Chapter Text
Epilogue: Rocky Shores
The ship of time continued to sail onward, as it so often does. It seems nothing can stop that formidable foe of man from continuing its infinite stride, even though there were certainly days where Erik felt he was an exception to that rule. There were moments when the sorrow hung so thick about his bones that he was certain he was suspended in time and space, forever doomed to wallow in his black misery while the rest of humanity lived their oblivious lives around him. On more than a handful of nights he had considered reneging on his agreement with her and simply ending things entirely. Would it not be preferable to fall into an eternal sleep than to continue one more retched day in such pain? Yet every time he found himself, syringe in hand, ready to end his waste of a life, he couldn’t take the final plunge.
Was he a coward? Or was living in a world in which she existed simply enough? He wasn’t sure, but if it hadn’t been for that damn promise to her, he would have been done with the deed long ago. So, he did not fall into the loving arms of death. Instead, he fled the city like a fugitive of grief.
Ismaël had assisted him with the removal of his belongings from his home, items which were promptly sold at auction or donated to the luckiest Goodwill on the planet. His underground office was cleared out, leaving simply an empty shell of a concrete room behind, a room in which the future occupants would be left scratching their heads wondering what on earth it was ever used for. His piano and massive record collection were promptly placed into a climate-controlled storage, but not before he tucked the record of her father’s music beneath his coat to take with him.
A sentimental record, I presume?” Ismaël asked before shutting the door to the storage unit and securing it with a thick padlock.
Erik had not bothered with a reply.
It had only taken them a few days to clear everything out, one of the perks to a minimalist existence. When the task was done, the sounds bounced around the vacant spaces like a rubber ball and Erik found himself standing in her unfurnished bedroom, his fingers tenderly stroking the velveteen flowers of the wallpaper. He recalled all the hopes he had when he furnished this room.
“What will you do with this place?” Ismaël asked softly behind him, breaking his mournful thoughts.
“Sell it to the first person who will buy it,” he replied curtly before turning away and leaving the room, never to set foot in it again.
In the end, the building had been purchased for a lump sum by a developer. It seemed only proper that it should be demolished to place something new and unconnected to Christine, but Erik would never seek to discover what fate the property had. He would never wish to know whether the building still stood once he left the city.
Ismaël convinced him to bear witness to his marriage to Antoinette. A tiny ceremony at city hall with no real frills, the only other guest being Antoinette’s daughter, Meg. Meg had begun to dance on stage again, when she wasn’t spending her time teaching children ballet. She had also become the leader of a support group for other victims of sexual assault. It was obvious that her soul was back, for she cheerfully introduced herself to Erik with an effervescent air.
“Ismaël says you’re basically a genius, is that true?” she had asked as they left the city hall’s chapel.
The young woman seemed completely unfazed that her mother had just married a much younger man. Meg was probably nearing Christine’s age. Ismaël was only several years her senior and at least a decade Erik’s junior.
When he thought about it, it made his relationship with Christine seems almost predatory. Christine was also in her late twenties and Erik had to be nearing forty-five or fifty by now. It didn’t feel that way when he was with her though, perhaps because he was so green when it came to love. Christine made him feel…young, unsure and completely out of his depth. She had more wisdom in the ways of love than he could ever hope to have.
He ended up settling near a remote Northern coastal town with a sparse population. The tiny Victorian-era home he purchased was in dire need of help, so he devoted his every waking hour for months in its restoration. The wood and nails and stained glass became his refuge from sorrow. Every rotten scale on the home’s façade was accurately duplicated and set in place, each room was gutted and insolated and installed with the proper electrical means for modern appliances. It took over a month to get internet set up in the remote section. In addition to the renovation and slight modernization of the place, he also expanded the back porch which looked out onto his large, private section of rocky beach.
Many evenings he would sit on his solitary chair on the wooden patio, playing the violin or watching the waves as they tumbled violently against the pebbled shore. During those nights, he would often remember that story filled sunset by Lake Tahoe. He didn’t curse this memory, instead he clung to it like a talisman.
Eventually he had completed his project with the home, and he grew miserable and bored, which motivated him to find more stimulation. He took on engineering and architecture projects, working remotely from his home. With every project he completed, he anonymously donated half the earnings to Bai’s foundation.
Occasionally he had gone into town, his prosthetic serving him well with the locals. It was his sharp attire which drew their attention instead. This, he remedied by adopting a more humbled wardrobe when he ventured where the people habituated before quickly changing into his preferred clothing once behind closed doors. Perhaps he was an overly proud man, but he never felt complete in nothing short of a tailored suit.
The locals were surprisingly kind, not what he had expected with a quaint little population. He had expected suspicion and wary eyes. Instead, they seemed pleased he had purchased the old property.
“Glad someone finally did something good for that old eyesore of a place. Folks figured it was going to just rot there by the sea.”, one older man at the register had commented as Erik purchased a pound of coffee from one of the two grocery stores in the area.
