Voice Of A Troubled Angel

Chapter Six: Improvement

  Erik wrote an entire aria for his opera in one night. What generally took him months, he had accomplished within hours. He chalked it up to Christiana. Her face kept flashing in his mind. Every detail he remembered fluttered around he as he remembered the sight, sound, and  even the smell of her. It was was miraculous. Beautiful. He adored her. She had become his muse. She inspired him.

   He wanted to see her again. But he couldn't. How would he go about doing that? What kind of excuse could he use? People didn't just go up to other people and ask to talk to them or say they wanted to see them again, did they? He slammed his hands down on the keys of his piano. Damn it. Normal people might do something that ludicrous. But he was not normal. Nothing about him was normal. And what right did he have to barge in and claim some of her time? He didn't deserve to do so much as look at her. And if she knew... oh he would die before she found out about the foulness of his face.  He could never allow it. She would run from him screaming, or worse faint or die in his arms from the horror. She was the one person who would hurt him if she ran away from him in fear.

   But he, a horrible, revolting monster wanted to commit the greatest sin in his mind. He wanted to see herm just one more time to know that day was not a dream, that such a divine person existed. How he would do that, he did not know though.

    After three hours of debating and two of coming up with insane schemes and excuses to see her, he recalled something Mr. Cathy mentioned. Erik instantly googled the phone number to the store and called it, his heart racing and his pulse beating like a snare drum in his veins. He was making himself sick over her, and he scolded himself for his idiocy. And yet he considered whether or not the reaction was quite enough. There was no one like Christiana.

    On the fifth ring, Mr. Cathy picked up. His voice was hoarse and groggy. "What? It is midnight and I'm tired. If you aren't calling about something important, I hate you."

    "Hello Mr. Cathy, please accept my greatest apologies on waking you, I sincerely hope you will forgive me, eventually."

   "Mr... Erik was it? I'd know your voice and poetic speech anywhere, but I can never remember names. Anywho... ah yes. Is it thoughts of our little Christiana that are keeping you up at this hour? It you were any less obssesive about her I'd report you to the authorities. Thank goodness you do things to the most dramatic level possible. What can I do for you about her?"

   Erik, who had never blushed in his life, turned strawberry red in embarrassment and anger. Mostly embarrassment. Was he so obvious - that an old man could notice! - that he had alerted Christiana of his interest?

   "Sir, I simply wonder... you mentioned some kind of event you had planned where Miss Christiana would attend?"

   "Yes, the monthly party. Phantom of the Opera themed this time. This Friday. Six days from now. Will you enter the contest and try to win a spot next to Christiana on stage?"

    Erik thought a moment. He could sing quite well, though he doubted he would be able to make her find him tolerable by using his skilled vocal skills alone. Yet he would be able to be around her again....

   "And sir, how would I go about doing this?"

    Mr. Cathy was silently laughing to himself in his bed at home. In his flyers he stated costume registration could be done over the phone. "Why you would come into the store and fill out an application of course! We open tomorrow at nine, I suggest you come at half past."

   "Thank you. I shall be there... have you heard from Christiana, is she alright?"

   "She was unable to do a full day's work today, but she'll be here all day tomorrow."

   "Ah."

    "Yes. I hope you see what I'm insinuating. You are quite a strange man, and she is quite a strange girl. If you had kids, they would undeniably be bizarre geniuses."

   Erik's fingers tightened on the phone. The old man had crossed a line. To suggest, even if it were humorously, that Christiana would ever lower herself to do anything of the kind with a creature like him... it was a disgusting, dirty insult. Of course, Mr. Cathy, Erik told himself in an attempt to calm down, could not know how he felt about children to begin with. He did not know Erikm after all.

   "Although, a word of advice. Little Christine is timid and shy, and if you come on with any sort of eagerness or anything above nonchalance, she will run and never look back. You seem very reserved though, like you like ignoring people. So ignore her and she will ignore you and then you'll come together in the end."

  Erik questioned the man's mental state. Nothing and nothing so not make something. Zero and zero do not make one just as a and a do not make b.

   "Alright. I shall see you tomorrow. Goodnight sir, and thank you."

"Night young lad. And good luck."

  After Erik hung up the phone, he climbed up to his window and surveyed the bright lights of the distant, sleeping town. Somewhere in that disgusting maze of identical cookie cutter houses lived the most interesting young lady he had ever seen.

    Erik's hand drifted to his face. Many people were born with craniofacial syndrom and they were still accepted into society. Mostly. They could have a couple surgeries to fix their faces. Or they had supporting families, sometimes. Why did he have to be cursed to be so abnormal? Nothing could ever fix how he looked. No one would ever harbor anything othee than pity and fear towards him.

    Erik had once - for most of his life, really - reveled in their fear. He loved horrifying the people who treated him so poorly. Seeing eyes widen, hearing soft whimpers of shock. It was a delicious sensation. He also had enjoyed his solitude, hating the restof the human race, thrilled to be able to live alone and compose. He scorned the idea of friendship, and the empty, false love people deluded themselves into thinking they had. He, in his solitude had seen past the glitter of love and used his wisdom to spot how fake it actually was.

   But now, all he felt as he stared at the town, was a sense of exasperation for the stupid race of humans.

    This was an improvement.