The Demon's Child and the Phantom

Chapter 11

Erik's POV:

I miss her hand in mine but I understand her not wanting to keep hold of it for long. I'm honestly just glad she is willing to hold it for any amount of time. I look at her and see her staring at my face as she bites her lip before she seems to force her own stoic mask over her face. I smile a bit, deciding to try and lighten the mood, before I decide that I would be the one to start.

"Erik was born to a hateful woman after my father had died in an accident of some type. She was truly evil and beat me almost daily because of my.....my face until I was eight. I finally gathered enough courage and ran away from her. I joined a sideshow and became known as The Devil's Child for a few years, until I left them."

I watch as her face fills with understanding as she looks at me. Then I see confusion start to settle into her eyes, before she blanks her face again. I've noticed she does that a lot, in fact almost any time an emotion begins to appear on her face it disappears only seconds after it begins. The only exception that I've found is when she's listening to music. She has the uncanny ability to remove any trace of emotion from her eyes and her face and I wonder if it's a defense mechanism of some sort.

"Why did you leave the sideshow?"

"It was run by gypsies and they weren't exactly kind."

"They.....they harmed you?"

"Yes, every chance they got."

I watched as understanding followed by an intense anger swirled in her eyes before she closed them and seemed to tense beside me on the divan. I watched in silence as she took a few deep breaths, her hands clenching and unclenching a few times, before she opened her eyes and looked to me with a blank face as she waited for me to go on.

"As a teen I began to work as an assassin in Persia, that's where I met Daroga. Phantom was very successful in his job, it's where he picked up the habit of the lasso."

I see that same trace of understanding, pity, and even anger flash across her face before it becomes curious again and then blank. She holds my gaze as she stares at me with a question burning in her eyes. I wonder what question she has but is hesitating to ask me, so I wait for a few more seconds and am rewarded by her strong, sure voice as she speaks.

"Why the lasso?"

"It became my trademark I suppose, with the warning that came with it, and Iwas very skilled with it as a weapon."

"A warning?"

"You've heard it before I think. Keepyour hand at the level of your eye. But I soon grew bored with it and theman that hired me to protect him soon grew paranoid and wanted me dead."

"You met Daroga in Persia didn't you?"

"I did and he has been a thorn in my side ever since. But a good man.....a goodfriend to have. I moved back to France, to Paris and made friends with anarchitect who was building the opera house at the time. He soon trusted me andI helped design and build this Opera House."

"So, you helped build this place. Is that why there are so many secretpassageways?"

"Yes, I was thinking of staying here long term, so they were necessary. I nowown the Opera House in its entirety though no one else would know. Few know myreal name, so Erik Destler is the owner on paper and among the public. I'velived here ever since. I assume you know most of the story concerning the OperaHouse?"

I watch as she stares at me in shock for a moment before another look ofunderstanding passes her face. She looks at me again and I get the feeling thatshe knows just how I feel about my past. She offers me a small smile beforereplying to my own question to her.

"Yes, I've heard of it from others we don't have to talk about it if you don'twant to. Erik....how old are you?"

"I'm not entirely sure anymore. I came here when I was around 18 or 20 and havebeen here since. So, between 34 and 38 I suppose."

I watch as she nods a bit before looking down at the divan we're sitting at andI watch as her eyes seem to surge with emotion. Her red one and blue one at oddswith one another it seems, fire and ice at its most beautiful as she seems toprocess everything I just told her. I had given her the briefest backstory onmy life that I could, wanting to at least protect her from the horrors of mypast through not divulging any details to her.

She doesn't need to know just how many people I've killed or the inner demons Istruggle with on a daily basis just to keep my sanity. She doesn't need to knowabout the traps I have lining the tunnels, guaranteed to kill anyone whosprings them. She doesn't need to know about the torture room that I have justa few feet away from us.

She doesn't need to know any of the abuse that I suffered at the hands of mymother, the gypsies, or the assassin trainers in Persia. She doesn't need toknow about the coffin I sleep in, if I sleep at all. She doesn't need to knowabout the violence that exists in the world, especially since she's alreadybeen given a small taste of it. She only needs the basics.

I watch as I wait for her to give me the same, and I have the strongest desireto the push the hair falling in front of her face behind her ear. But I refrainfrom disturbing her as she processes everything. I didn't mean to stop playingearlier. It's just when I stopped playing and glanced at her I saw how relaxed andpeaceful she looked and just how beautiful she was.

I have the greatest desire to touch her, to feel the warmth of her hand in mineagain, though I know I never will unless she tells me too. She says she looksaway from everyone but I feel as if she saw my face, my whole face, she couldnever look up at me again and I can't risk not seeing those beautiful eyes ofhers. I cannot, I will not risk losing her as I did with Christine. I will notlose my friend over this monstrosity of a face.

Yet, she willingly touches me at times, though no one should ever have to dothat. No one has ever held my hand willingly before her. Even with Christine itwas me holding her wrist or her arm so she wouldn't run away screaming. Yethere Eliza was not only holding my hand but laced our fingers together once.

I watch as she turns toward me slightly, pulling her feet underneath her andone arm on the back of the divan, resting her head on her arm as she does. Isee her blank her face again as she looks at me and we both seem to take a deepbreath as we look at each other. I wouldn't want to cause her pain frombringing up old memories, but a deal is a deal and I'm curious as to who madethis angel into what she is today.