“You mean the scarring?”
“What else?”
“No, no, I don’t believe that’s the entire reason” she countered, standing to her feet and walking over to Richard’s side. “I’m convinced his heart is wounded over her betrayal. What else could it be? I think it resurrected painful memories. He allowed himself to love another woman, and once again, she turned against him. He has every right to sulk if you ask me.”
“Well, I have no answers to the dilemma,” he confessed. “I better get back to the office. Perhaps you can talk some sense into him. He’s always listened to you.”
“I will, when he’s past the irritable stage.”
Richard smiled and bent down to kiss Andrea. “Well, I’m never irritable,” he teased, as their lips met. Their relationship had been going remarkably well, in spite of the recent stress.
“No, you’re never irritable, my dear.”
Andrea, consumed with Erik’s wellbeing, struggled with feelings of disdain toward Désirée. She finally decided to talk to her and see what could be done about her broken heart. After Richard returned to his office, she wandered down the hallway to Désirée’s door and knocked softly. A meek voice on the other side of the barrier replied, “Come in.” Andrea did and found Désirée sitting in her chair with the violin in her lap. She looked as if she had been crying, and a gloomy look shrouded her face.
“I thought I would check on you, Désirée, and see how you are faring.” After seeing her appearance, Andrea felt a smattering of compassion as she walked closer. She examined the girl’s pale and sickly countenance.
“You don’t look well, Désirée. Are you all right?” The back of her hand reached toward Désirée’s forehead. “Well, you have no fever.” She sighed in relief.
Désirée sat quietly, her eyes avoiding a direct gaze into Andrea’s as they darted around the room at everything except her face.
“He hates me, doesn’t he?” Her defeated words fell from her lips. “Why does he allow me to stay here if he doesn’t wish to speak with me any longer?”
“I do not think he hates you, my dear. He’s merely struggling over being betrayed again. This is the second time that he’s given his heart, and the second time the woman he loved turned against him and betrayed that love.” Andrea found it difficult to speak of Erik’s private feelings to anyone, but under the circumstance, she’d make an exception.
“For him, love doesn’t come easy. He’s been rejected so many times in his life that I’m sure he still doesn’t understand the entire concept of true love.”
“I know he has every right to hate me,” Désirée admitted, brushing her hand across the violin in her lap. “At first I wanted to hurt him, I truly did, and Mother had such hatred in her heart. I wanted to see her satisfied for what she had endured on my behalf. When I discovered the Ghost was a man I admired, my feelings grew to love, but I was bound to Mama’s wishes.”
Andrea watched her hand stroke the violin. “It’s all you have left of him now, isn’t it, Désirée, the violin?”
She nodded.
“Are you still practicing?”
“No. I have no heart to practice.”
“Well then, I think you should. If anything, I know Erik would be pleased that you still show an interest in what he loves.” She bent down and patted the girl’s hand, offering her reassurance. “Give him time. When he is able, he will come to you, and then the two of you can talk about the feelings you have bottled inside.”
“Do you think so?” Her voice raised in hopefulness.
“Yes, I do.” Andrea watched Désirée struggle. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring herself to speak the words.
“I still love him,” she finally mumbled, her eyes welling in tears. “My own body repulses me more than his deformity, but I’m afraid he cannot accept the way I look.”
“Time will tell, though I think it is more of a matter of trust than anything else.”
Andrea bid her goodbye and left her room. Her heart had been touched over the girl’s honesty. Though Andrea felt in no mood to be the brunt of Erik’s irritableness, she headed toward his quarters anyway.
* * *
While in her cell, Désirée had begged for forgiveness, but Erik did not possess the strength to grant mercy to his betrayer. On the other hand, he did not want her to suffer any longer either. She had gone through enough.
Désirée had returned to the opera house and her duties, and Erik returned to a deep depression. His life sunk into a pit of despair, and his self-hatred reached new depths. For weeks after the incident, he maintained solitude and avoided human contact.
