Gankutsuou Fan Fiction ❯ Gankutsuou Reborn ❯ A Chance Encounter ( Chapter 2 )

GANKUTSUOU REBORN
© August 23, 2005 By Rory V. Pascual


CHAPTER TWO: A Chance Encounter

"Albert! Hey, Albert!"

Albert had just disembarked from the Embassy's private spaceship. Before he could scan through the milling throng at the airport, the person who had called out his name burst through the crowd, waving excitedly.

"BAPTISTIN!" Albert ran down the portable stairs and met the Count's loyal aide halfway, giving him a tight hug. "Long time, no see!"

"You can say that again!" Baptistin pushed him a bit away to be able to peruse his young friend. "Would you look at yourself? The last time we saw each other, you were just a little squirt! Now, you're as tall as I am! That Peppo certainly did wonders for your stature!"

Albert frowned in confusion. "What does Peppo have to do with my height?"

"Now, now, Albert! No need to be coy with me," Baptistin mumbled conspiratorially, as he elbowed the younger man lightly in the ribs. "I know that Peppo had been your first. As my great grandmother used to say, the best way to make a boy grow taller is for him to lose his virginity. And…voila…" He gestured with exaggerated flair towards his now irritated friend. "Here is the proof!"

Albert rapped Baptistin on the head with his briefcase. "How dare you remind me of…of THAT! I want to forget, if you don't mind!"

"Well, you seem to have chalked it down to inexperience," Bertuccio approached them, a rare grin on the Black man's face. "Anyone could be fooled by Peppo because he's so pretty. There he is in Paris – a famous model, and no one knows he's really a man."

Albert gazed fondly at the two men who had once been the trusted henchmen of the Count of Monte Cristo. "I missed you, my friends."

"As we have you, Albert," Bertuccio bowed to him. "When we first met, you were just a boy, but now, you're the Paris Ambassador to Luna. How quickly time flies! The Master would be so proud of you if he could see you now."

"Yes," Albert said thoughtfully. "I'm sure he would have."

Baptistin and Bertuccio exchanged meaningful looks. "You know?" Baptistin put in. "There is one gift that our Master was never able to give you. We'd like to give it to you now, to celebrate your appointment to the Ambassadorship."

The young man's head lifted at that revelation. "Really? A gift for me from the Count?"

An hour later, they were at the cargo loading bay of the spaceport. While Bertuccio and Baptistin saw to the loading of Albert's belongings in the black carriage, the two men would often glance over their shoulders to look at their young friend.

Albert was 'Ooh-ing' and 'Aah-ing' over a shiny new motorcycle, wiping away any smudges he found with his handkerchief. Many times, Bertuccio would catch him running his fingers over the Count's coat of arms that was etched on the chrome finish.

With an approving nod from Bertuccio, Baptistin slowly went towards the young man, who was carefully inspecting the engine.

"The Count wanted so much for you to have this motorcycle," Baptistin softly revealed as he squatted beside Albert. "He had heard about the mishaps you've had on your old bike. So he had this one custom made especially for you. You won't find one model like it back on Earth."

"Baptistin…Do I deserve this?"

The older man was aghast by that question. "Why do you say that? The Master wouldn't have bought this if he hadn't thought highly of you."

"But I can't help feeling that I did him wrong. While it's true that he wreaked havoc on my life, but then…" Albert clung to the bike's leather seat to support his trembling knees. To Baptistin's surprise, a tear trickled down Albert's cheek. "I betrayed him, Baptistin, the same way my father I had. Like Judas Iscariot, I betrayed him with a kiss. He would still be alive now if I hadn't…"

"If he had lived, he wouldn't have been the Count you had known." Baptistin remembered the last moments of his master on this earth. Those hideous marks on his face… "That man who had pointed his gun at you while tears poured from his eyes, he was the real Count of Monte Cristo. The other was…Gankutsuou…"

Albert looked at the man at his side. "Gankutsuou…he…"

"…Is gone, and the less said about him the better."

"You don't seem convinced that he is gone though."

