Even though it was what I was there to get, the sight of someone else’s property in my foyer was a bit jarring. Even five years ago, when Madeline came to stay with me, those precious, few times, she had brought nothing but herself. My voice hypnotized her right out of her dressing room and we sang and traveled together, deep under the opera. Until we came here and the wonder stole out of her eyes, to be replaced by wary fear.
At least Sorcha seems pretty fearless. I didn’t know if I could be faced with those scared eyes again in my lonely home. But, I could sense Sorcha moving around in her now rooms. Not so lonely anymore. I lifted her bag with more effort than I had thought it would take, so easily did she move with it, and carried it to her rooms.
I had never seen the door to that room open with the lights on before, and it was a bit of a wonder to me. I glanced in the door, but did not see my new guest. Madeline’s white roses still stood on her table, ever fresh. It didn’t seem right to have them in here while another woman occupied the space, but I couldn’t bring my self to take them away. Not yet. She still may… I shook my head violently and knocked on the door. I would not violate her rooms by entering without her permission. I doubted she would want me in there.
She said something from the bathroom that sounded like, “Come in,” though it could have just as easily been, “Coming.” I waited a moment in the hallway as she came back to the room. And smiled at me.
“I said come in, didn’t you hear me?”
I was astounded. I had never been in this room when Madeline was here, and yet this strange, new woman was inviting me in as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
“I wasn’t sure I had heard you correctly, and I did not wish to intrude.” I handed her her belongings and turned away, slowing being consumed of memories of Madeline and how I had labored over this room to make it all she could ever want. That perfume, there, it was her favorite. And now maybe Sorcha will use it. “After looking around are you still quite certain that you need things from your pack? I had figured everything you could need would be here.” Time to stop thinking of Madeline and worry about Sorcha. She was my current guest, even in such bizarre circumstances. “Is your room comfortable enough?”
Her response was nothing if not enthusiastic. “Is it comfortable? Erik, I feel like I’m in a palace! I would have been content sleeping on a soft sofa, but I have my own room and my own bathroom!? I’m in heaven.” She started to dig through her bag, settling onto the small love seat. “Never mind a week; you may have trouble ever getting me to leave!”
I kept my face schooled carefully blank under my mask. I didn’t know what to make of that statement, probably just made in jest. She wasn’t looking at me, though, and didn’t seem to expect a response. In fact, it seemed like she had climbed half-way into her bag herself, searching for whatever these illusive items she must have were.
“I just need a few things, not as much as I’d thought,” she said, muffled by the thick layers of fabric. And a moment later, “Ah, there he is!”
He? Despite my control, I could feel an eyebrow rise behind the shield of my mask. And then she held up the most battered stuffed animal I had ever seen, or imagined existed. But she lifted it up high, and then cradled it to her chest as if it were a child.
“A teddy bear? Aren’t you a bit old for toys?” I hadn’t meant to be cruel, but I could see her shrink a bit under my comments, and immediately regretted them. She held the toy closer to her chest and looked very protective.
“Toddy,” she said in a small voice. “I’ve had him since I was a very small child. I’ve held him tight and cried myself to sleep on more nights than I can remember. I’ve told him all my secrets. He’s been everywhere with me. I don’t go anywhere, not for more than a few days, without him. It’s like…” She trailed off, searching for words she thought I might understand. But, slowly I was beginning to understand. Then she found the words.
“He is my one link to myself in the past, my triumphs and tragedies. MYSELF! No matter how far I roam, how friendless and comfortless my life becomes I will always have this tiny piece of fluff for companionship and for hope. Someone loved me very much, once, as a child, and gave him to me. Maybe I will be very lucky and someone will love me that much, again, someday. Who knows?” I was struck momentarily speechless. She seemed such a creature of light and joy, but suddenly, I was shown a glimpse of shadowy sadness that lurked beneath the surface. I saw a terrible, secret weakness, and felt ashamed somehow. Perhaps we were not as completely opposite each other as I thought.
Without another word, she rose and laid the bear gently on her pillow. She looked vulnerable and looked like she knew it. She raised her eyes to mine, and for a long moment we just saw at each other, all facades but the mask dropped. I saw how very strong a soul she had, and I was the one who had to break the moment. I dropped my eyes to her bag.
“And what other wonders will you pull from your bag?”
“Just two,” she replied. She managed to find the first, a notebook, rather quickly.
“My journal,” was all she said.
“Ah.” I had tried to keep one myself, once, but it turned quickly sour, as I poured it full of my bitterness and hate for the world. Madeline and I burnt it together one night, in hopes of a better future. No more of Madeline, stop thinking of her, you fool.
It was the better part of a minute before she found the last thing she needed, an unmarked bottle half full of some thick reddish liquid.
“What have you got there?” I was curious, not imagining what she could be carrying that would take such care. She handed me the bottle.
“It’s an ointment for sore muscles and bruises. I am definitely going to want that tonight.” I imagined it must be home-made, knowing what little I did about Sorcha and uncapped it to see if scent would tell me the ingredients. I filled my lungs and immediately wished I hadn’t! The burning scent of cayenne filled my nose and lungs, stinging deeply. It took me some minutes of coughing to clear my lungs and by the end my eyes were watering.
“Cayenne?” I croaked, hating the rough sound of my own voice.
