh sounding weary. “I’m not about to explain all that right now. I have a feeling you’re an unbeliever.”

Erik gave him a cold glare, in no mood for theology.

“That’s what I thought. I’m afraid, Maestro, that by the fact you’ve not attempted to kill yourself again and have not made any attempts at killing me, proves that you’re are discovering a reason after all and perhaps you realize your reasons don’t lie with Christine Daaé. Tell me, do you like figs?”

“No,” Erik cautiously said, watching the man gather his cloak and hat. He slid the glass he toyed with aside. Annoyed, he folded his arms “Where are you going? To arrest someone?” Erik smiled, smugly confident at his carefully dropped allusion to his stranger’s identity. Did he see a glint of anger in his eyes?

“I’m going to leave you to unload your burdens and to let you come to terms with the past,” his stranger replied. Erik detected a bit of warning in his voice. “I believe whatever you were looking for in that grasshopper was one of them.” He gestured toward the sculpture. “I’ll leave you in peace so you can ponder what you desire as a man. I suggest you do so before, like the almond blossom, your blush turns from pink to white, and you grow too old to care any longer. You shouldn’t be fearful of desires anyway. They define you. Even if that desire is for love and not infatuation.”

The stranger shrugged on his costume and paused in front of Erik. The little thorn of a man had been embedded in Erik’s side for too long now. Insinuating that Christine was nothing more than an infatuation should have been the last straw, yet Erik stood there trying to decipher the man’s next move.

“I’ll be back, rest assured,” the stranger said as he walked off. Erik turned in time to see him spiral his index finger toward the ceiling. “The grasshopper shall be a burden.”

“What?” Erik’s eyes darted over to the sculpture.

“Ecclesiastes 12:5.”

The instant Erik heard that something inside him snapped so rapidly, he took its sting out the nearest chair. His kick sent it soaring across the room. “You are my burden! Who are you?”