Baptistin breathed a heavy sigh. "Little is known about Gankutsuou. Much of the information about him lay in myths and legends, and from the sketchy data from the Chateau d'lf. However, they were all in agreement about two things: that Gankutsuou was immortal and that, for him, nothing was impossible."

Albert's heart pounded his chest, his blood chilled by sudden dread. "Then, are you saying that he might still be alive?"

"Bertuccio and I don't know that for certain…not until we meet Luna's Nightingale."

"Which won't be for some time," Bertuccio strode towards them. "The La Decadenza has been booked solid for a month."

Albert got to his feet, the disappointment visible on his face. "Then there's nothing we could do for now."

"You forget who you are." Baptistin gave him a smarting tap at the tip of his nose. "You need to get settled in first, Monsieur Ambassador. Bertuccio and I shall do all the digging."

"I thought you should know this," Bertuccio quickly added. "We've enlisted Luigi Vampa's assistance. True, the man is a bandit, but he was fiercely loyal to the Count. He will help us."

"As long as there is no way to connect him to me," Albert pointedly reminded them, "I don't see why not. But…what if we do find out…that Etienne Delacroix is…"

"Let me tell you something, Albert," Bertuccio began, laying his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Gankutsuou may have been strong, but the Count matched him will for will. They shared the same body, true. Who's to say that they did not share the same preternatural power? Yes, as Baptistin had said, there is a strong possibility that the Nightingale of Luna could be Gankutsuou. But could we not also consider the reverse – that Etienne Delacroix could be Edmond Dantes, the Count of Monte Cristo?" The stern Black man gave him a wistful smile. "Is that not something worth waiting and hoping for?"

To see the optimism on Bertuccio's face caused the warmth of hope to resurge into Albert's heart. His simple reply was a "Yes" and an empathic nod.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sor Marie Bertrille of the Order of the Poor Clares quietly observed the young man who was kneeling before the image of the Crucified Christ. His eyes were closed, his thick ebony lashes like silk curtains, and his open palms crossed over his chest. He was singing the "Gloria", his own unique way of praying to the Almighty. Despite the problems besetting their humble orphanage, that magnificent voice never failed to raise her spirits.

The song ended with a soft "Amen", and he made the Sign of the Cross, before standing up. A warm smile formed on his lips when he saw her. "Oh, hello, Sister Bertrille!"

"Hello, Etienne, my child!" The Mother Superior approached him. "You seem to be in very high spirits. This is the first time I heard you sing with such passion."

"I won't deny that I am very happy," Etienne replied, as he beamed at the image of the Man on the Cross. "This past month, He had blessed me, and today I received a most wonderful letter."

"Oh? From whom?"

"The famous concert pianist Mademoiselle Eugenie Danglars. She wrote to me saying that a friend of hers was coming to stay in Luna. She said that he might be able to help me leave La Decadenza."

Sister Bertrille was elated by this news that she gave the young man a warm hug. "That is indeed wonderful news! I too have been praying that you be freed from that den of sin. I could not bear for my Angel of Song to be corrupted. Did Mademoiselle Danglars say when this friend would be coming?"

"This month. She told me that he would come see me perform. But…I checked the club's registry, and I found no new names among the reservations."

"Don't be saddened, my child. I'm sure he will find a way to see you."

"I hope so too." Etienne admitted in sorrow, "Ever since I met Mademoiselle Danglars, Tintoretto had been very strict with me. I am no longer permitted to leave the club unless Tintoretto or one of the bouncers accompanied me. I merely snuck out of my room by climbing down the drainpipe. If I have…clients, we go to the lounge that Tintoretto had ordered renovated into a guest suite. All this was done because Mademoiselle Eugenie had dared to argue with Tintoretto over me. She had wanted to bring me along on her concert tour. 'You cannot keep a great talent such as this locked up in this ratty establishment!' she had railed at him. But Tintoretto was adamant that he would keep me here. Every time he and I would…you know, he would always say that he'd never let me go."

