https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aLse7g_Nfuo Learn to be Lonely by Minnie Driver
Wings of an Angel
Chapter One
Angel’s Sorrow
Sunlight glinted through the windows as if the panes of glass were shot through with diamonds. Specks of dust floated in the beams of light shining into the room. The patio doors were opened to allow anyone in the library to sit and enjoy the chirping of the birds as they fought over the seeds in the feeder. Every now and then one could hear the splash of wings as a tiny bird bathed in the birdbath. All pleasant diversions on a lazy summer day to be sure.
The library had little sound other than an occasional turn of a page accompanied by a contented sigh and ticking of the mantle clock. Peace and quiet seemed to be the order of the moment.
This quiet wouldn’t last. It never did on those days when the papers carried news of the happy French aristocratic couple. For now all seemed to be gloriously quiet. The young woman could calculate almost to the second when the peace would end. Had not she gone through many similar days in the past six months?
A satisfied and contented sigh left the young woman’s lips as she reached the end of her chapter. Her romantic interlude with the hero of her novel would have to continue tomorrow, or if she were lucky tonight when she crawled into her warm lonely bed.
Glancing at the clock she sighed heavily preparing herself mentally for what was to come. It wouldn’t be much longer now. She thought it best to prepare for the destruction to come in the next few minutes. Lord knows she had plenty of practice cleaning up after and calming the beast after those moments of pure rage. At times he did seem to expend his rage more quickly these days.
As soon as he read the headlines she expected to hear glass breaking, furniture flying and the air to turn blue with curses. He would roar in anger until he had no more anger to spew forth. The anger would give way to the anguish and tears. He would mourn his loss for days. Why he would do this to himself remained a mystery. Surely by now he could see there was no future in holding onto something that truly never was a reality?
One month of somewhat peaceful days and now this. He would have moments of shouting and bad temper when some small article would carry the names of the couple who had broken him leaving him a shell of a man. With the lessoning of the tirades it did seem as if he would soon mend.
She had thought to keep the paper from him but he would only badger her for it or send one of the staff to fetch a new one. If she kept it from him he would know it contained something she wished to hide from him.
She could not believe that in six months he had not seemed to let go of Christine one tiny bit. If he was not composing frantically at all hours creating romantically sad and heartrending music he paced about holding her picture murmuring to himself. He drew her image over and over. He barely slept or ate. If not for her nagging and cajoling him Meg thought he would simply waste away.
Meg knew this could not go on much longer. He had been ill when she had found him in the tunnel the night of Don Juan Triumphant. Not an illness of the body even though he had been feverish, but one more of the mind and soul. He had recovered from his physical illness, now he needed to mend his mental and emotional illness. She tried but he resisted all her efforts to come closer to him, to know him better. Erik would not concede that he needed a human contact other than his memory of Christine. He needed someone who would be there for him when he needed a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen. If he would open his eyes he would see that Meg could give him everything he had ever wanted. For now he was not ready to accept what she would willingly give.
He had begged her to let him die during those first few days of recuperating. He had cursed her when she forced him to his feet the night of the last performance at L’Opéra Populaire. To get him on his feet she had asked him if he would want to repay her mother’s years of loyal service with the death of her daughter. If they did not move the gendarmes, local police and people who had worked in the opera house would find them and shoot and ask questions later when they caught up with them.
Tired to death of referring to him as The Phantom or Opera Ghost, Meg had asked him if he had a name. For many moments he had looked at her blankly as if he had to think of an answer, which later she found out he had indeed needed to think to recall what his name had been. He had not been called by his name since he was about five and given to the Gypsies or sold, he could not remember clearly.
He had told her his name was Erik. She had not asked for a surname at that time. When they had decided to leave France she had asked and he had told her he did not know. He only vaguely remembered being called Erik. Was it not fortunate he knew himself to be other than The Devil’s Child or his most recent titles? His laugh at his own joke held more the sound of dry sobs than laughter.
Meg’s mother, Antoinette Giry had dared to offer Erik her own family name, Trudeau. So Erik Trudeau had been born.
Knowing Erik must have funds hidden someplace Antoinette had badgered him until he had relented and told her where she might find his wealth. The sum he had extorted from the different managers over the years had accumulated into a tidy sum. More than a man could spend sensibly in his lifetime.
Erik could not travel alone nor be trusted not to bring some harm to himself or worse track down Raoul and Christine, it had been decided that Antoinette and Meg would accompany Erik on his journey to England.
Erik, Antoinette and Meg had stayed in the small nondescript apartment in London while Antoinette had gone round to the estate agents in search of the perfect home for a man who needed seclusion but needed to be near the arts if the mood struck him to partake of such things.
