She knocked, expecting the manager to answer, when instead Erik opened the door, appearing gloomy. “Oh,” she muttered, wide-eyed, looking into his gloomy eyes. “Monsieur Dante, you startled me. I was expecting—”
“Monsieur Mercier,” he said rather sharply, cutting her short before she could finish. “Yes, I know, but I have no need of him this evening.”
His voice sounded strained and curt, and his words were laced with a twinge of coldness that unsettled her nerves. Désirée sensed something different about him and wondered why. His eyes were dark and brooding, without any welcoming sparkle she had seen before.
He showed her to the seat before the desk and then sat quickly fiddling with a few pieces of sheet music. A violin lay on the opposite corner of the desk. Désirée wondered if tonight she would learn a note or two.
“The next step in our lessons will be how to read notes.” He pushed a piece of sheet music in her direction.
Désirée smiled. She reached out to the paper and then glanced in his eyes warily. “May I?”
Erik released his grasp, surprised over her movement but making no protest. Her index finger pointed to the first note on the treble clef, and she announced it confidently, “C.” After a moment of hesitation, she took a deep breath and continued her recitation in perfect order as her finger pointed to each line and space. “D, E, F, G, A, B, C, D, E, F, G.”
Désirée glanced up Erik’s intent focus, which encouraged her to continue. She moved to the bass clef. “B, A, G, F, E, D, C, B, A, G, F.” She abruptly stopped, inhaled a deep breath in relief, and smiled over her accomplishment.
Erik sat up straight in his chair with a surprised look on his face. Désirée hoped she had pleased him, but he said nothing. Perhaps her recital of notes had been too elementary in his opinion to receive praise. Her voice broke the silence.
“I studied today.”
“I see,” he finally replied softening his tone. “You’ve done well.”
Désirée let out a puff of air, and Erik grinned hearing her release of pent-up anxiety.
“Oh, Monsieur Dante, I’m so glad you approve.”
“Erik,” he told her, repentantly. “You may call me Erik.”
Désirée’s mouth dropped open wondering why he had suddenly changed the rules between the two of them. She honestly did not care and quickly responded with the same offering. “Désirée, you may call me Désirée.” She watched for his reaction, yearning to know more about him.
“All right, Désirée, show me what else you’ve learned today.” Erik pulled the musical score from her hand and started pointing. “What does it mean when the note is empty inside?”
“Whole note.”
“And this?”
“Half-note.”
“Tell me the rest,” Erik insisted, his voice laced with excitement. Désirée continued to recite all she had learned that day and identified the notes correctly.
“And timing,” Erik pressed further. “What did you learn of timing?”
“I…I’m afraid nothing,” she confessed. “I had other work to do for my housekeeping duties. I’m sorry.”
“Yes, your duties, of course.”
“I’m confused over the beats,” she confessed, daring to pull the music back from his hand to look at it again. “I think I understand that 4/4 means four beats per measure, is that correct?”
“Yes, yes.” He pulled the music back his way, showing his eccentric love of his gift. “Look at the notes here, two full notes, four half-notes. Do you see, that’s four beats in the measure?”
Désirée flinched when he reached across the desk and took her hand.
“Make a fist.”
She did, and he gently took her hand and rapped it on the desktop ever so slightly just to make the music of the beat, tap – tap – tap-tap-tap-tap. “Do you hear the beats in the measure?”
Désirée smiled as she watched the genius at work, teaching her at such a simplistic level.
“Thank you,” she blurted out.
Erik abruptly stopped and lifted his eyes. She saw a twinkle of pleasure in them; an understanding as to why she felt moved to say what she did. He replied to her softly and simply, “You’re welcome.”
The next hour, Désirée pored over the lessons with Erik, finding pleasure in learning. When they had finished their review of measures, beats, rests, and volumes of notes, she begged him for what she craved the most when they were together.
“Please, Erik, play for me before I leave. Play something, anything. I want to hear you play.”