The good nun cupped his face in her gnarled hands. "You are not his property, Etienne! When that friend of Madamoiselle Danglars comes, beg him to take you away from that horrible place! If need be, send him to me and I shall convince him!"

Etienne took her hands and squeezed them between his gloved hands. "You are always so kind to me, Sister Bertrille."

"That is because, for me, you are the son I could never have. You visit us here, at the risk of incurring Signore Tintoretto's wrath, and give us your meager earnings, money that could help you leave that accursed club. Best of all, you grace our little church with your beautiful voice. You are the most precious gift that I, the other sisters, and our children had ever received."

"Oh, Sister! You sound as if I'll be leaving you forever! Besides, nothing is certain yet. Who knows? Madame Eugenie's friend may not…like…me."

"Then he would be hard of heart if he could not see the goodness in your soul. But enough of the pessimistic talk." The Mother Superior began haltingly, "Uh…Etienne…we were talking about blessings earlier and… Would you accept a small gift from this poor nun?

From within her habit, Sister Bertrille pulled out a small packet wrapped in brown paper and pressed it into his startled hands.

"Sister Bertrille, you shouldn't have! The orphanage…"

"Money could be earned again. Besides, my brother in Avignon shared in the expense. What are you waiting for, child? Open it!"

His hands trembling with excitement, Etienne tore off the wrapper. When the gift was finally revealed, he could barely suppress his delighted gasp. With his fingertips, he caressed the gold letterings and mask design emblazoned on the black leather cover.

" 'Le Fantome de l'Opera'…" Etienne was close to tears. "But how…why…"

"It's your favorite book in my library," Sister Bertrille replied with a sly grin. The Mother Superior's one vice was her love of books. In fact, in her office, was a library of the latest novels that her brother sent her, and that the singer enjoyed pouring over every time he went to visit. "Why don't you look at the title page?"

Indeed, as he turned to that page, he saw that written in an elegant scrawl was a short note…

To my most ardent reader Monsieur Etienne Delacroix,

I hope I would be graced with the opportunity to
hear your magnificent voice in the future.

From your friend,
Msr. Gaston Leroux

Etienne pressed his precious gift close to his heart. "I won't deny how much I love this book. You may think me strange, Sister, but I found myself identifying with Christine Daae."

"Perhaps it is because the two of you are wonderful singers, and that you are both held prisoner by one man," the Mother Superior suggested.

"Yes, perhaps you can call Tintoretto my jailer. But he is nothing like Erik. Christine, in her way, loved Erik, while I feel no similar affections for Tintoretto. Erik is much kinder than my master."

"I doubt if anyone could ever love that wicked man." Sister Bertrille smiled. "You know I too noticed the similarities between yours and Christine's lives. There is only one thing missing in your story."

