Hopeful Soul: A Phantom Story

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

NADIR:

I decided it was time to visit my dear old friend, no one having seen him in four days. I worried for him as well. Usually he would update me every so often on his sanity and how he was doing health-wise. I headed down to the gates on Rue Scribe, prepared for anything I might see. I lit a torch on the wall and brought it along just in case as I closed the gates and traveled along the dark, musty corridors.

Ayesha stood just beside the door to the house on the lake and I knew immediately something was wrong. She never left Erik's side and that was very concerning. I hung the torch on the mount beside the door and entered his home slowly - no sight of him. Then someone attacked me from behind with a rope and when I saw that noose - the special, strong noose - I knew immediately who it was, "Erik," I choked, "it is I... the daroga."

He threw the noose to the wall and ran into the red room - but I dared to follow him. Blood - it was everywhere - and Erik paced around four dead bodies nervously. The swords, which he proudly hung on a crest above the fireplace, were plunged into two men with scraggly beards - Apaches. I could only imagine what they were doing down here, "E- Erik?" his golden eyes pierced into me, reminding me of the fires of hell, "Are you alright?"

He blared about the room for a moment, then removed his swords and laid the blades in the fireplace - possibly for cleaning. He picked up a body by its hair and moved it, dragging the feet on the ground, to the torture chamber. He did this to the rest of the bodies as he spoke hurriedly, "No one cares for Erik. Apaches came down here to steal from Erik. Erik killed the Apaches ruthlessly."

I knew when he spoke in the third person it was a good idea to keep my distance, but I couldn't help but be curious. He was traveling down the road to insanity, "Erik. Please. Are you alright?"

"Erik is completely fine!" he yelled as he put the last body into the chamber and turned it up to the greatest heat, "Erik must pay for his sins. He cannot be loved, so Erik must DIE!"

I didn't want my friend to die - let alone witness his death - but what else could he do. He was clearly in pain. He was thin to the point that his shirt looked bulky on him and his face had become even more jagged and ugly. My poor friend was starving himself to death. What was I to do? He definitely wanted death to come, but it was not good in my mind to let someone kill themselves.

Erik ran into the red room and grabbed a dagger from a mahogany box on the fireplace. He stared at the tip of the blade for a moment before placing it in front of his nonexistent stomach. I wasn't sure what to do, having never seen this much desperation for death, but fell to his knees with a pained look on his face, "Erik is always too weak! Why, daroga?!" he cried, cutting at his clothes with the blade, "Why can't I do it!?"

"Erik-"

"Shut up! Shut up! Erik is thinking!"

He looked to the end table and opened the drawer, but when he pulled out a syringe I became worried. Inside of it was a yellowish brown fluid and I knew exactly what this was - opium. I ran across the room kicked the drug out of his hand, but he became hostile as the glass broke on the ground. I prepared myself for his anger and possibly my death, but he only threw himself against the wall - several times, "Erik," he said this after each hit, becoming dizzy, "is... too... WEAK!"

He grabbed a bottle of wine and chugged almost half of it before falling onto the floor. He broke the glass bottle and became a pink, sobbing mess with glass now dug painfully into his hands, "DAMN IT ALL!"

My heart was beating rapidly at his yells of pain. He was in every kind of pain imaginable - physical, emotional, possibly even mental pain from all the trauma hitting the wall. Poor Erik. Poor, unhappy Erik. All he wanted was a peaceful death and here I was - ruining his chances, "Daroga," he said sobbing, "come here."

I was a moron following his words, but this was a dire situation anyway. He looked up at me helplessly as he now laid on his back against the loveseat. The stone floor must have been rather uncomfortable, "Christine," he sniffled, "how- how is she?"

He needed the truth now more than anything and I explained to him exactly what I saw from her, "She cries, Erik. She does not want you to die."

He sniffled, picking pieces of glass from his hand and letting the blood run down his white sleeves. He needed care. More than anything, he needed kind touch. He needed... Christine - the woman whom he had recently let free he needed now more than ever. Erik wouldn't be happy if she saw him in this state, but I was sure Christine would smile to see him alive and... of course, well was not a word to describe him, but alive would do.

Erik sniffled again and wiped a tear that rolled down his cheek. For the first time, I saw this poor man smile, "She is so lovely," he cried, "No girl like that should ever be in the company of a madman like me."

I nodded so as to appease him. Then stood for my hat which had been knocked off of my head when he attacked me, "Get some rest, Erik. You need it more than ever."