After a month and a half of looking the perfect estate had come on the market. The fifteen room home was surrounded by a hundred acres of lush green grass. Horses and cows had come with the property as well as a number of people who lived and worked on the estate.
Meg had fallen in love with the three story house as soon as she laid eyes on it. Erik had grumbled about the need for a great deal of staff to run such a place. He had negative offerings to throw out no matter what the circumstances. Meg began to think it was his negativity that had kept him separated from humanity rather than the misfortune of his disfigured face.
They settled in quite nicely as far as Erik was concerned. He had thought Meg and her mother had given up on the idea of staff. He had been wrong. A parade of people had come and gone through his home. The women insisted he be present during the interviews so they could get an honest reaction to Erik, not only his face, but his less than cordial disposition. Erik on his best days could be quite formidable. Meg preferred not to think of his worst days.
Meg met his rages with calm even when at times he frightened her. She did not think he would ever harm her, not intentionally at any rate. Sometimes his rages took complete control of him. He lost all sense of himself and became something quite evil. With Meg’s calming influence those worst days were becoming fewer and fewer while being of shorter duration.
Erik had never been taught how to show displeasure without letting his emotions get out of hand. He had the same problem showing affection as he did keeping his rage and anger under control. For Erik it had always been all or nothing.
This attitude had been what most likely caused his failure to sway Christine to his side. If Erik showed a little less aggression and more kindness and care he might have been able to win Christine.
Meg did not doubt that Christine felt something deep for Erik. Everyone had seen it plainly displayed upon the stage during the last performance. The powerful seductive spell Erik had woven had almost had Christine throwing caution to the wind and forgoing her part in the plan to capture or kill Erik.
Christine had told Meg later that if Erik had not used Raoul’s exact words to try to sway her to him, she might have given in. By the time they had reached the top of the stairs Christine had been so inflamed by desire for her Angel of Music all else had faded into the background. When Erik had caressed her all else seemed not to matter. Then he had used Raoul’s words waking Christine from her entrancement.
In all his life no one had loved Erik or shown him how to express those feelings. Meg thought that was why he had failed with Christine. He had frightened her so badly any tenderness she might have felt for him was not allowed to blossom under Erik’s tyranny and anger.
He could bring Christine almost to the point of surrender then ruin it all with an outburst of anger.
Meg did not doubt at all that her dear sister loved Erik deeply even as she feared him. Christine never failed to ask after Erik on Meg’s monthly visits to Paris.
Antoinette had returned to France expecting Meg to come home soon after. Meg had delayed her return home month after month until she had at last admitted to her mother that she could not bear to leave Erik alone. She had come to care deeply for him. She couldn’t say it was definitely love as Erik would not let her explore that avenue in their relationship or even if they could have a relationship as he refused to let the past go.
Meg became so frustrated at times she felt as if she could shake Erik until his teeth rattled. The man had no compass to go by when his emotions ran rampant. Erik’s lifestyle during his time in the opera house did not give him any coping skills. He saw something he wanted and he took it irregardless of the consequences.
Erik had so little in his life that he did not deny himself anything once he held sway over the opera house. His arrogance had led to his downfall. Meg could feel pity for the man even as she detested his actions.
Meg felt shame at times when she thought how glad she was that Christine had fallen in love with Raoul instead of Erik, at least not in the way he had wanted Christine to love him. Erik had been far too demanding for Christine. Meg loved her adopted sister dearly but did not have blinders on regarding Christine’s shortcomings. Christine needed someone who would cherish her while making her feel protected and coddled. Raoul did that quite nicely whereas Erik had demanded things Christine had not been willing or able to give to him.
Christine needed safety and security. Erik could not be considered either of those things at the moment, perhaps not ever. Erik had a lot of progressing to do before he could even know how to love a woman properly.
Meg’s introspections were interrupted by the loud roar she had been expecting followed by the crashing of glass and splintering wood. Erik kept the local craftsman busy for certain. The man had even gone so far as to begin leaving his tools in the garden shed.
Sighing tiredly Meg got to her feet. She went into the hall to see the staff scurrying about like rats on a sinking ship. Meg wished at times she could scuttle away and hide from Erik’s temper.
She went to find Deacon, the stable boy. He was the one Meg always sent for the man who repaired things once Erik had finished one of his destructive rages. No doubt this time would be no different than the others. Erik would leave whatever room he was in looking as if some violent act of nature had occurred.
Meg mounted the stairs wondering when this would end. Her patience was teetering on the brink ready to fall off the cliff of tolerance.
A particularly loud crashing sound had her grabbing her skirt so she could take the stairs at a faster pace. Heaven help anyone who had been in the room with Erik.