Richard and Andrea were intelligent enough to leave him alone while he sorted through his emotions. He kept his days filled with composing a new operatic tragedy born out of his misery. His life had been a continual tragedy of both outward and inward pain, so the inspiration freely flowed through the musical score. Whether he would ever perform the opera would be another matter entirely. For now, it served a greater purpose as he penned the pain of his heart through notes, measures, and beats.
He purposely refrained from seeing Désirée. To him, she would always be Désirée, not Theresa, and he found it difficult to accept her real name. The haunting images of her back never left his mind. He would close his eyes and the appalling flesh would appear. Erik could only imagine the shrill screams of pain while her body burned. A woman who had once been a picture of perfection and beauty, had been clothed in scars that she would take to her grave, all because of his insane obsessions.
Though Désirée confessed her love, he would not allow her to love the man who had been responsible for her misfortune. He should be hated. If only they had killed him while he had been drugged, then retribution for his sins would have been served.
A knock at his door drew him out of his gloomy thoughts, only to elicit a growl from his throat. “Go away! I don’t wish to speak to anyone.”
“Erik, please, it’s me, Andrea. Open the panel.”
He hesitated, mulling over what she had come to talk about, angrily wishing to gag her nagging mouth. The entrance opened, and Erik hovered over her, with a piercing gaze communicating his displeasure. “I don’t wish to talk, Andrea, now go away.”
“Well, that’s too damn bad,” she boldly snarled in return. “You’re going to do just that!” She pushed past Erik and entered his sitting room with an air about her, which he found infuriating. Andrea always knew he would never physically harm her, but Erik was in no mood for a discussion, either.
“Fine,” he spat, slamming the panel shut behind her. “Get on with it, then get out!”
Andrea glared at him over his rash words and stuck her hands on her hips. She walked up and postured herself before him looked into his eyes without flinching. Erik stood his ground, waiting for the sparks to fly.
“How long do you intend on sulking in here? A week? A month?
“As long as I fucking well please,” he spat. “What’s that to you?”
Andrea gawked at his crude language and scowled at him in return. “I could care less,” she retorted, flipping her hand in the air. “I’ve watched you brood on and off for years and know you don’t come out of your seasons of depression until you are ready. However, this is not all about you, Erik! You’re being terribly selfish. There is a young woman who is pining for you even now with a broken and repentant heart. How long are you going to ignore her before you speak and settle whatever it is between the two of you that needs to be settled?”
Erik turned away from Andrea’s glare. “I don’t know,” he admitted. His voice sounded broken and weak. “I cannot forgive myself for what I have done to her. She should hate me, not love me.”
“Well, she is a remarkable woman, because she unreservedly forgives you for the past, Erik. I can assure you that woman loves and accepts you unconditionally. She holds no more resentment for the fire or her scars, but she does hold in her hands a broken and bruised hear
t. She fears you will never speak to her again.”
The words caused Erik to turn and look into Andrea’s face. He was surprised at her proclamation. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Do you love her, Erik?”
Erik smirked and rolled his eyes. “Love? What is love, Andrea?” He walked over and pushed around the musical scores he had penned recently, pondering love. “I write scores of love, wish for love, dream of love, and want to be loved for who I am. All I feel is lust in my loins when I’m with her. Is that love? I want to ravish her body.” He chuckled knowing his admission shocked Andrea by the look on her face.
“Have you…”
“No, but I can assure you that I came close.”
The room grew silent, and Erik watched Andrea closely, wishing for an explanation from her to make sense of it all.
“Love, Erik, is more than physical desire, which is apparent you feel for Désirée. I know you want to be loved for yourself, and from what I hear from Désirée, she looks far beyond your deformity and loves you wholeheartedly.”
“The monster?” he retorted in disgust.
“She doesn’t see the monster; she sees the man.”