The problem was, the people were perhaps too warm and friendly. Once they began to try familiarizing themselves with Erik, asking him questions about himself, about his past and his origins…that’s when he grew uncomfortable. Suspicion and fear he could deal with, but not this.
So, he arranged for a young boy to deliver his grocery order every week on the same day. A simple knock on the door and a box left on the step. It became the ideal for Erik.
For over two years it had been a quiet and minimal existence.
Or course, he still received word on Christine’s wellbeing. It’s not as if he could help himself. Being without her would have been utter hell if he did not have the means to check in on her from time to time. Ismaël gave him updates every couple of months, an arrangement they had agreed upon before Erik had left.
Christine continued to live in the city he had fled. She moved into an apartment with another woman she had met in her twelve step meetings and continued to work at the same café, eventually becoming the manager. She had continued with her schooling, taking classes even in the summer in order to get an associate’s degree in psychology. Erik often wondered what motivated her to seek such a major, but he would likely never know. True to her promise, she had never fallen back to old habits, obtaining a couple of years of complete sobriety. Ismaël even reported that she helped other women who struggled themselves, finding them beds in treatment centers and serving as a source of inspiration.
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this…” Ismaël had said one night over the phone, “But she’s been seeing someone. I looked into him, I figured you would want me to. He’s got a pristine record, comes from a good family. He’s a mechanical engineering student with a notable academic record.” Ismaël paused before saying compassionately, “I’m sorry Erik. We knew this would happen eventually.”
Erik had thanked his former partner, but immediately broken his restraint and went onto the internet to look at her social media accounts. For the first year, he had managed to white knuckle his avoidance of those sources of pain. But hearing about his young man had been too much for his reserve and he immediately filled his computer screen with images of Christine and this unknown suitor. The relationship had been going on for months now. Every other new photo that had been posted onto her Instagram featured a slightly bookish, but attractive brunette man with a warm smile and a smart gleam in his green eyes. There were photos of the two of them, arms wrapped around each other as it if they didn’t have a care in the world.
He tortured himself like this for a few months. Checking her accounts every day to see what new tidbit of her happiness he could consume to fester his wounds. Until he finally reached his breaking point, informing Ismaël he would prefer to no longer receive updates and vowing to never seek her online presence again.
That was nearly a half year ago.
Since then, he had mostly pushed her from his mind, only occasionally reliving the night by the lake as he gazed into the ocean or shamefully bringing himself to release to the memory of her pleasured sighs. A handful of times he would continue to work on a composition he had begun from the moment he had moved, a song which was intended to encapsulate all that he had ever felt for her. Wild and erratic, yet smooth as silk, it was the most difficult piece he had ever attempted to create.
It was where he sat presently, his violin in hand, stonily staring at the wall as the new section of the music refused to spring forward. He had been at it for nearly an hour, plucking one note at a time only to turn down his mouth from the utter sourness of the sound. He had run out of coffee just the day before and was currently experiencing a caffeine withdrawal induced headache that pounded and clawed behind his skull.
Thankfully, the knock on his front door was the interruption he needed. His supplies were here, and he could rid himself of the damned nuisance in his head. Placing the violin down with care upon the soft chair of his small parlor, he went to collect his items.
When he opened the door, he had expected his regular box of groceries, meager as they typically were, resting upon the newly repaired front porch.
Instead, there were a pair of uncertain blue eyes staring back at him, framed by a pile of golden hair…hair that he would know anywhere.
The world fell from beneath him as Christine stood before him, upon the porch of the remote little house by the beach, hundreds of miles away from where she lived.
He slammed the door in her face, an act of sheer panic. His eyes roved around the parlor, as if searching for a small place he could curl up inside to hide.
She knocked again.
“Please, Erik. I’ve come a really long way.” She pleaded from behind the thick wooden door.
Throwing the door open, to reveal she wasn’t a dream, Erik tried to keep himself calm.
“What are you doing here?” he managed to choke out, his mouth becoming as dry as the Sahara.
“Please don’t be upset, Ismaël gave me your address.” She gave a weak smile, “I have to admit, it took me a while to find…the GPS took me on a really strange route.”
For several moments he just stared at her, taking in her beauty, her fresh face, full of life. His hands instinctively flew to his uncovered face in a moment of self-consciousness.
Sighing, he stepped aside to make room and motioned her to enter.
“I will murder Ismaël,” he half-heartedly muttered under his breath.
“Trust me, it was really hard to convince him to tell me where you were.” She walked into his humble little parlor and sat on the charming little sofa in the center of the room. “A couple of months ago I bumped into that woman, Antionette. I was getting brunch with,” her eyes fell, “a friend…” Her face showed all the classic signs of deception and Erik didn’t need to ask who this friend was, “She sat at the table next to ours. She was with her daughter, I think. I asked her if it was okay to contact her…I wanted to speak to her privately and she agreed.”
Erik slowly paced around the room as Christine divulged the events that led her to his doorstep. A phone call with Antoinette had led to a meeting with Ismaël. At that meeting Christine had convinced Ismaël to divulge Erik’s whereabouts.
