Pen a Pal (Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction)

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

It was Wednesday night, and Erik felt that the entire day had been a complete waste. He detested days like these.. I have not composed a single piece, nor have I received an email.Instead, throughout the course of the day, he'd eaten one small meal and sat on an arm chair in his den mulling over his sad life. In fact, he was still sitting in the same position thinking.

Nadir has certainly kept his word. I have not seen or spoken to him in over a day, he thought bitterly, though he knew not why he felt bitter about it. It was regretful to even acknowledge it, but Erik couldn't help but think that it would sometimes be nice to have company. Really, he was lonely… lonelier than he would ever admit. He truly only had Nadir in his life.. Christine was a mere fragment of the Internet, although to Erik, she was becoming much more than that.

If he thought about what little purpose there was to his existence too much longer, though, he would fall into a depression so deep that he would never reemerge. He abruptly stood from his seat and headed towards the computer room. What was I thinking sitting there for hours on end? An email might have been sent long ago while I was wasting time.

He sat gracefully on his computer chair the way a pianist would sit on a piano bench before beginning to play. Then, he logged onto his Pen-a-Pal account and breathed a sigh of relief. There was an email.

It seemed his entire life was reliant upon these emails. Erik distantly wondered if that was a good or bad thing…

Dear Erik,

Thank you for revealing a little about yourself. You already told me some of what I read back when we first began emailing, but I did not know about your family. I think it's good that you have Nadir. His name doesn't sound American. Where is he from, if you don't mind me asking? How did you meet him?

Erik couldn't bear to read more. She was wishing for him to reveal more and more about himself, and if he answered her questions and continued doing so, problems would arise. 'How did you meet him?' Even that small question was one he couldn't answer. In fact, it had taken himself years to gather the truth of it. Nadir hadn't wished to relay the horrors.

Erik could recall the day when Nadir had finally told the story. He was but ten years of age.

"You were an infant, barely eight months old, when I found you," Nadir said. He couldn't deny Erik any longer. The boy wanted to know, so he would know.

"What do you mean, 'found me'?" Erik asked with deep interest. It was the most interest he had ever conveyed, outside of music, of course.

Nadir sat at the kitchen table and looked at Erik who was standing with his arms crossed in a guarded way. He was always like that. "Well.." he hesitated.

"Tell me," Erik demanded.

He surrendered to the tone of his voice and slowly began. "It was a rainy night, and I had business to attend to in the city. I was walking on a sidewalk past buildings and alleys when I heard a baby crying. The sound of it overpowered the sound of the rain. I slowed my pace to try to find where the sound was coming from. It came from one of the alleys where a group of people were standing in a circle, obviously surrounding something. And that something was you."

"Go on," Erik whispered. He was beginning to realize something bad was about to be said.

"Erik," Nadir muttered with weak protest.

"I want to hear everything. Go on," he repeated firmly.

"I hid behind a building and tried to listen to what they were saying over the sound of your crying. Almost immediately, I could tell it was a gang. They were talking about what they were going to do with you. One explained how somebody had left you there to die. Another said he had a knife to do it. And somebody else mentioned putting you on display to earn money. There was even someone who suggested raising you to become one of them, saying that you would scare away anyone you came in contact with. I, of course, was confused. How could a baby cause fear?" Nadir was telling the whole story, leaving nothing out and refraining from sugar-coating any of it. Erik wanted the truth, and he was getting it.