Erik couldn’t resolve the disparity that she could love the madman who had taken her beauty.
Andrea continued to encourage him. “What you feel right now are the same struggles inside Désirée. She fears you no longer care because of what she did to you and how she looks with her scars. It sounds to me as if both of you are afraid of the same things.”
“I don’t know,” he responded, exasperated.
“Well, I think you have a difficult decision. It’s time, as far as I’m concerned, for you to stop your brooding.” Andrea raised her voice to a demanding tone. “Go and see that girl! What if this is your chance for happiness, Erik? Don’t throw it away.”
“I’ll think it over.” He couldn’t commit himself to anything else.
“Good, that’s all I can ask. Will you start having meals again with Richard and I? We miss your presence.”
“Perhaps.”
Andrea’s eyes roved over Erik’s quarters that were in an absolute shambles. “You need housekeeping service in here terribly. It’s an absolute mess. Shall I…”
“No,” he countered, quickly cutting her off from suggesting that Désirée be allowed to enter. “I don’t want her in here.”
“Very well. Then I won’t scold you like a little boy with a dirty room,” she joked as she headed for the door.
“You’ve scolded me for years, Andrea, and I doubt you’ll stop any time soon.” They both exchanged a personable grin. Andrea left, and Erik found himself perched upon an emotional abyss, wondering if he should jump in or run the other way.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Désirée’s emotional heartache grew exponentially hour by hour, when no word came from Erik. Richard gave her regular updates on her mother’s progress. She had recovered from the stab wound, but the authorities and physicians decided she was mentally unstable and unable to stand trial for her crimes. They transferred her to Mount Carmel Hospital’s ward for the mentally ill for evaluation and treatment.
Désirée had not seen her since that horrible night, afraid and ashamed to visit. She felt guilt-ridden for partaking in her mother’s sick desire for retribution. She should have put an end to it quickly and convinced her long ago to end her scheme of revenge. If she had, all this woe could have been avoided. Instead of her being a prisoner in an insane asylum, they could be living elsewhere happy and content.
To keep busy, she asked to return to full-time work to take her mind off her woes. In her own attempt to deal with her sadness and pain, she went about her chores, cleaning for hours. Like Erik, she had taken to a life of solitude, avoiding communal dining with the other employees or even speaking to anyone else. Each day she would work. Each night she would lock herself behind closed doors and sulk.
The violin remained silent, but not untouched. She often caressed it in her arms as the only part of Erik that remained. Her hand rested where his had been, and she found it comforting to place her fingers in the same place. Désirée missed hearing him play. Though she knew he lived on the other side of the wall, she never heard any strains from his violin. They both had lost the song in their souls apparently.
One night, to deal with her loss, she thrust the violin under her chin and released her sorrow through music. The small score she had played the night of her recital remained in her memory. It flowed like healing water, and to her surprise, she played it again to near perfection. Her eyes shut tight, like Erik when he played. She released the music within, and her arm caressed the violin like a lover.
A sudden rush of fresh air entered the room, and her eyes shot open at the sound of movement from the sliding panel. She quickly glanced at the doorway and saw his tall form at the threshold. Her heart stopped cold.
“Erik!”
Désirée jumped to her feet, surprised that he had dared to enter her room. His eyes bore into hers silently, and she tried to find an ounce of compassion in his face. He said nothing but stood motionless just looking at her until she felt naked before him.
“I…I’m…” she stuttered, trying to explain her actions.
“I heard you play,” he finally whispered from a raspy throat. “You did well.”
Désirée set the violin on her bed and took a step closer. No words were exchanged as they looked in each other’s eyes, searching for answers. Finally, Erik offered his hand. “Come with me,” he commanded with a stern voice. “It’s time we talked.”
With no hesitancy on her part, Désirée responded. She gently grasped his hand, letting him lead her into his private quarters. The panel closed behind them. A rush of fear coursed through her body at the thought of being alone with him. He could burn his anger against her, and she could pay for her sins, too. Her eyes narrowed with concern.