He looked at her thoughtfully trying to decide what to do. Erik then stood from his chair, walked over to the far corner of the desk, and lifted the instrument, cradling it underneath his chin. When he held the bow over the strings and closed his eyes, Désirée did the same.
The dark foreboding that had permeated the atmosphere earlier fled from their presence, and in its place ushered in melodious strains of music that made her soul soar. Her heart thundered in her chest when she drank in his music, as if it were life-giving water.
Erik continued to play sounds that elicited the same reaction as before. Without thought or effort on her part, tears trickled down her cheeks. There were no sobs of pain or heartache—only tears of release. She felt the darkest night of her life wash away while she listened to Erik play the violin. Désirée wanted the moment to remain forever, but then it ended. The music ceased, and she heard his voice speak.
“Here, take this.”
She opened her eyes and saw his outstretched hand offer his handkerchief. Taking it, she inhaled his scent, and then wiped her tears gently, leaving the moisture behind.
“I don’t know why I cry each time you play,” she confessed. “It’s so extraordinarily beautiful. I’ve never heard such wondrous music that touches my heart.”
Erik sighed and lowered the violin back to the desk, setting down the bow next to it. “Music is healing to the soul, Désirée. It’s immensely powerful.”
“Yes, healing,” she repeated, wistfully wanting it for herself. Why did she find healing from what he had to offer?
“It’s time to go,” he told her, reaching out his hand.
Désirée gave back his linen handkerchief wet only with her tears. Erik carefully slid it into his pocket.
“I’ll escort you to the dormitory.”
They exchanged no other words. Erik saw her safely back and said goodnight. Désirée did not want to leave his side. She wanted him to play again and fill her soul with peace and healing. After he departed, she walked over to her bed and fell into her pillow, releasing another flood of tears. Her heart tore, and her path clouded.
“What am I to do?” she sobbed. “What am I to do?”
* * *
Erik returned to his quarters. He felt fatigued, confused, and emotional as he headed for bed and sat down. Slowly, he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. It was still wet. He brought the linen to the side of his unmasked face and allowed the cloth to touch his skin. Erik’s pained soul released. The touch of moisture produced tears. They rolled down his cheeks and into the cloth already soaked with the essence of Désirée.
The moment broke him, and for the next few minutes, he pressed the handkerchief to his flesh catching his tears to mingle with hers. Erik struggled with raw emotions that threatened his tough exterior, but he could not fight the attraction he felt toward Désirée.
He could unmercifully move a person to tears through cruelty, but to move someone to tears by simply playing his violin felt peculiar. Yes, his compositions at times could be terrible and all consuming—but beautiful? He wondered what Désirée felt inside when she heard the cords and strains of his violin that triggered such emotion from her soul.
Unsure of how to respond, he tried to control the passions threatening his resolve and playing upon his vulnerability. He removed the handkerchief from his face, folded it in half, and placed it inside the nightstand drawer.
Erik thought of the shee
t music strewn upon his desktop. He stood up and walked over to it, sliding one hand over the papers of random unfinished scores. Since the loss of Christine, he struggled to compose. The true joy of composition had departed. Only empty notes played between the measures and lines.
Tonight a new motivation infused Erik, as he picked up a pen. He realized that he could create beauty that touched a soul, and that soul belonged to Désirée. Like a crazed madman, Erik began to compose notes with a renewed frenzy. He would write for her alone and would teach her to play his compositions. They would be one in music. The fountain of inspiration had returned.
Chapter Fourteen
Darius began his usual morning inspections, while reflecting upon the years that had passed since his arrival in Malta. Each day he tried to please his master, but he sensed Erik’s disappointment over his lack of abilities. He felt ignorant and unable to grasp the perfection Erik demanded, and it caused him great despair.
