Upfront warning of sensuality.
This is a story about India, of a man far removed from what he has known. This is a story of a genius, of a man who has used his talents in ways that never satisfied him. This is a story of a man who bore more inner scars than outer. This is a story of obsession, betrayal, forgiveness and absolution. This is the downfall of a man and the birth of a phantom.
Goddess Noir
Paris, 1870
He stood in the shadows and watched with varying interest as the women walked by. Some were only children still, flat-chested and straight-bodied. None seemed to notice him. No one ever noticed him. In his fist he held a small purse of coins. There was enough to buy half the women walking the street, though that would have been money wasted.
A cruel thought passed through his mind. Could he have purchased Christine? Could a pocketful of coins have opened her legs? He cast his eyes down in shame. It didn't matter. She was gone. Nothing mattered. Nothing would bring her back. He had ruined it. His face had ruined what his heart needed.
With hands shaking he stepped forward as a black-haired girl walked by. The Goddess, he thought, the Goddess Noir, the deity of night. His mouth grew dry with want.
Her locks were pin straight, her eyes painted in shades of blue, lips the color of blood. The shades of blood he knew well, though her eyes? Bruises, hethought, they are the color of bruises. It had been years since he had seen the sky.
She was exotic, with small jewels glued above her eyebrows and fixed into her hair and on her bare shoulders. He looked at her and saw an evening sky glittering with stars. Her eyes were large and almond-shaped, black as coal, and empty as the familiar darkness. Her skin titian, like cream stirred into coffee.
The Goddess was like a memory, a dream he had thought had once haunted him. She was familiar yet foreign and beautiful as the white oleander.
Without a thought, he strolled up beside her on her right side and grabbed her arm. She startled but didn't pull away. She was used to men grabbing her and pulling her into an alley, he thought. Used to cold money placed into her hand, a skirt hitched up to her belly and her back against the brick wall. Used to men rutting and not loving.
He knew neither sex nor love.
"No work tonight," she said, her East Indian accent thick. Her voice accentuated her exotic features partially hidden beneath black eyeliner and reddened lips. He had heard her speak before, many times before. She was eloquent when she wanted to be. Tonight, she wished to be nothing.
"Please, oh God don't turn me away," he panted. He turned slightly, showing her a flash of stark white curved leather. The mask he wore; the garment he swore never to remove. "Just a word. Just an hour, two at the most. I only want to talk. Please, oh God, please don't leave me."
She glanced away and ignored the desperation in his eyes. Other girls had turned him away. Other girls had laughed in his face, pushed his money back into his chest and told him to either satisfy himself or find a woman who couldn't see.
"Goddess…," he pleaded. He had begged often lately. He had begged her lately.
"Erik, we both know that words are not what you want."
Her pace quickened, her hips swaying back and forth. She was leaving him behind and he knew it.
"Goddess, please," he whispered, grabbing tighter to her arm. "Just once. Just this once." He shoved the bag of coins into her hand. "Five thousand francs. I'll give you ten if that will change your mind."
Onyx eyes narrowed. She ran her tongue along her painted lips as she weighed the bag of coins.
"An hour?" she questioned.
Erik nodded readily, his throat dry, hoping she would not deny him. He had wanted two hours, but if he could get one he would take it.
"Show me the other half."
Another heavy bag placed into her hand. "It's all there. Ten thousand. Count it now if you wish."
She shrugged off his hand and continued down the street. "Follow me."
Erik paused, mouth agape. Ten thousand francs, half his money for the month, given to the Goddess Noir and he could think of no better way to spend it than hearing her sing. Even as she walked she sang, the voice of a dark angel leading him towards a vacant building.
The Goddess never locked the door behind her. From the two times Erik had come to her, he had realized that there was no need. Strangers are what gave her money, what paid for the small trinkets that adorned the cracked walls, what bought her food and the clothes she wore.
As usual, he sat motionless at the end of the bed. There was nothing over the mattress and barely enough light in the room to see the stains and tears. Just being here made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The smell of urine and lust made his stomach churn while the sound of headboards hitting walls made his hands ball into fists.
The Goddess stood with her back to him. She played with the laces at the front of her bodice then swiped a bottle of perfume from a small vanity. Her obsidian eyes found Erik's face in the dirty mirror and she smiled wryly as she sprayed her neck with marigold perfume.
He showed minimal interest in her activity. The Goddess smiled to herself. He came for only one thing: her voice.
Slowly she turned and slipped cymbals onto her thumbs and forefingers. With a sigh she sauntered toward him, looking down as Erik sat on the edge of the bed, his face hardened with anticipation.
"What tonight?" the Goddess asked.
"Anything," he breathed.
She leaned forward and touched the edge of the cymbal to his chin. "Undress me and I shall sing for you, Phantom."
He looked away. "You are not to call me that."
The Goddess found satisfaction in his misery. She straddled his left leg and leaned to the side until she caught his eye. "Call you what the Persians called you? Is that it? Better days are what you search for of palaces and torture chambers."
Erik nervously swallowed.
"And a woman. Because there is always a woman," she purred.
He started to leave but she slid further up his leg and placed her hand convincingly low on his stomach.
"Tell me her name," she sang softly. "Tell me the name of the dream I replace."