“It’s all right, Désirée,” he told her, releasing her hand. “I won’t hurt you.” Stopping his stride, he looked at her and asked, “Do you prefer Désirée or Theresa?”
“I prefer Désirée, Erik, but you may call me whatever you wish.”
He let out a half-hearted chuckle with a huff and walked into the center of the room. “I’d offer you a drink, but I have a hatred of crystal decanters with alcohol these days. You never know what’s inside of them, do you?”
Désirée’s heart sank over his snide remark that confirmed the hurt and distrust still brewed inside. “You’ll never forgive me, will you, Erik,” she spoke with certainty.
She walked over to the empty divan feeling the need to sit down. Erik crawled like a preying cat over to her side, unsettling her nerves. He stood over her briefly, gazing into her eyes so intently that she melted under his power. The intensity made her uncomfortable, and she pulled her gaze away from his and began to fiddle with the folds of her skirt. What she heard next from his lips shocked her to the core.
“I should think, Désirée, that it is you that has much to forgive me for,” he confessed remorsefully. “I am tortured daily by the pain I caused you and the responsibility I share in your scars. There is no forgiveness from heaven or hell for my sins against you.”
Her heart melted inside her chest, and Désirée jumped to her feet and clutched both his upper arms with her hands.
“Oh, no, Erik, no! I do not want you to suffer as I have. Truly, I have forgiven you. You had no way of knowing this would happen to me. It was purely an accident and nothing intentional on your part.”
“Oh, but it was intentional,” he told her, as he remembered that night. “When I took Christine Daaé, I hated everyone and didn’t care if they lived or died! All I wanted was her, and I damned those who stood in my way. Without a second thought, I cut the last cord of the chandelier and brought it down on the audience. They gave me no compassion, and I gave them none in return. I wanted them to die! I...” Erik’s voice trailed off as he brought his hands to his eyes, trying to stop the vi
sions of that night, which painfully taunted his soul. “I just didn’t see their faces. I didn’t see you. I only wanted her.”
Désirée’s eyes filled with burning tears that quickly spilled down her cheeks. He dropped his hands from his face. When he saw her tears, Erik took his handkerchief and dabbed them away with such tenderness she felt weak from his touch.
“If I forgive you, Erik, you must forgive yourself,” she gasped between each word. “All I want is your forgiveness for trying to hurt you in return.”
Désirée could no longer stand the distance between them. It felt as if a large canyon separated their lives. She had to breach it now, or both of them would fall into an abyss and be lost forever. Without further thought, she flung her arms around his waist and clung tightly to his body with a tight hold. She leaned her head against his chest and listened to the rapid beat of his heart. She would not release him until forgiveness flowed.
Her sobs begged him again. “Forgive me, Erik. Forgive me! I have forgiven you.”
Erik remained stiff for a few moments, but then responded by wrapping his arms around her waist. He bowed his head upon her shoulder. A drop of moisture hit her upper cheek, and Désirée felt Erik convulse with guttural sobs leaving his throat. She tightened her grip around him, wishing she could melt her entire being into his and never leave his soul.
“I love you,” she whispered.
She held him close until his convulsing diminished, but dared not gaze at him. Désirée feared the raw emotions he expressed would cause him embarrassment. She stood upon a thin line, and she knew one wrong move might break the tie they had forged.
Finally, the words she longed to hear from Erik were released in a breathless whisper of emotion from his lips.
“I forgive you, Désirée.” His hand lifted and gently stroked the back of her head, and he lowered his mouth close to her lips. “And I love you.”
His words melted into Désirée’s wounded heart like warm oil. She tilted her head to look at him, and his lips tenderly met hers. He did not thrust himself upon her with a forceful kiss. It felt like a hesitant longing instead, laced with worry that she would not respond in return.
The Phantom of Valletta Page 22