To make matters worse, the Persian had told him horror stories of Erik’s previous escapades calling him a monster. It had been enough to instill fear into Darius’ heart, after hearing tales of tortures and strangulations executed by Erik’s skillful hands. Nevertheless, Darius strived to be a true servant at heart; and a servant must be faithful to his master, whether virtuous or evil.
When he first arrived upon the isle, Erik had relied heavily upon Darius’ services, until he hired Richard Mercier. Darius understood his master’s need to use Richard in matters of importance, because the man possessed far greater intelligence. Without complaint, he continued his duties, assisted with construction, and rejoiced in Erik’s ability to erase the devastation and return the structure to glory.
After the grand opening, Darius had been assigned his own particular duties. Matters of maintenance and security were deemed his responsibilities. They were two roles he felt prepared to carry out, or at least he hoped, to Erik’s satisfaction. He acted as the custodian, making sure that everything remained in proper working order and had been assigned the keeper of the keys. Every night he made security rounds to lock and secure the doors.
One evening, as he walked the catwalk above the stage inspecting the ropes and riggings like he normally did, he spotted something odd. He bent down, examined the rigging, and discovered a partially sliced rope. The cut had begun to unravel the twine. A few more pounds or sways on the catwalk, and it would have snapped sending its occupant to the hard floor below to gravely injure or kill.
Darius inspected each rigging, knot, and rope in the maze once again, since this had been the second time in a month he discovered the sabotage. He had let the first occurrence slip by and did not report it to Richard or Erik, afraid it would upset his master. The matter could no longer be kept silent or the mystery of their occurrence hid.
He climbed down the riggings and headed toward Monsieur Mercier’s office, praying the entire way for the courage to speak. After a quick rap of his knuckles on the door, he heard Richard’s invitation to enter. Upon doing so, he saw Erik in the room and dreaded his master’s forthcoming reaction.
“I need to speak with you, Master,” he announced, his face etched with worry. He slipped his eyes toward Richard. “Monsieur Mercier, you need to hear this as well.”
Darius lowered his voice, so no one could hear the conversation through the door. To hide his jumpy nerves, he shoved both hands into his pants pockets and began fiddling with coins between his fingers.
“Today I found one of the ropes on the riggings above the stage slashed, cut by a sharp knife. The slice was not all the way through the cord, but far enough to weaken its tie. It is frayed and will soon break if not replaced. If it does give way, some poor soul will fall to the stage below!”
Erik’s eyes turned dark. “Cut, you say?”
Darius nodded. “Yes, Master, and I’m afraid this is the second time this month. I thought perhaps the first rope had been inadvertently damaged, and I sloughed it off. I just replaced it. I now see it’s been done purposely to break and cause a fall.”
“My God, who would do such a thing?” Richard bellowed.
Darius saw Richard shift his eyes toward Erik and wondered if he thought the same thing. It sounded reminiscent of the Ghost at the Garnier when he used to play tricks. Surely his master wouldn’t sabotage his own domain.
In a gruff voice, Erik attacked Darius’ oversight. “Why in the hell did you not report this the first time?” He stepped closer, showing his irritation. Darius retreated in response.
“I…I just replaced the rope, Master. I wondered if it just wore through, but now I know it’s something else. I’m sorry.” Darius gulped. Inwardly, he prayed to Allah. Please, don’t let him ask me anymore, but his plea came too late. The prayer had no sooner left his rattled thoughts when Erik asked another question.
“Anything else?” Erik demanded, seething through his teeth. “Are you keeping anything else from me?”
Darius shifted unsteadily on his feet. Allah would know if he lied. He looked into Erik’s angry eyes, then over to Richard and back again. “Yes,” his voice squeaked. “But, Master, I swear to you, I’ve been careful. I don’t know how it happened.” His eyes bulged in fear.
“How what happened?” Erik snarled as he reached forward and grabbed Darius’ shoulders tightly with both hands. He shook him hard for the answer.