“After I got back into the city, I tried to move on.” Christine continued, “But it felt impossible. I worried about you constantly.” She rose from her seat and walked to the back window of the parlor which looked out towards the beach. “Then the news exploded with stories about Scott Bensot, a man I thought you had killed. Imagine how surprised I was when I found out he was alive and well and going to trial for all these terrible crimes. You were right Erik, he’s a really bad guy.”
It was true, Scott Bensot had his hand in numerous illegal pots. His love of eugenics aside, he also supplied military weapons to terrorist organizations and had a fondness for unwilling underage girls. What was it with the wealthy men and human trafficking?
“I recognize evil when I see it,” Erik quietly replied as he stood, arms outstretched and hands upon the mantle, gazing into the nonexistent fire in the pit.
“I needed to talk to you after I realized what you had done, so I went to your place and…you weren’t there. Someone had bought your building and was turning it into some gentrification bullshit of a condominium complex. I was heartbroken Erik. So watched that trial like it was my only lifeline to you and when he was convicted and sentenced to life in prison, I felt like it was the greatest thing you had ever done.”
Erik sighed. “I don’t want you to picture some grand change of heart, Christine. The doctor was ruling my conscience that night, any deed you may have found admirable was done in part by him. I would not have shown Mr. Bensot any mercy.”
“It doesn’t matter why you did it,” Christine replied with some frustration, “The point is, I told you I was leaving because you had killed that man and you didn’t tell me what really happened.” Her voice dropped low, “You didn’t try to stop me, Erik. Why?”
Erik looked over to see her piercing eyes staring into his and he felt so utterly helpless again, but he knew what he needed to do now. With calm resolve, he moved to approach her and extended his hand out, palm facing up.
The scar was still there, as white and fresh as ever against his already deathly pale skin.
Her fingers gently traced the roughened, yet healed gash and he shuddered at the sensation.
“How did this happen? I always wanted to ask.” She asked softly, with a weigh to her voice that indicated she understood the importance of the mark, that it held the answer to her question.
Without hesitation he told her of the night he brought her to his home. He told her how he had become fixated with the girl who sang across the street, how he had followed her to the alley and watched as she plunged a needle into her arm. She didn’t seem too concerned about the tale, until he got to the part about the window, about the moment of madness that had overtaken him.
“I had desired to keep you, Christine. Like one does a pretty trinket.”
She quickly dropped his hand and hurried from the room. He was certain she was going to leave, but she went the opposite direction of the front door and exited out to the back patio instead.
Several minutes dragged by before Erik felt he ought to follow her.
She was standing against the railing of the porch, looking out on the turbulent sea. When she looked in his direction once more, there was no fear or anger in her eyes.
“I have to admit, Erik. That’s a really fucked up thing to confess.”
“It is the truth,” he replied, leaning against the railing opposite of her. “One that I had hidden away all this time. I knew I had to let you go that night, because I could never feel worthy of you.”
He could hear her take a deep breath as she continued to watch the waves on the shore.
“I don’t think you would have, imprisoned me, I mean…or maybe you would have in another life. I’m sure I would have been different in another life too…maybe I would have never been a junkie, or maybe I would have ended up marrying someone like Raoul, I don’t know.”
They sat in silence for a long time, with nothing but the steady and predictable crash of the waves upon the shore.
“I was dating someone for a while,” she admitted, “He was really supportive, caring, really everything a woman wants from a partner. I should have been really happy, I should have fallen in love with him. He was starting to talk about maybe getting married and helping me as I work towards my Bachelor’s.” She shook her head and averted her eyes. Erik was watching every small expression on her face as she revealed all of this to him, things which caused him pain. “I tried, but I couldn’t jump off that cliff with him. I couldn’t….love him, not the way he deserved. We broke up a few days after I talked to Ismaël.”
“My condolences,” Erik attempted.
She shook her head in slight disgust. “You don’t get it. I don’t know why I couldn’t love someone who was clearly so right for me, so healthy. All I could do was wonder about you and hope you were thinking of me.” She left her railing to stand before him and her eyes pinned him to the spot he stood like a prized butterfly in a biologist’s collection. “I don’t like being away from you, Erik. I tried and it hurts. Maybe it’s unhealthy, maybe I’m not as put together as I thought, but somehow, I feel like I’m home when I’m with you. You see all the broken parts in me and still treasure me regardless.” Christine reached out and touched his shoulder. “I miss our conversations, but I miss the comfortable silences the most. I never felt like I had to be anything other than myself when I was with you….no pretending or putting on airs…I miss my friend.”
“I don’t want a friend, Christine,” he hopelessly replied. “I can’t be that for you.”
“I know that, Erik.” Her eyes shown bright with empathy.
“Then what is it you want?” he rasped.
She extended his arms and took him into a fierce embrace. “I want to save you, Erik. I want to pull you from your darkness. I want to lead you to the light the way you led me.”
His hands found themselves into her hair as he pulled her close, cherishing her so much he felt heart would burst.
He whispered back. “I will follow you anywhere, Christine.”