Etienned gaped at the good nun as she gave him a mischievous wink. "You only need your Raoul to save you."

~~~~~~~~~~

A few minutes later, Etienne stood at the gates with the Mother Superior.

"Thank you so much for this wonderful gift, Sister Bertrille," the singer exclaimed in sincere gratitude. "I will treasure this forever. Oh, and I'll be here on Sunday to sing during the morning Mass."

"Do not try Tintoretto's patience, child. You could miss a few services. I'm sure the Good Lord would understand." Sister Bertrille then waved him off. "Now, run along, before that bastard discovers you gone."

Etienne wagged a scolding finger at the nun. "Sister, I am shocked! That's not how a Mother Superior should speak." Making sure that his tresses were tucked completely inside his beret, he bowed to her and said, "I'll be seeing you!"

Running to the street corner, the singer waited for the cars and carriages to pass by before crossing the street. Just as he reached the middle of the road, pain ripped through his skull with blinding force. Etienne closed his eyes, pressing both hands to his forehead that he dropped his book. Another sharp stab of pain, and he fell to his knees.

Then, Etienne heard laughter. It had a low, echoing quality to it. Something was strange about that laugh. He could not tell where it was coming from, certainly not from his immediate surroundings.

Suddenly, he heard a voice, and it was then that the singer realized that it was coming from inside his head.

:Finally, I am able to glimpse the outside world once more!: the voice said with undisguised glee. :Seven years I've waited to be free!:

"Who are you? What are you doing inside my head?" Etienne gritted his teeth, the pain intensifying as the voice spoke.

:We've always been together…you and I. You could say we're very good friends.:

"But I don't…" With an agonized gasp, the singer asked, "Are you…the Devil?"

The entity's laughter was like a torch that seared his brain. :The Devil? Moi? Oh no, my beloved Angel of Music! I am so much worse! I am your Phantom, and I have returned to fulfill the promise we made to each other.:

Etienne was completely overwhelmed by the pain and terror of the evil being that had invaded his mind. His eyes rolled upwards and he fell to the pavement…right in the path of an oncoming carriage.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Baptistin, slow down! You're going too fast!"

Baptistin sat on the driver's seat of the carriage with Bertuccio, the horses' reins in his hands. "No, I'm not!" he called out to Albert, who was riding alongside them on his motorcycle. "I'm sure I'm within the legal speed limit!"

"Not by my speedometer, you're not!" Albert answered back, as he revved up his bike to keep up with the carriage.

"Albert, why don't you ride in the coach?" Bertuccio asked above the rumble of the wheels on gravel. "It's unseemly for the Paris Ambassador to Luna to be riding a motorcycle!"

"It's already cramped back there! I'd suffocate before we reach the Embassy!"

"Why did you bring so much stuff anyway?" Baptistin declared with a flick of the reins. "One would think your mother, Madame Herrera, packed your entire house!"

Albert laughed, feeling the breeze blowing through his hair. "Actually, she almost did!"

Bertuccio was about to utter a quip of his own when something in the middle of the road a couple of miles ahead of them caught his eye. He gasped in shock, seeing that it was a man!

"STOP THE CARRIAGE!" he roared as he tried to seize the reins.

"I can't! The horses won't stop!" Baptistin cried out in rising panic, realizing that he had lost control.

Bertuccio gripped the hand brake and pulled hard, a noisy screech rising from the wheels. Still, the carriage thundered on.

At first, Albert wondered why the two men were in a state of panic, until he too saw the still figure lying on the road. Kicking at the accelerator, the motorcycle shot ahead of the runaway carriage, and rolled to a stop before the fallen man. Albert swiftly got off his bike and faced the carriage that was bearing down upon them.

"ALBERT, GET OUT OF THE WAY!" Bertuccio shouted in horror, seeing the young man standing his ground.

Charging forward, Albert pulled out a whip from within his coat and cracked it hard at the two lead horses. As the horses reared up, he gripped the harness of the black stallion on the right.

"Whoa, boy!" Albert spoke to the jittery horse in a soothing voice, patting its head. "Easy now! It's all right! Be calm!"

Bertuccio and Baptistin sagged into their seats in relief and weariness.

"I told you you were going too fast, Baptistin," Albert said scoldingly.

"God, Albert!" Baptistin exclaimed breathlessly. "Where did you learn to handle horses like that?"

"Ali taught me when I visited Haydee in Janina a couple of years ago."

When all four horses were at last calmed down, Albert hurried to the unconscious figure on the ground. With a light shake, he called, "Hey! Are you all right? Wake up!"

But the man did not move.

Gently, Albert picked him up, the movement causing the man's hat to fall from his head. Albert's mouth gaped open as ebony silk tumbled over his lifting arm. His eyes grew as wide as platters as he beheld the face of a man he had not seen in seven years. A man he believed lay dead and buried in the ruins of an old mansion in Paris. Even from their position on the carriage, Baptistin and Bertuccio were just as stunned.

There was a woman's horrified scream – "Etienne! Oh sweet Jesus!! ETIENNE!" A nun dressed in a dark brown habit was running towards him.

As he gazed down at that handsome face, he noticed that this man was much younger than his old friend; the same age as he was, as Eugenie had told him. It was only then that Albert realized that this unconscious young man he was holding in his arms was the Nightingale of Luna.

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