“It stimulates blood flow and warms the area. Just takes a bit of getting used to!” She seemed a little chipper at my discomfort, and I couldn’t really blame her after what I had put her through today.
“I’ll accept your word on that. Do you need anything else?”
She actually paused a moment to seriously consider the question and then shook her head. “No, I think I’ll be quite all right.”
“Good.” I nodded once and took possession of her bag again. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her; it was just that I had learned the hard way that you can never take too many precautions. She followed me to the door of her rooms.
I felt a little better once in the hallway. On more familiar ground. I turned to see her silhouetted in the doorway, and another pang of memory hit cruelly. I shoved it away.
“I’ll put this someplace safe and out of the way.” I almost left then, go anywhere to escape her calm regard, but I remembered my manners. There was a lady, albeit, an unconventional one, as a guest in my house.
“Please, feel free to make yourself at home here. You may go anywhere in my home you please. If you need me, for some reason in the night, my room is at the end of the hallway.” Though I honestly couldn’t imagine what could trouble her enough during the night that this resourceful woman would have to run to the terror of the Palais Garnier for succor.
“I would recommend you get to that bath soon or you will be so sore in the morning you won’t be able to move, much less sing.” I was very much looking forward to that lesson.
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Erik.” She smiled and shut the door. She did not say goodnight, though I had not expected her to. But, something felt unfinished, and I did not feel as if I could leave her door.
It wasn’t until I dimly heard the sound of running water through the thick walls that I realized I had been waiting for a different familiar sound. There was no final thunk of the large bolt sliding home or click of the lock on the knob. She had not locked the door. Despite all the strange events of today and all I had done to her, Sorcha was not locking me out for her safety, merely closing her door for privacy and quiet. She trusted me.
It was an almost disquieting feeling.
I wanted to lock myself in my own rooms, lock out her all seeing eyes and gypsy flair, but I couldn’t. Even if I succeeded in that for the night, she would still be here in my home, and I would have to see her again tomorrow. Somehow I had found a benevolent witch to be my houseguest, and suddenly I feared she might undo me quicker than any evil of my working or anyone else’s.
But, these thoughts had to be pushed aside, for my night was not yet done. I had promised to make her some dinner, to make up for tripping her on the stairs. And for screaming at her on the lake, just admit it. Though now that she was here and half settled in, I regretted the screaming more than the tripping. I stepped into my own room in its deep reds and blacks just long enough to put her bag in the back of my closet before leaving that sanctuary again.
In my kitchen, I found myself looking around in despair. I had little to offer in the way of food, not even enough groceries for myself for the week. I’m going to have to get those idiots upstairs to up my salary I thought wryly. And getting groceries is so…plebeian.
Setting to work with what little I had, I managed to make soup from a can presentable with some of my favorite herbs and scrounge up some crackers and cheese arranged neatly on a plate. I found myself humming a little as I worked and wondered at that. Perhaps just the novelty of doing something nice for someone, but I felt my own spirits rise a little. I added a glass of wine, the one thing I had plenty of, to the tray, and then, as an afterthought, another of the roses from the dining room.
I was about to carry the tray to her door when another thought struck me. I went to my writing desk and pulled out a sheet of the think cream colored paper I use for O.G.’s notes. I only had red ink. It was supposed to be frightening and intimidating, often working, though I hoped it wouldn’t be tonight.
I scrawled her name in my long loopy hand on the front of the folded paper and wrote a quick note inside: Again, welcome to my home. I look forward to our lesson tomorrow morning.
I started to sign O.G. with the customary flourish and then remembered. Erik. Aside from Nadir and his erratic visits she was the first person to know me as Erik in almost five years.
Erik. Am I Erik, or am I the Phantom? I’m not sure I know anymore.
I left the tray complete with rose and card outside her door, knocking softly but retreating to my room before she could answer. I couldn’t take her wide eyes again tonight.
I meant to dress for bed, but instead I just sat on the edge of my large bed that had always been empty and stared at the locked door. I don’t know whether I was willing her to knock and need something, or willing her to disappear. Neither happened, and I could still smell her scent, rubbed from her pack to my clothes. Eventually I knew I would not be able to sleep, and may as well get my trip to the real world over with now, while she was sleeping.
Her tray was gone when I stepped into the hallway. It was quite late, and I supposed she was sleeping. But I didn’t want to leave the house unless I was sure. No light shone from under her door as I approached, but that didn’t mean anything. She could even still be in her bath. But with the lights off, I figured it was safe to check on her.
I refused to think about what I was doing as my hand rested on the knob and turned it. That still wasn’t locked. As I put slow pressure on the door I expected to be met with the resistance of the bolt at any moment, but it opened smoothly, just a crack. I could hear her steady and deep breathing and imagined I saw her still form tucked into the bed, though I couldn’t possibly have seen her from this angle. I closed the door again, just as gently, and leaned hand and forehead against the smooth wood.
It was all real, not imagined. I had half convinced myself in my rooms that I had finally cracked and imagined the whole evening, refusing to look in my closet for the proof of her pack. And even if it was real, I must have just missed hearing her slide the bolt. She must have slid the bolt. No one is that trusting. But she was. This entire improbable situation was completely real.
It wasn’t until I reached the gondola and began poling across the lake again that I realized my hands were shaking.
And much later that night, back with supplies for the week I noticed something in the sink. The dishes from her tray, rinsed and stacked neatly. I wondered, not idly, when she had done that.