“I…I lost my second set of keys. I kept them in my drawer in my quarters and discovered they were missing. But,” he added, shoving his hand inside his coat pocket where he retrieved the master keys and jingled in front of Erik. “You see, I still have the originals. It’s only the copies that are gone.” He smiled thinking that would appease his master’s rage.
Erik pushed Darius back into the closed door, slamming his body hard against the barrier. “You damn fool!”
“Erik!” Richard screamed in response. He jumped to his feet from behind the desk and flew to Darius’ side for protection. “Let the man go, Erik. Let him go!”
Darius felt as if Erik’s eyes were burning a hole in his soul. He had let his master down. He had not been faithful, and he lowered his head in shame. “Please, Master, don’t hurt me. I’m sorry. I’ll have an extra set made as soon as possible. Please, I beg your forgiveness.”
He brought his palms together praying for his life. He felt Erik’s fingers dig into his shoulders and feared he would soon draw blood.
“Damn fool! I knew you were a damn fool I couldn’t trust.” Erik released his grip and flung around toward Richard, his fists clenched at his side. “Don’t presume, Richard, that you have the right to tell me how to act either,” he growled. Erik stepped away and paced back and forth across the room.
“I will have the rope on the catwalk replaced immediately.” Darius looked warily at them both, his voice still shaking. “The keys,” he asked. “What do you wish me to do about the keys? Shall I have a second set made?”
Erik flung a sarcastic answer at him. “Oh, please do, Darius, have a second set made so those can be stolen too,” he said mockingly.
Richard interjected. “We should change all the locks, but I’m afraid it will take time and money.” Turning toward Darius, he asked, “What keys are we talking about, Darius?”
“All entrances to the opera house from the exterior, and all the interior door locks, Monsieur Mercier.” The disappointment in Monsieur Mercier’s eyes distressed Darius.
“What possessed you to keep all those keys on one ring and keep them just shoved in a drawer somewhere?”
Darius shrugged his shoulders. “I…I don’t know,” he admitted, thinking nothing wrong over his actions that they thought were careless.
“Change the locks on the exterior doors first,” Erik grumbled. “I’m more worried over uninvited guests wandering our halls when we’re asleep at night. We should post watches in the meantime, Richard.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll see about additional security.”
Erik turned to Darius and explained the severity of
the situation. “You do realize, Darius, that someone burned this opera house down once. They never discovered who was responsible for the devastation. Did it ever occur to you that perhaps the same disgruntled individual may be wandering about Valletta wishing for an encore performance?”
Darius’s eyes grew wide, and his jaw dropped over the thought that someone might try to destroy everything his master had resurrected. “No, I didn’t.”
Erik turned away, uttering just one word. “Go.”
Darius took the short command and obeyed it immediately. No more questions! No more questions! His mind repeatedly screamed. It would be wrong to lie, but it wasn’t wrong to keep secrets. Relieved, he spun around, opened the door, and flew into the hallway. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he sighed in relief. His hand came to his head and ran through his scalp of thick black hair. Praise be to Allah! He did not have to tell the master everything; otherwise, he would be dead!
* * *
As soon as Darius left, Erik turned to Richard. “This is not good.”
Richard stood contemplating the situation and nodded in agreement.
“I must see it for myself,” he declared, leaving the office and heading for the stage. Erik needed space to cool his rage, irritated over Richard daring to tell him how to behave and furious with Darius for being such a simpleton.
Richard did not understand him. Erik needed an outlet for his frustrations that boiled beneath the surface. If he did not express his anger, it would seethe inside until it exploded into violence. He pushed Darius against the wall to make a point and vent his frustrations. He did not intend to strangle the man, though the thought had crossed his mind. At any rate, he noted Richard’s insolence as he strode toward the auditorium.
Erik climbed the back stairs to the catwalks above and came out on the planks, traversing back and forth like a cat with claws. He inspected all the ropes, ties, and riggings with his own eyes and found the one Darius had mentioned. It needed immediate replacement before the next show.
The Phantom of Valletta Page 11